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bizarrelovetriangel · 2 days ago

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run away.

caleb wants to smash but keeps getting interrupted.

mdni. 18+ only. fluff and suggestive but no actual smut.

sylus version / zayne version

Lifting you up on the kitchen's counter table, Caleb slides his hands up to your thighs as he stands between your legs, kissing you with intensity that had you feeling lightheaded, yet you can't find it in you to pull away.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

You jumped at the alarm blaring off the phone in the pocket of your pants. Caleb pulls it out for you and shows you the screen, where the current time is flashing at you mockingly.

"Waaahh — I'm late for work!"

You jumped off the counter table and playfully smacked Caleb's arm that tried to snake around your waist, refusing to let you go.

They're stealing you from him again.

If this keeps happening...

He might just have to take you away and hide you where no one can find you.

Somewhere just the two of you, with no one to get in his way.

"Caleb, this is all your fault!"

He chuckles and rubs the spot you hit. "You're the one who was all handsy while I was making breakfast. Don't blame me for trying to finish what you started."

"Hmph, excuses excuses. I gotta go, bye!"

Caleb laughs again as he waves a hand, watching you almost trip as you rush out of your apartment, slamming the door along the way.

He then sighs as he looks down at the tent in his pants that wasted no time coming alive.

"Guess I'll have to take care of this myself.... again..."

He tries again later on, same day.

After your work, Caleb is determined to make you feel so good, you won't be able to leave him and your bed the next day.

What better way to seduce you than preparing a nice dinner, then a massage right after?

It was perfect timing too because you came home exhausted after an action-packed day of dealing with Wanderers.

You had small scratches and bruises on certain parts of your body, so Caleb made sure those are taken care of first and foremost.

After dinner and shower, he joined you on your bed to help you apply healing ointments.

He hates seeing you hurt, no matter how tiny and inconsequential the injury is, but he has to keep in mind that this is your job and you're strong and more than capable of dealing with Wanderers, so he doesn't make a big deal out of it. The best thing he can do is support you, so he does his best to look after you.

"What about your head? Are you feeling any headaches? Dizziness? Confusion?"

"Nope! I'm all good, I told you!" you wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled his face against your chest to cuddle him. "Let's watch a movie!"

As ecstatic as he was to have his face buried against your chest, Caleb abandoned his initial plan of having sex with you.

You're clearly exhausted. He wants you to rest properly so your body can recover for the next time you have an action-heavy work day. Your well-being is more important.

"Alright, but it's my turn to choose the movie since you chose last time."

"Fine by me~"

Caleb joined you in your bed and happily cuddled with you underneath your blanket while the two of you enjoy an action-comedy film.

At the end of the day, he still got to rest his face on your chest, so Caleb was more than satisfied with his reward.

You try to keep a straight face as you lock eyes with Caleb.

Or rather, the Colonel.

Two days later after he returned from Linkon, you ended up reuniting with him sooner than expected, in Skyhaven when you got a sudden mission to go to Deepspace Aviation Administration.

A hunter has been requested to test out a new weapon that researchers and the military have been working on, and you volunteered to go when Jenna asked who wanted to take a trip to the floating island.

You were planning to surprise Caleb by going to his house after you're done with the tests, but he's the one that showed up out of the blue, right in front of you.

You were impressed at how unfazed he was when he saw you. The only thing that implied he recognized you is the way his pupils dilated before nonchalantly looking away from you.

With a straight face, Caleb faced the researcher next to you. "I see the Hunters Association have been invited to see the new weapon."

"Yes, sir." The researcher clearly looked nervous under the colonel's intense gaze. "They are the ones that are best suited for it, so we wanted to see how a hunter would perform using it under simulation."

That's where you are right now: in a typical combat training room that can create simulated Wanderers for anyone to practice on. The weapon you're holding is a type of high-tech gun similar to ones that you've seen Caleb used before, such as his Skybreaker.

"And she has been performing extremely well and giving us positive results, so the weapon seems to be a sucess!"

Caleb's left brow twitches. "Enjoyed watching Miss Hunter, did you?"

The researcher shrinks and looks away as his face becomes flustered. "I — uh — "

You grinned and patted the man's shoulder. "I'm glad to be of service! Thanks for inviting me!"

Caleb clears his throat. "Louis, was it?" The researcher nods quickly, as if he's going to be killed if he responds just a second slower. "I'd like to have a word with our guest, privately."

"Y— yes sir!"

You waved at the researcher as he runs out of the training room, almost tripping on his own feet along the way.

Then, you turned to Caleb and gasped with surprise as you found him right in front of you with very little space between your bodies.

"Having fun, Pip-squeak?"

You could feel heat radiating off from his body with the way he's leaning towards you.

And you don't dare to move back.

You're not afraid of the Colonel.

"I am, actually." you grinned. "This weapon is so fun to use!"

At last, his mask melts and you see Caleb's bright eyes and warm smile.

"Of course it's good. I was the one who commissioned it, after all."

"Really?!"

"It's originally meant for the Fleet to use for the pesky Wanderers we encounter on our missions. We've been testing out different energy sources and mechanism for weapons, so that's the one we came up with recently. I guess the Administration wants to let the Hunters Association use it too."

You scoffed and crossed your arms. "And you didn't tell me anything about this new cool weapon you've been building?"

Caleb chuckles at your pout and squishes your cheeks with one hand. "I was going to show you when it's fully done, but some researcher beat me to it. Tell me.... did you enjoy his company?"

The way his voice had gone deeper as he spoke the last few words caused a stir inside you.

"And if I did?"

Caleb's lips lost their amusement as they curled into a tight frown. He adjustes his hand to grip your chin, not enough to hurt but tight enough to prevent you from looking away as he leaned even closer to you.

Your noses touched as your foreheads rested against each other.

"If you did.... I might have to remind you..." his lips brushed against yours. "...whose company you should be enjoying only..." he then devours your mouth with his own.

His other hand found your hips and pulled your lower body against his, sliding a knee between your thighs.

Caleb moans as you tugged on the strands of his hair behind his neck, your hand dragging him down to you to deepen the kiss, which had grew more intense and desperate at every second.

He pressed his hips harder against you, and your core clenches at how hard he'd already gotten.

"Colonel — "

You jumped away from Caleb and picked up the gun that you didn't even know ended up on the floor without making a single noise.

The door was opened and in came a familiar Fleet member: Liam.

Caleb pretends to straighten his tie while you fidget with the weapon, trying to ignore how hot your face is burning.

Liam does a great job at dismissing the tension in the air. He clearly recognized you and he has some sort of idea of your close relationship with Caleb, but he doesn't say a word about it.

"Colonel Caleb, it's time to head out for the meeting."

Caleb nods, his cold mask reappearing. "Let's get going then."

You felt a little disappointed that your time with him has been cut off short yet again.

"Thanks for showing me how to use the weapon, Caleb. Bye."

Caleb's feet became thrice as heavy as he started to leave the training room.

He can't even give you a goodbye kiss or hug. Even if it's Liam, who he trusts more than anyone else in the Fleet, Caleb still can't risk anything.

At least, not yet.

There will come a time when you and him will not have to hold back on expressing your feelings for each other.

That's what keeps him going: to make sure that your shared tomorrows are ensured.

Even if it's not easy.

Still, the smile that you threw his way just as the door closed was enough to get him going for the rest of the day.

But for the rest of the week? Who knows.

Caleb is slowly losing his patience.

He can't take anymore interruptions.

Due to your hectic schedule, you didn't see Caleb until a week and a half later. The good news is that you'll finally have some time to yourselves as both of you are free for the weekend.

Caleb spontaneously wants to go camping, claiming that it's been a while since you two had done it, so you agreed and began preparations right away.

You started with shopping for tools and clothes, since he already has most of the essential equipment.

Because the location that Caleb has in mind is near a lake, you figured you'd want to go for a swim. Most of the swimsuit you own either shrunk or got lost somewhere, and so decided to buy one after getting the camping necessities.

"This is a little too bright — whaa — Caleb?!"

You screeched as Caleb enters the fitting room.

"What are you doing?!"

"The worker is half-asleep at the counter all the way at the front. She won't mind. You've been in here for so long, I'm worried that you're starting to feel lonely. So here I am, giving you company. You're welcome~"

"Caleb, you dummy." You lightly strike his head with the side of your hand. "At least be useful and tell me what you think of this swimsuit."

"You look great." he answers while sitting onto the bench, right next to your clothes.

"You didn't even look at it properly for three seconds."

"Don't need to."

You pinched his arm. "Be serious!"

"I am being serious." Caleb grins and tugs on your hand to pull you towards him. "You look stunning. Although... you might not wear it for long... " His fingers slowly moves towards the strings of your top. "Because I might get tempted..." his other hand traveled to your left thigh, caressing it softly before planting a kiss on your hipbone.

You bent down to capture his lips with yours, one hand sneaking under his shirt to feel his chest and abs. Caleb sighs against your mouth while his hands moved to your ass, squeezing them before leading you onto his lap.

At that moment, the saleslady's voice blasted from the store's speakers and made you jump.

"Attention to all customers: store closing in 20 minutes."

Because the trip was pretty much unplanned, you didn't expect the weather to be cool and cloudy. It's not the best, but it's certainly not the worst time to be outdoors, so you two headed out to nature anyways.

"You cheater!"

Caleb laughs at your accusation. "Just because all the fishes want to be caught by me instead of you, doesn't mean I'm pulling any funny tricks."

"Ugh! Yoy just got lucky with that spot! I just chose a bad one, that's all!"

"Even though we're basically right next to each other?"

"There's still a big difference."

Caleb caught a handful of fishes.

You caught one small one, but it's better than nothing.

"I don't need to eat your fishes. The one I caught will be more than enough to keep me full for a whole week!"

When it was time to sit by the campfire and eat dinner, you stubbornly refuse to eat the fishes caught by Caleb.

"No way I'm eating those traitor fishes!"

"Don't say that. You might hurt their feelings."

"They're dead."

"Their ghosts might be floating around us right now and they might be crying because you won't eat the souls they sacrificed just so you won't starve."

"Pfft — alright fine, I'll take some."

Along with the fishes you caught, you also ate the food that you've packed, all cooked by Caleb, so there was no shortage of meals.

Especially not for dessert. You didn't forget about the s'mores.

"I remember the first time we made s'mores. You'd always cry and get mad because you kept burning your marshmallows completely. Then, you'd steal my s'mores."

"Well, I'm a grown woman now." you grinned before stealing the s'mores that was on his stick. "I can make my own s'mores and steal yours."

Caleb dramatically sighs and shakes his head with disappointment. "I don't know why I never learn my lesson. Next time we go camping, I have to keep away from the s'mores monster."

"Heh. You won't be able to run from me." you scooted close so you could rest your head on his arm. "I'll put a leash on you so you can't leave. You're my s'mores maker forever."

Caleb smiles and rests his chin on the top of your head. "You don't need a leash. I'll gladly stay by your side and give you anything you ask for."

Your eyes widened for a moment, sensing the seriousness in his tone; however, you say nothing and shifted even closer to him so that you're embracing his arm.

He held your hand and rubbed his thumb against your knuckles. The two of you stared at the campfire and enjoyed the peaceful sounds of the crackling fire and the nature all around you.

Camping was a great idea.

After such chaotic days in the city, the comforting whispers of nature and Caleb's warmth has already cured your exhausted mind and body.

Caleb closed his eyes, fully appreciating the moment.

At last, there was only you and him. This is how it should be.

He wished time would stop just so that moment could last forever.

No one coming after you and him. No one to separate you. Nothing getting in the way of your happiness.

Just you and him and nothing else.

"Huh...?"

Caleb opens his eyes and looks around with confusion.

He wipes the droplet of water that landed on his nose.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

Caleb soon got his answer when more droplets of water drizzles down on the two of you.

"Heh???!! It's raining?! Are you serious?!" you cried as the campfire slowly dies down due to the cold water that came to ruin your camping trip. "The weather app didn't say anything about rain!"

Caleb sighs. "Can't be helped. We can't stay here. Come on."

You had to take down the tent that you proudly put up upon your arrival. Caleb caught your frown and smiles, ruffling your hair.

"Don't look so sad. We'll just come back when it's not raining. We can stay much longer and you can have a second-chance at catching fishes."

"Are we going home?" you asked, already feeling disheartened.

You were really looking forward to spending more time with Caleb, away from all the distractions.

You were just starting to feel relaxed, but it looks like luck isn't on your side today.

"We could, if you want." Caleb grins. "Or....."

"Or....?"

Caleb's last minute solution for the interrupted camping trip is...

A hotel.

His plan is to temporarily stay at a hotel at another, smaller city where it isn't raining. Its area still has a peaceful atmosphere and more importantly....

"There's a hot tub?!"

Caleb was just as amazed. "So that's why it was so expensive. Here I was thinking they were scamming us for a simple room just for one night."

"Weeeell, too late to back out now~"

You wasted no time putting on the dried-up swimsuit that you'd used earlier at the lake and enjoyed the outdoor hot bath.

You can't help but sigh happily at the way yoyur body relaxes at the warm water that embraced your figure.

You rested your back against the rim of the medium-sized, circular tub and closed your eyes, taking a moment to appreciate the peaceful atmosphere.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't abandon me so fast just to get to the hot tub."

Caleb joins you a few moments later, in nothing but his swimming shorts.

"Poor Caleb. I hope you didn't get lost on your way here." you gave him a headpat as he stands in front of you.

"Of course not. I'll always find my way back to you." Caleb smiles as he twirls the pendant of his necklace with a finger.

You were not expecting such a sweet comeback to your sarcastic comment, and so you caught off-guard and was unable to come up with a witty reply.

"Y—you..."

Caleb chuckles as you suddenly lowered yourself and hid half of your face underwater.

"So much for camping, right?" he mumbles, looking up at the clear sky with bright stars and the moom beaming down at your figures. "We shouldn't have underestimated the weather."

The truth was, Caleb knew there was a chance of rain but he decided to proceed with the trip anyway because he was feeling desperate to be alone with you.

To run away from everything and everyone.

To be somewhere just the two of you, where no one can take you from him or him from you.

"True, it didn't end the way we planned, but..." you turned aside to face Caleb and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, locking your hands behind his neck, before pulling yourself close to him. "But this is really nice too. I like it here too."

Caleb leans closer to rest his forehead against yours.

"As long as I'm with you, I'd be happy anywhere."

His hands slides to your waist before his thumb draws circles on your skin. "I wish every day can be like this." Caleb whispers.

"Me too."

His lips gently brushes against yours. "The days will come when we won't have to worry about being away from each other. I promise."

He drops featherlight kisses on your lips, each one filled with passion that leaves you wanting more. As the seconds go by, his pecks gradually becomes deeper, lingering longer as if he's hesitant to break away.

Your lips parted and your tongues clash just like the little waves of water all around you, dancing along with the movements of your bodies.

Overcoming to his pent up emotions, Caleb captures your body and gently nudges you against the rim of the hot tub, trapping you between his arms by your sides and his body glued to yours.

As your thighs wrapped around his hips, Caleb's mouth moves down to your neck to leave a trail of mark on your skin, moaning with his eyes closed as your right hand traveled from his chest to his hips.

Your face flushes at the way he sighs as your fingers briefly brushed against the waist band of his shorts.

Caleb slightly thrusts against your body, and your eyes widen at the feeling of his hard cock against your throbbing core. You echoed the gasp that he lets out as he's unable to hold back on humping into you even more.

"Caleb...." your lips brushed against his ear. "I want to feel you more..."

Not a second after your whisper, Caleb twitches inside his shorts, and he resists mumbling out a curse, feeling his body heating up even more.

"Me too."

Caleb flashes you a small smile before kissing you once again, while his hands quickly but carefully work on undoing the ribbons of your swimsuit. The pieces of your clothing easily slides off and you gasp with surprise as you watch them quite literally fly off the hot tub.

"Caleb! Don't use your evol for that!"

He pauses his kisses and laughs shamelessly while getting rid of his clothes.

"Forgive me for getting a little carried away. We've only been interrupted about... a hundred times."

"Not a hundred!"

"A hundred and one." he murmurs, readjusting your bodies just a little so he could rest his chin between your breasts. "For every second we got interrupted.... we have to make up for it."

#sorry it's not birthday themed! but happy birthday caleb !!! <3 #caleb #caleb x reader #love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lads #caleb lads #lads caleb #lnds #lnds caleb #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lynnsfics

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sergioguymanproust · 2 days ago

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As a shaman I pick my images carefully,the ones that resonate strongly with my experiences and my visits to places in my dreams and parallel realities.I have written in the past about strange encounters with things that are most certainly out of place .Now Native Americans have told of these things ,doors, stairs, windows , rooms , cabins , even elevators,spiral staircases leading to nowhere and their advice has always been to stay away from these things and never ever climb ,or ring the bells,not even knock on doors.So younger natives naturally curious keep a skin why? But the elders refuse to answer their questions.Because those who have disobey these orders and went ahead and climbed the stairs ,knocks on doors , never returned to tell their tales.As simple as that. Well,I can tell you there are maps showing where these anomalies are found,but not accessible to the common folk.Now,if you are a seasoned trekker and spends a great deal of time in National Parks in all seasons you might run into one of these strange spots and mark them on your map but a gut feeling warned you not to come too close because something very bad might happen to you. Here’s one case of a door similar to this one sits on a forest in the state of California,I won’t name the location suffice to say many have taken pictures but it never appears clear but rather with a deep fog ,not seen while taking the picture.It is indeed an anomaly but in three different occasions two men and a women went ahead and knocked, witnesses that saw this recount seeing a thick fog quickly covering the door and in the three different occasions the people simply vanished,no screams, no yelling jus the fog and in the end the witnesses simply ran away from the scene. The other explanation is that they are portals that entities use to move between their dimensions and ours.Most National Parks rangers know about it but when confronted by campers and trekkers they flatly deny it ,end of case .So ,now you know if you travel with family and friends and you happen to see something like this pic ,folks for your own safety move on and don’t even set camp near one of these anomalies.As a shaman who stays away from these things ,because I have seen them and forewarned about their powers ,you are best staying away from them. Keep away from their apparitions for your own peace of mind.Words by Sergio GuymanProust.

somewhere, beyond the trees

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hollyhomburg · 2 days ago

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Hold your Breath (Count to Seven)(2)

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

୨୧‧₊˚ Summary: Hoseok will never forgive the people who did this too you. Never. his anger comes out in strange ways. His love too.

୨୧ ‧₊˚ Word Count: 14.4k

୨୧ ‧₊˚ Tags: Omegaverse au, omega scarcity, forced caretaking, Dom/sub undertones, dom! jimin x m/c, spanking, Discipline, idol au, Pack alpha hoseok x omega! m/c, Sickfic, Angst, Hurt/comfort, Background ot7 x reader, chronic health issues, themes of trauma, referenced family issues/childhood abuse, healing, Past Medical mistreatment, past neglect, Eventual smut, non-chronological storyline

୨୧ ‧₊˚ A/N: ah well... people said they wanted to see a bit more of dom jimin so~ hopefully this scratches an itch! well :( remember when i told you about my stressful life events that were on the horizon? well they're here <3 i fly out to california tomorrow for my sisters wedding lol watch us go no contact after this. but i wont even care because at least i have bts back lol

First part ~ ‧₊˚ ~ Masterlist

There are no second chances when it comes to omegas.

Although you tend to view what your parents did to you as a simple betrayal, Hoseok can’t see it as anything other than condemning. Abuse, neglect. Take your pick because each makes him equally as angry. Forgiveness is not something that comes to him easily. Is that a flaw or a virtue?

Occasionally they reach out or try to get in contact with you. They ask how you’re doing. Where you’re going, if you're coming home any time soon. Usually with videos at the airport attached and too much hope in their words. They just want to keep track of their daughter. they say. They just want to make sure you’re alright.

Hoseok calls Bullshit on that in a fucking heartbeat.

You’ve been no contact with them for years now. Handing over the burden of contact to Hoseok was an easy concession to make to your pack alpha. Of course, he would handle everything for you. Of course, this was his responsibility.

You’ve asked him to tell you if anyone gets sick if anyone dies, or if they make an effort towards a real apology. You won’t be bothered with the half-measures until then.

You couldn't have imagined our stress at the time. We just wanted to make sure you had the option. Omega's struggle to be free because of the way the world works. You could handle it. We only wanted you to do your best. You don't need an alpha, you've always been strong enough without one. You never needed all the things that other omegas needed anyway

It's my first time having a child- of course all parents make mistakes.

Please refrain from contacting my pack at this time. Any further action on your part will only result in a restraining order.

You're exactly the kind of alpha we were afraid of.

They have his number and his number only; you only ask to see their texts every now and then. Hoseok only sometimes decides it's safe to show you. It's up to his discretion if you’re too fragile or if you’re only going to use the texts to make yourself feel guilty.

The only contact info they have is Hoseok's and even then, he rarely responds beyond telling them that you're still not ready, that you might never be. He’s only ever polite on your behalf but still sometimes if he's feeling particularly sensitive about the issue of your health he does tell them to fuck off.

That only ever gets a scolding look from you later when you inevitably ask to see their texts and he lets you see. And Hoseok acts scolded even though he can scent that underneath your misery- you're faintly pleased.

You don't have to ask him to defend you. You'll never have to beg for that.

Although you'd said you were perfectly well adjusted to life as an omega when they'd first met you the truth is that while you'd been able to scent and nest like any other omega, your instincts had long gone dormant and quiet. But they're fully awake now, after living with 5 alphas and 2 betas. They ring loud and clear.

You just struggle to listen to them sometimes.

The rest of the pack is on the same page too. The pack is your family in every sense of the world, you don’t need the people who hurt you anymore. Sometimes- the idea of them being your family gets a little tangled with everything else. Omega's need care, they need to be looked after, you know this.

You're not their child, but you are their omega. And that comes with a special set of responsibilities.

They might have reacted a little bit over the top with the mothering at the beginning. All packs go through an adjustment period when an omega gets introduced. You hadn't been theirs for more than half a year before you'd slammed the door in Namjoon's face and called him out on it after a particularly rough day.

But slamming doors is not something that Hoseok allows- not from the pups or from you.

Hoseok was there to mediate, the rest of the pack lingering in the vicinity too. To hear and watch over you. Nervous at the stressed tone of your voice. Taehyung and Jungkook rough house and hassle jin, either helping with dinner or getting in the way of it. Hoseok knows your instinct is to hide. But doing this here in the living room where everyone can see and participate is important.

You need to learn that you don't have to hide from them, that none of you, not your needs or your intentions- are too much for them.

Your omega is never going to feel safe and docile with all of them unless you stop hiding it.

So You and Namjoon sit on opposite ends of the couch. Jimin there in the armchair ready for your inevitable punishment. Hoseok will let him take the reigns in this and will let Jimin have this. The whole pack has been on edge all day. Has been able to sense that you're close to breaking- it's only Namjoon's luck that he'd been caught in the crossfire.

Having Jimin do the punishing has several Uses. One- Jimin needs it, and two- as a beta he'll be able to get you down more gently than any of the alphas. You'd get scared at the feeling of your instincts take over and it would have the opposite of the intended effect. If Namjoon brought you down into omega space you might go down so quick and drop so suddenly it would be scary. It wouldn't feel like a choice at all and it wouldn't be comforting.

let alone if Hoseok was the one to do it. If he ever dared to use alpha voice on you you might pass out. You need to understand that you need this, just as much as they do.

Hoseok will handle the aftermath- will tuck the alpha and you under either arm and soothe you later. He's watchful and prepared to step in if you need him. sitting in the chair legs splayed wide and inviting. fingers tapping out a rythem on the chair leg as he watches you squirm under the weight of so many eyes.

He's getting a bit better at letting the others handle you. They need this- to watch and make you submit just as much as Hoseok does.

Jimin sits, legs crossed, leaning his chin on his hand, watching and waiting for Namjoon and you to finish arguing.

"You're not my father Namjoon, I don't want you to act like my fucking dad when you're my partner. I get that sometimes- you have these instincts- but it doesn't make me feel good." You're close to tears, eyes suspiciously glassy. Your head feels fuzzy but panicky like everything is happening faster than you can handle it. Leaving you overwhelmed and off kilter.

You glance at Hoseok, and he stares back impassively. Rubbing a finger across his bottom lip- but he won't intervene unless you actually do cry or you ask him too. You're just starting to learn to trust your instincts. To understand why your breath goes even around him and why things are easier to sort through when he's touching you- either with a hand on the small of your back or holding yours so delicately- like you're fragile.

The others understand but you don't. you've never had a pack alpha before. He's the only pack alpha you've ever known.

There is apart of him more wolf than man, that loves that fact. That he's your first and your only pack alpha, If Hoseok can help it.

And Hoseok is helping, that's what this is. Mediating. Making sure you adjust to the pack and the pack adjusts to you. Hoseok is here just as Jimin is as pack beta- to make things go smoothly.

It's strange. Growing up you'd been treated so often like you were strong. industructible no matter what. Any cold or sickness was met with a snear that you were tougher than that. Strong despite your shakiness, strong despite the fact that when pushed you broke. Strong like your weakness was ever something you could conquer. No matter how many times you told people you couldn't- that you couldn't stay awake to study, that you couldn't run any faster- that you couldn't try any harder without it hurting- they never listened.

But now everything's changed- the pack are almost too gentle with you. Too aware of just how fragile you can be sometimes. You like to act independent. You even might need to sometimes (Hoseok is not so convinced that you actually need independance or if you just feel like you need it). And while they'd never stop you they are always hovering a little. It's easier sometimes- but right now-

Right now it feels stifling. Right now it feels like you can't breath. Like something very bad is going to happen if you take too much- like they'll find out it's not worth it. That you're not enough. You lean away from Namjoon when he speaks, and you can see the hurt in his eyes as you do it. Can see that Jimin's eyes darken in disapproval, posture stiff.

But your skin feels like it's going to crawl off your body and leave you fleshy and exposed. Something fights to claw out of your chest. And no breath comes easy.

Until you look at Hoseok.

You're not sure where your anger comes from or if it even is anger at all. Afraid, you know you're a bit afraid of Namjoon, but afraid of what you can't say. You know that his controlling behavior isn't exactly why but you're too worked up to care. Maybe you've never been both afraid and safe before. Maybe you don't trust them to keep you safe.

A deep voice whispers in Hoseok's ear, hidden and telling. His desires and impulses dark and not to be shared. You don't trust them to handle everything for you.

Yet.

Hoseok waits, Hoseok reclines in the chair and watches. Namjoon's voice is deep and calm. Rational. You're the only one getting worked up here, but thats okay. All of this is okay.

"Our lives are all very controlled, they have to be to get to the level that we are. But we need to look after each other. I won't be made out to be some sort of monster when all I'm trying to do is make sure you take care of yourself. You can't expect me not to treat you the same way I treat the others."

"Now that's some bullshit. You treat me like-" your voice warbles, and Hoseok gives it another 10 seconds before he intervenes. "I might be your omega but I'm not some sort of pet. You never tell the others what they can and can't eat or do so why am I-"

Hoseok holds up his hand, stopping your train of thought. For what it's worth you instantly fall silent. Your shaking stops just a little at the show of dominance, at obeying. Your body wants it even if your mind struggles to comprehend it. It's like you're trying to listen to your omega and your instincts but you just can't hear them.

You need a push. And Hoseok is very gentle. Gentle enough to do the pushing.

Hoseok heart breaks a little at your overall posture, shoulders curled. In a big sweater of Yoongi's because you're feeling cold- even though it's spring and the house is kept at a comfy 70 deg for your comfort. Like you want your alpha's scent as close as possible even though they're right there. Like you don't trust them to stay.

That is their fault too. Comeback season can be stressful for you. Long hours and longer absences. This Hoseok knows. They'd finished a few days ago and they're home all the time now. It's a little bit of a whiplash for you and your omega. Going from feeling neglected to feeling stifled.

"Namjoon does do all of those things to us, it's his job as leader." You'd looked to Yoongi in the doorway suddenly.

He shrugs. "Things get stressful. Pack's like- exist to make sure we're all taken care of. I'd listen to any of them if they told me that I needed to rest. And it wouldn't matter who said it- if it was you or Hobi- I'd still listen." Yoongi being stern isn't something you're completely used to not yet. "And I'd do it without being a brat." Your breath hitches and you look away.

Jimin scoffs, "just barely."

''Okay fine, I do it without being a brat to Hobi. You're lower in the hierarchy than I am and Joonies my equal."

"That's better." Jimin is satisfied. Voice a pur. But you find no comfort in Jimin's tone, or to him Nodding along to yoongi's words like it makes perfect sense. "You decide your boundaries, but we'll always step in if we feel you're being unsafe. You can't ask us not to do that."

Hobi had nodded, supplied. "You can always push back." He'd thought on it a minute more. "As long as you do it without being mean or hurtful."

With that Jimin had held his hand and beckoned for you, and your expression had turned nervous. "I didn't mean-"

"No buts pup. You know slamming doors is not something we do here. You almost hit Joonie in the face."

You look to Hoseok, double checking with him. "It doesn't matter that it was an accident." When you still don't move, Hoseok humms. "Do you need me to do your punishment today pup? Or will you let jiminie do it>"

"I want to do it." he says, just in case you need the reassurance. While the whole pack take their own turns disciplining you- certain members gravitate to it more organically. Namjoon- like Hoseok- struggles not to be overly gentle with you but Jimin has no such qualms.

You stay silent for a moment and Hoseok is about a second from making the choice for you before you get up slowly, tentatively moving in Jimin's direction. Not before looking back at Hobi for his approval.

Hoseok nearly wants to purr. His alpha already pacing- telling him look and see- you're already learning how to be good. How to obey not just him but the packmates too. He knows listening to your omega will only get easier over time so long as they keep showing you like this.

"But I said I was sorry and he forgave me for that." Namjoon had rubbed his nose. But none of them had moved, even though you're transitioning from discussion to punishment.

They all might like it a bit too much, watching Jimin handle you. It's ever so sweet the way you go down for the beta. Betas might have a lack of instincts- but they also make others come out.

"No buts."

You'd tentatively stood between Jimin's legs, the beta's hands smoothing up and down your waist, "take a deep breath honey. this isn't supposed to be scary."

"i know" but you still sound unsure. Hoseok had crossed his legs to watch, hiding a small smile behind his clasped hands. He might not be able to handle disciplining you himself quite yet- always too worried about being rough- but watching his pack get what they need under his watchful eye is something he greatly enjoys.

Especially with the way you squirm and eventually go docile. One day soon you won't fight your nature. The pack just has to get you there and get you used to this.

Your lower lip quivers, "I didn't mean to."

"We know. You're so good, you always take your settling like a good pup too."

Jimin's lips had looked awfully plush pressed to your knuckles. Kissing there once, then your wrist. Sliding the sleeve of your sweater up and over your elbow. Tipping his feet inward around your heels so that they trap you there between them. Squeezing your hips gently.

He kisses your elbow. "Now, would you rather I do it or Joonie?"

You stiffen, imperceptibly but it's there. "Would there be a difference?" Namjoon's eyes soften, and he shuffles just a little bit closer.

All of this bratting out and this disobedience is not in your nature. This is something that Hoseok knows deep down. It's all because alone you are unsafe. An omega alone in the world is a dangerous thing and you need the reminder of them close to feel their presence and their dominance. You weren't getting that, didn't know how to ask for it, and that's why you felt the need to act out.

You can be alone- you can be a perfectly functioning member of society without the pack but deep down, independence is not what you want or what you need.

Jimin hums thoughtfully considering your request, his other hand plays absentmindedly with the hem of your shorts. Slipping under. Rings flashing. Massaging you there a little, already warming you up. Your breath hitches.

"I think if Joonie does it, you'll only get 20. But if you ask for me- then it's 30."

Hoseok knows what he's doing, letting you choose, giving you a small amount of choice just to make you go down easier. You'd hovered, unsure. Stuttering. Seconds away from crumbling.

"Is it going to be here or- or-" You can't finish the sentence, and Jimin grins a little meanly. He likes making you say it. Likes it even more when you shy away.

"Is it going to be over your ass or pussy you mean? Your spanking?"

You squirm and Hoseok tips his legs wider, feeling himself grow hard. The whole house is silent, the sound of Jungkook and Taehyung roughhousing with Jin in the other room quieting to listen.

Jimin hums thoughtfully tugging down your pants and turning you around, practically making you twirl for them, you shuffle uneasily. Blushing too hard to meet Hoseok and Namjoon's eyes as they sit and watch. Keeping your legs tight together. Yoongi just kicks his hip against the doorframe and settles in.

Jimin appraises each, pinching you hard enough to make you jump. He wraps an arm around your waist, hand trailing down your stomach and then lower. Humming contemplatively.

"I think Joonie should be the one to choose. Hyung?"

~-~

It hadn't taken the pack long to realize that while you say you don't need parenting- you sort of do. The lines blur sometimes between being a Packmate and being a caretaker. It's hard to give you exactly what you need. Their instincts tell them to do things that aren't always straightforward.

So when your full-blooded parents reach out and ask for you, he makes the effort to tell them to fuck off it in a polite way. Mentioning lawyers and international omegan rights associations. And reminds them that they’re lucky they’re not in prison for what they did to you.

Your healing is something that Hoseok takes very very seriously.

All that pain and damage is a world away, not in this country and as far from you as Hoseok can make it. After finding out you were an omega you'd gone as far as you could from where you grew up, from all the people that knew you as a beta. Escaping into anonymity. Disappearing because you didn't know who to trust and how to be you anymore.

Hoseok doesn’t like to think of you alone and afraid and adjusting on your own. But that’s what you’d been before them- alone. Coping and just barely. (This is not entirely true, you’d had a few years of light-hearted struggle sure. But the world supports omega’s at the very least, your struggle had been mostly internal- not that that makes it any better).

They're still dealing with the effects of their actions years later, not only psychologically. (You still struggle sometimes, too used and too comfortable with your independence, the pack does its best to let you keep your small freedoms within the confines of what they’re willing to allow. All to keep you safe, happy, and healthy.)

But physically your health has never been steady.

They've taken you to omega specialist to omega specialist. Immunologist to immunologist. Each of them had recommended the same thing: time to adjust and closeness to your alphas. Regular scenting and exposure to dominance to get your body functioning as it should.

No less than 6 hours of recommended nesting time per day. More than the usual recommended 4 or the bare minimum 2 for omegas. Less than two hours of nesting daily would get the OHS (Omegan Health Services) called on any pack. Famous or not.

Omega's immune systems biologically need closeness with others. Mostly to soothe and help regulate body temperature and metabolism. Other omega nestmates would be ideal, but to be fair, having your betas on either side of you, stuck between Jiminie and Jin like a happy little sandwich does the trick most days.

But it also reminds you of other less happy times. Sometimes it's the alpha's you reach for because Jimin and Jin, as lovely as they are...

They bring up bad memories.

Your beta parents had suppressed your omega nature in two ways; By keeping you away from alpha’s and by feeding you large doses of suppressants every day or several times a day- to arrest your omegan nature.

Hoseok’s not sure what they planned on doing, if they were going to keep you hidden forever or just until you were old enough to understand and make the choice to be a beta on your own.

There were some parts of being an omega that were harder to suppress; even given their efforts. You have distant memories of it. Fond memories even if you wish they weren’t. Cuddling between the two of them in their bed finally finally feeling safe. The way they’d hold your hand carefully crossing the street. Drying your eyes after a skinned knee.

You don’t know if these things matter to you because you’re an omega or just because you miss the people who once claimed to love you.

You’ve told him the story a handful of times. The pups only once. Hobi, Yoongi, and Namjoon know more because they'd had questions. Hoseok thinks about it more often than he'd ever admit to you. Namjoon too has the tendency to ruminate.

You'd grown suspicious over the years that the bitter drinks you were fed every morning were not keeping you healthy but instead making you sick beyond repair. You were never able to run as fast as the other beta’s during recess, always the slowest, always the shortest, always the smallest. Written up for sleeping in class.

Your body started to reject the smoothies the older you got, you'd vomit them up on accident. The bitter tang strange. Medicinal. The more determined your natural biology was to push through the worse you'd felt. You remember being in class, reprimanded for falling asleep again- trying to pick up your pencil only to have it fall to the floor. Your hand shaking too hard to hold it.

A tremor that you still occasionally get to this day. A tremor that omega’s only get if they undergo scent deprivation and instinct neglect. A syndrome carefully outlined for all alphas and beta’s once they go through omegan education in primary school.

You’d been given that too. You're smart. You’d started to connect the dots.

Certain things never added up about your childhood. You were sent to an all-beta school and your parents lived in a remote area. Your nearest neighbors miles and miles away. Why did they move from the city shortly after you’d been born? Why were they recluses now when before they'd hopped from city to city? They don't even let you go shopping with your friends or to the store with them on your own.

They teach you languages you'll never use, educate you more and more- and push you harder and harder. They never let you rest or sleep past a certain time in the morning.

They never let you nest.

You always went to a 'family friend' for blood tests. You always had doctors come to your house and not the other way around. There have always been glances given over your head, knowing looks that you are kept ignorant of. Tense conversations overheard, disdainful looks when you ask for larger clothing or when you ask for affection or when you ask for anything.

When you need anything.

It got clearer the closer it got to falling apart. Your mother freaked out after you went to a friend’s house after school. A friend who had an alpha for a father. The next morning, your father had grown panicked when you’d forgotten your morning breakfast smoothie, had driven all the way to school to give it to you. He hadn’t left until he’d watched you drink it all.

“You need to listen to me. I know you don't understand right now but this is very very dangerous for you if you don't do everything I say. You'll lose everything we've ever given you.”

You’d stopped taking them secretly, just to confirm your suspicions. Under the full assumption that you’d been making it all up in your head and that a week of skipped breakfast would hardly cause a cataclysm.

But it had only taken a few short days before you’d collapsed at school and been rushed to the hospital, not your first heat but a pseudo one.

Alpha’s- there are alpha’s here. You’re not supposed to be around alphas, are you? There are police here too. A lot of people. maybe twenty looking after you. you don't want your parents to see. they'll probably be mad at you for getting sick again.

Federal agents look so funny in their suits and badges. Talking to the doctor in the doorway when you can't give a coherent statement. Why are you making these noises? These purrs and chirps and squeaks. Why do you need fluids? Why is the bed around you big and deep and plush? Why is there a hospital guard at the doorway and why are you in the omegan wing of the hospital?

You don't belong here, you try to tell them. Try to be good and get out of here even though you're almost too weak to get off of the bed. the walls are so steep and you are so so small. they catch you before you fall onto the floor.

But no ones angry at you. not for being too weak to get out of bed.

You're cooed at and gently but firmly placed back in the bed. You don't think it's a bed actually, you think it might be a nest. But you're not sure you've never seen one before.

You're in no shape to fight.

A kind-looking beta man with grey hair grips your hand across the bedspread asking you to recite everything you know about omega’s once you're lucid. Everything you’ve learned in school. nodding until you start to understand.

You snatch your hand back from his touch. Scared of it. "We thought you'd be more comfortable with a beta social worker rather than an alpha or another omega. But I can get someone else if you're dissatisfied."

“No, that can’t be. I’m a beta. I’ve always been a beta. There must be some sort of mistake.”

"I don't want to press charges. Please. Tell me what I have to say for things to go back to normal."

"No…You're right…I don't want to see them. But I don't have anywhere else to go."

"You do have a place to go, we here at the OHS only want to help omega's thrive. You more than qualify for government assistance."

You’d been removed from the home and placed directly in OHS housing. A safe building meant for omegas that needed healing with separate sterile apartments and on-call medical staff.

It had been a bit of an adjustment- but a lot of the omegas there were young like you and a lot of them came from worse situations.

Omegan trafficking. kidnapped. Hidden like you but without seeing sunlight. those omega's who sit out in the garden and cry and cry and cry because they're free now. Some of them bear the marks of abuse too- Noses and scent glands burned out. Hardly able to speak or look into a beta's eyes without shaking let alone an alphas.

By the end of the first week, you start to realize that you'd been very very lucky. It doesn't make you any less angry. Things could have been worse but- your family could have also just...not done that to you. That's the worst part isn't it? They could have chosen to love you but they just...didn't. They chose to be hateful instead because that was easier than even trying to give you what you want.

No, not want. Need.

Alphas are…strange. You collect facts about them. The one who guards the front door of the building isn't scary even if he does carry a gun. He will sneak sweets if you ask nicely. Enough that brightly colored wrappers litter the bottom of your nest. There are cameras in the hallways but they don't care if you move about freely so long as you do it before curfew.

The alpha that runs the kitchen always says yes to second portions of ice cream if you take more veggies too. If you leave your sweater unbuttoned the pretty alpha with long shaggy hair that watches you walk through the gardens will grip your elbow over the small stream and tell you about the schedule- about things you can ask for.

Like a computer and a stereo system for your apartment, like for outings with armed guards. She tells you that although the world is safe enough for omegas, Those at the OHS just want to be sure nothing happens to these omegas since you've already been through so much.

At least they smell good.

And they almost always do everything you ask when you work up the courage to talk to them. They're bigger than you and the beta's. Stronger. Gentle giants capable of picking you up and heaving you over their shoulder if you try to shout or fight. You don't try that- but some of the other omegas do.

They're…a little wild. Some of them. You know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. How thoughts and feelings rush at you- instincts. Are those instincts?

You hear some of the others whisper about omegas that have gone feral or nearly feral. You only see it once. An omega bites down on an alpha shoulder, drawing blood. You've seen blood before, you're not sure why it makes you want to duck behind another alpha, careful to gather you and the gaggle of other omega's, a small boy, younger than you and mute pressed into your spine for safety.

This omega isn't in trouble. They'd just refused to go to the showers for the 3rd night in a row. And there are certain things like hygiene that your caretakers are very very firm about. But the alpha hardly flinches.

"That was a really good bite! It even stung a little! You're getting so much stronger- I'm so so proud. How about some bubble bath as a reward?"

You do envy their pain tolerance and their tolerance for discomfort a little.

It's a newfound sense of power. You ask, and they fulfill the request. That's an alpha's job, isn't it? Beta's are harder to manipulate. But if you outline exactly why you want your request they're usually a little bit amenable.

Unless that request is for more screen time, or to stay up later, or to take an extended run around the compound instead of taking your afternoon nap, to forgo the sunscreen, or to exercise beyond just lifting stupid 2lb dumbells. There are certain things that they won't allow no matter how much you ask.

It’s not quite the death sentence that your family seems to think it is. They’d always talked down on omegas in front of you. Always said they were lazy and spoiled and that the government did too much for them. But you’re not spoiled and you try not to be lazy. You’re always up and moving.

That's part of the problem.

The alphas and betas at the OHS don't seem to like it when you try and help them stack chairs or help clear the tables, or help with the other omega's moving their things upstairs. You get scolded for lifting boxes, for giving up your blanket during movie time, for not telling someone that the shoes provided where giving you blisters.

It's hard for you to understand that you don't need to be helpful, you don't need to earn affection here. That the bruises on your knees and your blisters actually are cause for concern and they're not faking it when they tell you that you need to be careful.

The endpoint here isn't control. The endpoint is safety. For you to understand just how to fulfill your own needs and keep yourself safe until you have an alpha (or ideally a whole pack of them) to do that for you.

There are placement agencies. High-end alphas in Louis Vuitton shoes that bring gifts and paperwork and the promise of wealthy packs with them once a week. Some of the omegas take them up on that offer.

You usually avoid the atrium when they're in, the only part of the building available to outsiders so long as they pass through the scanners and are supervised. It's supervised visitation only. You meet with your social worker once a week to decide if you're ready to see your parents to talk to them.

You never are.

You're Unsure about what exactly you want your life to look like now that you're free. Now that you're new.

Omegan Health Services is just about the only government agency that’s properly funded- and you were well taken care of as a result. It's not all bad. It feels a bit like summer camp maybe. The Arts and crafts are fun, the nesting lessons are a bit annoying (you can never seem to get it right, never satisfied with your work, always an overachiever). Doctors visits and mental health check-ins. Nutrition classes.

But the scenting lessons.... those you don't mind.

You didn’t like nesting back then, didn’t understand it. An older omega who smells like honey comes and sets one up for you in your little apartment once a week. Cupps your cheek and asks if you'd like to try and make one on your own this time.

There's no there to teach you how to be obedient because contrary to what you’ve been told- that’s not an omega’s only purpose. Omegas have a purpose beyond what you’re learning, although it’s hard to put a pin on what exactly their value is.

But they had confined you to a nest, scruffing the back of your neck, when you’d tried to stay up for a full 12 hours like before. A normal amount of time you said, you could handle it. Why would you need a nest when you've never had one before?

Honestly, part of you finds it a bit ridiculous at first.

“Would you please try? For me? It would make me very very happy if you'd nap for me.”

What's stranger is how you can tell the alpha is happy when you put your head down, you can smell it in the air, a deep sweetness, the kind that makes you get goosebumps and makes your toes feel all fuzzy. It feels good to make them feel good. Feels better when you ask to try and scent them- and get more of that on you.

You'd slept for 3 days straight after that. It was like your body finally understood what it needed, finally understood that it didn't have to go without anymore.

Just after your first heat, your hormones had leveled out. You’d stayed on hormones until the doctors at the OHS had verified that no, your body hadn't sustained life-threatening permanent damage beyond a relatively weak immune system- susceptible even for an omega. Your parents had been charged with omega endangerment and narrowly avoided prison time thanks to your testimonial.

That was as much forgiveness as you were capable of.

But too soon, you'd been 18, on your own and unprotected with placement agencies and every alpha that you'd ever come in contact with breathing down your neck and intent on wooing you. You were given everything you’d ever needed by the omegan protection program. A small apartment. Food and clothing budget. Weekly check-ins by your social worker just to make sure that your living situation is still stable. That you haven't traded your nest (admittedly a little sparse) for a bed, that you haven't lost weight, and that you're still sleeping enough.

You're a good omega. For a while, you keep your sink empty of dishes. Your laundry hamper always half full. Your teeth stay brushed and so does your hair. You don't leave your apartment much. Too nervous, too worried, too afraid.

Too omega, it's all too new.

The OHS might have given you the bare bones, But what you wanted to do with the rest of your time was up to you. Of course, you could go to school as you initially planned, almost every college has an omega's only program, most omega's don't apply for things like neuroscience or pre-med track. You toy with the idea, feeling like something of a test subject yourself to meet with guidance admins and even the head of a college.

"It's not every day that we get potential omegan students. and i understand that you're technically a ward of the OHS but-"

"Technically."

"Yes well- I'd like to personally take you under my wing even if that is the case."

You were too used to being independent, too scared to trust anyone just yet after such a betrayal. Despite winning what many people think of as the genetic lottery your life still feels...

Sour. Empty. Scary.

You'd trade all of it for what you had back. For the lack of betrayal (a small part of you tells you that you might not have minded it at all if you'd never found out. You might not have cared that you were being mistreated at all. You might never have realized it beyond them being the idea of 'harsh parents'

You wish you’d had a family that understood you, that wanted you just as you are- but that’s not always possible. You’d show them- you’d decided that you could be an omega and be independent. Those two things didn’t have to be mutually exclusive. You don’t need a pack yet. You might not ever even want one. You’d cast out a net in a wide range of searches to find a job- a big city, where most omega's live, where you can settle in among the masses, where you won't be that abnormal. Any job will due.

Maybe even in another country.

Becoming a professional scenter is an easy avenue for omegas banking on some modicum of financial independence. They’re always needed and they’re always compensated well- if the job isn't a little emotionally demanding.

It didn’t matter that you’d never scented anyone in your life before you'd been found out, that you could hardly even hear your instincts at all thanks to what had been done to you- you are wanted all the same. Scenters are in such high demand that the fact that you had no experience wasn't even a facet of your interview.

It’s easier for you to follow your natural inclinations now after years of practice and the pack's careful guidance. But Hoseok still burns with the knowledge that it should have been easy for you. It shouldn’t have been hard and he will make everything else in your life easy to apologize.

“Hobi, you’re being silly. You didn’t even know me.”

“But still-” instincts aren’t always straightforward, they don’t always make sense.

You didn't just apply to idol companies either. You'd landed first at a tech start-up and then at a hospital (which hadn't been the right fit- too much stress for you, too many people that were too sick for your weak immune system to be exposed too). You'd worked at several different establishments before landing at BigHit.

By the time you met them, you’d realized what you liked. The more freedom the better.

Omegas are naturally smaller and slighter than betas or alphas. Jimin is the only one truly close to your size, and even then, he’s still almost a foot taller than you and man-handles you with ease. None of them struggle with a princess carry or (Taehyung and Namjoon's favorite) a straight up bear hug.

Because of your upbringing, you’d always looked a little more ashen, a little weaker than the typical omega. It was enough to tug on even the most reasonable alpha's heartstrings and make their instincts go a little haywire. Even ones that had the privilege of growing used to an omega’s company.

Hoseok had noticed, because Hoseok always notices.

It’s not all that uncommon for a single workplace to hire an omega to work as a scenter. It’s especially common in the idol and model industry. Omega's are either found through placement agencies that charge a pretty penny in finders fee, scouted off the street, or through omegan protective services.

There are certain guidelines. Certain rules. They’d had it drilled into their heads as young impressionable alphas not to overstep.

An employer must provide comprehensive nesting materials and launder them twice weekly. An omega is not allowed to scent more than 15 people per day or work more than 25 hours in a given week. If they say they don’t want to scent a person that’s final. Omegas aren’t to be coerced into allowing anyone into their chosen nest. Disobeying an order from an omega is grounds for immediate termination because if the company loses its designation as a safe haven omegan employment opportunity- then that’s it.

There are no second chances when it comes to omega’s.

And yet despite these rules and regulations set out by the government they are an easily negotiated expense. Hoseok hadn’t been exactly resistant to the idea of bringing someone new into their orbit again or re-incorporating worktime scenting into the pack’s schedule and care plan but he hadn't been exactly ecstatic at the process either.

Was the company really established enough to support an omega full-time? Could they handle the stress of adjustment to someone new and juggle that with the stress of tours and promotions and shows? It's easier probably- if this omega isn't hired specifically for them as the last one had. It's probably for the best if this omega has more broad overarching responsibilities.

But certain factors had led him to agree even if he was tentative. Jimin had been looking so skinny- enough to set even the most respectful pack alpha on edge. Hoseok hadn’t even been pack alpha for that long either. Maybe two years at most.

Namjoon might lead the group in public but everyone could tell by just a simple look that it was Hoseok who really held the reigns. Who counted heads and double-checked the placement of a finger, a foot, a kiss. Who gripped the back of Namjoon’s neck when it became clear that the translators needed to do their jobs.

You were brought in during one of the usual monthly company meetings. All the heads of staff and Namjoon as group leader gathered in one big room, along with Hoseok and the designated pack alphas of the new groups not yet debuted.

Although Hoseok has taken a special interest in Chaewon and Soobin and taken them under his wing He knows that things might happen beyond the company's control- like what happened with him and Namjoon. Pack alpha and group leader are two separate titles. Two separate sets of responsibilities that often overlap.

But they're all starting to realize that Bangtan will always be the special case. They’re the model to emulate sure- but they’re also the exception to the rule. More than one pack has fallen apart because more than one alpha wanted to lead.

This building is still new to them, the freedom that comes with making the kind of money that they do now is new too. Namjoon hasn't even properly set up his studio yet and Yoongi is still insisting he can set up his furniture all on his own. Jungkook still does their laundry even though they could have it sent out. They don't have time for any of this.

Taehyung got lost on the way to practice the other day and had to hone in on them by scent alone. Jungkook is supposed to go into a rut in a few weeks right before an award show, if his usual rut schedule keeps, all of them can feel it coming. Hoseok has many more things on his mind than a new omega in their vicinity.

But that changes when you enter the meeting room.

Hoseok isn't thinking of a new omega and the possibilities that come with it when you walk into the room, he's only thinking of the veritable mountain of to-dos on his list after this meeting. There are several personal and public matters that require his attention and his job as pack alpha never ends.

There's a consult for Yoongi's shoulder surgery later that afternoon. And Namjoon had asked for his opinion on some rap lyrics. Jimin had asked for his eye on some new choreography and a meeting with the pack's dietician. And then after that, a meeting with an architect for their new pack house, something specially designed and renovated, more problems, reinforced steel beams, and the question that everyone was avoiding asking-

If the pack would like an omega nest room included in the plans.

On the outside, no one would ever expect Hoseok to be stressed, but he's three coffees in and not even halfway through his to-do list for the day. Namjoon knows, his hand is gripping the Hoseok’s knee under the table, a settling touch, a touch that says that if he needs- Namjoon can handle this.

But everything, everything in Hoseok's brain goes quiet at the sound of a knock on the door.

Biologically all omegas are pretty to alphas, it's just instinct and conditioning. Hoseok knows this as he stands with everyone at your entrance. It’s just biology that makes them all seem this way- delicate and gentle. Pretty in the way that small fragile flowers are pretty. The kind of thing that’s so small and cute that you just want to hold it to your chest and protect it. It’s not quite cute aggression but not far from it either.

So precious you think that if you touch them, you'll hurt them.

Hoseok thinks you might be unfairly pretty for an omega, enough that he does a bit of a double take. Looking up at you, then dropping into a bow a beat off from the others. He's not the only one, Namjoon's posture instantly straightens, even Bang Si-Hyuk at the head of the table stops tapping his pen and stands to shake your hand.

It's near-instantaneous, the way that the room falls into a hush, you aren't the first omega scenter that Bighit has hired- although usually- a scenter is a privilege only afforded to the pack during comeback season or stressful stretches of production where everything seems stalled. And even then- single sessions are much more reasonable.

But the company has more resources now, more resources that come with things like younger groups and world tours and now- a full-time scenter. Instantly Hoseok notices how you hold your head high regardless of the stares, simultaneously strong and vulnerable, trusting but cautious.

His alpha, usually controlled on a short leash, lifts its head and sniffs at the air.

By the window, Mr. Lee traces your movement across the room with his eyes as the CFO outlines the ideal schedule regarding scenting. How the online portal will function with time slots booked out at a dozen different times per day for multiple alpha sessions or single ones, less if you feel you're overwhelmed.

You'll be free to roam around the building whenever you desire for all other times, moving from space to space without the hassle of locked doors. Even just having an omega's scent circulating through the HVAC system will boost productivity by an estimated 11%.

Having the freedom to choose where you'll nest will only add to that. the last of them should be set up by the end of the day. There will be 4 on every floor and one in each practice room. If you like a spot that doesn't have one all you have to do is ask and they'll move it. This is something that would normally be left up to a regular manager but the CFO had insisted that he be personally responsible for your 'matriculation' as he puts it.

Hoseok doesn't like it one bit. He's not the only one, Mr. Lee subtly steps forward and Namjoon's jaw ticks. As the CFO is an alpha, and 10 years older than him and 15 years older than you. But it's all outlined in your contract, work hours, and obligations.

Boundaries. Boundaries are a good thing.

Seokjin had asked to read it over a few weeks later, just to make sure there was no possible way you could be taken advantage of. There are so many new people around these days. New support staff, new stylists, new trainees.

But Bangtan is the breadwinner here, Namjoon and Hoseok are on the board and this is a big decision. It's reasonable- isn't it? That the people who built the company would double check and would make sure that a new very important employee wasn't being taken advantage of.

There was no way the pack alpha of the largest group in the industry was going to hire an omega without putting in the legwork. Of course, Hoseok had put Jin up to it. But still- your photo on your application did not do you justice.

You blush at the CFO's praises, and at his insistence that your freedom to go where you feel you're needed in the company was of paramount importance a little over the top even to Hoseok’s ears. Your scent sweetens a little. Not necessarily in the way that indicated arousal or anything untoward like that, but the type of scent that indicates ease and comfort and that omega is feeling safe.

Namjoon's lips part to breathe in more of it. It's so strange to Hoseok's system that he gets a little hazy-headed, missing the next thing you say, your introduction, most of it. Blood roars in his ears as he watches you.

You’d been drawn into this company for several reasons, one being the generous pay- almost twice as much as the industry standard and the overall description. You have the power to reject scenting sessions if you’re not feeling up to it, and the medical benefits are complete (as if the government-provided omegan care wasn’t top class- not every country provides it, but you’re not used to Korea, not yet.) Your schedule is up to you, the PTO is unlimited.

And they’re not even going to make you do paperwork.

If you’re not actively in a session with someone their only request is that you nest around the building if you feel comfortable enough to not do it in private. Other than that, you have an office with a TV and dimmable shades if you feel like taking a nap.

Hoseok should check that office, make sure it's in a well traveled and easily available place should anything happen- near a fire escape hopefully, closer to the ground floor just incase but not on the ground floor in the event of intruders either- Hoseok should-

Your eyes flicker to Hoseok's only once, and a jolt goes through his body. Barely managing to resist the urge to loose a growl. Namjoon's hold on Hoseok’s knee goes hard enough to bruise.

You are not necessary for the rest of the meeting, although you sit two people off from Bang Sihyuk, a few spaces to Hoseok’s left, in the corner of his eye but drawing over half his focus. Hoseok isn’t easily distracted; he’s not easily swayed.

If this is what it’s going to be like. He’s going to need to exercise his self-control and become its master very very quickly. He cannot do this job without absolute discipline- absolute focus- absolute-

You’re mostly quiet, why are you that way? Is something not to your liking? Did you eat? It's awfully early for an omega to be awake. Do you have someone who might mind that? Someone to look after you and keep you from waking up too early. If you have an alpha- they must be a good one, they must have the epitome of self-control to allow you to work so early in the day regardless of how it must tug on their instincts. The same way they're tugging on Hoseok's right now.

You do look a little sleepy. Maybe Hoseok should offer you his sweatshirt or perhaps guide you to his studio and the comfy deep couches or-

It doesn't end up being the most productive of meetings. Hoseok spends most of the time trying to work up the courage to say something to you. Ask your opinion on the comeback colors (He's worried he doesn't look good in pink), literally anything. Trying to untangle his words from his instincts enough to not sound like an asshole who thinks omega's can't handle themselves. Time running out and Hoseok is making a shit first impression. He can tell.

You don’t leave before bowing (something that instantly sends off alarm bells in Hoseok’s head). He almost wants to tell you that there's no need but he just stays silent. He's going to beat himself up over this for ages- he's such a fool. He can't even say hello. Heart rate elevated. Mind rambling. Hands shaking so hard that he has to grip the back of Namjoon's neck to keep from trembling all over the place.

What the fuck is going on.

Your Korean is a little stilted, but Hoseok doesn’t mind it at all. Body leaning into the way your voice wraps around the words.

"Thank you for looking after me."

You’re quiet, you’re shy. You’re soft.

You’re everything. Hoseok’s alpha whispers. You’re mine. Mine mine mine mine mine mine mine

Mine.

“It’s no problem at all.” "We're at your disposal." "If we do a bad job of that please let us know." "Do you need anything for today? There's lunch in the breakroom." "you don't need to bring your own- company lunch is apart of your contract." "That food is hardly nutritious though? I can get anything you like and have it delivered to your office...or mine." “My door is always open for you." "Mine too!”

Even Namjoon had offered, voice impossibly deep, near purring. "I'm here if you need anything. Hoseok hyung too." It's not how he usually sounds, it draws Hoseok's focus for just a second. His packmate is off, Hoseok can tell. Hoseok grips the back of Namjoon's neck again just slightly scruffing him, passing it off as brushing something off his shoulder.

He watches you follow the movement before you turn away, Mr. Lee is already holding the heavy door open for you. “I've got it.” it's the first time Hoseok has heard Mr. Lee speak all month. Usually laconic, usually unspeaking. Not out of necessity but just because that's the way he is.

And the other alpha is even blushing.

Hoseok had stayed silent, he wouldn’t have been able to manage a sentence or a word even if he’d opened his mouth.

Later Yoongi will ask what you’re like, clicking through that song- a few hours into fiddling with the snare that just won’t seem to settle into the beat properly. The other alpha is always able to tell when Hoseok is on edge, and he hasn’t been able to relax since your meeting.

“How where they, they new omega?" Yoongi’s body is tense, he's been tense for hours and unwilling to just rip off the bandaid. Hoseok can sense it, but Hoseok and Yoongi have always had an easy sort of love. Hoseok does not let Yoongi stew alone but he does let him take his time to gather his thoughts.

His eyes are intent and dark. Hoseok reaches over slowly, careful not to spook him, settling his hand on the back of his neck. Yoongi relaxes imperceptibly.

Hoseok leans forward, rubbing his mouth across Yoongi's clothed shoulder before leaning his chin there and sighing.

“We’ll be careful.”

He nuzzles again just a little. A temporary relief. Feeling his alpha roil beneath his skin before he straightens back up into his own chair, Yoongi's nuckles drag along his thigh.

It will take several days for Hoseok to calm down over which time he’ll throw himself into his work and do his best to avoid you. “She has a nice voice.”

Yoongi's clicking stops momentarily.

“You know, omega’s voices are pitched at a different decibel that activates a different portion of an alpha’s hindbrain.”

“You sound like Namjoon.”

Yoongi snorts, wrinkles his nose in the way that sort of looks like he's an angry kitten. hoseok feels himself smiling before he realizes it. shoulders unfurling from their tensed up position. “He told me that earlier. Right before he headed off to the department store.”

Hoseok swallows around a growl. Keeping his breathing measured. He didn't even notice Namjoon heading off- distracted as he was. Normally Hoseok is bound to let one or two things slip when they're stressed- around comeback season or near deadlines. But there are none of those any time soon.

He’s good at coping with stress. He’s not even sure why he’s so stressed out right now. “What was he getting? A welcome gift?”

“No, I think he was getting a nest for his studio.” Hoseok curses runs a hand through his hair, and clicks around aimlessly on the program. Listening to the track again one more time through. Aware that Yoongi is watching him and not the lines of progressing audio. Aware that he’s still awaiting a response.

“You’re worried. Why?” Yoongi is always straightforward, always to the point, backward hat and sweatpants, all of him at ease and comfortable here. Hoseok debates it. Letting Yoongi in, confiding in him.

“She seemed a little…fragile. My alpha had one hell of a reaction to it.” Hoseok finally decides. It's not exactly the truth- not exactly the chorus of 'mine mine mine' still running rampant in the back of his head, a buzz in his ears, annoying and distracting. All-consuming in the silence. Hoseok will let the rest of the pack come to their own conclusions.

“They all seem that way.”

“Yeah. But this was different.”

All he knew was that the second he saw you, he knew he’d do anything for you, anything to keep you happy, safe, and healthy. And those aren’t normal feelings to have for a stranger- omega or not.

Some hidden feral part of him might have liked it a bit too much. Your vulnerability and your earnestness. Unlike alpha's or the few other omega's that Hoseok has the opportunity to meet, you don't seem to be skilled in keeping your scent meditated into something gentle or less potent. You're unable to conceal your scent even though that’s what the company hires you for. Most omega scenters would at least make some effort towards privacy.

But not you. It's almost like you don't even realize it or that you don't have the energy for it.

No- you feel and it’s right there. All laid out on the table. Your scent is never subdued- through the whole of the meeting, you never seemed to even try to contain it either. Shifting in your seat made it sour- like you were uncomfortable. When the CFO had talked it had gone mellow and mute. Like your mind was wandering.

But it had been oddly genuine. The way your scent had flickered, untamed, startled, and nervous to shy. To surprised and pleased. And then for a moment when your eyes flickered to his almost…

Excited. Sweet.

Despite Hoseok's resistance to booking you out for a session, the rest of the pack's alphas and betas do not have the same misgivings. They book time to scent you through the online portal the first week just to meet you, then once a week after (twice in Namjoon's case, he's a little over eager). Even Jimin and Seokjin who need scenting only once a month book you out twice in the first ten days although the second time Hoseok's is pretty sure it's just to give you lunch and a break.

Hoseok gets used to your scent on them, after workouts and before meetings. On the elbow of Namjoon's jacket, the other alpha blushed at Hoseok's knowing and cautioning look. The day before a showcase and in the afternoon over dinner. There are hints of it everywhere.

Hoseok never scents another alpha on you, not in the hallway when he passes you or on the others inadvertently. Omega scents- they stick differently, on everywhere and everything. Biologically it makes sense from a resource standpoint. An olfactory claim- so that other omega's will not tread over their territory. Alpha's can scent each other like normal like that too- beta's similarly although it takes a substantial cuddle for the scent to stick (ie why Jimin is nearly permanently wrapped around them even on the best of days).

For the first five or ten minutes after a scenting you might carry a bit of an alpha's scent profile- which is why the company books you out with half-hour breaks between each appointment- just to give you time to recuperate and for the scent to dissipate. Omega's are slippery, skin too soft to hold onto a scent for long. Alpha's and beta's cannot scent omega's the conventional way- not if they want to indicate a claim.

An omega only smells like another alpha if they've been knotted by them.

It's a deeper, more complete sort of scent that doesn't fade for a few days. A twinge. A subtle edge of their scent. Hoseok hates a little that his alpha picks up on it, that no one's knotted you. not recently enough to tell. He waits preemptively, tail already half tucked, anticipating disappointment. But it never comes.

If you do have a partner (or partners as most omega's have) they must not knot you frequently or at all. He's too embarrassed to mention it to the others. To ask if they've noticed too. You just shouldn't talk about omega's that way- it's impolite to point it out.

There are other small hints of you everywhere. Hoseok passes by your office on his way from his practice room to his studio, noticing food and packages, roses, and channel shopping bags with a scoff.

It's not just your scent everywhere either, Hoseok's pack mentions your name casually, tones soft and velvety. Hoseok must be imagining things- because there's no way that the pack is already saying your name with a croon.

Hoseok feels like he's losing his mind.

Namjoon's late to practice again. Which doesn't help. And Hoseok's protest dies in his throat when he catches a wif of you on Namjoon.

"Sorry I was late, she fell asleep on me and I didn't want to wake her."

Yoongi has the opportunity to jump in before Hoseok even can. Still collecting his thoughts, trying to keep his alpha down. "Did she seem tired? Is she getting enough rest?"

"We should talk to management about reducing her number of avalible time slots." Seokjin comments.

"But then it will be even harder to get scented- my next time isn't until monday, 3 whole days hyung." Taehyung drapes himself over Yoongi's back to whine.

"At least you got to scent her this week already- mine's not until tomorrow." Jungkook's pout is audible to the ears. Hoseok's growl cuts him off.

"Guys- Focus."

Jungkook doesn't go into a rut before the award show, Jungkook goes into a rut the day after he schedules his first scenting with you. A few hours later. If Hoseok's being honest he'd say he's been able to scent the pre on him- thick and musky alpha ready for a fight- ready to protect and provide and prove- barely an hour after meeting you.

Fucking hell.

Hoseok can smell where you are from a hallway away and can sense it days after if you've walked by his studio. All of it. He pretends he's not keeping track of you. Occasionally he opens up the online portal on his phone, but he never works up the courage to make an appointment with you for a scenting. Even as the weeks drag on Hoseok’s alpha gets more and more restless.

Very few omegas work and even fewer packs allow them to. It’s a function of packs- a pack without an omega isn’t one that will survive for long and to have their focus shift is entirely counterproductive. There's too much fighting between alphas, too much jostling for position and resources. Even if you like each other, even if you love each other. Hoseok has learned that it’s not easy as pack alpha, balancing their wants, desires, and the needs of 7 different people.

Even without the whole international super-star thing.

But with an omega- everyone is calmer, everyone is settled. Everyone has one singular goal guiding every interaction. Every moment.

Protect. Provide. Keep safe.

Before you- the beta’s were a little bit of a placeholder for the alpha’s more dedicated instincts. Jimin loves to be fussed over, to have his contacts taken out and his skincare patted on and manhandled from room to room. Jin loves it when they stand close and measure his breathing, his movements, his everything. The touches to his knees, his hips, the way Jungkook nuzzles into his back just so.

But they can only handle it for so long without going a little bit crazy, their instincts might be a bit more willing to handle a bit of babying. But they still have their own instincts- however fickle.

Hoseok has done nothing but that since you came into his care. Is doing only one of those things tonight, provide. A sold-out show, lyrics on the tip of his tongue and breath filling his lungs. All of it is always worth it. He loves his job; he really does but-

He loves it a little bit less when it keeps him from you. Touring isn’t only taxing on him, but taxing on you too.

Disrupting an omegas schedule with long-term travel is not recommended medically, even less for you given your fragile health. Hoseok might not have acquiesced to it at all if you hadn't pouted, and might not have agreed to it at all if not for the circumstances.

You'd been unwilling to separate yourself from him. Not after finally getting him back after so long.

Hoseok can smell your sickness on the air before he even makes it out onto your floor of the hotel, his managers, staff, and Mr. Lee following his blind spots. In the elevator and all the way up, not saying anything, his hair standing on end, foot tapping as the numbers climb higher and higher to the penthouse suite.

Everyone stills for a moment when Hoseok enters, careful to stay where he can see them. The hush of an angry alpha on the air telling. Your hotel room is crowded with doctors. It shouldn't be surprising to him. It shouldn't be so grating. Hoseok should know, he’d called them all in before leaving today. Had insisted upon Seejin staying home, that Hoseok would be fine with one of the other managers today.

They crowd parts around the waist-high nest to let him through. The nest is plush and custom, one of two- the other of your nest has already been sent to your next hotel- a luxurious expense to have an omega nest follow you wherever you go- but one that Hoseok was more than willing to pay so that you can be comfortable wherever you go. They have more than enough money to spoil you, so why shouldn’t they? What use is any of this if the one person they promise to protect and provide for isn’t taken care of?

His heart clenches painfully when he spots you, breath going a little ragged.

you're a small heap, arms and legs tucked close like you're having trouble keeping yourself warm, or maybe like the nest is too big, too unsafe. You've tucked yourself into the side of the nest, eyes closed, cheeks flushed with fever, resting prone against the side walls. All so that the doctor can press his stethoscope to your throat, your heart, and your back to listen to your lungs. he doesn't hear hoseok, ears in the stethescope,

"Can you breathe deep for me sweetheart, there you go. That's a good omega."

Hoseok can't fucking breathe.

The doctor’s part around him and quiet and the tense inch of him that hadn’t relaxed, not during the performance or the ride over one bit, finally eased away.

Hoseok drops to his knees at the edge of the nest. Normally he’d never allow anyone, fan or not, the management or not- to see him on his knees. It’s not something that any alpha does in public without ridicule. But for you he hardly even notices. Leaning over the edge of the nest. All but ready to get into it.

His hand threads a shaky hand through your hair, it's hard to tell if he's instantly soothed by your presence alone or if your breathing calms just a little more. Hoseok strokes down the curve of your head. Your eyes are closed. Neither awake or asleep. You seek out his scent almost immediately, nose pressing with a zing to his inner wrist that goes straight to his chest. Letting out a soft exhausted chirp that makes his throat and heart feel all tight.

You make a soft trilling noise, a precious little omegan sound that under other circumstances Hoseok would never allow anyone to hear but the pack. The order is clear; alpha in my nest, please come, alpha here. Hoseok's body lurches and it takes more control than he has to keep himself from tumbling into your nest entirely.

There are people here, Hoseok's instincts have already decided they're threats. Hoseok must remove them before he comes in. You turn your face into his palm nuzzling and nosing. Trying to get more of his scent on you even though you’re too stuffed up to scent him. Your other hand loosely tangles with the fabric of his shirt.

“How is she?” He breathes. Eyes fixed on your face, measuring the puffiness under your eyes, the raw skin of your nose, the dryness of your lips. You whine and reach for him, a noise so heartbreaking it almost makes Hobi want to gnash his teeth.

Hoseok spots it, the tiny band-aid on the inside of your arm. Small, pink. He blinks down at it. Thumb treading close, you hiss a little, and at closer inspection- he sees it's a little bruised.

Hoseok goes deathly still. The doctor keeps talking, oblivious to Hoseok's frightening quiet. Rushing over himself to update Hoseok. He spares no detail. No detail at all.

Hoseok burns.

“Her fever peaked this afternoon at around 101.3 degrees, at which point ant-virials were administered orally. She’s eaten a little since then and her potassium and iron levels were taken, just to be sure. A banana bag was administered at-”

the doctor breaks off as Hoseok jerks, hands tightening to fists by his side. You nose at the spot where his hand just was your eyes still closed. You're so sick he can hardly even smell you, your scent dampened by the weight of your sickness.

Logically Hoseok knows it's just a cold. You get like this every time you get sick. But logic has no place here, not now. Not with you so weak.

“You mean to say- my omega was given an IV without my approval?” rage rolls off him in waves and Seejin reaches out to set a hand on his shoulder, Hoseok doesn't even remember standing up, doesn't remember trying to shove. But between one blink and the next he's nearly doing it. Hoseok’s self-control is hanging on by a thread. “And- You did that without notifying me first?"

Hoseok is not proud of his rage, he’s not proud of a lot of things. But defending his pack has nothing to do with ego or dominance. It has nothing to do with pride as he backs the doctor up against a wall. Nearly snapping his teeth at his neck. Hoseok’s alpha wants more than blood, more than something to break under his hands. Rage makes him tremble nearly violently.

Thank God for NDAs and goodwill. Tomorrow. When Hoseok isn’t acting like a cornered dog he’ll apologize probably with a fancy gift of some sort. This same doctor who resists the urge to cower will say. “Happens all the time, you know alphas.”

But hoseok doesn't know, right now all he knows is Rage. But for now, Hoseok is a threat. An alpha is always a threat around a sick omega. His laugh sounds cruel even to his own ears. “Do you enjoy being licensed to provide omegan care doctor?”

For what it’s worth, the grey-haired doctor hardly backs off, hands raised. Seejin and Mr. Lee come close, a gentle presence waiting to see if Hoseok will snap. Hoseok should remember that you’re not his property- that you can and often do make medical decisions on your own. But right now, Hoseok’s having a hard time separating need from fear.

Hoseok watches them from the corner of his eye, part of him begging for them to intervene. For a reason to get violent. his alpha tells him violence might fix this. Might solve everything might-

“If any of you ever do anything like that again I’ll make sure you-”

You tug on his pant leg, effectively cutting him off, completely extinguishing his anger. He looks down and you’re looking up at him. Half sprawled out of the nest to reach him; hand fisted. Mouth drawn down in a pout. Eyes cracked open.

The very first time you’d ever looked up at him from the confines of your nest had taken his breath away. This time is no different.

The first time had gone something like this:

He’d been in the practice room where you’d chosen to spend the afternoon, lured in by the promise of open windows and sunlight. Hoseok had never spent too much time around omegas before. Too much like cats, too tentative, too restless.

Most of the time he treats his twice-monthly scentings as something routine. An omegan café, high-end on the edge of the city. An omega scenter in comfy pajamas, a nest that smells of cleaning spray, all for him. Rinse and repeat.

Most of the time when he sees you’ve taken a spot in his favorite practice room, he closes the door softly with a quiet apology and just goes to the one next door. Unwilling to bother you with the squeak of his shoes and the pounding of the music.

Nesting isn’t like napping, omegas can tune out sound when they’re nesting- it’s more similar to torpor in a way or hibernation. The body’s metabolism slows down and omega's go vulnerable. The brain becomes sluggish. Scent strengthens while other bodily functions dwindle like heart rate and reaction time. It’s a very very important part of omegan recovery.

Hoseok doesn’t want to interrupt that in the slightest- especially given the nagging feeling in his chest. His instincts say something that's hard to parse through. A language that he's only half fluent in. Ever-present since you've been hired.

He sees you joke around with some of the trainees and sees each of them duck their head to receive a brief (and probably slightly illegal given scenting laws) rub of your wrist over their heads before their first showcase.

Hoseok sees things like that all the time and tries to stay calm through it. Reminding himself that you are an adult, that you are not vulnerable, and you are not constantly in danger. Despite what Hoseok’s instinct are having him believe.

He was content to switch and swap for the practice room with the best acoustics. But then the next day he’d gone to the alternative practice room again and found you there again too. Flip-flopping back and forth.

He’d told Namjoon and complained a little. "Doesn't she understand that I’m trying not to disturb her? I'm trying to be respectful." Both of their backs up against the practice room wall. Bodies sweaty, resting. Hoseok hands off his water bottle giving Namjoon the first sip.

"Has it occurred to you that she might want you to disturb her?" Hoseok's expression had twisted, Namjoon's knowing smile dimply, near unreadable.

"Joon-ah, What are you thinking?" Namjoon had stood, offered his hand, and pulled Hoseok to his feet.

"I think alphas are the ones that need to do the chasing, not the ones that get chased."

So, the next day, after flip-flopping from room to room for weeks. He’d tread into his favorite practice room quietly, carefully, already able to tell you where in there from the sweetness of your scent on the air alone. The late afternoon stretches the sunset red beyond the windows. And Hoseok takes a deep breath of your scent (you've been in here for hours, it covers the air in thick blushes of berries that have goosebumps rising to his arms).

You don't notice, you don't hear, eyes staying fixed on the sunset. He makes a small noise in his throat. More submissive than he means it.

You look from the window to him.

Your scent- it’s hard to describe your and if asked Hoseok might fail to properly pinpoint it. It's something deep and fresh but sweet and airy like a summer evening with a nearly berry undertone. Blackberries or blueberries, the tart feeling of them hitting your tongue. It's a lovely scent, a unique one. Hoseok has never met another person omega or not- that smelled half as delicious as you.

You’d looked up at him and smiled. Hoseok’s throat had felt tight, his spine straighter than stretching could ever get it.

He waits a beat, another. He's completely forgotten why he's in here for a split second and he stumbles into the room. Voice shaky. Totally not a good first impression- this is the first time you've ever been alone together in the same room. The first time you've ever been one on one with Hoseok.

Hoseok is making a fool of himself. He should have brought food or maybe a gift like namjoon did. Maybe one of those fancy little drinks with the cut up fruit from the cafe downstairs.

“Is- is it alright if I practice in here?” He even stutters. He can hear Namjoon and Yoongi snickering from a floor away.

“Yes!” You’d chirped, resting your cheek against the edge of the nest, pausing before you’d continue. Squirming a little happily, and Hoseok huffs, sort of endeared, sort of less nervous just by how eager you seem. This is why you’re here in this room. He shouldn’t be blushing watching you shift and get comfortable in the nest.

He’s been measuring them- tracking the similarities from nest to nest, some omegas like a lot of blankets- others like a lot of pillows. But you don’t like too much, just a duvet occasionally in some of the other colder practice rooms- especially the ones underground. And a pillow now stuck between your knees for you to wrap your body around while you nest.

He might have seen you do that with Jungkook at one point. After his rut when he'd been a little… volatile. And he'd walked into the breakroom- the other alpha nearly completely tucked beneath your body. Hoseok might have spent hours thinking about it, it's hard not to notice and Hoseok knows omegas like to hug things but-

He might actually be going insane

“I've always wanted to watch you practice on your own!” hoseok flushes furiously and tries to turn away so you can't see, unsure what to say even less what to do. At second glance you're half lifting yourself out of the nest, something that sets off alarm bells in his head. Nearly makes him come close and shush you- ask you to sink back into it. "What one are you gonna do? Hope world? Or-" you prattle on while Hoseok's eyebrows climb higher and higher into his hairline.

Oh? Could it be that you're- that you're a fan? That you like their music. Hoseok's not sure why- but he didn't expect that, or expect this.

You are not strangers, you’ve met before. Only that time You were upright and Hoseok- shaking your hand careful not to squeeze too hard. Making the rounds to meet everyone personally. Eyes flickering from your clasped hands to your face and back again. Nostrils flaring as you caught his scent in the air.

Hoseok knows he smells good, like drippy mangos in the summertime. Sun-warmed fruit. Mellow but sticky. He preens a little at having an omega so obviously appreciate it.

You must not know what you’re doing to him at all as you lift your nose to the air and breathe deep, pausing in your listing of his many performances, eyes fluttering. He knows you like his scent as he sets up, out of the corner of his eye he catches something that looks suspiciously like a happy little shiver. If a beta or alpha did that it might be creepy- but an omega.

Hoseok might have scrubbed off his scent blockers just a little earlier. So you could smell him better.

This is different than your first meeting. This is the first time he’s ever been alone with you. You are the only two people here now. And the quiet and intimate proximity makes Hoseok’s skin feel tingly. But this is just what omega’s do, just what omega’s feel like. Hoseok had been warned that his body might have…peculiar reactions to being around an omega regularly for a prolonged period of time. Increased protective instincts.

The other boys aren’t here to soften the edge of tension with their puppy pile clamor. You attend their group practices a few times a week. Your officially booked time is a bit different, but when you’re not booked out and in the hours between your sessions with the other groups- you do gravitate a little to their spaces.

Hoseok’s not quite sure if he’s noticing a pattern or if his instincts are just overly hopeful.

But this is different. Feels different as Hoseok sets out his water bottle and queues up the music. His heart shouldn’t be beating so fast. “So you know our stuff?” He teases getting comfortable. You hide your blush under the edge of the nest.

"Just a little. I looked you up when I started working here-"

"Everythings to your liking?" He asks, checks, keeping you in his peripheries, mindful of startling you or making you nervous. Any omega would get nervous one on one with an alpha. You should never feel that way around him- Hoseok doesn't want you to.

"Yes- everyone's been so welcoming." He hums, it's more of a pur, more of a muted growl. When he looks back at you- you're looking at him. Eye contact. Too quick. Hoseok looks away.

He clears it out of his throat, shaking himself clean a little. "What do you wanna see? I don't usually take requests but-" For you I might. For you I would. Hoseok hides his flush by clicking around on the computer, audio files listed alphabetically. The concert arrangements- not the regular recordings.

You hum thoughtfully, tipping your head this way and that, leaning your chin against the omega nest. It’s a simple one, fairly standard. It sort of looks like an oversized cat bed, set up kind of minimally (something about that doesn’t please Hoseok’s alpha, although you do have similar omega nests in just about every room in the building, meant to facilitate your comfort in whichever space you might ask for).

Hoseok had come upon you asking two trainees to move yours to the hallway with all the windows (that was suspiciously close to his, Namjoon’s, and Yoongi’s studios.) It will be a few more weeks until you ask them if it's okay if you set up a private nest in the corner of their studios. Yoongi already has a spot cleared out just in case. Namjoon's had one set up in the first week.

The other day he had walked by just as you cupped their cheeks and dragged your wrist down their throats, the pair of alpha’s flushing red and smelling heady. A priceless reward and one that Hoseok was instantly jealous of.

Maybe he'll get that today.

Hoseok is always keenly aware of your nests when he finds them empty- they’re not always unadorned, sometimes there are pink frilly sweaters and sweatshirts draped over the edge. Gifts from alpha’s whose scent you like and betas too. There’s one in the waiting room with a maplestory plush that Jin keeps well-scented and you tend to tote from spot to spot. Jin smells as pretty as he looks; like fresh orange blossom and lemon slices, something citrusy and fresh.

During practice with you in the corner. Taehyung asks you why and you tell him gladly. easily. intimacy with others ins't always easy with a pack as close knit as there's they have friends too- but Hoseok is always nervous, always watching and making sure his pups are okay and not asking private personal questions that certainly are not work appropriate. He's just about to say something to Taehyung when you respond, resting your cheek across the top of the pink plush, blinking up at him blearily. "I like to hug things in my sleep,"

Yhe alpha had leaned over to ruffle your hair. You'd pressed up into the touch happily. "You're just like me! If you need to nap and I need to nap we should like- hug each other!"

That painfully obvious attempt at flirting had been the source of many teasing episodes over the last few weeks. Jungkook had needed to be taken over a lap for high-pitched. "You're just like me," More than once. An inside joke in the making if ever there was one. Taking care of his pack is easy for Hoseok, every movement practiced so many times he could do it with his eyes closed.

The next day, there might have been a full-sized teddy bear, scented by each member of the pack, waiting in your office for you. The pack had waited for Hobi to be done with a meeting just so that he could scent it too and he could scent it last, making his scent on it the strongest.

Call it a welcoming gift if you're too shy to call it a courting gift.

The pack's scents are a comforting overlap, one that Hoseok is intimately familiar with. He can smell that this nest, the one in his practice room, has traces of them. He knows the whole pack’s schedules and often wakes up early just to pour over it with coffee. And he knows that you’ve seen each of them over the last week for a session. That you see them every week that sometimes- you bump people to the next day just in case.

Hoseok just didn’t realize you’ve had your sessions here, in his practice room until right now.

Hoseok knows this, knows that you like his pack’s scent, and yet. You have nothing in this nest, nothing in his practice room from any of the others. Your omega nest is simple and unadorned in here. Here it's just you and just him. You tilt your head to the side, thoughtfully considering his question.

“The pretty one, the one that you and Jiminie do.” Jiminie huh, Hoseok’s alpha had purred, nicknames already. Hoseok doesn’t say anything, he just nods and queues up the track, turning it lower than he normally would. Aren’t omega’s ears more sensitive? Is that something that he should be worried about?

Hoseok doesn’t miss a single step, keenly aware of your chin perched on the edge of your nest. Intimately aware of your eyes on him following his every movement.

The world and everything outside of the room melts away. Until it's only the music and you.

~-~

It’s a far cry from now, as you peer up at him from the nest. Cheeks flushed with fever. Tugging all of his attention inches away from this confrontation getting bloody. Hoseok's hands are claws against the alpha doctor's skin, one on his shoulder and the other on his throat. All Hoseok sees is red, all Hoseok sees is you. Hoseok is finally able to fixate on you again. For today at least, the performance is done. It is once again just you and him.

Scared, omega hurt. Omega might go, omega can't go. has to stay. Fear- no- it's terror. It's always terrifying when you're sick. Because one day you might not get better. One day that might be it. Protect, treat. Feed. Get rid of the threat of omega and keep omega safe. Soft omega, my omega, sick omega. Keep safe keep safe keep safe keep-

Your voice is so quiet, but Hoseok would hear it in a roaring stadium. Over 6,000 people or 60,000. It cuts through the panic, his heavy breath heaving in his chest, bones creaking with the force of his trembling. Their whole body out of wack.

Hoseok has only ever wanted for you to be okay. He wants it so badly that it burns in his throat. Worse than a lump, worse than an ache. A wound.

“Hobi." Your tone leaves no room for argument. "Stop it. You’re being mean.”

~-~

Notes:

the beginning part of this might be a little bit too much for me. i'm having alot of family issues right now. i did /not/ intend on putting it in this fic but oh wellllllllll

honestly i struggled to articulate their dynamic in the sections with jimin, hoseok, and namjoon also ft. yoongi but!!! i think i did a good job! and people wanted to see more of dom jimin. i wanted to emphasize that they're all dominant in some way over the m/c but they all step aside when they need to exercise those dominant feelings.

i love playing with reader expectations vs experience in fics, i really want you guys /as/ readers to question whether or not her parents were right in trying to hide her being an omega.

less notes this time because i kept getting distracted from this fic and all the shit that is going on in my life at the moment. not only bts's comeback but also just life stuff. my older sister is getting married next week so i will be away. because of that i might not get around to answering messages for a little while (either that or i'll be camped out responding to each and every one of them and escaping to this fantasy world lol)

196 notes · View notes

the-unidentified-author · 2 days ago

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I Want to Fill My Mouth With Your Name. I Want to Eat You Whole. | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds| Thunderbolts*

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], shy guy, smut, nerd, talks you through it, maybe not as nerdy as you thought, his eyes glow when he cums, he likes to talk you through it, consensual!

Summary: Youre working late at night and Bob joins you not wanting to be alone in the tower. One thing leads to another and now you have him in your mouth as he moans your name.

Word Count: 5,877

A/n: Long one again sorryyyyy.

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

It had been a long day, the kind of day that left your head aching and your eyes bleary from staring at computer screens. Working later was something that you hated, but occasionally, it was a requirement. You were a scientist, one of the best, and you had been employed and set to work in the Avengers tower. Your work mostly consisted of studying the various skills of those that resided in the tower, along with cataloguing and keeping track of the super serums.

You’d been holed up in your lab for hours, the fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving, the hum of machines a constant drone in your ears. You were tired, bone-tired, but you couldn’t stop. If you did, then you would just have to come back to it in the morning and well you were in the flow now.

And then, like a breath of fresh air, Bob had appeared in the doorway, lingering uncertainly, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “You’ve been down here a while,” he’d said, voice soft, hesitant. “I thought… maybe you could use some company?”

You’d tried to wave him off, to tell him you were fine, but he’d taken a tentative step into the room, eyes darting around like he wasn’t quite sure where to look. “I could help,” he’d offered, nodding towards a stack of haphazard files. “With the organising, I mean. If—if you want.”

You’d protested, but truth be told, you were grateful for the help—and for the company. The tower could be lonely, especially at night, and you knew Bob didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts any more than you did.

The work had gone quicker with Bob’s help, his presence a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. You’d fallen into an easy rhythm, a comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional soft comment or gentle tease.

“You know, I had no idea you were so good at filing,” you’d said at one point, shooting him a playful grin, trying to draw him out of his shell.

He’d ducked his head, a faint blush staining his cheeks. “Well, I—I have a good memory,” he’d murmured, eyes fixed on the files in his hands. “And I like to help. Where I can.”

Your heart had warmed at that, at the quiet admission, the vulnerability in his hunched shoulders, his downcast eyes. You’d wanted to reach out, to brush that errant lock of hair from his forehead, to tilt his chin up and tell him just how much you appreciated him, how much his presence meant. But instead you turned back to your work, trying not to think about him.

A few hours later and the two of you had made a sizeable dent in cataloguing and organising the myriad of files you had been sent. It was late now, the tower was hushed, the city’s glow beyond the windows dimmed to a gentle amber, as if even the bustling metropolis knew to give you this pocket of peace. You could almost forget the world existed outside these walls—almost. The only sound was the rustle of papers and the soft click of keys, a quiet symphony punctuating the stillness as you and Bob worked late into the evening.

You were pouring over mission reports and data readouts long after everyone else had retired for the night, the faint hum of the sleeping building a comforting backdrop. The room was warm, the air heavy with the scent of old books and new technology, the glow of computer screens casting eerie shadows on the walls.

Bob sat across from you, brow furrowed in concentration, golden brown hair tousled from running his fingers through it repeatedly. The soft light cast half his face in shadow, but you could still trace the bow of his lips, the line of his jaw, the curve of his neck disappearing beneath his collar. The play of muscle and tendon in his forearms, the hoodie he always wore pulled up them to just below the elbow.

He was close enough that you caught the faint, clean scent of him—not just soap and warm skin, but something indefinable, something superhuman. It was a heady, intoxicating scent, like sunshine and salt and power, and it made your head swim, made you want to lean closer, to breathe him in.

The surrounding room faded away, your focus narrowing on him—the way his lashes fluttered as he read, the way his fingers drummed on the table, the way his throat worked when he swallowed. You were caught, captivated.

You shouldn’t be staring. But you couldn’t help it, couldn’t tear your eyes away even as your mind raced, wondering at this sudden, intense pull you felt.

Why him? Why now? You’d known Bob for weeks. But something was different now, something had shifted, like a key turning in a lock, a door swinging open to reveal a room you’d never known was there.

Maybe it was the intimacy of the moment, the hush of the empty tower, the lateness of the hour. Perhaps it was the way he’d smiled at you earlier, warm and open and just for you. Or perhaps you were just too tired, you thought to yourself.

You’d always found him attractive, of course—what red-blooded person wouldn’t? But this was different. This was a yearning, an ache, a need that went beyond the physical, that tugged at something deep in your chest, something you hadn’t even known was there.

You wanted to know him, you realised with a start. Wanted to understand what went on behind those big, sad, blue eyes, wanted to trace the lines of his mind as surely as you wanted to trace the lines of his body. Wanted to see him, really see him, in a way no one else did.

And maybe, just maybe, you wanted him to see you too.

Reaching for a tablet, your hand accidentally brushed his where it lay on the table. He flinched—actually flinched, a soft gasp escaping. You paused, curious, watching him visibly compose himself, cheeks tinged a fascinating shade of pink.

“Sorry,” you offered, not sorry at all, mind already whirring with questions—and possibilities. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s—it’s fine. I just—” He searched for words, fumbling, before looking away, abashed. “Sometimes I’m a little jumpy.”

“Jumpy,” you echoed, not quite a question, filing that reaction away. Your eyes traced his profile, the tension in his shoulders, the way his breathing had quickened just slightly. “Is it…me?”

He tried to laugh it off, but the sound was strained, the nervous energy lingering between you like a live wire. “It’s not you, I mean—it’s sort of me. It’s just… well, sometimes things feel a little… more, for me. With my powers.”

You angled your body toward him, curiosity blooming between you. “More?” you repeated softly, letting the word linger, inviting him to say more.

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of a folder, not meeting your gaze. “Yeah. It’s—my senses. All of them. Good, bad… it can get intense.”

You let the silence settle for a moment, thinking about what it would be like to feel everything turned all the way up—touch and sound and light, every sensation pressed close. “Is it always like that?” you asked, softer. “Even now?”

He shot you a glance, half sheepish, half defiant. “It’s worse when I’m…tired. Or if I feel—” He broke off, swallowing, his gaze drifting to his lap. “If I’m… nervous, I guess. Or… when something gets my attention.”

You felt your pulse speed up, imagining that you were the ‘something’ that caught his attention. “That sounds overwhelming,” you murmured. “Don’t you ever want a break from it?”

Bob gave a breath of laughter, shaky but genuine. “All the time. But sometimes it’s…not so bad. If it’s the right kind of feeling.”

You watched him for a long moment, the lines of his jaw, the vulnerable curve of his mouth. He was still tense, but there was something open in his eyes now, something that made warmth spill through you. Something stirred within you, something brave.

“What kind of feeling is it now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, afraid to break whatever fragile, electric moment you’d found together.

He met your gaze at last. There was a question there, but also hope, and beneath that, unmistakable want.

The room’s tension thickened, the city humming distantly outside, a quiet bubble forming around your corner of the world. That faint feeling of bravery started to burn, fill your chest. You knew what you wanted, and you decided to tip the boat out. You shifted closer, hesitating for just a moment before your next words came out, softer than before, careful: “Bob… what if… what if, I could make you feel good? Would you want that?”

His eyes found yours, uncertain but achingly hopeful. The tension was thick, and regret started to rain down on you. But then he nodded, just a small jerk of his chin. “I—I think I would.”

You held his gaze, your heart thumping hard in your chest, something warm and giddy rising in you at the trust in his eyes, the tentative want. Your fingers twitched at your side, but you didn’t reach out, not yet. You wanted to savour this moment, the sweet, heavy anticipation of it.

“Can you… can you tell me more?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “What does it feel like, with your powers? When it’s good?”

He swallowed, throat working. “It’s… it’s a lot, sometimes. Like—like everything is turned up, too bright, too loud. But when it’s good, it’s… it’s like I can feel everything. Everywhere.”

“Everywhere,” you echoed softly, something fluttering in your stomach at the thought. “And do you… do you want that? To feel… everything?”

He nodded again, a small shiver running through him. “Yes,” he breathed, voice rough.

Your gaze wandered over him—tracing the line of his throat, the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his bicep straining against his sleeve. You imagined the warmth of his skin, the hitch of his breath, the way he might tremble under your hands.

“Where… where would you want me to start?” you asked, your voice shaking just slightly.

He wet his lips, chest heaving. “I—I don’t know. I just… I trust you.”

“Trust me,” you echoed, something warm blooming in your chest. “I—I like that. I like that a lot.”

You moved slowly around the table, and he turned to you, eyes watching as you moved closer. You reached out then—not to touch, not yet, but to let your fingers hover just above his skin, close enough to feel the heat of him. You traced the air over his hand, his wrist, his forearm, watching in fascination as he shivered.

“Is… is this okay?” you murmured, glancing up at him through your lashes.

He nodded frantically, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Please,” he whispered, and the word seemed to hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. “Please.”

But still, you waited, drawing out the moment, letting the tension and anticipation build and build between you until it was a physical thing, a weight in the room, a thrumming in your veins.

“Bob,” you breathed at last, and his name on your lips was a question, a promise, a prayer.

“Please,” he said again, voice raw with want. “I need—I need you to touch me. I need—”

You started slow, stepping between his legs spread open on his chair, letting your fingers trail up his forearm, tracing the lines of his veins just beneath the skin. His arm was dusted with fine, dark hair, the muscle beneath solid and defined. You marvelled at the size of his hands—large, strong, capable—as they trembled ever so slightly at your touch.

He shivered under your touch, eyes fluttering shut, breath quickening. You could see the corded muscles of his forearms flexing, feel the heat radiating from his skin, the vitality pulsing just beneath the surface.

“Bob,” you murmured, voice low, soothing. “Just relax. Let yourself feel it.”

He nodded, throat working, and you could feel the tension in him slowly unwinding, his body leaning into your touch.

Your fingers danced up to his shoulder, tracing the curve of muscle there, before trailing up the side of his neck. He shivered again, a soft sound escaping his parted lips, and you smiled, something warm and powerful blooming in your chest.

“Is this good?” you asked, your lips just inches from his ear. “Do you like this?”

“Y-yes,” he breathed, voice shaky. “God, yes. More.”

You obliged, your fingers slipping into his hair, moving through the soft strands. He practically melted against you, a low moan vibrating in his throat.

“Bob,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Can I… can I kiss you?”

He nodded frantically, turning his face towards you, and you closed the distance between you slowly, so slowly, giving him every chance to pull away.

But he didn’t. He met you halfway, his lips soft and warm against yours, hesitant at first, then growing bolder, more desperate.

You kissed him slow and deep, pouring every ounce of want and care and tenderness you had into the press of your lips, the slide of your tongue against his. He responded in kind, hands coming up to grip your shoulders, your hair, anywhere he could reach, like he was afraid you might disappear.

When you finally broke apart, you were both panting, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing. You could feel the heat of him everywhere, like a brand on your skin.

“Bob,” you murmured, voice rough with want. “Can I… can I touch you? Really touch you?”

He nodded, eyes wide and dark and full of trust and a little lust, and you took a shaky breath, your hands sliding down to the hem of his shirt.

You paused there, giving him one last chance to say no, to change his mind, but he just looked at you, waiting, wanting.

So you slid your hands under his hoodie, palms flat against the warm skin of his stomach, his chest, feeling the muscles jump under your touch. He was all smooth skin and chiseled strength, his body trembling just slightly, like he was holding back, waiting for you to make the next move.

His abs were rock-hard under your hands, each muscle defined and distinct. You could feel the raw power coiled in him, barely contained, a thrill of exhilaration shooting through you at the thought of all that strength beneath your hands.

You took your time, exploring every inch of him, fingertips tracing the lines of his ribs, the dip of his navel, the curve of his hipbones. He shivered and shuddered under your touch, breath coming in soft pants, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying to memorise every sensation.

It struck you then, the contrast between the powerful superhero who could lift cars and crush steel in his bare hands, and the trembling man beneath your fingertips, vulnerable and open, willingly surrendering himself to your touch.

Each brush of your fingers drew soft gasps and whimpers from his throat, his body reacting with raw sensitivity to every caress. He was like clay beneath your hands, muscles shifting and flexing, following your touch like he couldn’t bear to lose the contact.

His hands remained fisted at his sides, his immense strength leashed, allowing you to set the pace, to explore and map out the topography of his body at your leisure.

“Bob,” you whispered, your hands sliding around to his back, fingertips digging into the muscles there. “Do you want… do you want more?”

He nodded, frantic, desperate, hips rocking up into your touch. “Yes,” he breathed, voice raw with want. “God, yes. Please.”

And that was all you needed to hear.

You took a shaky breath, your hand sliding slowly down his stomach, your fingers teasing just beneath the waistband of his jeans. He was panting now, his breath hot against your neck as he leaned in close, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, your voice rough with want, with nerves.

He nodded frantically, his hands moving to your waist, gripping tight like he was afraid you might disappear. “Yes,” he breathed, the word hot against your skin. “God, yes. Please.”

You worked the button of his jeans open with trembling fingers, the sound of his zip echoing in the quiet room. You could feel the heat of him through the thin cotton of his boxer-briefs, the hard ridge of his erection straining against the fabric.

You palmed him through the material, revealing in the way he bucked into your touch, the way his breath caught in his throat. He was pulsing beneath your touch, his hips rocking shamelessly, his hands tightening on your waist.

“Please,” he panted, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “Please, I need—”

You slipped your hand beneath the waistband of his underwear then, your fingers brushing against the hot, hard length of him. He was silky-smooth and scorching to the touch, pulsing under your fingertips, a pearl of wetness beading at the tip.

You teased him with feather-light touches, tracing the veins, the ridge of his head, the soft skin of his balls. He moaned low in his throat, hips jerking, hands clenching on your waist.

“Tell me what you need, Bob,” you whispered, your voice low, seductive. “I want to hear you say it.”

He shuddered, a full-body tremor that seemed to wrack him from head to toe. “I need you,” he breathed, voice raw with want, with need. “I need to feel you, all of you.”

You smiled against his hair, your fingers still teasing, stroking, exploring. “You want me to… what, Bob?” you teased, your teeth grazing the curve of his ear. “You want me to touch you? Taste you?”

He nodded frantically, his breath coming in harsh pants, his hands clenching and unclenching on your waist. “Yes,” he gasped, hips bucking shamelessly into your touch. “God, yes. Please.”

You closed your fist around him then, stroking slowly from base to tip, your thumb swiping over the sensitive head. He moaned a broken guttural sound, hips rocking into your touch, his breath hot and harsh against your neck.

“Like this?” you murmured, your voice low, rough. “Is this what you need?”

“Yes,” he gasped, nodding frantically. “Yes, please, more.”

You stroked him slowly, torturously, varying your grip, your speed, keeping him on edge. He was trembling against you, his breath coming in ragged pants, his hips rocking shamelessly into your touch.

“Please,” he panted, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “Please, I need—”

You leaned in then, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “What do you need, Bob?” you whispered, your voice low, seductive. “Tell me what you need.”

He shuddered, a full-body shiver that seemed to wrack him from head to toe. “I need you,” he breathed, voice raw with want, with need. “I need to feel you, all of you.”

You smiled against his skin, your teeth grazing the lobe of his ear. “You want me to… what, Bob?” you teased, your hand still stroking him slowly, torturously. “You want me to taste you?”

You let your hand slide away from him then, trailing your fingers up his thigh as you sank slowly to your knees in front of him. His eyes widened, breath catching in his throat as he watched you settle there, your hands coming to rest on his hips.

“Is this okay?” you asked, your voice low, rough with want. “Do you want me like this, Bob?”

He nodded frantically, his hands fisting in your hair, his hips bucking forward, seeking your touch. “Yes,” he breathed, voice raw, pleading.

You smiled up at him, your hands sliding slowly up his thighs, your thumbs brushing the crease of his hips. He shivered under your touch, breath coming quick and harsh.

“You want me to touch you?” you teased, your voice low, seductive. “You want me to taste you?”

He nodded frantically, his hips rocking forward, his hands tightening in your hair. “Yes,” he gasped, voice rough with want. “Please, yes.”

You leaned in then, your breath ghosting over the hot, hard length of him, and you could feel him trembling, feel the way his muscles tensed and jumped beneath your hands.

“Please,” he panted, his voice raw, needy.

And with that, you leaned in, your lips brushing the tip of him, your tongue darting out to taste the bead of wetness there. He moaned brokenly, hips bucking, hands fisting tight in your hair.

You took him into your mouth then, slowly, teasingly, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock. He was hot and hard and throbbing against your tongue, and you could feel the way he trembled, the way his breath caught in his throat.

“God,” he panted, his head thrown back, his hands tight in your hair. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

You took him deeper then, your mouth sliding down his length, your tongue stroking the underside of his cock. He moaned low in his throat, his hips rocking forward, his hands urging you on.

You could feel him pulsing against your tongue, feel the way his muscles tensed and jumped beneath your hands. You could taste the salt of his skin, the musk of his arousal, and it was heady, intoxicating.

“Please,” he panted, his voice rough with need. “Please, I’m so close. I need—”

You moaned around him, the sound vibrating against his skin, and you could feel him shudder, feel the way his cock throbbed against your tongue.

You worked him with your mouth, your tongue, your hands, driving him higher, pushing him closer to the edge. He was trembling against you, his breath coming in harsh pants, his hands fisting tight in your hair.

“Please,” he panted, his voice raw, needy. “Please, I’m going to—”

And with that, he came, his cock pulsing against your tongue, his hips bucking wildly in the chair. You swallowed him down, moaning at the taste of him, the feel of him throbbing against your tongue.

He shuddered, a full-body tremor that wracked him from head to toe, and you could feel the tension draining out of him, feel the way his muscles went loose and liquid beneath your hands.

You pulled back slowly, your tongue darting out to lick the last drops from the tip of his cock. He moaned softly, his hands falling from your hair to your shoulders. Then as his breath steadied, his hands cupped your face, his thumbs stroking your jaw.

“God,” he breathed, voice rough, sated. “That was—”

You smiled up at him, your hands sliding up his thighs to rest on his hips. “Good?” you teased, your voice low, playful.

He was still panting, his chest heaving, as you rose to your feet. Before he could say anything, though, he reached down, tucking himself back into his boxers, with shaking hands. You watched him, your heart racing in your chest, anticipation coiling tight in your belly. Then his hands found your waist again, tugging you closer until you stood between his spread thighs, your bodies flush against each other.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft, sincere. “For trusting me. For letting me… letting me take care of you.”

He shivered, his arms coming around you, holding you tight against him. “Thank you,” he whispered back, his voice rough, emotional. “For… for everything.”

You held him like that for a long moment, just savouring the feel of him in your arms, the steady thump of his heart against yours. Eventually, though, he pulled back, his hands coming up to frame your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

He looked at you, his eyes dark, intense. “I want… I want to take care of you too,” he murmured, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, toying with the collar of your lab coat. “Can I… can I touch you? Can I make you feel good?”

You shivered, your breath catching in your throat, and you nodded, leaning into his touch. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice rough with want. “Yes. Please.”

He smiled then, slow and wicked, and his hands slid down your body, pushing your lab coat off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. You shivered, feeling exposed, vulnerable, but so, so wanted, his fingers going to the buttons of your shirt. You shivered, your skin prickling with goosebumps, your breath coming quick and harsh.

He undid the buttons slowly, carefully, his knuckles brushing against your skin with every one. You could feel the heat of him through your shirt, the faint tremor in his fingers, and it sent a thrill through you, a shiver of anticipation.

When he was done, he pushed your shirt off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor on top of your lab coat. You shivered, feeling exposed, vulnerable, but so, so wanted.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes roaming over you hungrily, taking in every inch of your body. “So beautiful.”

You moaned softly, arching into his touch, your hands fisting in his hair. He teased you with feather-light touches, his fingers skating over your skin, tracing the curves and planes of your body.

“Bob,” you panted, your voice rough with need.

He cut you off with a kiss, his lips hot and demanding against yours, his tongue delving into your mouth to taste you, claim you. You moaned, kissing him back just as fiercely, your hands roaming his body, desperate for the feel of his skin against yours.

Bob stood, then He walked you back towards the lab table just a few steps behind you, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, lifting you easily. You wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against him shamelessly, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He pulled his hoodie over his head, his head tilting slightly as you looked at him. Bare chest and rippling muscles, he liked the way you looked at him.

“Please,” you panted against his lips as he kissed you again.

He moaned, his hips bucking against yours, his cock hot and hard against your core. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his voice rough, needy. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you feel so good.”

He set you down on the edge of the lab table, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist. You shivered, the cool metal of the table against your bare skin, the heat of his touch branding you.

“Lean back,” he murmured, his voice low, commanding, and you obeyed, your elbows resting on the table behind you.

He smiled then, slow and wicked, and his fingers hooked in the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down your legs, discarding them on the floor. You shivered, feeling exposed, vulnerable, but so, so wanted.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes dark and hungry as he took in the sight of you, spread out before him like a feast.

He leaned in then, his breath hot against your core, and you felt his tongue dart out, tasting you, teasing you. You moaned, your hips bucking shamelessly, your fingers tangling in his hair.

It was hard to believe that just minutes ago, he had been shy and uncertain, his cheeks flushed as he confessed his desires to you. Now, there was no trace of that hesitation, that nervousness. In its place was a hunger, a need that bordered on animalistic.

“Is this what you need?” he murmured, his voice low, seductive. “Do you want me to taste you now? To make you feel good?”

You nodded frantically, your hips rocking against his mouth, your breath coming in harsh pants. “Yes, Bob, I want that.” you gasped, your voice rough with want.

He smiled against your skin, then leaned in, his tongue delving into your heat, tasting you deeply. You moaned, your hips bucking against his mouth, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He feasted on you like a man starved, his tongue stroking, probing, exploring every inch of your sensitive flesh. He moaned against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, sending shivers down your spine.

You could feel the heat building in your core, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every swipe of his tongue, every brush of his lips. You were panting, moaning, your hips rocking shamelessly against his mouth, seeking more, more.

“Bob,” you panted, your voice rough with need. “Please. I need… I need to come. Please, make me come.”

He moaned against your skin, his tongue moving faster, harder, his fingers digging into your thighs. You could feel the scrape of his teeth against your sensitive flesh, the suction of his mouth as he drew your clit between his lips.

The contrast between his earlier shyness and this hungry, desperate man was intoxicating, overwhelming. You could feel the last of your control slipping away, feel the tension cresting, crashing over you.

You came with a cry, your hips bucking wildly against his mouth, your fingers tightening in his hair. He moaned against your skin, his tongue stroking you through your orgasm, prolonging the waves of pleasure that washed over you.

As you came down from the high, your breath slowing, your body going limp against the table, you marvelled at the transformation in him. This man, this hungry, desperate man, was the same shy, uncertain boy you had comforted just minutes ago.

He stood then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked down at you, sprawled out on the table like an offering.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice low, rough with want. “Do you want me, all of me?”

You nodded frantically, your breath still coming in soft pants. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice raw with need. “I want all of you, Bob.”

He smiled then, slow and wicked, and he reached down, to the waistband of his jeans, pushing them down his hips along with his boxer-briefs.

You moaned softly at the sight of him, hard and leaking, the evidence of his want, his need for you. He was beautiful, every inch of him, and you wanted him, all of him, with a desperation that bordered on madness.

He stepped between your spread thighs, his hands coming to rest on your hips, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, his voice low, earnest. “I won’t hurt you.”

You nodded, trusting him, loving him, needing him. He lined himself up with your entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your heat.

He pushed in slowly, carefully, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. You were tight, so tight, and he was big, stretching you, filling you.

“God,” he breathed, his voice raw with pleasure, with awe. “You feel… you feel incredible.”

You moaned, arching into his touch, your hands fisting on the table behind you. He bottomed out inside you, his hips flush against yours, and he stilled, giving you time to adjust, to breathe.

Fuck, she’s tight, he thought, his breath catching in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. So tight, and so warm, and so… fuck, she feels like heaven.

He could feel the way your walls gripped him, like a fist, like a vice, and it took everything he had not to move, not to thrust, not to lose himself in the incredible feel of you.

Gentle, he reminded himself, his hands trembling on your hips, his thumbs stroking soothing circles on your skin. I need to be gentle. I can’t hurt her. I won’t hurt her.

“Move,” you panted, your voice rough, a command. “Please, Bob. I need you to move.”

He obliged, pulling out slowly, then thrusting back in, his hips snapping against yours. You moaned, your legs coming up to wrap around his waist, urging him deeper, harder.

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck and shoulders bunching with the effort of holding himself back. “Ah, fuck,” he grunted, his voice rough, strained.

She feels so fucking good, he thought, his teeth grinding together as he fought for control. So tight, so hot, like she was made for me.

His arms trembled with the effort of holding himself up, his muscles taut and straining. He was fighting himself, fighting the urge to let go, to lose himself in the incredible feel of you.

Can’t… can’t lose control, he thought, even as his hips continued to move,

He started slow, careful, like he was afraid of hurting you, of losing control. But it felt so good, so right, the slide of him inside you, the friction of his skin against yours.

“Harder,” you panted, your hands sliding down his back, your nails digging into his skin. “Please, Bob. I need… I need more.”

He moaned, his hips bucking against yours, his pace increasing, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. He was losing control, his movements becoming less careful, more desperate.

Fuck, fuck, I’m losing it, he thought frantically, even as his hips continued to snap against yours. I’m going to hurt her, I know I am, but fuck, she feels so good, so tight, so perfect.

He could feel the last of his control slipping away, feel the need, the hunger, the desperation clawing at his insides, demanding more, more, more.

“I’m so close,” you panted, your voice raw with need, with pleasure. “Bob, I’m so close.”

She wants this, he thought, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. She wants me, all of me, even like this, even out of control.

He shifted his angle, his cock rubbing against that perfect spot inside you, and you saw stars. You came with a cry, your walls clamping down on him, your nails digging into his back.

Fuck, she’s coming, he thought, his hips bucking wildly, his cock pulsing inside you as he followed you over the edge, spilling himself deep into your heat. His eyes glowing gold. She’s coming, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

He collapsed on top of you, his breath harsh against your neck, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. You held him close, your arms and legs wrapped around him, your lips pressing soft kisses to his hair, his temple, his cheek.

“Wow,” you breathed, your voice rough, sated. “That was… that was incredible.”

He chuckled, his lips curving into a smile against your skin. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low, earnest. “Absolutely incredible.”

And in that moment, sated and safe in each other’s arms, you knew that you would never let him go, this shy boy, this hungry man, this unbelievable, wonderful person who had captured your heart so completely. You wondered if it would be okay for you to ask him for round two.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

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weasterberry · 2 days ago

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Ok, a lot of misinformation here.

First off, he was judged unfit to stand trial by a panel of doctors. Not some random judge. And I don't think his legal team argued against that. He's severely autistic. Letting him stand trial would be wrong to do. We have NCR (Not Criminally Responsible) rulings for a reason.

Second off: from the article that OP chose to screenshot but not link for some reason: "The court heard that Kurtaj had been violent while in custody with dozens of reports of injury or property damage." he also "As well as hacking offences the boy was sentenced for what the judge described as 'unpleasant and frightening pattern of stalking and harassment' of two young women." and when assessed by doctors to see if he was fit to stand trial he basically told them "the second you let me back on a computer I'm going to do more cyber crime because I enjoy it" and then he was released on bail, while still under police supervision, he continued hacking (this was the rockstar hack) so like... even without a laptop and while being actively watched by the police he was brazenly doing crimes on the grounds of "I like doing them"

Third off: indefinite hospital stays are, in fact, normal for this kind of finding. This is why everyone who complains about "the insanity plea" being used for criminals to get away with things is an uninformed idiot. If you are found Not Criminally Responsible then basically the court says "we don't find you guilty of the crime because you can't meet the standard for Mens Rea (guilty mind) BUT that means you can't be trusted out in society at the moment so you have to go to a hospital and get treated until you're better". Like... if someone is having violent delusions then we absolutely cannot let them out of the forensic hospital until we're sure those are under control. If someone is so incapable of preventing themself from doing a crime (even if it's a fucking based as hell crime like hacking big corporations) to the point where they do it while knowingly under police watch and tell the doctors examining their fitness for trial "I will absolutely do this crime again the second you let me out" and also are engaging in stalking and assault behaviours then yeah... they're probably best off in the forensic hospital until they get that under control because

Fourth off: the alternative is sending him to a normal jail for 10 years with no real support while having to deal with the general prison community, having him get out, immediately do the exact same crime again a week later and then go back to jail for life. It's not better.

why can rockstar games institutionalise you for life like nikita kruschev for being autistic

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everrinsly · 1 day ago

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suna being the best sugar daddy.

free necklace. fluff. fem!reader. | not proofread.

suna buys you the necklace you stare too long at... no reason... just because.

more suna here! and more sugar from suna here!

more reads!

જ⁀🏐🖤💰

It’s just a necklace.

At least, that’s what you told yourself yesterday when your eyes lingered a little too long on a shop window while you and Suna were walking to lunch. It had been nestled between flashy earrings and gaudy bracelets—just a simple, delicate chain with a single charm.

A tiny white opal set in silver.

Pretty. Small. Dainty.

Very expensive.

You didn’t say anything, of course. You just slowed your steps for a second too long—maybe sighed, maybe tilted your head, maybe twitched your lips.

But you forgot one critical thing.

Suna sees everything.

He shows up to the little bookstore you work at the next day, completely unannounced, fifteen minutes before your lunch break even starts.

You blink up at him from behind the counter, a stack of paperbacks in your hands. “Shouldn’t you be at practice?”

“I left early,” he says, shrugging like he didn’t just drive across town during peak traffic hours. “Didn’t feel like eating alone.”

You narrow your eyes. “You hate the food around here.”

“I brought us takeout from that soba place you like.” He lifts a neatly packed brown bag, and it smells way too good for you to keep scowling.

You stare.

Suna stares back.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m generous.”

Lunch is spent like most meals with him—shoulder to shoulder at the tiny table in the back corner of the bookstore’s break area, half-surrounded by old romance novels and battered mystery hardcovers. His legs are stretched out comfortably, yours tucked neatly beside his. Every time his thigh brushes yours, you forget how to chew for half a second.

You try not to overthink it.

Try not to melt when he passes you your chopsticks without asking or opens your drink before you even reach for it.

Or when he tilts his head to watch you eat like you’re the view.

It’s fine. It’s totally normal.

And then, as you’re tossing away the containers and wiping your hands, his voice cuts in—low, casual, but laced with something softer.

“Angel,” he says, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

You blink. “Hm?”

“Got you something. Almost forgot.”

“What?”

He’s already reaching into the pocket of his EJP jacket, pulling out a small white box.

No brand name. Plain. Unassuming. Expensive.

“Rin…”

He holds it out. “It’s nothing. Just open it.”

Your heart stutters.

The box is warm from being in his pocket.

You open it.

Inside is the necklace.

The one from the window.

Opal charm, silver chain, exactly as you remember it.

Your breath catches. “How did you—?”

“You stared at it for like five minutes yesterday,” he says, as if that explains everything. “Didn’t like how sad your face looked when you walked away.”

You want to tell him off. You try to tell him off. You really do.

But your throat’s tight, and the box is shaking just slightly in your hands.

Suna steps closer.

“Turn around,” he says, already taking the necklace out.

You hesitate. “Rinnie, you don’t have to—”

“Yeah, but I want to.” His voice is quieter now. “C’mere. Lemme do it.”

You bite your lip, cheeks hot, and turn.

He’s careful.

Slow and steady.

The chain brushes your collarbone as he drapes it around you. His fingers are warm against the back of your neck as he fastens it, knuckles grazing your skin more than strictly necessary. He doesn’t pull away when he’s done. He just lingers, hands resting lightly on your shoulders.

Then—

A soft press of lips to the back of your neck, right above where the clasp sits.

It’s barely anything. A whisper of contact. A touch you can’t call platonic, not really.

But Suna acts like it’s nothing, like of course he does this, like you’re imagining how your stomach flips at the feel of it.

You slowly turn back around—

But he’s already looking at you.

His eyes flicker to your necklace, then back up to your face, and there’s a small smile curling on his lips. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… soft.

Like you’re his favorite sight.

You open your mouth to say something. Anything.

But his hand is already reaching for yours—fingers warm and wrapping around your wrist before sliding down to gently hold your hand.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, tugging you a step closer. “I wanna take you somewhere.”

“I—Rin—!”

He leans in just slightly, nose nearly brushing yours. “You’ve still got twenty minutes of your break, yeah?”

You hesitate. You should probably say no—probably ask where, probably remember the stack of books you promised to restock for your supervisor.

But he answers for you anyway.

“Yeah,” he says, already walking backward and bringing you with him, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Yeah, you do.”

Just like always, your feet follow him before your brain catches up.

And as you trail beside him toward his car—heart fluttering, pulse too loud—you lift your free hand, almost without thinking, to touch the opal at your neck.

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onaswife · 23 hours ago

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A pleasant reunion

Couple: Ingrid Engen x reader

Ingrid G!P

Note: This is my first G!P story so there may be some big mistakes or weird things, but I'll try to improve over time. Smut. I tried to follow the original idea, sorry if I missed a lot, but it's honest work 🤞🏻✨️original idea from @sachnobie

You had made your debut in your home country, the Netherlands.

FC Twente Vrouwen had been your home for over five years; you loved that club, but you felt it was time to take on new challenges in your career.

During your UEFA Women's Champions League campaign, you had caught the attention of many foreign teams, including the team where your sister played in England.

The last few months at the club were hectic; you received offers every other day, each one better than the last. You were on the verge of accepting the offer from Olympique Lyonnais, which promised you many good things, but only a two-year contract, a good salary, and an apartment in the team residence.

You considered it; you even had to call your sister to ask her what she thought about the contract they had offered you, since it was the first contract you had received from an international club. After she told you you could ask for better things and cut short your dream of leaving for so little, it seemed as if, almost magically, the best contract they'd offered you had fallen through the cracks.

Barcelona FC.

You couldn't deny being excited that the team was interested in you. You'd been a fan since you were little, watching Iniesta play and seeing the magic he had when it came to playing. It made you quite excited, but you were insecure. How would you do it being so far away from your family, with a language you didn't know and that was so difficult for you, on top of having to meet new people (which made you quite anxious; between you and your sister, you were the shyest).

Although you didn't reject the offer, you kept them waiting.

It went on like that for a week… or maybe a little longer, a few days… a month, actually.

And you were going to keep putting it off until the day you played your last Champions League match with your club (which also hadn't wanted to renew your contract), you were visited by one of FC Barcelona's recruiters, wanting to talk to you about the contract, while your sister and your agent waited in the tunnel.

You had a pleasant farewell on national soil after losing 7-3 to Wolfsburg.

The match was quite lively, aggressive more than anything. You were fighting tooth and nail to try to equalize the score against the German team, but you hadn't had many opportunities. The green team seemed to know every move your teammates were planning, which was starting to tire you out.

The play began in the 26th minute, with an inside pass from the center backs as they evaded the opposing team's forwards. Lynn played a long pass that landed at Renate's feet, who quickly flicked a short cross to Bente.

Two defenders rushed to block some kind of pass she had in mind, until she saw you near the right wing, while your defender was closing down another of your teammates, leaving you with enough space.

At minute 27:56, you received the pass over the top. It was coming quite quickly. You settled in, and as soon as the ball dropped low enough, at minute 28:00, you volleyed it home, scoring the most beautiful goal of that match. It took a magnificent spin and nestled in the left corner while the goalkeeper was on the ground, beating it in frustration.

You didn't have time to celebrate as you listened to your defender seemingly insulting the air. You ran toward the goal, picked up the ball, and placed it in the center of the field, ready to continue playing.

During the first goal, the fans couldn't stop screaming and chanting your name, celebrating that lucky goal that had fallen right in the 28th minute. The same number you wore on your back with such pride because it meant so much to you. It was your and your sister's birthdates.

The match ended sadly, mostly because of the defeat and your early departure. All your teammates gathered in a large circle while the captain gave a speech that made you cry. When the girls from the other team realized what was happening, some came over and joined in the farewell while you continued to cry but also smiled.

At the end of the speech, one by one, they approached you to hug you and wish you luck. Ingrid Engen was one of those people; even though she wasn't on your team, she approached you and offered you a warm and friendly hug.

"I hope your next club values you and that you enjoy this new stage."

Her voice was so beautiful, you could listen to it all day and never get bored. You tightened your arms around her as you gently caressed her back with your outstretched hand, feeling her body heat.

"I hope the same for you… I hope we can continue sharing the field in the future."

She pulled away from the hug as she placed her hand on your cheek and gave you a soft, toothy smile. You froze at the touch of it on your skin. As she walked away, talking to one of her teammates, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed. She wished you luck, so you wouldn't be paralyzed later, unable to do anything.

After the fans' farewells and the traditional lap to sign and take photos with your fans, you walked slowly toward the tunnel, listening for the last time to hear your name being chanted in the stands.

Your agent was waiting for you with a sad smile on his face, his nose red as were his eyes, a sign that he'd been crying just like you. You walked over to him and hugged him. They both knew everything you'd been through that season and how it hurt so much.

A few meters further into the tunnel was your sister, who was talking to the Barcelona scout. From where you were standing, you could see it was a rather serious conversation; neither of them stopped talking and they were moving their hands emphatically.

You walked slowly, having separated yourself from your agent's arms and being followed by him. When they both noticed you, they fell silent. Daniëlle quickly opened her arms when she saw that your eyes were still watering, and you quickly bumped your body into hers.

You stayed like that for what seemed like hours, but were actually minutes, being comforted by your older sister as she whispered words of encouragement.

That same afternoon, you signed your contract with Barcelona, accompanied by your family.

And five months later, you were already having your first training session with the team.

You lived in an apartment 20 minutes away from Joan Gamper, but even so, you had gotten up early that day, mostly because you were eager to meet all your new teammates, with whom you'd be sharing a locker room for the next few years.

You got up and took a shower, hoping that would hopefully clear your mind of the day's bad prospects. After getting dressed and combing your hair, you called your mom. She calmed your mind and said everything would be fine. You believed her.

You arrived at least 30 minutes early, nerves racing through your body. The coach was waiting for you, along with Alexia, since you'd said you'd be arriving early. The two of them took the time to show you around Joan Gamper and welcome you.

After that, the day went by normally. You couldn't help but feel self-conscious about your new club. You didn't know any of the girls since you'd never played with them, which made you feel a little insecure.

At lunchtime, you didn't know who to sit with. You still felt like you couldn't possibly meet anyone since you'd never shared a court or anything. Except for Hansen.

You had played against her a few times when she played for Wolfsburg. You decided to sit alone. You needed to review what had happened during the day, see what you needed to improve in your performance, and give yourself encouragement to keep going.

You felt a presence next to you. You looked at who sat next to you and found Caroline. She looked back at you with a small nod as you began to eat.

"I thought you'd sit with the others," you said in a low voice as you began to play with your food. It was more of a routine than a way to avoid eating. You needed to see everything on your plate before you could start eating.

"I think I appreciate them… a lot, but sometimes I need silence when eating… or doing any activity. They have too much energy for me." When you heard her speak, her tone similar to yours, you couldn't help but smile; you felt exactly like her.

They had all welcomed you, but during the day, you realized that, compared to you, they exuded much more energy than you could handle in a day. Maybe it was because they had grown up with lots of sunshine, and you grew up in a place where it was more common for it to rain cats and dogs than to have a full day of sunshine. And maybe that was true, since Caro had a personality similar to yours, and she was from Norway, almost a neighbor of the Netherlands.

From that brief interaction you had that day, Caro and you became inseparable. Wherever she was, you were there, and vice versa. You seemed glued to the hip, the best of friends.

That's why you were the first to find out about Ingrid's arrival to the team. Caro told you, quite excitedly, during a phone call after an international break.

You couldn't help but feel excited by the news. You couldn't deny that Ingrid made your heart flutter in your chest and made you feel those typical butterflies in your stomach. But you also didn't want to relate to her that way; from what you'd heard, she was in a relationship. You couldn't help but feel jealous of this person who could have Ingrid.

When the international break ended, you were one of the last to return to Barcelona. You wanted to enjoy the few days you could with your family and catch up with your sister, who enjoyed knowing you were okay in Spain. Obviously, you avoided telling her that you didn't talk much with your teammates except when they were playing a game.

You arrived quite tired from the long trip. You went straight to bed, took a short shower to get rid of the airport and airplane smell, and then went to sleep.

Maybe it was 10 minutes or 10 hours, but it was the sound of the doorbell that woke you up. You woke up groggily at the sound, not having been able to take the time you normally take to wake up.

You slowly opened the door, still rubbing your eyes to try to chase away the sleep that still lingered in your body. You froze when you saw who was on the other side of your door.

"What are you doing here, Graham? I need to recover as much energy as possible so I can handle the girls' energy."

You could only stand there like a fool, feeling your cheeks heat up. "Sorry I came by without warning… I told Caroline to text you, but she said it wasn't necessary," she excused herself as she leaned closer to you. You could clearly smell the perfume she was wearing; it was sweet, but not enough to be bothersome.

You stared at her when you saw her lean a little closer to you, as if she wanted to hug you, but didn't dare. And neither did you.

"It's like this. I think we're pretty close. You can come over anytime, too." You gave her a somewhat shy smile as you stepped aside, inviting her in. She gave you a smile, one of those that made your cheeks and chest heat up, as she walked past you, brushing her arm against yours.

You talked about everything and nothing while eating the Chinese food they'd ordered. Caro caught you up on family matters, just as you did. Her brother had started dating one of his teammates from the national team, while your sister started talking to one of her teammates from the new team. From what she'd told you, she liked him.

Ingrid listened to everything silently, while watching them. You could feel her gaze lingering on you for a few minutes longer than usual.

"And you? Tell me you've already met someone," Caro said in a slightly mocking tone as she lightly hit your knee with the back of her hand. You couldn't help but blush at her mockery.

"I think love isn't for me right now… or maybe all the luck in love will end up going to my sister… it's amazing how she always ends up dating some pretty girl." The three of them in the room laughed. When you finished, you leaned completely on Caro's arm, while she pulled away from you slightly to hug you affectionately.

"Tell me that at least this time you were able to talk to her like a normal person and without avoiding her, Caroline." Your voice sounded more subdued due to the sleepiness that had overtaken you again, but Ingrid understood it differently.

Hearing you say it in a more subdued tone, she thought you were in love with Caro, but that you weren't able to tell her how you felt. That made something inside her feel different, distinct, as if she didn't like the fact that you had those feelings for Caroline and not for her.

The next day, you arrived early as usual. In the locker room, you ran into Alexia and Ingrid, who was being given a tour of the Joan Gamper.

Alexia approached you and wrapped you in a tight hug. Alexia had something that made people feel comfortable around her. You liked cuddling with Alexia; she reminded you a lot of Daniëlle, although of course, Alexia was twice your sister's size.

He pulled away from the hug and placed a soft kiss on your hair, then ruffled your hair. You frowned as you let out a sound similar to a grunt, and walked away toward your cubicle. Ingrid looked at you with a soft smile on her lips. You blushed at the sight of her eyes on you, but you smiled back.

This time, she approached you with more confidence and hugged you. She still smelled the same as the last time you hugged; her arms felt like heaven and heaven. "How are you? How did you sleep?" You heard her voice and felt her breath against your ear, as you grew more nervous. "I'm fine. I slept pretty well last night. I was a little more tired, so I'm sorry if I wasn't a good hostess. How are you?"

Ingrid pulled away from the hug, but didn't move far from you. She brought her hand up to your cheek, caressing your cheekbone with her thumb, just like she did when you played for your old club. "I slept pretty well. I enjoyed getting to know you better last night." You could feel Alexia's gaze, a confused one, on the two of you.

Since you'd arrived at the club, you'd seemed comfortable and close with a few teammates, maybe four people. They were the only people you allowed to have that much physical contact with you, or at least longer. With the others, if you accepted hugs when celebrating or greeting someone, you obviously didn't deny them, but you didn't let unspoken hugs last too long either.

And so the next few days went by, they passed normally. Ingrid had already begun to get closer to the other girls on the team, while you remained close to Caro. If you weren't with Caroline, you were usually with Aitana. You got along quite well with her; you understood each other very well on the court and off it too; you were like one person.

Ingrid watched you from afar. You looked pretty good in that sleeveless uniform and the shorts you'd rolled up after losing a ball possession against Alexia. She had to look away before continuing to think about things she shouldn't, as she'd started to feel the familiar tug in her lower stomach.

She walked over to stand next to Fridolina, starting a conversation about training and the outing they were going to do after practice.

They were going to meet at Patri's house to celebrate a team night. They did it every two weeks, or maybe a little more depending on their monthly schedule.

That night was Patri's, and she was the most excited to be hosting. Normally, you didn't go, preferring to rest or catch up with your friends or your sister, who had some very interesting things to tell you lately.

When lunchtime arrived, you were one of the last to walk to the locker room to change from your soccer cleats into some gym shoes. You walked in wondering, or trying to guess, what lunch would be for that day. You were never a big fan of the food they served, but that was because you were used to home-cooked food, or the food your mother made.

You finished putting on the shoe on your right foot when you heard a gasp, followed by a muffled moan. At first, you didn't think anything of it, but as it became more frequent, you worried. What if someone was having a heart attack or something?

You stood up, still barefoot, and walked around the locker room, trying to figure out where the gasps were coming from.

The sounds were coming from one of the restrooms. Your curiosity was already growing rapidly. You wanted to know if someone was really suffering from a health problem or if someone was playing a prank on you, with someone coming out to scare you from that room.

The door was ajar, so you looked through the gap between the door frame and the door, and you saw it.

Ingrid was sitting on a stool with her profile to the door, her shorts bunched around her ankles, and her hand on his member.

You didn't want to look any further; it was still Ingrid's privacy, and you weren't going to break it. So you slowly took a step back and returned to your cubicle to finish putting on the remaining shoe so you could go eat.

You arrived blushing and quickly, after choosing what to eat, sat down in your usual spot, now accompanied by Caroline, Aitana, and the club's newest addition, Fridolina.

The three of you were eating in silence, the only thing you could hear being the clink of cutlery and the laughter of the other girls. You sat down quickly, unable to look up from your plate as the blush lingered on your face.

No one said anything; Graham just looked at you more than usual before continuing to eat. Ingrid appeared 15 minutes later, blushing slightly but as calm as ever.

As soon as she arrived, she started a conversation with Aitana and Fridolina. Caroline and you joined in with small "yeses," "that's right," and "mmmm," too engrossed in your eating—or at least Caroline was. You were lost in your own thoughts, unconsciously thinking about what you had seen.

The day continued like this. You avoided Ingrid as much as you could. If she was using a machine, you went to the other end of the spectrum so you wouldn't run into her and talk to her. It sounded cruel, but you felt quite embarrassed to have walked in on her in such an intimate situation.

Unfortunately, you were convinced by Aitana and Caroline to go to the meeting. You didn't want to, but they insisted so much that you ended up accepting. You had thought about saying yes and then telling them your car was out of gas, or something like that, but Graham quickly told you she would pick you up at your apartment. You had no choice but to accept.

You met Caroline outside your apartment building. She was in the driver's seat, and you climbed in as her passenger.

"I can't believe you're almost exactly the same size as me," she said after greeting you.

"What are you talking about? We're not going…" You were about to continue talking, but you gave her a look and fell silent. You were wearing jeans of a similar color, a t-shirt of the same style and color, and you were both wearing white Adidas sneakers.

You sighed heavily as you threw your head back. "I'll go change. Wait 10 minutes, and I'll be ready." You were about to open the door when you heard your roommate again. "Okay, we can handle a few more hours of banter."

Ever since you started getting close to the Norwegian, all the Spanish girls in the club had started saying that the two of you were in a relationship, but you didn't want to tell them you were officially dating. They were really annoying about it, always saying some stupid thing just to piss them off.

The drive was calm, occasionally talking and then continuing in comfortable silence, filling the space in Caroline's car.

You received a message: "I hope you have a good time today, and don't dwell on Ingrid. What you saw is over. She'll still be your friend, little one. Even so, I'll hit her when I see her for not being able to wait until she gets home, or at least lock the door." You laughed as you read your sister's message, followed by a photo of her with her new girlfriend, who seemed to be waving at you happily. "Ellie says everything will be okay and that she wishes you a good night." "Xoxo, little one." You turned off your phone and put it back in your pocket.

"I'm going to tell you something. I don't care if you don't want to know." You took a breath as you thought about how to say it. You could have told your sister, but it was more of a written message, which was very different from saying it out loud. "I think I caught Ingrid in the middle of a self-love episode." You took a few minutes before looking at her. In those minutes, absolute silence reigned. "I don't think I understood you, Flea," you sighed, trying to figure out how to explain it better. "Oh, well, I think I understood that you saw Ingrid… well, you know, in an intimate moment."

You swallowed nervously as you played with the rings on your fingers. "A few hours ago… in the locker room. I really didn't want to see something like that, but I started hearing gasps and thought, , so I set out to search and found her in a rather compromising position."

"So you didn't see her in the act, do you suppose she was doing that?"

"I don't think I saw her at the moment, but-"

"So you're not sure."

"How should I interpret the image of Ingrid with her pants down and her… thing, you know, her… wand in the air? I was standing there, and she was panting a lot."

Both of you fell silent again, while this time you covered your face with both hands, completely embarrassed by what you had just remembered and said out loud.

"That's why you've been acting weird with her." It was more of an information than a question, because yes, you had been acting strange.

"What else should I do? Dani told me to forget about it, but it's like I've caught you… or Aita, in a compromising situation."

"You'd never catch me in a situation like that. I know how to control myself and close the doors properly."

You groaned in frustration as you threw your head back against the seat again. "Daniëlle told me the same thing."

Upon arrival, the topic now behind them, they continued on their journey and the beginning of the night. They waited, standing side by side in front of the door, greeted by Ingrid and María, who seemed quite delighted to see them arrive together.

"The lovebirds have arrived. How was the trip? Did you enjoy it? Maybe that's why they took so long to arrive?" You listened to María, but you were attentive to Ingrid's face, watching her reaction when she heard María joke.

"Shut your mouth, Maria," Caro replied in a serious tone as she took your wrist and urged you to enter Patri's home. After greeting the girls who had already arrived, you slowly approached with a glass of water to where Patri's birds were. Watching them eat calmed you down.

You stared at them for what felt like several long minutes, until you felt someone grab your wrist. "What's wrong, Caro?" you asked in an inquisitive tone. She was the one who usually grabbed your wrist to take you somewhere, or to get you out of your thoughts.

"I didn't know you and Caroline were in a relationship." As soon as you heard her voice, you froze in place.

"We're not together, but the girls love to tease us because I'm attached to Caro," you replied after a few long minutes of somewhat awkward silence.

"Well, it seems like Caro has a huge crush on you. She always seems to be glued to you. I'd also think you were girlfriends," you laughed without amusement at her words.

"I don't need someone to celebrate my friendship with Caroline. We both know what we're about, and we don't need someone else's approval of our friendship."

You looked at Ingrid, who was still standing beside you, still holding your wrist with a little more pressure.

"I'm not jealous of anyone."

"Well, it seems that way, as if you're in love with her."

In an instant, Ingrid tugged at your wrist, and you felt your back hit a wall, sandwiching the Norwegian woman's body between it and the wall. "What are you doing? Was I right about you being in love, Don Caro? Because I thought you were in a relationship." You raised your chin while raising an eyebrow, almost defiantly, thinking you'd hit the nail on the head.

"Do you really believe that? That I'm in a relationship?"

A nasal sound came from you as you looked away. "It's obvious you were, and now you ran so you could stay with Caro. Do it, I'm her friend." The taller woman pressed you further against the wall, so much so that you could already feel her erection against your thigh and hipbone.

"Do you really want me to have to shout it? You're the one I love… ever since that time I had to say goodbye to you when you left your former team… I've been wanting to kiss you." Her face leaned toward your neck, and you felt her breath hit your sensitive neck. "But it was vulgar because we were in public. Then your teammate wouldn't let me get close… I want you to be my girlfriend, to be teased with me and not Caro… I want to be the one who greets you like Alexia does, to be close to me like you are with Caro, and to be the one who helps you comb your hair before a game, not Aitana."

You were speechless when you finished listening to her. You didn't know what to say; Ingrid had practically just told you she was in love with you. You felt that knot in your stomach and your heart flutter in your chest. When you felt Ingrid lean closer, you pushed her away.

You were afraid that by telling her she would use you, you weren't good at trusting people when they told you they liked you romantically, you had been through bad experiences.

"I'm sorry…" you whispered, while looking anywhere other than Ingrid's green eyes. She looked at you confused. She knew you were a person who felt more than others, but when she experienced it herself, she felt bad. You were easily overwhelmed when it came to emotions.

She held you in her arms as soon as she saw you start to cry, giving you a tight hug, trying to help you feel less.

"I like you too, Ingrid, but I don't want to be a game. I don't want to be that again." Feeling Ingrid's scent so close made you feel calm, which was helping you a lot.

The next 10 minutes were minutes focused entirely on you, on helping you stop feeling so overwhelmed and on protecting you.

"If you want, I can drop you off home… you must be tired," she murmured against your hair, caressing your back. Your hands rested on her waist as you held tightly to her clothes.

"You're not leaving?"

"I'll stay as long as you need and want me around."

As soon as they got to their car, they both sat there. A comfortable silence spread through the car. You looked at Ingrid, who seemed to be plugging into the car horn to put on some music.

You stared at her bare arms, the veins popping out on the back of her hand, and you couldn't help but shift uncomfortably in your seat. She noticed and rested her hand on your thigh, trying to calm you down. You gave her a smile and turned your gaze back to the window.

The drive was silent until you reached the parking lot of your apartment. You both looked into each other's eyes, and almost as if they'd been held hostage, you leaped to taste each other's lips.

Ingrid's lips tasted of cherries and paradise; she was a wonderful kisser, while her hands rested on your waist, leaving small caresses. You brought your hands to her neck, then tangled one in the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging lightly. You moaned against her lips as she squeezed your waist, pulling you closer.

"Do you think you can make it to your apartment? I don't want our first time to be in a car," she said as she pulled away from your lips, one hand smoothing your hair.

"Bullshit," you pulled her hair back to kiss her, signaling her to push the seat back.

She pulled away again, but to look toward the backseat, giving you a silent invitation. She moved in first, then you, positioning yourself on her lap and beginning to rock you against her already growing erection.

You moaned against her lips as she ran her hands over your back, leaving small squeezes. She pulled away and pulled your shirt over your head, while you did the same with her shirt. You stood for a few seconds, admiring how good she looked without a shirt and bra.

Obviously, it wasn't the first time you'd seen her like this. You shared a locker room with her, and she often took off her shirt to go shower.

She pulled you in again for a kiss. As the pads of her fingers dug into the fat of your hips, knowing she would leave marks there. You were beginning to gasp against her lips, your hands resting on her chest.

You felt her hips thrust upward again, rubbing against your still-clothed center. With a bit of desperation, you began to tug at her bra, wanting to take it off. She laughed against your lips. "I have a girl who's a little desperate to feel me... I also want to feel you, love."

You smiled as you placed small, soft kisses on his cheeks, watching as he blushed more beneath you. For a moment, you stopped and simply stared at his face, a little flushed from the activity you were doing and also panting.

"I want to feel you... but I don't want you to abandon me." Ingrid looked at you, she really did, she seemed to see your soul at that precise moment. "I would never abandon you, you're my girl." She left a short kiss on your lips, before hugging you tightly.

You stayed like that for a few minutes until she started to move your hips against her erection again. Her hands rested on your waist, helping you move better. You grabbed your bra straps and pulled them down a little until she was the one who took off your bra and threw it and your shirt on the floor of the car. "You're so beautiful," she left a kiss in the middle of your breast while you threw your head back, feeling the pleasure run through your body.

You moaned as you tugged on her hair, inviting her to go lower. She pulled away and looked at you again, waiting for something. You sighed shakily as you kissed her again. Your hands moved down to her abdomen as she mimicked your movements, going a little faster. Her hands took hold of your pants button and played with it for a few minutes, trying to make you more desperate.

I sat you in the car seat, while she unbuttoned her own pants and began to pull them down her hips and thighs. When you saw her erection up close, you felt yourself getting even wetter. You brought your hands to your pants and began to pull them down. As she watched you do so, a lustful smile spread across her face. Her eyes seemed darker as her pupils became more dilated, almost erasing the green from her eyes.

She sat back down and positioned you on her lap. You could feel her erection better now, while she seemed to enjoy watching you on top of her even more. "Are you okay like this? Or would you prefer it another way?" You moaned as you adjusted yourself, then leaned closer to her, wrapping your arms around her shoulders so you could be firmer. "I really want to ride you, Ingrid."

She remained silent for a few seconds, processing what you had just said, while you began to pull down her boxers, exposing her promising cock. As she came out of her trance, she let out a moan louder than the others that had left her throat, while her fingers gripped your waist. You pushed your panties aside and aligned her against your entrance, feeling her glans push against you.

Both of you moaned at the same time, she from feeling how you were squeezing her and you from feeling how his big cock seemed to open you up for her. "God Ingrid, you feel so good... you fill me up so good," you whispered against her jaw, as you began to move slowly over her.

She didn't seem to respond. You looked at her face, her jaw clenched, as she looked anywhere but at you. "You can cum Ingrid, I know it's normal to be like this" you panted in her ear while you searched for your own orgasm "I don't care if you fill me with your cum, I really want you to do it. Fill me" you continued murmuring against her ear, feeling how she clung tighter to you.

Her hands moved to your ass, squeezing and spreading it, letting you feel more pleasure as she entered you deeper. By now, the windows were fogged up, and the car was moving with your movements on Ingrid's cock. It felt so good to ride her and watch her crumble beneath you.

"God... Kjære, you feel so good... I'm going to do it, I'm going to fill you with my cum and you're going to take it so good." You felt her teeth sink into your shoulder, as she stifled a moan that seemed to come from deep within her chest. You felt her cum shoot inside you, which made you want to reach orgasm even more.

You brought your hands to her hair, tugging at it as you used her to get your orgasm. She was more than happy to be used by you.

"Do it on my cock kjære, let me know how good my cock makes you feel" you moaned against her lips to bite them softly and pull on her lower lip, while you felt how you were getting closer and closer to achieving your long-awaited orgasm.

Ingrid moved one of her hands to where your bodies met and began to rub circles on your clit, which helped you reach your limit. That gentle, then sharp tug in your lower abdomen, followed by spasms and that heaven-sent feeling, was what indicated you'd reached orgasm on Ingrid's cock.

She help you through your orgasm, then begin to kiss you softly and tenderly caress your back. "How are you feeling? I think I have some wet cloths in the trunk to clean you up." She place a kiss on your cheek and tidy your sweaty hair, which was sticking to your forehead. "I'm fine, just... give me a few minutes to recover." You felt her laugh on your cheek followed by another kiss.

"Sorry if it wasn't what you expected."

"It was better than I expected, Ingrid... thank you." You placed a kiss on her cheek and then a softer kiss on her lips, while she admired how you looked after the orgasm.

"I don't think it's the right time, but can I be your girlfriend?" You smiled big to kiss her.

"Of course, but you still owe me a date and a proper proposal... although I do want to be your girlfriend." You smiled and placed several kisses on her face, feeling her smile widen.

At the next training session, both of you arrived together while Ingrid's hand protectively wrapped around yours and both of you were talking about where they would go to dinner that day.

They entered the dressing room and separated, each going their separate ways. You felt Alexia's arms wrap around your shoulders and you quickly took refuge in her arms like a little girl. "How have you been? I've been trying to contact you and you haven't answered, I was worried." She placed kisses on the top of your head, just like Daniëlle did to calm you down. "Sorry, I wanted to take some time for myself, Ale. I won't worry you like this again," you whispered against her chest, where you could hear her heart beating.

She pulled away and squeezed your cheeks, just like she did with her younger sister and the other girls on the team. Then she turned around and went back to her cubicle. You started changing there to begin training.

It wasn't until the end of the day that Pina screamed loud and clear when she saw Ingrid leave a small kiss on your lips before going to shower. That they had seen you kissing and unleashed a chaos of gossipmongers. But neither you nor Ingrid could be more worried. It would still be something of yours.

something that no one could take away from them.

"We have to tell Daniëlle what we saw." Caro simply winked at you before leaving the locker room. Maybe you both should prepare for the inevitable big sister call that Daniëlle would make upon hearing the news.

#woso x reader #barca femeni #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 2 days ago

Text

What Are We Doing?

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader, Reader POV, Din POV

Summary: Moving is hard, but being in love with your roommate is even harder. Takes place after Season 3 when Din and Grogu have been living in their cabin on Nevarro. This is the seventh fic in my Sugar, Spice, and Starlight Series!

Tropes: Bakery AU, Grumpy vs. Sunshine, Mutual Pining, Fluff, SLOW BURN, Miscommunication (just gonna keep it going), Stubborn!Din, Forced Proximity, Idiots in Love.

Word Count: 7.2K

Warnings: Anxiety, Lil bit of cursing (3ish words?) Fluff, Angst, FLUFF, Miscommunication (I'm sorry?), Idiots in Love (That Are So Stubborn It's Killing Me), Grogu being a little cutie, Karga having the WORST timing in the world, The reader is really soft, likes to bake, and take care of Din and Grogu? Reader being a little bit self-deprecating? Din being a little bit self-deprecating to himself? Din might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Din, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: The slow burn is burning...

Guide:

Cyare: Beloved

Cyar'ika: Sweetheart

Burc’ya: Friend

Reader POV

This is weird.

You think to yourself as you walk up the dirt path towards Din’s house with the sun on your back.

It had been a few days since he'd recovered from his cold, but you'd been back every day to make sure that he was okay. Cleaning around the house, making sure that he was eating, and taking care of Grogu while Din was asleep. Grogu had developed his own little version of Din's illness, sneezing and coughing occasionally, so you'd taken to walking around the house with him strapped in a make-shift sling on your body while you did little things in Din's home and Grogu slept soundly with his head on your chest.

But true to Din's word, he still wanted you to move in, which you still thought was a little odd.

Odder still was that it seemed like your relationship had changed.

In the week since you'd taken care of Din things had been different. On several occasions while the two of you walked through town, Din had reached for your hand, holding it in his as you wove through the crowds. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you didn't care.

Not when Din was holding your hand like he didn't want to let go and you didn't want him to.

There was unfortunately a little part of yourself that missed the feeling of his skin against yours. His leather gloves didn't compare to the feeling of his rough, worn palm clasped against your own.

You were thoroughly confused by Din's sudden change, but you didn't ask him why he was doing it, because that might mean you would have to tell Din that you loved him and that wasn't an option.

And you were also afraid that he was only doing this because he was trying to again ward everyone off from coming near you whenever he wasn't around.

So you just let him do it.

Din is walking beside you holding an overloaded box of your books. How he was doing that by himself you didn’t know. It was heavier than you and Din acted like it weighed absolutely nothing, which was doing wonders for your imagination. It was difficult not to admire the way his muscles flexed under the Beskar as he followed you, but all it did was make you remember the glorious burnished skin of his arms that Din had shown you the other day when you'd stumbled into his home and he was wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

You really were trying to forget that image.

The image of his perfect golden skin flecked with the occasional freckle, covered in the thin white crisscross of scars you wished to trace with your fingertips and know by heart. Which probably is why you were having so many sleepless nights, because each time you tried to close your eyes the memory of the strong feeling of Din's unarmored body wrapped around you and the sound of his honeyed voice slipping through the darkness of your bedroom.

It was getting even harder to pretend that you weren't attracted to him and that you weren't in love with him. Especially not when you had spent practically every waking moment this week with Din and now you were moving in with him.

Oh marvelous meatpie madness, I'm moving in with DIN!

You didn’t really know what you were to him. He’d continued to use the words Cyare and Cyar'ika more often over the past few days, and each time he did you were disappointed. He was calling you friend and yet he asked you to move in and he couldn’t seem to stop holding your hand.

Of course you were sleeping in the guest room not in his bed-

Your cheeks warm at the thought of sleeping with Din in his bed. The memory of the way his voice sounds without the helmet sending a wave of heat through your entire body.

“Are you alright? You’re unusually quiet.” Din says as you walk up the steps to the front porch.

“Yeah I was thinking.” You step into the living room and begin to maneuver down the small hallway towards the room that was now technically yours.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

You can’t help but notice that Din sounds a little disappointed when he asks that.

Why? If he cares about me living here only because he wants me to be safe, why does it feel like he's disappointed for another reason?

“No. I want to move in, but-“ You enter your new bedroom and stop so suddenly that Din bumps into you, the box of books in his arms jostling. “What is that?” You point with your free hand at a hand carved wooden bookshelf in the corner of the room. “That wasn't here the other day.”

Din had showed you where you'd be staying as soon as he felt like standing up without falling over. The room itself was quaint, but you loved it. Like the rest of Din's house it had a certain amount of charm.

The room itself was already bigger than the apartment you had been living in. Painted cream and held only a wooden chest of drawers made from a light colored wood, a mirror, a small bedside table, and a full-sized bed with a simple wooden headboard. There was a small bathroom attached which meant that you wouldn't have to use the communal one in the hall that Din used. You had tried to fight with Din about him moving into this room so he could had the attached bathroom all to himself, but he refused.

“It’s a bookshelf. I made it. You don’t like it?”

“You made me a bookshelf?” You whisper, surprised.

He didn't have to do that. He's already giving me a room in his house.

“You’ve gotta put the books somewhere. And at your apartment they were all over the place. Almost broke my neck trying to get the boxes out.” Din laughs, but you still can't look away from the wood that's been sanded down so soft it's like silk, standing proudly beside the small window that allowed the golden glow of the sun to seep through the thin curtains.

Tears prick behind your eyes the longer you stare at it, everything hitting you all over again. All your confusion and frustration over Din doing something so sweet, something that almost felt like he cared at you the same way you cared about him making the tears roll down your cheeks.

Din notices immediately and places the box of books on your bed. “Cyare? Did I do something wrong?” His tilts your head up to look him in the eye, the roughness of his glove against your chin comforting, but nothing like the feeling of his skin against yours that you longed for.

“No, you didn't.” You sniffle staring up into the opaque visor, seeing the reflection of your tear streaked face in the polished metal. “Just that no one has ever done that for me before.”

“Made you a bookshelf?”

You can only nod. “Thank you Din.” You hug him tightly around the waist, the metal of his chest plate cool against your cheek when you press your face against it.

“You’re welcome Cyare.” He breathes hugging you back.

Being in Din's arms always felt like coming home after a long day, as if he was made purely to wrap his body around yours. It only made whatever was going on between the two of you harder. You wanted so badly to tell him how you felt, but Din was Din.

He was so tightly locked away in that metal armor that you were afraid to tell him how you felt for fear that he'd push you away. And you couldn't lose Din or Grogu. You barely survived when Din didn't come in last week, and you knew that you wouldn't be able to face him if he laughed in your face after you told him you were in love with him.

How did everything get so complicated so fast?

"I-" Din clears his throat, pulling away slightly. "I also got you something."

"Huh?" You look up into his helm, confused. "You got me something? Din you didn't have to get me anything- you made me bookshelves." You say as you pull away and gesture to the shelves in question.

"I got it a few weeks ago." Din continues, but you notice his helmet tilt a little bit away from you, as if he's nervous, hands twitching slightly. "I was going to give it to you the other day, but you were talking to-" Din hesitates. "Your brother."

The mention of Ezekiel makes you pause. You remembered how Din acted when he saw you with Ez, how his shoulders tensed and the cold tone of his voice when he pulled away from you. There was still a little part of you that didn't believe Din when he'd told you that he was having "a bad day," because if that were true, then why had he continued to avoid you all week after? Wouldn't he have come in the next day?

But despite the memory of how Din acted when your brother was in town, you couldn't help but smile.

Each time Din brought you a gift from somewhere else you thought it was unbelievably cute whenever he'd get nervous about it. Mostly because you could imagine that his cheeks were heating with a blush and the thought that you made the big scary Mandalorian that other people avoided like the plague, blush filled you with an unashamed amount of joy.

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a small leather, hand-stitched pouch, and holds it out towards you.

"It's not going to bite me is it?" You joke as you take it from him, again wishing that it's his skin you feel when your fingertips brush together.

"Do you think that I would get you something dangerous?" Din sounds worried.

"No, I was kidding."

"Oh."

The tone of his voice made you imagine a bashful smile, and you wanted to see it so badly. The small taste of Din's voice that you’d heard this week only made you long for more. You wanted all of Din, not just the pieces you saw when you were together.

He doesn’t want all of you.

The little voice in your head whispers, as you remember the way Din keeps calling you his friend.

But why doesn't he treat me like one?

You shake off the unwelcome thoughts as you reach inside the small pouch and feel cool metal against the tips of your fingers.

The necklace catches in the sunlight when you pull it from the bag. It's beautiful, a long silver chain, with a circular silver pendant the size of the tip of your thumb. It’s imprinted with the symbol of a Mudhorn, exactly the same one that sits on Din’s right shoulder.

“Do you like it Cyare?” Din asks gruffly, leaning his head in your direction.

“Yes! Thank you.” You beam up at him. “It’s beautiful, it’s just like your armor!”

"Yes."

"But I-" You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to think of a way to phrase this. "I don’t think I can accept this Din."

He stiffens. “Why not?”

Din's heart stutters to a stop in his chest. For you to not accept this meant that you were not accepting his courtship of you, that you were refusing to marry him. Of course you didn't know that, but Din was determined to try his hardest to find the courage to tell you, even if it took him a few months… At least now you were going to be in his house and he wouldn't have to worry about you in the city, but Din wanted more.

He wanted all of you all the time and more than that, he wanted to give you all of him, even though the thought of confessing that to you scared him to death.

Truthfully, Din was already worried that you were having second thoughts about moving in to his home. He had noticed today that you were a little quieter, more subdued, as if you had something on your mind, but you hadn't told him. And all he worried about was that he was doing too much, and now it was scaring you away.

"It must have been expensive and-" You begin to babble. The other gifts Din had gotten you were not as fancy as this one. The small carved figurine, the shell from another planet, a rock- even the hand embroidered apron didn't seem to have been something that Din paid a lot of money for. But this?

You were almost seventy percent sure that this necklace was made of Beskar, and it wasn't a secret how rare and how expensive Beskar was. You didn't want Din to spend all of his money on you, not when he had a little one to care for.

"I mean- You could have gotten Grogu something, new clothes or shoes, or paid for something important-"

"This is important.” Din says firmly. “I want you to have it."

The sigil of the Mudhorn catches in the sunlight again, and there's something scratching at the back of your mind, some inkling, some feeling that you were missing something. All of this seemed so out of the blue.

The bookshelves, Din's reaction to seeing you with your brother at your shop, his continued emphasis on you living here with him and Grogu, Din always bringing you gifts, and now this?

A necklace made of Beskar that had his clan sigil on it?

You knew a little bit about clan sigils. That they were an extension of family- so for Din to give you this seemed a little odd.

"Din?" You whisper, looking up from the necklace.

"Hmm?"

“What are we doing?”

"What?" Din's helmet tilts to the side in confusion.

“Is this weird that I’m moving in? I mean you’re my friend but-“

“But?”

“You hold my hand and you build me bookshelves and you always bring me things back from wherever you go. You walk me home and come with me to the market. And this necklace is beautiful- I love it, but I’m kinda confused.”

“Why?” Din reaches out with his glove to gently cup your chin, thumb curving up over your cheek. You gasp softly with the contact of his hand against your face.

See even this! This isn't a friend thing, this is-

The feeling of his eyes on you makes your heart stutter an extra beat and your mouth go completely dry.

“I- I mean you keep calling me Cyare and I know you told me that it means friend, but it kind of feels like we’re more than friends and I-“ You bite your lip. “I don’t really know how I should feel. Because I kinda- I mean I-“

I love you.

Din breathes your name.

There’s a loud knock on the door and the sound of Greef Karga’s booming voice shouting something indiscernible from the outside of the house fills the air.

Din lets out an audible sigh. “I told him not to bother me today." He grumbles more to himself than to you.

You did find it a little humorous that for someone who never wanted Karga around, Din certainly didn't say no as often as you'd expect him to.

"Din please I-" The tears had begun to prick at your eyes again, a lump of frustration lodging itself in your throat. You're trying so hard not to tell him that you love him at the same time that you are, while also trying to understand what this is. But you can't finish your sentence, instead you stand there with Din's hand on your cheek waiting for him to explain.

And just when you think that Din is going to answer, he raises his other hand to clasp your cheeks between his palms and he tilts his head downward to press his forehead against yours.

You gasp in surprise. You knew what this was, what it meant to Din.

He had shown you the night he killed the Transdoshan for you, told you that this was how Mandalorians kissed while wearing a helmet, but it was so completely out of the blue, and so surprising that you forget how to breathe. The helmet fogs against the warmth of your skin, the few precious moments that Din presses his forehead against yours lasting a lifetime. You raise your free hand to lay solidly over the right indention of his helmet, where his cheek would be, wanting this to last a few more seconds, not wanting him to pull away, trying to reaffirm something, anything in his mind that you want this, that you want him. The smell of Din is all around you, something metallic mixed with the hard smell of leather, gunpowder, and spice.

Familiar and comforting.

You look up into the helm, smiling softly into the visor, feeling the warmth of Din's gaze, the eyes you wished to see with every part of your being focused on where you stand.

Something inside tells you that Din is smiling back at you.

Is this really happening?

"I promise-" His voice rumbles up through the solid chest-plate, his gaze focused on your face through the silver helm. "That when I come home we'll talk." Din whispers, still not moving his hands from your cheeks and his forehead from yours. “I promise you, Cyare.”

The use of the word "home" makes your heart jump and buckle in your chest. It's a reminder. This is your home now as much as his, had felt like home the first moment you walked through the front door a week ago and found Din sick. But with the feeling came something else, a prickling anxiety and confusion at Din's continued use of the word 'Cyare,' even after he had "kissed" you.

"Okay." You breathe softly into the space between the two of you.

Din pulls away and takes a step back, letting your hand fall from his cheek as he does, but he lingers in the doorway for a moment. "Do you like the necklace?"

"Yes."

You did. It was beautiful in every way. Delicate, dainty, but made from the same impenetrable silver as Din's armor. The same metal you were sure that Din had built a wall around his heart with years ago. You wondered how long he had pushed other people away, how long he had used his armor to keep out what you so desperately wanted to give him.

"Do you accept it?" There's a heaviness to the words, some riddle that you can't understand.

"Accept it?"

“A minute ago you said you couldn’t.” Din’s voice shifts into something that sounds like worry.

“I-I do.” You nod your head. “I’m just worried that you spent so much money on me when you could have gotten something for Grogu.”

“Grogu doesn't need a necklace."

You can hear the humor in his voice, but it does little to stop the continued confusion you still had over this whole situation. You wished that Din could just tell Karga to go away and stay with you to ease your nerves.

He turns to go.

"Din-" It slips out before you can stop it and his helmet turns back in your direction waiting for you to finish. "I-"

The three little words were on the tip of your tongue again, each one haunting you like a bad dream. You were so afraid of telling Din how you felt, so afraid to scare him away that it felt like there was a vice squeezing your chest.

You lose your nerve, face falling. "Nevermind."

"I promise that I'll be right back cyar'ika." Din says again, his shoulders tense. "And we'll talk."

"Okay."

He hesitates for another few moments as if he wishes to say more, before he turns and vanishes down the hallway, the heavy footfalls against the smooth wooden floors like distant thunder over the plains.

Please don't go.

Reader POV

Grogu coos softly, running his hand down the worn binding of one of the books you gave him moments ago to make him think that he was helping you unpack, his little nails scratching against the spine.

In another world you would smile at him and laugh, maybe ask if he wants you to read to him, but right now you weren't feeling up to it. Your frustration and inner turmoil was reaching a head, and at this point you were trying to keep yourself from storming out the door, finding Din, and demand that he tell you what this was. You knew that Karga needed him for something, but you wanted him to explain what was happening to you.

You needed Din.

I always do.

And he'd been gone for hours which did little to ease your anxiety.

“What are you doing?” The hologram of your brother projects from your holopad watching you sort through the box of books on your bed.

“Unpacking." You say.

Your brother had called maybe twenty minutes ago to ask you how to make sweet rolls, and even though talking about baking usually cheered you up, right now it didn't. All you could think about was Din and the "kiss" the two of you had shared. You could still feel the chill of his helm against your skin, feel the sharp but smooth indention beneath the palm of your hand where it rested against his cheek, and you could feel the lingering flutter of the butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

The necklace was now hanging from your neck, the cool circle of metal resting against the soft skin between your collarbones as a reminder, proof that what had happened really had, and that it wasn't some fantasy you'd imagined. It really was beautiful, polished to a shine and not too heavy, perfectly balanced.

But what does it mean?

“Unpacking what? Where are you?” Ezekiel squints his eyes as if he can see more of your surroundings, but you knew that he'd only see you standing with a book in your hand.

“I moved today.” You sigh as you stack another book on the pile you were transferring to your bookshelf.

The bookshelf Din made for me. The one that he made me because he's such a good friend.

Your chest tightens again.

The memory of Din "kissing" you had been welcome, but you didn't understand why he used the word "cyare" after, as if he hadn't kissed you and that was just a friendly thing he did.

After he gave me a necklace. A NECKLACE.

A necklace seemed like something that you would give someone who was more than a friend, but again, you weren't sure if you were only mistaking Mandalorian customs with something else.

“You moved? Where? To the shop?” Ez looks confused.

You expected him to be. The last time he was here a week ago, you'd told him that you were thinking about moving into the shop instead to save some money. That was before Din had asked you to move in with him. And you hadn't exactly wanted to tell your brother you were moving in with Din, especially because Ez didn't like him.

“No. My-“ You pause trying to think of what to call Din. “Friend asked me to move in with him.”

Because that's all he is.

“What friend? Wait the Mandalorian? What’s his name again?”

“Din.”

"The jerk?" Ezekiel frowns at the memory of when he first met Din.

Honestly, you didn't blame him for not liking Din given how Din had acted when he was in the bakery and now you weren't sure it really mattered. Before you had been excited for them to meet, because Ez was the only family you had left and you thought that there was a possibility that something was going to happen to between Din and you.

Now you weren't sure at all.

“He’s not a jerk, he was just having a bad day.” You defend, using the same excuse that Din had when he apologized to you.

Even saying it out loud to your brother sounded stupid.

Ez rolls his eyes and waves his hand. “Flimsy excuse. But He asked you to move in with him? Are you guys together?”

“Nope." You say sharply, stacking another book on top of the pile with a loud 'smack'. "Friends, just friends."

"Ooookkkaayyy. What's wrong?"

“Nothing."

"Something's wrong. I can tell."

“It’s complicated.”

"Try me."

You hesitate as you pick up the stack of books and begin to place them on the bookshelf one by one. There was a part of you that couldn't believe that Din had made this, given how smooth the wood was, and how seamlessly it all fit together. It made you think of his perfect kitchen, your dream kitchen, the one that reminded you of where you grew up with your grandmother, the one you'd been lusting after since the first moment you saw it in Din's home.

Like Din's arms.

Your cheeks flush slightly with the thought, remembering again what it was like for Din to hug you when he didn't have his armor on last week and how you longed for the gentle caress of his ungloved hands against your skin.

"I'm not really sure what we are." The words come out before you can stop them. Maybe it's because you're so frustrated or maybe it's because the only person you have or want to talk to is the only person you can't talk to about this because he's so-

Din.

“Do you like him?”

“Yeah.”

“Then how is it complicated?” Ez asks, lounging back in his chair. His hair falls forward around his face, reaching his shoulders in unruly dark curls with the movement and Ez reaches up to push them away.

“I don’t know he’s kinda guarded. Doesn't say too much about that kind of thing. But he does things that feel like more than friends and it’s starting to confuse me.” You turn back to your bed where the holo-pad sits.

You couldn't tell if he was back at his small home or if he was in his ship. You figured that it must have been getting late where he was just as it was getting late here.

Thinking about the time only made you worry a little bit about Din coming back and think about the conversation the two of you are going to have.

“Like what?”

The last person you wanted to talk to about this was your brother. In fact, you'd never had anyone to talk to your brother about in the past, there'd only been Din. Just Din in a sea of other men who never made you feel anything at all, which basically meant that you couldn't compare him to anyone… but it really was a desperate times call for desperate measures situation.

Because who else am I gonna talk to about it? Grogu? That might be a little above his level.

Your only other friend was Din, and he wasn't back yet and you still weren't sure how you were going to start the conversation with him. You were hoping that he'd be the one to start the conversation, given the fact that he was the one who said the two of you would 'talk.' Not to mention he had 'kissed' you so maybe, just maybe he would start it.

You look down at where Grogu is playing with the book, opening and closing the front cover. He holds it up to you as if he wants you to read to him, cooing softly. His little ears perk up, dark eyes wide with curiosity.

You didn't want to say no to him, it wasn't his fault that you were so out of sorts, so you sit down on the bed making yourself comfortable. Grogu crawls across the handmade quilt that you'd put on the bed as soon as you got there and into your lap, holding the book in front of him.

“I mean- He walks me home from the bakery at night and to the bakery in the morning, he brings me back little things when he goes off planet, he holds my hand when we're at the market, and he asked me to move in because he said that it would make him feel better knowing that I was safe!" You sigh in frustration. "And today he kissed me!"

"He removed his helmet?"

"No, he just pressed his forehead to mine."

"Ew." Ez scrunches up his face. "TMI."

"You're not helping." You sigh as you gently rub Grogu's ears and open the book to the first page so he can look at the pictures.

“I don't know what to tell you little sis, it sounds like he likes you. Especially if he-" Ez shudders. "Kissed you."

“I know! But he keeps calling me friend in Mando’a and I don’t know why.”

I shouldn't have let him go. I should have made him sit down while I went out there to tell Karga to go home.

“He’s calling you Burc’ya?” When your brother says the word you shake you head.

“No.”

He purses his lips. “Then what word is he using?”

“There’s two.” Grogu makes another small noise to signal you to turn the page, so you do. One of his little hands is resting on your hand where it holds the book. His nails scratch slightly against your skin, but it's familiar and you can't help but pull him in closer to you.

“What two?” Your brother presses.

“Cyare. Sometimes he says Cyar’ika.” You shrug.

Ez snorts so loud that the hologram flickers, his face splitting into a smile.

“What?”

“Did he tell you those meant friend?” He wheezes out in between laughs, doubling over in his chair.

“Yes?”

What is so funny? Why is any of this funny?

By now your temper had begun to flare again, and given the fact that you never, ever, got angry it seemed pretty significant.

I didn't bring this up just so he could laugh at me! I wanted him to help me!

"And he’s been - HA- bringing you little gifts whenever he leaves and comes back?" Ez chokes out, his body convulsing with the force of his laughter.

"Yes. Ezekiel what is so funny?!"

Grogu reaches up for your pendant, grabbing it between his three fingered hand, toying with it while he looks at the pictures in the book, completely oblivious to what was happening.

You watch your brother's gaze lock on the necklace. “Did Din give you that too?”

“Yeah, when I moved in today. Why?”

“Is it his clan sigil?” He leans forward to examine the imprinted sigil of the Mudhorn.

“Yes? Ezekiel I have no idea why you keep asking me all these questions and why you're laughing! What does it-"

Ez interrupts you before you can finish the question. “So he’s calling you cyare and cyar'ika, has been bringing you back little gifts from wherever he goes, he asked you to move in with him, and he gave you a necklace with his Clan sigil on it?”

“I swear if you ask me one more question Ez I'm going to-"

This is it. This the last straw. I'm going to kill my brother.

First, you’d have to find someone who was willing to fly to the Outer Rim and second you'd probably need to get a step-stool so you could be tall enough to reach his throat to choke him out, but you were going to do it!

But he isn't phased by your threat. "I'll be there tomorrow."

Shock ricochets around your head like a thunderclap. "What? You were just here? Why are you-"

“I’m bringing Max with me.”

“Ez for the love of-

“I gotta go baby sis. See you in the morning.”

“Ezekiel!” You shout, but his image flickers and then disappears from the projection, leaving you in the silence of your new home.

Damn it.

Grogu gurgles in your lap, holding up the book for you to see. You glance down at the child, noting the way his big black eyes focus on you, a happy smile on his face.

It tugs at something in your heart to see him look at you that way, it always did. You loved Grogu more than you loved Din, cared for him like he was your own. You figured that somebody had to. Yes Din was a good father, but you wanted to take care of Grogu too.

Grogu didn’t understand why he could feel your emotions jumping and changing so quickly, ones that didn't feel good to him. Emotions that felt almost sad. Grogu didn't want you to be sad, because he was afraid it meant you were going to leave. And Grogu wanted his mother to live with him and his father.

He coos again softly and nestles into your chest, one of his little hands wrapping around your thumb.

"What's wrong buddy?" You ask him with a sigh.

It was fruitless to try and figure out what Ez was going to do, so it meant you were stuck waiting until tomorrow for him to show up with his friend Max in tow. You'd met Max a few times. He was like your brother, always joking around, never took anything seriously, but he was kind to you, sweet.

Grogu touches your cheek, blinking his dark eyes at you, a silent question.

"I'm okay."

You weren't.

Din was still on your mind. He was always on your mind. There didn't seem to be any escape, and truthfully you didn't want to.

"Are you hungry?" You ask Grogu, pulling him up to stand on your stomach, bracing him back against your knees. You had gotten groceries with Din earlier, so there was actually food in the house. And you couldn't remember the last time that Grogu ate. "Come on I'm starving."

Besides, maybe cooking would take your mind off of Din…

Doubtful.

Din POV

The walk home seemed longer today, perhaps it was because Din was exhausted from listening to Greef Karga or perhaps it was because he was eager to get back to you.

The wind rushed from the East, fluttering through Din's cape, and rustling through the small bouquet of flowers in his right hand. He meant to have some at the house this morning when you first moved in, but he figured now was as good a time as any to get you some.

Din hated the way you looked when he left. He could practically feel your anxiety and frustration soaking through the air of the room when he walked out. And Din knew that he probably should have told Karga to go on a long space-walk without a helmet, but… Din was nervous.

He chastised himself.

He was a Mandalorian! One of the best warriors in the galaxy. He'd faced un-winable odds without bating an eye and without feeling fear, but one look from you made Din feel like he was stripped bare. As if you could see beneath the armor that hid him from the rest of the world, as if you saw and knew the things he did and didn't care.

Din couldn't imagine anyone doing that, accepting the kind of person he used to be and…

The kind of person I am.

Din knew that you should run away. That he should have been the bigger person and ignored you that the day he met you in the bakery when Grogu wandered into your shop, that Din should have stayed away, but he couldn't.

It was an addiction, you were an addiction, and he didn't want to stop.

And now you were going to live with him.

Having you here was perfect, felt cosmically correct. This week when you'd made him soup and nursed him back to health, Din had felt things that he didn't think he could anymore. And when you lingered in his home, cleaning, cooking, and taking care of Grogu, Din felt his heart fluttering in his chest, felt the weight lift from his shoulders for the first time in his life. The weight that settled the moment he set out on his own all those years ago, when he walked the path of the Mandalore and his hands stained with the blood of those who stood in his way.

The same hands that you took so gently in yours, fingers smoothing against the rough patches, holding them between the two of you and gazing up at him with the same trusting smile that made Din feel like he'd swallowed an exploding star.

Everything about you was so different from him and yet Din couldn't stop going to you.

Each time you smiled at him, his tongue gained a hundred pounds and sat in his mouth like a dead weight. Each time he saw you in one of those soft fluttering dresses you always wore, his mind short circuited. Each time you touched him and said his name, it made Din lost all semblance of control.

The same control that he tried to hold to tight whenever he was with you, the control that seemed to waver in the night when everything was quiet and Din tried to sleep but all he saw was you behind his closed eyelids, all he felt was the soft curves of your body in his arms, and all he heard was the sound of your voice whispering in his ear.

When he arrives home there is a meal on the stove you’d made beneath a covered plate waiting for him, but Din isn't hungry. His own anxiety over what he's about to tell you is tying his stomach in knots. Din couldn't understand how around you he was reduced to a bumbling buffoon and why the hell he never seemed to be able to say what he was thinking.

Din had never been really good at talking, especially not to you. The gifts were a wonderful way of avoiding it, but today-

A flash of how you looked when Din left crosses his mind again. How anxious, how frustrated, and how upset you looked. Din hadn't wanted you to feel that way on a day like today, a day that should be happy, and yet Din saw the tears in your eyes.

So he'd kissed you. He'd done it to give you some peace of mind, to comfort you, to give you some promise of what he was going to tell you when he was coming home.

The same speech that he'd rehearsed in his head the whole time he'd been with Karga.

I was so stupid. I should have stayed here with her. I-

Din hears a soft sound coming from the living room and he turns his head. You’re laying on the couch, curled under a blanket with Grogu snoozing softly in your arms, curved protectively around him as if you wish to protect him.

Din feels a warmth flood through his body that he's never known the longer he stands there watching you. Watching the soft rise and fall of your chest, the way each breath moves a stand of your hair on the cushion beneath your head, the gentle sound of your snores filling the quiet, and how perfect it seemed that you were here in his house.

Our house.

The correction in his head makes Din's cheeks flush beneath his helmet. Because you were living with him, you had moved in, you were here to stay-. His eyes are drawn down to the necklace that hangs from your neck, the shine of the silver catching in the light.

Something stirs deep inside of Din, seeing you there with his son, wearing his clan sigil- The same primal protective instinct he felt the minute he saw you with the Transdoshan.

She accepted it. Accepted me.

Din contemplates if he should wake you, tell you the very thing that he'd been trying to say over the past week when you were taking care of him, the same thing that he wanted to tell you when you stood up for him with Ms. Cross, the same thing that he'd wanted to say the night that he sat in your bakery gently wiping blood from the scratch on your face while you cradled his hands between the two of you, and the same thing that he'd been trying to say the first moment that he walked into your bakery and saw you standing there with Grogu in your arms while his son looked up at you with a wide smile.

Din places the flowers on the table next to the couch before he carefully pries Grogu from your embrace, walking down the hall to put him to sleep. Grogu coos softly, wrapping his little finger around Din's thumb in his sleep, but doesn't wake.

When Din comes back out to get you, you're still snoring softly, the blanket pulled up to your chin while you slumber. He hates to move you, not when you look so comfortable, but Din's afraid that you're going to get a crick in your neck if he leaves you like this.

As gently as he can, Din picks you up, his arm coming down underneath your knees to pull your body up into his arms. He feels his heartbeat stutter. Din didn't think that it would feel better than whenever you hugged him, but it does.

Your body curled up in his arms, everywhere his cold hard armor clashes against every soft curve of your body. The gentle beat of your heart rattling around in his helmet, each soft sigh fogging against the metal of his chest-plate.

It does something to him. He's reminded again how much he wants all of you and how he wants you to see all of him. The cloying worm that squirms in the back of his head and tells him to forget about his creed and let you have him the way he's wanted for months. To share parts of himself he never wanted to with anyone else.

But he can't do it, not now. Not like this. He thinks it's selfish to wake you when you're sleeping so soundly.

He might also be procrastinating because even though he spent all his time with Karga trying to think of a way to tell you, he still has no idea what to say to you or how to start the conversation.

Din has no idea how to tell you that he loves you and that he wants you to be his wife.

Because there's a little voice inside that keeps asking Din:

Why would she want you?

He starts to make his way through the house, each step careful as he tries his best not to wake you.

Your bedroom is dark, but Din finds his way through the mess of boxes, pulling back your sheets and blankets.

“Din-“ You murmur and for a moment Din thinks that he’s woken you, but all you do is curl further into his chest with a sigh. One of your hands falls against his arm, squeezing his arm subconsciously.

“I’m right here my Cyare.” He murmurs pressing his forehead against yours. It feels like second nature. "I promise I'll always be here."

The loss he feels when he places you in the bed is familiar, it's the same one he feels whenever he has to say goodnight to you or whenever he says goodbye when he leaves to go off planet.

Din figures that he's waited this long to tell you, one more night couldn't hurt, but he still leaves the bouquet of flowers on your bedside table before he walks off to his room, all the while wishing that he could curl up beside you and allow the gentle beat of your heart lull him to sleep.

A/N: Alright... Don't hate me for another cliffhanger, but we're so close to it! And also this chapter was getting long 😅 BUT, honestly I love y'all so much. I had no idea that I was going to get as big a response on this fic series and it's been so wonderful to see 💚

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! The comments really keep me going! If you'd liked to be added to my taglist for fics in this universe please let me know!

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serpenera · 15 hours ago

Text

I love this meta especially when it aligns so well with the headcanons I independently came up with as of late.

[I'm cooking up a fanfic and Snape's background is something that comes up in it at some point.]

The Princes are not part of the Sacred Twenty Eight - which I understand to be families of only wizards save an occasional squib who go as far as the Middle Ages - which could mean they have only come into pureblood status within the past few generations.

[As far as I recall, you are considered pureblood if both sets of your grandparents were wizards. So Harry for example is a half-blood because the Evanses were muggle but his and Ginny's children would be pureblood because both Lily and James were magical.]

If we assume this to be true we could further theorize they might have been looking to marry off their daughter - who might have been an only child - to one of the 28 or at the very least to some other pureblood wizard to further build their pureblood status. A task which might have been easier said than done because one, Eileen wasn't exactly a looker (by the beauty standards of 50s Britain that is), and two, she might not have been enthusiastic about the idea as a whole.

So how could a girl from a family like this meet a muggle working-class man?

One possibile scenario - and mind you, this is pure conjecture - is that she might have had a muggleborn (or at least half-blood) friend from school. If they weren't her housemate, they might have been a member of the gobstones club Eileen was the president of. Thinking about it, they may have even been her best friend.

Said friend might have taken Eileen for a night out in the muggle side of town where she met Tobias.

It could have been as a sort of impromptu bachelorette party after the friend found out Eileen had been betrothed to some wizard whom she didn't love (and who didn't love her either and only married her for reproduction purposes). They might have gone to a pub or a dance where Eileen might have met Tobias whom she might have realistically found quite handsome and charming and who might have genuinely found her somewhat exotic looks attractive and didn't shy away from expressing it (which in turn would have been intoxicating to a girl who had been told half her life she wasn't pretty). One thing might have led to another and they might have hooked up and either because the protection failed or because they didn't use any, it resulted in an unplanned pregnancy.

So Eileen might have ended up accidentally pregnant with a muggle. I'd imagine her parents - whom we established might have been social climbers - would have been furious.

Now we don't know if abortion is a thing that exists in the wizarding world. If it does the Princes might have demanded that Eileen abort the baby before anyone finds out about the pregnancy lest they disown her, which she might have simply refused to do.

Whether ending the pregnancy was not an option or Eileen simply refused to do it, her parents might have in fact disowned her, thus making her seek out the baby's father.

I imagine Tobias never intended to date let alone marry Eileen - for him it was just a fun Saturday night fling - but when she stood on his door pregnant with his child he took responsibility and promptly married her (perhaps because he was raised this way), all the while unaware of the fact she was a witch.

I recall it was mentioned somewhere that by the rules of the Statute of Secrecy you were only allowed to reveal yourself as a witch or wizard to your partner once you have been married.

Tobias, who might indeed have been a clever man with higher aspirations, suddenly found himself forced to take up a job in a factory to support his new family.

That fact alone would have been reason enough for Tobias to resent Eileen - who was both penniless and (to his eyes) uneducated, making him the sole breadwinner of the family - even more so if she struggled with housework (which might have been the case if she grew up in a household where cooking and cleaning was handled by an elf), causing him to act out.

I think Eileen might have been reluctant to tell him she was a witch, perhaps out of fear of how he might react to the news. I think she might have only told him when baby Sev began having his first accidental magic outbursts.

At this point Eileen would have had no choice but to explain to Tobias that his son was a wizard due to her being a witch and that at 11 he'd go to a magical boarding school, the same one she had graduated from.

I'm convinced that hearing the news that his wife - whom he only married out of a sense of responsibility - was a witch, a man like Tobias, who probably thought wizards were some hippies, would have concluded that she had purposefully bewitched him to make him get her pregnant to trap him into marriage.

This would have been the proverbial nail to the coffin that was their already rocky marriage. It would also explain Tobias' hate of magic as a whole.

The fact the Snapes' house is located in Spinner's End suggests that Tobias might have been working in the textile industry which presents a number of hazards. It is indeed highly probable that over time he'd end up with some kind of issues (my bet is on a pulmonary disease) that would force him to leave his job and survive off of government support.

This would further increase his levels of resentment towards Eileen because, by his logic, he wouldn't have had these health issues if he hadn't gone to work in the factory, and he wouldn't have done that if he hadn't been forced to provide for Eileen and their son, and that wouldn't have been the case if she hadn't trapped him into marriage through magic.

So we know Eileen never left this increasingly abusive relationship, possibly because, by her own logic, she had nowhere to go.

She either couldn't or refused to run back to her parents, perhaps out of either shame or pride or a mix of both.

She had no skills that we know of that would allow her to hold a muggle job. As a witch with no muggle papers she couldn't apply for any kind of government support (assuming she'd even know how).

After years of sporadic use, her magical skills might have atrophied and even if they didn't and she was capable of doing some kind of magical job, maybe just as a clerk or barmaid, would the pay have been enough to support herself and a small child? And who would be looking after said child while she worked?

It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility that she might have been planning to do something once Sev went to Hogwarts. At that point she wouldn't have been held back by anything other than herself.

The question is, would she still have enough will to act at this point? Or now that she knew her son would get by somehow now that had a home at Hogwarts she'd finally just... give up?

Eileen Prince

I'm relentlessly curious about how a witch from Slytherin, a house that values cunning and ambition on paper, and bloodlines/nobility in its culture, ended up living in a muggle slum.

Unfortunately for me, she's a barely mentioned character written by an author who consistently fails to portray female characters with depth or dimension. The women in Harry Potter are portrayed as either maternal or villains, or, in Ginny Weasley's case, as redeemed by their masculine traits (because Rowling's Thatcher era feminism dictates that equality for women = emulating patriarchal ideas of manhood). About as much as you can expect from an author who's as unable to acknowledge the personhood of trans women as she is to write women as actual people. This leaves a lot of room for interpreting or delving into what Eileen Prince's life may have looked like, and how that would have affected her son's development.

There are three direct mentions of Eileen in the text :

“The picture showed a skinny girl of around fifteen. She was not pretty; she looked simultaneously cross and sullen, with heavy brows and a long, pallid face. Underneath the photograph was the caption: Eileen Prince, Captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones Team.”

HBP Ch. 25

“I was going through the rest of the old Prophets and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape, and then later an announcement saying that she’d given birth to a" “ — murderer,” spat Harry.

HBP ch. 30

“Harry looked around: he was on platform nine and three-quarters, and Snape stood beside him, slightly hunched, next to a thin, sallow-faced, sour-looking woman who greatly resembled him.”

DH Ch. 33

(Shoutout to Harry James Potter, who didn't recognize Eileen's fifth year photo despite her resemblance to Snape, the teacher whose classroom he got his used Potions book from. Shoutout also to Harry James Potter who didn't connect the dots between the Prince's handwriting and Snape's, a teacher who regularly wrote instructions on the board. "I needed to make the plot work, ok?" - JK Rowling, probably.)

Other relevant excerpts:

“Snape staggered - his wand flew upwards, away from Harry - and suddenly Harry’s mind was teeming with memories that were not his: a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner ”

OoTP Ch. 26

“Harry delved into his trunk and pulled out his copy of Advanced Potion-Making before getting into bed. There he turned its pages, searching, until he finally found, at the front of the book, the date that it had been published. It was nearly fifty years old.”

HBP Ch. 16

Supplemental material re: Gobstones from JK Rowling:

"...it remains a minority sport within the wizarding world, and does not enjoy a very ‘cool’ reputation, something its devotees tend to resent. Gobstones is most popular among very young wizards and witches, but they generally ‘grow out’ of the game, becoming more interested in Quidditch as they grow older. ... Gobstones enjoys limited popularity at Hogwarts, ranking low among recreational activities, way behind Quidditch and even Wizarding Chess." [There's an additional sentence on the Harry Potter wiki's Gobstones page: "...it is also known as 'the thinking wizard's Quidditch.'"]

A few conclusions can be drawn from what little information we're given about Eileen:

She's described as "cross and sullen" around the age of 15, and as "sallow-faced, sour-looking" when she's older.

She's captain of the Gobstones club around her fifth year, so she likely marched to the beat of her own drum - given that Gobstones isn't particularly popular - and owns it proudly enough to take, or even seek out, a leadership role.

The sport is described as "the thinking wizard's Quidditch" which would imply Eileen was more interested in intellectual challenges and was clever (and can be paralleled with a young Severus' comment about "if you'd rather be brawny than brainy" to James Potter when they first meet on the Hogwarts Express).

Her marriage and the birth of her son are both announced in the paper, which might mean the family she came from was of some importance or note, or perhaps something else... but we'll get to that.

If we assume that Severus' secondhand copy of Advanced Potion Making was originally Eileen's (reasonable, though there is no textual evidence) then its publication date is likely around the time she was a sixth year, given that this particular text was specific to students beginning to prep for N.E.W.T. exams. Harry begins his sixth year in 1996 when the book is "nearly fifty years old," so we can assume Eileen was 16 years old sometime not long after 1946. Severus was born in 1960, which would mean Eileen was in her mid-late 20s at the time.

Her marriage was dysfunctional at best, abusive at worst. As per a Pottermore post that is still up on WizardingWorld.com: "...the desperately lonely and unhappy childhood [Severus] had with a harsh father who didn’t hold back when it came to the whip." Based on this, we can assume Tobias was abusive, and given Eileen's cowering as he shouted at her, she presumably feared him.

From these bits of information emerges the image of a woman who either had a surly personality, or at the very least was guarded, though perhaps just formal. There isn't really any difference in how her face is set when she's in an everyday setting like King's Cross, or when she's having her picture taken for the Gobstones Club. It's possible she was a stern, unsmiling person, but it's also possible - given that her wedding and child were announced in the paper - that she came from a family of some standing and was raised to conduct herself with hallmarks of British class, such as dignity and unaffectedness. After all, there are several wizarding families - such as the Potters - who are wealthy purebloods with social standing but are not part of the Sacred 28. Additionally, the Gobstones Club portrait would have been taken around the mid-1940s, when portraits were formal and their subjects did not often smile, and given that we see only a snippet of Eileen, we don't have enough information that she was unhappy or sour. It's also important to remember that we see her portrait and Snape's memory of her through Harry's perspective and, like his perception of Snape himself, this may convey Harry's biases.

We also know from the text that Snape had a house in a deserted part of Cokeworth, a fictional Midlands town that presumably had a collapsed milling industry, at the end of a street called Spinner's End. There's a great thread that goes into details about the kind of 2 up 2 down house it would have been, and we can assume that this is Snape's family home given that we know he and Lily grew up in Cokeworth. For all intents and purposes, the conclusion we can draw from this being the Snape family's home in the 60s is that they were working class and cripplingly poor. Most estates like this had been cleared by the 60s, and no longer exist today.

This begs the question: how did a witch from a possibly well-off family end up in an abusive marriage in an irrelevant slum?

Buckle up kids, we're leaving the world of textual references and veering into deep meta territory now. I won't label any of this as head canon because I'm not set on these interpretations, and am just drawing conclusions from the text, but some of it may be a bit loose even for meta.

If Eileen was 16 years old not long after 1946, then she would have finished school in the late 40s, possibly even 1950. While some people (including past me) posit the theory that Tobias may have been injured in WWII and his injuries debilitated him, forcing him to go on the dole and affecting his mental health, I'm increasingly skeptical of this theory. It would make more sense if Eileen had known him before he was drafted/enlisted and had committed to a relationship with him, which would then have changed when he came back from the war and was altered. If we assume Eileen's age based on the idea that it was her own copy of Advanced Potion Making Severus used, then she would still have been at school during WWII (which makes an interesting parallel with Severus' own experience of spending the bulk of the first wizarding war against Voldemort as a student at school).

I do think, however, that there's merit in the theory that Tobias suffered some kind of altering injury and that he wasn't necessarily abusive before Eileen committed herself to him. It makes little sense for a Slytherin graduate who was confident and self-posessed enough to be the face of an unpopular club to be drawn to a partner so abusive his shouts caused her to cower and who whipped his child freely. If, however, he was a charming, happy man when they met who suffered a life-altering injury, the trauma of which left him a shell of his former self, then someone like Eileen might stick around for the sake of the parts of his old self she can still see in him.

It's interesting that she didn't seem to use her magic to protect herself or her son, or even to dress her son in clothing that fit, but we know from the text that depression can cause a wizard's powers to wane:

“...it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen”

HBP Ch. 13 (Dumbledore talking about Merope Gaunt)

The fact that the Snapes retained the house in Spinner's End seems to indicate that they continued to live there even when the local industry dried up and the slum was cleared as workers were moved to other parts of the country where they were needed (presumably what happened given *gestures at British history*). The most likely explanation for this would be that Tobias wasn't able to work, and perhaps did suffer an injury, only it was at work, and not during the war. This would mean the family lived on the dole (ie. welfare) and also that he would have spent a lot more time at home. It would also explain his anger and frustration that led to abusive behavior (which isn't to say that disabled people are abusive by any means, but it would have been emasculating for a man who considered himself the breadwinner in the 60s, and chronic pain coupled with limited abilities would give anyone a short fuse).

Moreover, this living situation seems to indicate that there is no additional support coming from anywhere. Where is Eileen's family? Why were they not helping? There's no indication in the text that there is any connection with them at all. We can infer from Snape's memories that, as a child, he learned what he knew about the magical world from his mother. This implies that she talked to him about it a fair amount, and his conviction that he and Lily were going to Hogwarts well before they got their letters also implies that Eileen expected him to go there and was set on her son having a magical education, despite how little she seemed to use her own powers.

Severus knows a lot about the wizarding world as a child, including that prisoners are sent to Azkaban and that it's guarded by Dementors, Hogwarts' house structure and what to expect when he and Lily get there, and about the Statute of Secrecy and the laws around it. When Lily asks him if it makes a difference being Muggleborn, Severus hesitates before replying no, presumably because he's aware of pureblood bias being a part of wizarding culture.

Perhaps that's the reason Eileen's family doesn't seem to be in the picture. My own theory is that Eileen hadn't planned to commit herself to Tobias long-term, and Severus was an accidental outcome of an innocent tryst in which a young Eileen, an educated witch from a well to do pureblood family, was having fun slumming it with a working class muggle and ended up pregnant. While we don't know the wizarding world's attitude around pregnancy and abortion, we do know it's a conservative and classist society that parallels muggle British culture fairly closely, and that the late 50s/early 60s were a time when an out of wedlock baby would have been considered a disgrace.

Add to that the anti-muggle bias of a pureblood family and it sounds like Eileen was disowned her for her mistake (and don't @ me, but even though I know that not all Slytherins are purebloods, it does seem to be a persistent cultural value of the house reaching back to Salazar Slytherin himself, so Eileen's being sorted into it can reasonably be taken as an indication of her blood status). Perhaps the marriage and birth announcements in the Daily Prophet were put in by Eileen herself, if she was a woman from a family where this was customary. It may have been her way of letting her family know of the events, or even of asserting herself and even deliberately defying them, announcing to the whole wizarding world that a Prince married and had a child with a muggle. It makes sense that the girl who wasn't just in the Gobstones club, but became captain, would also say to herself, why shouldn't I have my marriage announced in the paper like everyone else in the family?

It's worth noting that mid-late 20s is pretty young to have a baby in the wizarding world, where the life expectancy and child bearing years are much longer than they are for a muggle. According to the Harry Potter wiki:

"Wizard life expectancy in Britain reached an average 137¾ years in the mid-1990s, according to the Ministry of Divine Health ... Wizards in general have a much longer life expectancy than Muggles, usually living two or three times as long as their non magical counterparts, some living even longer than that depending on circumstances. In addition, seeing as James Potter's parents had him "late in life,” witches likely have significantly longer childbearing years than Muggle women."

Although we see several characters in Severus' generation getting married and having kids not long after leaving school, there's a mention in the text that a lot of people were doing this during Voldemort's reign, as the fear he inspired made people more eager to get a move on with life since they thought they might die any day (I think Mrs. Weasley says this but I can't find the quote, @ me if you do). It's clear this wasn't the norm in the wizarding world. Eileen was a Slytherin, a house that values cunning, ambition, and strong wizarding heritage. Something must have gone very wrong in Eileen's life for her to end up having a child so young and living in a muggle slum.

And so it's possible Eileen Prince found herself pregnant and alone, having been disowned by her family to save face in light of her disgrace, and dependent on the only person she was still close to, the father of her child. It's the kind of storyline that Rowling would write, and it would parallel fairly closely the story of Voldemort's mother, thus adding another to the long list of similarities between Voldemort and Snape.

Lorrie Kim makes an interesting point when she talks about how Snape has a strong reaction to other people having a love life or romantic experiences (the context being Rowling's intention of his love for Lily being romantic and unrequited), but doesn't react particularly strongly to mothers sacrificing themselves for their children, whereas Voldemort does. Her insight, and I think it's a reasonable one, is that Severus accepts the idea of mothers making sacrifices for their children, whether it's Lily giving her life for Harry or Narcissa risking all she did to ask for his help in protecting Draco, because his own mother protected him from his father as much as she could.

There's a lot of room for interpretation on what Eileen's relationship with her son looked like, and what it says about her own state. She may have prioritized not angering Tobias to protect Severus, who as a child might have perceived her actions as a form of rejection. At the same time, she seems to have prepared him thoroughly for life in the magical world, perhaps in the hope that he would find his place in it and escape home. Perhaps she missed it and told him so much about it so she could live through her own memories.

The only time we see her argue with Tobias, in Severus' memory, she's cowering as he shouts. We know from JK Rowling that Tobias used corporal punishment liberally, which implies Eileen didn't stop him despite her magical abilities. We also see in the text, however, that while at school Severus stood up for himself against bullies and fought back, and that he was an exceptionally clever and powerful wizard. As an adult he was brave enough to face Dumbledore when he betrayed Voldemort, and later fought against Voldemort right under his nose (or lack thereof). So it stands to reason that at some point Severus began to stand up against Tobias too.

How much of that was Eileen's influence, or the result of Severus seeing her acceptance of her fate and rejecting it for himself, is hard to say. As for what happened to Tobias and Eileen that their house was Severus' by the mid-90s and they were nowhere in sight, I don't think there's enough information in the text to infer.

#eileen prince #eileen snape #hp meta #I find Eileen and the Princes a genuinely fascinating topic #Because we know so little about them from canon #There are no other Princes that we meet or even hear about #Have they died?#All of them?#If they did all died then did Snape as the last living Prince inherit their Gringotts family vault and possibly some property?#When Bella comments on him still living in Cokeworth is she indirectly asking why he hasn't moved to the Princes home?#And if that's the case...#Why hasn't he?#Could it be that at one point after finding out his grandparents were wizards and were still alive he went to meet them #Except they rejected him and so he later rejected them with their name and their money?#That is if they had money because they might have been relatively well off but far from filthy rich #There is so much to unpack here

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ewmily · 13 hours ago

Text

leap of faith.

robert “bob” reynolds x fem!reader

word count. 5.1k

summary. over breakfast, the team pries for details about your movie night with bob. spoiler alert—he had kissed you unexpectedly.

notes. best friends to lovers dilemma, descriptions of heavy kissing, attempted humour, team banter (yelena being a good friend, bucky is a tired mom, john getting bullied, sassy!ava, alexei being alexei), fluff, suggestive themes (mentions of sex, bob gets a hard-on)

images found on pinterest & divider by saradika

“You’re acting all weird.”

The statement made your heart rate quicken, her prominent, Russian accent sharpening the words. Yelena inched closer to where you stood, perching over the countertops, an elbow propped against the surface as her palm cupped her chin. Her head peered in the corner of your vision as she shot you a curious, intent look, as if trying to meet your gaze.

You only kept your head low and straight, deliberately avoiding the mischief in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ignoring the fact that your throat had suddenly gone dry, you continued to stir the coffee in your mug with a teaspoon, as if the usual, perfunctory act was suddenly a conscious effort.

“Liar,” Yelena remarked dryly, narrowing her eyes. You heard her elicit a snort before calling out to the three others seated behind. “She is acting funny, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“Totally.”

You swallowed hard, finally turning around as well. Your friends were already half-suited and with their gear, all gathered around the dining table, tucking into the first meal of the day. You were met with John’s signature, irritatingly smug look as he chewed on a piece of toast, while Ava knifed at her plate of eggs, a small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips—a contrast to her normally stoic countenance. Bucky was on his phone, a cup of tea held in his good hand. His expression was unreadable, but you could tell he had been quietly listening to your conversation throughout.

“Look, I told you guys already, I just—” You shrugged. “I didn’t get a good night’s sleep.” Raising the steaming mug to your lips, you half-hoped the hot liquid would burn your tongue so that you wouldn’t have to speak any longer.

Yelena returned to her seat on the barstool, clasping her hands together as if this was the mission briefing. “We can see that, but you’re not telling us as to why you didn’t.” Then, she paused, before prompting the question you dreaded most. Her words were slow, almost careful. “You were with Bob, right?”

Your heart fluttered then, the mention of his name flooding your mind with the fuzzy but palpable memories of last night.

You had felt it all—the weight of his gaze, stark blue irises clouded with a want you swore had never been there before. The bowl of popcorn upturned on the couch. The burning sensation in your abdomen as his hands roamed your back. The feeling of his lips moving against yours.

Maybe you both shouldn’t have chosen wine. You should’ve opted for soda.

You fidgeted with your mug, your voice growing quiet. “Yes, I was,” you answered, pressing your back against the edges of the counter, as if trying to create additional space from the dining table. The attempt was in vain.

At your words, John snapped his fingers. “Ha! So something did happen between you two,” he said proudly, swallowing his last bit of toast.

“Hey—we promised we wouldn’t hide things from each other,” Yelena continued. “The emotional constipation isn’t good for us. It helps to get it out there, y’know?”

“Plus, you do look troubled,” added Ava, an edge of concern to her tone. “From my experience, it’s best to just say whatever’s bothering you out loud. For example—” She diverted her glance. “John, it’s vexing me how you’ve still managed to get breadcrumbs all over the floor.”

“Wha—? What did I—”

“I’ve seen dogs eat more elegantly than you, for goodness’ sake.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky, who took a quick sip of his tea. Yelena snickered, while John only threw his hands up in the air. A triumph grin graced Ava’s features as she wolfed down her eggs. The verbal jabs were an unavoidable exercise between the two of them, though Ava just really loved hurling insults towards John at any given moment.

A small smile had appeared on your lips too, but it didn’t quite land, disappearing within seconds. Yelena must’ve noticed, because she immediately returned to the matter at hand. “C’mon,” she said, this time with a soft encouragement to her words. “It’s okay to tell us.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, still feeling a sense of hesitance.

Much like the team, you hadn’t been brought up in the healthiest environment—taught to always guard your feelings, to never let those walls come down. But in a span of months, this very notion was challenged the moment you met the others and somehow became the New Avengers; you functioned almost like a family, and safe to say you had never been more at ease since then.

But it was difficult to break an old, bad habit, especially when the situation involved your best friend, and the course of your friendship taking a very dramatic turn that night—one that you knew there was no return to.

While you and the others had become close, you and Bob grew even closer. You never strayed too far away from each other; always doing the dishes and laundry together, having late-night talks that extended into the early hours of the morning, guzzling down vanilla milkshakes at the café you both frequented two blocks down. And of course, when you weren’t busy on missions, movie nights were no exception.

It scared you deeply if last night had turned out to be a mistake. You were both a little tipsy, after all. You didn’t want to lose your friendship with Bob, or have things grow painfully awkward between you two. Not to mention how uncomfortable it would be for the others, stifling the group dynamic, or worse—causing a rift.

You let out a sigh, your thoughts unable to arrive at a conclusion as to whether or not you were to tell the others. “I—”

“MORNING, TEAM!”

A booming voice resounded through the kitchen, the unmistakable, thick Russian accent belonging to none other than Alexei Shostakov. He emerged from the hallways, fully suited in his red uniform and helmet, geared for the mission ahead. There was a bounce to his gait, his stride purposeful as he made his way to where he always would every morning—the kitchen cabinets.

The team had greeted him in unison, while the coffee had sloshed in your mug, making you opt for a wordless nod as you recovered from the minor heart attack. At the very least, you were grateful he was a walking distraction.

“S’cuse me,” Alexei said amiably, and you shuffled aside to give him access. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding—” He muttered something imperceptible under his breath as he rummaged through the cabinets one by one. Then, he addressed the room. “We are out of Wheaties and not one of you told me beforehand?”

“To be fair, you’re the only one eating that stuff, Dad,” Yelena replied, unamused.

“Yeah, I got pretty sick of having it for breakfast after the first week,” added John, his face contorting in mild disgust.

The Russian elicited a sharp exhale. His expression was almost comical. “Are you all not proud to see your face on the boxes? It makes my whole morning!”

“More like it makes me want to puke,” Ava remarked flatly.

Bucky drew out a tired sigh as he tapped on his phone. “I’ll add it to the grocery list for next week.”

“Oh, no, no—this cannot wait.” Alexei moved to the fridge as he spoke, retrieving a bottle of apple cider. “This mission, it will take less than ten minutes, no? Easy job. I go buy more boxes after. Or maybe in between.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to stop in the middle of a mission—”

“Ay, you are not yet in your suit.” Alexei cut through Bucky’s words, the former taking a swig of the cider as he pointed out to the fact that you were still in your sleepwear.

“I know, so weird, right?” Yelena batted her eyelashes, eager to return you her fullest attention, as if she had been meaning to get back to the dreaded interrogation. A teasing edge to her voice came forth as she motioned to the empty seat directly opposite of her. “It also hasn’t gone unnoticed that one of us has decided to sleep in.”

Oh, boy.

And just when you thought you were finally out of the spotlight, almost given some time to breathe. You had tried to remain inconspicuous as their conversation unfolded, tucked away in one of the unsuspecting corners of the kitchen, fiddling with your mug, remaining oddly quiet.

“Huh. I always thought Bob was a bit of an early bird,” Alexei commented, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, unaware of what the others had been trying to decipher for the past thirty minutes.

He wasn’t wrong—Bob was one of the first few to wake up early, but strangely he wasn’t this morning. An ache formed in your chest at the idea of him deliberately avoiding your presence. You tried to push down the thought.

You cleared your throat then, placing down your now emptied mug on the counter as you shifted on your feet. “Right, I should go change—”

“Woah—hold your horses.” John threw you a pointed look, making you halt in your tracks. “You aren’t going anywhere until you tell us exactly what happened with you and Bob.”

“Wait, what’s happened?” Alexei cut in, the crease between his eyebrows deepening.

You could almost feel something heavy pressing against your heart. The five, attentive pairs of eyes now fixed on you only made it worse.

Bucky must’ve noticed your features screwing into discomfort, because he spoke up after you responded with nothing but silence. “Look—was it something bad?” he asked gently, worry etched onto the lines of his face.

Your hand moved to rub at the side of your neck. “No, nothing bad happened between us,” you replied tentatively. “I just—”

A voice tinged with impatience cut through the air. “So just say it already, Jesus.”

“Walker,” Bucky warned, shooting the man a glare.

“Well, you’re not letting her—” chimed Ava, who simply rolled her eyes.

Ever the mediator, Yelena broke in before the usual quarrel could begin. “Okay, okay—” She raised her hands slightly, waiting for the others to settle down before she spoke. “So nothing bad happened.” She looked at you intently, a hint of a smile twitching at her lips. “So it could only mean something good did, right?”

Bucky’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “I’m not sure that’s always the case…”

Alexei seemed to have caught on, because his eyes now twinkled with a mischief similar to his daughter’s. “Ooh, if it is what I think it is, do tell!”

You only heaved an audible sigh, burying your face in your hands. You just had to be grouped with a stubborn bunch—all headstrong and determined in their own ways—and you knew they weren’t going to back down until they were certain you and Bob were emotionally okay.

“It’s hard to say, alright?” you eventually answered, frustration evident in your tone. Your gaze retreated to the floor tiles. “It’s complicated.”

It was rare that anyone ever heard Bucky’s usual, slightly rough voice go soft, and it was surprising when you did almost immediately. “Hey, how bad could it be?” he spoke, a gentle quality to his words. “Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out, m’kay? Together. But we can only do that if you tell us what’s going on.”

“Yeah. We got you,” Yelena added reassuringly, her smile sincere.

Ava nodded eagerly. Alexei moved to warmly pat your shoulder. Even John had dialed down, this time offering you a kind look.

And there it was—that sense of ease.

As much as the team would sometimes get on your nerves, what with the perpetual squabbles and clashes of your personalities, you knew they would always show up when you needed it most—and you supposed the nosiness was a trait you could learn to be grateful for.

That night had been a leap of faith.

Maybe it was your fault for looking. Staring. Admiring.

The blue glow of the screen had hovered over his features, catching his soft expression in the otherwise dark surroundings. A bowl of popcorn sat between your bodies, and maybe that had just been an excuse to snuggle against his arm, despite the large, empty space of the couch—a silent affirmation that you both were comfortable enough with each other to do that.

You noted the lines that adorned his appearance, watching as the corners of his eyes crinkled in delight, before tracing along the bridge of his nose, then his mouth, upturned as he smiled cutely at the random slapstick comedy playing on the television.

You weren’t sure what had suddenly made the film uninteresting to the point where your entire attention had turned towards scrutinising Bob’s features. A heat had only pooled in your stomach, tension coiling your insides. You had kept telling yourself it was the effect of wine—the empty glasses now deposited on the coffee table—but it could only do so much, because deep down, you were afraid what you were feeling could only be described as that of attraction.

Just then, you heard Bob let out a low chuckle.

“This is so dumb,” he commented, laughter mixing into his words. He turned his head. “Why would you choose—”

There hadn’t been enough time for you to look anywhere else.

So instead, you didn’t.

Just full-on allowed him to catch you staring at his lips.

What played on the television suddenly seemed long-forgotten. Slowly, you flitted your eyelids to meet his gaze. The windows stretched to both ends of the room, and you noticed how the gleam of skyscrapers behind sparkled his irises.

His jaw twitched. He swallowed. Hard.

And then, it was his turn for his eyes to lower unashamedly—to look right at your set of lips.

And when Bob looked back into your eyes again, it was replaced with a burning intensity that hadn’t been there seconds ago, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You were suddenly hyper-aware of the limited distance between you two.

It was wordless, the approval, as if your own intuitions had aligned perfectly—because the next thing you knew, his head was dipping down to yours.

It practically played out in slow motion. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as he leaned in expectantly, and you picked up the faint scent of laundry detergent on his oversized sweater, felt the quiver of his breath as your noses slotted against each other, before finally—his lips connected with yours.

The kiss was tender and delicate, exuding of his regular, shy demeanour. But you could almost feel him—slightly afraid, but desperately wanting. It felt as though he was holding back from anything intense. Instantly, you wanted more.

So you tilted your head, deepening the kiss.

And soon enough, his lips were moving franctically against your own.

It would’ve been surprising with how quick things went from zero to hundred, but that was obviously no moment to be critically thinking or processing emotions when all you could focus on was Bob’s mouth. You had only pulled him closer, moving to cup his cheeks, skin warm to the touch.

Meanwhile, Bob had let out a string of soft noises, and with a confidence you could feel growing within him as every second passed, he pressed his tongue against the seam of your lips, his hands moving to stroke your waist.

It hit you all at once—the buttery flavour of popcorn, the sweetness of wine, and of course, his own organic taste—sending you mad with desire.

And then, as if your body had acted on its own, you shifted to climb on top of him, immediately knocking over the popcorn bowl, the contents spilling onto the couch and carpeted floor. Bob’s hold remained on your waist, supporting your clumsy movements as he guided you to his lap, your thighs straddling his sides. He kissed you even more feverishly, your breaths becoming loud and uneven. You threaded your fingers through his soft curls, earning a low groan from him against your mouth. In return, Bob splayed his hands across your shoulder blades, bringing your chests impossibly close, lips never parting.

The sensations spread like wildfire—the dizziness in your head, the fierce ache between your legs, pleasure rippling through every inch of your body. In that entire moment, you felt like you had ascended, a pure bliss overtaking your thoughts.

Until a startling realisation sank in.

You were making out with your best friend.

“Wait, Bob—” You pulled back panting, forcing your eyes open.

He only chased after your lips.

“Bob.”

He stopped then. Your breath caught in your throat as a bright, yellow glow haloed his pupils.

“Your eyes…”

Bob remained still for a beat, then blinked, as if snapping out of a daze. “Oh, crap. Sorry. I just—” He blinked a couple more times before you saw his irises dimming back to normal. “I may have, um, gotten a little too excited.”

It hit you then. You glanced down, only to realise that you were still aligned with his crotch— something taut and warm poking you through the fabric of his sweatpants.

Oh.

You supposed you were flattered, but at that moment you had been completely caught off guard.

Bob followed your line of sight. “Oh, shit. Fuck!”

He rushed to grab the nearest cushion. You threw yourself off his lap.

Thankful that the television noises filled the subsequent silence, you both tried to gather yourselves—you inching to the edge of the couch, the triangular symbol glowing above the elevator suddenly capturing your interest, while Bob calmed his breaths, fiddling with the corners of the pillow, a nervous look written onto his features.

And yet, despite the background chatter, the atmosphere was growing palpably awkward between you two. Eventually, you couldn’t stand it any longer.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you blurted, finally turning to look at him.

Bob just stared at you for what felt like minutes. Then, he blinked rapidly, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. The others are coming back soon.”

A beat.

He reached for the remote control. “Do you wanna rewind, or—”

Your words landed fast. Too fast. “No. I mean—no, I…” You exhaled a sigh, shaking your head, trying to relieve the dull pressure that had formed in the back of your skull. “Look—we’ve had a few drinks. I think we should just, um, call it a night.”

Bob didn’t respond instantly. His gaze just flickered from the television—a blank stare, as if the film no longer seemed enjoyable to him—and back to you.

Then—

“Okay.” His voice grew quiet, tone unmistakably despondent. “If that’s what you want.”

Hurrying to stand, you dismissed the tremble that still lingered in your thighs. The suddenness of the movement caused specks to swirl in your vision. Yet, you only pushed forward, quickening your footsteps, not daring to look back once. In large, hasty strides, you reached the elevator doors.

But just as the ‘ping’ sounded, a hand latched onto your wrist.

“Hey—” A gentle concern reflected in Bob’s voice. You spared him a glance then, noticing his lopsided gait, like he had stumbled to reach your position. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you with the, um—” He tipped his head down, his hold on the pillow tight, still covering his centre. “You know.”

You managed a stiff nod.

“But I—I didn’t do something wrong, did I?”

You caught his expression—the fold between his eyebrows, the flash of worry in his eyes, the corners of his mouth curled down.

Oh, god.

He was giving you that look. Like a puppy kicked to the sidewalk.

The words almost stuck to your throat. “No, not at all.”

That was all you had said. You could see his lips parting in confusion then, but before he could ask any further, you had stepped forward, moving into the lift, his hold detaching from your wrist. And as if on cue, the doors closed on him.

So you had left it at that—the plaguing tension unresolved, the lack of a good night’s rest, and the immediate suspicion from your friends the very next morning. They were highly trained spies and assassins, after all, and they could tell in a heartbeat when something was off. You weren’t exactly hiding your distressed look well either, coffee being your first priority the moment you walked into the kitchen.

Your attention snapped back to your surroundings, realising the others were still waiting with bated breath for your response.

You braced yourself for what was to come. “We may have…” you started, your voice unsteady, but deciding to just let the word roll off your tongue. “Kissed.”

Of course, you had done a little more than that, but you obviously weren’t going to tell them every single detail. Yelena would barf. John would roll over the floor. This was enough for them to know.

A silence fell over the kitchen. You winced, preparing for the worst, watching their faces as they took in the news—wide-eyed stares from John and Ava, mouths gaped open from Yelena and Alexei, and raised eyebrows from Bucky.

And then, just before you could get another word in about the other, troubling part of the story—where you had pretty much panicked and bolted for the elevator doors, leaving Bob in the dark—the team burst into cheers.

“Bozhe moy.” Alexei was the first to start. “I am so proud of you two!” He shook your shoulders with so much frenetic energy, nearly spilling over his apple cider, and his hearty chuckle vibrated through your entire body.

Bucky let out a low whistle, unable to suppress a smile. “Damn.”

John slapped his hand against the table. “Knew it!”

Ava huffed out a laugh. “Finally.”

Yelena beamed, eyeing you excitedly. “So like—you and Bob are an item?”

Amidst the team’s enthusiasm, a confusion had settled into your features, their reactions surprising you all at once. You blinked, taking a moment longer before you jumped to a response. “No, no. We’re not—”

“You think Bob made the first move?” Ava asked suddenly, her lips twitching in amusement.

“Pfft. No way. Like he’d ever grow a pair,” John replied, though not without earning a light smack upside the head from Bucky.

Alexei spoke just as you were about to open your mouth. “You know,” he started slowly, and you saw his brows shooting up suggestively. “The pharmacy is right next to grocery store. If you want, I can make stop there and help you buy—”

A collective groan sounded over the room.

“Oh my god.” Yelena replicated your equally terrified look, burying her face into her palms. “Dad. Stop. Please. Do not make this weird for her.”

”And for us.” Ava grimaced. “Gross.”

Alexei only shrugged, indifferent to the others’ aghast expressions. “What? As most experienced adult of the team—”

“Good grief,” murmured John, who shielded the side of his face with a hand.

Bucky shook his head, half amused. He turned to offer you a sympathetic smile, his words thoughtful. “Don’t feel like you have to rush into this, alright? I think you and Bob would appreciate taking things slow.”

You only stared in horror, realising just how serious he was actually being. You tried again, this time more desperate than ever to clear up the situation. “Listen, we aren’t—”

But of course, Alexei interrupted before you could finish. “Oh, but have you not seen them? This has been a long time coming! The love, it’s… it’s passionate, it’s burning. Take it from me, it is one you cannot control sometimes.”

“Wow. I didn’t know we had a love expert living with us,” Yelena retorted, deadpan.

Your face grew heated. “You guys—”

“Come to think of it, they have been pretty obvious, haven’t they?” Ava mused.

“Yeah. I figured it started when they weren’t inviting us to their little movie nights,” John remarked, scratching his beard.

“You guys!”

The team paused abruptly, hearing your voice turn sharp. Temporarily relieved to be met with silence, your exasperation was quick to boil over. “Look—Bob and I aren’t an “item”, alright? We just kissed, that’s all.” You crossed your arms tightly against your chest. “But then I—I don’t know, I guess I started panicking, so I just… ran back to my room and left him all alone. We didn’t even finish the movie.”

Yelena’s expression was the first to sour.

“Oh, no.”

Alexei muttered something low in Russian.

John face-palmed.

Ava let out a groan, tipping her head back.

Bucky’s expression grew puzzled, and despite keeping the question kind, you could almost hear the disappointment in his tone. “Why would you do that?”

Frustration clawed at the base of your throat. “Because I was scared, okay?” Your hands flew to your sides, twitching nervously. “I just—I didn’t want to ruin what we have. It was late. We had drinks. We probably weren’t even thinking clearly. And now he’s upset that we even—”

“Okay, slow down,” Yelena cut in, her gentle voice attempting to take the edge off your nerves. She allowed your frantic movements to still before she spoke again. “You know how Bob is—he’s probably just scared too. Not upset.”

“Yeah, I can’t see him being that upset with you, anyways,” John added plainly, though his words were intended to comfort. “Just talk to him.”

He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. You huffed out a dry laugh. “And what if he doesn’t want to?”

“Alright, let’s just settle it this way—” Ava’s voice cut through the air, swift and composed. She straightened her posture then, shooting you a no-nonsense look as her words held steady. “Did you enjoy it?”

You knew Ava was pragmatic in nature, always being the one to set the team straight. But given the current state of your mind, the question threw you off immediately.

“…What?”

She simply repeated herself, enunciating the words. “Did you enjoy the kiss?”

“I—”

Your voice caught in your throat.

Because you knew you’d be lying if you said no.

You didn’t even recoil from Bob. In fact, you were the one that leaned into it, returned it with dangerous fervour that escalated everything. You practically kissed him until his lips almost bruised, glistening in the dark. And not to mention the ache you had felt, that low pull in your stomach you nearly got so lost in chasing—

The answer was as clear as day.

You blinked. “I guess.” Then shrugged as the others eyed you knowingly, your voice thick with admission. “Yeah.”

Ava threw up her hands. Her expression was incredulous, like the answer had been staring in your face all along. “So why are you freaking out about this? There’s essentially no problem! You like him, he likes you—”

Your brows furrowed then. “Okay, you don’t know that—”

“Oh, please. Trust me, he does.“

“He’s clearly into you,” John spoke, his voice flat, as if your skepticism was pointless. “Why else would he give me that look when I try to raid your snacks?”

“I—wait, you raided my snacks?”

His mouth only tightened into a thin line.

Alexei cut in before you could react. “I saw you two on the sofa once, reading your books.” He wore a grin that looked like it almost hurt. “Guess what? Wasn’t even looking at his own page. I knew it since then!”

“Bob asked me once if getting flowers was too “old-fashioned”. His words,” Bucky chimed in, chuckling softly at the memory. “He was acting all weird. Wouldn’t tell me who it was for.” Then, Bucky shot you a telling smile. “I take it the flowers weren’t for the pizza delivery guy, were they?”

A realisation settled in. Your mind immediately thought back to those pink tulips—you know, the ones that Bob had gifted you when you had come back from a week-long solo mission. He had said it was just a little something to welcome you home, but you remembered how deeply you appreciated them—the delicate pinks and airy fragrance softening the images after being sent out to the drab outskirts, covered in grime and blood not of your own. You had pulled him into a hug then, the first of many, but saw it as nothing more than a gesture of friendship.

That, and along with everything else.

He took a fair share of your snacks too. The books he read were often long-winded and heavy. Surely, it must’ve all been a coincidence.

But then again, you knew last night wasn’t just some risqué imagination. You felt it, you felt him, and it was real. Perhaps in spending so much time entwined in each other’s company, the lines had become blurred for far too long.

And maybe, you didn’t want to deny that any longer. Because you couldn’t. Because on your part, there was truly no regret when you kissed Robert Reynolds—you were simply just overwhelmed by what it would’ve meant.

Clarity hit you all at once. Yelena easily read your expression. “I think,” she spoke, in a teasing but good-intentioned manner, “you both should start talking out your feelings like rational adults.”

A smirk tugged at John’s features. “Yeah, so then you two can finally get it on already,” he remarked bluntly, though you knew it was just his version of being supportive.

Ava threw him a scowl. “How sophisticated.” A sigh followed as she returned her gaze. “But yes, what they both said.”

“If you still need me to go to the pharmacy, you let me know—”

“Alexei, are we seriously still on about that?” Bucky narrowed his eyebrows, sharing the others’ painful looks at the Russian’s lack of discretion.

And just before the team could start another ridiculous commotion, a loud yawn sounded from the hallways. All went quiet as Bob stepped into the kitchen.

“Hey, guys.” Lingering by the door frame, he rubbed the tiredness from his eyes, not bothering to tuck the messy curls framing loosely around his face. “Sorry—alarm clock didn’t go off,” he spoke, voice thick with sleep, still oblivious to the group’s uncharacteristic silence. “What’re we, uh, doing today? I thought I could take notes for the—”

Bob froze, eyes struck when he caught you simply standing by the cabinets. It suddenly felt as though you were the only person in the room. The word barely managed to slip past his lips.

“Hi.”

He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look upset. He just held that same, kind look—his features soft and warm—his moon-eyed gaze carrying a gentle understanding of the weight of last night.

You felt the others flickering between you and Bob, a little unsure if they should succumb to the habit of breaking the silence with something irreverent. But they withheld their tongues this time, allowing the moment, thick and unspoken, to fall into your hands entirely.

Regardless, an ease settled in.

Because maybe, it wouldn’t hurt to be falling for your best friend.

notes. wrote the bulk of this instead of revising for my mid-sem tests in the same week, i just couldn’t resist the urge bc this was so fun to write! bob has quickly become a favourite of mine, and i hope i can write more for him, but honestly i feel a bit intimidated because his characterisation can be challenging in some aspects, and i don’t want to do him wrong, so i’m keeping it light-hearted at the moment! i also hope i captured the rest of the thunderbolts okay, if anything i love them sm and they mean a lot to me ❤️‍🩹 (even john, who i may have unintentionally assigned as a punching bag lol) but anyways, thank you for reading :’)

#bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #lewis pullman #thunderbolts #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #sentry #thunderbolts x reader #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

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tacobacoyeet · 1 day ago

Note

Hiii, so I honestly suck at explaining what I want lol, but could you do something where Art is like freshly divorced and decided to start coaching? And he gets with his player who’s significantly younger(if you’re ok with writing age gap stuff! If not it doesn’t have to be included!!) and after a while she has her first time either him and it’s like sweet and soft?

set break | art donaldson x reader

hi, baby! loved this request so much. hope you enjoy!

warnings: SMUT 18+, divorced!coach!art, virgin!reader, implied age gap, cursing, hastily proofread

You'd been his student for a while now— long enough to carve out muscle memory and blistered palms, to mold your discipline into something Art could recognize with a glance. Long enough to make your name known to scouts and whispered about in locker rooms. You were young, all sharp edges and stifled softness, with a game that didn’t ask for attention— it demanded it. Unpredictable. Magnetic. Built from hours no one else was willing to give.

You rose before sunrise. Skipped parties. Trained through birthdays and bruises. Nothing existed outside of the court, and you liked it that way. You were obsessed, but it never felt like a burden. You wanted to be the best, and you lived like it— strict, singular, without distraction. There was no space for softness, especially not for boys who didn’t understand why your hands were always calloused or why your heartbeat aligned with the sound of a bouncing ball.

But Art understood. Maybe that’s why it started the way it did— slow, quiet, unacknowledged. A long look across the net. The rough warmth of his palm correcting your elbow. The way you lingered after practice with half a question on your lips just so you wouldn’t have to leave yet. It wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t even conscious at first. But it built, the way pressure always does— somewhere low and steady, humming beneath everything.

He noticed when your breath caught as he adjusted your stance, when your hand brushed his at the ball bucket. You noticed when his voice dropped a little lower than it had to, when he watched you stretch and then quickly looked away. There was no line crossed. Not then. But the line had moved— or maybe it never existed the way you thought it did.

Somewhere in those shared silences, the space between you began to thin. His gaze started to hold longer. Your jokes softened into something more deliberate. His corrections became gentler, slower. And when your knees knocked on the bench, or your fingers lingered a second too long passing him a towel, neither of you moved away.

He told himself it was nothing. A trick of proximity. He’d just gotten divorced, after all— a quiet ending to a long, tired marriage. There was no scandal, no betrayal. Just the slow unraveling of something that had once been love. He and Tashi had parted like two people handing each other back keys. It was civilized. It was kind. But it was still loss.

And then you walked into his court, and it was like seeing that fire again— the one he remembered from the early days with her. Before the touring, before the burnout, before the silences. You had that same glint in your eyes, that same stubborn tilt of your chin, that same obsessive hunger to win.

It pulled at something he thought he’d buried. He tried to chalk it up to memory, to projection, to the ache of nostalgia. But you didn’t let him. You kept showing up— sweaty, flushed, laughing at his driest jokes like they were brilliant. You worked yourself raw. You gave him hell during drills. And you smiled at him like you trusted him with every fragile part of you.

He started noticing things he shouldn’t. The curve of your neck. The way your voice went rough from shouting line calls. How tightly you braided your hair on game days. He started catching himself thinking about you when you weren’t around— in the grocery store, behind the wheel, in the quiet before sleep. And when his hand slipped while correcting your grip, and you didn’t flinch— when you leaned into him instead of away— he realized it wasn’t memory at all. It was want.

Still, neither of you named it. You trained. You pushed. You stayed late. And he let you.

The tension didn’t arrive like a crash. It built— slow and tight and impossible to ignore. In the thwack of your racket against the ball, in the whistle of your breath between points, in the way you held his gaze just a little too long in what should have always been the most innocent moments.

You learned his moods by the shape of his mouth. He learned yours by the way you adjusted your grip between volleys. He started making excuses to keep you longer. You pretended not to notice.

And at night, when the sky was black and the courts were finally quiet, he’d go inside his home with white knuckles, jaw clenched against the memory of your thighs dusted with clay, your voice low and tired asking for just one more set.

It was unbearable. And it was holy.

You caught him once— late May, heat thick in the air, your tank top clinging to your ribs. He was watching you, really watching, and didn’t look away when you met his eyes. You didn’t smile. Neither did he. But something passed between you that made your knees feel loose.

You started thinking about him in places you shouldn’t. In the shower. In bed, staring up at your ceiling fan, heart pounding just from imagining what his voice would sound like in your ear. You hated yourself for it. And you couldn’t stop.

So when the snap finally came, it wasn’t soft or silent— it was ugly. Loud. Tense. It happened after hours in the sun, your forearms screaming from overwork, your throat hoarse from grunts and breathless curses. You double-faulted four times in a row and Art had said something— not cruel, just curt. But it hit too hard, landed wrong.

“Maybe if you’d stop overthinking and actually listen—”

You dropped your racket. “I am listening.”

“No, you’re reacting. And you're wasting energy doing it.”

You stepped in. Too close. “Then maybe you should coach someone else.”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

You blinked, eyes stinging, your voice rising. “I give you everything—”

“I never asked you to!”

That was the crack. The silence that followed wasn’t calm— it was the kind that pulses in your ears when your heart is racing and you don’t know whether to run or fight.

You didn’t run.

You reached into the minimal space between you, grabbed his collar, and kissed him— hard. Reckless. Like you hated him. Like you needed him. Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt. You tasted like salt and heat and effort. He froze for half a second before kissing you back, one hand sliding to your waist, the other threading into your sweat-damp hair.

It all blurred after that— teeth, breath, hands. He pressed you back against the practice bench, fingers grazing the edge of your sports bra, dragging beneath your top, skin warm under his palms. His touch was firmer than you expected. You arched up into him, more instinct than strategy, wanting more. Needing.

And then you said it.

“I’ve never done this before.”

His hand stilled. He pulled back like he’d been burned, eyes searching yours, chest rising like he’d been running laps.

“What?”

You didn’t look away. “I’ve never had sex.”

It knocked the wind out of him. All at once, the heat and hunger gave way to something else entirely— something tender, something so achingly human he thought he might break from it. He stared at you, stunned. Not with judgment, not even shock. But with reverence.

Your face was still fierce, but your voice had gone soft. “I just... I didn’t want it with anyone else.”

He touched your cheek then, gently, like you were made of glass. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I want you to.”

And it shifted— the entire rhythm between you rethreaded itself. No longer frantic, no longer fighting. He kissed you slow this time, guiding rather than taking, hands steady and careful. He let you set the pace. Let you tremble. Let you breathe. He whispered against your jaw, your throat, telling you it was okay to be nervous. That he’d go slow. That you could stop any time. You kept your eyes on his, wide and wet, like you were trying to memorize the way he looked at you— not like a coach. Not like a man with regrets. Like you were a gift.

He didn’t let it happen there. Not on the court. Not with the sun still high and the sweat still drying on your skin. The moment your voice trembled with that confession, everything in him shifted— the hunger in his eyes replaced by something deeper, gentler, more reverent.

“No,” he said softly, thumb brushing your cheek. “Not here.”

You blinked, confused, until his hands fell to your waist and he pressed the softest kiss to your temple. “Your first time isn’t happening on a tennis bench,” he murmured. “Come inside.”

You followed him into the house without a word, nerves coiling low in your belly. The house was quiet, the air cooler than outside, your footsteps muffled against the hardwood. You’d only ever seen glimpses of it before— a mug in the window, a hallway through the screen door. Now, everything felt achingly intimate. Lived-in. Real.

He led you into his bedroom, the sheets rumpled, sunlight spilling through half-closed blinds. There was a pair of his shoes by the nightstand, a stack of worn books on the dresser. And then there was him, watching you with something tender and unraveled in his eyes, like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this moment.

“You okay?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

You nodded. “Just… nervous.”

“I know.” He stepped closer, cupped your face with both hands. “You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me. Not ever.”

That was what undid you— not the kiss that followed, not even the hands that slid beneath your top again. It was the way he said it. Like he meant it. Like he’d carry the weight of whatever this was, if you let him.

He kissed you slowly, thoroughly. Not like he was trying to take, but like he wanted to learn. His hands slid beneath your shirt, coaxing rather than rushing, and this time, you let him undress you piece by piece. He laid you back on the bed like you were something he’d prayed for. And when his body came down over yours, warm and solid and so heartbreakingly careful, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

He asked again if you were sure. You said yes. Again.

And then he took his time. Not just in the motions, but in the pauses. In the way his eyes flicked over your face like he was trying to read every thought, every hesitation. He kissed your shoulder, your jaw, the soft dip beneath your collarbone. His hands were warm and broad as they traveled across your ribs, your hips, your thighs, not greedy, but grounding— like he wanted you to know you were safe.

"Tell me if anything feels wrong," he murmured against your skin. You nodded, already breathless.

When his hand slid between your legs, you startled— not out of fear, but out of unfamiliarity. He stilled immediately.

"Too much?"

"No," you said quickly, then quieter, “just… new.”

He smiled, soft and real. “New is good. We’ll go slow.”

And he did. His fingers moved with care, coaxing rather than demanding, reading every shift in your breath like it was strategy, like it was gameplay. You gasped when his thumb brushed your clit for the first time, eyes flying to his. He held your gaze.

"That's okay," he whispered. "That’s just you feeling it."

You didn’t know how to be quiet— not with him. You let the sounds happen. The soft whimpers, the ragged gasps, the way your hips tried to chase his touch without you even realizing. He didn’t tease. He didn’t push. Just stayed with you, murmuring encouragement, grounding you with his voice.

When he finally slid a finger inside, your breath caught. It wasn’t painful— just strange. Full. Real. Your muscles clenched around him, and he stilled again.

“Breathe,” he said. “Just like we do on the court. In through the nose.”

You did.

He moved slowly, gently, building rhythm. When he added a second finger, you whimpered, and he kissed your forehead. “That okay?”

You nodded into his shoulder, thighs trembling.

“God, you’re so good,” he whispered. “Doing so good for me.”

You’d never been touched like this. Never had someone take their time, pay attention, listen.

By the time he pulled back and reached for the drawer— a condom, the sound of the foil tearing— you were half-gone with need.

He knelt between your thighs, eyes on you the entire time. "You ready?"

You nodded.

"Words."

“Yes. I’m ready.”

And when he finally pressed inside, it was slow and careful. Your breath hitched, your body tensing despite your trust. He held still, his forehead resting against yours, hand cupping your jaw as if to remind you he was there, fully, completely. His voice was barely a whisper: “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, your thighs trembling around his waist, your hands clutching at his shoulders. He kissed your cheek, your eyelids, waited for your breathing to slow. “You’re doing so good,” he murmured. “Tell me when.”

It took a moment. A heartbeat. Then another. And then, quietly, you whispered, “Okay. I’m okay.”

He moved in increments, barely-there thrusts, watching your face for every wince, every exhale. You could feel every inch of him, slow and thick and unrelenting, stretching you more than you thought you could take. Your legs trembled, your fingers curled against his shoulder blades, and he kissed along your jawline, whispering your name like it grounded him. Every press of his hips made your body jolt, nerves alive and blinking, your breath stuttering in your throat.

"You're so tight," he murmured, groaning low as your body tried to adjust around him. "Fuck, baby— you're driving me insane."

The slick glide of his thumb over your clit returned, gentle but insistent. Your thighs quivered, heels digging into the mattress, hips lifting just slightly to chase him. You felt stretched, overwhelmed, but full. Filled in a way that settled somewhere between ache and pleasure.

He kissed your temple, your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, again and again. “Just let me take care of you.”

The pain dulled, warmth replacing it. The friction started to melt you open.

Your voice cracked. “Don’t stop.”

He paused, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “There.”

So he followed it. Stayed there. Kept it shallow and tender, murmuring praise between kisses, telling you how beautiful you looked, how proud he was, how much you were giving him.

You weren’t sure it would happen. Everything was so overwhelming— your body, his body, the unfamiliar ache that pulsed low in your stomach, the constant tension of wanting more but not knowing how to ask for it. But then his hand slipped between you again, his fingers finding your clit, and he murmured, “Let me make you feel good. Please.”

Your breath caught. You nodded, but he didn’t rush. He adjusted slightly, slowing his hips, angling deeper— and with each pass, his fingers moved in rhythm. The pressure started building almost without your permission. Your thighs flexed. Your fingers clenched in the sheets. You gasped something that wasn’t a word and clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice rough now, pleasure curling through it. “That’s it, baby. You’re so good. So fucking perfect. Just let it happen.”

The feeling crested slowly, the way a wave might swell before it crashes. You arched beneath him, breath shaking, lips parting as the world narrowed to sensation— his voice, his fingers, the sweet ache of him inside you. And then it hit.

You came with a soft, gasping cry, every nerve ending lit up, your back bowing, your thighs trembling around his waist. He didn’t stop. He kissed you through it, holding you like you were breaking open in his arms.

“That’s it,” he said again, so tender it made you want to cry. “So good. So good for me.”

And only after, when your body relaxed, when your eyes fluttered open and you saw the way he was looking at you like you were some kind of miracle— did he let himself go. Thrusts stuttering, jaw clenched against your shoulder as he followed you into it, hips rolling once, twice, and then still.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your breathing slowed in sync. He rested his forehead against yours, still inside you, his hand cupping your jaw with aching care.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, eyes wet. “Yeah. I’m really okay.”

He kissed your nose, your cheek, your shoulder. And then he pulled you close and didn’t let go.

It didn’t last long. It wasn’t perfect. But it was yours. Real and raw and impossibly tender. And when it was over, when he curled around you with one hand stroking your back and the other cradling your face, you felt something settle inside you— quiet, certain.

Later, when you were rested against him in bed, fingers drawing patterns over his chest, he’d think about the walls you carried and the way you finally let him see past them. He’d think about the trust it took to open up. And he’d promise— silently, fiercely— to take care of you, just like you deserved.

-----

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#a writes #ava's asks #art donaldson #art donaldson fic #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson angst #challengers fic #challengers #challengers movie #art donaldson smut #mike faist #tashi duncan

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nohoney · 2 days ago

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spilling hot tea with bakugou ໒꒰ྀི ౦ ̫ o꒱ྀིა

“So you know how she’s been seeing that guy for the past few months but hasn’t become his girlfriend yet?” you tell Bakugou as you walk beside him in the deli aisle, waiting until he finishes speaking to the butcher to get a pound of fresh chicken. “So I asked her why she hasn’t put a label yet and she was like, ‘Oh I just saw some red flags.’”

Bakugou leans on the cart and waits for the butcher with his order. “What kind of red flags?” he asks passively, more interested in how pretty you look with the new top you bought just a week ago.

God her tits look so good.

“Okay so, I was listening to her voice note and she was saying stuff that she caught him on some small lies, like about how he gets VIP tickets for stuff. He’ll say one thing to her but then he’ll say a sort of different story to other people. And that he got all butt hurt because her and her guy best friend slept together years ago and it was only just for fun and they haven’t done anything in forever. So she decided to just take space from her guy best friend so that this new ‘not boyfriend’ guy can be more comfortable.” You explain as you scroll through your instagram feed, liking a picture of one of your friends in a swimsuit and then moving on.

“He got into some dumb fight with her housemate’s brother over beer pong when she brought him over for a chill barbecue kick back. But oh my god, I have to tell you the absolute killer that I had to call her out on.”

Alright, he’s getting more intrigued now. His eyes glance over to the butcher who’s almost done prepping the meat that he had requested. You take a small step back to dig through your purse for something, unknowing that someone was behind you. Bakugou reaches forward to take your arm and gently pull you back to him so that you don’t bump the person behind you.

“So what is it?”

You still dig through your purse but continue to speak, “So apparently she bought him a ticket for some show a while back—I didn’t ask much details about the ticket. But she wants to be paid back by him, which she’s entitled to and all that.”

Finally finding what you were looking for, you pull out a small tube of lip gloss and start to unscrew the cap off.

“She tried talking to him about it and apparently he had told her,” you pause to apply the gloss to your lips, running the wand back and forth along your bottom lip first before applying to your upper lip, “that he couldn’t pay her back with money but he could pay her in other ways like being there for her emotionally.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and the butcher announced that he’s ready to check out. “You fucking serious?” he asks, trying not to believe that your friend is… not letting herself get taken advantage of in that way.

“Crazy right?” you drop your lip glossinto your purse and start to walk to the register so that the chicken can be paid for. “And she’s not even sure that she wants to be his girlfriend yet too.”

The conversation pauses so that the meat can be paid for, but god Bakugou wants to talk so much shit.

“What do you think of that babe?” You ask after shoving the receipt into your purse.

“I think your friend deserves better and that this guy she’s seeing is a bum.” Bakugou can’t help but reel over this piece of gossip. And he wants to talk more about it but you’ve moved on to wondering what else could be fetched for dinner tonight. He briefly remembers how you and your girlfriends get cozy with each other to update and trade stories over…

“Hey, you wanna get some wine?”

You glance over to Bakugou, briefly surprised by the proposal before smiling and nodding your head.

“Fuck yeah I do.”

#if i had to spill tea with any of my favs it would be bakugou #the details of that story btw are real and lawd i was flabbergasted #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader

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ohtobelovedbyme · 2 days ago

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"What do you think of me?" | yjh [ch3]

Pairing: YJH x Reader

Genre: best friend’s brother to lovers (or something), FLUFF, romcom, office setting, yjh and his sister are nepo babies

Summary (this chapter basically goes like this): you: just trying to survive internship hell jeonghan: what if i grabbed ur wrist and whispered in ur ear while drunk also jeonghan: accidentally falls on you and passes out while BTS plays in the background also also jeonghan: “what do you think of me?” update: he stole the can you drank on and now you think he’s wearing your same, exact perfume. chat, is this normal behavior?

A/N: FINALLY DONE WITH THIS CHAPTER AHHH. I was planning on publishing this and ch4, but I figured you guys would want to read this first cause it's been 3 days (?) now 😭😭

Teaser | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 3

By 3:17 PM, you had already run out of your post-its, remaining patience, and reasons to live. Since last week, your seniors have been dumping all their work onto the interns. Your group chat, named “Corporate Work Trauma,” had more than 99 unread messages, either from interns begging the other to help them complete their work or wishing that your seniors would magically get fired and be replaced by more responsible people.

Just as you were about to complete your final assignment for today, you hear the sound of that stupid humming again.

“Intern! I’ll be needing your help with some of the materials for tomorrow.” Manager Kang, from a completely different department, walked over with urgent footsteps and dropped a stack of documents on your desk.

You just stared at it blankly. Manager Kang then cleared his throat, as if to say, “Oh, don’t worry. That will only take you 5 minutes.”

“Just flag me what’s urgent on e-mail, and I’ll get to it as soon as possible,” you looked up with the smiliest and politest face you’ve ever worn, but anyone who knew you would know that you were on the verge of either killing Manager Kang or breaking down.

“Great attitude,” he said, walking away.

“What an ass,” you muttered under your breath. You couldn’t hold it in, but you didn’t want to get fired either.

It was petty, yeah, but so was this day. And the day before that. And the day before yesterday.

From his office, Jeonghan looked up from his monitor. He looked around the room, and all the lights were turned off except for the intern area.

This usually happens every time the company hires new interns. A “rite of passage,” they called it. A hazing, he’d say. Usually, those seniors would get a serious talking to by the rest of the management, but this was just for formality since, well, those same people also do the same thing.

Jeonghan scrunched his nose just at the thought of how many interns quit last year. He did try to help them, albeit only those in his department. He only heard about those assholes from those adjacent departments that dumped tasks onto his interns and made them do their work when two of them quit. From then on, he banned other departments from casually coming in and out of his department. But I guess this happened again, since the interns right now have been staying late in the office for three days straight.

He finally stood up and went out of his office to tell the interns to go home for the night and to report to him about who was making them work and what they were assigned to do.

“Hey.”

You blinked up from your monitor, staring. Joenghan’s voice was low and effortless, like it was just another thought passing through the room.

The rest of the interns did the same and asked him if there was anything he needed. He asked them to leave for the night and to report to him tomorrow

The rest of the interns looked up like they’d just been told the war was over.

“Oh my god. Finally,” one of them breathed out, already half-standing.

“Bro, I’m gonna write a 10-page essay about the hell these people put me through,” another muttered, cracking their knuckles with a vengeance.

“Team Leader Yoon, you’re the realest one here,” someone said, patting their bag and walking out like it was the end of a prison sentence.

One of them turned back to you. “You coming?”

You glanced at your monitor, finger still hovering over the trackpad. “Yeah. Just have to finish this last page,” you said with a small smile.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Won’t take long.”

With a round of exhausted goodbyes and a collective sigh that echoed through the empty office, the rest of them finally filtered out.

When the last of the other interns finally leaves the office, you look up at your monitor. It was just one last page, and you were done. Might as well finish this and not let your hard work go down the drain before the bloody battle that breaks out tomorrow.

“You free for a second?” Jeonghan, who, unbeknownst to you, has been staring at you since he dismissed you.

“Hmm? Me?” you asked, surprised. That was a dumb way to respond, since you were the only one there (other than him). But, you know, you’re tired, he’s tired. There’s something abysmal, yet normal, about your reaction.

“No, the ficus. Yes, you. You’re the only one here.”

You got up, slowly, wary. “Okay…”

Jeonghan walks to his office, and you follow him. Right now, you’re not sure about what’s happening. He just dismissed you a while ago, right? You didn’t just dream that, right?

He opened his office door for you, and you stepped in. You’re hit with the scent again, but this time, it's more subtle.

It was late in the evening, and you’re too tired. The ambience of it all was so relaxing, you’re sure you would sleep here right now, if it weren’t for the subconscious part of your body telling you to sleep in your own bed.

“Sit,” Jeonghan said, his eyes pointing towards the couch.

You, oddly enough, half-expected a lecture on HR violations or intern responsibilities. More work. Maybe a mild scolding delivered in that stupidly smooth voice of his.

As you went to plop on the couch, he opened the drawer under his desk. From your view, you could see the shine of aluminium. A canned herbal tea and a familiar chocolate almond bar. Weird combo? Sure. But it was your go-to back in college, herbal tea and almond chocolate during all-nighters.

Jeonghan walked over to you, his shadow looming over your body. He held them out like a peace offering.

You just looked at what’s in his hands. “You... called me in for this?”

As you were about to take them, he pulled back his hand and opened the can first before placing both products on the glass coffee table in front of you. You roll your eyes.

He sat on the couch opposite you and leaned back, his hands going behind the back of his head. Casual. Composed. Eyes on you like he was studying your expression for microreactions. At first, you were hesitant. Your eyebrows furrowed, making that expression you had every time you’re curious about something. He knows what you were thinking about. How did he know about what you wanted, and why did he have them ready at his office? But then, you finally start drinking the tea.

Your eyes, already half-lidded, began to soften further. Before taking another sip, you went ahead to dig into the chocolate bar. Oh, the mood right now was too cozy. The lavender atmosphere, the soft wool couch swallowing you whole, and you finally having your first meal in almost seven hours, no less, from the man in front of you. God, you just wanted to stay there forever.

“You looked like you were ready to go to the morgue,” he said. “Figured you’d need something to swallow before you head home.”

You chewed slowly, staring at him as your brain finally caught up with what was happening. “Woahhh... Team Leader Yoon Jeonghan,” you drawled, voice thick with playful suspicion. “How did you know I was craving this exact combo? Have you been stalking me?”

Jeonghan quirked a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said lazily. “If I were stalking you, I’d probably know you secretly take screenshots of food from that mukbang channel at midnight.”

You choked slightly on your tea, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“‘Saved Posts,” he said, smug. “Public account. Rookie mistake, seriously. Who taught you internet safety?”

You gasped, half-laughing, half-mortified. “You actually went through my saved posts?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t have to. Your notifications were on during that one meeting, and your screen lit up with your username. Curiosity got the better of me.”

You paused, your hand still gripping the chocolate bar. Your cheeks flushed, just slightly, the faintest pink blooming as his words sank in.

You clutched your forehead dramatically. “Unbelievable. I’m never showing my phone in public again.”

Jeonghan leaned forward then, elbows on his knees, gaze steady. “You interns have been running yourselves into the ground lately. Figured someone should give a damn.”

You looked at him, and for a second, you couldn’t say anything. The teasing was there, sure, but underneath it was... sincere.

You rolled your eyes, if only to hide how warm you felt. “You could’ve just sent an email like a normal person.”

He scoffed. “And miss the chance to see your tragic little face in person?”

“Wow. Thanks,” you said flatly, trying not to smile.

Jeonghan waited a full five seconds before glancing back at the door. Then, slowly, he sat back into his chair.

His gaze dropped to the half-crushed can on the table, the one you'd sipped from earlier. Faint, but still visible: a perfect smudge of maroon left on the aluminium rim. It wasn’t just a mark. It was the same shade you'd been wearing all night. The same shade you’d been wearing since you started working here. Rich. Creamy. Almost too bold for you.

His fingers reached for it. Brushed the edge.

The pigment clung to his skin. He turned his hand over, staring at the stain against the pad of his index finger. A color too soft to be dangerous, but too dark to be innocent.

He lifted his fingers to his mouth.

A pause.

Then, he touched his lips to them.

The warmth wasn’t the same. But it mimicked what could’ve been yours.

He exhaled through his nose, a quiet, bitter laugh.

He didn’t even like herbal tea and almond chocolate.

The hum of the vending machine was the only sound filling the small break room. You sat slouched on the bench, head resting against the cold wall, eyes closed. The coffee in your hands had gone lukewarm. Your shoes were kicked off, legs tucked beneath you like you were claiming this sad little corner as your territory.

Today, you finally finished all the projects you were assigned. Your fellow interns finally stopped cursing and hexing your seniors, and you finally have time to relax. Moreover, those same seniors got chewed out by Team Leader Yoon. “My final warning,” you remember how his voice was calm and calculating, making everything he said sound like a death threat instead of a “I’ll-send-you-to-HR” threat.

“You look like you got hit by a truck,” a familiar voice piped up.

You cracked one eye open to find your best friend, Jeonghan’s younger sister, leaning against the doorframe, sipping from her iced latte like she hadn’t just insulted you.

“Truck, bus, and a management-level bullet train,” you deadpanned, sighing dramatically as you took another sip of your coffee. “The seniors? Demonic. One of them made me sort three years of archived campaign decks. My soul left my body halfway through 2023.”

She winced. “Okay, yeah. That’s cruel and unusual. Even I don’t like those archives, and I barely do anything.”

You snorted.

She sauntered over and sat beside you, nudging your shoulder. “You’ve been looking real burnt-out lately. You okay?”

You shrugged. “It’s fine. Just new intern stuff. Paying my dues. Blood, sweat, tears, and barely-scheduled bathroom breaks. Besides, your lovely brother finally saved us.”

“Ew, don’t call him that.” She grimaced. “You need a break. Like, real one.”

You looked at her suspiciously. “Why do you sound like you’re about to propose something... stupid? Insane? What’s the right word….”

She smirked. “Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all… maybe I am.”

You squinted. “Don’t say team-building workshop. I’ll cry.”

“Worse.” Her grin widened. “Karaoke. Tonight.”

You groaned. “Nooo. My legs feel like overcooked noodles. I can’t stand, let alone scream-sing IU.”

“But it’s to celebrate! You finally survived intern hell. That deserves a round of somaek.”

You blinked. “Can’t we just do that without involving the whole department?”

“Nope. Everyone’s coming--well, everyone that matters. Especially you interns. And…” She paused for a beat, her voice dropping just slightly into a mischievous tone. “Oppa might come too.”

“No, he won’t. No one will. Why? Because this won’t happen.”

“Come on~” She flipped her hair dramatically. “I might go tell him it’s a little celebratory thing.”

You stared at her. “You do know that he’s busy, right?”

She beamed. “Yeah, but he would make time. Maybe. As long as you’re there. Looking cute. And tired. And vulnerable.”

You almost choked on your coffee. “You’re evil.”

She beamed. “You love me.”

Jeonghan didn’t look up from his laptop when the door opened. “If this is about the budget sheet, tell them to stop using Comic Sans–”

“It’s not,” his sister sang-songed, plopping onto the guest chair across from his desk. “It’s about plans.”

“Sounds exhausting already.”

She leaned in, elbows on his desk. “Did you know we’re doing karaoke tonight?”

He raised a brow. “No.”

“Well, we are.”

“Sounds loud.”

“Mm-hmm.” She stretched the silence, letting it hang before she dropped the bait. “Guess who’s coming?”

His fingers paused mid-typing. “...”

“Yep. Poor girl’s been run ragged. You should’ve seen her, she looked like she was about to merge with the coffee machine. Thought it’d be nice for her to unwind.”

He didn’t reply right away, gaze still fixed on the screen, though nothing was being typed now.

His sister grinned. “Anyway. I told her you might come.”

This time, he looked at her.

“Just a heads up,” she added sweetly, before slipping out of the office.

Behind her, Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, his forearm rising to cover his eyes, as he slowly, very slowly smirked to himself. He let out a low chuckle, like he was plotting some evil Doofenshmirtz-level plan.

“This crazy bastard…” his sister just walked away as quickly as she could.

You were nestled in the corner of the private room, surrounded by your coworkers who were thriving in their tipsy chaos. The lights bounced off the walls, the mic was being tossed around like a volleyball, and someone was currently screaming their way through an old 2 PM hit.

You were smiling, even laughing occasionally, but your body still felt tired. Drained.

This probably wasn’t a good idea, but you were having fun. I guess you would have to prioritize your bodily needs tomorrow. The past few days had chewed you up and spit you out with a polite, overworked bow.

The door opened, and Jeonghan stepped in. Some of your coworkers did not expect him to come here, while the rest were too drunk to even get up from their seats. He was wearing a button-down shirt (too few buttons done up, you note) and sleeves rolled up like he just walked off a music video set.

You turned to your friend, who was screaming her lungs off. She made eye contact with you and winked. Yeah, no. This was her doing.

You could see his eyes scanning the room until they stopped. At you.

A faint smile ghosted across his lips. And then he walked in fully, sliding into an open seat at the end of the room, not next to you, but close enough to watch.

He didn’t even greet you directly.

You sipped your drink.

He sipped his.

But you could feel him there.

You had stepped out of the room to cool off. It was too warm. Too loud. Too much. It was like your skin couldn’t hold everything in anymore.

You were just beginning to breathe when you felt him.

Jeonghan leaned against the wall beside you like he belonged there. Like the hallway had been waiting for him.

You turned to see him, eyes closed, head tilted, cheek pressed lazily to his shoulder. His hair, beautifully disheveled, fanned out behind him, catching the soft light like silk. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, the few buttons still undone, skin glowing pale beneath the low light. His hair?

You couldn’t tell if he was drunk or just reckless tonight. But his presence was magnetic, pulling everything in, including you.

“Team Leader Yoon… are you alright?” Your voice came out quiet, unsure, but your body already moved. You stepped in, closer, protective by habit and helplessness.

He didn’t answer at first. Just hummed low. His head dipped in a slow, deliberate motion.

“...Jeonghan?”

You watched the fall of his bangs. The way his lashes brushed the flush of his cheeks. His lips– plump, a little red, and parted just enough to tempt every reckless impulse in your brain.

Your hand lifted. You didn’t mean to. But it did. Hovering near his mouth.

You wondered:

Were they still wet from all the drinks? Or dry from the hallway air?

You didn’t find out.

Then, heat. Fingers wrapped around your wrist. Slow, firm.

You gasped.

He opened one eye, heavy-lidded, a little too knowing. Then, slowly, like he had all the time in the world, Jeonghan pulled you toward him. Not hard, instead, it was gentle, devastating. Until your bodies nearly touched.

You could feel it.

The heat. The scent.

Sandalwood. Lavender. And something unmistakably his.

And then, with the barest smirk at the corner of his lips, his thumb brushed over your bottom lip.

Your breath hitched.

“Same color,” he murmured, voice low. “Your lips… the other night.”

You forgot how to blink.

His thumb lingered a second longer before sliding away, his grip still secure around your wrist. But now, it was his fingers that trailed gently along the skin there, mapping every inch like it was a confession.

And then,

he moved again.

You didn’t even register it until his fingers brushed the slope of your neck. Just enough to make your breath hitch and your spine freeze.

Then he found the necklace you wore.

His fingers traced the delicate chain along your neck, unbearably slow, like he already knew what it was doing to you. You swallowed, breath catching when he reached the pendant resting above your collarbone. It was heart-shaped. Of course it was. His thumb brushed over it once, twice, as if he was testing the rhythm beneath it.

You were certain. Utterly, humiliatingly certain that he could feel your heartbeat rising against the cage of your ribs like it wanted to leap into his palm.

He held onto it.

Lifted it slightly. As if weighing something.

“Still wearing this?” he said, almost like he was asking himself.

Then, he let it go gently. The charm dropped against your skin with a soft clink.

You didn’t get to exhale.

Because in the next second, his hand slid to the back of your neck. His fingers threading through your hair, palm warm and solid.

He pulled you closer.

Not rough. Not rushed.

Intentional.

Your body followed, helpless.

He leaned in. Past your cheek. Past your jaw.

And just as your breath trembled out, his lips brushed the side of your neck, and he whispered: “What do you think of me?”

Your knees nearly gave out.

You could feel every syllable burn against your skin. Every letter was a sin.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look at him.

Because he was right there. So close. And you knew, if you turned your head, your lips would meet.

But then–

The door behind you rattled.

Voices. Laughter. The sound of someone scream-singing off-key to “Autumn Leaves” by BTS. The hallway light flickered briefly from the opened door.

Your blood turned cold. Your stomach dropped.

He kept his hand at your nape. Still holding. Still there.

Your pulse thundered. His breath ghosted your jaw.

He looked amused. Barely. Like this was all some twisted game, and only he knew the rules.

“Let go,” you whispered, though you didn’t even sound like you meant it.

He didn’t.

He just smiled against your skin.

THUD.

“Oh God!”

Yoon Jeonghan. Your Team Leader. Your best friend’s brother.

And now? Collapsed at your feet. Dragging you down with him.

“Okay, okay, I got it, you’re very strong–”

You struggled to keep Jeonghan upright as he leaned heavily against your shoulder, humming some half-forgotten ballad into your ear. His hair was falling into his eyes, lips slack in a dopey grin.

Across from you, his sister, your beloved best friend, was swaying slightly on her feet.

“Sooo…” she slurred. “Isn’t he heavy? He’s heavy, right? I told him not to mix soju and beer.”

“You also cheered him on,” you deadpanned, glancing at her with a little more concern. “You don’t look so good either–wait, did you drink from that mystery cocktail?”

“Shhhh,” she hushed you with one finger to your lips. “Shhhh. Listen. Focus. Mission. Jeonghan. Home.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna take him to your apartment, right?”

Your best friend blinked, confusion present on her drunken face.

Then she laughed. “Babe, I can’t even find my own feet.”

You turned your head slowly to where Jeonghan was now lightly beatboxing under his breath with his eyes closed.

“Oh my god.”

Oh my god, indeed.

Somehow, by sheer divine intervention and one very confused taxi driver, you got Jeonghan into the backseat of a cab, while your best friend leaned dramatically against a lamp post, blinking slowly.

“Alright, I’ll ride with him,” she mumbled. “You go home.”

“Uh.” You hesitated. “I think I should go with you two, actually.”

“Noooo.” She waved a limp hand. “I’ll just… go to sleep.”

“What–no, you can’t sleep in a cab– wait, are you calling another one for yourself?”

She nodded very proudly, pressing her phone to her cheek like it was a teddy bear. “Like a pro.”

You sighed, pulling out your phone. “I’m calling someone else to–”

She called out your name in a long and slurred tone.

You turned, and your best friend was suddenly wide awake. Swaying, but possessed by purpose.

“I have a genius idea.”

“…not this again.”

“You take him home.”

“What?!”

“Genius,” she whispered proudly. “He trusts you.”

You stared at her, baffled. You shook your head and said: “I should be taking care of you, not your brother–”

“But I’ll be fiiine,” she grinned, now somehow sitting on the sidewalk. “I live around here. You’re going the same way, anywayyyy. You’re also the responsible one. He’ll be nice to you.”

From the cab, Jeonghan murmured something that sounded vaguely like, “You smell like flowers,” before slumping over dramatically.

You exhaled. And sighed. And almost cried a little.

“…I hate all of you.”

The drive was mostly quiet, save for the muffled sound of traffic and Jeonghan’s occasional humming, off-key, barely coherent, but somehow still hypnotic. His head was back on your shoulder again, like a magnet, a gravitational constant you had no power over.

Your heart hadn’t slowed down since the hallway.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe too hard.

Then, the cab driver cleared his throat. Glanced at you two through the mirror. You, with your face red, with your boss leaning on your shoulders.

“So…” he said, voice light. “Are you two dating?”

You froze.

“I– what? N-No, we’re not–”

“Because you look good together,” the driver continued, oblivious and chuckling. “Like a couple in a drama, you know?”

You were about to melt into the seat and die when Jeonghan stirred beside you.

He blinked slowly. Then let out a soft chuckle.

And in a warm, slurred tone, he said–

“I agree with him… Are we?”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide.

“Jeonghan–!”

But he was smiling now, lopsided and sweet, his cheek still pressed to your shoulder like it was the most natural place in the world.

He turned his face slightly, lips grazing the fabric of your shirt.

“You’re soft,” he mumbled.

Your nervous system stopped completely

The cab driver laughed. “Ahah, young love.”

You slapped your hand over your face, covering every inch that exposed the flush of your cheeks. “I’m going to jump out of this car.”

“I’ll catch you,” Jeonghan murmured, barely audible now, already drifting again.

But his hand, warm and slow, was still holding your wrist. Thumb brushing lazily across your skin like he wasn’t done saying everything he wanted to say.

You didn’t speak for the rest of the ride.

But your heart did. Loudly. The whole time.

Tag list: @sumzysworld, @lixisoul99, @viciousdarlings, reiofsuns2001, @lily409, @armycarat2612, @cheolliesvt

(To everyone commenting/reacting to this story, thank u very much! I'll make sure to actually finish this for u guys 😭❤)

#jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt #svt x reader #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #jeonghan x you #seventeen

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