#all shivers and needs to nest in blankets for a while

[lay-z]

sleepy omega!reader x poly 141 just constantly wanting cuddles or just sliding into their beds in the middle of the night because the massive stuffed teddy in their nest isnt doing it for them-

Gosh dang it, I've become such a sucker for anything Omegaverse 🥹 Thank you for your request! I hope you'll like this blurb 🩷 And I'm so sorry this took so long, omg!

Pairing: alpha!TF-141 x omega!gn!Reader

Warnings/Info: military!Reader; packmates; alpha/omega dynamics; domesticity; hurt/comfort; fluff; teammates/friends to lovers

No matter how much you're tossing and turning while clinging to your favourite ginormous bear plushie (a gift from Price himself), your nest feels... off. It's not nearly as warm and cosy enough as you need it, and you don't understand why.

You haven't made any big changes, have you? You'd simply fluffed up all the blankets and pillows and plushies you own; the usual routine. Your nose wrinkles as you sit up inside your nest to sniff around in the dark. Okay, perhaps the scent of your pack mates isn’t quite there anymore—only barely lingering on your nesting materials, but that shouldn’t bother you as much as it does right now.

They’re right here, just across the hallway in their respective rooms or perhaps still lounging in the living room, quietly suffering with their episodic insomnia. So, knowing that they’re under the same roof with you should be enough, but it simply isn’t.

As you dig yourself out from under your pillow fortress, you immediately shiver as soon as the chilly winter breeze currently sweeping in through the cracked window hits your flushed body, because even in the deepest winter season, you cannot sleep with the window closed. And now clad, or rather drowning, in one of Simon’s hoodies and a pair of warm sweatpants, you’re still cold.

No, something isn’t quite right.

You feel too restless, uncomfortable, and lonely.

Crawling out of your nest, you scramble to your feet and make your way out of your bedroom and into the living room down the hall—where you can already see the flickering light of the flat TV around the corner, though the volume is low and heavily drowned out by your pack leader’s hackle-raising snores. 

Peeking around the corner, not wanting to disturb him, you find John sprawled out on the large armchair, clutching the remote in one hand, his head tipped back and mouth wide open while he continues to sound like a berserker with sinusitis. It’s an endearing sight, seeing him this openly vulnerable and relaxed, and you can't stop yourself from getting a whiff of his sleepy, musky scent as you sniff the air greedily.

It makes your heart flutter and a pleasant shiver run down your spine.

Oh, how tempted you are to simply walk up and crawl into his lap, bury your face into his chest and sleep with him like this, but you don’t want to risk waking him up, so you let out the softest sigh and slowly turn to sneak off into the other direction, back towards your own cold, empty bedroom—

Just to bump into a tall, solid mountain of lean muscle.

“Havin’ fun stalking the Cap while he’s knocked out cold?”

You swallow a surprised squeak and stare up at Kyle with wide doe-eyes as he swiftly reaches out to grasp your forearms to keep you steady and in place. His voice is soft, full of amusement, his warm brown eyes nearly twinkling in the flickering lights of the TV as he looks down at you. “Aw, did I scare ya, little mouse?”

You shake your head adamantly. “No, I was just getting a glass of water.” It’s a white lie, but you don’t want to start explaining something you have no explanation for yet.

Kyle lifts an eyebrow and releases you to cross his arms as he scrutinizes you while you can clearly see his nostrils twitch as he scents you discreetly.

“I see,” he replies eventually, though, knowing Kyle, you can tell that he’s not buying your lie one bit. “So, you’re good, yeah? Headin’ back to your den then?”

The question lingers in the air and as you open your mouth to answer, he beats you to it.

“Or perhaps another room tonight?” Kyle watches your lashes flutter as you blink dumbly, and he ignores the sudden urge to squish your cheeks with his hands and pull your face against his neck to scent-mark you thoroughly. “I’m just saying,” he shrugs, “ya haven’t been seekin’ out any one of us lately, ‘s all.” He’s not accusing you, just stating an observation he’s made.

And it’s true. You haven’t been seeking out the alphas of your pack; too afraid to be viewed as annoying or too clingy. It’s been hard enough to be the only omega in TF-141, after all. You don’t want to be their burden but an asset instead. 

Swallowing thickly, you really wish you had a cold glass of water right about now. “Uhm, well–” You press your lips into a tight line before you shrug, feeling like a complete idiot. At this point, you might be worse than Simon when it comes to articulating your feelings—not that you’d ever willingly admit that out loud.

“I just... don’t wanna bother anyone. You’re all stressed and busy and uh... yeah, I’ll just go back to my room, I guess,” you grumble, hoping that neither sadness nor disappointment spike your scent to tell on you.

Kyle lets out a small huff through his nose and rolls his shoulders as he listens to you. There’s a slight twitch between his brows as you mention being a bother to them, but then he fixes his face into a more neutral expression before he steps aside.

“Alright. Have a good night, sweetheart.”

You give a small nod, wishing deep down that he’d simply tug you along and make you sleep in his bedroom tonight, but Kyle stands stock still, and you walk past him back down the hall and into your empty, chilly omega den—somehow feeling worse than before.

Your gloomy bedroom feels even colder while you rearrange your nest for the third time, but never feeling satisfied with it. You keep swallowing down the little, high-pitched chuffs and whines of distress bubbling up in your throat; afraid someone might hear or smell the underlying bitterness now lacing your usually bloomy, comforting scent.

When the door suddenly creaks open, you freeze and hold your breath, spine straightening as you kneel in the middle of your nest, clutching your plushie to your chest.

“Relax,” Johnny chuckles quietly, his voice hoarse and gravelly with sleep, “…s’ jus’ me, hen.”

He slips through the crack and leaves the door ajar before he casually walks towards your nest, stretching languidly with a yawn before slipping inside with you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble reflexively, nearly whining, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

But Johnny only clucks his tongue, eyes already fluttering shut in bliss as he pulls you into his arms. “None ‘o tha’, hen,” he grumbles, letting out a contented chuff as soon as he buries his nose into your hair. “Ah missed ye.”

The vibration of his low rumble makes you shiver, it breaks you out of your momentary stupor, and you swiftly reciprocate his embrace, burying your nose into his neck and huffing his lightly smoky scent eagerly with a happy purr.

And while you and Johnny cuddle, bringing balance back to your room, your bedroom door is pushed open once more and a warm, musky scent is added to the atmosphere—like suede and cask aged bourbon.

Simon slips into your nest and curls his massive body around you from behind with nothing more than a deep, sleepy grumble as his heavy arm snakes around your torso, pulling you closer until the tip of his nose is pressed against the nape of your neck.

Feeling like you’re finally on omega cloud nine at this point, surrounded by two of your precious alphas in your own nest, you can barely hear the other two males stumbling into your room above the beginning snores coming from both Johnny and Simon.

“C’mon, Cap, this way.” Lifting your head up, you can hear Kyle mutter quietly as he guides a sleep-drunk Captain Price towards your nest.

“Stay.” Johnny mumbles in his sleep, curling his arm tighter around your waist below Simon’s arm as you shift in their snug embraces, but before you can reply, Price lets out a soft growl—not a warning but a non-verbal order—and suddenly, all four men arrange themselves in your nest, dragging their bulky bodies around sluggishly until they’ve build a proper cuddle pile around you.

They end up snuggling and hugging you one way or another, their noses pressed into your skin while you’re practically buzzing as you purr for them.

“T’was a proper pain in the arse to wake ‘em up, sweet’eart,” Kyle mutters with a soft sigh, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. “Next time you feel like this, you let us know. We’re here to take care of our ‘mega… and don’t lie to me again,” he grumbles, interlacing his fingers with yours tenderly while your heart thuds steadily against your chest.

“You’re a shit liar.”

[beloveds-embrace]

(Omegaverse poly 141 x designationless reader)

You learned sometime on that, while your team may not think much about your lack of a designation, they still react to things on instinct.

And those instincts? They’re ridiculously easy to manipulate.

Take Ghost, for example. Big, intimidating Alpha. Stoic, unreadable, all sharp angles and careful control. But bump into him just right- tilt your head like you’re subconsciously presenting your throat, slow blinking at him- and suddenly he’s there, steadying you, holding you in place with a grip that lingers just a little too long.

Or Gaz who can’t stand the sight of someone looking even remotely cold. It takes nothing- nothing- to get him to bundle you up in blankets, to press close for warmth without a second thought.

Johnny is the easiest of them all, though. He’s naturally affectionate, eager to touch, to tug you into his space. All you have to do is sigh, maybe rub at your temples like you’re exhausted, and he’s pulling you into a hug before you can blink.

And then there’s John. Your captain, your steady anchor. He pretends he’s immune to your antics, but you know better. Let your shoulders slump, let yourself look just a little too small (irrelevant of your height), and suddenly he’s standing closer, touching the back of your neck, rubbing slow circles against your skin like he’s scenting you even though there’s nothing there to mark.

They can’t help it. It’s instinct.

So, really, is it your fault if you use that to your advantage?

It’s been a long mission.

Your muscles ache, your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, and all you want is warmth and comfort.

So you get to work.

You start with Johnny, because he’s the easiest mark. You drop onto the nest beside him with a heavy sigh, letting yourself slump dramatically against his shoulder, against the warmth of his bulk.

��Johnny,” you mumble, voice thick with exhaustion. A little whine, barely there. “I’m so tired.”

It takes less than a second for him to react.

“Aw, c’mere then, hen.” He says immediately, already shifting, pulling you into his side with an arm slung around your waist until you are comfy and cozy against him.

You don’t even try to hide your grin.

Kyle is next. He sees you curled up against Johnny, eyes drooping, a little shiver flowing up your spine, and immediately starts fussing.

“You’re cold.” He says, already grabbing a soft, thick blanket. He drapes it over you before you can protest, tucking it around your shoulders with a soft tsk and then kissing your forehead.

Perfect.

Simon is a little harder, but you know what works.

You shift, stretching just enough that your neck is exposed, turning toward him when he enters the room slightly as if expecting him to slot into place beside you.

And oh, he does.

He doesn’t say anything, just moves, settling on your other side with a quiet sigh, his presence solid and warm. One big hand lands on your thigh, not gripping, just holding, like he needs to feel you there. You can feel his satisfied grumble when you relax further more than you can actually hear it.

Last is John.

You crack one eye open, watching him linger near the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

You sigh again, softer this time, and let your eyes flutter closed, tilting your head just enough to bare the curve of your throat to him, as well.

There’s a beat of hesitation.

Then-

The nest dips as Price joins the pile, one large hand cupping the back of your head, his chest broad and solid as you nuzzle against him, all of the other three making space for him yet sticking close regardless.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he murmurs.

You smile against his shoulder. “And yet, here you are.” Sleepily, you mumble.

Price just chuffs, low and warm, and you smile stretches wider in return, eyes fluttering shut while your body turns fully pliant under their care.

You’ve won.

Omegaverse Masterlist

[bunnis-monsters]

Sorry about your 🩸beloved.

How about a werecat purring while they cuddle and fuck you from behind to help with the cramps, so warm they're like a weighted blanket.

NSFW

Werecat bf that is already clingy enough, but becomes more like a werekoala during your period.

He’s already got some mothering instincts, grooming you and keeping you tucked away in his makeshift nest in your closet during mating season, so when you get your period once a month, he views it as YOU going into heat. All week he takes care of your needs…

“Shh, I’ll give you kittens… no need to fuss…”

The soothing vibrations of his purrs made you relax as he kept your thigh lifted up so he had access to that pretty pussy of yours.

When you let out a soft mewl as he hit that special spot, he chirped, rubbing his face against your neck and giving you a soft mating bite. “Right there? Is that where it feels good?”

His claws gently kneaded at your belly, applying pressure to your abdomen. He mewed and licked your cheek, trying his best to groom and soothe you as he fucked into your bloody cunt.

“Gonna put a litter in you… gotta make you a mommy…”

He came deep inside of you, cooing and mewing as he pulled out, his cock pink from the blood and cum.

“C’mon… lemme clean you up…”

He softly kneaded your abdomen as he licked along your thighs, his tongue a bit rough, but not enough to be uncomfortable. The texture was interesting, making you shiver when he finally reached your clit.

It was a bit embarrassing, watching him lick up your blood as if it were nothing, but he didn’t seem to mind or care. He was grooming his mate, helping her stay clean and healthy during her heat…

Once he cleaned you up, he curled up next to you, purring loudly. “Nap time… then I’ll feed you, okay? Only after that can we mate again… need you strength, love…”

Despite his instincts screaming at him to breed you again, he pushed his own needs aside to take care of you…

He laid on top of you like a needy house cat, his body warm but not too heavy. It felt like a weighted blanket, making you drift off into a comfortable sleep…

[serpentface]

WE WERE ONCE GEESE

A story explaining the origins of the far southern Tamitiil people, and how they stay in their lands year-round through the harshness of the polar winter while other feathered creatures fly north.

---

Many, many lifetimes ago, our people were geese. We had short little legs and webbed feet to swim in the sea, beaks good only for eating grass, and wings that let us fly whenever and wherever needed.

This was very important to the rhythms of our life. Every winter, we would journey far north to distant lands where the days are warm and the snow never falls. Every summer, we would return to this land to mate and raise our children.

We built our summer homes on the high cliffs of a mountainside, safe from the foxes, cats, and humans who walked beneath. Our cliffs became great cities bustling with life. We carried up sweet grasses to eat and we fermented summer berries into wine to drink. Our men danced in the sky, not on land, and our women chased off hawks and gulls that threatened our children from above. We sang to the sun like we still do today, though our voices have changed.

Among our goose ancestors, there were twin brothers, Chliletiisma and Chlilalok.

Chliletiisma was a gentle and kindly soul, renowned among his people for his generosity and beautiful singing voice. Chlilalok was clever and tricky and generally regarded as a scoundrel. In spite of their differences, they were hatched from the very same egg, of one mind and one flesh. They could not bear to be separated. They shared a mate each season, and raised each other's children as their own.

One year, Chliletiisma and Chlilalok paired off with a woman named Amlitl, and they had a clutch of ten eggs that hatched into ten healthy boys. This was a cause for celebration, but the joy was short lived. The winter came early that year. The first icy winds blew in from the sea when many of the goose children were still in their baby down. And yet all the goose people felt the tugging in their veins. It was almost time to fly north to follow the departing sun.

The children of some families were ready for flight. Their fathers and mothers leapt from the cliffs, and so the goslings followed. They flew down, shakily at first, from the mountain to the sea. There they would gain strength for the great flight north.

The children of many families were not ready for flight. Their fathers and mothers leapt from the cliffs, and so the goslings followed. One by one, they would plummet to the ground, and there be eaten by the fox and the cat who waited beneath. Their parents circled above, but there was nothing more to be done. They left singing songs of mourning on the great flight north.

Eventually, the twins, Amlitl, and their children were the last family left on the cliffs. All ten of their children had hatched late, and they had none of their flight feathers. They would not stand a chance at surviving the departure from the nest, much less the journey north.

Amlitl despaired for her children, but she could not wait any longer.

“It’s over,” she said to her mates. “We need to leave them behind or we'll perish here ourselves. It's no good for us all to die."

There was harsh, brutal wisdom in her words, but few men can bear to hear such wisdom when it comes to their children. The twins refused, and Amlitl left without them.

And so Chliletiisma and Chlilalok stayed behind with their ten children after all the other geese left. The winds changed from a gnawing chill to a biting cold, and the first snows soon blanketed the lands. And still the children were not ready to fly. Even if they were, it would be too late. Not even the twins, with their powerful wings and warm feathers, could hope to survive the winter storms that would block their way.

The children shivered in their baby down, and the body heat of their fathers was scarcely enough to keep their crevice nest warm. Chliletiisma began to pluck feathers from his stomach to line their home and to warm his children against his bare flesh. The days grew ever darker, and their nest grew ever colder, and he plucked more and more of his feathers until he had nothing left to give.

One bitterly cold day, Chliletiisma's spirit was cut from his body and he fell dead. Chlilalok and his ten children sang songs of mourning all day, and they all tore feathers from their faces and tails in their grief.

The eldest moon Talit looked on the gentle twin with kindness, and so he snatched him up in his jaw and placed him into the sky. The star Chliletiisma still stands there today.

Chlilalok realized his children would have no hope of surviving the long winter if he just stayed in his nest. Chliletiisma's feathers were just warm enough to keep them from freezing, but they had little stored food remaining and all forage was buried beneath the snow.

There were other peoples who lived in this land throughout the winter, and those who seemed to thrive were the hunters. Chlilalok decided that he had to seek them out and learn from their ways. He packed a satchel with a little grass and a bladder of wine, said his goodbyes to his children, and flew out into the darkness.

He first came upon a young fox, who was chewing at an old rabbit carcass that was little more than bones. Even a little fox could be a dangerous foe, but would rarely face up against a full grown goose without the advantage of surprise. Chlilalok puffed himself up as big as he could and approached with a strut.

"Hail, cousin!" He said amicably.

"Hail, cousin." The fox said, with a curious tilt of her head. "What are you still doing around these parts?"

"My people have banished me from our winter home, I fear," Chlilalok said. "All a big misunderstanding, but it matters little now. I'm starved half to death, and here you are, healthy and strong. How do you survive the winter?"

The fox sat on her haunches and swished her long tail.

"Quite easily," she said. "Winter might be tough on you grass eaters, but I have the teeth of a hunter. I can eat anything I can kill."

She yawned, showing off her wide jaws full of small, wickedly sharp teeth.

"I hardly need them, though. I'm the best hunter there is. My legs carry me swifter then the wind, and I can sneak up on my prey silently enough that they never even see my teeth."

"…Like so," came a voice behind Chlilalok.

He turned his head, and there was another fox! She had crept up behind him without so much as making a sound. Outnumbered, even by these two young, inexperienced foxes, Chlilalok was not so confident. He had to think fast.

"Wait!" He said. "The two of you could certainly overpower me, but I won't go down without a fight. I could break those swift legs of yours with my wings, and then you won't be able to hunt at all."

"That would be a shame…" the first fox said.

"…But I think it's worth the risk," the second fox said, stepping closer.

"Hold on," Chlilalok said, and he turned his back to the foxes and pretended to rummage around in his satchel. Instead, he picked up a smooth white stone from the ground and presented it to the foxes.

"This is my only child, still in the egg. I will give it to you without a struggle if you let me go," he said.

"That is a mighty big egg…" said the first fox, licking her lips.

"…We'll take it," said the second fox.

Chlilalok, head bowed in a show of sorrow, placed the stone before them. The foxes fell upon it eagerly and shrieked as a few of their teeth broke against it. They fell to the ground, moaning and groaning, and Chlilalok swiftly grabbed up their teeth and flew away.

He next came upon a cat in his prime, prowling at the base of the mountain in search of any leftover gosling carcasses. The cat was the biggest creature around, and Chlilalok wasn't taking any chances. He fluttered up top of a large boulder, out of the mighty beast's reach.

"Hail, cousin!" He said from his safe distance.

"Hail." The cat said grumpily, annoyed at this clear mockery from a potential juicy meal. "What's a goose still doing around here? Why haven't you fled north with the rest of your cowardly people?"

"That's just the thing- my people are horrible cowards. It embarrasses me, frankly. I've stayed behind to learn teachings from far braver peoples such as yours."

"I can give you a few teachings right now if you come down from that rock," the cat said, impatiently twitching his long tail.

"I never said I wasn't a coward," Chlilalok replied. "I just have one question to ask. How do you survive the winter?"

The cat yawned and stretched, exposing his massive teeth and long, hooked claws.

“It’s easy. My fur keeps me warm, and I have plenty of options for food. My claws can kill anything that moves." He yawned and stretched again. "I'd be just fine without them, though. I’m the strongest beast that has ever lived.”

“The strongest ever?” Chlilalok said. “I don’t know about that. The first goose once lifted this very mountain and placed it here so my people would have a safe place to raise our babies. I’ve never heard of a cat accomplishing such a feat.”

The cat shook with laughter. “A goose? Lift this mountain? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“The stories are quite firm in this matter,” Chlilalok lied, “but if you’re truly stronger than even the first goose, pushing the mountain over will be no trouble for you.”

“You’re damn right it won't,” said the cat.

He hoisted himself up on his hind legs, and pushed at the mountainside with all his might.

“I think it’s starting to give,” he huffed, as he scrabbled and scrambled against unyielding stone.

The mountain, annoyed at this minor nuisance, sent a pile of rocks crashing down upon the cat. He yowled in pain from beneath the rocks, and Chlilalok quickly snatched a few of his claws and went on his way.

The cat found his way out eventually, but the rocks had bruised his skin and severed his tail from his body. Even today, his descendants bear the spots of his wounds and the tiny stump of his lost tail.

Finally, Chlilalok came upon an old human, sitting outside of his hut and whittling strange carvings into bone. The human was a large and fearsome creature that wore the cat's skin as his own, but his people mostly hunted and fished the sea and did not often trouble the geese.

Chlilalok approached with caution. "Hail, cousin!" he said.

"Hail, cousin," said the human. "You're certainly a strange sight in the dead of winter. What's keeping you here?"

"I injured my wing and my people had to leave me behind. It's been dreadful, and I've come to you for advice. How do you live through the winter?" he asked.

"Come to my hut and I will show you," the human answered.

Chlilalok nervously followed the human into his hut, and the answer soon became apparent. At the center, an oil lamp wicked with moss burned as warm and bright as sunlight.

"I stole fire from the sun long ago," said the human, shrugging off his catskin. "It burned off most of my fur, but that hardly matters. The fire keeps me warm on even the coldest days."

It was clearly true. The human was as ugly and naked as a baby sparrow without his furs, and yet he stood comfortably in the presence of the flames.

"…I don't truly need it though," the human continued. "My hands can carry weapons that put the cat's claws to shame. I can wear his furs and go out to catch my prey even in a blizzard."

He paused to scratch at his great, whiskery beard. "Though I'll admit, I've been unlucky in my hunts up until now. I think I'm just going to eat you."

Chlilalok thought quickly, and produced the bladder of wine he carried in his satchel.

“Cousin, if you’re going to eat me, at least be civil about it. I am your guest, after all,” Chlilalok said. “Why don’t we share a drink beforehand?”

The human could agree that some level of propriety to his unfortunate guest was warranted. He handed Chlilalok two of his great ivory cups and watched with curiosity as the goose poured the wine. The human had never tasted such a thing before, and took great pleasure in the way it calmed his mind and warmed his belly. He drank and drank until he flopped onto his back and fell asleep. Chlilalok then crept to the fire and carried a lit clump of moss away in his beak.

And so Chlilalok had taken the teeth of the fox, the claws of the cat, and the fire of the human. And he brought back the wisdom of valuing these gifts, for even the fiercest and strongest of peoples struggled in the winter, and their troubles were only deepened by foolishness and vanity.

But by the time he reached his nest, he was exhausted near to the point of death. Chlilalok taught his sons the use and wisdom of his three gifts, and then his spirit was cut from his body and he fell dead.

The eldest moon Talit looked on Chlilalok with admiration, and so he snatched him up in his jaw and placed him into the sky. The star Chlilalok still stands there today, right next to his twin.

The ten brothers took their father's teachings to heart. They donned the teeth of the fox and became like her, able to survive on the flesh of animals in the cold times when all plants die. They wore the claws of the cat and became like him, capable of fighting with great ferocity and bringing down prey and foe alike. They learned to tend the human's fire and became like him, always having a place of safety and warmth to retreat to in the long night. And they used these gifts with wisdom, always thoughtful of how precious they truly were and bearing them with great gratitude.

And so they became the first Tamitiil.

When our cousins, the geese, returned, they were surprised at what they found. The twins' children were still alive, but they were changed. They had the teeth of the fox and the claws of the cat. Their wings were small and they could not fly, but they could climb and run and leap more than well enough to make up for it. The geese greeted these new relatives as friends, and the two peoples mingled for the summer.

The Tamitiil brothers divided themselves into pairs, and each pair took a goose woman as a mate. When winter came yet again, they could not fly away with the geese, but they didn't need to. They built their nests as huts and warmed themselves with fires. Like Chliletiisma, one man in each pair stayed with the children and plucked feathers from his belly to line their bed and warm them against his skin. Like Chlilalok, the other man in each pair left the home to search for food throughout the winter. The people became clever hunters who kept their families well fed with game, and nurturing fathers who tended warm homes and raised healthy children.

They lived this way for many years, until they had their own women and no longer took geese for mates. And we have lived this way in the lifetimes and lifetimes since, greeting our goose cousins when they return for the summer and staying where they cannot through the long, cold dark.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Wrote this at midnight. Not even melatonin could contain the horny curse that Mok Tok put on me. Bon appetit~

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, alpha borisin!reader, sub/bottom/omega!Mok Tok, mind break, breeding, kidnapping (?), marking

Mok Tok is too feisty for his own good. He's the kind of guy who's impulsive and needs to follow someone, or something, far, far stronger than he is.

He needs a big, strong alpha to keep him in line. Needs you to show him where he truly belongs, even if he can't see it at first.

It takes a long time, and an absurd amount of patience, to break him. Mok Tok will yell, scream, howl, snarl, and try to bite you every step of the way — which is why he ends up chained in your basement, muzzled and isolated from everything. Your touch as gentle as can be, even as the omega pulls at his restraints and curses you out again.

Eventually, he's worn down. Your whispers in his sensitive, fuzzy ears — combined with miniscule suggestive touches that gradually made him desire you — eventually gave you the perfect mate.

Now, Mok Tok is your pliant omega whore, clingy and constantly craving his master's touch. He shivers when you enter the nest that he built in his little room. Piles of blankets and your used clothing, most of which ends up stained from Mok Tok's incessant humping when you're away.

You can see his thighs clamp together, feebly attempting to stop another wave of need from dripping out of his stiff cock, but it's too little, too late… you only need to brush your fingertips down his arm, and Mok Tok is whimpering like a sad puppy. Rolling over and going belly up for you — his alpha.

No matter how often you fuck him, Mok Tok always ends up tight again, gripping your dick like his insides are trying to bear hug you… but, hey, you're not about to complain about that. It only makes breeding his borussy that much more fun~

Speaking of breeding; you created an addiction. Mok Tok is desperate for your hot, alpha cum, whining so loudly for you to breed his omega pussy and let him have your pups. He'll do anything! Please, please, please cum in him — don't pull your cock out until there's so much cum in his hole that he can barely move! 🥺

While you're busy jackhammering his wet, creamy hole for the nth time, Mok Tok will shed tears of pure happiness, howling at the heavens when you fill him AGAIN, and pulling your body closer until he can barely breathe.

This little wolf is also a bit addicted to your marks. Every tiny bite or scratch is viewed as a trophy in his dumbed out, horny mess of a brain. Borisin typically view scars in a positive light, and Mok Tok is no exception. Even after you turned his brain to mush and programmed him to be your bitch, that fact didn't change.

The hickeys you cover his neck with? Treasures, all of them.

The long scratches running down his arms, sides, and back? Treasures, even though those do hurt a little…

The bite marks on Mok Tok's thighs, ankles, hands, and shoulders? Priceless treasures, every last one of 'em.

—

The moral of the story is: Mok Tok is my little wife, and I need to keep him forever~ 🩶

[ddejavvu]

Hi, i hope youre doing well ☺️

Could i request another part to animagus cat reader where reader cuddles with Remus during winter instead of Sirius because its cold and he runs warmer?? Like he'll be in the common room reading in an arm chair while reader catnaps on his lap while being pet and Sirius tells him to stop stealing his gf and James is jealous/whiny that he doesnt get to have cat snuggles.

part 1 / part 2

--

Despite the two blankets layered in an inviting nest on Sirius's lap, Remus is the warmest person in the room. The fire crackes on its logs, offering scorching heat, but what you seek is gentle warmth, and you've found it between Remus's sweater and his undershirt. You're splayed over his chest much like a baby would be, your paws stretched out against his shoulders and your head pressed face-first into his chest. His sweater is tight enough that it holds you in place, and you don't have to worry about falling. It means that you're able to fully relax, and Sirius can hear your rampant purring from where he sits on the couch with a sour scowl on his face.

"If you just wore warmer clothes, you wouldn't be pissy right now," Remus muses, not bothering to grace the man with a glance away from his novel, "She only likes me 'cause my sweater is warm."

That's not entirely true. While Remus does tend to dress for comfort, and Sirius for style, Remus runs naturally hotter than your boyfriend. You don't have the heart to tell him that, though, so you mewl in agreement to Remus's statement.

"Sweaters are dumb," Sirius spits, and no one bothers to mention that he has a small collection of them for the snowy days on the grounds, "I look better in leather."

"Your loss," Remus shrugs, and to add insult to injury, reaches up to scratch a spot behind your ears that only makes your purring louder.

"This is bullshit," Sirius finally huffs, breaking his facade of gloomy indifference, "Prongs, get over here."

James, all too eager to help out his friend and soak up affection to boot, has no problem tipping over sideways to lay in Sirius's lap.

But the man lifts James's head out of his lap by his curls, "No, no, no, not James. Prongs."

"You want me to-?" James asks, but doesn't dare finish, because the prospect of transforming right in the common room sends a shiver of mischief down his spine that he'd be a fool to question, "On it."

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah," Sirius nods, sneering haughtily at Remus, "You're not the only one that's good for a cuddle, Moony. Look at this," He gushes, as James begins his transformation, skin giving way to tight, short fur and enormous antlers that nearly grate against the stone walls around you.

"Oh, he's a perfect fit." Remus nods resignedly, content to continue rubbing at your ears rather than chastise his friends for trying to fit a stag on a loveseat, "Yeah, that'll work nicely- ooh, careful Sirius, almost got stabbed there."

Sirius dodges a prong off of James's antlers, taking them in his hands and holding James's head steady as the oversized buck folds his knobbly knees into Sirius's lap. The back two can't make it, but James fits them clumsily onto the cushion, maintaining his balance out of dramatic willpower rather than the laws of physics.

You decide once they settle that they're no longer in need of your attention, so you turn your head back towards Remus and burrow your face back into his warm chest. You feel it shake with mirth beneath you, presumably at an overdramatized reaction from the two boys opposite you, but you can't bring yourself to care; sleep is at the forefront of your brain in this form.

"Yeah, get real cozy!" Sirius insists, calling so that you can hear him through Remus's thick sweater and beneath the weight of his hand on your ears, "Whatever! We're cozy over here, too, 'never been more comfortable- ah! Prongs, watch the hooves!"

[wibben]

Rain Check

When the flu forces a rain check on date night, Higuruma brings "date night" to you.

↳ pairing: hiromi higuruma x fem. reader

↳ wc: 7k

↳ notes: wrote this while laid up with the flu. it was meant to be something else, but i felt sniffly and miserable and desperately wanted to be babied (while also rejecting any and all babying offers, as nature intended).

The bedroom smelled like sickness. Not the clinical kind of sharp antiseptic and bitter pharmaceuticals, but damp and fever-thick, cloying with the sour tang of old sweat and the ghost of citrus cough drops sucked down to their waxy centers. The air was heavy with it, humidity clinging to the walls like condensation on a glass, dense enough to smother. It settled in your sheets, in the tangled nest of blankets wrapped around your limbs like a cocoon – Saharan-hot, unpleasant, and inescapable. Your bed was a battlefield, ground zero of your body’s losing battle against the flu.

Tissues, wadded and tragic, lay strewn like the fallen, a half-empty water bottle lolled somewhere out of reach, and an untouched bowl of instant miso soup perched precariously on the nightstand, abandoned after a single, underwhelming sip. Somewhere in the mess, your phone lay buried, intermittently buzzing beneath the detritus of your decline. You felt disgusting. And this did not lend itself well to what was supposed to be date night. You moaned as a sharp spear of pain lanced from temple to temple, skewering your brain. You barely resisted the urge to cry – and only because you were too dehydrated to conjure the necessary tears.

Somehow, that managed to be the worst part. Not the shivering, not the congestion rattling in your lungs, not the way your skin burned one moment and chilled near-hypothermic the next. No, the worst part was that you were missing the one thing you had actually been looking forward to all week. That you had picked out an outfit, planned your hair, agonized over which earrings best captured the effortless I-woke-up-like-this charm you were still desperately trying to convince Hiromi you naturally possessed. Now you were pale and sallow, hair matted with sweat, buried beneath a mountain of blankets and self-pity. You groaned, three-fourths delirious, and fished for your phone, each movement sluggish, leaden, fingers tingling with that strange, disconnected weight of illness. Squinting against the assault of the screen’s brightness which felt more and more like a lobotomy, you fumbled out a text with hands that felt miles away from your body.

‘I’m so sorry. A bit sick and can’t make it tonight. Rain check?’

You pressed send, then immediately regretted it. There was nothing embarrassing about the words, but still, a wave of dread churned in your gut. Maybe because you and Hiromi were still in that early, precarious stage where everything felt light and bright and thrilling. Where dates were a polished, effortful, meticulously curated portrayal of your best self. And now here you were, stripped raw to the ugly, unromantic truth of human frailty. Or maybe it was the feral kernel of deeply ingrained animal instinct that told you to hide your weakness, a wild whim to bury it and yourself deep in your den and lick your wounds until you were well enough to emerge and rejoin the world without risk of being cast out or eaten.

He responded almost instantly.

‘No worries at all! Do you need anything :(?’

You groaned again, this time in frustration. Why did he have to be nice about it? You couldn’t even wallow properly without the sting of guilt, exacerbated by imagining the furrow of concern in his brow, the way his head would tilt just a little when he read your message, the soft exhale through his nose and sympathetic cluck of his tongue before he typed his reply. The only thing worse than being sick was knowing that your sickness was inconvenient, that you’d disappointed the person you’d been pulling out all the stops to impress. You debated how to respond, but exhaustion was already dragging you under, pressing you back into the sheets. You inhaled through your nose – attempted to, anyway. It came out a congested wheeze. The idea of Hiromi seeing you like this was inconceivable. Animal instinct, you figured, better to die alone.

‘Just need some rest!’ you typed back, trying to imbue the words with a breezy, casual tone, as if you weren’t on the precipice of death.

The truth was, you were dying.

Dramatically. Theatrically. This was, undoubtedly, the end. Your body would be discovered days later, shrouded in blankets, an unsent draft of a final will and testament open on your phone, detailing the precise eulogy you deserved.

But Hiromi didn’t need to know that.

Your phone buzzed again.

‘OK. Let me know if you need me.’

You smiled a little, despite yourself, then groaned and rolled back over. The room spun. The fever tugged at you, deep and relentless, and you let it coax you back to merciful unconsciousness.

Hiromi had been looking forward to tonight.

Not in the nice dinner, casual plans sort of way, but in the way a man who has spent too many years thinking of romance as something for other people looks forward to the one thing that has, recently, rewritten his understanding of the concept entirely.

Because your presence in his life was warm. Feather-filled. It had kind eyes and a pretty laugh, hands that had learned him too quickly, adapted to the sharp angles of his face too well – cradling his jaw in playful moments, tapping his chin with an audacity that should have knocked him off balance, but instead left him floating. You had carved out a space for yourself somewhere he never intended to lease out, and it should have been unsettling, it should have made him hesitate, but instead—

Instead, it felt like relief. When was the last time he’d laughed before you? The last time he’d taken a moment to breathe of his own volition and not when his tired lungs screamed at him to do so?

He hadn’t walked into your first date with any expectations. Not because he wasn’t interested – but because he had long since tempered the part of himself that dared to hope for things. He had let himself want before, and he had been let down before. So he told himself he was prepared for a perfectly fine evening. Maybe a few laughs. Maybe a polite conversation. Maybe he’d even go home and think: That was nice. Instead, he left feeling like a man half-starved and only just realizing how long it’d been since he was full.

You were quick-witted, sharp, you built upon his dry humor instead of letting it evaporate in the air between you. He would say something wry and expect the usual polite chuckle, or god forbid that tight-lipped nod of pity he was so accustomed to, but you fired back without hesitation, tossing the joke back into his lap harder, razor-edged, funnier than when he first laid it out. And that was dangerous, because it made him want more. More conversation, more of your thoughts, more of your laughter – not the socially polite and etiquette dictated pressed-lipped one, but the real one, the one that cracked open your ribs and shook your shoulders, the one that made you lean into him like gravity had given up on its usual rules just between the two of you, blessing him with the opportunity to support you until you straightened.

So he asked for a second date. And then a third.

And then he stopped counting, because by then, it was already too late for him. Somewhere between dinner and drinks, between needle-point banter that led to soft, sleepy whispers beneath the cold sheets of his bed, he had started looking forward to you in a way he never meant to. You had become a rhythm in his week, something as natural as breathing, as necessary as sleep, and the part of him that should have been alarmed had long since been sedated by the part of him that just liked you too much to care.

You had him standing in front of his closet for far longer than any reasonable man should, holding up nearly identical dress shirts in varying shades of white – ivory, eggshell, cream – the back and forth had him squinting at the fabric and failing to tell the difference, he started over. Was the left one cream? No, no that was eggshell… only he thought the eggshell shirt was the one in his right hand, not his left— And he never used to check his phone like this. Never used to anticipate – not dread – the buzz in his pocket that heralded social interaction. Never used to hope for one specific name to light up his screen, nor experience the slack-sailed disappointment whenever it was anyone else. But now he did. Now he caught himself thinking about you between consults and arguments, during the brief stretches of quiet in his long, exhausting days.

Because he needed this tonight. It had been a week. Seven days since he’d seen you, which was not many in the grand scheme of the newness of this engagement, but texts and calls and even the occasional facetime could hardly whet the appetite you’d roused in him. Dry exchanges with his colleagues did nothing for him, nor the trace interaction with cashiers or other passersby, because none of them gripped him quite like you.

By midweek, he was exercising every ounce of self-control not to reach for his phone and ask for more – not to betray the fact that one week already felt like five, and he had to physically stop himself from finding excuses to see you sooner. It’s pathetic.

Hiromi thinks he’s a bad boyfriend – is that what he is? He’d never been much good with posture and pretense, he hopes that’s what he is – because he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be keeping things casual, but he’s also pretty sure he’s in love with you. He doesn’t let himself think about it too long. He won’t dwell on the weight of it in his chest, or how it tastes on his tongue when he rolls it behind his teeth and cracks it under his molars just to keep from spitting it out. He doesn’t know how you’d take it, if you’d pull back the moment you realized he’s already a good few steps ahead of where he probably should be.

Being needy is unattractive. Hounding at your heels for scraps of attention is a turn off, one he wouldn’t fault you for, and so he resists. Even when his work week was awful, the sort of familiar twitching frustration he wore like a second skin that left his shoulders tense and heavy and patience frayed at its translucent edges, he settled for phone calls, even when he’d much rather go home – to a shared home – and collapse into you. Just to hear your voice and tell you about the sheer absurdity of some of the shit that landed on his desk; to let you make him laugh about it, and forget why he was irritated in the first place. Hiromi felt like a boy again.

Except, even as a boy, nobody ever set his heart affluter or made his stomach flip the way you do. The world was evermore tinted the same shade of rose as the tip of his nose whenever your lips brushed his cheek in thanks for things as simple as opening a door, or helping you in and out of a coat. You made him ridiculous. So when your text came through – short, simple and apologetic – he wilted like a sad houseplant. And of course he understood. You weren’t feeling well.

But understanding and acceptance were two different things.

The thought of you sick, curled up somewhere miserable, missing the same night he had been quietly clinging to all week made his stomach twist. You were probably just as disappointed as he was – missing dinner, missing the late-night movie that he would normally never agree to, that you had insisted was better past midnight in a near empty theater. He had even resigned himself to the fact that he would get home at an indecent hour, that he would be wrecked in the morning, and that you were absolutely worth it anyway. So he did the only thing he could do. He stopped at a store. He picked up tea, a box of overpriced honey-lemon lozenges that you’d never buy for yourself because the storebrand was good enough, a pack of chocolate-covered cookies, and a pre-sliced fruit tray because he wasn’t sure what you’d be able to stomach.

And then, for the first time in his entire adult life, Hiromi lingered in the chilly produce aisle. Not out of obligation. Not because of some nagging reminder from his physician that he should really cook something with nutritional value before his dietary habits caught up to him. But because he was irreparably undone by the simple fact that you weren’t feeling well, and he couldn’t stand the thought of you being unhappy and alone.

There was no recovering from this, this terminal affliction of affection. And he didn’t care to fight it, either. He would deny treatment. It might not be the full course experience he hoped to treat you to tonight, but he’d bring a little bit of it home to you.

The evening air spun itself into gold, stretching long and low across the pavement as Hiromi jumped the familiar steps up to your door, a bag slung from one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his coat to occupy his fidgeting fingers with jingling keys. The sky above was painted in the hazy black bruise that came before twilight, a slow bleed from orange to indigo, the last gasps of sun swallowing the buildings whole and creeping dark from alleyways and side streets. You’d be sitting down for dinner around now, had the evening gone to plan. He’d probably be pulling out your chair at that very moment. It was a far cry from the night he imagined, and yet he still effused a quiet happiness as he approached your door.

Part of him thrilled at the opportunity to see you anyway – to play the part of something good and steady, and bring you warmth wrapped in plastic packaging and a sloping, dimpled smile. There was something deeply satisfying in the thought of you bundled in blankets, just a little worse for wear and flush with a cold, blinking up at him surprised but pleased and letting him fuss over you like a mother hen. He could prove himself as a provider, a caretaker, a man worth keeping around. All things he never cared to be before, but you made him want.

He knocked on your door, and rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting with a smile already twitching at the corners of his lips that he was trying his best to keep a lid on. He could picture your surprise already, maybe you’d be relieved, maybe you’d even be feeling better and well enough to go out after all. No answer.

The smile on his face was stubborn, but the sediment settled into an expression more subdued when he adjusted the bag onto his hip and knocked again. The only response was the wall-muffled barking of a neighboring dog roused by his presence, but neither of which seemed to draw you out. It does occur to him that you may be asleep – taken something that knocked you out good and proper. But in the chance that he might catch you, he persists. His phone was in his palm before he had time to think, thumb tapping out a quick message. ‘I’m outside, don’t mean to bother you. Let me know if you’re awake.’

A minute passed. Then another. Then he noticed a neighbor across the street peek through her blinds, making direct and awkward eye-contact with him. He hesitated a moment before raising his phone in an awkward, stilted wave. Seeming reassured that your caller was not in fact a burglar, the old woman snapped her blinds closed. His breath curled in the cooling air, ribboning up, up, up into the quiet awning of your darkening porch. His eager fidgeting now served the dual purpose of keeping him warm when he tried calling.

He dialed, head cocked and phone pressed tight to his ear like he might hear you through the static and shrill rings, and finally hung up on the final tone before it would click over to voicemail. Hiromi sighed, pocketing his phone and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Did he look crazy? Was this too much? You were just a little sick, you’d said so yourself. He didn’t need to do all of this, and in the face of rejection by silence – however inadvertent – insecurity crept its insidious fingers into his brain. He was absolutely doing too much.

He would just leave the bag at your door and text you that it was there. That would be normal – a simple care package, and probably better received than his unexpected and uninvited visit, now that he finally thought about it a moment longer, many moments too late. With hands a little numb from the cold, and certainly not at all from disappointment, he stepped to wrap the paper handles around your doorknob, affixing it where you wouldn’t even have to stoop over when you finally came to retrieve it—

Only your door knob turned with no resistance, nudged open with the slightest pressure of his palm and the weight of the bag. You were always good about locking your door.

He’d born witness to your many small rituals, always double checking that your stove was off, all unattended candles blown out and snuffed, and he’d watched – more times than he could count – you twisting your door knob once, twice, thrice, testing for any give before stepping away and into him with a pleased smile and chirpy “all set!” A practiced precaution that he always found himself quietly, irrationally proud of. Worry sank razor-sharp claws deep into his marrow, tugging at his bones and drawing him through the doorway.

“Hey—” he called, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind him. The lock slid into place with a dull snick for good measure. “It’s just me! Your door was open!” The apartment was dark with lights untouched. No TV murmuring from the other room, no warmth of any sort of activity. Still, save for the spiraling dust motes that hovered and sunk, floating without purpose with not the slightest ripple of movement to disturb them in the slanting orange beams that sliced through your blinds.

Your shoes were by the door, your coat draped over the back of a chair, a single slipper kicked off in the hallway – its twin wedged haphazardly beneath a bookcase, as if you’d stopped halfway to retrieve it and never did. Little traces of you, proof of your presence, but no you.

Hiromi flicked on the lights, illuminating your kitchen in all of its unoccupied, untouched glory. He set the bag down carefully on the counter, mindful of its contents and the rustling of its paper in the silence, listening, sweeping the space with a wary frown.

His voice was softer when he called your name again, cautious and questioning in the dead, unanswering air.

No answer or movement, no startled shuffle to investigate the unexpected visitor in your home. Just the blanketing stillness of empty space and the staticky ringing of tinnitus in his ears that strained to hear anything at all.

Hiromi checked the bathroom – it was logical. Maybe you’d gotten up for water, or medicine, maybe you’d fallen asleep with your cheek squished against the cold porcelain of the tub the way he sometimes did after a rough night. Empty. The couch – vacant, a blanket slipping off the edge to pool on the floor, a shallow dent in the cushions where a body had been, once. He rubbed at the tension between his brows, willed them to unknit. Your bedroom was next.

The air was thick there, heavy with the sticky scent of sleep and sickness. The curtains were drawn, the room wrapped in a murky personal twilight a few steps ahead of that outside, and for a moment, he almost didn’t see you at all. Then, in the dark, a raspy gurgle of pinched nostrils struggling for breath and the roaring snore of a sore throat forced to breathe from a gaping mouth. Your hair splayed against the pillow, a just barely visible nest over the duvet pulled up high to your ears, as if you sought to sweat the fever from your bones with stubbornness and layers alone.

Relief softened the chokehold on his lungs, and he felt a smidge guilty for how easy it was to breathe when it was so obvious how you struggled. You were here. Safe. His worry had not been unfounded, but at least it had not been warranted. He took one step closer— Even at that distance, he could feel the heat pour from you like an open convection oven.

Hiromi knelt beside the bed, reaching out to graze your forehead with the backs of his fingers. Heat met him like an open palm laid upon an active cooktop. His jaw ticked and his lips pursed to silence the sigh that gathered in his mouth. This was just a little sick to you? This was something to recover from with just a little rest? He could feel the sweat dampening your hairline, curling the strands of fine baby hairs to your temple. He retracted his hand long enough to scrub his palm over his mouth to loosen the tense bunching of his lips and sighed into his palm.

“Ridiculous woman,” he murmured, softer than the press of his palm against your clammy and fever-flushed skin. He’d known you were proud. Stubborn, too. But not like this – not to a fault and to your own detriment. Not when you had people – had him – all too willing to drop everything and care for you. But he didn’t move away. Didn’t stop the slow sweep of his hand as it continued past your cheek and forehead, over your hair to brush it back and away from your face, gently manipulating the sticky flyaways off of your skin. His touch lingered, long enough to settle his own worry as he stood back up to regard you.

You were here, and now he was too. And, he hoped, that was significantly better off than how you started – he could work with that.

The bed swayed beneath you, a slow, nauseating lurch, like a ship lost in stormy seas. The fever had drawn you into its undertow, dragging you down into a strange, liminal space where time stretched and folded then folded again, where reality slipped through your fingers like fine seabed silt. You dreamed in fever heat, in the suffocating weight of tangled blankets, in the ghosts of voices at the vestige of your consciousness. Then – real noise.

A muffled clatter, a distant sound spit with the venom which could only have been a curse. A shifting presence wandered beyond the walls of your delirium. You drifted, mind syrup-thick with cotton and fog, before another sound – the metallic scrape of something, the thump and ceramic click of things lifted and placed on tile. For a long moment you simply lay there, waiting for the dread to settle heavy as stones in your gut, for fear to bloom in your phlegm-y lungs. But all you felt was exhaustion seeping deep into your bones, rooting you to the mattress like creeping ivy curling to a brick wall. You peeled open your eyes. The room was dark, muddled with shapes shifting as your vision adjusted, but nothing seemed amiss.

If someone had broken in, you could only hope they’d be merciful. Perhaps they’d take pity on you, a tragic creature lost to disease, and put you out of your misery before they ransacked the place. It took a few tries to drag yourself up, the room tilting precariously as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet kicking for slippers you couldn’t find. Your limbs felt detached, boneless, your joints grinding and stuck like rusted machinery as you shuffled forward, blanket still clutched around your shoulders like a burial shroud.

A scent reached you – warm and vaguely edible, tasted more on your exposed mouth-breathing tongue than in your clogged nose. You didn’t remember ordering food. You didn’t remember much at all. A burglar, then. A very considerate burglar, stopping to make you a meal before robbing you blind. You hoped, at the very least, they’d be efficient about it. Leave you to your final meal before taking you out. End your suffering.

The hallway swam in and out of focus as you shuffled down it, one hand bracing the wall as the other clutched at your blanket, pulling it tight around your shoulders like armor, your vision haloed with the sickly glow of streetlights cutting through the blinds. And when you turned the corner, there he was.

Hiromi stood in your kitchen, sleeves pushed up, an old shirt loose on his frame, stirring something over the stove like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like he belonged there. Like he’d always been there. Your breath hitched, horror settling in sluggish as you took him in – the softness of his posture, hip cocked against the counter, the domestic ease with which he handled the wooden spoon, the way the light from the range hood cast a warm yellow glow over his face.

And then you remembered yourself. The sweat-damp face, your nest of unruly hair plastered and flattened every which way, and – your fingers trembled and shook as you swatted at your face – a tissue fluttered down to your bare feet from where it was glued with drool. You wrapped your blanket tighter in a tragic facsimile of dignity. You were a creature dredged up from the depths, a relic of sickness and suffering, a ghoul appeared to haunt the man who’d only ever seen you at your best.

You swayed, your hand slapping for the doorway to hold yourself upright for support, your fever-pickled brain conjuring a single, resounding thought: You were going to have to kill him. Or yourself. Probably both. Hiromi turned at the sound of your clammy fingers against the lacquered wood, bright-eyed and easy-smiled, as if he weren’t standing in the absolute wreckage of you.

“There you are,” he said, as if you had simply been misplaced, like he hadn’t already found you burrowed in your bed hours ago, burning up and tangled in your own sheets and misery. He held up a bowl, cradled carefully in both hands, as though presenting you with something delicate and precious. “I made soup,” he announced proudly. And then, as though remembering the reality of what he’d actually made, he sighed, tilting the bowl to inspect its own dubious contents. “Well, I attempted soup. Chicken, allegedly.” You blinked, slow, molasses-brained.

Hiromi, in your kitchen. Hiromi, in his sweatpants and rolled up sleeves, barefoot in the soft glow of the stove light, holding a bowl of— You squinted.

The soup was a color that nature never intended. A concerning beige-grey hue that no poultry-based dish had any right to be. If there were vegetables in there, they had long since disintegrated into anonymity.

He must've seen the suspicion on your face because his smile turned apologetically lopsided, crooked as the shredded piece of what could’ve been chicken floating near the spoon. “I’m banking on your taste buds being so dead you won’t even notice if it’s awful, to be frank with you,” he admitted, wry but earnest, shifting his grip on the bowl to offer it out to you. It might have been funny if you had the capacity for humor. If your mind wasn’t still trying to claw its way through the mud of mortification and illness, if the sight of him standing there so casually, so unbothered by the absolute state of you, wasn’t making your chest feel unbearably tight.

He took a step closer, and instinctively you shrank back. “How are you here?” you rasped, raw and nasal. Hiromi had the sense to pause in his approach, looking for all the world guilty and contrite. “I wanted to bring you a few things and check in. Your door was unlocked, so I was worried.”

Processing was a monumental effort, slow-moving glaciers melted in the cauldron of your skull. You frowned. “Oh…” you mumbled. “I didn’t realize…” That you’d left the door open. That you had been so out of it, so careless, that he had been able to walk right in without resistance. That you had been vulnerable enough for it. That you were lucky it was just Hiromi. And worse – that he had seen you like this.

You weren’t supposed to let anyone see you like this. Not ever. Not before month six at the very least. Not before you could safely unveil the inevitable truth that you were not always put together, not always effortless, not always charming and composed. That sometimes you were pitiful and weak and driven to your knees with sickness. But here Hiromi was, watching you watch him like a wary animal, looking at you like— Like nothing. Like he hadn’t even noticed. Like you weren’t standing there with your hair a ratty mess, your skin damp and wan, your nose and cheeks red and drippy. Like you were just you, still you, always you.

Something thick lodged itself in your throat. Because this was uncharted. Unfamiliar. You didn’t let people take care of you. You had spent years, an entire lifetime, making sure of it. You prided yourself on it, in fact. You could be independent, self-sufficient, sturdy on your own two feet. You didn’t need this. You had half a mind to bristle, every remaining instinct that hadn’t been boiled to a crisp whined for you to do so. To snap and snarl, to tell him to get the hell out of your house, because you hadn’t invited him.

Except.

Except.

Here was a man who had let himself into your home – because your door was unlocked, because he was worried, because he cared – and he had made you soup. Bad soup, terrible soup, soup that might send you to a hospital even if your illness doesn’t, but he had made it for you. That first, awful tug of emotion clawed its way up your throat like a hell beast, thick and swollen, a molten and uncontainable chrysalis spawning inside your ribcage. You swallowed it down, stubborn – but it surged again, hotter and heavier until it filled the hollow of your chest cavity with pressure unbearable, pressing against your lungs, curling around your heart like a fist.

You weren’t someone who cried easily. Not in front of people where it could be seen and turned over in someone else’s hands and inspected like a foreign object. Your face crumpled. “Oh, shit,” Hiromi blurted, panicked.

Your breath hitched, a fractured, watery sound, and before you could steel yourself, the dam cracked. The first sob broke loose in a shuddering quake, splintering through your fragile frame like a fault line giving way, the house of cards of your body collapsing inward.

Hiromi fumbled for somewhere to set the soup down, his head jerking side to side, searching, his movements sharp and uncoordinated in his frantic attempt to find a flat surface. He spun in place before practically hurling the bowl onto your now cluttered countertop.

The moment his hands were free, they were on you. He pulled you in without hesitation, firm but careful, gathering you against him like something breakable. One hand smoothed over the trembling line of your spine, the other curled over the back of your head, tucking you into the dark warmth of his neck.

You tried to hold yourself together. To choke it back and swallow it down, to wriggle out of the arms that were stronger than you even on your best day. But he was warm, and quiet, and steady, the steadfast certainty of his presence— The weight of it all dragged you down, your fingers fisting weakly into the dampening fabric of his collar, your body wracked with those awful, stuttering sniffles that made your breath catch, and your chest feel like it was caving in under something heavier than nausea. It wasn’t dignified, it wasn’t graceful, but he stayed, held you tighter, wrapped himself around you like it didn’t matter.

It wasn’t just the sickness. Not just the fever or exhaustion or embarrassment. It was him. The patient care. The fact that he was here, unasked, unprompted, cradling you in the warm wreath of his arms in the middle of your kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world. The fact that for once – for the first time – you hadn’t had to ask for help. You hadn’t had to prove that you needed it. And you didn’t know what to do with that.

His chin dipped, the slope of his nose brushing through your hair, like the mess of you didn’t faze him at all – he welcomed it, in fact. His breath was warm against your ear as he murmured something soft and low, something you couldn’t quite catch over the humiliating crack of your own nasally weeping. “Brutal review,” he sighed. “Tears before you’ve even tried it, sweetheart?”

You sniffled, hiccuped, curled further into his chest. Your voice was watery but you managed to choke: “You weren’t supposed to see me like this.” Hiromi scoffed, the sound warm with exasperation, like what you’d said was patently absurd.

“Like what?” His palm smoothed over the tangled wreckage of your hair, fingers threading through the knots, careful in their slow combing – not because it bothered him, but because it clearly bothered you. “Sick? Human?” He was deliberate in the way he nuzzled into your ear and skated his nose over your temple, like he had every intention of reassuring you through sheer stubborn affection alone.

“You’re beautiful, even now,” he said simply. “Actually—” a hum, low and thoughtful, but still coy “—maybe even more now. You might be a little less intimidating like this.” You let out an affronted, congested scoff. “Intimidating?” “Mmh,” he confirmed. He tipped his head back as if in contemplation. “A little.”

“How?” You pulled back just enough to peer up at him, bleary-eyed, tear-streaked, your lips trembling around the words. Hiromi really doesn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful than you, with your lashes weighed down with crystals and your face splotchy and wet. Hiromi smiled. That slow, lazy curve of his mouth, dark eyes crinkling at the corners as if to say, once again: There you are. And then – without ceremony or hesitation – bluntly he said, “You’re obviously out of my league.”

A laugh punched out of you, wet and miserable, but startled into sincerity. “Nuh uh,” you objected. “Am I?” He nodded solemnly, unshaken. “Devastatingly so.” It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. And yet, somehow, impossibly, you could feel the tight ache in your chest start to ease. You swiped at your face with the wet sleeve of your sweater, groggy and sniffling, weakly you pawed at Hiromi trying to push him back toward the door. “You should go. I don’t want you to catch this.”

Hiromi clicked his tongue, unimpressed.

Before you could blink or protest, his hands framed your face, long enough to cradle you in your entirety. His thumbs smoothed over the heat of your fever-warmed cheeks, swiping away the tear tracks there, and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead – warm, solid, and deliberately sloppy, he was making a point. “You see,” he whispered gravely, lips still resting against your skin to where you could feel his smile rather than see it, “I’m afraid I’ve already been exposed.” He drew back just enough to look at you, still cupping your face like you might bolt – or shamble – off if he let go. He was smiling that easy, lopsided smile that made your stomach flip, even now and even like this.

“If I catch it, I catch it,” he said it like it was nothing. His thumbs traced one last, final arc beneath your eyes. “Worth it. I can think of worse things than being stuck in bed with you.” And really, what was there left to say to that

You exhaled, unsteady, too exhausted to argue, too wrung out to push him away. Your body had given up fighting long ago, and now, so had you. You let your forehead tip forward until it rested against his collarbone, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a quiet reassurance, the warmth of his hands still cupping your jaw an anchor against the dizzying swirl of sickness and sentiment lodged deep in your chest.

Time unraveled after that, stretching and looping in lazy, meandering circles, dissolving at the edges. Minutes, hours, yesterday, tomorrow – you weren’t sure where one ended and the next began or that it mattered, only that Hiromi was there through all of it. He insisted you try the soup. You did. It was terrible. You grimaced, he laughed – head tipping back, eyes crinkling at the corners, full-bodied delight at his own failure – and still he looked unreasonably pleased with himself for having tried.

Later, when your stomach rebelled, he was there, crouched behind you on the hard bathroom tile, one hand firm between your shoulder blades, the other gathering your hand in gentle sweeps away from your pallid face. He murmured comfortingly into the back of your neck, and pressed a kiss to your temple once the worst had passed.

You barely remembered being guided to the sink, or the cool drag of a washcloth over your face, or the sting of mint in your mouth as he coaxed you through brushing your teeth – only that, by the end of it all, you felt cleaner. And then – finally – you were cleared for couch recovery. You melted against Hiromi, bundled in a nest of blankets, your cheek pressed to the warmth of his chest, slack-jawed and droopy-eyed. And oddly enough, you no longer cared. At this point, he’d seen much worse.

The movie on the screen flickered dimly, sound low, more backdrop than entertainment. Hiromi hadn’t moved except to shift you against him, tucking you tighter into his side. His arm was a steady weight along your shoulders, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns where they rested against your upper arm. Your head lolled slightly as you peered up at him, bleary-eyed and sluggish, still tucked into the warmth of his chest. “You should go,” you croaked. “I’m wretched.”

Hiromi exhaled through his nose and gave your shoulder a firm, pointed squeeze. “Nope. We’ll be doing none of that.”

His palm skimmed up, tucking a stray curl behind your ear with the same ease he did everything – with the same quiet, unwavering patience he’d shown all night… and well before tonight when you truly thought about it. That empathy had always been there. “I like you. Messy hair, soup critic, flu monster—you.”

A sound bubbled up from your chest, too weak to be called a proper laugh but a close approximation of one. “Flu monster?”

“You should hear yourself,” he teased, gaze soft but amused. “It’s like a death rattle.”

You groaned, burying yourself deeper into the folds of the blanket. But it was hard to stay embarrassed when his arm curled around you again, when he squeezed the heat of you into his side like he would simply graft your hip to his if afforded the choice.

His voice rumbled somewhere above your head. “I’m staying, by the way.”

You slumped, your body had long since given up on full coordination and was far too weak to wage the war you wanted. “Hiromi—”

“Not up for debate,” he said simply, adjusting the blankets around you both to stake his claim – wordlessly declaring: deal with it. “I’ll take the couch. Or the floor. Or the kitchen, if you really want me to suffer. But I’m not leaving.”

You stared at him, groggy, and rheumy-eyed. “Why?”

He huffed, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes slipping shut as though already digging in for the night. “In case you need something, obviously.

Your heart stumbled in your chest, stuttering somewhere between protest and a much softer place. You hadn’t asked him to stay. You hadn’t even thought to. But there was no hesitation in his voice, no question of whether he should – only that he would

Hiromi was a steady presence in your life, in ways you hadn’t noticed until now. His name lit up your phone screen with casual check-ins even when you knew he was too busy for such frivolousness, he lingered at your door a minute extra after dropping you off, making sure to see you inside, and now – now he was here, willing to trade his bed for your couch just because he thought you might need him.

You thought about telling him no. You thought about insisting.

You didn’t… and why would you, when you wanted him to stay, too?

You made a soft sound of agreement, already half-asleep and slipping into the quiet pull of exhaustion – but it was much brighter than before. You thought, dizzily, that you might love him. It was too soon to say it, of course… if seeing you like this hadn’t scared him off, then surely a premature confession would. Maybe one day you’d tell him. Month six, maybe, you quietly plotted.

For now you let that warm bloom soothe you, green roots chasing away the sickly dark planted in your body. Your eyes slipped shut, and your fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve enough to hold on. Hiromi hummed, wordlessly pleased with your agreement, before his hand fished for yours beneath the blanket. He laced his fingers through yours and gave them a firm squeeze. “Next time,” he murmured, “we’ll do it the regular way. Perfect date and all.” You grunted in response, the last dredges of consciousness slipping from you to the soft orchestral repetition of the movies credits. “But for now,” he continued, dropping his cheek to the crown of your head, “this isn’t so bad, hm?” Your fingers twitched in his hand, barely an acknowledgment. No, you thought. Not bad at all.

[revelboo]

Hey Revel, would it be okay to request an one shot fluff of Fort Max comforting reader after a really bad night?

Sure! He’s on my request list, just haven’t gotten to him yet

Fort Max Scenario- Nightmares

Fortress Maximus x Reader

• Again. Can hear you tossing and turning in your little nest. Spark constricting when you make a soft, pained sound. Hurting and this isn’t an enemy he can fend off. And it’s almost every night now, your sleep haunted by something you refuse to share with him. Running a hand over his face, he slides off his berth and crosses the room. You’re curled into a tight little ball, trembling and you gasp when he carefully picks you up blankets and all. “It’s me. Max, remember?” He soothes when you thrash in his grip, his voice making you settle even though he can still feel your heart racing against his servos.

• Shivering, you can’t look him in his red optics as he carries you back to his berth and lays down, settling you and your blankets on his chassis. “I woke you again.” Embarrassed, you curl on your side so your back is to him, because you can’t meet those worried optics right now. “Sorry.” Can still feel the vestiges of the nightmare, the fear so visceral you can’t breathe even now. Wanting to curl up and just cry, but knowing that will upset him more. The urge only increasing when he cautiously runs a servo over your head. The big guy trying so hard to take care of you. To fix what was already broken.

• Uncomfortable with handling you, afraid you might think that he thinks you’re a pet, not a person, it’s the only way either of you will get any rest. Any time you have those dreams, you’ll just toss and whimper all night long unless he intervenes. “My friend, Red, has trouble recharging,” he murmurs. Red Alert’s paranoia disturbs his recharge. He has no idea what bothers yours. You refuse to tell him. “Told me he has this little ambient noise loop going and it calms him right down.” Tiredly telling you stories about Red Alert and rubbing his servo between your shoulder blades until your heart calms. Until you relax against him.

• “Thank you,” you mumble, cheek on your arm as you listen to his deep voice and the hum of his spark. Letting your big protector banish the fear. Because nothing can touch you while he has you, even if there’s guilt for accidentally waking him. For not being strong enough to lie to him that you’re fine. Not that he ever complains about you annoying him, just patiently dealing with your issues without prying. Without telling you that you’re the problem.

• “Of course.” Rumbling softly to you when you yawn and close your eyes. Knows you’ll sleep peacefully now. You always do. Hadn’t wanted to presume or pressure you, but maybe you should just sleep on him from now on if it calms you. Doubts you’d ever ask him to let you, but you might feel better about it if he asks you. Besides, he’s getting used to your warmth, the feel of your heartbeat and the sound of your breathing. “I have you.” Misses them when you try to sleep alone. Getting to where he needs to be able to feel you there to rest just like you need him.

[obeymedommc]

Sticker Chart

Obey Me Brothers + Undatebles - Leviathan

18+

In the end you needed to use your pacts to stop the madness that was unleashed from Mammons bragging and truly the only way it stopped was when you promised they could all have a weekend which turned into earning a weekend in order to stop the snowball about Mammons cries of unfairness turning into rivalry between Lucifer and Satan over who could earn it faster. To save face from being ordered around like a common dog by his human Lucifer insisted everyone go back to studying, laying the conversation to rest.. or so you thought...

-----

He didn't really care that the others were playing along with your silly normie chart... at first. About a month after the reveal Mammon had finally earned his weekend with you. Levi had been preoccupied by a new game drop he was gonna stay up for so he only heard about it afterwards when Mammon wouldn't shut up about it

After the first 10 minutes of bragging he had to put down his switch because he couldn't focus. The next 15 minutes led to a boiling stew of jealousy that would have boiled over had Lucifer not told Mammon to shut up and eat his breakfast (Lucifer has been at this long enough to see that and avoid the inevitable and wet mess that would happen otherwise). After breakfast he paced in his room emitting the same aura of a frenzied shark as he seethed to Henry 2.0.

He paced himself into a metronomic state mentally and physically before he started Operation: Level Up to Chart Status!. He started by sending you a text insisting you come to his room for a watch party that night. The minute he got confirmation he was getting a grocery order for snacks and making a nest fit for leveling up seduction

You could tell something was up from how he texted you, so you set about making him as comfortable as possible. Making your way to your room first, you changed into a hoodie you stole from him a while back and some small shorts forgoing undergarments entirely. You threw your strap in a bag with his collar and orange flavored lube and made your way to his room.

He practically threw the door open and snatched you from the hallway, his tail wrapping firmly around your waist with his arms following after. Your presence grounded him in a way that had the cool stuttering breaths slowing as you rocked him back and forth, and you rubbed his back. When you separated enough so you could walk, you complimented the snack collection and cooed at the blanket fort in front of the TV before flopping down on the blankets.

The twinkle lights he had put up provided enough light for you to see the blood rush to his face when you throw a leg over his and kiss his cheek.

'You did all this for our watch night baby this is so pretty!! You're such a good boy I needed a quiet night and you made it so special!!' You held his face and gave him gentle kisses on the lips as you praised him.

---

Leviathans chest felt like he was going to burst from how much warmth and love he saw in your actions, it was almost enough to quell the jealousy that was the catalyst to the night.

'Good enough for a star on my chart?' He slapped a hand over his mouth and hid his face in the pillows he had artfully piled up against his tub.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. This was NOT the plan! He was gonna ask you about it after he had gotten more points ans now his big fat mouth

'No' you said firmly and his mouth dropped open as he gaped at you

'Having a pact with you has made me extremely jealous so a chart isn't good enough. I want you to put them on your monitors so you always see them. But you'll have to earn it tonight. What do you think baby?'

He shivered and his tail pulled you closer to him as he nodded fiercely, breath quickening as his frantic brain processed what you said

'Y-yeah, yeah, want that, wanna earn it, be good for you p-please, be your good boy!' His squirming lead him to rubbing against your thigh and his tail wrapping around your thigh just high enough that you could feel it squeezing past you at the same rate as his hips. Before the heady feeling could take you over you had to focus.

You were really proud of how he had gotten the courage to ask for something he wanted and truly you wanted him to be proud of earning it too. You held his hips down, gripping his soft waist hard enough to bruise the way he likes. You kissed his whines away softly and giggled when he chased after your lips as you pulled away.

'You still have to earn it sweet thing.' You kissed his neck gently and bit down softly

'Y-yeah, earn it, for you, wanna-' he let out a high pitched whine as you put your hand in his pants roughly, grabbing at his dick and giving a gentle squeeze that had his whole body curling around your hand

You kissed his jaw as you saw his desperate eyes take in the smirk that spelled danger for the night ahead of him

'I'm gonna edge you as we watch pretty boy, you're gonna tell me when you're gonna cum, and however many episodes we get through is how many times you have to make me cum before your release.' You kiss him slow and sloppy as you stroke him, smiling when he whines and grabs your hand to ground himself

'What do you say pretty boy? I know it's a hard task but it's nothing my pro gamer can't handle right.'

He nodded, trying to catch his breath as he tried to focus his eyes on your face. 'I c-can, can be your good boy, can do it for you'

'MY good boy' you repeat and kiss his jaw, pressing the remote into his other hand to let him put on the show that would watch his struggle

---------

Don't steal my shit dude I'm already struggling

[rottenpumpkin13]

Since men are notorious for brushing off near-fatal injuries but crumbling at the common cold, how does AGSZC + the Turks handle a fever?

Sephiroth: Claims he's "perfectly functional" with a 40°C fever (lest he be taken to Professor Hojo). Still attempts to do paperwork while hallucinating that his pen is Masamune. Has to be physically restrained by Genesis when he tries to fight the "treasonous" office ficus.

Genesis: Wrapped in 17 blankets while waxing poetic about how terribly short his life was. Insists he's dying. Sends Angeal his "final wishes" every 20 minutes via text. The wishes get progressively more unhinged, like "my leather coat must be buried with full military honors," and "I would like Sephiroth to wear a shirt at my funeral."

Angeal: Insists he's "just warm from training" despite shivering in warm weather. He's sleepy and delirious. Wakes up from a fever dream where he and Sephiroth are married, proceeds to act accordingly when he wakes up. Lazard sends him home after he catches Angeal avidly discussing mortgage plans to a bemused Sephiroth, who just accepted his fate.

Cloud: Denies everything so his squad mates don't think he's weak. Fever of 40°C? "I'm okay." Collapses after standing too fast. Coughing so hard he's wheezing? "Something must've gone down the wrong pipe." Shivering uncontrollably? "It's just the spirits." Vision blurring? "Probably just need some water." By the time someone forces him to the infirmary, his fever's so high the medic just stares at him like "how are you alive?" Cloud: "I thought this was normal."

Zack: Bounces between "I'm totally fine!" and complete delirium. Spends fever dreams convinced he's a chocobo. Angeal finds him attempting to nest in the mission briefing room using important documents as bedding material.

Reno: Calls in dead. Not sick, dead. Tseng actually sends another Turk to his quarters to verify that he's still alive and just being dramatic. Reno would never admit it, but he acts like a baby. Blanket burrito on the couch, whining for orange juice and cuddles.

Rude: Only sign of illness is that he keeps putting his sunglasses on upside down. Refuses to acknowledge this.

Tseng: Tseng does not get sick.

Rufus: Turns it into a company-wide crisis. All Shinra employees must wear white in solidarity with their suffering president. Darkstar gets a nurse outfit. The medical department receives a budget increase purely out of spite. He's clearly delirious, yes, but Tseng allows this because he received a gift card, a free dineer at a 5-star restaurant, a bottle of champagne, and extra PTO all because Rufus, in his delirious state, is convinced that Tseng is the love of his life.

[beloveds-embrace]

Noona you have given me brain worms.

I wonder what the guys would do if they found the scentless reader had entered an enemy house and killed them all before the guys could get close because of their lack of scent? Does John hate using them for intrusions but does it anyways because it's the best chance of everyone coming home alive? Do the guys have a ritual of coming home off missions and rescenting their reader? I really need to stop thinking about this one and get back to homework.

(As an aside I am in LOVE with your writing and I read your works when I get stuck because you craft words so well.)

I claim no guilt over giving anyone brain worms, and omfg thank you!! That’s extremely high praise to me bc i absolutelyyy love your works <33 💕💕 :3 for your first question, they wouldn’t exactly be surprised. It’s why you were brought on the Task Force, it’s what makes you so useful. But once they reached the state of wanting you, and then slowly pulling you in?

They hated it. Hated it every damn time Price gave the order, even if they knew it was the right call.

No scent. No designation. No trace of you ever being there.

You were a ghost, in ways that even Simon couldn’t match. Silent, invisible to the senses, slipping through enemy lines like smoke and leaving nothing but bodies in your wake.

It was useful. Crucial, even. Quite literally the reason why the military had so much use of you. The best chance of keeping everyone alive. Price knew it, hated it, and did it anyway. Every time.

But it never stopped the way his chest felt tight when he had to send you ahead- alone. Never stopped the sharp glances Ghost shot him before you slipped away into the shadows, or the way Soap and Gaz went so still as they listened for any sign of trouble over the comms.

And it definitely never stopped what came after.

The moment you were back- safe and whole but covered in blood- Price’s hand was on the back of your neck, thumb digging gently into your faulty scent gland, his grip firm and grounding. Ghost was right behind him, his presence dark and heavy, crowding close enough to make your breath hitch. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to.

Soap and Gaz weren’t far behind. Soap’s hands were already reaching for your gear, tugging straps and buckles loose, brushing against your skin as if to remind himself you were there. Gaz hovered close enough that you could feel the heat of him, his fingers brushing yours when he helped you unclip your holster.

They didn’t leave your side. Not through debriefing, not through cleaning up, not even when you asked them to.

And later- once the adrenaline wore off and exhaustion set in- they were all but dragging you into the nest.

It was deliberate, the way they settled you down in the middle of it, surrounded by blankets that smelled like them, by them. Soap’s hands lingered on your hips, steady and warm, and Gaz was already curling up beside you, pressing into your side like he was trying to leave traces of his scent on your skin.

Price sat at your back, his chest pressed to your spine, one arm looped around your waist while the other cradled your head, tucking it under his chin. He didn’t say anything- just held you there, anchoring you in place as Ghost knelt down in front of you, tugging off your boots and brushing his gloved fingers along your calves and ankles as he went.

And then they started.

Ghost first, leaning in close to press his masked face against your neck. The slow, deliberate drag of fabric and leather along your skin made you shiver, and he didn’t stop until Price hummed low in approval. Soap followed, brushing his cheek against your shoulder before dipping low to nuzzle at your thigh, his hands curling loosely around your knee.

Gaz was next, pressing his forehead against yours and lingering there long enough that you could feel his breath warm against your cheek.

Price was last. His beard scratched lightly against your skin as he dragged his mouth along your throat and jaw, rumbling quietly when you tilted your head for him without thinking.

It took hours. Longer than necessary, longer than it had to, but they didn’t stop until you were covered in them- soaked in their scents and surrounded on all sides.

Didn’t stop until Ghost finally leaned back, pulling his mask away just long enough to press his lips against your temple, and murmured, “There. No one’s getting near you now.”

(If it was before, when you still didn’t realize what they were doing- everything was sharper. Tighter.

They didn’t say anything, but you felt it. Felt the weight of their eyes on you when Price ordered you to take point. Felt the way Soap’s jaw clenched when you slipped away, silent and invisible, like you always did.

You noticed how Gaz lingered by the comms, fingers tapping nervously against the console even though he wasn’t the type to fidget. How Ghost’s hands hovered near his weapons, muscles coiled and ready to move like he was waiting for something to go wrong.

And then there was Price.

Price, who stood stiff and silent until you reappeared, covered in someone else’s blood and staring at him like you knew he hated it but couldn’t bring himself to say so. Price, who didn’t let go of your shoulder the entire debrief, whose thumb rubbed small, grounding circles into your skin every time someone so much as looked at you the wrong way, and you told yourself it was just some weird Alpha instinct that you wouldn’t realize.

They didn’t say anything, not really. Just kept touching- light brushes of Soap’s arm against yours, Gaz’s hand lingering a little too long when he passed you gear, Ghost standing so close you could feel the heat of him against your back.

You thought it was just nerves. Stress. You didn’t think it was something else- not until later.

Not until you were sitting in the nest, exhausted.

Not until you caught Ghost staring at you like he wanted to devour you, or Price leaning in so close that you felt his breath on your skin when he murmured, “Stay still, love.”

Not until Soap tucked himself against your side with a soft, pleased sound, and Gaz let out a low purr, his hands running up and down your arms like he was soothing something neither of you could name.

You didn’t understand it- not then- but they did. The confusion on your face was almost cute if not just a touch infuriating.)

[raven-cl]

For day 16 for @stmarchmm, pack isolation syndrome!

Lonely All on My Own

Ship: Steve & Tommy & Carol, Tommy/Carol | Word Count: 5,902 | CW: omega isolation syndrome, Mean Carol and Tommy in the beginning I Rated Teen | Read on AO3

Everything started off slow. Steve gradually feeling colder more often, the muscles in his body becoming sore and tense from seemingly nothing, his scent becoming weaker and less noticeable. It was all very slow.

And yet everything always seemed to be flying past him. It shouldn't have, with his gradual decline over the months but it started to feel like he was having to run to catch up to everybody else. It was foreign to him, scary to not be in the lead like he usually was, but with how his life was going how could he be?

The pack he had with his ex best friends since middle school has been destroyed by him choosing to stay with his girlfriend rather than them and the very same girlfriend he chose to stay beside was snuggling up with other omega.

He was totally and utterly alone apart from the party that would swing by occasionally to raid his house. But how could he possibly drag them into his mess when they were just middle schoolers, even if he could feel like he could breathe and wasn't shivering cold all the time when they were around.

And with Nancy choosing Jonathan over him, what was he supposed to do? So, he kept everything all to himself, dealing with stabbing pains alone just as he'd always done.

Sooner or later though it was going to kill him if the way he became weaker was to say anything and it was looking more soon. It was getting harder to move around with how his joints ached, and he was freezing no matter how many blankets he threw on himself.

He barely had the energy to get up, but he'd run out of groceries two days and he needed to get more desperately. Forcing himself up and out of his nest, he shucked off the three heavy blankets he had on him. Crawling his way out, he put on a thick sweater along with a jacket, slotting on some jeans.

Finishing up he threw on his socks and made his way downstairs, leaning against the wall as he went down. The omega huffed, really not wanting to go out but knowing he had to. Putting on his sneakers and grabbing his keys, he made his way outside into his car.

He cranked up the heater in the beamer, though it never seemed to help anyway and drove down to the store. Steve was cold the whole way there and ignored the looks he got, given it was a Saturday and some of the people expected him to be out partying or at the very least on a date apparently.

Entering the market he picked up a basket and headed straight for the frozen section, intent on just getting some tv dinners and drinks to last him the week. As he walked around in the section, he tried his best to not openly shiver, not wanting to look too odd while he walked around. He could feel himself getting light headed and knew he needed to get what he wanted and quick.

Surveying the lot, he just threw a couple in, not really caring which ones just as long as they happened to look decent enough to eat. Once he was done, he bolted out of there, speedwalking to the drink aisle. Luckily enough, he still had bottled water at home so he didn't need to grab a pack of them, he wasn't sure he could lift it up in his current state honestly.

Instead he just grabbed a few six packs of soda, tossing them into his basket. Just as he was turning to leave, Steve felt his heart freeze when he heard the undeniable sound of Carol Perkins ‘oooing’ at him and his fears were only just confirmed as Tommy's cocky mocking voice filled his ears, “well, look who we have here.”

Deeply sighing, he turned to look at them, shifting all his weight to one leg and putting a hand on his hip as the couple entered his sight.

“What’re you doing around by yourself? Wheeler not work out for you?” Tommy asked, taunting him. It was obvious to everyone that she had moved on from him to Byers and they knew that damn well. Seeing what used to be his former pack now act as enemies towards him stung, making his heart clench tightly in pain.

He stayed quiet, not dignifying them with an answer to that, not that it mattered, Tommy still laughed at his silence anyways.

“What the fuck do you guys want?” Steve questioned, glancing between the both of them as they stalked towards him, ignoring the way he felt as the familiar scent of his old pack began washing over him, even if they were no longer with him.

Shrugging nonchalantly Carol teased with a gun, "whaaat, we're just coming to say hello to you, see how you're doing."

Inhaling a deep breath he just stared at her unamused, but the glare didn't deter either of them as Tommy quipped looking him up and down as he spoke, "c'mon we're not allowed to check on you after you get your girl stolen by the town weirdo? Once King Steve, now just a… guy who sits around alone on a Saturday getting groceries?"

“Just knock it off, I'm fucking leaving,” Steve said and he would've, had Tommy not laughed and gave him a light push with a finger to keep him there. Normally it wouldn't have caught him off guard and he would've been able to recover, but with how his limbs are feeling like dead weight and he was getting a migraine the more and more he stood there, he fell. Stumbling back, he crashed onto the floor on top of his basket, hurting his back.

He groaned, not subsequently hearing the gasp and the "Tommy you knothead" that left Carol's mouth as he tried weakly to push himself up. Not that he needed to, not with the way Tommy immediately grabbed his shirt and helped lift him back onto his feet. Steve just held the back of his head with a hand, glaring at the pair as they stared at him.

“Oh my god, y'know what I just thought of?” Carol started, glancing between the two as she continued, “it's strange nowadays isn't it? It used to be so easy to find you in the hallways and stuff with your scent but it's hard as shit with the blockers you use now. I mean hell, I can barely even smell you from right here,” she stated, tone casual and playful but Steve knew better.

It had to just be a thing of her making fun of him as well, she was just better at hiding the venom in her voice than Tommy was.

“It is a bit odd isn't it? Why'd you start wearing blockers anyways Stevie?” Tommy asked, wrapping an arm around Carol's waist.

Sighing and rolling his eyes hard, Steve answered, “I'm not, I'm not wearing anything right now.”

Giggling, Carol asked incredulously, “what? Yes you are, you don't have to lie about it.”

He wanted to leave. He was starting to get painfully cold and his limbs were heavy and he wasn't even sure he could kneel down to pick back up his items. He wanted to sleep. He didn't need this right now.

Sighing and shaking his head, "oh would you just shut the hell up already?" Steve seethed, slamming his basket on the ground and stomping off, not caring if he was making a mess that the workers were gonna have to clean up.

He ignored the tears pricking his eyes and just headed straight for his car, wanting nothing more than to just be home and in bed.

Blearily, he started up his car and sped home, breaking several traffic laws in the process. As soon as he got home, he flopped face first into the nest he'd made on the couch, tired and quickly falling asleep the second he closed his eyes.

----

“How long has he been asleep for? He was asleep when we got here,” Steve heard a voice travel over him as he slept, trying to place who it was. He could hear other people in his home if the fridge opening was something to go by, but it wasn't anyone in the party or someone that his brain placed right at the moment.

"Dude, I dunno know, he's got like nothing in here though," he could faintly hear the other voice say before he couldn't focus enough on their conversation.

Blinking, he opened his eyes, eyelids heavy and making it difficult to see as he looked up to see Carol crouched peering down at him. “Heyyy sleepy head, thought we'd come check on you.”

Groaning again, he rubbed his head against the couch pillow, ignoring her. “You okay? Hit your head pretty hard back there,” she continued. Scoffing as she kept eyeing him, “you look like shit, what the hell happened? You bump your head too hard?”

Steve just huffed, not bothering to answer her though his brow was furrowed annoyed, not that she would care to leave him alone after noticing. He was cold, freezing, and he felt too tired to get up proper to shoo them out his house so he could have some peace and quiet.

But on the other side the familiar scent was so nice. The scent that he used to hang out with always and cuddle with and everything being so close, being right there for him to do again, but he couldn't. He knew he couldn't.

Speaking slowly he asked, “how the hell did you two even get in my house?”

After a very loud crunch, presumably a snack that Tommy had stolen from his kitchen, Tommy mocked, “awww come on, we've been friends for forever and you think we don't know how to get into your house without you?”

That was a sentence that should raise alarms but he couldn't find it in himself to care at the moment.

Flinching as a hand came up against his forehead, Carol exclaimed, “ough, you're cold! Why are you cold, it's not even cold out right now. And it's not cold in here either.” Continuing on her rant, “you want another blanket? I'll get you another blanket, hold on,” and then she was off along with her pleasant scent that was keeping Steve somewhat grounded.

He closed his eyes again, intent on just trying to give back to sleep and dealing with the fallout of whatever they were doing later. That only lasted so long however as soon he felt more blankets being toppled on top of him and then wrapped around him so he was snug. Then Carol felt his face again asking, “why are you cold?” before she sat on his lower back.

He couldn't see what she or Tommy were doing but he heard her say, “come feel him he's like, freezing right now.”

Steve sighed loudly at the crunching of whatever it was Tommy was eating got closer. As the sound approached, he felt a new hand try to touch him and he groaned, trying to hide his face in the couch cushion.

Tutting at him, Tommy used one hand to push his head to the side and using the other to feel his forehead again. Steve desperately tried to make sure he didn't make any noise, the distressed whine in his throat wanting to claw its way out.

Chuckling, “shit yeah, he is really cold,” Tommy said before Steve heard him take another bite.

“Why are you cold? Are you sick or something?” Carol asked, putting more weight on the central part of him as she leaned forward, putting her hands on his upper back.

He stayed silent and apparently that wouldn't just work with them, Tommy pressing a finger into his check, prodding him to answer. Once it was clear Steve wasn't going to answer that question, he heard Tommy walk off again, leaving him with just Carol who was now plain out lying down on top of him, head resting just below the nape of his neck.

Huffing, she asked as she pushed herself up onto her forearms, “why are you wearing blockers now? Like what's up with that, what suddenly convinced you to wear that?”

Loudly exhaling he replied, annoyed and tired, working himself up as even just speaking took a great deal of energy from him, “I'm not!”

Scoffing as if she was the one annoyed and being bothered, she argued, “yes you are! Look,” and she was pushing hair out of the way of his neck to get a look at his bonding and scent glands. He couldn't fight her, his limbs feeling too much like dead weight as she probed around, searching his neck before she fished his arm out from under the blankets.

She felt the glands on his wrist, the glands there making a futile attempt of releasing any of his scent there and she put it back down and just stayed there. Unmoving. It was unnerving not knowing what she was doing or about to do next, when she finally spoke up, “his scent is gone. Like it's just gone, he's not wearing any blockers.”

Chuckling, tone incredulous as Tommy questioned, “what? What do you mean it's just gone?”

“Like it's fucking gone Tommy, I just checked him, he's not wearing anything, this is just him,” she replied and Steve could hear her trying to keep the urgency and worry out of her voice. Though he couldn't even honestly be sure she was genuinely worried about him. If anything they probably invaded his house just to fuck with him so who knew if they were being authentic or not in their concern.

He heard Tommy come back over, briskly strolling over to them and he flinched as he felt Carol's hands on his neck again, only to move over to bring his wrist up presumably for Tommy's viewing. Then it was quiet again, unsettling him. He jumped and held his breath as he felt Tommy's hands on him now, though they weren't nearly as close to his bonding site as Carol's were.

He choked down a whimper, not wanting to confirm any suspicions they had while they were quiet again, now with both of their hands off him. Then he heard a quick shuffle of feet walking off and the sound of Tommy going up the stairs while Carol now sat up straddling his hips. 

He almost cried out at the loss of touch, so desperately craving her to lie back down, but somehow managed to keep it down and just waited as they did whatever they wanted. Carol was running her hands up and down the small of his back, presumably waiting for Tommy to come back downstairs from wherever he was doing. It felt like forever that he was up there, but the familiar scent along with the affectionate touches was driving Steve up the wall.

It felt so nice. Felt like home, like he could breathe without being suffocated, like he could move without weights being attached to him.

Then the clomping of Tommy's feet down the stairs filled the room and he spoke up, voice flat, “his rooms not scented either. I can barely smell him at all in there, even on the bed and pillows.”

“What's your deal? Why's your scent like, all gone?” she asked, laying back down on his back, moving up to plant her cheek against his.

As much as the two hated him, and as much as he should tell them to get lost, he didn't want it to end. The faux pack between the three of them right now felt good, he didn't want it to stop and go back to just being a shivering mess by himself again. Torturing himself while playing like he was perfectly fine in front of everyone else.

She wouldn't take his silence for an answer though, rubbing her cheek against his and subtly scenting him, trying to bother him enough into answering.

Steve just sighed, “can you just knock it off?” he mumbled, managing to crack a vexed eye in her direction.

“Oh come on, are you serious? You're really not gonna say what your deal is?” Carol complained, lifting herself back to straddle his waist as she pouted at him.

“Come on Stevie, what's the worst that can happen?” Tommy taunted, presumably leaning on the couch if the way the cushion squished was to say anything.

Closing his eye again, he countered, “what, I tell you guys so you can go about making fun of me? Or pushing me around?” saying the last part pointedly.

Scoffing dramatically, “that was an accident and you know it, how the hell was I supposed to know you were just gonna topple over? And I picked you up right after, didn't I?” Tommy argued.

Steve was quiet after that, Tommy was technically right. He hadn't pushed him very hard and he did pull him back up, although quite roughly.

Loudly sighing, “just tell us. We're gonna leave if you don't,” Carol grumbled, moving back to run her hands along the small of his back.

“No please, anything but that,” Steve said sarcastically even as he internally whined that the touch he had just gotten accustomed to at the moment was about to leave if he didn't do anything to make them stay.

Silent for a moment, all Carol said was, "fine, whatever, be sick on your own then," and was pushing herself off his back. Still keeping his eyes closed, he heard the shuffle of feet getting further away until the front door open and then finally clicked close.

Steve just stayed where he was, not even bothering to see that they properly left. Instead, he just miserably rubbed and scented the pillow he was on, subsequently missing the long last look Carol threw his way before she left with Tommy. 

He tried wrapping the blankets impossibly closer to himself and tried to take in as much of their scent, already starting to get cold again now that Carol was off him.

-----

The next time the omega woke he was starving, nauseous with a throat so dry it hurt to swallow and a migraine so bad he almost wanted to cry. Groaning as he sat up, he leaned against the back of the couch so he didn't sway.

Steve sighed, looking over to the clock and squinted at it confused, tryingto figure out what time of day it was considering it was still winter and it was dark out.

Leaning down, he plucked the remote off the table and clicked on the tv, finally getting his answer as the tv said six pm. Heavily exhaling he threw his head over the back of the couch; he'd already told Dustin he'd watch some movie the beta wanted him to see that was only in theaters and the gaggle of kids were coming over tomorrow.

Moaning in pain, he forced himself up, looking down at himself as he apparently was still wearing the clothes from last night. Shrugging, he decided to just wear it out again, it's not like anyone would know, and stumbled out the door into his car and drove towards the movie theater.

The omega's head was pounding and the lights around him weren't helping. He almost immediately regretted his decision as soon as he actually got on the road but he was far enough out that he might as well see himself all the way through. While he drove he could still feel his head spinning and he decided that the first thing he'd do when he first got there after buying a ticket was get something from the concession counter to help with his headache.

Miraculously he managed to get there in one piece and without anything happening on the way. Snagging one of the more closer spots to the door he parked, almost stumbling out his car as he exited it. Strolling to the building, he stood in the line for the box office, hoping it wasn't too obvious how much he was shaking.

Then, as if they knew his every step he could hear the sound of Carol and Tommy conversing getting closer. Sighing, he already knew what he was about to get into when he heard the somewhat cheerful gasp come out of her mouth.

"Steve! There you are, y'know it was quite rude to blow me off yesterday," she said, pouting at his back. Turning his head back he only side eyed her, not bothering to respond.

"Come on Stevie, just talk to us, we miss being able to tell where you are," Carol teased, poking his back and Steve wasn't certain that she meant it. Leaning in close she whispered, "come just tell it to me then, omega to omega."

Annoyedly, he just huffed and left, leaving the two to watch whatever movie it was that they were planning on. On the way back to his car however, his head started feeling too lightheaded and all of a sudden everything was getting hard to hear.

Then the edges of his vision started getting black and finally, not having the time or energy to catch himself, he fell forward onto the concrete in the middle of the parking lot. As he blacked out he could faintly hear voices exclaiming, though he couldn't decipher who's they were.

When he woke up next, he found himself in a bright white room wearing a hospital gown. Squinting at the blinding lights, he looked around and the only thing he saw of note was someone with big red hair. He groaned, rolling his eyes and closing them, trying to will himself back to sleep.

Happily huffing, she rejoiced, "heyyy sleepy head, good to see you're awakeee." Upon feeling the bed sink near his hand, he peeped an eye open at her. "You've been out for quite awhile you know. You gave us quite a scare when you just flopped over like that," she complained, poking an offending finger at his stomach.

Heavily sighing she looked him up and down, apparently deciding to change her tone to be more serious as she spoke, "they took your vitals and stuff, said you were cold, said that you were extremely dehydrated and hungry so they gave you an IV and fluid. They already gave you an electric blanket to try to help warm you up."

Look away she continued, "we told them about the lack of scent and everything that me and Tommy found the other day so they're running some tests to see what that's about."

Exhaling exasperatedly he rolled his eyes annoyed, when he got a snap from her, only now smelling the light sourness that was underlying her scent. "You're not telling us anything and we know your little girlfriend got a new boyfriend so you're not telling her anything, so. We just had to find out on our own," she scolded, scent turning slightly annoyed.

Scoffing he answered, "we don't talk, we don't hang out, you guys don't like me! Why would I tell you anything about me anymore!"

"Yeah we're pissed at you, that doesn't mean we want you to die dummy," she yelled back glaring at him which he quickly returned.

They stared at one another, quiet with her scent flaring. Finally, she relented first, looking away and shuffling up the bed to sit right next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Confused, he gazed down out the corner of his eyes at her before just accepting that this was something that was happening. The pair sat there, Carol scenting him while his glands struggled to release anything to rub back onto her. Even with how tense things were between the two of them, this felt nice, he could feel himself slightly warming up.

Suddenly they heard a knock on the door and in came Tommy and the doctor. Tommy was carrying a bag with presumably food if the smell was anything and a cup holder with two drinks in it. He held it up, showing to Carol and Steve could see her wave him away.

Tommy set the food down on the ground but held onto the drinks, everyone turning to look at the doctor.

"Are you stepping in as the alpha for him?" the beta doctor asked, gesturing to Tommy.

"Yeah I am," he answered and Steve quickly opened his mouth to interject when Carol nudged him, stopping him.

Flipping through the pages one last time, she spoke, telling them about all the tests that they ran to figure out what was the matter with him.

Steve's heart thumped as the doctor spoke, scared for whatever was to find out the doctor's mouth next, knowing there was nothing there near next to nothing he could do that the couple wouldn't be able to weasel their way through. He closed his eyes as she started reading the results.

"So, with the symptoms that he's been displaying combined with what you've told us about him not staying close with a pack for a bit, we've diagnosed that he's got pack isolation syndrome," she finally concluded and the omega didn't have it in him to open his eyes to see how the couple was looking at him.

"Okay, so what would we do, just, start putting him in our pack more? Just hang out with him more?" Tommy asked.

"Well that's what I would start with, I'd integrate him more into the pack, give him stuff with both of yours and whoever else's scent on it for him to keep around. Then, if he'll allow which I would hope he would, I'd probably say if you guys to directly scent him in a little cuddle pile in his nest," she answered before adding, "and just keep him around more in general.

Finally he willed himself into opening his eyes and he felt a chill run up his spine. It wasn't even like anyone was doing anything wrong, Tommy was just facing the doctor to talk to her while Carol was looking straight ahead.

"Is there any questions that you guys have?" she asked to which all three of them responded no. At that she said, "okay well, he's all free to go then, just make sure you're intergrating him into your pack more and make sure he's eating and drinking. You can get redressed and you're all good to go."

And with that she left the room and now all eyes were on Steve. Carol hopped off the bed, about to join Tommy's side when he handed her Steve's clothes and she gave them to the omega. Getting up, Steve took up his shirt, glancing between the both of them before he said, "turn around."

"Yeah you alpha, turn around," Carol teased, pretending to squint a glare at Tommy even as he listened with a roll of his eyes. Now it was just Carol looking at him and Steve continued staring at her, waiting. "Ugh, me too?! It's nothing I haven't seen before, not like I'm Tommy," she pouted, crossing her arms and ignoring his small offended "hey".

Still she listened, turning around. Once he was certain both of them were going to keep their backs to him, he started changed, slipping off the hospital gown and slotting on his shirt and pants, cheeks flushing embarrassed at how the doctors had to undress him.

Apparently he finished changing just in time as Carol whipped her head around to see if he was done and announcing, "oh good! You are, let's go." Immediately she headed towards the door, opening it while waiting for the two.

Tommy picked up the food he'd brought in and headed out the door and subsequently Steve followed behind, Carol exiting the room last. The omega followed the couple all the way down to their car, having no choice but to get in in order to get home.

It was awkward, unnerving. The car ride back home was silent except for the sound of Carol digging through the bag and eating fries. Soon, as they got closer to reaching his house, she turned around, still chewing a fry as she pointed one at him.

He shook his head no and instead of just accepting his answer, she twirled it around until he finally accepted it and ate it in front of her. She kept doing it, occasionally giving him fries to eat and refusing to let him turn her down.

Eventually when they got there, Steve immediately left the car, booking it for his front door. However, as he got up the steps and tried it, the door was locked and he didn't have the keys to open it.

Sighing and resting his head on the door, he reluctantly turned and saw the pair coming up the pathway, Carol jingling the keys with a smug smile on her face. She opened the door, and made her way inside, Steve instantly walking inside.

He tried making a run for it upstairs only for her to grab the back of his shirt and pulling him into the kitchen.

"You should eat, you want the double meat cheeseburger? You can have it don't worry," Carol said, speaking to Steve even if the conversation was mainly with herself.

"Why should he get my food?" Tommy asked incredulously.

"Cause I said he could, just go get another," she answered with a playful look, biting a fry in half.

"Why not give him yours if you want him to eat," he questioned, putting his hands on his hips and looking her up and down.

Putting the rest of the fry in her mouth she finished, "because that's unalpha like and knothead behavior of you to make me give mine up."

Groaning, Tommy just rolled his eyes, glaring at her for just a second and then just agreeing, setting everything on the table. He snatched up the drink, telling her, "I'm getting the drink though," before walking out the house and the start up of his car could be heard.

Carol started getting plates, organizing everything and handing it off to Steve once she was done. Then, like it was nothing, she sat at the kitchen island, tapping the other side of the table, inviting him.

He looked at her suspiciously, standing on the other side. Finally, after being hungry for days and just being freezing and overall miserable by himself, he relented, sitting across from her and joining her in eating.

Steve stuffed his face with the burger, eating the whole thing quickly, also chowing down the fries.

He hated how well this was working, how with just the pleasant scent of her being around and the two acting homely with each other was being to make him feel better, making him feel alive.

"Do you not have any of our stuff anymore?" she asked suddenly, looking up from her burger.

"I mean," he started, shifting his eyes awkwardly, "I don't keep it around or anything but it's probably around here somewhere."

Scoffing, she just took two big bites of her burger and chewed them, scrunching her face in discomfort before licking her fingers and wiping them saying, "I'm full, are you?"

Not giving him a chance to answer, she grabbed his hand and dragged him upstairs with her, making her way to his bedroom. Immediately bolting for his closet, she started rummaging through it.

"What are you doing?" he exclaimed, standing behind her while she ruffled through it like she was trying to decide his clothes for a date.

"Looking through it obviously," she said rapidly flipping through every article of clothing. "If you don't have something of mine then I'm just gonna start scenting stuff."

Stuttering he complained, "are you serious?"

"Yeah, I'm serious," she replied, unhooking a few shirts from his closet. Immediately she started rubbing them up against her neck, heavily scenting them as she strolled over to the bed.

"What are you doing now??" he asked, throwing his hands wildly.

Huffing like it was obvious, "getting in the nest goofball, get over here." He stood there in place, staring at her in disbelief.

Stomping her foot, she ordered, "I said get over here, stop just standing there."

"Why should I??"

Angrily huffing, "cause I said to, now come here," she ordered again, glaring at him.

When he refused to comply, she went over and dragged him, shoving him onto the bed. She finished scenting the articles, stuffing close to where their heads would before crawling in next to him and began heavily scenting the nest.

Steve sat there staring at her and groaning annoyedly she tugged him down, forcing him to lay face to face with her. Flustered and embarrassed about the whole situation, he flipped over so his back was to her.

"Oh my god you are ridiculous," she bitched but allowed it nonetheless, choosing to just hug his back and scent his neck instead. He just let her, even as embarrassed or weird as this was.

After laying there for a bit, they both heard the front door open and close. "Just ignore him, he'll find us," she mumbled and continued lying there. Steve peered behind him, finding her with both eyes close, though with his movement she popped an eye open.

Immediately he faced forward, opting to just close his eyes same as she was and to just ride this out until they left. He'd managed to actually fall asleep comfortably without freezing, only to be disturbed when he heard two voices in the room talking.

Opening his eyes he blinked blearily at the figure standing in the room who appeared to be holding something. Quickly he registered that it was Tommy and now he was scenting some of Steve's clothes.

Steve watched as he rubbed them against his neck, then threw them onto the bed. Carol got up and started organizing it into nest and Steve internally whined at the loss of contact.

But then he felt shuffling around and he turned around to see Carol moving away from him and Tommy crawling on to the bed.

"Christ guys, is this necessary?" he complained, leaning away from the middle.

"Don't be so dramatic, this is not that bad," Tommy said, flopping onto his back. Steve tried ignoring him, lying with his back to the both of them.

Pulling at him, Carol said, "oh come on, stop that."

"Just knock it off already man come on," Tommy groused, helping her flip Steve back over and manhandling him until he was half laying on top of Tommy alongside Carol.

Glancing between his eyes, she asked, "can you just relax? We're helping you out. As far as I know you don't have anyone else so at the very least let us make sure you don't fucking die okay?"

Mumbling a quiet "okay", she replied much louder, "thank you," and closed her eyes apparently intent on going back to sleep. Tommy wrapped his arms around both around both of them and Steve decided that he could just wait them out while at the very least enjoying the warmth that being next to them gave him, and closed his eyes, ready to sleep with the two of them.

[mythica0]

Hello fellow Epic fan! Hope you're still open to requests because I'm here to donate~! 😉

So I recently discovered that Poseidon has a wife of his own, named Amphitrite (whom I really hope he's more faithful to than Zeus is to Hera); I've also been craving more Lee Poseidon as of late, so how about we combine the two.

Scenario: Amphitrite sees her hubby's been in a really grumpy mood all day (no doubt because of some pesky mortal again) so she wants to help him take his mind off it with some sweet personal TLC in the bedroom~ (mostly cuddles and kisses, dw) That's when she rediscovers some pretty adorable things about her little lord of the sea~ 😊

TLDR; I want some wholesome couple fluff involving lots of tickle kisses (mainly on ear fins or gills).

Hope that's good enough for a description for ya!

Sweet lovin’

🎂:Epic: the musical

🧁:Poseidon

🍫:Amphitrite

Summary: after Poseidon comes home from an upsetting encounter with a mortal, Amphitrite wants to help cheer him up.

A/N: I don’t know much about Amphitrite, so I’m basically winging her characterization. Also, as a teenager who’s aroace and never been in a relationship, I’m hoping that I wrote the lovey-dovey stuff okay. With all that being said, enjoy! :3

P.s: (oooo, sorry to disappoint but Poseidon actually had more lovers than Zeus 😅)

Sweet lovin’

Poseidon walked into the fancy, decorated underwater cave, and the first thing Amphitrite heard was a sigh.

She turned to look as her husband stepped into their cave, their underwater home, looking tired and stressed. She walked closer, gently and slightly hesitant.

“My dear? Are you alright?”

Another long, deep sigh. “Yes, love, I’m fine. Just had some problems with that damn mortal I was telling you about.”

She smiled a bit, fondness and sympathy sparkling in her eyes. “I see. How about a bit of a cuddle night?”

Poseidon’s eyes lit up a bit at the words, although he tired to hide his extreme excitement as a more casual acceptance. “Yeah, that sounds…nice.”

Amphitrite chuckled a bit at the facade, but decided not to bring it up. “Alright dear, you go take a warm shower and I’ll get the bedroom set up, okay?”

Poseidon smiled a bit. “Thanks, love.”

She walked up to him and gave him a little peck on the cheek, needing to stand on her tiptoes slightly to reach. “Of course, darling.”

Poseidon kissed the top of her head in return and then walked off towards their bathroom. Amphitrite heard the water start running as she walked into their bedroom.

She looked through the room to find the most cozy, warm blankets that they owned. The cave was, well, a cave, but it was still fancy and furnished in a way fit for an Olympian, including a large, soft bed.

As Poseidon washed away the stress of the day, Amphitrite busied herself with making a comfortable nest of pillows and blankets on the bed. She dimmed the lights, and put on some soft music, trying to make a cozy, relaxing atmosphere.

Not long after she had finished, Poseidon stepped out of the bathroom in a comfortable robe for sleep. He walked into their bedroom and saw the little nest.

“It’s lovely, dear. Thank you.”

“No problem, my love. Now let’s cuddle!” She encouraged, pulling him towards the nest.

He chuckled and followed, and then they both climbed into the bed and wrapped their arms around each other in a warm embrace.

For a while they just cuddled calmly, but at some point, Amphitrite started to lightly trace Poseidon’s back.

He huffed a bit of laughter through his nose, and muttered lazily. “Darling, tha’ tickles..”

Amphitrite smiled, fond yet mischievous. “Oh, does it now?”

The teasing tone sent a shiver down Poseidon’s spine.

“Maybe this will help cheer you up, hmm?” She whispered, her voice full of affection. She wrapped her arms around Poseidon a little tighter, and then started to intentionally tickle, tracing and scribbling lightly at his sides.

Poseidon started to giggle, the light touch eliciting a light, airy sort of laugh. “Lohohove, nohoho..” he complained half-heartedly, but both of them knew it wasn’t fully genuine.

“Awww, but your little giggles are so cute!” She teased in response, her voice full of love. She leaned forward and started to pepper his neck with light, ticklish kisses, even making ridiculous little exaggerated noises.

Poseidon felt so silly, but yet so loved, as the various light, tender touches produced joyful giggles from him. “Ahamphitrihite plehehease! Thahat tihihickles!”

“That’s the point, dear, I’m tickling you!” She paused her little kisses to respond. She loved the giggles of Poseidon, how sweet and gentle they sounded in contrast to his usual rough personality.

Despite his protests, Poseidon was pretty happy right now. He definitely felt much better than he did when he came home. Amphitrite continued to trace little shapes and lines all over his sides with her long claws and lightly kiss along his neck and ear fins, eliciting soft giggles.

It was such a warm, loving and cozy environment, and Poseidon felt so cared for and loved.

It was all soft and gentle, each little giggle or teasing word no louder than a whisper- until Amphitrite decided to blow a small little raspberry on her husband’s gills.

This resulted in a quite embarrassing squeal from the god of the tides, followed by a bright blush and protests. “Dahaharlihing nohOt thehe gihihills!”

“Aww, are your little gills super-duper ticklish, hmm? Do they make you all giddy and happy~” she cooed gently in response, only furthering the redness on his face.

“Nohohoho, daharlihing stohohop!” He protested, unserious and gentle, gently pushing at her head where she was kissing and blowing raspberries along his gills. He was laughing much louder now, deep, belly laughs that echoed along the stone walls of the cave.

“I don’t know, dear~ are you sure you’re feeling allll better? No more yucky stress, hmm~?” She teased again in response, voice gentle and loving in the way only she could be.

“Yehehes, ihim hahahappy, ihi prohohomise!” It wasn’t a lie either, he truly was happy. The whole night of cuddles and tickles had done wonders to brighten his mood.

But Amphitrite wasn’t done just yet.

“I don’t know if I believe you~ maybe I should do one last thing, just to be sure, hmm~?”

“Plehehease, nohohoho!” Poseidon protested once again, a giddy sort of nervousness building in his chest.

Amphitrite ignored the untrue protests, and then pulled him closer. She’s scribbled her sharp claws along his sides and blew a big raspberry on either side of his neck at his gills at the same time, causing loud, rumbling laughter to escape from him.

After just a moment, she stopped, leaving him with leftover, breathless giggles.

“Ohoho myhy… yohou reheally know hohow to make a mahan lahaugh..” He smiled widely as he said it, giggles sprinkled into the words.

Amphitrite smiled, and leaned in close to Poseidon, continuing to cuddle as he let out all the remaining giggles. “Do you feel better?” She asked, genuine and fond.

Poseidon nodded. “Yes, love, thank you.”

“Of course, darling, anytime.”

And they held each other close for the rest of the night, until they drifted into a peaceful, loving slumber in each others arms.

———THE END————————————————

[mothwingwritings]

C and F for my boy Pickle

Eyyy sorry for the delay! (Yes I am still working on these!!!) Here is some Pickle goodness for you my dear.~<3

WARNINGS: Sex and violence and one love sick feral man.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Pickle would honestly treat you as nicely as he is able too. His living environment has its limitations, but he does everything he can to make it comfortable and inviting for you, adamant about making it a home that is fitting of his mate.

Once you are safely stashed away in his secret abode he sets to work constructing you a nest of things so that you may find pinnacle contentment in your new home. He’s gathered an amalgamation of the softest blankets, clothes, linen, etc. that has been given to him or that he has scavenged, so that you may rest in peace and luxury while in his presence. He also brings you the best cuts of meat after his hunts, though he caught on quickly that you were apt to turn your nose at his bloody, raw offering (he couldn’t quite understand why, he was sure you would love it if you just gave it a chance). Once he picks up on your distaste, he instead begins to hoard ingredients and snacks he steals picks up out in the world, supplying you all manner of foodstuff till he pins down the ones you like.

While Pickle prefers you in your natural state, he understands your body needs protection from the elements. He doesn’t quite get modern fashion, but you seem sad wearing the same thing over and over again. While he’s out he procures a hodge-podge of varying clothing, presenting it to you by dumping it at your feet, a huge dopey grin on his face. He loves seeing you in the clothing he gifts you, you look so beautiful in each and every piece that he can’t help but stare, holding back the urge to rip it right back off and have his way with you.

Pickle won’t mock you and wouldn’t dream of disrespecting you in anyway. Any harm he causes you is either completely unintentional or for your own good. He loses control of himself sometimes, forgetting his own strength. You are just so small and he loves you so much, it’s hard to hold himself back. He hates using his strength against you to prove a point, but if you remain insistent on trying to escape him he will do what he must to protect you. You are HIS mate and HE’S the only one who can take care of you. All that’s waiting for you in this strange new world is danger, so if you won’t stay by his side willingly, he will force you there.

All that said, while you may be relatively safe from Pickle’s more violent tendencies, anyone else most certainly is NOT. If another person approaches you, threatens you, or tries to take you away from him they will be obliterated, decimated, ripped to shreds, torn apart until nothing is left. He’ll bask in the gruesome slaughter, their end another validation that he is the best one for you, the one who loves and can protect you above all others. Doesn’t matter if that person is a stranger or your own mother-he is all you need, anyone else butting in is an unnecessary threat.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He would find it incredibly charming if you tried to fight him. Pickle doesn’t see it as an act of aggression at all, but views it as you trying to mimic him as a sign of reverence. You think he is so impressive and strong that you strive to be like him, going so far as to challenge him to a fight. It’s adorable, and he can’t help but break out into a huge toothy grin when he sees you assume a fighting stance.

And it excites him- seeing you tense up, clenching your fists and bending your knees, preparing to strike at a moment’s notice. Seconds before the fray, you stare him down with such intensity, sizing him up and calculating what moves you should make against him, gears turning in your head as you focus wholly on him. The fixation on him sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine. He is the only one you are thinking of in that moment, and in turn you are all that is occupying his thoughts.

Your strikes never hurt him and he can tell how much that frustrates you. He’ll play along sometimes to make you happy, yowling like a mother lioness that is being batted by her cub. He’ll cringe at your punch, shy away from your kick. If he’s convincing enough, you sometimes award him with a small smile, a brief look of accomplishment. It warms his heart, knowing you are having as good of a time as he is.

He also relishes the closeness the two of you share when you initiate these little fights. Usually you try and hide away from him, distancing yourself as much as possible whenever he is in the vicinity. At first he thought it was another game you were trying to play with him, something coy, cute, and seductive to grab his attention. But when the chase became a regular thing he was disappointed, why did you put up such a fuss each time your mate tried to approach you? You didn’t even give him a prize when he finally caught you, just flailing and screaming and spitting. It hurt his feelings- this was supposed to be fun.

But the little brawls you had were fun, and they gave him a chance to have you near him without any to-do. He could feel your skin on his, smell your sweat as your body writhed and wriggled against his. Feeling your small hands grab at his hulking form, listening to your strained moans and heavy breathing as you threw your all into attacking him… Witnessing you in such a state, holding you close as your body rubbed his in just the right way, it doesn’t take long for him to completely lose control.

Before you can recognize what is going on, your body is sheathing his cock, previous grunts of exertion quickly turning into wails of pleasure.

He doesn’t understand why you cry so much afterwards, though. Were you not having as much fun as he was? You initiated the fight, why are you so upset at the outcome? It was a good tussle, and judging by the noises you were making, he was able to make you feel good. Even if you struggled a bit when he was trying to enter you, you always end up yielding to him. The fit is tight, and there have been several times he was afraid he would outright break you when he pushed deeper, pressing into your core.  But the pleasure that courses through him as he bottoms out is indescribable. He loses himself in the feel of you surrounding him, completely consumed by the euphoria your body has supplied him.

You are his perfect mate, his brave little warrior, and his love for you is endless. So don’t cry, OK? Maybe next time he’ll let you really ‘win.’ :)

[bwoahtastic]

Ohhh pls but what if an omega builds a nest to lure alphas there but instead a lil lonely pup crawls into it instead. Maybe pup Logan? It’s in the middle of the night and he knows that it can be dangerous to walk around alone, but it’s so cold and the nest looks so soft. He doesn’t have any other option really, having been abandoned by his family a while ago. Maybe he’s also running a fever cos it’s so cold and has nobody to take care of him.

And in the morning the omega finds a tiny shivering pup in wolf form covering between the blankets.

Oh plss!

Tiny Logie being all alone and so scared! He is in his wolfie form cos it's easier to sneak around and he hears better, but still he is panicking and so cold and knows a lil pup like him shouldn't be out alone!

Logie stumbling across the nest made by an Omega (maybe nico? Or kev!) Which is deserted rn cos the omega is cuddling with pack elsewhere and will resume sire finding duties tomorrow lol. Logan whining a little and nosing into the blankets, finally warm and safe and curling up real small, maybe suckling on a little piece of blanket to try and self soothe and ignore the hunger in his tummy

The omega finding the tiny wolfie pup the day after and instantly stops looking for an Alpha cos they have found their pup! They don't need an Alpha anymore now, they are just happy purring curling around Logan and gently grooming him while the other Omegas rush to find him some food cos the little thing looks so hungry!

[muxshwriting]

to someone from a warm climate

Matthias Helvar x reader

summary: Matthias didn't realise how much he craved the heat he had grown up lacking || warnings: ice court, hypothermia, mentions of drowning || word count: 870 || masterlist

Matthias is dreaming. Dreaming of hope.

He's noticed things lately, that he hadn't realised before. Ketterdam is much warmer than Fjerda. No snow will land here, even in the middle of winter and the canals don't ever freeze. But when the cold winds whistle through the streets, he notices them more. Goosbumps will raise on his arms and he'll feel the cold far more than he used to.

Perhaps it's because he's been in Ketterdam for a couple years now, maybe it's because of you. You were always warm, always wanting to be warmer. He would often joke that you were his personal hearth, keeping him warm in bed at night and scaring away the cold night air. He craved the heat. After growing up cold, he quickly became addicted to the warmth that eminated from you.

You didn't mind. It meant he would hold your hand as you walked, pull you towards him in armchairs and tangle his limbs with yours at night.

But then the Ice Court turns the whole world on its head.

The seven crows get in, the seven crows all get out. Some have a few scuffs and cuts but nothing major. It's afterwards, while still in Fjerda that the worst happens.

Trekking back to Ravka whilst not getting caught can be quite easy in a place as desolate as Fjerda. The villages are easy to avoid and the wilderness was accommadating to those who respected it.

Matthias had been a Druskelle before joining the crows in Ketterdam. He knew most of his homeland well and knew how to navigate the parts he didn't.

They had set up camp by a frozen lake and you immediately wanted to try skating. Growing up in Ketterdam, the only ice you'd seen had been small and thin, never enough to skate on. You had never felt the feeling of floating on ice.

Inej joined you, pushing herself around gracefully, looking as though she had been doing this her whole life. You, on the other hand, resembled a young foal learning how to walk.

The ice crackles as you move around, the deep grumbling sounds worrying you slightly. But Inej doesn't look worried as she continues to spin around you, trying to help you stand straight. Slowly, you're getting the hang of it, able to push yourself around without falling over every second.

Bigger cracks form under your feet as you slide and you freeze. "Inej?"

In a second, you plunge into the freezing water, lungs seizing as panic grips you. The cold is all surrounding and suffocating as you try and kick your way back up to the surface. You can't find it. The light is warped by the water, constantly moving so you can never tell where the break in the ice was.

Black spots begin to fill your vision but you refused to breathe in. The minute you breathe, the minute it's over. An arm reaches towards you in the black and you glady grab it.

Matthias pulled you out of the water, placing you down on the ice as you desperately gulped for air. His body grounded you from the frozen feeling that sat in your chest. Every breath sent shivers through you and Matthias' face only grew more worried.

"I'm cold."

A brief smile then another frown. "You need to change. Your wet clothes won't help you."

You nod, still shivering as you move to stand. You're knees buckle but Matthias catches, letting you lean on him as he leads you to your tent.

Your hands shake as you push your coat from your shoulders and move to unbutton your shirt.

"Do you want me to get Inej?"

You shake your head. "Just stay."

Matthias carefully moved around your tent, passing you dry clothes and setting up a nest of blankets for you.

Now in dry clothes, you slid under the blankets next to him and basked in the heat he was giving off. He'd taken off his outer layer so his skin could touch yours as much as possible.

Your usually warm skin was freezing to touch. He hated it. Your shivers only served to worry him further.

"Are you okay?" He asks softly. You nod, hiding yourself further into his chest. His muscles tensed as your cold hands touched him but he wrapped his arms around you regardless. “You worried me.” He confesses as a whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Matthias reassures. “But just, don’t do it again, alright?”

“Okay.”

Your shivers had subsided and the warmth finally settled back on your chest. Matthias’ body was still pressed against yours and you felt his grip tighten as you shifted around. Slowly, you drifted off to sleep, glad your icy lover would always be there to pull you out of the cold.

Matthias breathed a sigh of relief as you fell asleep. Your fingers weren’t icicles anymore and some of your natural body heat had returned. He was simply glad that the cold hadn’t got you. In a frightening realisation, Matthias knew he needed your warmth more than he needed the cold in his soul. He craved you like air and that was more precious to him than Djel and his old beliefs.

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