he stumbled toward you on the train as soon as it was set in motion. you told him you were on your way to the flea market. instead of saying sorry, he promised to purchase you a record. and thus, you were no longer perusing on your own. typewriters, tarnished jewelry, miscellaneous antiquities … and, of course, records. you told him to choose the album. somehow, he picked out one of your favorites. flea market trips became a ritual between you two, amongst other things.
Being in a pack is basically the antonym for jealousy right? You all share each other, with each other, all the time. Wolves are possessive, but they’re not prone to jealousy, of all things. Humans, on the other hand. Well. That’s a different story altogether.
Tags: SKZ, SKZ!pack, stray kids, ot8, ot8 x you, ot8 x reader, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, ABO, A/B/O, Alpha Beta Omega dynamics, bang chan, seo changbin, lee minho, hwang hyunjin, lee felix, han jisung, yang jeongin, kim seungmin
Genre: Fluff, Light Smut
Title: Jealousy, Jealousy
You’re not a jealous person. You’re not.
But watching the pretty, little omega flirt with Minho across the bar has something heavy and sour settling into the pit of your stomach against the ominous growling emanating from your suddenly engaged wolf.
Minho isn’t flirting back of course, simply offering half a smile in response to her animated words, and in fact, you know him so well you’d say he almost looks bored, glancing past the omega to your waiting drinks
The knowledge does nothing to quell the sudden pang of jealousy eating you up from the inside out.
She laughs, you catch the tinkling high sound over the bustle of the other patrons, and then her hand is touching his arm as she leans in, looking up at him as if he’s said something extremely funny.
You know that move. It’s the oldest one in the book.
You’re out of your seat before you can think.
The omega looks caught off guard, kohl lined eyes going wide, lips parting, as you appear at Minho’s side, hand going down on his arm where hers had just been moments before, as if to wipe away the trace of her.
You see the moment she catches a whiff of your scent-cold and floral-her wolf perking its ears in interest.
Alpha.
She suddenly looks smug, pleased with herself, as if you and Minho are going to fight for her attention, two alphas at her disposal.
You don’t even spare her a second glance.
“Minho.” You say sharply beneath your breath and the other alpha glances at you curiously, one perfectly manicured brow raised. You tilt your chin toward the door. “Can we go? Please?”
The omega visibly wilts.
Minho, on the other hand, looks entirely too satisfied as you shift uncomfortably beside him, fingers still curled around his arm.
He’s figured it out.
Thankfully, he doesn’t point it out, instead, patting the back of your hand where it rests on his arm-a little bit sweet, a whole lot sarcastic-and offers you a smile bordering too close to a knowing smirk, eyes sparkling with hidden mirth.
“Of course, sweetheart. Let me just say goodbye to my friendhere-”
You don’t miss the teasing, taunting lilt to his words, and your wolf growls in response.
Your fingers flinch into his skin and Minho glances down to where your hand has now turned into a claw, digging into his forearm.
The smirk has yet to leave his face.
“Or not.”
You hate that he’s seen right through you, know the ride home is going to be living hell, that he won’t let you live this down easily-it’s Minho for god’s sake-but he also doesn’t give the omega a goodbye, let alone another glance, and so maybe, just maybe, the inevitable hassling will have been worth it.
Besides, you learned long ago that when it comes to Lee Minho, you have to take the small victories where you can get them.
******
“I swear, this should be classified as cruel and unusual punishment.” Jisung groans, sitting next to you at the kitchen table, pausing in his chopping to complain to whoever will listen.
You note offhandedly that while your pile of chopped vegetables has grown significantly, Jisung’s is still miniscule in comparison.
“My hand is cramping.” The beta whines, as if none of you heard him the first time, stretching his fingers for maximum effectiveness.
“Yah. Han Jisung.” Minho turns from the stove and holds his dirty spatula menacingly above the suffering beta’s head, a dark glower on his pretty features. “If those vegetables aren’t minced by the time I need them in five minutes, then it’ll be your head on the chopping block next.”
“Hyung.” Jisung whines, widening his eyes pleadingly, but Minho gives him no sympathy, expression steely, before he turns back to the bubbling pot on the stove.
Jisung huffs and glances toward the hall, where Chan has appeared, keys in hand. The beta brightens immediately upon seeing another potential victim for his cause.
“Hyung.” The beta whines, long and low in his throat, and Chan pauses in his route to the door, head alpha raising its head at one of his packmate’s obvious distress.
However, he takes one look at Minho, standing menacingly behind the whimpering Jisung with a spatula, and grimaces, offering said beta a sympathetic look.
“Sorry, Jisungie. Gotta go to the studio.”
Chan disappears a little too eagerly as the sound of a door slams down the hall and Jisung rolls his eyes, resuming his chopping with a grumble and a long sigh of “coward” beneath his breath, which you can only guess is aimed toward a certain head alpha.
It’s silent for a moment, the sound of chopping rhythmic and lulling, the pot bubbling merrily on the stove, Minho singing something low and indistinct beneath his breath.
Changbin appears, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking as if he’s just come from the gym, and the smell of ash mixed with sweat is suddenly strong as he regards the three of you sagely.
“What’re you making? And how’d you get Jisung to help?” He asks, eyebrow raised, addressing Minho, as he nods toward the still pouting Jisung sitting at the table, dutifully chopping a carrot.
“He threatened him.” You reply back, reaching for another potato, as Jisung shoots you a dark glare, taking way too long to matchstick a piece of celery.
“Ah.” Changbin nods like he gets it, amusement clear on his face.
“Yah. Seo Changbin.” Minho turns his frown on the newly arrived alpha now, and Jisung looks as if Christmas has come early. “Are you going to eat what I make tonight or what?”
Changbin has the decency to look slightly regretful, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck as he suddenly avoids the other alpha’s pointed gaze.
“Sorry, hyung. I gotta stick with shakes. New regiment and shit.”
You and Jisung both groan simultaneously at that, and Changbin looks caught off guard by your reactions, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.
“God, please don’t tell me you’re gonna put chicken in it again, hyung.” Jisung exclaims, sinking back in his chair and eyeing Changbin like he’s just grown another head, lips pulled down in obvious disgust. “Anything but that.”
“I’m like 96% sure Jackson was joking when he told you that, by the way.” You add, making a face, as you think about Changbin and the slop he and his workout buddies call smoothies.
“Hey.” Changbin protests, waving between the two of you. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
More echoed groans, and Changbin looks suitably offended.
Jisung gets up from his spot at the table and crosses the kitchen, dumping his vegetables-finally chopped-into the pot that Minho is still carefully stirring. He leans over, putting the sharp jut of his chin on Minho’s shoulder, and instantly pulls a face.
Minho shoots him a glance, expression blank.
“God, hyung, you smell weird.” Jisung takes another long sniff and covers his nose dramatically, stepping away from the alpha, miming retching as he returns to the table to plop back down beside you. “Did you get a new cologne or something?”
“Probably smells like the friendhe made at the bar.” You can’t help but grumble beneath your breath, the poor potato you’re chopping into bite size chunks taking the brunt of your sudden aggression.
Your knife hits a sharp staccato against the cutting board.
“What was that, sweetheart?” Minho turns from the stove, one brow raised in challenge, clearly having heard what you said, giving you another chance to reconsider what you’d said.
You offer him a saccharine, innocent smile, so sweet you feel like your teeth are rotting.
“Nothing.”
Minho hums under his breath approvingly and nods and with one last, long look, returns to the stove, the air suddenly saturated with the sharp spice of amber.
Beneath your knife, the potato splinters into mush.
*****
“Okay, hyung, truth or dare?”
You’re sitting in the living room, the movie playing quietly in the background long since forgotten, when Jeongin turns to Minho, eyes wide and expectant.
Minho rolls his eyes. “Are we in fourth grade? Why do we have to play this?”
“Just answer the question.” You shoot back, matching Minho’s glare as he finally gives in and waves for the youngest omega to continue.
You’re still slightly on edge from earlier, but being surrounded by the smell of oranges as Felix cuddles back against you, sitting entwined on the couch, is helping some.
You reach up and idly run your fingers through the omega’s soft, blonde hair, holding back an affectionate smile as he arches into the touch of your hand like a needy cat.
“Fine. Truth.” “Boooooring.” Jisung calls out from across the room, not looking up from the game he’s playing on his handheld, Hyunjin eagerly watching over his shoulder.
“Okay. Truth.” Jeongin repeats with a wicked glint in his eye, rubbing his hands together, as if he’s prepared to completely reveal all the truths that make up the enigma that is Minho with just one question.
Minho takes a long sip of his soda as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Whose scent, out of all of us, do you like the most?”
Minho returns the can to the coffee table and sits back, looking completely at ease.
“Easy. Felix.”
Felix grins and blushes in your arms. “Ah, thanks, hyung, that’s really sweet.”
Jisung, however, chokes on his spit from across the room and levels Minho with a shocked look so convincing that you almost believe he’s hurt.
“Yah, what about me?”
Minho smirks. “What about you?”
Jisung mutters something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like cursing Minho’s name and his entire existence, and Hyunjin pats him sympathetically on the head as he sinks back into the end of the couch.
The game goes on like that for a while, a lazy back and forth between your packmates, the room a combined, comforting cocktail of everyone’s scents, making you sleepy, and your eyes are heavy, and you’re almost ready to call it a night, Felix warm and heavy in your arms and practically asleep himself, when Minho drops the bomb.
“(Y/N).”
You glance up at the other alpha, and the mischievous, wicked glint in his dark eyes puts you instantly on edge, hackles rising.
“Truth or dare?”
You’re way too tired to entertain even the thought of a dare, so you answer back immediately, “Truth.”
Minho grins, teeth and expression suddenly sharp, and dammit, you realize too late that you’ve fallen right into his trap.
“Would you say that you’re the jealous type?”
You refuse to play his game.
Keeping your expression blank, you reply simply, “No.”
Minho arches a brow, and his lips part, and he’s so smug you wanna wipe the smirk right off his pretty face.
“Really?” He hums beneath his breath, faking a thoughtful expression, eyes never leaving your own. “Would you care to explain to me what happened earlier then? In the bar? When I was making new ‘friends’?”
The use of your earlier word, confirming your suspicions that he’d heard exactly what you’d said in the kitchen, has you pushing a caught off guard, sleepy Felix into Changbin’s arms and standing up, expression carefully schooled.
“I’m going to bed.”
The air is so heavy with the scent of frost now, you’re surprised you can’t see the cloud of your own breath.
Minho catches up to you in the hallway.
The smell of sharp amber gives him away just before his fingers loop around your wrist, spinning you smoothly to face him, your back slamming up against the closed door of your room as his hands go on either side of your head, effectively caging you in.
So close to safety, yet so far.
“What was that, hm?” He questions in a low voice, head cocked, irises swirling, the expression on his face telling you he already clearly knows exactly ‘what that was.’
“I don’t like being the butt of your jokes, Minho.” You hiss out, staring him down, fingers digging into your crossed forearms in an attempt to remain in some semblance of control.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what joke you’re referring to, sweetheart.”
Your wolf snarls, insistent he’s still making a fool of you, and the frost creeps back in, chilling the air around the two of you.
“Please.” You scoff out, trying to cover up the hurt with anger now, your voice wavering slightly. “Don’t play stupid. You knew what you were doing when you asked that question back there.”
Minho’s brow arches, and his lips quirk slightly, his obvious nonchalance only serving to infuriate you more.
“And what exactly was I doing?”
You look away from him now, because you can feel the tears burning, threatening, and you don’t want him to see you cry.
Damn being an angry crier. Damn it all.
“Making fun of me.” You mutter bitterly, lower lip clenched firmly between your teeth, the scent of amber souring slightly now where it brushes your skin. “Because I got all weird at the bar seeing you with that strange omega and then you-”
Minho leans into your space suddenly, catching you off guard and effectively shutting you up, and you’re surprised, when you look up, to see the sudden, swirling gold creeping into his gaze.
“Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart.” He practically tsks, and you feel like you’re a kid who’s gotten caught with their hand in the candy jar.
Minho sighs, a long suffering sound, and you almost expect him to pinch his nose between his fingers in a show of frustration.
Instead, he leans closer, so that his lips are practically brushing yours with each word he speaks, and a crooked smirk lifts the corners of his mouth, revealing sharp, pointed canines that have your gut clenching up in sudden need.
“I wasn’t joking. About you or anything else.” He practically purrs, letting one of his hands slide off the door and down the column of your throat, fingers splayed against your collarbone like a choker, finger tips barely tracing your scent glands.
He looks entirely too pleased when your breath audibly catches in your throat.
“Then why did you bring it up?” You question, slightly breathless, and curse your body for betraying how attracted you are to Minho in this moment.
God, he’s pretty.
Minho chuckles, a low rumble in his chest accompanied by a fresh wave of spice, and the sound sends warmth flooding through your traitorous body to all the right places.
He tilts his head, studying you heatedly with a molten copper gaze.
“Because, sweetheart,” His full lips quirk into the hint of a self deprecating smile.“As much as I hate to admit it, I guess I find it practically intoxicatingwhen I’m the reason you struggle with your composure.”
Your mouth drops open, and Minho closes it again with one slender finger under your chin.
You have to remind yourself to breathe.
“So you get off on seeing me a mess.”
Minho chuckles again at your blunt words and raises a brow, wetting his lips as his tongue darts out to slowly trace over the outline of his plump mouth, watching the way you follow the motion, teasing you.
“Basically, yeah.”
“God, I hate you.” You breathe out, not meaning it in the slightest, as you tug him to you and slot your mouth with his.
“I really don’t think you do.” Minho murmurs back in between frantic kisses, his fingers tangling into your hair and tugging your head back, angling your lips for better access.
“Shut up.”
You waste no time in slipping your tongue into his mouth and your fingers curl into the material of the hoodie he wears, the air practically heavy now with the mixed smell of your scents.
It’s easy to blindly reach behind you and turn the door knob, letting you both into the dark, quiet of your room, easy to stumble backward toward the waiting bed, fingers still tangled in the front of Minho’s sweatshirt, easy to strip him in the pitch black, fumbling with layers of clothes, hands tracing the lithe, toned lines of his body, skin warm beneath your fingertips.
Minho takes his time, it’s something you’ve always admired about him, the attention to detail he uses when slowly but surely taking you apart, piece by piece, inch by inch.
“What do you want, hm?” He whispers against the column of your throat, nips with his teeth, traces deliberate fingers over your aching scent gland, revels in the way you arch up into him. “Tell me, sweetheart.”
It’s an easy enough question, with an obvious enough answer.
“Make me a mess.”
Minho grins, all sharp angles and white teeth and golden irises, and rolls his hips against your own, and you know he’s got you right where he wants you, knows in the way your fingers tremble as they tangle into his hair, in the way the scent of wisteria spikes, tangling with the sharp notes of amber.
Minho leans in, taking in the way you’re panting, squirming beneath him, practically begging him silently, and raises a brow, before nipping lightly along your mating mark as if it’s a promise of things to come.
