#lee felix
it’s about time to remember this again
this is one of my favorite lino videos purely for his face i love him
no one will ever understand him like i understood him
mmmmhmhmhmhmhmhmmhmhmmmmmmmhnhhhnnhmhjhnhmn
mmmmhmhmhmhmhmhmmhmhmmmmmmmhnhhhnnhmhjhnhmn
i lived
look at them
ok goodnight to him and him only.
mentally im still here actually
tattooing a video into my eyeballs
tattooing a video into my eyeballs
SAID IT BEFORE I’LL SAY IT AGAIN I LOVE HIS INTEREST IN WHAT PIERCINGS WE ENJOY
i’m actually going to cry he is so endearing
SKZ DRABBLE-OT8
All alphas get a little crazy when a rut is on the horizon. Instincts immediately push them toward being territorial, possessive, and more than a little bit protective. Chan, however, has always been a little bit more possessive than most, and especially when it comes to you. Not that you’re complaining. Not in the slightest.
A/N: I’ve been sitting on this stupid drabble, partially written, for weeks. It was never quite what I wanted it to be. After a little bit of rewriting, I think I’m finally happy with it. At least enough to let you all see it. XD
Tags: SKZ, SKZ Drabble, Stray Kids, OT8, SKZ!Pack, Poly!SKZ, SKZ!ABO, ABO, Alpha Beta Omega Dynamics, OT8 x you, OT8 x reader, SKZ x you, SKZ xreader, Fluff, Smut, Bang Chan, Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Minho, Lee Felix, Yang Jeongin, Han Jisung, Kim Seungmin
Genre: Fluff, Light Smut
Title: Moonmates
“Hey, hyung, do you want to play a game?”
Minho rolls his eyes. “Is it called ‘push Minho until he snaps and murders you’?”
Jisung leans toward him across the kitchen table, chin in his hands, and you recognize the face, the puppy dog eyes, the pout pulling at his full bottom lip.
That’s his ‘make minho do whatever I want’face.
It’s Jisung’s special, and it only ever works if the beta’sthe one wearing it, because trust you, you’ve tried.
Dammit, have you tried.
Minho sighs, and you watch him fold before your very eyes.
“Fine. What do you want?”
Jisung smiles so brightly it’s blinding, and you’re laughing now, watching the two of them together-the overly excited beta, the long suffering alpha-drawing Minho’s glare in your direction.
You hold up your hands. “Hey, I’m not even here. Take your stink eye elsewhere.”
Minho huffs out an annoyed sigh and finally turns back to Jisung, and you note, with slight amusement, that his glare instantly diminishes when it falls back on the waiting beta.
“What’s the game, Jisung.”
It’s not a question, but Jisung doesn’t even waver beneath the alpha’s stare, his grin growing wider and more mischievous by the second.
The kitchen smells like a laundromat.
“It’s a game I just made up actually.”
Minho scoffs, another eye roll. “Figures.”
Jisung crosses his arms and pouts, but it’s not long that he can keep the smile off his lips, bouncing excitedly in his seat as he reaches out and grabs Minho’s hands between his own, playing with his fingers as he talks.
“Okay, no, listen. It’ll be fun.” Jisung sneaks you a knowing sidelong glance, and suddenly you’re worried that this ‘game’ of his is going to come at your expense. He flicks his gaze back to Minho, and suddenly the grin is much closer to a smirk. “Hyung’s rut is coming up soon.”
“It’s literally marked on the calendar.” Minho deadpans, pointing toward the shared calendar that hangs on the kitchen fridge, littered with the pack’s notes and deadlines, where the end of next week is circled in red and marked in bold sloping letters that look an awful like Hyunjin’s- ‘Chan’s rut.’
“Yeah, I know, that’s not the point.” Jisung huffs and Minho rolls his eyes, but shuts up, and Jisung seems pacified, because he continues on, words a hurried mess. “Anyway, we all know how hyung gets around that time.”
You know where this is going, and you don’t like it.
This game is gonna get messy quickly.
“Yeah, a possessive asshole.” Minho states matter of factly, and you think by the slight tick of his jaw that he knows where this is going as well. “Get to the point, Jisung.”
“Anyway-” Jisung overrides him, raising his voice in pitch, glaring down the alpha bravely so he doesn’t interrupt him again. The smirk is back as he glances over at you, sitting silently, observing the conversation. “Hyung gets possessive with everyone, yeah, but it’s the worst with her.”
You decide to play dumb. “Me? I hadn’t noticed.”
You had, in fact, noticed.
Chan’s ruts were intense, to say the least, his head alpha at the forefront, and he was markedly even more possessive if possible with the members of the pack during that time, but that wasn’t uncommon for an alpha dealing with overpowering pheromones.
Whatwasuncommon, was that Chan’s alpha seemed to focus even more on your own during that time.
It was as if his wolf, spurred into overprotective mode, saw you-the lone female-as the weakest link, which you both knew was far from true, but you didn’t mess with a wolf crazed by hormones and instinct, so you let him baby you a bit more, claim you a bit more, shadow you a bit more, and after a week or so, things went back to normal.
Both Jisung and Minho are staring at you now, and you pull yourself back from your thoughts, clearing your throat.
“What does this stupid game have to do with me?”
Jisung turns to you now, angling his body to face you head on, hands clasped in a sort of evil mastermind position before him, matching the smirk that pulls at his full bottom lip.
“The game has everythingto do with you, noona. You’re the prize after all.”
Your wolf snarls at the insinuation but you keep your expression blank as you stare him down, waiting for him to continue.
“We’re all gonna see how far we can push hyung before he snaps.” Jisung announces proudly, sitting back in his chair, as if he has just explained everything in that one sentence.
“That sounds-” You quirk a brow and look to Minho, but his expression is as unreadable as usual. “-dangerous.”
“C’mon.” Jisung whines. “We both know Chan wouldn’t ever actually hurt any of us, and the semester is over and I’m bored. Everyone else already agreed. Don’t be party poopers.”
“Everyone?” Minho asks skeptically, arching a dark brow at the simpering beta.
Jisung sits back up, slapping his palms down on the table, and you hide a smile at the way he tries to pretend he didn’t wince at the violent contact.
“Everyone. Now, c’mon, it’s just all good fun, a way to pass the time.” He turns back to you, eyes wide, but the puppy dog face doesn’t work on you nearly as well as it works on Minho. “We can’t play without you, noona. Please?”
You sigh. “Look, I’m not playing anything. If the rest of you want to risk your lives by getting overly touchy or possessive of me to egg Chan on, then be my guest. The only involvement I’ll give is being passive about the whole thing.”
Jisung takes it as a win, mouthing a quick yes, before he fist pumps and turns to the silent Minho, and you can see, by the way his lip juts, that he’s got his ‘minho please’ face on once again.
Minho sighs. “Fine.”
Jisung crows in triumph and you shoot the other alpha a look that clearly says god, you’re whipped, and the glare Minho returns is nothing short of I’ll kill you in your sleep if you say a single word.
And you don’t doubt he could, so you merely smirk and leave the kitchen without another word.
*****
The game starts when you’re all walking to the corner store that Friday night, it’s close to 1 am and the omegas had begged you all to go with them for late night snacks, and the city lights are sparkling in the darkness, the well trodden pavement from your apartment to the little store warm beneath the soles of your sneakers.
Chan slides his hand into your own, slowing his pace to walk beside you, and you glance over at him in surprise, lips slightly parted, as you ask, “Why are you holding my hand?”
Chan shrugs and gives you a side long grin. “I dunno. Why are you asking?”
You shrug in response and swing your hands together as you walk, glancing up at the crisp stars that are starting to line the inky edges of the sky.
“I dunno. You just usually hold one of the omegas’ hands or something.”
Unless you’re in pre-rut, you want to add, but bite back the words that threaten the tip of your tongue.
“I want to hold your hand.” Chan replies casually, arching a brow at you as you continue to match his pace, step for step. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah, it just surprised me.” You offer him a hint of a smile and catch Jisung’s eye over his shoulder, the beta giving you a smirk and a look that clearly hints at see, I was right, as his eyes dart down to your hand enclosed firmly within Chan’s.
Instantly, he’s bounding over to the two of you and sliding in between you, separating your fingers.
“Hey, can I walk with you guys?”
You shoot Jisung a glare, but he dutifully ignores you, glancing at Chan’s expression before he slides his hands into your own, linking the three of you, successfully putting himself between you and the other alpha.
“Yeah-” Chan says, obviously caught off guard by the beta’s sudden appearance, but not appearing put out by it in the slightest as he reaches up to ruffle Jisung’s hair affectionately. “-though you already kind of invited yourself, Jisungie.”
“I can’t help it.” Jisung complains, shooting you a knowing look, before he pouts up at Chan. “(Y/N) just smells really good right now, wouldn’t you agree, hyung?”
Chan shoots you an amused, slightly confused look over the beta’s head. “I guess?”
You roll your eyes and pick up your pace, pulling them with you toward the others, who have grown farther ahead the longer Jisung has made you loiter.
“Pretty sure that’s just the KBBQ from down the street you’re smelling. C’mon Romeo, stop drooling and let’s go before Changbin gets all the good snacks.”
Jisung smirks at you and you resist the urge to wipe it off his face.
*****
It’s not that Chan’s not affectionate with you on a daily basis-he is-it’s just that the week before his rut, he gets a little more into skinship than usual, and by little more, you mean a lot.
It’s always just little, innocent touches-sliding his hand along the small of your back as he slips past you in the kitchen, brushing his fingers along the skin of your throat when he straightens your jacket, pressing a quick, little bit longer than necessary, kiss against the crown of your head when he leaves for the studio-but the little touches add up, and you’d never admit it, but Chan’s pre-rut is always hell for your wolf.
Every stupid little touch has your wolf whimpering for more, begging for the other alpha not to leave, and every whiff of petrichor has you physically clenching up, biting back the whine that wants to escape from between your teeth, the whine that cleary begs-
Please, please, pleasetake me, head alpha. I’ll go willingly.
So maybe, the game Jisung came up with is a bad idea-a terrible idea even-but in a way, it does give you some sort of twisted relief, because if the other seven are touching you, are all over you even, then that means that Chan isn’t.
So it’s almost a welcome distraction from watching the clock tick down painfully-counting the last few minutes until Chan gets home-when Hyunjin slides into your space on the couch, instantly plastering his body against your side, arms going around your waist.
The air is filled with the sharp scent of lemon, and it’s a relief not to have to smell your own headache-inducing floral for the first time in several days.
Hyunjin noses into you, and you giggle, reaching up to card fingers through his hair as you complain, “Seriously? You too? Chan’s not even home yet.”
Hyunjin gasps, wounded, and pulls back from you-ever the drama queen.
“I can’t believe you would say such a thing, noona. I just like being close to you, that’s all.”
“Mhm.” You hum under your breath skeptically, raising a brow in the omega’s direction, as he offers you a sweet smile.
“That and-” Hyunjin continues, leaning back into your space again and rubbing his cheek all over you, leaving the tang of lemon and honey behind everywhere he touches, sticking to you like a sweet film, and when he looks at you again, there’s a hint of mischief in his dark, wide eyes. “-Hyung’s gonna be home in three, two, one-”
The sound of the front door opening has Hyunjin grinning at you triumphantly as you sigh and shoot him a pointedly stern look.
Chan appears in the doorway, backpack thrown over his shoulder, and you note the exhaustion in his eyes before he quickly hides it back away and offers the two of you a hint of a tired smile, nostrils flared slightly as he takes in the room.
Your wolf keens needily at the sight of him.
“Why does it smell so overwhelmingly of Hyunjin in here?”
“Because he’s overwhelming?” You offer innocently, as Hyunjin gasps dramatically in offense once more and Chan grins.
It’s almost enough to keep the tired whines of your wolf at bay.
Almost.
*****
The morning of Chan’s rut, you wake up on edge.
Every one of your nerve endings feels raw and bristling, as if waiting for something to push you just over the edge, everything-scents and sounds and packmates-is all just a little too much.
You feel exhausted, and you can’t even imagine how Chan-the one actuallyin rut-is handling it.
You find yourself staring into your cereal bowl more than eating it, as Jisung and Hyunjin argue over something nonconsequential on the other side of the table from you, and Minho pours more coffee into his already empty mug.
Changbin appears in the doorway to the kitchen, already bundled into his coat, Seungmin at his heels.
“We’re going out.” The other alpha announces, and when Minho shoots them a quizzical look, Changbin grunts beneath his breath, “Chan gets pissy with me when he’s in rut. And I’d rather just avoid that all together this year.”
“Smart move.” Minho toasts him with his coffee cup before taking a long, slow sip.
“Yeah, he really only likes (Y/N) during his rut huh?” Jisung muses with a smug smirk, and you not so subtly flip him off from the other side of the table, a pounding headache already mounting behind your eyes. .
“That’s cause she’s like his soulmate or something.” Jeongin appears then, the youngest omega bright eyed and bushy tailed, as he reaches into the fridge for some orange juice.
Everyone stares at him silently, and he shrugs. “What? Minho-hyung explained it to me.”
“Well duh.” Jisung snorts. “We’re a pack. We’re all each other’s soulmates.”
“Not true.” Seungmin speaks up, stepping around Changbin to enter the kitchen, as he easily steals one of Hyunjin’s bacon slices off his plate, earning him a glare from the older omega. He chews thoughtfully for a moment. “I mean, I guess in a way it’s true? All pack members are usually soulmates in some form or another, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a certain member of each pack that belongs with another more than the others. And it’s called a moonmate, Innie.” The beta corrects gently, ruffling the youngest omega’s hair fondly.
Minho sighs and sits back in his chair. “God, it’s too early for this.”
“It’s 9 am.” Changbin points out helplessly, and Minho shoots him a glare.
“I have a headache.” You add unhelpfully, rubbing at your temples with your fingers.
“Listen, it’s like this.” Seungmin sits down next to Jisung, who still looks confused, and points at Felix, who has just entered the kitchen, hair still tousled from sleep. “Who does Felix need when he’s in heat?”
“An alpha.” Jisung replies immediately, looking proud of himself, as Hyunjin rolls his eyes from beside him.
“Yeah, okay.” Seungmin agrees patiently, as Felix settles himself down behind Hyunjin, chin going into the crook of his neck, arm around his shoulders. “So he needsan alpha, but who does he want?”
Understanding is dawning in Jisung’s eyes now. “Hyunjin.”
Seungmin nods. “Exactly. Because Hyunjin is Felix’s moonmate. Just like (Y/N) is hyung’s moonmate.”
You let your head slump to the table, and the cold formica feels heavenly beneath the heated flush of your skin, and you point halfheartedly in Jisung’s direction without opening your eyes.
“And your moonmate is Minho, because you’re bitch whipped for him.”
Jisung gasps and stutters over his next words and you bet if you looked, he’s gone beet red and is avoiding Minho’s smug, knowing gaze.
“What-no-’that’s not even-hyung!”
He’s whining to Changbin for help, but Changbin is already herding Seungmin out the door once more.
“Sorry, Jisungie, can’t hear you, got to go.”
With your eyes closed and your head on the cool table, the noise of the rest of your mates talking and the clink of spoons in bowls fades to the background, and you’re all too aware, suddenly, of the smell of incoming rain.
Your wolf whines.
Your body is aching, and as the scent of petrichor floods your senses, and the headache behind your eyes becomes a dull roar, you feel like anythingwould be better than this.
Even if that meant losing Jisung’s stupid game.
*****
Minho ends up winning the game in the end.
He does it in an entirely Minho-like way too, all sneaky and deceptive, telling you that he needs to show you something, but really, that’s just bullshit, and now he’s pinning you against Chan’s closed door.
“Minho.” You whine furtively, eyes shifting to glance behind him, wondering how difficult it would be to try and escape.
Probably pretty difficult. Minho is deceptively strong. And quick.
Here, held against the entrance to Chan’s room, the smell of rain is almost too much to bear, and your wolf is going crazy-whining and circling, begging-and it’s getting harder and harder to stop yourself from physically drooling.
“(Y/N).” Minho repeats back mockingly, a slight smirk curving his full upper lip as he holds you in place with a hand on either side of your head.
“You’re playing dirty.” You protest weakly, because Chan’s overwhelming scent is making you dizzy, and your wolf is pacing impatiently. “Let me go.”
“No.” Minho denies you easily, shaking his head. “This is for your own good.”
Maybe it’s because you’re physically pliabledue to Chan’s rut strengthened scent, or maybe it’s the fact that the headache you’ve had ever since the start of his rut hasn’t gone away in days, maybe it’s because you’re just straight up exhausted from denying your instincts-but whatever it is, when Minho leans into your space and scentsyou, you straight up moan, and it’s embarrassing.
“That’s a good girl.” Minho murmurs beneath his breath, lips brushing the skin of your throat, and you can feel his smile against your skin, as you reach out without thinking and clench your fingers around his upper arms, tugging him to you desperately.
“Not fair.” You whimper out halfheartedly, as Chan’s scent diminishes a little as you hear the shower turn on somewhere inside the closed off room, and god, it’s maybe the only small consolation you have, that he probably can’t hear the way you’re stupidly weak kneed for Minho in this moment.
Minho pulls back, his pupils wide and dark, swallowing the swirling gold of his irises, and he tilts his head as he studies you curiously, lips still pulled upward into that damn smirk.
“What do you want, sweetheart?”
What do you want?
You don’t know.
Because your body, flush with Minho’s, backed against Chan’s door, wants him, wants the alpha in front of you, but there’s a tiny part of your brain that is balking at the idea, a slight swell of nausea building in your stomach at the strong notes of amber clogging the air, and your wolf is snarling, snapping, urging you to find the otheralpha, the one who smells like rain and damp and storm.
God, Minho is so deliciously hot, and the human side of your body desperately wants to pull him into your room and destroy him right here and now, but your wolf is too loud, and your headache is back with a vengeance, pounding in your temples, and everything feels wrong-
Minho looks completely nonplussed, standing in front of you, caging you in, waiting, watchingfor your answer.
You realize too late by the way his eyebrow lifts triumphantly that he has you exactly where he wants you.
“I want-”
Minho takes your chin in his fingers, ghosts his thumb over the outline of your lips. “Say it.”
You’re panting now, and god, is it hot in here, or is it just you?, and the scent of rain is back now, all too strong and all too close, and suddenly, before you can stop yourself, you’re blurting out, “Chan! I want Chan.”
Minho looks vindicated, and you simultaneously want to punch him and have his tongue down your throat all at the same time.
“Good girl.” He praises in a low voice, eyes flicking toward the door at your back, as if he’s expectantly waiting for something.
The door pulls open all too suddenly, and Minho’s arms going around you are the only things that keep you from falling abruptly onto your ass with a high pitched little shriek.
Chan is standing there in all his bronzed glory, towel wrapped low around his hips, hair still damp and curly from the shower, and god, was he always this pretty? How does he look so put together on the second day of his rut?
“What’re you doing?” Chan asks in confusion, eyeing you and Minho, the other alpha’s arms still looped around your waist, and you can’t tell anything by his expression, eyes dark and unreadable.
Mate, your wolf whimpers, wanting to draw toward him, but you stay firmly rooted in place, still staring at him with your mouth slightly open.
Stop. Drooling.
“Nothing.” Minho answers nonchalantly, and if he’s immediately overwhelmed by Chan’s damp smelling hormones like you are, he doesn’t show it, not even flinching in the face of the other male’s rut. “I was just telling (Y/N) that she should check on you.”
Something flashes across Chan’s gaze-hesitation?- and he takes a step back from the two of you, hand still on the doorknob.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea-”
“Why?” Minho questions casually, and the smirk is back, his eyes flicking between you and Chan-the way you stand rooted to the spot, the way Chan is backing away from you like you might explode at any moment. “I think it’s a great idea.”
Chan shakes his head, and he’s breathing through his mouth now, chest rising and falling quickly, as if he’s trying to filter out your scent before it can reach his rut frenzied brain.
You only just now notice the dark smudging beneath his eyes, the tired circles marking the tan skin like fading bruises.
“Minho-”
Chan’s voice is low, almost a growl, a warning to the other alpha.
Minho ignores it completely.
“Okay, well if you don’t want her to check on you, then I guess wecan find something to do-” Minho leans into you, pulling you back against him, eyes still on Chan, as his mouth hovers over your scent gland, tongue darting out to wet his lips, barely brushing your skin and making you shiver.
The headache is a thundering force now.
Minho’s fingers tighten their hold on your wrist, and suddenly, the sound of a low, threatening growl is ripping apart the air between you.
“Don’t, Minho.” Chan warns from between clenched teeth, eyes swirling like molten copper, body tense, teeth bared.
Chan’s head alpha’s appearance makes you shiver and forces your wolf to cower, but Minho looks nothing but triumphantly smug, as he finally releases you and stares down Chan with that infuriating smirk.
“Check mate.”
Chan loops his fingers around your now unoccupied wrist and tugs you into the room behind him, angling his body between you and Minho, as if the other grinning alpha is a threat.
The threatening rumble emanating from his chest has not diminished in the slightest.
“Have fun.” Minho simply says, still grinning ear to ear, before he shoots you a pointed look that says I just won, and shuts the door before Chan can get any more worked up.
Chan’s room smells so overwhelmingly of thunderclouds that it instantly makes you salivate, your knees weakening just enough that you lean against the other alpha.
Chan has other ideas.
His fingers are pinched around your wrist just tight enough that it stings a little, and you can’t help the small whimper that slips past your lips as he pulls you over to the bed, not even throwing you a glance over his shoulder.
You acquiesce easily-your wolf begging pathetically-as Chan pushes you down onto his sheets and looms over you, tossing his leg over your body, knees on either side of your hips, holding you in place with hands pinned above your head.
You’ve never seen his irises so fiery golden before, and your wolf is reacting embarrassingly, rolling over on its back and baring its throat for alpha.
You try to shove it back down with little to no success as his lip curls, revealing the white flash of his teeth, before he leans over and nips at your pulse point, the force behind the action almost making it painful as his sharp canines drag across your skin.
God, it’s hard to think when the whole room smells like an impending storm.
You huff out an amused breath, and when Chan pulls back slightly to look at you, you offer him the hint of a smirk, wiggling your fingers where they’re intertwined with his own, still pinned, immovable, above your head.
“Feeling a little possessive today, are we, puppy?”
Another low growl escapes from between Chan’s lips and your wolf is excited now, turning circles, begging you to push him, to see how far he’ll go.
You cock your head, studying him, the smirk still on your lips.
“Did you not like it when the other alpha touched me, Channie?”
“Don’t tease me.” Chan grates out between clenched teeth, eyes flashing dangerously, and adrenaline spikes through your body at the commanding tone behind his words.
The storm brewing in the air around you rises to almost unbearable levels.
“Why not?” You question innocently, playing the part of the brat to the fullest, just to see where it gets you.
You cock an eyebrow and return his simmering golden stare even though your wolf is flattening its ears slowly in submission already.
He doesn’t need to know that. Not yet.
Instead, in a brave motion, even for yourself, you surge upward as best you can with your arms trapped behind you, and place your lips against the other alpha’s ear, mouth brushing across his hot skin with each word.
You don’t miss the way his body shudders at the sudden contact, and the self satisfied smirk grows wider.
“What’s wrong, Channie? Does it bother you to watch our packmates allover me when you’re trying so hardnot to lose control, hmm?”
Another growl, and then Chan is pinning you back beneath him with so much determined force that you lose your breath for a second.
The gold is swirling so violently now that it’s mesmerizing, and the air is heavy and thick with incoming rain.
“I hate it.” He growls out, voice low and strong in the back of his throat, teeth clenched as if he’s physically in pain. “God, I hate it so much. Watching them touch you, I wanted to-”
He shudders again, swallowing hard, and when he opens his eyes, there’s a little less alpha and a little more Chan swirling in his irises, if only for a brief moment.
“Wanted to what?” You push, wiggling one of your hands free. He lets you, and you reach up to trace a finger over the line of his cupid’s bow, admiring the way his plush, full lips give beneath the tip of your finger.
Chan sighs, long and hard, as if he’s trying to right himself, but the gold is creeping back in, and he’s giving in to it, you can see it, feelit, in the way your wolf is baring all again for the incoming head alpha.
Suddenly, there’s wolf in Chan’s eyes and not a whole lot of himself.
He leans in and licks across the pink mating mark that covers most of your skin at the juncture of your shoulder, and it’s your turn to shiver, as he suddenly reveals his teeth, dragging them pointedly across your aching scent gland.
“I wanted to rip them all apart.”
His words have something suddenly aching within you, and you don’t know if it’s want, or if it’s simply your wolf, riled beyond belief, by the strong, heady rut pheromones Chan is practically oozing, but whatever it is leaves you gasping.
Chan glances up at you, eyes sweeping across your face heatedly, and there’s something in his gaze that is your complete undoing, because suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.
Gone is the teasing. Gone is the brat. And left behind is you, open and bared, waiting for the head alpha to take you.
“Alpha.” You breathe out, and even that feels like a struggle past the sudden panting that has filled your throat.
“Mmhm.” Chan hums beneath his breath, still sounding more like a growl than anything, as he nips along the skin of your throat, before lathing his tongue over the smarting, red marks he has left behind.
Your body arches up into his of its own accord, and Chan pulls back slightly, a smirk now on his full lips, irises so golden that you can see the moon in them.
You whimper, because you can’t think of any words, and Chan leans over you once again, fingers going firmly around your chin, petrichor so strong washing over you that it makes you dizzy.
“What do you want, baby? Tell me.”
You part your lips, but you’re not sure if you can even begin to form words, lest a jumbled sentence, and Chan’s smirk grows at the realization, white teeth flashing dangerously, and when he speaks again, his voice is a low, guttural rumble in the back of his throat that does things to your body all over.
“Tell alpha what you want, baby, or else you’ll be left to my whims and my wolf is a little too out of control currently to be keen on gentleness.”
His words snap some sense into your brain, but only a little, and you manage to stutter out around the sudden spit that fills your mouth, “Go ahead. Rough is good.”
Your wolf keens in agreement.
Chan chuckles, leaning forward to nose at the column of your throat once more. The patches of skin are already darkening and they sting, but the feel of his tongue, hot and slick with saliva, tracing his handiwork, instantly has them blooming.
“And if I want to eat you alive?” He murmurs against your skin, fingers tracing down the length of your body, stopping as they tick across the warm flesh that stretches across your hip bones, as if waiting for your reply. “What then?”
You’re struggling to breathe now-the rain is heavy and each lungful goes right to your head, making you dizzy-but you manage to nod, before saying somewhat stupidly, “Whatever you want, alpha.”
Chan chuckles beneath his breath, the sound going right to your core, and then his fingers are dipping below the waistband of your pants and suddenly, coherent thoughts are no longer in your plane of existence.
“Good girl.” Chan praises and you’re not sure if he’s talking about your reply or your body’s response to him, but either way, it doesn’t matter.
Praise from head alpha is always good, your wolf preens almost incoherently.
Shut up, you supply back, thoughts cut off by a groan as you completely lose yourself in Chan.
Chan, Chan, Chan.
Alpha, alpha, alpha.
The room smells so heavily of storm and blooming wisteria by the time Chan rolls off of you and collapses beside you with a slight groan that you’re fairly certain your neighbors will be asking if you’ve gotten a new air freshener.
That’s gonna be an awkward conversation to have.
You fumble into a position on your side and throw your arm over Chan’s still heaving chest, his skin fiery beneath your fingers as you start to trace nonsensical patterns along his ribs, your nose buried in the juncture of his throat.
He smells nice-like sweat, and shower gel, and damp earth, and Chan.
You feel him start to card his fingers through your hair and you tip your head back to look at him, meeting his now completely cooled, caramel gaze with your own, his lips quirking upward into the hint of a self-deprecating smile.
“Sorry about all the-” He gestures to everything sheepishly-his room, you, himself-and you tilt your head, watching him curiously, fond amusement clear on your features.
“What?” You ask like you don’t know, crinkling your nose at him just to keep up the innocent act for a bit longer.
Chan laughs, a sharp sound that squeezes past his breathlessness, and rolls his eyes at you affectionately, before reaching up to pinch your side with long fingers.
You yelp and try to pull away from him, but he keeps you glued securely against his side, even though you’re beginning to sweat being this close to his overheated skin and shooting him a glare that could rival Minho’s.
“Yeah.” He nods, as if he knows you get it, and you do.
You lie in silence for a moment, basking in the warm afterglow of being with each other, and then without looking up at him, you say casually, “You know, Jisung’s gonna complain for a week about losing.”
Chan raises his head slightly to cast you a curious look, one eyebrow quirked. “Losing what?”
You focus on the way your fingertips trace across his skin, hiding your sudden grin behind a bite of your teeth.
“The game.”
This time, when Chan speaks, he sounds tiredly resigned and he’s no longer posturing his words as a question.
“What game.”
You shrug slightly and tilt your head back once more to look at him, batting your eyelashes and pursing your lips in an over dramatic display of innocence.
Chan rolls his eyes.
He isn’t buying it.
“Fine.” You huff out, reaching out to pinch one of his nipples in retaliation, but Chan is faster than you, not to mention stronger, and he pins your hand once more against his ribs. You whine and struggle to free yourself from his grip. “Jisungie started it, okay? He wanted to see how far we could push you before you snapped.”
Chan looks slightly amused now, albeit exhausted and long suffering, and he reaches up to run a hand over his face.
“Before I snapped?”
“Yeah.” You shrug again, and he finally releases your fingers from his own. You make a big show of stretching out your hand with little groans of pain so that maybe he’ll feel bad. He doesn’t. “During rut, you get kinda-”
You struggle over your words, pondering if your life is worth telling a head alpha in active rut that he gets a little handsy and possessive.
Finally, you decide it’s better to just get it over with.
If you die, you die.
“-possessive.” You finish lamely, glancing up at him once more.
Chan has a thoughtful look on his features, and you hold your breath, waiting for his response.
He catches you completely off guard when he starts to laugh, body shaking beneath your own with the force of his sudden mirth.
“What?” You sit up abruptly, scowling at him, as you reach out to smack his bare chest, but once again, he’s too fast for you, capturing your hand before you can even make contact. You scowl some more. “What’s so funny?”
Chan catches his breath, wiping at his eyes, and offers you a wave of his free hand.
“It’s nothing. I’m just-” He gasps again, eyes still watering slightly. “-I can’t wait to rub it in that Jisung not only lost, but that he lost to Minhoof all people.”
You stare at him as he starts to laugh maniacally again, and consider calling someone for help, because obviously, rut has finally driven Chan out of his right mind.
His giggles die down after another few minutes and when he meets your gaze again, the gold is already creeping back into his irises, the pupils darkening and blowing, the alpha once again moving in to overtake the human.
Your wolf whines plaintively, invitingly, as if your body isn’t already tired and ready for a nap.
Chan’s alpha had put you through your paces, and you were just getting started.
Chan tilts his head, and you see the perfect image of a wolf in the action, and his mouth pulls up into the start of a wicked smirk, tongue darting out to trace the outline of his lips in a motion that has you suddenly clenched up with want.
Okay, so maybe it’s not all bad. You could probably go again.
Chan loops his fingers around your wrist and tugs you down to him, nosing across the base of your throat, teeth skimming over the lines of your collarbone, making you shiver.
“Anyway. There’s time for all of that later.” His irises gleam golden, minted coins in the tan skin of his face, and he looks more than satisfied with himself when you gasp at his teeth grazing your throat.
“Ready for round two?”
*********
SKZ DRABBLE-OT8
A wolf’s scent is their main identifying characteristic. It’s used to form bonds with packmates, is useful in determining friend from foe, and above all else, identifies you as you. Being sick can mess with your natural scent, and when you start to feel unwell, not only do you no longer feellike yourself, but now, to add insult to injury, you don’t even smelllike yourself. Not to worry, because a little flu bug is nothing in the face of your caring packmates.
Or the SKZ!pack sickfic we didn’t know we needed.
Tags: SKZ, SKZ Drabble, OT8, OT8 x you, OT8 x reader, SKZ!pack, SKZ!abo, ABO, Alpha beta omega dynamics, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, Poly!SKZ, Bang Chan, Seo Changbin, Lee Minho, Han Jisung, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix, Yang Jeongin, Kim Seungmin
Genre: Fluff, Comfort
Warning: Mentions of vomiting and general sickness
Title: Smell Like You
“Are you okay, noona?” Hyunjin slides into the chair next to you at the kitchen table where you’re currently slumped, head resting on the cool wood.
You crack open an eye and glance at the omega, concern written all over his sharp features.
You shrug half heartedly and manage to straighten up, glancing down at the books spread over the table, your required reading nowhere closer to being done than when you started.
“I think so? Just tired I guess.”
You note the way Hyunjin’s nose wrinkles, as if he’s smelling something slightly distasteful, and the concern in his eyes only grows as he stares at you.
“Are you sure? You smell kinda-”
“What?”
Hyunjin shrugs, and you feel the way a headache is starting to form, slowly throbbing, behind your temples, probably because you’ve been studying all day and haven’t tried to drink anything close to enough water.
Minho would nag if he knew.
“-off.” Hyunjin supplies lamely, as if he doesn’t know how else to describe it.
You sigh, the light from the kitchen suddenly a little bit too bright. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day.”
Hyunjin won’t stop staring at you, and the worry in his eyes is feeding into the way he chews on his bottom lip.
You reach out and cover his fingers with your own, and the cool feel of his skin is relieving.
God, you feel hot.
Hyunjin’s eyes widen slightly at the touch. “Noona, you’re really hot.”
You offer him the hint of a teasing smirk, all that you can muster, and pat the back of his hand, tired voice gaining a playful lilt.
“Ah thanks, Jinnie. That’s so sweet of you to say.”
Hyunjin rolls his eyes at your joke, and then his expression sobers again, lips pulling into a thin line. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not getting your rut are you?”
“No.” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, the honey glaze scent of lemon bitters slightly in response to your tone. You sigh and soften your voice, squeezing the omega’s fingers affectionately within your own. “No, I promise, baby. I’ve been tracking carefully since last time and I’m not even close.”
Your body is achy and suddenly, exhaustion is washing over you like a wave. Everything protests as you push back from the table and force yourself to stand.
‘I’m okay, Jinnie. Nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix.” You offer him the slight shadow of a smile. “Goodnight, baby.”
He waves you off, the concern still evident on his features, but the sweet smell of glazed lemon now back in the air.
“Good night, noona. Sleep well.”
***
A good night’s sleep doesn’t fix it.
In fact, if anything, it only makes everything worse.
When you manage to crack open your eyes against the harsh morning light, the first thing you notice is that your head is pounding and you feel like you’ve been hit by a truck.
The second thing is that the burning sensation of bile is rising rapidly in the back of your throat and a wave of nausea is rolling over you so violently that it sends the room spinning.
You stumble out of bed, covers tangling around your legs, and make a dash for the bathroom, where you promptly vomit into the toilet.
You slump down on the cold tile of the bathroom floor and try to force yourself to breathe, but the nausea hasn’t let up, and your headache is worse than before, your mouth filled with cotton, throat dry and burning.
You don’t make it five minutes without curling back over the toilet and dry heaving violently.
By the time the nausea has subsided enough for you to push yourself to your feet and drag yourself back to bed, you’re out of breath and your whole body is on fire, trembling violently.
You collapse back onto the mattress and groan as your body aches in protest.
Cracking open an eye, arm thrown over your face to prevent some of the light from aggravating your headache, you manage to roll over enough to grab your phone from the dresser and pull up the pack’s group chat.
The bright light from the screen makes it hard to type out your message, but you squint through the pain and send out a quick text.
Me: I’m so freaking sick. I’ve been puking my guts out. I’m going to quarantine in my room until it passes so I don’t give it to any of you.
You drop your hand back limply to the bed, phone still in your fingers, and close your eyes, breathing in slowly through your nose and out through your mouth, trying to force yourself to ignore the roiling feeling in the pit of your stomach.
Your phone dings, the sound loud and your head pounding reflexively, and you manage to open your eyes enough to see the responding text.
It’s from Jisung.
It’s always from Jisung.
JiJi: O no!!! That sux! I’m so sorry noona!!! What can we do???
You manage the hint of a smile at his concern, and think about responding, but the effort sounds like too much, and a new wave of nausea is building in your throat, so, phone still clasped in your fist, you hightail it to the bathroom once more.
This time, when you vomit into the toilet, it’s mostly water.
Slumping back against the bathroom vanity, you swallow hard a few times, trying to wash away the taste of last night’s dinner and your phone vibrates once more against the bathroom tile, forgotten in your urgent plight for the toilet.
You force yourself to open your eyes and in weak, trembling fingers, open up the text chat.
It’s Chan.
Channie: You’re not going to be alone while you’re sick. That’s why we’re a pack. Minho is going to make you some broth and toast and Changbin is gonna run to the store for some Gatorade. I’ll bring you water and painkillers in just a sec.
Thank god for the head alpha, you think, as you unceremoniously drop the phone-feeling all too heavy-from your hold once more on to the bathroom floor.
You momentarily ponder the idea of getting back to your bed, but with the way your legs are trembling just from sitting and the way the idea has the room spinning even just at the thought, you decide against it, instead, lying down on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, cheek pillowed on your arm.
You sigh at the instant relief the cold tile gives against your flushed, hot skin, and close your eyes simply because they feel too heavy to keep open.
You don’t know how much time passes-could be seconds, could be hours-while you lie on the bathroom floor, but the next time you open your eyes, Chan is crouching down in front of you, dark concern written clearly across his pretty features.
Your body instantly relaxes in relief as you catch sight of the other alpha, the small room already filling with the smell of incoming thunderclouds, your headache easing-just slightly-at the familiar scent.
“Channie.” You whimper out, and your wolf all but practically whines at the sight of him.
“Hey, baby.” The head alpha replies with a gentle, comforting hint of a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before eyeing your current position on the bathroom floor, lips pulled into a thin, concerned line. “Can you sit up for me?”
You instantly shake your head, your headache flaring anew at the motion.
“I don’t think I can.” You whisper out, your voice pathetically tiny, the room already spinning with just the slightest motions of your head. “Channie, I can’t-”
Chan sets aside the water bottle and container of painkillers you hadn’t noticed he was carrying and reaches out carefully, his cold palm covering the fiery skin of your forehead.
“Shit, baby, you’re burning up.” He remarks, voice low, worry flashing anew in the dark caramel of his irises. “We need to get you up and get some painkillers in you. We’ve gotta bring your fever down.”
Every inch of your body protests at the notion, the nausea slowly creeping back in at the thought of moving.
Chan must notice the distress in your scent, because he leans over, fingers looping carefully around the hot skin of your wrists. “C’mon baby. Just try, okay? I’ll help you.”
You reluctantly allow him to help tug you up into a semi sitting position, back against the bathroom vanity, and even the small movement has you panting for breath, limbs trembling violently.
And just as you expected, the nausea comes back in a new violent wave, full force, and you’re once again leaning over to vomit into the toilet.
Chan slides to sit behind you and rubs your back comfortingly as you dry heave again and again.
Once the nausea has subsided, you sit back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and let your head fall back weakly against the other alpha’s shoulder, eyes closing of their own will.
Chan loops his long arms loosely around your waist, legs stretched out on either side of your body for support, and leans around you to retrieve the forgotten water bottle and pain killers.
“C’mon baby. You need to get these meds in your system.”
The thought of drinking water and trying to swallow pills with the way your stomach is currently heaving has you shaking your head, even as Chan carefully presses three of the small white pills into the palm of your hand.
“I can’t, Channie.” You whine beneath your breath, cracking open an eye to glance up at him, the cold water bottle pressing against your skin. “I’ll just throw them back up.”
Chan’s brow creases, his eyes darkening with concern, and then something akin to fierce determination takes its spot as he raises your hand for you, helping you fit the pills between the slot of your lips.
“Baby, you’ve gotta try.”
You reluctantly do as he says, letting him place the painkillers on your tongue, and raise the water bottle to your lips. It takes effort, but you manage to swallow them and keep them down, along with a small sip of water.
Chan sets aside the water bottle once more and raises a hand to card his fingers through your sweaty, matted hair.
“Good girl.”
Your mouth and throat feel dry and burned, even though you’d just taken a sip of water, and your body suddenly feels too heavy to control, eyes already closing with exhaustion.
You thank god for the other alpha, because you don’t know if you’d be able to keep yourself up at this point.
Chan noses against the skin of your bared throat, his own wonderfully cool in the face of your raging fever, and his arms tighten affectionately around your waist as he lets out a soft chuckle at your long sigh.
“You can’t sleep here you know.”
You manage to crack open an eye and look up at him, the amused smile currently tugging at the corner of his lips.
“I could, if you would be quiet.” You groan out, body already sinking into Chan’s hold and the cool bathroom tile.
Chan chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest, and traces his nose over your scent gland.
The renewed smell of petrichor does more for your aching body than the painkillers ever will.
“Hyunjin said I stink.” You pout sleepily because you can’t help yourself. You’re tired and achy and being safe in Chan’s hold is making you lose your inhibitions, not to mention, you feel as if you’re floating, halfway delirious with the way the heat has overtaken your body.
Chan laughs again and presses a gentle kiss to the flushed skin just below your jawline.
“You don’t stink, baby. Being sick just messes with your usual scent a little, that’s all.”
You whine, but don’t open your eyes. Sleep is already threatening.
“But I don’t wanna smell different. I wanna smell good. Want you to like the way I smell, Channie.”
Chan chuckles, low beneath his breath, and ignores your whine of protest as he removes his arms from around your waist, already tugging you upward with him.
“I know. C’mon, baby. Let’s get you back to bed.”
*****
You don’t know how long you sleep.
It’s all frankly just a heat induced haze, broken up by frequent dashes to the bathroom when the nausea becomes too much.
Chan’s pills help, they do, but not enough to make you stop wishing for death.
When you finally do manage to reenter the world of the living, you crack open your eyes and groan.
You feel like you’ve been hit by a bus.
You fling an arm over your face, noting through your still sleepy haze that your skin feels cooler to the touch, and manage to roll over, gaze settling on the nightstand.
It’s full of half empty bowls of food that you vaguely remember Jisung trying to get you to eat, and barely used mugs filled with liquids that Felix had brought, and you don’t remember who, but at some point, someone had tucked you back in after you’d kicked off your blankets in your heat induced rage.
You reach out a hand for your phone, but think better of it when even that motion has the room spinning, letting your arm drop back weakly to the mattress.
You roll over and stare blankly at the ceiling, every muscle screaming.
God, you hate being sick. Not to mention you miss your packmates. Wolves don’t do great with being alone.
Your wallowing in your misery and post sick induced disgust is interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and as the wave of amber hits your nose and Minho appears at the edge of the bed, your wolf has you reaching out for him with grabby hands, already whining for his contact.
Minho arches a delicate brow at you and stays put.
“You’re gross.” He points out needlessly, and you groan, shutting your eyes and once again throwing your forearm over your face.
“Thanks.” You reply weakly, voice raspy and hoarse from disuse.
Minho’s fingers loop around your wrists and tug, and you grumble at the insistent contact.
“C’mon, sweetheart. We’re getting you in the shower. And then the omegas are gonna come change your sheets.”
You squint at him as panic feels your gut at his words.
The thought of leaving the bed has the lingering nausea flaring again and the room tilts dangerously as you shuffle to a semi sitting position.
You’re already breathing a little too hard.
“I don’t know if I can.” You admit softly, not meeting his gaze, your body weaker than it’s felt in days. “I really don’t think I can, Min-”
You yelp slightly as Minho’s arms swoop underneath you and pick you up from the bed in one smooth, easy movement. He offers you the hint of a smirk as your arms go around his neck in a flurry of panic.
“I’ll help.”
He carries you to the bathroom, arms still looped around his neck, and this close, your face buried in his chest, the smell of amber and bergamot is overwhelming, soothing your aching muscles and instantly making you feel better.
Minho sets you down gently on the closed lid of the toilet and you watch with half interest as he leans into the shower and turns it on, testing the water with splayed fingers. When he’s satisfied, he turns back to you, arching a brow.
The thought of having to tug your shirt over your head is sending a headache pounding once more into your temples.
Minho sighs, rolling his eyes, but his mouth is soft, giving him away, as he crosses back to you and gently tugs your shirt up and over your head, crouching down in front of you to do the same with your pants and socks.
When you’re undressed, he pulls his own t-shirt up and off, and noticing you staring with slight confusion, offers you the hint of an exasperated look.
“You can’t even undress yourself, sweetheart. How’re you gonna wash yourself without help?”
You hate it, but he’s right, and so you reluctantly let Minho help you stand and step into the warm stream of the running shower.
He pulls the shower door shut behind him and steps up to you, arms looping around your waist, letting you sag back against his chest, holding up the majority of your weakened, dead weight.
You close your eyes and tilt your head back, reveling in the way the warm water soothes your tired muscles, washes away the stink of being sick, the smell of vomit clinging to your skin.
It’s invigorating. Makes you feel new again.
Minho rests his chin on your shoulder, and when you open your eyes and glance at him, he’s watching you, a slightly amused smile pulling on the full skin of his upper lip.
“Feel better?”
You nod eagerly, careful not to shake your head too quickly and make yourself dizzy as you breathe out, “Yes. Thank you.”
Minho huffs something between a laugh and a grunt and reaches around you for the shampoo.
“Can you manage to hold yourself up while I shampoo your hair or is that too much to ask, sweetheart?” He holds up the bottle for you to see, a slightly patronizing, teasing smirk on his lips.
You nod and reach out for a hold on the shower walls to steady yourself as Minho slips his hands from your waist and squirts a generous dollop of shampoo into the middle of his palm.
The shower fills with the scent of lavender.
Minho’s fingers find purchase in your hair and he carefully starts to massage the shampoo into your scalp as it foams, and you can’t help it, you close your eyes and relax back into him once more, letting out a sigh.
It feels so good-to be clean, to have Minho touching you, to not feel like you want to puke your guts up at any given moment.
Minho is meticulous, swirling the shampoo over every inch of your head, fingers firmly tangling into your wet hair, and you swear, you almost fall asleep as he continues his gentle ministrations, only stirring when he finally drops his hands and pushes you back into the stream of water with a gentle bump of his hip.
“Rinse.”
You do as you’re told, and Minho gets out first, holding up a dry, fluffy towel for you as you step out of the warmth of the shower.
The bathroom air is cold, the tile freezing beneath your feet, and you shiver as he wraps you up, wet hair dripping onto damp skin.
Minho notices and pushes you toward the door, making sure you can make it back into the room on stumbling feet before he’s satisfied and releases his hold on you.
When you glance back at him, he’s sporting an affectionate half smile, eyes warm as he towels off his own dripping hair.
“Go on. Get back in bed. Hyunjin’s gonna be thrilled you smell like you again.”
****
“You smell like you again!”
Hyunjin is indeed thrilled that your scent is back to normal and you giggle as the omega buries his face in your neck, rubbing his nose up and down the freshly washed skin there.
You’re both tucked under the safety of your clean comforter, and you’re cozy and warm and it’s a nice change to the heat that has licked your skin for the past few days.
Now you just feel content, wrapped in Hyunjin’s arms and an overly large hoodie that belongs to Changbin, cuddled beneath the clean sheets of your bed.
“I’m glad.” You breathe softly, pressing a kiss to the omega’s head, your body starting to feel heavy with exhaustion.
Your eyes close on their own, and you can feel yourself sinking into sleep-good, restful sleep-unlike what you’ve gotten the last few days.
“Noona?”
You hum in response to Hyunjin’s sudden query but don’t open your eyes as he shifts closer to you, leg thrown over yours, head on your chest, nose still buried in the skin of your throat.
“Are you feeling better?”
You sigh and reach up blindly to bury your fingers in the soft strands of his hair.
The room smells like lemon and just the hint of freshly bloomed wisteria.
“Yeah, baby. I am.”
SKZ DRABBLE-OT8
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.
“Good girl.”
*****
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