3.1k words âś Kinktober 04 âś mdni !
"The beta doesn't bite (but I might)"
aka ever since Sunady joined the astral express, he's been acting weird towards you. Well, weirder than back in Penacony. Especially now that he's been introduced into your pack.
kade's note: im sorry this is late, I've been so busy, I had a big ass math test on Wednesday and litteraly had to postpone writing this. So, a triple threat is awaiting, in order for me to catch up 3 kinktober days, omegaverse + dry humping + spit!
(btw I hc omegaverse!Sunday as an omega whose sense of smell has been removed by the Oak family during his childhood since he was an omega rather than an alpha so that he wouldn't be so easily affected by other scents.)
You were no stranger to courtship rituals. You're a beta, not stupid. You've seen Dan Heng and Caelus dance around each other long enough to discern simple courting. Your nose may suck but your eyes certainly do not.Â
However, something strange has been happening ever since the Astral Express left Penacony with new passengers in tow. Black swan second gender hadn't altered the relationship inside the Astral as she often kept to herself and barely engaged in any pack activities. The issue was with Sunday.Â
Sunday definitely was an omega. It's not like any of you could stop Caelus from eagerly asking him. The answer he received was only a dismissive shrug, but March said that Sunday reeked of omega pheromones. The issue was that he didn't seem to grasp that you were a beta.
Attempt #1: "Show off or throw off (your clothes)"
Everything started during those slow days inside the express. Those days when the train gently glides through empty space, sometimes passing a distant planet or meteor, others wandering into a nebula of constellations. When the parlor car is filled with warm silence as the inhabitants sleep in past what would be hypothetical 11 'o clock, or at least remaining locked in their rooms.Â
You stumbled into the party car, hair still disheveled, loose shirt hanging off your body and your limbs feeling like they weighted ten times more. Your feet dragged off the polished floors, Stelle's racoon slippers sometimes squeaking against the wood below you. Shush stood behind the counter, powered off, yet the smell of fresh baking filled the cart. A warm odor with hints of vanilla and sugar. Your eyes narrow, regaining some sense of consciousness. Perhaps Pompom was making brunch, but then the conductor was always very strict on eating savory rather than sweet first thing in the morning.Â
You wandered further into the cart, passing by the bartender robot without turning him back on. That could wait. You skipped across the cart, walking into the kitchen, where, instead of witnessing the twins hoarding whatever their dirty hand could get on or Mr. Yang exhibiting his sweet tooth, you found a mop of silver hair and soft looking feathered limbs.Â
The halovian jolted, harshly hitting his head against the pans hovering over it on the metal bars, sending a loud klang across the tiled room. The wings implanted behind his ears tensing in pain as they lifted to try and reach the probably blooming bruise.Â
You would've laughed had your interest not been picked by the various array of sweets lingering the counters. Even worse, they were all of your favorites.Â
Candy, cakes, sweets from places youâve traveled are all set before your eyes. How did he even know which were your favorites when he wasn't even there when you traveled to the Xihazou or Belobog? Any questions you might've had are thrown out the window the second you catch his eager gaze, wings fluttering excitedly.Â
You'd let him off the hook for once.
Attempt #2: "Step, sway, seduce"
That didn't last long. Not a month later the astral express was invited to an annual rite on the Xihazou Luofu on personal invitation from the General.Â
The sky was already draped in a deep navy color, lanterns glowing a warm hue on the faces of your friends. March and Stelle had already run out to various food stands. Stuffing themselves with sweets and Luofu delicacies. In the center of the plaza of Aurum alley, citizens danced along to the soft tunes of traditional music.Â
Dan Heng's cerulean dragon tail stood out amidst the crowd, wrapped around Caelus' waist as the Vidyahara guided his steps into a gentle sway. You smiled, your lips wrapping around the edge of your cup, taking a slow measured sip of whatever alcohol they offered.Â
The familiar calm voice settled beside you. You craned your neck towards the speaker, meeting Sunday's golden eyes.Â
You hummed. Sunday looked lovely, you thought. You never thought youâd see the heir of the Oak Family in a kimono, though you made note of how deliciously the silken fabric hugged his waist.Â
Silence stretched, and you turned back towards the dance floor, your gaze softening as it stopped on Dan Heng and Caelus.Â
"I used to take dance classes back in my youth,"
Sunday's hesitant voice sounded on your right. You quirked a brow, lips morphing into a grin. When you turned to face him, his face was slightly flushed, and his wings twitched and fluttered every few seconds.
"I-I could demonstrate if you'd like."
So here you were, Sunday's hands on your hips as he slowly guided you through various steps. Step, slide, step, you repeated internally as your feet followed the movement of his body brushing against yours. His wings swayed with every slide, enhancing his movements, fluttering slightly. You followed his lead, cringing each time your foot went out of rythm, trying desperately to regain it.Â
You lift your gaze and meet his, and he was so close you could almost feel his breath graze your chapped lips.
Only for your bubble to be rudely interrupted by a drunkard slamming into Sunday from behind, spilling deep crimson liquor on the back of his white coat.Â
The halovian freezes, eyes widening as feathered limbs rose defensively, spinning around with bared fangs.Â
The stranger on the floor quickly sputtered random apologies scattering away with his tail between his legs. You turned back to Sunday, only to find the spot where he stood empty and the sight of white feathers nowhere near you.
Attempt #3: "Taking what's not yours"
Ever since the incident in the Luofu, you haven't seen Sunday. As if heâd been avoiding you. What you have noticed however is the concerning amount of clothes missing from your closet.
You noticed it this morning, actually, when you blindly reached for your bra drawer, only to find your hand grasping around air. With furrowed brows, you put down the jeans you were currently trying to put on with one hand, your wet hair still wrapped in a soft cotton towel as you walked towards your closet, dressed in nothing but your panties (which, you've come to realise, are the last survivors of whatever raid has happened in your closet).
you mumbled to yourself, rewinding to what could've happened for 80% of your closet to dissappear into thin air. Your memory jogs back to a week ago when March and Stelle decided that you ought to clean your closet, only for March to spill her soda on half your clothes, which had lingered on the floor. However, you clearly remembered taking your clothes to the laundry cabin.
Sighing, you threw on the jeans you had previously warred with and put on the same bra you had worn before taking your shower. Heading off to the laundry cabin where you met face to face with long, luscious red hair.Â
She turned to you, one hand holding a stain soap and the other her silk white dress, a coffee stain ruining the fabric.Â
"Ah, what is it you need, dear?"
"I fear I've forgotten my clean laundry basket here,"
You vocalized, pointing to where stood proudly each color coded basket for each passenger of the express. Some empty while others (like March's) overflowing with clean clothes the owners should really ought to pick up. Yours, however, stood empty of any shirt or bra.Â
"I believe I saw Sunday take yours a few days ago, I figured he was bringing them to you,"
Himeko mused behind you, her eyes glinting with amusement as her fingers scratched the stained fabric with unforeseen vigor, the cloth slowly turning white once more.Â
Your brows furrowed, you left the cabin beading farewell to Himeko, wandering into the passenger car. Stopping in front of Sunday's room, you gently knock on the door.
You called out but received no answer. You knocked a little more eagerly, but the owner remained eerily silent. You knocked one last time, and the door seemed to open under the insistence of your fist. Your nose was numb, but even you could feel the warmth and the puffy air in the darkened room. Slowly widening the door further, the light from the corridor created a neat trail into the bedroom. Your eyes dropped on the sleeping figure on the bed.Â
Sunday's hair was disheveled in various directions, lingering on the white pillow like a coat of silver. His pretty peach lips remained parted as air slowly wafted through them.
You allowed your gaze to drink in the sight until it caught onto something of a crimson red. Your eyes dropped to the fabric, only for heat to creep up your neck. Your crimson lace bra, there, near his face, and not only that but shirts, jeans, pants, coats, gloves, panties, Aeons, even your socks weren't spared. Everything organized in an undiscernible pattern around his form.Â
Something recurred in your mind, though, Mr. Yang, as a fellow elderly beta, had very gently explained to you the concept of heats and ruts when you joined the astral express. And heâd mentioned that omega nearing their heat often liked to surround themselves with scent from their loved ones, which brought them comfort.Â
Sighing, you gently closed the door so as not to wake up the sleeping omega taking out your phone, texting March.
"Wanna go shopping in Penacony?"
Attempt #4: "Smells like trouble"
You never mentioned the clothing incident to Sunday, and he never returned the stolen garments. You just kept going with your life as if nothing, besides, who were you to refuse new clothes?Â
You hadn't seen him since you accidentally barged into his room during his pre-heat. He remained locked into his cabin for about 2 days, proving your hypothesis true.Â
On the astral express, it was a common silent agreement that when one experiences their heat or rut, the remaining parties stay clear of their way and the betas take turns in bringing them food and water in front of their cabin thrice a day, so that no omegas or alphas get triggered by one's pheromones.Â
Thus, you, Mr. Yang and Black Swan took turns bringing Sunday food during his heat.Â
The lights of the express had been lowered to indicate some sort of evening in the eternal darkness navigating through space brought. You'd just finished supper when you wandered across the halls of the train, stopping in front of Sunday's cabin once more. Gently dropping the plate of fresh fish, Pompom had ordered from the Xihazou Luofu and a plastic bottle of water by his doorstep, you knocked once, twice on his door.Â
As usual, there was no answer to your call. Sighing, you turned on your heel about to regain your respective cabin when you heard the sound of a door opening. You curiously turned your head around, revealing that ivory mop of hair and golden eyes staring right back at you.Â
Sunday looked, for lack of better term, disheveled. His pale skin was a flushed shade at the tip of his ears, and down his neck, his hair was thrown in various directions and sticking to his forehead with sweat. His coat and gloves had been thrown off somewhere, for he only wore a loose plain white shirt on his frame. You didn't dare let your gaze wander lower to the hem of his boxers.Â
But worse of all, he looked like a kicked puppy.Â
He begged. You arched a brow, echoing his demand.Â
"Please stay with me. I won't try anything, I promise but I can't smell your clothes. If anything, I can't smell at all."
"You donât even have to hug me back, I just want to hold you."
You were sure he would've cried if you hadn't stopped him. You silently nodded, placing your hand on his where it held the door open, allowing him to drag you in. He didnât waste a second, still, he remained kind in his grasp when he took you into his bed.Â
You could feel the heat of the room, an unfamiliar sort of heavy feeling you supposed was brought by heat. So you laid into the nest of clothes, embarrassingly beginning to realise half the panties in sight have been used either by you or by the man besides you.Â
Sunday snuggled into you, his warm frame sticking to yours due to the sweat lingering on his body. A content sigh escaped him as he threw one (naked) leg over yours, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, where laid (rather uselessly) your scent glands.Â
The more you stayed like this, the more you came to realise the hardness against your clothed thigh.Â
Don't look down, donât look down, donât look down, you repeated like a mantra, but your eyes had a mind of their own as they slowly wandered down to where his hard on was pressing dangerously close to between your legs.Â
You snap your head back up, vermilion red on your cheeks as you tried to ignore the whines escaping the halovian.Â
Pity settled into your gut as you raised a hand to his hair, combing through the locks. Sunday must've taken that as permission, rubbing his face against the arch of your collarbone, against your glands, spreading his scent over your skin.Â
You accepted the treatment without protest, offering whatever consolation your touch could bring. Only then did you hear it. Was that Sunday crooning?
Attempt #5 :"Hot, Bothered, and Questionably In Control"
You didnât know when you had fallen asleep. All you knew was that your eyes blurred open as you felt the heat of a body beside you.
Staring at the ceiling, you slowly regained the memories of the evening before, and as expected, Sunday was beside you, snuggled into your side.Â
The heavy pheromones in the room had yet to dissipate, a clear indicator that the halovian's heat was still ongoing.Â
As you woke, you gradually began realizing the slow, wet feeling going on over your scent glands. A shiver traveled over your spine as you nudged Sunday away, only for a pitiful whine of your name to escape his throat.
He snapped his mouth shut, realizing what he'd just done turning an even darker hue of pink. He sputtered a string of apologies, wings twitching in distress.Â
"I deeply apologize for invading your space, I can't believe I have such a loose grasp of my instinct. I'd totally understand if you wish to leave, I wonât stop you. Youâve been kind enough to stay with me so long."
He apologized during some resemblance of clear consciousness through the cloud of heat over his eyes. However, the heat grew stronger, and you could only guess another wave of heat was taking over. The urge to comfort him settled once more in your gut, but when your hand rose to meet his, he moaned with embarrassing need hips twitching forward.Â
"I can't take itâ", he whimpered, "Please, I know I said just scenting, butâ"
A low chuckle escaped your lips, fingers dancing over his shoulder only to land to the back of his nape, nudging him forward to lean back into the crook of your neck.Â
He moaned your name at the feel of his hips slotting with yours, restlessly humping against your clothed cunt through the fabric of your jeans and his boxers.Â
You were sure he wasn't sane enough to make any important decisions such as these, but you'll allow him a little respite. Though your heart ached to go further, you were the only one with proper consciousness at the moment.
His bare hands gripped anything they could reach, your breasts, your hips as you encouraged him to grind forward.
"C'mon, Sunny, you gotta work for it,"
You teased, earning yourself an indignant whine as the halovian started rutting earnestly over your clothed clit with renewed vigor for you'd given him the green light.Â
A low moan escaped your own lips as sparks of pleasure rose south. Slowly humping back, meeting his rushed thrusts.Â
Sweat slowly started rising on both your skins and your moans echoed louder through the room. In the heat of pleasure, you raised your hand to his throat, gently blocking the airway, noticing his eyes rolling back, and his sobs of want grew louder.Â
The tease easily made its way through your lips as you reveled in the urged nods you received in answer. Only when you gave back a disappointed gaze did he realize you wanted him to answer vocally.Â
"Please," he voiced, his voice airy from the lack of proper air, " 'm so close, 'm gonna cum, please, please."
A grin stretched your lips, your hand wandering further up until your thumb settled between his teeth, blocking his mouth from closing. His spit dripped down your thumb as you gathered yours through your mouth, leaning in as his thrusts grew more and more needy.
You pressed your lips on his, reveling in the way he arched into the touch, parting his mouth to allow your tongue and spit to travel down into his throat. You bit his lip, and that was what made him trip over the edge, with a high pitched moan, you felt warmth spread over your needy clothed clit.Â
Parting from his lips where a string of spit still remained, you noticed the wet patch over his boxers.Â
The halovian remained perched on top of your lap, ivory wings attempting to hide his very flushed face. You frowned, nimble finger gently poking the feathered limb, allowing a glimpse of his teary eyes and panting face, and you swore that Sunday, in that moment was anything but the holy heir of the oak family. No, during those few minutes, when silence echoed loud in the room, Sunday was the epitome of sin and lust. And you'd be damned if you didn't indulge into it.
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