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lorelune · 2 years

Text

sensibilities

|| nanami kento x reader || T || a/b/o + hurt/comfort || wc: 3.4k || ao3 ||

You snarl, Nanami stays.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: here’s a lil slice of the a/b/o AU that i’ve been living in for the past few months :’^) this is more or less a vent fic that’s set in the world, and getting to play w some of the world building while also using nanami as an emotional sounding board is just always so 😩✌🏻💗💗💗 enjoy!

CW: omegaverse (omega reader, alpha nanami, liberties taken within the AU), established relationship (prolly), reader is described briefly with visible blush, reader is snippy & a lil mean, comfort comfort comfort, heaps of it, loads of it!

The rain fit the mood, it seemed.

It came down hard enough that the slap of droplets against your porch window nearly drowned out the sound of your own haggard breathing. You couldn’t decide whether you wanted to throw yourself into the downpour, soak yourself through a second time, and scream or curl up in your nest and pray the feeling in your chest subsides. And that Nanami will leave, soundlessly, without requesting any further information about your mood.

You know you’re being unfair.

He deserves an explanation— he really does. It doesn’t matter that you’re in a particularly sensitive part of your cycle, or that you were triggered in such a way. It doesn’t justify your behavior. It doesn’t justify how you’re acting or make it okay. You know that, and you hate that you know how unreasonable you’re being. Yet, you’re entirely aware that you can’t stop.

“You should go.” You don’t look at him when you say in. You cradle your forehead in your hands and count your breaths. “We can talk about this later.”

Nanami doesn’t respond and doesn’t move either.

It makes you want to snap. Growl. Shout and stomp and have a tantrum, like a goddamn child. You know it’s not him— none of this is about him. It’s all you. Every last feeling bubbling and boiling you from the inside out has nothing to do with Nanami. It’s all your insecurities and trauma, pushed to the surface and festering in a way that feels so entirely uncontrollable. It’s yours to bear, and no one else's.

You rake your bitten nails over the scent glands in your neck, for both your own relief and so that they put off an extra wave of the acrid pheromones that you’re sure are suffocating Nanami. Good, part of you nearly cheers when you get the metallic edge to your scent. You smell like a properly cagey omega, radiating such an offensive aura that you’re surprised Nanami can even stand to be in the same apartment as you, let alone the same room.

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you like this,” Nanami says, still unmoving.

You don’t look up at him, you don’t need to, to know that he’s wearing an expression that straddles pity and deep concern. You want to shove him out your apartment door, lock it, and block his number. Better yet, move, hop a train and go to some tiny little town to never be bothered again. It would be far better than having to deal with this, with people who care too much like him— better yet, people who try to care at all—

Nanami says your name, firm and authoritative. The omega in you cowers, but you still refuse to look at him. You hunch further over your kitchen counter, massaging your temples and white-knuckling the fabric of your shirt. There’s an inkling of an idea to submit to him, to bow and fall to your knees and beg the alpha to stay and balm your wounds, even if he can’t see them. You hate how loud it is. You hate how you have to swallow a whimper and chew your lip to keep the sound caged.

He takes a step toward you and you flinch, exhaling hard and hot. You don’t want to snap, but you’re at the razor's edge, just a breath or two away from screaming—

“I want to help you,” Nanami’s closer now, and when you peak at the floor from behind your palm; you can see the tips of his house slippers. “But, I can’t do that unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

He’s being firm, but not overbearing. He’s not crowding you, or pestering you— god forbid, demanding that you pour your bleeding, screaming heart at him. He’s coaxing. Nanami is doing the exact right thing, and it still isn’t enough. Because you’re not just some omega in preheat, are you? You’re not some hormonal mess (well, you are, but not in this context), you hurt and not the typical, needy, stubborn omega who’s baiting a kind alpha for attention.

“‘What’s wrong?’” You parrot, something bubbling up in the back of your throat. “What’s wrong, Kento, is that you’re still here when you should be fucking off somewhere and leaving me alone.”

You wince at your own words. Why are you being so cruel? Why are you lashing out? If Nanami would just leave, he wouldn’t have to see you like this. Deal with you like this. You could handle this on your own, as you always do.

Before Nanami can reply, you back peddle.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize, shaking your head and wrapping your arms around your midsection. “You need to go, Kento. I’m not in any headspace to have a calm discussion about my feelings right now. We can get lunch in a few days, and talk then.”

Good. Isolate, process, cry and hate yourself a little, and then get back on your feet. Good as new!

“No.”

You freeze, then slowly raise your head up. You’re barely able to see Nanami in your periphery, and you can’t make out the expression on his face. You feel heat chase from the top of your spine to the tips of your fingers, “… ‘no’? What the fuck does that mean, Kento?”

“It means that I’m not leaving you in this state,” Nanami keeps his voice measured, unwavering in tone. “You’re clearly distressed, and I don’t want to leave you on your own to manage this. I want to help, and I have several reasons to believe you need help.”

God, you really fucking hate when people tell you what you need. Even if Nanami is courting you, seriously courting you, he doesn’t fucking ‘know’ you. Not this part of you, anyways. The ugly mean part that you shove and bury and silence in private. He doesn’t get to know that part of you, no one does—

(Lest, you frighten them off.)

Nanami steps behind you, hovering, and speaks just above a whisper, “Something is hurting you, and I cannot in good conscious leave you alone to hurt.”

You snap.

You whirl around, still not meeting Nanami’s eyes, looking past him and speaking past him too. The feeling in your throat that’s been rising higher and higher drips from the back of your tongue to the front, souring every word and thought you could spew.

“Oh my fucking god,” You laugh, really laugh, because this is ridiculous and Nanami should just fucking leave. “Why won’t you listen and just leave. Me. Alone.”

“Because—”

“Because, why?” You ask, chest heaving. “Because I’m some fragile, weak omega who needs some alpha to pet me and tell me that’s its ‘all gonna be okay’?”

(You recognize, for a moment, how nice that would be, but shove down the feeling quickly.)

“No, that’s not it at all,” Nanami counters, and you turn your head to the side and sigh loud and hard. “It has very little to do with your omega status, but rather that you’re someone I care about, and I don’t want to see you suffer alone. It… hurts more, that way.”

“I’ll be fine, promise,” You scoff and huff.

“I think ‘fine’ for you is quite relative, dear.”

“Stop that,” You bark, a growl sparking in the back of your throat. “Stop talking like you know me. Stop talking like you ‘get’ the part of me that’s hurting right now.”

He says your name again, calls it out, but you refuse to hear it.

“NO!” You snap, going chest to chest with Nanami and snapping your teeth. The omega in you feels feral, ready to chomp and bite if it means you’ll be free and out of this situation. If it can rest and feel safe in your nest, even if you’re vibrating with adrenaline. “You don’t get it, Kento.”

“I could, if you’d let me.”

You turn your gaze to the floor, before slipping away from him, breathing far too hard and fast as you enter your living room. The rain keeps smacking against the glass, and it feels like a horrid staccato for your thoughts to follow in an awful, lilting tune.

“Do you really want to know, Kento? Really?” You laugh, running a hand through your already wild hair. It’s still damp from your earlier walk in the downpour. “I get it, I get you, and I know what you’re trying to do.”

“And, what’s that?”

“Take care of me.” You say, with a harsh breath and shake your head. You don’t want to be doing this. Shut the fuck up. “Be kind to me, when I’m like ‘this’. You’re trying to support a burning, collapsing building with bare arms and oven mitts, Kento. It’s a losing game.”

“… Do you really think of yourself that way?” Kento asked, softly.

You ignore him, you have to, and you keep speaking, “I don’t… I don’t want you to get tangled up in this part of me, Kento. I’ve already snapped at you. I’m being fucking mean, and I’d prefer to handle this alone. I don’t want you caught in the crossfire.”

“Why do you think your anger will hurt me, personally?”

“… I don’t know,” You sputter, “because that’s what anger does. At least, when I’m like this. And the more you try to ‘take care of me’ in that alpha-way I can feel you preambling too, the worst it’ll hurt."

“Even if you get barbed with me, it won’t make me care about you any less,” Kento says, softly. Like he’s sad you’ve… forgotten that fact. “I promise.”

“That’s not enough, it’s still cruel, I’m cruel—”

He calls your name, trying to pull you up from your rapidly developing spiral.

“Kento, I love you, and I can’t get away from the feeling that I’ll hurt you when I’m upset. I’ll hurt you when you’re trying to be kind to me and to take care of me. It’s your baser desire to protect me, versus my baser desire to protect me, and they’re incompatible.”

Kento stays quiet, listening.

“I just…” You fist your hand in your hair, begging for anything, anything to ground you. “I never have gotten this, you know? Sure, yeah, maybe, there’s a part of me that wants to be taken care of. Maybe it's a lot of me. But I don’t know how to be taken care of, without lashing out and hurting you. I don’t know how to accept your kindness in such a way, not so bluntly when I’m like this.”

“I’ve never gotten this before,” You admit again, something unwinding in your chest. “You know, beta parents with a 'beta’ brother. They didn’t cater to any of those… nurturing-craving needs I had when I was young. I’ve never had a proper mate or partner, either. I’ve always had to satiate those urges by myself, and I do a good enough job.”

You sniffle.

“So, it’s fucking scary, to let you in like this. What if I hurt you? I don’t how to step and move around people when everything’s so bad up here,” You tap your temple. “I know how to take care of myself. I… I don’t need anyone to do it for me.”

Nanami’s behind you, somewhere, and you’re glad about it. Your shoulders are drawn up, and your eyes sting with tears you’re begging not to shed. Your hand move to cover your mouth, lest some sort of weak sob escape.

“Perhaps you don’t need anyone to help you. You are wildly self-sufficient, and you have lived without a pack or partners your whole life,” Kento says. “I don’t doubt that you could manage your current feelings but yourself. But, wouldn’t it be nice to be helped? To let someone else carry the burden, even for a short moment?”

You think about it, really think about it.

It does sound nice. The omega in you, the you in you, wants it. It wants to turn, and run into Nanami’s arms and let him hold you and care for you. You want to trust him in such a way. But, there are too many variables. Too many ways to get hurt, and do hurting.

“I’ve always had to do this alone,” You say again. “It’s easier this way.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Nanami speaks so gently, it nearly hurts. “It’s not easier, to hold all of this alone. I’d say it's far worse in the long run.”

You think about your recent doctor’s appointment, and the folded up post-appointment write-up that had a big, bold new diagnosis for ‘ONS - omega neglect syndrome (chronic)’ and its long list of referrals underneath. Treatment recommendations that ranged from a long-term care facility for immersive care to manage your symptoms, down to simple things like being scented once a day by people you trust and love.

It is worse, in the long run.

“Maybe,” You admit. “Probably.”

A few stray tears dripple from your eyes, and you’re quick to wipe them away. Nanami moves closer— close enough that the heat of him is seeping into you, despite your soaked dress and cardigan.

“It doesn’t need to be perfect, and neither do you,” Nanami nearly whispers. His voice mixes with the drizzle outside as low thunder hums, far-off. “I know it’s hard for you, but if you try, I promise to catch you.”

“… How do I know you won’t drop me?” Your voice wobbles with your tears, and it takes everything in you not to fully cry. You’re terrified of it— more than hurting others is hurting yourself. You don’t want to misstep and be let down so horrible. You can’t afford to shatter, can you?

Or, maybe, that’s just what you need. To shatter and dissolve and be reminded that things will be okay, even if you’re in a fluid, messy state.

“I won’t,” Nanami tells you, firm and easily. There’s so much intention in his voice, that it squeezes your chest, just between your ribs.

You sputter over a sob.

“I don’t want you to face the world alone anymore,” Nanami inches closer, palms resting on your tense shoulders. “You don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to, and you don’t need to anymore.”

Just let me in.

Just try.

“I m-might be bad at it,” You say as you paw at your cheeks. “I don’t know how even if I want it.”

“All you need to do is trust me,” Nanami begins, peeling the soaked cardigan from your frame and tossing it to the side, “And surrender, the best you can.”

With deft fingers, Nanami pulls the thin straps of your dress to the side, down your arms. Your shoulders are bare, and the scar tissue on your right side gnarls tight over the remnants of the scent gland there. He places either palm on the side of your neck, and with the pads of his thumbs, applies the most gentle pressure on your under-stimulated glands. You can feel it, even through the thick flesh of your scar.

The moment you feel it, you sink. You go slack and you cry.

You don’t know how to surrender, and such a term scares you, terrifies you even. But, you figure this must be a good start. You cry, and cry, and sob as Nanami massages the tender flesh, releases his own calming pheromones to keep you as pliant and soft as possible. Any urge for you to snap and shout has dissolved. All that’s left in your chest is the dissipating pressure, that your sure will take more than one good sob session to remedy.

But, you figure that maybe, you’ll be okay to have more. As much as it hurts, it’s cathartic.

Nanami coaxes you over to the couch and pulls you down to sit between his legs. You’re mostly on his lap, and in any other context, you’d be embarrassed and pink-cheeked, but you can’t pay it much mind then. You shove your face into the crook of his neck, soaking in his scent with an open mouth and wet eyelashes.

Nanami holds you through it. Above the rain, thunder, and your own ragged breathing, Nanami gives you quiet praise. Heaps of it— loads. It’s nothing overzealous, or exaggerated, just soft ‘I’ve got you’s and ‘You’re doing beautifully’s.

When you begin to recover, catching your breath for a few moments, Nanami smooths a hand over your hair and kisses your temple with an easy, “That wasn’t so hard, was it, dear? I’m proud of you.”

It should be condescending, but it just makes you sink into him more, “I t-tried.”

You hiccup and Nanami chuckles, all warm with something that fills you up. You want more of it.

“And you did so well,” Nanami smiles— you can hear it in his voice. His lips press firmly against your forehead. “I want to hold you for a while more, then get you some water, and you can relax in your nest. Take a shower to warm up, perhaps.”

“… Will you come to?” You ask, fisting his shirt in your tight fists. You clarified as your cheeks warmed. “T-to nest with me, I mean.”

“If you let me enter, then yes,” He rubs a firm hand up and down your spine, settling it on the fat above your waist. “We can take a good nap, and then talk and prepare dinner later.”

It’s odd, to have a plan laid out in front of you like this. It’s not any different from one you’d make for yourself when you’re spiraling, but it's so, so different having it laid out for you by your partner. Your prospective mate is telling you how he’s going to make sure you’re warm, happy, and fed. Wow. It sparks up something in the core of your brain, and you swear your synapses must light up like an overworked pinball table.

“That sounds good,” You agree, tucking yourself closer. “I-I need a little longer like this, though.”

“Of course,” Nanami squeezes you, hard enough to be on the edge of hurting. He’s reminding you of his proximity and strength, all in one. “Take all the time you need.”

You nod, soft and slow, and go limp against his chest. Nanami settles as well, back against the cushions, and wraps a free arm all the way around your waist. It feels secure, and you know that if you even tried to pull away, Nanami wouldn’t let you get far. His scent is thick and comforting and makes you dizzy in the best way possible. As much as you’re acting like a proper omega, Nanami expresses his alpha traits in his own way too.

You’ve seen some alphas who express their instincts through dominance displays with other means— fighting and shouting obscenities that scare you into submission. You know some alphas hit and claw to get omegas to comply with them. It’s fear and violence that guide some alphas when seeking to establish control and assert themselves.

Nanami’s not like that.

Nanami’s coaxed you into submission. All he did was give you a few choice words, gentle touches, and let you suck down his scent until your vision went fuzzy. Dimly, you don’t think that you’ve ever experienced this type of submission and care. It’s different than the overbearing, heavy-handed way you’d experienced in some of your omegan etiquette classes when you were young. It’s far different from the shameful displays some of the alphas at your workplace put on.

It’s just good.

It must be quite good for Nanami too because after some time, a rumbling purr echoes from the base of his throat. You nuzzle against him, where you feel the sound the strongest. You lick at the patch of skin even, your mind too foggy to realize the implications.

Nanami doesn’t seem to mind, and responds in kind, properly scenting you with the bump of his nose against your temple. You raise your head up as he rubs his cheek against your fully functional scent gland, and rubs the inside of his wrist over your back and arms. You do the same in turn, even pressing your lips against his jaw a few times.

“Thank you,” You say softly, after resting against him once more.

“Of course,” He replies, voice mixing with his pure as he draws you even closer.

And you think that maybe letting yourself be held every once in a while could be quite good.

thank you for reading <3

#lore writes #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami reader insert #jjk x reader #posting this one then running 🏃🏻‍♂️💨!!!#needing that hurt/comfort rn and a/b/o is so good for it #alpha nanami... woof #emotionally and physically #hope you enjoy!!!! 💕

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