Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fact that Nightmare was removed almost completely from what a ‘Sans’ was had become more and more obvious with each stray he took in (because he couldn’t call them packmates, not if they hadn’t explicitly agreed to such).

He’d asked them all their inclination, because he had to know what to look out for, what to do to make it all as seamless as he could. Killer, a beta with a tongue made of silver that didn’t know how to stay still behind his teeth from the moment Nightmare made it obvious he wasn’t opposed to the dry humor and witty quips; Horror, who’d shrugged and muttered a quiet, ‘xi,’ which made sense given… everything; Dust, who had proclaimed an immediate, ‘alpha,’ even if it made Nightmare raise a browbone in surprise, for he would’ve put a hand in fire on a bet of him not being one. But it wasn’t like he could claim to know someone better than they knew themselves, and he wouldn’t. And Cross, little lost Cross, who hadn’t even known what any of that meant, who made Nightmare wish to know where the ruler of his ruined world was, so he could rip him apart into a million little pieces. Little Cross, who was made a xi, simply because anything else had been thought unpalatable. Unsightly.

Nightmare himself had long wished to be one, because Nim’s flippant decision to create them in the first place, and to make them alphas for the sole reason of, ‘this way, protection will be ingrained in you,’ made his nonexistent skin crawl.

(But really, wasn’t that what he was doing? He was protecting his little boys, unwanted and tortured by life itself, had given them his house and life and protection and love. Thinking of it that way made it more bearable. Protection might be ingrained in him, but only he gets to choose what he protects.)

Chapter Text

When there’s a knock on the study door, Nightmare isn’t sure what he expects. From the irritation and shame in the air, he’s not surprised to find Dust in front of the door, his browbones furrowed in distaste and one hand fisted over his midriff.

“Yes?” Nightmare asks, but already, he has a pretty clear idea of the present problem. There is a faint smell of flowers — roses or daisies, maybe — hanging in the air, along with what Nightmare can only describe as a forest after a rainstorm. But the smell is faint, as in, he probably wouldn’t have noticed it if there was anything else around.

“Can I come in?” Dust asks in turn, tone clipped. He’s very obviously not pleased with his predicament, and it shows. Instead of a verbal reply, Nightmare steps aside and lets him slide past, into the dimly-lit room.

Once the door clicks shut, Dust relaxes, if only marginally. At the very least, it doesn’t look like he’s actively trying to break his own teeth by gnashing them together anymore.

“You said I’ve got an assignment tomorrow,” Dust mutters simply. He’s not wrong, Nightmare had scheduled him to do some light reconnaissance with Killer, but that seems to be off the table now.

“Yes,” the guardian nods, “I can swap you out for Cross.”

“No.”

“No?” he echoes, a little taken aback.

The weakness of the sweet scent means that Dust’s heat has only just begun, and it would get worse over time. He’s already in pain, if he’s clutching his stomach. Those leylines seem to be the most painful, even if it will, most likely, spread through the whole system soon enough.

“No, I don’t want to fuck up the schedule,” Dust says, “I came to you to… get it over with.”

That’s flattering, if not a little disappointing. The others probably have no idea Dust has gone into a heat. And Dust wants to keep it that way. One day, he’ll have to come clean about his whole ‘I’m an alpha, how dare you imply otherwise,’ ruse. Not that Nightmare doesn’t feel privileged to help him in the meanwhile. It’s a rare thing for an omega to come to an alpha on their own, with no prior offering.

Speaking of which…

“If that’s what you’d like,” he concedes, “I’ll need a couple minutes to set up, if that’s all right.”

Dust nods. Just as Nightmare had thought, the pain is getting worse, if his badly-hidden winces are anything to go by. The thought of leaving him on his own like this makes Nightmare’s non-existent skin crawl, but if he doesn’t, Dust will run his mouth as he’s setting up, calling everything too extensive and unnecessary.

“Meet me in my bedroom in fifteen minutes,” Nightmare instructs and immediately heads right there. The image of Dust hunching in on himself in the middle of the study haunts him as he sets to work pulling the extra blankets and pillows out of his wardrobe. 

He doesn’t create a proper nest, knowing all too well that as much as Dust would enjoy one, he’s not comfortable with his heats nor with being treated as if he’s in one.

Instead, he piles them up onto the bed, vaguely framing it and arranging the blankets to make the mattress even softer.

His SOUL yearns to hide Dust inside, to cocoon him and make sure he’s no longer in pain, but he tries to push the instincts away. Dust, after all, isn’t a traditional omega, and he’d most likely try to stab him for something like that. (Well, he’d try, anyway.)

Fifteen minutes come and go, and he gets the bed into a state that he’s satisfied with but isn’t too too obvious. This time, Dust doesn’t knock, and simply lets himself in.

The smell of roses fills the room in seconds.

“That hit fast, didn’t it?” Nightmare comments, to which Dust just shrugs.

“It’s annoying,” he tells the guardian, tugging his shorts down and off on the way to the bed. His ecto-body is already summoned, bright and slick and Nightmare would put a hand into fire that he’d fought with himself to summon his cock as well. He doubts Dust is in the mood to do the fucking, but with him, it’s a matter of the principle more than anything else. “Mind if I just, I dunno…”

“Yes, go ahead,” Nightmare tells him. He pulls his own clothes off and summons himself, staying still to let the smaller skeleton do whatever it is he wants to do.

“Cool. Thanks.”

What Dust wants to do is ,apparently, to straddle him and sink himself onto Nightmare’s cock. It’s unceremonious and so unexpected that he hisses at the sudden heat and pressure. Dust is soaked, leaking purple magic, and his body is even hotter than usual.

Dust sighs out, but otherwise he’s quiet as he starts to move. Nightmare would love to flip him over and do all the work himself, leave Dust to lounge back and just enjoy himself instead of having to ride him, but he doesn’t.

The smaller skeleton braces his hands over Nightmare’s chest, thigh quivering with effort as he lifts himself only to drop back down heedlessly. Nightmare’s cock is visible through his stomach, where the sweater he’s kept on rides up, a line of almost-cyan, made brighter by the magic. It’s a lovely sight, one that Nightmare enjoys without an ounce of remorse.

Dust doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘gradual,’ and his pace is frantic and hard from the start. They stay like that for a couple of minutes, during which Nightmare has to hold his tentacles back, because just like him, they want to wrap around his little packmate and move him themselves, so he wouldn’t have to strain like he does.

And then Dust growls, stilling for half a second before he starts up again, even faster. “Talk to me,” he demands, sockets screwed shut, “Anything works.”

Nightmare dares to lift a hand and places it atop one of Dust’s thighs, petting across the generous magic. “Whatever your brother’s telling you, it’s not true. It’s fine to have heats.”

Dust huffs in response, teeth upturning. “I’d really rather not talk about my brother during sex.”

Which, granted, is a valid point. He’s probably fed up having to listen to his brother during sex. Nightmare’s mind wanders and he imagines hearing Dream telling him he’s fucking the whole thing up and inwardly, he cringes. Thank the stars that he doesn’t have to deal with that.

“What would you like, then? ‘Great weather we’re having,’” he scoffs. He keeps the hand on Dust’s thigh when he doesn’t push it off, and then mirrors it on the other side. He doesn’t move Dust, but it’s nice to have more points of contact.

“Sure, if you think a thunderstorm is ‘great.’ I don’t know anything, just— just so it’s not quiet.”

“Killer would be more suited for that. He adores nothing more than hearing his own voice.”

Dust huffs again, grinding down against Nightmare’s pelvis. “I know,” he mumbles irritably. He doesn’t do anything else with the information, just digs his claws into Nightmare’s ribs and keeps himself moving.

“You’re going to have to tell them at some point.”

Nightmare’s pushing it, and he knows he is, and it makes him feel uneasy, but really, it’s not like they ever really talk about their inclinations unless they’re relevant. Like right now.

“I know,” Dust repeats, “I just don’t want to.”

“Whyever not?”

He thrusts up into Dust when he drops himself next and breaks through his stoic mask, pulling a quiet moan out of him. It feels like music, making his SOUL beat faster. When Dust throws his head back with the pleasure, it exposes his neck and Nightmare feels a twinge at the sight. He’s lone to mark that pristine patch of bone, claim him and let everyone know whose protection he’s under, but he wouldn’t dare. That’s not something done lightly, without consultation, and he’s never do such a thing.

Dust is part of his impromptu pack, mark or not, and he trusts Nightmare with this. That’s more than enough.

“It’s weird,” Dust answers, so belatedly that Nightmare has to think back to what his question even has been.

“It’s really not. Everyone else gets heats, too.”

“Except Horror,” Dust mumbles.

“Dust.” Nightmare’s warning tone makes the skeleton in question sigh.

“I know what you mean. But it’s— it’d be weird. I’m the only omega. Or whatever the hell I am, anyway.”

“It wouldn’t be,” Nightmare assures him, “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

“Easy for you to say. Everyone would treat me like I’m— I dunno, made of glass or something. They’d look at me different.”

Unconsciously, Nightmare’s fingers dig further into Dust’s thighs. “They wouldn’t. Do I look at you differently?”

“You’re different— fuck, right there,” he moans, lowly as Nightmare hits a particularly sensitive spot, so he tries to keep the angle steady, “You’ve known from the beginning, right? I still don’t know why you didn’t call me out on it.”

“Because it’s not my place to. If you want to live like an alpha, no one will stop you.”

“‘cept my dumb body…”

“Heats are a normal thing. I’m sure the others would be more than willing to help you with them.”

“And that’s just it! Everyone would just at the opportunity because I’m an omega, because my pheromones trigger ruts and everyone wants to keep the omega happy.” Dust speaks with unmasked hate, as if the words aren’t his, and Nightmare is inclined to believe he knows exactly where he’s heard them.

“Contrary to popular belief, we are very capable of restraint. No one would treat you any differently, Dust. You have my word on that,” the guardian promises him.

Displeased with the truth to the words, Dust groans again. Or maybe it’s a reaction to another thrust. “I know,” he whines, dragging the words out, “It’s just—”

“I know.” Nightmare rubs comforting circles into his thighs with his thumbs. “All I’m saying is you might feel better if you’re open about your identity.”

To that, Dust chuffs out a laugh. “That’ll go over so well. Hi! I’m Dust. Sorry for lying to you for years, I’m actually an omega, not an alpha, haha. Please don’t freak.”

“Dust…”

“Yeah, yeah… I just don’t… like being an omega.”

“Yes, it’s not something you choose, but there’s nothing weird or wrong with it. Also, are you— are you close? Because I am, and I can switch to tentacles afterwards, if you’d like.”

Dust squirms, grinding down almost testingly, and then lets out a small noise. “S’fine,” he says, “I’m almost done, too.”

It’s a nice boost to the ego to hear that, especially since Dust is unnaturally quiet during sex. Nightmare matches their paces, fucking up into him to get him there sooner.

It doesn’t take long, Dust hadn’t been lying, and he cums after another minute, fisting his cock in one hand and making a mess of them both. In turn, Nightmare tugs him down and presses their teeth together as he fills Dust up with his magic in a couple of jerky thrusts.

Dust goes — heh — boneless, slumped atop him.

“Better?” Nightmare asks, rubbing over his back, where his hoodie clings to him with sweat.

“Mm… Think I need one more round and I’ll be good.”

“Anything you need,” Nightmare says. He holds Dust close because that isn’t an instinct he wants to fight. “And please think about it, all right?”

He doesn’t need to elaborate on what ‘it’ is, and Dust hums. “I’ll think about it. But no promises.”

Chapter Text

‘Like ripping off a band-aid,’ Dust reasons to himself. Quick and only mildly painful. Hopefully.

‘They’ll think you’re a whore,’ his brother sneers, ‘and they’ll treat you like it. A little omega bitch, always willing to be bred. Isn’t that right, brother?’

“I’m an omega.”

‘Probably,’ he thinks in the general direction of his brother. The room falls silent, save for the TV and the movie playing on it. It’s an action slash romance flick of some sort; Killer’s choice. As if on cue, an explosion rings out, and Dust only winces a little bit.

The first one to react is Killer. He’s gone still next to Dust, but he relaxes again. “Okay,” is all he says.

Horror glances at him, eye narrowed, but not in malice or disgust. He sniffs, as if he’s trying to confirm Dust’s words with his pheromones. It doesn’t quite work, what with him no longer being in heat and knowing better than to stink up a place just because he can.

“Wait, I thought you were an alpha?” Cross asks, full of confusion and wonder. He still doesn’t understand everything about the different… inclinations, so his curiosity isn’t surprising.

“Sometimes, betas change,” Killer says with a shrug, saving Dust the hassle of thinking up an explanation. “Depends on a lot of things.”

Cross nods, mulling it over. “But… I thought you were an alpha, not a beta?”

“I used to be a beta,” Dust says. Really, he’d been so nervous about their reaction that he hadn’t even thought he'd have to explain. In retrospect, he should’ve realized Cross would be confused by it. “And then one day I was an omega.”

It’s a gross oversimplification of the entire matter, but it turns it into something Cross can understand easily.

“Oh,” the ex-soldier nods. They can all practically see the cogs turning in his skull. “But uh… what about the alpha part?”

Dust just shrugs again. He can tell the others are curious as well, watching him to see what he says. All of a sudden, he feels even more self-conscious. “I wasn’t comfortable as an omega, so I kinda overcompensated.”

He feels like he should be less comfortable with the situation than he is. None of them had even commented on the revelation yet, which, especially given Killer’s affinity to turn everything into a joke, is almost stunning. Maybe because he can tell it’s important?

Cross just nods again. “So… Sorry, I’m kinda confused. No one really explained omegas to me, since we don’t ha— didn’t know we had one. Are we supposed to do something specific? You don’t get ruts, right? Isn’t that it?”

“Pretty much,” Dust says, at the same time as Horror says, “No.”

Dust turns to the bigger skeleton, who’s on his other side, with something akin to betrayal in his features. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna treat me like a little doll or something,” he deadpans. He definitely doesn’t beg, thank you very much.

“Do you… want us to?”

“No!” he blurts out, too fast, too desperate. They all watch him. There’s that uncomfortableness. “I— didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to treat me differently.”

“Oh,” Killer says, apparently done with the matter. Dust isn’t sure if he’s doing it for his benefit, or if he really doesn’t give a shit, but either way, he’s thankful for it.

Horror feels the need to add, “I’ll still take care of you,” as if there had ever been any doubt about that. Dust leans over to nuzzle against the side of his head and let him know he appreciates it.

“Um… please tell us if we ever make you uncomfortable, okay?” Cross asks, looking away as he fidgets in his sea. “I still don’t— yeah. Don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Will do, Criss-Cross,” Dust assures him. If that’ll put him more at ease, Dust is more than okay with it.

“Man,” Killer says loudly, shattering any tension with the faux-curious tone, “Now I wonder what you smell like, Dusty. You’ve always suppressed it, haven’tcha?”

“Like sweat and depression, probably,” Dust mutters. It makes Cross chuckle. They had all forgotten about the movie by then, too engrossed in… well, Dust.

“We all smell like that. But seriously, I wanna know!”

Dust relents with a sigh. He has to consciously think about it, but soon enough, his pheromones fill the living room. The others perk up.

“...flowers!” Horror mutters in wonder.

“Roses!” Killer specifies, “I think. Oh, that’s nice. Wouldn’t’ve guessed that one, Dusty.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment, or…?”Dust growls, but his skull tints a faint purple. Killer thinks it’s cute, but he's not saying that. Not when Dust is within stabbing range.

“It fits ya.”

Cross is the one who stays quiet for the longest. It makes sense, he’s probably never smelled an omega before, and doesn’t know what to do with the sensory overload. Eventually, blushing madly, he stammers out, “It’s— It’s nice. Really nice! I um… I like it. Is that weird to say?”

Dust chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah, it’s not. Thanks, Crossy.”

The monochrome mess blushes brighter, lighting up like a hundred watt lightbulb. It’s cute. Dust looks away.

“M’gonna pull ya into my bed,” Killer declares out of the blue, “Y’smell nicer than the detergent we use.”

For a moment, Dust’s stuck between indignation and the need to laugh, but the need to laugh eventually wins out and he reaches over to playfully shove Killer’s shoulder.

He can live with that.

And, as if he’s been waiting for them to finish their conversation — which Dust wouldn’t put past him — Nightmare walks in. “I’m glad you took my advice to heart,” he says, and the corners of his teeth quirk up into a serene smile. “I’ve always liked roses.”

Chapter Text

Cross wakes to growling right by his ear canal.

His first thought is 'oh fuck, I overslept,' as he jolts, trying to sit up but finding himself pinned down by a weight on his femurs. His sockets fly open to find that the weight is actually Dust sitting atop him, fingers balled at the front of his sleeping shirt.

Then his mind catches up just a bit, remembering that no, he didn't oversleep, he had a day off and nowhere to be, so he hadn't set an alarm. The relief is short-lived as he takes in the state Dust is in, twitching minutely and hiding winces that don't escape even Cross' sleep-addled perception.

"Dust?" he asks, voice thick with sleep.

Dust growls again, shifting and hunching in on himself just a little. "Good morning, sleeping beauty," he snipes, tone clipped and annoyed, as if Cross had done something wrong, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it may have been.

"Uh— Good morning...? What's going on?"

Dust shifts yet again, and he's hot, bones almost scalding even through the fabric of both of their pajamas. "I need help."

The admission is hesitant, quieter than the earlier words, and Dust's face colors a faint shade of purple. It takes Cross another moment to piece together what the hell is going on, but then he catches the scent filling the room, overpowering and overbearing, and he can't believe he didn't notice it before.

The whole room smells like someone had dumped a flower shop into it, sweet and rosy.

"You're—" Cross blinks. If there had been any doubt, the feeling of Dust's ecto-body pressing down against him squashed it right down. Cross' next words border on reverent as he says, "You're in heat."

"Yeah," Dust nods, looking none too pleased about the predicament, "I need help before it starts hurting too much."

As if broken from a trance, Cross does jolt up this time, hands flying to Dust's hips to steady him from being shoved off as Cross sits up. He pauses, uncertain as the sweet scent makes his head spin.

"You should..." Cross trails off; everyone else is out today. Nightmare, Killer and Horror had gone out to do something that Nightmare didn't even tell him about, quoting Cross' workaholism and ordering him to sit this one out. Apparently he'd also left Dust in the castle, so there's no one else who could help. Cross panics immediately. "I— I don't know how to— I've never..."

Dust rolls his eyelights — they're so bright, Cross notes, brighter than usual — but huffs out a laugh. "Dude, it's not rocket science," he assures, "Just fuck me into the mattress and it'll be fine."

Sure, Dust makes it sound easy, but it's really not! Cross had read up about omegas after Dust had revealed the truth to them, because he wanted to know, and some of the information was very helpful for betas like him as well. So he knows there's a whole procedure, to make sure it's good and fulfilling for the omega (or anyone in heat, really).

"I can't just—" he splutters indignantly, appalled by the mere idea of Dust thinking he would skimp out just to get it over with faster. "If you— If you want my help, I'm gonna make damn sure it's good for you."

Dust levels him with a skeptical look, but Cross meets him with a determined frown. Between the two of them, Cross is the more stubborn one, and he has no qualms about staring Dust down until he rolls his eyelights again, conceding without words.

"I'm gonna make you a nest," Cross tells him, and before Dust can protest as he so obviously wants to, he adds, "Let me do this properly. Please."

And stars be damned, Cross is very convincing when he wants to be, and while a part of Dust bristles at the special treatment, another part of him wants to let him do as he wishes, just to see what would happen. He won't make a habit of it (or so he tells himself), but Cross is new to the whole thing and this might be good practice for him. If this will mean he's better prepared to assist Killer and Horror whenever their heats strike, Dust can live with it.

"Wait here," Cross says. Before Dust can even process it, Cross has hooked one hand under his back and the other under his knees, hefting him up like he weighs nothing and depositing him onto the chair by the desk.

Obediently, Dust sits there, crossing and uncrossing his legs as his bones and summoned flesh ache with pangs of pain gradually getting worse and worse.

Cross flits back and forth, gathering what few pillows he has and fluffing them up against the headboard of his bed and then covering them with his blanket. Dust watches as he scrutinizes his room — bare as can be, all but spartan in its furnishing, or lack thereof — and comes to the conclusion that this is absolutely not enough softness for his tastes.

He rushes out of the room, and Dust's magic is all out of whack, because it feels like abandonment and the pain in his gut spikes sharply. He pulls his knees up to his chest, arms wrapping around them in a facsimile of a hug, since he can't do much else. Cross had told him to wait there, and the thought of moving is just as bad as the thought of being left there. The heat must really be getting to him; usually, he'd already have Nightmare's cock pelvis-deep in his cunt, or he'd be drunk enough to pass out and ride it out that way, so he usually didn't have to deal with the mood swings.

"Dust...?"

Dust blinks up at Cross, who had come back at some point, with a stack of blankets reaching up to his chin and pillows squeezed under each of his armpits.

Dust is overtaken by the desire to make sure Cross doesn't leave again. It's so strong it borders on a need. He sniffles wetly and lets his legs fall back down. If he thought for half a second, he'd be ashamed of himself, but he can't focus on that now. Cross said he'd take care of him, so tries not to overthink everything as he's prone to.

The chair clatters behind him as he springs up, latching onto Cross just to appease the ghost of paranoia clinging to him. The blankets and pillows slip out of Cross' hands, almost tripping Dust up, but he just clings to Cross tighter and buries his face in the crook of his neck, rubbing over the exposed vertebrae just to smell the spicy-sweet scent of his, to make sure Cross is right there with him.

"I'm sorry, if I'd known, I would've prepared the blankets ahead of time," Cross says, petting Dust's back through his shirt. When he squeezes him, it's like he squeezes all the worries straight out of Dust, and the smaller skeleton all but melts against him, whining into the collar of his shirt.

He refuses to unlatch himself, even when Cross gently pushes him, so Cross resigns himself to making a nest with Dust clinging to his back the whole time. It's surprisingly nice, all things considered, even if it means he can't quite smooth the blankets underneath them. But soon enough, he has the whole bed framed by a wall of pillows, held in place by layers and layers of blankets and duvets. His already-soft mattress is now even softer; Cross fiddles with some of the pillows and the corners of a blanket until he's satisfied with it, sure that it wouldn't fall apart midway, and then he stands back up.

Dust makes a soft noise against his back. He didn't expect to be moved, most likely. Cross cooes back at him, and gently unpries Dust's claws from his shirt so he can scoop him up once more.

"Sorry for taking so long," he apologizes. He hopes the nest is up to par, because while he'd read up on them, he'd never made one himself before. Slowly, carefully, he lowers Dust into the middle of it.

The smaller skeleton all but sinks into the layers of soft fabric, wiggling for a moment to get more comfortable. And then he starts purring, absolutely piercing Cross' SOUL like a bullseye. He doesn't even seem to realize he's doing it.

"Is it okay?" Cross asks, just in case.

Dust curls up a little, a soft smile on his teeth, and when he peers up at Cross, his eyelights are hazy, bleeding out around the edges, but they're still so bright, scorching in their heat.

Cross has never seen him like this, or anyone else. It makes his breath hitch, his SOUL skip a beat, his hands itch to hold the omega again.

"Mm, s'real soft," Dust tells him. The words are slurred, and he looks ready to fall asleep right there, face buried into the duvet Cross had swiped from Horror's room. He'd swiped something from everyone's rooms, except Nightmare's, because he wasn't sure if the boss would get angry. The nest he'd made is full of their pack's scents and Dust seems to like it, which is a relief.

But Dust's body is still summoned, and when Cross glances down, his pajama shorts have a very prominent wet patch on them, even though Dust keeps wiggling and squeezing his thighs together. Judging by the frowns crossing his face, he's still very much in pain, and Cross intends to alleviate it the best he can.

He pauses, though, because even if Dust hasn't protested so far (much), he still wants to make sure it's okay. "Can I take your clothes off?"

Instead of an answer, Dust reaches down and hooks a claw in the waistline of his shorts, tugging them down. It's not very effective, since he's laying down and wiggling too much and only using one hand, but the image is endearing and makes Cross wish he could burn it into his memory forever. He kneels next to Dust on the bed — in the nest — and reaches down to help him, sliding the damp fabric down his thighs.

The flowery smell hits him like a slap in the face, so much stronger now that Dust shifts to spread his legs. His cunt is absolutely drenched, leaking purple slick all over the topmost blanket. His clit is puffy and swollen, too, glistening in the overhead light. Cross wants nothing more than to lick all over it, clean Dust up and taste him.

He refrains (for now) and instead helps his packmate out of his shirt as well, revealing ivory ribs shifting with his labored breathing, the plush ecto-flesh spilling in-between them. Cross runs a hand over them, careful of the faint not-scar bisecting Dust's sternum, and Dust keens for him, a melody to Cross' ears. Awestruck, Cross makes quick work of his own pajamas and leans down over Dust, shadowing him with his own bulky body, wrapping him up in his presence and peppering gentle, clicky kisses everywhere he can reach; all over Dust's face, his neck (which begs for a mating bite, but Cross doesn't dare), down his clavicle and over the bright, fake flesh.

Dust whines, though not in protest, and arches his spine into Cross' ministrations, silently begging for more. And oh, Cross would give him more, everything and anything he'd ask for.

"You are," he mutters, tongue lapping over the leyline between Dust's vertebrae, the closest thing he'll allow himself to tasting what claiming the precious omega would be, "so, so pretty. I'm gonna make you feel so good."

It's a testament to how far gone Dust is that he just chokes out a moan. Usually, he'd be full of snark, a snippy response at the ready. Cross is already proud of himself for how well he's doing, reverently watching the way Dust writhes, his blooming flush high on his cheeks, his eyelights gradually shifting into honest-to-stars hearts.

He makes good on his promise, making his way down Dust's stomach and leaving behind a searing line of kisses. He hoists Dust's thighs over his shoulders, maneuvering the omega so he's propped up more on the line of pillows to make it easier on his spine. Dust goes along with every single movement, almost like a doll in Cross' hold, and Cross is floored by the sheer amount of trust Dust is showing him.

The omega blinks lazily at him, teeth parted just a little to pant through. His hands twitch where they rest by his head, towards Cross like he wants to pull him closer.

He doesn't have to.

Cross places a kiss to the soaked lips of his cunt, reveling in the little twitch of his hips, and gets to work, tongue lapping all over to clean up as much slick as he can. It's futile, more of it just drips down, in time with Dust's little aborted moans, but that suits him just fine.

It's every bit as delicious as he'd imagined; he feels addicted already.

"Cross..." Dust mumbles, turning his head to bury his face into the pile of pillows, "Mmn, fuck... Fuck me, please fuck me already..."

Cross is loath to pull away, but there is no way he could deny Dust anything, much less when he's asking so, so sweetly. Cross files the way the words make his magic stir away to contemplate for another day, and sits back up on his haunches. With a hand, he wipes the slick from his face and, not wanting to waste a single drop, licks it all back up from his fingers.

"So delicious," he tells Dust, making the bright flush on his cheekbones turn a shade or three darker.

Cross' magic has been heated and begging to be summoned from the second Dust was laid into his nest, so he finally allows it, adding another source of glow to Dust's. His cock stands at attention, beading with precum just as much as Dust's cunt does. The sight of it makes Dust spread his legs even farther, presenting himself without an ounce of shame.

"I'm... a bit big," Cross mutters as he adjusts his feet, kneeling in front of Dust and taking each of his plump thighs in hand to place over his hips. "Please tell me if it hurts, I... That's the last thing I wanna do."

Yeah, Dust's heat has completely addled his mind, because he doesn't say anything to that. He does, however, narrow his sockets as if to ask Cross 'are you serious?'

He digs his heels into the small of Cross' back, urging him closer, urging him to finally get to what the both of them crave.

Carefully, Cross does. He holds his cock around the base, around the slight bump of his unformed knot, and guides it to Dust's cunt, spreading his lips with the tip. For a moment, he just grinds against them, spreading both his own and Dust's slick around and staring at just how much of it there is, but Dust's incessant whining cuts the daydreaming short.

He tries to go slow, making sure he doesn't hurt Dust — it's less of Cross being big and more of Dust being small, in general — but his entrance, while tight, eagerly welcomes Cross in as he pushes the leaking tip in. Dust then bucks his hips and Cross doesn't expect it, and impales himself halfway before Cross can grab his hips to still him.

"Hnn, no!" Dust borderline sobs out. Tears have sprung into his sockets and his teeth pull down into a sad frown. "Please, give me all of it, I'll— I'll do anything, please!"

Immediately, Cross is lowering himself to wrap his arms around Dust's shaking shoulders instead of gripping his hips. He shushes the omega gently, nuzzling his cheek in an attempt to soothe him.

"It's okay, it's okay, I'll give you anything you want," he promises, "I just didn't want to hurt you, dear. My good little omega, little dust bunny, it's okay." He's blabbering, but Dust clings to him, shaking at the soft words.

With slow, short rolls of his hips, he buries his entire length into Dust's cunt, the walls squeezing down on him tight and wet, like they never wanted to let him go again. Cross' hips quake with the effort of holding back from pulling away and just slamming back in, but his restraint doesn't seem to be very appreciated.

Dust claws at his back, thighs squeezing around Cross’ sides, and he keeps begging, desperate and half-unintelligible. It's so unlike him, and only makes Cross want to appease him more and more with each breathless, frantic 'please!'

Still draped over his omega, he starts up a pace, fucking deep into him, and with each thrust, Dust's begging and sobbing turns into moans and cries of pleasure, loud and unrestrained. He looks up at Cross with tear-rimmed, wobbling eyelights, and Cross can't resist clicking their teeth together, tongue licking against the little seam until Dust gasps, parting them more and letting Cross delve in properly. He licks into Dust's mouth, tangling their tongues and tasting him properly. Dust can't keep up, but that's okay; he's more than happy to let Cross do as he wishes, as long as he keeps being fucked like this.

Cross' cock fills him up just right, stretching his walls and hitting all the right spots, as well as the back of his magic every time Cross bottoms out, knocking his breath out in a gasped rush.

The pangs of pain are a distant memory, replaced by mounting pleasure in his gut, winding tighter and tighter. Dust tries his best to meet Cross' thrusts, grinding up against Cross' pelvis to get the extra bit of stimulation on his clit. He can't keep up with Cross and his speed, but the difference in paces only serves to make it even better and he cries his beta's name, claws digging into his back and drawing magic, but even that bit of a sting only fuels Cross to thrust his hips harder, knees bracing him while he growls straight into Dust's mouth.

Oh, how he wants to claim the little omega. Mark him for everyone to see and keep him safe, please him properly like he deserves. He might've been the only choice Dust had had today, but he still did come to Cross instead of holing up, and Cross treasures the trust he'd been given.

He'd take such good care of Dust, if he allowed it.

Dust mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like 'yes, please!' and it occurs to Cross that he'd been speaking out loud. His SOUL swells with affection, and so does the knot at the base of his cock, pleasure filling up every crevice of his body as he chases his release to give Dust what he needs, what he craves.

Dust arches into him, throws his head back with a shrill cry as his fake muscles tense up. His release gushes out from around Cross' cock, drenching their laps and the nest in Dust's delicious smell.

Cross grits his teeth, struggling to keep his sockets open in the face of all the pleasure so he doesn't miss any of Dust's blissed-out expressions. He chases his own release with frantic thrusts, knot catching at the rim of Dust's hole and making the both of them tremble. With a strong shove of his hips, he pushes the knot in, locking them together.

Like that, he can only rut a little, short quick grinds against the deepest parts of Dust's magic, but fuck does it feel heavenly, to be gripped by the pulsing, scorching magic. Cross cums with a high, drawn-out whine, shaking all over as he fills Dust up with spurt after spurt of searing cum. His knot holds it all inside, just like it should, and Dust wiggles under him, looking pleased as his magic makes a pocket for the ropes of cum.

His stomach, usually pudgy and soft, swells up even more with the extra magic, rounding out and pressing up into Cross' own stomach. Cross tries to keep rutting through it, to prolong Dust's own afterglow, but he's tired, and opts to roll over to his side and slot Dust against his chest to nuzzle his neck, kissing the bare vertebrae.

His knot keeps them connected, and will continue to do so for a long while. It's perfect to make sure Dust can't escape his snuggles and kisses, though Dust looks like he wants to be nowhere else than in Cross' arms right now.

"My pretty little omega," Cross cooes, quiet but reverent, "So pretty all filled up, so, so pretty and good. You've been so good for me, thank you, dust bunny."

Dust whines at the praise, ducking his head against the crook of Cross' neck. He's no longer clawing at his back, but he's also not letting go, hugging Cross close to prevent him from pulling away, as if he even could.

They stay like that, awash with the afterglow of their climaxes and content to cuddle. Cross drops one hand to rub over the swell of Dust's stomach, worshiping the magic for taking so much.

He thinks Dust fell asleep, since his breathing calms down and he's still pressed against Cross' neck, but Dust surprises him by quietly saying, "This is... nice."

He doesn't know how to reply to that. 'Of course, you deserve the best'? 'You're welcome'? No, none of that sounds like a fitting response, so he stays quiet.

"This... This whole thing, I mean," Dust continues, thinking Cross didn't understand. "I... Thank you, Crossy. I've never... nested during my heat before."

That catches Cross off-guard, so much so that he pulls Dust away so he can look at his face. His eyelights look sharper now, more aware, but he keeps looking off to the side. "Really?" he asks, incredulous. He'd thought that was the basis for all heats, all the books he'd read said so!

Dust's shoulders rise up. "Yeah. I mean... I've never really..." He frowns, trying to find the words to explain it. "I either... sleep through it, or get Nightmare to fuck me ‘til the pain's gone. I've never really... done it properly. It's nice. It's... really nice."

Dust's skull is ablaze with a renewed blush, and so is Cross'. Cross still has no idea what to say to that, so he just squeezes Dust and ruminates on it for a moment.

He's having problems imagining Nightmare refusing to make a nest and treat Dust like a precious jewel during his heat — he'd seen Nightmare help Killer during a heat, and he'd been the most textbook alpha one could ask for. He'd even helped Cross through the one heat he'd had (so far, he reminds himself), and it'd been a lovely experience. He'd been taken care of and bundled in the softest nest one could imagine.

So maybe it'd been Dust who refused such treatment? Cross thinks back to when Dust had admitted to them that he's actually an omega (which still boggles Cross' mind! that a beta could actually change depending on their surroundings, it's truly fascinating!); he'd been vehement that no one treats him any different, so maybe he simply doesn't like such soft treatment?

Then again, he's more than happy right now. Cross can tell, his scent is soft and content, and just smelling it makes Cross feel all relaxed. He wants to be surrounded by it forever.

He mulls over a few ways he could say what he has on his mind, and finally settles for, "You deserve nice heats, Dust. We all wanna give them to you, so please let us?"

Dust scoffs, which is not at all what Cross expects. "Yeah, 'cause I'm an omega." He spits the 'omega' like a curse, a wry smile replacing the soft, satisfied look he'd had before while his browbones furrow. "Everyone wants to keep the omega happy."

Cross frowns right back. "It's got nothing to do with you being an omega. Omega, beta, it doesn't matter. Heats are special, and you deserve to be pampered like the rest of us."

Dust can't keep the eye contact and looks away again. Cross can't help but think he'd struck a sore spot, and that this absolutely isn't the time to dig into it. It's ruining the soft moment and he doesn't want that.

"You're my packmate," he says instead, shifting the subject just a little. None of them call what they have a pack, not officially, but there's nothing else it could be. "And I like when you're taken care of. If I'd known you get heats, I would've offered you help earlier. Like you've done for me."

Dust's blush brightens considerably; he'd been the first one to stumble in on Cross' first heat, and he'd made a quick nest and held Cross until Nightmare showed up to make a proper one and guide him through the process before the pain could get unbearable.

"Yeah, fine," he concedes eventually, so quiet Cross almost misses it, "You... You're right. It's nice. I like this. Just don't coddle me normally, yeah?"

Cross has a feeling Dust had been aiming for a stern tone, but it came out as more of another plea. Yeah, he can do that. "Yeah, I can do that," he promises, and then laughs, "You don't see any of us coddling each other, do you?"

"...no."

"See? It's fine. Wanna take a nap? I took blankets from Killer and Horror so you could have their scents, and I can leave you alone if you'd like."

Immediately, Dust shakes his head, squeezing Cross as if the mere idea appalled him. Cross' knot has gone down enough that he could probably pull out by now, with some careful maneuvering.

"No. Stay right here," Dust orders him instead, "It's comfy. And I like being full. And I wanna cuddle."

Cross chuffs out a snort at the small list of demands. He blindly grasps for a loose blanket and drapes it over the two of them, and then presses a kiss to Dust's teeth. "Okay. Wake me up if I fall asleep and the pain comes back, okay? Or if you need anything. Or if you want anything! I'm gonna stay right here with you."

Dust rolls his eyelights at him good-naturedly. "Yes, mom," he jokes. He hooks a leg over Cross' hip to get as close as he physically can and makes himself comfortable.

The scents of his packmates surround him and only amplify the feeling of safety he feels being held like this. Though there's nothing of Nightmare's, he can still faintly smell their alpha from the others' blankets and pillows, and it's nice. But the nicest smell is probably Cross', soft and full of love, and Dust clings to him, breathing it in deeply.

Yeah, nesting during a heat is really nice. Maybe he should make a habit of this like Cross had suggested.

Chapter Text

This was bullshit.

All of it was bullshit, the whole heat thing, and the emotions thing, and the heat thing and the nesting thing, but mostly the emotions thing.

So Dust woke up alone in the nest, big fucking deal. Cross went to do whatever the fuck he did in the morning — probably running laps around the castle, the lunatic — and left Dust to sleep it all off. Normal. It wasn't like Nightmare cuddled him after a heat.

He wasn't a clingy, stereotypical omega. Hell, he didn't even know if he was an omega or whatever the fuck he was.

So why the fuck he was bawling his sockets out was anyone's guess. There was nothing wrong, except his brain and his SOUL weren't on the same page, apparently. Which was bullshit. There was no reason for him to feel lonely and forgotten, it'd never happened after a heat before.

All he knew was that he was alone, in the mess of a nest, surrounded by the smell of stale sweat and cum, with Cross' pheromones clinging to the blankets he'd hauled in, and he couldn't stop clinging to those.

It was bullshit. Being an omega was fucking bullshit.

'Not even an omega, just a slut,' his brother supplied. It did nothing but stoke the anger welling up inside of him. Anger was better than disappointment. Anger was better than sobbing over spilled milk like a little bitch.

He had no idea what the hell happened after he'd passed out, and he probably should've gone to find Nightmare to ask. The guardian knew all of this shit that Dust had tried his best not to think about.

Or he should've at least found out if Nightmare was back in the castle in the first place.

But the thought of getting up, or moving at all, was almost physically repulsive to him, even with the dried cum stains covering his pelvis and legs. He shifted until he had one of the blankets thrown over himself and wedged between his femurs. At least that way he'd feel the fabric instead of the crusty magic.

Even that small relief only lasted a few minutes, and he found himself restless once more, hot under the weight of the blanket and itchy all over. All over, but most of all around his neck. He felt bare, nudity not included, and strangely unworthy.

His vertebrae itched, just begging for him to reach up and drag his claws over them. He didn't even realize he did reach up and started clawing at it until he felt something even hotter rolling down his neck. Marrow clung to the tips of his claws and drops of it rolled over his bones; the trails they left in their wake felt searing.

He had to force himself to pull his hands away. Instead, he gripped the edge of the blanket, leylines in his knuckles fading away with the force of his grip. He was shaking and he couldn't stop.

Why the hell did he feel like this? Why did he feel useless? Why did he feel unworthy? Unwanted?

Not that any of those feelings were uncommon with him, but usually not after a heat. The day after a heat was usually spent angrily throwing himself at whatever Nightmare pointed him towards, just to regain a semblance of security in his alpha ruse. Maybe it'd help with this, too?

He still didn't want to move a joint. He wanted to stay in the half-destroyed nest, curled up into a small ball and bawling his sockets all day long.

A small, tiny, miniscule part of his brain wanted Cross to come back and fix the nest and hold him like last night and lean over him and bite down on his neck so everyone could see he belonged to the beta and--

No. No no no.

Where the hell had that come from?

He'd never thought about claiming before, but now it felt like that was the only thing that he wanted. Needed. Just the thought of being claimed made the itchiness of his bones recede a little.

No, that was stupid. Maybe he was still in heat?

Or maybe he'd been stupid enough to let Cross lull him with the false pretenses of nesting and his body took the small help personally, and decided to rebel when it didn't get what it wanted. Which, apparently, was a claiming bite. But that was stupid... Sure, the guys knew he was an omega now, but no one else did, and if Ink or Blue or whoever saw a mark on his neck during a fight and pointed it out, Dust wasn't sure he wouldn't try to decapitate himself right then and there.

None of these trains of thought were getting him anywhere, so he just curled up even tighter, doing his best impression of an armadillo, and let the sobs wrack his body under the blanket.

He was so lost in trying not to think anymore that he didn't even hear the door opening. A loud gasp was what eventually yanked him out of his head.

His sockets went wide and whole body rigid, and he hastily scrubbed at his face to get rid of the purple magic staining it. The urge to appear okay and put-together was just a bit pointless after last night. Last... morning... But that didn't stop it from existing and gripping Dust's SOUL in a vice.

"Dust? What's wrong?" Cross asked, because who else would've come to Cross' room?

He was holding a tray in hands, whatever on it was too blurry for Dust's eyelights to make out, but the look of concern on his face he didn't even need to see to know was there. For some reason, it made him feel a little warmer.

He opened his mouth to say something, but only came up with another wet sob. Mortified, he ducked his head under the covers and hid his face.

Cross hurried over after setting the tray on his desk and dropped down to his knees next to the best, hands hovering, unsure, over the blanket covering Dust.

"Dusty?" he called again, softer now, "What happened?"

His hands were shaking, terrified of the answer. Had he fucked up? Cross knew he wasn't an alpha, he was a beta and maybe Dust had wanted a real alpha for his heat. Cross hadn't been the first choice for help, he'd been the *only* choice, and he'd given Dust a pretty firm ultimatum to condition his help, and maybe that made him a bad beta, a bad lover--

"Nothing," Dust said from under the blanket. Cross bit the bullet and gently pulled at the blanket to uncover his face. Dust looked upset and confused, and his sockets were wide as saucers even as his eyelights all but disappeared in them, so small. He took a raspy breath and his teeth curled up into a wobbly smile. "Nothing happened," he laughed with no humor, "It's— It's fine, I just don't know why I'm so—"

Broken? Pathetic? Weird?

None of those words felt fitting enough, and so Dust trailed off.

"Oh, Dust..." Cross sighed, gaze softening into something almost tender, "It's all right. I— Can I hug you?"

Instead of a verbal answer, Dust looked away, lifting the blanket a little in clear invitation. His cheeks were flushed, remnants of the tear tracks still shiny on the bone, and Cross wanted to hold him and wipe them off more than anything.

He did his best not to appear overeager as he climbed into the messed-up nest, laying next to Dust and pulling him close until he had the omega flush with his chest. His hand automatically came up to cradle the back of his skull, holding it against his sternum so Dust could hear the beat of his SOUL and feel his ribcage expanding with each breath. After a few seconds, Dust caught on and tried to match his breathing with Cross'.

"My sweet boy," Cross crooned quietly, "Can you tell me what happened? What made you feel bad?"

Dust frowned at the casual endearment, but he couldn't deny that part of him seemed to preen at it. The omega part. Of course.

Life had been so much easier when he'd been an alpha. When he knew how to hold up his facade.

"I don't know," he admitted. What he wouldn't be admitting to would be the way his fists curl around the front of Cross' shirt, clinging to him like a drowning man. Or a wailing babybones. "Woke up like this, I— Was I not good enough?"

The question caught Cross off guard, so much so that it felt almost like a physical punch to the gut.

"Wh— What do you mean, Dusty? You were perfect!" Cross hurried to reassure him. His mind reeled; why the hell did Dust think he'd been anything less than stellar?

"But you—" Left me. Dust grit his teeth. Even in the safety of his mind, the complaint felt stupid. Childish. Clingy. Pathetic.

"I what?" Cross prompted, but it was gentle. It was like he was handling a priceless heirloom, even though it was just Dust he was holding.

He wanted Cross to not have returned. He was going to make a fool of himself, even more than he'd already done.

Cross made a quizzical sound in lieu of repeating himself. Dust had to stifle a sniffle.

"You didn't... bite me," he admitted, barely above a whisper, "And you left, and I— ugh, sorry."

He pulled away and harshly wiped at his face to get rid of the stinging in his sockets. Time for Cross to make fun of him for acting like a stereotypical omega; Dust braced himself, ready to leave Cross and the nest and the memory of such a nice heat behind.

"Okay, and is that something you need?"

Dust paused.

Frowned, opened his mouth, but then paused once more. His shoulders sagged.

"...no," he admitted, quietly. His eyelights skirted off to the side, and a flush of humiliation colored his face.

It's not that he needed to be bitten. If he thought of not getting a mark, sure his frown deepened and he kind of wanted to pout and scream and cry, but it'd be fine. In the end, it's not something he needed, just something he wanted.

Oh well.

"No?" Cross echoed back at him. He looked actually taken aback, and Dust wasn't sure why. He asked, didn't he?

Dust took a moment to study the crease above his nasal bridge that was always there when Cross scowled or got lost deep in thought. His teeth were pressed into a tight little line.

"Sorry," Dust shrugged, the word chased by a faint taste of bile at the back of his throat. He swallowed it back down, and it was immediately replaced by the sting of tears that wanted to fall from his sockets. How he still had magic to waste on tears, he wasn't sure. He waved a hand in dismissal until he was sure the magic no longer wanted to bubble up from between his vertebrae. "Forget I mentioned it..."

"No!" Cross blurted out, half-sitting up. His hands hovered in midair, like he wanted to reach out and hug Dust again but wasn't sure if it would be welcome. Honestly, Dust himself wasn't sure if it would be. "No no no, that's not what I meant. I mean— Is that...? Is that something you want?"

Dust had to consciously stop himself from blurting out an immediate no. Mostly because it would've been a lie. He did want it.

"Yeah," he admitted. He'd somehow forgotten how to speak above a mumbled whisper, but Cross wasn't complaining, so he didn't try to speak louder. He felt like if he said any of this louder, the ground would open up below him and swallow him whole.

"Okay. Okay, I can— I mean, wait," Cross stumbled over himself, trying to remember everything he'd read in every single one of the dynamics books. Nothing was coming to mind. His memory decided those things were out of his reach when he needed them the most. "Is it... me you want? I mean—! Do you want me to bite you? Or do you want me to call any of the other ones? Shit, maybe you still have aftereffects of your heat, what if— What if you regret it afterwards?"

Dust felt an urge to smack Cross upside the head and a strong wave of affection for him in equal measure. "Just bite me, Cross," he demanded. Even if it was a plea more than anything, and he couldn't muster any heat nor pressure to his words.

"But—"

"Do you not want to?" he asked, not finding any other reason for Cross' hesitation.

Cross looked appalled. "No!"

Dust tried his best to hide his disappointment, but he wasn't sure he managed it in time for Cross not to see a flash of it in his expression. Cross scooted closer and wrapped him up in his arms again. He smelled like home. He felt like home.

"No, I mean- I would... be honored!" he amended, and then lowered his voice like he was saying a terrible secret, "I've wanted to for so long. I just don't want you to regret it. You— You deserve to think it over with a clear head."

Well, Dust felt like his head was pretty damn clear, thank you very much.

"If I regret it, that's on me. Please, Cross." He'd already made a whiny fool out of himself, so he wasn't above begging.

The soldier visibly swallowed, but the worried crease in his brow stayed there. He studied Dust's face, searching for something, and he seemed to find it, based on the sigh he let out, and the small smile he gave Dust.

"Okay. Okay, if that's what you want. But I want you to know I'm not doing this as beta, or your alpha or whatever. I'm doing this as Cross. Because you're Dust. Not because you're an omega." He paused for a second. "Because I love you, Dust. And I've wanted to mate you since I met you."

Dust... was rendered speechless. More tears sprung to his sockets, but this time, he couldn't say why.

Instead, he laughed.

"What the hell?" he questioned, stuck between the tears and the laughter, his ribcage squeezing in on itself. "I— Fucking really?"

Cross laughed along with him, squeezing him and then holding him closer still. "Fucking really," he affirmed.

"You know just how to choose an omega, huh? The most fucked up one, haha."

"Dust, I was into you when I thought you were an alpha, and I'm still into you."

Of all the things Dust had ever expected, this was so far down the list it ranked about the same as waking up in his AU and learning all of this was just a big fever dream. He didn't know what to say.

Thankfully, Cross did. "You want me to prove it? I'll claim you right now. I'll make you mine. I'll show everyone, that I— that I was the first. That I love you no matter what."

He'd ended up propped halfway on one of his elbows by the end of the little speech, hovering over Dust and just within kissing range. So Dust kissed him. Their teeth clicked together, soft and unlike last night, but no less passionate. In fact, he'd hazard to say it was filled with more of it. More desperation, too.

"Do it," he whispered into the barely-there space between their teeth when they separated for a quick breath.

Something fiery flickered in Cross' gaze, hot and yearning, and Dust's little bout of confidence vanished like smoke. His throat felt dry. His fear was gone.

Cross looked like he wanted to do nothing more than to claim him, body and SOUL, their entire dynamics be damned. It was exhilarating. It made him feel empowered. Wanted. Needed. He felt on top of the world all of a sudden. Like the entire earlier fear and self-loathing didn't even happen.

He didn’t realize he’d started holding his breath as Cross leaned down. He didn’t realize he’d started shivering when Cross nuzzled his neck, breath scorching hot.

The breath left him in a gasp as Cross’ teeth skirted his bones, followed by an almost-startled, stuttered moan when they sunk in. There was pressure, tightness and anticipation building within him as Cross’ jaws closed further, and then a prick of pain that felt like the sweetest of pleasures possible.

The moan he let out was downright pornographic, but he didn’t have the time nor mind to worry over it. He could feel Cross in his magic and his intent flowing through the little bite, leaving him reeling and breathless. Helplessly, he clung to his mate, claws digging into the shirt that he had put on in the morning.

He didn’t want Cross to pull away. Preferably ever, even if he knew that wasn’t feasible, no matter how high he felt. And he felt pretty damn high, thank you very much. Eat your heart out, cloud nine.

He was aware not being able to stay just like this forever meant that Cross would have to pull away at some point, but when that point came and he felt the teeth let up from gnawing down on him, he still whined, clinging just that bit harder like he could convince Cross not to stop.

Cross huffed a tiny (and wet) laugh into his neck, as if amused by Dust’s desperation. Dust found that he didn’t care all that much. If he could keep this feeling, bottle it up and hide it away for eternity, Cross could think he’s clingy.

But Cross didn’t pull away, much to Dust’s surprised elation. His tongue manifested so he could run it over the bleeding indents his teeth had left, little kittenish licks to clean the spilling marrow and soothe any stinging, no matter that Dust reveled in it. It felt just as good, if not better, so he had nothing to complain about.

His neck felt hot, warm, and his mind was fuzzy, and his body so lax it was a miracle he hadn’t melted halfway into the mattress. He certainly felt like he was two seconds away from doing just that. 

“Cross,” he whispered without realizing it. His voice sounded equal parts reverent and amazed. He could feel Cross, even when he stopped licking, even when he did finally pull himself away, back to looming over Dust, who was now fully shaking. He looked fucked out and they had done absolutely nothing sexual.

It made Cross glow with pride.

He traced the angry-red marks on Dust’s neck with his eyelights, and then with his fingers as well, touch so soft it was barely there. The almost-fear that he would wake up at any time with how much he had always wanted to do this. From the very first moment he had learned he was not actually a xi. And now Dust was his.

Of course, Dust had always been his, but not like this. And Cross was the first. He was still reeling from it, if he were honest. His fingers passed over the marks, over and over as Dust shivered; he definitely felt it even more intimately than Cross.

“Dust,” he breathed, equally as reverent as Dust calling his name, “Thank you.”

Dust’s gaze sharpened just a smidge, and he frowned, “Thank you?” he echoed, “What for?”

“For letting me do this. Thank you for letting me love you. For letting me claim you. And—and for being you, and—”

Cross realized he’d started rambling, and with flaming cheeks, forced his mouth shut. It was just a lot. 

Maybe it was a lot for Dust, too. He took some time before he replied, mulling the words over. He lifted one hand from Cross’ shoulder to his own neck so he could touch the marks himself. He still shivered, even under his own touch.

“Thank you ,” he said eventually, staring at Cross with so much intensity it made him want to squirm. He didn’t. “I love you too.”

Taken aback by such direct admission, especially from Dust, who was usually reserved and spoke around his words, Cross floundered, not knowing what to do, and had to look away when Dust’s gaze became too much.

“Um— Uh… I—” He stammered, not quite sure what he wanted to say in the first place, “I brought you breakfast! Thought you might be hungry after a heat…”

His eyelights had fallen onto the tray he’d set onto the bedside table — a perfect topic changer, yes! Dust followed his line of sight and eyed the stack of pancakes between the bowl of fruit and the mug of coffee (which was probably cold by now).

“My beloved beta,” Dust sighed, his face falling into a soft, relaxed smile. Before Cross could have another meltdown about Dust being so directly affectionate, he added with a note of sarcasm, “What would I do without you?”

“Well, skip breakfast, probably.”

Good thing he had Cross.

Chapter Text

Dust shuffles into the kitchen, the circles under his sockets dark and his shoulders hunched. He doesn’t say much, barely even sighs, just grabs a glass of water and leans against the counter like it’s the only thing holding him up.  

Nightmare watches him from the doorway, having followed the scent of roses trailing him like a physical lead, arms crossed. “You look like hell.”  

“Feel like it,” Dust mutters, rubbing at his temple in agitation.  

“Heat?” Nightmare asks, as if he doesn’t already know.  

Dust hesitates, then nods. It’s rare for him to admit it outright, not without snark and bossiness, but ever since Cross has done his best to get him addicted to being treated during them (and giving him a claiming bite. mostly that, honestly), Dust is finding it harder and harder to do his usual avoidance schtick around the gang.

Before, he wouldn't have paraded himself in the common rooms, only the short trek straight to Nightmare at most.

“Let me help,” Nightmare implores, stepping closer.  

Dust scoffs weakly. “I’m fine. It’ll be fine.” He doesn’t have anything planned for the next few days, and he can probably ride it out alone, sequester himself in his room before it gets too bad and sleep it off. Maybe pull out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s to numb the cramps.  

“Sure, but you don’t have to go through it alone anymore. Wasn’t that the whole reason you’ve finally told the others as well?” Nightmare’s tone is firm but not pushy. A true gentleman. A true alpha. “Let me at least make you a nest. You’ll feel better.”  

Dust’s teeth curl into a grimace. He does want that, and hates how Nightmare immediately clocks it, but he’s gotten so used to suppressing the urges and not appearing weak that it’s hard to admit. Plus, a small part of his mind always, without fail, brings up the possibility that Nightmare (or the others, it doesn’t matter) only ever offers because he’s an omega, and you have to keep the omega happy, or whatever.  

Sometimes, the fact they’re sweet on him outside of his heats, too, counters that thought. Not always.  

He's trying, though.

Still, he hesitates, his fingers tightening around the glass before he sets it down. “Fine. Just don’t… don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”  

Not every time has to be a whole big thing, right? Right?? It's always his only real request, and yet each time it ends up feeling like a whole big thing.

Nightmare’s grin is subtle but unmistakable. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, absolutely dreaming of it, already moving toward the living room. 

Distantly, maybe a little self-indulgently, Dust sometimes wonders what it would look like if Nightmare (or one of the others) actually made a big deal out of it, if not making a big deal out of it already felt like so much.

He trails behind, a frown on his face. The living room isn't exactly not making a big deal out of it. In fact, it’s about as obvious as an ambulance siren. Any of the others could, quite literally, just stumble in on them. Is that what Nightmare’s going for? Does he want the others to come in and get a piece of him?

Does Dust want that?

Almost ashamedly, he realizes he kind of does. Having all four of them, his whole pack, to help out for once, sounds quite nice. His heat scent spikes, drenching the room in flowery bullshit. Dust ducks his head, trying to hide further in his hood, like he can escape being so easy. Cross ruined him. He’d had a system that worked, and one heat spent properly nesting with someone had ruined it, made him crave it.

Nightmare doesn’t waste time polemicizing like Dust does. He gathers blankets and pillows from a wardrobe inexplicably placed in the corner of the living room. Which is weird. But if it has those things, he probably put it there for reasons such as this, which… is sweet, he supposes. On hand for whenever someone's heat strikes. He even grabs the shirt Dust had left lying around a few days ago.

He arranges the blankets into a cozy, pillowy pile on the couch after pulling it out, fluffing them just right and framing them around the couch cushions. It isn’t exactly orthodox; Dust’s own nest is on his mattress, and anything anyone else ever made for him was also on a bed, or even on the floor in a corner. The couch is in the middle of the room, only really providing one meager wall with the backrest. He’ll be on display, pretty much, and that makes something sharp prickle at his heating bones.

‘A whore on display,’ Paps agrees in his head, vicious and derogatory, making Dust flinch in on himself a little where he stands, off to the side watching the guardian fuss with the fabrics.

Dust huffs, but his eyelights keep drifting to the nest taking shape. It looks cozy. Almost too cozy. Like it’s mocking him for trying to resist, trying its best to undermine Paps.

Nightmare tucks the shirt around one of the pillows, wrapping it up like it was a pillowcase, and pats it. The whole ordeal doesn’t take more than a few minutes, but the care he puts into it is palpable.

“How’s this?” the guardian asks, glancing over him with a smile that’s way too soft and fond. Dust’s magic gives a traitorous pang. Heat is starting to creep up into his cheeks. He’s itching to crawl into the nest and burrow into its obvious warmth. He hesitates, though, because of course he does.

“Looks good,” he says instead, shuffling a foot.

Nightmare sees right through him. “Go on. It’s for you, isn’t it? It’s okay to want it.”

Yeah, they’re all vehemently trying to convince him of that, and he does believe it. At least when it comes to literally anyone that, you know, isn’t him. It’s still hard to allow himself to want the stereotypically omega stuff without feeling bad. If the nest were for, say, Killer, he’d be encouraging him to get in too. His brother sneers about weakness, and how pathetic of an image he’s painting right now, and Dust wants him to shut up and the cramps to go away.

“Fine,” he mutters, crawling into the nest with all the grace of a pissed-off cat. He flops down, pulling a blanket over himself like a shield.

Nightmare chuckles, reaching over to adjust the other blankets around him. “Comfy?”  

Dust snorts despite himself. He can't really keep up the prickly attitude. “Yeah, yeah. Alpha of the year.” It’s meant as a lighthearted jab, but the smile still plastered on Nightmare’s face tells him he’s taken it at face value, like a compliment. Which isn’t the worst thing, he supposes.  

Having gotten his fill of the softness and wiggling around on it to settle the fabrics, he pushes the blanket back off and reaches for the zipper of his hoodie. He tugs it down, shucking the article. The guardian watches him like a hawk, so much so he can't help but squirm as he tucks it next to himself.  

“Don't look at me like that. It’s just... warm in here,” he says, the lamest excuse in the history of excuses, avoiding Nightmare’s gaze as the glow of his ecto becomes much more prominent without the hoodie.  

“You’re warm,” Nightmare points out, deadpan. “It’s called a heat for a reason.”

He turns and heads for the door, and Dust presses himself into the corner of the nest, against the armrest like a physical response to the lack of proximity. "You're not staying...?" he calls after Nightmare, hating how whiny his voice sounds. His cunt aches, unfilled. "Not gonna fuck me?"  

Nightmare freezes, turning back to give him the most SOUL-crushing look. "Oh, Dusty, of course I will. I'm going to grab you some water and snacks, so I don't have to leave later. Just a moment, okay?"  

He disappears into the kitchen, leaving Dust to fidget in the nest. The warmth is already getting to him, and he tugs at the hem of his shirt, trying to cool down. The cramps jolt him here and there, getting worse by the minute, even if nesting makes it marginally better.

The sound of footsteps pulls him out of his head. It isn’t Nightmare. 

Horror’s towering frame appears in the doorway, his eye alight with curiosity and nose bridge scrunching as he sniffs the scent Dust keeps leaking like the slick in his shorts. “Hey,” he says, his voice low and raspy like he’s just woken up, “Need anythin’?”

Dust hesitates, but the ache in his bones and the growing need between his legs make the decision for him. “Yeah,” he mutters, shifting uncomfortably. "A good knot." 

Which is as good an invitation as anything.  

Nightmare reappears with a glass of water in one hand and a plate of snacks balanced in the other, just in time to see Horror crouching down by the nest. Horror’s already taken Dust’s shoes off, tossing them aside carelessly, and is working on peeling the socks off next. Dust grumbles but doesn’t stop him, his legs sprawled out and his shirt hitched up just enough to show the faint glow of his ecto. 

He sets the water and snacks on the side table for later, close enough to reach but not at risk of being knocked over. He raises a browbone at the scene but doesn’t say anything, just kneels on the edge of the nest, next to Dust, and runs a hand along Dust’s exposed ribs, tugging the shirt off. Dust shudders at the touch, his breath hitching.  

“Need you,” the omega mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands fist into the blankets, the leylines in his knuckles fading.  

“We know, sweetsoul,” Nightmare says, his tone soft, “You have us. You’re doing so good for us already.”  

Horror leans in, his breath warm against Dust’s neck. “Bet you’re soaked already, huh?” he rasps, fingers curling around Dust’s hips.  

Dust’s face flushes darker, his hips jerking forward like he can’t help it. He can't; heats make him so weak to even simple words. “Stop talkin’ and do somethin’ about it,” he snaps, but his voice cracks, making it sound more like a plea. The fact he’s starting to slur his words isn’t helping his case, either.

Horror acquiesces, his fingers dipping under the waistband of Dust’s shorts. Dust’s back arches, a strangled noise escaping him as Horror’s fingers brush against his slick.

“Fuck,” Dust gasps, his legs trembling, "Yessss."

The beta pulls his shorts down in one smooth motion, leaving him bare and squirming in the middle of the nest. His ecto glows brighter, swirls of magic under the surface, slick pooling beneath him and staining the blankets.  

“Look at you,” Nightmare murmurs, trailing a hand down Dust’s thigh. “So pretty like this. What a good omega, letting us in. Letting us take care of you.”  

Even that bit of praise has more slick leaking out of him. How embarrassing.  

Horror chuckles, low and rough. “Mmhm, someone’s eager. Good boy.”  

For all the teasing, he doesn’t really hesitate, though. He kneels between Dust’s splayed legs and licks a stripe up Dust’s cunt, making him jerk and gasp as he slurps up the slick.  

“Fuck! You’re such an asshole,” Dust hisses, but his hands come to Horror’s skull, holding him in place. His left digs in, but he’s careful about the hole on the other side. Horror’s big, lovely tongue starts licking into him, occasionally flicking up over his clit, each time sending a jolt of pure want up his spine. It’s wonderful, but not enough.  

Nightmare watches with a hungry look, one hand lazily stroking himself as Horror works Dust up. His shorts cling to his thighs, pushed down enough to give him space. Dust watches right back, eyelights glued to the base of Nightmare’s cock, the barely-there swell of his unfilled knot. It’d stretch him so good. He wants it, needs it. “You’re the one begging for it, dear.”

“I’m not — ah! — beggin’,” Dust chokes out, though his trembling voice says otherwise.

Horror hums against him, the vibrations sending sparks through Dust’s body. He bucks his hips, chasing more friction, more anything. 

Fine then, if he has to beg to get what he wants (needs), he’ll beg.  

“Hng— Need you,” he gasps, voice strained as he forces the words out. His cheeks are aflame, but he doesn't let it stop him. “Please. Need your knots.”  

Nightmare’s grin widens as he moves closer, one hand gripping the back of the couch for balance. “Since you asked so nicely,” he purrs, lining himself up with Dust’s entrance when Horror moves to make room for him. Dust bites his lip, his legs wrapping around Nightmare’s waist like they’ve got a mind of their own.  

Just as Nightmare pushes in, dragging a near-shout from Dust, the creak of the door interrupts them. Cross stands there, peeking in like he’s not sure if he’s invited. His eyelights dart between the three of them, and his face flushes, all the way down to his neck.  

“Uh... am I... interrupting?” Cross stammers, scratching the back of his skull awkwardly.  

Dust groans, throwing an arm over his flaming face. “Cross,” he whines, the claiming bite on his neck throbbing , “C’mere!”  

Cross’ hesitation crumbles instantly. He climbs into the nest in record time, his hands shaky but eager. Dust reaches for him, pulling him close. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice rough but soft, eyelights wide and shaky, bleeding out at the edges. He looks at Cross like he's hung the stars into the night sky. “Missed you.”  

Cross’ face flushes deeper, but he doesn’t shy away. “Missed you too,” he says, his fingers brushing over the claiming bite on Dust’s neck. He leans in, pressing a kiss to the mark, and Dust shivers, his body arching into the touch, exactly what he craves.

Cross can't stop himself, his fingers brushing over Dust’s neck again and again, tracing the claiming bite like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Dust shivers under the touch, a low whine slipping out as his eyelights flicker, vaguely heart-shaped. “Please,” he whimpers, tilting his head to give Cross better access, "Bite me, bite me, bite me!"

There’s no way in hell Cross can refuse him. He gets comfortable against Dust’s side, latching onto his neck, fangs worrying over the mark and sinking into the sensitive bone, much to the smaller’s vocal approval.

Horror chuckles at his eagerness and leans over to give him a quick but filthy kiss, not one to be forgotten. He keeps one hand lazily circling Dust’s clit, worrying the small nub between two fingers, the other stroking himself in rhythm with Nightmare’s slow thrusts. Dust squirms, his legs twitching as he tries to press into both touches at once.

Nightmare doesn’t rush, even if Dust wants him to. His pace stays steady and deep, drawing out every gasp and whimper from Dust. “You’re doing so good, sweetsoul,” he murmurs, his hands gripping Dust’s hips firmly, the ecto pliant and giving under his touch. Dust’s breath hitches, his body melting into the nest, boneless between them all even as he writhes.

His voice cracks, his words spilling out in a desperate whine he can't stop. “Please— claim me too,” he begs, his hands fumbling to grab at Nightmare and Horror, pawing at them clumsily. “I need it. Need you both. Please, please, please—”

Cross, fat cock rutting against Dust’s side, groans at the sight of his desperation. “Fuck,” he mutters, his hips stuttering as he presses closer, as if Dust had just said the hottest thing ever. His hands grip around Dust’s waist, like he can’t get enough — like he never could. He pulls away from Dust’s neck to make space for the others, presenting him like he's Cross’ to present. The thought does things to Dust's insides.

Nightmare’s smile softens, a rare glimpse of something tender for his boys only as he leans in, his breath hot against Dust’s neck. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you? That's okay, though, you deserve it,” he teases, not unkindly, but his teeth graze the bone anyway, sharp and promising.

“Yeah… not like we wouldn’t,” Horror agrees, his mouth already pressed to Dust’s other side. He nips playfully before sinking his teeth in, making Dust gasp and arch between them, spine curving beautifully.  

Dust’s breath hitches, his body trembling under the weight of it all. “Yesss,” he hisses, choking as they mark him, claim him. His magic pulses, the heat in his bones flaring brighter, sharper. He feels them both in his magic, the intent to pleasure him, please him, flowing through him in stereo. Desperately, he clings to Cross, digging his claws into his arms as the sensation makes everything feel like so much more.  

Nightmare’s thrusts grow uneven, his rhythm faltering as he gets closer. “Hold on, sweetsoul,” he murmurs, his voice thick and shaky with impending release as he pulls away, though he obviously doesn’t want to, “Gonna fill you up.”  

Dust doesn’t have time to respond before Horror’s fingers are moving again, flicking over his clit in quick, rough strokes. He cries out, his hips jerking, his entire body on fire.  

Cross’ voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re so perfect,” he mumbles against his neck, his teeth worrying his own claiming bite again, making Dust shiver.  

Dust can’t think, can’t speak. All he can do is feel, and it’s too much, and not enough, and— “Fuck, yes,” he chokes out unconsciously, his body tensing as the pleasure builds, threatening to sweep him away.  

His breath hitches as Nightmare’s thrusts grow even deeper, more urgent, holding his hips for a good angle. His claws dig into Cross harder, the pressure building until it snaps. Dust cries out, his body arching as he comes, slick soaking the nest beneath him.  

Nightmare groans at the sudden pressure squeezing down on him, his hips stuttering as he pushes in one last time, his knot swelling and locking them together. Dust gasps, his legs trembling around Nightmare’s waist as he’s filled, stretched wide, the warmth spreading through him like liquid fire.

Dust’s breathing gradually slows from frantic panting, but the heat still burns under his bones. He shifts under Nightmare, who’s still locked inside him, the knot deflating slowly while the guardian watches his own cum shining faintly through Dust’s ecto. Dust’s hands wander, grabbing Cross and Horror’s cocks, stroking them both.  

“Fuck, Dust,” Cross mutters, his voice heavy with something akin to awe.  

Nightmare groans as he finally pulls out, his magic shimmering faintly. Dust wastes no time, tugging Cross into position over him. “Your turn, c'mon, c'mon,” he says, his voice low and hungry, but Nightmare stops him with a chiding click of his tongue. 

"Not until you drink," he says, pulling the glass he’d prepared closer with a tentacle.  

Dust has to let go of Horror’s cock (a shame) to take hold of it, draining it in three big gulps. He hadn’t even realized his throat was parched.  

"Happy?" he asks, squirming as the heat returns with a vengeance.  

The guardian leans over, giving him a soft peck to the side of his skull, awfully gross and affectionate and Dust melts into it. "Very."  

That dealt with, Dust turns back to Cross with a pleading look. The guard lines himself up, sinking into him with a groan. Dust arches into him, gripping Cross’ shoulders with a satisfied sigh. Being filled again keeps the budding need at bay for a moment.  

“Feel good?” Cross asks.  

Dust can do nothing but nod, so vehemently it's a miracle his neck doesn't snap.

The pace Cross sets is slow but steady, his hands gripping Dust’s hips, over where Nightmare had marked them with his own hands before, as he presses in deeper. Dust moans, tipping his head back as he reaches for Horror again, wrapping his hand around the beta’s cock.  

“Fuck, you’re so tight—” Cross’ voice shakes, his thrusts growing uneven much faster than normal. Dust just squeezes down on him, stroking Horror faster, reveling in the way the taller skeleton’s breath hitches.  

The door creaks open again, and Killer stumbles in, his sockets wide as he takes in the scene, flushed from the way Dust must’ve been stinking up the whole castle with his pheromones by now. “Well, shit,” he says, “How come no one invited me?”  

Dust doesn't even hesitate this time. “Get over here,” he demands.

Killer raises a browbone, but he's already pulling his sweats down. “Someone’s bossy,” he teases, kneeling at the edge of the nest.

“Fuck me,” Dust whines, his eyelights flickering and bright as he glances between Cross and Killer. “Both of you. Now. C’mon, please, c’mon!”

Killer doesn’t need to be told twice. Between the two of them, they hoist Dust up, Cross’ cock unfortunately slipping out of him for a moment as he settles on the guard’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck. Killer molds himself against Dust’s sweaty back, fitting there like he’s made for it, and Dust whines when he feels Killer’s cock drag across his back, rutting between his asscheeks. He lines himself up, pressing into Dust alongside Cross. Dust gasps, his body arching as he's stretched wide.  

“Fuck,” he chokes out, his hands scratching over Cross’ scapula through his shirt.  

Cross groans, his hips jerking forward harshly. “You’re— you’re so tight,” he mutters, his voice strained. If he thought Dust was tight before, it’s nothing compared to how it feels now, pressed snugly against Killer’s cock.  

Killer chuckles, thrusting shallowly. “Like that, huh?”  

Dust can only nod, his words caught in his throat. Cross and Killer move together, their rhythm faltering but steady enough to drive him wild.  

Horror watches the show with clear appreciation for a moment, before he tugs one of Dust’s arms from around Cross, bringing it back to his weeping cock. He keeps it there, wrapped around Dust’s, guiding them both as he strokes himself. “You’re takin’ it so good,” he rasps, his voice rough and dropped low with need.  

Dust’s magic pulses, his body writhing as he’s filled, stretched, and used. “More,” he pleads, delirious with pleasure.  

Killer licks across his teeth, leaning in to nip at Dust’s neck. The new claiming bites stand out starkly on his bones and he feels just a little left out. Not for long, though. He sinks his teeth into an unmarred spot, tasting Dust’s magic on his tongue and groaning into the bone as he fucks into the smaller skeleton harder.

Dust whimpers, his mind blank except for the overwhelming pleasure.  

Horror’s breath hitches, his hand gripping Dust’s tighter as they both stroke him. “Close,” he rasps, a warning.

Dust’s eyelights flick up, his head tilting back as he watches eagerly, pressed against the crook of Cross’ neck. “Do it, yes,” he pants, his voice shaky with anticipation, “C’mon, cover me.”  

Horror groans, his hips jerking as his cum spills over their hands and onto Dust’s torso. Thick ropes of it paint his ribs, sternum, even his collarbone. Dust shivers, his magic glowing brighter under the warmth.  

“Fuck,” he mutters, trembling. He reaches down, scooping some up with his fingers and bringing it to his mouth. The way he sucks on his own fingers, lapping the maroon magic off like he can't get enough, makes Horror’s cock twitch and dribble with another weak spurt.

Cross groans, his hips stuttering. “Fuck, Dust... You’re— you’re so good… Wonderful little mate, fuck—”  

Killer’s hands grip Dust’s hips below Cross’ hands, holding him steady as they both fuck into him with relentless force. Dust’s body arches, his magic pulsing as he's stretched to the brink, their cocks pressing against every sensitive spot inside him.  

“Gonna knot you, little ’mega,” Killer growls, his voice low and rough.  

Cross’ breathing hitches, his movements growing erratic as he presses deeper. “Fuck, I’m close too,” he mutters, around growled moans. Dust whimpers, his body trembling as he clings to him, claws digging into his back and slipping with the sweat and cum still coating his hand.  

“Yeah, c’mon,” Dust pants, his voice cracking, “Knot me. Need it.”  

Cross groans, his hips stuttering as he pushes in one last time, his knot swelling and locking them together. Dust gasps, his body arching as he’s filled, the cum mixing with Horror’s, overfilling him until he feels bloated, stomach stretching to accommodate it.  

“Fuck, yes,” Cross mutters breathily, his skull dropping as he presses his forehead against Dust’s shoulder, riding out the high.  

Killer groans, his thrusts growing more frantic as he pushes into Dust, dragging against Cross’ knot. He has to work for it now, with what little give Dust's walls have full like that, but fuck if it isn't worth it. “Fuck, holy shit,” he mutters, broken, breathy. Dust gasps, his hands clutching Cross’ shoulders as he feels Killer’s knot begin to swell alongside it. The pressure’s intense, almost overwhelming, but it’s exactly what he needs.  

“Yes, yes,” Dust pants, his words slurring together as he arches, but unable to get anywhere with the way he's locked to Cross. “Fill me up. Both of you. C’mon, I can take it.” 

Killer's SOUL jerks where it's hovering between them, over Dust's back.

His hips jerk forward one last time, pushing and pushing until his knot pops in, locking into place alongside Cross’, filling him even further. Dust’s body spasms, a strangled moan escaping him as he’s stretched to his limit. The feeling of being utterly full, so completely claimed, sparks his magic wildly.  

As he’s filled with spurt after spurt, stomach pressing against Cross’ abdomen, he comes again, crying as his slick drenches their laps and the nest.

"So, so perfect, wonderful, lovely Dusty," Cross coos, holding his trembling form.  

"Took it all so well. Lovely, darling, perfect omega for us," Killer agrees, peppering Dust’s back with kisses, over each vertebra he can reach.  

Dust shivers, his body still trembling from the intensity of it all. “Loved it,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, “Love you.”  

Cross and Killer exchange a glance over Dust’s shoulder, then with Horror and Nightmare hovering nearby, softened by the moment. “Yeah,” Cross says quietly, his fingers brushing over Dust’s ribs and nuzzling the side of his skull. “We know. We love you too.”  

They stay like that until Cross and Killer’s knots go down, allowing them to slip out of Dust’s overused cunt. He whines as they do, shivering and slumping his whole weight against Cross, who adjusts to accommodate him. They lower him back onto the blankets, as gently as they can. He immediately snuggles into the soft warmth, content with the heat beaten back, full up on his pack’s magic and surrounded by their scents.  

Nightmare’s the first to break the silence, slipping a tentacle around the plate of snacks he’d brought earlier and holding it to grab a clementine wedge to offer up to Dust. "Eat," he says, "You need it."  

Dust groans, his face still half-buried in the nest. "M’not hungry," he mumbles back, though the way he eyes the fruit says otherwise, and he still opens his mouth. Nightmare happily pops it between his teeth.  

Dust chews slowly, his eyelights, still hazy and pleased, cutting up to meet Nightmare’s approving gaze. "Happy now?" he echoes himself.  

"Not yet," Nightmare says, holding the glass of water he’d gone to refill in the middle of Dust getting his insides rearranged to his mouth next. "Drink."  

Dust rolls his eyelights but obeys, gulping down the water until the glass’s empty. "There. You’re so bossy. I'm supposed to be the bossy one."  

Cross shifts, pulling Dust closer so he can rest against his chest. Dust sighs, nuzzling into the warmth, his energy spent but his body still thrumming with contentment. Horror sprawls out beside them, one arm lazily draped over Dust’s waist, his fingertips brushing over the swollen dome of his stomach. Killer flops down at Dust’s feet, propping himself up on an elbow to watch them with a lazy, content grin.  

“Comfy?” he teases, low and amused.  

Dust mumbles something incoherent, curling tighter into Cross.  

They’re the worst. Absolute worst. They’re spoiling him rotten with all this nesting crap, and the mushy stuff, the fact that he’s now claimed by all of them, and acting like an actual pack. He’ll grow to want this, every time. Well, at least he can blame all of it, the whole thing, on Cross alone.  

As if in punishment, he jabs a finger at his chest, perfectly striking between two ribs and making Cross jump with a startled yelp. He gives Dust a betrayed look, wiggling to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling, but he doesn’t pull away or anything.  

Good.  

He has to deal with the snuggles just like everyone else, for doing this to Dust.  

He lets his sockets slip shut, feet tangling with Horror’s. Sleep tugs at him, and he sees no reason to fight it, not with how comfortable he is.  

Nightmare stays awake a little longer after they’ve all fallen asleep, one after the other, watching over them with quiet vigilance. His tentacles twitch, adjusting the blankets where they’ve slipped off Killer’s legs. When he’s sure they’re all settled and dozing comfortably, he finally lets himself relax, his own instincts appeased at the sight of their omega satisfied and with no pain lingering, all their betas in his sight. The whole pack under his watch.

The nest is warm, safe, and full. Exactly where they all belong, even if Dust can’t accept it fully yet.