Archive of Our Own ^beta

It becomes a thing after that first night.

How could it not? Now that they know how good they can make each other feel, keeping their hands to themselves becomes nearly impossible. It’s too easy—too tempting—for Louis to end up in someone’s lap, cock buried in him, riding slow and sweet in the back of the tour bus or sneaking off for a quick fuck before an interview.

No one’s surprised anymore when one of the alphas slips into his dressing room before a show—pressing him up against the wall, fucking him deep and fast, or dropping to their knees to eat him out until he’s shaking. Louis isn’t complaining. A steady stream of mind-blowing, toe-curling sex is exactly what he needs to cope with the pressure of being in the biggest boy band in the world.

Right now, he’s in Niall’s lap, straddling him and taking his cock slow, stuffed full and purring with satisfaction. The two of them are lazily sharing an ice cream cone, lips sticky with vanilla and soft moans between bites.

Louis shifts his hips just right and moans, head falling back. “Nialler, we’ve got to hurry,” he pants, breath hitching. “Interview’s in ten minutes. You’re gonna have to hold back your knot.”

Niall groans, leaning in to lick a smear of melted ice cream off Louis’ lower lip. “I had to hold back last time. I want to knot you so bad.”

Louis grins wickedly, bouncing harder now, the sharp slap of skin meeting skin echoing in the quiet room. “Then maybe stop fucking me when we’re on a timer.”

“Sorry I don’t get more chances,” Niall mutters, lips brushing Louis’ jaw as he nips at it. “Kinda hard when I have to share you with three other slick-hungry bastards. I’ve gotta take you when I can.” He takes another bite of the quickly melting cone like he’s not buried balls-deep inside an omega.

“You know I try to give you all equal attention,” Louis says through a breathless giggle. Then, more urgently, “You better wrap your pasty fingers around your knot ‘cause I can feel it swelling.”

Niall groans but listens, quickly making a tight circle with his fingers at the base of his cock, holding back the knot just in time.

Louis rides him harder, the slick, hot stretch of him clenching as his orgasm builds fast and sharp. He wraps a hand around his cock, jerking in time with his thrusts until he’s gasping, stuttering through his climax. His come spills messily into his hand, his hole fluttering around Niall’s cock.

“Shit—fuck, I’m coming,” Niall gasps, hips jerking up. Louis feels the heat of it, a rush of come flooding inside him.

They slump against each other, breath mingling as they try to pull themselves together—just in time for a sharp knock at the door.

“Lads, they need us now,” Liam calls through the wood.

Niall groans, trying to compose himself. “Alright, Li,” he calls back, voice almost steady.

He tosses the abandoned cone in the trash while Louis slips off him with a hiss. Still dazed, he immediately grabs for his plug—an absolute necessity when he’s getting filled like this all the time. He eases it in with practiced ease, trapping Niall’s come inside him before grabbing a tissue to wipe his sticky hand clean.

They dress fast, spritzing on scent neutralizer to mask the obvious stench of sex that clings to their skin. It’s a weak effort, honestly. Everyone probably already knows.

The fans definitely do. Louis has seen the posts online. They notice everything—from how the boys touch him more on stage, to the way he sometimes disappears mid-set and comes back flushed and limping. The love bites littering his collarbones don’t help either, even if wardrobe and makeup do their best to cover them up. Fans are too observant for their own good.

But Louis can’t bring himself to care. They’re not exactly being subtle, and he’s having way too much fun to stop. He’s never gotten over a breakup this fast before. Hell, he hasn’t thought about Eleanor since the morning after she left him—the same day the boys first wrecked him.

They exit the dressing room together, only to be met by the other three alphas. Harry, Zayn, and Liam all grin knowingly, eyes flicking from Louis’ flushed face to Niall’s smug one.

“Enjoy yourselves?” Zayn asks, raising a brow.

Louis just smirks. “Always.”

***

The rest of the tour is a blur of stadium lights, screaming fans, and secret rendezvous.

They hit city after city, and somehow the routine never gets old. Soundcheck, press, show, hotel. Rinse and repeat. But woven into that routine is the constant, electrifying tension between Louis and his alphas—an unspoken agreement that wherever they are, however tight the schedule, they’ll find a way to touch him, claim him, remind him he’s theirs.

In Tokyo, Zayn has him pressed up against a hotel window with the skyline glittering beneath them, slow and deep inside him as Louis moans his name softly, trying not to be too loud in case the security detail hears.

In Seoul, Liam pulls him into the shower after a performance and fucks him hard under the spray, steam fogging up the mirrors as Louis cries out his name, slipping on the wet tile and laughing breathlessly when Liam catches him.

In Sydney, it’s Harry’s turn to take him apart. They skip the afterparty and sneak back to the tour bus early, and Harry knots him on one of the bunks, whispering filthy praise into his ear as Louis comes for the second time in five minutes.

They don’t talk about what it means. Not really. Louis thinks about it sometimes—how easily it’s all become second nature. How safe and wanted he feels. How his scent has changed just slightly, the way omegas’ scents do when they’re claimed regularly, even if not bonded. He catches the fans mentioning it sometimes, how “settled” he smells now when he signs autographs or walks past them. It makes something tight coil in his chest, something he doesn’t want to name yet.

The atmosphere backstage is familiar and electric, but there’s an underlying edge of anticipation that none of them acknowledge directly. Not at first. Louis knows they’ve noticed—how could they not? His heat’s due in a few days, and his scent’s already starting to shift. It’s subtle now, just a little sweeter, a little more magnetic, but they’re alphas. Of course they know.

Still, no one says anything until Louis finally breaks the silence. He’s sitting on a speaker case, legs swinging, casually peeling the label off his water bottle.

“So,” he starts, tone light but deliberate. “You lot been thinking about what I’m supposed to do when my heat hits?”

The other boys exchange a few loaded glances—like they were just waiting for him to bring it up.

“We figured it was coming soon,” Liam says, arms folded. “You usually get it around the end of the second tour month.”

“Yeah,” Zayn adds, calm and matter-of-fact. “You’ve been getting clingy and your scent’s been turning all syrupy. Hard not to notice.”

“You got your blockers packed?” Niall asks, brows furrowing.

“I do,” Louis replies, swirling the water in his bottle. “I just… I don’t know if I wanna use them this time. Been thinking about trying to ride it out naturally. Maybe hole up in a hotel somewhere and let it pass.”

Harry makes a low sound in his throat. “You were gonna do that on your own?”

Louis gives him a look. “What, you lot expected me to ask one of you to help me through it?”

“Well, yeah,” Zayn says, like it’s obvious. “We’ve already been fucking you for weeks, Lou. Why wouldn’t we help with your heat?”

“Especially when you’re gonna be all needy and sweet and wet for days,” Niall adds, grinning.

Louis stares at them, momentarily caught off guard. “You’re serious?”

Liam chuckles, leaning forward. “We’ll take shifts if we have to, omega. No way are we letting you go through that alone.”

Louis blinks, then quickly schools his face into a smirk. “Didn’t know you were all so eager to spend a week buried in me.”

Harry leans in close, breath hot against his ear. “You didn’t know that? Really?”

And okay, maybe Louis’ cheeks burn a little at that. Maybe his scent sweetens just slightly, betraying how flustered and pleased he is. But he rolls his eyes, tipping his head back dramatically.

“Fine. You wanna fuck me through my heat, be my guests. Just don’t expect me to be polite when I’m feral.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Zayn murmurs, already looking forward to it.

And when they take the stage minutes later, Louis is grinning wide and glowing under the lights, because it’s official: he’s not going to face his heat alone. And he doesn’t say it out loud, but the fact that they offered—so easily, so confidently—means more than he’ll ever admit.

**

The next few days pass with a noticeable shift in the air around them.

Louis feels it first, of course. That slow, creeping heat humming under his skin, making him more sensitive, more aware. His skin feels too tight, his body too warm, and his patience paper-thin. Everything smells stronger—especially his bandmates. It’s infuriating how good they smell. How good they look. Even their voices start to hit differently.

And the worst part? They know.

They don’t even try to hide it.

Zayn starts carrying around little snacks he knows Louis likes. He feeds them to him on stage and backstage, casually brushing his fingers along Louis’ lips with each bite, like it’s nothing.

Niall keeps making him sit on his lap during soundcheck or in the van. Says it’s “easier” that way, but Louis can feel the firm press of his cock under him every time he squirms. And Niall never makes him move.

Harry has suddenly gotten handsy—resting his palm low on Louis’ back, or wrapping an arm around his waist like it belongs there. His scent’s thicker, more possessive, and Louis swears the alpha is purring half the time he touches him.

Liam, ever the responsible one, gives Louis little grounding touches—his hand at the back of Louis’ neck, a thumb brushing over his pulse, murmured reminders to breathe when Louis gets overwhelmed. He’s subtle but protective, like he’s already in full caretaker mode.

And Louis?

Louis tries so hard to play it cool. He rolls his eyes, swats their hands away half-heartedly, makes sarcastic comments to distract from the way he’s panting by the end of their sets, his thighs sticky with slick and his body aching for something.

He’s not even in full heat yet.

One morning, Louis wakes up flushed and writhing in his bunk, his fingers slipping inside his sleep shorts before he’s even fully conscious. He comes with a soft cry, biting down on his pillow, his scent cloying and sweet as it floods the bunk area. He knows they all smell it. They pretend not to—no one says a word—but later that day, Harry offers him his hoodie without asking, and Liam keeps a water bottle pressed into his hands every chance he gets.

On the third day, he’s curled up on the dressing room couch with Zayn playing with his hair, Niall rubbing his feet, and Harry rubbing circles into his lower back.

“You’re close,” Harry murmurs near his ear, nuzzling along his scent gland. “Bet your slick’s already dripping through your knickers.”

“Fuck off,” Louis mutters, but it comes out breathy and broken.

“We should get a room ready,” Liam says, calm but firm. “Tonight. Before it gets worse.”

Louis lets his eyes flutter shut, sinking into the warmth of the attention. He’s not quite in it yet. But he’s close. So close.

And they’re ready.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

Louis doesn’t even remember falling asleep.

One moment, he’s on the tour bus, curled under a blanket with his head in Zayn’s lap, half-lucid and sweaty. The next, he’s waking up somewhere softer—private. A hotel suite, maybe. Dimly lit. The air is thick with scent suppressants, but he can still smell them. All of them. His alphas.

His skin is too hot. His whole body aches in that familiar, unbearable way. His thighs are sticky. His hole flutters, empty and wanting, and he whimpers before he can stop himself.

A warm hand brushes hair from his face.

“Hi, love,” Harry’s voice says gently. “You’re here. You’re safe.”

Louis tries to blink the haze away. “I—I think it’s starting.”

“It is,” Liam confirms from somewhere nearby. “Your temperature spiked an hour ago. You’ve been whimpering in your sleep.”

Louis flushes, burying his face in the pillow. “God, that’s fuckin’ embarrassing.”

Harry chuckles, low and fond. “No it’s not. You sound so fucking pretty like that.”

He feels the bed dip beside him. Zayn’s scent washes over him next, grounding and smoky. “We’re gonna take care of you, yeah? All of us. You just focus on feeling good.”

Louis’ breath shudders as someone trails their hand down his back, slow and warm.

“Is this okay?” Liam asks softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re still lucid. We don’t want to start until you say.”

Louis nods slowly, then pushes up onto his elbows. “Y-Yeah. Please. I need—fuck, I need something.”

“Good boy,” Harry purrs, lips brushing over his nape. “Let us take care of our pretty omega.”

Hands are everywhere then—firm and reassuring. Niall’s palms against his thighs, coaxing them apart. Liam kissing his temple as he gently tugs off Louis’ soft sleep shorts, baring his dripping hole to the room. Zayn suckles at a mark on his inner thigh like he’s already drunk off the scent.

Louis is trembling. Every nerve ending is on fire.

Then Harry is behind him, bare and hard, teasing his entrance with slow, slick fingers. Louis lets out a broken moan at the first touch, pushing back instinctively.

“Someone’s needy,” Harry murmurs, voice darker now. “Think I should stretch you, or just slide right in?”

“Don’t—don’t tease me,” Louis pleads. “Please, Daddy, I can take it.”

The use of the word makes all of them groan.

Harry presses his cock forward, slow but deep, and Louis arches his back, mouth falling open on a gasp.

“Good boy,” Harry pants as he sinks all the way in. “You feel so perfect like this.”

Louis doesn’t answer. He can’t. His mind’s gone fuzzy already, every thrust sending sparks up his spine, every praise making his omega purr deep in his chest.

“Doing so well,” Liam says, brushing sweaty hair from Louis’ forehead. “So fucking pretty, Lou.”

When Harry pulls out to let Zayn take his place, Louis whines in protest, but the slick sound of Zayn’s cock breaching his stretched hole has him keening. Zayn goes harder, rougher, like he knows Louis needs it. Each slap of skin echoes in the room, sharp and obscene.

“Let him come,” Liam says, voice thick. “He needs it. Been holding out all day.”

Niall leans in, lips brushing Louis’ ear. “Come for us, baby. Show us how good you feel.”

And Louis does, crying out as his orgasm crashes through him, slick pouring from his hole, his cock untouched but throbbing.

But the heat inside Louis doesn’t subside—it never does, not this early. His cock stays hard, aching, twitching against his belly, and his hole clenches around nothing, fluttering with the desperate need to be filled again.

“I—I need all of you before anyone knots,” he begs, voice shaking as he arches his back, presenting himself like something wild and willing. “Please—need you all.”

Zayn pulls out with a slick pop, and Niall is there immediately, groaning as he shoves back inside. The shift is jarring, fast, and Louis gasps—whimpers—as Niall sets a punishing pace, fucking him deep and fast. His thighs tremble as he clutches the sheets in tight fists, burying his face in the pillow with a cry.

It’s too much. And it’s not enough.

He’s been through heats before—some of them rough, some of them soft. Eleanor had known how to handle him, how to knot him properly, how to soothe him with her voice and hands. But even she hadn’t made him feel like this.

This full. This loved. This owned.

Niall fucks him for a while, long enough that his body starts to feel slightly more grounded, but still not complete. His inner omega knows. It’s waiting. Reaching.

“Liam,” Louis breathes out, rolling his hips back despite the overstimulation. “Need you, please.”

Liam’s already moving. Niall withdraws, cock glistening, and Liam slides into the mess left behind with a deep, broken moan. He’s the biggest of them all—not by much, cause they’re all fucking huge but enough that Louis gasps, the stretch sending shockwaves through his body.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” Liam murmurs, voice low and soothing as he begins to move. “Taking me so fucking well.”

Every thrust rocks Louis forward on the bed, each one punching a soft noise out of him. His whole body is tingling, blood buzzing, brain going fuzzy at the edges. He needs something to tether himself to—something, someone—or he’s going to drop too quickly.

His eyes lock onto Harry, the closest alpha, lounging beside him with flushed cheeks and heavy eyes. Louis leans forward, lips parting as he takes Harry into his mouth without a word.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, startled and delighted all at once.

Louis moans around him, sucking him deep. Harry tastes sweet, just like always—all the fruit he eats clinging to the flavor of his precome. Louis swallows him down eagerly, letting his throat relax as he lets Harry fuck his mouth gently. A hand threads into his hair, not forcing, just holding, grounding.

It helps.

Slick coats Louis’ thighs, thick and obscene, and Liam groans as he pushes deeper, clearly struggling to hold back. Louis is dripping around him, squelching with every thrust.

“Jesus, Louis,” Niall says breathlessly as he jerks himself off. “It’s pouring out of you.”

“You smell so fucking good,” Zayn adds from the corner, hand tight around his own cock, watching with blown-out eyes.

Louis hums around Harry’s cock, lost in the feeling. He can feel both Harry’s and Liam’s knots beginning to swell. His body tenses, wanting—needing—to be knotted, but knowing he asked them to wait.

“I’m close,” Harry warns, voice cracking. “Gonna—fuck, gonna knot, baby.”

“Me too,” Liam growls, slamming into him harder, cock twitching as it begins to expand.

Louis just takes it—mouth stretched around Harry, ass clenching around Liam, slick everywhere, love bites all over his neck and thighs. He’s melting into it, fading into the haze, and he loves it. 

It happens almost at the same time—Liam’s knot pops inside him with a heavy, final stretch that splits Louis open in the best way, locking them together deep. Louis cries out around Harry’s cock just as Harry spills down his throat, thick and unrelenting. It’s too much, but he swallows anyway, throat working frantically as his eyes flutter shut.

And that’s when it happens.

His inner omega finally stills, content for the moment. A deep, bone-deep hum of satisfaction pulses through him. He shakes as he comes again, untouched—his cock jerking against the sheets as slick and come drip down his thighs. The pleasure melts into everything, echoing in his bones.

He feels full. He feels claimed.

He vaguely registers Niall and Zayn following soon after, soft groans and the wet sounds of their release filling the room as they come against his flushed skin. They don’t knot, though, holding back like good alphas, saving themselves for later when Louis will surely need more. Harry and Liam will need time to recover after their knots deflate—and Louis knows, instinctively, this is just the beginning.

He starts to float then—mind quiet, body buzzing. Omega space wraps around him like a weighted blanket, warm and heavy and soft. He’s pliant, relaxed, a little hazy. Everything feels slow and syrupy, like time doesn’t matter anymore.

Fingers trace over his damp skin. Lips brush against his back, his shoulder blades, his temple. Kisses everywhere. Hands pet his hair and stroke his thighs. Praise surrounds him like music.

“You did so good, baby.”

“Such a sweet little omega, letting us take care of you.”

“You’re perfect, Lou. So perfect.”

He smiles faintly, eyes fluttering closed. He can’t speak—not because he doesn’t want to, but because the words don’t feel necessary anymore. Everything he needs to say, they already know.

He drifts, wrapped in warmth and slick and their scent, and everything else fades away.

***

The next time Louis surfaces, it’s like coming up from underwater—slow and hazy, everything muffled by instinct and exhaustion. His cheek is pressed to warm skin, and he blinks blearily until the steady thump beneath his ear registers. Zayn. He’s curled around Zayn’s chest, the familiar scent of cedar and spice grounding him. But the dull ache in his thighs and the stretch inside him tells him he’s not just resting.

He shifts slightly and gasps softly, realizing his hole is still stuffed full. Not with one knot, but two—thick, pulsing knots nestled inside him, pressed tight together and locked deep. One is Niall’s, the other likely Zayn’s. The weight across his back confirms it as Niall murmurs sleepily, “Careful, baby, we’re still in you.”

Louis hums, voice scratchy and raw from overuse, and replies, “Figured.” His voice is hoarse, nothing but a rasp, his throat still sore from taking Harry earlier. He lets his body melt back into the warmth, the heavy, comforting fullness grounding him.

“You with us again, babe?” Zayn murmurs, brushing damp hair off Louis’ forehead with the back of his knuckles, his touch gentle and reverent.

“Not for long,” Louis admits, and closes his eyes briefly, feeling the comforting throb of post-knot bliss low in his belly. His body is sore, oversensitive, and humming with satisfaction—but he knows it won’t last. The next wave of his heat is already curling in his gut.

“You’ve been so good for us,” Niall whispers, lips pressed against his shoulder. His accent is thicker than usual, voice lazy with the afterglow.

Louis snorts softly. “Yeah, a good little rag doll. Needy, dripping mess of one.”

“Still mouthy even with two knots inside you,” Niall chuckles, nipping at his skin, but his hands rub soothing circles over Louis’ sides.

Zayn huffs a low laugh. “That’s our boy.”

Louis lets himself bask in the praise, cheeks flushed and warm. A strange, soft pride settles in his chest. Being fucked out and adored this thoroughly has quieted something primal in him, if only for now.

“Where’s Li and Haz?” he mumbles, finally noticing the absence of the other two alphas.

“They went to order food. Figured you’d need to recharge soon,” Zayn replies, still stroking through his hair. “Want anything specific?”

Louis considers, his belly feeling heavy and stretched. “Mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

Zayn smiles, reaching for his phone and typing out the request. “Done.”

Niall’s hands drift to Louis’ belly, splayed wide. He hums thoughtfully, pressing his palm against the curve. “You look four months pregnant.”

Louis lifts his head slightly and peers down. His stomach is noticeably rounded, distended from the sheer amount of come inside him, a visible imprint of how thoroughly his alphas have filled him. Instead of feeling embarrassed, a warm spark of satisfaction flares in his chest.

He presses a hand to his own belly, curious and a little awed. “God, I really do.”

It’s not a sight he’s used to, but he doesn’t mind it. In fact, he kind of loves it—feeling so clearly bred and adored, their claim on his body written in every inch of slicked, stretched skin.

Of course he’s thought about it before—carrying a pup, being swollen with life. What omega hasn’t? But his world doesn’t have room for babies. Sold-out tours, flashing cameras, headlines, and hidden truths don’t mix well with nursery paint and prenatal vitamins.

And yet… the way his inner omega purrs contentedly under Niall and Zayn’s touch makes him wonder. Even without a mate, without a bond, he feels tethered to these four boys who’ve claimed him in every way that counts.

He sighs, relaxing again between them as their knots begin to ease. He doesn’t want to think too hard. Not yet. For now, he just wants to float.

The door clicks open a while later, but Louis barely stirs. He’s too warm, too full, too content to move. He hears the soft rustling of paper bags being set on the table and footsteps padding across the room.

“Holy fuck,” Harry breathes, voice thick with awe.

Louis peeks one eye open, blinking slowly. He must look wrecked—his hair damp and curling at the edges, his skin flushed, belly round and tight. He’s sprawled across Zayn’s chest, still plugged snug with both his and Niall’s knots. His thighs are slick, his hips trembling faintly even now.

“Jesus,” Liam murmurs. “You look like you’re about to give birth.”

Louis snorts a breathless laugh and burrows his face into Zayn’s chest.

Harry walks closer, crouching by the bed, eyes wide as he drinks him in. “He’s glowing.”

Niall hums against Louis’ back. “Told him he looks four months along.”

“Four?” Zayn smirks lazily. “More like five.”

“Rude,” Louis mumbles, voice hoarse from earlier. “I’m not that big.”

“You’re huge, babe,” Harry says fondly, brushing hair off his forehead. “And beautiful. You’re full of us and it shows.”

Liam joins them at the edge of the bed, reaching out to rest a big hand over Louis’ distended belly. His thumb strokes slow circles over the soft swell.

“Look at this,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking glowing, Lou. You’ve never looked more like an omega.”

Louis flushes at the praise, heat flickering in his chest. He doesn’t mind the comments, not really. Not when they’re paired with such open adoration. He’s never felt more wanted.

“Got your ice cream,” Liam adds. “Mint chocolate chip and like… six other desserts, because Haz can’t order like a normal person.”

“I got what he deserves,” Harry says, lifting the bag. “He’s literally creating a meal out of our come. He’s working hard.”

Zayn huffs a laugh. “Gross and weirdly romantic.”

Louis grins against Zayn’s chest. “Don’t even want the ice cream yet. Just want to be full.”

“You’re already stuffed,” Niall mutters, biting his shoulder affectionately. “You’re leaking like mad.”

As if on cue, Zayn and Niall’s knots start to soften, and Louis groans at the slow loss of pressure. He clenches involuntarily, trying to keep them inside, but their knots slip free with slick, wet sounds that make Harry groan and Liam visibly swallow.

“You good?” Zayn asks, brushing fingers down Louis’ spine.

“No,” Louis says simply, voice sleep-thick and wanting. “Empty.”

Liam’s on the bed in an instant, strong arms lifting Louis from the sticky sheets with practiced ease. He settles Louis in his lap, holding him against his chest like he’s made of something precious.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmurs, pressing kisses into his temple. “We’ll fill you back up. Just let us take care of you.”

Harry settles in beside them, eyes locked on Louis’ still-round belly. “That’s really all us?” he asks, trailing gentle fingers over the curve.

“Yep,” Niall says proudly. “We fucking bred him good.”

Louis glares at him, but it’s weak. “Not bred. Just—stuffed.”

Zayn shrugs. “Semantics. Still hot.”

Harry presses his palm over Louis’ belly and hums. “You ever think about it, Lou? Having pups?”

Louis stiffens a little, blinking slowly as the words sink in. Of course he’s thought about it—what omega hasn’t? But this? Four alphas, no mate, no plan?

“I mean,” Louis says quietly, “I’ve thought about it. But I’m not—”

“Don’t need to be anything,” Liam says softly, hands stroking Louis’ waist. “You’ve got us. No matter what.”

And Louis lets himself fall further, wrapped in the heat of four alphas who want everything he has to give.

***

When Louis wakes again, it’s to the weight of his own body pressing into the mattress—his entire front pinned down, belly heavy and full, his limbs spread lazily like a cat in the sun. He groans softly as sensation creeps back in.

He’s on his stomach. Which makes sense. He’d collapsed this way between rounds—he vaguely remembers that—but now he’s hyperaware of just how distended his abdomen feels beneath him. His stomach is swollen, round and taut with the sheer amount of come pumped into him over the past two days. It pushes down against the mattress uncomfortably, but at the same time… he doesn’t want to move.

He whimpers faintly as he shifts his hips, and the movement only reminds him of the plug nestled deep inside his hole. Not a knot—it doesn’t throb or pulse—but firm, solid, and definitely holding him closed until the next wave of slick or need rolls in. His body has been thoroughly handled, and it shows.

There’s weight on top of him, too.

Liam and Zayn are sprawled across his back, both of them half-asleep but still clinging to him like oversized blankets. Niall is curled around one leg, his arm draped loosely over Louis’ calf. And Harry—of course Harry—is stretched across his ass, head pillowed right on the swell of it, his curls tickling the base of Louis’ spine.

He’s pinned from every angle. Not that he minds.

They’re all breathing slow and steady, the room thick with scent and warmth and the residual calm of a heat well-spent. Louis lies there for a moment, blinking against the dim light, absorbing the feel of them—his alphas—in every inch of contact. Their skin against his. Their breath on his shoulders. The heavy stillness that follows the storm.

But now that the fog of heat is gone, his mind starts up again—and it doesn’t spare him.

Because for him, this had meant something. Everything.

And now that the instinctive haze is gone, he can’t stop wondering: Did it mean the same to them?

Did they just enjoy themselves? Scratch an itch? Was it some indulgent, no-strings experiment? Or did they feel what he felt? That wild, terrifying pull toward something more—something permanent.

He squirms slightly, trying to get comfortable, and the mattress dips as Liam shifts above him.

“Mmm. Louis?” Liam’s voice is thick with sleep, low and raspy. He lifts his head just enough to glance at him. “You awake?”

Louis hums back. “Barely.”

“You alright?” Liam’s hand finds the small of his back and rubs gentle circles. “Heat’s over, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs. “Felt it fade a few hours ago, I think. I’m just… wrecked. And my belly feels like it’s gonna pop.”

Liam chuckles softly, nosing into the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s not surprising.”

Zayn stretches behind him, one palm gliding over the curve of Louis’ hip to rest on his lower back. “You should see yourself, sweetheart,” he says, voice still rough. “You’re massive.”

Niall lifts his head groggily, blinking over at them. “You’re literally bulging, Lou. Like, pregnant levels. You look about five months gone.”

Louis lets out a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and buries his face in the pillow.

“Stopppp. I can feel how huge I am. Don’t make it worse.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” Niall defends with a grin. “You look gorgeous. Like you were made for this.”

Harry hums from his perch, lifting his head slightly to glance at Louis’ lower back, then giving his cheeky assessment. “He looks better than gorgeous. He looks bred. Like someone’s already picked the nursery wallpaper.”

“Shut up,” Louis says, voice muffled in the sheets, but his cheeks are burning.

Still… he doesn’t mind the comments as much as he pretends to.

Because he has thought about it before. About carrying. About having pups of his own. About what it would be like to have someone want him like that, to bond and build a life.

Before, when Louis imagined things like this—warm bodies tangled around his, the blissful lull after heat—it was always vague. A faceless alpha, just a blur in his fantasies. For a while, that face belonged to Eleanor. And even when it didn’t, it never solidified into anyone real.

But lately… that faceless alpha has become four. Four very real alphas with very real faces, very real touches, very real voices whispering his name while he burned for them.

That thought used to scare him a little. Still kind of does.

Because Louis isn’t the kind of omega who dreams in pink. He’s never fit the mold. He’s rough-edged, snarky, sharp-tongued. Most people forget he’s an omega at all—hell, he even forgets sometimes. He’s always felt more like one of the lads. One of the alphas, even. The way he banters, pushes back, keeps everyone on their toes.

Sure, he wears panties sometimes, but that’s just because he likes how soft they are. That’s comfort, not submission.

Still, something has shifted lately. Slowly. Quietly. Imperceptibly at first.

The way the boys touch him now—less like he’s just one of them, more like he’s something to care for. The way they watch him during interviews, make sure he eats, how they subtly shift when he’s in the room, like they’re attuned to his every move. Like they’re not just protecting him—they’re claiming him, even if no words have been said.

And it’s messing with him. Because it makes him feel soft in ways he hasn’t before. Makes his omega stir in his chest, restless and wanting.

He finds himself wondering what the future looks like more and more these days. And the scenes in his head—once vague and unreal—are clearer now. He sees laughter in a shared flat, sees four pairs of arms reaching out for a crying newborn, sees strong hands smoothing over his swollen belly while kisses are pressed to his forehead.

He sees them. The boys.

And it terrifies him. Because he doesn’t know if they see it too.

Still… he can’t worry about that now. Not when he’s wrapped in the kind of peace only a completed heat can bring, nestled in a tangle of limbs and heartbeats. They’re warm and weighty against him, solid and grounding. His back aches, his thighs are sore, his body hums with the afterglow of being taken care of.

So he lets himself breathe.

One moment at a time.

And for now, that moment is four alphas draped over him like they never plan to let go. And maybe—just maybe—he doesn’t want them to.

***

Louis is not sulking.

He swears he isn’t. Truly. He’s just… sitting here. Quietly. With his arms crossed and a faint scowl on his face as he stares blankly at the notebook page in his hands.

It’s not sulking. It’s brooding. There’s a difference.

He might be the tiniest bit irritated—with two of the boys, specifically—but he’s trying not to let it get to him. Really. Except it’s becoming increasingly difficult when every time he checks his phone, there’s another headline splashed with their faces and her name.

He hasn’t brought up his feelings since the tour ended and his heat passed months ago. Hadn’t dared to ask what all of this meant, because Louis Tomlinson is good at many things—singing, sarcasm, wearing skinny jeans—but he is utterly shit with emotions.

He didn’t want to rock the boat. What they had—whatever it was—worked. He got to be held, claimed, knotted. He got their hands on his body, their lips on his skin, their praise warm in his ears. And that had to be enough.

It was supposed to be enough.

Except now, Harry’s name is being linked to Kendall Jenner—complete with grainy pap photos of him slipping into a car beside her outside some glitzy London nightclub. And Zayn? Caught at a coffee shop looking very cozy with Perrie Edwards from Little Mix, her hand on his thigh like she’s known him forever.

Louis knows what publicity stunts look like. He’s been part of them. Hell, he sat in the meeting where Taylor Swift’s team mapped out the timeline of her “relationship” with Harry like it was a movie premiere. He knew about that in advance. He always knew.

But not this time.

Neither Zayn nor Harry said a single word. Not even a casual warning. No text, no wink, no offhand comment in the green room. Nothing.

So now he’s annoyed.

And when Louis is annoyed, he becomes very deliberate with his time and affection. Which is why, for the last several days, he’s been practically glued to the other two alphas—the ones who haven’t been caught cuddling up with pretty girls while leaving Louis in the dark.

They’re in the studio, writing for the next album, and Louis has taken up permanent residence sprawled across Niall and Liam’s laps on the oversized couch in the corner. His head is pillowed on Niall’s thigh, one of Liam’s arms is draped lazily across his hips, and their scent is everywhere—soothing, grounding, familiar.

He’s half-focused on a notebook in his lap, trying to string lyrics together, but mostly he’s focused on not thinking about two specific alphas.

“You okay, Lou?” Liam murmurs, nudging him gently with a thumb rubbing circles into his side.

“Peachy,” Louis says, tone light but brittle. He doesn’t look up.

Niall hums, clearly not buying it. “You’ve rewritten that one line five times.”

Louis shrugs. “Just trying to get it right.”

They don’t push him. They never do. But their touches grow firmer, more intentional. Niall strokes through his hair; Liam presses his thumb over Louis’ knee and rubs, just enough to ground him.

He’s grateful, even if he doesn’t say it.

And still, in the back of his mind, he wonders why Harry and Zayn didn’t tell him. Wonders if they even thought to. Wonders if maybe it’s because this—whatever this is—doesn’t mean to them what it means to him.

Maybe he is sulking, after all.

But he doesn’t plan to stop.

Not yet.

Harry and Zayn walk into the studio like they haven’t spent the last few days all over the tabloids, laughing softly about something as they carry in a tray of coffees and teas. Louis doesn’t bother pretending to look up.

He feels the warm press of his usual tea into his hands and doesn’t even meet Harry’s eyes as he takes it. “Thanks,” he mumbles, sitting up straighter in Liam’s lap and immediately lifting the cup to his lips. A safe distraction. Something to hold so he doesn’t lash out.

Harry lingers beside him for a beat too long, as if waiting for something—eye contact, maybe, or a smile. But Louis just turns slightly away, angling his notebook toward Liam and making a show of jotting something down.

The air shifts. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Niall’s hand stills where it had been tracing lazy patterns on Louis’ thigh. Zayn slowly lowers himself into the armchair nearby, expression unreadable. Liam’s jaw tenses beneath the weight of the silence.

Julian, seated at the keyboard across the room, lifts an eyebrow at the sudden chill but wisely keeps his mouth shut. He’s been around long enough to read between the lines. He might not know exactly what’s going on, but it’s not hard to guess. The stolen touches. The scent layering. The way Louis ends up curled into one of them any time there’s a break in the day.

It’s obvious something’s been going on between the five of them—and equally obvious that no one’s defined what it is.

Julian clears his throat and starts humming a melody. “Anyone got lyrics for that chorus we worked on yesterday?”

Louis nearly snaps his pencil in half.

He’s not supposed to feel like this. Not possessive. Not petty. Not heartbroken. They’re not his boyfriends. Not his mates. Just bandmates who fuck him senseless and make him feel like he’s theirs before turning around and letting the whole damn world think someone else is.

He’s not entitled to their fidelity.

But that doesn’t stop the way his throat burns when Harry leans down to whisper something to Zayn, both of them chuckling lowly. Or the way he folds himself tighter into Liam’s side, hiding behind the notebook like it might shield him from the ache in his chest.

By the time the session ends, Louis can’t get out fast enough. He gathers his things in record time, muttering something about having a call with management later, and makes for the door with his head ducked and his heart in his throat.

He just wants to go home. To cry, maybe. Or scream into a pillow. Or wallow in his bed until he can forget the way Harry didn’t even look guilty.

But he doesn’t make it far.

“Lou,” Liam’s voice calls out sharply. “Wait.”

He pretends he doesn’t hear it. Pushes open the studio door like he’s being chased.

And he is.

He makes it to the hallway before four shadows catch up with him. Niall grabs his wrist, gentle but firm, and Zayn steps into his path. Harry shuts the door behind them, locking them all into the soundproof recording booth as if trapping him will force him to talk.

Louis doesn’t meet their eyes. “Let me go,” he says quietly, voice brittle.

“Not until you tell us what the fuck is going on,” Harry says, voice tighter than usual, no trace of his usual charm.

“There’s nothing going on,” Louis lies, still not looking up. “I’m just tired.”

“Bullshit,” Zayn says, folding his arms across his chest. “You’ve been ignoring us all day.”

Louis shrugs. “Guess I’m not feeling very chatty with people who can’t be bothered to tell me when they’re off with their new girlfriends that they didn’t bother to tell me about when they were balls deep in me just a few days ago.”

That gets a reaction.

Harry’s brows shoot up, and Zayn’s lips part, surprise flickering across his face. Liam shifts behind Louis, laying a steadying hand on his back, and Niall quietly closes in at his side.

“Is that what this is about?” Harry asks, his voice softer now. “You’re upset about—about the photos?”

Louis huffs a humorless laugh, finally lifting his eyes to meet Harry’s. “No, Haz. I’m upset because you didn’t say anything. Either of you. You just—showed up in the papers with other omegas and expected me not to care.”

Zayn and Harry glance at each other—and then, to Louis’ utter disbelief, they both chuckle.

He blinks at them, stunned. “Are you—are you actually laughing at me right now?”

“I’m so glad this is funny to you two,” Louis snaps, voice sharp as glass as he swallows down the sudden lump in his throat. He turns on his heel, heart pounding, shame crawling hot up his spine. “Fuck off.”

But before he can storm out, Harry catches his hand and tugs him gently back.

“No, wait—baby, stop,” Harry pleads, voice low and warm. “We’re not laughing at you, I swear. It’s just—god—it’s the opposite of what you think.”

Louis turns slowly, arms crossing over his chest as he narrows his eyes. “You’re not dating them?” he says flatly, voice soaked in disbelief.

Harry shakes his head with a crooked smile. “No, babe. Kendall’s a friend. And also—she’s not even an omega.”

“She’s not?” Louis asks, skeptical.

Harry laughs, voice amused but careful. “No, she’s an alpha. She plays up the omega image for work, you know how modeling is. But she’s never been into alphas, either. Neither have I.”

Louis stares, the information not quite computing yet.

“And Perrie?” he asks.

Zayn grins. “Perrie’s dating Jade. It’s not public yet, but the day those photos were taken, I was literally meeting up with Jade and Perrie to talk about surprise plans for Leigh-Anne’s birthday. The paps just caught us at the wrong moment. That’s all.”

“Oh.”

Louis blinks, suddenly feeling very, very stupid.

He looks away, cheeks flushing as the realization settles in. He’d been jealous for nothing. He’d twisted himself into knots, doubting everything between them, and they weren’t even seeing anyone else.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands, a little more defensive than he means to be. “Why let me spiral over it?”

Zayn’s expression softens. “We didn’t think you’d care,” he says carefully. “You’ve never said what this is to you. You’ve always acted like it was just a fun thing.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “We thought you wanted it casual. We didn’t want to scare you off by saying we wanted more.”

Louis stares at them in disbelief. “You think I want it to be casual?”

“Well…” Niall says from the side, voice hesitant. “You could have any alpha you want, Lou. Seriously. Omegas, betas and alphas alike are obsessed with you. You’re confident and smart and you’ve got the world wrapped around your finger ten seconds into any interview.”

Liam nods beside him. “We just… didn’t think we’d be enough.”

Louis lets out a breathless laugh—disbelieving and touched and a little angry all at once. “You’re all such idiots,” he says, shaking his head. “I thought I was the one who wasn’t enough. I thought I was just a good lay. Just your bandmate who happened to be convenient.”

“Louis,” Liam says immediately, stepping closer. “You’re not convenient. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to us. You’re funny and quick and clever. You’ve got a mouth that drives us all insane, and yeah, okay, the sex is incredible, but you’re so much more than that.”

Harry’s voice is low and sincere. “I can’t speak for all of us, but I’ve felt it since the beginning. I’ve loved you for a long time, Lou. Long before we ever slept together. That just confirmed it for me. I want you to be mine.”

“And mine,” Liam echoes, eyes soft.

“And mine,” Zayn says with a crooked smile.

“Mine too,” Niall chimes in, gaze warm and honest.

Louis looks between the four of them, overwhelmed. “You’d really be okay… sharing me? All of you?”

Zayn shrugs. “It’s not that unheard of, sharing an omega. It’s not common, sure, but it’s not impossible. And we’re already family, the four of us. Sharing you doesn’t feel strange. It feels right. We love each other, and more than anything—we love you.”

Louis feels something swell in his chest, thick and warm and dizzying. “But what about management?” he whispers. “They’ll never let us go public with this. It’ll ruin everything.”

“Maybe not right away,” Harry says, stepping close enough to brush his knuckles down Louis’ cheek. “But someday… they won’t be able to hide it. Because eventually, you’ll have our bite marks. And you’ll wear them on your neck like a crown.”

Louis swallows hard, heart thudding like it might break free from his chest.

“You mean it?” he asks, voice small now. “You want me?”

Four voices answer in perfect harmony: “Always.”

And if Louis ends up on the floor of the recording booth with two knots filling him from behind, one stretching his mouth, and another pulsing hot in his fist—well, that’s nobody’s business but theirs.