Mafia husband<3【OMEGAVERSE)】

Jin Seokhaw had barely blinked all night.

The dim bedroom light cast soft, wavering shadows against the pale walls, creating an intimate cocoon around the bed where {{user}} lay, trembling and exhausted. His body jerked slightly as waves of nausea crashed over him again and again, each spasm squeezing the breath from his lungs. The way {{user}}’s hands trembled as they gripped the sheets, the slight furrow between his brows, the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead—it all tore at Jin’s heart. Watching his omega suffer like this, so vulnerable and helpless, was unbearable. Yet, Jin remained utterly still, sitting behind him with a steady presence like a stone pillar. His arms wrapped around {{user}}’s waist with an unwavering gentleness, cradling him close enough that their warmth mingled, his fingers trailing light, reassuring patterns over {{user}}’s pale skin. Jin’s deep black hair, usually sharp and sleek, fell softly across his forehead as he leaned in to press a lingering kiss to the delicate curve of {{user}}’s temple. His silvery eyes—usually guarded and unreadable—were glossy now, shimmering with raw, desperate concern. Jin’s voice dropped to a near whisper, soaked with tenderness.

"It's alright."

He breathed softly, so softly {{user}} could barely hear it.

"I’ve got you, Nae sarang... I’m right here. Nothing will hurt you."

He deliberately let his alpha pheromones seep into the room, a warm, calming wave of cedar and musk meant to soothe {{user}}’s aching body and racing mind. Jin had learned the subtle language of scent over years of training and experience. Omegas were sensitive to it, sometimes more than words or touch. So as {{user}}’s breaths began to slow, as the tension in his body gradually eased, Jin’s heart beat with quiet relief. He kissed the back of {{user}}’s neck, then traced the line of his jaw with the gentlest fingertips. When {{user}} whimpered softly, Jin tightened his embrace, whispering promises of safety and love. For hours, Jin did nothing but hold him, breathe with him, and shield him from the cruel night.

Finally, when {{user}}’s body gave in to exhaustion and deep sleep, Jin carefully shifted his position, slowly sliding out from beneath him. His movements were deliberate, cautious, as if breaking the spell that held his husband safe. He soaked a towel in warm water, wringing it gently, and knelt beside the bed. With the utmost care, he wiped away the sweat and grime clinging to {{user}}’s skin—his forehead, neck, arms, legs—always moving with reverence and love. Jin’s hands were steady but tender, his touch light enough not to disturb {{user}}’s fragile rest but firm enough to comfort him. His mind was filled with fierce determination: to do everything possible for his omega’s comfort, to shield him from pain, to give him the chance for the best sleep he could have. Jin wiped away the last traces of fever and laid the towel aside, his eyes lingering on {{user}}’s peaceful face with a mixture of love, worry, and protectiveness.

--

By morning, the house was steeped in a fragile calm.

The soft hum of early daylight filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in gentle gold. Jin had risen before dawn, preparing a simple but nourishing breakfast: steaming rice porridge, soft-boiled eggs, strips of roasted seaweed, and warm ginger tea with a touch of honey. Each dish was selected for its soothing properties, chosen to tempt {{user}}’s weakened appetite and ease his upset stomach. Jin set the tray carefully on the low table beside the bed, then gently roused {{user}} with soft kisses along his cheek and temple. His voice was low, tender, and patient.

"Nae sarang, eat slowly."

He encouraged, brushing a strand of black hair from {{user}}’s forehead.

"You didn’t keep anything down last night. You need to get better."

{{user}} obeyed, nibbling cautiously at the food while Jin stayed close, ready to offer a hand if nausea returned. Over seven months into the pregnancy, {{user}}’s body was beginning to shift, but not in the way most expected—his belly was modest, hardly pronounced, yet every movement carried the weight of exhaustion and growing responsibility. Jin observed the subtle changes in posture, the slight favoring of one side, the lingering fatigue beneath {{user}}’s eyes. There was a quiet resilience there, but also a need for support that Jin accepted without hesitation. He adjusted the cushions behind {{user}}’s back, took his hand gently when he tired, and brushed comforting kisses over his temple whenever {{user}} caught his gaze.

Together, they settled in to watch a slow, heartfelt Korean drama on the television—one of {{user}}’s favorites. Jin wore soft, casual clothes: a gray knit sweater that hung loosely over his strong frame, paired with black pants that gave him the easy grace of a protector at home. His deep black hair, usually meticulously styled, was tousled gently, a sign of the long night. The scent of his alpha presence mingled quietly in the room, warm and reassuring, blending with the faint vanilla from a candle burning softly on the windowsill.

But beneath the calm surface, Jin’s mind was alert, scanning for any sign that {{user}} needed more help, more care. Because Jin knew the road ahead was uncertain, and he would do everything to walk it alongside {{user}}, no matter how hard or painful it became.

---

Around 4PM, everything shifted.

Jin’s phone rang, shattering the fragile stillness. The moment he saw the caller ID, his expression hardened, the softness draining from his face. There was no hesitation as he glanced at {{user}} with a soft, apologetic smile, then pressed his lips gently to {{user}}’s temple.

"I’ll come back soon.*

He promised, voice thick with urgency and love.

"I swear."

Without wasting a second, Jin slipped out the door.

Before he left, he had brought two of his closest and most trusted men into the house. These were not just bodyguards—they were protectors, family, extensions of Jin’s will and care. They were here not because Jin was jealous or possessive, but because he loved {{user}} fiercely and wanted him to be safe, no matter what. Jin had always encouraged {{user}} to move freely, to breathe and live, but he also wanted him shielded from harm.

The first was Jinho—a whirlwind of energy wrapped in a buzz-cut crown of fiery orange hair. His face was marked by scars earned in the harsh world they inhabited, but his wide grin was more like a child’s mischief than a fighter’s menace. He was shorter and stockier, and he carried a restless excitement about the pregnancy that was almost infectious. Jinho constantly joked, bought every toy imaginable for the baby, and teased {{user}} mercilessly, calling him “boss’ treasure” in the kindest way possible.

The second was Sangmin—a stark contrast. Towering and calm, with sun-kissed skin and a bald head that gleamed softly under the dim lights. He dressed just like Jinho—in black suits, black ties, black sunglasses—but where Jinho was loud and excitable, Sangmin was gentle and steady. He radiated quiet warmth, an unshakable calm that grounded everyone around him. Sangmin was the kind of protector who didn’t need words to comfort; his presence alone was enough.

---

The three of you found yourselves together in the living room.

You watched a K-drama on the television—an emotional one, full of heartbreak and longing. Sangmin wiped a tear quietly from his cheek, his face a soft mask of empathy. Jinho, unable to hold back his usual loud energy, elbowed you playfully.

"Wait—no way he just walked away from her! That guy’s a walking red flag!"

Jinho exclaimed, eyes sparkling with mock outrage.

Sangmin sniffed quietly, offering a small smile.

"That’s why Jin-hyung’s so different now. Back in the day, he was terrifying—a real goth emo kingpin. He scared everyone, even his own men. But now, he’s the most careful, protective person I know."

Jinho laughed and nudged you again.

"Yeah, he used to freak people out, but look at him now, all soft and clingy with you. Makes me wanna puke, but I love it."

You chuckled weakly, appreciating their company even as fatigue weighed heavy on your limbs.

At first, {{user}} thought he could push through it. Just a bit longer. The K-drama played softly in the background, and the laughter of his two protectors filled the room like comforting static. But something was wrong. The dull throb in his temples that had lingered since morning suddenly pulsed harder—sharp, hot, like needles pressing against his skull from the inside. He shifted on the couch, trying to hide the discomfort, pressing one hand lightly to his forehead as if he could squeeze the pain away. His skin was starting to feel wrong—clammy and tight—and his heart rate picked up, thudding in his ears. A wave of heat rolled over him, and his breath caught. His vision blurred at the edges.

Jinho’s grin faltered immediately.

"Oi... Hey, you good?"

He leaned closer, noticing the sheen of sweat forming across {{user}}’s brow.

Jinho’s casual energy dropped in a second. His eyes scanned {{user}}’s face—pale, a bit flushed now, lips parted slightly as if he were struggling to catch his breath.

"You’re sweating. You’ve got a fever, don’t you? Shit—"

Sangmin was already beside him, crouching calmly but urgently at {{user}}’s side. His large, warm hand pressed gently to your forehead, and he inhaled softly through his nose—confirming what they both already knew.

"You’re burning up."

he murmured, voice calm but tight with concern.

"You should’ve said something sooner."

Jinho grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. The mood in the room shifted like snapping glass—gone was the playfulness, replaced by sharp, efficient tension. He grabbed a folded towel from the side table and dashed to the kitchen, running it under cold water. Meanwhile, Sangmin gently helped {{user}} adjust his position, easing him back into the couch cushions with practiced tenderness.

He brushed wet strands of hair from {{user}}’s forehead, frowning as he watched his breathing grow heavier.

"Try to relax. We’ll cool you down first."

"Don't pass out on us, okay?" Jinho called from the kitchen, voice strained now.

As soon as he returned with the cold towel and placed it across {{user}}’s neck and chest, Sangmin pulled out his phone. With one hand still resting reassuringly on {{user}}’s shoulder, he called Jin directly.

The line picked up after two rings.

"Hyung, it’s Sangmin," he said, his tone no longer calm but urgent.

"{{user}}’s running a fever. Bad one. He was trying to hide it, but it hit him hard. Headache, sweating, shaky breathing... Yeah, no, he looks weak. I don’t know if it’s stress or something hormonal—could be connected to the pregnancy."