#Alpha One

[strayanberry]

I drew my little guys for the GE 14th anniversary uwu Took me 19 hours xP

[crazytiger6]

I drew the three of them on the same paper

(Note: NOT to scale)

[daftmooncretin]

spock’s room decor is actually fucking bonkers. The weapons??? the big red velvet curtain??? like ok phantom of the opera go crazy.

for reference jim’s room has some photos and a plant so we can surmise this is uniquely a spock being a dramatic weirdo thing

[yeyinde]

appetite | Alpha!Simon Riley

it's been decades since Alpha!Ghost had a rut. something that's probably for the best, really. his want is as hideous as he is. as ugly as his goddamn mug. it's best kept tucked away, secured under lock and key.

but then he finds you. and you're all alone. unclaimed, on the verge of heat. poor thing. it triggers a voracious rut. decades worth of want spilling out over you. you're it, he knows. feels the certainty in that statement simmering in his hindbrain, in his essence. he'll have you—now, forever. non-negotiable. where you go, he will follow.

but you run from him. stupid girl. didn't anyone teach you not to run from a starving wolf?

dubcon. size kink. size difference. a/b/o dynamics: knotting, rut. breeding kink. spit kink. implied virgin!reader. obsessive behaviour. possessive!Ghost. semi-public sex. reluctant reader bullied into submission lmao. forced bonds. implied kidnapping. basically, you're hunted down and fucked by Alpha!Simon who growls in your ear about how he's waited his whole life for you. and lucky him. he finally found you

AO3

It's been years, decades, since he had a rut. 

(Broken Alpha. Ruined.)

Trauma, they tell him, will do that. Sever the drive in the back of his head, the one that rears—vicious and angry—each mating season, bringing with it the urge to breed. To claim. Own. 

A form of self-preservation. It pitches a plexiglass of protection between him and his instincts, not letting them merge. Join. Done so because to be in rut, to want, to need, is vulnerability. It costs hypervigilance. Turns man into beast. Animal. 

This bodily reaction makes an alpha extend themselves, like an overarching limb, to shield the omega they pick as a mate. Bearing their own neck to save another. 

Naturally, they say, if he couldn't help himself, how could he ever hope to protect a fragile little omega? 

They tell him it could be as permanent or temporary as he allows. Healing, they say. Time. Laughable, really. And utter nonsense because Ghost is fine. 

Trauma tampered. Revenge sought, found. There's no one out there who could ever harm him, and still—

His last rut was before the mission that buried him alive. That turned him into the living dead. A mockery of man. Frankensteinian beast. 

It's not something he cares much for, anyway. From what he remembers of his youth—vague snippets of memories, disjointed, blurred sensation; a profound need, an urge, to sink his cock into something, to plug them up, to bite—ruts have always been a nuisance. In the way. An annoyance that took time away from what he'd rather be doing. 

And as Johnny enters his—skin pallid, waxy; cheeks flushed, eyes darkening like a brewing storm on the horizon; snapping at anything that breathes, whining like a dog, miserable and hot, all the time (ahm’a bleedin’ furnace, s’what ah’m)—he finds he doesn't care very much to go reclaim what he lost. 

No skin off his nose. Nothing to concern himself with. 

Besides. Omegas know better. 

Even before he lost himself, dying, rotting in a tumulus, pretty little omegas with their soft hands and bashful smiles always went out of their way to avoid him. Miserable alpha. His scent alone wards them off—burnt leather, charred bones; sarcophagus dust, dirt—and he found himself alone during his burgeoning ruts more often than not. 

No pretty little thing to tender the sweat on his brow, or bend over and present for him—offering up a sweet little cunt he got to bury himself inside, tie up nice and tight on his knot. 

It was usually his hand. A bottle of bourbon. A printed porn stash he swiped from Tommy, who nicked it off their old man—

And when he did find a partner, it was always transactional. Hand to hand, an exchange of money. All clinical and detached. Empty. Fucking into a concept instead of a person; a vacuum eating away at his soul because he knew, then, that they wanted to be there almost as much as he did. 

But what choice did either have when their home was the rotted gullet of a dying beast?

(Simon told them to stay away from shitty men like him, who broke bones in the throes of his heat, snapped his jowls at anything that got too close, and had to be chained to the bed like an animal during it—)

Nothing to miss. Nothing to mourn. 

And it's not like he doesn't get the urge. Wanting to sink his cock into something warm, wet, is as recurring as a sweet tooth. A prickle in the back of his head after he devours his dinner that says, dessert might be nice. 

He can fuck, but his knot never pops. A worry the doctors had—unsure what the consequences would be in the long run for such a virile, young Alpha already experiencing nature's version of erectile dysfunction so early in life. 

(“pity the poor omega who has to deal with that rut,” they whispered. “might not be much of anything left of them when he's through.”)

Inconsequential now because he's pushing forty and his last rut was a false trigger. One dragged out of him by drugs and torture. The last true rut, natural and instinctual, was when he was eighteen. 

It's doubtful he'd suddenly be cured at his age. 

This is what he tells Johnny when he asks, pries. Broken fuck, ain't he? Unmated. Can't knot. Piss poor excuse of an Alpha. Doesn't he think it's—

“a shame,” Johnny grouses, words muffled slightly by the way he's hunched over the cheap plastic table in the canteen. His fingers dig harshly into his temple. “Alpha like you—” it's enunciated in clipped Queen's English, the barb makes Ghost scoff. “—ack! a waste. ma mam would be livid. no grandbabies t’show off? sacrilegious.”

—funny. If he's being honest. Laughable:

because for as long as Ghost can remember, he's always had a predilection to ruin his favourite toys. slaking his unquenchable lust on their tender skin, biting down to the bone, sipping on their marrow—

not really the sort of thing omegas today go for, is it? 

his want is as hideous as he is. as ugly as his goddamn mug—

Instead, he shrugs. “hardly.” 

“yer no’ missin’ it?” 

“missin’ what, Johnny?”

“knottin’, ye surly prick.” He jeers, then, jabs his elbow into Simon's arm. “a bonnie omega to stick yer prick in. ain't missin’ th’, no?”

“no,” Simon gripes. The last thing Price needs is another order of protection against his Lieutenant. But to humour the alpha in an early stage of rut, he jabs out, hollow and full of wretched derision. “i can barely remember what it felt like. must be heaven, though. is that your plans for tonight, Johnny? gonna go and knot some sorry omega?”

It's meant to prod, poke. Sharp barbs aimed at Johnny's threadbare control, the same one held in place by a fraying, unspooling knot. Alphas in the early stage of rut are considered safe enough to be around. Not yet mindless drones, hosts to an ugly little parasite; a being forced to obey a single, instinctual drive to mate, to gorge themselves into a post-rut stupor. 

Safe. Or so they say. 

But Ghost knows what Johnny's feeling in the same sense as a phantom limb. A broken, fragmented memory. So, he twists his mockery in deep. All in jest, of course. 

And Johnny pales suddenly. Wavers in his seat. The affirmative comes after a bout of contemplative silence. A jagged, choked yeah slips from his Sergeant’s mouth as he drops his head to the table, and groans. Miserable. 

“go fuck yerself, Lt.”

Simon intends on taking Johnny up on that offer, lazying out on the futon with his hand stroking lazily along his flaccid cock, thumbing through the latest series of snapshots Johnny—ever the photographer—snapped up during his previous rut. Images of pretty omegas dressed up in fine silk, blood-red lingerie, and coy little grins on their faces, a vixen pastiche of demureness. Jejune appeal in all its coquettishness.

Innocent sluts—Johnny's preferred type. Ones who'll bat their eyes at him, nervous and full of faux modesty, while they rock back and forth on his face, tugging on his mohawk to make him lick their cunts just the way they like. Sweet, like candy. Dressed in sin. 

He likes to take before and after photos of them—often with the pretty models unaware (adds to it, aye, Lt?). Ones with them batting their eyes at him, soft and shy in all their twee delight, and then fucked out, ruined and chewed up like a broken toy when he finishes with them. Bitten off more than they can swallow. Cheeky brats sobbing for mercy on his bed. 

Likes, even more, to send them to Ghost. A little tease. One he has no compunction about partaking in. Enjoying to his heart's content. 

Or—

Intended to, of course. Because what ends up happening is this:

Price calls just as he's getting into the new series sent to his phone—the tear streaks streaming down this omega’s face are particularly appealing, bound in intricate Celtic knots (Johnny, the artist), and gagged with their own panties—and tells him he has a job for him. 

Something simple. Discreet. And local, too. Bears have been sighted in town—a mama and her cubs. Dangerously close. 

The prelude to the phone call is a clipped take care’a it before the line goes dead. 

Ghost doesn't need to pack much—he can't remember the last time he unpacked his duffle bag, anyway—and stays in the recliner until the mission file comes in, idly stroking his thumb across the pixelated, tear-streaked face of the omega in Johnny's clutch. Moussed. Messy. They make the prettiest picture, don't they? Drool dripping down their chin, a spillover from what the lacy, white panties couldn't catch. 

Flesh peppered with jagged circles, bite marks. Johnny knows better than to claim them, and their neck is bereft of his teeth. Smooth. Unblemished. 

To claim is to bond. To bond—

Well. 

His earliest recollection of a relationship is his parents’. His mum, tied and trapped to a man she wanted no part of, but stuck. Unbondings, divorce, were rare during that time. Unheard of. Even now. 

And under his old man's influence, he's always seen claiming as ownership. As possession. A lingering remnant he’s told is wrong, but can't shake. Can't change. It glues in the fibrils of his mind. A rotten, pulsing scab that no amount of sanctioned reconditioning can ever seem to get rid of, to scrape out of his skull. 

(one he knows would be there no matter what because his sole purpose is exsanguination; bloodletting— 

in his warped desire to protect the things he cares about, he ends up smothering them in the end. a child holding a firefly too tight in its chubby fist.)

But Johnny knows better. Good Catholic boy. Knows to keep a muzzle on himself when he sucks desperate kisses into the small omegas' sweet neck, breaking apart the blood vessels of their scent glands, soaking himself in their musk—potent pheromones of a needy omega in heat. Aching for a bite. To be held down and conquered. 

It's wrong, they say. This ugly mass sits inside his chest like a foreign body. Scandalised eyes drilling into the side of his head like he's a monster for thinking this way. 

And he is. 

(always has been)

But he knows better. Knows to keep those uglier, rotten parts of himself hidden away from prying eyes. Got good at it, too. Enough that they let him into the brothels time and time again. 

Still—

He can remember the closest he'd come during a rut to biting a shrill omega who screamed in his ear until his head rang, ached. Nearly did it, too. Teeth razoring over their jugular, pinching delicate skin. 

Clarity came like a gunshot when he tasted blood. Chiselled a hole through his delirium, broke up the haze, and snapped his jaws up tight, locking them as he finished with a muffled growl, tongue swirling over his teeth for another taste. Another drop. 

His ruts have always been messy. Bloody. Got him banned from several centres, brothels, where they offered up betas drenched in the artificial musk of an omega in estrus. Ones resilient enough to withstand the harsh coupling of an unhinged Alpha in need. 

He had a problem, they said, with treating their workers like chew toys. Biting to break skin, drilling in deep enough to scratch his teeth on their bones. 

Deranged, they hissed. Fuckin’ mental, mate. Stay the hell away!

Some are just prone to violence. Need to be half-sedated before they can mate without ripping their partner to pieces. Ghost has always been that sort. Aggressive. Hard to control. Rabid. 

His appetite is bigger than the expanse of their skin. He sometimes thinks he could eat the whole world and still starve. 

He hums, thumb sliding to cover the omega's neck. Trapped in his hand, his clutch. They're cute when they're ruined like this. Begging. Whimpering. 

His cock gives a half-hearted twitch. His work phone chimes, signaling the end of his leisure. 

shame, he thinks, squeezing his hand until the metal dents, the screen cracks, splinters. Pops. Hairline fractures split across their distorted, tear-stained face. He closes his fist over it until it breaks. Goes black. 

really. such a goddamn shame. 

Some things are just not meant to be—

—but they have a habit of falling into his maw, anyway.

It's a simple set up. 

Man—

beast, monster, thing

—with his empty, growling stomach and teeth made to bite, tear, goes out hunting for a meal. In that search, he finds you. 

You, Persephone personified: damned (eternal), standing beneath a spruce tree. Limned, halo gold, in the waning sunset's bashful kisses, you lean on the rough bark, idling your timelessness away. 

Postcard beauty. Pinup demure. Alluring. 

(creature of sin

and oh, do you reek:

The air is saturated in the tantalising scent of honeybush, roasted hazelnuts, and clove. Saccharine—almost nauseatingly so—but with a hint of spice, black cardamom, cinnamon. He drags in lungful after lungful until it tangles deep within his chest, nearly suffocating. Smothered in this earthy sweetness. Drowning. Drowning—

the perfect dessert)

It unleashes something in him. Chips at the lock buried deep in his mind, cudgelling through the hinges until they pop. Rusted, slick with oxidising oil. It peels back from the gate, unveiling this gaping, ravenous chasm, polluted and gangrenous, rotten down to the marrow. Noisome. Noxious. This frothing pit sloshes, geyser-like, and greedily foams at the maw, the mouth, aching for a taste. Something to quench this gnawing hunger. 

This bottomless abyss hadn't seen light since he was eighteen, and—

The hollow space where his rib once sat throbs, aches. phantom bone. He holds his chest with his hand, feeling for the gap, the chasm, stolen from him. Ripped away, taken.

By you. you—

—so,

it's only fair that he steals something back. 

(quid pro quo, or something, right?)

You greet him with a small nod when he wanders close, eyeing him warily under the black rim of your ballcap. Tense. Small hands curl into fists, partially hidden under the rain-soaked windbreaker nearly two sizes too big. It smells like you—honeyed milk, molasses; lilac, lavender and warm bread—and he fights the urge to pull his mask down, to shove his misshapen nose into your neck, and breathe it in right from the source. Drinking, feasting, on it. 

This want is visceral. It coils in his guts, bubbling in his veins. His musk—heavier than yours, pungent—beads along his scent glands, mushrooming into the air like a fine mist. 

Your nostrils flare. He takes a step closer, eyes skewering into you, taking in everything you have to offer. The rucksack left at the bottom of the tree, stained with dirt and leaves. A sprig of Saskatoon berries peeks out from the lopsided flap. And—

Ah. 

Foraging is off-limits in this area unless granted a permit. One you don't seem to have based on the skittish way you keep avoiding his eye.

His scent thickens, tainted sour with faux suspicion, and you wince, ducking your chin, tucking it close to your chest, hiding from his spearing gaze. 

All it does is give him a voyeuristic view of your fragile nape, your vulnerable neck. 

His teeth ache. Jaw clenched up tight. 

It looks so bare. So naked. 

(Be a shame to keep it that way forever, wouldn't it?)

“Hi,” you stammer, seemingly oblivious to the musk you leak into the air, into his lungs. Forcing some sense of staid indifference into your tone. Like being here, out in the middle of the forest is normal. “Did you need something?” 

On the verge of a heat like this, wobbling where you stand—

He wants to chew you up. Spit out the pieces on the pavement. Drink from the gash he'll rip into your jugular,

quench this unbearable thirst. 

He doesn't know how you made it out here as long as you have, smelling like you do, and the thought burrows through the haze spuming, clotting, on the fringes of his muted periphery. Anger is an icy deluge of white water raging through his veins. 

Under the mask, the remnants of his scarred lip curls. His hands close into tight fists. Balled up. He feels the tension crackling along his muscles, his body. Coiled spring. Ready to leap—

But:

There's clarity. Focus. Where he was meant to become a mindless monster, driven by instinct, he instead feels the pieces of himself snap back into place. Missing puzzle pieces. It shifts. Settles. Locks. 

He wants you. Will have you. It's non-negotiable. Ironclad. You just—

Belong to him, don't you? Pretty little thief. And wandering around like this, reeking like you do, you must want him, too. Need him. 

(protect, protect, protect—)

Honed in, drilling into your face to catch every expression that flickers past, he sees the moment you take a sniff, when realisation blooms in the inkpools of your gaze that you are less than an arm's length away from a starving predator. Supple, soft. All plush flesh seated seamlessly against brittle bone. Fragile. 

“hi,” he echoes, and it sounds hollow. Garbled. Like he's speaking underwater. Thinks, for a moment, that he's buried again. Drowning under the crushing weight of dirt. His own tumulus. Suffocating. Choking on dirt—

But you twitch. Feral little thing. It breaks him out of this nightmarish obtundation; shaking the cobwebs loose. He tracks it like a viper. Attention narrowing, shrinking, into nothing but the way you move. Smell. You anchor him in his place, keeping him stable amid this horrific onslaught of emotions that rip talons down his chest. 

“I–” you breathe in again, lashes fluttering. Strains of silk batting over your etiolated cheeks. You breathe him in. Deep. He sees your chest grow, expanding with his air. His musk. Has to bite down on a growl before it forms, the lash of a whip in his throat. Aching. 

There's something spellbinding about you—caked in a layer of grime, briny sweat clogging your natural scent; wild and untamed. Uncharted wilderness, untouched by man and their dirty hands. A corrie after a rain shower. Snow melt. He wants to bathe in it. Carry it with him wherever he goes. 

As if scenting this thickening desire, your eyes widen. You take a step back, swallowing audibly when he follows. Marionette on strings. Your shadow. 

“I should go—”

And he knows he can't let you do that. 

Won't. 

He hums, a fickle, brittle thing in the far reaches of his chest. 

“Go?” he flicks his hand toward your bag, head cocking to the side in a mockery of contemplation. “Don' think you got a permit for that, do you?”

“A permit…”

He has you. Your eyes lower, falling to the badge on his chest. Game Warden. You stare at it, eyes widening. Swallowing thick. 

With you distracted, he leans in. Curves his body over you mockingly, like he's bending down to whisper a secret in your ear. Cupping a pretty little firefly in the palm of his hand. 

When his shadow falls over you—dark and damning—you flinch back, fists trembling under the hem of your jacket. Brows furrowed, knotted tight. Your lower lip wobbles. You try to hide that, too, by sinking your teeth into your flesh until it floods white under the strain. 

He wants to pry it apart with his own teeth. Take the bruised flesh into his mouth until you start to drool, whining from the abuse he inflicts on you in a mockery of a kiss. 

(wants to tear through it, taste your blood on his tongue—)

“An’ I don't reckon tha's a good idea, pet.” 

You shiver when he places his hand on the truck above your head. Boxing you in completely, nothing to spare—not even an inch. 

He hums at that, cock giving a vicious jerk inside his trousers at the almost impossible dearth between your sizes, at the way he swallows you up in an instant. Has to take a deep breath to steady himself, to keep the inkblack tendrils swirling, gathering, at the edges of his periphery from bleeding in. This starving murder of crows. 

When he speaks again, it's low. Deep. Kittenish licks from the tongue of a tiger; abrasive, rough. Mocking baritone of a shifting canyon, a mountainside, before it buries anyone alive under rubble. 

“Not reekin’ the way you do. Might ‘ave every alpha in a one square mile radius frothin’ at jaws for a taste. Ain't safe out there.”

And it's definitely not safe with him. 

He watches, transfixed, the moment this clicks. When your eyes waver between the hard bulk of his body—spread out, laxed; plumage unfurled—and the noisy clatter of the town just within reach. It's this thicket that cups your scent, that protectively curls over you, and keeps the Alpha's prowling about the market square from sniffing you out. A beaten trail. Hidden desire path no one was supposed to wander down. 

Except the bear problem in the woods, infringing on town, and him, the gun bolstered on his thigh still hot from his warning shots into the bush.

(lost little Lamb—

wandered too far from the herd.)

You take another step, cautious. Small. It brings you flush against the tree. Your polyester jacket whines at the friction. He can see indecision play out on your face. Oscillating between the badge on his uniform shirt, the gun on his massive thigh, and the clamour of muted noise from the town just within reach. Alphas prowling. Their acrid scent is unmistakable even through the dense foliage spreading around you.

It's an impasse. Neither option affords you much choice in the long run—it's either stay here with him, with the heady scent of want, of an Alpha on the incipient cusp of a voracious rut; or risk yourself in town. There are police officers patrolling. Ones who can sedate an alpha who gets too out of hand, but still. 

The mimesis of desire pooling around you might send you into heat sickness. That, or you'll get in even more trouble for fleeing a pursuing officer. Resisting arrest. Jail time, certainly. 

The pendulum wavers. Your knotted fists wobble. 

Then—

Your eyes leave his chest, the gun, trailing over his shoulder. Widening in surprise at whatever is there in the distance. 

He ought to commend you, really. The rouse is quite believable—

But: 

“Not bad,” he murmurs, leaning down further. If you won't jump, he'll push you—

He sees his mistake as soon as it happens. 

As he bends, you drop. Waiting until his attention seemingly drifts elsewhere, to when he's distracted and off balance. Lured in by your faux attempt at distraction. 

And it might have worked on a lesser being, but all Ghost has ever been is raw, unadulterated instinct.

He lashes out as soon as you move again, palm curling over your wrist in an instant. Snapping jowls of a defensive snake. Shackled. Locked. He tugs—

But the movement costs momentum. You use this against him, going limp. Forcing him to take the brunt of your weight on the spread of his fingers. Tricky little minx. His mouth breaks out in a feral smirk, tugging harshly on scars, on burns. Stretching skin. Distorting it under the mask, ugly and vicious. 

Your scent plumes up around him, sickly sweet. His jaw aches, gums itch. He wants to bite, snap his jowls around the scruff of your neck, chew on your skin until you sob out his name—

In seconds, you twist. Swinging your body back in a beautiful pivot, clumsy as it is. You're all animal now. Reckless in your pursuit to escape. Throwing out pheromones at him—purposeful, he realises a moment too late. 

And it works. Distracts him long enough for his grip to slacken. Your arm slips out of his grasp, and you're on your feet in an instant, darting through the thicket in a maddened dash to escape the heavy, starving alpha and his burgeoning hunger. 

Escape, or—

Weighed down by the afterbirth of his sudden rut, a prickle of his old self buoys, brims, from beneath the mess. He shouldn't chase you. Should leave you alone, call someone—Price, perhaps. Bark out between a clenched jaw that he needs a tranquiliser and chains. Will have to break Simon's teeth to stop him from biting into you like a man starved, famished. Tie him to the back of his pickup truck, drag him to the edges of the forest. Knock him out. Knock his teeth in. 

Anything.

Because they said this might happen. The doctors’ who poked and prodded. Therapists—all mandatory, non-negotiable, when he signed his name on the dotted line—murmured about unravelling. His self-control snapping like a twig. Sense of self retreating. All hiding away, protecting itself from the torrent of chemicals flooding his hindbrain. A heavy, unrelenting accumulation of a decades-long bout of rut celibacy all washing over him, all at once. 

Said to lock himself up if it happens. Chains. Shackles. Nuts and bolts. Heavy tranquiliser. Immediate sedation. 

And in Price’s office, in that messy filing cabinet he keeps, is a folder. A playthrough of everything that's supposed to happen if this happens. 

(“but that won't happen, will it, Simon?” 

and he'd rolled one massive shoulder in an easy, effortless shrug. 

“no.”)

The failsafe is that he's meant to call in if it does. Precious seconds of clarity, cognisance, enough time for him to dial the number, to bark out the order. To be hunted down, rounded up, and thrown in a pit. 

where he belongs. 

He should. Should. It's the book. Rules. Coloured in red ink. No option to negotiate. 

But as you slip through the dense foliage, angelic gold against the phthalo green bosky, the knot in his shoulders abates. Uncoils. In this sense of ease that permeates within him, he finds that he's shockingly cognisant. In full control. The plexiglass shatters, and in the ruins he finds purpose. 

You smell good. Too good. Any alpha will scent you in an instant, will claim you. Take you. It makes something in his broken, moulted head shift. Crack. He can't let that happen. Has to protect you the only way he knows how—

To wrap his paws around your throat before any other Alpha has the chance to sink their teeth into you. To claim you. 

All his. Little Persephone tucked tight against his ribs where you belong. 

And if the way the air clots with your cloying smell—heady, potent; the unmistakable ripeness of an omega in heat—then you must want him to chase you. Want him to follow. 

(escape, or—

a game.)

He tracks your movements, honed in on the rustle of the underbrush. When you're out of sight, Ghost flexes his hand, curling his gloved fingers over the leather on his palm. There's an itch in the back of his head. Festering. Rotting. He wants to reach in, rake his claws down the mass, shred it to pieces, but it affixes one simple truth inside of him: 

you need him. want him. why else would you run in the opposite direction of help if you didn't want him to give chase?

And so, he does.

You're a crafty little thing. To throw him off of your trail, you leave scent markers on the tree trunks you pass, doubling back to run in the opposite direction. 

It might have worked on someone else, but Ghost has spent half of his life buried in this thicket, and knows better than to follow smells in the forest. A vacuum, a great chasm; it plays tricks with sounds. Distorts scents wafting through the canopy, mingling with the natural loam, the disturbed humus underfoot. 

Instead, he hums at your cleverness—his smart little omega—and shifts his gaze to the forest floor, roaming over the footprints sinking into the soft soil, the peat and moss. A breadcrumb trail leading right to you. Broken twigs, crushed bushes. 

Ghost follows it. Places each foot down carefully, nose angled upward to catch the fresh wave of your heat leaking through the tangled furze. It beckons him forward. Calls out to him. 

(come, come, come—)

This lost little lamb needs a shepherd. 

He intends to give you just that. 

(—find me)

The path you cut through the forest is a twisting sawtooth meant to throw him off your trail. Traps laid out in tall tussocks, weaved through sweetgrass all drenched in your scent. Pieces of your clothing torn at the hem, the shorn fabric pressed on pine needles and tangles furze. 

These breadcrumb trails—a neat nest of wile, it seems—are cunning, he'll give you that. 

Even with his eyes to the forest floor, he finds himself throwing a wayward glance in the opposite direction, snagged in your webbed subterfuge. Somewhere between the visitors centre and the first trail meandering into the thick taiga, you seemed to have realised that your boots leave indents in the mor. He follows the deep impressions in the podsol until he finds them shoved under a Saskatoon berry bush. Another dead end. 

Clever little thing, aren't you?

But even when strays from the path, he's right on your tail. Confident in his scenting abilities. His prowess has always been tracking down wily little rabbits when they try to flee, picking them off in stasis from high above. The layout might have changed—his perch closer to the ground instead of a deer stand—but his eyes are just as keen. Your winding trail is ingrained in his mind. A long loop through the eastern trailhead, and he knows, instantly, that you'll try to throw him off at the placard where the west trail branches off through the dense conifers, and the east meanders downslope to the hidden stream where hunters like to trawl. 

He feels a pinch of pride simmering low in his guts. Anyone else would have lost you three pitfalls back. He's enraptured by this pursuit. Smitten by you. Your clumsy little escape. Your sweet little ploys. He wants to chew into you, let his teeth leave jagged scars, false starts, on your bones. Permanent. Starlight—dusting meteor showers in milk white. 

Ghost’s belly gives a tremendous growl. He huffs at the ache clawing against tissue, ravenous and unbearably empty. 

He'll have you soon. All to himself. 

The thought makes fresh blooms of pleasure spume from the rot in his chest, prickling through the layers of muskeg and peat, etiolated little sprout. Germinating in wet gangrene. Feasting on necrotised flesh. 

He swipes his hand over a honeybush, catches the lingering scent clinging to the leaves. You must have fallen here. Tangled yourself in the furze, overcome by your heat. 

Poor thing. Tired already. 

He holds his hand up to the fading gossamer of twilight trickling through the dense canopy, clenching the lingering remnants of your scent in his fist. It's fresh. He wants to tuck it in his pocket, carry it around with him. 

He finds you in a small clearing, bent down with your palm resting on the trunk of a tree. Nails digging into the rotting bark, desperately struggling to catch your breath. Your heat is a wildfire. It scorches the earth. Burns his nose. 

You're no longer on the cusp of it anymore, but in the throes. 

His rut, he finds, isn't too far behind. 

Perfect synergy. Meant to be. You call to him, and the gaping, gnarled chasm inside of him answers with a growl—

Before you can blink, he moves.

He falls over you, felled timber. The earth shakes under his indomitable weight. Palms slam into the rough bark of the gnarled spruce you've taken respite against, boxing you in. 

You fall against it with a gasp, hands pushing against his broad chest as he backs you into the tree. Little fists pounding on his sternum, mouth pinched, twisted in a snarl. There are pieces of bush caught on your clothes, tangled in your hair. Leaves. Sticks. A spot of dirt on your nose. 

It's mesmerising. 

The ballcap falls first. Morning sunlight over a boscage in bloom. Pitfalls, ravines. The canyons of your eyes quiver; this new topography shifting, sliding. Tectonic beauty in muted midnight. 

He wants to reach in, feel these granite walls of yours with his bare hands. Clamber up the colluvium, the scree, until he reaches these rugged peaks gleaming at him, angry and feral, in fading twilight. 

Time is endless. There's no limit to how long he has to know you—drink from your rivers, feast on your valleys; find all the hidden nooks, the crannies, shaded under the towering monoliths of your body. Chart your couloir. Defile your flume. Bathe in your estuary. Tangle himself inside your dells. Tame your chaparral. 

Fastidiously. Expertly. Until no part of you is unknown to him. 

Your chest heaves, mouth open as he crowds you further. Pressing into you. Over you. 

He wedges his broad thigh between your legs, presses it tight against your pussy. Your thrashing stills when he touches you, when he angles his knee up, up—

There. Through the layers of clothing that separates his bare skin from your cunt, he feels the heat bleeding out against him. The wetness from your sodden panties. Undeniable proof of how much you want him. Need him. 

 “All wet f’me?”

“Fuck you—!” You spit, angry and feral, but you arch into his touch, pushing your pussy onto his thigh. Aching for friction. 

It makes him hum. A low growl caught in the back of his throat. 

“Reckon I'll be the one fuckin’ you, pet.” 

And he will be. This is fact. 

You shudder, brows notching together in a vicious glare. “I don't want you.” 

It's hissed between the sliver of your clenched teeth. Full of heavy conviction. Forging truth out of lies—

And that's all it is. A lie. A fallacy. 

(and even if it wasn't, unlikely considering the way you arch into him, needy despite the disdain dripping down your brow—he really just can't find it in himself to give a fuck; he'll make you want him—)

Ghost leans down, muzzle pressed against your neck. He inhales deep, audible. Chest expanding, lungs swelling. Full of the aroma bleeding out of your pores. Proof of just how much you do, in fact, want him. Betrayed by your own body. 

He huffs out, paints the air with his derision. “Is that so?” 

Ghost drags his hand down the solid line of the tree, dropping it to rest against the jut of your hip. He ducks his head, watching. Staring at the way his palm nearly swallows you up when he rests it over your waist. Spanning nearly the entirety of it—hip to hip. 

It bludgeons into him. Knocks the air clean from his lungs. 

He's always had a hunger for things he can cup in his palm. The barrel of his rifle. The hilt of a knife. Your wrist in his hand. The curve of your hip. 

His gloved fingers slip under the hem of your shirt. Pads ghosting over your skin. Warmth bleeds through the leather, an unmistakable tell of your heat reaching its first equinox. It'll be all fire, all smoke, from this point onward. Desperate. Feral. 

Groaning deep, wanting, he pushes into you further. Chest rumbling. Eager. 

It takes a great deal of effort to pull his hand away. To bring it up to his mouth, fingers hooking over the edge. 

The fight in you abates—marginally—and you watch him with a keen look of suspicion dancing in the moulted dirt spread over your nullah. Wary. Anticipatory. 

He fights the urge to laugh—deep and delirious—and instead works on prying his mask down over his crooked nose, his mangled mouth. Letting the hem snap under his chin, kept there. Bearing himself to you for the first time. Naked. Exposed. 

Your eyes widen, trailing down the jagged lines, mauled ridges of scar tissue. Drinking in everything he offers in the fading embers of a summer twilight. 

He grins—a rivened, ugly thing—when you let out a heavy, quick breath, and your hips drop, rutting your sopping cunt over the wide heft of his thigh. Gyrating subconsciously. Quietly pleased by the way he looks—as maimed, as beastly as he is. He lets you. Lifts his knee, pressing his cap tight into the bark, and bumping the top of his flexing quadriceps at the apex of your groin, right where he knows your clit sits. 

The breath you take is pulled in through clenched teeth, biting on the rind of a moan. Its shapeless silhouette ducks, hides from sight. 

He lets you have it. Lets you run. 

But it's not without recompense. 

With his upper lip curled, he sinks his teeth into the leather tip of the glove above his middle finger. Letting you see them for yourself—these thrawn teeth he'll bury into your neck. Claiming you entirely as his. 

Your pupils start to eclipse your irises. Lagoons of liquid black blotting over rugged peaks. 

Ghost slowly tips his head back, dragging the glove with him. Eyes setting along his lashline, he drinks in the sight of you swallowing thickly, your gaze darting between his teeth, his mouth, and now—his bared neck. Voracious, greedy, in the way you feast on him. Drilling into the stretch of skin slowly unveiling itself to you. 

The muscles in his neck flex against rimy skin. Adam's apple bobbing with his slow swallow. 

You follow it all, but your gaze seems to fix itself on the brawny arch of his neck, falling—and then glueing— to the thick vein protruding from his flesh, pulsing with the steady rhythm of his heart, and the small, swollen bump of his scent gland beneath it. 

Hunger, he finds, paints such a pretty picture on your face. The greedy, anfractuous glances a bludgeon into him; so heavily affixed with desire that the shake of your head when he pulls the glove free, letting it dangle from between his teeth, and drops his hand back to your skin, is minute. Meaningless. 

You want him as much as he wants you. 

The clause in this, the axiom, is ironclad. Irrefutable. Bound in brass when you shiver at the touch—feverish skin on feverish skin—and arch into his palm for more. Panting through clenched teeth, each hiss striking against that fraying coil leashing his threadbare control. To distract himself from the unspooling knot, the ache in his gums, he charts the first inch of skin he passes with his thumb, committing the sloping plains of your body to memory. The jut of your hip, the stutter in your breath when he runs the rough pad of his forefinger over the slope of your underbelly. 

It's easy to marvel at the sheer enormity of his size compared to yours. Simon hitches his thigh firmly into your clothed cunt, nearly lifting you up off the ground. You teeter on the tips of your toes, falling forward into his chest to stabilise yourself. Little fists curling into the fabric of his jacket, knuckles tight against his the last rungs of his ribcage. Your head lifts, a glare chiselling into the soft fields of your face. 

You hiss something at him—feral and scathing. He drops the glove, leans down to meet you in the middle, and eats your feeble protests from your lips in a bruising kiss. Scorching. His teeth knock into yours. Tongue lashes out to catch the vitriol dripping from your fangs. You make a noise in the back of your throat, and he swallows that, too. Devours it all. 

It's a vicious kiss. All teeth, tongue. Bullying. He lets you sink your teeth into his tongue, huffing into the seam of your lips when you coo, victoriously, at the first drop of blood spilled. 

In retaliation, he sets his hands over your ribs, and lifts you up off the ground. Making you gasp. Mewl. Your legs kick out as the back of your head catches on loose bark, raining it down over your shoulders in flakes. He doesn't stop kissing you throughout. Eyes half-mast, still open, as he drinks in the sight of yours rolling back in your head when his thigh, one the width of both of yours—fuckin’ hell—catches the perfect angle on your clit. 

Loose-limbed, caught, you have no choice but to wrap your ankles around his waist, curl your arms around his broad shoulders. Clinging to him desperately to remain grounded, held aloft. 

His hand falls down, cups the back of your thigh, fingers spanning the entire curve of your cheek. Held tight in his palm. He bucks into you—quick, hard. Letting you feel the unmistakable bulge of his stiffening cock, leaking spend already in the tight confines of his trousers. This groin, inner thighs, already sticky with the mess dribbling out. 

You fall apart at this. Head tipping back, crown thudding against the truck of the tree. He has your lower lip between his teeth, and it pulls, skin stretching until he huffs out another breath, mocking, and unhinges his jaw, letting you go. 

Mewling, whining low in the back of your throat, you clumsily rut your cunt into the hard press of his cock. Eyes hazy, liquid, with your blooming heat. 

Its approach is quicker than he thought it would be, and he hums, tongue rolling over his teeth to catch the lingering taste of you. Under his hand, your skin burns. Singing with the urgency of your desperation. He answers it with a grunt, falling forward to smother you under his weight. 

There's a flash of clarity in your eyes when they crack open. Brief. Fleeting. He feels your sluggish attempt to push him away, to free your hands from between your chests, and he has to dip his head to stifle another groan. It feels good to have you under him like this. Covered entirely in his bulk, his shadow. 

His hand pulls away from your flesh, snaking between your bodies to catch your wrists in the palm of his hand. Only one swallows them up, and the easy way he subdued you—effortlessly—has him nearly coming undone in his trousers. Untouched. 

“Fuck, want it bad, don't you?” he snarls, hips bucking into you. Chasing pleasure. He pulls your hands out, lifting to arm to trap yours in the shackle his fingers make high above your head, and—

It's devious, this. 

Somewhere in the loosening agency of his self, his autonomy, he knows this is becoming dangerous. Something that ought to be stopped before he rips into you with a rabidness that promises nothing at all will remain intact when he's finished. When he's had his fill. He needs to clear his mind. To get away from the way you fit against him so perfectly. Tiny in his wicked embrace. 

Like you were made to fit between his ribs. His teeth. 

He gnashes them together, trying to stem the ache in his gums. 

He wants to fuck you. Needs to—

But as ripe as you smell to him now—tender melon, warmed honeycomb—he knows that you're not yet ready to take him. 

Ghost steps back, letting your feet drop to the soil below. With the sparse inch of space between your bodies, he breathes in the lingering scent of your breath—sharp, burning; imbued with a heady thrum of adrenaline electrifying your nerves—and finds the musk a near-perfect pantomime of ozone. The arid tang in the air just before the air. A lightning strike. It rolls over his tongue, tastes of wet pennies in the back of his throat. Heavy with anticipation. 

Something he feels very keenly as well. An eagerness he hasn't met in decades. Absolutely famished for it, for this familiarity of want. Potent desire. 

He mourns the loss of the way your ass fits in the cradle of his hand when he pulls it free, fingers trailing over the feverish skin of your hips, your belly, as he goes. He doesn't stop until he comes to rest on the button of your trousers, eyes flickering down to catch your gaze. Purposeful, now. Intent clear. 

Nothing is stopping him from taking. Your protests are paper-thin, dissolving the moment it touches the dense blanket of humidity in the air, but he wants your submission. Wants to see your resolve break, crushed by your own hand. 

The gossamer wings of a butterfly, crumpled up in your palm, and offered to him for the taking. How sweet—

You seem to realise his intentions when his thumb dips below the hem of your pants. Just a tease. Brushing against the soft skin he finds there with the curve of his nail. 

Your glare is instant. The sharp tug of a drawstring pinching tight between your brow. Mesmerising as it closes over your lax expression. A fierce snap. He wants to pry it apart. Wedge himself between the seam. Create a gap wide enough for him to fit. 

“I won't beg,” you grind out, acidulous. Firm. 

He huffs, quietly amused by the fight still sparking in you despite the evidence of your arousal, your want of him, evident in the stain at the seam of your pants. His other hand rests on the trunk of the tree above your head, boxing you in when he leans closer. Taunting. “That so?” 

You don't respond, but your glare sharpens, mouth tugging downward in a harsh frown. Displeasure sparks in the air. Cutting into him like fine glass shards. He lets it graze his naked flesh, the warning ghosting over him in needlepoint pinpricks. Entirely too captivated by you to notice the sting. 

Your ire is a heady, tangible thing dripping down your brow, slashing over your cheeks. Anger, however misguided it might be, paints a pretty picture over your face. Darkens the inlets nestled in the corner of your eyes. Drenches the ravines, gorges in a startling chiaroscuro. Limns the alpines, the valleys, in a halo of golden starlight. 

He wants to drink it down. Hold your fury in the palm of his hand—

Crush it between his fingers. 

Because despite the dissent, your desire cuts through, and hews the air in a thick tapestry of want. 

mutinous, teeth bared, but your eyes burn, rage against the prison walls, and scream, please—

His fingers dig into the bark above your head, catching flecks of sap between his nails. Knuckles turning white under the flaxen hair dusting over them, strained. The grip is unintentional. Unconscious. He keeps thinking about you beneath him. The heat of your thighs around his waist was a mere tease. A morsel when he wants a meal—

The pressure in his knuckles grounds him. Cuts through the phosphenes blanketing the edges of his vision, smothering the clarity, the cognisance, that lingers in the centre. Threadbare as it is. 

There’s an ache in his jaw. 

(the need to bite—)

He pulls it off, and shoves his hand tight between your thighs, cupping your cunt in his palm. Feeling the heat bleed through the gusset of your pants. The touch is harsh. Firm. He bullies his fingers into your flesh, letting out a mocking chuff when he feels the fabric dampen.  

“Somethin’s’ tellin’ me otherwise.” 

Your hand lashes out, grabbing the thick of his wrist. Holding firm. It should be a warning, but the obvious gap between your middle finger and thumb makes him groan instead. 

“You're wrong.”

“Am I?” 

You twist away from him when he leans down, chin ducking to your shoulder. Hiding. Denying him your mouth, your taste. This meagre measure of control you grapple for is easy to give. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear instead, letting you run. Flee. For now. 

His voice is thick when he continues, husky. He pitches it low, lets it swirl into the seashell coil of your inner ear, earning him a shiver in response. Your nails biting into the skin of his wrist. Holding tight. 

“‘m a lot of things, pet—” rucked gravel, sodden with his derision, spills into your ear. Your shudder makes him want to bite, to maim. “Wrong ain't usually one of ‘em. But you'll learn that soon enough.” 

Your breath hitches. Expression morphing, shifting. Changing into something adorably beleaguered as he encircles you like a tiger, eyes drilling through the tussock, aimed directly at your head. With his body boxing you in, coiling over you like a hideous shadow, he has you trapped, caught. Little lamb writhing between the paw of a tiger.  

You seem to be keenly aware of this. Your eyes are shrewd, searching, as you probe around for any escape route, but he's a bulwark around you. Inescapable. 

Finding none, you suck in another breath, and slowly lift your chin, glancing up at him through your lashes. The look on your face is—

Enigmatic. 

Something changes in the morphology of your mien. Fracturing. Cracking. 

“Yeah?” You breathe, soft and goading. Your hips buck into his hand, rutting shallowly against the tops of his fingers. Unconscious. Like you just couldn't help it. 

And he supposes you can't. 

A fine sheen of sweat has been building since he took after you into the forest. Gathering around your temple, your hairline. The harsh reminder of your festering heat, once dammed by your raw disdain for him—hatred, he'd say, and doesn't the thought just make him want to laugh; you're all bark, no bite, and he knows he'll have fun breaking you in, breaking you apart—but flooded over by the primal drive to mate. 

And he's perfect for you, isn't he? 

Hideous bastard that he is. It's a sharp juxtaposition to your prettiness, your earthly beauty. 

Under the spinel sky, you break. The hand on his wrist tightens, your hips flexing into his palm. Seeking friction. Needing pressure. Needing him. And pissed off about it. Delicious. 

“Prove it,” you snap, irritation blanching the corners of your eyes arsenic white. Edging into a frenetic desperation hot enough to burn the threads of your resolve. But there's a gleam of reluctance pushing through the syrupy murk folding over you, heavy molasses. You want to give in, but there's something about him, his appetite, that makes you hold back. That makes you visibly sick at the sight of him—

Unfortunately for you, he has no such compunction to shelf his barbarity. To leash his desire, to muzzle the overwhelming urge to crush you under the weight of his accumulated need. It's decades of listless apathy. Divorced from anything resembling human emotion at the root. Carved out, scraped off bone. He was left to stagnate. A misfortunate creature submerged in a bog, dead but unable to rot. 

The deluge of his savage, bestial hunger rages in his veins. It's corrosive, vile, and—

unrestrained. 

Ravenously esurient. He wants to sink his teeth into you and never let go—

but first: 

he needs to eat. 

His meal is a feast, it turns out. Simon gorges himself until he's full. Promises that he'll stop as soon as he's satiated. 

(but he's lying to himself, and to you, because he never is—

never will be.)

Tears pebble along your lash line as he feasts on your sopping cunt, licking at your fluttering rim, slurping up your slick. Your clit is pressed tight against the crooked arch of his nose, sliding and catching on the jagged ridge each time he moves his jaw to dig deeper inside of you as if he's trying to taste the seal of your womb. You pant, whine. The noise muffled half-heartedly behind your palm. Teeth sunk into your skin, lodged against your bone. 

Angry rivulets rain down your cheeks, dangling like fine beads, gems, on your jaw. He wants to taste them next, as soon as he fills his gullet with the earthy tang you release. 

Your tears remind of that pretty omega Johnny sent to him—a brat, he'd said; the best, Lt—and it churns in his stomach, dredging up something awful. Terrible. He wants to make you weep harder. Wants you sobbing, begging. His own little brat to take over the knee whenever he wants—

But that's where the uncanny resemblance ends. 

You're not a brat. No. You're a headache. The kind that will have him written up, sat like a bad dog in his best suit, as they level him with charges, and orders, and the like. The sort of thing that even the old man wouldn't be able to string him out of—not that he would. Price is three days away from a much-deserved retirement to the mountains and sitting on his hands to keep from snatching up the pretty conservation officer who moons at him whenever he passes by. 

He won't be much help to get Ghost out of trouble. That leaves only Gaz and Soap. And while he's sure they can swing it, he doesn't really want to be under their ahh, guess ye/ya owe us one, Lt/Riley. 

So—

It stands to reason then that he should have you tamed before dawn. Shackled down, locked up tight. Only right considering he's the best in town to keep bears at bay. Do you really want to deal with a mama grizzly and her defenceless cubs? Or a starving male clumsily pawing his way out of hibernation? 

Probably not. 

So. So. 

He pulls back, rests his chin on your thigh. 

“Gonna be good for me, pet?” He asks, lowering his tone considerably until it catches on the gravel below. 

He's not surprised when you hiss through a cloud of tears. “Go fuck yourself—”

Ghost tips his head, suckles your clit into his mouth. Tongue laving over your flesh. Blunt teeth pressing flat against the swollen bead, a tease. You tense, gasping. Hand pushing his head back, back—

“Don't, don't—” you're mewling, nails raking over his scalp. Hips bucking, pulling back. Struggling to get away. The bite marks along your thighs weep fresh blood in your struggle, filling his nose with the heavy scent of iron. 

They serve as a harsh reminder of what he can do with these jagged teeth of his. 

He chuckles, mouth still closed around your clit. The vibrations have you choking, spine curving into a beautiful arch. 

Fingers digging into your hips, keeping you still. Trapping you. He's not quite done with your cunt, yet. And all this wriggling is something he can do without. With his hand pressed to your hips, he notches the other down your thigh. Tracing his index finger over your soft skin, dragging it close to your outer lips. Catching the tacky slick drying on your flesh with the tip. 

Tiny fists rain down over his shoulders. Urging him forward, eager for more. Selfish, spoiled little thing. 

What a monster he's made—

“Patience, pet,” he coos, mocking and mean. Likes the way you react to the patronisation in his tone. All taut shoulders, shaking fists. Bearing your teeth at the slight, the stinging barb. Shaking in an amalgamation of embarrassment and shame. 

You seem to like it when he's a little awful to you. A little mocking. Cruel. 

“Shut up—!” You hiss, lips curling as you glare down at him. “I'm not your pet—”

He ignores you. Bends down to sniff at your cunt instead, and finds his answer is the white hot desire he can taste in the back of his throat when he breathes you in. 

His fingers pry apart your folds, and he greedily drinks in the sight of your drenched hole, clenching down on nothing. Poor you. His heart thunders in his chest, rages. He wants to sink inside of you—impossibly deep—until the beginning of him and the end of you ceases to exist. Rolled into a single being, atoms merged. Bodies fused. He wants to take everything from you. All of it. Eat it out of the cup of his hand like pomegranate seeds, let the skin get stuck in his teeth. 

He wants to devour you whole.

(to eat—)

Settles, instead, for pawing at your cunt. 

Pressing the width of it against your slit, feeling the heat of your core on the palm of his hand. Branding himself with the intensity of your desire. Another scar among many. An uncountable number of jagged asteroids cratering along his flesh, making a home out of a ghost. A shell. 

Reinforced, too, by the absurdity of how terribly contrasted his flesh is to yours. Monstrous. His scarred hand rests over your pussy, encompassing it entirely with extra digits to spare. Folding each finger on top of the other to wedge between the basin of your thighs. And as his gaze comes to rest on the way he swallows you up, he is struck by the garishness of his hand—hideous scar tissue, burns—falling over your pretty cunt. 

Sinful. Frankensteinian beast palming the sweet pussy of a pretty, human woman, and—

Fuck. 

His cock twitches, spits out a thick glob of pre-cum.

Ghost has never wanted to ruin something as badly as he wants to ruin your cunt. You. Mess you up so badly that everyone will know you belong to him, and him alone. To brand you with the tattoo of his teeth on your mons; force a claiming bite on the pillowy skin above your clit. His ownership bracketed between your thighs, at the very apex of your hip bones. Buried into tissue right under the bulge of your womb. A fecund valley for him to lay waste; for you to grow beauty from the rot, the ash. 

Cinder scraps over his nerves. Fells his resolve in a brutal sweep. 

He comes undone at the seams, unravels. 

Simon curls his fingers into a loose fist, passing the rugged peaks of his bone over your soft flesh. Gathering slick on thick, scarred knuckles. He holds it there, folds pried apart by his hand, content to luxuriate in the softness of your flesh, the scorching heat.

Possessively, he unhitches his thumb from the coil of his fist, and swipes it over your clit. More slick leaks out as you keen. 

“Sweet omega like you should ‘ave been claimed by now,” he rumbles evenly despite the sour twist in his guts at the thought. “Might not ‘ave ended up ‘ere, would you ‘ave? Beggin’ the first alpha you see to fuck this sweet little cunt.”

“Begging?” 

“Practically gaggin’ for it, weren't you?” And even though the words are his own, they sit in his gut like a stone. An angry knot tangled in his intestines, snaking its way up his gullet. Bitter. It's quelled by the sight of your bare neck. Ripe for his teeth. And his alone.

But even if you had a pretty ring made by another alpha, Simon knows that wouldn't have stopped him from taking you, anyway. Biting over the claim. Breaking it between his teeth. Precious, loving union shattered by his crooked greed. He'd have relished in it, too. Basked in the way you sobbed as he tore your alpha into pieces. An obstacle turned into a pretty effigy at his feet. Wicker pyre burning to keep him warm.

(he'd have caught dinner for you, too; hunted caribou, moose, and roasted it over the open flame. Fucked you under the blume of orange. Let the fire lick across your skin as he sunk in deep—)

He rocks back on his haunches. Mood labile, quicksilver, as his rut grows. Festers. 

You deny it, breathless, as he slips the mountainous peak of his bent middle finger into your hole, stretching your rim around the scarred cartilage. You pulse around him like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird. Rapid, quick. Wanting. It draws him in. Makes him want to spit on your pretty pussy, and then break you apart on his cock—

“Such a needy cunt, eh? Starving for a good knot, ain't it?”

You hiss out your protests, but clench tight around his knuckle. He chuckles, and it's liquid. Wet rot. Lungs polluted, spitting nocuous, black smoke into the air. 

“I'm not—”

“You are.” 

He pulls back, pursing his mouth, and spreads your lips apart, opening you up wide and vulnerable to his prying eyes. Saliva puddles on his tongue. He gives you a moment to clue into what he's about to do, your fingers tightening, nails digging into his scalp as you do on a shallow gasp of disgust. Then, brutish, he leans forward, and spits. Lets the glob hit your clit, and he has to hold you still when you jerk, cringing away from him, snarling out your displeasure.

“You're disgusting—”

The protests are weak. Your knees tremble, giving away the growing slickness gathering on the insides of your thigh. 

He hums, watches as it oozes down between your folds, over your fluttering hole, before it falls to the ground between your legs. He lets his hand fall back over your cunt, middle finger gathering his spit. Rubbing it around your pebbled clit. It's done detachedly, perfunctory. A means to an end with hardly much concern for your pleasure. Not yet, anyway. 

You've given him nothing in return yet. 

He intends to change that soon. 

As you grapple with the harsh reality he presents to you—one of ownership, humiliation, and pleasure on his whim—he drags his finger down, sliding it between your soft lips until he reaches your hole once more. Petting around the drenched entrance slowly, softly, humming under his breath about how wet you are. 

Your hips drop, greedily chasing after his finger. You won't ask—not yet—but he likes the way you rut against him: all hateful, spiteful. Like you can't decide on what you want more—to bash his head in, or keep it locked tight between your thighs. Sweet thing. 

“Need me, don't you?” He sinks his finger in. Nearly whites out at the pressure, the tightness, he feels. Soft, wet. Squeezing him in a vice as you yowl, whimpering into the stretch like it matters. Like his thick, scarred finger is the most you'd ever taken before. Sweet girl. So naïve. 

He drinks in the sight of your flesh forcibly being parted around his knuckle, matting the wisps of blond on his skin as it leaks down to his wrist, until that, too, is pushed up into you. His whole finger now engulfed in the wet heat of your body as you squirm around the stretch, pulsing around him like a heartbeat. 

He groans when he tastes your discomfort on the back of his tongue. 

“Don't worry, lovie. M’gonna take good care’a you.”

You watch him with slitted eyes as he pushes you down to the forest floor, glaring over your shoulder as he adjusts you the way he wants. Maneuvers you around like a little toy. Forearms braced against the trampled grass, knees sinking into soft moss. Thighs spread. Cunt bare, drenched. Ready to be claimed. Taken. 

He drops to his knees, shuffling close from behind you. His hand drops to your lower back, pressing your torso down further into the ground below. His cock aches between his thighs. Heavy, fat. He reaches down with his other hand to where it droops, smearing pre-cum over his inner thigh. He catches it in his fist, flushed the colours of a fresh bruise—angry red, purple—and strokes along the sensitive skin of his shaft, dragging it up and over his engorged head. Pre-cum weeps from the tip, drools long strains down to the forest floor. Puddles thick between your knees. 

A prelude, perhaps, for what's to come. When he has you tied like a bow around his knot, milking all the pent-up spend from his heavy, full balls. 

It's been decades since he had this—

(“shame.”

he concurs.)

Simon pulls his cock up, taps it against your pebbled clit. Drinks in the sight of you keening, cunt gushing more slick out of your empty hole, dribbling down your thighs. Mingling with the mess he already started making. 

It shocks him how good it feels just to tap his cockhead on your pretty pussy. To drag it through your slit, teasing it against your fluttering hole that drools copious slick over him. 

He wants to make a mess of you. Fuck your pussy until you cum, until all you can feel is the split of him inside of you. Filling you. Ruining you. 

Until all you can think about is the thick drag of him against your stuffed walls. Empty without him plugging you up. Desperate for his cock, his knot—hungry little slut just for him. All for him.

He presses the head of his cock against your rim, letting it catch. Holding it there. A tease. Just a little taste. 

Likes when you whimper, head hanging between your shoulders, fingers curling into the moss below. You make such a pretty picture like this—the expanse of your back bare for his eyes to roam, locking on the dimples of your hips, the curve of your waist. The plump shape of your ass inviting him in—eager for a bite. Your flesh looks bare, lonely, without his mark. The contrast of his own inked palm—fingers webbed with faded lettering, some slogan he picked up in his youth. Hands etched in black. Lines bleeding, bulky. The unmistakable tremble of an incipient artist’s first brush of a needle on real skin. Jagged, garring. Ugly. He lets his hand rest against the small of your back, groaning at the way it looks. 

Sinful.

You're made for soft silk and a fluffy bed. Head resting on a plush cushion instead of your arms, forehead braced over the uncomfortable squeal of your polyester windbreaker that he didn't even have the courtesy to let you take off. No. Just trousers. Panties. Pushed haphazardly down your legs, left in a pile by the spruce tree so he could throw your ankle over his broad shoulder, feasting on your cunt. 

There's a spot of dirt on your asscheek. The curve of it is scraped from the bark, red and raw. 

The glare you aim at him from over your shoulder is venomous. There's a smear of moss on your cheek. 

You're made for epsom salt baths. Being tended to by a besotted alpha who treats you like fine china, only to be taken out on special occasions. Brushed, always, in a fine layer of dust from disuse. Sweet, tender lovemaking under the waning summer sky. Your alpha apologising for ruining you like this, for making you take the brunt of his rut. Poor thing. Gentle kisses, and hands clasped together. 

He can see it so vividly in his eye. So viscerally that it almost feels like a crime when he glances down at his cock, the weeping, engorged head almost comically too big for you. The thick of him could easily swallow your cunt up if he flattened his length against you. Covering you wholly by his girth. 

It's a thought that makes his hand tighten, and nearly chokes him on a moan. 

Even his thighs bracketing the backs of yours is hideous to look at. Bigger, broader—there's a considerable gap on both sides of his legs that he thinks nearly his whole fist can fit there, notched against the outside of your thigh, covering the expanse of his own. Garish. 

He can't wait to lay you down on your belly, lock his thigh tight on either side of your own and rut into you like that. Crushing you under his weight. Swallowing you whole. Until anyone misfortunate enough to wander by thinks he's fucking the cold ground. 

His thumb strokes along your fevered skin, collecting the sheen of sweat building up on the pad. Rubbing it in. He feels it too. This unrelenting swelter. A cage, pushing down from all sides. Inescapable. 

The only way to quench it is on you. In you. 

“Ready for me, pretty girl?” The words are mangled in his throat, thick with want. 

Your shoulders tremble. In worry, he thinks. Scents the air like a viper, letting your emotions curdle in the back of his throat. “Just get on with it—”

He meets you in the middle of that taunt, teeth against your throat. 

Ghost pushes inside with a groan, eyes rolling back at the way you swallow him up. Stretching around the considerable girth, fluttering around him. Pulsing like a heartbeat. 

It's heaven. 

Nirvana nests between your thighs, bracketed by rings of blood. Red. Absolution imbued in tender flesh, parting perfectly around his cock in a loving embrace. 

You haven't confirmed it for him, but the tightness of your cunt around his fingers, the heady scent of discomfort burning the back of his throat when he buried them inside of you, make him mutedly aware that you're inexperienced. A fact he pockets for later because if he thinks about being the first alpha, the first man, to ever claim you, take you, then he might lose his mind, he might fall down that yawning chasm that reeks of damnation, of brimstone and ash, and never recover—

So, he doesn't. Won't. 

Can't. 

His pace is slow as he feeds you the fat length of his cock, eyes drilling into the way you swallow him up. Rim stretching taut, flesh paling under the strain of taking him. With one hand anchored against your hip, holding you tight, and the other curled over your shoulder, fingertips resting on your collarbones, he slowly, slowly, sinks inside of you, bottoming out with a deep groan. 

The outstroke drags with it an iron scent in the air. He huffs, nostrils flaring. Greedy for more. There's discomfort leaking from your pores. His girth is more than you can conceivably take, even with the preternatural help from your heat, leaking slick down your inner thighs in thick rivulets. 

He holds himself there, breathing—heavy, tremulous—through his nose. His hands shake. The pressure, the pleasure, is indescribable. It coils in his guts, spumes liquid bliss in his veins. The way you feel pulsing sweetly around him is—

Equilibrium. 

Every misfiring synapse inside himself is slowed. Imbued with a potent sense of ataraxia. His mind comes to a standstill. Thoughts looping over themselves, tangling into the gossamer threads of control floating in stasis. Unmoored. You unravel him. 

It's further proof that you are his missing part. His ruts in the past have been calamitous. Snarls wrenched from the trenches of his chest; a gluttonous feast—a sacrifice to Hēdonē. Violent, vicious. 

But this—

It's drinking ichor from the vein of Anteros.

There's a crack in the back of his head. The sound of everything, all of it—

Falling into place. 

His hands tighten. Tighten some more. He holds you, sure and firm, keeping you nestled in the anchor of his embrace, unable to run, to flee. You're his. Settled. The caveat is ironclad, bound in permanence. 

And Simon moans. Deep, and low. The noise jutters out of his chest, and seeps into the evening air. Fine mist, crystallising in front of him. Phosphenes of ice cemented his decision, gluing to his cheeks. The nape of his neck. 

His ears burn. 

“Fuckin' hell, sweet thing,” it's a guttural growl in the hollow of his throat. “Where ‘ave you been all my goddamn life?”

It's a nauseating confession, one scraped out from the vacancy between his ribs. It peppers the air in a soft, saccharine kiss. Makes you shiver beneath him, gasping in lungfuls of loam, dirt in your throat. 

He grunts. Stills. He doesn't want that for you. Ever. Would rip off his own limbs before he ever let you feel the crushing weight of dirt congealing inside of your lungs. 

The way he arches over you is damning. Nauseating. He curls his arm around your shoulder, your chest, traps a heaving breast in the palm of his hand, holds tight. The other falls from your hip, closes over your mons. Greedily feeling your slick, hot sex pulsing wildly around him when he passes over your clit, toying with your stretched, swollen rim. It's perfection, this. 

He pulls you up, up, leaning back on his haunches until you're balanced on your knees, nearly sat on his lap. Taking him deeper than before. He drops his head back with another moan when he feels your slick gather, dripping down to coat his balls. 

Everything about you is just—

Perfection. Absolution. 

Your hands fly up, curling over his forearm, mewling when he pinches your nipples between his middle and ring finger. 

“C’mon,” he rasps, leaning forward to press his face into your nape. You smell sweet. “Play with ‘em for me, pet.” 

Nails bite into his skin. You whimper. Squirming around on his lap. But you do as you're told. Slowly, slowly, reaching up. Touching yourself the way you like. Fingers ghosting over your flesh, brushing across your nipples. Pulling, petting, the way you like. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, watches. Devours. Commits each movement to memory. Every sound, every breath. Everything. 

He keeps a slow, languid pace like this. Content to just feel you pulsing around him, listening to the slick, wet squelch of him filling you up. Over and over again. A lazy rut. 

It's unexpected, he knows. You've been bracing yourself this whole time, fingers digging into the podsol, spine tightening up. Waiting for the savagery to befall you. 

When it doesn't come, he feels your quiet acquiescence come in a soft breath. In the way you slowly drop down to meet the deep rut of his hips. Taking your pleasure, pulling him in deeper. There's an edge to your voice, one still dipped in threads of discomfort, a waning pain that rings out, shrill, in the satin spill of moonlight over the indigo forest. 

It's good like this. Tender. Not something he'd have ever imagined for himself, and the reality of it is dizzying. 

Reedy, he groans. Nuzzles his misshapen nose into your scent gland. His gums pulse, ache—

But he ignores it. Swallows it down. 

He's not sure what compels him to do so. Spellbound, maybe, by this unnatural softness that spools silken threads between you. Sutured in tenderness—so unbefitting of the man he is. The monster—

His hips stutter. Jerk. 

“Simon—!”

You whine into it, arching back. Sweat gathers, drips down your spine, smears into his chest, belly. Matts the thatch of hair running in sparse, patchy clusters down the thickness of his midsection. A bountiful spring fattened him up. Made him soft and pillowy over his abdomen. Something you can't seem to get enough of—pressing the flat of your back against him, leaning into it. Groaning when his arm shifts, boxing you in. Crushing you to him. 

Wily little kitten, purring so sweetly in his lap. 

He draws lazy circles over your clit, grunting with each clench of your cunt. You're soft in his arms. Malleable. He slides his hand up from beneath your breasts, catches your jaw in his palm. Fingers spanning from cheekbone to temple and, oh—

Doesn't that just make him preen. 

He drags your chin to the side, catching your mouth in a sickening kiss. All tongue, teeth. He wants to taste, to devour, every part of you. Bones and all. 

It's a fight, though. You tense in his grasp, lidded eyes snapping open, wide and around. Cheeks bulging between his fingers when you twist, trying to pull away. 

“Don't—I don't want to—” he bites the protests from lips. Messy, sloppy. He flicks his tongue over yours, wrapping it around you like a satiated snake burrowing in after a heavy meal. “Don't—f–fuck—”

It earns him a nip. Teeth digging into his bottom lip. Drawing blood. 

He huffs into the seam of your mouth. Only fair, he supposes, and then pulls you down—hard, fast—onto his cock. The air is punched out of your lungs, flooded into his esophagus. 

“Be a good girl for me,” he warns, bucking into you. It's harder this time, deeper. Tempo increasing. Growing. He feels himself thicken. Knot fattening up. Each piston of his hips seems to knock something inside of his head loose. Common sense, maybe—

The fraying knot of his self-control winding tight. Pulling taut. 

He huffs again, feeling himself slip. Lost in the sensation dripping down his spine, the unified pleasure blooming in the pit of his stomach. 

The air plumes with the thickening tang of your arousal—all sweet, spice. You can take it, now, he knows, and tries not to growl when you hiccup his name wetly into the air. 

The muscles in his thighs bunch tight. Corded and powerful. He arches up, up, forcing his cock deep inside your cunt, splitting you apart. Rutting desperately, edging into something animalistic. 

It runs a knife along the thin skin of his hindbrain. Come out, come out, come play—

He moves you again, pulling his hand away from your jaw and pushing you back down the forest floor. He stays glued to your back. Tucks his arm under your chin, and smothers you under his bulk, groaning when your thighs give out, sliding on the sweat-slicked moss below.

“Simon, ah—” your voice tapers off into a breathless cry when he pulls his hand free from beneath you, wrapping it around to join the other. Holding on, clinging to you. Keeping you locked tight against him, under him. You can't move at all like this—

The swell of his knot bumps against your stretched rim. He presses the brunt of his weight into each thrust now, spurned on by the needy way you yowl into his forearm, drooling all over his skin. Begging for it. 

“Please, please, please—”

Your body is jostled forward with each harsh buck of his hips as he gives you everything he has, feeding his cock into your sopping cunt over and over again. Eager now to fill you up, to flood you with his cum. Make you swell with it. Overstuffed. 

Perfect little omega, you rut back into him with each thrust, taking his thick cock to the root. Mewling sweetly when his knot begins to catch. Too much, he thinks. It might just wreck you for good—

pomegranate seeds splitting over your teeth, blood red juice leaking from the tear. spilling into your mouth. just a drop. just a drop, and Persephone is all his

—Perfect. 

He teeters on the edge of ferality and control. Spinning, spiralling. Loosefooted on the wobbling chossy. Coming undone in a magmatic end—wicked heat, ashes, brimstone; he catches fire, and smoulders you under his heat. Letting the flames lick across your skin until you whine his name, desperate and needy, in the back of your throat. The thrill a bludgeon against his skull, spilling pleasure, bliss, in the broken hole you wrought. 

You tighten like a vice around him—tight, tight—and he pistons into you, burrowing deep. Deeper still. Until you thrash around beneath him, soundlessly screaming his name into the dark forest. Begging for mercy, mercy, please—

He won't. Can't. 

He can't get enough of the way you feel wrapped around him like this. Silken, whitehot. Tight. Tight—

It squeezes the air from his lungs. Static in his head—

And then you let go. Pulsing, throbbing around him. Pulling him in deeper, blanketing his mind in white noise. In nothing but magmatic pleasure. 

“Fuck—!” He snarls, almost angry. Vicious. Chasing after his end in the aftermath of yours. Instincts are at war within him, banging against his skull. Demanding recompense. Paid it's pound of flesh. 

It's what he's promised. What it's owed. 

(and he always keeps his promises, doesn't he?)

Most describe their ruts as mindless, driven by instinct. No control. But Ghost has never felt more present, more alive, than when he sinks his teeth deep into your nape, nearly choking, drowning, on your blood.

For the first time in decades, he feels the crater inside himself, suffused with spare, broken parts, seal when you yield with a mangled yowl of his name, raw and fractured as it splits between your teeth. Pretty pussy swallowing up his knot when he bullies it in deep, locking you together.

pretty little lamb—

a perfect fit between his teeth.

His rut is a voracious thing. 

Ghost has you on your back for the second and third round, heels resting on his shoulders as he bucks into you. Makes you stare at him—don’t look away from me, pet—as he commandeers your body with an ease that seems to break apart all demurrals as they form, rendering you sweet, malleable, beneath him to do with as he pleases. 

And you are, aren't you?

So fuckin’ sweet. 

(“gonna give me a cavity,” he rasps, thick with pleasure, into your ear. he has you on your belly now. holds you down with his weight, crushes your chest against the soft moss below, thighs squeezed tight between his own. you can barely make a sound with his forearm digging into the dirt right above your crown, swallowing you whole under his bulk. 

(owns you like, he finds. no one would be able to see you beneath him if they wandered by. encompassed wholly by every iota he has to give—

he cums like that. nose buried in your crown, moaning low, scorched, in the back of his throat as you twitch beneath him, unable to move at all—)

It's early in the morning when he finally finishes, when his rut begins to slowly recede, and a fresh bloom of clarity yawns over his periphery. Moonrise peppers soft kisses over his aching shoulders as he glances at you curled up against his side, sleeping soundly. Exhausted by the hours and hours of mating, fucking. Taking him, his knot, drinking down everything he has to offer. 

The sight that greets him is gnarled fingers wrapping around his rotting heart, affection peeking out between the brackets of his ribs. His appetite for you is dizzying. Unquenchable. He wonders if he'll ever be able to look at you without wanting to crawl inside your body. To reshape your tender flesh around his bulk until it is indiscernible from himself. 

This want is agony. It's dread, desire. Greed. 

His shoulders bite back in protest when he reaches up to drag his dirt-crusted nails through the prickly hair on his scalp. As dawn slowly unfurls across the midnight blue aether, he knows he'll have to leave soon. Can already feel the creeping heat gnawing in the pit of his belly. His rut starting anew. The scant hours he has of mental clarity, moments meant to eat, to feed, and regain strength for the next marathon of fucking, are needed to feel out his next move. 

He glances at you again, and feels the same covetous tug in his chest as he did before, when he was thickly entrenched in the urge to mate. But as the burnt orange of the sun smears hazy fingerprints across the moulted sky, he sees you in a new, cleaner light. You're young. Much younger than he is. 

It's something he ought to worry about. To feel some shred of shame, of despondency over shackling you to himself—a defective alpha with more scars than morality—when you're in the burgeoning bloom of your freshly untethered youth. All jejune beauty outclasses nature itself. Snow melts on the alpines, trickling down to feed the valley below. Life itself—

But you are his. 

The ugly rings around your throat—mangled tissue swelling in the morning dawn, caked in a thick river of blood—all signify that you belong to him. And while it's a little extreme as far as claiming bites go—one would suffice, but he buried his teeth in you over and over again, biting down on both sides of your neck, your jugular, your nape; inner thighs, mons, wrists—it’s proof enough that you are meant for him. Made for him. 

His pretty omega. 

The rest doesn't matter. He ought to feel shame, but instead he luxuriates in it. Stares down at you with a needy sort of possession spuming in the putrid remains of his chest, mapping out the marks he put on you. And the ones he'll add to later, not stopping until covered in the perfect impression of his crooked teeth. Tattoos of his ownership all over your body. 

Mutual, of course. There's a scant patch of skin, restive and empty, above his heart, save for a fine, jagged line from a serrated dagger. He'll have you bite down on the flesh until your teeth meet inside his muscle. Scarring down to the bone. He'll go, then, to the man who inks him up whenever he has the whim to desecrate scar tissue, and have him etch midnight black against fine silver. Permanent, forever. Always. 

And anyone who kicks up a fuss—stupid as they might be—he’ll sort them out. Prove to them that you are meant to be his. 

(unshakeable:

his spend leaks out of you, drying, tacky and thick, on your thighs. under the sleepy citrine of the dawning sun, it's tinged pink, and looks just like pomegranate juice.)

Ghost rolls his shoulder, and reaches for his discarded trousers. He's covered in a thick layer of dirt, and reeks like soil. But the thought of being buried alive is miniscule compared to the want of being buried inside you again. The urge. Insatiable. He groans with it, cock throbbing already. 

He leaves you naked. No point in dressing when he plans on going home and sinking back inside of you before midday, anyway. An unneeded obstacle, really—

The clearing is close to his truck, and he sets a leisurely pace, yawning into the dawn, as he gathers you into his arms. Carrying you to it as you drool on his chest, brows pinched at the soft jostle of him trudging through the thicket until he reaches it. 

He's not in a rut when he stretches you out in the back seat, spreading your sticky thighs around his hips, sinking inside, bottoming out just as you come to, waking up with a gasp. 

The intense fucking from before lingers in the air. You're soft, molasses; arching into his chest, whimpering out the name he hissed into your nape only hours ago, folding into him with a somnolent submission. It won't last, of course—

You're a vicious little thing, and his back and chest twinge with the rivers you carved into his flesh when he didn't move the way you liked. Wolfish, aren't you? Spitfire hiding under the soft pelt of a slain lamb. He wants to devour you, bones and all. 

He takes his fill of your malleable concession, rutting into you with a sluggish ease. Mapping out the starlight sparking in the depths of your glossy eyes. Magnetic. It pulls him deeper. Unravels him at the seams. 

His hand spans the expanse of your jaw from ear to ear. He holds you like this, thumb buried in the tender embrace of your soft tongue, and begins to understand the reason behind Johnny's niche appetite when you toy with his flesh, coquettish and sweet, suckling him in—pretty seductress—and then mewl when he pushes in too deeply, bringing crystalline gems to corners of your eyes. 

Angelic innocence. The type that demands he prostrates himself at your altar, let his bones be picked clean when you so wish it. And he'll give it to you—body, blood, tissue; all of it. The entirety of him, however broken, shattered the fragments might be. 

He promises it all to you without a word, drilling holes in the gaps of your eyes, chasms wide enough for him to fit. When he cums, it's to a songbirds sonata. Your moans are a whisper, your pleasure swallowed down as it ghosts over his lips, clenching around him like a vice. Pretty bow. He doesn't hold back—groans, baritone; woodsmoke, into the gathering symphony, filling you to the brim. Thick, copious. He wants it to stick. To root. 

When the blood sputters back to his head, he gathers you in his arms once more. Keeps you seated on his lap—shush, pet; s’alright, jus’ close your eyes an’ I'll ‘ave us home in a bit—as he starts the old pickup, and puts it into drive. One hand on the wheel, knuckles blanching white in the glimmering sunrise; sparse forests of muted blond catching, limned in the coruscating light. The other is placed on the small of your back, holding your belly to his. 

Quietly, your body eases. Melts. You press your face into his chest, fingers curling into the fabric, and nuzzle into the heady scent of his sweat, his musk, still clinging to his shirt. Signing, soft and twee, in the cup of his embrace as you slip back to sleep. 

He drives home like this. Mind a quiet place for once. Silent in its contentment, it's comfort. There's an itinerary still left to do, but he pushes it back for now, gaze roaming the dense green of the forest bracketing the road. 

You'll like it, he knows. There's a fen on the outskirts of his territory, a little pond where wild rabbits have been known to make burrows. Deers, elk. Bears. They all come and go. You'll amuse yourself in the untamed wilderness of his abode, drawing delineations of your own as you carve out places in his home just for you. 

And as he makes the turn to his hidden driveway, this buried sanctuary, he can't help but glance down at your crown, and think—

Persephone, finally home.

He finds your identification in your rucksack, nestled underneath the contraband you smuggled from the park—mushrooms, berries, bark, feathers—and sears your name to memory. Every part of you will be unravelled in the coming days, pulled from the depths of your being until it's all ingrained in his head. A gaping chasm chiselled into bone just for you. All for you. 

Your address is a rental. He'll have to call them later today to cut your lease. Your job, too. They'll need to be notified on both your off time for his rut (and your burgeoning heat), and to update your contact information. 

But that's later. Now, he just wants to get home. Sink down into his bed with you beneath him, and fuck you until sundown all over again. Stain the house with the scent of you. With the potent tang of your coupling. 

It's yours too, after all. Should smell just like you. 

And when you wake up later to him fucking his tongue into your drenched hole, fingers toying with your pebbled clit, Johnny will be busy packing the rest of your things into the pack of his pickup truck. The majority of it is already stacked on the porch, waiting for you to rearrange it all in your new house. Lease cut. His name added to your contacts as spouse, husband. Address updated. Marriage certificate laying on the table, only one line unsigned. Waiting for you. 

Maybe it's too fast. You'll certainly protest like it is, bearing your teeth and hissing at him from across the room about too much, too fast, slow down, you don't even know his last name—

(“Riley,” he grouses, arms folded over his broad chest. Eyes burning in the cresting twilight. “S’your last name now as well, pet.”) 

Fast—sure. He might think so too for a brief moment when he as you purring against his chest, submissive and docile after he fucked the fight right out of you, bullied you into agreeing to everything—it's for the best, after all. No one could ever protect you like he can. 

Made for each other. Reinforced when he presses your fingers to the soft spot where his last rib once hung—

(“stole it,” he murmurs into the seam of your lips. “right from under my nose. only fair that i get to steal somethin’ right back, ain't it?”

the look on your face is rapturous when you press your hand to your side, eyes widening when you feel the extra rung—)

He's had decades of waiting. Waiting. And now that he's found you—

He's never letting go. 

You're it, he knows. Feels the certainty in that statement simmering in his hindbrain, in his essence. He'll have you—now, forever. Non-negotiable. Where you go, he will follow. 

(after all, there's something about three-headed dogs and their bones—)

[jolieeason]

Bookish Travels---October 2023 Destinations

I saw this meme on It’s All About Books and thought, I like this!! So, I decided to do it once a month also. Many thanks to Yvonne for initially posting this!! This post is what it says: Places I travel to in books each month. Books are lovely and take you to places you would never get to. That includes places of fantasy, too!! Bon Voyage!! Please let me know if you have read these books or…

[makanidotdot]

i was made aware a warcraft version of this meme didn't exist

[vaguely-concerned]

sisko: *sigh* against my will and for complicated political reasons I am sent to save your sorry cardassian ass yet again. just get in the fucking car already pls

gul dukat: there's a hidden meaning in that! the usurper of terok nor obviously desires me carnally

[witchywithwhiskey]

the alpha next door

pairing: alpha!steve rogers x omega!female reader

summary: you and your neighbor are harboring feelings for each other, but both of you think the other is too sweet. then, things take a turn when your first heat since moving in hits, revealing the depth of your feelings for the alpha next door—and his for you.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), omegaverse AU tropes (heats, knots, purring, mating, scenting), piv sex, breeding kink/pregnancy kink (reader's on birth control tho), accidental voyeurism, masturbation (m + f), dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, little bit of mommy kink, size kink, pet names (baby), mutual pining, idiots in love, dual pov

word count: 8.9k

a/n: here's my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420's Cum Together Extravaganza!!! i used the A/B/O AU and breeding kink prompts—and this is my very first omegaverse fic!!! so uhhh please be kind because i don't know what i'm doing 😅 also loosely inspired by "too sweet" by hozier!! anyway, this ended up a lot longer than i thought it would be....whoops!! hope y'all enjoy!!!

When you first moved into the little pink cottage next door, Steve Rogers decided that you were too sweet for an ex-soldier alpha like him. An omega like you was filled with sunshine and gentleness, and you deserved an alpha who would treat you like the precious thing you were. 

The kindest thing Steve could do for you was stay away. The thoughts you inspired in his alpha hindbrain had him hating the rough and greedy animal side of himself. He wanted to dig his fingers into your plush hips and bend you over, make you present your pretty little body in the way the alpha in him craved. 

But he reminded himself you were too sweet. Too sweet for the obscene thoughts that plagued his mind. Too sweet to be defiled by a big alpha like him. Too sweet to be swollen and round and glowing because you were carrying his child…

Still, you were his neighbor and Steve couldn’t avoid you entirely, even though everything he saw only reaffirmed his belief that you were too good for him. 

The little pink cottage beside his house had come with a front garden filled with pink roses and all manner of other pink flowers that Steve couldn’t even begin to name, but you tended to them like you’d planted them yourself. Steve would get home from work, park his truck in his driveway—which had a perfect view of your front garden. He’d watch you from behind his tinted windows as you took care of your flowers, looking like a garden fairy come to life.

When Steve eventually grew uncomfortable with how long he’d been watching you, he would get out of his truck and call a gruff hello to you as he made his way inside. Your melodic voice returning his greeting would follow him into his house, where he’d close his door and lean against it, panting like he’d just escaped a warzone while his cock strained against his jeans. But Steve wouldn’t stoop to jerking himself off to the thought of you—at least not while you were just outside. 

On weekends, Steve would work in his backyard, mowing the grass and tending to the shrubs that ran along the line separating his property from yours. When the weather was nice and pleasantly warm, you would sit out on your small back porch, curled up in a wicker chair reading some book or another.

Steve would offer to mow your lawn, just for an excuse to stay outside longer, and be a little bit closer to you. You’d let him, and thank him for his efforts by giving him some ice cold lemonade, smiling up at him while he drank it. Steve wasn’t the least bit surprised the lemonade was more sweet than tart. 

As the weeks and months passed since you’d moved in, Steve couldn’t help but feel his desire for you growing, becoming a living thing curling around his heart, making it beat for you. You were the sweetest and prettiest omega he’d ever met, and he’d be lucky to be your alpha, but he kept his distance, certain you could do better than him.

That is, until your first heat after moving in next door changed everything.

That was when Steve learned you were far more than the innocent little omega he’d determined you to be—you were a creature of sex and desire, made to take an alpha’s knot and be pumped full of come in the hopes that their seed would take root in your womb. When your heat hit fully, your keening wails echoed from your cottage, and they were a siren song that called directly to Steve’s alpha heart.

But he kept himself away. After all, there were polite ways of going about these things, and he’d never even asked you out on a date, so he certainly wasn’t going to assume you wanted his help to get you through your heat. Besides, you hadn’t asked for him to join you, anyway.

That didn’t stop Steve from keeping an eye on you, though.

He’d noticed the slight change in your scent a few days before your heat truly set in, his cock reacting even more to your perfect omega body than normal. Steve felt like he was walking around with a constant bulge in his pants after getting a single whiff of your scent, but he ignored the niggling feeling telling him he needed to be close to you and did his best to hide his reaction. He knew you had other things to worry about than the comfort of the alpha next door. 

Even though something in him compelled him to go to you, Steve couldn’t bring himself to walk over to your cottage. It occurred to him that even if you didn’t want him to help you through your heat, he could offer to go to the store to get the food and provisions you’d need. But he didn’t. He was worried about what he’d do if he looked into your home and saw your nest and smelled your sweet perfume. 

So Steve kept his distance, watching you from his truck and the windows of his house as you brought home a week’s worth of provisions—protein bars and sports drinks that would keep you nourished enough to make it through your heat. Steve wished he could carry the heavy-looking bags into your home, but his cock was pitching a tent in his sweatpants, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with the way his alpha body reacted to your omega scent. 

Finally, as your heat drew closer, you locked up your cottage, closing all the windows and drawing all the curtains. Steve couldn’t help but notice, though, that you left the skylight in your bedroom cracked open a tiny bit. Steve’s alpha hindbrain itched at the thought that you’d only left it open because you couldn’t close it yourself, and he had to hold himself back from going over to your cottage to offer to close it.

Steve knew omegas liked to keep their nests dark and warm and locked up tight. They wanted to keep all the scents created during a heat trapped in their nest, at least until their heat broke. So it was curious that you’d left the skylight open, even a little bit. 

But when your heat hit in earnest that evening, your pitiful whimpers and desperate moans filtering through the open window and directly to Steve’s ears—through the window of his bedroom that he’d thrown open the moment he’d heard you—he forgot about what omegas typically wanted. Instead, all the blood in his body rushed to his cock, making him harder than he’d ever been in his life. 

Steve stood at the window of his bedroom, which overlooked your cottage, his eyes glazing over as he listened to you pant and whine and cry out for an alpha that wasn’t coming. Because of course Steve had noticed that no alpha had arrived to help you through your heat. He assumed you were using any number of the toys that were sold precisely to help unmated omegas get through their heats without an alpha’s help. 

But it meant you were alone, in your nest, riding out your heat on some silicone knot. That thought nearly made Steve storm from his house and barge into your cottage to demand you let him help you, but he reminded himself you were too sweet, too sweet, too sweet for him. So instead, he fisted his cock and listened to your raspy pleas fill the night sky.

“Need your knot, alpha, oh god, please,” you babbled, your voice beautifully melodic to Steve even when you were desperately begging for something he knew he shouldn’t give you. “Fill me up, daddy, I need it—need your knot, alpha—daddy, daddy, alpha, please, please, please!” Your moans grew louder and Steve could only imagine the thick silicone knot that was filling you up the way he should be filling you.

One of Steve’s hands gripped the frame of his window tightly, using the feel of the wood digging into his palm to keep himself grounded as he physically fought with his alpha instincts. He wanted to break into your cottage and rip your toys away from you so he could help you through your heat. Like he was meant to. It should be him inside you, sinking into your warm, welcoming cunt while you looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours.

Steve’s other hand gripped his cock, pumping his hard, stiff length with a fist so tight, it was nearly punishing. It helped a little, but his fist was a far cry from your perfect cunt, which would be gushing with wetness and so hot, Steve would feel like he was sinking into heaven and hell at the same time. And when he came, it wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying as emptying his balls right against your cervix, pumping your womb full of his seed while knot locked your bodies together so it would be almost certain he’d knock you up. 

That is, if you weren’t on birth control. Which most unmated omegas were, Steve reminded himself.

Still, the alpha in him was a beast barely caged—he wanted to breed you. 

Steve wanted to see you impaled on his cock and his knot, so bloated from how full you were with his come that he could see it in the way your belly bulged, giving a preview of what you’d look like growing with his child. He wanted to knock you up, he wanted to see you swollen and round with his pup. 

He wanted to keep fucking you even as you carried his child, watching you bounce on his knot, your tits swollen with milk and your belly big and round while he tried to fill your womb with another before you’d even popped out the first. Steve wanted to keep you pregnant all the time, your pretty little omega body always ripe and swollen with his pups, taking his knot and his come every moment of the day so he could make sure you were always glowing with the radiance of motherhood.

It was that image of you—beautiful and knocked up, your eyes hazy with pleasure that came only from being impaled on his cock, and being locked on his knot—that made Steve come. 

He grunted as the pleasure of his fist and his thoughts of you finally became too much, wrapping both his hands around his thick length, one squeezing his knot while the other pumped the rest of his shaft. His come erupted from the tip, streaming over the windowsill and dripping down to his bare feet on the wooden floor of his bedroom.

A growl tore from Steve’s lips while he came, a deep, dark part of his alpha hindbrain responding furiously to the fact that he was wasting his seed. He should be emptying his balls deep in your fertile cunt while your slick walls gripped his knot and milked every drop of his seed into your womb, where it belonged. 

Steve’s release seemed to last for ages, longer than he’d ever experienced before, and if it wasn’t for the fact that his head finally started to clear when it abated, he would’ve been worried he’d gone into rut. But finally, Steve surfaced from the depths of his pleasure, and winced when he remembered the thoughts that had made him come.

Steve was appalled by the direction in which his imagination had gone, and felt guilty for imagining you in such a state as pregnant and bouncing on his cock—even as the reminder made his cock leak one last spurt of his release. Cursing and castigating himself, Steve moved away from the window to clean himself up and wipe down the spot where he’d been standing. 

The entire time he was cleaning up after himself, Steve felt off-balance. He’d never felt such a pull toward an omega before you, and he’d never been so close to going into rut just from listening to an omega whimper and moan. If he didn’t know better, he would think you were his mate—the one omega in the whole world who was perfect for him. 

But Steve pushed that thought aside and reminded himself you were too sweet for an alpha like him. You might’ve sounded desperate and needy while you suffered through your heat alone, but you deserved better than an alpha who could think of nothing else besides pumping you full of come and knocking you up with his child.

Steve felt disturbed all over again when he thought of the vivid, obscene things he’d imagined while he’d jerked himself off. He’d never been the type of alpha to get off on the idea of breeding, let alone pictured anyone swollen with his kid while they were impaled on his cock. Steve felt so far out of his depth, he swiped his clean hand down his face to try to regain the equilibrium that had been shattered by your pretty omega sounds.

Thankfully, you’d gone blessedly quiet at some point when Steve had been coming all over his windowsill. He tossed the rag he’d used to clean up his mess into the laundry and flopped down on his bed, knowing he wouldn’t be getting any rest that night. It was a good thing he’d called out of work on heat leave.

Even as Steve lay in his bed, the refrain that you were too sweet for him repeating in his mind, he couldn’t help hoping that you were getting some much-needed rest. He’d never been one to worry over much about whether someone was sleeping or eating, but he wondered if you’d had a protein bar and drank a sports drink before falling asleep. He knew you needed to keep up your strength if you’d make it through your heat. 

His thoughts spinning around in his mind, Steve fell into a light, fitful sleep, his alpha hindbrain remaining alert and attuned to the sounds coming from your cottage. Little did he know, it wouldn’t be long before everything would change. Something would happen that would force Steve to finally give in to the connection between him and the omega next door.

When you woke on the second morning of your heat, it was to a burning need cutting through your core, urging you to roll onto your knees and sink down on the silicone knot toy that had slipped from your pussy while you slept. Unbidden, the face of the alpha next door, Steve Rogers, popped into your mind and you sobbed through another wave of aching desire, wishing desperately that he was with you to help you through your heat.

You hadn’t met the alpha until after you’d moved into the little pink cottage next door to his much larger home, and you were instantly smitten with the former soldier. He was big—so much bigger than you—with broad shoulders and bulging biceps that were barely hidden beneath the tight t-shirts he always seemed to wear. But it was Steve’s thighs that were always so distracting to you, so thick they made you want to ride them until your slick was drenching his jeans.

A pitiful moan fell from your lips as you reached between your thighs, grasping blindly for the toy you’d discarded in your sleep. With your face still shoved into a pillow and sleep still clinging to the edges of your consciousness, you slid down on the thick silicone cock, pretending it belonged to Steve. 

The alpha next door was just so…sweet. 

It hadn’t taken you long after moving into your cottage to learn your neighbor’s schedule, and you made sure to always be working in the garden in front of your home when he got back from work. You lived for the growly greetings he would call to you, and the faint blush that would graze his cheekbones, like he was shy around you, his harmless omega neighbor. 

And on the weekends, when you knew Steve wasn’t working, you sat on your back porch reading—though you were more often ogling the fit alpha’s shoulders and arms as he worked in his backyard. The sun would shine on Steve’s blond hair and make him look like a golden god, with sparkling blue eyes that would occasionally flick in your direction, though you didn’t think he was really looking at you.

Of course, when he’d offer to mow your lawn, you’d let him. Then, to show the alpha your thanks, you’d make him some nice refreshing lemonade. If that meant you could watch him quench his thirst while you imagined his sweet mouth on your body, drinking your slick as eagerly as he drank your lemonade, then that was just a bonus to being a good neighbor. Right?

It had become abundantly clear to you that you harbored a crush on Steve, and it was nearly excruciating living next to him when he didn’t seem interested in making a move on his omega neighbor. After all, it had been months, and he’d been nothing but friendly and respectful and sweet. 

It was obvious, at least to you, that Steve was too sweet for you—too sweet to be the rough, dominant alpha you craved. Too sweet to bend you over and impale you on his thick cock with one stroke. Too sweet to shove his knot into your cunt and make you come so hard you saw stars. Too sweet to knock you up over and over again, filling up that big house of his with pups that you’d created together. 

You’d told yourself it was for the best that Steve kept his distance. If he couldn’t be what you needed, then you didn’t want your crush to develop into unrequited feelings. But your heart didn’t listen, so you kept putting yourself in situations where you’d get to see your neighbor—working in your front garden when he got home, sitting on your back porch while he was in his backyard. 

Then, you began to feel your heat coming on, and your thoughts about the alpha next door only worsened. It wasn’t uncommon anymore for unmated omegas to ask alpha friends or acquaintances to help them through their heats, but the prospect of asking Steve for his help, getting to come all over his knot for days on end, and then trying to go back to the way things were sounded torturous. 

Instead, you went about your heat preparations as you always did, gathering supplies from the grocery store and stocking up the minifridge in your bedroom with sports drinks while you piled your bedside table high with protein bars. You closed and locked all the doors and windows of your cottage, drawing the curtains tight to keep out the sun. 

You knew you were a bit of an odd omega, and you didn’t like total darkness in your nest, which was why you had been the only one interested in the little cottage. It had a skylight in the bedroom that any other omega would want closed and covered during their heat. The window itself was covered in a film that dampened most of the direct  sunlight and you enjoyed the natural light, even when you were deep in your heat, so it was perfect for you.

It occurred to you, as you were preparing your room, that if you cracked open the skylight, the sounds you made during your heat would filter out from your cottage. Your desperate cries for a knot might even be heard by the alpha next door…

Later, you’d blame your decision to leave the skylight open on the dangerous combination of your pre-heat brain and the exquisite agony of your crush on Steve. But by that time, the little decision you’d made in the urgency of your heat preparations would’ve irrevocably changed your life—for the better—and you wouldn’t give a thought to regretting what you’d done.

Still, on that second morning of your heat, when you were woken by the need to be knotted and flooded with come, you didn’t even remember that you’d decided to leave the skylight open. So you had no idea whether it was working or not, whether Steve could hear you—but he wasn’t far from your thoughts as you rode your silicone alpha toy, trying to slake the need that burned through your body. 

Your heats were always a little hazy, like most omega’s, with desire and need pounding through your blood so insistently, you couldn’t form any coherent thoughts. Your mind could only focus on getting a cock inside you, then a knot and, if you’d had an alpha to help you, the gush of their come. Since you were so mindless, you uttered words that you’d forgotten the second they fell from your lips.

The first night of your heat, when you’d had a moment of clear-headedness enough to gulp down a sports drink and scarf a protein bar, you’d hoped you hadn’t cried out anything that would embarrass you—like Steve’s name. You’d had a vague memory of calling out for an alpha, which was normal for an unmated omega, and a daddy, which was normal for you, given your desires when you weren’t going through your heat. But you’d breathed a sigh of relief when you didn’t remember calling out for Steve specifically. 

You couldn’t imagine what would happen if you cried out Steve’s name while in heat. But you were about to find out.

The silicone toy in your cunt wasn’t cutting it. It had been just fine that first night, though you hadn’t felt as satisfied as you normally did, and you hadn’t slept as long as you typically did in between waves of your heat. Something about this heat felt different. You weren’t just desperate for an alpha’s knot and come, you wanted more…

You wanted a pup. You wanted an alpha’s cock shoved deep in your cunt, unloading their come against your cervix, filling your womb with a seed that would take and knock you up. You wanted to be bred—and not just by any alpha. You wanted the alpha next door to breed you.

Steve. You wanted Steve. You needed Steve. 

“Please,” you gasped, the word leaving your lips as you thought of your big, sweet alpha neighbor. His face came easily to your mind, those sparkling blue eyes and soft lips, that strong jaw and the way a blush turned his cheeks the most perfect shade of pink. “Please, alpha, need your knot, need your come,” you whined, speaking to the image of Steve in your mind.

You pushed yourself up onto your knees, grabbing one of the many pillows from your bed and shoving it between your thighs, forcing the silicone alpha cock deeper into your cunt. Still, it wasn’t enough, even as you tried to make due. 

You rocked your hips, trying to replicate the feeling of fucking yourself on an alpha’s cock, but it paled in comparison. A desperate whine worked its way up your throat, filling your room and slipping from the skylight into the morning air.

“Please, daddy, wanna have your baby,” you cried, your hands going to your tits and tugging on your nipples so roughly, pleasure and pain swirled through your body, creating a tornado of sensation that only fed the need burning in your core. “Wan’ you to knock me up, alpha, wanna give you pups, wan’ you to suck on my milky tits while you fuck me, daddy.” You groped your breasts, pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself, the sensations making your cunt gush slick all over the toy inside you. 

The pleasure was gathering in your core, making you more desperate to reach the pinnacle of your climax. Your hips worked, humping the pillow and cock between your thighs, shoving yourself down against the knot at the base of the toy, knowing it was what you needed to come, but your pussy was still too tight to take it. 

“Oh god, I need it, alpha, I need it, I need it,” you babbled mindlessly, fucking yourself furiously on the toy and still wishing it was Steve’s cock. 

You pictured him beneath you, his cheeks tinged pink, not with a blush, but with the flush of his desire for you, his blue eyes nearly black from his pupils blowing wide as he stared up at you. His soft mouth parted as he groaned, his thick cock buried in your tight cunt, twitching as you squeezed him.

It was with that image in your mind that the fateful words spilled from your lips. You cried out desperately, “Knock me up, daddy, gimme your pup, please—please, breed me, Steve!” 

So close to the edge of your release, you barely heard the distant crashing sound that echoed between your little cottage and the house that belonged to the alpha next door. All you heard were your gasping breaths and mindless moans, the toy shoving into your cunt making low squelching noises that only managed to turn you on more. 

It was only when a much closer smashing sound preceded the swirl of cool morning air infiltrating your home, and flooding into your nest, that you were able to drag your attention away from your own desperate frustration. Your omega instincts were going haywire, part of you telling you something was wrong, while another part unfurled and shifted, like a flower blooming toward the sun. 

Blinking your eyes to clear away the haze of your heat, your mouth fell open in an ‘o’ of surprise at the sight of the alpha in your bedroom doorway. 

Steve’s big body filled the doorway, his hands clutching the wooden frame while his chest heaved with heavy breaths. It looked like he was trying to hold himself back, his grip so tight on your doorframe that a distant part of your mind worried it might splinter beneath his palms. But you couldn’t think too closely about that, not when your neighbor was staring at you with a crazed look in his eyes, like he wanted to fill you with his knot as badly as you wanted to be filled.

Your too sweet alpha neighbor’s mouth—which was normally curved in a soft, friendly smile—was twisted with ferocious lust, and when he spoke, his voice was a rough growl like nothing you’d ever heard from Steve. 

“Invite me into your bed,” he rumbled, the order clear in his voice even if he didn’t use his alpha command. “Ask me to help you through your heat, tell me you want me here,” he went on through clenched teeth, an edge of desperation in his tone that called your heart—and your cunt. “Tell me you want me, omega.” His fingers gripped the doorframe tighter, and you heard the wood creak beneath his strength. 

Your pussy spasmed and your heart lurched when Steve called you by your designation, but it was when his scent hit you that you felt something inside your being shift and lock into place. Steve smelled like home—like safety and security and love. He smelled like a future of wrangling children together and making love together and sitting on a porch swing together and growing old together. 

In that moment, you knew what your instincts had known from the moment you met Steve—he was your mate. He was the one alpha in all the world who was meant for you, just as you were the omega meant for him. And once you knew that, it was the easiest thing in the world to part your lips and beg him to join you in your nest, in your bed, and help you through your heat.

“Please, Steve—please, mate, please help me,” you begged, your voice breathy with need and excitement, tears of joy shining in your eyes. 

Something shifted in Steve’s expression when you called him your mate. You watched as he took a deep breath, scenting you the way you had him. A riot of emotions swirled in those beautiful blue eyes of his—disbelief, acknowledgement, acceptance, satisfaction, pride. You saw the moment he realized what you’d only just discovered, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth.

“My omega, my mate,” Steve growled, finally letting go of the doorframe and launching himself at you.

Finally—finally—Steve was coming to you, closing the distance between you, and you’d never been happier in all your life. The alpha next door was your mate, and you hoped that meant he would be more than willing to knock you up and breed you like you needed.

Steve had woken from his fitful sleep to the sound of your sweet cries that morning, though they sounded much more desperate to his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but you sounded less than satisfied with whatever toy you were using and Steve slid a hand down to his already hard cock, thinking you should’ve been riding him instead of some silicone dick.

He’d lazily stroked his cock, trying to restrain himself from coming all over his stomach, while listening to your increasingly desperate cries. Steve had fisted a hand in the sheets of his bed, hoping it would be enough to hold himself back from storming over to your cottage and taking your heat into his own hands. 

Then, Steve heard you cry out his name and something in him snapped. Before he even knew what he was doing, he’d thrown on some boxer briefs and stormed out of his bedroom, leaping down the stairs and throwing open the front door of his house so ferociously, he’d ripped it off some of the hinges. 

Not even caring that he was leaving his door open, Steve charged over to your cottage, taking a little bit more care with your front door when he broke the lock and pushed it open, flinging it closed behind him. He knew it was likely stuck closed thanks to the broken lock, but Steve only cared that it would prevent anyone else from getting into your home. He’d deal with getting out later. Much later.

Finally, Steve got to the doorway of your bedroom, your nest, and he’d stumbled to a stop at the sight that lay before him.

You were perched in the center of your big bed, a pillow wedged between your thighs, the knot of a toy barely visible while you humped futilely on the fake cock. Your delicate fingers groped your tits, squeezing your soft flesh and pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself—that thought making even more blood rush to Steve’s cock. Desperate whimpers and whines fell from your lips, more pleas to be knocked up and filled with pups, and they were nearly his undoing.

At the last second, Steve gripped the doorframe, holding himself back from pouncing on you, as he tried to remember why he shouldn’t be there. You were an unmated omega, in heat, and he hadn’t gotten permission to be in your nest, let alone help you through your heat. And you were too sweet for him…

God, you looked sweet, though. Sweet enough that Steve’s mouth watered with the thought of how slick you were, how good you would taste on his tongue. Even from the doorway, he could see the way your wetness had soaked the pillow between your thighs. He wanted to taste you, to scent you, he wanted you. 

Steve was seconds away from launching himself at you when your gaze finally landed on him. It was the delighted surprise in your eyes that urged him to ground out a desperate plea for consent to enter your room and help you through your heat. Blessedly, you seemed coherent enough to answer—but you didn’t only answer and beg for his help, you called him your mate.

That word struck a chord in Steve’s chest, his heart pounding even harder at the impossible prospect that you were his mate—that you were meant to be his. But he took a deep breath, taking in the scent of you and opening himself up to the possibility that you were his. 

You even smelled sweet, like the pink roses in your front garden—or, rather, the peace Steve felt when he came home to find you tending to your flowers. You smelled like the warmth of a gentle fire and the giddiness of butterfly kisses. You smelled like life, like the time unfurling before the two of you, years and decades spent with each other, making each other happy. 

It was as if Steve truly came alive for the first time when he scented you, and the last tether of the self-restraint holding him back from you snapped. 

“My omega, my mate,” he rumbled in a low purr, a voice he’d never even heard himself use before. But he didn’t have time to think about that too closely—he only knew he needed to get to you. 

As quickly as he could, Steve surged into your room, tearing off his boxer briefs—the only clothing he’d had the presence of mind to put on, and he was thankful for it, since it saved him the grief of a public indecency charge—in the few steps it took to get to your bed.

By the time Steve tackled you into the tangle of blankets and pillows, he was naked as the day he was born, his cock throbbing with need and brushing against swaths of your soft, bare skin, leaving his precum behind. The alpha cradled your body in his strong arms as he rolled you beneath him, his narrow hips slotting perfectly between your plush thighs, his hard length resting against your mound. 

But there was something in his way, something that shouldn’t be inside you and Steve couldn’t help but growl, “Get that fucking toy out of my cunt, ‘mega.” He softened the fury in his voice with light, fleeting kisses to your cheeks and temple and forehead, greedy to taste the sweetness of your skin.

“Yes, alpha,” you gasped, fumbling between your bodies to wrench the silicone dick from your tight hole. 

The sweet submission in your voice was too much for Steve—he had to taste it. Slanting his lips to yours, Steve kissed you for the first time, groaning into your mouth at the wondrous feeling of your mouth beneath his. You tasted better than you smelled, like radiant sunshine bursting on his tongue and casting a golden glow over his entire body. 

Deepening the kiss, Steve plundered your mouth, stroking his tongue against yours and nipping at your lips until you were gasping and panting beneath him. Your entire body trembled with unslaked need, your fingers clinging to his bulging biceps as you cried out for him, all of which stroked Steve’s alpha ego so much, his cock twitched and leaked against your belly.

“Please, Steve—daddy—alpha—I need you inside me,” you wailed in a broken voice and Steve’s instincts took over.

He shifted his hips back, the tip of his cock finding your slick hole and he pushed forward, sinking his hard length into your cunt with one thrust. Steve’s entire world realigned, his heart stuttering in his chest at the feeling of your tight heat consuming him, overwhelming him. An animalistic groan left his lips, and he buried the sound in your neck, breathing in your scent as he tried not to come immediately.

With Steve’s cock finally buried inside you, he felt your body relax beneath him, your moan of pleasure dissolving into a sigh of relief. Steve’s hindbrain felt a deep satisfaction at the way you melted in his arms, your submission to him apparent in the loosening of your muscles. Finding your lips again, Steve kissed you sweetly, cherishing the moment of calm before your heat urged the two of you to move.

“Thank you, alpha,” you whispered, your voice soft and blissful and the most content Steve had heard it since your heat began in earnest the day before. “The toys weren’t working.” You pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek on your way to burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing so deeply he could hear your inhale, making his cock twitch in the depths of your pussy. 

Then, your words pierced through the haze of pleasure in Steve’s mind and he purred, smiling into your neck when you relaxed further beneath him, responding to him.

“You needed your mate, didn’t you, baby?” Steve cooed, lavishing your neck with kisses until you were whining and squirming beneath him. “Needed your daddy to pound your needy little cunt like only your alpha could, huh?” He started rolling his hips in tight circles, grinding into your cunt, his knot rubbing your clit in a way that had you clenching deliciously around him. “Needed me to pump your sweet little womb full of come, huh, needed me to give you a pup?” 

As soon as the heated words fell from Steve’s lips, he wished he could take them back. He’d heard you beg him to breed you, but that was when you were riding a silicone alpha dick, not when you were seconds away from taking Steve’s knot. 

Mentally, Steve chastised himself for letting his mouth run away from him so soon. He’d barely gotten his cock in you and he was already talking about knocking you up. He didn’t want you to think he was that kind of alpha, one that only wanted an omega to pump out babies for him—even though the thought did make Steve rock hard.

“Sorry, ‘mega,” Steve mumbled, shifting his arms beneath your body so he could cradle your head in one hand, holding you still while he rocked his hips into yours, kissing your cheek and jaw and neck and anywhere he could reach. 

“Sorry for what?” you asked on a gasp, hooking your legs around Steve’s sides and clinging to him so you could grind on his thick cock. 

Thankfully, you didn’t seem turned off or scared by Steve’s breeding talk. If anything, the way you arched your spine and shoved your cunt down on his dick made him think you liked it. But surely that couldn’t be true.

“Didn’t mean to mention pups so soon,” Steve said gruffly, hiding his face in your neck so you wouldn’t see the blush that he knew was turning his cheeks pink. 

“Oh god,” you moaned, your cunt squeezing Steve’s cock as your body writhed beneath his. “Wanna give you so many pups, alpha,” you cried, humping up from beneath Steve’s big body, riding his cock harder than you’d been riding your toy when he’d walked in. 

Steve went cross-eyed at the assault on his senses. Between the perfect heat of your slick pussy gripping his cock, teasing his knot every time you rocked against him, and the sound of your sweet voice confessing you wanted him to knock you up, Steve’s body shuddered with the effort it took not slam his knot home and flood your womb with his seed to give you exactly what you wanted.

“You like that idea, huh?” Steve rumbled, hungry passion and desire coursing through his body and urging him to move faster, to fuck you harder. He pulled out of your fluttering pussy and slammed back inside, relishing the desperate cry that left your lips and the way your fingers dug into the muscles of his arms. “You like it when your alpha tells you how much he wants to breed you?” 

Despite his best efforts, Steve could hear the thread of insecurity in his question, and he wasn’t surprised when you cupped his face and moved his head up so you could look into his eyes. What he didn’t expect was the sheer amount of pleasure and desire in your hazy gaze, or the mixture of sweetness and depravity in the little smirk you gave him.

“I do, daddy,” you said, your voice breathy but no less firm in your resolve. “I want to hear everything you’ve thought about doing to your little omega—want you to breed me, alpha.” 

Everything else in the world melted away as Steve focused on you—his omega, his mate—and the fact that he was going to try his damndest to give you what you wanted. After all, that was his duty as your alpha. You were his to take care of, to provide for, to protect, to cherish—to fuck and to knot. 

You were his to love—you were his to breed. And Steve planned on loving you and breeding you plenty.

You’d never felt anything so good as Steve sinking his thick alpha cock into your weeping cunt, and you nearly sobbed in relief as the edge of aching, burning need finally abated. This was what you needed—not a toy or any alpha’s cock, but your mate’s. Your body and omega instincts had known something was wrong, and it had taken a slip of your tongue to fix it. 

Even if it had been an accident to cry out Steve’s name, you couldn’t feel embarrassed about it, not when you finally felt something like satisfaction. The need of your heat still burned bright beneath your skin, but for a moment, you could revel in the feeling of being so intimately connected to your mate, your Steve—the alpha next door. 

The words of thanks had slipped past your lips before you could stop them, and you loved the teasing way he responded. But then you felt a shift in Steve. He’d seemed to feel guilty for mentioning pups, but even his apology turned you on, making your arousal burn hotter. Your body had been unable to still when you needed him so badly—needed to give him pups, needed to grow round with his child and know that he had claimed you in the most primal way possible. 

Your brain had short-circuited when Steve had said he wanted to breed you, but you’d still heard the anxiousness in his tone and you’d guided his head up so you could look at him. The uncertainty and guilt in Steve’s beautiful blue eyes nearly broke your heart. He was too sweet for words, wanting to make sure you were comfortable with even the words he said in the heat of the moment. 

Between one breath and the next, you fell in love with Steve Rogers. He wasn’t simply the alpha next door, he was your mate, and he was yours. A fierce possessiveness filled your chest as you smirked up at your alpha, determining to show him exactly how much you wanted everything he’d said.

“Want you to breed me, alpha,” you begged on a moan, your hips rising up off the bed to meet the brutal thrusts of your mate. “Fill me up with your pups, daddy, please, I need it!” You held Steve’s gaze, letting him see the pleasure on your face, hear the genuineness of your words. 

You saw the moment Steve’s insecurity and guilt melted into desire and determination. His blue eyes darkened and his face twisted into a mask of sinful resolve. He looked like a fallen god, with his golden hair and tanned skin, framed perfectly in the little bit of morning light filtering in through the skylight above your bed. Your pussy clenched around his cock, fluttering as he thrust inside you, teasing your hole with his knot.

“Don’t worry, ‘mega,” Steve rumbled, ducking down and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that left you gasping for breath. He pressed his forehead to yours, staring deep into your eyes. “We’re making a baby today.”

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, spreading your legs wider in an effort to let Steve fuck you deeper. He grinned, shifting his hands to your thighs and pushing them up against your chest, folding you in half and pounding you into the bed. 

“Gonna fill up your perfect cunt with all the seed in my balls, and if it doesn’t take today, ‘m gonna fill you up until you’re overflowing with my come—until your belly’s bulging with it,” Steve growled, rutting into you with a ferociousness you never would’ve expected from your sweet alpha neighbor. But Steve’s sweetness was never far from the surface, and he proved it by lowering his voice to a deep rumble that you felt in your belly, asking, “Mm, ’s that what you want, baby, want daddy to give you a pup?”

You were pinned beneath Steve, his cock fucking you so hard, your room was filing with the wet squelching sounds of your soaking cunt and the sharp rhythm of your alpha’s thighs slapping against your own. But still, it was his words that seemed to have the most effect on you, turning you into a writhing, needy creature who’d only be satisfied when Steve emptied his balls deep in your cunt. 

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, your fingers clinging to Steve’s shoulders, digging into his warm, golden skin while he fucked you into oblivion. “Want you to knock me up, wanna give you a pup, wanna grow big and round with your child and feed you both from my milky tits,” you babbled, throwing your head back and screaming when Steve’s cock hit against your cervix, pleasure and pain swirling like an inferno in your body. “Please, daddy, god, I need it, I need it—knot me, breed, me, Steve, please!” 

“Baby,” Steve groaned, capturing your lips in another kiss while he rutted into you faster and harder, his knot pressing against your tight hole with every thrust and teasing you with the stretch of it. “You’re gonna get a pup, alright,” he growled when he pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re gonna pop out a kid for me and then I’m gonna fill you right back up.” Steve moaned, his body shuddering and you knew he was close. “Wanna watch you bounce on my cock with your belly ripe and swollen with my pups, your tits heavy with milk—the prettiest mommy and mate an alpha could ask for.” 

“Steve,” you sobbed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to hold him close, kissing him and thrusting your hips up to meet his. “Please, make me a mommy, alpha—wanna be a mommy, please, daddy, daddy, please!” Then your lips were too preoccupied with Steve’s, kissing him messily in between desperate moans while he fucked you hard and fast. 

Finally, Steve pulled back and thrust forward with so much power, his knot pushed inside your tight cunt and you screamed in pleasure, the feeling of his thick bulge stretching your tight hole sending you over the edge into the most earth-shattering release you’d felt in your life. It was a transcendental experience, coming on your mate’s cock, your alpha surrounding you and filling you up in every way possible.

As your body squeezed Steve’s cock, he groaned loudly in your ear, burying his face in your neck while his hips stuttered against yours, trying to fuck you with his knot but unable to move because your bodies were locked so tightly together. Then, with a moan of, “my mate,” you felt the moment Steve began to come. His cock twitched deep inside your cunt, a warmth filling you as he shot rope after rope of come against your cervix, filling your womb.

For a long time, the two of you stayed locked together, riding out your releases in each other’s embrace. Giggles and moans filled the room, each of you kissing the other wherever you could reach while you basked in your pleasure together. You breathed in the scent of Steve, your lips dragging up and down the column of his throat while he kissed your neck and shoulder and just beneath your ear, making you shiver. 

Eventually, when the squeezing of your cunt was reduced to a flutter and your body had milked every last drop of seed from Steve’s cock, the two of you settled. Your heat had abated for the moment. Though need still burned low in the core of your body, reminding you it wasn’t over just yet. 

But you had a bit of a respite, and you took the time to revel in you newfound mate. Turning your head, you pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, which was flushed pink with pleasure.

You felt Steve’s smile against your skin and then he was rising up so you could see the full blush that tinged your alpha’s cheeks. He looked so sweet and ruined, his blond hair a mess, his blue eyes bright with satisfaction, a deeply smug smile on his plump lips. 

“Feeling better, ‘mega?” he asked, though there was so much male satisfaction in his tone, you were certain he already knew the answer. 

Still, you liked seeing this side of Steve. Typically you didn’t like cocky alphas, but Steve looked so hot when he was confident, your pussy fluttered around his knot at the sight of his smirk.

“I am, daddy,” you said softly, smiling up at your alpha, enjoying the way his smirk deepened as you confirmed what he knew. You couldn’t help but stroke his ego a little more. “Now that you’re here to take care of me.”

Steve’s eyes softened and he pressed a heated kiss to your lips. “Good,” he said when he pulled away. Then his arms were wrapping around you and he rolled onto his back, dragging you with him until you were splayed across his broad chest, your bodies still locked together by his knot. 

It would deflate soon enough, but you reveled in the feeling while it lasted, snuggling into Steve’s arms. Sleep called to you, but Steve was still moving and you when you opened your eyes, you found him reaching for your stash of provisions on your bedside table.

“Gotta eat and hydrate, baby,” Steve murmured as he unwrapped a protein bar and began feeding it to you. Even though you were exhausted, you knew he was right and you let him feed you, only sitting up when it was time to gulp down some of the sports drink he offered you. “Good girl, ‘mega, doing so well for your alpha,” Steve said, praising you while you ate and drank.

When you were done, Steve tossed the empty wrappers and bottles back onto your bedside table and relaxed into the many pillows on your bed. You settled down on his chest, your body sated in every way possible, muscles going loose when your alpha began to purr. 

“Thank you, alpha,” you mumbled, the urge to sleep more insistent since you were fed. Steve’s hands smoothed down your back, tracing your spine lightly with his fingertips in a way that made you melt even further into him. 

“Don’t need to thank me,” he grumbled, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. “You’re my mate, ‘m gonna do everything I can to take care of you—and our kids.” He added the last bit like it was an afterthought, but you knew Steve meant it, and your heart warmed at his protectiveness. 

You smiled into Steve’s warm skin, nuzzling into his neck beneath his jaw, breathing in the scent of him—the scent of home—but his words made you remember something you should tell him. 

“Steve, ‘m on birth control,” you murmured sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss to the thick column of his neck. “Thought you should know.” You snorted a little, laughing at yourself for the silliness of your last statement, even though it was true.

The rumble of Steve’s purr changed as he chuckled, his strong arms tightening around your waist for a moment before he grabbed a blanket and pulled it up over your cooling bodies. “Figured, ‘mega,” he rumbled, his voice so warm, you could hear his smile. “Doesn’t mean ‘m gonna stop picturing you round with my pup, even if it’s a while before that happens.”

“Mm,” you hummed in acknowledgment, then pouted as you processed his words. “As long as it’s not a long while,” you muttered, hardly listening to what you were saying because you were so close to sleep.

Steve chuckled again, his hands squeezing you lightly. “It’ll be as long or as short as you want, baby,” he assured you in a gruff voice that was thick with just as much tiredness as yours. “I’d give you a pup today if I could.” 

You smiled, your heart filling with emotion, and pressed your lips to your alpha’s neck. You might’ve been exhausted, but it didn’t stop you from murmuring the words your heart urged you to say, “I love you, Steve.” 

Steve’s purr deepened, and he held you close, no hesitation in his voice when he said, “I love you, too.” Your alpha brushed a kiss to your cheek and smacked your ass very lightly. “Now rest, omega, we still have to get through the rest of your heat.”

You fell asleep with a smile on your face, feeling safe and protected and satisfied in the arms of your mate, your bodies still locked together by Steve’s knot. You never would’ve expected anything to come of your crush on your neighbor—and you never would’ve expected he’d be a perfect fit for your desires, let alone your mate. 

But, you knew the two of you were going to live a happy life together—and you couldn’t wait to spend every moment of it with the alpha next door.

[jedi-starbird]

Alpha-17 and Obi-Wan being friends (derogatory) on 17's part and friends (threatening) on Obi-Wan's part is such an underrated dynamic

They could be so funny and terrifying, like Obi-Wan went through a soul shredding experience with Alpha-17 as his only company. They're friends because what else are you gonna be after you witness each other at absolute rock bottom from torture.

It's like 'dog put in cage of cheetah who's threatening to go crazy', except the dog is a grizzly bear and also threatening to go crazy.

Emotional support trooper except the trooper in question has never done any sort of supporting in his life and is actively an emotional distress trooper to a great number of the CC batch.

I want them texting everyday, I want Obi-Wan mailing handmade BFF bracelets to Alpha and Alpha sending pics back of him flipping off the camera but still wearing them, I want Alpha using Obi-Wan to keep track of and occasionally terrorize his cadets, I want 17 ending problems in the GAR (like Krell) before they begin because Obi-Wan has him shipped out on a personal transport at the first opportunity, decked out with slug-throwers Obi-Wan got him for his decant-day.

Natborn officers think this is all just an odd indulgence of General Kenobi, the Vode, however, correctly identify it as a goddamn threat and their danger assessment of Obi-Wan ticks up significantly.

When Alpha arrives on Kamino, Shaak Ti presses a shiny new comm into his hand. It has the Jedi Order symbol painted onto it alongside a smiley face sticker, and it pings immediately with a new message: Hello! I hope you're settling in well!

Alpha stares at the message, stares at the singular contact named 'OWK' and then stares Shaak Ti in the eye as he pitches the comm straight into the ocean. Shaak Ti's serene smile only grows larger as she calmly reaches into her robes and pulls out an identical comm, only this one has a frowny face sticker, and presses it into his hand. It lights up: I'm afraid we've bonded, Alpha :). Alpha shuts it off and pockets it with resignation.

Cody arrives on Alpha-17's personal recommendation.

A-17: He's the most difficult little bastard I have. You're perfect for each other. OWK: Thank you, he's very handsome :3 A-17: No. Stop.

The first thing he asks once he gets comfortable is who his general is texting so much that has him swinging his legs and twirling his hair. Cody assumes it's Anakin, given they seem joint at the hip anyway, but little does he know Obi-Wan's ability to consistently have the Weirdest Relationships Ever.

"Oh, it's Alpha-17, I understand you're familiar with each other?" Hmm. OK. Cody.exe is experiencing a processing error, please hold. He exits the room instead of answering. The next day he peeks over the General's shoulder when he's texting and sees walls of rambling messages from Obi-Wan. Alpha-17 replies every hour with a single text: Lose this number. Obi-Wan giggles. "He's so funny." he says.

When Obi-Wan meets the rest of the CC batch, Cody makes sure to stand perfectly angled so that he can record the reactions when his general cuts off their introductions with "Oh, no need, Alpha-17's told me all about you." It's always immediate FEAR.JPG followed by a slow spiral of What The Fuck.

What do you mean by that General. What does that mean Cody. What do you mean they text. No. Cody. What the fuck is happening, Cody. Alpha-17 doesn't have friends he has enemies and enemies he tolerates enough not to shoot on sight.

OWK: Wolffe reached for his vambrace? when I mentioned you A-17: That's where he keeps his spare knife. OWK: Hm that does explain the way he eyed me up, ambitious. A-17: Clearly not enough, he should have followed through. I taught them better.

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

Everlasting Sweetheart

(Older!Alpha!Eddie Munson x Omega!Fem!Reader)

Summary: Ever since you presented there’s never been an alpha that smelled alluring to you. But when you move to Hawkins to be closer to your family you catch the scent of your next door neighbor, who just so happens to be the most handsome older man you’ve ever seen, and he smells phenomenal. It’s just your luck that he’d end up being your dad’s best friend, right? WK:15.3k(Oopsie)

Warnings: General Omegaverse behaviors (scenting, knotting, marking), age gap (Eddie is 41, reader is 27) breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral (m & f receiving), some angst (with a happy ending), mutual pining, pregnancy mentions, it’s the mid 00s (around 2007), fluff, Eddie and reader are both so down bad. 18+MDNI!!

A/N: Okay, I truly put my heart and soul into this one. This is the longest fic I’ve ever written and I honestly feel like Dr. Frankenstein and this is my monster. Thank you to my lovely betas @babygorewhore @bimbobaggins69 & @reidsbtch for always being amazing and hyping me up. And a special thank you to my omegaverse Jedi master @lesservillain, thank you for brainstorming with me and gassing me up throughout this entire process, this one’s for you, shawty. (older!Eddie edit is by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple) Masterlist.

You smelled it the minute you entered the building and it hasn’t left your nose since. That musky, woodsy smell that had hints of something spicy sweet, like cinnamon. It’s been a week since you moved in and you can smell it in every crevice of your apartment. It’s intoxicating. You’ve never been attracted to the smell of an alpha in this way. But there was only one problem, you’ve yet to lay eyes on the owner of the scent. Not for lack of trying either, you took extra long pulling your keys out, put some cute decorations on your front door, you even resorted to peeking out the window every time you heard someone walk by. To no avail.

It was starting to drive you insane, other alphas had smelled good to you before but nothing like this. It was like every time you so much as breathed in your panties got just a little bit more damp. Your hands have been wandering between your legs and reaching for the drawer in your nightstand more often than they have in your entire life and you don’t even have a face to blame. Just the scent that you can’t even seem to escape even when you leave the house, it’s like it’s sunken into your pores. You sometimes wonder if they can smell you too.

At the almost two week mark you can’t take it anymore. Deciding to take matters into your own hands you get out all the ingredients you will need to make your homemade cream pie. Baking for your new neighbors was a completely normal, neighborly, thing to do. You would just make the pie and go knock on the door. Easy.

You spent half the day baking and doing chores between steps, purposefully waiting until the evening time when most people would be home from work to deliver your sugary treat. You were also hyping yourself up. You had no idea who this scent that had been plaguing you belonged to. Was it a man? A woman? Did they already have a mate? If they did you don’t think you would be able to smell them this strongly, so you’re banking on them being single.

When 6 o’clock rolls around you decide it’s time to put your plan into motion. You put the finishing touches in the pie before going into your room to find the perfect outfit. Were you just walking ten feet to your neighbors door? Yes. Did you still want to look your best without looking like you tried to look your best? Also yes.

You decide on a little cream dress that has tiny cherries printed all over it and little red bows on the straps, paired with your Mary Jane’s. You put your hair in two braids and do your everyday make up before giving yourself a once over in the mirror. You looked good. The dress fit your figure and accentuated your curves perfectly while also showing off just the right amount of cleavage.

“Alright, you can do this.” You take a deep breath, which doesn’t really help because your nose is just invaded with the scent that you’re hoping to put a face to in the next few minutes. You grab the pie and walk out the door before you can talk yourself out of it.

Eddie lets out an annoyed groan at the sound of a knock on his door, he had just got home from a long day of work and was toweling off after his post work shower. He wasn’t expecting anyone, who the hell is at his door at 7PM on a Wednesday night unannounced? The only people that come here are his friends, and they always call before.

There’s a second round of soft knocks so he quickly finishes drying off his hair before wrapping the dampened cloth around his waist. He pulls the bathroom door open and is immediately hit with the scent. The bathroom filled with steam and the smell of his own shower products seemed to be the only place he could escape it nowadays. But he’s never smelled it this strongly. He knows a new omega moved in next door, he’s been able to smell them since the day they walked into the complex. But he’s yet to catch a glimpse of them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Eddie gave up on the hope of finding a mate years ago. Every time he tried to be with an omega they either smelled off to him or he smelled off to them.

But ever since he caught a whiff of this scent it’s been plaguing his senses. A scent has never smelled sweeter, or stronger. It’s like someone turned his house into the best bakery in town. It smelled like whoever lived next door was baking the most delicious cookies anyone’s ever tasted. When he got home today the sweetness was at an all time high, especially when he walked past his new neighbors door. He couldn’t help himself when he stopped outside of it to inhale deeply. It was so delicious it made his head spin. And now? The smell was getting stronger with every step he took towards the door. It made his heart rate speed up and his cock stir under the thin material of the towel around his waist.

He approaches the door and his hand hovers over the knob for a second. He needed to get himself under control. If the owner of the scent that’s been possessing him for the last two weeks is on the other side he needs to try and keep it together. He sighs, shaking his head so his hair falls off his shoulders before grabbing onto the knob and pulling the door open. The swing of the door kicks up wind, sending the smell wafting directly towards him. It nearly knocks him on his ass, his ears start to ring, his eyes land on a pair of shiny black Mary Jane’s before traveling up a pair of bare legs, hungrily drinking in curves covered by the thin material of a pretty little dress, until they land on the most beautiful face he’s ever seen. Your face. Your eyes are wide, your pupils blown, your dainty ring covered fingers are clutching what looks like a pie tin. The way you’re looking at him like a little deer caught in the headlights is making him want to tackle you to the ground and-

“Uh - hi… I’m your new neighbor. I just wanted to say hello and introduce myself, and I uh - I made you this.” You raise the baked good in your hands up between the two of you with a nervous smile.

“Oh - um - yeah, thank you, that’s really nice of you.” He anxiously scratches the back of his neck, returning your smile with a nervous one of his own. “Do you bake a lot? I swear ever since you moved in it smells like someone opened a bakery next door.”

“Usually yes, this is the first time I’ve gotten my baking stuff out since the move though.” He watches as your eyes roam over his bare inked chest, down to his hips where the towel is resting lowly, almost showing off the patch of hair above his cock. Were you checking him out? You had to be almost half his age. What would you want with an old unwanted alpha like him? He needs to get it together. You're just being nice, neighborly. “But I uh - just wanted to say hello, I won’t keep you. You seem busy.”

“Wait!” He didn’t even realize how desperate it sounded until it left his lips. God Eddie, snap out of it. “You didn’t even tell me your name, sweetheart.”

“Oh! I guess that’s kind of part of introducing yourself, huh?” You giggle and tell him your name and it goes off like a mantra in his head. “And you are?”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl. I’m Eddie.” He offers you a friendly smile, holding his hand out for you to shake. You take it and the minute your skin grazes his it’s like a shockwave is sent through his body. His entire body was on fire. Especially where he was still holding your soft hand in his larger rough one. Oh shit he was still holding onto your hand. “Shit, sorry, I just got this towel out of the dryer, must be staticky.”

“Huh? Oh! That’s okay, might’ve been me too, I just did some laundry and I’m out of dryer sheets.” You shrug, pulling your hand from his. He immediately feels cold, and misses the feeling of your touch. What is going on with him? No one has ever had this kind of effect on him. He doesn’t even know you. But god he wants to. Your sweet voice, your otherworldly scent, your curves in that little dress you were wearing. Your hair was off your neck and he could see your mating gland so clearly. He wanted to sink his teeth into it. A shiver runs through him at the thought.

“Oh I’m sorry! You must be so cold standing here, I won’t keep you. Here! I hope you like it, it’s my signature cream pie!” You hold the pie out to him with the sweetest smile on your face. God was everything about you sweet? And you baked for him? A cream pie? No omega has ever made anything for him and it was doing things to him he wished it wasn’t. He needs to get away from you before he pops a very noticeable boner through his towel.

“Thank you om- sweetheart, that was very sweet of you.” He takes the pie from you, giving you the most casual smile he can muster.

“No problem, baking relaxes me, so it was my pleasure.” You clasp your hands together in front of you, rocking back and forth in your heels a few times. “Well I’ll uh - see you around, Eddie. It was nice meeting you.”

“Yeah, it was nice to meet you too, thanks again for the pie. Have a good night.” He offers you a small smile and a nod before he’s rushing back inside, slamming the door behind him. “Fuck.”

It’s been a few days since you finally put a face to the scent that feels like it has been clogging your every pore. But it was like somehow the encounter enhanced it by tenfold. You don’t know who you were expecting to be on the other side of that door but that man is something straight out of your fantasies. He was gorgeous. His curly chestnut hair was slightly dripping from the shower, droplets sliding down his broad tattooed chest. The muscles in his abs and arms, which were also covered in tattoos, made it seem like he definitely spent some of his time working out. His face was gorgeous, the way he smiled at you and the shine of his brown doe eyes made you feel like your insides were melting. But most of all? Smelling him that close made your head spin. You’d never smelled anything or anyone like him. You wanted to bottle it up and snort it like your new favorite drug.

Just because you haven’t seen him, it doesn’t mean you haven’t tried. You find yourself peeking out your window when you hear footsteps in the hallway an embarrassing amount, you linger in your doorway when you’re coming and going more often than not, and you even started spending more time on your balcony in hope that he might decide to use his at the same time as you. To no avail. But the walls were thin, so you could hear him, and even though the building was supposed to be a secondary gender coed complex with insulated walls, you could still smell him. Constantly.

Sometimes you’d hear him playing 80s metal while slight grunts floated through the walls. You couldn’t tell if he was working out or jerking off but you honestly hoped for the ladder. You’d hear him clanking around in his kitchen, singing along to dorky dad rock, the kind of shit your dad listens to. Sometimes you’d hear him playing guitar and you aren’t even ashamed to admit that you’ve pleasured yourself to the sound once or twice, wrapped in a veil of his scent as it travels through your shared bedroom wall.

He was driving you insane, you needed to see him again. So when you were baking your dads favorite chocolate cupcakes you decided it wouldn’t hurt to make a few extra for Eddie. It gave you a chance to see him again, and baking also genuinely calmed you. You knew it was definitely mostly your biological instinct but you genuinely enjoyed caring for others. Cooking for them, helping them with self care, offering comforting touches, it all soothed something and scratched an itch inside you that could only be described as primal.

You frosted the cupcakes, putting a few of them in a separate container for Eddie before going to get dressed. You noticed he usually got home around 5:30PM and judging by your last visit he usually showered immediately so you had some time to figure out your outfit and fix your hair and make up to your liking. You decided to go with a little black mini skirt, a cropped black cardigan with nothing underneath, your white ruffle socks, and your Mary Jane’s. You put your hair in two low pigtails and tie white ribbons around each one. You grab the cupcakes off the counter and walk out the door a little after 6:45PM.

You take a deep breath, which literally does nothing to help you while you’re standing right outside his front door, his scent invading your nostrils, making your head spin. You knock on the door lightly before taking a step back, adjusting your already straight skirt out of nervousness. You hear footsteps on the other side of the door and as the knob turns your heart rate quickens.

“Oh, hi.” Eddie’s eyes are wide, and he scratches the back of his neck in a way that makes you think he’s almost nervous. But he couldn’t be, could he? This man was gorgeous, and he smelled phenomenal, he had to be popular with women, right? There’s no way he wasn’t. He was wearing fucking grey sweatpants this time, and an old band tee that he cut the neck and hem off of. He also cut off the sleeves, exposing his toned arms and his tattooed ribs.

“Hey! I was baking cupcakes for my dad and I made more than him or I will ever need to eat, so I figured I’d bring you some of the extras!” You smile at him sweetly as you hold up the container.

“That’s… really sweet, thanks.” Is he blushing? Cute. He takes the container from you, your fingers brush and send that same shockwave through your entire body, causing you to let out a small gasp. It was so small that if you weren’t in the worlds most echo prone hallway he probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“Of course, it’s really no trouble at all. Did you uh - enjoy the pie?” You clear your throat, trying to compose yourself.

“Yeah, fuck, it was delicious, sweetheart. Thank you. I’ve never had a pie that good before. You some kind of professional baker or something?” He gives you a lopsided grin and it relieves some of the tension in the air. But the nickname and the glint in his eye pick up your heart rate in a different way and you have to stop yourself from clenching your

thighs at the combination of the sight and smell of him.

“Oh nothing like that, I mean, I just opened a little bakery downtown and I went to culinary school but I wouldn’t call myself a professional or anything.” You giggle, twirling a strand of your hair around your fingers.

“That’s a professional in my book, you’re like a certified dealer of baked goods.” He chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows at you playfully and it makes butterflies erupt in your tummy.

“If you say so.” You giggle again, rocking back and forth on your feet. “But I’m glad you liked the pie, I hope you like these too. If you ever have any requests I’d love to make you something you’re actually craving sometime.”

You didn’t realize how suggestive that sounded until Eddie started going into a coughing fit, choking on air at your words.

“Sorry I - didn’t mean - “

“Hey, I’d love for you to give me something I’m craving sometime, sugar.” He smirks, his eyes momentarily unashamedly roaming your figure. “I’m a big fan of peach cobbler, if you ever want to go to all the trouble for an old man like me.”

“Psh! You’re not even that old! How old are you, like 35?” You playfully roll your eyes at him, feeling calmed by his demeanor yet again.

“Try 41, sweets.” He chuckles, his hand coming up to rub the well trimmed stubble on his chin. Now that his hair is dry you can see a few grays throughout and if anything it just makes him sexier. “And what about you, huh? Bet I’m like twice your age.”

“Not even! I’ll have you know I’m 27.” You tell him matter of factly.

“Alright, you got me there, bet you still get carded at all the bars, huh? Pretty little thing like you.” Oh god, he’s fully flirting with you now.

“Hey I could say the same for you, handsome. I thought you were younger. You look good.” You wink at him, taking an opportunity to let your eyes roam him for a moment. “You should taste them, the cupcakes.”

“Alright, as you wish.” He pops open the container, taking one of the chocolatey treats in his ring adorned tattooed hand. He pulls back the shiny red paper, and takes a large bite. His eyes roll back and a moan leaves the back of his throat. You have to hold in one of your own at the sound. You can’t help but imagine what he looks like when he cums in that moment. “Fuuuuck this is so goddamn good, thank you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, sure Eddie, anytime. I’ll uh, see you around?” You smile at him hopefully.

“Yeah, I’ll be around. If you ever need anything, let me know, alright?” He returns your smile, using his thumb to push some frosting on the corner of his mouth between his lips, sucking it off. Alright, time to go, before you say or do something stupid.

“Cool, same to you. Have a good night.” You offer him a small wave.

“Yeah, have a good night, sugar.”

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

Eddie was starting to think you put a spell on him, he had only spoken to you twice and you were all he could think about it. He found his mind wandering when he was at work, almost tattooing his clients on autopilot. His coworkers all called him out, asking who the “special lady” who had his head in the clouds was. He brushed them off, of course. You weren’t really anything to him other than his neighbor, but that didn’t mean you weren’t necessarily special. There was just something about you. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but it was like part of him was missing when you weren’t around. Which sounded ridiculous, but it didn’t help that he could smell you constantly. Even when he wasn’t at home it was like your scent was embedded in his fucking bones.

The fact that you kept baking for him didn’t help, it was doing something to the alpha in him that he’s never experienced. He’s never had an omega fuss over him in any way, so you were really pulling on his heart strings. It didn’t hurt that you were a knockout. You were absolutely the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. He didn’t think you’d be interested in him, due to his age, but you were definitely flirting with him when you brought him those cupcakes yesterday. Eddie’s dating game might be rusty, but he wasn’t blind. He still had his doubts, you could just be having some fun with your new neighbor. Omegas were never interested in him for more than a quick fuck, the amount of times he’s been told that something about his scent was just “off” has left him insecure and rough around the edges.

He’s deep in his thoughts about you when he exits the elevator to your shared floor, where he’s immediately flooded with your scent like he always is. But something about it today was off, and not in the way those omegas meant about his being off, you were distressed. He could tell from the way you smelled just a little sour, but still so so good. It immediately sent him into a panic, were you okay? Did someone hurt you? Did you need help?

He swiftly turns the corner to your hall and he sees you standing in front of your door with your cell phone held to your ear. You’re anxiously tapping your foot while you chew on the nails of your free hand. Whoever you’re calling clearly doesn’t answer because you throw your head back, slamming the flip phone shut with a groan.

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

The sound of heavy footsteps has you whipping your head in the direction of your intruder. Something inside you softens at the sight of Eddie approaching you with a concerned look on his face. You had been trying to call the property company for the last hour. After you took a shower you tried to turn it off but no matter how hard you turn it the hot water knob won't budge. So your shower had been running for the last hour and a half at least.

“Hey, are you alright?” The concern in his voice matched the furrow in his brow, it was almost like you could even smell his concern dripping into his scent. You wonder if maybe his alpha nose caught a whiff of your distress. You’ve been told by other alphas you smell awful when you’re upset.

“Yeah, no, kind of? I don’t know. My shower won’t shut off and the stupid fucking property management isn’t picking up their emergency phone.” You huff, clutching your little hot pink razor in your hand.

“Yeah, they basically never answer that damn phone, they might as well just stop giving it out at this point. These faucets are old and finicky, mine gets stuck from corrosion all the time. I can check it out, if you want?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother, but I’d really appreciate the help. I can cook up a storm but I don’t know a damn thing when it comes to things like this.” Your lips form into a pout and Eddie wants to kiss it off so badly. It was becoming increasingly harder each time he sees you to control himself around you.

“It’s not a bother, sugar. I told you to tell me if you needed anything, remember? I think this qualifies. Let me just grab my tools, alright?” He shoots you a wink that has you almost forgetting why you were even upset a few seconds ago.

It only took him a few minutes to come back out of his apartment with his tools in hand. If he was being honest he spent a little extra time trying to calm himself down before going inside your home. Surrounded by your scent and all things you. You smile sweetly at him, opening your front door to let him inside.

Eddie feels like the wind got knocked out of him the minute he steps into your apartment. If he thought your smell was overpowering in his house it was mind altering inside your own. His knees felt like they were going to give out and he had to will himself to not get hard. He took a quick look around while you led him towards the bathroom. Your decor was cute, it had an almost vintage witchy kind of feel to it and it was extremely cozy. Your purple velvet couch and the framed horror movie posters give him a tiny bit of insight on who you are. You had candles lit, and your radio was quietly playing some kind of whiny emo sounding music he’s heard in passing but couldn’t name. It was all so unique, just like your scent.

“Okay so, the cold knob and the shower knob work just fine but the hot won’t turn off. It’s like stuck or something.” You walk into the bathroom and he follows, pushing back your black and purple moonphase curtain. You take advantage of the opportunity to ogle him while his back is turned to you. He looks good today. A plain black tee shirt is tight on his broad shoulders, black jeans that are ripped at the knees and hug his ass just right, and black doc martens on his feet. His hair is tied back in a low bun and he has his usual rings on his fingers, a studded belt and a pants chain complete the look. He was so fucking hot. Damn.

“Yeah, it’s just a little bit of corrosion. Easy fix.” He looks over his shoulder at you and you try to avert your gaze, or at least close your fucking mouth but you can tell by the smirk he gives you that he caught you gawking.

“Sweet. Thanks, Eddie.” You give him the most composed smile you can. Having him in your home was making you dizzy. You’ve never felt like this before. You’ve been around plenty of and even slept with a few other alphas but something about Eddie was different. It’s like someone made him in a factory, just for you. You wanted to climb him like a tree and shove your nose in his scent gland if you were being honest.

“Sure thing, sugar.” He leans over to grab a few tools from his toolbox and his tee shirt rides up, revealing a delicious silver of tattooed skin. The way his hands looked gripping the tools and the grunts he was letting out as he started to loosen the knob had you clenching your thighs. Not only did he look absolutely delicious, he was also taking care of you, and the omega inside warmed at the thought. His neck muscles flexed and the veins on his hands were bulging. His musky scent filled the room, and it was starting to make you dizzy. You felt a layer of sweat starting to build on your skin underneath your hoodie and you suddenly felt like how you feel the days leading up to your heat.

“I’m thirsty, do you want anything to drink?” Your voice comes out as a little shaky, despite your best efforts to center yourself. “I have umm… water, fresh squeezed lemonade, milk, tea, I could make coffee, I think I have some red wine.”

“I’ll take some of that lemonade, if you don’t mind.” He turns his body to look at you, a boyish grin plastered on his face.

“One lemonade, coming right up.” You give him a thumbs up you immediately decide was probably as awkward as the smile on your face. You just need to get away from him for a second. You turn and rush out of the bathroom, your knees buckling as you grasp onto the kitchen counter for support. “Jesus Christ, get it together.”

Your heat wasn’t due for another two weeks but you felt like it was going to happen any second. Your head was spinning, you felt feverish, the warmth of your skin causing you to rip your hoodie over your head, leaving you in just your small cropped tank and your sleep shorts. But it still felt like too much. A stabbing pain shoots through your core and causes you to cry out.

Eddie tightens the wrench tight, turning the knob off and on a few times to make sure it’s working right. When it works both times he smiles triumphantly. His smile drops immediately when he hears you cry out in what sounds like pain. He drops the wrench on the ground and runs out of the room in a panic. The minute he enters the kitchen he starts to feel dizzy. Your scent is stronger and sweeter than ever before, your hoodie is discarded on the ground next to you leaving your curves exposed to him in your little pajamas. But that’s not even the worst part. Your body is folded over the kitchen counter and covered in a shein layer of sweat, you’re panting while little whimpers escape from your lips. But worst of all? There’s saccharine sweet slick dripping down your thighs. Fuck.

“Hey, are you okay?” Eddie wants to kick himself for asking, obviously you’re not. You tense at the sound of his voice, but you don’t turn to look at him. A whine louder than the others leaves your lips and your body shakes slightly.

“No - I - yeah, I’ll be fine. This is embarrassing, I’m sorry. I wasn’t due for my heat for a few weeks I wouldn’t have invited you in if-“

“Hey.” His large hand on your shoulder makes you jump at first but then it sends a feeling of relief washing through you. His scent is still overwhelming but it’s also so soothing. You want to throw yourself into his arms and inhale his scent gland until you can’t breathe anymore. “Don’t be embarrassed, it’s totally natural, I’m not judging you or anything. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Your shower is fixed. I should uh - I should go.”

A whine involuntary wracks through you at the thought of him leaving, but if you asked him to stay and help you, would he? He hardly knew you. You don’t even know if you smell good to him or not. But the primal part of your brain doesn’t care, the primal part of you just wants him to make it all go away.

“I’m sorry, I just know if I stay here I’m not going to be able to control myself and I don’t want to do anything to take advantage of you or make you uncomfortable.” He pats your shoulder awkwardly, it’s taking everything in him not to rip those shorts in half and shove his cock balls deep inside you in one thrust. He knows he could, your little omega pussy is dripping and ready for his knot. Every single instinct in his body is screaming at him to help you. The thought of leaving you here alone makes him want to puke, but he also doesn’t want to take advantage of your vulnerable state. He doesn’t want you to do anything you’d regret later because he doesn’t know if he can handle being one of your regrets.

“Please.” It comes out a broken whisper but Eddie could hear you loud and clear. He was pretty sure he knew what you were asking, but he needed you to tell him.

“Please what, sugar?” His large calloused hand runs up and down your arm and you try to hold in the moan that escapes you but it slips past your lips anyways. His touch is like what you imagine taking a hit of hard drugs feels like.

“Please, help me Eddie.” You turn your head towards him, your cheek squished up against the cool countertop. You look up at him through your lashes, your lips forced into a pout. “Make it go away.”

“Sweetheart… are you sure? I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret once you have a clear head…” He pushes your hair out of your face, his thumb running along the apple of your cheek. You subconsciously nuzzle into his palm and you’re just so sweet he wants to devour you.

“Won’t regret it. Want you so bad. I can smell you all the time, you smell so good. You make me crazy. Please, I need you.” Eddie lets out an exasperated breath. So you could smell him too, and he smelled good to you. He’s never had an omega tell him that and it filled him with pride. He’s never felt truly needed by someone in the way his body biologically desired, he’s never spent a heat with an omega before. Now this pretty little thing was practically begging for him. How could he refuse?

“I can smell you too, ya know? The day you moved in I caught your scent. I’ve never smelled anything like you before, and you’re so beautiful. If we do this I don’t know how I’m going to let you go afterwards.”

“Then don’t.” You say it so matter of fact, and he can tell your awareness was slipping, soon all you’d be able to think about was his knot.

“Are you positive about this? I mean it, I’m already addicted to you and I haven’t even tasted you yet.” His thick thumb runs over your pouty bottom lip and you dart your tongue across the pad of it. You moan, the taste of his sweat sending another wave of slick down your legs.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything, alpha.” Eddie fucking growls at that, grabbing you by the waist and throwing you over his shoulder. He carries you to your room and tosses you on the bed. He leans over you, his ink adorned forearms on either side of your head. His face is inches from yours and you can’t take it anymore, you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling his mouth down to connect his lips to your own.

When your lips connect both of your bodies feel like they’re on fire, Eddie suddenly feels the overpowering need to protect you from anything and everything for the rest of his life, to sink his teeth into the juncture of your neck, and stuff you full of his cum. Plugging it with his knot so none escapes, and he doesn’t want to stop until you have his baby inside you. He’s not even in his rut and he’s never felt like this before in his life. Your tongues intertwine and he’s never tasted anything so sweet. He sucks your tongue into his mouth, savoring your taste, drinking up your moans.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet, just like sugar.” He kisses down your jaw to your throat, leaving open mouth kisses on your scent gland. He stops there to shove his nose in your neck, inhaling deeply. His eyes roll in the back of his head and he lets out a feral moan. “Never smelled anything sweeter either, most omegas smell a little off to me, but you? You smell divine, sweet thing.”

“Mmm Eddie, you smell so good too, never smelled anyone as good as you.” Your mind is clouded with lust, the fever rising in your body and the pain in your abdomen due to your heat making you dizzy. He pushes the front of your tank top down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Your back arches off the bed and your hands find purchase in his hair again. He reaches back to pull it free from the hair tie, his mouth switching to your other nipple.

“Glad I smell good to you, most alphas say I smell weird.” He pulls your tank top down to your hips before pushing it down with your shorts in one swift motion, leaving you in just your soaked cotton thong.

“Funny, you’re the first omega to ever tell me I smell good to them too. Maybe we were meant to be baby.” He jokes, sending you a wink before latching his mouth onto your clothed core. A growl rips through him, if he thought your spit tasted good the taste of your slick had to be the most divine cuisine known to man. His tongue flicks out to lick your sensitive clit through the material of your panties and you buck against his mouth.

“More.” If you weren’t so far gone you’d be embarrassed at how broken and desperate your voice sounds but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. All you could think about was Eddie Eddie Eddie.

“I’ll give you anything you want, baby girl, don’t worry. I’m gonna take care of you.” He rips your panties down your legs and hooks your thighs over his shoulders. His face finds your now bare dripping core and he licks a stripe through your slick folds. You moan in unison, you at the feeling, and him at your intoxicating taste. He starts to tongue fuck you as deep as he can, swirling his tongue around inside your walls, collecting your nector on his tongue.

He plunges his tongue into you a few more times, savoring your taste, before dragging it up to circle your clit. The minute he wraps his lips around the sensitive bud an orgasm rips through your body. Your thighs try to clamp shut around his head and your hips raise off the bed. Eddie uses one of his hands to hold you down by the hips while two of his thick fingers circle your entrance before he’s inserting them inside you. He continues to suck on your clit and you don’t even have time to come down from your first orgasm before another one is being ripped from you. Feral moans leave your lips as you rock your hips against him.

“FUCK EDDIE! Shit! Is too much, too much, sensitive.” You whine, pushing your hands against his head. He growls, his tongue licking every inch of your slick covered core before finally pulling away.

“Sorry baby, you just taste so fucking good, and those little moans are my new favorite song. Shit.” He sits up, his stubble covered chin is coated in your slick and he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. You’d let him if he asked. He kisses his way up your torso, stopping to pay your tits and scent gland a little extra attention. When his lips meet your own they taste like you and him combined and you whine into his mouth.

“Eddie, please? Please fuck me? I need to feel you please please please.” You’re begging even though you know he’s going to give you what you want, but all you can think about is him burying himself deep inside you, filling you up with his knot and his cum, making all the pain go away.

“Hey, hey, shhh, it’s okay, sweet thing. Your alpha is gonna make it all go away, okay? Gonna take care of you little omega.” Your alpha, you like the sound of that.

“You’re wearing too much, take it off.” You whine, pulling at the hem of his shirt. The materials of his clothes feel suffocating against your already hot skin, and you want to feel him. He obliges, standing up to pull his shirt over his head. Your eyes roam his figure, your tongue darting out to lick your bottom lip at the sight of his ink covered muscular form. He kicks off his shoes and his hands make quick work of his belt, he undoes his pants, pushing them down with his boxers. His cock springs free, slapping against his bare stomach and a bit of drool actually dribbles down your chin. He’s perfect. Every inch of him.

“Fuck Eddie, you’re beautiful.”

“Coming from you, sugar? That’s a high honor.” He smirks, leaning over you. He takes your chin in his hand, using the grip to place a bruising kiss on your lips. He uses one hand to prop himself up on the bed while he grabs onto his thick cock in the other, running it through your folds. He taps it against your clit a few times, the combination of your slick and his precum causing it to make a sticky wet sound.

He pushes the tip of his cock into your entrance, pulling it out and pushing it back in a few times. You wiggle your hips impatiently, trying to shove him deeper inside you. He finally takes the hint, shoving his cock halfway inside you before pulling it almost all the way out again. When he pushes into you again he doesn’t stop until his balls are flush against your ass.

“Oh my god, shit!” Your hands clutch onto his back, your nails leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin.

“Oh fuuuuuck, your pussy is sucking me in baby. You feel so fucking good.” Almost too good, if he was being honest with himself. He’s fucked a few omegas, but never on their heat, and nobody has ever made him feel like this. It just felt so fucking right. All of it. Your scent, your touch, your kiss. It really was like you were made for him. And even though his mind was clouded with lust, as he snapped his hips into yours, burying himself deep inside you over and over again it all started to make sense to him.

He had learned a little bit about soul bounds back in highschool and he knew a few people in his life that had them but they’re so rare nowadays he had never given them much thought. But the way his ears rang when he first saw you, the electric shockwave that went through the both of you when you shook hands, how he can smell you everywhere. The fact that you’re the first omega to truly smell good to him, and he’s the first alpha to smell good to you. It all clicks into place. You were his fated mate. You really were meant for him.

“Eddieeee, you feel so good, you’re filling me up so good, I’ve never - fuck - I’ve never felt like this before.” Your nails run down his back and your walls clench around his cock as another orgasm takes you by surprise, a rush of slick coating his cock and both of your thighs. He decides while you’re fucked out like this isn’t the time to tell you about his realization, he doesn’t think you know. He’s not even sure if they still educate kids on these kinds of bonds given their rarity.

“That’s a good girl sugar, taking me so well, you gonna let me fill this little pussy up?” He grunts as he thrusts into you deep and hard. His nose finds your scent gland and he sharply inhales. “God baby, you smell so good, my sweet little omega, my sugar.”

His tongue laves out over the juncture of your throat, his teeth lightly brushing over it. God it would be so easy to just sink his teeth into your neck and mark you as his for the rest of your lives. He can tell you want him to, by the way you turn your head to bare your neck to him.

“Do it, I want it.” It’s like you read his mind.

“Baby, no. Not right now, if you still want it when you’re more clear headed we can talk about it, okay?” It was taking everything in him not to do what you were asking, he was fighting against every single instinct in his body.

“Eddie, I don't think I’ve ever thought more clearly about anything in my entire life, please? I want to be yours.” You mean it. You’ve thought about it before now, laid in bed at night as you listen to him strum his guitar. You’ve thought about more than just fucking him, you’ve fantasized about a life with him. Even if you barely knew him, you knew you wanted him.

His thrusts falter at that, he doesn’t know how long he can resist your begging. Especially when you’re begging for this. He doesn’t respond, just starts fucking you harder. His thumb finds your clit and he starts to circle it in time with his thrusts. His lips latch onto your neck and suck, if he can’t give you what you truly want right now, he hopes you’ll at least take this temporary mark. “Please alpha? Please just do it? I want it so bad, want your mark. Want your knot.”

“I know sugar, I know.” He mumbles against your neck before latching back onto it, continuing to suck bruising marks into your skin. “Why don’t you cum for me? Cum for your alpha.”

He angles his hips so the head of his cock is brushing against your sweet spot, picking up the speed of the circles on your clit. He runs his teeth along your throat, not quite biting down but nipping at it. It’s all so good, and it sends you hurtling into another mind altering orgasm.

“Oh fuck! Ohmyfuckinggod, Eddie! I’m cumming!” You wrap your legs around his waist, more slick gushes from you and your nails are digging so deep into his back he’s sure you’re starting to draw blood. He hopes you leave him some little marks of his own. He wouldn’t mind, if you bit down on his neck too. He knows it’s taboo for omegas to mark alphas but he wants to be connected to you, owned by you, in every way possible.

“That’s a good girl, good fucking girl, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful when you cum on my cock.” His hands grasp onto your hips and he leans up onto his knees as he continues to fuck into you. Your hands clutch onto his forearms and your tits bounce deliciously with every thrust.

“Want you to fill me up, alpha. Fill me with your cum, put a pup inside me.” You’re cock drunk off your ass, your eyes rolled back and brimmed with tears, drool dripping from your mouth and your words are slurred as you babble things you’d never dream of saying in a normal state of mind. But Eddie hears you loud and clear, and he knows you probably don’t really mean that. But hearing it? It makes him feral.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck a baby into you, is that it? Want me to mark you and knot you and plug you full of my cum?”

“Yes! Fuck! Please fill me up, let me give you a baby, alpha!!” Eddie lets out an animalistic growl, a few more harsh thrusts and he’s spilling inside you. He shoves his hips flush against yours as ropes of his cum paint your walls.

“Oh fuuuuckkk, oh my god, shit.” Your pussy squeezes him like a vice grip, the feeling of him filling you up sending you over the edge with him. You milk him for all he’s worth, the head of his cock starts to flare and you whimper when his knot pops inside of you. “Jesus Christ.”

You both pant as he grabs onto your thighs so he can flip over with you on top of him. You lay your head on his chest and nuzzle into it, feeling safe and warm, and for the moment satisfied. You’re both quiet for a while, catching your breath and coming down from your highs.

“Eddie I-“

“Hey.” He shushes you, comfortingly running his hand down your back. “It’s okay, don’t stress, alright sugar? We can talk about all of this once you’re more clear headed. Let’s just relax for now.”

“Will you… stay?” Your voice is small, but hopeful.

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere darlin’, we are kind of connected right now.” He chuckles and it makes you laugh. “Even longer if you keep laughing like that, clenching around me and shit.”

“Sorry.” You giggle. “Will you stay… till it’s over?” You really hope he knows what you mean, because you already feel awkward enough asking as it is.

“You want me to stay with you through your heat?” His heart rate picks up, and the alpha in him sings with pride. He really hopes that’s what’s you’re asking.

“Yeah, only if you want, no pressure or anything I-“

“Baby, I’d be honored.” His hand cups your face, tilting it towards him so he can look you in the eyes. He smiles at you sweetly, his mate. He places a gentle kiss on your lips, which you return with glee. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

Would it be crazy if you said you wanted him to stay forever? Probably. Maybe not, since you were just begging him to mark you and knock you up a few minutes ago. You decide against it though, laying your head back on his chest. You shove your nose into his scent gland, inhaling him. You’ve never felt this safe with an alpha, or anyone who wasn’t your family, really. You could get used to this. You only hoped he would still want to be around you when your heat was over.

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

Eddie kept true to his word, staying with you through your heat for a full week. He only left once, on the second day to go to the store for some groceries and to get things from his apartment for himself. It was a good thing he did because later that night he went into his rut and it just made the entire experience more intimate and feral. He fucked you more times and in more ways than you could count. But you didn’t just have sex, you also spent a lot of time talking, and getting to know each other.

He told you about his time growing up here, and how it wasn’t the best for him. You found out that he’s a tattoo artist, and he rides and works on motorcycles. He used to be in a band when he was younger, they still jam together sometimes but they don’t play bar shows anymore. He’s never had an omega before, not even an unofficial mate, and he explained to you that it’s because he’s never felt connected to anyone until he met you. You told him it was about the same for you. When you first presented your boyfriend at the time was an alpha and he smelled awful to you the minute his pheromones hit your nose, so you ended up breaking it off.

The morning you both woke up feeling like yourselves again you were both a bit timid. You still had another day off but he had clients today. He left to get ready for work, departing with a kiss and a promise to talk later tonight. You were hopeful. For the first time in a very long time, or maybe ever, you felt truly connected to someone.

Since you had the day off you decided you’d go visit your dad at work, you haven’t seen him since you took him those chocolate cupcakes last week and you figured you’d surprise him. He was the reason you moved here after all. He helped you open the bakery. You and him have always been close, your mom wasn’t really around when you were growing up so it was just you and him. He lived in Hawkins but he owned a tattoo shop in the next town over, only about a thirty five minute drive if there wasn’t traffic.

You went for a more simple look today, flare leggings and a cropped zip up with your doc martens. Perfect for the mid September Indiana weather. The drive went smoothly, you’ve been to your dads shop a few times, years ago when you were in your early 20s. But you haven’t seen it in a long time, usually when you visit him you just go to his house.

You push open the art covered door to the shop, the bell on the handle hits against the glass on the door and Tami, your dads wife, greets you with a surprised smile from behind the front desk.

“Well look what the cat dragged in, to what do we owe the pleasure, little lady?” You’ve always liked Tami, she and your dad got married when you were nineteen, after you had already moved out. But she was like the cool cigarette mom you never had growing up. She was probably Eddie’s age or a little younger, your dad was in his mid fifties. But she was beautiful, she looked like she stepped right out of an 80s rock music video. With her teased blonde hair and blue eyeshadow, her body adorned with almost as many tats as your dads.

“I had the day off, just figured I’d come say hey.” Your smile falters for a moment when you catch a strong whiff of Eddie’s scent, you didn’t think it would still be so strong after you showered. You knew your dad was going to ask questions, especially with the crime scene you had on your neck that you didn’t bother to cover up. You weren’t ashamed of them, you wanted people to know you were taken.

“Hey Tami do you have the reference photo for my five o'clock? I need to start drawing it up.” Your eyes shot in the direction of his voice, your heart rate immediately picking up. Okay so, you had definitely caught his scent, and it wasn’t on you. Why was he here? Oh god. He works for your fucking dad? Shit. Why didn’t you think of that? The motorcycles, tattoos, it all makes sense now. Your dad has told you about Eddie, you just didn’t think it was going to be this Eddie.

He smells you before he sees you, for a second he thought it was just your scent lingering on him like it has been for weeks now but then he saw you. He wasn’t mad you were here, just surprised. He was about to ask you how you knew where he worked when your dad came bounding out the back.

“Honey! What’re you doing here? Did you bring sweets?” Eddie has never seen your dad smile like that at anyone besides Tami, was he cheating on Tami? Did they have a side piece he didn’t know about?

“Hey dad, yeah I uh - I brought you some cookies!” Dad!? Holy fuck. That’s when your name goes off like an alarm in Eddie’s head, he didn’t think to make that connection until now. He’s seen pictures of you as a kid, and even a few of you as a teenager but you looked so different now he never would’ve recognized you from those. You were Dale’s fucking daughter? Jesus Christ. He was so fucking fucked.

“You’re too good to me, the best daughter ever, I swear.” Your dad walks over to you and engulfs you in a hug, taking the container filled with cookies from your hands when he pulls away. “Although, what’s going on with this crime scene on your neck? You have a little boyfriend here already?”

“Ha! Thanks dad, you’re the best too. Its uh - there’s not really a label on it yet or anything, if there’s anything to tell, I’ll let you know.” You smile at him, clearing your throat. You avoid making eye contact with Eddie, knowing you’ll probably lose your cool if you do. Especially when your dad is talking about what he did to your neck. You’re trying really hard to keep calm but you’re practically screaming on the inside. Eddie worked for your dad, and had for almost a decade now. He’s told you about Eddie, they’re close friends, and your dad was his tattoo mentor. He probably wouldn’t want to see you now. You felt like your heart was breaking already. You were definitely going to have to find a new apartment.

“Angel, this is Eddie, Eddie this is my daughter.” Your dad says your name so proudly it makes you internally cringe. You fucked his friend. Not just fucked, you spent your heat and his rut with him. You asked him to mark you, he knotted you, and if you were being honest? You hadn’t been clear headed enough to think about it until today but you weren’t on birth control.

“We know each other actually!” Eddie’s eyes look like they’re going to burst out of his head, and he coughs, choking on his spit. “He’s my neighbor! You’d know that if you came to see my place already, dad.” You roll your eyes at him playfully, trying to start up your usual banter, hoping you’re pulling it off.

“Oh, yeah! She moved into Chris’ old place, she baked for me and I helped her with her shower. You raised a good one, Dale.” Eddie smiles at his old friend, his heart feeling like it was going to fall out of his ass. He knew how protective your dad was of you, he remembers how he used to talk shit about your old beta boyfriend. Not only that but Dale was one of the big alphas in the area, if he casted Eddie out, everyone would.

“Aww! Good man Ed, thanks for helping my girl out. And you! How’s the bakery? Things good?” Your dad takes a large bite of one of the cookies, his other hand lovingly shaking your shoulder.

“It’s good, yeah, things are good. You were right about putting it close to the highschool, tons of kids come in on their lunches and even some teachers too. I’m working on perfecting this new pie recipe right now, I’ll have to bring you a few different slices to try out.”

“Well duh, I’m always right, and I swear you’re trying to fatten me up.” Your dad laughs his signature laugh, it’s deep, bellowy, and contagious. You loved him so much. But that didn’t change how you felt about Eddie, if he still wanted to see you, you wouldn’t turn him down.

You made small talk with your dad and Tami for a bit longer, Eddie had excused himself to the back and it honestly made you want to cry right then and there. You wish your dad and step mom a goodbye without seeing him again and walk out of the shop with a heavy heart. You drive home on autopilot, your thoughts racing a mile a minute.

When you get home you flop yourself down on the couch in defeat. You would finally meet a guy and he’d end up being one of your dads oldest friends. Would he ever even talk to you again? He probably regretted the entire thing. But if you could go back in time, you’d do it all again.

A few minutes into your wallowing your phone goes off and when Eddie’s name pops up on that tiny front screen you feel like you’re going to pass out.

“I’ll come see you after work so we can talk, hope you’re okay.”

You let out a deep breath, at least he was talking to you, right? That text he sent you this morning about already missing you sitting above the new one was like a slap in the face in comparison. Hours ago he was texting you “Miss you already, can’t wait to see you tonight, sugar. Have a good day ;)” and now it seemed like he was about to tell you he couldn’t see you anymore. You had around three hours until Eddie would be home from work, and you have no idea what to do with yourself. You wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear if you were being honest. So you did the next best thing, you took a nap.

The sound of banging on your door had you shooting straight up in bed. When you look around it’s already dark out and when you gaze at the clock on your nightstand you realize it’s already past six thirty. Had you napped that long?

“Sweetheart, I know you’re home, I saw your car outside. Can we please just talk?” Shit. You throw your covers off and dash out of your room to the front door. You open it to reveal a very distressed looking Eddie and it cracks your heart a little.

“Hi Eddie…”

“Hey, can we talk?” The look on his face is hard to read, you can’t gauge how he’s feeling at all and it only peaks your anxiety.

“Yeah, sure.” You step aside to let him in and take a seat on the far end of the couch. You try not to take it personally when he sits all the way across from you but it stings just a little.

“So uh - your dad is… my boss.” Eddie clears his throat awkwardly while his knee bounces up and down. His eyes search your face and he can tell you’re upset. Not just by that but from your scent too. He can smell how anxious you are and he hates that he’s the cause of it.

“Ha! That’s putting it lightly, Eddie…” You laugh dryly.

“Yeah, so, he’s one of my closest friends, the alpha of my pack, annnnd I kind of owe him everything for giving me a chance at the shop.” Eddie sighs, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“Yeah I know, I knew he had a friend named Eddie, I just didn’t know it would be you. So I get it, if you don’t want to see me anymore. It’s not like we are actually anything to each other anyways, just because you spent my heat with me doesn’t mean you owe me anything. I can find a new apartment and I won’t come into the shop anymore it’ll be fine I can-“

“That’s the problem though, I can’t stay away from you, sweetheart.” He looks you straight in the eye as he says it, and his voice sounds so sure.

“What do you mean? Eddie, you hardly know me, it’s really okay, I wouldn’t want you to risk everything for me.” You sigh, your head falling between your shoulders. “If my dad knew, he would lose it. I know that, and you know that. I don’t want you to lose your job, or be an outcast.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want those things either. But, that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t stay away from you. Darlin’, do you know what soul bounds are?”

“Oh.” He watches your eyes widen and your jaw drop open in realization.

“Yeah, I think we uh - I think we might have one. So when I say I can’t stay away from you, I mean it’ll fucking kill me to.” The look on Eddie’s face has you on the brink of tears, you want to throw yourself into his arms and rub your face all along his scent gland to comfort him.

“Yeah, that makes a lot of sense, actually. It kind of feels like my whole entire life since I presented makes sense, now that I think about it.” You let out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding for years. You never thought you’d find a mate, but here he was, made just for you. “Well, my dad can’t really do shit then. He can’t keep us apart, and if he tries to do anything to you I’ll tell him that I’m going with you wherever you go.”

“Sweetheart.” He takes your hands in his and a feeling of relief instantly washes over you. “I can’t ask you to do that… I know how close you and your dad are from the way he talks about you.”

“Okay, well you didn’t ask me to, I want to. I never thought I’d find a mate, I genuinely thought there was something wrong with me because of my scent. But now, I find you? My soulmate? I can’t lose you Eddie.” You squeeze his hands and run your thumbs over the backs of them reassuringly.

“I feel the same, I spent my whole life being an outcast, and then when I presented as an alpha I thought maybe I’d finally get some form of respect. But instead every single person that was supposed to be biologically attracted to me told me there was something ‘off’ about my scent. Not that they necessarily smelled good to me either, but it was still a blow to my ego. But then you show up? This sweet little thing bringing me a pie in her tiny little dress? You’ve made me feel more wanted in a few weeks than I have my entire life.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to burst at his speech, you can’t believe hours ago you thought you were disposable to him. You grab his face in your hands, kissing him with fever. He groans into your mouth, his hands finding your hips as he returns your kiss with equal enthusiasm. He pulls you into his lap and you kiss each other until you both feel like your lungs are going to burst and you have to pull away for air.

“Can we maybe wait a bit, to tell my dad? I just want to enjoy this for a bit, before shit hits the fan.” You rest your forehead against his, your hands still holding his face tenderly.

“Absolutely, I think I’d like to live a little longer.” Eddie chuckles and you laugh along with him.

“Shut up! I’m not going to let him kill you, I swear. I’ll be like, your knight in shining armor.”

“Oh yeah? Sugars going spicy on me? Is that it?” He nuzzles his nose against yours before dragging it down your cheek, jaw, and then down your scent gland. He inhales before placing a gentle kiss there.

“Oh, you have noooo idea.” He tickles your sides and you laugh, wiggling around in his lap.

“Hmm, I think I wanna find out, you wanna show me this spicy side?” He kisses your neck again, gently nipping at it.

“Absolutely. Think you can take the heat?” You lean back and wiggle your eyebrows at him.

“Ooohh you’re in for it now!!” He laughs, tackling you down on the couch. Sending you both into a fit of giggles.

He climbs on top of you, his arms bracketing either side of your head, his hair like a halo around his head with the way your lamp light was glowing behind him.

“You’re so beautiful Eddie.” You smile up at him sweetly, he doesn’t think he will ever get tired of hearing you say that.

“Yeah? You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, sugar.” He sends you a wink that has butterflies fluttering in your belly. The flutters quickly turn into an eruption when he connects his lips with yours. He slips his tongue into your mouth, and you moan at the taste of him. The kisses turn heated when you roll your hips up against his, a low groan rumbling through him.

“I want you, Eddie.” You mumble against his mouth, your tongue darting out to lick across his plump, kiss swollen bottom lip.

“I’m all yours, sweetheart.” He places another hungry kiss on your lips before littering open mouth kisses along your jaw and throat. He laves his tongue out along your collar bones, kissing down your chest. He mouths at your nipples through the thin material of your tank top, swirling his tongue around them until they are both peaked. He grabs the hem of your shirt and you lift your arms so he can pull it over your head. “Perfect tits. Perfect body. Perfect little omega.”

“Mmm, just for you, alpha, all for you.” Your hands greedily pull at the hem of his faded band tee and he obliges you, using one hand to pull it over his head. “Wanna taste you, alpha, can I?”

“If you keep looking at me like that? Sugar, I’ll give you anything you want.” He runs his thumb along your bottom lip and you take the digit into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it.

You look up at him with big round eyes as you moan at the taste of him. He stands in front of the couch and you push yourself up onto your knees, perfectly eye level with the very prominent bulge in his pants. You make quick work of his belt, undoing his pants so you can push them down over his hips with his boxers. His cock springs free, a bead of pearly white precum drips from his slit and you can’t resist leaning forward to lick it off.

“Fuck, you taste so good, baby.” Baby. Chills run through his entire body. You’ve never called him that before, and it was doing things to him he didn’t think were possible.

You suck his tip, swirling your tongue around it like you did with his thumb. You take him all the way in your mouth, gagging when he hits the back of your throat. Drool fills your mouth and you pull off to him to spit into your palm without breaking eye contact with him. You bring your hand to his shaft, jerking him off with your lubed up palm a few times before taking half of him in your mouth again. Your mouth works in tandem with your hand at the base of his cock, your tongue caressing that thick vein that runs along the bottom of his shaft.

“Oh fuuuuck.” Eddie throws his head back, his thick neck adorned with veins, his Adam’s Apple bobs as he groans at the feeling of you swallowing him down. “That’s so good, your mouth is so good.”

His fingers thread through your hair and he looks back down at you. He has to close his eyes again seconds later to keep himself from exploding down your throat right then and there. Your eyes were rimmed with tears, your mascara that was already smudged from your nap running down your cheeks, drool was dripping down the sides of your mouth and the way you were looking at him like he hung the stars with his dick down your throat made him insane. You move your hand so you can take him all the way in your mouth again. Your throat flexes around him when you gag and he has to use his grip on your hair to pull you off. You whine, trying to take him back into your mouth.

“Baby girl, I’m sorry, but you gotta stop or I’m going to fucking lose it, and I really want to fill you with my cum and just keep fucking you until your body is limp.” He grabs your chin in his hand, his thumb spreading the drool on your mouth all around your lips. “Turn around, all fours.”

You position yourself on your hands and knees on top of the couch cushions, arching your back and wiggling your ass in the air. Eddie groans at the sight, walking up behind you, he hooks his fingers in the band of your tiny sleep shorts, pulling them down with your panties where they pool at the bottom of your bent knees. His hands roughly grab onto your ass cheeks, spreading them so he can see your messy cunt. You clench around nothing and a little yelp escapes you when you feel his spit drip down onto your already wet cunt.

“Fuuuuck Eddie, please, touch me.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’m always going to give you what you want, sweet thing.” He runs his fingers through your slit, gathering your wetness and rubbing it around. He circles your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure. Two fingers circle your entrance and push inside you. He curves them just right, rubbing them against that sweet spot inside you before he starts to thrust them in and out of you.

“Oh shit! Yes, yes, yes, Eddie, fuck.” His thumb finds your clit while he continues to fuck his fingers into you and you’re already embarrassingly close to cumming.

“You gonna cum already, baby? I can feel your pussy sucking my fingers in.” He curves his fingers against your g-spot again and it’s the final straw. A feral moan rips through you and your pussy spasms around his fingers. “Oh that’s it, good girl, cum for me, cum for your alpha.”

Eddie pulls his fingers from inside you, bringing them to his mouth, moaning at your sweet taste. You hear him kicking off his jeans the rest of the way before the couch dips behind you. He positions himself on his knees, taking his cock in his hand. He runs it through your wet lips, the tip of it bumping against your clit with each stroke.

“Baby, don’t tease me.” You whine, pushing your hips back against him. “Need your cock.”

He lines himself up with your entrance and pushes inside with one thrust. You’re so wet the stretch barely burns, almost immediately turning into immense pleasure. He doesn’t waste any time starting up at a brutal pace. His hips slap against your ass, his balls bumping your clit whenever he thrusts at a certain angle.

“Fuck, this pussy really was fucking made for me. She’s sucking me in like a vice grip.” His hand pushes down on your lower back and you take the hint, resting your cheek on the couch cushion so your back is arched further, your ass as far in the air as it can go. This new angle has him hitting deeper than before, his hand snakes around your front to rub your clit and it sends you over the edge again.

“Oh god - oh fuck, Eddie!!!” Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, you push your hips back against him, fucking him deeper into you as you ride out your high.

He wraps his forearm around the front of your shoulders, using his grip to pull your back flush against his chest. He’s deeper than ever before, practically abusing your g-spot in the best way. The slight pressure on your throat from the way his arm is pinning you to his body is delicious, and when his fingers resume their ministrations on your clit it already has you close to the edge again. His mouth latches onto your scent gland, sucking a bruise into it.

“Mark me alpha, please please, I want to be yours. Please do it, I want it so bad.” Your hands reach behind you, lacing your fingers in his curls. You arch your back so you can bare your neck to him. Eddie thinks about telling you no again, he considers telling you he’d like to wait until you tell your dad.

But the primal part of him quickly erases those thoughts. He wants to please you, in every way possible. He wants to claim you. He doesn’t want to tell you no. So he doesn’t. He runs his nose along your scent gland, inhaling your otherworldly scent. He runs his teeth along the juncture of your throat before sinking them into your soft flesh.

The feeling sends you both over the edge. His teeth are still clamped down on your neck. Your cunt is squeezing him tight while ropes of his cum spill inside you. Everything felt so right, and it wasn’t just the fact that it was the best orgasm of your life. Your entire body felt warm, your heart felt full, you felt so connected to Eddie. It was everything. His knot swells inside you, popping out to connect you in every way possible. He pulls away from your neck, soothing the bloody teeth marks with his warm tongue.

“Wow.” He breaths out, carefully leaning back towards the arm of the couch and pulling you with him. He circles his arms around you, caging you in his embrace.

“Yeah, wow is right.” You chuckle, nuzzling deeper into his chest.

“You’re amazing, you know that? I’m a lucky son of a bitch.” He runs his hands through your hair, down your chest, his fingers stop to trace the bloodied mark on your throat. “Are you okay with everything?”

“I’m fantastic. I’ve never been happier than I am at this moment, Eddie Munson. If you’re lucky, I’m lucky as hell. I’m glad it’s you, I’m glad you’re my mate.” You tilt your head to the side so you can look up at him.

“Me too, Sugar, me too.” He looks down at your adoringly, taking your face in his hand and leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your lips.

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

You’ve been seeing Eddie in mostly secret for the last few months. You told your best friend back home over the phone and he told his friends Steve and Robin. Things were fantastic, for the most part. He’s taken you on a few dates, either out of town or somewhere people wouldn’t see you. He made you happier than you’ve ever been in your entire life but sneaking around was getting old fast.

Eddie was for lack of better words, paranoid. You’ve spent every night together since he mated you. Either at his place or at your own. But every morning after he showered for work he would put clothes on directly from the dryer, then immediately douse himself with cologne. He always kisses you before his shower because he refuses to come within three feet of you afterwards. He was absolutely terrified of showing up to your dad’s shop for work smelling like his daughter that he was seeing in secret. After a few weeks of that you both decided it was easier if you went your separate ways when you woke up and did your morning routines on your own. Which you hated, you loved the domesticity of waking up and going about your morning with him.

You also hadn’t seen your dad since the day Eddie mated you, always making up excuses when he invited you for dinner or asked to come see your place finally. You lucked out on your day off when he decided to come into the bakery for a surprise visit. You hated it, if you were being honest. You’ve never hid anything from him, especially not something this big. He was a pretty laid back parent when you were growing up, so you never really felt the need to lie to him.

It was Sunday evening, you and Eddie both had the day off so he took you out on his bike. He drove a few towns over to take you to this vintage book store he thought you’d like, he showed you the oldest cemetery in Indiana, which you adored, and then he took you out to lunch.

When you got back to his apartment you wanted to show him how grateful you really were for how thoughtful the dates he took you on always were. You rode him till he came and his knot was buried deep inside you, then you just kept riding him until he came again. You both dozed off cozy in each other's arms not long after that.

You wake up before Eddie, feeling sick to your stomach. You climb out of bed, carefully untangling yourself from him so you don’t wake him up and throw on one of his shirts and your panties from earlier so you can go into the kitchen for a glass of water. You chug it greedily, trying to will the nausea away. You might have one other, not so little secret. Last week you were at the bakery running numbers and planning for the weeks ahead when the calendar on the wall caught your eye. You started doing some math in your head and immediately told your employee Brooke that you needed to run to the store. You bought three different pregnancy tests and every single one screamed back at you with two lines, pregnant, or a little pink plus sign.

You hadn’t told Eddie yet, and you were surprised he hadn’t realized it since omegas scents usually change when they’re pregnant. Either he hadn’t noticed, or he was waiting for you to tell him on your own terms. If he hadn’t though? It was only a matter of time before he did. You had no idea how he would react, sure things were said in the heat of the moment during sex but you and him have never actually talked about having kids. That, and he was already afraid to tell your dad that you were mates, now you were going to have to tell him you were knocked up with his best friend’s kid too. Despite all that, you want this baby, you want a life and a family with Eddie. He would be a good dad, kind, goofy, attentive. Would your baby have his eyes? His hair? The sound of a knock on the door rips you from your daydreams.

Who the hell was here? You weren’t expecting anyone. Should you wake Eddie? It’s his door, after all.

“Hey Ed, you home? Wanted to talk to you about something!” The sound of your dads voice makes your blood run cold. Shit. You dash down the hall towards Eddie’s room where he’s stumbling out of the doorway while slipping on gray sweatpants. He already has a tee shirt on and his eyes meet yours in a panic.

“It’s my fucking dad, does he fucking know?” You whisper-yell at him. Eddie shrugs at you with panicked eyes.

“Go in the room, in case it’s about something else, maybe I can get him to leave.” He grabs your shoulders, directing you towards the room. You go inside, shutting the door behind you. You feel like a fucking teenager sneaking around with her boyfriend instead of a grown ass woman with her mate, and you hated it. You almost want to just go open the door yourself and get it over with.

Eddie knows damn well that if your dad is here for a different reason, it won’t make a difference. His place definitely smells like you, there’s absolutely no way it doesn’t. He takes a deep breath before pulling the door open.

“Hey Dale, what’s up man?” Eddie feels like he’s going to shit his pants, your dad is taller than him by a few inches but bigger than him in mass by a lot. He could absolutely kick his ass if he wanted to. He also really didn’t want to disappoint him. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tired of sneaking around.

“Hey brother, you got a minute to talk? I wanted to run something by you.” Oh fuck, does he fucking know? Is he playing it cool and any second he’s going to choke Eddie to death?

“Yeah, sure man. What’s up?”

“You gonna let me in?” The older man chuckles, raising an eyebrow at his younger mentee.

“Oh! Uh, yeah, come in.” Eddie steps aside to let him in and he feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. This was it, this is where he dies.

“Whoa! It fucking reeks in here, you got an omega you’re keeping a secret, Ed?” You hear your dad chuckle through the door and internally cringe.

“Uh - I mean - “

“Hold on…” Your dad audibly sniffs the air and Eddie watches his expression harden, his eyebrows furrow and the look in his eyes is the one Eddie has been terrified of. He looks like he wants to kill him. “Eddie… What the fuck is going on here man? Why the hell does your apartment reek like my daughter?”

You take that as your queue to enter, pulling Eddie’s door open and walking out to face the music.

“Hey dad…” You wave awkwardly, trying to use your other hand to make the shirt you’re wearing longer, suddenly very aware of your lack of pants.

Your dad takes in your appearance. Your disheveled hair, Eddie’s shirt, the mark on your neck. His nostrils flare and a growl rips through him. He darts at Eddie, grabbing him by the collar of his tee shirt and shoving him against the nearest wall. A stack of empty mixing bowls knock off the counter in the commotion and your dad shoves his forearm against Eddie’s throat.

“I can’t fucking believe you!! After all I’ve done for you!?” His voice drops to an authoritative alpha tone and growls continue to rumble in his chest. You’ve never seen your dad this pissed before.

“Dale, I’m sorry, I - I didn’t mean for this to happen! It’s not what you’re thinking if you just let me explain-“

“EXPLAIN!? Explain how you mated my only child!? I don’t think there’s much to explain here, Ed! It’s pretty fucking clear what happened here!!!” Your dad bellows, shoving his arm tighter against Eddie’s throat, causing him to gasp.

“Dad!!! Fucking stop!!!” You run over and grab onto your dads forearm to try and rip it off of Eddie. To no avail, he was strong as hell. “It’s not his fault! We couldn’t help it! He’s my mate! We have a bond! You can’t hurt him without hurting me! He’s mine! Get the fuck off of him!!”

“A bond? What? Like a trauma bond? Because this situation is fucked.” Your dad turns his head to look at you, his lips set to a snarl, his arm still locking Eddie in place.

“No, a soul bound, dumb ass! He’s my mate, my fated mate! Get the fuck off of him!!!” A growl of your own rumbles through your chest, your hands trying and failing yet again to pull your dad from your alpha.

“That doesn’t change the fact that he should’ve come to me like a man and told me the minute he found out! You’re a fucking coward and you don’t deserve someone like my daughter!” He was clearly irrational, his scent nearly suffocating you with how thickly it was permeating the air.

“IM PREGNANT!!!” Two pairs of wide eyes snap toward you, Eddie’s mouth is dropped open in shock, your dad looks like he’s going to puke.

“YOU’RE WHAT!?” Your dad shouts, his grip on Eddie subconsciously loosens and he takes the opportunity to slip free from his grasp. He rushes to your side, taking your face in his hands.

“Are you really? Why didn’t you tell me? Are you okay?”

“I was going to, I was just - I was nervous about how you’d react.” You avert your gaze from his, afraid to look him in the eyes when you hear his response.

“Hey.” His hands thumbs run across the apples of your cheeks and he lowers his face so you're forced to make eye contact with him. “If you ever thought I’d be anything less than stoked to have a baby with you, you’re crazy.”

“Really?” Your eyes well with tears and your bottom lip trembles. As your dad watches this entire exchange his face starts to soften. He looks between you and Eddie, taking in the way you look at each other and your body language. He also doesn’t miss the way that the panic in your scent is now nonexistent.

“Of course, Sugar. I want everything with you, I love you.”

“I - I love you too, Eddie.” The tears that were threatening to escape before are now cascading down your cheeks. He uses his thumbs to wipe them away, placing a gentle kiss on your nose.

“Dale.” Eddie turns towards your dad, putting his arm around your shoulders. “I love your daughter, and I know it’s not ideal, but she’s my mate, my fated mate, and the mother of my child. You can fire me, cast me out, do your absolute worst. But I won’t leave their side unless I’m dead and gone.”

“If you cast Eddie out, I’m going with him.” You nuzzle into your alphas side, putting your hand on his chest.

“Hold on now, nobody’s casting anybody out, or firing anybody. I’m sorry for ya know, kinda choking you out there, Ed. This was just… a shock.”

“I know dad.” You step away from Eddie to rest a hand on your dads shoulder. “And I’m sorry we didn’t tell you right away, but that was on me, not Eddie. I told him I wanted to wait to tell you, and it’s not like we planned this. We didn’t even realize you knew each other until that day I came into the shop.”

“He still should’ve told me, or you should’ve. I know I’m protective of you but if you told me all of this, yeah I would’ve been mad, but I would’ve heard you out. It’s not so bad, now that I think about it. You guys make a lot of sense actually.” Your dads hand comes to rest on top of yours on his shoulder. “I always wanted you to find a good man, and I know Eddie is a good man. I know he will take care of you. Plus, I’ve never seen him like this, I’m uh - I’m happy for you guys.”

“And notttt to call you out or anything dad, but Tami is like 12 years younger than you and you met her when she was in her 20s, just saying.” You roll your eyes and playfully squeeze his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I get it, I reacted poorly. So… I’m gonna be a pop pop?” Your dads now tear brimmed eyes search yours.

“Yeah dad, you’re gonna be a pop pop.” Tears flow from your eyes and he pulls you into one of his signature bear hugs. You sob into his chest, finally feeling whole again. You really missed him. “I hated lying to you, I’m sorry.”

“Hey honey, what’s done is done, we’re okay now, alright?” He rubs your back lovingly, pushing you back so he can look at your face. “I’m happy for you. Come here, Ed, get your dumb ass over here.”

Eddie chuckles, wiping a tear from underneath his eye, your dad pulls him into a hug, that he happily returns.

“You gonna take good care of my girl?” Your dad pulls back, one hand gripping Eddie’s shoulder, the other pointed at his chest. A joking glare set on his features.

“Yeah Dale, I’m gonna do everything I can for the rest of my life to make sure that woman, and our child are safe and happy.” That only makes you cry more, which has Eddie rushing to your side to take him into his arms.

“Okay, I came here to talk to you about some work shit but that can wait, I’ll leave you two to talk and celebrate amongst yourselves.” Your dad walks over to you, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I’m proud of you, pumpkin, in everything you do. Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

“Yeah dad, of course not, never. You’re going to be the best pop pop, you know that?”

“Alright, alright, stop making me cry. I love you.” He ruffles your hair, turning to Eddie. “Have a good night, Ed. I’ll see ya at work tomorrow, congratulations.”

“Thanks, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.” As soon as your dad shuts the door behind him Eddie is taking you in his arms, spinning you around.

“Whoa, Eddie, motion sickness.” You giggle and he sets you gently back down on your feet.

“We’re really having a baby?” His chocolate eyes shine as his hands come to rest on your abdomen, staring at it adoringly.

“Yeah, we’re really having a baby.” The tears that you can’t seem to get to stop stream down your cheeks and you rest your hands on top of his.

“There’s no one in the world I’d rather start a family with, I love you, sugar.” Eddie rests his forehead against yours, nuzzling your noses together.

“Me either, I love you so much, baby.” One of Eddie’s hands laces through your hair while the other cups your neck, his thumb caressing the mark he left there all those weeks ago. He connects his lips with yours and everything in the world just feels right.

Taglist: @eddiesxangel @corkadymu @ali-r3n @nailbatanddungeon @emxxblog @reysorigins @rogerfxckingtaylor @hellv1ra @munson-mjstan @harrydesires @tlclick73 @your-nightmaredoll @gnrquinn @hellfire--cult @meadowdovewood @katethetank @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @ghostducky @nega-omega @ericasdumbworld @peaches-roses-sins (if you asked to be tagged and you arent it wouldn’t let me tag you for some reason)🖤

[strayanberry]

And here is little Rowell xD

[crazytiger6]

α-1 used Stone Edge!

But it missed!

[insufferablemod]

you can blame @borzoilover69 for this

[borzoilover69]

SHUT. THE FUCK. UP!!!

[natailiatulls07]

Mick Schumacher x Platonic!reader Oscar Piastri x Platonic!reader Logan Sargeant x Platonic!reader Liam Lawson x Platonic!reader

Summary - Five young drivers, five different teams and one friendship group

Warning - One hate comment??

Reader drivers for Redbull

Part two three

-

yourusername

Back in the paddock, who's ready for the season??

Tagged: redbullracing

Liked by fernandoalo_oficial and 203,479 others

username Can't wait for more success from our girlie

username We miss you, where have you been??!

= logansargeant She spent the whole winter break binge watching gossip girl and gilmore girls

= yourusername Shhhhhhhh

username Just waiting for the baby drivers content!!

liamlawson30 posted a story

logansargeant

Fuck I'm friends with some weird ass people

Tagged: mickschumacher liamlawson30 oscarpiastri yourusername

Liked by alex_albon and 202,735 others

username Nah Oscar's just being cute ngl

username Liam is giving main character energyyyy

yourusername Why is mine the worst one here omfggg??

= logansargeant Because you are the most weird one!

= yourusername I'm not sharing my sushi with you after the race this weekend

= mickschumacher Aww mate, you've really fucked up there lolll

yourusername posted a story

yourusername Should I die my hair Red?? Seriously debating it rn

OscarPiastri No, please no!

SchumacherMick Hell yeah! Fire hair!!

LiamLawson30 Oh god! Mick don't encourage her!!!! OMFG

LoganSargeant All I'll say is that you drive for Redbull, and the colour red is owned by a rival of yours

yourusername OMG YOU ARE SO RIGHT!! Let's do rainbow then!

LiamLawson30 Well done Logan! That worked well didn't it?

OscarPiastri I'm so done with you four, so done.

SchumacherMick You know you love us!!

mickschumacher

Y/n choose the group activity today and she choose sushi, surprise surprise! And Liam turned up in his Ken hoodie which he was very proud of lmao

Tagged: yourusername oscarpiastri logansargeant liamlawson30

Liked by georgerussell and 214,648 others

username That sushi looks sooo good thooo

username Is Y/n wearing friendship bracelets?? Please tell me she made the rest of the guys one each!!?

= username OMFG CAN YOU IMAGINE

liamlawson30 We should defo do sushi again!! I'm still very proud of my hoodie!

= yourusername I loved the hoodie!

Groupchat - Baby drivers (Mick-Purple / Logan-Blue / Oscar-Orange / Liam-White / Y/n-Pink)

HELP FUCK

WAIT WHAT?!

Mick what did you do?!?!

Are you in safety?!

Whats happened???!

I was stalking this girls page when I accidently liked a post from when she was fifteen!!

Aww mate you're screwed!

When she was fifteen?! How old is she now??

Damn you really fucked uppp

She's 23! So over seven years agooo

Yeah that's awkward ngl!

maxverstappen1

Soo thank you for the smashed trophy Y/n, always so helpful! :|

Tagged: redbullracing yourusername

Liked by yourusername and 223,781 others

username She really said 'Let's all share this win'

oscarpiastri I don't know why they trust her near trophies, pretty sure almost all of her own are broken

= yourusername Shhh, I'm trying my best to seem trust worthy

username Thing is she just laughed about it lol

= username I'm just glad that Max isn’t that annoyed, he joined in with her laughter

yourusername posted a story

f1gossip

Spotted: Redbull driver, Y/n L/n and Actor, Barry Keoghan are seen and paped leaving a restaurant together in Monte Carlo. From our sources, it looked like they were on a date and that they were both very intimate with each other. Do we have a new wag in the paddock and are we going to see one of our baby drivers walking a red carpet more often?

Liked by logansargeant and 59,572 others

username Y/n and Barry Keoghan??! The same Barry who was in Saltburn??!

username He is almost ten years older than her ewww

oscarpiastri Oh so this is how we find out...

= logansargeant Ikr!

= mickschumacher She said that she was busy at a redbull event tonight

= liamlawson30 Apparently nottt

username Not the other baby drivers finding out through this post!!!

Groupchat - Baby drivers

So Y/n how's the redbull event??!

Yeah are you and Max bored yet?

Yeahhh

Uh guys I can't really talk rn, me and Max are needed on stage to speak

Oh don't worry, say hi to Barry for us

Barry? Who's Barry??

You know Barry Keoghan, the Barry who you were seen cosying up to at a restaurant in MONTE CARLO

Yeah didn't know the new Milton Keynes is in Monte Carlo, crazy right!

Fuck you've seen the paparazzi photos right...?

Yep! So what's going on with Saltburn guy???

Yeah go on tell us how it went

Or how it's going

yourusername posted a story

-

[offkilterkeys]

The world isn’t ready for my alpha kid readings.