#Beta!reader

[diejager]

Hello this would be the very first time id make a request if you still take them. Omegaverse taskforce 141 with an isekai reader who could pass as a bèta with a twist, if you heard about the pheromone perfume then yeah. Reader as a beta but snells like an omega🙂

🐼anon

Cw: pheromone perfume, omegaverse, spy, inaccurate facts, tell me if I missed any.

For something you’d once thought fictional, an imaginary creation to spend one’s time on and lose themselves when they wanted to escape the hardships of their world, it was scarily realistic. You were a fan, someone who’d followed the franchises from it’s earliest days to the most recent - and unsightingly disappointing - installment of a remake of a remastered version of a game you played as a kid. You’d even dreamed of it being a reality, living the lives and adventures besides the men and women in Modern Warfare and even Ghosts and Black Ops despite knowing that their universe was a mirror of your own, simply built and reconstructed differently than the one you were born in. 

It was a fantasy, even your strange interest in works tagged with omegaverse. To see a big man like Ghost shudder and kneel for another, to see Gaz being tenderly dominating and affectionate, to see Price reluctantly soft and grumpy, and to see Soap teasingly sly and mischievously headstrong. Sometimes, they would draw one as an omega and the other as an alpha, or as an beta and alpha couple. It was a whole roller coaster of emotions and intrigue, but a fantasy all the same.

And yet… and yet, here you were, in a body that was and wasn’t your own. It was a carbon copy of yours, but you weren’t you in it, like wearing a mask or another’s skin. That’s how you felt, especially with the scars that painted your skin like a stray sky and tense muscles that felt too hard to be fake. Perhaps it was the sudden sensitivity of your nose, the cloying in your mind and annoyance that suddenly filled you. Or perhaps it was the clean and elegant clothes you wore, a harsh dichotomy to the dark gear the others beside you wore, vests and padded body suits, weapons latched to their hips, chests, thighs and even in their hands, and the hard and cold gleam in their eyes, hidden under the darkness of the vehicle you rode. 

Any confusion you once had was washed away when time seemed to stall, the world blurring as clear and loud words were spoken in your mind. Instructions, you understood, guidance towards your goal and advice to complete it. It was a ball, you were sent to conclude a transaction under… Kate Laswell’s order, a favour you had agreed to do for her as someone who worked in intelligence and assasinations rather than brawn and breaches. She’d called you a silent killer, neither a mercenary nor an employee, you were a panther in stalk, an owl in flight, deathly silent and tenaciously lethal.

It seemed like an out-of-body experience. You were somehow a spectator to your body, and somehow the master of it. Every act was practiced, ever word spoken with a charming smile and every smile particularly persuasive. It was so simple —so easy. With their emotions flashing in your face through smell alone, your nose twitching at the scent of arousal and pleasure, the flattered and the excited. They were so - too - easy to read and control, to have them curled around your finger like fine silk. You chalked their attraction towards you to your charms and the smell that clung to your skin, a sweetness that made both men and women turn their heads to gaze at you for a lick f your scent. Pheromones. An omega’s pheromones mixed with sweet perfume. 

It helped, truly, making your work vastly easier than you’d once thought. It eased the nerve and anxiety that brewed inside of you, having done nothing but speak out loud the words that popped in your head and act out the motions that were advised to you. Your brain - mind or conscience - was a machine, a computer giving out orders and guiding you through this without any trouble. That, you were thankful for, you would have been a mess of tears and panic if not for it. It made you work quick and efficient.

And you were out within the hour, striding across the street and down the corner, walking as if you weren’t in a hurry or on a mission, nothing better than hiding in plain sight —the best of hiding spots. Within the minutes, down a few streets, turning left and right, walking circles to make sure you weren’t followed, you crossed the threshold of a textile shop, nodding at the lady working at the counter and headed to the back rooms, the employees only rooms. There, you met four men huddled around a table with Laswell at the head, all familiar figures you once fantasied about. 

“An omega?” Price sounded much deeper in person, his done low and somehow soft despite the rasp that smoking caused. 

“Beta,” you corrected, your name following as a greeting, a beast greeting another beast, head bowed in respect and acknowledgment that they returned. 

“You don’t smell it.”

It was curt and to the point, nothing you hadn’t expected from Ghost.

“Pheromone perfume,” you grinned, patting your pocket, “Neat trick, hmm?”

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[girl-lostconnection]

Thinking about Alpha!John Price x Beta!Reader today.

John, who leans always a little too close, presses himself into you ever so slightly, murmurs “Johnathan for you, love” and noses at your neck, coaxing out the faint soft smell of yours. Perfect darling for him, blushing so deliciously, hissing when he allows himself too much. Keeping him in line.

John Price whose hands are somehow always on you, thick fingers hooking in the loops of your jeans and dragging your hips to his, broad chest of his pressing into your back when he whispers “got you, sweetheart”.

He kisses you behind the ear, always lingering just a little to savour the taste of yours that he manages to swallow being this close to your scent gland. Licking air and not yet your skin, because you keep pushing him away, keep glaring at him like he is a dumb beast too keen on the idea of eating a local bookshop owner instead of looking for royal offspring. As he should have.

Dumb beast who is not realising that he shouldn’t rub his scent into you, that lingering pinewood and cigars kill all your chances to get a proper date with someone.

John, who hums when you protest and gently bites your neck, just holding you between his teeth, your pulse pounding into his lips.

Why’d you need dates with some boys, love? Don’t you have him? Isn’t he the best there is to get?

John, who keeps coming back just to chat you up, always with excuse to touch you, worming his way into your life until you don’t even notice that his thumb has been stroking your wrist for the last 10 minutes of your conversation.

He comes back after every deployment and rubs himself on you, smiling when you hiss and wiggle out of his grip. Feisty first thing after so long apart. He knows, sweetheart, he missed you too.

John who comes back once and has to swallow back a low growl, sound starting in his chest, his teeth itching because you don’t smell like him and you don’t smell like you.

He circles you around before pressing himself into your back, bracketing you against the counter, his nose diving into the neck of yours, beast in his head snarling when he finds someone else’s hickey there.

Kept yourself busy, didn’t you, love?

He’s been gone for too long, his scent got too weak.

John admits, he should have come back sooner, should have pulled you under a long time ago.

But he liked your little game of push and pull, he enjoyed the tag so much that he forgot he isn’t the only one playing.

An oversight, not a good thing for a captain.

John who is still hazy with the blood from last deployment, urge to tear another throat out simmering right under the surface when he presses his hips to your ass, slotting against you like perfect puzzle.

If he knew you’d get impatient, he would have taken proper care of you, sweetheart.

But he won’t make the same mistake again.

John Price, who takes leave of absence so he can stop taking suppressants for the first time in years.

Rut of his pounding in the back of his head, spreading through him like an infection, dripping under his skin like poisonous honey.

Sticky sweet, molten with yearning, hungry for blood.

Hungry for you.

John Price who clicks his tongue at you to stay behind your counter, as he locks the doors behind him and lowers himself down. On his knees, nudging your stance to widen.

So he can pull your jeans down, tongue sliding between your thighs, big hands holding you open for him.

No need to thrash, love. He isn’t letting go now. He isn’t backing away either, not anymore.

His rut makes you hazy, his rut clouds your head and makes you slip, bracing your forearms on the wooden counter, his ‘good job, sweetheart’ dripping slick between your thighs.

John eats you out until his knees ache, until your hips roll into his mouth, until the sweet faint scent of yours blends in with his.

Your whole bloody shop is going to smell like you have a man, love. Like you have John.

There is a low dangerous rumble in his chest when you try to pull away, to stop him from eating you out into overstimulation. Because where do you think you are going, sweetheart? You need to be nice and slick to take all of him.

You need to be soft and pliant for John to feed the thick length of his cock to your greedy hole.

“Goin’ to fuck attitude out of ya, lovie.”, John breathes out, biting your ass until you whimper trying to get him off and until the indent of his teeth is a red mark on you. First out of many. “Any bloke in this bloody country would be able to tell you are taken. Anyone who takes a step inside will know I was here.”, he growls, grinding on the plush of your buttock.

Not going anywhere now, love. Never again.

John Price who clicks his tongue when you whimper about condoms, because that’s just silly, sweetheart, you won’t need any of it with him. How are you supposed to feel his knot if you won’t let it in?

That just won’t do.

John Price who bounces you in his lap, thick calloused fingers holding onto the meat of your hips, slamming you down and pulling you up, until the knot of his pops inside of your hole, plugging you in, binding you to him for the next half an hour.

John Price who holds you in full Nelson, arms under your knees, teeth grazing your ear when he bounces you on his knot, pulling just enough so you’d feel the stretch, so you’d start whimpering for him, so you’d scent become sweeter for him.

Naughty fucking thing, you like him being mean to you?

John who lets the rut take reigns, so he can press you into the counter, biting all over your shoulders, snarling “mine, always mine, only mine” when you can’t help but arch. Whether to pull away or to press into him, he’s not sure.

John who licks the scent gland of yours, teeth itching to sink in, dumb beast in his head pulling him to rut into you. And Lord, you are slick and warm and perfect, squeezing him like you never want to let go, milking him for all he’s worth.

Perfect mate.

He humps into you like a feral dog, heavy thick hips of his pressing into yours, not letting you close your legs. Not when he’s folding you into the mating press and sinking his teeth in the crook of your neck, popping the untouched and unmated gland there. Binding you together, blending himself into you, drinking you in so your sweetness is always in his scent from now on.

Won’t be anyone else, love. Not for him. Nor for you.

John Price who presses your face into his neck, rasps out “bite, sweetheart”, his knot popping back inside of your hole — your legs twitching above his shoulders. Sweet thing, he’s too much for you without much of a preparation. But it’s okay, he will be better next time.

He will take you somewhere soft and warm, he will feed you meat and fruit, letting you lick juices off his fingers, he will suck on your tender sensitive parts until you are crying.

You just gotta bite, lovie, just sink your teeth in his gland, will ya?

John Price who licks his lips when you nuzzle in the crook of his neck, your teeth grazing his gland, your jaw trembling. Rode you ragged, didn’t he, love?

It’s okay, John will help, just open wide, aye?

John murmurs, voice half a growl when he presses your head into his neck, when he closes your jaws down on his gland, shiver running down his spine, everything clicking in place.

This is right. This is how it’s supposed to be.

John who kisses your face pulling you out the crook of his neck — your eyes gone, pupils blown wide and jaw slack when he ruts into you again.

Just one more orgasm, sweetheart, just one more. He knows you can do it, you can be good for him.

You can give him his reward for being so patient, you can thank him for not tracking down your now irrelevant suitor and not presenting you bloke’s fingers as a courting gift.

You can thank him proper and you will, won’t ya, lovie?

Come on, one more time, he rasps in your ear, fingers prying your mouth open and stuffing it until you are drooling messily all over him. Pretty thing, see how easy it is? Just had to come to your Johnathan and he would have taken care of this greedy hole.

He would have made it better. And from now on he always will.

Till death do us part, sweetheart. If he has to say anything about it.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, omegaverse, forced bonding, subjugation, some type of discrimination, elements of androgyny

♡ fem reader

Thinking about the big and burly behemoth Omega finally finding himself the cutest little Alpha to breed with…

He could never bring himself to breed with Alphas. Growing up, he developed a great disdain for them—all high and mighty rabid animals prone to violence, more often than not completely dimwitted to top it off, as if their massive ego had usurped the place of basic brain operation.

He couldn’t hate them more, yet he doesn’t correct anyone when they mistake him for one, either. In many ways, he wished he was born one instead of an Omega. It would make it easier to fulfill his desires that way. A dominant Omega isn’t all that normal, after all—and submissive Alphas are an even rarer breed to come by.

He hadn't found one yet. And other Omegas don’t really do it for him. They approach him, thinking he’s an Alpha, then feel disappointed when figuring out he’s not—which is fine, as he isn’t particularly interested in their scent either. Betas make for an okay compromise—they don’t care if he’s an Omega, it makes no difference to them—yet he could never really shake the feeling that something was missing when lying with them.

At the office, the scent of Alphas plagues him all day—how they strut around, stinking up the place with no concern for anyone else. This is a workplace, for fuck’s sake—can’t they have a little dignity and not treat it like a mating ground? He really hates them. All bigheaded assholes—

“Ow—” there’s bark and a hard thunk of something hitting the floor.

Someone just bumped into him—someone so small he hadn’t even seen them over the top of his clipboard. Looking down, he sees a fellow Omega—a pretty one. You must be as disoriented by the scent around you as he is—probably why you walked right into him—poor thing. He ought to help you up.

You hold your head in your hand, wincing at the sting of your rear—you’d fallen right on your tailbone. Looking up, you give the fellow Alpha who’d knocked you down a mean glare, “What the hell, asshole!”

His outstretched hand stiffens midway. That’s not a very Omega-like thing to say—especially not by one so small as you. No, wait… what’s that scent?

You ignore his hand and get up on your own, dusting down your pin-stripes with angry brushes—face pursed, almost pouty, but not quite, too stink-eyed as you lean in and jab a finger into his chest to punctuate your words, “Watch where you’re going next time, you…”

You soften up halfway through the sentence. It must have dawned on you as well. His scent. Not like other Alphas, but something else entirely—something that suddenly makes you blush all over, wide-eyed.

You don’t say another word, only giving a weak huff before turning tail and stomping away.

There’s something very cute about it—he’s left thinking while watching you, utterly stunned and still, replaying the events that just occurred over and over in his head—wondering how he’d never seen you before. You must work on a different floor.

Luckily, he’d made sure to read your name tag���pinned all properly on your chest like a badge of honor, neatly like the rest of you. Well put together from the top of your salon-styled hair down to the tips of your pointy black stilettos. Even with their added height, you must have been two heads shorter than him—no taller than any regular Omega.

It's no wonder he mistook you for one. You were as cute as one, too—like a doll he could put behind glass, up on a mantle, and keep forever. But oh my… that mouth on you and that awful snarl. Just like any other imposing Alpha, he supposed. Bratty and arrogant, quick to jump the gun and pick a fight instead of taking it for the simple accident it was.

He goes back and sets himself down by his desk—but he’s way too distracted to work now, too busy with the thought of you. That flushed face you showed him before teetering off was something he wouldn’t mind seeing again—also that cute scowl under certain circumstances and what type of expression you’d give him if he wiped it off.

He's lucky an office party came along so quickly. He wouldn’t usually go, but now he had a reason. He bet you’d be there—the way you were dressed when you’d bumped into him tells him you’re one to respect the memo—head to toe in such a neat suit, trying to come off as androgynous as if in desperation needing everyone to know you were an Alpha. It must be hard for you—looking like that but wanting to look… well, suppose more like him.

He's glad he never felt that way—wishing to be smaller and cuter like other Omegas. Sure, he’s been envious of them at times, but more so of their easy pickings and not their appearance. He’s happy being bigger and stronger—it keeps unwanted attention at bay. You probably struggle to do the same. He bets you get a lot of the wrong eyes following you. Yeah… you must attract the bad sort all the time—alphas swarming you only to catch your scent and lose interest. Or maybe not… Alphas are sick, after all. Come to think of it, most of them would probably get off on dominating another Alpha. In that regard, it must have been worse for you than for him. Luckily, both of your issues are now solved.

He wondered what you’d wear tonight. You’d look much better in something feminine and not that suit you’d been wearing. He hopes, but no, you’re wearing much the same thing—another tailored two-piece that all but drowns you.

He understands what you’re going for. You have to dress like that, or else what Omega would ever want you looking the way you do? Aside from him, of course.

No matter. When you move in with him, he’ll dress you in all the pretty things he knows you want to wear. After all, pretty colors, ruffles, and lace will suit you so much better.

“Hello again.” He approaches you by the hors d’oeuvres even after you’d visibly and explicitly chosen to ignore him.

You groan under your breath, responding without even bothering to look at him, “Do I know you?”

Your tough act is cute. He has to withhold a chuckle before answering, “Don’t remember? You called me an asshole a week ago.”

“You walked right into me, so it’s not like it wasn’t deserved.”

You have to love that arrogance—that air of unfounded superiority. He wonders, where do you keep it all? “Well, how could I not? You’re so small I didn’t even see you.”

You’re quick to bare your teeth—obviously, he hit a nerve—showing him that same snarl you’d done back then. Cute little canines—he bet they won’t even hurt going into his neck once you mark him.

“Watch your mouth, Omega.”

Still, with a small smile, he feigns surprise. “Wow—are you an Alpha? Funny, I didn’t know they came in such tiny packages.”

It flusters you, no doubt—your brows lowered into a full glower now. “And I didn’t know Omegas could be so rude.”

You turn to stomp again, as you’d done before—though this time, he grabs your arm before you’re gone.

You whip around with another bark, “Hands off—"

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes unexpectedly, giving you puppy-dog eyes you hadn’t thought him capable of. “I should have been more mindful of my steps. It was entirely my fault.”

You go still at the sudden show of humility and respect. Finding yourself softening by the tilt of his head, bowing at you in acknowledgment of your higher standing. Not that many bother doing that to you—between mistaking you for an Omega or otherwise neglecting your standing as an Alpha, both due to your physique. Seeing it up close and so abruptly flusters you.

“Let me get you a drink to make up for it?” he offers politely, almost in plead.

Struck with feelings of somewhat regret for your own uncouth attitude, you nearly accept on a whim. “That’s kind…” But then think it over. You don’t really want to lead him on, either. You nearly stutter, yet steal yourself. After all… “But you’re not really my type.”

He hangs his head with a dejected sigh, “That’s harsh.” But he’d already figured as much and didn’t really care. Giving you his most sorry grin, he insists, “Humor me anyway? Just one drink so I don’t feel like an asshole for the rest of my life.”

It’s clear you want to refuse—still, as suspected, your heart just can’t handle seeing a desperate Omega in need. Bless your dim Alpha instincts.

“Okay, fine. One drink, that’s all,” you end up agreeing. One drink can’t hurt, right?

You feel like a good Samaritan once the big hunk of an Omega runs off to fetch you a glass. Pitying him or even sympathizing, maybe—it can’t be easy for an Omega in the mating scene to look like that. No Alpha around would want an Omega bigger than them—it’s utterly emasculating, not to mention unnatural.

Of course, you’re aware you’re in much the same shoes as him—you’re not delusional. Only, it’s easy being an independent Alpha—you don’t mind being a lone wolf in the world—but Omegas were built to be domestic. So yeah, you pity him—the poor guy, he’ll probably never find a proper mate.

But you can’t let your pity grant him too many favors—you have no intention of taking on any charity case tonight, especially not a pity fuck. You’ll have one drink with him as a mutual apology. That’s all.

Luckily… one drink is all he needs. Add a little sprinkle of this and that in your glass, and you’re already in the palm of his hand.

He has to carry you bridal style before he’s even managed to lead you to the elevator—it’s empty all the way down to the garage. He puts you in his car, locks your seatbelt in place, then drives off. It’s honestly quite astounding how easy it had been. He’d thought trapping an Alpha would be a much more remarkable feat, an impossible one for an Omega—but this was no different from eating an unguarded piece of cake.

You’re drowsy as he carries you into his apartment. And that’s when the other drug kicks in. The overwhelming scent of being inside his nest sets off your rut like a matchstick being ripped along the red.

Your claws come out, puncturing his sheets as he lays you down on his bed.

You’re too delirious to do much but writhe—making it easy for him to unbutton your dress shirt, followed by your slacks. He has to scoff at your plain black boxers and binder bra. You poor thing, always trying to run with the big dogs when you’re no bigger than a bite-sized puppy. From now on, you’ll only wear lacey things he brings home for you. You won’t have to puff your chest—you can be as sweet and pretty as your delicate physique constitutes—his cutest, littlest, most perfect mate.

You gain newfound strength once he’s peeled your underwear down, baring your needy heat to his touch. Instantly, your arms spring into action, flinging themselves around him, pouncing like a predator at its prey with your fangs bared.

He stops you easily—placing his wrist between your teeth, using it as a muzzle. He chuckles, looking at you gnaw on it like a bone.

“I think the world has it all wrong,” he starts, though he’s not sure you’re even capable of understanding speech in your state. “Omegas are the ones better suited as leaders of society, not Alphas.”

As he talks, he continues with his ministrations, stroking your needy slit with a mean finger, swiping it cruelly before splitting between the folds.

“I mean, look at you—mindless in a rut, willing to pounce on anything that moves—like a wild animal.” Once he sticks his finger inside you, your teeth do his wrist the same justice—drawing blood, making him hiss through his smile, “I ought to keep you in a cage.” And yet he doesn’t pull either hand away. “It would suit you well—on your knees with a pretty leash and collar upon your throat.”

You’re wet in his hand—soaked and so warm he loses track of his own finger as if melting within you. His cock strains against his boxer, wanting to feel it for himself. But you’re still way too tight for that.

He feeds you another digit, and you moan—suckling on his wrist now more than biting, though still with your canines out and seeking.

“Look at these wittle teeth, tch—” he grins upon closer inspection, looking between them and your eyes—pupil-fat orbs, far gone in your instincts. “I bet they’re just itching for my neck instead, huh?”

The provocation seems to make you more desperate. Pumping you slowly, more so to stretch you out than stimulate, he can feel your breaths turn thicker with need, how you press your tongue against his wrist, wet and lousy, wanting for more.

“Well, go on then, Alpha...” He chuckles again, removing his arm from barring your mouth before wrapping your throat with the same hand, holding it like a collar, keeping you under control.

And then he bares his neck for you.

“I give my consent.”

♡ part two

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira, Isagi ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing

-… . - .- … / -… . .. -. —. / -… ..- - -.-. …. . .-. . -..

@beloveds-embrace I hope I did this idea a bit of justice so far. Inspired by the delcious idea from beloveds found here.

AO3

CW: references to medical procedures that were not agreed to, reader is dying, A/B/O, odd dynamics, babies first time writing A/B/O.

A/N: I am really new to A/B/O so if something feels off or if you want more of this idea LMK!

Kate told you that the CIA still used Morse code in the field sometimes. It had fallen out of fashion after World War II and the alphabet soup of government agencies liked to reuse what they could. She said it worked best for short messages and when speaking could alert enemies. She talked at you nonstop on the long drive from the hospital. You wondered if the silence would bite at her toes or if the drone of the engine would keep it at bay.

She found you in the waiting room. Back straight, head upright you stare out the window across from you. If you ignore her maybe she will leave you alone like everyone else. You had been freed from a facility when some government agency or another busted them for performing illegal experiments on betas. Everyone else had a family to return to.

You weren’t everyone.

“I have a friend at this hospital. He called me when he saw that you had yet to be released,” she uses a soft voice as if the mint green and oddly shaped couches were pews instead. Pews don’t creak like plastic when you shift your weight. “My name is Kate. My friend, Ty, is an administrator here. He mentioned you needed someone to sign for you due to your beta status and the lack of documentation on your identity.”

Silence had been your only weapon against the staff there and the staff here.

She smells of alpha, the heady scent that should reek of safety and confidence. It tastes sour in the back of your throat.

“I’ve read through the information about you from Scorpio, the changes they made to you? They don’t expect you to make it another five years.” Kate rubbed her hands down the top of her slacks. “I’m here to give you an offer.”

Glancing at her without turning your head you wait. When she meets your side eye you shift your gaze back to the distant fluffy clouds dotting the sky like sheep grazing through a meadow. The sky sheep look all the whiter for the blanket of snow smothering the earth below.

“I know of a group of men, even split between them alpha and omega, who could use someone to care for. They are gone for long stretches of time and won’t pressure you for anything, only to care for you and use you as a touchstone of normalcy,” Kate lets out a breath, the shifting air bringing more of her should be comforting scent to your nose.

Voices drift past the locked doors to your right. You had posted up on the maternity floor, the staff had yet to find you here the last few times you were able to avoid their gazes.

“Why me?” Your voice whispers out. Should have grabbed the water mug the night nurse had left on your tray before you ducked from the room.

“Well, that’s the sticking point. They don’t know you would be coming. The guys have started to fray at the edges, getting reckless on jobs. I need them to be safe. If they have someone to come home to?”

Ah, so this wasn’t about you. Couldn’t ever be about you could it? No. Always a beta, never important.

Scorpio had seen six hundred seventeen betas through their doors before you quit counting. Not one of them left through the front door.

“You can’t tell them I’m dying.”

Control had to be a resource you doled out sparingly.

“Done.”

“And I get my own bed.”

The wrinkles around her face deepen as Kate settles on an unsure look.

“I’m not sure…”

“I will spend time in their nest when invited but I get my own bed,” you look at her now, face to face.

She must see something unmovable in your expression.

Sighing, her eyes drift shut and her shoulders relax.

“I will make it happen.”

Nodding once you stand.

“Lead on Kate, let us meet my doom head-on.”

Kate chooses not to comment on your morose declaration.

Maybe that is why she filled the car with her voice? She must not appreciate your brand of deadly honesty.

Her voice drifts away as she turns off the well-maintained and snow-cleared highway for a clear spot marked only by the tire tracks that lead between the dense trees.

“I’ve told them so many damn times they need to move closer but no it’s all ‘Kate you don’t understand we need the space from everyone’ and never thinking of how hard it is for people to visit them,” she mutters to herself as the color leeches from her knuckles with each slip of the tires.

“Maybe they don’t want visitors.”

Kate’s brows pull down as she glares out the windshield.

Looking back out the window you catch sight of a massive moose between the trunks before it disappears into the trees. It takes another twenty minutes of achingly slow driving before Kate finally relaxes her shoulders.

The smell of satisfaction drifts through the car heater. Turning you find a modestly large cabin, a green metal slanted roof, and a porch that reaches from one corner of the house to the other. Next to the stairs that connected the porch to the ground are two vehicles, one SUV and one large truck, though these both sit neatly under the porch. Kate parks in the open.

Without hesitation she climbs from the driver’s seat, grabbing the backpack she picked up for you with your three changes of clothes and two sets for sleeping. Kate is halfway up the stairs when you finally join her. Snow clings to the canvas of your shoes even as you follow in the large boot prints she left behind for you.

Tucking your arms close to your chest you stand behind Kate as she pounds with a fist on the door. The swish of her coat is the loudest sound beyond her beating for entry. You are fighting to keep your teeth from chattering when the door finally opens. You didn’t know cold had a smell. The only word you could find for it? Sharp.

“John. Took you long enough,” Kate pushes her way through the opening in the door.

A burly man steps back to allow her entrance. He is barely decent, his robe hanging open and tie only just covering his bits. John lifts a brow at you when you don’t immediately follow. You are not dressed for winter. When a particularly chilled bit of wind rushes past you and into the house, he moves to shut the door. Darting inside you watch him warily until you stand near Kate again. She stands in front of a massive couch. Counting the cushions, you give yourself the space to breathe. Twelve separate sitting spaces, three walls of a square, and still with room to walk behind and peer out the window that took up nearly the whole wall behind it.

“Not like you to show up without calling Kate. What is this about?” John steps around the snow you shed on his hardwood floor.

“I brought you a wife.”

They stare at each other for nearly thirty seconds. Your toes start to sting from the cold. The shoes on your feet squeak as you shift from foot to foot. Making the mistake of breathing too deeply you can taste the battle of wills between them. Kate’s shouldn’t be sour scent warred with John’s masculine, woodsy scent. He was an omega?

A long table is positioned opposite the kitchen, and central to it all is a wood-burning stove. The kitchen has an excess of cabinets. You start to count them to avoid what your nose is telling you.

“Why would I need a wife?” He finally asks.

You are also curious about the word choice. Betas weren’t terribly important in the grand scheme, born at a lower rate and died at a faster one. Populations didn’t need betas to survive, they, you, were mostly only good for keeping fights from escalating. With everyone receiving training in school anymore on how to address and deal with signs of rut/heat to avoid fights, death due to rut-related combat had reduced by over half. Betas were less important than ever. The other reduction in deaths had come from Scorpio.

Sarah had always been so proud to tell you about how you were contributing to keeping alphas from killing each other when she drew your blood or injected you with yet another unknown serum. The government had started to pump the barest amount of what Sarah called, calmers, into the water system. Said it was good for everyone, like fluoride.

“Serin, helicopter, Los Alamos, hospital visit. Would you like me to go on?” Kate said all those words as if they made any sort of sense.

John sucked in a deep breath through his nose. His eyes snapped to you.

“What are you?”

Kate steps in front of you. The slap of your hand to your scent gland runs parallel to her words. Sarah had done something to you, changed everything at a base level, including your scent.

“Beta, and a wife. Someone to care for, someone who needs you.”

His eyes are on you as sounds from deeper in the house reach your ears. Deep voices, a loud thump, then laughter. You look past John and see a set of stairs near the front door that leads to a second floor that only takes up part of the space from the vaulted ceiling.

“We don’t need anyone Kate-” he folds his arms across his hairy chest as Kate cuts him off.

“Should I ask them then? Call them down and see what they say?” She glares up at him, the height difference not making a difference even when her alpha to his omega should. You had only ever seen one dynamic, alpha ruling, all else managing to stay out of their way. That did not hold true here. They battled as equals.

John let his lung full of air go, a sigh of admission as his hands fell to his hips.

“No. We will take her.”

Kate nods once, settling your backpack on the couch before turning and giving your shoulder a squeeze.

When she turns back to John she gives him the final piece of information.

“She gets a room to herself. Doesn’t need to be much, but at least a place to retreat when everything becomes too much.”

He rolls his eyes but nods.

“Anything else Kate?” He asks drolly.

The glare she sends him is met with a smirk.

“I will check back in a week to see how everyone is settling.”

John walks her to the front door, opening it for Kate to step back into the startling brilliance of the sun twinkling off snow.

When the door clicks shut behind her John turns to you. His eyes drift from your feet upward until settling on your face.

“Hello, wife.”

Part 2 | Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

[thedovesaredying]

Imagine Alpha!Simon, much like all unmated alphas in the military, receives a scent package to help during his rut. It's a simple blanket that has been thoroughly scented by an omega and while normally it doesn't really work for him, this newest blanket smells simply divine. He's salivating and panting the moment the sealed plastic bag is opened and the scent is released, but rather than calming his frazzled alpha, it only makes him desperate to track down the omega it belongs to.

It's almost laughably easy to find out which centre the blanket was distributed from, and from there he only needs to stake out the area for a few days until you to make an appearance. What should have been a simple, anonymous job to earn a bit of cash on the side is turned completely on its head the moment you try to leave.

Simon's here to claim what belongs to him, and he isn't the kind of alpha who likes to share with the rest of the world.

[thezombieprostitute]

I gotta write this down so I can get it out of my head:

Omega Hal, Alpha Bucky, Beta Reader

"I'm the Omega," Hal exclaims. "So I get priority on all things soft and squishy!" He proceeds to grab you and shove his face right into your boobs.

You would be mortified but you're too busy trying not to laugh. Alpha has asked you to try to "not encourage Hal's behavior." While you're not laughing out loud, Hal can feel you shaking with your attempts to keep it stifled and lifts his head just long enough to say, "ooo! Soft, squishy and jiggly!" And that's when you lose it.

You'll apologize to Alpha later.

[barghest-arts]

For Pride month I wrote a fic of these two chuckleheads creating the most toxic messy work environment possible. Enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66511123

[specialgradefckr]

Heatwave: Day 1

tw: explicit content, 5k+ words, reader/sukuna. female!reader, beta!reader, alpha!sukuna, true form!sukuna. oral (male/female receiving), PIV, size difference, sukuna has a knot, sukuna is lowkey a masochist, some anal (not the reader's ass).

Prompt: Betas serving as royal sex concubines without fear of pregnancy.

It wasn’t as bad as one might expect, being Ryomen Sukuna’s concubine.

Oh, he was terrifying, certainly. Death wasn’t uncommon in the household, though rarer than some might think.

Sukuna traveled often, sampling both the lands and the people within them, returning to the estate only when it pleased him to do so.

Everyone in the estate knew their master’s expectations and the consequences for not meeting them. Only the rare missteps resulted in punishments, though they were indeed brutal.

On some occasion, the lord’s aide would bring half-dead curses - or corpses of enemy sorcerers - to a separate building on the estate for some strange and nefarious purpose.

It made no difference to you. The estate was clean and well-maintained, the servants attentive, and the stocks never ran low.

You were living the perfect life.

No one denied you anything. You could summon merchants, make the odd trip into town, and entertain yourself however you wished, provided you fulfilled your responsibilities as a concubine.

You were a nobody before you came to the estate.

You’re still a nobody, but everyone here is a nobody in Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes.

Your lifespans are determined by how useful you were to him at any given moment.

And he had an unexpected use for a common whore like you.

It was probably more surprising that you were a beta, and not an omega – infinitely more desirable for an alpha like the lord, one would assume.

You’d never presumed to pry before, but it’s easy to speculate, after having known him long enough.

He’s a powerful man, utterly indifferent to societal standards or norms. His desire and satisfaction were above all other things, just as he was above everyone weaker than him. And everyone was weaker than him.

It was hard to imagine him at the mercy of an omega’s potent pheromones, longing for the comfort of his partner’s nest, pining for the love of his mate, or driven madly to lust by the scent of a rut.

Or perhaps he indulged plenty, but so much fervor could only end in bloodlust on his part. Any omega summoned to his chambers to serve his pleasure never returned.

You do fare luckier in that respect. He may not have been gentle lover, but as long as you’d served him he’d left you with no more than bruises and bite marks.

And he could hurt you, destroy you, utterly disfigure you in permanent and terrifying ways… with just a casual glancing blow.

Sukuna is present on this night, though, and it appears he’s summoned you.

His aide, Uruame, is far closer to him than any of his concubines, and by now you know the sound of their footsteps slowing as they near your door.

They smile at you as you open the door for them, bowing before your eyes meet theirs.

Uruame is not fond of any of their lord’s concubines, as a rule. Being a beta themselves, it’s unlikely they understand Sukuna’s needs as an alpha any better than you do.

But what they can understand is that you respect their lord immensely. A sorcerer yourself, you know enough to appreciate the scale of his power, and you had never made any secret of your admiration.

Unlike many other concubines brought in, you had very little arrogance to show for your beauty and bedroom skills. Uruame probably does appreciate that.

You’re a beta from a brothel, so you have no delusions of self-importance, but Sukuna, and by extension Uruame, couldn’t care less where you came from.

You know their purpose as soon as they arrive; they don’t need to engage in any inane conversation or instructions.

As soon as Sukuna had returned, you’d readied and dressed yourself in case he were to summon you. It happens more often than not whenever he’s back at the estate.

You suspect you’re the only one he summons during his rut.

His omega concubines are… single-use. Your fellow betas are few in number, and he’s no more forgiving with his concubines than he is his other servants.

You follow Uraume to his room. You can’t tell if he’s in a rut or not, but your suspicion is confirmed as Uruame gives a short nod, then strides off.

Sukuna doesn’t like being seen during his rut. Many have learned the hard way.

“Well? What are you waiting for, an invitation?” His voice is as gruff as ever. Low, heady, a delicious groan that sends shivers down your form.

He didn’t ask to be answered, of course. The only appropriate response to Sukuna’s question is action.

Quickly you slide the door open and shut it behind yourself as you fall into a low bow. You don’t meet his eyes without permission.

“Get up.” Your cue to sit up, to not bother with any further formalities. His rut must be well underway. “Come over already.”

You don’t waste any more time. He sounds impatient, and he probably is, but any less deference could see your head separated from your body. It’s especially important not to touch him first, to let him touch you.

Sukuna loathes being touched without permission.

It’s not something you have to worry about, though. As soon as you’re within reach, one of his hands bears down onto your shoulder; to him, it’s as good as an explicit instruction.

You never subject Sukuna to the indignity of having to voice his desires.

Perhaps that’s why he likes you so – there’s a flash of something pure alpha, an intense delight in his eyes as you kneel and attend to him in prefect obedience and submission.

Falling to your knees at his feet, wasting not even a second, you work to free his painful erection from the confines of his clothes.

Practiced hands accomplish it easily, and you’re rewarded with a large hand that strokes through your hair, brushing it back out of your face and holding it there.

His erection springs forward, as impatient as he is. His knot is already swollen up.

It’s red and flushed, pink to match his hair, heavy and thick like all the rest of his limbs.

Even an omega would blanch at taking such a monster. You are well-trained.

It’s enough just to lick at it, some cursory strokes to wet the shaft with his precum, to touch your lips to his heated flesh. Searing, really.

Wide, open-mouthed kisses dragged along him until his cock is coated well enough with spit and his own pre.

Without any further hesitation you open your mouth wide and take him all the way down to the knot, lips thinning where his cock swells and throbs.

The head is already lodged in your throat, and you swallow as you take it down, pressing your lips in. A moan tells you he’s already growing sensitive.

It wouldn’t feel very good for him to knot in your throat – he’s never bothered with it before – but there’s always a flash of satisfaction in his eyes.

Sukuna doesn’t want to knot your throat, but it pleases him to think that he could. That you are willing and ready to take it, if he wished.

“Good little beta." The mouth on his abdomen seems to grin at you, wide and dripping saliva.

A fire ignites in your belly at the praise, face heating up, your own mouth opening wide.

No matter what you are, Sukuna is an alpha through and through, and the desire to please surges as his hand presses you forward.

As a concubine or a common harlot, you’d always been good at your job.

Sorcery had delivered you from the streets and into Sukuna’s estate, and diligence, determination, had kept you alive throughout it all.

Others died around you. Weak. You would do whatever it took to survive, however ugly it may be.

Taking cock down your throat isn’t even close to the most degrading thing you’ve done, and at least there’s only one man now for you to serve.

He’s not even a bad lay. Either a suppressed instinct to please his mate as an alpha or some fortuitous chemistry has always ensured he brings you to release whenever you fuck.

The unmarred half of his face is undeniably handsome, and after all you’d seen, you’re utterly indifferent to the deformity. It’s just there. A part of him like any other – the other arms, the other mouth.

You’re sure you yourself have flaws in his eyes, but if he truly did not want you, you’d never have been allowed in his chambers to begin with. Sukuna is a man with absolutely no interest in pretenses. He takes what he wants, when he wants it, always.

Sometimes, you think that you and Sukuna aren’t all that different after all.

An alpha who was malformed, cast out by society, recognized only in disgust or fear.

And you, sold by a father eager to make any money he could off a pretty beta daughter.

You were unfit to be an alpha’s bride, but perfectly suited to be every alpha’s whore.

If you wanted happiness, you had to seize it, even if it meant choking the life out of someone else.

Both of you were worth only as much as you could curse others. Sukuna’s worth is greater than yours, but in his shadow everyone is equally worthless, and in his gaze – at least for this moment – you are worthy of him.

The fingers in your hair tighten; a hiss, “Take it!” and you suckle diligently as you bob backwards, diving forward straight away to take him to the root again.

Inhuman though he may be, his cock is much the same as any other alpha’s, if a bit larger.

Hot, smooth skin, veins that pulse and bulge inside your mouth. A salty taste you’d grown accustomed to, a stretch in your mouth and your jaw that you ameliorated by focusing on hollowing your cheeks, dragging your tongue along it.

Betas can’t purr, not like omegas or alphas can, but you approximate it with a hum, a gentle sigh through your nose and fluttering, lowered lashes.

A low exhalation. Controlled. “There she is…” The hand in your hair goes to stroke possessively over your cheek. “My little beta. All for me.”

His eyes dilate in lust – you always meet his gaze while you do this, for as long as you’re able, you know he likes this – and you know before you feel the touch of his hand on your jaw to begin drawing back.

His hand barely ghosts you before you move, leaving trails of saliva strung between your lips and his shining cock while you gaze up at him.

Another theatric he enjoys. His tongue darts out from his lips, grasping and stroking himself, hand coated in a sweet-smelling oil you recognize.

His other arms reach to grasp you by the shoulder, pulling you up to stand and burying your face in his neck wordlessly.

They wrap around you, pulling you into him as he steps back to sit on the bed where you follow.

It surprises you every time, just how much your body comes alive at his touch.

Heart racing as if it can jump through your skin and into the hands that trace your throat, your collarbone, down your chest, dragging the slip of a robe you’d worn down with it.

Sukuna likes undressing you, alpha that he is.

Like you’re a sacred treasure to be unveiled only by his hands. You always wear something easy to take off, and nothing else.

His touch is your leave to respond in kind; he’s fully bared, now, all tattooed skin and corded muscle.

A warrior’s form, conveying power and strength in every divot and valley. Your heart races as you lay your hands on him.

Maybe it’s the thrill of it.

Sukuna is utterly untouchable. The greatest sorcerers of your time had died failing to scratch the smooth, unbroken skin he offers to you so freely.

As a concubine, you don’t get much contact. Less still, since no one would dare lay a hand on a consort Sukuna summons so often to his side.

Normally that suited you just fine, but sometimes with him you feel like a dog straining on a leash.

Desperate for him to reach out, to feel him on you. Lust and adrenaline coursing through you the instant he makes contact.

Even as a beta, this close, it’s impossible not to smell him; he’s pulled you to his throat on instinct.

His scent glands are right there, and you don’t hesitate to lick at them, letting your breath ghost over the hot, spit-slicked skin. Dragging your teeth along the swollen flesh.

That’s one of the things he likes best. He knows you’re a beta. You have no fangs, you couldn’t mark him if you wanted to. Not with anything but curses.

But still, it is a pleasure. The salt on your tongue, the flesh that yields beneath your teeth, even without breaking, as the alpha’s aroma fills your senses.

Sukuna is spiced; harsh, in some ways, like cinnamon, but warm like a pleasant woodsmoke, like the heat of oil burning in a lamp. Just this side of decadent – opulent, almost, and still primal and raw.

It doesn’t affect you like you imagine it would an alpha or omega. But it’s nice. He smells nice.

You don’t hesitate to nip at his lips when he presses them to yours.

Perhaps one of the reasons Sukuna hates being touched without permission is because he also doesn’t care to be touched gently.

If he weren’t in rut, you would have dragged your teeth over his cock while it was in your mouth, but he’s not able to savor such services in his current state.

They’re red, so red, all his four eyes staring into you. Burning in want. In want of you.

“Fierce little thing.” You can taste his grin, you’re close enough. “See how fierce you’ll be when you’re full of me. My beta. Mine.”

“Yours,” You agree breathily, and lean back in to catch his mouth with your own.

His lips are one place you’re able to make him bleed, dragging the bottom lip beneath your teeth and pinching it, then darting your tongue in to taste.

Sukuna hums at the taste of metal in his mouth, sucks your tongue between his lips to press and purse and suckle on at his leisure. Brilliant red eyes half-lidded in lust.

Your hands get to work, one of them cupping his jaw and then his hair, brushing it back in a way that makes him preen now that he’s in rut and can’t suppress it.

Alphas love getting petted, and Sukuna loves the scrape of fingernails over his scalp, a tight tug against his hair; it all sends his knot pulsing against you.

“Here. Your mouth had a taste, let’s see how your cunt likes it.” His arms lift you up just enough to sit over his well-muscled legs.

Your thighs spread while his cock falls forward, between your thighs.

Sukuna holds you there, just far enough, letting it rub against you with little tugs to your hips. Desire sparking like flint where his length rubs against you. Fuck.

Oh, you want him. Ache for him. It pulls low in your core, to lean into him, to feel his arms holding you in place, to feel him all against you.

You wrap your arms around him in return, clawing at his shoulders as the mouth on his stomach tongues between your legs. It’s exquisite and agonizing all at once. Slick and dragging against you, heavy and broad.

He’s already purring at the taste of you. Hands clenching in desire over the roundness of your hip.

You want him. You want him.

You can have him, take him, touch, touch, touch. Dig your teeth into the firm muscle against his neck to feel his purr grow louder under your teeth.

Your curse technique flickers at your fingertips, dancing over the open canvas of his back.

Inhaling sharply, you think you hear him swear, and then, “Yes.” He laughs breathily, “More. Put more into it. That can’t be all you’ve got.”

It isn’t. The sound of him is everywhere now, vibrations that shake you all the way to your core.

The mouth on his belly still laps at your folds. It drools on your folds like you’re a meal he cannot wait to savor.

Sukuna is already running hot. It’s too easy when he’s like this, all heated, blood pumping heavy through every part of him.

Just beneath the surface you feel it; searing, boiling, heat jumping up to meet your touch. Like liquid fire underneath his skin, you’d heard it described. Exhilarating, Sukuna had called it.

A talent half-learned by accident in the steamy, lurid, filthy recesses of the brothel you’d worked at. A dark place filled with malice and jealousy, reeking of curses in every corner. One day you’d awoken with a strength that sung in your veins, screamed to be used.

You had learned to vanquish shadows with a flick of your wrist, the creatures bursting from the inside.

Once, on a lark, you’d tried it on a client who struggled to maintain his hardness. It had been remarkably effective, pooling blood in his cock, and with a little work you were able to reproduce it in other ways.

It had all been success from there. Climbing the ranks, scoring pleasure into the flesh of those who paid you well enough.

Oh, it was painful, too, but what pleasure in life came without a little pain? If you wanted something, you had to be willing to sacrifice for it.

A founding principle of jujutsu. It’s no wonder Sukuna so delights in battle, either against sorcerers or in his own bed; when you heat his blood in his veins it sends his knot pulsing, throbbing, twitching in excitement as pre drips out.

With him holding you so close you can feel his purring throughout your whole body.

A rare pleasure, a prize you win with vicious effort, cursed energy surging in your hands as you rake your nails over the glorious, muscled expanse of his back.

“Open,” Sukuna commands.

It’s a tone that never fails that make you tremble in anticipation. Your cunt is already dripping with it.

The part of your legs widen, and you lean back to look down at where he’s settled against you.

He’s so large. Always so large. The knot swelling already.

You’re clenching already, quivering, like you’re the one in heat and not he in his rut.

God, you want him to fuck you already.

One massive hand reaches down, stroking over his cock, wet with your saliva, his precum, and the oil substitute for an omega’s slick.

It nudges at your cunt and you let out a short whimper that sends him snarling, thick fingers digging sweet bruises into your hips.

“Always so sweet for me,” His lips ghost over your temple as he stares down, “Delectable. Strong little thing, you can take it.”

The head of his cock slots against your entrance. Fuck, it’s hot, burning, searing, you’re so fucking ready, your cunt is weeping and you feel like keening for it, “Please. Alpha, please.”

You can almost see it in his eyes, red and feral with need. Omega, my omega, my mate – all the things you’ve heard from alphas before.

Clingy, possessive, biting at you, rutting into you like they can breed you. All the filthy things whose beds you’d warmed in the past.

They all pale in comparison to the King of Curses. Hot and throbbing and silken against your entrance, the deep grunt of effort that you feel when he lines himself up and drives himself in.

The very sensation knocks the wind out of you.

Sukuna slides in easily but it’s tight, so tight, always. You feel him feel it, too, all those muscles growing taut before you as he sinks into you.

Your arms tremble before they remember what to do; grasping carelessly at his shoulders, clawing for purchase as the whines claw their way up your throat. They’re shoved back down by the deep moan you make when he reaches the end of your passage.

“F-fuck,” it’s good, it’s so good, it hurts so good and there’s nothing you can do but sit there and take it. Just as he told you to.

It’s always a bit painful, but there’s a pleasure in it, too, the piercing delight of being so thoroughly fucked into. You swear you feel yourself dripping out where he enters you, and you moan again at the feeling of him dragging himself out.

A low noise, a chuckle; like every sound Sukuna makes, you feel it just as much as you hear it.

“Do it again.” He demands, and you would never make the alpha wait.

You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

He pushes into you again and your moans crack, because he slides through easier this time but it’s just so big, so fucking huge you feel your walls trying to flex, envelop him, desperate to find any give at all, but there’s just no give.

It’s like having solid steel lodged inside you, burning hot and smooth against your core.

“Good beta.” Sukuna effortlessly lifts you up by the hips, dragging you off his cock and savoring how you whine at its loss, “My good little beta. Squeezing me so tight.”

He drops you down, down, back onto him. Cock thrusting up into you, cleaving your cunt apart, hitting a spot that makes you wail. Sukuna laughs, and you can feel his cock twitching.

“Need my cock, do you, little beta?” The rut is at its height now, pulling him in, smearing possession all over his face, his evil grin. “Even if it breaks you apart?”

All you can do is nod while you pant. He pulls you up and down by the waist, fucking you on his cock like a tool for his pleasure –

And Sukuna has never failed to use a tool to its fullest extent. “Fuck, fuck – fuck, alpha, please – please, please – ”

His own laughter is broken up by heavy breaths. One of his huge hands grasps you by the scruff of your neck, and you try to go obediently limp but your whole body jerks with the unrestrained force of his fucking into you.

Tight and unforgiving, baring your throat for him to dive into. An alpha in the midst of his rut. His teeth graze over your neck, licking where scent glands would normally be.

“Please,” Your breath catches in your throat at Sukuna’s kiss, all teeth and feral smiles pressed into your skin.

He stays like that for a moment, knot pulsing desperately just outside of your cunt.

Grinding into you like he thinks he can fit it in – you both know it can’t, you simply don’t have the anatomical space of an omega. But it feels good.

So good. It rubs, hot and throbbing against your clit, and fuck if you don’t nearly cum from it right there, tightness in your core heavy and ready to burst.

“Sukuna,” You say his name in a broken moan.

Teeth in your jugular. Hot tongue over your throat.

Hands gripping your sides. Moving you up and down like a puppet.

Cock pressing and pressing into you, relentless. Pleasure lapping at your insides as his cock rocks into you, begging to be let in.

A thumb on your clit, rubbing circles. “Cum, beta. Cum for your alpha – hngh – cum now – ”

Pleasure bursts through you, as if brought to life by his words. White hot and overflowing, every part of your body floating on air.

It’s like you’re a feather in his hands. Airy lightness fills you and even the stretch between your legs feels pleasant, a welcome intrusion, cunt blissfully numb.

Sukuna fucks you through it all the while, breathless, determined, on the brink himself as he chases the friction of you squeezing the life out of him.

You twitch in his grasp, aftershocks trembling through. He holds you upright easily, letting your head fall forward while he drags you up and down, mindlessly brushing his burning knot against your entrance.

It’s several moments before you catch yourself; it makes no difference to Sukuna. Your climax brought him closer, but not there, not just yet.

It’s with the giddy sort of warmth your afterglow brings that you lazily grope the space next to the bed.

You find the vial of oil he’d used earlier, and easily unscrew the top and spread it across your fingers with a single hand.

Sukuna had stared a moment the first time he saw you do that. So you have a sorcerer’s dexterity after all, he’d said, and it was the compliment you’d treasured most to date.

This time, his eyes don’t leave your body. All four of them, red and fiery and burning into you. Your chest. Your face.

They linger where your bodies are joined, at the stretch of your cunt taking him, the hole that has no more to give him but squeezes him anyways.

You can tell by his ragged breaths he needs more stimulation, heavy in rut and knotted tight as he is. That’s fine. You’ve done this before.

Slicked fingers find his waist, and then lower, to his ass. He parts his knees further, as if for more leverage to thrust fruitlessly against you, and you take the opportunity to squeeze one well-muscled cheek with your dripping hand.

The sharp inhale – you’re sure he’d hate to hear it called a gasp – “Beta!” –  tells you you’re free to go ahead.

So you do, digging your fingertips into his ass, into a hole too well-oiled to not have been prepared beforehand.

A rumble swells, in his chest, his throat, pressing hard against you along with his cock, nudging his knot further against your entrance.

You tease along the rim and then drive into it. He hisses as it burns, knot throbbing against you, massive hands squeezing bruises and then caressing them as soon as they bloom.  

It’s delicious, the way it clenches at your fingertips, tight and furled up, but you slip in easily with his preparation and your oiled fingers.

Darting into the yielding warmth of his insides, a pleasure that has him seizing against you, all muscle and magnificent form trained on your touch.

Your cunt clenches at the thought, the power you have in this moment; it squeezes the cock spearing you and sends tremors through his form.

“Clever girl,” He rumbles as you drag along his insides, “Clever fingers,” another heavy thrust, fingers twitching, “More,” thrust, shudder, “More!”

With a heated urgency your fingers curl, feeling, pressing around in a way that has Sukuna panting, teething at your shoulder, kneading hands against your hips while you search for just the right spot.

His knot presses insistently against your entrance, where there’s no space for you to receive it, but it catches on your oversensitive clit enough to make you gasp and whine.

Sukuna grins, mouth wide open, drooling like the feral, satisfied monster he was.

“Beta…” he hums, and it feels like he’s saying your name, as close to a loving coo as a creature like him can make.

And then, then, you find it, as you have so many times before. A high, keening noise Sukuna would be otherwise unwilling to part with, drawn out from him in the height of his rut.

You press into a bundle of flesh through his insides. A spot that sends him rutting wildly against you, unconcerned with his knot or anything besides fucking and feeling more of that pressure into him.

It’s almost all you can do to keep it coming, your other arm flailing desperately to reach around him for any kind of purchase while he thrusts your mind away.

Pleasure finds you again but this is liquid flames instead of white hot.

It pours out from you, spilling everywhere, the feeling of his release spurting inside you.

Full, full, fuller, so full you swear you’re bursting, it feels so fucking good. Flowing out over his cock, against your cunt, where his hurried thrusts squeezes it into a lewd, sopping met against your clit.

This one brings tears to your eyes. The sound of it, wet and squelching, utterly lewd, like you can feel the tremors of pleasure that have you milking him for cum that cannot impregnate you.

His hands are all that ground you, points on your body where his touch had ceased to be painful, to be anything but a feeling of him against you, the warm and powerful alpha who’d taken you to his bed, monster or not.

Sukuna groans and pants his heart out, still fucking into you while your eyes are glassy and all movement has left your body.

Your clever little hand fallen to the side as its purpose was fulfilled, his knot finally unraveling into the delicious joy of breeding you.

Ahh. He can admit the look in his eyes when he looks at you is fondness, to some degree. His perfect little beta. Wicked fingers and the smartest mouth he’d ever seen. Always so good for him.

He lays himself down alongside you on the bed, still buried deep in you, cum leaking slowly away.

The mess never bothered him, not in the torrid, heated moments of bodies entwined. He’d bathe with you later.

So warm. Always warm and welcoming him, your cunt is the most exquisite hole he’s ever known, but it’s the rest of you that makes it worth his time. Every time.

There’s something about it that sends a frenzy through him.

A hurried urge, like a desire to run or jump or lash out, but instead it makes him want to wrap his entire self around you and laugh in wicked delight.

It feels like fire on the battlefield, blood on his tongue, power coursing through every pore, seas ready to part at his command. It feels like strength, but he’s not even holding you very tightly.

He takes a deep breath, face pressed to your hair; beta. A faint, pure, neutral scent, so unmistakable in its cause. It elicits no particular reaction, stirs no great curiosity or lust.

But you do. It’s easy, natural, to wrap all four arms around you and squeeze. Your perfect figure yielding in his grasp, compressing beneath him, legs folding as he swings one over yours.

A purr rumbles deep in his chest as the sensation envelops him.

Touching, holding, entwined. You, completely full of him, made docile with his cum and his knot, surrendering to his embrace. All his. All for him.

Your boneless, weak figure in his arms, the little sigh of bliss you let out… it’s a feeling that’s only come to him in the midst of battle, curses coursing, glorious, in every direction.

A thrill of triumph that enervates, lightens every one of his limbs and sets him with a feeling of utter satisfaction.

Sukuna is purring in earnest now, and he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed by it.

Why suppress his instincts for the beta that so perfectly warms his bed? Why restrain himself in any way, when you’re wholly incapable of binding him, of bearing pups or marking him, and serve him with such delectable vigor?

An arm, so much smaller than his, slowly slips itself over his waist. You’re barely conscious, pretty face all flushed from your climax, unable to even open your eyes.

But your head drifts towards his chest even while asleep, where the vibrations are the strongest. Tucked under his neck, nestled in him and his scent.

An alpha’s purr is usually a sign of contentment, but it’s supposed to be soothing to omegas. As far as he knows, it doesn’t have any particular effect on betas.

Sukuna supposes it’s probably just you.

It’s so easy to reduce you to want, to unrestrained lust, pure and devoted entirely to him. Why should he need an omega when he has this at his beck and call?

You can’t be bred, of course – that was the whole point of using a beta. But sometimes he does wonder.

What you would look like if you were with child. Breasts heavy with milk, the mild scent of a beta humming with the life nurtured within.

You’re strong. You’d produce fine offspring. Your curse technique is interesting in its own right – igniting a person’s own cursed energy from beneath their skin. Not remarkable in effectiveness, but wholly unique in its operation.

Would it stop his ruts, to see you pregnant for some time? You’re the only one he spends them with, so seeing you pregnant might just delay them, without the influence of an omega’s hormones. 

Would he grow more aggressive as you neared delivery? Would his instincts command him to slay your spawn so he could fill you with his own?

Uruame is a beta, and has the necessary parts. He could breed you without all the tiresome mechanics of a bond between alpha and omega; place his two favorite subjects together and watch as his loyal subject bred his most treasured concubine for him. 

Watching you take in the seed of someone other than him… but Uruame is a beta, and belongs to him as much as you do. If he scented them as well, perhaps? They always had very little scent of their own.

Heat stirs within him at the thought. It’s too early to tell if it’s anger at the idea or arousal, especially in the state he’s in.

You make a little noise, and all four eyes shoot down to look over your form, all sweat and heat and dripping cum.

He shifts to move some of his weight off of you, sliding onto his back and settling your head on his chest so you can drift to sleep to the sound of his purring.

After all, his rut is just beginning. Sukuna can spare you some rest…

For an hour or so.

[fennelwasp]

In six years

Another comic based on Bread and Twyre, which again, you should go read

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64218295/chapters/164812855

[shmalk]

141 is filled with alphas, not a single omega in sight. there are a few betas, but they're either low-ranking or transfers that were never going to last.

like you! (beta!reader) who works at reception and takes calls, scans badges and is the first point of contact for the task force.

none of them know your name, none of them even speak to you - maybe price, when you transfer a call to him, he'll mumble a thank you. or even laswell, when you bring her a coffee.

it's nothing, really, you don't mind.

only, one day, a totally normal friday, you've done the exact same style in your hair you always have, and you're wearing more clothes than you were yesterday.

price wants a coffee, sure- you make it, just the way he likes, and head towards his office. you knock, and wait a few seconds until you hear 'come in.'

the office is silent, it usually is - but this time there's more than just price inside.

they're finishing up just as you enter, soap and gaz sitting in front of the desk whilst ghost leant against the back wall.

"my apologies, captain." your voice isn't exactly quiet - why should it be, you've done nothing wrong, but its still respectful. price just nods as you place the cup down on his desk.

"thanks, that's all." he dismisses everyone in the room, and you wait for the boys to file out before you do, soap and gaz both giving you a cheeky smile.

ghost is the one to hold open the door, standing just adjacent to the doorway with his arm sprawled against it. its a heavy door, and you swallow as you pass him.

"thank you," you all but mumble out as you rush past him - straight into the break room.

you can't help but rant about the situation to your roommate whilst you're packing up your things, your phone tucked between your jaw and shoulder.

"i mean- he held the door open for me and i couldn't even look him in the eye to say thank you!" you stress, throwing your bag into your passenger seat before leaning back against your car. "god, all i wan't right now is a plate of sushi and some boba."

"too bad its pizza night, dweeb."

"thats not fair! i could loose my job, i should be allowed to eat my comfort food when im stressed out."

you stress about it over the whole weekend, and when you return back to work on monday you try to act as casual as possible. of course, you don't see ghost - price doesn't order a coffee, and youre break time comes around quicker than you expected.

you had brought- oh, theres- your favourite sushi, and a boba drink sitting where your food was supposed to be. in somewhat messy hand writing, on a small piece of paper, theres your name.

signed ' s. riley. '

i am a sucker for sweet lil moments like this !!

in my head i think that simon would like a beta, or an alpha, but in this lil snippet (which is CERTAINLY getting turned into a fic) he's big and broad and gets worried when he's with alphas because they can't think straight, he tells them what to do and he does it.

but you? you dont react to his scent or chase him down to get him to court you - so, of fource, he courts you. <3

[diejager]

omegaverse anon here, could you do the cod group with a beta reader? Like, they stay really out of the way, not really used to getting any attention from alphas or omegas

Unusual Attraction Cw: omegaverse, awkward!reader, ell me if I missed any.

You were an oddity of a beta, your stronger nose made interacting with people harder than other betas, it made you stand out from your peers, they deemed you a beta stronger than the usual beta and that made you feel isolated and alone. You were used to alphas ordering you around and moving you from team to team for your nose and clear mind, you were a asset to have on certain teams where they needed a buffer that wasn’t an heat-prone omega. And despite your constant entourage of omegas and alphas, you never stopped flinching or wincing when someone’s scent became too strong, the musk burning your nose in an enclosed area like the mess hall, the training areas, or even public spaces. 

You preferred keeping to yourself, to alleviate the growing headache pounding at your head, to find a calmer corner of the base you were permanently moved to. You knew the people you worked with from prior assignments, a few times on month long covert operation and others on week long clandestine missions offshore, but you liked your silence when you could afford to find it. Even outside, their scents clung to your clothes, the strong smell of Price’s smoke and Ghost’s bourbon, the distinct notes of strength and dominance that screamed Alpha, Soap’s sweeter and softer citrus that you could pick up despite the scent blockers and Gaz’s gentle vanilla, a soothing calmness that reminded you that you weren’t the only buffer to the team, that you were the only beta.

“Found ye, Hound!” You liked the way Soap said your callsign, his accent coming into play to make it sound different —special. 

He swung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you to his side, your nose twitching from how close you were to his scent glands. You felt like he did it with intention, always finding a way to have you smelling like him and filling your mind with his scent, it was near addictive —so much so that you would’ve succumbed to it if you were an alpha, mind shutting off and body acting on it’s own volition. You wouldn’t blame anyone for it, Soap smelled so good, a sinful delight that people were deprived of, and when he wasn’t using the patches, it numbed your mind, made you slow and sloppy with your thoughts and acts. He knew the effect he had on you and he loved it from his constant hazing, flashing his gland in your face and drowning you in it whenever he could. Perhaps it was his claim on you, you never truly understood the whole dynamic, you were a buffer with a better nose, nothing more and nothing less.

“We were lookin’ fer ye,” he walked back in, still holding you in his grasp, “We’re going tae the pub. Thought ah’d come and get ye.”

They, on multiple occasions, had invited you to go drink with them, extending that olive branch your way with smiles and encouraging nods. You were tempted to accept, but you didn’t do well in enclosed and crowed spaces, so you declined over and over, but they never stopped asking you. It got to a point where you were waiting for them to stop asking, to tire themselves of befriended you, and yet, they never did, going so far as to pull you along despite your grumbling and exhaustion, promising a night of rest and relaxation at the pub. 

And fortunately, their words rang true, it was a blessing to your nose that the owners burned an overpowering but gentle incense that blocked all types of scents, a relief you rarely got. The only thing you could smell was the comforting scents of your new pack, the oil-packed burgers and fries, and the strong burn of alcohol, all thing that you didn’t mind as long as it came in moderation to your nose. After your first drunken and giggling visit to the pub with them, basking in their attention, Soap throwing himself over Ghost’s lap and grinning at you cheekily, Gaz leaning against your side, nuzzling the crook of your shoulder, Ghost’s big and warm hand grasping your thigh and Price looking on with so much pride. 

“The occasion?” You followed him blindly, blinking lazily at him.

“Yer third month with us,” he smiled widely, something carnal and wild, befitting more an alpha than the omega he was. Maybe that’s why he could easily pass as an alpha, with all his bravado and broadness, either way, he was a dangerous man alone, but as a Task Force, they were a menace.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry

[girl-lostconnection]

Popping cherries and squeezing lemons

Warnings: [Alpha!Kyle x Beta!Reader x Omega!John Price, omegaverse au, biting, lactation, John milking Reader, smut, John is mean bastard, Kyle might be bastard just as big as John, forced rut, possessive and obsessive behaviour, abrupt ending, jealousy, unhealthy relationships]

Kyle knows you for so long and he has always been there for you — a warm palm on your shoulder, a smile you could feel with your cheek when he’d press close to you, a tickling feel of his lashes when he’d nuzzle into you.

Gentle and affectionate.

Kyle is a good alpha, the proper one — none of expected possessiveness and weird habit to put you under his thumb and press down till you pop out of the socket so he can have you loose and defenceless.

Kyle is a good friend, you know as much because you know him since forever — his hand in yours, school lunches spent together and first drinks shared — noses scrunched, laughter bubbling in your chests.

You watch him throughout the years, the gradual and imminent transformation into adult of a pretty boy with hair that smelled like sun and coconut oil, with dimples that always made you press smooches to his cheeks.

You were inseparable once — a double trouble, never leaving school without the other, never leaving each other behind.

Kyle has been there for first kisses and first dates, Kyle has been your date to the school dance when the time came because who else would he go if not with his best friend?

Why would he want for anyone else?

Kyle has been there and has been a good friend and maybe that’s how everything happened the way it is.

Because, to say the truth he should have done many things differently.

And he would have if he knew what would happen.

Just to start with the first one, Kyle would have never vouched for your transfer as 141’s medic.

He would have never introduced you to captain John Price.

It was an oversight, really, his youthful naive conviction that just because Price is omega nothing would go wrong. Surely captain has better things to do than to take sudden interest in team’s another beta.

Well, Gaz miscalculated and now has to watch as his own captain ropes in his own sweetheart, sinking the hook in the skin so soft it’s almost welcoming.

Dragging you lower and lower.

A touch here, a caress there, a hug too tight and an arm draped over the shoulders. 

Nose rubbed on your temple, lent jacket when you forget yours, knuckles rubbing between your shoulder blades so you’d stop hunching and straighten up.

Nothing that should alert Gaz per se, nothing unusual — Price is their pack’s lead omega, Price is the captain and it’s normal that his instinct is to care and have everything under control.

But it’s always somehow more dubious with you — touches lingering, John’s smiles stretching his lips under that beard of his, his eyes crinkling when you’d tilt your head to look at him.

Price smells like cherries and rum, like smoked sugar poured in the wound to form a crust, like blood mixed with honey.

Price is poison and cloying sweetness, Price is oppressive heavy smokiness that’s not even alphas can tolerate.

Too much, too sweet, too rich — his scent is heady enough to make men lightheaded, his scent wrapping around him like a serpent — scales rustling, coils tightening.

John’s smell hardly anyone likes, that’s one of the reasons he usually wears blockers and takes suppressants. But even those don’t fully help with the bloody thing.

It’s nothing new to him and he made his peace with it a long time ago, even before it got thicker, before people started getting headaches just because they can’t stand it.

But you do for some reason. 

You seem to genuinely like it — never once complaining about it, never turning away, never trying to evade John’s touches or cuddles.

Making John’s omega vibrate with excitement cause that’s a good mate right there — letting him be affectionate, letting him grip your limbs and pull to his chest when it’s colder outside. He can’t have you catching hypothermia so in his arms you go.

It’s nothing at first, at least not that he thinks about it much at the very beginning, simply welcoming you with a firm handshake and short nod.

Just a new shoulder that he really hopes is as sturdy as Garrick said.

Pup has been singing you praise ever since he got his foot in the door and that definitely should tell Price something.

Whether about Kyle’s own heartache or your utmost competence, John isn’t sure at first.

But while he doesn’t know you — he knows Gaz.

And as young as Kyle might seem to be, sergeant is a sharp one.

Cold-headed and incredibly good, sniffing out imperfections like it’s his bloody specialty, raw power of his honed by self control most would develop after years of discipline.

John at times wondered who was it that made genius confident Garrick rein himself in this tightly?

He gets his answer shortly after you arrive.

Around the same time that he decides to actually give it a go with you as another beta. Nothing to lose at this point and it won’t do to have just four of them.

Latest incident landed Gary on medical leave until further notice, so their barracks are even emptied than before.

And it goes well, you are soft-spoken and honest, you respect the hierarchy and you blend into the team well enough to make your transfer a permanent one. For John, you, as lovely as you seem to be, are just a teammate at first.

Someone who can stand all of him and not only carefully cut out and molded parts that he presents.

Just someone to sit with at dinners and someone on whose shoulder he can lean on without seeing them scrunch their whole face cause apparently his omega reeks.

You are so different and so new with your fresh scent and careful touches and attentive eyes.

Being so good to him, making his omega stretch out and show off, because you really do like how he smells, don’t you, sweetheart?

Not only leaning into him, but turning your head to nuzzle in his neck when his instincts take reins and he has the whole team huddle with him for warmth. 

It’s fucking freezing in the safe house and he runs as hot as a bloody furnace might so it’s a question of preserving warmth. For the most part.

Doesn’t help that John’s scent gets heavier, that his blockers thin out until his team has to choose between warmth and getting a bloody migraine.

Kyle and Simon has to breathe through the mouth, Johnny just opts for hiding his face in Simon’s throat but you…you don’t turn away and don’t hide your face.

You just look at John, eyes a little dazed, lips slick with saliva from when you licked them.

You know you shouldn’t look at him like that, you know that fraternising with the commanding officer is frowned upon, that no one would understand and that surely, John himself would hardly want a beta when he’s an omega this prime. 

But in the moment it doesn’t matter one bit, because Price — stern, controlling and heavy-handed Price purrs.

Low sound that reverberates through your chest and ribs, flips the switch in your head, makes you want to nuzzle into him and sit on your knees as he pats your head and calls you good.

Cause everyone knows that happy omega is purring omega and if you could make your captain purr then you definitely did something right as team’s beta.

So with a quiet groan you press your face in his neck, aching to touch his hands, to intertwine your fingers with his so he can be everywhere, so you never have to leave.

Highly fucking inappropriate, you’d be lucky if he just has given you a smack like you are a naughty pup. 

But John instead pulls you in, thick calloused fingers of his stroking your own scent gland when you lean closer as he coaxes out the clean fresh smell — too faint for his liking right now, but oh, so delicious. 

Like water from the mountain springs, like snow, like ice in his usual drink, like morning’s fog. 

You dilute his oppressive sweetness, soften the edges of his, get the team a gasp of fresh air when they feel like crawling out of the safe house and blowing the cover.

Such a good beta, pulling your weight in the team and clearing these muppets’ heads, aren’t you, sweetheart?

John smiles at you when you look up at him unsure if you can keep nuzzling into him like that, if he’s okay with you doing it. 

His fingers tightening around the nape of your neck, pulling you back to tuck under his chin. 

Kyle can wait, sweetheart. Surely, he won’t mind if you get acquainted with his captain a little closer, right?

Nothing bad about it, just some bonding time, some pack connection building, some warmth only you can give to pack’s lead omega.

Kyle would understand, love. 

Kyle most surely would not fucking understand, tongue of his licking the inside of his teeth, tracing the canines of his, pressing on the sharp edge of them. 

He can’t put his finger on what exactly is going on or what his captain is doing, but Kyle can sense that something is in fact happening. 

He can’t tell if that’s too much, because Price is the captain, the top on their food chain, the strongest link between them all.

But he is also omega and while they are a tight knit unit, they couldn’t help but recoil when John would rub his scent on them.

Not even realising that they do.

John has tried to be there for all of them and it’s no wonder he touches you more than the rest if only you seem to like his smell. That only you seem to like John’s omega and get fiercely adored in return.

But Kyle doesn’t like that one bit. 

Not when you return to your bunk half lidded and drunk on something worse than a stiff drink, your hair and clothes seeped through with rum-soaked cherries and smoked honey.

Your neck still tingling from how much captain Price (“Johnathan for you, love”) rubbed his face on it, his beard scratching you in a way that made a sweet ache unroll in your belly.

You don’t speak to Kyle much after your evening visits to Price’s office. Not anymore. Your limbs too heavy and your heart thumping, because your captain can be smelled all over you even hours later.

Heavy, sickeningly sweet, domineering pressure that spreads over your skin like a fever, that swallows and topples over your own scent. 

Kyle has always loved the way your his beta smelled— fresh and clean — keeping him in line, clearing his head when he’d lean in too close or his eyes would linger too long on the sliver of your skin when you’d stretch.

Kyle always loved that he could press his face to your shoulder and it would be easier to breathe, your fingers rubbing behind his ears and the back of his neck. Light massage from the beta he was pining after for as long as he remembers.

He always felt like nothing would separate you, not when you spent so much time together, practically joined at the hip — his scent mingling with yours, your limbs intertwined, his palm staying on your shoulder as a silent claim.

At least, it did before you got transferred to his team and Kyle’s captain took sudden liking to you and huddled you under his wing. 

Now it feels as if John can hardly go without touching you through the day at least couple times — rubbing his smell on your clothes, scenting you when you’d come to him — only encouraging your tentative reach for soothing that he as omega can provide.

But oh, he can provide so much more than that and Kyle doesn’t fucking like the enthusiasm he sees.

Because recently it seems like Price is very up to showing what else can he give you. What else could pack’s lead omega bestow upon you if you had only given in.

Kyle doesn’t like the idea of sharing his favourite beta.

Kyle likes even less the fact that he isn’t even sharing anymore — nowadays you are tucked under captain’s wing and wrapped in his scent.

Fucking unfair, that is.

You aren’t John’s to take, you aren’t anyone’s, frankly and if someone should have gotten the chance to have you, it would be someone who took all the right steps and ensured that you were theirs and theirs only.

Someone like Kyle, maybe.

After all, he saw you first, he knows you the longest, he has been slowly easing you into the idea of him courting you proper.

Into him giving you a bite and rutting into you until your legs are would shake and your scent would sweeten and you’d bathe him in your own pleasure. So his sharp citrus can be softened by you, so your ice can melt into his basil. 

So you two become better together, so he gets you all to himself forever and always. Without his captain’s weird glances and weird touches and heavy cloying smell that makes Kyle’s head ache.

Kyle knows it’s not right to just rope you in, simply on the basis of scent compatibility alone, it’s not right to influence your judgement or take advantage of your cravings. You are beta, you are more sensitive to smells, they should be better than that.

But here comes Price with his sickening sweetness and his deceptively soft smiles and his hard eyes — edges of them so sharp it’s a wonder he doesn’t cut through glass with his glare. 

Price who asks for you during his heat.

Just for comfort, he swears, just to have some company.

After all, his scent gets almost poisonous to others during this time of the month and you seem to be the only one who tolerates him so well.

Isn’t it perfect how well you two work together?

Price who smiles at you, practically glowing from the moment you appear on his doorstep and pulls you in — noses at your cheeks and neck, locking the doors behind you.

No need to go anywhere, sweetheart, he has everything ready. Want to see his nest? He made it perfect, he hopes you’d like it, he hopes you’d stay.

Just for a moment, love. You just smell so good, it’s so much easier to breath when you are here. 

Price who pulls you in his nest, nuzzling in your throat, licking at you gland, his pants already sticking to his skin because fucking hell, he hasn’t been this soaked since he was in his 20s.

But here you come with your awestruck gazes and your clear scent and it’s like the dam bursts.

And you know, sweetheart, John is older, John has been alone longer, John doesn’t mind playing dirty to get what he wants.

But sorry, love, being fair and going through courting and easing you into the thought of being with John, like he is some pup eager to get his paws on you?

No, that’s just silly.

He can see you leaning into him, can feel your nose nudging his scent gland — your chest expanding when you would breathe him in.

You are perfect.

You are for John and only for John.

And you wouldn’t leave your captain to just deal with his heat like that, would ya, sweetheart?

No, he knows you’d be good to him, can see how you look at him, can feel the way you lean into him and sniff the air, catching him out of the crowd.

The first time you tugged air in and turned your head blindly, finding Price in the crowded mass hall he almost bent the fork, he was holding, in half.

You, already so well-attuned to him, you, already needing him so badly and already coming to his office late at night when it would get too much.

Seeking him out, being good and asking politely for just a morsel of his attention.

Pretty thing, how did Kyle even had enough self control not to mount you the first day he saw you? You must have smiled at the lad, offered your hand, breathed him in and world became brighter.

Did you like it, sweetheart? Did you like Kyle with his long fingers and full lips and gentle touches?

Would you have agreed to spend the rut with Garrick if John hasn’t gone off his suppressants to induce his early heat?

Well, if he had to guess, now we will never know. It won’t matter anyway after today.

John who kisses all over your face, groping the fat of your hips and tummy, palms sliding up to get handfuls of your tits — kneading until you shiver, until your nipples plump under his touch, until your smell gets sharper.

Ice cracking, river roaring, rain finally dripping down.

Here we go, love, fucking finally. 

Your shirt will be probably ruined but it’s so worth it when John can finally massage your chest, fingers rubbing your soft skin, his lips ghosting over your shoulders. Such a perfect mate for him, Garrick’s loss is John’s gain. 

John coos “it’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got ya” and sucks on your tits until you start kicking and sobbing — too sensitive, too raw for the first time, it’s never happened to you before and you don’t know what’s going on. 

That’s okay, love, nothing to fear, he is going to take care of you like a good omega.

Your good omega.

John will give you some proper loving that Kyle never got around to giving.

John promises as he massages your chest, milk beading on your nipples, squirting out in thin dribbles when he presses harder. Oh, you are just gorgeous, aren’t you?

John murmurs “bein’ so good for me, sweetheart” and pulls your shirt off, pressing himself harder into you — his smell wrapping around you like a heated blanket, cloying your head, pulling you under.

Cherries dipped in rum, honeyed infection, smoke of sacrificial incense.

Price coos when you whimper “too hot, Captain, I can’t—“, because of course you can, love. You have to, the process has already started. Can you feel it, sweet thing?

The way your tits ache without his hands on them, the way your vision tunnels on him, your thighs cramping when the change wrecks through you.

Ever been in a rut before, love?

He bets you haven’t.

Never before have you experienced how it feels to have a hunger this raw in your chest, the phantom cracking of your ribs opening you up like a Viking’s eagle, like a can that Price finally cracked and now he drags the lid off of you.

Opens up the way to the slick warm insides of yours, deliberate calloused fingers on your tits milking you for him.

Going to be a good alpha for him, won’t you? Going to take care of your John and take him as he is, forever and always, aye?

You won’t need Kyle anymore, you won’t need anyone but John, he will take such a good care of you, he murmurs, lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking it in his mouth with areola.

Hungry, impatient, maw of his scorching on your over sensitive flesh when he gorges himself on the taste of yours, eager to get every drop.

Eager to have your heart on his tongue and your milk in his mouth.

He knows it must feel overwhelming, like you are melting (like he is melting you), tears and snot running down your face, your pupils blown wide, your fingers curling to hold on tighter.

Just like that, sweetheart. It’s not going to be scary, John’s got you, you can let go and give in. Nothing bad would happen, he promises.

You’d be good for your captain, wouldn’t you?

But you are so gone you aren’t sure whether or not you can promise him anything at this point. You just know that you are still leaking, your mouth watering when you turn your head and nose at John’s scent gland.

Cherries — ripe and achingly sweet bloom on your tongue, your teeth aching to sink into his gland and god, this is fucked up, this is so wrong, you can’t do this.

Not to your captain, not when John was so kind to you.

But John licks his lips and angles his head to give you more access, nudging you to dive deeper to taste firsthand.

John has your sweetness on his tongue and on his beard, John has a cheeky “pop that cherry, lovie, don’t be shy now” slipping from between his teeth when he pulls your hand in his pants.

Pushes it between his thighs, letting you scoop up generous amount of slick and pull it out to take a look.

And well, that’s just mean of him — his scent so much brighter there, heat under your skin boiling you alive, fever of him ravaging your body when he makes you suck your fingers dry.

Taste him, sweetheart, see if he’s as sweet as he smells.

You watch John with heavy half-lidded eyes, sharp ice of your scent cutting through his, your hands dragging his sweatpants off.

Too far gone to care about ethics or propriety, too far gone to remember the Kyle you like — the Kyle who kisses you where it hurts and Kyle who often cups your tummy with that dark look in his eyes.

Like he is imagining something.

Like the future that he wants is so close he can almost taste it.

But all you can taste is John — thick hairy thighs of his opening for you when you dive down to drag your tongue to his leaking hole, his scent driving you half feral.

It’s sticky and sweet and you are drunk on him, not a thought in your head when you bite his thighs, not a single thing bothering you when you finally get a proper taste of him.

Straight from the source.

Room is too hot and too humid, sweat dripping down your back, your heavy chest still leaking, nipples aching and you are so bad, so greedy for imagining Kyle’s fingers massaging them and promising to make it better.

Price who coos at you when you are between his legs, lapping up his slick, making you captain feel so fucking good, being so good to you omega, making John feel safe and cherished. 

Eating him out like you won’t get another chance, teeth scraping soft skin, your throat clicking when you almost choke on him.

Greedy beta, got your mouth full, don’t you?

John wonders what would Kyle say if he saw you like that — deep between John’s legs, slurping up everything he gives, disheveled and drugged up on his scent.

What would Kyle say if he saw that gone, empty look in your eyes when you look up at John like he is god you didn’t know to worship, like he is everything there is, like he is the end and the beginning.

Bacchus driving you mad, pouring ambrosia down your throat until you don’t remember your own name.

He is sweet as he rasps in your ear that you are so good to him, such a perfect beta, such a good mate for him, his fingers stretching you out.

Using his own slick as the lube.

You don’t remember much detail after that.

Just your teeth all over John and his thighs trembling when you’d force them to stay open because he cannot just invite the wolf in and expect it to sit like a dog.

And the heavy clouding smell of cherries, alcohol bitter on the root of your tongue, saccharine affections of Price’s — bloody and feverish, melting you down.

So he can shape something new out of it.

John let’s you go only in a few days and only because Kyle almost takes the door off it’s fucking hinges, throwing away the discipline and threatening to use Simon as a battling ram if he doesn’t get you back.

Simon grumbles that he wants nothing to do with this whole situation and disappears before Garrick wrangles him and actually tries to take the doorframe out of its set.

Kyle is sharp citrus, almost bitter in the aftertaste, basil of his ripening until the underlying sweetness stuffs down the throat of anyone who dares to breathe in.

Kyle is mad, because this is unfair, because John cannot bloody take you simply because he wants you and no one else fucking wants him.

He gets exactly three more words out before he is being dragged in by the scruff of his neck, hit with scent so sweet it almost makes him retch. The cloying sweetness of rotting meat, the honeyed infection spreading all over him.

John in heat is dangerous.

John in heat is mean mean bastard of a man and he doesn’t tolerate someone trying to take his favourite beta away when he still might need them and when your tits are still leaking.

But Kyle feels it before Price even gets to say to him to fuck off and zip it up if he doesn’t want to get hell and high water.

Kyle feels you because of course, he fucking does — a hound attuned to your scent, a lovesick pup of an alpha that always kissed your jaw just shy of your scent gland, his breath ghosting over it.

His mouth watering at the mere thought of finally sinking his teeth into you.

You were always his, he can find you anywhere, he will find you anywhere if you ever leave so, please, don’t.

Kyle likes being good and likes you thinking that he is good, that he is different, that he is the proper alpha.

Kyle sneers at John, trying not to breathe through the nose and crouches down in front of a nest he can’t get in.

Even half feral and aching for you he knows better than to get in the nest he was not invited into.

Price just might murder him in cold blood and throw him out of the window, later claiming that it was either self defence or the fact that Kyle’s heart couldn’t take it and the lad decided to end it all.

That would have been an interesting conversation to have straight after heat.

So Kyle crouches in front of the nest, you scent ripe with something he doesn’t understand, the change that he didn’t feel before.

Ice of yours now poking like you are an iron maiden, embrace of yours would bleed him dry probably, considering the state you are in right now.

“Baby, look at me.”, Kyle murmurs, his voice gentle when you groan, nuzzling in John’s pillow, rage bubbling under his skin, cauterising his bleeding heart. Dull throb of his head driving him mad — cherries and ice cold water, rot and frost, honey and cream.

…cream?

Kyle tugs air in against his better judgement, John’s scent hitting him with full force, strong enough to make Garrick’s teeth ache from instinctual urge to claw at him until captain is bleeding and pliant.

“Love, look at me. Please, doll”, Kyle coos instead, eyes raking all over you, eyes lingering on the swell of your tits, on the creamy fresh scent that curls around him like your usual hug.

Almost like nothing changed — his hair still smelling like sun and coconut oil, your eyes still crinkling in the corners when he smooches your cheek. “Talk to me, baby”

But the memory leaves as fast as it came, Price’s heavy presence right behind like an artillery recalibrating to hit him — gears turning, ammo restocking.

Price doesn’t like him here, doesn’t like that Kyle’s citrusy rage makes you whimper, doesn’t like that you still crawl out of his nest into Garrick’s arms.

“That’s good, love, you are doing great. Tell me what hurts, tell me how to help.”, Kyle babbles, cradling you in his arms, not liking the same half drunk look in your eyes that you usually sport after an evening with John.

Kyle saw you first, Kyle had you first, you are Kyle’s beta.

But you whine and pull his palm to cup your tit, his brain short circuiting, his molars aching when he opens his mouth to ask what do you mean. And then it hits him.

His fingers flex, sinking in the soft flesh, massaging it gently and milk squirts out your nipple, lending on Kyle’s shirt, scent of cream heavier in the air, John’s teeth almost grazing Kyle’s nape when the man growls out “gentler, muppet”.

As if Kyle doesn’t know how to treat you.

Kyle had you before John could even dream of someone like you, Kyle knows all about your firsts, Kyle takes responsibility for taking most of them.

And this…here he should have been first too. But that’s okay, baby, it’s alright, it’s not your fault. He knows you’d be good to him. He knows you’d let him make it better.

Kyle licks your nipple, lashes fluttering, his vision tunnelling to you, rotting cherry clouding his mind when he sucks you in and you whine.

Babbling something about “Kyle, sensitive—” and “alpha, please” like you don’t know it’s enough to make him pop a hard-on.

Kyle flicks his tongue against your swollen nipple, eyes of his glued to your face when you start crying, everything in him crawling out to take-take-take.

You look so pretty when you cry for him, fat tears and flushed face and heart pounding, making your scent richer, making Kyle want to down you in one sitting.

He holds back only on years of discipline and self control, but god, you are not making it any easier, baby.

Not having any pity on him at all when you let him suck your tits and drink his fill, when you whimper for him, but reach for John.

Naughty thing, he should have taken you before bringing you to John’s lair.

Should have guessed that pack’s lead omega would harbour you close to his chest. Should have known you’d get hooked on Price and drunk from his scent alone.

Kyle should have remembered that you were always a lightweight.

Well, he will remember it for the future, his long fingers prying your jaws open so he can finally kiss you, ignoring John’s head nestling closer to your tits and ignoring John’s mouth latching on your left nipple in so he can suck on it. Greedy bastard.

Kyle licks into your mouth, slow and certain, biting your lips till you whimper and bleed for him, till he can finally get what he always wanted.

He hums softly and licks the blood off, glances up to see tears streaming down your face.

Poor baby, you must be so sensitive. So tired.

Captain’s scent alone probably didn’t let you rest much.

You couldn’t pull away from John even if you wanted to, but judging by the sated and relaxed look on Price’s face — you didn’t want to.

Judging by glaring lack of pants on both you and captain and entirely befuddling amount of bites on John’s legs — the man wouldn’t be able to pull you off even if he tried. And he didn’t plan to try shit.

Your and John’s scents are mingling in the air, mixing into something entirely new, Kyle’s throat clicking when he tugs it in, part of him wanting to throw up, other part of him wants to fuck you silly.

Cherries and cream, rum and ice, rot and frost.

John is a glaring cavity in here, John is an infection, John is dangerous and he made you ache, he made you different, he coerced you in here.

He also made you lactate, Kyle’s mind whispers, shiver running down his spine when he licks his lips and pops your right nipple in his mouth, curling around you.

Perfect darling, so that’s how you’d taste if he threw the propriety out the window and pumped you full until you were bouncing a chubby pup of his own on your hip.

Pup with your crinkling eyes and Kyle’s hair, pup with your nose and Kyle’s smile. Smelling like your milk and coconut oil Kyle would use for their hair.

For a moment the fantasy seems so vivid, so real that he forgets himself.

Forgets John’s hands trying to peel his away, forgets your pleading “can’t cum anymore—” because that’s just silly, baby, of course you can.

Whatever happened with John doesn’t count, right?

John himself shouldn’t count, that wasn’t fair, that wasn’t by the rules.

Let’s try this again, okay? He is going to do his best, you just stay where you are for him, love.

Kyle knows you are going to be so good to him, Kyle knows you wouldn’t just leave him in a state he is in, you like him too much, he just knows it.

Maybe you should go back to whatever you were doing between John’s legs, take some pressure off frustrated captain while Kyle feeds his knot to your hole.

You look slick enough to take him to the hilt, just arch a little, will ya?

And then it all goes black. Wraps veil around your eyes — cloying sweet and brightly tangy.

You come back from your mandated medical leave after another week — still sore and still tired but it’s better now.

No more heat, no more pulling of your skin, no more leaking of your too full, too big tits, no more unending slick out of your holes.

Nothing out of ordinary.

You come back to the mass hall smelling like water from the mountain spring, like morning fog, like clinking ice in tall glasses.

Like you again.

At your arrival Kyle perks up, ever so worried, ever so soft and friendly like he didn’t ravage you with the desperation of man starved of any affections. You’d pity him if you didn’t know any better and didn’t know Kyle. Starved of affections, your ass.

John sits on the other side of the bench, moving aside to make space for you, ready to take you back under his wing and wrap you in his scent and pull you under.

Lead omega, prime omega — his raspy praise still rings in your ears, his hands still knead your hips when you close your eyes.

They watch you and very pointedly try to not look at each other.

Two grown man in a squabble over something that could have been solved with a conversation or two.

But they don’t want to talk, do they? That only want to take and take and take.

Because apparently you are their favourite beta.

You sigh, rolling your aching shoulders and plopping yourself right between them — your knee pressing into John’s thigh, your elbow nudging Kyle’s.

You really are no better if the only thing you want is to take just as much. Just as selfishly.

Some people say that you can’t have a cake and eat it. Well…maybe they should watch how you will.

[flowerfreya]

Cherry Wish

Fix It

Cherry Wish Masterlist

Reader takes care of Simon , while Soap wonders where he went wrong

CW: abo , beta reader , alpha soap , omega Simon

Soap is in over his head and he didn’t realize that until Simon is whimpering under him , saying your name like a prayer.

“Baby, she’s not here”, Soap whispers in his ear. Which causes Simon to let out a pitiful whine and to scent the room in a bitter undertone of his actual scent.

“Need her”, Simon sobs.

John shouldn’t be surprised that Simon is acting this way. They both imprinted on you but they wanted to take it slow and ease you in.

He didn’t realize that Simon’s omega would already think that you are theirs.

Back in the car with you there, hand on the omega’s hip, the bitter smell is already melting away getting replaced with a more outdoorsy scent that smells like rain and linen.

Simon says your name softly, you respond just as quickly fully invested in his well being, already knowing he’s going to feel bad that his alpha wasn’t enough for him omega.

“‘M I in trouble”, he questions. Still hasn’t opened his eyes and is still thrusting into thin air.

“Course not baby”, you understand that this had everything to do with biology and nothing to do with the actual person , at least not yet. “Right alpha?”, you give a gimme to Soap and look at him pointedly hoping that he will catch on.

“No of course you're not in trouble”, Soap confirms and it has Simon letting out a shaky breathe and the rest of the bitterness melts away.

At their home , you can tell they prepared for a heat. The fridge is stocked with pre-cut veggies and fruits, along with pedialyte and other easy access meals.

Even though it is Europe and most buildings do not come with central air, people that have an omega in the mix will shell out for it because an overheating omega is not a good thing and the air seems to be set on a cool 65 degrees. Simon all but pulls you into his nesting room , which seems to be separate from their room. The room is small but filled up with multiple mattresses and clothes everywhere and in the center is a circle full of soft blankets and big pillows. You feel hands grabbing on your shirt and small tufts coming out of Simon's mouth because you aren’t going fast enough.

“Calm down, I’m coming”, you say as you pull your shirt off and start to take off your pants.

“Hurry”, he holds his hand out to you waiting for you to hand him your shirt and then obsessively smells and places it right behind one the pillow that seems to be the head of the mattress. And then sniffs until he seems like he can’t breathe and turns red.

“Simon”, you question, worried that he’s about to have a heat sick drop. You don’t know when the last time he got a knot and if it’s been too long then he could get sick.

“Johnny!”, you need to get him in here and take care of his omega but he seems to be scared to that. He answers you but he doesn’t come into the room , you can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. You try to leave the room but then Simon whimpers letting out a don’t go. Taking off your bra and pants and placing it under his pillow which calms him down , hopefully enough time to convince Johnny to come in here and take care of his omega.

Seeing him in the kitchen , cutting more fruit for whatever reason , “Hey , you know you have a heat sick omega in the other”, pointing your thumb toward the room.

He at least has the decency to look embarrassed and his ears turn red, “thought you were takin’ care of it”, he shakes his head , looking defeated , “ I caused this , I don’t know how to help him”

“Well I don’t have a knot so I can’t help him”, if he thought that you were going to baby him , he had another thing coming.

“John”, you come up to him and make him face you, “you have an omega up there that in heat , needing a knot , your knot and your mopping down here because you didn’t know he imprinted on me”, he nods his head in agreement , “okay but now you fixed and you do know , now lets get our omega fixed up , yeah”, you say to him as you start to pull him up the stairs to the omega in question.

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing Masterlist

Kate delivered you, a broken unwanted beta off with four men, John, Kyle, Johnny, and Simon. Two alphas and two omegas happily mated and with no need of you. Kate calls you a wife instead, and demands they care for you to keep them from killing themselves on jobs. You had been pulled from a Scorpio facility. Scorpio removed betas of all ages from the census aimed toward a reduction of deaths in the population due to rut/heat-related deaths. What the general public didn't know is they harvested betas to accomplish this goal. It followed the trend of fewer betas being born and the reasons being given were that as a population everyone had started to evolve beyond needing a betas. Scorpio left you with a final gift; you were dying. The stipulation of playing anchor for these men was their ignorance. They wouldn't want you and didn't need you, why put your vulnerabilities in their hands? This works until they start to fall for you, one by one, and Scorpio comes to retrieve their missing property.

CW: violence will occur, flash backs to being held captive and used for medical experimenation, A/B/O dynamcis, death is a pretty normal topic in this fic

Part 1 -… . - .- … / -… . .. -. —. / -… ..- - -.-. …. . .-. . -..

Part 2 -…. ….- ..—- .—— / .-. . -.-. —- .-. -.. . -.. / -.. . .- -..

Part 3 -.-. …. .. .-.. -.. .-. . -. / -.— —- ..- -. —. / .- … / - . -.

Part 4 … -.-. —- .-. .—. .. —- / … - .. .-.. .-.. / .- -.-. - .. …- .

Part 5 -. —- / .-. . -.-. —- .-. -.. … / . -..- .. … - / ..-. —- .-. / …. . .-.

Part 6 -. —- / .-. . -.-. —- .-. -.. … / . -..- .. … - / ..-. —- .-. / …. . .-.

Part 7 -… . - .- / -… .-.. —- —- -.. / .—. .. -. - / -.-. —- … - / —-.. ——- ——-

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

AO3 | Masterlist | Taglist

Dividers found here.

[decayingpizza]

#FICREC 🚨📢

Freedom Cry by Mihawkuri on Wattpad

Apocalypse AU - Alpha!EustassKid x Beta!Reader

Christmas has come early for this reader ❤️‍🔥

I, Decay, a full send, go hard or go home kinda gal, REFUSE to stop reading a book when it’s so intoxicatingly good and Freedom Cry is exactly that.

A Eustass Kid AU x f!reader Masterpiece ✨

Easily a 12-15 hour read. Expertly written. Minimal grammatical errors. Perfect balance between Plot-environment-scene flow. Mind, heart and soul twisting dialogue. Peak, and I mean PEAK, character development.

GORE ✅ SEX ✅ BLOOD ✅ BETRAYAL ✅ DESIRE ✅ KILLER ✅ HEAT ✅ WIRE ✅

SMUT ❤️‍🔥🥵✅ nuff said tbh

Is it destiny that I’ve fallen victim to the slow burn of a haters to lovers and unbreakable bonds trope again? Absolutely.

If your looking for something to read this Christmas, jump on this bandwagon. It’s been a good 24 hours since I’ve finished this book and my mind has still not fully recovered from all the fuckery that is of this book.

Truely a delectable treat for all the Eustass Kid simps and subs. My Christmas gift to you with lots of love, rot, sweat and tears.

Decay x