#Omegaverse snippet

[indiaalphawhiskey]

✨ Snip Snip Snippet ✨

It was depressingly archaic but even more depressingly true, regardless of how unspoken in high society: an Alpha was only as good as the Omegas he bed, and as far as breeding went, Harry Styles’ pedigree trumped them all.

Publicly losing Harry to any Alpha would be a dramatic blow to Lucien’s social standing. But losing Harry to Louis ‘Silicon Valley’ Tomlinson would be mortifying; an unsalvageable blow to his reign.

It was a terrifyingly cunning plan, if nothing else.

Except, Louis thought then, mouth already poised to ask. Why not just pretend—

“Before you embarrass yourself by asking some other painfully naive question,” Harry cut in, unaffected by the affronted noise Louis let out at the accusation, “no, we can’t just pretend to have slept together.”

Louis raised a brow to cover up his urge to grumble. “Why not?”

“Because he’ll call our bluff if my scent doesn’t change, obviously.”

Louis swallowed harshly against his second squawk of the hour. For someone with such an impeccable reputation for manners and societal politesse (and, frankly, for a virgin), Harry seemed incredibly comfortable with the insinuation that knotting was, apparently, a given in this little revenge fantasy, seeing as that was the only way either of their scents would change enough to be noticeable.

But, it seemed, in the hierarchy of Harry Styles’ priorities, it was ego-shattering justice first, traditional Omega values second. Not exactly at the helm of destroying the patriarchy, but a vast improvement, all things considered.

(Also, Louis was beginning to sweat, realizing the level of detail and strategic thought Harry had managed to exact even whilst in the throes of heartbreak, and in less than twelve hours. Lesson learned: Lucien Astor was far preferable to Harry Styles as an adversary.)

“I'll wear a blocker, of course, because I’m not some common whore,” Harry was saying, mostly to himself now, only looking to Louis for the odd obligatory nod of agreement.

“Of course,” Louis chimed in sarcastically, though Harry could clearly care less.

“—But I’ll take it early enough so that it starts fading right at the end of Economics 302. You can sit by the door, so your scent wafts past him as we leave.” Louis was sure this was the only time he had ever heard Harry even slightly giddy. “It’ll really help him piece two and two together.”

“That is…” Louis said into the following silence, nodding slowly, searching for the right words, “Horrifyingly brilliant.”

[naught-skull]

obsessed with the idea of getting bred at the same time as someone else. holding hands while our alpha takes turns knotting us and filling us up with pups. getting big together and building a cozy den for our growing pack. fingering and eating each other out when our hormones start driving us crazy. coaching each other through labor and birth. nursing our pups side by side and nursing each other's pups when we need breaks. who wants to do this with me for real

[inexplicifics]

Can I get a snippet from Cats among Wolves #2 if you're still doing the game pls?

Have some Cedric and Axel being extremely worried about each other!

“His name’s Eskel,” Axel murmurs in Cedric’s ear, curling as close as he can without putting any weight on Cedric. “He says we’re welcome at Kaer Morhen.” Cedric nods and flicks his fingers in a quick question. What price? Axel glances over at Eskel, who is apparently focused on his horse’s hooves. “He says the price is helping with chores and not hurting anyone.” Bullshit, Cedric signs. “Yeah, I know, but you’re already doing better, Ced.” Not worth your pain, Cedric insists. Axel scowls down at his mate. “If they can heal you, it’s worth anything,” he hisses.

[green-eyedfirework]

Dick’s hands didn’t tremble as he slipped off the rings on his fingers.  Dick’s hands had stopped trembling days ago, when Ra’s had strolled through their keep’s gates like the place belonged to him, and Dick hadn’t been able to stop him from seizing control.

From taking guardianship of Damian.  From stealing Tim’s letters.  From sending a small army to hunt for Jason and his outlaws.

From marrying Dick off to a warlord from the plains—a personal favor, Ra’s had called it, and Dick knew that anyone who won favors from the likes of Ra’s al Ghul was not someone he wanted to marry or mate.

His first impression of Slade Wilson did nothing to change that.

The man was a head and a half taller than Dick, broad and muscled—a warrior born and bred, and Dick had never been raised as some fainting, delicate omega in a tower, but he’d almost shivered and stepped back when Slade had dismounted from his great stallion in the middle of the courtyard.

He was older than Dick, much older—he had three kids from his first marriage, the eldest Damian’s age, and Dick didn’t dare ask what happened to his mate—and had only one eye, and moved like he was the most dangerous thing in any given space and the world knew it too.  Dick had gone still whenever Slade passed close to him, like a rabbit freezing in the hopes that the predator would ignore it.

Like now.

“Leave it,” came the gruff voice, when Dick moved to slide off the arm bracers.  “It suits you.”

Dick left the arm bracers on.  Dick did not meet his new husband’s eyes as he worked on the catches of the other jewelry.  The last was the heavy, symbolic choker tight around his neck.

He remembered Bruce showing it to him once, when he’d been years younger, and promising that Dick would get to wear it for his wedding.  That he would get to take it off to bare his neck for the person he’d chosen to be his mate.

Dick carefully placed his grandmother’s collar on the table, and did not cry.

His hands moved up, to the flowers and woven braids stylized like a crown in his short hair, but his husband tsked again.  “You’ll ruin it,” he said, a callused thumb brushing along Dick’s hairline.  “It looks like it took a lot of work.”

It did.  Dick remembered the hollow blankness inside of him as he was prepared for the wedding by Ra’s al Ghul’s maids, as he was led out by Ra’s al Ghul’s nobles, as he was escorted up the aisle by the evil scheming snake and not his father.

Because Bruce was dead, and his whole world had fallen apart because of it.

Dick left the hair, not making a single comment about how the pins were already starting to give him a headache, and stood, bracing himself against the dresser for a moment to make sure that his knees would hold him.  There was no use stalling or delaying—Dick’s heart was already in his throat, and all waiting would do was make the panic climb higher.

Slade was so close behind him that Dick could feel his presence as a tangible prickle down his spine, but he ignored it, and began working at the knots in the silks.  It would be a shame to ruin the finery for a wedding he’d been threatened into.

The memory of Ra’s al Ghul’s satisfied smirk as Dick said the vows to seal his fate was seared into his mind.

Some of the knots were in awkward places, and the third time a knot slipped out of his numb fingers, Slade spoke up again.  “Would you like me to help?” he asked.  Like it was a choice.

Well, Dick supposed it was.  The same way the demands Ra’s gave had been choices.  Submit gracefully.  Or suffer, along with everyone he loved.

Dick turned to give Slade easier access to the laces down his sides.

His husband was efficient, pulling each knot free quickly, his fingers leaving scorching trails of fire wherever they brushed against Dick’s skin, even through the layers of silks.  Dick didn’t bother holding the outer layer up, and let it slip down, knot by knot, freed laces by freed laces, until Slade was done and it slid down to pool around his feet.

Dick stepped out of it.  The second layer was easier to pull off, until Dick was left in what could charitably be called a shift, because omegas didn’t wear full shifts under their wedding wear, because after the wedding came the mating and Dick was standing in a piece of cloth that covered next to nothing but that the maids swore would be enticing.

Dick didn’t want to turn around.  He didn’t want to see if his husband was enticed.

But if he didn’t turn around, Slade would grab his elbow and yank, and the longer Dick obeyed, the longer Slade would be…gentle, almost, his grip light and firm instead of hard and squeezing, voice level instead of harsh, treating him like a wife and not a hostage.  Since Dick had to spend the rest of his life with him, he should enjoy the gentleness where he got it.

If Slade was a friend of Ra’s al Ghul, then Dick knew that the man was cruel.  But he hadn’t seen it, not once since he gave his hand and said the words, and if the alpha was that good at hiding it, it was possible that a subservient omega was what the warlord wanted.

Either that, or he wanted to enjoy Dick for a bit before trying to make him break.

It didn’t matter.  There was no way out of this.  Even if Dick managed to overpower Slade and get out of the room, he had no friends left in Gotham.  If Dick managed to flee, Ra’s would take it out on everyone who was left behind.  He’d execute Jason after he caught the outlaws, and he’d chain Tim after his little brother got back from his fool’s quest, and he’d force Damian through the harsh training that the boy had endured for too much of his childhood, and Dick could not let that happen.

Whatever Slade wanted, he would suffer.  For his brothers.  For the only family he had left.

Dick turned around, his gaze fixed at his husband’s collarbone.  Slade had taken his shirt off, and scars crisscrossed corded muscle, speaking to a life lived on a constant battlefield.  “Beautiful,” his husband said in a low murmur, and a hand on his cheek forced his head up.

Lips sealed on his, and Dick let them plunder his mouth, let them take as an arm wrapped around his back, his shift riding up till it was concealing nothing at all, eyes closed and prickling hot and he would not cry.

Dick had to gasp when Slade pulled back, breathless and panting, and Slade’s gaze darkened further, satisfaction clear in his icy blue eye.  He nudged Dick back towards the bed, nodding, “Go on.”

Dick stepped back, bare feet against the rugs, until he felt the edge of the bed hit his thighs.  At Slade’s expectant look, he boosted himself up, crawling backwards until he was in the center of the bed, watching Slade’s expression sharpen into desire.

At least this wasn’t his room.  Or Bruce’s.  Dick couldn’t bear to have his last memory of his father’s room be the bed he was raped on.

Slade stalked forward like a wolf, and Dick’s first reaction was to flee.  Suppressing that instinct left little room for anything else, and Dick stayed stuck, half up on his elbows, as Slade reached the edge of the bed.

“No room for me?” Slade asked, almost amused, and Dick realized that his thighs were firmly pressed together.

He let his knees fall open, sinking back against the bed, trying not to think about the fact that he was completely bared, and clutched desperately at the haze to surround himself with.

Light, open-mouthed kisses against his ankles, rising up his calves, and Dick fell deeper, deeper, deeper.  If Slade was proportionate all the way—it would hurt.  It would hurt a lot, and badly, and teasing nips to the inside of his thighs wouldn’t change that.  Even if Slade wasn’t proportionate, it would hurt, Dick wasn’t in heat and he knew that several alphas didn’t believe in lube or prep, that omegas’ bodies were built to take them so it would be fine.

He had to cocoon himself in not-feeling, or he’d scream, or cry, or—or beg, and he couldn’t do that.

He was scared.

He wanted his dad.

The kisses had stopped.  Dick forced himself to detach further from his body, but halted when he heard his name, sounding like it was coming from far away.  “Dick?”

“Yes?” Dick responded, a breathy even to his own ears.

“…Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dick said.  Or maybe slurred.  Everything felt a little floaty.

“You don’t sound fine,” the voice informed him.  “Can you sit up?”

It took Dick a moment to figure out how his arms worked, but he pushed up.  Slade was kneeling between his spread legs, expression no longer warm and desire-heavy, but closed and analytical.

“Are you okay?” Slade asked again.

“I’m fine,” Dick repeated, and this time his voice sounded hollow instead of floaty.  There was a curl of dread deep inside of him—apparently Slade wanted him present—and Dick mentally bid adieu to the haze as he forced himself back to reality.

He realized he was shaking, minute tremors wracking his body, and Slade’s eyebrows were pinching even further.  “You’re trembling,” Slade pointed out.

Dick wasn’t sure if he could stop.  “Just—just a little nervous,” he answered, trying not to stutter.  The bashful, blushing bride was still a thing, right?  Slade wasn’t—wasn’t expecting him to be experienced and—and participating, was he?  “And it’s a little—cold,” Dick added, to cover all his bases.

Hopefully Slade would decide to warm him up and they could get this over with.

Slade reached to the side of the bed, tugging one of the blankets free and—and wrapping it around Dick’s shoulders, practically swaddling him in the material.  Dick blinked.

“You said you were cold,” Slade said levelly, shifting back and studying Dick with that scrutinizing expression again.  Dick allowed himself to clutch the blanket, and wondered what the hell this was supposed to be.

“You don’t want this,” Slade said after a stretching silence, and Dick froze.

How the fuck was he supposed to respond to that?  Agree?  Disagree?  Convince Slade that he was wrong?  He felt like he was standing in a trap but he didn’t know where it would spring from.

“You’re not nervous,” Slade said, voice tight.  “You’re terrified.”

[thisisallthehattersfault]

Pops has always smelled like peaches. It was the first thing Marco had noticed about the man, way back when he’d been nothing but a panicked pup stowing away on the wrong ship. The crew had been stupid enough to pick a fight with Whitebeard, and Marco had been cowering behind a stack of barrels, hoping the violence would pass him by, when all of a sudden he’d been scooped up and draped over the shoulder of an absolutely massive pirate, and Marco would have probably passed out from the panic if he hadn’t been so completely thrown off-guard by the rich, thick scent of an Omega.

Marco had still had a pup’s nose at the time, so the scent didn’t really register as much more than sweet and fruity and safety, comfort, I have you now. After his first rut, he’d scaled up Pops’s coat and stuck his face in the man’s neck and marveled at the smell of peaches and cream and strong black tea, caramel and cloves. He’d immediately gotten scent-drunk off the warm, rich sweetness of the old man’s affection, and the only reason he didn’t tip back and fall right off his shoulder is because Pops reached up in time to catch him.

Omegas are pretty rare on the seas. Not as much as the World Government tries to make them out to be of course, but there is some truth to the stereotypes; if you run into an Omega traveling with a pirate crew, it’s even odds they’re on that ship against their will. Not that that’s any less true with any other type of criminal, of course. Gangsters on land and pirates at sea and nobles in their feasting halls, it’s always the same — bullies go for the easy target, for the weak and the vulnerable, the young and the desperate and the naive. They fall on the feeble like ants to a corpse, and pick you clean.

It had honestly scared Marco at first, how open Whitebeard was about his sex. The man didn’t take scent-blockers. He didn’t bind his chest. When his heats came — and they came like clockwork every three months, because he wasn’t on suppressants either — he’d bundle himself and most of his small crew away into his nest, and yowl shamelessly for food or cuddles or for someone to start up a song. Part of the reason it took so long for Marco to accept that this was a permanent thing, that Whitebeard was keeping him and Marco didn’t need to keep a bag packed and an eye on the exit, was because he was so, so sure the loud, unruly, shameless Omega would be taught a lesson soon enough.

It had scared him, frustrated him. Made him wary. Nobody is allowed to be that free, he’d wanted to explain to Whitebeard, who for some reason just didn’t seem to get it. Nobody is allowed to be that happy with themselves. You’re too loud. You’re too proud. You’re too comfortable in your own skin. It doesn’t matter that you’re big and strong, they’ll kill you.

They’ll kill you, and I’ll be on my own again.

Eventually, somewhere between the second and the twentieth would-be challenger Whitebeard wiped the floor with, Marco started to realize that the man was more than big and strong, he was powerful. Powerful enough, maybe, to be loud. Powerful enough to be free, without worrying that someone would cage him for it. Marco watched the man who called him son conquer impossible challenges and defeat unbeatable enemies like it was easy, and somewhere along the line he forgot to hold onto his fear. Marco stopped sleeping with his shoes on, he unpacked that bag he’d been hiding in his locker, and then one day when the sun was high and the waters calm and Pop’s scent was syrupy-sweet with happiness, Marco had said “Pops-yoi? Would you bond me?”

And Whitebeard had. It was a little awkward — his fangs are long enough to puncture clear through Marco’s throat — but Whitebeard had been so, so careful, piercing the scent gland in Marco’s neck with the tip of one fang and injecting the venom deep into his blood stream. Then, to Marco’s stunned disbelief, Pops had picked him up and draped him over his shoulder and asked for a bite of his own.

That’s how it starts. An Omega with no pack and a boy with no parents and the peach-sweet summer scent now sunk into the both of them, on a rickety ship that won’t survive the year and with a handful of scavenged crew-mates that will either leave or choose to stay forever before that year is up. Those that choose to stay practically line up when they see the bond wounds on Marco and Pops, clambering for a chance to bite and be bitten. By the time they’re in Water 7 buying a used ship (it will be years still before the Moby is commissioned) Marco is a part of something he can’t remember ever being a part of before.

A pack.

[wordsofwilderness]

I'm just gonna leave this here and skedaddle

Regulus wrapped his legs around James’ waist, locking his feet together. Yeah, this had to mean something. Regulus exposing himself like this, so comfortably, like it was second nature. Regulus? Who was usually so touch-shy, so protective of his own space. There had to be something more to it. Struggling with himself to pull back from the bliss that was Regulus’ lip, James said, “Fuck, we should really talk.” “Knot me again and then talk?” Regulus suggested, looking all too innocent considering the effect he was having on James. “Sound like the perfect plan,” James groaned, instantly giving in to Regulus and returned to kissing him. Honestly, was having a spine really that important? Regulus already had his heart, why not his spine too?

[original-begay-docrime]

Jercy Arranged Marriage Au Snippet

Just so y'all can see how much of a simp Jason is for Percy in my arranged marriage au

Jason didn't know what to expect. He had only been given a name. He didn't know what to expect at all. He tried imagining what his future mate looked like. Nothing could have prepared him for the first time he saw him.

The moment he laid eyes on Perseus Jackson he felt his breath leave him. He was mesmerized by the omega. He finally understood the story of Helena of Troy. An omega demigod so beautiful she started a war. He had always thought it was an over exaggerated of her beauty. But staring at Perseus Jackson now, he could see a war starting over his hand.

[dark-elf-writes]

“Cang Qiong is lurking around," Wei Wuxian mentioned casually where he was sprawled over a branch above Shen Jiu's head, supposedly keeping watch through his closed eyelids while Shen Jiu cultivated. Or attempted to, anyway.

(Shen Jiu knew better than to fall for the lazy act. Even if his mate had his eyes closed and face turned into the weak sunlight that filtered through the branches, there was no doubt that his senses were honed to a keen edge, waiting to catch the slightest hint of something approaching them… or Shen Jiu reaching another plateau in his cultivation.

Hence why he had spoken now, seemingly out of nowhere, just as Shen Jiu had felt a cold sweat break out across the back of his neck.)

Shen Jiu sighed, unfolding his legs and allowing himself to lounge back against the tree, and looked up at A-Ying perched like some odd bird of prey among the leaves. "The Immortal Alliance Conference is taking place not far from here. It would be odd for Cang Qiong to not be present."

A hum and, in a flutter of leaves and black fabric, Wei Wuxian hooked his legs over the branch, allowing his torso to hang down so he could look Shen Jiu in the eye. "A sect like theirs would have plenty of cultivation manuals and be placed in a Qi dense area perfect for honing their cultivation."

Familiar anger rose in Shen Jiu's chest. Hot and thick as boiling oil as it spilled over his tongue. "So my husband wants to be rid of me so desperately he would hand deliver me to the very people he warned me away from?"

Wei Wuxian's infuriating smile didn't so much as waver. "This A-Ying is concerned for his husband's wellbeing and far too aware of his own humble means to offer assistance at such a critical juncture in his husband's cultivation. This lowly A-Ying believes all possibilities should be considered before they are hastily discarded."

Shen Jiu's eyes narrowed. "You would rather break your own legs than be tied to a sect."

That smile finally wavered, along with Wei Wuxian's perch on the branch. Shen Jiu lunged to catch him before he could hit the ground, settling the familiar weight of A-Ying into his lap. They sat in silence like that for several long moments, the rustling of leaves above them and their own hushed breathing the only sounds.

A stolen moment of peace, fragile as spun sugar.

Fragile as the glint in A-Ying's silver eyes.

Slender fingers traced over his jaw. Achingly gentle. A far cry from the deft surety with which Wei Wuxian called forth the dead or the elegant brutality with which he wielded his sword, little more than a hunk of scrap metal as it was.

"I would tie the leash around my throat myself if it meant forever with my husband at my side."

Shen Jiu would never allow it. Would burn down all of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect with his own blood-drenched hands before he allowed them the slightest claim over his A-Ying.

But he and A-Ying were two halves of one whole, for better or worse.

He had known that when he had sunk his teeth into Wei Wuxian's bonding gland. Had reveled in that fact as Wei Wuxian dug his own teeth into Shen Jiu's own.

"We don't need a sect. The two of us can make it on our own without their help."

That familiar sadness sparked in Wei Wuxian's eyes, aching and all-consuming as it always was.

(Shen Jiu didn't ask.

He would never make Wei Wuxian open that particular wound until he was ready.)

But even with that sadness threatening to consume him, A-Ying only hummed and tucked his head under Shen Jiu's chin with a sweet hum, chasing his the barest traces of his scent to its source "We should at least keep an eye on them, just in case. Rich sects like that never notice what useful trinkets they leave behind when they have a dozen more to replace them back home."

Shen Jiu knew A-Ying to well to believe that he would give up that easily, yet in the end it was Shen Jiu that allowed himself to be taken back to the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect by a concerned Qi-Ge Yue Qingyuan in order to keep those eyes he had once known so well now in the face of a future sect leader rather than the brother he remembered — the brother who had abandoned him to the very monster A-Ying had killed to free him — off of his mate.

[krethes]

A snippet? From ME?

This is from a companion fic for One More to Love, one of the More of Everything series. I started working on this literally in May of 2023, and as many of you know, I've been completely borked by mental health and various management meds to the point of not being able to create, which fucking sucks! But lately, I've been trying new methods of writing and I knew that if I could complete one of the dorms of WIPs in my drafts, I could get some momentum going. The OMTL readers (and @theresthesnitch, my #1 cheerleader with @r33sespieces ) have been the MOST patient, so while I'm still working on the next chapter of the main fic, this ficlet was like 80% complete when I stopped working on it before.

I came back to it, rewrote a huge chunk, and found the joy I'd been missing. So please, enjoy this little snippet from the upcoming More of Everything fic, Rage:

Lyall has a bloody tuft of grey fur from the night of the attack, ripped from the werewolf's body with a severing curse. It should have removed his entire fucking head, but werewolf pelts are curse resistant, and even Lyall's most powerful spell barely made a dent. But Greyback isn't in his werewolf state now. He's without that protective pelt, as vulnerable as any other human. But his blood is the same. And with his blood, Lyall can track him. He's always had a curiosity about dark, old magics, the ones locked away in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts and behind authorization charms at the Ministry. He wasn't a Ravenclaw for nothing, after all. All knowledge is worth having, and so long as the actions he takes with that knowledge don't hurt anyone, what's the harm? His security clearance at the Ministry gives him access to just about anything he could think to ask for, and it's that privilege more than a passion for his job that keeps Lyall working there. He has a thirst for knowledge that has yet to be quenched, and magic that the Ministry has labeled "dark" is the most intriguing. Tonight, he uses a technique from one of the ancient Nordic tribes to extract the clotted blood from the fur into a mortar, followed by several drops of his own that he drips in to beat of a rhythmic chant spoken low in his throat. Poured over a panel of undyed acromantula silk, the blood bleeds through the fabric in the shape of a magical forest Lyall knows well, one the Muggles don't know about, that backs up against the steep cliffs of Dover.  He Apparates to the nearest wizarding town some twenty miles away and cuts through the sparse woods down to the coast. He’s unguided, he knows, searching for a phantom, a single man in all of the forest, which Greyback knows better than Lyall. He could be anywhere, lurking in the trees, waiting. But Lyall has damned good intuition. He may not be an Auror, but he knows how to follow clues and trusts his instinct that, the further he gets away from his family’s home, burns and burgeons back into that wildfire of rage he felt the night Remus was attacked.  By some benevolent gift of the universe (and his own unmatched skill), Lyall finds the monster. As he’d expected and hoped, Greyback had stuck to the more uninhabitable edge of the forest that faces the cliff’s edge, whether out of preference or because he was too feral to be close to humans. He's in a dilapidated cabin, barely held together by magic, and though it looks ramshackle and ill-defended, Lyall knows better than to underestimate Greyback. He's eluded the Aurors for years, but they have to follow the rules, have to use sanctioned means. Follow protocol. Lyall is not bound by such formalities. 

[atevanfool]

Okay, y'all got me. I've caught onto the mpreg shifter bug. So, for your enjoyment, here is a tiny, itty bitty, snippet of Buck and the Triplets.

---

Buck blinks. Then blinks again. The doctor stands in front of him, flipping through his stack of what Buck can only assume are his results. He came in today because he's been feeling off for weeks, lately; throwing up in the morning, feeling sluggish, moodier than usual… Buck doesn't get sick, and he sure as heck doesn't get sick for weeks on end. So he asked Bobby for the morning off so he could get checked out. Which is why he's staring at this handsome, slightly older middle eastern doctor with gorgeous, curly black hair and greying temples, like a fool. “Say that again?” He finds his words, but his mouth is dry, and his ears ring like he's got latent tinnitus.   The doctor looks up, smile warm. “I do believe congratulations are in order, Mr. Buckley. You're expecting.” Expecting? Just what was he to be expecting? The overly bright lights swim in his vision as black spots form and he has to do everything in his power to not vomit on the nice doctor's practical baby blue tennis shoes.

[dykekarkat]

wrote another 1k words. slowly losing my mind. here's another omegaverse andreil snippet. bone apple teeth.

This is what he needed, proof of Andrew’s trust and attention as he plays Neil’s body like an instrument. It overwhelms his earlier thoughts with the pure sensation of Andrew against him, and Neil vows he’s never letting go. 

“Andrew,” he mumbles, “Andrew, Andrew I need-” 

He gets distracted by the hickey being left on his neck, unable to finish the thought. Neil tugs Andrew back and away from his neck, dragging him into a kiss that puts molten heat into his veins. 

When Andrew pulls back Neil lets him go, taking in the pure black of his eyes, the barely there blush to his cheeks and ears. 

“Tell me. I’ll give it to you,” he says it like a secret, like a promise, like even now he can’t believe Neil is real. 

The words claw their way up his throat, but Neil isn’t ready to bleed yet, not here. He chokes on it, struck speechless by the conviction in Andrew’s eyes.

The lights and music fade back in as he remains frozen, and suddenly Neil can’t stand to be surrounded by the crowd any longer, the eyes he’s sure he can feel. He dives for Andrew’s neck, burying himself in the comforting scent as he breathes it in like oxygen. 

“Take me home,” he whispers and trusts Andrew to get them there.

[inexplicifics]

Could you give a snippit from J/W please?

Have some very old Jaskier/Wolves omegaverse!

Eskel almost walks right past the heap of clothing beside the road - it gives him nightmares later, that he almost walks past. It’s cold, and late, and he’s weary as only a long season on the Path can render a witcher, and he’s only thinking of the clearing a furlong ahead, the one all the Wolf witchers use on the way to Kaer Morhen, with the hill that shelters it from the wind and the stream right nearby. He’s not paying attention to anything but the misery of the cold rain and the way Scorpion is maybe starting to limp, which is why he’s walking instead of riding. He only just barely hears the heartbeat. He stops - thank the gods, he stops. He stops, and he looks at the heap of dull fabric - he’d thought a lost cloak, perhaps, nothing more than that - and realizes, with a sort of horrid shock, that it’s a person. A person curled into a tight ball beneath their cloak, as still as death, only that faint heartbeat enough to prove that they still live.

[vio-lets]

Something something Modern With Magic AU where James tried to be supportive when Remus said he was a werewolf and decided to research werewolves on the Muggle Internet. He found omegaverse (surprise, surprise) and just. thought it was real.

conversation between him and sirius:

"What, James, did you think his transformation was just a really bad heat? That he clawed at himself because he was lonely and wanted an Alpha?"

"No!! I just, I dunno, I thought he had both?? I'm not a werewolf expert!!"

"You didn't think to ask?"

"That's Moony's business! I just wanted to be supportive. Apparently Omegas are oppressed and get worse healthcare, did you know that?"

"James, they're not real. Omegas aren't real."

"No, no, I 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. But I didn't know that 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, so I didn't want to make it worse. And anyway, werewolves deserve more rights! Which is pretty similar anyway."

"Well, as long as I'm the Alpha in the relationship."

[green-eyedfirework]

Dick stared at the baby in the cradle, frozen to the spot, unable to breathe.  He was so…small.  Tiny.  His little hand was formed into a fist and he was making soft little breaths and some part of Dick was drowning in happiness.  It felt like the world had narrowed down to the little curl of the baby’s mouth and his heart rose and fell with the infant’s breaths.

Nothing else mattered.  Not the aches and pains throughout his body, not the dread and anxiety twisting his gut, not the ticking clock hanging above his head.  His baby was here and that was enough.

“Damian,” Dick sounded out.  Not a name he’d picked—it was ill luck to pick a name before the babe was born, and Dick had no time to think of one before it’d been pronounced.  “Dami,” Dick shortened, and that felt better.  “Baby bat,” he whispered, the forbidden name hanging heavy in the air.

Damian was a part of the Bat pack, no matter what Ra’s al Ghul thought.  Dick was a part of the Bat pack.  And it was long past time that they went back home.

Dick adjusted the supply pack so it wasn’t cutting into his shoulders and reached into the cradle.  “Shh,” he hummed as he carefully scooped Damian up.  “Shh, it’s okay, Dami, Mama’s here.”  The babe woke up with a fussing sound and Dick hastily brought him closer.  “It’s okay,” he crooned, an eye on the door as his heart beat faster.  “Shh, it’s okay.”

Damian’s eyes fluttered open, one hand flailing at the movement, but then subsided, yawning wide and curling closer against Dick’s neck, breathing in his scent and relaxing.  The babe made a slight smacking sound and fell silent again, falling straight asleep.

Dick let out a shaky breath and fought the urge to cry.  He’d been terrified that Damian wouldn’t recognize him—it had been just a handful of days, Dick knew that, but between Ra’s al Ghul’s gloating and the others’ refusal to tell him how much time had passed, Dick had half-feared that the pup would have no idea who he was.  It was part of the reason that had spurred Dick into getting them out now.

“We’re going to be okay,” Dick whispered, drawing the cloak around them both.

The keep was silent, the corridors yawning and empty, and every near-silent footfall rose his apprehension.  It was the witching hour, late enough that everyone was asleep, and Dick stuck to the shadows as he avoided the patrols.  If he got caught now—well, Dick didn’t put it past Ra’s to throw him in a cell now that he’d served his purpose.

Dick kept glancing over his shoulder, worried that this whole thing was a trap, but no one spotted him.  No one shouted or raised the alarm.  No one stopped him from crossing the courtyard and slipping out of an unlocked wooden gate, Ra’s al Ghul’s precious heir slumbering in his arms.

“We’re going home, Dami,” Dick breathed out when the keep’s walls finally disappeared from sight.  The pack he hadn’t seen in nearly a year, his family, his siblings, Bruce, home.  Tears pricked at his eyes as he took a wavering breath.  “We’re finally going home.”

~#~

Dick was exhausted. He gave birth just days ago, and while fleeing the League pack had been aided by adrenaline, the effects had long worn off. The brief jolt of fear when he'd been captured by the Defiance pack hadn't lasted long after the alpha agreed to let Dick travel with them.

But the alpha had made it clear they wouldn't take any freeloaders. They were aiming to get through the mountains before the winter storms hit, and Dick swore that he wouldn't be a hindrance. Maybe slightly exaggerated how long it'd been since Damian's birth.

But he would do anything to get away from Ra's. Through the mountain meant back to the valley, back to the Bat pack, it had been nearly a year and Dick desperately wished to go home.

His feet ached. The first few days hadn't been that bad, with frequent stops and an easy path, but there were growing clouds on the horizon and it was clear that time was running out. If they didn't make it through the pass before the storm hit, they'd be stuck here till spring.

And Dick had tried to keep up with the increased pace, he really had, but Damian was a heavy weight tight against his chest, and the pack grew heavier by the hour, and Dick's trembling muscles grew weaker and weaker. He'd expected to fall behind, to slip past the other members of the pack, struggling up the path as the others disappeared from view, but he'd kept his position in a small knot at the back of the pack, with a few of the pack's warriors bringing up the rear.

Some of the others had offered to carry Damian for him, with sincere, open expressions, but Dick wasn't ready to let go of his son. Not now. Not when he still remembered the way Ra's ripped him away just moments after his birth.

But now they were stopped for the night, and Dick could take a moment to breathe. Breathe, and ignore the throbbing pain in his feet and the fire in his muscles and the shakiness and the increasing dread of what tomorrow would bring.

Damian made a sharp cry and Dick exhaled.

His baby was moderately well behaved when Dick was holding him, but gods forbid Dick settle him down, even to clean him up. Damian protested shrilly every time. It was a trial to get him to sleep at night and was definitely the reason that Dick arranged his furs away from the others. This pack was already giving him shelter and food and safety, he couldn't repay them with a wailing babe.

Dick finished cleaning Damian and untied enough of his cloak and tunic to bare a breast. Damian immediately began suckling, and Dick's own stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't picked up his dinner ration.

Dick squinted past the fire, towards the mouth of the cave, where laughter and conversation flowed. The very thought of standing back up and limping over there made him dizzy. He needed rest more than food. And better he not take too much, especially after slowing them down today.

Dick gently brushed the wisps of dark hair on Damian's head. His baby. His son. For Damian, everything was worth it.

He was so focused on the babe that he didn't register the footsteps until they stopped right behind him.

Dick half twisted in an immediate jolt of fear, keeping Damian out of view as he looked up. And up.

The alpha was looking down at him, expression a faint scowl, single eye burning.

"You didn't eat dinner," the alpha said. There was a bowl of something hot and smelling mouthwatering in his hand.

"Ah," Dick said, unsure how to continue. Was the alpha looking for acknowledgment? Apology? What—

Dick's train of thought stuttered to a halt when the alpha crouched, placing the bowl next to Dick.

"You need to eat," the alpha said, tone faintly disapproving, "To keep your strength up."

Dick flushed at this reminder of how he'd slowed them down and ducked his head. "Thank you," he said softly. Gruff and terse as it was, it was still kindness, of which Dick had seen none in the League pack.

Only an obsession with power and victory.  Ra's hadn't cared for Dick beyond the powerful heir that Dick could birth him.  He certainly wouldn't sit with Dick as Damian finally detached and Dick laid him down in the furs while he covered himself back up.

He certainly wouldn't have stayed as Damian realized his mother was no longer holding him and started crying, high and thin.

Dick attempted to shovel the food down his throat as fast as possible, heat creeping up his shoulders the longer the alpha stayed, watching him scream.

"Sorry," Dick said in a breath between spoons, "He doesn't like being put down."

The alpha made no visible sign of his annoyance.  "May I hold him?" he asked instead.

Dick almost choked on the stew. No, was the instinctive response, no, no one would ever take Damian away from him again, no, especially not another alpha—

But Dick was keenly aware that he was here on the alpha's sufferance, and Dick ducked his head in a nod.

He couldn't breathe as the alpha reached out and picked up the crying babe.

He was gentle.  Practiced, in a way that spoke of long time with babies.  A little rocking and Damian quieted, looking with wide eyes up at this new person.

The alpha chuckled. Dick stared.

"What's his name?"

This time, Dick didn't choke, fear worn down to alertness but not panic as the alpha lightly tickled the babe's belly, showing no ill intent.

"Damian."

"Strong name," the alpha hummed, tapping one of Damian's little fists.  The babe immediately caught the finger.  "For a strong babe," the alpha smiled.

That was too close to what Ra's had said.  Dick scraped up his last few spoons of stew to avoid a response.

"How old did you say he was?"

Dick swallowed.  The alpha was looking down at the babe, not at him, and Dick frantically tried to remember what he'd said.  He'd implied that it had been more than a month for sure.

"Five weeks," Dick said.

"How strange," the alpha looked up, blue eye pinning him in place, gaze level and hard. "Because the last time you told me six weeks."

Dick went cold. He couldn't breathe. Damian was still in the alpha's arms—an angry alpha's arms, a few feet away yet so far from Dick's reach.

"How old is he really?" the alpha demanded, voice even but steely.

Dick's gaze didn't move from his son. "Two weeks. I think."

"You think?"

"I don't—" Dick swallowed, paralyzed, "I don't know.  How many days.  No—no one told me."

Something flashed in the alpha's eye, angry and dark.

"Please," Dick tried, mouth dry. He couldn't look away from Damian. "Please, I swear I can keep up. I can. Don't make me leave. Please."  Ra's was undoubtedly out there, looking for him. Looking for his heir. And if he caught Dick—

Ra's had already gotten what he wanted from Dick. And Dick couldn't leave Damian all alone.

"I do not appreciate being lied to," the alpha said coldly, and Dick made a choked sound. He needed Damian back, please, his baby, Dick wanted him back—"Unexpected information causes delays. And our window for getting through the mountains is short."

"I'm sorry, alpha." Dick couldn't think. His head was ringing and his mouth was dry and his babe was in someone else's arms.

The alpha made a grumbling sound and reached out to hand Damian back. Dick snatched his baby with alacrity.

"Our pace tomorrow will be slower," the alpha said, straightening up, "Get some rest."

Dick stared at his departing back, thoroughly confused.

~#~

Their pace was indeed not as punishing, but Dick got very little rest with a demanding babe. The alpha must've said something to the others, because Dick's rations suddenly increased—he was being fed more than nearly anyone else—and one of the pack's healers approached him to give him a check up, but the alpha made no mention of the punishment for the lie.

They were a few days from the pass, shielded from a flurry of snow by the half tunnels they were walking through, and Dick had used the abundance of fires to take the time to air out his furs and wash his clothes. His little nest was in a corner as always, and he was facing away from the pack as he nursed Damian.

Footsteps, echoing through the stone. Dick glanced back, and froze when he caught sight of Slade.

The alpha's gaze was narrowed on Dick's back. For lack of anything else to wear, Dick was in the loose silks he'd worn in the League pack, too flimsy to do anything but entice. Dick's mouth went dry as the alpha stepped closer and knelt on the edge of the furs.

Dick abruptly turned away, heart rate skyrocketing.

No, was the overriding thought, but Dick was unattached and clearly fertile, and taking up pack resources to boot. It was only reasonable that he had to do something to pay for his place, and Dick knew that he was attractive. This shouldn't be a surprise.

Dick squeezed his eyes shut and suppressed the shaky breath. The alpha's anger at the lie made somewhat more sense—he wanted to know whether Dick was still torn up from the birth. But there were other things they could do, so the alpha didn't have to wait.

Fingers skimmed Dick's shoulder, sliding the sleeve of the silks off. The other sleeve was already off so Damian could feed, and the silks dropped to pool around his waist, leaving his top bare.

Dick choked down the sob. This wasn't Ra's. Slade had never hurt him. This pack was kind. This wouldn't be the League all over again. No one would hurt him here.

Fingers stroked down his back, catching and sliding on the scars that littered his skin, tracing patterns and making Dick shiver. Just scars, Dick reminded himself, shaking off the memory flash of pain, the agony, the way Dick hadn't been able to move for days afterwards—

"Who did this?" growled a very angry alpha.

Dick responded to the tone before the words, half curling around Damian with a shudder, pulling free of Slade's touch in the process. The alpha didn't follow, and when Dick twisted to meet his gaze, the alpha's rage was clearly visible.

Dick could feel the whip strikes against his skin, every last one.

"Those are recent," Slade nearly snarled, "Only months old. Who did this?"

How was Dick supposed to answer that?  Slade had made no probes when Dick had asked to cross the mountains with them, and Dick knew that the alpha had assumed that Dick's pack was dead. If he knew that Dick was running...

"I—it was another pack," Dick said slowly.

"Which pack."

Determined to not let him evade this time, then. Dick held Damian tighter. "The League," he said quietly.

~#~

They were at the pass, sheltered in a cave smaller than their usual. A storm had blown in—a weak one, but strong enough to halt their approach before midday. Dick had seen the alpha and his inner circle conferring, all of them visibly agitated, before they'd been given the order to stop.

It was a good decision not to attempt the pass in the middle of a snowstorm. The problem was if another storm followed before this one stopped, they were stuck. Trepidation and frustration ran through the entire pack.

Dick stayed in a corner, back against the wall, tracking the unrest. His arms were aching but he kept rocking Damian—he didn't want to risk frustration turning on a screaming infant.

The pack settled after a few hours, grumbles pacified, order restored to keep moods cheery. Most people dropped off to sleep in preparation for the hard day's trek in front of them.

Dick wasn't one of them.

His instincts had been bad enough after fleeing Ra's' pack, a new mother running on hyperawareness, but Slade's pack had provided a stabilizing effect. Dick had never forgotten that this wasn't his pack though, that he couldn't fully let down his guard, not with a baby to take care of, and the hypervigilance was keeping him awake.

He was exhausted, but something inside him wouldn't let him sleep.

The alpha and his warriors crept through the cramped cave in regular intervals, and Dick dully watched them go. The fires had dimmed down by the time the alpha stopped in front of Dick.

"You aren't sleeping," the alpha said.

"Can't," Dick whispered, because he was so exhausted but he just couldn't. He couldn't even keep looking up at Slade, his head drooped down, too heavy to lift.

"Come with me," the alpha turned on a heel and walked away.

It took a moment for Dick to register the command, and several more to lever up on aching feet. He stumbled after the alpha, drained and aching, and nearly walked into his back in a daze.

"Get in," Slade ordered, and Dick looked past him and at the pile of furs. Slade's pile of furs.

Dick's heart beat stuttered.

It took him a stretching moment to figure out how his limbs worked, but he jerkily crawled into the nest of furs. Damian and his little basket went to the side. He told Slade that he couldn't sleep, it made sense that the alpha wanted to burn off some restlessness, he—

A hand dragged roughly through his hair as he was covered by furs. "Sleep," the alpha said, "No one can touch you here."

No one could. He was in the alpha's nest, no one but the alpha could come after him, and Ra's wasn't the alpha, and Slade was walking away.

Something loosened in Dick's chest. Pack, safety, warmth.

Dick didn't remember closing his eyes.

~#~

Something woke him up a little later, or maybe it was a dream, hazy and dark. The scent of alpha became stronger, the warmth winding around him and pulling him towards the source of heat, and Dick fit comfortably in the hollows. He was out before he could try opening his eyes.

~#~

Dick woke up slowly. He was warm and safe and protected, utterly secure and content. The air smelled like alpha-mine-care and Dick was cradled in warmth.

Something had awoken him though, and Dick resurfaced to hear a thin, hesitant, hiccuping cry. Someone was making shushing sounds as Dick struggled all the way awake, Damian on his lips.

There was a figure crouched over the basket. Dick had a single moment to panic before he recognized the figure, and Emma pushed the basket closer to him with a soft smile.

"He's hungry," she said quietly, and Dick wriggled free of the furs to sit up. There was something wrapped around him, though, and it tightened around his waist as he tried to get up.

Damian made an actual cry, and Dick abandoned getting free to reach for the basket. Emma passed it over, her lips quirking, and Dick had his clothes shifted to allow Damian to latch on and start drinking before he stirred all the way awake.

"Alpha doesn't want to get up," Emma said teasingly, and Dick blinked at her.

These—these weren't his furs. He was sitting in the middle of camp, not a corner. And the pressure snaked around his waist was an arm clutching him tight.

Dick stared down at the sleeping alpha's face with numb surprise. Slade had curved around him, Dick tucked snugly in his grasp, and he didn't let go, even as he cracked open his eye.

"Alpha had a long night," Slade said gruffly, his arm tightening around Dick's waist.

"Of course," Emma agreed too easily, still grinning, and Slade made a low rumble as he pushed upright.

He stayed pressed against Dick, hand moving up to cup Damian's head as the pup sucked busily.

The rumble changed to something distinctly pleased as Slade plastered himself against Dick's back, tucking Dick into his arms and resting his chin on Dick's head for a moment.

"Good morning," he said quietly, and for a moment, Dick was in a different life.  A life where he could've woken like this every day, where he didn't have scars, where he wasn't running, where he wasn't terrified that his babe would be ripped from his arms.

"Good morning," Dick returned softly, relishing the moment for as long as it lasted.

~#~

"He's never going to learn to walk if you keep that up," Grant calls out, throwing a handful of grass at Slade.  Slade ignores him, hands firmly around Damian as the baby coos at a flower.

Dick snorts from his position in the grass.  He can look away from Damian now, can leave him with Slade without the clenching worry, but Slade's taken up the overprotective role in response.  "You learned to walk just fine," Wintergreen says dryly, walking over, "Alpha, our scouts have a report."

"Grant can take care of it," Slade says without looking up.  Damian is making grasping motions at the flower.

Grant groans but gets up.  "Can't believe I've been supplanted as the favorite child," he grumbles as he walks away.  Wintergreen goes with him, leaving only Slade, Dick, and Damian in the little meadow.

"Mama!" Damian waves at him.  Dick grins and waves back, laughing as Damian attempts to fight Slade's grip to get back to Dick.

Slade leads him back slowly, and his mouth is quirked in a small smile as Damian collapses on Dick's stomach.

"Mama, fo," Damian shows him the tiny fistful of petals and Dick kisses his little forehead.  Damian giggles, and Dick could never think he was Ra's' child like this.

Slade stiffens, straightening suddenly.

"Slade?" Dick calls out slowly, tightening his grip on Damian.

"Someone's here," Slade says evenly, staring at the trees and Dick hurriedly sits up, Damian curled in his lap.  He can't see anyone, but there's the faintest prickle on the back of his neck, like someone is watching them—

A dark blur drops out of the trees.

Dick scrambles up with Damian immediately, stepping back as Slade steps forward—and freezes when he recognizes the hard green eyes and the flash of white in dark hair.  "Jason?"

"You know him?" Slade asks tersely, which on anyone else would be a shout.  Jason's watching like he's ready for a fight.

Dick doesn't care about either of them.  That's his brother.  He's here.

"Jason!" Dick says again, happy and hopeful and desperately worried that this is just a dream, "Jaybird!"

Jason moves forward as Dick moves forward, but Slade steps in between.  Jason immediately growls, low and deep, and Dick snaps into alertness.

"Slade, no, he's my brother," Dick explains, a mollifying hand on the alpha's arm.  Damian is peering curiously from where he's perched on Dick's hip.

"Brother," Slade repeats, and it doesn't exactly sound happy, but he steps to the side and Dick runs at the first member of his pack he's seen in over a year.

Jason barely manages to catch them instead of letting them tumble over, and Dick goes from smiling to sobbing, clutching at his brother, tightening his grip on Damian, something in him unclenching at the familiar scent of pack, home, safe.

"Dickiebird," Jason says, voice hoarse and cracking, and Dick cries harder.

[varpusvaras]

Fox: Everybody always wants a tall man...everybody always wants a tall man with broad shoulders...everybody always wants a tall man until you are having his giant baby that is in 99 percentile on everything...you don't want a tall man, you want a moderately sized man....

Bail, on the other side of the room: ...I feel like I am being targeted right now

[petiolata]

Omega Megatron who is fighting against the evils of secondary gender discrimination as well as battling an oppressive caste/class system...

All his generals are alphas and he loves playing them against each other. Starscream, Shockwave, Predaking, Overlord, etc...all think they're gonna be the one to defeat/win over Megatron in the end and have him submit. They'll lead the Decepticons with Megatron as their omega consort. (They're delusional.) Omega!Megatron is a strong independent omega who don't need no man.

Besides, Megatron would pick Soundwave as a consort if he had to pick someone. And Soundwave is the lone beta among the Decepticon leadership, and would never want Megatron to submit. Soundwave is the only one who loves Megatron as he is!