#alpha omega institutionalization au

[fuckingfinwions]

going back to the institutionalized/dehumanized a/b/o verse

"I wish I could do something better for Amrod", Maedhros said.

"He'll be home in a couple days," Fingon replied, and began rubbing his omega's shoulder soothingly. "No one will hurt him, with Feanor and Amras there to watch over him."

"Maybe not, but heat is still terrible without a bondmate."

“He’ll be fine, that’s what the heat hotels are for. And your father did a good job of navigating you through them; even got you bred by your bondmate in advance.” Fingon nipped at Maedhros's ear.

Maedhros whined, then asked, "What were the heat hotels like, for you?"

"No anywhere near as good as having a bondmate. So obviously designed by betas, with more concern about keeping alphas from causing problems than about pleasure in my time there. Overall, a bit of a tease."

"A tease?"

“Definitely. There’s this nice handsome omega, dripping with slick, and I only get to knot them once. Right at the moment my knot’s gone down enough to bask in the afterglow, maybe play with their cock or work a finger in their hole alongside my cock, I’m pulled away to another omega. There’s no time for anything but the most basic sex, the omega can’t suck my balls or lick my knot because they’re too desperate to get fucked, and their mouth is covered beside. The gags mean I can’t even tell them what I want to do to them, and can barely hear their reaction. Do you know, before we bonded I thought you were quiet in bed?”

“I just prefer to use words rather than the garbled whining you can make around a gag.”

“Yes, you’re very articulate in heat.” Fingon teased. “Begging for my cock, or sometimes just ‘more’ but you can’t think of what. Still much hotter than just lying there silently.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you say how glad you are that we’re bonded.”

“I am though. Were you trying to get me turned on? Because you did that too.”

“No. I want to tell you it was like at the heat hotel for me.”

“Hmm, and you don’t expect talking about how you got pounded to turn me on?”

“It might, but I need you to understand. Especially since Amrod still has to go there.”

“All right I’m listening.”

“The heat hotel was better than being left alone in a room, I suppose. But I was in an unfamiliar place every time, smelling of nothing until I’d been there long enough for it to smell of a dozen strange alphas. It never quite satisfied, to have an alpha show up for an hour or so. Sure, a knot chased away the worst of the heat, but I couldn’t relax at all, couldn't let go and just experience the moment; I was always aware that this alpha would abandon me and a new alpha was about to come through the door. The closest it came to being good was when I was bred there, knowing for once that this had a purpose.”

"That does sound bad." Fingon placed his hand around Maedhros's neck, feeling the pulse and reassuring Maedhros that he definitely belonged to the alpha now, whatever had happened in the past. "Would it have helped to have your own bedding? Or to have a friend in the room, rather than the hall? Amras does go along as another guardian, and I think Feanor has given up on him not seeing sex."

"A familiar scent might help? I'd have all these strange alphas in space that felt like mine, so it would be more invasive but less disorienting. And I doubt a beta in the room would help at all."

"Well, I won't give you up even for a week, so Amrod unfortunately can't have a familiar omega in the room."

Maedhros nodded. "I can bundle up his sheets and such next time, so they don't have your scent on them and annoy the alphas."

"Good idea. You also can't go because any alpha who saw you in a heat hotel would go for you first, and Amrod would never even get knotted." Fingon pulled Maedhros into his lap.

"Fingon! Be serious, Amrod would be in heat and naked and I'd be fully clothed."

"Just like his first heat, where I pinned you to the floor while Amrod whined in emptiness twenty feet away."

"We're bonded, it's different."

Fingon paused for a moment and adopted an expression of deep thoughtfulness, then shook his head. "Nope. You're simply that hot." Fingon dragged Maedhros's tunic off. "The absolutely-" Fingon nipped Maedhros's collarbone and trailed lower "most" bite "fuckable" bite "omega" bite "in all" bite "the world" Fingon reached Maedhros's nipple and held on.

Maedhros moaned, and was very thoroughly distracted from worrying over Amrod.

__

Fingon didn't forget what Maedhros had said though. He came up with a plan to make Amrod's next heat better, and shared it with Maedhros.

Maedhros was a bit concerned, but it really did seem like it would comfort their son. And if Amrod didn't like it, he could always go back to the heat hotel the next time.

Fingon told Amrod to come to him or Maedhros at the start of his next heat, not Amras or Feanor. The rest of the details would wait - best for Amrod not to worry too much in advance.

__

"Fingon Ada?" Amrod knocked on the door frame as he entered the courtyard.

Fingon had been climbing the oak tree, but swung down at Amrod's call. "What is it? - Oh little omega, you are so sweet and ready."

Fingon had obviously figured it out as soon as he got downwind of Amrod, but Amrod nodded anyway. "I'm in heat, and you said to tell you before I go the heat hotel with my guardians."

"That's right. We're doing something different this time for your heat." Fingon took Amrod's hand and led him into the house. "Maedhros is going to bring some of your bedding so it smells like you."

Amrod followed; Fingon's explanation covered why they weren't going to Amrod's own bedroom, but were instead entered the master suite.

Maedhros was reading in front of the fire. "Hello Fingon. Hello Amrod." He set his book down to kiss Fingon on the lips.

Fingon raised his free hand to the back of Maedhros's head, and didn't let him up until they were both gasping for air. "Amrod's in heat again. Bring his pillows in here."

"Yes Alpha."

"Good boy."

Amrod bit his own lip to keep from moaning. He tried to ignore that he was holding the hand of a half naked alpha - Fingon didn't wear a tunic to exercise - in the alpha's bedroom. But it was difficult when Fingon kept saying things like that, even if not to him. Amrod was so focused on controlling himself that he didn't even notice where he was walking until he was backed up against the bed. "Ada?"

"Shh, no need to worry my omega. I'm here."

"Why did you take me to your bed?" It smelled good, the familiar scents of Amrod's parents mingled with sex. But Amrod didn't want to relax in it when any minute he'd be told to climb in the carriage and go to the heat hotel.

"I told you we're doing something different this heat. You're my omega, and I'm going to fuck you and knot you as much as you need. No strange places, no parade of unfamiliar alphas."

Amrod blushed. "What about Maedhros?"

"He'll be back soon with your bedding. And then in a nest of all our scents you can let go and let me claim you."

Amrod instinctively tilted his head back, though the thick leather collar meant his neck wasn't actually bare for the alpha to bite and bond. "He won't mind?"

"Why should he? He'll be here the whole time, and can watch me take care of our son. Now strip and lay down."

Amrod pulled off his outer robe, but the laces on his tunic seemed to have tangled into one giant snarl, and he fumbled with it for several seconds.

"Nevermind that, we can take off your top when I'm inside you." Fingon instead reached for Amrod's crotch, unfastening his pants in seconds and brushing against his dick.

Amrod whined, and Fingon reach further back, fingers dipping between Amrod's cheeks.

"You're so wet for me, practically dripping and you haven't even seem my cock yet."

"I want to. I want your cock alpha, want you to push me down and breed me. Knot my hole and fill me up until I'm bursting."

Fingon growled and shoved two fingers inside Amrod. "Oh, I will. But I told you to get on the bed. Lay on your back and spread your legs." Fingon pulled his fingers out and gave a sharp swat to Amrod's ass.

Amrod scrambled back quickly and tried to get in position. His half removed pants still stuck around his knees stopped him for a moment, and Amrod blushed as he took them off all the way. Then he spread as far he could, knees bent and feet braced against the bed to show his hole to his alpha. He raised his face forward to see whether Fingon liked it.

"Absolutely gorgeous," Fingon said. He pushed Amrod's tunic up to his armpits and bit his belly.

"Did I miss anything interesting?" Maedhros asked with amusement as he walked in carrying nearly a dozen pillows.

"Not at all, you're just in time for the main event." Fingon pulled off his own trousers, revealing his hard cock with the knot already visibly enlarged at the base.

Amrod moaned.

"He is magnificent, isn't he?" Maedhros said. "Just relax though, and our alpha will take good care of you."

Fingon walked up to the bed and pushed Amrod's knees even wider, settling between them and pinning Amrod thoroughly to the mattress

"Normally you're in heat for a few hours on the carriage ride before you get knotted. So Fingon might feel a bit bigger than you're used to." Maedhros said hurriedly when he realized Fingon wasn't going to slow down.

"Don't worry though, you can take it." Fingon said. "My sweet little omega, made just for me."

Fingon thrust into Amrod in one long stroke. Amrod's moan of pleasure turned into a whimper at the end, but Fingon leaned down to capture his lips. Amrod's answering kiss was sloppy and unskilled, but that made sense - all his times with other alphas had been wearing a mask and a gag.

Fingon lets his hands wander over Amrod's body, calming his son and learning every part of him. Soon Fingon began to thrust, quickly finding Amrod's prostate and hitting it every time.

Fingon's knot was growing, stretching Amrod's hole more with every stroke. Amrod was indeed less loose and less slick than normal, but Fingon was very good at taking his mind off any discomfort, with lips and fingers exploring all of Amrod's most sensitive spots.

Amrod came after only a few minutes, sum spattering both his belly and his alpha's Fingon thrust a few more times and then ground his hips, letting Amras's hole clenching in orgasm bring him over the peak as well. Fingon let himself collapse nearly on top of Amrod, catching himself on his forearms and thoroughly shielding Amrod from the world.

Maedhros gave them only a few moments to recover. He trailed kisses across Fingon's shoulders, reminding his alpha he was there but not demanding a reply.

Amrod was the first to speak. "Thank you alpha."

Fingon chuckled slightly, but said, "The pleasure is very much mine. We raised a very polite son, didn't we Maedhros?"

"Yes we did. Amrod, would you like help with the laces?"

Amrod looked again at his tunic, and sighed. "Yes, I can't see well enough to untie it from this angle."

Fingon leaned back so that Maedhros would have enough space, making both him and Amrod moan as Fingon's cock shifted inside the young omega. "What about you love? Are your clothes stuck as well?"

"No, I just though one of us should be dressed in case we need to talk to Feanor, or to get something from another room."

"Feanor has already seen you naked plenty of times, and you can always put something on later if it's needed. I'm taking these off you." Fingon was as good as his word, and pulled Maedhros's pants down immediately. The shirt required a little more coordination, but Maedhros let go of the laces on Amrod's tunic long enough to get his own over his head and arms.

"Should someone tell Feanor?" Amrod asked after a few minutes of the three of them lying on the bed together.

"He or Amras will notice you're not at dinner in a few hours," Fingon said. "There's no point in getting them involved sooner."

"But - shouldn't my guardian know I'm in heat and need care?"

"I'm your alpha, and quite capable of caring for you right here."

"My love," Maedhros said, "how much did you actually explain?"

"Enough to calm Amrod down and make him stop worrying about beta-style relationships."

Maedhros rolled his eyes and kissed Fingon's chin, darting back out of reach before Fingon could start making out with him. "Amrod, you're not going to the heat hotel. Fingon is going to stay with you the whole time, in this room, and knot you as often as you want. When your heat is over, you'll get to decide what you want next time, either Fingon the whole time or a typical the heat hotel."

"But I thought alphas hated letting anyone but them fuck their bondmates?"

"Yes, which is one of several reasons why Fingon isn't bonding you, and the collar is staying on. You also aren't going to get bred this heat; the Song on your womb remains as it has been."

Amrod nodded, and looked up at Fingon. It was a novelty to be able to read the expression of the alpha inside him, perhaps they all looked this smug once they finally knotted him. But he doubted they were as beautiful as his ada.

"I'm still surprised Feanor agreed to this idea, he likes traditional stuff like the heat hotel."

"Feanor is smart enough not to pull me away from my omega once I've already knotted," Fingon said.

"Wait did you not tell him?"

"Like I said, I'm going to take care of you. If you don't want this again I won't force you, but no one was going stop me from giving you a good heat for once."

"But-"

"Besides, non-traditional can be fun. Maedhros, kneel over his face, ass towards me."

"Is this going where I think it is, alpha?" Maedhros asked as he made his way across the truly inordinate number of pillows.

"Yes. You're going to show Amrod how much an omega enjoys it is when an alpha puts his tongue in your hole, even though it's much smaller than a cock."

"Oh yes, alpha!"

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Hydra Sanatorium"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word count: 4608

Tags: a/b/o, medical institutionalization, cognitive disability, made up kinky medical things, diapers, catheters, enemas, non-con medical procedures, restraints, forced wetting, hurt/comfort, humiliation, kind!Careworker Steve, bratty!Patient Bucky, alpha Steve, omega bucky, dry humping, forced orgasm, masturbation, implied self harm, orgasm therapy, age difference (19/30s), omorashi

Summary: Bucky is a troubled teen coping with the traumatic transformation of late-onset omega puberty. Steve's the care worker who's been developing too much of an attachment.

Wait! I think I missed a previous chapter! Series Masterlist

Chapter 9: Persistent Genital Arousal

Previously:

This may be (and hopefully is) Bucky's last day as a Hydra patient, but that doesn't mean he won't have some group classes and therapies left to attend with the other boys in his cohort that afternoon and evening. Steve will just have to find a way to fill his own time, leave Bucky to his schedule, and hang in there while he gets the ball rolling to secure Bucky's release into his custody.

That afternoon, Steve completes a plethora of paperwork. He submits his recommendation for Bucky’s care, fills out a formal application for custody, and hands in his letter of resignation to Raynor.

He’s completely transparent with her about his intentions, and Christina isn’t just fair in her response: she seems downright pleased. She does call him a traitor for leaving Hydra, but she’s smirking when she says it, so Steve knows he’ll still be getting a stellar reference from her.

He is officially quitting, but Bucky’s still a patient on-ward—with all the services afforded one—for at least the next twenty-four hours. So to avoid interrupting his scheduled therapies and groups, Steve tries to keep himself busy, closing out his cases and saying goodbye to some of his more friendly coworkers. Hydra Sanatorium might not be the nicest or the most well-funded place, but for a county-run institution it’s always done the best it can with what it has for the people who come through its halls. Lord knows Steve has. After five years of working there, doing his best to help the people that he could, Steve hopes he made some sort of a difference. In one case, at least, he knows he has.

Later in the day, he goes looking for Bucky and finds him with the rest of his cohort in the soft room. A lot of the boys are napping, the rest of them engaged in various stimming activities. Steve doesn’t immediately spot Bucky, but the room attendant points him towards one of the nesting pods. When Steve pokes his head through the little circular opening into the cave-like space, sure enough there his boy is: nestled amongst an impressive collection of blankets, throws and pillows.

Inside it smells heavenly, Bucky’s scent built up in the air. All sexually mature omegas experience something called persistent genital arousal, or PGA. It can be more debilitating for some, and it’s definitely more intense at certain points of their cycles, but in general Steve’s heard it described as a low-level thrum of arousal—like what one might feel from touching themselves idly from over their underwear while watching mediocre porn. Essentially, omegas really do always have sex on the brain.

The resultant smell they give off is, of course, one easy identifying marker for any omega out in public, and Bucky is no exception. The nesting pod is already thick with his scent, sweet and cloying, and Steve finds himself breathing in deeply to get more of it as he crawls inside. He smiles when Bucky’s sleepy eyes peek open and register his presence. The boy is beautiful. “Hey,” Steve murmurs.

Bucky lets loose a huge yawn and stretches with a lazy smile, his hair all floofed in different directions and his eyes nothing but puffy, squinty slits. “Stteeeve,” he hums, reaching for him with grabby hands. “Mmm. C’mere.”

How could he ever resist? Steve crawls over and settles next to him, pulling their bodies close together. “Hey you.”

Bucky’s already purring as he wriggles up against him. “Mmm. Hi.” He shoves his face into Steve’s chest and rubs his cheek against his pec, scenting him. “I took’a nap.”

“I can see that.” Steve’s mood is already in the stratosphere, because he’s suffused with Bucky’s scent: happy, safe, content—and yes, mildly aroused—omega. It’s infectious, making Steve’s body respond with all of those same feelings and more. There’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here, tucked into a tiny, warm nesting space with his omega. 

“His” omega, because Steve’s already started thinking of him that way. The transition feels almost seamless, feels natural, like maybe Bucky was his long before he knew it. He rumbles in his chest to match the boy’s purr and holds him close. “Missed you,” he murmurs, speaking against the softness of his hair. “How’s your day been?”

They’ve only been apart for a few hours, but after the intensity of their morning together, Steve hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Bucky’s wellbeing all day, even though he knows he’d left him in a good place, mentally. He’d made sure to bring him down from the high of their sensory session, had tenderly changed him and dressed him in warm, soft clothes, checked that his body’s lingering confusion from the therapy wasn’t anything that was going to cause him discomfort or distress during the day. He’d personally escorted him to his life skills group, kissing him on the cheek and promising to find him later, even watching from the doorway for a few long minutes until he could be certain that Bucky was relaxed and taking to the company of others well.

Now, in the safe confines of the nest, Steve kisses his hair again. “Good?”

Bucky does a happy little wiggle. “Mmm, good,” he mumbles, still seeking contact through the way he rubs himself against Steve’s body. “Missed you.”

It’s like he can’t get close enough, like he’s stubbornly trying to dig himself a space inside of Steve. It’s adorable. Steve smiles and rubs his back. “Me too, Honey. I’ve been getting a lot of things sorted out, so that I can take care of you after today. If you want.”

Bucky peeks up at him. “‘If I want?’”

“Yeah.” He knows that this is a talk they need to have, now that Bucky’s sober and fully back in his head. Steve doesn’t think there’s a high chance that Bucky’s going to change his mind, but they still have to discuss it. Because Steve would be a bad person—and a garbage Alpha support—if he didn’t give him the chance to decide for himself now.

And he’s going to have to tell Bucky about the castration issue. As much as Steve hates it, he can’t deny the sheer medical facts. It’ll help Bucky. His body produces too much testosterone as it is, his testes given too much time to develop before he finally presented. They’ve always known that the elevated hormones are part of what contributes to Bucky’s aggression and his struggles. Steve takes a deep breath and forces composure into his voice. “So, my boss asked me to put in my recommendation for you.”

“Recommendation for what?”

“Um, since your folks signed over custody, the state is in charge of you now until you turn twenty-five. That is, unless you find an alpha guardian to take care of you in a personal capacity. But you know, Hydra isn’t really … it’s more of an acute care facility, right? So even if you didn’t have an Alpha, you’d still have to go somewhere else, like a group home or a treatment facility that’s geared toward longer term stays. My boss asked me to submit my assessment of what your needs are and where you should go. It’s called an ongoing care plan.”

In his arms, Bucky tenses up. “My ongoing care?” he repeats, uncertain.

“Yeah Honey.” Steve tries to smile reassuringly. “There are lots of places where you could go to live other than with me, if you wanted. Nice places.”

Bucky’s face crumples in distress and he keens lowly. “But I … I mean, I thought …” His lip trembles. “You changed your mind? Don’t you want me?”

“What?” Steve’s heart sinks at the way Bucky’s looking at him—as if he’s just revoked a promise Bucky had been counting on. “Oh, Honey,” he mourns, pulling him in close again. He cradles his head and kisses over his hair in apology. “No, no bub. I do want you. I was just trying to be fair and give you all of your options. I didn’t want you to feel obligated. Didn’t want you to feel like you had to make that choice to go with me.”

It’s immediately obvious that his words calm Bucky down. The scent of distress dissipates as quickly as it had formed, and their dimly lit nesting pod is once again filled with nothing but cozy, happy omega pheromones. Bucky butts his head into Steve’s chest and grumbles at him for having scared him. “I always want to go with you, Steve. I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

Steve strokes his back. “Okay, okay. I understand.” His hands dip under the soft fabric of Bucky’s top, tracing up the vertebrae of his spine. It feels good to have the connection of their naked skin again. Steve hums and flushes, aware of his cock having a vague but growing interest. It’s all chubbed up in his briefs, tingling with a low level of arousal. And even though he has little intention of doing anything about it right now, it’s still nice to feel when he’s close to Bucky like this. He turns in towards him a little more, pressing him back and down into the nest with his bodyweight. The boy’s legs part for him on instinct and Steve hums, pleased. He slots his thigh between Bucky’s legs and tucks his face into his neck. “I just want to make you happy, Buck,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, or like you have to do anything other than what you really want. And if it takes you time to figure that out, then you’re allowed to take your time.”

“Nooo, Steeeve. I want you to be my Alpha. I don’t need to take time. S’stupid.”

Steve scoffs fondly. “Oh yeah?” He searches out the slight swell of Bucky’s bonding glands beneath the skin, closes his lips over the spot, and sucks. Bucky gives a surprised little ‘meep!’ of a sound, then pretty much melts full-body into the blankets. Steve chuckles. “There’s a lot that comes with that, you know. Having an Alpha you’re bonded to is different than just what we do here.”

“Mmm. Yeah. Like you said before, in the bathroom when my tummy was full. You said you could be my for-real Alpha.”

Steve kisses where he’d sucked, the spot now pinked and swollen. “Do you know what that means?” he whispers. “To have a for-real Alpha?” Bucky shivers pleasantly in response to the question, but Steve’s not just asking to get him worked up over it. “Buck,” he prods gently. “C’mon, tell me.”

“Means you’d be in charge a’ me,” Bucky sighs, his scent shifting as he grows more aroused. Beneath Steve, he squirms purposefully against the weight of his body. “I’d live with you, right?”

“Yeah. You’d come live with me and I’d be in charge of you.” Steve nuzzles against him, not missing the way that Bucky’s breath catches in a tiny little sound of pleasure. “Hey now, you might not always like that.” He playfully nips his skin. “There might be times when you’re mad as a hornet at me. That won't change anything. I���ll still be your Alpha. You’ll still have to listen.”

“... Could I still call you Daddy?”

Steve groans and turns his face away from Bucky's neck while the omega giggles at his reaction. “Yeah, Buck. You could.”

“Mmm, and you’ll still call me bub?” he asks, looking up with shining eyes and slightly flushed cheeks. “I um … I kinda always liked that you called me that. Even back when I was new and mean to you and stuff.”

Steve smiles tenderly at him. “I know, bub. That’s why I always did.” He kisses him softly, just once, on the lips. The first time he’s ever let himself do so.

Bucky’s wide-eyed by the time Steve pulls back, looking like a whole new world of possibilities has just been opened up to him. “Oh, man,” he breathes. “Do we get to have sex whenever we want?”

Steve laughs, taken aback. “Buck,” he scolds, but he’s already dipping back down to kiss him again. “Yes. Though I do have to keep a day job, so you can’t go full-on nymphomaniac on me.” Bucky whines and Steve kisses back down to his neck and seals his lips over his tender glands to suck some more. “Mmm, you’re swollen here, Honey,” he murmurs, kissing the spot, thinking that he’ll have to check the kid’s chart to see if he’s nearing estrus. It’d make sense, given how reactive he’s been lately. And, oh god, they’ll definitely need birth control. Steve would love to breed Bucky up, but that’s not something they should take lightly. It’s too soon to pup him, not when so much else is in flux, and Steve still needs to tackle the castration issue with him. There’s a lot to be done. Everything is changing. Steve sucks hard on his glands in one, long pull.

“Oohh,” Bucky moans, both hands coming up to run through Steve’s hair. “Oh, S-steve. Mmm. That feels so good.” He hitches his leg up higher on Steve’s hip, rocking against him, and Steve indulges him by driving his thigh forward to give him more firmness to grind on. Bucky whimpers and jerks. “Oh!”

“Mm hm.” Steve gently scrapes his teeth over the swollen spot on his neck. “I’ll need to bond you, if you’re living in my household long term.”

Bucky whimpers and nods, hips shoving up harder at the feeling of the alpha’s mouth on his glands. “Okay,” he gasps. “Yeah, Steve, do it. I'm ready.” His fingers dig into Steve’s shoulders and he cranes his head further to the side, presenting himself for a bite.

Steve chuckles, the sound morphing into a groan at the end as he denies himself and moves his face away. “Mmm. Not right now, silly. You need to be in heat for that to stick.” He gives him a peck on the lips. “Besides, it’s supposed to be something special.”

“Special?”

“Mm hm.” It kind of breaks Steve’s heart that Bucky doesn’t know this, though he supposes the kid couldn’t possibly have had many positive exposures to A/o relationships, growing up with the family he did. Steve kisses him again, explaining, “We’ll make it nice. Relaxing. Bonding is something special we’ll do in private.” They may currently be sequestered in this dark little space, but Steve sure doesn’t count a communal nesting pod in a state-run Sanatorium to be the appropriate place for such an important, intimate act.

He crawls off of Bucky and moves over to the side, sitting up in the mounds of soft nesting materials with his back against the pod’s wall. “C’mere.”

Bucky happily crawls over to sit in his lap. He straddles him, and Steve’s hands settle at his hips. Steve smiles at the bright teal clothes the kid is wearing now. After their sensory session that morning, he’d helped Bucky to get changed, and teal pants with a tangerine top was what the omega had wanted to wear. “All these years of navy blue,” Steve teases. “And it was just you being stubborn, huh?”

Bucky huffs and squirms, but he doesn’t deny it. “I always liked the colorful ones. I just never picked ‘em because I … I didn’t want to be this way,” he admits softly, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Didn’t want to be just another omega. Dumb and drooling in my rainbow patterned sweatsuits.”

“Bucky,” Steve chides. “That’s not nice. The other boys on-ward don’t deserve that kind of talk, do they? ”

Bucky flushes and looks away. “No,” he mumbles. “M’sorry. Didn’t mean it.”

Steve sighs. Just because Bucky wants to be with him doesn’t mean that the kid’s suddenly going to be well-adjusted. He's got so much internalized omegaphobia from being raised by his asshole parents, it isn't even funny. Steve gives his waist a squeeze and tells him, “Hey: you’re still going to have to go to some therapy, bub. I hope you realize that. Just because you’re leaving here doesn’t mean there won’t be rules and discipline. It doesn’t mean you don’t still have issues you need to work on.”

Bucky grumps about that a little, but eventually he nods his head in understanding. “What rules?” he asks shyly. “‘Discipline’?”

“Mmhm. That mean consequences if you act up. I’ll never be harsh with you, Honey, but being someone’s Alpha also means correcting their misbehavior.”

“Like … like spanking?”

“It could be, yeah.” Steve personally believes in gentle domestic discipline for omegas, so long as it’s administered fairly. He watches Bucky’s reaction carefully. “How does that make you feel, hm? If you knew you might get spanked if you did wrong?”

Bucky squirms a little in his lap before he’ll admit, “I dunno. Maybe embarrassed but … kinda nice, too.”

Steve tilts his head to try and catch Bucky’s eyes. “Nice?” he prods.

“Yeah. Kinda.” Bucky pouts and shrugs. “I dunno. I guess it just, um … it makes it seem like you care about me. Like you’re enjoying takin’ care of me.”

Steve’s heart warms, and he kisses Bucky’s forehead. “I do, baby. I care about you a whole lot, okay?”

“Okay.” Bucky sits there thinking it over, sucking his lip into his mouth and releasing it repeatedly. “What are the rules gonna be?”

“Oh, well … I don't know them all yet, but we'll figure it out. Just be good in general, I guess. Don’t make messes, don’t be rude to people, listen to what I tell you to do. That sort of stuff. My place is in Flatbush, not too far from here. You’ll have to be good, stay there when I go to work. I’m looking at changing jobs, so we might have some time together to start off at first, but then you’ll need to mind yourself when I’m away.”

"I'll be good," Bucky promises, sounding adorably determined. It makes Steve smile.

"I know, bub." He strokes the side of Bucky’s head, running his fingers through the soft curls that he’s come to love so much. “We’ll make you an area in the apartment to nest up real nice, just the way you like it. And I can get some stimming tools if you need ‘em, for during the day. I don’t want to see you ignoring your needs like you have been.” At Bucky’s hips, he digs his fingers in meaningfully, crinkling the plastic of the diaper beneath. “And these,” he says, arching a knowing eyebrow when Bucky peeks up at him. “You still need to wear them.”

Bucky looks mortified, but he does eventually give a reluctant nod. “I know,” he grumbles. “I wasn’t gonna argue about it.”

“Oh really?”

“Mm mn.” He’s blushing and avoidant, bites his lip and tries to wiggle away, but stills when Steve holds fast. He sighs. “I mean I guess I don’t hate ‘em so much.”

“No?”

“Mmn. Not … not when it’s just in private,” he admits. “Sometimes they even make me feel kinda, I dunno, kinda safe. … And when you take care of me with ‘em. That part feels really good.”

Jesus. Steve grips him harder and rumbles deep in his chest, praising him for his honesty. “That’s good, Honey. That’s what they’re for.”

Bucky’s physical level of need for the diapers isn’t actually all that high. He has the same small, spastic bladder that most omegas do, and he suffers from the typical pattern of stress incontinence. Most of his wetting occurs when he’s upset, aroused, or asleep. He could feasibly attempt daily life without them, though accidents would happen. But beyond the practical, it’s the emotional impact of wetting that’s so huge for someone like Bucky. That’s why consistent diapering has always been part of his therapeutic program at Hydra. It’s one routine that Steve intends to maintain once he’s got Bucky home and living with him. “It’s nothing to be worried over,” he reminds gently. “Remember what we talked about?”

Bucky sniffles and nods. “... S’normal,” he recites, voice tiny. “Lots of omegas wear ‘em.”

“That’s right,” Steve praises. “And Alphas don’t care. We like taking care of you. We like seeing you feeling safe, and knowing when it feels good for you.” He sees the color rise in Bucky’s cheeks and hums knowingly. “It’s okay when you enjoy the feeling, bub. Like how you did this morning? That’s totally okay.” Bucky whines and squirms a little, and Steve shushes him. “Hey now: I mean it.”

He uses his grip on Bucky’s hips to rock him in his lap a little, and Bucky squeaks and grabs onto his shoulders, pushing into the motion reactively before he can shame himself out of it. Steve hums, pleased. He leans in and takes Bucky's mouth in another, coaxing kiss. That seems to be the key to disarming the boy. He moans and gives another uninhibited roll of his hips. He keeps going, grinding against Steve’s crotch and panting quietly.

Steve smiles and holds him while he rocks. Ever since he ducked into the nest, he’s been able to smell the general level of arousal that Bucky always carries with him. But now it’s heavier, the distinct scent of new slick and a more urgent sort of need coming to the forefront. All Steve’s talk of discipline and acceptance and care has gotten Bucky worked up. He hums encouragingly as the omega stims himself against his lap. “Aw, Sweetie. There you go. That feel good?”

“Ah, uh huh,” Bucky pants quietly, eyes going a little muzzy as he starts to lose focus. “Oh, Steve, ff-feels good, nnngh …”

“Good. That’s all I want, honey. Just want you to be happy and feel so good. Don’t need to worry about a thing, okay? Cause I’m your Alpha and I like you just like this. Rocking in my lap, doing what feels nice, just being a sweet n’ happy omega for me.”

Bucky chirps in a way that he rarely does, his hips juddering forward hard. “Oh! Steve I … I have to …” He squeaks and tosses forward, burying his face in Steve’s neck and whining plaintively.

Steve tuts and wraps his arms around him, still guiding him in the rocking motion. “What’s up, bub, huh? You have to go?”

Bucky nods fast against his shoulder. “Nnn! But, but …” He shakes his head back and forth, trying to fight it. “Nngh …”

“Okay, okay Honey. You see? This is exactly what I’m talking about.” Steve wraps his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck and grabs him in a firm scruff. He slides it up into his hair and pulls, using his grip to guide him back a little. Bucky yelps and meets him with wide eyes. “Shhhh,” Steve hushes, shoving his other hand down inside the front of Bucky’s pants. Bucky’s eyes go even wider. “It’s okay, bub,” he soothes, hand cupping the bulk of the padding and rubbing. “I know you just don’t get it. And this is me showin’ you. Cause I’m gonna keep you right here, and I’m not moving my hand until you let go for me.”

Really, he’s sure he’ll have Bucky naked and straight up wetting in the middle of sex in the very near future, but for now this’ll do. They are still in the hospital, after all, and this is still a communal nesting pod they’re in. If nothing else, Steve knows that the orderlies would not appreciate the mess.

Bucky gulps in a huge shaky breath and nods frantically, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes as he gets overwhelmed. “Okay, okay,” he pants, grabbing onto Steve’s shoulders fiercely while his squirming gets frantic. “Oh god, S-ssteve …”

Steve kisses his forehead, murmuring non stop praise and love at him. Finally, Bucky tenses up and goes stock still. “Theere it is,” Steve coaxes, jostling his hand as he feels the warmth start to spread. Bucky moans and loses control completely, going limp as a noodle against Steve’s front and panting as he loses control. “Good boy.” Steve keeps murmuring it against his skin, giving pulses on the swollen crotch of the diaper with one hand and petting up and down his back with the other. “Good boy. That’s my good boy, Bucky. So good.”

Bucky doesn’t go all embarrassed, after. He stays a little dazed, in his head, chirping and humming at Steve when he encourages him to come out of the nest. They walk together to the bathroom, and Bucky does speak on and off when prompted; little 'yeah's and 'no's' and ‘okay’s. So he’s not quite non-verbal, and he’s definitely not in a fugue or a fit of any sort. No. He’s just a soft, contented, aroused ball of very happy omega.

In the bathroom on the changing bed, Steve is hardly surprised to find a pool of slick and a chubbed up little cock underneath the diaper. “Would you look at that,” he chuckles, going about cleaning him up. Bucky starts to whimper afterwards as he’s lying there, clean but exposed and untouched. “Please,” he begs, proving that he can, in fact, speak. “Please Steve?”

“Of course, Honey.” He wasn’t planning on denying him, poor thing. Steve smooths his hands over Bucky’s inner thighs, right up to the crease of his groin. He brushes his fingers over his half hard penis, back and forth a few times, just teasing it lightly. “How do you want me to make you cum?” he asks, only anticipating that Bucky will either ask him to touch his cocklet or else use penetration. He is not prepared for the kid’s breathless request of,

“Suck me, please.”

He freezes, taken aback. Oral sex—giving or receiving—is not permitted between Alpha Supports and their patients on the ward. Steve’s not precisely sure why, when digital and device-aided penetration is done every single day, but at some point in history, some guy writing the rules drew the line at oral. Anything that could be easily twisted to gratify the Alpha support rather than the omega patient is strictly forbidden. Steve has actually never given head to an omega before—patient or otherwise.

But he’s suddenly, achingly hard at the thought of doing so. “Oh, Honey ...” he hedges. “I don't know if ...” He grimaces at the pleading look on Bucky’s face, the anxious, wanting pinch in his brow, and finds himself throwing all his reservations aside. Fuck it, he thinks. He’s been professional long enough. Bucky’s going to be his by this time tomorrow, anyways. “Okay, Baby,” he says, giving in and rubbing over the boy’s belly with one hand. “Okay. You want that? Want to feel Daddy’s mouth on your sweet prick?”

Bucky keens and nods, “Yeah, please.”

“You ask so sweet,” Steve praises, sinking down his body, trailing kisses from his neck to his chest, down to his belly and the base of the sweet little cocklet he’s got between his legs. Steve tells him how pretty it is as he kisses it, mouthing over the softness. It’s only half hard, never really getting rigid, but it's still more to play with than the average omega has. Steve pulls him into his mouth and sucks until he gets an orgasm out of him. Bucky shudders hugely, his little prick squirting a tiny bit of useless seminal fluid, but nothing more. Steve pulls off, rubbing his inner thighs soothingly as he comes down from it. “Good?” he asks.

Bucky shudders and nods, smiling dreamily. “Thank you, Alpha,” he breathes. “We can do that all the time?”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, Honey. There’s nothing off limits anymore once I take you home with me. You can touch me and ask me to touch you any way you like. Whatever you’re curious about.” Steve is well aware that, outside of his treatment on-ward, Bucky is very sexually inexperienced. There’ll be a lot of firsts, once Steve brings him home.

Bucky's eyes have slipped closed, and Steve takes a moment to stare. He pets his belly, trailing his hand down to the boy’s wet little cock and further down to his balls. He plays with the soft skin, considering him. Bucky’s shrunk up some in the past three years, but he’s still bigger than he should be. Steve imagines what he’ll look like, after the procedure. There’ll be a bare space there, room to press and stimulate him. Steve's never had much of a preference with male omegas, finding both the little pocket of looser skin left after a castration and the tiny, coin purse sac of an intact omega to be attractive, in their own ways. But he can’t deny that he likes the aesthetics of a cut omega.

“Bucky?” he says softly. “There’s something I have to talk with you about, something we’re gonna have to do eventually. And I don’t want you to be scared, so hear me out, okay?” He waits until Bucky opens his eyes, a little wrinkle of worry forming between his eyebrows.

“What?” he asks.

Steve cups his sac and rubs it gently. “Here,” he murmurs. “You’ll need to have these removed, Sweetheart. Do you know about that?”

Bucky tenses. “What? N-no,” he looks pleadingly up at Steve. “Why?!”

“It’s something they’ve had written down in your chart for a while,” Steve admits. “I’ve avoided bringing it up until now. We had more short term parts of your treatment plan to work on, and I didn’t want to upset you. But I’m going to bond you, Sweetheart, and I gotta take care of you. This is what all your doctors have been recommending.”

Bucky keens miserably. “I don’t want to. Please. Please don’t make me.”

Steve hushes him, rubbing his belly and cupping his balls. “It’s such a simple procedure, Sweetheart. Lots of omegas are cut. Your body had a little too much time to develop. Remember how we talked about that?”

Bucky whimpers and nods uncertainly. “Y-yeah.”

“You’re bigger than most omegas down here,” Steve tells him gently. “Your body’s making hormones that you don’t need. It gets you all confused. That’s part of what makes you get so angry sometimes.”

Bucky whimpers. “Will it hurt?” he asks tearfully.

It’s such a naive question that it makes Steve’s heart ache. “No, Honey,” he soothes. “Not very much at all. You’ll just go to sleep while they do it. And then you’ll have nice pain medicine to keep you comfy while you heal. We’ll get you nested up at home. You’ll probably sleep a lot. You can watch movies and eat as much ice cream as you want,” he coaxes. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Bucky sniffles. “I don’t wanna.”

“I know, I know. It’s new and scary, but it’ll be so simple, I promise. I’ll be right there to take care of you, okay?”

Bucky sniffles for a few more minutes, but then he nods meekly, giving in. “Okay,” he whispers. “You’ll be with me the whole time?”

Steve bends down to kiss him. “The whole time,” he assures. “You’re such a good boy, Bucky. It’ll be okay. Do you trust me?”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to nod this time, and Steve rumbles low in his chest, pleased. “Good boy,” he praises. “Once you’re healed it’ll feel nice,” he promises. “You’ll have an easier time getting pleasure from here.” He touches Bucky’s hole gently, circling the rim. “Release will be easier.”

Bucky’s still nervous, Steve can smell it on him. But he calms down enough for Steve to get him in a fresh diaper and dressed again. He can hardly believe the conversation went the way it did. If Steve had attempted to talk about this during Bucky's last stay on-ward, he's nearly positive he would've had a meltdown on his hands. But Bucky accepted it so easily.

“So proud of you, bub,” he praises. “Come on. Let’s go get you some lunch, huh?”

By four fifty, he’s said goodnight to Bucky and promised to be back the very next day, when he’ll see him discharged from his stay on-ward and bring him home. He clocks out and takes the train to a specialty omega shop up in Queens, where, along with a bunch of nesting supplies, he purchases Bucky a nice collar to go home in. It’s pricey and has all the bells and whistles, from inflation features and removable D rings, to insertable scent chambers and a GPS locator. Steve figures he must really be giving off the 'new Alpha' vibe, because the saleswoman smiles at him indulgently and says “congratulations” as she’s ringing up his purchases.

"Oh. Thanks." He blushes and tries to keep a straight face, but can't help but wind up beaming anyway.

At home he takes the tags off all of the purchases and sets them aside tidy and ready for Bucky, excited about how the kid will react when he sees his new things and gets to experience someone taking care of him properly and spoiling him for the first time in his life.

Geez, Steve thinks, by tomorrow he’s going to have an omega living with him. He feels giddy about it. Even with knowing Bucky’s personal issues surrounding his designation, Steve still isn’t worried. He cares so deeply for Bucky, loves him even, at this point. And he knows that no matter what obstacles they may face going forward, this is the best thing that he could do for the omega.

He flits about the apartment that evening, full of nervous energy but in a fantastic mood. He shoots off a few emails, one to Sam, inquiring about job possibilities at Shield or other local private practices. Even if there isn’t a position available at Sam’s firm, Steve is still very confident in his ability to find a new job. He’s got excellent qualifications, and omega healthcare is a chronically understaffed field. He’ll have to give up the role of support Alpha, though. At least in a sexual capacity. It wouldn’t be fair to put Bucky through that, coming home each day smelling of other omegas. Steve couldn’t do that to him.

He tries to fill his evening up with distractions, but it’s hard. He surfs a few job boards half-assedly, scent marks the stuff he bought for Bucky, makes a microwave dinner that he can barely taste, and watches an episode of a show he’s been following. Nothing gets his mind off Bucky for long. He’s simply too elated and impatient for the next day to arrive. So when eleven P.M. rolls around and he’s still wired as fuck, he goes rooting through the medicine cabinet, downing four Benadryl tablets in an effort to get at least a modicum of sleep in for tomorrow.

Predictably, he wakes up earlier than usual. Rather than closing his eyes again until his alarm goes off, he forces himself to don sneakers and go for his usual morning run, pounding out a few extra miles because he’s got the time and because he needs to burn off some of this nervous energy. He goes back home, showers, changes. He heads for the Sanatorium with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a skip in his step. 

God, he thinks as he keys into the hospital’s ground floor, the building really is ugly: very outdated, institutional, depressing. He’s gotten so used to it over the past five years. He’s glad that Bucky won’t ever have to come through its halls again.

Stanley isn’t at the security desk when he passes by, and Steve’s kind of glad, since for the first time in a long time he’s forgotten to grab their usual morning pastries. He leans through the security window and snatches his badge from the wall, heading for the elevators.

Raynor intercepts him at the double doors leading onto the ward, her mouth set in a grim line.

Instantly, Steve is on high alert, tension pulling through his body. “What happened?” he says, already panicking that something awful has happened to Bucky in the last sixteen hours. “Is he hurt?”

“No. His parents showed up. Come on.”

Steve’s guts sink and harden with dread, yet at the same time he doesn’t really have the chance to work himself into a true panic, because they’re on the move. Raynor marches straight to the conference room, inside of which they find a somber-faced orderly at the door, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes seated at the table, and Bucky huddled down over in the far corner, having a bit of a fit. Steve instantly recognizes it as another stress fugue, though thankfully it seems to be less severe than the one he’d found him in yesterday. He’s still got all his clothes on and he isn’t humping anything, so that’s a plus.

Steve hurries over and kneels down next to him. “Buck? Oh Buck, Sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m here now. I’m right here with you, Baby. Please don’t cry.”

Bucky’s huddled on the floor, tearfully rocking in place, one arm wrapped around his knees and the other hand up at his face, sucking two of his fingers. Steve wipes his cheeks and kisses his forehead, heartstricken at seeing him so upset. “Shh sh sh, Honey. It’s gonna be okay. I promise.” He remembers his backpack and slings it off his shoulder, unzipping it and dumping half its contents on the floor in search of the collar inside. He finds it and starts putting it on him, getting the buckle closed and the pressure points lined up with Bucky’s glands. “Can you get something for his mouth?” he tells the orderly at the door. The man nods with wide eyes and hurries out of the room. Steve finishes with the collar and fits the little air pump to its port, squeezing it until the pressure points in the lining have all inflated. Bucky’s breathing calms down considerably just from that. Steve rumbles low in his chest for him, giving him the sound of his Alpha’s approval. “Good boy,” he Voices, petting his face soothingly. “So good for me, bub.”

“Excuse me."

Steve looks back over his shoulder and meets George Barnes’ scowl with one of his own. “Be quiet,” he growls at him, making the man’s face go slack in sheer surprise. “Trust me, I’ll be right with you,” Steve grits. Turning back, he continues to murmur quiet, comforting words for Bucky to hear and latch onto; telling him how he’s right there and he’s not leaving, how he’s his Alpha and Bucky’s his omega and how they’re safe and good and everything is going to be just fine. Bucky whimpers and pushes himself closer to Steve, still crying sluggishly, but he’s non-verbal and even if he weren’t, he’s still got half his hand shoved into his mouth, his body’s reflexes in full gear as he tries to calm himself down.

Behind, Mrs. Barnes is complaining at her husband to “do something,” and Bucky registers her shrill voice and starts to rock a little harder. Steve winces as he sees the red indent of where Bucky’s started chewing on his fingers.

Luckily that’s when the orderly returns, and he hurries over to give Steve the suckling gag he’s brought. “Thanks,” Steve grunts, glad to see that the guy actually had the foresight to bring along a container of PheroGel for the thing. Steve exhales in relief and takes it from him. It'll help Bucky calm down. “Good thinking,” he mutters, maneuvering Bucky so that he can coax his hand away from his mouth and feed the rubber head of the gag past his lips instead. Bucky parts easily for it, accepting it with an anxious whine. “Shhh, there you go.” Steve velcros it in the back and checks the fit, then opens the valve and fills the chamber with the PheroGel.

Bucky makes a tiny, surprised sound when the taste reaches him, his cheeks hollowing as he returns to suckling instinctively. Steve smiles and encourages him. “That’s right. You just focus on that, okay?” He pets Bucky’s face and watches as he visibly calms down from the pressure of the collar and the feeling of something heavy and Alpha-scented in his mouth. “There you go, Sweetheart,” he soothes. “Just close your eyes and focus on how that feels. Can you do that for Alpha?” Bucky sniffles and nods tearfully, and Steve’s heart squeezes as he watches his eyelids start to droop closed. “Good boy,” he praises him once more. The gag is a slow suckle design, so Bucky should be able to keep using the pheromones to self-soothe while Steve works on dealing with the Barnes.

He’s enraged that they’re here at all. Steve fully intends to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Forcing himself to pull away from Bucky and stand, he’s stone faced by the time he turns around to face the Barnes. He walks over to stand across the conference table from them. They’re sitting side by side, but Steve doesn’t pull out a chair to join them. He locks his arms and leans with his hands braced on the back of a chair. “What are you doing here?” he says, letting his full displeasure come through in his voice.

For a second, both of the Barnes look a little bit intimidated. Unfortunately, that doesn’t last. George Barnes seems to recover some of his willpower and squares his shoulders to glower back at Steve. “We came to get him,” he snaps, sparing a disdainful glance towards the corner where Bucky is huddled. “We came to take him home and now they’re telling us we don’t have permission. ‘Permission’!”

“That’s right.”

“Well that’s bullcrap. He’s our son!”

Steve smiles nastily at him. “Well unfortunately, Mr. Barnes, You signed paperwork relinquishing custody of him.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake. That was only a few days ago! We’ve changed our minds, so you just get him packed up or, er …” he glances back over at Bucky and winces in disgust when he sees his son: collared and rocking and stimming with the sucker strapped over his mouth. “Just get him ready to go. Take that crap off him. We’ve found somewhere to put him, and he’s coming with us.”

“‘Put him’?” Steve repeats, frowning.

“Yeah.” George raises his chin defiantly, looking every bit the asshole that he is. “Found out he’s actually worth somethin’, even like this.” At ‘this’, he casts another disdainful look in Bucky’s direction. “Milking center up in New Rochelle takes cases like him. Said they’ll pay six grand up front.”

Steve sees red so fast, he has to hold on tighter to the chair for a few seconds. “What?” he says, the word coming out quietly only because he’s so breathlessly fucking mad. “Are you fucking shitting me right now?”

George Barnes’ snide expression is more than enough of an answer. “At least he’ll be useful, not a leech on society.”

In his head, Steve hears Bucky’s tearful, bitter words from two days ago: 

“Just a waste of hardworking people’s tax dollars!” 

An unpleasant groaning sound meets his ears, before he figures out that it’s his own hands, stressing and warping the plastic backing of the chair. He pulls them away and glowers across the table at the other man. A fucking milking center, he fumes, wanting to pick the chair up and put it straight through George Barnes’ smug fucking face.

Because Steve’s been to those places, has been called in to evaluate the omegas housed in their custody. He’s seen the warehouse-sized rooms: filled with rows and rows of omegas, fat and sedated, restrained to benches and hooked up to machines, bred and fed and watered and hosed down in place, like animals.

Christina steps in, probably because she can sense that her employee is about to unleash imminent violence on their visitors. “Unfortunately, the law is clear in this matter,” she tells Mr. Barnes, as no-nonsense here as she is in any other situation. “You signed all legal rights to James over four days ago and you no longer have any say in his care. The hospital has full custody of him, and we’ve already approved a long-term guardian for him.”

“What?” George Barnes stands abruptly from his chair, sending it rolling back to thunk against the wall in his haste. “What are you talking about? You can’t do that! I’ll … I’ll get a judge. There’s no way you can just—”

“There’s every way we ‘can just’,” Steve growls, unable to restrain himself from being unprofessional at this point. Fuck it. He doesn’t work at Hydra anymore, so unlike in times past where he’s been forced to make nice with less than stellar parents, now he can say exactly what he’s thinking. “You are a piece of shit, garbage human being, who shouldn’t be allowed to raise a fucking dog let alone a child. I think that you should leave now. In fact I strongly advise it. Forget about ever seeing Bucky again—because you never will—and just be grateful that you got away with the level of abuse that you did for so many years without ever being charged in a court of law.”

George Barnes opens his mouth, ostensibly to say something pissy, but before he can, Steve tacks on:

“Oh, and in fact you should be very grateful that you did sign those papers when you did. Because if you hadn’t? You’d best believe I’d be making sure you’d lose custody of all your children before you ever got him back. Now why don’t you pick your jaw up off the floor, help your wife heft her sloppy ass out of that chair, and leave this place before you’re thrown out?”

Of all things, it’s the comment about Mrs. Barnes’s weight that fuels George Barnes into action. He gets alarmingly red in the face, and it’s to the background noise of his wife’s insulted screeches that he starts to come towards Steve (presumably with the intention of hitting him). But before he can so much as round the end of the conference table, Stanley is bursting through the door.

“Hold it! Not another move, Buster!”

At Stanley’s back, Rumlow is standing with his taser gun drawn and pointed right over Stanley’s head. It’s that sight which seems to catch Mr. Barnes’ attention, and he pulls back from where he’d been approaching Steve, hands raised and gesturing for his wife to get up, too. “Alright, alright. We’re coming. Geez.”

“Sure you were.” Stanley sports his tough guy face, proud of himself, and ushers the Barnes into the hallway. Steve’s opinion of Rumlow inches marginally higher when he sees him hurriedly holster his weapon and step back, so that Stanley doesn’t realize he’d had a little bit of backup, there.

With the Barnes led away, Steve returns all of his attention to Bucky. The tension of this confrontation seems to have had surprisingly little impact on him, and Steve is especially pleased when he sees that the orderly had at some point managed to get both a blindfold and a pair of noise cancelling headphones on Bucky as well. With the positive stimulus of the collar and gag, he’s much calmer. Steve hurriedly takes the headphones and blindfold off, followed by the gag. “Hey, hey baby.” He’s petting all over Bucky’s face, trying to read his expression and scent the state he’s in now. He’s surprised when Bucky blinks a few times and then looks up at him with clear eyes.

“Steve,” he breathes.

“I’m here. It’s okay. You don’t have to go with them. You’re safe. You got your words back?”

Bucky blinks some more, looking between Steve and the place where his parents had been sitting at the conference table. “... They can’t take me, right?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, Buck. That’s right. They can’t. They legally can’t.”

Slowly, Bucky’s expression starts to brighten. He smiles. “But you can take me,” he says hopefully. “To live with you. Because you’re my Alpha now, right? And I’m your omega?”

Steve doesn’t even think of propriety, he just leans in and kisses Bucky straight on the mouth. Bucky’s lips are so soft, and he whimpers and responds so eagerly. Steve forces himself to pull back before he can get carried away. “Yeah, bub,” he says happily, trying not to get emotional in front of Raynor. “Yeah. You’re my omega now.”

In reality, they’ve probably got close to a half day’s worth of paperwork and consent-confirming counselling sessions ahead of them. But in the way that Bucky’s asking about? Yeah. They already belong to each other.

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[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 1. Genus: Tragedy

Series Masterlist ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. 

She'll still come for you. 

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Light Angst; Slow Burn; Shocking Considering the Implications of Me and This Trope but Alas; Biologically Assigned Soulmates; Power Dynamics; Topping From the Bottom; Government Controlled Reproduction; Segregation of the Designations; Institutionalized Sexism; Vaguely Handmaidien Undertones; Incredibly Soft Despite the Tags; Be Not Afraid, Dear Reader!; Yearning; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Competence Kink; Alpha Joel; Omega MC; Very Soft Joel; Older and Jaded Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Age Gap; Size Difference; Size Kink

A/N: I've found there is an absolutely shocking lack of A/B/O in this fandom, and this is my contribution to begin rectifying that. I swear that despite the way the tags read, this is entirely and sickeningly sweet soft, comfort, caretaking fic.

Share thoughts, please. It's sort of a different one.

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

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Genus : Tragedy

To a one Mr. Joel Miller,

500 Sheahan Road

Clallam Bay, WA 98326

United States 

We are writing to inform you that as of January 8th, 2015 there remain two weeks until your designated omega’s twenty second birthday, and a year since she has come of age. We have made several attempts to contact you with no response. As mandated by the federal government, you must collect her by January 22nd, 2015 or she will be distributed to another individual of the designation alpha who would be willing to accommodate her. 

The omega’s evaluations are all up to date, and she has displayed pristine results in both health and behavioral tests. It is estimated that her first heat will occur soon, and we strongly encourage you to collect before the fever starts and our facility is forced to place her with another willing alpha that may see the process through. As she is part of the Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program, and is biologically paired to an alpha already, that being you, if not collected she would be placed in the bidding pool and distributed to the highest offer. 

Again, we strongly encourage you to contact our facility with a response on your decision as soon as possible so that we may prepare the omega. We would like to remind you that these creatures are delicate, and unexpected changes to their habitats and surroundings cause high levels of distress. It is of the utmost importance that we proceed in accordance with the omega’s nature. 

Enclosed is a brief note from your omega that she has requested to attach:

Dear sir,

I hope that you are well. I have been told that you have not decided if you will come for me, but I ask that you please do. I have been waiting, but they have told me I cannot wait anymore, and I do not know what will happen to me if you don’t come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do. 

And at the bottom, in a pristine and swirly pen, and kindly, her signature, there for him to see. The name of the woman, or girl, who seems to have taken all of Joel’s choices from him. He follows the letters with the nail of his thumb, scratching at the ink as if he could make it disappear, make the reality of this poor thing out there in the world waiting for him, disappear. 

At the outbreak of the designations, twelve years ago, there had been mass hysteria, mass chaos, a terrible uncertainty of how the world could continue on, segregated into biological designations as it had suddenly become. Thought to be a product of the dwindling population rates, some whispered a government experiment gone awry, a freak genetic mutation had begun to appear within the biological markers of certain people. 

Designations: Alpha, Beta, Omega. 

It was not that society had unfolded, lost sight of itself, it was more so that from one day to the next, a new and unknown sort of hierarchy had been established, those that were, those that were not. Those that could live their lives as they’d always done, unruled by their biological urges, and those now marked as something new and different and set by a different sort of mandates. 

Joel had been one of these people. 

The designations had become controlled, weaponized, systemized, almost immediately. Almost. Before the government had mobilized and taken stock and hold of the situation, there had been a momentary lapse of order. Chaos wearing the names and faces of the people he’d once known, people that should have been safe or protected, protective. The true nature of the dynamics were quickly revealed. Obvious: an unmated alpha in need of an omega was a volatile thing, quick to aggression, hungry for violence. Less so: an omega, once thought self sufficient, independent, autonomous, was found to be at times fragile, vulnerable, full of necessity. Both connected by that string of desperation that could only be soothed in a pairing of the two. The desperate drama of being no longer only yourself.

It should have been an obvious thing, the mutation, a byproduct of the dwindling population levels, reproduction rates, was in service of something that would correct this misdirection of nature. Alphas and omegas were, are, idealized pairings for one another in terms of reproduction, in terms of biological pairings. It should have been obvious that this would be wielded as a means of control. It should have been obvious that this was an untenable situation that would cast people into roles that left no choice for autonomy, for freedom. 

It should have been obvious to Joel, who almost immediately, and even though he had been well into adulthood, a father to a young daughter, presented as an alpha, growing pains once again this late into his life. It should have been obvious that this was a situation that should have necessitated greater care, vigilance, protection. After all, this was the role of an alpha. He should have listened to this new nature of his that was suddenly, demandingly, presenting itself, acted quicker, stronger, with more wisdom. But he’d failed, he’d continued to fail for years to come after that terrible night when the world had turned back to its base nature in a hedonistic attempt for the preservation of humanity. 

Alphas were immediately feared, ostracized, and above all else, obvious. A designation was not a thing a person could hide, especially not an alpha, the truth of their nature. Many were gunned down in the streets at the start, imprisoned, experimented on and sold, debased and tortured. They’d been caught, him and Sarah, separated from Tommy trying to escape the madness. She had, in her innocence and without designation, still only herself, still only his little girl, been caught in the crossfire of a world's desire to tame or trap something it could not understand. 

Joel had, in many and the worst of ways, been caught in the crossfire too. 

With time, years and the sort of suffering that can only be forced upon anything that is different or out of the norm, a system had been created. Government mandated programs, laws, registries that kept track of the designations. A hierarchy in which those that were essentially and biologically considered stronger than what a normal human should be, were ostracized, exiled, denigrated, muzzled, and those that would be considered weakest, left without any voice at all, without freedom either. 

The Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program had been established for the continued preservation and furthering of reproductive rates. A registry was created in which all those with the designation either alpha or omega had to present themselves on, biological markers determined, all choices stripped. The program served as a match making machine, when two biological markers presented themselves as compatible, as mates of one another, an omega was assigned to an alpha for keeping. To do with as they’d see fit. 

He had gotten word of her only last year. Twelve years of solitude, of nothing, of running from a girl with green eyes he’d not been able to protect and the reality of himself he detested, the what and why of who he was. He’d left Austin, wandered and hidden and groveled in the dirt like a worm until he’d finally found a quiet place to settle. A place alone, undisturbed. And for so long, he’d not been happy, surely, but he had been. Joel had been.

He looks down at the letter in his hand, dragging his thumbnail over the swoop and slope of her signature once again. This was a person who, as mandated by law or biology or fucking whatever, had been deemed as his. His other half, mate, ball and chain. The terrible reminder of what he really was and could not escape, in the form and shape of his perfect opposite. 

Last year, when he’d gotten word of her existence, that she’d reached the age of twenty one and was now ready and available for his retrieving, he’d balled up the letter and thrown it with such weightless force into the fireplace in his living room that the air filled wad of paper had fallen limp and nothingful just shy of the flames, rolling in the ashes and dust, coating the reality of this imposed, undesired fate in dark soot. He’d been so angry he’d gone out and howled at the moon like the beast the world would have themselves believe he truly was. 

He did not want to be an alpha. He did not want an omega. He did not want to live off the coast of Clallam Bay alone in this house he’d built with his bare hands because he had no other use of them now, no other function or purpose or meaning. He did not want it to be now, he wanted it to be twelve years ago. He wanted to still be a father. 

He did not want to be an alpha. 

He did not want an omega.

He crumples the letter in his fist, looking out at the bay over the edge of the cliffs from where the cabin is perched. From his spot on the deck he can see as far out as the sea allows, sight stopping suddenly as if the edge of the world had dropped off a ledge. Sometimes he longed, so, so badly, to go find that edge, to drop off it as well. He had only tried once. Never again. The grizzle of scar tissue at his temple, a testament to yet another one of his failures. 

The first summons had come two weeks before her twenty-first birthday, and he’d laughed, after the anger, he’d laughed. A girl-woman of only twenty one years, deemed of age, for the role the government or God had deemed her ready for, served up on a platter to him for his own ravaging. For the correction of what nature told was an anomaly that only their coming together could solve. It was sick, disgusting. He wanted no part of it. And so, despite the knowledge that this poor thing was out there, in some government facility, places they took omegas, many orphans, but also, oftentimes separating them from their families for so called safe keeping, just another word for kidnapping. Rearing and breeding and no choices, no choices for any of them ever. 

He’d ignored it, turned a blind eye and a revolted heart away from it all, and shirked the supposed responsibilities he owed this omega who he knew nothing about, who knew nothing about him. But nature is, after all, a terrible and inescapable thing. And not even so much the nature of his designation, although that did, unfailingly, play a part in his demise, surely, but the nature of his character, of Joel’s heart, that was the true heavy player. He was not the sort of man who could turn away from someone who’d rely on him, who’d need him. A responsibility. That was, he convinced himself, all he should or could see her as. And for a year there’d been a sort of tugging of a string from behind his navel, an umbilical cord connecting him to his ignored fate. He hated it all. He wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted to rot in his aloneness and misery and bitterness, fester in the fear that lived around him from the world. It’s why he’d come here, it’s why he’d exiled himself. Balanced on the tightrope border between the Salish Sea and the Makah Reservation on this high and pristine cliffside cut from the crust of the earth; he was left entirely alone, at peace with only his own chaotic demons to torment him. He wanted it this way, he wanted this; please, please, he’d already given away so much, lost so much of himself. Should he also be forced into this too? To sacrifice the terrible peace of his solitude to save this poor creature that was being forced on him. He wanted to say no, that he didn’t give a fuck, that what would happen to her could, it was no business of his. But those words… another willing alpha, bidding pool, highest offer… they made him see, not even red, black, black and devastating anger or rage or something horrible and base, and what could only be a product of mother nature railing against him for ignoring what he truly was. Something that whispered terrible words of mine, mine, fucking mine. A hiss he did not recognize, did not want to admit he recognized. 

He was old, weathered and beaten and past his prime. Unmated. At the end of his line and unmated and purposeless, and his bones were tired, but itching and clamoring within the confines of his skin that this was wrong, that he was wrong, and that he needed to right this immediately. 

That she’s waiting, and dear sir, I do not know what will become of me if you do not come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do. 

And so Joel goes to her because he knows she is waiting, because fate or purpose or nature is not a thing to be ignored forever. 

-

“It’s her birthday today,” the caretaker says, voice ascetic and cold and direct. Not a voice, Joel thinks, for soft things; cadence that has his teeth on edge, hackles raised. “You’ve arrived just in time. She’s been asking for you, and we’d just set her name in the pool, ready to release for auction tomorrow.” That black rage muddies the corners of his vision, and he focuses on the cold shock of the blank white hallway they’re making their way down. Hospital-like, barren and hard, this place, facility, prison, they keep them in, the omegas in the program. He feels slightly sick, uninhibitedly angry as if his teeth would fall out of his skull, as if he could throw himself to the ground as a child throws a fit, spew his anger for the world to see how much he does not want this, how vehemently he’s opposed to it all. 

“She may seem young and small, but she’s twenty two now. She’s ready, and she’ll take it as you wish. It’s what she was made for.” 

Joel seriously considers, just for a moment, killing the cretinous little man beside him. Take it, he says as if he has any right to speak of you taking anything that Joel would give you, as if it’s any of his business, anything he could ever understand if the beta stench oozing off of him is any indication. He hums nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement. If he parts his teeth he’ll take out a chunk of flesh. He should behave, there are easily frightened things nearby. 

White doors with a small circular window at the center line the hall on either side, endlessly down the length of the seemingly endless corridor. The caretaker, white scrubs, pristine like the rest of everything here, and Joel feels suddenly huge and bestial and brutish, marring and dirtying this place that is supposed to be of peace and quiet for the fragile things locked inside. 

A terrible place that makes him desolately depressed. You’ve been here so long, and he had not come, and it’s all just one more tally of failure on his rap sheet. 

When they finally stop before a singular door, the number fourteen emblazoned in large black, bold print just beneath the small viewing window, Joel suddenly feels– he can’t say for certain, he doesn’t know, or doesn't want to acknowledge the truth of the voices and sounds ringing in his ears, but he knows, recognizes it for the sound of the moment Sarah died all those years ago. His past and present suddenly clashing to meet here in this antiseptic white void, before the door to this fate that’s clamored in quiet waiting for exactly a year today. The sound of her voice, calling his name, saying it hurts, Tommy, his shouts ringing loud and then ebbing soft and as lifeless as she was while the reality of what they were living came to pass before Joel too, could realize. He’d left too, his brother, ran from the truth of Joel at the first easy opportunity. And she’s just there, her voice and her eyes and the feel of her is just there in his mind, on the tip of the tongue of his memory, and then the man opens the door and then there you are. 

He feels worse now, hulking, deformed, malformed like he was born wrong. “I’ll give you a moment,” the man says low, that cold voice monotone and almost too quiet to bear now. Joel feels he needs something loud and shocking. He fears he won’t fit through the door. “It’s better if you meet for the first time without distractions. She knows you’re coming.”

He thinks he asks if you’re sleeping, he can’t be sure, but he feels the vibrations of his throat work, his jaw move as if it’d come unhinged, his tongue swollen in his mouth, gums fat and painful, full of bile and terrible memories, and he is a badly made thing in need of some goodness in this moment. And then a shift of the small lump beneath the blankets, the reality of the moment snaps into focus, he steps inside the white box cage you’re kept in. The door shuts behind him, and then it is only him, the thing he would not be, and you, the thing he would not want. 

He doesn’t decide it until he finally peers into your eyes, that he can’t, will not, keep you. 

Wide, luminous and wet, but not afraid, wholly curious, peering up at him from above the edge of a thick wool blanket. Something drab and gray and stiff looking that immediately sets him on edge, brings that anger back, just the simple sight of the blanket. The two of you stare at each other in silence, the weight of that thing that tells of what you are, sitting heavy between the two of you as he looks down at you from his great height, presence that should be intimidating and cowing, looming over your prone and small form on the bed. But despite his stance, something swelling within him causing him to puff up like an angry dog and want to bear his teeth at you, despite the curtain of tears in your eyes, there’s nothing of the stench of fear. 

He shuts his eyes to the sight of you, huffing long and bullish through his nose, mistake, the scent of you, God, help me, and he listens to the rustle and shift of the blankets, opens his eyes to see a little nose peeking out from beneath the gray, drab thing to sniff primly at the air he’s now filling with his presence. 

Soft and warm and woman, the smell of a cunt that belongs to him. That’s what it is at its basest. More complexly: vanilla, bergamot, juniper berries, sweat and fever and salt. Taking a plunge off the cliffside, bypassing the sharp teeth of rocks that would kill you, waiting for the dark ice shock of sea and finding nothing but molten life. This is what you smell like. 

Worst of all, there is something in you that smells of him. His, yes, but not what he means, not his, him. Something that smells of recognition, like the two of you are the same. 

Something chained inside of him rattles at the bars of its cage, desperate to be let out and quenched. 

He steps back, frightened at your movement, at the reality of what the two of you are, so obvious here in this cage, at your perking up, your recognition of who and what he is, what he’s come for. You don’t speak, but you tell him. You wriggle beneath the covers, shimmying to turn and face him more fully, still clutching the blanket up high over your mouth, still covering half of your face, and he wants to bark at you to let him see, that he needs to see, but he grinds his teeth together. Molars going to dust down his throat, muscle wrapped around his mandible strung so tight he fears the fibers of it might burst and pop. 

You settle on your side facing him now, and then something to beguile him, to bring him to his knees muzzled and obedient and calm, the sweetest, sultry little crooning cry. Something provoking, alluring, something to beckon him to you in surrender and acceptance and welcome, come from your chest up your throat to his ears. He jerks back at the sound, your big eyes still expectant and wet but demanding now. I am here waiting for you. I have been here waiting for you. Come now. He steps back to your bedside, a too small, too stiff metal railed cot he’s going to wrap around that fucking guard, caretaker, idiot, whatever he is when he comes back, falls to his knees, and your little fingers peek out and up and over the edge of the blanket now. And you surprise him doubly, tenfold, more than he can comprehend – but he already decided he will not keep you, he already made up his mind – when you say: “You came. You remembered me.”

He could never have forgotten.

A low hum, a sound to make your eyelids flutter and your legs shift beneath the heavily draped blankets. “Today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? Would you like to come home with me as your gift?” 

He could never have forgotten.

-

The house that the large man who you’d waited your whole life and then a year for, brings you to – and you can’t be entirely sure, for you’ve so little experience or knowledge – but from what you can think you’re feeling now, from what you can decide, is lovely. 

He had taken you in a car, a truck, you like the sound of the word, —ck, —ck, —ck, and driven a long while, through the big city which you’d seen little of, between forest and beside sea, and then finally up a long and winding road and more forest, more trees and green than you’d ever seen in your entire life, until you’d come to a cliffside, the backyard a drop off of air and rock and endless dark water, and a small house perched just there at the edge. Wooden slats, weather beaten and salt lashed, a copper sloped roof, and two pert chimneys, despite the not large area of the house, cabin. It looks, very much, as if it had grown straight from the cliff rock, sprouted by the forest, strong bones that spoke resolutely of remaining where they were no matter how hard the wind howled. 

“How did it get here?” You ask the man, alpha, who’s name is Joel who has finally come for you after a life and a year of waiting. 

“I made it,” and his voice is rough and demanding of attention, demanding of you, even if you don’t know, although, you do understand, what it is he’s demanding. 

And you think, yes, of course. It looks a little, a lot, like him. Obvious, that it came from him. 

It would be easy to think that you’re nothing but young and stupid and untried. Just a little omega kept in a cage. But you feel, after this life, not life, of being you and the thing you are, that you’re none of those things despite it all. You had lived, you had been out in the world at one time, even if briefly, even if only as a child, green and inexperienced and innocent, and although you still remain all those things, you had been out there at one point. You had never had a mother or a father, dead when you were an infant, killed in the outbreak, but you had lived with your aunt, your mother’s, many years older,  sister, until you’d been ten years old. So you see, and he should see too, this man now before you, this alpha, that you were untried and inexperienced and young compared to him, but you’d had a decade of real life, even if it was the life of a child, even if afterwards it was a not life, but the before, that counted very, very much to you and so deserved respect and acknowledgement. And he should see that, although you do not know, you do understand.

After your aunt had died, and they’d taken you, first to the orphanage, and then to the place for omegas, after you’d started to mature and develop, perhaps that real life had ended. Or been put on hold, waiting for him, this alpha who seems, for all intents and purposes and from what you can gather from his sullen silence and dark looks, nothing like pleased at your presence here now. But then there was the: today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? And yes, yes it is your birthday. 

It’s your birthday, and you’re free. And yes, you’d lived the not life in the white box for so long, and yes, you are, in fractions, so afraid and knowing so little of the world, but you do know that you want to live and to see the sky. 

You want to see the sky every single day. 

His big clunking truck rolls to a slow stop before the house, a wide deck wrapping around the entire boxed thing of it, and he starts to move, unclipping his belt, grabbing the bag he’d brought with him stuffed with his clothes he’d promptly tucked and folded you into when he’d shuffled you into the cabin of his truck, and you’d been all thank you, sir, to which he’d given a shake of his head, only Joel. Only Joel. No other words, no other directions, only his hands pulling your strings like a puppet. You had accepted it for the chance to feel his touch, to familiarize yourself with the closeness of him. 

You want to know things. You want to know him. 

He’d barely said a word the entire drive here, but you could be patient, and they’d prepared you for this, after all. They’d prepared you long and well and told you all they thought you’d need to know. So you find yourself, and not at all shockingly, as you’d waited so long for this, for him, for freedom and the sky, and look, now there’s even sea too, not even a little bit afraid, only anticipatory in bated breath, stuttering heart, excitement. 

You had never seen the sea before, and you want to know things. You want to know him. 

He jumps heavy and thudding form the truck, and you start to shift, something suddenly frantic and clawing rolling in your chest when you realize he’s leaving the confines of the small space the two of you had found yourselves encased in together, the warm heat from the vents blowing his smell, his smell, all around you. You’d never encountered anything like it before. Salted vetiver and warm cardamom, something sweet and musked and heavy like what your fingers taste like after you’ve pet long and needy at that soft wet place between your legs when the hurt was so tight you felt nothing would sate it. It’s a scent that you think would devastate to have taken away now that you’ve tasted it. And it’s everywhere as the two of you’d sat in his staunchly imposed silence on the truck ride to this place he was bringing you to, his home at what seems like the end of the world. It’s in your nose and down your throat, heavy and cloying and sweet on your tongue, wrapping around your waist and covering your skin and your hands so that you’d even pressed your palms entirely over your face and rubbed yourself like a cat, coating yourself in him. 

The door slams, bringing you out of his scent induced reverie and back to the present, and you scramble to undo your buckle too, even though when he’d clipped it for you he’d very sternly said to not take it off, desperate to follow him wherever he’d go. But you realize quickly he’s coming around the front of the truck to your door, and then he’s there pulling it open and letting in a biting gust of wind come off the sea and up the cliffside to slash you across the face with its icy rancor. You shiver, teeth clattering and chattering in your mouth, trying to gather the blankets he’d cocooned you in, his too big, so soft clothes, more tightly around yourself, and find your feet. 

He gives a rough but soothing noise, and easy as anything, plucks you up and out of the seat and into his arms, kicking the door closed behind him as he goes. Into his arms. You hold yourself stiff and wide eyed, chewing on the tips of your frozen cold fingers, and staring at him this closely, it’s shocking. Large, had been the first thing. Tall and broad and thick the way they’d said alphas are. This you had expected. The rest, you had not. The eyes, you think, more than anything. His eyes, a strange mix of hazel and brown, but dark. Eyes, that even in your greenness, you can recognize as sad and angry. And the creases at the corners, between his brows, the gray threaded through the lush, dark curls and at the corners of the hair along his jaw. He looks like he would be someone’s father. The patch of bare skin, heart shaped, amongst the whiskers. He’s beautiful, and unthinkingly, or perhaps entirely intentional, you stick out one of your saliva soaked fingers and poke him gently there, only a small prod, to feel what the heart feels like. His gait stops instantly, that permanent frown he’d worn since you’d first laid eyes on him, deepening. “Don’t do that,” he gruffs, continuing his steps up the porch now, the dark, heavy boots you’d noted as he’d taken you from the facility falling thunk, thunk on the wooden boards beneath. He’d not given you shoes of your own. And at his tone, the grumpy look, you have the inexplicable urge to laugh. To laugh at him. Surly, you want to tease, but swallow it, itchy fingertips back into the warmth of your mouth to stop yourself from touching again.

Another gust blows against the two of you as he somehow transfers you, cradled into only one arm, to pull the jingle of keys from his pocket, and you’re jarred with painful shivers, huddling closer into the unbelievably broad expanse of his chest, the unbelievably steaming warm slab. At the touch of your cheek against his collarbone you realize all he’s wearing is a simple, green flannel, no coat, nothing warm. “Aren’t you cold?” It seems suddenly, supremely important you ask, head shooting back up. He peers down his nose at you, finally getting the door open, and his eyes are a very peculiar sort of dark, you cock your head at him, a very strange sort of creature this man is, who’s come to collect you, who you’d waited all your life and a year for. 

“I’m fine,” he says. 

You don’t believe him.

He sets you down on a large, dark leather sofa, chocolate, the hide smooth and worn and lived in. The rest of the house, not only a house, also a home, for it’s obvious in the way of his things, the way they’re arranged and fixed and the way they too live here, not only exist here. I’ll be like that too, you think. It’s all comfortable, it’s all warm, like a den and a place to relax and be protected, juxtaposed by the sight beyond the large windows, nothing but dark, violent sea as you’ve never before seen. 

He really had found a perch at the edge of the world, brought you here to perch as well. 

There’s a large fireplace, inlaid with large slabs of dark stone and thick beams of wood, and yes, this too is also obvious in a peculiar and particular way. The house very much looks like it was made by the hands of a single man in some way that you cannot specifically say, but can obviously see the truth of. He made this house, and then he came for you and now he’s brought you here, and you feel, suddenly, so pleased and warm and right. Everything feels so, so right. You sigh dreamily, suffused at once with a tight, deep heat at the pit of your belly, the scent of him everywhere, bubbles floating up from the bottom of you and seeming to pop out your ears. You lean back into the deep couch, wiggling this way and that, rubbing your bottom into the soft cushions to snuggle up, bringing the neck of his sweater he’d put you in up to your nose to breathe deep and long. 

He’s moving around, arranging things this way and that, a thick log in the slumbering coals, a pillow here, another blanket atop you, not looking at you, setting a wide berth once he’s settled the throw, not talking to you. It’s fine, let him do as he pleases and needs, you’ll sit here and watch. You can tell he doesn’t like to talk, that words cost him something, and you know so little, but you understand this. Words do cost something, truths, the truth of your before life and your not life. The truth of those realities cost. So, yes, you understand, and he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to yet. And looking at him, you realize that everything inside of you feels soft and bruised and little. And yet, despite all that, ready, in want and need of him. Ready to be big. 

Joel.

You must say the word out loud, his name, for he stops and finally turns to face you. There is something vibrational within him. Different. You’ve never seen a creature as such. You’d never seen an alpha before, not since you’d presented, you’ve never been around one. The caretakers were all always betas, people who would not be affected by the omega’s presence and fluctuations. 

He swallows once, twice, twitches and jerks and heaves a big sigh. He’s so full of energy as you, suddenly, in opposition, feel so sleepy and drowsy and ready to close your eyes and only feel warm and relaxed. You like his house, you might love it, even. 

Your eyelids droop low, slow blinks, and you watch his face fold into a frown. You want to laugh, he does that so much. They’d said that alphas could have big tempers, that they could be brash and aggressive and loud, but that the omega would naturally temper that. You think it may be true because as you watch him through the weave of your lashes, his frown deepening the longer he stares at you slowly drowsing on his couch which you hope he’ll never make you move from, the jitters and the shakes and the trembling that he’d seemed, just a moment ago, to be so full of, begin to quietly abate. 

He takes a step toward you, another and another until his shins meet the edge of the sofa, and you snuggle deeper into the cushions, making yourself into as little a ball as possible, so full of sleepiness. 

“How do you feel?”

“I like your house so much,” you slur, head drooping, lashes drooping. 

He clicks his tongue, makes that rumbly noise you think is an alpha thing because it has your eyes suddenly clicking open, sleep haze clearing momentarily so that you can look up at him again, and he’s looking at you so peculiarly. You scrunch your nose up at him, there’s no need to look at you so, you’re only an omega, only a little tired, nothing to stare at so strangely. 

“I’m–” he clears his throat, makes that rumble, growl, huff sound again, “I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

And oh, he’s so nice, you tell him, and, “I am. I’m so comfortable.” You melt further into the couch, and he crouches down to peer at you more directly, pulling a soft pillow from the opposite end and tucking it under your head, the large, rough cup of his paw cradling your skull, big fingers weaving through your hair. He arranges you so gently, like he’d take care of you. Like you’re here, finally, finally, you’re here to be taken care of. 

It’s what they’d said would happen, and you’d waited so long. You’d waited too long to be let out of the white box, for him to come, to see the sky. And now there was so much; of him, of the house, of the sky, of your whole life and the sea.

You nuzzle your head into his big hand, the heat of it searing your scalp, your ear tucked into his palm. “Brave girl,” he hums. He has such a deep voice, a good voice for an alpha, you think, a very good voice. You feel it vibrating in your toes and in your eyelashes and in your belly. “You’ve been through a great deal, haven’t you?” You want to say yes, you want to remind him that you’d waited for him for so very long, and that when you woke up, if you remembered, you’d be very cross with him for taking so long to come for you. 

“You rest now,” he says. “It’s all alright now.” Yes, a very good voice.

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[ao3feed-jonmartin]

Practical Arrangement

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/VShjUMm by karuvapatta Jon is forced to marry an alpha. But it's fine - in three years they will get a divorce, and his life can go back to normal. It's fine. (This is a Jon/Elias omegaverse arranged marriage AU I wrote for the Jonelias Minibang. Enjoy! ♥ ) Words: 5008, Chapters: 1/5, Language: English Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus, Martin Blackwood Relationships: Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Archival Assistant Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Boss/Employee Relationship, Slow Burn, Omega Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Internalized Misogyny, Institutionalized Misogyny, Mildly Dubious Consent read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/VShjUMm

[glare-gryphon]

Prompt: Hurt AU

I posted the link to this filled prompt a while back, but I can CROSS-POST. I am all-powerful.

AO3 Link: (Part One)

Prompt: “I know it hurts”, anonymous submission.

Rating: M

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker

Tags: AU - Modern Setting, A/B/O Dynamics, Professor!Obi-Wan, Student!Anakin, AU - Serial Killers, Graphic Descriptions of Violence

In its original form, this AU began as an ABO Negotiation AU that Icsek instigated, which grew into its own concept the more we messed with it.

Part One

The only noise in the bathroom is the dull roar of the tub as it fills, the lazy curls of the steam as it rises from the water a counterpoint to the tension that lingers through Anakin’s body. He stands by the bathroom door, arms folded protectively across his chest despite the way it pulls at the wounds on his back; Ben kneels by the tub, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows to keep them dry while he swirls his hand in the water, testing the temperate. A pointless gesture, Anakin thinks solemnly, his eyes darting from the floor to the once-pristine sleeves that are now dappled with a deep crimson. The same color stains Anakin’s clothes, his hair, his skin. This is nothing unusual, another part of the ritual, but he finds himself staunchly avoiding looking at Ben as he wears it. It turns his stomach, when he does, and he can’t quite figure out why. Perhaps it is the intrusion on his own design, blood and gore and savagery baptizing him anew every time he spills crimson across the floor of some dark, abandoned corner of Coruscant. Or perhaps, he thinks a bit manically, it is the staining of the man himself that brings him such distress, like a holy icon battered by the ravages of war.

Ben Kenobi: the god of Anakin’s own personal church. Not an alpha, but The Alpha. The one Anakin had known he was destined for the moment he set foot in the man’s lecture hall and drank of the scent that lingered in the space around him. Precise and poised and perfect, the way alphas rarely are but are certainly meant to be. He is fantasy come to life, an ideal given breath, and Anakin can barely stand to share the same air with such perfection.

“Aren’t you going to call the police?” He hears himself rasp into the space between them, and curses himself for breaking the spell.

Ben glances over his shoulder from where he monitors the tub’s progress, and quirks his brow as if to ask: should I?

Yes, is certainly the rational answer to such a question. It is generally considered the appropriate action to take upon discovering one man beating another to death in a filthy, disused alleyway. Especially when the one doing the beating is an omega, their victim an alpha, a crime that would certainly leave Anakin tagged and institutionalized in some padded cell for the remainder of his years should the authorities ever find out. Just the thought makes him shiver, despite the almost cloying warmth of the bathroom, but Ben just watches him with the same passively curious kind of expression he’s worn since he coaxed Anakin off the stilling body of his victim and tucked him into the safety of his car. Then he turns away and resumes watching the tub, tipping a bottle of something into the water that bubbles when he stirs it until a thick layer of foam covers the surface. Apparently satisfied, he turns off the tap and reaches for a towel, drying his hands as he rises.

“You may keep your undergarments on, if you wish,” Ben declares, and there is something sharp behind his eyes when he finally looks up at Anakin that has the omega swallowing dryly and fumbling for the hem of his shirt. It isn’t predatory, the way most alpha’s eyes would be when waiting for an omega to undress. Just...expectant. As though he can think of no plausible reason Anakin should question his command.

The alpha does, at least, offer him some semblance of privacy. Ben turns as he undresses, opening the first aid kit resting on the edge of the sink and busying himself with sorting through its contents. Anakin didn’t sustain too many injuries during his fight, but he knows there are a few that will need some medical attention. The ones on his back are the worst, and he can’t help the wince the crosses his face when he pulls his shirt off, fabric peeling away the blood dried to his skin and the edges of his wounds. His pants follow, dropped in a heap on the tile floor, and Anakin pauses with his fingers fiddling with the waistband of his boxers. He considers leaving them on, but the thought of wet fabric clinging to his waist and thighs is enough to add them to the pile of discarded clothing at his feet. Ben has already watched him kill a man tonight—a little nudity is likely the least of his concerns, now.

He has to suppress a hiss when he sinks into the hot water, whatever Ben added to make bubbles stinging in Anakin’s open wounds. He can’t allow the weakness; something primal at his core warns him against allowing an alpha like Ben to discover such a vulnerability. A vulnerable omega is one easily taken advantage of, and though Anakin uses vulnerability to lure his prey to their demise, *true* weakness is unacceptable. True weakness will get him killed. If not by his prey, then certainly by this alpha. There is something lurking beneath Ben’s charming smile that Anakin has yet to bear witness to; he would rather do so as a spectator and not a victim.

Ben returns with a wash rag, dipping into the soapy water and beginning to carefully clean away the filth and grime that cover Anakin’s skin. He does not comment on the omega’s nudity—the implicit trust it represents, though his eyes do spark when Anakin shivers at his touch. No alpha, no matter how impressive their self-control, is completely immune to the fairest sex. Still, Ben sweeps the washrag across his upturned face and bared neck in even, smooth strokes. His hands do not shake, his breathing remains even, even as that fascinating something dances behind the alpha’s eyes.

“You will have to be diligent with these wounds,” he murmurs, wiping away the evidence of Anakin’s misdeeds from his bruised and bloody knuckles. “They’re not terribly deep, but should you neglect them, they could very easily become infected.”

“I’m always careful,” Anakin replies, and Ben hums his quiet approval.

“Turn for me. I need to see your back.”

Anakin stiffens at this, the first real hesitation he’s had since catching sight of Ben in the alleyway. His traitorous heart picks up speed, and he knows the alpha can hear it. Fear, the primal kind—the kind that draws alpha predators like blood in the water draws sharks—makes his breath quicken for a short, terrifying moment before he can wrestle himself back under control. The worst of his wounds are on his his back, the gouges need to be tended to, but showing an alpha his vulnerable back is something any omega knows better than to do.

“I understand this may be an uncomfortable situation for you,” Ben assures. “I know it hurts, but your wounds need to be treated.”

Laying hands on his shoulders, Ben turns him with gentle pressure. Anakin is still not entirely sure it’s a good idea, but he forces himself to try and swallow down the fear and trust in the cool disinterest Ben has maintained through the course of their every prior interaction. This terror does not carry the same thrill as that of the fight; the exposure of his bonding glands to an unmated alpha could carry a much high consequence than a savage death. It is strange to find that his interest in this alpha and his fear of reciprocation are not mutually exclusive concepts.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Ben murmurs, as though sensing the direction of thoughts.

“Not anymore,” Anakin answers hollowly, staring into the tainted bathwater and tasting on his tongue the thought that’s lingered at the back of his mind since he was seated in Ben’s passenger seat and watching the city lights pass by.

Thoughts of tarp and rope and a sharp knife. Of the chemical sting of bleach in his sensitive nose and the watering of his eyes. Of a body, neatly tucked in to a well-lined trunk, dumped into a dark corner of the harbor. Of all these things fitting together in his mind like pieces of a familiar puzzle: he was not the only one hunting, this night.

It was no accident that Ben had stumbled upon him.

For a moment, the alpha’s hands go still against his back. Anakin bites down hard enough on his lip to draw fresh blood, waiting for a response. Denial, perhaps, or a quick end to his life. There is a switchblade in Ben’s pocket; he hadn’t seen the alpha remove it, before preparing Anakin’s bath.

He’s surprised, then when one of Ben’s hands squeezes tightly at his shoulder, the other skipping down the ridges of his spine. “No,” the alpha rasps, and Anakin’s breath hitches at the tone. “No, not anymore.”

[bataranqs]

What if I really want your thoughts on romantic tropes and how they can be made better though?? What if I like that kind of rambly stuff??

Darling I love you so much, I have prepared nothing and I’m running on half-thought out thoughts but I hope you enjoy this, oh but also DISCLAIMER no judgment to people who like these things you love what you love and you live your life!!! Knock yourself out and do what you do!!! My personal preferences should have 0 effects on yours and we are both 100% valid.

1. A/B/O dynamics! I realize this is more like a sexy thing but I’ve talked to a lot of people who say something along the lines of “idk why but I don’t like it” and I will give you the (most likely) reason: It’s institutionalized gender roles. Worse, it gives a biological reason what basically plays out as sexism. Omegas basically take the “female” role, alphas take the “male” role, and it’s just squicky. I have heard about a few fics that people who generally dislike this trope do like--specifically one in the YOI fandom--where it’s less like a biological thing and more like the way someone’s raised in society--but idk it squicks me so I just can’t. To be fair, I low-key hate most tropes to do with 

2. Woke Up Married - I don’t know if I can properly put this into words but there’s this idea that like when you see someone willing to be perfectly vulnerable with you and give you unconditional love then you will realize how much you love them but the truth is that people change and grow under their individual circumstances y’know? Who someone is after marriage, after x amount of years, is not the same at all as the person they were before they even started dating. It just feels--awkward isn’t the word, but it’s the closest I’ll get. If I had to write something like this, I think I’d make it very introspective and it’d make the person reconsider the person who they are--ultimately, this would change the future and I don’t think they’d even end up with the person their alternate self was married to. 

3. De-aging. I’d like to preface by saying I adore de-aging, just... not in a romantic way, very much for the same reason I don’t like accidental identity reveals. Generally I think there’s this premise where like “oh this guy comes off as an asshole but wait until you see their Tragic Backstory” which for me is... they’re still the same person. You saw who they used to be sure but... it wasn’t information they trusted you with, it doesn’t change who they are and that kind of falling in love, right after someone’s been unwillingly vulnerable and is currently insecure, it feels wrong.

4. Any kind of power imbalance? Teacher/student, slave/master (even if the master like, doesn’t like slavery and frees the slave, it’s still icky to me), any of that. It’s just... gross to me. 

5. Terminal hanahaki disease - I know I’ve talked about this before but this idea of like? You have to be loved back or you’ll die? That’s not someone else’s responsibility. That’s on YOU and YOU ALONE. I’ve just had way too many people crush on me to live with the ridiculous idea that the person who they fell for is in any way responsible.

6. Soulmates - People grow!!! And change!!! And this idea that somehow only one person is made for you? I don’t like that. It’s just--it undermines human freedom and will and choice and our capacity to grow and change and ultimately improve ourselves--I have read a few where the soulmarks aren’t pre-determined but they’re just like, indicators of love, which I think is okay, but ultimately soulmate aus just don’t vibe with me.

6.5. Reincarnation - same idea. That only one person is built for you? Across lifetimes? I just think humans aren’t stiff enough for such a love.

7. Sentinels/Guides - Going to be honest, I’ve only read about 2 fics with this premise before I decided it was Not For Me so I might be off on some counts but essentially it feels like soulmates but like a subgenre, where a Specific One True Love is the only one who fits with you, the perfect match, and that also... squicks me out. Also I think there’s this idea that this person is Necessary for your mental health which? I don’t like. You are responsible for yourself and yes, please depend on others, but like... ultimately if you always only lean on one person, you’ll only find yourself falling.

I’m sure I have more that will come to me as time goes on but this is all my mostly-asleep brain has got right now. And anon, if you aren’t one of my friends, don’t be shy! I love chatting to new people, and ultimately I’m just a nerd with weird opinions who talks a lil too much. Again, if you disagree on any counts, that’s totally valid and we can still be friends, this is just personal taste and honestly, trivial stuff even IF I get real worked up over it. Don’t forget to drink water, eat something, and rest well.

[tsukishima-tadashi]

I recently read all of your fics and wanted to know if you could expand on how omegaverse works in any of your aus because your writing absolutely kills me

!!! I hop around different omegaverse settings a lot—I blame ADHD brain—and there’s even settings, like the Worker Bee Beta-verse, that I haven’t even touched. (Maybe one day, Worker Bee Beta-verse. Maybe one day.) Anyways.

Big Nasty Below; Tread Lightly, Ye Of Vanilla Constitutions

Honestly? ‘The New Bitch’ happened almost entirely because of this fic: A Lucky Find. It’s an original work; no fandom. The setting concept is pretty much the same; alphas are born alphas and thus are raised in a position of privilege whilst betas grow up knowing that every day from puberty until complete maturity, they could one day find themselves an omega up for grabs to any alpha that gets their hands on them. Faustian-verse isn’t as specific in setting, I don’t think, but it is representative of all my musts:  Omegaverse-style sexism, male omegas with pussies, breeding, male lactation. A Rule of Thumb: Misogyny, when directed at guys rather than girls, is sexy.  Beyond that.... aaaaaaa I don’t really know what to be specific about?? Is there anything in particular you want to know anon? ;-; 

In general, all the bad things I have happen to Yamaguchi omegas is institutionally and socially accepted. You get your dick in an omega, that omega is yours.  I’m very fond of... “”“benevolent””” oppression in omegaverse. ‘These poor omegas that don’t want to be mated are so confused and pitiful. These omegas need alphas. An omega is at their happiest when fat with pups and making an alpha happy.’ That’s all very... general though. I have lots of more specific settings (most of which I can’t take full credit for because I’ve talked over them with friends like a hundred times); the omega rehab centers (for misguided and wayward omegas acting out due to the lack of alpha presence in their life), the “prestigious packs are very exclusive and omegas are basically an application/entrance fee” setting, the aforementioned worker bee setting (in which betas are completely infertile and rely on hyper-fertile alphas and omegas to maintain the population but theyre kind of sex crazy so betas have to babysit them and make sure they dont do anything stupid)...  I’m very fond of the “betas and alphas/omegas are two separate species, betas rule most of the world and see alphas/omegas as labor/pets/entertainment and regularly raid free, civilized alpha/omega colonies for new breeding stock to mate their beta-raised, dumb, borderline-feral alphas/omegas with” setting. 

[girlbookwrm]

i can’t believe i’m doing this

@jhscdood​ listen i got No Time to write the fics for this right now, but have some Fellowship of the Pod People (but not like that) Headcanons.

@ all of the rest of you, please for Eru’s sake help yourselves: literally nothing would make me happier than to have someone else write this shit so i could read it like the lazy asshole i am.

None of this will make a DAMN LICK OF SENSE if you aren’t familiar with the Not Your Mama’s ABO Clownfish AU that @silentwalrus1​ created with @skellerbvvt​ and @galwednesday​ in the Magnificently Weird MCU Stucky Gem Scents & Sensibility 

shit this got hella long don’t look at me but please all feel free to correct/expand/modify because I just whipped these off to decompress after a long day

The Númenóreans are responsible for all that “reef” “pod” and assorted “fishy” terminology, so while “pod” “reef” etc may be the accepted academic names, they’re often replaced with local variants and colloquialisms. The Númenóreans picked this linguistic quirk up from the sea-obsessed Noldor elves, so it’s sometimes used in Rivendell and Lothlorien too.

(The Sindar elves fucking hate that)

(Sindar use bee euphemisms instead. It’s all “hives” and “skeps” etc etc etc. Try to tell me Thranduil isn’t a Queen Bee. I FUCKIN DARE U. The wine is all honey mead. Hex honeycomb aesthetic for the win. Even the dungeons.)

(FYI Dwarves ALSO have a Hexagonal Aesthetic and that just Really Gets Thranduil’s Goat.)

everyone’s got their own local names for alphas and omegas too because seriously who fucking came up with that, i bet there’s a whole appendix at the end of the red book about terminology and shit

(Now I’m having meta thoughts about linguistics and there being a clownfish!Tolkien to go with the clownfish!Middle Earth. And now I’m thinking about the Inklings being a pod and if i follow THAT rabbit hole any further I’ll fu cki ng  AS C E N DHJKfghjk.)

Anyway

Men smell gross. Everyone else is agreed upon this. Unflattering comparisons to badgers and weasels have been made.

This makes “MANFLESH” 12000% more hilarious ur welcome

it’s funny cuz Men are big into perfumes. Incense! Herb Sachets! Oils and tinctures! Have you ever seen a olde tyme perfumers’ box? That kinda shit. Everyone has their Signature Smell.

but elves especially are like you still smell like man stop trying to hide it.

The Dúnedain embrace The Musk. (some have fully weaponized it)

this is very important: Aragorn Smells Amazing. (to be clear, still very Man Smelling, but awesome. first time he goes all I AM UR KING everyone in the throne room goes a little glassy eyed.)

Minas Tirith, being old, is very Old Numenorean Oceanic Aesthetic. Give me all that white stone carved to look like coral and driftwood holy shit YES. 

WHITE! TREE!! GARDEN!!! 

ATHELAS!!!! SCENTED!!!!! EVERYTHING!!!!!! (pairs well with lemon and other citrus smells.)

veering away from Gondor now

The Rohirrim stick with horse metaphors because of course they fucking do. Also, since they’re more nomadic, the entire concept of a “reef” as in a physical structure is kind of ??????? to them. So. “Reefs” = “herds” and “pods” = “bands.” 

Fresh Hay is considered to be Peak Homely Smell in Edoras. Tapestries! Only The Softest and Nicest and Most Beautifully Tooled leather! leather smells!

OH SHIT GIVE ME ALPHA-FOR-LIFE-EOWYN MEETING FOREVER!OMEGA FARAMIR *HEAVY BREATHING*

(oh shit while we’re in the neighborhood, Dúnedain Rangers tend to be solitary As, which spooks the natives like whoa, but the Ithilien Rangers are generally O, and their waterfall hideout is totes a big ole reef.)

hang on i forgot about elves

Listen, I’m not super into elves myself but I’m imagining that they are perpetually switching back and forth between A and O depending on the day — nay, the HOUR — and the extremes between A and O are much less extreme for them than other races.

Every other race finds this super weird and disturbing.

Legolas is like “hm this forest is making me feel very O.” And Aragorn and Gimli are just like ‘what’ and then suddenly Leggy smells very O too and Aragorn and Gimli are like ‘WHAT’

Feänor is the exception. He turned the dial all the way to A and broke the goddamn knob off.

Galadriel can go from Maximum Softe O to Roid Rage A in .0004 seconds. “iiiinstead of a dark lord yyYYOU WOULD HAVE A QUEEEEEEN!!!1!” and the Hobbits are literally bowled over.

Elves in general smell woody but also very ocean-y i think? Have you ever stood in a pine forest by the ocean, where you get those light, clean wood and cedar and pine smells all shot through with sea breeze? Like That.

But elves are more into visual/audio. Soft singing. Leaves moving in the breeze. The whisper of pages in a library. 

and the light. Elves are lighting wizards, they are all about that gentle starglow.

(I’m also having thoughts about the Lothlorien Elves embracing that A-ish urge to be Up High. A holdover from Galadriel’s time with the feanoreans? I'm not as up on silm lore as I should be)

but let’s get back to my happy place: 

THE MUTHAFUCKIN SHIIIIIIIIRE

Hobbits really embrace dat sweet sweet O lifestyle. good food and warm hearths. throw blankets and pillows. hugging and cuddle puddles and playing footsie. gardens. Gardens. G A R D E N S. 

“Going A” is done as rarely as possible. the transition takes about a month and Hobbits who are “going A” tend to call in sick like it’s some unsightly thing. 

Tooks have an unusually high rate of going A. Of course they do.

Bilbo has never gone A. Not! Once!

Neither has Frodo.

Sam did, after the breaking of the Fellowship. Merry and Pippin did, in Fangorn, when they grew six inches. The three of them all stayed A after that, for the most part. YES EVEN SAMWISE. it was v scandalous.

Hobbit “reefs” are called “warrens” (unless ur rich, then they’re Smials and they’re Only For Family) and their “pods” are “nests.” “Nesting” is a whole Thing.

Hobbits! Smell! Like! Baked! Goods! Not sweet but like… warm. Humans sometimes turn their noses up and call it a “yeasty” or “beery” smell but it’s usually much more a rising-bread smell. Pipeweed smoke and sweet florals make a nice contrast to the perpetual bakery window smell.

Hobbits are very mouth/taste/chew oriented. Mouthfeel is a Big Deal. Recipe Books are Heirlooms. Courting is frequently Food/Drink Oriented.

Rosie Cotton brews the finest ale in all the land and she did that for the express purpose of seducing Samwise Gamgee

He Did Not Realize.

Courting that is not food/drink oriented is Flower/Plant oriented.

Sam Gamgee became the finest gardener in all the land in the desperate hope of wooing Mr. Frodo.

He Did Not Realize.

Everyone Else Realized. Merry and Pippin especially considered it Peak Comedy.

(they eventually worked it out.)

last but not least:

there’s just no way around it. Dwarves smell like dirt. nice dirt tho! Petrichor and stone with hints of copper and metals. Smoke smells. Rich spice smells. Eau de forge is considered a particularly desirable perfume. Dwarves don’t particularly notice smell though (for reasons that will become apparent) when it comes to Softe Things they’re much more about dem sweet sweet sparklies, and fur, and being super fucking tactile.

Dwarves are SUPER into haircare, like, every night the Company of Thorin makes a braid circle and exchanges hair beads. 

(elves are also super into hair care. this too really Gets Tharanduil’s Goat)

Dwarf social structure is like… hobbits in reverse. They tend to default to A status, hence their general rowdiness but with strict codes of conduct to help manage conflict. They’re just these huge roving groups of A’s just rough-and-tumbling around their one O. dogpiles are peak pod bonding. aaaaand the alpha reek kind of tends to make them all a little noseblind.

Poor Bilbo.

Lucky, Lucky Bilbo.

But also poor, poor Bilbo.

Most dwarf Royals go O, but Thorin hadn’t been O since he was 24 and got chased out of Erebor by that pesky dragon.

Dwarf “reefs” and “pods” have their own terms in Khuzdul that do not translate well but have to do with crystal growth. Rough translations are “lattices” and “cells” (Hence the hexagon aesthetic)

Wizards Have No Designation. They Smell Like Gunpowder and Lightning. It Is Very Disturbing For Everyone Around Them.

A

N

Y

W

A

Y

Give me EveryoneLives!au Hobbit stuff. Bilbo trying to homely up the lonely mountain! Thorin going O and chilling the fuck out as a result! 

Give me fellowship!pod!! Aragorn is the diplomat! Pippin is the wild child! Gimli is the Adventurer! Frodo is the peacekeeper! Boromir is the den mother!

How Much More Heartrending is the Breaking of the Fellowship if the fellowship was a pod????

and then you’ve got the fractured podlings: Merry and Pippin bonding hard with their new Rohan and Gondor stress-pods. Sam going A to protect Frodo from Gollum while Frodo tries to adopt this weird frog into their pod. The Three Hunters as Nick, Nora and Nelson (Gimli is Nick, Leggy is Nora, Aragorn is Nelson.)

Give me post-war Legolas and Aragorn and Gimli (and Arwen too) breaking cultural boundaries and proving that yes! Interracial Pods Can Work! these differences are cultural, and cultures can be melded! nothing wrong with this! if half-elves exist and can have kids of their own, then elves and men are not separate species, and I’d bet a significant limb that the same is true of all the other races so

GIVE IT TO ME

ok i gotta stop now.

...

yeah there’s probably a star trek one of these coming too

kill me

(And hey jhscdood I’m not saying you have to come back at me with more lotr clownfish or ocean’s 11/Star Wars/M*A*S*H/Leverage/West Wing/whatever clownfish But I would certainly consider it a Fair Exchange if you did. MORE INSTITUTIONALIZED SOFTISM. MAXIMUM SOFT FISH FRIENDS.)

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Hydra Sanatorium"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word count: 2453

Tags: a/b/o, medical institutionalization, cognitive disability, made up kinky medical things, diapers, catheters, non-con medical procedures, restraints, forced wetting, hurt/comfort, humiliation, kind!Careworker Steve, bratty!Patient Bucky, alpha Steve, omega bucky, dub con everything due to a/b/o biology, dry humping, forced orgasm, masturbation, implied self harm, orgasm therapy, age difference (19/30), omorashi

Summary: Bucky is a troubled teen coping with the traumatic transformation of late-onset omega puberty.

Steve's been developing too much of an attachment, he knows he has. But he might not have the self control to remain detached anymore.

A/N: This fic contains heavy medical kink, diapers/wetting, and a/b/o dub-con shenanigans. Consume Responsibly.

Wait! I think I missed a previous chapter! Series Masterlist

Chapter 3: A Catalyst

There’s a staff meeting at five, and then Steve gets back to C Hall with the intention of saying goodnight to Bucky before he heads home for the day.

The orderlies have everybody in a darkened room for movie time, and Steve spots him sitting in one of the beanbag chairs up front, sipping a can of ginger ale and even smiling a little at a funny part of the movie. He’s all curled up and has a big soft cuddling pillow pulled up in his lap. He’s forgotten to be upset for the moment, and Steve finds that he doesn’t have it in him to disrupt that. So he speaks quietly to the head orderly in the back of the room and bids him goodnight, then slips out to head home.

He has trouble shutting his mind off that night, and it affects his sleep. When his alarm goes off for the gym at six the next morning, he resets it for eight, unable to make himself get up for anything less than Bucky.

When he gets on-ward, he immediately checks in with the head orderly on duty to find out if there were any incidents overnight. He doesn’t specifically ask about Bucky, but when the beta man informs him that nothing of note occurred, Steve finds himself breathing a sigh of relief, and he knows why that is.

He greets a few different patients as he walks around the Hall looking for Bucky. Everybody’s been fed their breakfast and allowed free time, which means Steve has a little bit of searching to do before he tracks his patient down. He finds him in the "soft room,” which is the room where Bucky’s cohort is always invited to go when they need some sort of sensory comfort or contact.

There are dimly-lit pods filled with all sorts of materials to be arranged to satisfy the nesting instinct, or soft foam forms for anybody who just needs to rock or hump on something for a while. There are little sense-dep stations where patients can zone out with their heads stuffed in ostrich pillows, or wear the blindfold and noise canceller sets. They can even request a staff member to bind them up in a snug comfort coat if they need to feel nice and bound-in and restricted. (In all honesty, ‘comfort coats’ are basically straight-jackets, but nobody calls them that anymore. They’re voluntary-use only, and these ones come in pretty colors and with ultra-soft linings.)

At the very back of the "soft room", there are some scenting stations where patients can use medicated props and tools to take in doses of synthetic alpha pheromones. That’s where Steve finds Bucky, sitting curled up against the padded wall with his eyes closed serenely.

He’s beautiful when he’s not upset and scowling or crying, when his body is relaxed and his dark eyelashes are fanned out peacefully against his cheeks. He almost looks like he could be asleep, save for the movement of his mouth as he sucks rhythmically.

Steve smiles softly and walks over, being sure to keep quiet so he doesn’t startle him. Bucky somehow senses his presence after a moment, though, and he looks up. His blue eyes widen and he pulls away from the mouthpiece as though he’s been caught doing something bad. The rubber is a dull shade of beige, thick on its handle and lolling slightly to one side once he lets it go. It’s really closer to the size and shape of a cockhead, though not specifically anatomical (Steve is grateful for that, because he knows there’d be zero chance of Bucky willingly engaging in suckling stim, if it was).

“Don’t have to stop on my account,” He says kindly, offering him an encouraging look. “You seemed like you were enjoying that.”

Bucky’s face colors and then clouds over in such a way that makes Steve suspect he’s about to get snapped at. Bucky always gets defensive when he gets caught up in his instincts, so of course he scowls fiercely at Steve’s suggestion that he might enjoy such a thing.

Steve sighs and sits down on the mat with him, folding his legs and leaning back against the padded wall. “How did you sleep?” he asks.

“Like shit,” Bucky grumps. “Thanks to the rubber tube you stuck up my dick.” Steve arches an eyebrow at him, and Bucky colors further, mumbling, “Feels like I have to piss all the time, or rub. It’s awful.”

‘Rub’, Steve knows, is Bucky’s term for self soothing through masturbation. Omegas experience it as a low urge most of the time, higher or lower depending on where they are in their cycle, and satisfied through the aforementioned ‘rubbing’, rocking, or humping behaviors. For them it’s like a form of stimming, and—absent a catheter being in place—it’s never discouraged by the staff on-ward.

Bucky grumbles some more and knocks his hand against the crotch of his pants ineffectually, but Steve just hums and refuses to feel bad about it. Bucky earned this consequence, and he’ll learn from it. Steve knows that he’ll have been uncontrollably wetting in his diaper for the past twenty-four hours, unable to keep his urine in or control his body’s urges. But he can still feel it happening, can feel the padding growing warm and heavy and unable to do anything about it besides ask a nurse to help.

“How’re you doing on that front, by the way?” Steve lets his eyes trail down pointedly. “When’s the last time you were changed?”

Bucky squirms. “This morning,” he reluctantly admits. “Why? D’you get off on that, Steve?” He scoffs when Steve’s lips tighten. “Yeah. I bet you do. Why else would somebody like you work in a shithole place like this?”

Steve’s first thought, silly as it is, is to wonder what ‘somebody like you’ is supposed to mean. He doesn’t ask. “Look,” he says instead, not rising to the kid’s bait. “I’d like to let you be uncathed today. But being a little jerk to me isn’t going to get you there. You have to earn it.”

“What?” Bucky asks, trying to mask his sudden eagerness, but Steve sees it anyway. “Today?” he checks, hopeful. “Earn it how?”

Steve shrugs. “If you’re good in your groups today. Participate. Respect the other patients and don’t backtalk the staff. Then I’ll take it out tonight.”

“Okay!” Bucky agrees eagerly. “I will!”

Steve narrows his eyes at him. “Lemme see you put that back in your mouth, then.” It’s half because he knows the pheromones will calm Bucky, half because it’s an act of submission on Bucky’s part, which is a humongous portion of his overall therapy goals. Bucky flushes but listens, taking the rubber mouthpiece back between his lips. Steve stares at him. “Let me see you sucking it, honey.”

That takes a second, but then Bucky gives in and his plush lips seal to the rubber, suckling. After a second, his eyelids droop and flutter closed from the pleasure. Steve spends approximately five seconds being a very bad man™️ and imagining those lips working just the same way around the head of his cock. If Bucky were his omega, he thinks ...

If If If. Too bad he doesn’t get paid for ‘Ifs’. “Okay,” he says softly, gentler now that Bucky’s shown submission. Bucky’s eyes open, and Steve figures he must’ve been sucking on it hard, because he looks slightly dazed, like he’s had a good head rush. Steve smiles slightly. “Feel nice?”

“Mmph.”

He chuckles fondly. “You’re good, honey.” He turns to look back at the room and lays eyes on the supervising orderly. “Sit tight, okay? I’m gonna go check your schedule.”

"Mmhm."

Steve drops Bucky off in a roleplay class and doesn’t see him again for the rest of the morning. While the omegas on-ward eat lunch and have their afternoon nap time, Steve’s boss pulls him in for a discussion about Bucky’s new custody situation.

“You’re planning on telling him today?” Raynor asks, tapping her pen against the binder she’s got open.

Christina is a very straightforward person to work under, and meetings with her never last long. It’s always right to the point. Steve likes that about her. “Yeah,” he says. “If he’s not in any kind of active tantrum or spiral after dinner, then yeah.

"Good."

"I put in for a few hours of overtime tonight. Just in case things go … roughly.” Because no way can he just dump info like this on Bucky and then clock out for the day and abandon him.

( "Sorry your family doesn’t want you anymore. See ya’ tomorrow Kiddo!" )

Yeah, no. “I’ll stay overnight if I have to," Steve decides.

“Have you mapped out a plan?”

He shakes his head with a weary sigh, unhappy about the situation. “Nothing’s going to make it okay. I thought maybe if we had close contact. Touch. Something for him to scent. I could tell him right after a lap session.”

Christina nods, tapping her pen as she mulls that over. “Well I definitely think it just being the two of you in a small space is smart. We both know he doesn’t do well in groups.”

“Not for something like this.”

“Frankly, I’m worried about self harm after you tell him,” she says bluntly, looking at Steve like she’s trying to read him for psychotherapy. “You’ll put him on protocol, if he makes any threats or comments.”

It’s not quite a question, not quite an order. She’s waiting for Steve to agree though. He takes a deep breath and nods. “I’ll make sure he’s not left alone,” he promises.

“That’s not what I said.” Christina sits back in her chair and watches him for a long moment. “I already know you cathed him yesterday."

"Oh. Right."

"And you left it out of your p.m. debrief why exactly?” Steve winces, and Christina softens. “Look, I know you’re close with him after all this time. You care about him a lot.”

“Sure.”

“There’s no one better to be on his case, Rogers. I know that.” She cants her head at him, “But are you sure you’re still able to make the tough calls on this?”

Steve frowns, offended. “Yes,” he says. “Christina. Jesus. Of course.”

She shrugs him off, already turning back to other case files that she has open on her desk. “Go on then. Make sure you have time and space mapped out to spend with him after, if it doesn’t go well.”

Steve nods. “Sure. That’s all?” He’s still kind of borderline peeved that his boss (whom he has a stellar opinion of and whom he’d thought had a stellar opinion of him) just double checked with him to see if he was still objective with a patient. He grumps about that all the way down to the staff cafeteria and lounge.

There are a few of the jack-booted alpha guards from Corrections Ward down there, and he greets them when they call out,

“Ey, Rogers!”

“Hey guys. Rumlow.” Steve nods at everybody, bypassing them for the salad bar. It’s subpar, but it’s got lettuce, hard boiled eggs, and chicken, so Steve never complains. “S’up, guys.”

They throw some vague chatter his way and he sends some back, then chooses a spot that’s tucked away from their table to eat his lunch. He’s not really in the mood to chat with them right now. They’re not the most polite people, and they don’t talk very nicely about the omegas in their charge. They deal with the criminally sentenced, treating them like especially stupid inmates and that’s about it. The omegas in corrections get no more than the most basic sort of therapy—infrequent, and with debatable rehabilitative value. Steve doesn’t approve, but it’s not his business or his job, so he leaves it alone.

Sam texts him as he’s eating, and they go back and forth about the first two days of both of their work weeks—good natured, commiserating-"fuck I can’t wait till hump day’s come and gone"-type stuff.

Sam works in private practice, which Steve is insanely envious of. The group of practitioners that Sam’s joined under have good funding, good resources, and very nice facilities. People don’t get steamrolled by the system there. And the clients coming through are usually lower needs, from much happier home situations. It’s like the Ritz compared to what Steve has at County.

He texts a bit about Bucky to Sam. Not using his full name, of course, but Sam knows about “James” and his long history on-ward. Steve texts that he’s got to drop the bomb about his parents on the poor kid tonight, how he’s worried. ... And how his boss called him out on how worried he is.

Yikes, Sam texts. What do you think?

Steve stabs a large chunk of egg white and stuffs it in his mouth, chewing ruthlessly. I think I’m very attached, he admits to Sam, because he knows he won’t face repercussions for admitting it to his friend. … Maybe a little too attached. Sam doesn’t text back for a beat, and then the three little ‘is typing’ dots keep moving, [...] [...] [...], like Sam’s either writing out a damn dissertation to tell him off for his unprofessionalism, or else keeps deleting and retyping things he’s not sure he wants to say. Steve grimaces before he’s even received a response and hastily texts, I haven’t acted on it. It’s not affecting the care he’s getting here. … Just ... idk.

[…] [...]. Sam’s dots pause. First of all, you're the only person in existence who actually uses ellipses in a text.

Steve snorts.

Fuck off.

And second, it’s a lot easier to push people through a shitty system when you don’t care about them. Caring about them is when it gets hard. That’s when I left. Couldn’t do it anymore.

Steve doesn’t take it personally when Sam says it's easier when you "don't care about them." He knows how Sam means it: when you don’t care about them on a personal level but as a patient, when you don’t have feelings for them. It’s true. And Steve knows what he should do. He should turn Bucky over to another handler. Someone who isn’t compromised.

But he just can’t bear the thought of doing that to the poor kid. Deep down, instinctively, he just knows that it would devastate Bucky. Rejected by his parents, and then his handler, too? It might ruin him completely, who knows? Steve’s been the one constant in this poor boy’s life ever since a high school nurse pulled him aside and whispered that they’d have to call his parents in for a "special" meeting. Bucky needs Steve. And Steve, well … he can’t bear to let him go.

Riley? he texts to Sam, already knowing that that’s what the other man’s breaking point was.

Yeah man. Riley. My catalyst.

Steve wonders if Bucky might be his.

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[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine : Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. 

She'll still come for you. 

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Light Angst; Slow Burn; Shocking Considering the Implications of Me and This Trope but Alas; Biologically Assigned Soulmates; Power Dynamics; Topping From the Bottom; Government Controlled Reproduction; Segregation of the Designations; Institutionalized Sexism; Vaguely Handmaidien Undertones; Incredibly Soft Despite the Tags; Be Not Afraid, Dear Reader!; Yearning; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Competence Kink; Alpha Joel; Omega MC; Knotting; Heat Sex; Mating Rituals; Very Soft Joel; Enthusiastic Consent; Older and Jaded Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap; Size Difference; Size Kink; Breeding Kink; Brat Taming; Loss of Virginity; Not Safe to Read if Triggered by Pregnancy

Read on AO3

Genus: Tragedy

More Intelligent Than a Face

I Was a Child Once, I’m Not Any Longer

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[fuckingfinwions]

New A/B/O AU, set in Tirion. Lots of albeism in this one

Almost all elves are betas. Less than 5% of elves are alphas or omegas, which can be detected from an early age. Of course their families will still be nice to the child, but they aren’t seen as a person who can make independent decisions, too driven by their feral instincts.

Feanor’s first born child is an omega. Feanor still arranges for tutors for Maedhros, so that he can live as full a life as possible, and be able to read and learn to the limits of his ability even if he’ll never be able to function in elven society. But Maedhros has no need for lessons in court etiquette, and would be incapable of practicing a trade, and of course Maglor is Feanor’s heir. Maedhros grows up knowing his family loves him, but he also knows that someday soon he’ll start having heats, so he’ll never be smart enough with enough self control to live on his own.

A few percent of the population isn’t many, but it’s enough to have procedures for alphas and omegas. (After all, earth cities have dog parks.) When Maedhros goes into heat, Feanor takes him to the Heat Hotel. He makes sure Maedhros showered beforehand, and is fed and well hydrated. Then he carefully places a gag in Maedhros’s mouth, and ties a mask around his face. (If alphas and omegas chat and get to know each other, they might develop a relationship and try to bond! But it’s cruel to leave an omega unsatisfied in heat, and only an authentic alpha knot will work.) Feanor asks Maedhros if the mask is too tight, and when Maedhros shakes his head, checks Maedhros into one of the rooms.

Then Feanor takes the key to go mingle with the other guardians of alphas and omegas. When he finds one he trusts, the guardian arranges for their alpha to go into Maehdros’s room and fuck him. Once the knot goes down, the alpha’s guardian will lead him out of the room, and away to another omega. So Maedhros gets fucked by a dozen or more anonymous alphas every heat. If he mentions afterwards that one hurt him, Feanor won’t let that alpha at him again. (And there’s a small window into the room, in case either guardian wants to supervise and be sure no one’s hurt

The alphas are all wearing masks and gags as well, so they can’t bite and bond the omegas. Feanor also usually gives Maedhros contraceptives beforehand, so there’s no need to keep in contact with any of the alpha’s families outside of heat. And if Feanor decides that Maedhros should get bred, there’s still no need. Since Maedhros isn’t capable of running his own household, his children would be raised by Feanor, as Feanor’s sons. (The downside is that only around half of the offspring of alpha/omega couples are betas, and the others are unfit for society (alphas or omegas).)

And after his heat, Maedhros goes back to Feanor’s house with all his younger siblings. He can walk around the house and grounds, and ask for things from the servants. Sure his bedroom door has a lock on the outside, but it’s almost never actually used, only if he’s behaving erratically or if his heat started unexpectedly. He can even go into the city if he has a minder, to make sure he isn’t so overcome with sexual urges he forgets the way home or tries to molest someone. Maedhros knows that his families does a lot of work to accommodate his condition, and he’s so grateful for it.

Maedhros doesn’t have close friends really, but his cousin Fingon is also non-beta, and they write letters sometimes sympathizing with each other and coming up with more hobbies to do stuck at home. (After a few months it comes up that Fingon is an alpha. The main difference in daily life is that Fingon can schedule his trips to the Heat Hotel - alphas don’t have heats per se, but they get more and more aggressive the longer they go without knotting someone.) The letters are an especially good way of passing the time when Feanor skips the contraceptives one heat, and Maedhros get bred with twins. Maedhros isn’t allowed to leave the property even with an escort until after he gives birth, as pregnant omegas are “more vulnerable” (hornier). But once Amras (beta) and Amrod (omega) are born, Maedhros is back to his normal routine of occasional walks in the forest or trips museums as longs as he stays within arms reach of his brothers. Maedhros hasn’t met Fingon in person of course, as everyone knows that an alpha will try to bond and breed any omega they encounter unless restrained.

That is, Maedhros and Fingon think they haven’t met in person. Actually Feanor and Nolofinwe encountered each other in the guardians lounge of the heat hotel years ago, and decided to see if their sons got along. Maedhros and Fingon got along very well and relaxed each other a lot, and since then Feanor notifies Nolo whenever Maedhros is in heat. Sometimes Nolo’s family has other plans of course, but usually Nolo will take Fingon down to the Heat Hotel to let off some steam. Some heats, they even let Fingon and Maedhros fuck multiple times! Feanor always makes sure to cycle in other alphas as well though, as everyone knows that if you let an alpha and omega spend an entire heat together even without bonding, the alpha will get growly and possessive. You generally have to use force to separate them at that point, and they’ll both be sad for months afterwards. Best not to let them get dependent - unless they’re going to bond.

So one day, Nolo walks into Fingon’s room. “I’ve been speaking to the guardian of an omega, and I’ve found someone for you to bond with. You’ll get along well”

“Oh? Who are you thinking of?” Fingon can try to talk his father out of it if he hates them, but if he’s in the room with an omega in heat and his mouth is free to bite, Fingon knows he’s going to bond. And the idea of an omega who is his, who he doesn’t have to leave after just a few hours, to bear his children and be in his bed every night, is really something he’s looking forward to. Some alphas and omegas are single forever, and he’s glad that Nolo is trying to make him happy, so Fingon will try to like this omega.

“Feanor’s son Maedhros. We know you’ve been exchanging letters, and Feanor thinks it’s time for him to have a mate.”

“Right, he said he’s a couple years older than me. We get along with each other by letter, but I don’t know if he’ll be physically my type.”

“There’s no need to worry about that. You’ve already relieved his heat over a dozen times; he’s the tall redhead who always kneels for you. Now that I think on it, you may have sired Amrod and Amras; the timing works.” Nolo paused.

Someone had hidden Fingon’s children from him - no, he remebered, the twins were legally Feanor’s sons because alphas can’t raise children fit for polite society. But Fingon had fucked that redhead so many times, and he’d thought it was the same one but he hadn’t been certain. That omega ought ought to be his already, with the number of times Fingon had knotted him. And Fingon’s bred omega had been so close; he had read all those letters from Maedhros complaining about sore feet and Fingon could have just gone down the road and shoved him to the floor, knot Maedhros until Maedhros was unable to think of anything but Fingon’s cock, if his feet were sore he should stay on his knees -

“Fingon, you know better than to growl at me,” Nolo said.

Fingon stopped growling. This was why, he reminded himself, he couldn’t go out alone in public; no one wanted to deal with someone snarl like an animal every time he was disappointed. Fingon very carefully focused on the bright side. He knew his future mate’s personality and body ahead of time, and liked both, so they would definitely get along once bonded. His father hadn’t just arranged a way for Fingon to be calmer by fucking someone regularly, but a relationship that he would enjoy.

“Sorry Father. You’re right, I think we will get along. Thank you for finding me a mate.”

“Of course Fingon; no one but the best for you.”

“Can I go see Maedhros in person, now that I know who he is, and we don’t have to worry about getting attached because we’re already planning to bond?”

“That can wait for the bonding, at the start of Maedhros’s next heat. It would be a better use of the next three weeks to decide what you want to pack.”

“I don’t think it will take me three weeks to pack for my honeymoon seclusion, unless Feanor is planning to make it tradtional and wall us into a cabin with no other food or water.”

“Of course not! Feanor built a house for Maedhros and his future mate as soon as he knew Maedhros’s condition. It has a courtyard that’s completely enclosed by the house, and only one door to the house itself. There’s even separate locks on the door of the house and the main bedroom, so you can cook for yourselves if you’re lucid enough, or have food dropped off without servants coming into your space.”

A house just for Fingon and his mate, where he would be the one in control, satisfied his instincts, even though it would mean less ability to explore the city since he would’t have his beta siblings on hand. “That sounds wonderful. Do you think Feanor would put locks on the inside of the door as well? It would help me feel like I was keeping my mate safe.”

“I’ll ask, and at least the bedroom should be fine; we already know you treat Maedhros well. There’s rooms for your children as well though, and they’ll need care even when you and Maedhros are too heat-drunk to do so.”

“I understand, Father.”

__

Maedhros was not yet in heat when Fingon was finally allowed to meet him. But he was clearly on the cusp of it, blushing and fidgeting with his sleeves out of nervous energy, and smelling so sweet.

“Hello,” Fingon said.

“Hello. You’re very handsome.”

“So are you.” Fingon brushed Maedhros’s hair back. “I want you now.”

“Bonding doesn’t work outside of heat-”

“But your ass does. I want to see your face while I fuck you and hear you moan my name, and I can’t see any more reason to wait.”

“We’re in outdoors, anyone could come by.”

Fingon grabbed his future mate’s hand and walked into the house. “We have a home just for us, and I want it to smell of us and sex when I bond you. Unless your family has a welcome dinner planned for tonight, we can start now.”

“Nothing is planned for tonight. They wanted to give us time to get familiar without having to track too many other things.”

“Good. Kneel for me right here on the rug. Or I suppose you can run back to the main house now and get your father to call it off. ”

Maedhros moaned, and it sounded even prettier without the gag. He knelt. “It feels like we ought to get to know each other better before falling into bed.”

“You’re thinking like a beta. We wrote letters and I had you in heat, that’s plenty of courtship. Now I’m going to fuck you like my bitch, because you are, and you’re not going to argue anymore. Will you obey, or will I have to hold you down?”

“I’ll be good, alpha.”

“Good.” Fingon gave Maedhros a finger to suck on, and soon they were both too busy to talk.

___

Feanor walked in to find them still half-undressed and cuddling in front of the fireplace. “Seriously? I designed a very nice bedroom for you Maedhros, and you don’t even bother using it.”

Maedhros started to apologize, but Fingon cut him off with a growl. He was the one who decided where and when Maedhros had sex now, not Feanor. “This is our house, and I can have sex with my omega wherever in it I want to.”

Even Feanor knew better than to directly contradict an alpha whose omega was in heat. “You can, but I expect the beds will be more comfortable. And the servants won’t enter the same room as you two during heat, so unless you want to spend a lot of the next two weeks cooking I suggest leaving the entryway.”

Fingon stood up and led Maedhros to the bedroom. He slid the bolt into place, and heard Feanor turn the key from the other side. (It wasn’t so different from the start every heat before for Maedhros; his father’s voice and a hand on his wrist and an unfamiliar bed and a locked door.)

The room was very large - it currently held one enormous bed, but could easily have fit three or four, along with a seating area in front of a fireplace, a small desk with parchment for letters, and an attached bathroom. A second door led to the promised interior courtyard, but Fingon was distracted by movement at the corner of his eye before he could investigate it. He spun to see who else was in the room, but it was only Feanor.

Feanor was pushing back the curtains on the outside of the plate glass windows - windows that made up the entire front wall of the bedroom. Anyone standing in the hallway outside would be able to see in.

Fingon didn’t think, he just pushed Maedhros behind him and out of sight. Not that it worked, Maedhros just peered over his shoulder. “Dad, what does our bedroom have windows to a hallway? And why aren’t the curtains in here?”

“This will be your first time sharing your heat with the same alpha for the whole time. It can cause heightened responses, both emotionally and physiologically, so I’ll be checking to make sure you’re alright.”

“Maedhros is mine,” Fingon cut in. “You gave him to me, and I’m not giving him back.”

“Of course he’s yours, but if he’s hurt I’d like to know. I can get healers for him.”

“I’m his alpha. I can take care of him and protect him without your help.”

“I’ve watched out for him with you before; the windows in the heat hotel let anyone passing by see in.”

“Maedhros isn’t in a heat hotel now; and he’s never going backto one. He’s mine, and doesn’t need to think about anyone else during his heat.”

Maedhros wondered if he should be worried about his mate getting along with his father, maybe try to smooth thing over. But Fingon was so commanding and forthright, and every word he said went straight to Maehdros’s loins.

Feanor sighed, “No one is going to make either of you leave the house, or even the bedroom. I’m going to make sure - to help you make sure - that Maedhros is safe, especially as you aren’t yet familiar with what he looks like when unwell.”

Fingon stared Feanor down. “Fine, you can look and see if Maedhros is healthy. But I’m not bringing him up front on your word, and you definitely don’t get to touch.”

“Of course I won’t touch him, he’s my son.”

Fingon snarled at the possessive adjective, but didn’t argue further. Instead he turned and pushed Maedhros backwards onto the bed. If Feanor wanted to watch Maedhros be fucked until every part of his body bore Fingon’s marks, Fingon couldn’t stop him. As Maedhros’s beta guardian, Feanor still had more legal authority over Maedhros than an alpha bond-mate, because Fingon had so little authority of his own. But Fingon wasn’t going to let an audience distract or delay him from thoroughly claiming his omega.

[fuckingfinwions]

Amrod's first heat in the institutionalized/dehumanized a/b/o verse

Maedhros and Fingon were sitting in their bedroom. Fingon was trying to knit, and Maedhros was drafting a letter to one of his pen pals. (He of course had people to talk to now, people who sympathized with being incapable, between Fingon and their children. But he had built the habit of writing, and he saw no reason to stop.)

Fingon glanced over. “Any interesting news?”

“Not really. Glamdir has a vegetable garden now; he asked if I had any experience with making sure it doesn’t wither when he’s away.”

“And the thought of Glamdir being away got you so excited?”

“No! I would never want anyone but you, and he’s an omega besdies.”

“I wasn’t accusing you, but something has you worked up.”

“Nothing does - though you could change that if you want,” Maedhros looked up from his eyelashes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can smell how wet you are.”

“I’m not! Are you sure you’re smelling me?”

Fingon sniffed, “It’s a little different, but it’s definitely an aroused omega. If I couldn’t see otherwise, I’d even say in heat. Could there be an animal that smells like that?”

“I’ve never heard of an animal that smells like that, but I suppose most authors wouldn’t notice.”

“Let’s look around the room for whatever it is.” Fingon stood and stretched, displaying the bulge in his pants. “Then you can suck me off.”

“Alright, but let’s find it first, so I don’t get a strange creature clawing at me during sex.”

“Nope, I’m the only one who does that.”

There was a moan from the other end of the room, obviously made by an elf not an animal.

Maedhros was closer, but Fingon pushed him into a chair. “Stay.”

Maedhros worried about Fingon, approaching the intruder. But Fingon would only be able to focus if he knew his omega was safe.

Fingon held the fire place poker and threw back the bed curtain. He immediately dropped the poker. “Amrod? You shouldn’t sneak up on me, or eavesdrop.”

“Sorry, Fingon Ada. I felt weird so I wanted to talk to you, but the bed is so soft. And my head hurts less.”

“May I come closer, dear?” Maedhros asked.

Fingon nodded distractedly as he leaned in to the bed. “So you’re what smells so delicious. This is your first heat, Amrod.”

Maedhros rushed forward at that. By the time he got to the bed, Fingon was caressing Amrod’s chin - he couldn’t reach Amrod’s neck, with the collar that Feanor had insisted he wear years ago to prevent bonding if he was going to live with alphas. But Amrod was still in his nightclothes, and though they hadn’t ridden up it would be only a work of moments to push them out of the way.

“Heat? But - I’m not old enough to be bred yet!”

“Your body goes through a heat even if you’re not going to get pregnant. It give you practice. Maedhros had dozens of heats before he got pregnant.”

“Is that why the bed smells so nice?”

“Yes. You’re smelling an alpha, and a place where an alpha has fucked a lot in particular. That’s what your body wants, to be fucked and knotted.”

Maedhros spoke up, “Alpha, what are you doing?”

“Taking care of my family.” Fingon grabbed Amrod by the arm, making him moan again. “Take one of our pillows to his bedroom.”

Maedhros nodded. Fingon followed with Amrod, who was half stumbling, bumping into walls and moaning whenever it hit somewhere sensitive.

Fingon opened the door, and glared at the knob. “No lock. Maedhros, stay here and comfort Amrod, tell him what to expect at the Heat Hotel. Meet my in our bedroom once he’s got another guardian.”

Then Fingon walked out of the room. It was an amazing display of fortitude, with an omega in heat right there. No one would have blamed him for knotting Amrod, so tantalizing and trusting. He hadn’t even gotten Maedhros to take the edge off, just walked out!

But Maedhros had more important things to do than admire his mate. He gave the pillow to Amrod - Maedhros had been hugging it for a bit, but the scent was still mostly Fingon’s. And omegas don’t get truly territorial like alphas.

Maedhros had told Amrod about the heat hotel before, but Amrod had obviously been bored, too young to see the appeal. Now Maedhros repeated it, first a dry summary of what to expect, then a luscious promise that it would feel so much better, truly full and satisfied, held down and owned, protected from the whole world.

Maedhros did his best to stay truthful, though. "It will be terrifying the first time an alpha leaves after one round, your instincts say that means no one is keeping you safe, and you can't think we'll during heat. But Father will be watching to make sure no one hurts you, even though he's a beta. And there will be another alpha in just a few minutes, so you don't have to be alone."

__

Amras didn’t sprint through the halls and pound on Feanor’s office door. Alphas and omegas might behave that way, but betas ought to know better. Instead Amras walked, and knocked politely, then again after a carefully counted minute.

“What is it Amras?”

“Amrod - he didn’t come to lessons today, so I went to see him. After my own lessons, I know it’s important that I learn things.”

“He might start falling behind in lessons soon even if he attends them; omegas' minds stop developing earlier, to put more energy into their bodies.”

“I know, that’s why I’m here! Fingon was there when I opened the door, and he said Amrod is in heat. He wanted me to tell you and them come back.”

“Did he say why you should be near an alpha and an omega in heat?”

Amras shook his head. “He said that ‘betas are better guards’, but not what Amrod would need to be guarded from. Then he threatened you if Amrod gets hurt - which he won’t, right?”

“Of course not, heats are perfectly natural for omegas, even if confusing the first time. If Fingon wasn’t in the room yet, we can take Amrod to the heat hotel. I’ll need to make the arrangements - servants and carriage and such.”

“Can I go to Amrod then? He always asks me questions when he’s confused.”

“You’re too young to watch someone have sex.”

“Amrod is just as young and I am, and he’s about to have sex, not just watch. Besides, how else can I earn to be his guardian?”

“Guardians are typically the parent, not the sibling.”

“Yeah, but Fingon doesn’t get along with you. He asked me to be there, and you always said it’s a big sign of trust, when Fingon lets us near any of his pack without him there.”

“Fine, you may go and sit with Amrod. You may also come to the hotel if you wish, but you’ll stay in the lounge at all times. If you try to go to Amrod’s room you’ll only distress him, and will have to wait in the carriage until his heat is over.”

“I understand.”

__

Fingon led Amras to his brother's room in near silence. He had given a kitchen knife to the beta, not that Amras knew how to use it in a fight. Fingon didn't really either, but it would hopefully help if anyone tried to attack Amrod. Amras was obviously devoted to his brother, and would keep him safe.

Fingon knocked on the door once, but didn't pause before opening the door. Both of his omegas were behind it, and he needed to see that they were safe.

Luckily, they were fine. Not that anyone could have gotten into the house with Fingon guarding the door. But the room has windows, and someone could have broken in. Fingon should have been in the room to be sure. He could have seen any threat clearly with his back to the wall and Amrod in his lap.

But, Fingon reminded himself, that wouldn't actually keep Amrod safe and happy. The heat would be lovely, but afterwards he'd be halfway to bonded. The two ways forward at that point would be to complete the bond, which would never be permitted - or to starve it entirely, keep Amrod and Fingon separate for half a year or more. Fingon would have no way of knowing his young omega was safe, and Amrod would be cut off completely from his family.

Amras shifted behind Fingon, and he realized he was blocking the door and had been for a while. Amras couldn't even see that his twin was in there, naked except for a sheet pulled up to his waist that did nothing to hide his hand reaching behind him, Maedhros rubbing calming circles on his chest.

"Amras, go in and stay with him. Omega, get up and follow me."

Fingon only realized his mistake when Amrod also moved to get up, the sheet falling further and letting Fingon see glimmering traces of his slick.

Fingon growled in excitement, and everyone else froze.

It was hard to remember why he wasn't just pinning his omega son to the bed, and harder still to think of what words would make people follow his commands. Eventually though, Fingon said, "Amrod, stay. Obey Amras. Maedhros, here. Clothes off."

Fingon waited only long enough before touching Maedhros to make sure the door was closed against intruders. Then he grabbed his mate's bare arm, pulling hard enough to get Maedhros off balance so he leaned on Fingon. Fingon put one hand on bonding scar on Maedhros's neck, and the other on Maedhros's ass. He might not be fucking the omega whose heat smelled so delicious, but he wasn't going away unsatisfied.

[fuckingfinwions]

in the dehuamnized-heat verse, does this mean that poor maglor and turgon have to be the ones representing their father's rivalry whereas maedhros & fingon get to just chill out, fuck, get pregnant occasionally, play the harp, and read books? (and also, does melkor decide to cause strife among the noldor by disrupting the heats/ideas about a/os? like obviously he doesnt actually care about omega rights but would be sow discord by whispering to everyone that their society is evil and broken?)

Oh man, I hadn't even thought about how this would interact with the canon plot!

Maglor and Turgon do have to represent their fathers' rivalry. I think Nolo and Feanor do get along slightly better in this verse though, as they are collaborating on making sure Maedhros and Fingon have happy lives. They might have differences in approaches, and Feanor and Nolo will argue a lot about who gets to raise the fist beta grandchild, but they're still cooperating.

Melkor could disrupt ideas about alphas and omegas. He could even whisper different ideas to different factions:

- people who think that alphas and omegas should just be put on Tol Eressea or somewhere else isolated - either as a nature preserve where they can live without beta interference, or just so that normal people don't have to deal with the perverts

- alphas are natural leaders, right, they should be in charge (this idea appeals to very few betas, but some alphas)

- alphas and omegas should be allowed in public un-escorted and then an alpha can just claim the first omega they want. Bonded couples can only go out in pairs so if the alpha gets turned on by a new omega, their mate can remind them. (appeals to many alphas and some omegas who find the heat hotels stressful)

- alphas and omegas are capable of making rational decisions about what they want just like other elves. If they were allowed in society and had like, anger management therapy, this would be fine. (Very fringe theory)

- alphas and omegas are a sign of Arda Marred, so they should all be grateful to Melkor that they exist.

- alphas and omegas are a sign of Arda Marred, so who knows what other influence Melkor has on other eves?

[fuckingfinwions]

i'm fascinated by your dehumanizing!a/b/o au. does fingon ever get to actually know maedhros's siblings and vice versa? does he still have tons of friction with feanor? does fingolfin get along better with maedhros? does fingon get maedhros pregnant and if so, is he insanely overprotective? do they ever actually go out together on something totally nonsexual and say fuck it and start being obscene in public because they can't brign themselves to care anymore? are any of mae's siblings a/o too?

Last question first: Maedhros and Fingon are the only ones of their siblings who are a/o, because it's very rare. (The exception is Amrod, who is Mae's son in this verse and an omega.)

I think Fingon does get to know Maedhros's siblings eventually. Maedhros and Fingon's house is the extremely rich person equivalent of an apartment over the garage or a relative who can't live alone, so the yard (and servants) are still shared with the rest of Feanor's family. The interior courtyard is just in case Fingon is feeling really possessive and doesn't want other people near Maedhros, or if Feanor thinks they're too erratic lately, so they can still get a bit of sunshine and nature. Most of the time Fingon and Maedhros can wander the grounds and the main house, they'll just be stopped if they try to go out into the city alone. (During heat is an exception of course.) So Fingon can chat with Maglor and Celegorm and all the rest over dinner or when climbing trees or whatever.

Maedhros doesn't get to know Fingon's family as well just because they're not living as close. Everyone's still in Tirion, but Fingon and Maedhros can't visit them on the spur of the moment. Fingon and Maedhros probably go over once or twice a year for someone's birthday and then stay a night or two in Fingon's old bedroom, with Aredhel or Turgon accompanying them for the carriage ride. Nolofinwe would visit Fingon and Maedhros though, to make sure Fingon is settling in well. He's also more practiced at talking to Fingon in ways that don't set off his alpha instincts; Feanor is used to Maedhros who is more obedient of direct orders.

On that topic, I have another thought. Maedhros and Fingon get two weeks alone for their honeymoon, with no one stopping by except to drop off food. Heat usually only lasts a week, so this gives plenty of margin for error on their guardians' part. Then it's time for them to be inspected. Feanor and Nolofinwe consider a completely clinical thing, just making sure that the alpha and omega really haven't damaged each other after so long unsupervised. (There is also a bit of showing off, that Feanor raised such a well behaved pretty omega, that Nolo's offspring is so strong and handsome.) So Feanor needs to look over Maedhros's naked body in close detail, and direct him through exercises to test range of motion, and make sure he has no signs of a concussion. Then Nolo can do the same thing with Fingon. (Fingon and Maedhros did know this was coming; it' a safety measure, and as bonded mates both get to stay in the room with each other a long a they don't interfere.) If one of them had seriously injured the other, there would be a discussion between Nolo and Feanor about what sort of restraints or conditioning would be necessary for the alpha or omega before Maedhros's next heat, and whether the two bonded can live together in the meantime - you can't undo a mate bond, so separating them permanently isn't an option.

Fingon does eventually get Mae pregnant (once he convinces Feanor to skip the birth control pills for a heat). He is definitely overprotective, and everyone essentially encourages him because it's "normal for an alpha with a pregnant omega." He can be persuaded to let Mae leave their little house occasionally for the rest of Feanor's estate, as long as Fingon goes with him. But Mae doesn't get to go out into the city, and Fingon is going to get more and more overprotective as the pregnancy goes on. Nolo eventually has to come over to tell Fingon that the doctor has not required bed rest, and it's not actually healthy to keep Mae tied to the bed constantly. Yes, even if he's into it. Maybe Fingon can handcuff Mae's wrist to his own instead, so Fingon can be sure that Mae wont fall with no one to help him, but Mae doesn't get bedsores?

do they ever actually go out together on something totally nonsexual and say fuck it and start being obscene in public because they can't brign themselves to care anymore?

I bet this happens several times, honestly. At first their families think it will be more convenient to take them in public - if they stay together, they only need one chaperone! But if the chaperone is distracted for even a moment - well, there's an alpha and an omega right next to each other. Sometimes it's because one of them did something the other found especially sexy, but sometimes it's just boredom. Maglor gets distracted by a debate over the best way to write music, and when he next glances over Fingon has his hand down the front of Mae's tunic and Mae is whimpering from having his nipples played with. Or Mae is sitting in Fingon's lap and grinding his hips. I don't think they ever get to "full public sex" (they keep their pants on and there's no penetration), but they do plenty that would get you in trouble for public indecency. Everyone knows that alphas and omegas are just Like That though, so all that ever happens is the outing is cut short, and Feanor assigns them extra chaperones for a while. (The extra chaperones do mean that they can't go out unless more people are available, so their outings are less frequent for a bit.)