#omega peripherals

[tonycries]

Video Game Lover - G.S.

Synopsis. Suguru Geto, the resident nerd who “helps” you with your homework. Tall, gloomy, mean, and- and an alpha? And he’s in rut?!

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! nerd! Geto, ruts, OMÉGAVERSE AU, pánty-sniffer Geto, he goes FÉRAL, MEAN Geto, headIocks, slightly bímbo! reader, dúmbifícation, cervíx kíssing, creampíes, cúmplay, MANHANDLlNG, Geto with glasses + tattoos, overstím, knots, first times (Geto), pússydrunk Geto, MATÍNG BÍTES, oraI (f + m), p talking, spítting, praise, he’s POSSESSIVE, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.8k

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

“Please, Sugu—?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you keep my panties?”

And that makes Geto shudder, breath hitching into something dangerously husky as he pushes his thick glasses further up his nose bridge. Greedy gaze darting anywhere but where you were oh-so-vulgarly leaning towards him. “Tch- as if I’d ever…”

With a grin, you shift to show him a flash of cherry pink peeking out from underneath that sinfully short skirt of yours.

Purposefully. 

He was gone. 

“F-fine.” He’s gulping, and it wouldn’t be the first time that you’d goaded the ill-tempered campus genius, Geto Suguru, into doing your- ah, “helping” you with your homework. “But-”

Before Geto can ramble away the usual lecture about something called “academic integrity”, you’re jumping up and tackling his towering frame into a hug. Pressing the curves of your tits into his Digimon t-shirt - just as a little treat - and flouncing excitedly back to your friends. 

But what you didn’t notice is the way that makes Geto stiffen.

His tummy lurching, nose raising into the air- 

Oh.

You smelled so sweet. 

Geto’s spit-slicked lips part open to steal a sharp gasp of the sweltering lecture hall air- it couldn’t be. And his bleary irises can’t even focus, can’t lock on anything but the figure of you mere feet away. 

…Could it?

With a slight tilt of your head, you’re staring back at him - and something…carnal pangs through his suddenly-boiling veins.

Then you smirk- and Geto twitches.

Fuck.

He would’ve crashed onto his knees right then and there if it wasn’t for the way that you proceed to dig through your cute, useless bag - still in the middle of a conversation with your friends - and throw something flimsy and pale pink at him.

No shame. No regrets.

None for either of you; but especially not Geto once his strong palms reach out to urgently scramble for the shred of gauzy fabric in midair. 

Tangling the stringy satin between thick, ringed fingerpads, he’s sinking his face into its sugarcoated scent before sinking into the realization that you’d had the audacity to throw your fucking panties at him in the middle of a bustling seminar. 

Yet, he was even worse - jaw slackening, broad chest heaving with rasping ahs! as he drinks in loooong repeated puffs of your pheromones. Coating his brain in melty molasses of sugar and spice and you. 

There was a reason you were the most sought-after omega on the entire campus. With your filthy skin-tight outfits, and your flirty smiles. 

And him? He couldn’t get enough.

Smearing away a sloppy splotch of saliva spilling from the corner of his mouth- when had he even started drooling? Geto watches through watery peripherals as you mouth a smug “an advance” at him, and saunter out of the class in your tightly-knit group.

Too tightly-knit, if you asked Geto. Dead-on stare narrowing, he catches the way one of your so-called friends brush away an invisible piece of lint from your shoulder. 

Just barely. His head snapping towards Geto when the latter growls-

Oh.

Oh, fuck. 

He was fucked.

.

.

.

Listen, it’s not as if you make Geto finish all of your homework - just the ones that you found too tedious, too complicated, or too time-consuming. Which might just happen to be all of them, but you digress! 

He was more than happy to collect those slutty scraps of silk you called “panties” and you were proud to keep your streak of having the second-highest GPA in class (after the man himself, of course.)

The more important the grade the more sinful the panties. 

After all, it wasn’t as if you minded all of Geto’s fiery stares at you during lectures, the spark in his eyes when he tried to drill a difficult concept into your mind, or the way his dark lashes would flutter drunkenly the moment you got too close. 

In fact, you might even admit that you…like it.

Because Geto was hot. Fuck- he was fucking pretty.

You’d seen just how fawny his amethyst eyes were behind those clunky glasses. Lengthy Stygian hair, so many inches above six feet, and biceps that pull his gamer t-shirts so taut that it made you wonder what was underneath.

But it wasn’t as if a nerd - and a beta, obviously, though you didn’t care for secondary gender - like him would ever make a move. 

Hell, he barely even talked to anyone other than the professors. 

All grumbling and rude. It took you weeks to even get him to acknowledge your existence, and that was only by giving him an “accidental” glimpse of your red, red bra strap. 

So you were mostly fine and dandy with this lecherous transaction of yours. Geto was smart; he was never a minute late in emailing you your surely A+ worthy work before their deadlines, and you’d gift him his little treat just the day after.

Except- you were lounging on your couch as the 12:00AM deadline for your latest essay rolled around and there was still no sign of Geto. Not a single ping from your inbox. 

With an impatient thumb, you’re idly scrolling through the sparse chat history you’d all but bullied him into sharing with you, brows furrowing deeper and deeper at your plethora of ignored texts and calls. 

Nothing new but, seriously…

Scoffing as the clock tick! tick! ticked! its way to 12:01AM. 

He was late - and your homework was, too. 

You’d been feeling a little too…feverish tonight to attend that one party your friends had invited you to, and thank your stars for that. Because not even minutes later, you were stomping the few blocks down to Geto’s apartment building and all the way up to his white-painted front door.

“Hey, Sugu—” You rap your knuckles harshly on the wood, exasperated. “Are you in there?”

No answer. 

Huffing, your heated skin stings where it clashes even harder against his door. Impatiently, “Hah- making an omega walk all the way out here…I should take back all those panties I gave you. Yaga deducts points for late submissions and I am not leaving until you come out.”

Still no answer. Not even a sound. 

“In fact, I’ll only get louder.”

Not even a breath. 

That was…strange. He should’ve at least come out to shut up your racket so that he can study, if not at the mention of your panties. 

And right now your annoyance was being washed away with sharp waves of concern, a nervous bout of laughter escaping you as soon as your hand falls on the door handle to find it shockingly unlocked. Oh? 

You and Geto might not be the best of friends, but you wanted him to be alright goddammit. 

“Better come out and stop me now, unless you want me to barge in!” You call out, jostling the cold, metallic knob for good measure. It holds firm in your hand, the only thing grounding your swimming mind as you bask in a second of silence. Two. Three. Before sighing, “Have it your way then. I’m coming in–”

Then it hits you.

Slow, at first. Like a smell from a distant memory that you find yourself aching for - find yourself stumbling a few steps inside Geto’s cozy apartment and devouring in generous lungfuls. 

You slam the door shut to cloud yourself in the saturated air and gasp.

This was nothing like any expensive perfume you’d smelled before. It felt like your entire body was on fire, like every one of your pores was scorching from deep inside. Like you needed him.

Head whirling with the heady concoction of caramel salt scent and those dark undertones of wine. Something so dangerous. So tempting. So…Suguru.

You jolt. He was in rut. 

Wait, rut? Geto Suguru? Wasn’t he…wasn’t he a beta? 

You swear he was. You didn’t know what was happening, only angling your head up for more and more and more-

Shit, you’re shoving your thighs together before you know it. Already feeling the slippery stream of slick that sloshes past your pussy lips and puddles at the bottom of your underwear. And you know you’ve never been wetter. 

“A-anyone home?” You’re straining out, the doughy mountain of your palm rubbing mindlessly up n’ down through your thin skirt. 

Undoubtedly, there’s still no response. And yet, it’s almost as if he’s calling to you - and maybe he is.

Feet wrenching one jerky pitch after the other, you have to balance yourself on the hallway walls to fucking keep your sanity.

And to perhaps stop your weakened knees from slipping you into a pile on the polished hardwood floors. Perhaps to stop yourself from breaking out into a run to wherever your inner luna was clawing to take you. 

You breathe, “Th-this isn’t funny, Suguru…”

The soft thuds of your padded steps thunder in time with your racing heart. Louder and louder. Deafening by the time you’re catching sight of a large mahogany door at the end of the corridor that waves ever-so-slightly ajar. 

Where those hypnotic pheromones were the most saturated. And your mouth waters. 

It’s only once you’re reaching it - trembling, standing stock-still, right outside what you now assumed to be his bedroom - that you realize Geto was calling to you. Well, more like he was calling out for you. 

Your name. 

In soft, breathy moans that make his rich baritone crack.

“Get the fuck in here.”

.

.

.

The moment Geto Suguru catches a glimpse of your oh-so-cute face - the moment he senses that you’re actually, honest-to-goodness here - he cums. 

And he can’t help it- fuck, he can’t help it.

Even dabbing the fat of his massive thumb right over his bawling tip can’t stop the heaping torrents of gooey white escaping from him. Such slick ribbons upon ribbons crawling their way up Geto’s washboard abs, you can only watch with bated breath as his messy, round globs of seed trickle up n’ down until they drench his dark happy trail. 

Your watery thighs stick together, maw falling agape because you’d be lying if you said you’d never imagined this.

You had. Once or twice or many, many times. 

All splayed out on his Digimon sheets like this; meaty thighs cracked open, silky locks slathered across every inch, glasses fogged up. Ruined. Geto’s sweat-shimmered back arches off the outdated bed springs with a creak! while his hand flew furiously up and down his swollen cock.

Shit, you’re biting your lip. Syllables jumping roughly off of your heavy tongue, “S-Suguru?”

SLAM!

It’s like the sound of your voice does heavenly wonders to him.

Plump, tender balls squeezing, Geto’s free hand encloses behind his sweaty scalp and onto the headboard above him. Hard enough that the sturdy frame snaps, pale biceps flexing enough that you find your skin clammy with need. 

“Fuh-fuck.” He’s hissing through clenched teeth. Staring right at your meandering form through dazed half-crescents, mouth departing endless husked grunts. And oh…oh a few more dewy droplets of cum spray out of his bawling orifice once you gulp. “Look what you’ve done t’me.”

“Y-you’re an alpha?” You finally manage to find your voice. 

He snickers, the murky scent of the room growing ever-stronger. And even more than that was your own scent, mixing and melding until you felt dizzy. “And you’re in danger, little omega~”

Your widened gaze grows to lock on the way that his rugged fingers continue milking out creamy sploshes of cum. Expertly flying up, up, up– before fisting his hefty base with an airy sigh. 

Large. He was so large. 

And in so many ways more than one. 

An alpha. He was an alpha. 

Seductively sculptured body dwarfing his single bed with what looked like miles upon miles of toned, tall muscles. Were those tattoos spying out from the sides of his back?

A syrupy geyser of sap formulates between his two legs the size of your head- this was Geto Suguru? 

And his cock - oh, he was so perfectly massive. Oversized, even in Geto’s engulfing hand. 

So painfully hard that he was blushing a blossoming magenta near the very tip of his globular cockhead, throbbing. Pulsing. Thick lightning bolts of veins gripping down either side of his pink shaft and all the way down to his breeder balls.

With a harrowed gasp filling your lungs, you’re spotting just the barest fringe of something soaked-through and gauzy tangled underneath his digits. 

Fuck. 

“Is that-”

“This?” Geto grins - grins. You’ve never seen him smile let alone show off this dopey, predatory leer plastering all over his flushed features. A gentle dimple embeds near his curled lip, and he quirks an eager brow. 

You can barely even think while he untwines the frilly pair of panties you’d thrown at him in class from around his aching cock. Sticky and stretched now, it finds home right near his flared nostrils as Geto brings it up and sniffs. Crazed. “C’mere.”

The rawest of glints twinkle in his half-lidded vision as you inch closer, the way you tremble on your two feet like a newborn fawn was adorable. And he can’t stop himself from letting out a low whistle–

“Yeah. Good fuckin’ girl.”

Your body kneels you right by Geto’s bedside before your mind can even think to catch up. Head lolling lecherously against the wide plane of his shivering thigh, you let your tongue lap up a pearl of his buttery white cum and keen. He was even bigger up close. “Sugu—”

“Nuh uh, gorgeous.” Geto tuts, gravelly tonality rendering you confused just as much as you were needy. His two palms grip the crown of your head to peer upwards, “S’all because of you. You n’ those d-damn panties. M’not your hck! nerdy fuckin’ Sugu right now. Best remember that- m’gonna make sure you remember that.”

He’s more than gazing down at you, he’s boring right through you. 

Spectacle frames creeping precariously down his nose bridge, tendrils of his shaggy hair almost curtaining him, pellets of sweat trickle down his temples and hit you in thin spatters. So close. And you wanted him closer. 

“Tilt your head back, lemme see that ngh- pretty mouth.” One hand slips from your head to curl around Geto’s fattened hilt, nudging his puckered tip to strike your lips with a dull thud! “Count.”

“One-”

And it’s not once. 

“T-two-”

Not twice. 

“Three- hah!”

Not thrice, until he’s leaving your mouth whimpering and stinging with the slam of his rock-hard shaft slapping down your tender flesh. Leaving a slimy trail of pre and salty cum that leaks between your maw and drives you wild. 

Then - and only then - is he wrenching you up closer. Manhandling your pliable body until the very tip of his perfectly button nose meets yours. So close.

Your teary lashes flutter halfway shut once you feel the foggy breeze of his breath scorching your face, cunt quivering with the anticipation of a kiss. His pheromones hit you in powerful gusts, your primal urges scratching up to the surface.

Closer. Too close- for a kiss that never comes.

“Heh. Cute.”

He doesn’t kiss you.

But before you know it, Geto pitches his tongue back and wets your shimmery pouted lips with a large wad of his syrupy saliva. 

In just a split-second. 

Bowing you back underneath him and stuffing your chatty mouth so damn full of his swollen cock that you can’t even think of anything else. Fat droplets of tears fountain up at the edge of your eyes, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so split open.

He was eight- no, maybe nearing ten whole inches that scraped the back of your mushy throat with his ruthless mushroom tip. 

Hard. Girthy. 

Cratering out a wet circumference of bruises into your melty mouth with a singular thrust, and it wasn’t enough- fuck, it might never be enough.

Geto’s throwing his head back, toned core muscles tensing. “O-oh. This. Th-this is what it feels like?” 

You almost wonder whether he even knew what he was doing once you feel a shaky thigh throwing behind your neck and reel you in close. Drawing you all the way up until your nose scratches his tufted pelvis, mouth hanging wiiidely agape. 

“Sh-shooo big–” You’re mumbling through a scalding mouthful, slicked walls clenching at the realization that he had you trapped in a headlock. And by the looks of it, he was never going to let go.

“Yeah- yeah?” He shudders out, bass cracking into a zillion shatters near the end. Octaves higher. Unsteady. Meanly, Geto’s leg jostles you even further from behind to probe his shaft even deeper into your velvety mouth, your chin buckling underneath his curvaceous ballsack. Holding you still. Firmly. “Fuckin’ l-like that, don’t you?”

You can’t nod. You can’t hum affirmative. He was so bulky inside you that your lips sag underneath the sheer weight.

But your omega preens for the attention, sleek tongue zig-zagging over one of the pounding veins that poked into the roof of your mouth. And it’s enough of an answer for Geto.

Spitting out, “Oh yeah? Dirty girl. Didn’t expect your loser lil’ Sugu to have such a fat fuckin’ dick, huh?” 

So fucking…rude, words teetering right on just the edge of being menacing. And you were just so gorgeous crying all over his cock like this, so much better than when you were hanging off of other alphas. 

So much better when he strays a thumb to feel your filling throat, the way he’s lodged deep inside. Him. All him. 

You let off a whiny gag the moment his blushing red cockhead twitches up ferally at the thought. The static cotton in your head making you slurp his length with a sloppy squelch! 

He’s pushing up his glasses furiously, “Can you even take it? Seriously- acting so popular n’ mighty when you can’t even take my hngh- cock.”

And you’re about to rebuke, you’re about to- you swear.

But oh, he didn’t have mercy now. 

“Whaaaat? M’just saying.” The ridges of his head press up all against every nook and cranny of your mouth, a silvery trail of drool now seeping from between your locked lips. Geto wipes away his own cobwebs of drool with the back of his mouth, giggling. Giggling when you scuffle, “S’it too big? Too big for our f-famous lil’ omega?”

Your throat aches something carnally delicious when he keeps a hold ‘round your neck to plunge into the waterlogged bottom. Bobbing your head in lewd maneuvers allll the way up n’ down. “Ngh- Sugu–” 

“Hah- hah!” His glassy eyes gleam something wild, microscopic tastebuds watering all over again with just how intensely he was gawking down at you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have said that his eyes were glowing- “Why are ya still fuckin’ speaking, gorgeous?”

It wasn’t a Command, but oh did it feel like one.

Only mere moments later and Geto’s springing himself off of the bouncy mattress to shovel your hot throat full of copious inches and leave you spellbound. Swirling a lazy few half-circles of his heavy tip where you were most sensitive.

“Cool that pretty lil’ head. You’re cuter when yer like th-this, y’know?” He groans, feeling your slippery cheeks grip his shaft in an adorable hug. Knee drawing up even tighter to hold you still while he fucked your mouth the way he’d been wishing he could for so long. “All shut up a-and mine and…”

Ah, breath wisping away. He’s prodding your poor gag reflexes at the very same time he rovers up a stray hand to squeeze your nostrils together. “-only mine.”

“Nghh- G-etooo—” And yet, he still doesn’t let up. You’re cupping Geto’s plumpened balls with a delicately loving touch, lustrous strands of spit layering your lips. “Want you.”

“Hm?”

“Want you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Those are the very same words he’s been dreaming of every single rut since meeting you. And he can’t help himself, he can’t stop himself from letting out a slew of swears and cumming.

Shocked. 

“Sh-shit—” It’s all Geto can do to bite down on the plush of his bottom lip and wrangle back those embarrassing fucking whimpers on his tongue, dewy eyes sparkling with a few overstimulated tears. “You’re gonna- f-fucking…”

But he’s not given the privilege to finish his thought let alone his sentence. 

Just flooding your senses with the caramel salt of his scent, and his gobs of pearly seed. Every jackhammer has Geto pinpricking it on the back of your bruised and battered throat, every squeeze of his hand around your neck makes him drool out in wiry oodles of sap more and more and more-

“S’what you w-wanted, right?” And you’re sensing the way his scent tinged with something maddened, leaving your eyes popping. “Prancing around with your hah- p-pre-heat panties and your- fuck!” Geto fights to keep his eyes from flapping closed, “Take it- ohhhh take it all.”

As if you could do anything else.

Every tiny twitch leaves your cavern flooded. Geto was cumming so hard that it was overspilling from each crevice of your lips, a silvery waterfall of cum that he’s dabbing around a thumb to smear. 

Letting your pouted lips wobble at the fresh topping of white gloss, “There’s a good girl. My goood fuckin’ girl.” 

Oh, there’s no doubt in your fractured mind right now that Geto Suguru was an alpha. Inhaling his deep puffs of contentment, you’re arching your back mindlessly in delight. Throat loosening with the motions to-

“Don’t swallow.”

So mean. 

You don’t think you’re given the split-second to wonder otherwise before he’s grappling for the pretty column of your throat and kissing you raw. 

You’re gasping when his depraved tongue smacks down between the seam of your mouth to lather in every scorching hot mess of sap he’d left behind. The mess that he made. And he was only making it messier.

Watching you through barely-cracked open pupils while he scooped up the sticky webs of seed dangling from your mouth. Scratchy buds taking over. A kiss so filthy that you felt shy to even call it that. 

“Mmm—” Geto’s skidding his tongue down the buttered length of his lips, flicking over any stray droplets he could find. And something in his eyes told you that he was mere seconds away from doing it all over again. “Not bad for a first kiss.”

Fuck- what?

“Sugu- what-” You’re panting out measly syllables through the gaps of his sappy mouth. “I-I thought you’d be more…”

“What? A heh- bumbling loser?” His eyes narrow down at you, words purring sexily. “Oh, gorgeous…”

Fuck, and if the rasping growl in his tone didn’t shut you up, the way that Geto’s throwing you onto the bouncy bed sure does. 

He doesn’t have a care in the world, he doesn’t have a single thought other than ripping off your flimsy clothes. Everything but those very same cherry pink panties you’d teased up at him, well- more see-through than anything right now.

Kneeing apart your jittery legs to watch the way your cunt gushes in pure need. Lips curling into a leer at the way she winks up at him through filthy masses of slick.

“Sh-she’s mine now, isn’t she?” Rumbling out, eyes wide. Unfocused. And the look on Geto’s face made white-hot trills sprint down your spine - ones you couldn’t decode between primal need and fear. “She’s…”

Ptwah!

The vicious goblet of spit that hits you this time is somehow even meaner than the last, striking at the very top of your sobbing pussy and disappearing riiiight between your folds. 

“Mine.” Awestruck, Geto bullies one capped knee to smooch up against your slit. Gleaming his heated skin with the bucketloads of cute sap that you kept pouring out by the second. Geto was greedy, he was grunting. “Beg for it, omega.”

You’re squirming underneath him impatiently, clawing all over his unmoving wrists. You ached all over for something. Anything. “Don’t- don’t wanna-”

But Geto had ten times your strength and wasn’t afraid of using it. Oh, he wasn’t afraid of using it - wasn’t afraid of pinning down both your trembly hands on the bed springs with one of his. Rutting his knee up even more mercilessly, murking his pheromones until it burned of salt and spice. “Beg.”

You mewl, “P-please-”

“No stuttering.”

“Please.” And if that wasn’t enough, you’re batting your lacquered lashes up at Geto in exactly the way you knew was his weakness. Exactly the way that got you the second-highest GPA for so long. Jutting your back the perfect curvature off of the bed, “I’ll let you k-keep my panties, Suguru—?”

“Oh, giiiirl—” He husks out, leaning in so close to plant a yearning snog on your mouth. Blushing pink lips wrapping around your tongue and sucking. You always got what you wanted. “M’keeping those regardless.”

In his special drawer for all your slutty underwear, of course. 

And just as soon as Geto’s kissing your lips, he’s trekking his way downwards to make sure that your other ones don’t feel left out. 

“Look at her.” He breathes, words taking on an airy tone that makes him sound as if he was furious. Blistering with the anger that he’s been deprived of the heavenly proximity of your soft, seeping cunt for so long. “H-heh, if o-only those tch- popular friends of yours could see. Just look- look how wet she is f’me. All me.”

A fattened thumb fringes past your panties, and you flinch at the cold press of his silver rings. Rovering all the way to greet your puffy pussylips in languid drags uuuuup and down, pricking his manicured fingernail on the button of your clit. 

Geto’s hooded lids widen, heat rushing all over his cheeks at the sloppy squelches he draws out. So easily. Adorably.

And it was true - he did have a tattoo. A splashing inking of a dragon all across Geto’s muscled back, somehow making him even more unintentionally hotter. 

“And look how loud mmm–” He’s kissing the mound of your folds like a lover, lingering. Loving. Stealing deeeeep gasps of your scent, “M’gonna ruin you. Ngh- ohhh, m’gonna r-ruin you, gorgeous. Ruin ya for anyone else.”

And when Geto meant he was going to ruin you - he meant it.

“Shit.” He was going to mush his pretty features up into your sopping wet pussy until you could feel every minute, warm pant. Staring right up into the target of your fuzzy heart-eyes, “How do you- how do you taste so good.”

Every gasp he’s drinking in of your murked perfumed pheromones, showering ‘round every sense and making him dizzy.

“Squeeze- wanna feel-”

And maybe it’s his rut, maybe it’s the way your tension was so thick - but you instantaneously know what to do. 

To close your legs in a deadlock around Geto’s oily scalp. Your weighty eyelids bat up and down subconsciously at the attractive way he was digging his bulging biceps into the sides of your thighs. Pulling you in closer and closer and closer. “That turns you on, huh?”

But that wasn’t all- oh, that wasn’t what he was making out with your cute cunt and begging for. 

His mouth lathers over with a fresh bout of watery spit the moment your rubbery ring of muscle clench all around him. Making every ridge of his hot tongue catch on your gooey innards, the texture of it enough to drive you positively wild. 

“Sh-shiiit–” You’re letting out a primal groan, clawing at his tattooed back. Chest shuddering underneath the strain of one powerful hand pinning you down. Holding you painfully still. “Suguru- want more. More.”

Slipping his slick tongue in and out of your fluttery hole, Geto keens at the way your entrance kept on trying to suck him back in. 

“Fuckin’ know-” In one second, he’s pushing his cloudy glasses up his nose, and in the other he pries apart your puffed lips and caresses. “Yer turning into a fucking w-waterpark, dirty girl. Even wetter than all that p-porn I learned from…”

You’re whimpering, legs falling further n’ further open until it burned your inner quads. No matter how deeply Geto stuffed his face between them it just wouldn’t be enough.

It was almost as if…

“Heat.” He’s slurring a looong lap of his grooved tastebuds all over the lustre of your sweet, sweet juices. Free hand wrapping at his favorite position around your neck and making sure to angle your head so that you catch the twinkling droplets of slick pouring down his tongue. “You’re in heat, little omega.”

Gasping, “W-what?”

But it made sense. It was falling into place and that only made you wetter.

With a smirk, Geto swats your hands until they tangle into his silken tresses. “Lemme take care of you.” SWAT! The plapping sensation hits you before the realization that he’d run his crowned digits over to spank your perked clit. “Ngh- just sit tight n’ let your nerdy ol’ Sugu here take g-goood care of you.”

He was pleading with you - begging you - to latch onto his pretty locks and grind your pussy in repeated gyrations all over his face. Guiding him, using the hook of his pert nose as the perfect ridge to rest your throbbing clit on. 

“Th-thank you, alpha—” Too good. You were giving into something baser, to let your head loll into the cushy pillow behind you in sweeping motions. And it was so cute he could cum. 

“Yeah? Who- who?”

“You, Suguru.”

“Damn right.”

With every drag of his hoarse syllables, Geto was trawling his face across every inch between the beautiful legs that you had to offer.

Purposefully. 

You’re holding back his endless, inky strands just to admire how pretty he looked. How ravenous. Greedy. 

Fuck, Geto was making up for all these years he spent parched. Spitting out streak after streak of spittle that made your pussy pour out all over his snogging mouth. “Gonna- gonna fuck you like this w’my cock next.”

His tongue folds into your slobbery hole and slithers into every tender orifice - so staggeringly long that you were feeling a lump in your own throat. 

Just a few flops into your earliest magical spots and Geto could already hear the way you were fighting to hide your little sobs. 

“Th-this right here-” He’s probing a finger underneath the panties that stuck to your cunt like adhesive, letting it spring back to hit you with a smack! Tittering at your yelp, “S’mine.”

Rubbing a fat few crowns of his fingerpads at the tender area underneath the base of your pussy. Pressing down. Hard. “And her? All the w-way from here-”

Drawing sensual patterns up, up uuuup all the way to your sensitive clit, and oh- it felt so right to have him draw sultry little hearts on your weepy hood. 

Tugging it over to nip underneath one sharp canine - one that you swear had grown even longer in the last few minutes. Geto was gone in the depths of his rut, hallowing out his cheeks to eat you out as if he was a man starved. And you were his favorite dessert. “To here? S’mine, too.”

RIIIIIP—!

Through your glossy heaps of tears, you can make out the fuzzy shapes of Geto tearing your satiny underwear into tatters. Balling it up into a wad of sugarcoated fabric that he unapologetically stuffs in your drivelling mouth.

“Gonna add these t-to my collection.” You feel him smile against the outer edges of your claggy cunt, tittering at the stupid way your overspilling lips slacken with a soggy pwah! You’re hearing and feeling a long-winded woooosh from below once he takes a deeeep breath in with his over-delicate senses. “Th-thereeee we go. Cum all over my mouth, gorgeous.”

And if you were in any better state of mind perhaps you’d have noticed the way that Geto’s driving his hips into the bed like a damn dog when he sensed your scent peaking. Sensed you getting closer.

Ragged breaths striking your quivering pussy mercilessly and making your teeth sink desperately into the muggy jumble of underwear in your mouth. 

Your broken moans burst out even through that particular watergate, right along with a slithery trickle of saliva and a huff of “S-Suguru—” Craning your head to watch his nostrils flare with knowing, “Close- clo- cumming.”

Eyes flashing. Heart thumping not just within your rib cage.

When it rains, it pours. 

But you weren’t just pouring - you were flooding.

Such glutinous ropes of your orgasm, it sprays Geto’s sexy face in squirts. Clinging onto the edge of his glasses and forming little puddles right at the apples of his high cheeks.

Suddenly, you were oh-so-thankful for the way he’d stuffed your mouth mercilessly full - because by the rusted rasp in your throat, you’re sure you’re singing out shrill trills loud enough that his neighbors would file a noise complaint.

But that was the last thing on his mind.

The last thing- well, fuck, it wasn’t on his mind at all. Geto’s cooing at how unstable you feel, treacherous fingers mazing across your fat clit and giving her a goood few pushes just the way he would with his gameboys.

“Good girl-” he spits into your gapingly widened cunt, still suffering from the remnant tremors of your high and still slopping out wads of juices. Like a mantra, Geto’s dark brows scrunch in concentration, “Good girl good girl gooood fucking girl.”

Words hitching up into something shrill near the edge, he sounded as if he was fraying his sanity with every droplet of slick you pumped into his mouth. With every single second. 

Pushing his aching hot cock deeper and deeper into the sullied sheets. More. He needed more. 

Every sloppy swivel of your widely pried-apart pussy on his tongue made him leave an open-palmed smack! on your thigh. Other hand traipsing to pin your hips down with his big, vein-decorated forearm. 

He doesn’t want to let go.

You’re barely letting off a whine at the lack of friction before Geto lets his mouth depart from your cunt with a soggy pwah! Leaving a final few French kisses on his favorite sweet orifice, he’s pecking a loooong open-mouthed pathway up to your loosened maw.

“Good girl…” He hiccups, clammy forehead sticking against yours. Each syllable struggles to wrench past the leaden ball slowly forming on Geto’s mouth. 

The syrup-glazed lenses of his glasses clash into you, and Geto himself seems to notice. “Look what a fuckin’ mess ya made.” He’s gruffing out at the thick topping of oozing gloss that made the frame impossible to see through. 

Immediately pulling back a few millimeters to take them off and dump them on your own nose bridge. Unceremoniously. 

And it was so wet. 

Almost as wet as Geto’s features were - all showered in gunky dredges of glistening sap. It streaks all the way from his pointed chin and up to his handsome cheekbones. Beads of it hitting your panting chest in a pat! pat! pat!

Heaving out a shaky exhale, he’s pushing away a few elegant strands of charcoal bangs. 

“M’gonna…m’gonna fuck you now.” Sounding more as if he was talking to himself rather than you. Or perhaps both. Puffy folds being rubbed all raw with the depraved back and forth of his veiny under-shaft. “Gonna fuck you. So take it- take it.”

Geto stares deep into your whirling eyes while he sinks his hefty cock into you just as thoroughly. A clingy film sticks to his gaze, dazed and all half-hooded that you wondered if he could even register what was in front of him.

Crazed.

And he’s such a fucking tease, too. 

Creating a slimy trail of pasty pre all over your weakened inner thighs, he drags his bawling divot all over every stretch of your entrance. Around and around in circles. 

“B-big, huh? Better take it b-before I- make it- fit-” He’s echoing, dimples peaking out at the cute way your breath hitches once you feel the sheerly massive circumference of his fat tip. “Shhhh shh sh, s’alright- s’where you’re m-meant to ngh- be.”

Even for an alpha, he was always staggering - but having him stuffing you to the brim would be a whole other feeling. Would have you ruined. 

You’re peering up at him through humid lashes, borrowed glasses smearing wet splotches of slick underneath your skin. Eventually, those panties had found themselves spilling out of your unfastened jaw, “Meant to- hah! be?”

“Mhmmm— pretty omega.” You’re hit with a sudden wave of coaxing pheromones, the gentle salty breeze making your hips buck subconsciously upwards. Subconsciously aching. “This s’where you’re ngh- meant to be.”

And as much as Geto loved hearing whiny questions bubble their way up to your spit-layered lips, oh- was it so much more fun to eye down at your speechless self when he snugly squeezes just a mere sensual inch.

Leaning back to watch the way his bustling cock was stretching and stretching and stretching your tender walls flawlessly. You were taking him so ridiculously well. 

“Fuh-fuck you-” His plush pecs rumble with his bass from above, words tumbling. Hips rolling. And Geto was fucking gone- staring at you with wide, humorless eyes that you doubt were even seeing. “Fuck you- m’fucking you…fuck you fuck you fuck!”

With every sharp fah! being whirled into your loose mouth, Geto rubs his puffed-up veins into the tender mound of your cunt. You can’t help but count every rapid ba-dump—! his achy length throbs. 

Desperately. Rutting and rutting just to fit himself inside. 

Around the time he’s only halfway in, Geto circles one hand over his drenched base to skid taut O’s at the edge of your hole. Nudging his fat girth past your entrance and keening-

“M-more!” You’re barking out primally, your tongue tied into all sorts of bows and ribbons with the way this stretch was searing. And it was the best sort of tight fit, you were practically drooling all over again at the fleshy thwack! of Geto’s rounded balls smacking your thighs. “More, Sugu—”

“M-more…?”

It wasn’t just you - your luna needed more, too. 

You’re nodding and nodding- only to realize with a harsh muffle of Geto’s palm over your noisy mouth that he wasn’t even talking to you.

No, he was tittering away in a small sort of voice. Octaves higher. Strained. Goosebumps smatter all across your skin at the way he sounded so unstable. 

“More…” Irises flashing a glowy purple, fingers twitching where he held you. A loser like him. A nerd like him. “M-more she says.”

Fuck. 

Without another word - without another breath - Geto’s flipping you around with only one beefy palm clawing at your hip. Shoving your face deep into the puff of his nerdy pillows, he’s bottoming out with just one thrust-

You think you scream, you think you bawl once you feel his plummy mushroom head draw a long line of pre along the insides of your cervix. And your pussy felt so full you could burst, your walls crushed with all overpacked inches of his.

Finally. 

“Thaaaat’s it, that’s it-” He’s grunting through furiously clenched teeth, a hand crowning the back of your scalp and muffling your words into the bed. Hard. Fuck- he was going to pass out if you made another pretty sound. “S’where you belong.”

Ah, there it is - that little broken prayer.

Except, this time it was being respired in boiling hot pants against the tips of your ears. Was being wheezed out of Geto when he lurches his sweat-simmered hips back to hit your ass with a resounding pap!

“All f-fucked dumb on my ngh- biiig fucking cock, hm?” He tilts your head up with one hand, smiling to himself once he catches a glittery flash of spit leaking from your lips. “All…” A warm splatter! strikes your back, and only then do you realize that he’s slobbering. “Mine.”

And where Geto was talking all possessively - he was fucking you even more so.

In the blink of an eye, he’s planting two sets of fingers on either of your wrists and pulling all the way back, back, back. A length foot being placed right at the small of your spine to get you to bend in a delicious arch-

“Fuck!” Your cute voice rings hoarse, like music to his blushing ears. Struggling to regain the gasps of air leaving your lungs, “There- th-there.”

Oh, shit.

The way Geto was manhandling you was not only bending you in all sorts of lecherously pliable ways that had your slit dripping, it was making his rotund cockhead stub oh-so-viciously into your cervix. 

Rough. Probing. 

“H-heh, guess I lost my first kiss there, too.” He’s giggling out, biting down on the rugged mewls that threaten to depart every time your cunt swallows him whole. “Congrats on being my ngh- first, little omega— yer e-even better than my ngh- bodypillows of you.”

Bending you over ever-deeper, honestly- your walls were cloying onto him so desperately that it was making Geto’s heart pang with disappointment every time his ruddied tip recoiled back from the bottom of your sloppy pussy. 

He wanted to be this close to you forever. 

Treacling out stringy wads of pre, he’s furrowing brows and making sure each n’ every jackhammer fills you up impossibly. 

You can barely grapple for air at this point, the sloshes of syrup left after each barrelling strike leaving you star-struck. 

He grins, “Shit, d-do ya ever stop fuckin’ drooling? Gonna hafta call the f-fire department, girl.”

“Can’t help it–!” All you can do it let your mouth unlatch to warble whimper after whimper–

“C’mon now, gorgeous- aren’t ya ashamed?” Licking his lips free of your taste, Geto diverts more pressure to his foot. Hefty balls rippling wickedly against the sobbing end of your slit with just how easy you were to throw around like his favorite toy. Like his favorite figurines. “Look at what a mess yer making. Being fucked so f-filthy. And I haven’t even ngh- found it, yet.”

Haven’t found it. Oh, but he knew he was going to. He was going to make you scream.

Your syrupy whines slip into something desperate, “Y-you don’t know…?”

“Of course I f-fuckin’ know. Who d’ya think you’re ngh talking to?” As if you could forget you were being thoroughly pounded by the smartest person on campus right now. And evidently the filthiest, too. 

A ringed finger treks down to your sensitive nub, soothing over where you were throbbing the most violently. Cute. Lulling you into a sweet, sweet state of bliss before Geto pinches–

“Oh p-please!” You’re targeting your hazy vision over your shoulder, and somewhere along the lines Geto’s spectacles had slid cleanly off of you. Toes curling as his bloated head bludgeons just the creamy edges near your g-spot. “Please- y-you’re so close, Suguru-”

You didn’t know whether it was your heat or just Geto that had you so desperate. Your sparkless mind blames the latter.

“Am I?” He hums, leaning over so that the soft tendrils of his hair tickled your back. 

Whacking his painfully achy crownhead mere centimeters below your magical spots, and you’re starting to think he’s doing this on purpose. 

Geto starts holding it there for lingering French snogs into the steamy inner depths of your cunt and then you know he’s doing this on purpose. Spitting in your mouth with a smile. 

That mean bastard.

Jittering your hips to chase the texture of his curly pubic hair against your ass, he snickers. “Are you ngh- suuuure? You haven’t done a s-single one of your ngh- human biology essays lately, dirty girl.”

You’re molding your lips into a pout - difficult, with just how many loads of saliva were pouring out of you and cementing a puddle onto the Digimon pillows. “F-fuck you.”

“No…” You set free a gasp of air you didn’t know you were holding the very second he lets go of the rough foot anchoring your spine, instead- in only mere nanoseconds you find yourself jerked up into Geto Suguru’s hold with a hand at your throat. Back gluing against his glissading abs, even his voice was unbalanced and trembling now. “I’m fucking you, little omega.”

And you were about to remember it.

With an immediate pitch of his gasping breaths, Geto’s angled hips go from steadily ruined to sloppy. Calculated. 

He didn’t care if he made a mess of stringy slick that circled in the satiny sheets around the two of you, he didn’t care if your eyes were bulging out of their poor sockets when his pronounced hips dig into your backside with blistering bruises. 

He didn’t care for anything but digging the curled fringe of his fatly bloated tip right into the target of your g-spot. 

Mazing through your gluey folds and keeping them snugly open with his reddened girth, Geto knocks your sweetest spots with vengeance. 

“There–!” You call out, as if he hadn’t already felt the gooey seize of your pussy trying to hold him hostage. 

His mouth trudges over your throat, fingers roaming over to give your clit a nice few pinches. Meaningfully, “Here? Orrrr–” Punctuating each word, each second with a thorough drilling into your g-spot. “-here? Make up th-that ditzy lil’ mind. Seriously.”

Your head drunkenly crashes on top of his collarbone and stays there, “R-right here- there. Both, Sugu.”

“Again with the f-fucking Sugu-” Geto snarls out, though you can sense by his cloudy scent that he was anything but irritated with you. 

Your whines had quietened down into something more of an incoherent mess, and the main things ringing in Geto’s ears right now were the creaky protests of his bed and the clammy plops of his thrusts. 

“C’mon now— where’s my bossy fuck! omega? The one who loves her poor, nerdy Sugu?”

Arousal reaching a peak, and now that he’d found your g-spot, he was probing into it with fat thuds. Not just once or twice. Nooooo, it was over and over and- 

“Just w-wanna cum—” you’re sobbing out. Jerking your body like a bobble-head up and down to further feel the drag of his Herculean form behind you, to savor each ridge and sculpted curve sweatily massaging your back. “P-pleeeeease, Suguru. Let me cum?”

Swerving his tensing hips out alllll the way back to leave solid smooches ‘round your pussy entrance each and every time, and then there were the squelches-

Oh, you were just flooding a slippery sheen all over his hefty, swelling base. A viscid luster of slick that glided all the way down to drip off of his sack n’ between his legs. 

Your eyes manage to snatch themselves open- hissing at the realization that it was pooling especially around that particularly ballooned-up ring right over Geto’s breeder balls. 

Was that? With a shiver you’re rutting backwards, feeling for yourself the slow drag of his proud knot. Bigger than any else you’ve ever seen. It was. 

You rasp, throat itchy and raw. Sweltering droplets of tears streaming down your cheeks when he matches the stuttering beat of your heart with every pressurized push- “P-please.”

“Needy thing. Cum, huh?” Geto drawls out, voice thick with need and something else you were too stupid to register right now. He collides you even tighter against rippling pecs. Taking the sweet, sweet opportunity to poke his nose into your scent gland and steal a looooong breath of your overdriven pheromones. 

“Cum then, c-cum. Fucking cum all over my cock.”

Fuck, it’s with those exact words in mind that you do.

Startling straight headfirst into your high - and you don’t think you’ve even crashed into one wave of bliss before the other overtakes you. And another. And another-

“Oh g-god—” You’re trilling, only held up by the ruthless grip that Geto was maintaining. His hips were deep, and your pleasure even deeper. “-please. Please- please, Sugu-”

He’s hunching over your body ever-so-slightly, resting your thighs against his thick, flexing ones. Only bending you over to kiss your g-spot even more sinfully, Geto’s response comes out ragged into your lobes. “Tch, wh-what now?”

His ruby-red tip was blushing like a strawberry and just as plump - swirling around your treasure trove of spots, pounding you through each peak of your orgasm until you saw stars. 

“Cum i-insiiiide-” Your barely-audible groans spring out into the heady air, adding to its hypnotic mix of perfumes. And it’s not just the heat that made you crave Geto carnally, every pap! against the puffy ring at his base making you crave more more more- “Want it a-all up…”

You’re trailing off, melted mind unable to do multiple things at once. 

With tottering fingerpads, you’re trapping one of his palms underneath your own. Homing itself right above where his rounded tip was stretching open your insides, right above your womb.

“H-here, okay? Don’t miss-” 

You blink up at him and Geto thinks he might just be having a heart attack. Sparks fizzing around his sloshed brain, “Fuh-fuuuuck– don’t talk out of yer pussy, gorgeous.” He spanks your clit once. Twice just to watch your eyes glaze over stupidly. “Or m’gonna get you pregnant.” 

Soothing over that faint bulge he was fucking into your tummy, “Gonna h-have my baby growing allll up in here. Make you round and…” His voice sounds faint, whispering. “-big and…glowing. And…and pregnant.”

But, ah- you never did make it easy for him. Did you? Always had to have your way. 

Which Geto Suguru gladly gave. 

“But I want that, Sugu—” You pout, “Wan’ your knot…please?”

You didn’t have to say another word before Geto’s finishing off in such a messy way, reaching the biggest fucking orgasm he’s had in his entire life. The strongest. The most heavenly and oh- oh, were you an angel?

He’s collapsing onto the drenched sheets before he knows it, pinning you down with the strong v-line of his hips. 

“Shit-” Geto emits through the cracks in his bitten canines. “Shit shit shit- shit-”

You don’t know who’s losing their mind more, you or him. Falling into the well of a second, third, perhaps even fourth orgasm with how blissfully his fattened, split-ended cock bruised every nook of your adhesive-like walls. 

Your saliva cascades in puddles that soak the pillows through. “Suguruuu— a-are you okay-”

“Do I look okay?”

Sexily ridged abs kneading your back, hands scrambling on the mattress, inked shoulders shivering. His swollen knot hits and hits your pussymound. 

And it’s only once his trembly fingers latch around his glasses - fumbling, dropping it copious times before Geto manages to push them haphazardly onto his face. 

Tilting his head back just enough degrees to watch as the curved fringe of his knot disappears past your puffy folds. 

“There we- there…” He’s driveling clingy wads of translucent saliva, letting the stray pouring excess hit your fluttering hole with a splat! One eager thumb of Geto’s hooks into your entrance and bullies it aside to let his incredible perimeter sink iiiiiiiiin-

He’s melting into you now, spent. Ruined. “Get pregnant.” Geto whispers into your sweat-glossed shoulder blade once he feels the back of his knot get fully enveloped into your pussy with a gummy pop! Once he feels himself finally tip over- “Get pregnant.”

And it’s not just mindless babbling - it’s a promise. 

A promise that he rasps out time and time against with every wadded slip of seed that dollops out across your cervix. Pushing it so deep. Smearing acres of ribbony streaks all over your most precious orifices and spots. 

“Gonna know wh-what we did.” Geto whimpers, shit- he couldn’t pound his voluminous ounces of cum into you as aggressively as he wanted with this damn knot. “Entire campus. Professors. Everyone’s gonna know ngh- how I fucked ya full. F-fucked you pregnant. Gonna wonder.”

But that didn’t stop him from trying.

That didn’t stop him from wrenching out a hand to squeeze the ends of your sopping wet slit, forcing down on his very knot. Squeezing out so many numerous dredges of syrupy white cum that thwack! thwack! thwacks! a filthy second skin against your walls. 

“Fuh-fuuuuck— get pregnant, gorgeous.” He’s rutting. Grinding. Humping you like some beast more than man. “Gonna l-look at you all round n’ big and see me- me me me. Get pregnant get pregnant get-” 

Geto’s mouth parts at the pearly dewdrops of seed that leak from the overstuffed ends of your cunt. He can feel his entire body twitch, can feel his sharpened teeth lacquer so rabidly. 

He still wasn’t done.

Still letting one prespired forearm of his dangle around your neck, manhandling you into a fucking headlock. The other tracing the edges of his digits over your glands, squeezing until your skin was all tender and raw. 

And puffy. 

Perfect for him to tilt his head and bite—

“Ohhh- yes!” Every fibre of your being delights at the way Geto’s biting you so hard that you can smell crimson iron. Your pheromone bubble pops! to mix together with his own. Becoming one. And you can scent him - you can feel him. 

Glasses clashing, teeth tearing. Before you know it, you’re doing the same. “Suguruuuu— m’yours.”

Your mate latches onto the curves of your hips - your soon-to-be birthing hips. 

And the way Geto rediscovers that - tucking his face into the ruined, drenched fabric of those cherry pink panties and taking an endless, husky sniff - tells you that this was going to be a long, loooong night. 

“Mine.”

A/N. MMMMMMMMM NERD GETOOOOOOOO

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[lay-z]

those ties that bind us

SUMMARY: You choose a new pair of alphas over what you've come to know.

PAIRING: Poly!alpha!141 x omega!Reader x alpha!AleRudy

WARNINGS/INFO: 18+ MDNI | OMEGAVERSE AU | female!Reader; angst; a/b/o dynamics; hurt/comfort; cussing; smut; spit kink; bad Spanish translations; bonding; open end

Based on this little blurb. 🩶

You had a feeling it would happen someday if your packmates, the alphas who you’ve spent and shared most of your life with for the better part of the past three years, won’t finally make a move, make you theirs officially—but now that it happened eventually, you’re not quite sure how to tell them. 

Perhaps you didn’t do enough? Didn’t make your intentions clear with none of them? The desire to be claimed, to belong, to be loved—always put off by Price, smiled at by Gaz, supported but never pursued by Soap, and straight up ignored by Ghost. 

As you follow Simon and Johnny over the busy tarmac, your combat boots begin to feel heavy with each step you take that leads you further away from Alejandro and Rudy, the alphas who are now courting you and currently staying behind by the truck after saying their goodbyes to their foreign comrades.  

Even then, you’d wondered if neither Simon nor Johnny found it odd when you chose not to say your own farewells to the other two alphas after finishing a successful operation, but again they stayed oblivious to the bond that has been blossoming between you and the Mexican soldiers since you’ve first stepped foot into Las Almas. 

Just last night it was Alejandro who had told you that, perhaps it will be better if you’re the one to break the news to them, though assuring you: “We’ll always have your back, cariño,”. 

And now, the harsh tug you’re currently experiencing deep down in your chest cavity, right behind your heart, only puts the last necessary nail in the coffin for you. 

You’re staying. 

As if on cue, your body works before your mind catches up—still both mentally and physically recovering from the mission—and you freeze in your steps, coming to an abrupt halt that causes Simon to glance over his shoulder, having noticed you in his peripherals like the vigilant alpha he is.  

And it causes a chain reaction, when Johnny follows his leader's reaction, stopping dead in his tracks and following Simon’s line of vision until bright blue eyes settle on you, a puzzled look settling on his ruggedly chiselled face.  

You speak up before either of them can: “This is goodbye... for now,” you tell them over the loud noises surrounding you on the airfield, and you try to keep your voice firm and steady, but it cracks at goodbye before your throat tightens painfully enough to make your eyes well up with tears. 

Simon and Johnny share a long, meaningful look, having a full-on conversation with their eyes in a language you don’t speak like you’ve witnessed so many times before, and then they fully turn simultaneously before approaching you with purposeful steps that make you brace yourself for an argument. 

“Whot’s tha’?” Simon asks, towering and gripping the straps of his bulky tac vest while tilting his masked head like a curious puppy. You know he’s just trying to give you another chance to change your words, but this time you won’t. 

“Whaddaya mean by ‘goodbye’, bon?” Johnny chimes in, brows furrowed while his gaze flickers between you and then over your shoulder, eye narrowing as they land on their allies—friends—the alpha males still watching the scene unfold with crossed arms and squared shoulders—looking ready to step in any second if need be. 

Johnny takes note of the sudden tension and dominance oozing off Alejandro and Rudy, how the comradery and friendliness from before has now seemingly disappeared soon as he and Simon approached you this time—as if they suddenly have a claim on you that your literal packmates don’t. 

And just like that, it dawns on them like a physical blow to the chest. 

Simon’s jaw clenches as he tries to reign in the rumbling growl building up in his chest while Johnny doesn’t bother to hide the snarl taking over his face, sharpening his features into something feral; both of their scents spiking in intensity, lacing the hot-humid air with sour pheromones, ready to scent mark and drag you onto the cargo plane with them if push comes to shove. 

Your eyes widen at once, a deer caught in headlights, staring at the truck coming full speed at her. 

“Ye’re comin’ home with us,” Johnny growls, gloved hands balling into tight fists at his sides to keep himself from simply snatching your wrist before Simon’s hand comes up to rest on his shoulder like a physical leash. “Easy there, Soap.” 

Neither of them is angry with you, you can tell that much, but judging by their blown pupils and dominant stances, something strange is happening. 

“I’m not coming with you. I’m–” Your heart thumps violently and your breath hitches momentarily, making it harder for you to get the words out as both men stare at you intensely, expecting you to make a choice that’d be in their favour. 

But you’ve made your decision. 

“I’m staying here... with Alejandro and Rudy. I have–I have already informed Price last night and asked for special leave,” you explain, fidgeting with your hands while your pulse thrums in your neck. 

A strange sensation goes through your body as you speak those words; a buzzing energy rushing through your veins as you cut those emotional packbonds, now brittle by the years of neglect, to focus on the future waiting for you just a few yards away—a tiny seedling soaking up sunshine for the first time, finally stepping away from the trees who’ve drowned her in shadows, causing harm without even meaning to. 

Johnny shakes his head slowly, disbelief settling on his face as the crease between his brows disappears, eyes softening. For a moment, it almost looks like something inside him shatters, as if he can feel it, too. 

“No... please,” he breathes, reaching out to grasp your hand while his shoulders slouch. “Ye cannae jus’... do this, bon. Ye belong with us,” he squeezes your hand weakly, “–our wee omega.” 

A soft whimper escapes your throat, one that has Alejandro and Rudy perk up with worry despite the distance, and one that makes Johnny’s eyes water—because he knows what it means. Your decision is final and it’s their own bloody fault. 

They should’ve seen it coming, should’ve noticed the signs even amidst battle, and yet they didn’t; thinking they still had time. 

“I’ll miss ye,” Johnny rasps before pulling you against his chest only to bury his face into your neck to inhale your sweet scent greedily, hoping it will brand itself into his nostrils—one last time. Warm blueberry tarte, honey-soaked linen, and freshly cut grass, a concoction now dulled by sadness, though still perfect, still—theirs. It makes his teeth itch to bite, to mark, and his chest feels heavy, unable to let you go just like that. 

“Are ye sure, luv?” he mutters against your skin and his nose presses into your virgin scent gland in a way that makes you shiver. You nod meekly, eyes squeezed shut as you rub your face against his shirt, leaving your scent on him instinctively. Just for the flight home to make him feel better, you think. Always the good omega looking out for her pack. 

“I’m sure,” you reply so quietly, you can barely hear it yourself. “It’s been inevitable from the moment I saw them... smelled them.” 

You can’t see it, but your admission shatters them; cracks their ribcages open underneath their gear and stabs their hearts repeatedly until there’s nothing left but bloodied, torn muscle and shredded heartstrings—hurting even a cold one. 

After another moment, Johnny releases you reluctantly; strong arms flexing with tension as they lower at his sides. He rests his forehead against yours, chuffs low in his throat—a quiet, sorrowful goodbye that rings in your ears until your tears drip down your cheeks. 

He pulls back with a grimace when Simon squeezes his shoulder, like separating himself causes him physical pain, and he leaves your tears to be wiped away by your new alphas, though in every other situation, Johnny would’ve licked them off your skin with flagrant reverence. 

“C’mon, Soap, ’s time to go,” Simon announces, giving his Sergeant a firm pat on the shoulder while his eyes never leave you. You peer up at him, head ducked with a hint of shame, tendons flexing in your neck at the tension. 

Eventually, Johnny turns away with a pained snarl, speeding up the process like ripping off a band aid and pulling off scab, muttering profanities under his breath as he storms off towards the plane that will take them back to the UK—while Simon stays back, still staring down at you with those onyx eyes of his, though now they hold a kind of softness to them that leaves your whole system reeling. 

“Lieutenant–” you rasp, and he huffs through his mask, making your jaw snap closed again.  

His gloved hands come up to rest on your shoulders, the skeleton prints spanning wide, thumbs brushing your sensitive scent glands with a tenderness you’ve rarely experienced from him as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours, hardshell mask pinching into your skin. 

“...’s olways been you, pet.” 

Your breath stutters, eyes fluttering as you try to process his words while your fingers tremble to reach out and claw into his tac vest to keep him close—keep his scent near, the one no omega before you has found as enticing as you. 

Too much, too rigid, like ice shards and gasoline fumes jabbing into your lungs with each deep inhale, rather warning off any potential mate than drawing them in. 

It made you feel safe and that’s all that ever mattered to him. 

Simon lets you go with practiced ease, shoves down his feelings even though his alpha is snarling, thrashing and howling behind his mask of indifference, but he cannot contain the sound that tears out of his throat, thank god muffled by the cloth covering his mouth—husky and unpractised like blunt nails scraping over gravel, a puppy learning to communicate—something akin to a whine, a sound you’ve never heard him nor any of them make. 

Your eyes widen, synapsis and instincts firing in your brain, hissing at you to soothe and purr for him, for the alpha you’ve dared to hurt—but then the dirt on the tarmac scrunches under his boots as he turns, leaving his broad back for you to look after while a swooping feeling in your stomach makes you nauseous, and you swallow your pathetic whines, having lost the right to call for them. 

There’s an invisible snap and you swear you can hear it, like a cruciate rupture knocking the breath out of you, loud as a gunshot and nasty, leaving you behind with a limp and quivering lips as you watch them walk away from you, though you can see the slight hobble in their own heavy steps. 

That night, your new alphas make sure to help you—not to forget but distract you from the pain of severing your packbond instead.  

Though, it’s hardly merely the bond that has broken your heart. 

They bring you to their private quarters, invite you into their den, a ranch house on vast land, many klicks away from Las Almas, and give you time until the sun sets, and nightfall cools the temperature to something more bearable, to settle in and sort out some of the internal chaos wreaking havoc and lacing your scent with a bitter smack of sadness. 

It is obvious that you’ve loved them all—all four of them with equal ferocity. You would’ve taken a bullet for each one, you’ve tended to their wounds, the ones you can see and the one you don’t, took care of their emotional needs, made sure your shared nest was always comforting and warm to them—and for what? To be replaced if another, perhaps more beautiful, sweeter, and docile omega comes along to take the place you should have been given freely and with an urgency bordering on alpha possessiveness?  

You have loved them in the dark and it was good—until someone else showed you what the light can truly look like. 

It’s easy and effortless.  

Your instincts are no burden but a relief to them; the fact that you come from the same line of work only fuelling their desire to make you theirs. They’ve shown it with their eyes, in the way their chests puff out as they inhale your scents, two pairs of rough hands itching to grab and grope and keep. 

And just as they do in the field, Alejandro and Rudy work as a team to shed you of your material layers first before peeling away metaphorical ones—until they have stripped you naked of both cloth and invisible barriers, leaving you raw and exposed to them as they devour you whole, slow and methodically.  

Their scents are strong and unapologetically wild, and it doesn’t take long until it seeps into your pores to stay; engulfing you in a comforting blanket of burnt blue agave, leaving a taste of finely aged tequila in the back of your throat, dried cloves, chili and cardamom, reminding you of a homecooked meal waiting for you, and the promising musk of their heady desires, hidden beneath a touch of violent smoke rising from the end of a gun barrel—a barrel now pointed at you. 

“Yes, you should weep for them, querida,” Alejandro murmurs against your temple as he cradles you against his bare chest; all warm skin and chiselled muscles. “Makes it easier to let go and focus on what’s in front of you.” 

The white curtains sweep as a soft breeze sweeps through the spacious bedroom, coming through the open floor-to-ceiling windows; moonlight illuminating the room in semi-darkness as you lounge on the bed. 

Between your legs, Rudy hums in agreement, trailing languid, open-mouthed kisses up your supple legs while you spread for him willingly, giving him more space to explore.  

“Agreed,” he breathes against your dewy skin, feeling your skin pebble with goosebumps under his tongue as he licks a slow stripe over the sensitive scent gland on the inside of your left thigh, so, so close to your glistening sex.  

He groans at your taste and starts rutting against the mattress, grinding his hips slowely, breathing out: “Díos.” 

Your legs quiver and you squirm in Alejandro’s arms, a mere bunny embraced by two wolfs, though perhaps you’ve never felt safer—more wanted—in your life. 

A whimper leaves your lips, perspiration building above your furrowed brows.  

“Are you–” you swallow hard, unsure if it’s too soon to ask. “Will you–” 

Alejandro kisses your temple, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Of course, we will,” he assures you, nose trailing along your hairline, “–just not tonight. It would be too much for you.” 

Before disappointment can settle into your gut like a parasite, like another worry adding to your fragile soul, a petulant pout forming on your lips, Rudy is quick to distract you again by parting your outer folds with deft fingers to expose the little treat resting at the top of your pussy, leaving you hot-faced and gasping. 

“Pinche... es hermosa, Ale,” Rudy mumbles under his breath, thumb stroking over your swollen clit with unfamiliar reverence. “Voy a probar un poco.” 

Your breath hitches while Alejandro smiles against your skull, strong hands roaming over your torso and settling right below the curve of your tits—squeezing and groping your giving flesh lightly as he feels your thumping heartbeat beneath his palms.  

“Mi conejita,” he growls before nipping at your earlobe. “I will fuck you once Rudy has prepared you for my cock, yes? Tell me how much you’d like that, cariño–” 

The term of endearment, so cute and innocent, followed by pure filth, makes your pulse spike and your pussy throb with its own heartbeat—and then Rudy leans in with a shameless groan to slowly lick and suck at your clit, and the world tips upside down like your eyes rolling back into your skull. 

The night progresses in a whirlwind of earth-shattering orgasms and whispered promises—and they manage to keep your mind off the past, giving you but a taste of your new reality. 

Rudy eats your cunt as feverishly as Johnny, though less messy and more precise, like he has all the time in the world to learn and explore—and you realize that he does when his teeth graze over the scent gland of your inner thighs again, scraping the sensitive surface with his teeth and lapping up your essence while Alejandro warns him to slow down, let you breathe.  

The second-in-command finishes on the mattress, his tan skin sweat-slicked and panting, his ruddy cock spurting a massive load into the white sheets—simply from licking at your sex.  

You coo at him when you catch your breath, fingers tugging at his black, fluffy hair to pull him in for a kiss while Alejandro manhandles your legs, pushes them apart and drapes one thigh over his hip as he shifts his weight behind your back for a better angle. 

“That’s it, querida, kiss your man,” Alejandro growls, squeezing the back of your neck while he strokes his own prick from base to tip, exhaling a shaky breath when he coats himself in your succulent slick. 

Rudy’s tongue is tangling with yours and you can taste yourself on his saliva; messy and passionate, you suck on his tongue with a sensual purr, half-lidded eyes drinking in his wrecked, pretty face. 

Alejandro grunts as he lines himself up with your dripping hole, drooling tip dragging through your swollen folds. “Escupir en su boca, hermano,” he orders, voice rumbling with a growl that has you keening, and Rudy is swift to cup your jaw, keeping your mouth open, all too eager to follow his Colone’s orders. 

Your breath comes in sharp pants as you stick your tongue out, a breathy moan spilling out your chest as Alejandro thrusts his fat cockhead past your entrance, sinking in an inch or two only to pull out and repeat, your velvety walls swallowing him up with greed. 

“Joder,” he groans huskily, resting his forehead against the back of your head.  

“Eyes on me, cariño,” Rudy chuckles, giving your jaw a small squeeze. “Feels good, no?” His tawny eyes crinkle at the corners as you nod with your tongue still out, your eyes nearly crossing from pleasure. “Heh, so cute.” 

And then Rudy tips your head back against Alejandro’s broad shoulder, making the other alpha watch with his thick cock now nestled and twitching deep inside of your cunt, as he spits a generous glob of saliva into your mouth. 

“Now swallow,” he croons before dragging his spit-shiny lips down the column of your throat, feeling it bob against his nose as you swallow obediently. 

Alejandro snarls against your shoulder blade, pupils blown with searing lust and possessiveness at the teasing display between you and Rudy, and his hands settle on your hips, keeping you in place on his lap as he begins to thrust his hips up, driving his throbbing cock into your welcoming heat with unbridled need and liquid fire simmering in his veins, spreading like a wildfire as his balls draw up tight. 

So close to your virgin scent gland on your neck, he huffs your sticky skin and bares his teeth while you’re blissfully unaware, making out with Rudy until the latter notices the shift in the other alpha—and he swiftly reaches out to grab a fistful of Alejandro’s sleek raven hair, tugging it back to make their eyes meet. 

“Not tonight, boss. Tu mismo lo dijiste,” he reminds the older alpha pointedly. 

Alejandro growls, then nods. He feels your walls flutter and tighten around his rutting shaft with another impending climax. They share a look, and Rudy tightens his grip with a curt nod—a silent promise to keep the other alpha from sinking his teeth into your mating gland in his ecstasy.  

Not tonight, querida. 

On another continent, now separated not only by distance but a broken packbond, Gaz paces inside the Captain Price’s office, deadly like an agitated jaguar in its too tiny enclosure. 

“This is fuckin’ bullshit, Cap,” he repeats, snarling for the umpteenth time. “Absolute fuckin’ madness!”  

His scent—usually so calm and fresh like mint leaves soaking in spring sunshine and fresh lemonade—has turned the air and atmosphere inside the office sour. 

He stops right in front of Price’s cluttered desk, glaring at his trusted superior with blatant fury in his eyes as he braces his hands on the polished mahogany, leaning forward. 

“How could you agree to this? How could you allow her to stay over there?! To leave our pack?!” 

Behind his desk, John keeps his arms crossed tensely, jaw ticking as he clenches and unclenches it, his tongue dry and thick in his mouth as his mistake dawns on him. 

The seasoned Captain made a decision with your wellbeing as his priority—always his priority—and now it’s biting him in the arse, becoming more of a simple graze like he’d expected. No, he can feel you slipping, can feel the bond severing, and it’s making him anxious, sad. 

Sad. Downright depressed. 

John hasn’t felt anything like this before, but he is still faring better than his Sergeant—who had no clue what was happening until he’d staggered into his office a few moments ago, clutching his chest as if someone had stabbed him with a combat knife, whinging like a pup in distress. 

Bloody hell, he can’t imagine how Soap must be behaving right now—still stuck in a plane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean; having only Ghost to turn to and soothe him. Fuck. It’s a bloody disaster. 

“Gaz,” John sighs roughly, tries reasoning, “– it's her decision. I couldn’t deny her.” 

“Deny her?” Gaz barks out a humourless laugh. it only agitates the younger alpha more. His eyes widen, his face twists into a dangerous snarl. “Fuck that, Captain!” 

John has never quite seen him lose his composure like this. He rises from his chair with a warning growl, towers over the Sergeant and forcing him into submission, pulling both rank and dominance to ease the tension. 

“That’s enough, Garrick,” he says, finality lacing his sharp tone. “She asked for special leave, nothing more–” 

“We are losing her. Our omega. Our girl,” Gaz interrupts, though his voice has lost some of its burn. His jaw clenches as he grits his teeth, keeping his accusations inside as he regards his Captain with a hint of disappointment and desperation. 

He swallows hard, feeling the bond continuing to dissipate; it feels like sand running through his hands and there is nothing he can do to stop it from leaving him. He knows that Price can feel it, too. 

“I don’t know about you, but I cannot lose her, sir,” Gaz admits, brows furrowing with a distraught whine. “We were planning to make her ours, didn’t we? Or did that fucking plan change, too?” 

There is a tense pause. John’s jaw ticks again and he rubs a hand over his coarse beard, sucking his teeth before he shakes his head slowly. 

“No, son, it hasn’t.” 

[charliemwrites]

Omegas are the best for the military. Everyone knows that, it’s just common sense.

Omegas are notoriously level-headed and calm, protective without the tendency towards aggression and territorial possessiveness that characterizes their Alpha counterparts. They’re cooperative and adaptable, with heightened senses that at one evolutionary time kept them safe from rabid Alphas.

Now, it’s best suited to sniffing out potential threats, communicating sub-vocally, and noticing the smallest changes in their environment. The military finds them much more economical for combat, special ops, and even espionage compared to Alphas, who are pheromone sensitive, hard-headed, and generally indelicate.

That said, they’re not without their uses. Alphas tend to be lean, fast, and vicious. That aggression makes them both sword and shield in a fight, filing their sense of pain and fatigue down to almost nothing until the threat is neutralized.

Still, having a full-time Alpha in a squad isn’t a necessity except in special circumstances.

Per usual, Task Force 141 is special circumstances.

Four specialist Omegas with a metric ton of trauma per team member has the unfortunate consequence of hormonal imbalance. One thing feeds into another, a heat is put on hold for a mission because they can’t spare the manpower - it stacks and stacks and stacks until sleep is scarce and their usually well-maintained instincts are bursting at the seams. Compound that with the near loss of one of their team members…

The new Alpha is already there when the team returns from their latest assignment.

Laswell is waiting on the tarmac and an operative in black gear is standing a polite distance (plus one step more) from her elbow. Well within peripheral, but deferent. Their hands are clasped behind their back, shoulders straight but loose.

As TF141 approaches, Price expects the Alpha pheromones to waft his way any moment. It’s normal, expected even. A new environment, meeting strange Omegas, Alphas usually burn through their neutralizers quickly. Perhaps a vestigial instinct to carve a space for themselves in the world. Not necessarily their fault, but it happens.

Price is surprised that he smells nothing from the Alpha at all. Just the scents of detergent and soap, clean and standard. A quick glance at Simon confirms their most-sensitive nose doesn’t detect anything either.

Laswell introduces them, an Alpha that she’s personally worked with before and can verify is solid both on and off the field.

The Alpha’s muzzle is heavy duty but long-wear design. Hard-case and rigid instead of the more popular soft and flexible ones. Cushioned but firm at the bridge of the nose, chin, and corners of the jaw. Buckled tight at the back of the head, steel grid pattern across the front.

Price doesn’t arch his eyebrows at it but it’s a near thing.

They duck their head in greeting when Laswell introduces them as Saint, eyes flicking up briefly to each team member, eye-shine reflecting green in the bright runway lights.

Soap whistles, impressed.

“Yer a big ‘un, tha’s fer damn sure. Didnae ken they make ‘em like ye,” he drawls. Ghost cuffs him upside the head, reminding him to behave.

Saint blinks and doesn’t say anything. Curious.

“Let’s do proper introductions inside,” Price decides.

It goes much the same way in the 141’s den as it did out on the tarmac. Saint stands quiet and still while the Omegas take their turns.

There’s no scent to familiarize themselves with, so it’s mostly offering theirs to the Alpha. Except Saint doesn’t duck down to the neck Gaz offers. Instead, they pluck up his hand and bring his wrist to their muzzle. Inhale so quietly that only the swell of their chest indicates that they’re breathing him in.

They chuff softly, hold so loose that Gaz’s hand nearly drops from theirs. It’s approval, it can’t be anything else, but it sounds so… detached.

Still, Gaz chuffs in return, and makes way for the others. Saint does the same to Soap and by the time Simon steps up, he’s already tugging his sleeve up and his glove down.

Simon, to his own surprise, receives the same polite huff as the two sergeants. Most Alphas have found his direct scent to be unpleasant - too sharp and savory, bordering on Alpha. But Saint doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

When it’s finally Price’s turn, the only difference is that Saint swipes their own wrist along his. Scent claim. Not marking the 141 as theirs, but rather Saint as belonging with them.

Laswell, suspiciously amused, takes her leave soon after.

The 141 has an Alpha. A permanent one.

Living with an Alpha would have been a learning curve on its own. Living with SAINT is something else entirely.

For one, they apply clinical-strength neutralizer religiously. They have spares stashed everywhere. In their go-bag, their combat gear, the den, the lockers - even one in Price’s office. It’s better than the ones with fragrance, but if not for their ever-present muzzle, no one would be able to tell that they’re an Alpha.

And speaking of the muzzle.

It goes beyond common courtesy and public conduct. Even in the den, they keep the thing tightly pressed to their face, and don’t remove it for anything. They eat in their room and drink through straws when necessary.

When Price tells them that the team wouldn’t mind if they used a bite guard in the den, they just chuff softly and brush a hand along his shoulder. The muzzle stayed.

It’s not to say they don’t seem comfortable. Day by day, little signs of trust and ease seep into their Alpha’s mannerisms if they know where to look for it. A brush of skin here, a sub-vocal purr there. Spending hours upon hours in the den, available for any of the Omegas to sit with or cuddle or chat to. As much as teammate as an Alpha in the traditional sense.

It doesn’t take Soap and Gaz long at all to start hanging all over them, but Saint takes it with all the patience of their namesake. Price finds Soap lounging in their lap most times that they’re sitting, or leaning hard into their side while they watch recruits.

The muzzle is a no-touch zone, but they don’t get even growl the first time Soap discovers that. They just redirect him with a quiet click of their tongue, and let him nuzzle in when he apologizes.

Gaz is hardly any better, scent marking Saint like some bad Alpha stereotype. Poor thing goes around smelling overwhelmingly of bergamot and honey sometimes, but they never mind, never stop him from pressing his face to their chest or their back or even into their hands. Rubbing his face over any bit of skin or fabric available, even their jugular, despite the vulnerability of such a spot.

Still, Saint is aloof.

They’re perfectly responsive to their Omegas, head tilting at the slightest vocalization, quick to offer physical comfort when asked. They hardly ever seek it out for themself though, and show none of the near-obsessive behaviors associated with even the most mild of Alphas on the spectrum.

“I dinnae think Alpha likes us,” Soap whines one evening.

Saint is eating in their room, leaving the Omegas to a cuddle pile while they wait for their return.

He’s been lamenting it for a while now, repressing the rejected pang in his gut any time Saint doesn’t vocalize back, or reach for them first.

They work out in the Alpha-Only gym on base and do their laundry in the designated Alpha wash. Neither of those are regulations, it’s a choice they make. And it hurts a bit.

Saint is sweet, but their politeness goes past the point of old-fashioned.

“Course they do,” Simon grunts, dismissive. “They probably like us too much.”

“How do you reckon?” Gaz asks.

“Alpha didn’ go t’ eat ‘til we were all fed,” he replies, shrugging.

And it’s true. Saint doesn’t collect a scrap of nutrition until every one of their Omegas has had something to eat. Even Price, stubborn and work-focused as he can be, is gently urged to eat before Saint fills their own belly.

It doesn’t stop there.

Saint is always the last one on or off a transport, and quick to notice if any of them are injured. They’re always present around large groups of other Alphas, especially recruits.

The sheer amount of time they spend available is unusual, preferring the den to rest in their off hours - even sleeping there on occasion.

Then Gaz’s heat is due. A week out and he’s already feeling it descending - it’s been well over six months since his last one. His skin feels itchy, his senses on overdrive. Thirsty and hungry and generally feeling restless beneath the skin.

“Alpha,” he calls.

Saint’s eyes are on him instantly, one-sided conversation with some other, non-Pack Omega forgotten. Gaz purrs, pleased.

“I want something of yours.”

They tilt their head, a silent question.

“A shirt or something,” he specifies.

And something in their gaze flickers. Gaz isn’t sure what it means, but it definitely looks positive.

Saint brings him something better - a blanket. It’s intimate; it’s perfect. It smells incredible, if… oddly faded. From his most reserved Pack member, it means the world.

Gaz balls himself up with it in the nest he assembles over the next day and a half, until he wakes up one morning with the knowledge that his heat will l well and truly have taken hold before midday.

He puts in his notice and calls his Pack.

Saint is the last to enter his barrack, a huge bag of supplies in their arms. Not just for Gaz, but for the rest of them. No one will be leaving unless duty calls.

And it’s perfect. The best heat Gaz has ever had. Surrounded by Pack and protected by his Alpha, who stays on watch while Price and Ghost and Soap fuck him through the dregs of preheat and well into Heat proper.

Half of him purrs at his Alpha’s dedication to protecting them, to providing for them. The other half protests the Alpha’s attention being anywhere but on him.

“Alpha,” he calls. And when that only earns him Saint’s eyes and not his affection, he barks, sharper, “Alpha.”

They come to him instantly, settled in between his legs, smooth their thumbs along the glands at the base of his neck. He curls into them trilling and chirping and needing more than just social acceptability right now.

And finally, finally, a low rumble sounds through his Alpha’s chest. It’s deep and rich, hits the subharmonics in a way that has all the Omegas going still and quiet. Their voice purrs out a moment later, practically vibrating their skulls.

“Easy, Omega.”

Gaz bares his neck, whispering, “Saint.”

They lean in, breathing loud and deep, warm hands soothing an ache in his lower back. “I’m here, Kyle.”

They fuck well into sundown, Kyle so wound up that he can’t bear to be parted from Saint to even let them breathe. Any space between them is whined or growled or bitten out of existence, the ever-indulgent Alpha soothing their Omega with their body, with the newly discovered vocalizations that he just can’t get enough of.

Ghost and Price have to feed and hydrate him between rounds, working together to manage his clingy limbs and careless (but sharp) teeth. In the meantime, Soap helps to do the same for Saint, who is far more cooperative.

“How’re you still goin’?” Soap wonders, amazed, slipping bites of granola between the bars of their muzzle. Saint is sitting upright with Gaz collected against their chest, sweaty but already breathing evenly again.

Saint licks a bit of chocolate off their lip and meets his eyes easy as anything, serene for how blown out their pupils are.

“I’m your Alpha. I go until you need me to stop.”

Which just sets them all off, each taking (needing) a turn with their Alpha.

By then, their neutralizer has begun to wear off, friction and sweat and fabric thinning the chemical deodorant to nothing. The scent is intoxicating, unlike anything any of them have ever smelled before. It’s overwhelmingly Alpha, overwhelmingly good. Even Ghost and Price, rare to bend the knee to anyone, find themselves weak for that scent.

No wonder Saint keeps it on lock, it’s practically a weapon in itself, not demanding submission but expecting it. A foregone conclusion. In a social setting it would be a brutal domination, rude wouldn’t even be the right word for it.

Saint isn’t just an Alpha, they’re on the extreme end of the spectrum.

The kind that comes with counseling and desensitizing therapies. Etiquette schools and specialized doctors.

The kind of Alpha that can not only manage four chaotic Omegas, but give them what they need.

With types like Saint, Alpha isn’t just a designation, it’s a title. And the 141 is proud that it’s theirs.

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 6: Unexpected Reactions

The conference room at KQ Entertainment had become your second home over the past three days. Surrounded by multiple laptops, tablets, printed schedules, and enough empty coffee cups to build a small fortress, you'd been working tirelessly to accommodate the company's sudden decision to move up ATEEZ's comeback by two weeks.

It was a logistical nightmare that had sent the entire team into overdrive. Recording sessions needed to be rescheduled, choreography finalized ahead of schedule, concept photos reshoot, and promotional appearances rearranged. You'd been making calls since dawn, negotiating with everyone from music show producers to stylists to venue managers, all while trying to ensure the members wouldn't collapse from exhaustion under the compressed timeline.

"There has to be a way," you muttered to yourself, staring at the color-coded digital calendar on your main laptop while simultaneously texting the music video director on your phone. The current iteration of the schedule had the members recording final vocal tracks until 2 AM before a 7 AM choreography session the next day—clearly untenable.

You were so absorbed in your work that you didn't notice the conference room door open until a steaming mug of tea appeared in your peripheral vision, followed by Hongjoong's concerned face.

"When was the last time you took a break?" he asked, pulling out the chair beside you.

You glanced at your watch and winced. "What time is it now?"

"Almost 7 PM," he replied, his expression shifting from concern to mild alarm. "Have you been in here since morning?"

"I had that meeting with the promotional team at eleven," you offered weakly, accepting the tea with grateful hands. The warmth of the mug against your palms was a stark reminder of how cold the air-conditioned room had become—or perhaps how long you'd been sitting still, hunched over your work.

"That was eight hours ago," Hongjoong pointed out gently. "The others sent me to find you. We were worried."

A rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the tea spread through your chest. Even in the midst of their own hectic preparations, they had noticed your absence and been concerned.

"I'm fine," you assured him, taking a sip of the perfectly prepared tea—honey and lemon, exactly how you liked it. "I just need to figure out this scheduling puzzle. It's like trying to fit twenty-eight hours of activities into twenty-four hour days."

Hongjoong leaned closer, studying the complex calendar on your screen. His shoulder pressed lightly against yours, and you felt a shiver at his touch. 

"You're trying to do the impossible," he said after a moment, his voice tinged with admiration and concern in equal measure. "The company shouldn't have sprung this on us with so little notice."

"It's my job to make the impossible work," you replied with a small smile, trying to ignore how his proximity made your heart beat a little faster. After nearly a month of working closely with him and the others, you'd become more adept at managing these reactions, but never quite immune to them.

Hongjoong's eyes met yours, serious and intense. "Not at the expense of your health. The members and I had a discussion, and we agreed—we're not letting you burn yourself out trying to accommodate an unreasonable timeline."

Something in his tone made you pause. "What are you suggesting?"

"We've talked to Manager Minwoo. The members are willing to do the extra work, but some things simply can't be compressed further. The company will have to accept that certain elements might not be as polished as usual, or the date will need to be pushed back."

You shook your head, turning back to your laptop. "I can make it work. I just need to—"

"Y/n," Hongjoong interrupted, his voice taking on the gentle authority that marked him as the pack leader. "This isn't up for debate. We're not risking your wellbeing."

The collective "we" wasn't lost on you—nor was the protective edge in his voice. Ever since your arrival, you'd noticed how the members seemed to include you in their pack mentality, despite your professional role remaining clearly defined.

"At least let me show you what I've managed to work out so far," you insisted, gesturing to the screen.

Hongjoong relented with a sigh. "Fine. But then you're coming back to the house for dinner. Seonghwa's orders, not mine."

You couldn't help but smile at that. Seonghwa's nurturing instincts had become increasingly evident over the past weeks, especially when any of the members—or you—skipped meals or proper rest.

"Deal," you agreed, turning to the screen to walk him through your revised schedule.

---

Two hours later, after a surprisingly productive collaboration with Hongjoong—who proved to have a keen mind for logistics—you had a workable schedule that, while still demanding, no longer required superhuman endurance from anyone involved. You had also secured an agreement from the company to delay the music video release by three days, creating crucial breathing room in the most compressed part of the timeline.

"I think we've actually done it," you said, leaning back in your chair with a mixture of exhaustion and triumph. "It's tight, but it should work."

"I'm impressed," Hongjoong admitted, studying the final version. "You've somehow managed to accommodate almost everything without killing us all in the process."

"There are still a few compromises," you pointed out, indicating several highlighted sections. "The concept photo session will need to be faster than ideal, and we've had to cancel that variety show appearance."

"Small prices to pay for a schedule that actually allows for sleeping occasionally," Hongjoong replied with a wry smile. He stood, stretching his back after the long hours hunched over the conference table. "Now, as promised, dinner. Everyone's waiting."

Your stomach chose that moment to growl audibly, reminding you that you'd subsisted on nothing but coffee and a granola bar since breakfast. "I suppose I could eat," you conceded, gathering your essential items while leaving the rest for tomorrow.

The drive back to the ATEEZ residence was quiet, comfortable silence hanging between you and Hongjoong as the city lights blurred past the windows. You found your eyelids growing heavy, the past days of intense work catching up with you now that the immediate pressure had eased.

"You can rest," Hongjoong said softly, noticing your struggle to stay awake. "I'll wake you when we arrive."

Perhaps it was the exhaustion, or the sense of accomplishment from solving the scheduling crisis, but you found yourself letting your guard down enough to allow your head to rest against the cool window. The last thing you registered before drifting off was Hongjoong's jacket being gently laid over you, you thought you could smell his scent enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort, but you drifted off before your mind could process it. 

---

"She's completely out," you heard Hongjoong's voice murmur as consciousness slowly returned. "Has barely slept in days, from what I can tell."

"Should we wake her for dinner?" Seonghwa's voice, closer than Hongjoong's.

"I hate to disturb her, but she needs to eat," Hongjoong replied.

You blinked awake, momentarily disoriented to find yourself in the ATEEZ living room rather than the car. "I'm awake," you mumbled, pushing yourself upright on what you now realized was the living room couch. Hongjoong's jacket slid from your shoulders as you moved.

"Welcome back," Seonghwa said with a gentle smile, standing from where he'd been crouched near the couch. "Hongjoong said you solved the impossible schedule problem."

"Not impossible," you corrected, still blinking sleep from your eyes. "Just highly improbable."

"She's being modest," Hongjoong told Seonghwa. "She managed to rework everything while still ensuring we all get at least six hours of sleep most nights and keeping all the essential promotional activities."

Seonghwa's eyebrows rose, clearly impressed. "Well, that certainly deserves a proper meal. Everyone's in the kitchen—dinner's almost ready."

As you followed them toward the dining area, you became aware of the lively conversation and enticing aromas emanating from the kitchen. Despite your exhaustion, a smile tugged at your lips. There was something about returning to this house, to these people, that felt increasingly like coming home.

The members were scattered around the large kitchen island and dining table, various side dishes already laid out. San was in the middle of what appeared to be an animated story involving the choreographer, while Yunho and Jongho listened attentively. Yeosang was quietly arranging plates and utensils, and Mingi was helping Wooyoung carry a large pot of what smelled like kimchi jjigae from the stove.

"Look who I found," Hongjoong announced as you entered.

All eyes turned to you, and the genuine warmth in their collective gaze sent a flutter through your chest.

"The scheduling wizard returns!" Wooyoung exclaimed dramatically, setting down the pot to approach you with outstretched arms. "Tell me you've performed another miracle!"

"The schedule's fixed," you confirmed with a tired smile. "It's tight, but manageable."

Wooyoung's eyes widened comically. "You actually did it? You reorganized everything within the new timeline?"

"With some compromises," you added, not wanting to oversell your achievement. "And Hongjoong helped with the final version."

"That's it," Wooyoung declared, dropping to one knee in front of you with such theatrical suddenness that you couldn't help but laugh. "I'm buying a wedding ring this afternoon. What kind would you like? Pear? Oval? Princess cut?"

You giggled and felt heat rise to your cheeks at his over-the-top proposal, a reaction that had become commonplace with Wooyoung's exaggerated flirtations. "Don't be ridiculous. I was just doing my job."

"Your job was to manage our existing schedule, not perform actual time-bending sorcery," Wooyoung countered, remaining on one knee and taking your hand in his. "I'm serious about that ring. A woman who can bend time deserves diamonds."

Still laughing, you glanced up from Wooyoung's theatrical pose—and froze. He was looking at you with an expression you hadn't seen before. Behind the comedy and exaggeration that were so typical of him was something else entirely: a fond, heated gaze that held nothing performative in it at all. For a brief moment, the playful pretense fell away, and you glimpsed a raw intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

Something stirred deep inside you—your omega responding to the alpha's attention in a way that bypassed all your careful restraint. A purr nearly escaped your lips before you caught yourself, swallowing the instinctive reaction that would have instantly revealed your true nature.

The moment hung suspended in the suddenly quiet kitchen, charged with something neither of you had anticipated. Wooyoung's eyes darkened slightly, as if he'd sensed the shift in your demeanor even without detecting your scent.

And then, from across the room, came a sound that shattered the moment entirely—a low, unmistakable growl.

All heads snapped toward the source. Mingi stood frozen by the kitchen counter, a look of horror spreading across his face as he realized what had just happened. The possessive growl had clearly emerged from his throat involuntarily, a primal alpha reaction he hadn't been able to suppress.

For several heartbeats, no one moved or spoke. The air in the kitchen felt suddenly charged with tension as the implications of that instinctive sound hung between you all.

Mingi was the first to break the stunned silence, his face flushing deeply as he bowed apologetically. "I'm—I'm so sorry," he stammered, clearly mortified. "I don't know why I—that was completely inappropriate. Please forgive me."

Wooyoung had risen to his feet, his playful demeanor completely vanished. The look he exchanged with Mingi was complex—not angry, but filled with understanding and something else you couldn't quite identify.

"No harm done," Wooyoung said after a moment, his tone deliberately light though his eyes remained serious. "Just alpha nonsense. Right, Mingi-yah?"

Mingi nodded stiffly, still looking deeply embarrassed. "Yes. Just... nonsense. I'm sorry, Y/n."

You found your voice, though it came out slightly higher than normal. "It's fine. Really. No need to apologize."

The tension in the room remained palpable until Seonghwa smoothly intervened. "The food's getting cold. Everyone, let's eat while Y/n tells us about this miracle schedule she's created."

Grateful for the redirection, everyone moved toward the table, though the atmosphere remained charged with unspoken questions. You took your usual seat between Yunho and Hongjoong, acutely aware of Mingi's gaze occasionally finding yours from across the table, his expression a mixture of mortification and something else—something that mirrored the intensity you'd glimpsed in Wooyoung's eyes moments before.

As dinner progressed, conversation gradually returned to normal, focused primarily on the upcoming comeback preparations. But beneath the mundane discussion of choreography adjustments and recording sessions lay an undercurrent that couldn't be ignored. Mingi's instinctive growl had revealed something that all of you had been carefully avoiding acknowledging—that the boundaries between professional and personal, between colleague and something more, were becoming increasingly blurred.

---

Later that night, as you prepared to return to the guesthouse, you found Mingi waiting hesitantly by the main door. His tall frame seemed uncharacteristically diminished, his shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to appear smaller.

"Y/n," he began when he saw you approach, his deep voice quieter than usual. "I wanted to apologize again for earlier. That was completely out of line."

You shook your head, trying to project a casualness you didn't entirely feel. "It's already forgotten, Mingi. Alpha instincts happen sometimes—I understand."

His eyes studied yours intently. "Do you? Understand?"

The question caught you off guard with its directness. Did you understand what had prompted that possessive growl? The implications of an alpha displaying territorial behavior over someone who was supposed to be just an employee?

"I..." you hesitated, unsure how to navigate this conversation without revealing too much of your own complicated feelings. "I know that living and working closely together can sometimes blur normal boundaries."

Mingi nodded slowly, though his expression suggested your answer hadn't quite addressed what he was really asking. "It's more than that," he said finally, his voice so low you had to lean slightly closer to hear him. "I think you know it's more than that."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. This was dangerous territory—acknowledgment of the strange connection that had been building between you and the members would make it harder to maintain the professional distance your position required. Not to mention the complications that would arise if they discovered your omega status.

"Mingi," you began cautiously, "whatever this is—whatever's happening—I work for you. For all of you. That creates certain... boundaries that should be respected."

"I know," he said, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. "Trust me, I know. And I've been trying to respect those boundaries. We all have. But today, when Wooyoung was looking at you like that, something in me just..."

He trailed off, clearly struggling to articulate the instinctive reaction he'd experienced.

"It's okay," you said softly, surprised by your own impulse to comfort him when you should probably be reinforcing professional distance instead. "We're all under a lot of pressure with the comeback timeline changing. Emotions are running high."

Mingi's eyes met yours, and the raw honesty in them made your breath catch. "It's not just the pressure," he said quietly. "It's been there since the beginning. For all of us. You must have felt it too."

The direct acknowledgment of what you'd been sensing—what all of you had been carefully dancing around for weeks—hung in the air between you. Denial seemed pointless; whatever this connection was, it had grown too strong to be dismissed as imagination or simple attraction.

"Yeah," you admitted finally, the words barely above a whisper. "But I don't understand it. And until I do—until we all do—I think we need to be careful."

Mingi nodded, a small, sad smile touching his lips. "Being careful is probably wise. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry about the growl, but not sorry about caring about you. None of us are."

The simple sincerity in his words touched something deep within you, making your chest ache with an emotion you weren't ready to name. "Thank you," you said softly. "I care about all of you too. More than I probably should."

For a moment, you stood together in silence, the admission creating both a bridge and a boundary between you. Finally, Mingi stepped back slightly, giving you space.

"You should get some rest," he said. "Tomorrow's going to be busy with the new schedule implementation."

"You too," you replied, grateful for the return to more comfortable, practical territory. "Vocal recording at 9 AM, right?"

His smile widened slightly. "See? You already know our schedules better than we do ourselves."

"That's literally my job," you reminded him with a small laugh, the tension easing somewhat.

"Goodnight, Y/n," Mingi said, opening the door for you. "Sleep well."

"Goodnight, Mingi," you replied, stepping out into the cool evening air. 

As you walked the familiar path to the guesthouse, you couldn't help but replay the events of the evening in your mind—Wooyoung's heated gaze, Mingi's possessive growl, the charged atmosphere that had followed. Something was shifting in your relationship with the members, something that couldn't be easily dismissed or contained.

Your hand found its way to the scent blocker behind your ear, a habitual gesture of reassurance. The small patch felt suddenly inadequate protection against the tide of emotions and instincts that threatened to overwhelm the careful boundaries you'd established. If a mere look from Wooyoung could nearly trigger your omega purr, what might happen if your blocker failed? If your true nature was revealed to eight alphas who already seemed unnaturally attuned to you?

Inside the guesthouse, you leaned against the closed door, taking deep breaths to steady yourself. Your phone chimed with an incoming message—from

Hongjoong: Just wanted to say again how impressed we all are with the schedule solution. Get some rest. We're going to need your magic over the next few weeks.

The simple message, professional yet warm, centered you somewhat. Whatever was happening between you and the members—whatever invisible force seemed to be drawing you together—the work remained. The comeback, the schedules, the practical details that needed your attention.

For now, that would be your focus. The rest—the intense gazes, the possessive growls, the undeniable connection—would have to wait until you all had the space and clarity to understand what it truly meant.

Setting your phone aside, you prepared for bed, exhaustion overriding even your troubled thoughts. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but at least one thing had become clear tonight: whatever this connection was between you and the eight alphas of ATEEZ, it wasn't one-sided, and it wasn't going away.

---

The next morning

The atmosphere in the main house kitchen was noticeably different when you arrived to review the day's schedule with everyone. There was a heightened awareness, an underlying tension that manifested in small ways—Mingi's careful distance as he greeted you, Wooyoung's uncharacteristically subdued morning energy, the way conversations seemed to pause momentarily when you entered a room.

Last night's events had forced a partial acknowledgment of what had been building for weeks, and no one quite knew how to navigate the new terrain. The professional framework that had given structure to your interactions now felt insufficient to contain the complexity of what was developing between you all.

"Good morning," Hongjoong greeted you, sliding a coffee mug across the counter. "Ready for day one of the new schedule?"

"As ready as possible," you replied, grateful for his steady, practical approach. "I've already confirmed all today's appointments and sent the updated timeline to the production team."

"Efficient as always," he said with a warm smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. There was something guarded in his expression, a carefulness that hadn't been there before.

Seonghwa appeared from the pantry, arms full of breakfast ingredients. "Y/n, good morning. I'm making a proper breakfast today—everyone needs fueling up for the intense schedule ahead."

You smiled appreciatively, noticing how he too seemed to be retreating into practical caretaking as a way to manage the charged atmosphere. "Can I help?"

"You can make sure everyone actually comes to eat," he replied, beginning to prepare the rice. "Especially Yeosang—he's been in his room since dawn working on something."

Grateful for the normal task, you nodded and moved through the house, knocking on doors and delivering breakfast summons. The routine activity helped settle your nerves, giving you a familiar role to inhabit while everyone adjusted to the shift in dynamics.

When you knocked on Yeosang's door, his quiet "Come in" drew you into a space you'd rarely entered before. Unlike the other members' rooms, which you'd become familiar with through morning wake-up calls, Yeosang was typically already awake and needed fewer reminders.

His room was predictably neat, with bookshelves lining one wall and a small desk where he sat, surrounded by notes and sketches. He looked up as you entered, his expression thoughtful.

"Seonghwa's making breakfast," you informed him. "He specifically requested your presence."

Yeosang nodded, setting down his pen. "I'll be there shortly." Instead of rising immediately, however, he studied you with that penetrating gaze that always made you feel as though he could see more than others. "Are you alright after last night?"

The direct question caught you off guard. Of all the members, Yeosang was perhaps the most observant but also the most reserved about personal matters.

"I'm fine," you assured him, aiming for lightness. "It was just a moment of alpha instinct. Nothing to worry about."

Yeosang's expression remained serious. "It wasn't just instinct," he said quietly. "Or rather, it was, but not the kind we usually talk about."

You hesitated, uncertain how to respond to his directness. "What do you mean?"

He seemed to consider his words carefully.

“We just,” he sighed. “We just care about you, a lot.”

Your heart rate quickened. Was he suggesting what you thought he was? "Yeosang, I—"

"You don't need to say anything," he interrupted gently. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right.” He kissed your forehead as he walked by and you felt a blush erupt.

“I’m telling Wooyoung you’re giving forehead kisses now,” you said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. 

Yeosang groaned playfully. “If you do that he’ll expect me to do it to him. I take it back.” He reached up and rubbed your forehead, as if to wipe away evidence.

As you giggle and head toward the kitchen, you felt something in your chest ease slightly. Yeosang's playfulness and gentle touch was comforting from the more serious member. 

In the kitchen, the full group had assembled around the table. Conversations flowed more naturally now, focused on the day's tasks and the challenges of the accelerated comeback schedule. If there were more careful spaces maintained between bodies, more conscious monitoring of casual touches, it was balanced by a new honesty in the glances exchanged, a wordless acknowledgment that something significant was unfolding among you.

As you took your seat between Yunho and Jongho, Mingi caught your eye from across the table. The shame and embarrassment from last night had been replaced by a quiet determination in his gaze. He offered a small, tentative smile that you returned, a silent agreement to move forward together—whatever that might mean.

Wooyoung too seemed to have found his equilibrium, his energy still vibrant but more contained, his usual flirtations tempered by a new awareness. When he passed you the side dishes, his fingers briefly brushed yours, the contact deliberate but respectful.

"The new schedule starts with vocal recording at 9 AM," you reminded everyone, settling into your professional role with relief. "Then dance practice at 2 PM, followed by the meeting with the concept team at 5 PM."

"And when do you sleep in this master schedule?" Seonghwa asked, his nurturing instincts clearly on high alert after yesterday's exhaustion.

"I've built in actual work hours for myself," you assured him. "No more all-nighters in the conference room."

"We'll hold you to that," Hongjoong said, his leader voice leaving no room for argument. "If any of us see you working past 10 PM, intervention measures will be taken."

"Intervention measures?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeosang will confiscate your devices," Wooyoung supplied cheerfully. "Jongho will physically carry you back to the guesthouse if necessary. And Seonghwa will stand guard to make sure you actually sleep."

The absurd image made you laugh despite yourself. "That seems excessive."

"Not from where we're sitting," Yunho countered, uncharacteristically serious. "You've been taking care of all of us. It's only fair we return the favor."

The simple statement, delivered without drama or spectacle, touched you deeply. That was what had been building all along, beneath the surface tension and attraction—a genuine care that flowed in both directions, a mutual protectiveness that defied the typical boundaries of a professional relationship.

"Thank you," you said softly, looking around at the eight alpha faces that had become so dear to you in such a short time. "I accept your concern, even if I think the threat of being carried to bed is a bit much."

Jongho shrugged, the youngest's serious expression breaking slightly. "I have to use my strength for something useful."

The laughter that followed broke the last of the morning's awkwardness, establishing a new equilibrium that acknowledged the deeper currents between you while allowing daily life to continue. Whatever was happening—whatever bond was forming among the nine of you—it wouldn't be sorted out in a day. For now, it was enough to know that you faced it together, with honesty and care.

As breakfast concluded and everyone began preparing to leave for the day's schedules, you found yourself surrounded by a sense of rightness that transcended the lingering questions and uncertainties. Whatever path lay ahead, these eight alphas had somehow become essential to your life, and you to theirs. The rest would unfold in its own time.

Next>>

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[reaping-the-benefits]

MDNI!!!! Content warning: Omegaverse, alpha Simon, toxic boyfriend (not Si), Simon’s a little bit of a freak in this (I'm not sorry), reader is an omega and described to wear panties but gender neutral beside that. Spicy but no smut. Enjoy!! :)

Coming home from deployment is supposed to be relaxing. Key word: supposed. But this time, dragging his feet towards his flat, Simon is anything but relaxed. Not when that damn smell is clogging his nostrils, so sweet and thick in the air - it’s like he can taste it. Practically swallow the damn scent, drown in it from breathing alone.

It haunts him for the first week of his leave, before he finally figures out where, more like who, it’s coming from: you. The absolute angel of an omega, who’s just recently moved in with the alpha - your boyfriend -  that lives across the hall from Simon. (Simon didn’t like the other alpha to begin with. Too boisterous and demanding, always trying to throw his second gender around. As if that’s a reason to respect him.) 

Unlike your asshole boyfriend, you’re kind and caring, just like an omega should be. You stare at Simon with big, innocent eyes, and give him a shy smile when you drop off cookies. Your cheeks flush, when his fingers brush against your hand, as you exchange the tupperware container. And, for a brief moment, Simon imagines how you’d look with your cheeks flushed for a different reason.

An imaginative thought that quickly gets interrupted, when your boyfriend comes slinking across the hallway, your sweet scent easily overpowered by the absolute bitter pheromones rolling off your partner. Simon’s eyes narrow, when your boyfriend grabs you, a little too harsh for Simon’s liking.

“Come on. You’re done gawking,” your boyfriend mutters, practically dragging you across the hallway and back to the apartment. 

Simon keeps bumping into you after that. In the elevator, heading back from the gym, while you’ve got an armful of groceries. The elevator smells like him, pheromones rolling off him in waves from the workout. The scent makes your face heat up, mainly because he smells absolutely divine, and you have to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together.

In the laundry room, where he’s waiting on his clothes to finish drying. And then you walk in with a basket of dirty laundry that smells like you, warm and sweet. You give him a shy smile, a kind hello, as you load your clothes into the washer. Simon watches you from his peripheral, fighting back a growl at the sight of all your panties. Maybe you won’t notice if he grabs one from the wash.

In the mail room, where you’re trying to sort your mail because somehow it’s gotten mixed up with his. You apologize profusely, completely unaware that Simon did it on purpose. He reassures you that it’s fine, these things happen. And the two of you end up chatting, as you sort through the mail. 

It’s through this little chat that your friendship blossoms. You drop by Simon’s flat for afternoon tea, where you tell him your office gossip. Gossip that he seems to be able to retain better than your current boyfriend ever does. Simon offers to take you out, never calls these outings dates but it certainly feels like one, especially when he’s got you giggling at his bad dad jokes. Sometimes he gives you flowers, and you have to ignore the way your heart hammers in your chest at the gift.

It’s on one of these outings, brunch at some fancy place you’d never be able to afford on your own, that Simon finally asks the question he’s been dying to know. 

“Why hasn’t that git gone and claimed you?” He asks it so casually, despite the way his own instincts are howling at him to lunge across the table and do it himself.

You sputter, nearly choking on your drink. Your face heats up, embarrassed by your reaction. It’s not a horrible question, and you’ve certainly told Simon far more intimate things than this. But, despite only knowing him for a few months, you do know Simon well. And you know how he’s going to react to this.

“Uh, well… I’m not entirely sure if Devin is the right choice, and I’m trying to give him a chance to prove himself,” you admit. You go to explain how your own parents had been an arranged relationship, forced together when your mother had gotten pregnant. It had been a disastrous pairing, and you witnessed firsthand the abuse an alpha can cause. Because of that, you refuse to let yourself be claimed until you’re absolutely positive that your partner is the right one. You can’t let your own pups be put through what you had to endure as a child.

To your surprise, Simon’s understanding of this. He goes on to vaguely explain how he’s experienced something similar, and he thinks you’re making the right choice by protecting yourself, and your future children, like that. “What’s got you hesitating with this bloke?” he asks, but he’s got a feeling he already knows the answer.

Simon’s not stupid, and he can read your body language, as well as the suddenly sour note in your scent. In all honesty, he doesn’t need you to answer the question. He’s heard the way Devin speaks to you, as if you’re stupid, as if you’re beneath him. And Simon just hums in acknowledgement at your lack of a response, and thankfully decides to change the subject.

Things are quiet after that. You're busy with your job and your boyfriend. Simon comes and goes with missions. You make time to see each other, and you find yourself enjoying Simon's company far more than you should. He's never pushy for information, never makes you feel bad for falling asleep during movie night. He's practically the perfect guy, the perfect alpha. 

It's this revelation that has you pulling away. Not from Simon, of course. But from your boyfriend. He just can't compare to Simon, especially when he makes you feel guilty for even wanting to spend time with Simon to begin with. And you can’t help but suddenly notice all the red flags in your relationship.

It’s your second heat, since you moved in, that things change.

You insist that you can handle it on your own, just hole up in your room and work through it by yourself. It’s what you did last time, and at the time Devin had been understanding. However, this time, he’s far less considerate, insisting that he should be allowed to help you through it.

It’s when the fight takes a physical turn, your boyfriend threatening and attempting to hit you, that makes you run out of the apartment. Right across the hall, and directly into Simon’s chest. He wraps one arm around you protectively, really just making sure you don’t fall over. 

You barely get one word out, teary eyed and shaking, before Simon’s pushing you into his apartment, telling you to make yourself comfortable. And then he’s gone, only to come back an hour later with bloody knuckles and some of your belongings. 

When you try to explain yourself, or get an explanation out of him, Simon just shakes his head and ushers you to his guest bedroom. It’s nicely furnished, with an excess amount of blankets that has you wondering if he was prepared for this to happen. You decide not to ask, far more distracting by the opportunity to build yourself a nest on the bed, a mix of blankets and pillows arranged into a carefully crafted structure. 

It’s fantastic, perfect for you to spend the next week curled up inside. But.. it’s missing something. And you can’t put your finger on it, not until Simon comes into the room to ask if you need anything else. It takes you a moment to gather the courage to ask him to scent some of the blankets. And the look he gives you, proud and maybe a little smug, makes your cheeks flush, as you pass over a blanket for him to scent. 

The next couple days pass in a blur. The only thing Simon lets you focus on is resting and relaxing before you officially start your heat. He handles gathering your things from your now ex boyfriend's place. You don’t have anywhere else to go, but Simon insists that you can worry about that after your heat. 

It’s night number three of staying in Simon’s guest room, that your heat finally kicks in. You wake up in the middle of the night, skin flushed and sweaty. It’s far too hot in the room, and you carefully peel your clothes off, practically moaning as the cool air hits your skin. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do anything to help the throbbing sensation between your legs, thighs wet from more than just your sweat.

You’re up and moving before you can really think about it, legs wobbly and unstable. But the alpha scent in your nest - musky and masculine - drives you out of the room. You need more of it, need it to stick to your skin until it’s all you can smell. It’s that need that has you stumbling out of the guest room, and into Simon’s. 

You’re not surprised to find him awake. You can only imagine how hard it must be to fall asleep when there’s an unclaimed omega just a room over. And you’re incredibly pleased when he doesn’t immediately push you out of the bed, pressing your body up against his.

“Simon,” you whine. 

All he does is hum in response, the bastard. One large hand on your back, rubbing circles along your spine. It feels nice, and has you relaxing into his touch.

“Need your help, please.”

“Thought ya wanted to wait,” he replies, voice low and rough. 

You do, or at least you did. But these past few months with Simon have proven he’s more than the right choice. The ways he’s courted you, listened to you, taken care of you - Simon’s the perfect alpha. You had just been too blind to see it, distracted by your failure of a boyfriend. But he’s out of the picture now, and there’s nothing stopping you from finally admitting how badly you want Simon. 

“Waited long enough. I want this, want you. I- Simon, please.”

There’s something almost predatory in his eyes, when Simon finally moves his head to look at you. But it’s quickly replaced with a smug smirk, and he tells you, “Don’t need to beg, love. I’ll take care of ya.”

(@purplepaladinsworld ur tag as promised, pookie! <3 Happy birthday!!)

Part two

[evansbby]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭 (𝒑𝒐𝒚𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: noncon, dubcon, heavy misogyny, daddy!kink, smutt in public (kind of), 18+ minors dni.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve takes his omega to her first pool party.

“Hey, baby. Look at this!”

Steve takes off into a run before canon-balling into the pool, making the water splash everywhere in the process. But he surfaces with a grin, flipping his hair off his forehead. His light blonde tufts look dark brown from the water, and the sun radiates against the droplets on his pale face, making him shimmer like a diamond. You can hear a bunch of people – including Natasha – complain because the splash from his jump has completely soaked them, but all Steve does is flip them off before shooting you a smug smile.

“Wow.” You say as you walk up to the edge of the pool. “That was really cool.”

Before Steve can answer, you see someone whizz past you from your peripheral. A moment later, there’s another gigantic splash as Ransom canon-balls in next to Steve, and you yelp as the water hits you. The brunette alpha surfaces with a grin that rivals Steve’s in smugness, with the latter looking on sourly as you clap politely at Ransom’s jump.

“That wasn’t nearly as impressive as mine.” Steve scoffs, eying you warningly. You immediately stop clapping. “And you splashed water all over my girlfriend, you fucking asshole.”

“It’s a pool party, Steve. God forbid she gets a bit of water on her.” Ransom rolls his eyes as he climbs out of the pool and flips Steve off before shooting you a smile which you don’t dare return.

The two of you are at Steve’s friend Ransom’s house. Or rather, in his backyard where a pool party is in full swing. It’s a particularly hot day and everyone’s either sunbathing or swimming or licking snow-cones made from Ransom’s “state of the art snow-cone machine.” (That was the first thing the brunette alpha had shown you and Steve when the two of you had arrived. He’d bought it especially for today).

“I mean, Ransom’s pool is alright.” Steve had told you earlier when the two of you were changing in the pool-house. “But you’d think it’s an Olympic size pool from the way he shows off about it. Baby, wait till you see the pool at my house, it’s twice the size of this one.”

You had nodded, although the idea of someone even owning a swimming pool of their very own – big or small – was so completely unfathomable to you. But everyone who was here today hadn’t even blinked an eye at all the luxuries this mansion had to offer. From the huge hallways and sparkling marble floors to the gigantic backyard which resembled more of a golf course. Not to mention the pool-house alone was twice the size of your house back home!

“This place is like a castle.” You had breathed, sliding your fingers over the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the pool-house, watching the party in full swing outside. Thor was handing out cans of beer, Natasha by his side in a pretty red bikini that made her body look incredible. Ransom and Andy were making snow-cones, and Sam and Bucky looked to be organising a game of pool volleyball. There was a net set up in the water, and it looked like they were arguing about picking teams.

You could also see a bunch of girls settled on the side of the pool, in pretty bikinis and stylish sunglasses. You recognised a few of them from campus, and that made you gulp. What if Steve left you to hang out with his friends? You pray these girls are nice and you’ll fit in.

Steve had snorted, coming up behind you with his hand on your waist, pulling you into his bare chest. “This place is not like a castle, omega. I can show you castles; you just wait till you see my house.” He had kissed down the nape of your neck, the feel of his lips making you sigh until he pulls away and frowns, tugging at your shirt. “Take this off. It’s a pool party, remember?”

He takes it off for you, licking his lips when he sees what’s underneath. He had bought the bikini for you a few days ago. It was white with baby pink strings tying the thong and also going around your neck. Steve had said it was extremely sexy and cute, but you felt vulnerable as ever and paranoid every time he’d finger the strings – like he was doing now. You’d double-tied them tightly, but all he had to do was tug at them and they’d come loose.

Steve had barely given you enough time to put your flip-flops on, as well as your cute flowery cover-up, before he’d dragged you outside to the party.

Which is where you are currently, and you can’t help but smile softly down at Steve, who looks extremely proud of the cannonball he’s just performed. He swims over to where you’re standing, reaching up to grab your ankles.

“Come in. The water’s nice and cool.”

Your heart skips a beat at how laid back he’s being. This is a different side to Steve, who was usually so stoic and strict. Either that, or he was downright devious. Sometimes though, sometimes he lets himself go and relax. Like when he’s playing video-games and gets really into it, or when the two of you are cuddling and he lets Steve Junior join in, or when the two of you study together. Or now.

“I – uh – I don’t really want to swim.” You answer awkwardly, and your alpha rolls his eyes, the grip he has on your ankles not loosening. But the thought of taking your cover-up off and being in such a revealing bikini in front of all these people has you shaking your head pleadingly at him.

“It’s a pool party, omega. That means you have to swim.” Steve tells you as if you’re a baby who doesn’t understand the concept of a pool party.

You exhale softly before sitting down by the edge of the pool and dipping your feet in, sighing at how nice the water feels. And a part of you does want to go in, but you don’t know why you feel so self-conscious here. Well, actually, you do know why. It’s because you feel so out of place, in this huge mansion of a house with all these people from college whom you probably have nothing in common with. They aren’t your friends, you don’t have any friends. And they certainly don’t want to be your friends either, you just know it.

Steve settles between your legs, spreading them and smirking up at you. He presses a light kiss to your inner thigh, and it’s innocuous enough but you still look around in alarm. But no one is watching the two of you and so you try to relax.

“Relax, omega.” Steve commands you, and you get a whiff of his summery scent and sigh as it seems to soothe you from the inside out. You shoot your alpha a small smile, and he only smirks, continuing to kiss your thigh as his hands slips up and down your bare legs. You freeze when you feel his fingers lock around your ankles, the sudden image of him cruelly tugging you into the water crossing your mind.

But Steve only lifts your foot up, licking his lips as he watches your white nail polish gleam in the sunlight. You gulp when he presses a kiss on your toe, before a dark, lustful look clouds his eyes and you pull away.

“Not here, Steve! Please!” You whisper.

“Why not? You’re my omega and I can do whatever I want with you, so–”

“Hey, Steve! Great weather, huh?”

Jake Jensen swims up to Steve, a comically wide grin on his face. He’s got a thick layer of white sunscreen all over his face, with an especially thick blot on the tip of his nose. And yet, he’s still sunburnt and slightly pink to match the shade of his salmon-coloured swimming trunks.  His eyes squint as he smiles at Steve – either because of the sun or because he’s not wearing his glasses.

Steve rolls his eyes, getting in front of you to block you from Jake’s view.

“Jensen, who the fuck invited you?”

“Uh, Ransom did? He invited the whole football team! This sure is a swell pool, huh, Steve? I’ve got one too – well, my parents do. But it’s not as big as this one.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.” Steve says drily, “Hey! Eyes on me, Jensen. Don’t even think about looking at her.”

“I wasn’t–”

“I know your angle, you fucking creep. Swimming over here and trying to act all casual so you can get a close up look at my girlfriend in her bikini.”

Jake blinks, his eyes zeroing in on you peaking over Steve’s shoulder. “I didn’t even notice her, actually, but–”

“Are you insulting my girlfriend now, Jensen? Are you fucking insinuating that she’s not noticeable?!”

“What? No–”

“Shut up, you fucking idiot. And get away from us. In fact, get out of the whole pool.” Steve points to the far corner of the backyard, where a jacuzzi bubbles away on its lonesome. “Go sit in there, Jensen. I’m banning your creepy ass from this pool. Now go before I kick you off the football team.”

You watch as Jake hurriedly swims away, a look of dismay on his face. “Steve, you shouldn’t be so mean to him– Hey!”

You yelp as your alpha’s muscular arms encircle around you, pulling you into the pool with a gentle splash. Your arms automatically go around his neck, and your legs – unable to reach the floor of the pool – instinctively wrap around his waist until you’re clinging to him like a koala.

“There. Now none of these creeps can stare at your body.” Steve’s hand slips down to squeeze your ass underwater and you jump in surprise, inadvertently rubbing your front against his crotch. His eyes darken and he clutches you closer, till you can feel his hard dick through his trunks rub against your mound which is barely concealed by your bikini. You fight yourself in order not to moan, shooting Steve a pleading look only to find that his eyes are too busy staring at your cleavage, which is ample and wet and pressed up against his chest.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy, omega.” Steve says, leaning forward to kiss you roughly. He bites at your bottom lip, almost drawing blood as his hands continue to fondle you. You feel your walls clench but you have to remind yourself that you’re in a pool with a bunch of other people. Meanwhile, underwater, Steve’s hand slips under your bikini bottoms, cupping your bare ass cheek and jiggling it lewdly.

“Fuck, why’d you have to wear such a tiny, slutty bikini, huh?” Steve whispers, licking the shell of your ear sensually and sending thrills up and down your spine. “You think you can look this sexy and cute and I won’t fuck you in the middle of this pool right now?”

“B-But, Steve! You chose this bikini!”

“Don’t lie, baby omega.” He pinches your ass again before his fingers tug threateningly at the flimsy string holding your bikini bottoms to your body. “Now everyone’s staring at your hot, tight little body because they all want to fuck you. But they can’t, because that’s my job.”

“Please don’t take my bikini off!” You plead softly, as he continues to play with the strings of your bikini-bottoms. You try to swim away from him, but he holds on tightly to you, shooting you a warning look before his eyes grow distracted by your breasts again, and his hands cup them both.

“Who told you to tease me like this, huh?” He kisses up your neck, squeezing and fondling your breasts like an animal pawing at his prey, “Who told you to wear such a tight, sexy bikini and push your tits up so they look all sexy? God, you’re killing me, baby. And I know you’re doing it on purpose, just like you always do.”

You know Steve well enough at this point to realise that when he’s riled up and horny, he tends to accuse you of baseless things like leading him on purposely. But all you’re trying to do at this very moment is make sure he doesn’t slip his dick inside you at this pool party in front of everyone. Because Steve could really be a menace when he wanted to, and his libido knew no bounds. He would definitely fuck you in front of an audience, no questions asked. In fact, he’d happily do it.

“Who’s that?” You blurt out in a desperate bid to distract him. You look toward the gates where Ransom is greeting a pretty brunette girl who you’ve never seen before. Steve follows your gaze and snorts.

“That’s Marta, Ransom’s new girlfriend.”

“Oh. She’s very pretty.” You comment, taking note of how Ransom looks genuinely happy to see her. He picks her up and swings her around, and she laughs and bats him with her purse before they kiss.

“She’s a gold-digging slut.” Steve says darkly.

“What?”

“You heard me. She has a reputation for being the biggest gold-digger in New York and everyone knows it.” Steve holds you close, as if physically shielding you from getting influenced by Marta, who isn’t even looking at either of you. “Instead of getting a degree like the rest of us, she’s been steadily seducing half the male population in the city, and getting them to buy her whatever she wants.”

“But I thought you preferred it when omegas didn’t get degrees?”

You don’t know where the quip comes from, but you regret it as soon as the words leave your mouth. Steve shoots you a warning look and you quickly bow your head submissively, “I’m sorry.”

“You better be. One more slip-up like that and I’ll spank you in front of everyone,” Steve threatens before continuing, “Omegas have no business getting degrees, but they also have no business acting like gold-digging sluts. Anyways, all of us tried to warn Ransom but he’s a fucking idiot, clearly.”

You look towards the couple once again; Ransom is making Marta a personalised snow-cone, drawing a sloppily-drawn heart out of strawberry syrup on top of the shaved ice. Marta claps excitedly, giving Ransom a kiss on the cheek. They look pretty happy and genuine to you, but Steve probably knows better?

You mull over all this new information, “B-But Steve, you buy me tons of expensive stuff all the time. Do people think I’m a gold-digger?”

Steve presses a bunch of kisses on your neck, holding you tightly against him as if he’s afraid you’ll float away. “No, baby. No one would dare make that assumption about you, because I would kill them. And anyways, you’re too cute and innocent and humble to be a gold-digger. Not like Marta, who is a whore.”

You wrinkle your nose, “Steve, please don’t say that…”

“She is, though. She made Ransom buy her a Birkin bag when he’d only known her two weeks.”

You’re wondering why Steve seems so incensed over a simple bag when suddenly–

“You sure do love to gossip, don’t you, Steve?”

Natasha walks over to the corner of the swimming pool where you and Steve are. She’s wrapped a silky black sarong around her hips, and it looks good with her deep red bikini.

“And you sure do love to eavesdrop, don’t you?” Steve fires back, his grip on you tightening possessively.

Natasha rolls her eyes and looks from Steve to you, “Don’t listen to Steve. Marta’s a great girl, we used to go to the same yoga class a few years ago.”

“Of course, you think she’s great.” Steve remarks, sneering at Nat as if she’s a disease, but the redhead remains unperturbed, shooting him a sweet smile before looking back to you.

“Let’s hang out soon. I can fill you in on all the real gossip, and –”

“She doesn’t want to hang out with you.” Steve answers on your behalf. You wince, because it’s not true at all! You’d love to hang out with Natasha, and she’s always inviting you out, either to shop or grab brunch. But Steve never gives you permission to go, because he claims Natasha is a bad influence. You wish you were brave enough to stand up to Steve but you’re not, so instead you just shoot Natasha an apologetic look, and the redhead smiles understandingly back at you.

“Steve! Come on, we’re playing volleyball and you’re on my team!” Sam calls out from the other side of the pool.  

Steve makes a face before shouting back, “I’m busy with my girlfriend!”

“She can play too.” Bucky walks up with the volleyball under his arm, “She can be on my team, we could use an extra player since we got stuck with Jensen.” He gives you a meaningful stare, his cold blue eyes raking you up and down, making you shrink back into Steve. But the brunette alpha smoothly looks away as soon as Steve glances at him.

“Haha, very funny. Omegas don’t play sports.” Steve gives you a kiss on the cheek and a condescending pat on your bum which you’re happy is underwater so no one sees. His lips brush against your ear, “I’m gonna go play for a while, okay, baby?”

You nod, “That’s alright, Steve. I’ll just stay here.”

Steve looks at you, then at Natasha, then back at you before narrowing his eyes, “Don’t talk to her. Just watch me play, okay?”

“Okay.” You cross your fingers behind your back, hoping he won’t see.

He kisses you some more, claiming it’s a good luck kiss but it quickly turns into a good luck make-out before Bucky drags him away.

You climb out of the pool, regretting it instantly because you feel all wet and exposed. But Natasha hands you a big, fluffy towel, and you gratefully wrap it around yourself before she tugs you over to a couple of deck chairs.

“Steve is so bossy,” Natasha giggles, and you follow her gaze to the other side of the pool. There’s a net set up and Steve is already busy explaining strategies to his team members, before telling them exactly where to stand and what to do.

“Yeah.” You agree softly.

“I bet the only one he really listens to is you, am I right?”

Your eyes widen, “Oh no, Steve doesn’t really… I, uh, I could never tell him what to do.”

Natasha stretches and lays down on her deck chair, “I mean, I tell Thor to load the dishwasher or empty the drier, that kind of stuff.”

You look down to your lap, “Oh, well, Steve says that household chores are an omega’s job.” You pause, your eyes focused on Steve as he slams the volleyball straight at Jensen’s face. Jensen yelps, his glasses flying into the water as Steve laughs and high-fives Sam. You suddenly grow paranoid, wondering if your words will somehow get back to him. “I don’t mind doing the household chores at all, though! Actually, I find it very relaxing.” (This isn’t even a lie).

Natasha nods thoughtfully, “Yeah, I don’t mind it either. But you could definitely get Steve to help you out.”

You smile, not saying anything. You certainly doubted you could make Steve do anything.

The redhead sits up straight, “I’m serious, though! Next time you’re unloading the dishwasher, just be like ‘Oh no, these dishes…they’re so heavy!’ Trust me, watch how he’ll make you sit down and do it all himself. Alphas eat the whole ‘damsel in distress’ thing right up.”

You mull over it; maybe that would work… Steve never ever let you do any heavy-lifting around the house. You weren’t even allowed to take the trash out, and sometimes he’d even take the laundry basket out of your hands if it looked too heavy. “Baby omegas like you shouldn’t be lifting heavy things,” he’d always say.

Relaxing and sitting back, all warm in your fluffy towel, you listen as Natasha gives you more relationship advice. She tells you all the “little things” you can do to control your alpha, like dress up in sexy lingerie and withhold sex until he agrees to your demands. Or keep him on his toes by not answering his texts immediately, and ignoring him so that it drove him crazy. You knew most of these ideas would never work with Steve, but it was nice to listen to her speak anyways, plus it also gave you an interesting insight on her relationship with Thor.

Steve’s team wins the volleyball match, and he comes back to you with a smug smile on his face. Swooping you up in his arms and giving you the biggest kiss ever, till your cheeks are hot and your heart is racing.

“Did you see me?” He asks, kissing you all over your face as if Natasha isn’t a foot away from you two, “Did you see how I scored that last point?”

“Yes,” you lie, because you had dozed off for the past few minutes under the deliciously warm sun and the fluffiness of your towel, “You were really good!”

“Damn right. And did you see how bad Jensen was?”

Steve gives you a detailed play-by-play of the whole game, whilst also simultaneously carrying you off to the hot-tub in the corner of the yard. Natasha waves you goodbye before skipping over to Thor, and you watch her bat him on the shoulder before he throws her into the pool, jumping in after her.

“…and then Bucky rage quit because his team was so shit, and I think he actually left and drove home.” Steve shakes his head, “Classic Bucky. He can’t ever take a loss.”

He gently places you into the hot tub, and you sigh as you sink into the hot, steamy, bubbling water. It’s deep, almost up to your neck when you sit down. But Steve has other plans, hastily pulling you into his lap once he’s settled down as well. In fact, he places you right on top of his hard bulge, which is definitely noticeable underneath his trunks.

“So, is my baby omega gonna give me a reward for winning?” He pinches your ass, a mischievous glint in his eye. His hands settle on your hips, grinding you down against his bulge and smirking when you yelp and grab onto his chest and shoulders.

“Not here!” You gasp, earning another pinch to your ass.

“Really? Is that why you keep grinding your cute little butt on my dick?”

“I’m not!”

“Don’t lie to me, omega.” Steve draws you closer with his big hand on the back of your neck, kissing you roughly, his hands fondling every part of your body. He keeps one hand squarely on your ass, his fingers digging between your ass cheeks and prodding at your puckered hole through the thin material of your bikini. You gasp straight into his mouth, and he just smirks against your lips, not allowing you to break the kiss as his other hand slips up to squeeze your breast. His thumb brushes against your hard nipple, and he tries to pull your bikini top off before you manage to fend him away.

“Not here, Steve, please!” You beg, not knowing how far he’d go. His eyes are almost black with lust, as if he’s horny off of winning the volleyball game and impressing you. And a part of you knew this would happen, that this was inevitable the moment he made you put on this extra revealing bikini in the first place. But you’d hoped he’d have at least dragged you off somewhere private, instead of the hot-tub which was out in the open with everyone still milling around.

“Address me properly, baby omega.” Steve whispers in your ear, his tone dripping with lust. “And you shouldn’t have put on this slutty bikini if you didn’t want me to fuck you in front of everyone. All these guys have been staring at you all day. Now I have to show them all how I own you.”

His fingers play with the string that’s holding your bikini top together, his other hand now tracing shapes on the exposed skin of your butt cheek. He gives it a jiggle, smirking when you clutch him harder, your hands wrapping around his neck in an effort to calm yourself down.

“I think you should take your bikini off. Daddy wants to see your tits.”

You shake your head pleadingly, “No, Steve – I mean daddy – please, I can’t do that!”

He doesn’t even blink, his eyes focused on your cleavage which is practically spilling out of the bikini. He licks his lips, a carnality suddenly taking over his being and he grabs the flimsy cups of your bikini and pulls them downwards, exposing your breasts. You don’t even have time to react before his mouth latches on to one of your nipples, his other hand covering your other breast by squeezing it.

You bite your lip to contain your moan, but Steve moans freely around your nipple as he suckles it. His tongue licks sensually around your hardened peak, making you jolt in his lap. He holds you down firmly, digging his boner up between your ass. He sucks your nipple as if he’s starving, biting at it as if he wants to make you scream, but you stop yourself just in time.

“You’re so fucking sexy, baby.” Steve tells you, “I almost lost concentration a few times during that volleyball game. All I could think about was you looking all cute and sexy, wearing this slutty bikini as if you were begging me to fuck you.”

“Daddy – ah! – can we do this at home please?” You ask, because now you can feel yourself getting turned on. Despite your embarrassment and discomfort, you can feel your pussy clench at his degrading dirty talk.

“No. And stop telling me to stop or else I’ll fuck you on that deck chair, right in the middle of everyone.” He stops suckling on your nipple for a second, pinching it instead as he looks at you thoughtfully, “Actually, no. Keep telling me to stop because I like it when you do that. Reminds me how weak and babyish you are.” He licks a stripe up the side of your face before kissing your cheek sloppily, “Beg me again, say: ‘daddy, please stop.’”

“Daddy, please stop!” You moan pitifully, your brain wanting him to stop but your body not quite agreeing as you feel your hips involuntarily jut against him. And you’re just about to lose control, just about to give in to him because he feels so good and he smells so enticing and he’s your daddy so he’s in charge and the omega inside you is purring and wanting to do exactly what he orders you to, and then–

“Mind if we join you guys?”

Ransom plops into the hot tub, with Marta hot on his heels. Your eyes widen, and Steve huffs in annoyance before pushing your bikini back up to cover your breasts. The tub is bigger than most, and big enough that Ransom and Marta are able to sit a few feet away from you and Steve. They’re too busy talking to notice anything, but Steve double-knots your bikini strings just in case, glaring daggers at the couple sitting across from you.

You try to slip off Steve’s lap after that, but he holds you in place and shoots you a warning look. So you sit there, your back against Steve’s chest and his hard dick poking angrily against your butt.

“I was just telling Marta how similar you and I are, Steve.” Ransom pipes up.

“Oh yeah? How so?” Steve asks sardonically. You can tell he’s pissed off at being interrupted, which is never a good sign. You remember once he was about to fuck you in the locker room before the coach had called him. Steve had been seething, and with all that pent-up sexual frustration, you knew you were in for it once he was done. Right now was no different.

Ransom sits back, his arm around Marta who sips coolly on a frozen strawberry daquiri. You hadn’t really paid attention to it, but there was also an open bar in the corner of the backyard, with the alphas taking turns making drinks. Thankfully, Steve hadn’t drank tonight – otherwise he’d have been ten times hornier than he was now.

“We’re both wifed up and in serious relationships.” Ransom draws Marta close, and she nuzzles her nose against his neck. “And you know what? Now I get what all the hype is about. Marta and I have been talking about marking each other up too, and –”

Ransom drones on and on, and you nod politely. Steve, on the other hand, stiffens underneath you. You can tell he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. What you didn’t count on is his dick driving up into you at that exact moment. You almost gasp out loud before covering it up by pretending to clear your throat. His hands rub up and down your thighs, and you’re so happy this is all happening under the water otherwise you’d never be able to live it down.

Marta excuses herself to get another drink, Ransom’s eyes following her as she leaves, a lovesick look on his face.

“Bro, you’re pathetic.” Steve sneers, and all the while his hands are slipping up till he cups your core through your bikini bottoms, making your breath hitch. “You’ve only been seeing her for two weeks.”

“So?”

“So, you need to chill the fuck out.”

Steve pushes your bikini bottoms to the side, exposing your bare core to the hot water. Fuck. His thick fingers probe and explore your slick folds, and you cannot believe what he’s doing because Ransom is only a few feet away from you guys. And Steve’s casually giving out advice as if he isn’t about to finger you under the water this very second!

Ransom sighs, “I know, but she isn’t just some random hookup, okay? I actually have feelings for her.”

You’re barely able to focus on the two alphas’ conversation, your face and neck heating up as you squirm on Steve’s lap. A part of you feels so degraded, sitting on your alpha’s lap as if you’re nothing more than a decorative toy for him to play with while he talks to his friend. It’s what he’s doing right now, his pointer finger circling your clit casually while he holds you close in his lap.

“If you want to be the dumbass who gets played by an omega, then suit yourself, bro.” Steve shrugs, focusing his attention back on you. Ransom looks torn, and you secretly hope he doesn’t take Steve’s advice too seriously. You don’t know much about gold-diggers or relationships in general, but Ransom and Marta look genuine from what you’ve seen. Not that you have time to dwell over their situation, because Steve chooses that exact moment to slip two fingers inside you.

“Oh, oh fu-” You cry out.

Ransom frowns, “You okay?”

“Don’t talk to my girl!” Steve warns.

“Ex-Excuse me.” You squeak, managing to get up off of Steve’s lap while he’s momentarily distracted. You step out of the hot tub before he can stop you, quickly wrapping yourself in your fluffy towel. “Bathroom.” You explain, before speed-walking over to the pool-house, inwardly praying you don’t slip and embarrass yourself in your hasty exit.

Heart drumming, you safely make it to the pool house and make a beeline for the bathroom. You’ve only just managed to catch your breath when the door opens and closes behind you. You barely have time to register what’s happening before Steve pushes you forward, bending you over the marble sink and giving you four hard slaps to the ass in quick succession.

“Bad girl.” Steve tuts, “What got into you, huh? Running away from daddy like that?”

“I’m sorry, I just… Steve it would’ve been so inappropriate to do that in front of everyone!”

“What’s inappropriate is slutty baby omegas like you wearing sexy bikinis to distract me. You forced my hand, baby.” He swiftly rips your bikini bottoms apart, squeezing your ass cheeks with both his hands, till you know his handprints will be imprinted on your skin. “Well, we’re all alone now, omega. There’s nowhere for you to run.”

He presses his hard dick against your wet folds, and you sigh involuntarily, rutting back against him. In the privacy of this bathroom, you can finally relax.

“I’m gonna fuck you on every inch of every surface inside this bathroom,” Steve promises darkly in your ear, sucking and biting at your earlobe before pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck, “and then I’m gonna drag you outside and fuck you against the glass doors of this pool house. You got that, omega?”

“Y-Yes, daddy.”

THE END. I know i know i know that ended super abruptly, but trust me when i tell you i could’ve gone on and on and ON and this was just meant to be a small drabble!!! PLEASE tell me what you think and reblog pls!!! ily ily ily and this was really random and idek if it’s any good but please just let me know what you think! ALSO YES, steve is such a menace in this and idk if this is canon compliant but it’s a poyt drabble so here we goooo!!! LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OK BYE

[fall0utmind]

Heatstroke

For the RPF summer camp, which is genuinely the most amazingly cool and sweet idea, and also has me being so competitive with myself. So there's a Fabio/Tom fic coming - hopefully tomorrow :)

Also, how cool is this badge?? I love it so much @love-leah you're so cool :)

fic under the cut!!!! Or on ao3 ~4k

I cooked it up in literally 24 hours from scratch so hope you like xx

Love you guys

They wouldn't, Valentino knew this, because he recognised the scent. Familiar in the same way his mum's detergent was, even though he hadn't smelled it for years. Heat coiled in his gut, a knee-jerk reaction to the memories of Marc writhing beneath him during the scattered heats they spent together years ago. Nausea accompanied it, rolling his stomach as he considered the situation.

The heavy scent of omega on the verge of heat hung in the air.

Valentino could smell it. He wouldn't be surprised if the whole fucking pit lane could smell it. It was burning up the air around them, had been since the starting grid formed. You could see the way that the members of the paddock - the crew, the engineers - pushed their twitching noses into the air, trying to find the source of the sweet smell.

Marc was protective of his scent, always had been. At some point between 2013 and now, he had switched to industrial-level scent blockers. In the early days, there was a hint of jasmine accompanying the young omega, the kind that made most of the riders' eyes follow Marc. Now, nothing. Never in the paddock or at events anyway, his scent always smothered entirely. Marc was the only one, as far as Vale could tell. Bez certainly never wore such extensive blockers except on race days, and even then, you could smell him, the subtle hint of sweetness. 

Pecco had brought it up to Bez one day at the ranch; Valentino had tried not to shift guiltily as he overheard, feeling much like an eavesdropper even in his own house.

"Bez. Do you ever feel like you need to wear blockers? At the races"

 Valentino heard Bez's answering frown in reply. 

"What? No. What year is it? The 80s?" 

"No, no. It's just. Well. Marc..." Pecco begun. Valentino reeled back, trying not to inhale too sharply, 

Pecco cleared his throat. "Well, he um, he never smells like anything. I know he's an omega, of course, but you couldn't tell, not unless you knew. I have only smelled him once. At the launch, late in the evening, at the end of the event. And he hasn't scheduled his heats in the calendar. I overheard him telling Gigi not to worry, that he wouldn't have one all season." Pecco told. 

"But... isn't that unhealthy? My doctor told me I shouldn't use blockers or suppressants that much. But Marc is a strange creature after all, maybe he has found a way to do it without fucking up his biology." Bez replied. 

Pecco hummed non-committedly, before changing the conversation, but Vale got the distinct impression that he wasn't convinced. Valentino wasn't either.

Something was wrong then, for Marc's scent to be so strong. For him not to be masking it. Valentino didn't remember the scent clinging to his skin earlier in the weekend. He knew that the alphas in the paddock didn't recognise it as Marc, even the Ducati crew was looking around. Confused. Honda looked like they knew, because, of course. A few pairs of eyes flitted wildly from the track to the screens, where Vale knew Marc was still lapping at the front - he had seen the flash of red cross the start finish straight from his peripheral. Valentino passed his gaze over the sea of faces, catching Santi's panicked gaze. Santi, who knew Marc's scent and certainly knew something was off.

It was only a few races away from winning his tenth title. That was probably why he was still out there. Valentino had long since made peace with it.

If it were anyone else, they wouldn't be racing. Valentino didn't even know if it was safe for Marc to be riding like this.

Trust Marc to be out there, probably on the brink, maybe a few hours away from slipping into heat, and fucking winning the race of all things.

After his ninth, he'd invited Marc to the ranch. He hadn't filmed it, it felt too precarious, risky in a way. The boys had been shocked, eyeing Marc with caution but also a hint of respect, attraction for a few of them. Valentino had rolled his eyes, played the gratuitous host, given his boys a warning look whenever he caught their heated stares, chuckling as they looked away with burning red cheeks.

It was unfortunate that he had actually enjoyed it. Even though he had to swallow down his pride when Marc crossed the line first. The sting was prominent until Marc had taken off his helmet - his hair was a mess, sweat clinging to the strands which fell into his eyes. His face was alight was joy, eyes blown wide and excited as he grinned. Valentino watched as he pulled Pecco into a warm hug, immediately launching into a debrief, his hands gesturing rapidly as he cackled.

Valentino had cornered Marc the next day, hauling himself out of bed early because he knew that Marc woke up at the crack of dawn. He had caught Marc after a run, sweaty and red in the morning light as he re-entered the boot room leading into the kitchen and froze as if caught red-handed. Valentino had ignored the scent permeating the air, rolling off Marc's sweat-covered body (too early for him to have applied his blockers), and pointedly made them both a cup of coffee whilst Marc had showered. Then they talked.

Since then, they had begun to quietly repair their bond behind the scenes. They built some of their relationship back up from the shattered remnants of before. The trust was the hardest to mend. Time and honesty were healing old wounds and rubbing soothing balm on the scars. They were acquaintances now, not much more, not much less. Civil to each other, polite to the cameras, sometimes slightly more behind the scenes. Valentino tried not to let the fondness he felt for Marc show, even as it slowly seeped back.

Valentino still thought about that scent.

He couldn't deny the spark of curiosity he had around Mark, the same curiosity which had always been present around the younger omega. From day one, he had been an enigma wrapped in a mystery, drawing Valentino in. There was a time when bitterness made Valentino sure that Marc was doing it on purpose.

Not anymore.

And yet, Valentino continued to push his interest away, unaccepting and confused. It seemed foolish to fall into the same patterns as before, the same traps. He was sure that to think so much about something (someone) that he had hated for so many years was wrong. Whether that hatred was ingrained by years of denial or not.

It didn't stop him from being there, watching in anticipation as Marc crossed the line first. It didn't prevent him from trekking across the paddock to be there when Marc pulled his bike in front of the number one spot in parc Fermé. He watched eagerly as Marc clambered off and threw himself into the waiting arms of his team. Valentino didn't miss the way the younger man staggered slightly as he climbed off his bike, nor how his eyes were dazed when he finally pulled off his helmet, Sweat clinging to him. It made something ugly and possessive rear inside him, made him want to squirrel away from all these eyes.

Valentino could pretend to everyone else that he was there for Pecco, who pulled his own Ducati into the second-place spot and beelined to Vale in the crowd. But Valentino couldn't lie to himself. It was the sweet scent of an omega in heat which drew him across the paddock. He tried to ignore the voice that told him it was his omega in heat.

He didn't have any kind of claim on Marc.

He didn't. (He used to).

And he didn't understand. Marc usually used industrial-grade scent blockers, the kind which removed his scent entirely. He knew on a first-hand basis because nobody could ever smell Marc. Not since- Well, not since quite a few years ago. Ten or eleven if he wanted to put a number to it. He didn't let the thought sit for too long, it would turn rotten quickly.

And yet here Marc was smelling like all the good things in the world. On a race weekend. It was fucking with Valentino's brain. So at odds with the Marc he now knew, the one who was careful, guarded, unwilling to share even a sliver of himself unless it was a performative façade.

(Valentino didn't think too much about that either. The number 10 or maybe 11 haunted him.)

Valentino could only assume that the man didn't know, or didn't have time to prepare, when the heat struck. Marc going into a stress heat or a surprise one on the fourth from last race weekend of the World Championship would be right on brand. Still winning the championship would be too.

(Honestly, there was little chance of anyone catching him)

Valentino wondered if Marc knew, if he cared. He hoped the younger omega would take this seriously, but he had never been one to listen to his body. He remembered, years ago, Dani scolding Marc over and over for it, for taking suppressants by the handful. It wouldn't shock him to hear that Marc had known before, had said he would race, and that was that.

It was as Marc jumped into the arms of his team that he noticed it, his omega's wide eyes and the slight edge of hysterical panic.  As if he hadn't expected the heat to hit so quickly. The team were watching Marc with concern, Pecco included, his nostrils flared in curious interest. Vale watched as Pecco pulled Marc in at the waist, scenting him curiously. It was discreet, to anyone else it wouldn't look like scenting, but Valentino knew them both too well for that. Marc didn't even bat Pecco away. Not for the first time, Valentino wondered how close the two actually were. There was the occasional time when Pecco would come back from the Ducati garage or an event smelling like Marc. Subtle, always subtle, as if Marc had put on his scent blockers and they had only worn off at the end of the evening, when he was hugging Pecco goodbye.

He heard it then, the harsh whispered conversation amid the Ducati team. He caught enough to get the gist, an unexpected heat. Marc had insisted on riding. Hitting too quickly. Scent blockers that were failing, as well as his suppressants. Valentino flinched at that, shivering at the mention of the suppressants that no one should be on long-term. 

Valentino fought off the urge to growl as hands grabbed at Marc from all direction, and their eyes crawled across his body - his tiny waist and his ass. He tried to clamp down on the possessiveness rearing its ugly head in his chest, the compulsion to push people away, although he had no right.

All Valentino could smell was Marc's scent. It was stronger now, the heat burning on. Valentino could see Pecco's nose twitching, his eyes tracking Marc across the podium, protective and hot. And suddenly Valentino wanted in the same way that he could tell the rest of the people in the pit lane did, even though there were probably all on some form of MotoGP-issued scent blockers, which prevented the pit lane from turning into a sensory nightmare. Vale could tell by the way they were gazing up at Mark, the predatory looks in their eyes. He felt a stab of jealousy, of possessiveness, because Marc was his. Marc had been his before any of these people had even met him.

Vale watched Marc, saw the way hands lingered a little too long as they guided him to the waiting car. He caught the flicker of worry in Marc's mechanic's eyes and the way Pecco placed himself between Marc and people they didn't know.

The podium was tough to watch, Marc shifting as if becoming increasingly more uncomfortable, and the sleazy men touching as if they owned him. Valentino's anger rose, his scent turning bitter even to his own nose. The heat was deepening; Valentino knew in a way that reminded him that he was intimately familiar with Marc in heat, images from before flashed through his head. Valentino couldn't tear his eyes away from Marc, glued to where he stood, covered in champagne and dripping slick down his legs. He couldn't see, of course, but he could smell it. No one else would be able to, but Vale had helped Marc through enough heats before that he was miraculously still in tune with Marc's body. A rumble caught in his chest, and the person next to him backed away.

Valentino wanted Marc. He wanted because the younger omega was dripping in champagne and slick, looking like he had fallen from heaven (or maybe been dragged up from hell). Valentino had never wanted anything more than this. Other than to gouge the eyes out of those who were staring at Marc as if they had some kind of claim on him while Marc paraded himself across the podium as if he wasn't on the brink of heat.

He hated himself for the way he almost growled when he saw Pecco grip Marc's waist, eyes fierce and hot on the older. He hated the way that he wanted to rip the arm off the mechanic next to him, who was unable to look away. It was obvious in his eyes, the way he was imagining Marc underneath him. Most of all, Valentino hated that he was no better, that he was a hypocrite.

They wrapped the podium up quickly, the organisers shifting as if unsure what to do about Marc, how to handle what must be a fairly novel conundrum.  They herded the trio away; Vale followed, curious as they made their way to the media room, where Marc continued to flit his eyes between people, guarded. As people encroached, Mark took a step away, smiling placatingly. Always ahead of the game, even as his eyes clouded more and more.

This was not the place to take Marc, not for an omega going into heat. Did this team know nothing? 

He watched from afar, feigning curiosity in Franky's interview next door, noting with amusement his young alpha's face when he smelled Marc.

Valentino stayed back and observed for as long as he could. It lasted until someone touched, reaching out in Marc's personal space, making the omega back away. Except the alpha's hand clamped around Marc's wrist. The Catalan's smile was tight and forced. Valentino was too far away to hear the words exchanged, but saw the way Marc's eyes pinched when the hand visibly tightened, he saw how Marc bit his lip to hold back a whimper, and suddenly, Vale was moving. He blinked, and he was standing between Marc and the man, chest puffed, pushing Marc behind him.

"You should learn some manners", he growled. The man clearly didn't know when to quit

"This has nothing to do with you. I was just asking a question"

"Next time, you talk like that to me or treat an omega that way. You'll be out of a job. Got it?" Vale seethed, uncaring as his scent turned stronger, bitterness seeping into the air.

Marc's own scent spiked in response, and the man leaned forward. Valentino bared his teeth.

"Now, if you excuse me, I have a team to run, and I believe Marquez has somewhere else to be, so scram", Vale hissed, fed up of allowing this to go on. He let a hint of his alpha voice slip through, just enough to remind the man of his power in this space, of his status. The alpha ran with his tail tucked between his legs. Valentino grinned at the shocked crowd of reporters, teeth bared as luca shook his head from over the way.

When he turned around, Marc was already leaving, whisked away by beta from the Duacti team with a hand on his shoulder, hopefully taking him somewhere safe. The only remnants of him were the sweet scent of citrus fruit and jasmine.

*

It was Alex who found him later, his scent wild with worry as he hammered on Valentino's hotel door. Valentino, who had been, at that very moment, desperately holding himself back from hunting Marc down and holding him close, making him feel good. He opened the door to the younger Marquez. 

Valentino only caught some of the rushed words of broken, incoherent Italian flowing out of Alex's mouth, distracted by the combination of worry rolling off of him in waves and Marc's scent, thick, heady and unmistakably distressed, which clung to Alex's skin and clothes. 

Few words filtered into Vale's brain.

Marc, stress heat, sick, pain.

He strung together enough to piece together the picture. Marc had been hit by a rare stress heat, the kind which was brought on by too much isolation, scent blockers, and biological suppression. Nothing was working, they couldn't get him to calm down.

Valentino got the distinct impression that he was the last resort. 

Before he knew it, Valentino was outside Marc's hotel door, the smell of heat burning through. He didn't remember moving and wasn't sure how he made it here. He knew that his name got him places, but was surprised how far; distantly, he hoped that Alex was somewhere near, guarding Marc and his privacy. But Valentino's world was narrowed down to Marc, to making him better.

Valentino had tried everything to stay away, to keep the distance. But now all he could smell was Marc and the scent of sweet citrus fruit, jasmine, used leathers, motor oil, and champagne. The same scent that Valentino still remembered from ten years ago, when he had Mark under him for the first time.

And Valentino couldn't help it - his obsessive want. Marc had always been addictive to Valentino. Even though he had spent many years denying it, pretending that he didn't care about Marc. It always ended the same way, with Vale being drawn back in. Now they were friends, acquaintances, ex-lovers, maybe something more, and Valentino was standing on the edge of the precipice. He knew what was waiting for him on the other side of the door.

Marc was every want that Vale had ever had wrapped into one. He was more than that. More than he was all those years ago because Marc was no longer 20 and innocent; instead, he was feral and beautiful and more impressive than he had any right to be. Valentino has never wanted an omega more than he wanted Marc.

He had never wanted anything more.

Valentino knocked on the door. Twice.

It was met with an answering whine. The smell was becoming increasingly stronger as the seconds dragged, before the door finally opened.

The chain rattled, pulling taught as the door was drawn a hand's width from the frame, blocked from going any further by the gold restrictor.

Valentino was hit by a rush of that addictive scent. Overwhelmed by Marc as the omega peered around the door, undoing the chain and inviting Vale in after a moment of deliberation. 

The room was already a mess. He could smell the slick-soaked where they were pooled at the base of the bed, a makeshift nest formed from random items of clothing and hastily found bedding. Marc was clad only in an oversized t-shirt, clearly not his, and a pair of black boxers. Valentino clung to the last remaining thread of his sanity as Marc inched closer, pressing into Vale's space as he whined, nuzzling the older man's neck. Vale tried not to inhale, to fall foul of the scent which smothered him. He choked, backed away a fraction. He eyed the bottle of water on the side, already half drunk, before he returned his gaze to Marc. 

Valentino gripped the younger man's chin between his fingers, stroking his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb as he catalogued every inch of Marc's beautiful face. 

"Marc, sweetheart. Are you sure?" he asked. He needed to be sure. 

Marc whined in response, tried to press closer, shifting his head to kiss Valentino's thumb, attempting to draw it into his mouth. Valentino resisted with great effort. 

"Word, Marc, I need words. Please baby" 

"Yes. God yes. Please Vale. I need you. Want your knot, want to feel you in me. Please." 

His eyes glinted. 

"Please. Alpha."

Valentino groaned, a pleased grumble which started in his chest. The remaining pieces of Valentino's resolve crumbled. He used a brief second of clarity to send an SOS, asking for food, water, and clean bedding, nesting material too. He knew Alex would sort the rest, their schedules and the hotel.

He threw his phone across the room, uncaring of where it landed and turned his attention to Marc. Valentino watched him for a second, two, made him wait, before finally connecting their lips in a searing kiss. 

From there, it was a blur. Valentino remembered it in flashes of heat and moments of clarity.

When he finally managed to force some sustenance and water into Marc, the haze of his heat ebbing for just a few minutes, his eyes dazed but lucid as he gazed at Valentino with an unreadable expression, and thanked him quietly for the cereal bar. The peaceful moments until Marc's eyes clouded once more, his skin burned, and the heat took him, begging to be filled again and again

Eating Marc out on the sofa, his head tilted back, completely lost in the feeling as he moaned loud enough to earn them a noise complaint. 

His fingers in Marc's mouth, opened wide, tongue lolling until Valentino tapped his jaw, told him without words to suck. Valentino groaning loudly, his teeth re-finding bitten lips.

"Cazzo, Marc, you were made for this, made to have something in your mouth. Such a good omega"

Talking rushed and dirty just to hear Marc whine around him. 

Marc cumming on his tongue, on his cock, on his knot. Clenching around Vale, the hot heat of him almost unbearable, the air heavy with their combined scents. Citrus, petrol, a hint of jasmine, and pine. 

Marc on his back under Vale, filled with his cock as Valentino fucked him for what felt like the hundredth time. Valentino whispering mine, mine, mine into Marc's skin, and Marc whining in response, writhing and agreeing without complaint. Sucking millions of hickeys over his neck, his thighs, his stomach - claiming. His omega. 

Answering a call from Alex, his voice panicked through the phone, asking what was wrong because it had been almost two days. Valentino, shaking himself out of his pheromone-induced haze long enough to reassure that all was ok. Taking the time to ask for one of Alex's jumpers to comfort Marc post-heat, and maybe some food. Letting Alex hear Marc, briefly, to know that he really was okay, still lost to his heat, but it was breaking, the omega less hot to the touch. Vale wanted to soak up every last second.

Marc, insatiable, as he always was, always had been. Begging to be fucked, constantly wanting to be filled. Valentino forcing him to stop for just a minute, to rest, even as Marc cried out for more. Valentino giving in, eventually. As he always did with Marc.

He thought that maybe he fell into its own rut at some point, too enraptured by the sight of Mark underneath him to resist.

The heat broke at some point early on the third day. It was dark, probably the early hours. Valentino felt exhausted but content, satisfied as he laid his hand on Marc's forehead. The younger man pushed into the touch, humming quietly as his eyes blinked open, still far away. Valentino kissed his cheek and coaxed him back to sleep.

Afterwards, once Marc was lucid, Valentino dragged them both into the shower, tired and satiated. He turned the water on hot, directed Marc under the spray and gently wiped him down before giving himself a quick once-over. It was soft and domestic, and Valentino wanted to stay like this forever. He wrapped Marc in a towel and gently dried him before depositing him in bed. Valentino watched as Marc drank the water he had handed him and nibbled at the cereal bar, looking worried. Valentino smiled, tried to make it as soft as possible, content when Marc's shoulder dropped on instinct. 

"Sleep", he whispered. 

"You are tired. Let me look after you, yes? And then we talk" 

Marc looked ready to protest, but he yawned sleepily and blinked up at Vale before nodding.

Valentino stayed by his side until he drifted off, stroking the brown curls which fell across the younger man's forehead. Once he was sure Marc was out, he called Luca and Alex, quietly asked them (pleaded really) to liaise with the teams, the sponsors, and to give them a few more days to work this out. After, he wrapped Marc more firmly in the blankets, curled around him and closed his eyes until sleep took him too.

The next morning, he waited by Marc's side, watching him sleep peacefully. Valentino would wake him up soon, make them both a coffee, and they could talk.

But for now, Valentino could wait. He would wait forever if it meant Marc in his bed, content and soft-looking in the mid-morning light.

The moment stretched, and Valentino wished it could be like this forever. 

[haven-lf]

Heated (Part 1)

Alpha Claggor x Omega Reader, rated E (explicit)

Part 2

Part 3

-- -- --

Full work on AO3 ❤️

Let me know if you want to be tagged for Part 2!

I know Claggor senses it from the way his body goes rigid. I feel the heat rolling off me in waves, my scent suffusing the air around us. But Powder and Mylo, both betas, don't have the receptors to pick up on it. Really, they're lucky.

I slide into the booth beside Claggor, already involving myself in the conversation at the table.

“They keep wanting add-ons,” Powder is saying, resting her chin in one hand as she stirs her drink with the other. The metal straw clinks rhythmically against the glass. “I told Gert there's only so much I can do.” She puffs her cheeks out, ignoring the way Mylo perks up at the name. “We maxed everything out.”

“What sorts of mods do they want?” I ask. “Maybe I could figure something out.” It's only half true right now because I can feel the daze creeping in from the corners of my mind. I slip my hand into Claggor's, squeezing meaningfully. I see his head turn in my peripheral vision, and I can feel his eyes on me.

“Oh, Shay wants chem amps for her drumset,” Powder says flippantly. “I told her the stuff's loud enough already, but she said she wants the drummer equivalent of a drive pedal.”

“You sure she doesn't just want, like… the glowing lights?” I suggest. Chem mods not only changed the sound but also the aesthetic of the instruments. “Cuz it's not like—”

I stop mid-sentence, hit with a wave of vertigo. I have to close my eyes against my swimming vision.

“Whoa, Y/N, are you good?” Mylo's voice reaches me through the haze. I keep my eyes shut tight, feeling the world spin. I grip Claggor’s hand tighter as I feel a fluttering in my lower belly.

Then I’m being pulled in against him, tucked under his chin. I almost whine aloud at the contact, nuzzling my face into his neck and chest, taking in deep lungfuls of his scent. Cinnamon, flowers, earth, alpha.

My alpha.

“Claggor,” I whisper, feeling feverish. He’s nuzzling me in return, scenting me.

“Uhh….” Mylo sounds confused across the table. Not that I care. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“She’s fine,” says Claggor, his deep voice vibrating in his chest. “Just… not feeling well.”

I don’t have the energy to respond. I can barely pay attention to my surroundings.

“You should take her home,” Powder says, and I can tell she understands. “She’s…. She needs rest.”

I hum in agreement, squirming against Claggor as the heat threatens to bring a flush to my face. It only started thirty minutes ago! And I'm already losing my senses to my heat. Dimly, I realize he must be triggering it somehow—or at least exacerbating it. Or maybe I'm making it worse by being so close to him, breathing in his scent. But I don't care. He's intoxicating.

Claggor gently nudges me, so I reluctantly pull away from him to get out of the booth. My knees feel weak, but at least I can stand and walk. He places one hand on my back as we leave the bar and head out into the street.

On the walk to my place, we’re constantly touching, whether it’s his hand on my back or my arm around his waist. In a few minutes, we’re in my apartment building. As we climb the stairs to my floor, his scent sharpens into something hotter. Almost entirely cinnamon, no fresh flowers or earth. My fangs descend, and when I meet his burning gaze, his grey irises are thin rings around his dilated pupils.

I nearly drop my keys in my rush to get inside. He’s holding me from behind as I unlock the door, scenting me right here in the hallway. I’m sure everyone on my floor can smell us right now, but I don’t care. The pheromones will be blocked by my door and carried away by the specialty vents once we get inside.

Speaking of: the door finally unlocks. I sigh in relief, and we’ve barely made it over the threshold before I slam the door and press Claggor up against it. He has the presence of mind to turn the deadbolt, and then he’s kissing me.

It’s as though he’s a drowning man and I’m his last hope of oxygen. The kiss is hot and messy and wonderful. I pull his lower lip between my teeth, biting gently, and he groans into my mouth. The air is clouded with cinnamon, sugar, and sex—our scents mixing together into a rich aphrodisiac.

Somehow, we end up in my bedroom, and we’re stripping off each other’s clothes between kisses. My wetness is obvious now as he teases one finger against my underwear, and he huffs out a breath. “Fuck.”

[izgnanik-a]

With Claws and Teeth

1 - The Culling

link to "With Claws and Teeth" masterlist // MDNI // AẞΩ fic below cut // Ω Soap MacTavish x a Task Force 141

Don't like? Don't read.

go to masterlist to see tags for overall fic; each chapter will be tagged additionally if need be

tw: if speaking about death or insinuated death bothers you, please avoid this fic.

If dynamite were a person, then John MacTavish was a fucking fatman bomb waiting to decimate the surface of the Earth.

He was nothing but a mut that had always been locked in a cage, poked and prodded until they had to put a muzzle on him even when he slept. They used him as a sniffer dog for years before finding he was useless. Beat him until he snapped back, but that only made them sinch his collar tighter.

Nothing, and no one, could touch John MacTavish if he didn't have a tranq dart sticking out of his back. Even then, if he wasn't seething red with blind anger, he was taking anyone out who got close to him.

Being an Omega meant he had to submit to Alphas who had no claim over him. They'd rather let him rot, hungry and cold, than to fight him into submission. Those who thought they were strong enough to take him were proven wrong in the long run, and while John got out with scars, they were just as fucked up.

There had been times where John had seen the light at the end of the tunnel. Despite the bliss and peace it brought, he woke up every time.

Every single hand that swore to train the dog out of him passed him along. Abused him physically and mentally, broke him until he was spending more nights awake than with his head in a pillow.

He wondered when the last trip would be. When they'd lock him up for good, or put him down. When the last handler would pass him along.

This time was no different than the last.

He was on a cargo plane this time though, wrists in restraints like a prisoner, muzzle to keep from biting others during transit. The only tell between him and other passengers on the plane was the thick collar around his neck. There was nothing more branding than an Omega collar to protect the nape of his neck.

He kept his eyes trained ahead, though the others on this plane ride were conscious and more than willing to poke the dog a bit. They whispered to each other, smirking his way.

Johnny kept his eyes ahead on the empty seat across from the cargo plane as the plane hit turbulence.

One of the Betas, strapped in by his seat belt a few seats to his left, leaned forward into Johnny's peripheral. "They've got you locked up pretty good, huh?" He teased.

Johnny's stare was unwavering.

"What kind of freaky Omega needs to be cuffed and muzzled?"

Shifting slowly, silence being key, Johnny turned his head towards the Beta with a deep growl growing in his chest. It vibrated against the seat under him, and was more than enough to cut the conversation down to nothing. The only thing that could be heard was the thundering of the plane engines as they began descending.

He kept his eyes pinned on the Beta who visibly dropped all cocky advancements. He sunk back into his seat. "Fucking freak." He uttered under his breath.

Johnny turned to stare forward again.

When the plane touched down, names were called to make for an easier departure. One of the last names called was John MacTavish. In order to get out of his seat, his seatbelt needed to be unlatched.

"Where's John MacTavish?" Said the calling Sergeant, clipboard tucked under arm as he walked further into the cargo hold. He clocked eyes with John, masked and bound. "What the fuck." He walked over. "Are you John MacTavish?"

Without having to say a word, like a pre-school child, they stapled his paperwork to John's shirt. His carry-on bag was tucked under his seat, handle wrapped around his ankle, and nothing else removed. The key for his cuffs were dangling around his neck, out of reach of his own hands.

"What the fuck." The sergeant, without thought, took the key and began unclasping his restraints. "They put you in here like this?" His distress was sign enough that he was putting a cap on his broiling anger. "I'm going to fucking-. Oh. I'm gonna gut them." He grit his teeth with seething anger as he moved to unbuckle Johnny's muzzle.

"Don't." John barked immediately.

The sergeant reared his head back, despite the warning, he didn't move his body aside. "You don't need that here." He stated. He didn't try again. Straightening up, he looked at his clipboard. "You're John MacTavish, right?"

Johnny kept in his seat, ripping the paperwork from his shirt, and throwing it on top of his clipboard. Thankfully it landed perfectly and he wouldn't have to pick it up off the ground for him.

The sergeant flipped through the two stapled pages. "Thankfully we don't have to wait for this transfer paperwork. Despite it being crumpled and stapled, it'll do." He said. "My name is Sergeant Kyle Garrick. We'll be working together from here on out. Welcome to the task force."

x

Kyle escorted him from the plane across the tarmac, pointing out individual buildings along the way. "Individual rooms are assigned to each person here, the only person who has access to the room is you. Don't lose your key. You've got the room to yourself, including facilities."

Johnny wondered when he would start talking about his file; when the questions would start to sound more like an interrogation, and when they were going to ship him back out to another handler.

"Given your case, the captain will decide what schedules you follow. You're not the only Omega on base, but you are the newest. It'll take some time to get used to the chaos."

Without a moment to think on his own, Garrick continued along has he swiped his badge and held the door open behind him for Johnny.

"This is one of the common houses. You get TV here, there are gaming consoles. Don't break them. There's wifi. Don't break the router. There's a personal fridge, label your food or it will go missing. Any personal items you leave out, it will get snatched."

Now it sounded like Kyle was on a record, naming all the things he witnessed or saw in his time serving.

"This building as well as the building to the right of it has shower rooms and bathrooms. Hot water is a privilege, not a right. First come in the morning gets the hot water." He pushed through a set of double doors where noise increased. "There are base jobs posted every week as well as duties, again, the captain will handle your schedule for the time being."

"Hey, Serg." A few soldiers in passing gave Kyle smiles before passing odd looks at Johnny.

Johnny glared at them.

"Down here," Kyle redirected Johnny's attention, "personal gym equipment. We can only afford so many things if people don't break them. Keep them clean, keep it clean here. Fighting on base grounds is prohibited. The sparing mats are the only place where blood gets spilt."

Johnny stared into the half dark gym.

"That was a joke." Kyle stated.

Johnny looked up at him blankly.

Kyle shook his head before waving a hand to dismiss the joke. "I'll bring you to your room."

They went back out of the building and into the other. A flight of stairs later brought Johnny to an opening door and Kyle lingering in the hall.

The room was stale, as all medically swept rooms were. It was devoid of previous pheromones. There was no scent to mark over with his own. It was safe, but also triggering.

"Of course, if you have electrical items like kettles or flattops, don't use them in here. I know a cuppa sounds nice in your own room, but bring it down to the kitchen. We've had too many close encounters by stupid people." Kyle stated. "Not that I think you'll do it. I still have to make sure."

Johnny's eyes scanned the room, the military regulated blankets were sterile as well as the pillow. He could do without the pillow because he was used to a hard surface to sleep on. The standing cupboard was big enough to house his very limited clothing supply, enough though a single drawer would do just fine.

There was a supplied desk and chair, a small window that overlooked the courtyard with a pull blind that was stained yellow. It was the only thing that had color to it. A past.

"I'll get you the wifi password and your login information. I'm sure the captain has a personal email account he needs to give to you. Do you have a laptop?"

Johnny looked at him. "I've got what I carried."

Which was an easy no. "Laptops get signed out and returned monthly to account for and clean out anything these idiots might have downloaded. I'll see if I can get you one to keep." Kyle looked down the hall to bickering voices. "Last I checked, you two are supposed to be somewhere. What're you doing up here?"

Johnny stared at the side of Kyle's face, taking in the details while he was preoccupied with railing through the task avoiding soldiers. His hair was short cropped, military approved, faded down the back of his neck into a high collared uniform. Despite the short scar on his cheek, there was no other visible inflictions. He was taller, wider, and despite it all - he didn't once portray the role of an Alpha like Johnny had seen others.

He was pampering but assertive, passing and demanding, soft spoken and aggressive. His first encounter with Johnny was sticking his hand in the lion's mouth, whether it be blindly or willingly. He didn't see Johnny as a threat.

That would become his first mistake.

Johnny stared at the back of his neck, watching him straighten those soldiers back out down where they'd come from. Fixed on his collar, Johnny saw scarring teeth marks as he turned back to face him.

Kyle was marked. Mated.

"Do you need anything else? Anything you can think of?" Kyle's eyes panned to Johnny's singular duffel bag. "Do you have toiletries? Towel? Soap? Toothbrush?"

Johnny stared.

Kyle nodded slowly. "I'm going to get you everything." He pointed. "And I promise I'm going to drill so far up your previous employer's asses, they're gonna be out of a fucking job and house." He moved to turn away but pulled back. "If you don't make your own or have it delivered to the base, breakfast is at 7:00, lunch is at 12:00, and dinner is at 17:00. I'll tell the captain you've settled in, and you'll be ready for lunch. Cool?"

Johnny didn't say anything, but he took it as an answer. Kyle departed from the doorway, allowing him to close the door himself. Allowing him to shut himself into his own room gave him the illusion of choice.

Shutting the door and turning to the room, he began sniffing out everything. He upturned every corner of fabric, every moveable tile from the drop ceiling, the light fixtures, drains, and cabinet. There were no cameras, no audio devices, no points of intrusion in what was previously someone else's room. It was now his room.

Even if the sheets were brand new, they felt like too soft to the touch. He stripped the bed clean of the sheets, the pillow along side it, until it was bare mattress. He stuffed them into the cabinet, not even sure he was going to sleep on it tonight. It was too soft, too different from the lives he'd lived before.

All of this was new, terrifying, and all he wanted to do was sink back into the floor and let it consume him. But they asked for him. When the last place was ready to shove him into a pine box, phantom hands reached out and claimed his name. He wasn't another body, he was just an item to pass along.

It goes without saying, they'll discard of him too. After being handed down the line, the task force would see his bared teeth and scarred body, and want nothing of him. They'll see his uselessness in being a sniffer dog, and they'll whip him. They'll realize he's deaf in his right ear, and they'll take him out back and tell him to look at the flowers before ending his misery.

He wasn't a breeding dog, sterile as ever. He wasn't a bomb dog. He wasn't even a person behind all of that anymore.

He was just John MacTavish, a name, and nothing more.

x

a/n: if you couldn't tell, this fic is gonna be a dark one. It may transfer over to ao3 in the future, but for now I'll keep the chapters here.

next chapter coming soon

back to masterlist

[cas-backwards-tie]

I'm new to you page and wa wondering if you had discontinued the pack plan series as its brilliant:))

Ahhh, well, welcome! 💖🥰🫂 We’re so glad to have you here! I want to thank you for reaching out and asking 💕 I always appreciate asks! Even when they’re not related to my fics.

TOPP is definitely still in the works! And because you asked so nicely and cared to inquire, I feel like I owe it to all of you all to post a snippet of the next chapter! 🙌🏻 Because I definitely realize and know how long you guys have been waiting! I’ll post the snippet and then I also can give you an update about the fic/where I’m at, at the bottom.

Snippet of Ch.2:

"Why wouldn't you just tell us?!" Soap grits out, his voice taking on a dark tone as he turns his once sky blue, now stormy, eyes on you. "Do you realize what position you've gone and put us in?"

“Yeah, and what position’s that?” You engage, turning to square off against Johnny, the both of you only a foot apart since you’d been standing next to each other in line.

You’re met with a low warning growl, the motion of his hand balling up into a fist at his side not being missed by your peripheral vision. Despite your defiance not being unusual within the team, your designation now, is known, and an Omega standing up to an Alpha? Not taken kindly upon. Nor is it taken lightly. Regardless, they’re not your Alphas, and that means they have no claim over what you do or say. And while there’s always the risk of an Alpha disciplining an unruly, unclaimed Omega, you’re willing to take it.

"It's your fault, really," Ghost eggs on, making everyone whip their heads in his direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[If you don’t know what this is in reference too, here’s the masterlist for the series in question!]

So the reason why I haven’t posted the chapter yet is for a few reasons 💕 One, from a writing standpoint this one is quite longer, and I want it to be amazing for you guys! When I was writing the first chapter I had a friend to help me with the dialogue (which is why I feel I really struggle) and rn I don’t, so I think I’ve been nervous about that a bit.

But also, because in my real life there’s been a lot of major changes recently. In September I found out that I have CIRS (Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome) which, is basically like mold sickness but, like, permanent. So I’ve been trying to find somewhere safe to move/detox from the mold w meds bc my body can’t on its own, and I’m actually just finally moving into my new apartment on Sunday! 💖🙌🏻 so that’s cool.

Besides that, I also got diagnosed with, like, idk, I guess it’s a disability, technically, and the fact that I’ve been struggling my whole life with it but never knew has been… kind of mind blowing tbh? Like I haven’t told anyone except one person about it—not even my best friends yet—bc it’s been a lot to work through since… I guess I’ve technically had this my whole life but only now know at 25? 😅🤯

So it’s been a lot of working on my health both physically, mentally, and with moving, my family, Christmas coming up, and trying to find a job/support myself even day-to-day, it’s been kind of taxing tbh balancing everything. And that’s not even mentioning the little social life I do have 😅😭🙈 So while I know it’s frustrating waiting, and I’m sorry that it’s taken so long, I do want to be open and tell you guys what’s going on behind the scenes 💕 Granted, I know not everyone necessarily cares, and that’s okay! If you did read all this, though, I appreciate you and hope you have an amazing day!

Your ask, though, Nonnie definitely is inspiring me to sit down and really finish the next two chapters bc I have both laid out- one nearly finished, the other will be shorter (I think?) because of the plot point it’s mostly about 💕 I will say though, too, it does make me a bit anxious not having had a whole plan for this fic unlike the others which I’ve sort of started writing with a whole plot in mind 😂🙈💖 so I just hope you guys will continue to love it ask much as you’ve loved the first chapter! I genuinely have never received as much love on a work than that one chapter, alone! So I am truly grateful 💖

[leth-writes]

Request Heeded part 3 (Yandere Homelander x reader)

SUMMARY: You, Ashley’s omega assistant, have gotten a mating request.

(PART 3)

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans. 

NOTE: So this work is very heavily inspired by Kept Omega by The FireCrest over on AO3, please head over and give it a read!

MASTERLIST 

Requests are open!

If you like it, please comment!

Your experience in the breakroom had wrung everything out of you. You were exhausted, tired, regretting ever having worked at Vought. It felt like your life was coming to a premature end; your entire life flashed before your eyes, reminding you of all you’d wanted to accomplish, and all you never would. You were left with a hollow pit in your stomach, gaping and threatening to eat away at your soul until you were left numb.

Walking to the bathroom, drenched in the Deep’s scent, was the most humiliating thing to ever happen to you. Each employee you passed would do a double take, not only smelling the strong moss that could only belong to the Deep, but your own frightened scent. You were quickly tiring of the pitying looks. It seemed that most of your coworkers had completely forgotten you were an omega, something the Deep had quickly rectified. You would never be taken seriously again. 

You entered the room and quickly locked the door, only relaxing at the definite ‘click’ of the lock sliding home. The room was ornate, beautiful in a harsh, bright manner. The lights were harsh, the floors and counters marble; the facilities at Vought were truly nothing to sneeze at. You walked up to the counter, staring forlornly into the mirror. You looked exhausted, deep bags accentuating your sleepless night. You quickly splashed water on your face and neck, not caring that you were soaking the collar of your pristine white shirt. As long as they couldn’t smell you, you didn’t care. You slapped an extra scent patch on, hoping it would prevent anyone else from realizing your designation.

Not like it mattered, word spread quickly around Vought. Everyone in the building, all the way down to the janitors who’d never even seen you, would know by the end of the day. Mourning your career, you unlocked the door and stepped out, straightening your jacket and your spine.

You refused to let them see how devastated you were, to judge you for your designation.

So, you marched your way back to Ashley’s office. The door was closed, not necessarily odd, but definitely not normal for this time of day. Hell, she never left it closed unless she was with someone.

You hesitantly strode up to the door and knocked. Her voice, muffled, came through, calling you in.

You pulled the door open, peeking through. There, in all his glory, stood Homelander. He turned to look at you, a smile stretched wide across his face like a mask, slight twitches radiating through his body at the sight of you.

He hummed, low in his throat, almost a groan. 

“Ah, is… is it a bad time?” You asked quietly, scared you’d interrupted. Ashley looked up from where she’d been clutching at her forehead. You could tell she had a headache just by looking at her. 

She didn’t answer you, so you moved further into the room, bypassing Homelander entirely and walking to the counter. You quickly grabbed a painkiller and filled a clear glass with water, marching it over to Ashley and thunking it down on the thick oak desk.

From where you were standing, you could see Homelander twitch, clearly annoyed you’d ignored him. You couldn’t help but stare out of your peripherals; what exactly had drawn him to you? You’d never truly spoken, never had a conversation longer than half a minute, and he’d requested to mate you?

He’d never truly showed any interest in mating, at least not that you knew about. His records were spotless, consisting only of Vought-approved relationships (and his… trist with Becca, of course). You had no idea why he’d chosen you, out of all of the candidates available to him. He could have literally anyone in the world, and he chose a normal, run of the mill white-collar worker? 

Ashley chugged the water, swallowing the pill with ease. It was a long-established routine, after all, for you to give her a painkiller before or after a particularly tough meeting. Unbidden, you thought of the moment she had learnt you were to be handed off to Homelander. Had she wished for a painkiller in that moment, had she felt despair? Or had she simply agreed, the decision mindless? You had no way of knowing, and you guess you never would. It ate at you; had there been any consideration for you, what would be best for you, when the decision had been made?

Of course not, you reckoned. You were a simple worker, your life was as good as forfeit the second you’d stepped in the building. Vought wouldn’t have cared if Homelander had just murdered you, though you suspect more thought went into whether you would be allowed for mating with their prized possession.

Homelander cleared his throat. There he stood in all his glory, cape slightly swaying as he shifted from one foot to the other. His hands were tightly clasped behind him, and you could see the tension building in his arms. Clearly he was upset, though you had no idea why.

You nodded, as if to reassure yourself, and sat down next to where he stood.

He made no move to sit down. You refused to look at him, despite being able to feel his eyes burning into the side of your skull, as though he was trying to read your thoughts. Luckily, that wasn’t one of his powers. You thought. You weren’t sure, to be fair you hadn’t looked at the list in ages. You just knew he was dangerous.

“Alright… Let’s begin,” Ashley sighed, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. She looked tired, like she’d aged a decade in the hour since you’d last seen her. You couldn’t feel bad for her, not really. She was complicit in handing you over to the Homelander, after all, despite knowing how dangerous he was. 

He looked over at you, smile still ever-present. It didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were cold as they locked onto Ashley, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver. His expression looked almost painful, locked onto his face like a mask. You just managed to hold back a wince in sympathy.

He swept his cape aside and sat down, sprawled over the chair like he owned it. You supposed he did; Ashley’s control only went as far as he let it go, after all.

She straightened the papers on her desk and cleared her throat.

“So. Homelander, your requested mating has been approved. The two of you will court for a couple of months, no longer than a year; at the end of that period, if you would like to move forward, you will be permitted to marry. “ She began, then turned to you.

“As requested, you will serve as the Homelander’s primary assistant. You’ll accompany him through his daily activities and ensure everything runs smoothly.”

Homelander’s head snapped up from where he’d been looking out the window, smile widening to show his sharp canines. His eye twitched.

“What’s that, now?” He laughed, looking coldly at Ashley.

She gulped, visibly nervous, squirming in her chair. She looked at her for help. You offered her none. Let her suffer for once, feel the brunt of the force she’d be inflicting on you in short order. You had no sympathy. You simply clenched your hands, hard enough to leave indents, in your lap.

“Well, it’ll give the two of you time to bond-”

You looked over at him. His eyes were locked onto Ashley, like he was mentally imagining frying her face off. You supposed it was a real risk, considering his reputation.

“It’ll be a good way to get to know you, sir.” You filled in. Ashley looked at you, gratefulness clear on her face. You ignored her. She wasn’t your boss, not anymore, and you didn’t need to coddle her or care about her feelings anymore. She could handle herself, could lay in the bed she’d made, all without you to make it all easier. You were done doing what she wanted; you needed to look after yourself if you wanted to make it to the end of the year. It was time to be selfish.

He looked over at you, eyes softening. 

“And this was your idea?” He smiled, though more genuinely. His eyes crinkled a little bit at the corners. It was a surprisingly humanizing gesture, like he genuinely cared how you thought of him.

“Of course, sir.” You nodded, faking a bashful attitude. Maybe he’d get bored of you if you portrayed yourself as shyly as possible, though it was a fine line to walk; too shy and he might get irritated. That wouldn’t end well for you.

He looked pleased at your foresight, seemingly forgetting his previous irritation. It seemed he was quite emotionally volatile. The rumors were correct, it seemed; you’d have to be careful not to get too far on his bad side.

“”Well alright then, what a good idea!” he laughed, reaching over to gently rest a hand on your shoulder.

“How soon can you start?”

Ashley spoke up. “Well, we were thinking to-”

“No, how about right now? No time like the present, right?” He cut her off, seemingly not caring about how rude he was being. You guessed when someone viewed themselves as above everyone else, they didn’t have to care about being disrespectful. It isn’t like there’d be any consequences, after all.

You simply nodded, subtly pulling away from his touch, straightening your spine until his hand fell. From the corner of your eye, you could see his smile freeze, like he hadn’t considered you wouldn’t be receptive to his touch.

Ashley stammered, caught off guard. “W-well, if you’re both in agreement, then I guess there wouldn’t be a problem…”

She passed you a clipboard.

“This is his schedule for the day; you’ll be reporting directly to Homelander from now on, this clipboard will be filled out everyday with his schedule, you can collect it from the conference room on the 99th floor every morning, and you just need to make sure everything runs smoothly. Okay?”

You nodded again. She looked saddened as you stood up without so much as a look her way, walking out of the room with your head held high. Homelander followed after you, walking slowly, hands clasped behind his back and cape gently swaying with his movement. You wondered if he’d been forced to practice that walk; it looked too unnatural to be instinct.

The two of you made your way to the elevator. Once you were inside, standing almost shoulder to shoulder, both facing toward the doors, you took a peek at his schedule. It seemed the only thing on the itinerary for the rest of the day was a meeting with the rest of the Seven; good, you already knew how these ran.

You cleared your throat.

“Sir, the only thing left today is a meeting with the rest of the Seven; it’ll be starting soon. Would you like me to take notes…?” You hedged, unsure of what he wanted you to do. He looked over and smiled, though this time it was noticeably gentler, like he was looking at a particularly adorable puppy and not his subordinate. It was better than lust, at least.

He cleared his throat and nodded, humming quietly to himself.

When you looked over, he was already staring down at you. 

“You’re wearing a scent patch, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Y-yes, sir…” 

“Why?” He questioned, looking genuinely curious.

“Well… I don’t want people to think any less of me just because I’m an omega. Once they know, they start acting differently, protectively, preventing me from being able to do my job right. And when I can’t do my job right, I get blamed, and it gets used as evidence that omegas can’t work. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to let my designation get in the way.” You finished, impassioned.

“Next time, take it off,” He chuckled, looking amused.

You wanted to ask why, wanted to know just what was so funny about your hopes and dreams being crushed at the feet of others who couldn’t care less about you or your life, but the elevator doors slid open.

The two of you strode toward the meeting room, you having to walk almost at a run just to keep up with his strides. Jesus, he was fast, even though he wasn’t even that tall.

The door to the room was already open, the rest of the members present. You started to walk over to the desk in the corner, where you usually stayed during meetings, only to be caught by the collar. You floundered, then whipped around angrily.

Homelander chortled and let go, taking a couple of steps back and holding his hands out in placation. “Easy, tiger!” he said, humor clear in his voice. God, he was so condescending! You were exhausted just by the couple of minutes you’d spent by his side, you couldn’t imagine doing this every day for a year. You sighed to yourself; it looks like you had no choice.

“How about you sit right here?” He gestured to where the Deep was sitting, who looked up, shocked. “Wh-” he began, only to be silenced by a single gesture from the Homelander, who looked deeply irritated.

The Deep scrambled to get up, moving quickly, fear clear on his face, to sit next to Black Noir. 

You awkwardly sidled up to the chair, sinking into it. It was plush, with a high back. It felt weird, sitting in a chair you’d normally written off as belonging to one of the super-assholes you managed. In a way, it was almost cathartic; you were in charge, now. He would never be able to hurt you again; at least being next to Homelander carried some perks.

He sat down next to you, gently pulling his cape to the side. It was an oddly humanizing gesture, reminding you that, deep down, he was still a person. It was easy to forget, especially with how intimidating he could be.

He shot you a glance, and you suddenly became aware you were staring. You snapped your head back down to the table, locking onto the empty notebook set in place. It seemed your place had already been set; you wonder when the Deep had realized, if he had at all. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, so maybe he never had. You couldn’t help but feel a buzz of glee, knowing that the asshole had to deal with the fact an inferior human had taken his place. You shot him a look; he was glowering in your direction, clearly upset. You made a mental note not to be alone with him for the next, say, decade.

The Homelander cleared his throat, and began to speak.

However, he was interrupted by Ashley walking in, looking flustered; the papers clutched in her sweaty grasp seemed to be completely out of order. You felt a burst of pride; clearly, she was lost without you. Serves her right for serving you up on a silver platter.

You straightened up, confidence surging through you. You’d earned this, you’d earned your spot. Even if it took some manipulation to get there.

Diligently, you started taking notes, ignoring Ashley’s sorrowful glances your way.

Homelander continued talking, clearly ignoring Ashley’s flustered demeanor. He was confident, so confident; he seemed to radiate it, like he couldn’t contain the pure force he normally controlled. It was awe-inspiring, seeing him so in his element. He truly was a force of nature. Finally, he finished his opening spiel, then gestured for Ashley to begin.

“Now. We need to think about our new options, filling in some slots on the Seven. The loss of Starlight was a massive blow we need to adjust for.” Ashley said, stepping forward toward the wall of monitors.

“First, Talon. Incredibly popular influencer, plus she wins us points for being 1/8th Navajo! Having an extra woman on the team will help us continue with the ‘Girls Get it Done’ messaging, from last year, which will destabilize the Starlighters and potentially give them someone new to rally behind…” She said, gesturing to the screen. Was this truly the selection process? No consideration for their abilities, how well they’ll work with the team?

“Pass,” The Deep said, looking down at his hands. “She’s a butter-face. Her body’s on point, but her face…” He continued, smirking at Ashley. God, you wish someone would just wipe that smirk right off his face!

“I get it. Thank you so much for explaining,” Ashley said, turning around. 

“Chauvinist prick,” she muttered under her breath. You snorted. At least you were close enough to hear her sly insults; they were always the best part of your day. Out of your peripherals, you could see Homelander straighten; clearly, he was interested now.

Ashley flicked to the next candidate, Hyperion, then quickly flicked past. You’d barely had the time to even note her down.

She flicked again to the next candidate, Dogknott, passing him by quickly. Clearly, they’d already considered him and found him lacking.

Finally, they ended up on Wrangler. The murderer. Well, at least he’d fit right in. You scoffed at the thought.

Ashley paused, looking shocked. Homelanders’ eyes flicked to you, widened, like he was surprised you’d expressed yourself at all. Shit, you were supposed to be pretending to be shy!

“Something to say?” He asked, voice soft and genuine. It seemed he really cared what you had to say.

“A-ah, it’s just… Wrangler is a wild card. Having him on the team would be a nightmare; I can already tell he doesn’t work well with others, and we’d have to spend ages on the rebranding alone. We’re already in a precarious spot, with the Starlighters presenting us as immoral, so adding a known murderer who targets migrants will only prove their point,” you said, voice wavering.

Homelander nodded, looking contemplative. “You’re right,” he eventually said. Ashley spluttered, clearly disoriented by the sudden change in tone. She wasn’t used to hearing him talk like that, soft, like he cared about what you thought of him.

Homelander stood, sighing. “Well, this was frankly a waste of time. Everyone, out.” The others scattered, quick not to get on his bad side. You stood to leave as well, though his hand resting on your shoulder suddenly stopped you.

“Wait- you can stay…” He said, voice sounding unsure. You’d never heard him sound like that before, like he was vulnerable, like he cared what you had to say. You looked over, shocked.

“I was wondering… If you wanted to-” Shit. Shit. He was asking you out! You scrambled to come up with an excuse.

“I-I’m sorry, sir, I have to finish all the paperwork for transferring departments,” you said, voice solemn. Better to make him think you were saddened at missing out on time with him.

His head rocked back slightly and his face screwed up, eyes twitching. 

“Right. Right, of course. Well, you go do that,” he said with an awkward laugh. 

With that, you left.

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 7

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 4024

Warning: Angst - lots, longing, some Fluff. Not much that I can think of.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 7

The following morning, you were up with the sun, despite the late night celebration. The kitchen was already warm with the scent of apples and cinnamon as you moved with practiced ease, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand while the other worked on shaping the turnovers. On the outside, you looked calm—relaxed even. But inside, you were a mess, nerves coiling tight in your stomach, your thoughts running endless circles.

Why does he think I’m not ready? 

That question refused to leave you alone, looping in your mind as if the repetition might somehow reveal an answer. Was it really about you? Or was he just using it as an excuse—to keep from claiming you, from either of you claiming each other?

You tried to shake the thought off, focusing instead on the bittersweet reality creeping up on you. In just a few weeks, Jess would be leaving for college again, and you’d be alone on the land once more. Well, not alone, but still alone. Maybe I should start thinking about what I want to do with the rest of my life. 

The thought lingered as you set another tray of turnovers aside, fingers moving on autopilot. What did you want to do?

Your mind drifted back to when you were fourteen, sitting at your desk, pouring over the old files of the Touched in your pack’s lineage while the two professors spoke in the background. Even then, they’d felt incomplete—clinical accounts stripped of anything personal, as if something vital had been erased.

And just like that, you knew.

For the first time that morning, a smile curved your lips, the tension in your chest easing. I’ll write a book. Not to fix the files, but to create something real—a guide for others with the genetic mutation, for those who didn’t have the answers they needed. Your pack wasn’t the only one with Touched. There were others out there, struggling the way you had.

And then there were the alphas.

Your grip tightened slightly on the edge of the counter, heart picking up as another realization settled into place. I’ll write the things I wish I’d known. The things I wish someone had told me. The things I wish Dean could understand.

The idea settled deep, a quiet kind of certainty replacing the unease that had followed you all morning. For the first time in a long while, you felt like you had a purpose again.

You had just set the last batch of turnovers onto the cooling rack when a quiet shift in the air prickled at your senses. The windows were open, letting in the warm summer breeze, carrying with it the scent of pine and wildflowers. But something else was there, too—something familiar.

You didn’t look up, not right away. Instead, you casually reached for your coffee, taking a slow sip.

A shadow flickered in your peripheral vision.

With a smirk, you set your mug down and spoke without turning around. “You even think about touching one of those, and I swear, Jess, I’ll swat your hand with this spatula.” A sharp gasp came from behind you, followed by a groan. “Dammit! How do you do that?” Jess whined, stepping fully into view, arms crossed in defeat.

You turned, arms mirroring her, one brow arched. “You really thought I wouldn’t catch you?” “Honestly? I had hope,” she said, eyeing the turnovers lovingly. “It’s not my fault! You left all the windows open, and my cabin is right next door. You expect me to not follow the smell of fresh apple turnovers?” Shaking your head, you sighed with exaggerated exasperation before nudging the tray toward her. “Fine. But if you burn your mouth, that’s on you.” Jess didn’t need to be told twice. She snatched one up, bouncing it between her hands before taking a careful bite, humming in satisfaction. “Mmm. I knew you were making these for Dean. Lucky bastard.” You rolled your eyes, but warmth crept up your neck anyway. “It’s just brunch.” She shot you a look over her turnover. “Sure.”

You ignored her teasing, choosing instead to lean against the counter, fingers tracing the rim of your mug. You both knew why Dean was coming over. “Actually, I wanted to tell you something. I finally figured out what I want to do.” Jess swallowed her bite and tilted her head. “Oh?” You took a breath, a small smile forming as the words settled into place. “I want to write a book. Not a novel or anything like that. A guide—something for others like me. For people who have the Touched mutation. There’s so much I didn’t know, so much I wish I’d known growing up.” You hesitated, then admitted, “And maybe… it could help people like Dean, too.” Jess softened, her usual teasing giving way to something quieter, more thoughtful. “That’s actually… a really great idea,” she said, nodding. “You always did hate those files.” “Because they’re cold. They don’t tell you how to live with it, just the facts.” You gestured vaguely before sighing. “Anyway, I wanted you to know.” Jess nudged you with her shoulder. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think it’s perfect.” 

A comfortable silence stretched between you as she savored her turnover, and you nursed the last of your coffee. The kitchen felt peaceful, sunlight slanting through the open windows, the lingering scent of cinnamon in the air.

Then, almost at the same time, both of you glanced at the clock. He’ll be here soon. Your fingers curled around your mug, the lingering warmth grounding you as your stomach twisted with nervousness and anticipation.

Jess noticed. She always did.

“Hey,” she said, keeping her voice light, “Sam’s not coming by today. Come over after Dean goes. I’ll pull out the ice cream.”

You exhaled softly, some of the tension easing from your shoulders as you leaned your head against her shoulder. “Thanks, Jess,” you murmured. “I’ll probably need it.”

The rumble of an approaching truck sent a jolt through your chest. You glanced at Jess, but she was already on her feet, licking the last of the cinnamon sugar from her fingers. “Well, that’s my cue,” she said, grinning as she made a beeline for the back door.

“Jess—” Too late. With a laugh, she snagged another turnover from the cooling rack and slipped outside before you could stop her, the screen door swinging shut in her wake. You shook your head, exhaling a steadying breath as you turned back toward the front. Dean was here.

Through the open windows, you heard the truck door creak open and slam shut. Not the Impala, you realized. He must not have wanted to risk her on the dirt roads again. A moment later, his footsteps hit the porch, slow and measured. Then, a pause—like he was hesitating.

You wiped your palms against your jeans, just as he finally knocked.

When you opened the door, the first thing you saw, him—standing there, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, greens flickering with something unreadable. The second thing was the slight lift of his brows as he caught the scent lingering in the air.

“Turnovers?” he asked, almost like he didn’t believe it.

You folded your arms, tilting your head a bit. “You sound surprised.” His lips twitched like he wanted to smirk, but something about today had him guarded—like he’d been last night, right before he kissed you for the first time at the celebration.

“Just—apple pie’s my thing,” he admitted, finally stepping inside. His gaze flicked toward the kitchen, the warm scent thick in the air, before shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. “Didn’t expect—y’know…”

“I did say I was going to make something,” you reminded him, voice gentle.

Dean shrugged, eyes darting anywhere but at you. “Didn’t expect you to know I like ‘em.” You huffed a soft laugh, walking past him toward the kitchen. “You told me that first day we met that you loved apple pie. I thought you might like turnovers, too.” He followed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He wasn’t used to omegas remembering those little details—wasn’t used to them caring. But you weren’t just any omega. You were his. His true mate. And that? That was still something he was attempting to wrap his head around. 

“That’s… sweet,” he finally admitted, sitting down at the kitchen table.

You poured him a cup of coffee, setting it in front of him, then plated the turnovers and placed them between you. It was all the little things: the way his fingers curled around the mug like he needed something solid to hold onto, the way the muscle of his jaw ticked every so often, and the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes. 

Yeah, he was just as nervous as you were.

Taking a slow breath, you reached across the table, setting your hand softly over one of his. His fingers tensed, then relaxed under your touch.

“We don’t have to start with the hard stuff first,” you murmured. “We can talk about something simple. Like…” You let a small smile tug at your lips. “Did you remember to bring the blanket back so I could make it smell like me again?” 

A pause. Then, finally, a huffed laugh from Dean—small, barely there, but real. You’d take it. “It’s in the truck. I’ll, uh—I’ll grab it in a few.”

His fingers tightened around the mug, thumb tapping against the ceramic in a restless rhythm. The rich scent of coffee curled through the air, but he wasn’t drinking it. His eyes flickered to the turnovers between you, then back down to the table, like he was searching for something—an anchor, an excuse, anything.

You waited, letting him find the words. He seemed like he wanted to dive straight into it, but whatever it was, it tangled in his throat before it could make it out.

Finally, with a sigh, he dragged a hand down his face as you reached for one of the turnovers. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I do,” his voice was rough, low—like gravel rolling in his throat.

You said nothing, just watching as he shifted in his chair. His wolf had been calm when he walked in, drawn toward you as naturally as breathing, but now? Now, his scent was turning sharp, his frustration bleeding through. He hated this—hated how tangled everything felt. Dean exhaled sharply and grabbed one of the turnovers, breaking it in half just to keep his hands busy. “It’s not just about you going into your first heat.” He chewed on the words, rolling them around like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “It’s not just about that possibly triggering my rut. I just—I want some… some us time.”

He took a bite, chewing slowly, his jaw working harder than it needed to. You could tell that wasn’t all of it, and possibly not even the full truth of what he was going through.

You reached for your coffee, keeping your voice soft. “I understand that. Would it be easier for you if I claimed you first?” You knew that would help him, would counteract his genetic mutation, and he’d be able to bond with his wolf, would let him get those memories only his wolf had. 

There it was—the thing he didn’t want to talk about.

His muscles tensed, his jaw going rigid as he forced himself not to react outright. Dammit! Why did you have to ask me the one thing I was avoiding? 

So, he did what he did best—tried to logic his way out of it.

“Do you know how it works?” he asked, finally looking up to meet your gaze.

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Yes. It’s typically done at the height of climax, so it’s not painful.” It was something everyone knew. They taught it in high school. Plus, he was your mate, so what was the point of being shy around him?

Dean nearly choked. You’d said it so casually, like it was nothing, like it was just another fact to state. And last night—hell, last night when he kissed you, you’d melted against him like you’d never been kissed before. But now, the way you said that—so damn matter-of-factly—had his brain careening down an entirely different track.

Had you been with someone before? Were you untouched?

He cleared his throat, swearing he could hear his wolf laughing at him in his head. “Okay,” he drawled out, mostly to buy himself time. “I just—I want your first time to be special.”

He meant it, but he also hoped it would answer the questions rattling around in his skull without having to ask them outright.

A small, almost playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “I didn’t say we had to have sex for me to claim you,” you tried not to giggle. You may have been inexperienced, but you were not innocent by any means.

The way you said it—calm, sure, with a quiet kind of confidence—was enough to wipe whatever argument he’d been building clean off the table.

His wolf let out something that felt like a smug huff in the back of his mind.

Dean, on the other hand, was fighting his frustration. He didn’t want to tell you. Didn’t want to admit what really scared him—learning how to bond with his wolf, something he should have learned as a kid. Something that should have been natural. Easy. Second nature. But for him, it wasn’t.

And now? Now, it wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about you. 

He sat there, silently lost in thought, his expression unreadable as you nibbled on a turnover. His fingers curled around his mug, grip tightening like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He finally took a sip, eyes still locked on you, like he was trying to decipher something—like maybe if he looked hard enough, he’d find the answer he didn’t want to admit he was searching for.

This wasn’t how he had pictured the conversation going.

You may not have been able to scent emotions the way others could, but you had learned how to read people. And right now? He was a storm behind green eyes, brewing with things unsaid. 

“Maybe just… think about it,” you offered gently. “Today was just about talking.” 

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Talking. Saying things out loud meant they were real.

The two of you had only known each other for a couple of months. Some days, it felt like so much longer, like you had always been there, woven into the very fabric of his life. And then there were moments like this—where he felt like he didn’t know a damn thing about you. 

The questions that circled his mind were ones he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Questions his wolf probably already had the answers to, and that was more frustrating than anything else. His wolf knew you.

Dean pushed abruptly to his feet, the scrape of his chair against the floor sharp in the quiet space. He didn’t say anything as he stepped outside, crossing the distance to his truck with measured strides. He needed space. Air.

Leaning forward, he braced his hands against the hood, the metal still warm under his palms. He exhaled slow and deep, forcing his lungs to stretch with it, but it didn’t help. Your scent clung to his skin, wrapping around him, a constant pull.

His wolf, on the other hand, had no such doubts. It wanted him to go back inside. To hold you close, feel how you fit so nicely against him. Relish just being close to you like he had when Dean had finally relaxed at the celebration the night before.

Inside, you watched him go, lips pressing into a small frown. With a quiet sigh, you set your coffee down and grabbed a ziplock bag, carefully tucking away most of the apple turnovers—saving a few for Jess. Then, without hesitation, you headed outside. You approached him cautiously, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. The instant tension beneath your touch was answer enough.

“I’d understand, if you wanted to head out,” you murmured.

Dean’s head dipped slightly, a quiet exhale escaping him. Last night, he’d told you he didn’t want to screw this up. And now? That’s exactly what it felt like—like he was failing. All because he couldn’t admit what he was afraid of. 

“I just need some time…” his voice was barely above a whisper. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at you, too afraid of seeing disappointment staring back at him.

But you weren’t going to let him retreat into himself. Moving with quiet determination, you stepped under his arm, positioning yourself between him and the truck. He had no choice but to face you now.

“Take all the time you need, Dean.” Your voice was soft, steady, a lifeline he didn’t know how to reach for. “You’re my soulmate. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Your hands cupped his face, grounding him in a way nothing else could. The gentle press of your palms, the warmth of your touch—it soothed the ache in his chest.

“I promise,” you whispered before leaning in, brushing the softest kiss against his lips. It was fleeting, but it lingered, something unspoken passing between you as you pulled away.

Dean groaned, torn between the desperate urge to hold you close and the frustration coiling inside him. He took your hand in his, turning his head just enough to press a kiss to your palm, as if sealing something sacred. 

“I promise, I’ll come back,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “This isn’t goodbye.” He swallowed hard, trying to push past the tightness in his throat. He needed to talk to Sam. He needed to find a way to break through this fear, to figure out how to bond with his wolf without losing himself in it. One last kiss to your forehead, and then he was moving, opening the door of his truck. But as he reached for the seat, his hand stilled. The blanket you had given him sat there, waiting. A silent reminder.

Something inside him cracked.

With a shaky breath, he pulled the blanket out and turned back to you. His lips twitched, just slightly, as he handed it over. And in return, you pressed the bag of turnovers into his palm. 

“I’ll be back for that,” he said, trying to ignore the way his wolf pushed at him, demanding he stay, hold you, breathe you in one last time.

You held the blanket against your chest. “It’ll be here, waiting for you.” 

The words carried more weight than either of you were willing to acknowledge.

Dean hesitated for a fraction of a second before slipping into the driver’s seat and shutting the door—harder than he meant to. You flinched at the sound but said nothing, watching as he started the engine. He only looked at you once before forcing his gaze ahead, locking onto the dirt road that led off the land.

What is he so afraid of? 

The thought settled heavily in your chest. With another quiet sigh, you turned on your heel, heading inside. You didn’t even want to see Jess right now. Your mind was a mess of questions, circling things you didn’t have answers to. Whatever Dean was going through—it wasn’t about you.

But that didn’t mean you knew how to help him through it. It was clear that whatever it was, he couldn’t lean on you. Couldn’t let you be his rock, his safe space. 

—------------------------------

Dean didn’t remember the drive to Sam’s place. His mind had been too tangled up, replaying everything over and over—the way you looked at him, the way your scent lingered even now, the way his wolf clawed at his insides, desperate to turn the truck around. But he couldn’t. Not until he got a damn grip on himself.

The Winchester land was busy, pack members preparing for the upcoming celebration, but Dean ignored it all. Sam’s cabin sat nestled in a clearing, neat and methodical, just like everything else about his little brother. He barely had the truck in park before he was out, apple turnovers in hand, slamming the door harder than necessary.

He didn’t knock. Just pushed inside, knowing Sam wouldn’t be surprised.

His brother was at the kitchen table, flipping through one of his endless books, a half-empty coffee cup beside him. He barely looked up, just arched a brow. “I was wondering when you’d show up.” Dean ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “That obvious?” Sam finally shut the book, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve been off since the day you met her, and it’s only gotten worse. Figured you’d either show up here or start a fight with someone to avoid dealing with whatever’s going on in that head of yours.”

Dean huffed, dropping into the chair across from him. He set the bag of turnovers on the table, yanking one out and taking a large bite. “Might still do both.”

Sam smirked, already knowing those weren’t just any turnovers—you’d made them. He didn’t even try to steal one. His smirk slowly faded, though, as he took in the tension in his brother’s frame, the tight set of his jaw. The way his scent carried an undercurrent of unease.

He waited, letting the silence stretch. Dean had never been great at admitting when he needed help.

Finally, Dean stared at the table, his fingers tightening around the pastry in his hand. “I need you to tell me how to do it.”

Sam frowned. That was vague as hell, but he had a damn good idea what Dean meant. “Do what?”

Dean’s jaw clenched, briefly. “Bond with my wolf.” His voice was gruff, frustration simmering just beneath his skin.

Sam leaned back, arms crossing loosely. He knew how hard it had been for Dean, growing up with a mutation that left him disconnected from his wolf. While Sam and the others had bonded with theirs from childhood, Dean had been left with nothing but blackouts and the knowledge that when he turned, he wasn’t fully there. It had always been like waking up from a dream he never remembered. 

And now? Now, he was terrified that when you claimed him, all of it—the instinct, the bond, the primal need—would hit him all at once, and he wouldn’t be able to handle it. That he’d hurt you.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. 

Then Dean swallowed hard. “Last night…” His voice caught, and he shook his head before forcing the words out. “Last night, he knew her. He knew everything about her. I felt it.”

Surprise flickered across Sam’s face. That shouldn’t have been possible. Not with Dean’s condition. But somehow, it had happened.

Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “You’re afraid you’ll lose control and hurt her, aren’t you?” His voice was quiet, steady.

Dean scoffed, like he could brush it off, but they both knew the truth sat heavy in his chest. 

Sam sighed, leaning back again. “You don’t trust your wolf because you don’t trust yourself.” Dean’s fingers curled around the edge of the table, but the fight drained from him just as fast. His shoulders slumped, his whole frame sinking into the chair. When he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “I know my wolf won’t hurt her. It’s me. I’m afraid of hurting her.”

Sam didn’t press him further. Instead, he offered, “Why don’t we go talk to Professor Saltzman? He has all the records on Touched.” If this didn’t work, they only had one other person to go to, their mom.

He knew that the two of you were supposed to talk today, but his brother hadn’t been gone long that morning. Sam suspected you’d brought up claiming him, but wasn’t about to ask. Not now.

After another long moment of silence and Dean taking another bite of the turnover, he finally relented. “Sure. When?” 

----------------------------------------- Chapter 8

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[dystopicjumpsuit]

The Plant Prowler of Pabu

A/N: I’m scared that Pabu is going to be toast after this week, so I wrote a little fluff to make myself feel better. Also, this is the first time I’ve been able to finish a fic in six weeks, so… yay me!

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader (GN)

Rating: T (but MDNI as always)

Wordcount: 2.1K

Warnings and tags: mild language; fluff; a kiss; spoilers for The Bad Batch season 3

Summary: Exploring the island during his first morning on Pabu, Crosshair encounters a mastermind of botanical crime: you.

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Whoever said, “It’s darkest just before dawn” had clearly never woken up to go for a walk before sunrise. Even if Crosshair hadn’t had enhanced vision, it would have been easy for him to navigate his way down to the beach of Pabu in the dim half-light. Hunter had wordlessly watched him exit the Marauder, pretending to still be asleep, but Crosshair knew that his brother would have drawn his vibroblade in a flash if he’d even glanced sideways at Omega.

Crosshair didn’t exactly blame Hunter for his caution, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. The squad had arrived on the idyllic island the previous day, and Crosshair was immediately swarmed by a horde of curious locals. With Hunter determined to keep Crosshair in sight at all times, there had been no escape from their onslaught of hospitality, and by the time the celebrations had died down, Crosshair had been clinging to the tattered threads of his patience and sanity.

It was a hell of a thing to go from barely speaking to anyone for months on end to suddenly being plunged into the midst of a vibrant and chaotic crowd of nosy spectators. He’d escaped to the Marauder at last and pretended to sleep, keenly aware of Hunter’s eyes on him. He’d spent enough time under the microscope in the past several months, though, and he was ready for some privacy.

And so it was that he found himself wandering down the empty terraced walkways of Pabu, making his way to the shoreline in the pale gloaming. He didn’t encounter a single soul as he walked—barring the ubiquitous moonyos that seemed to frolic across the island at all hours. Pabu was the sort of place that seemed too flawless to be real. Too flawless to last.

Not quite as flawless as it seems on the surface, he acknowledged as he turned down a path that snaked through one of the sections of the island that had yet to be rebuilt after the catastrophic sea surge he’d heard about countless times at the welcoming party the previous night. The buildings had been reduced to rubble, and judging by the weeds sprouting in the cracks of the walkway, the locals tended to avoid this particular part of the island.

Perfect.

The gentle breeze off the ocean was chilly, and he told himself it was the reason his hand trembled more than usual that morning. He shoved both hands deep into his pockets as he navigated the last few levels before he reached the beach. As he stepped onto the sand, a gust of wind buffeted against him. It was bracingly cold, and it smelled like salt and aquatic vegetation and wet earth, and he closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply and focusing on the sensation.

When he opened his eyes, a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision had him snapping his head to the side. He froze. A figure meandered slowly down the beach, sticking close to the bottom of the hill where the lush foliage grew thickly right up to the edge of the sand. He was certain you had spotted him, but you didn’t immediately acknowledge his presence.

He watched for a moment as you paused and stooped down to examine one of the plants, then carefully plucked a few bunches and laid them in the basket you carried. Bizarre. What the kriff was this person doing out here so early? Nothing innocent, that was for damned sure. Why would anyone sneak down to such an isolated stretch of the beach at this obscene hour if they didn’t have nefarious intent?

Aside from me, obviously.

He squinted slightly. Even with his enhanced eyesight, it was dark enough, and you were far enough away, that it was difficult to make out your features, but he was reasonably sure you hadn’t been at the party the night before. 

Hmph.

He turned and walked the opposite direction, away from the person who’d had the audacity to interrupt his solitude by getting to the beach first. Better not to get involved.

Crosshair took a different route the next morning, arriving at the beach just as the sun rose. As bad kriffing luck would have it, you were exiting the beach just as he arrived, and your paths inevitably intersected. He braced himself for a conversation, but you simply met his eyes and nodded quietly as you passed him.

He suppressed a sigh of relief. Stepping aside to make room for you to pass on the narrow trail, he couldn’t help noticing that your basket was filled with a variety of neat bundles of leaves and twigs. Odd, but your hobbies were none of his concern. Even if they did involve herb rustling and grand theft shrubbery.

He continued his path down to the shoreline and wandered along the water’s edge, staring out at the horizon. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see your solitary figure making its way up the steep slope and into Lower Pabu. He was now completely sure that you’d not been at the welcoming party, nor had he encountered you in the village. It wasn’t that surprising; after all, hundreds of people lived on the island, and he wasn’t in any particular hurry to meet them all—or any of them, if he were honest.

Of course, he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Wrecker had flatly refused to allow Crosshair to isolate himself, while the gregarious mayor Shep Hazard seemed equally dedicated to the twin causes of thrusting Crosshair into the community and plying him with as much fruit as he could eat in a lifetime. He was starting to feel a tiny surge of violence every time he saw a jogan fruit.

On the third day, Batcher woke up with Crosshair and scrambled out of the Marauder, bounding ahead of him down the ramp and then turning to wiggle her entire body in anticipation as he followed. He let the lurca hound pick the path that morning, not bothering to hide his thin smile at Batcher’s endless curiosity and enthusiasm. She crisscrossed the walkways incessantly, sniffing and exploring, chasing the moonyos playfully down the hill, investigating every nook and cranny of the village, and easily running five times the distance that Crosshair traveled on their way down to the water.

The beach was empty this morning, to Crosshair’s relief. At last, some peace and quiet. Or at least as quiet and peaceful as it could be with Batcher rocketing back and forth across the wet sand, grunting and huffing as she charged into the surf and back up to Crosshair, crouching into a bow as she tried to entice him to play with her. When he didn’t immediately comply, she took off chasing a flock of seabirds, scattering them into the air in a cacophony of indignant squawking.

She chased the birds down the beach, barking joyously as she splashed through the surf. When the hound disappeared around a bend in the shoreline, Crosshair sped up slightly, not wanting to risk Omega’s wrath if anything happened to her pet on his watch. As he rounded the bend, he was greeted with a most unexpected sight: Batcher was lying on her back on the sand, writhing with delight as you rubbed her belly.

Your basket was overturned, and all the neat little bundles of herbs were strewn across the sand. It wasn’t hard to deduce the instigator of such carnage. Batcher spotted Crosshair and immediately jumped up and shook the sand off herself before rushing to greet him.

“Down,” he said sternly as she jumped up and swiped at him with her massive paws.

She dropped obediently, and trotted along next to him as he approached you. You’d already begun picking up your fallen bundles of leaves, and he quickly bent to assist you.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled.

“No harm done,” you replied, shaking a bit of loose sand out of the bundles before you dropped them into your basket. “They all get washed before I hang them up to dry anyway.”

“So you’re not just engaging in botanical heists for the adrenaline rush?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah, it really gets the blood pumping,” you replied, deadpan. “My day just doesn’t feel complete without a little horticultural larceny.”

“I can see you like to live on the edge,” he said with a tiny smile. “The Plant Prowler of Pabu.”

“And I would have gotten away with it, if it weren’t for a mysterious stranger and his meddling dog.”

He liked you. Damn it.

Crosshair didn’t see you for the next several days. He assumed you’d moved your criminal enterprise elsewhere on the island, and after the team returned from Barton IV, he didn’t feel the same need to escape the Marauder as he had previously. Still, he wasn’t sleeping particularly well, and after an excruciatingly restless night, he slipped out of the ship not long before dawn and wandered aimlessly down the streets of Pabu until he found himself in the unstable section he’d discovered on the first day.

As he picked his way through the ruins, he spotted movement two terraces below, and he grinned. Forcing himself to walk casually so you didn’t suspect how pleased he was to see you, he sauntered down to your level, only to find you ripping weeds up from between the fragments of pavement with uncharacteristic abandon.

“What did those plants ever do to you?” he asked.

You must have spotted him before he arrived, because you didn’t even flinch at the sound of his voice.

“Invasive species,” you replied. “I try not to over-forage, but in this case, I’ll make an exception.”

“And I thought your crimes only extended to vegetational theft,” he drawled. “I had no idea you’d escalated to floral murder and agricultural vigilantism.”

“The hero Pabu needs,” you said with a smile that had no business being as charming as it was, considering you were currently covered in a fine layer of dirt and assorted bits of leaves and twigs. “If this plant gets established on the island, we might never be able to eradicate it. It will outcompete the native plants and could cause significant disruptions to the ecosystem.”

“How altruistic of you,” he remarked drily.

“Not at all,” you laughed. “It also happens to be delicious.”

Crosshair stooped down and pulled one of the plants up by the roots, examining it closely. “It’s on sight, then.”

“Exactly. No mercy.”

As the first rays of the sun appeared on the distant horizon, you packed the large bundles of weeds into your basket, then stood and dusted your hands off on your trousers. You stretched a bit, clearly a little stiff from your labor. Impulsively, Crosshair spoke.

“Want to watch the sunrise with me?” You looked surprised at his offer, and he cleared his throat, looking awkwardly away. “Or do you turn into a meiloorun if you stay out past dawn?”

“Yes,” you said. “I mean, no. I mean, yes, I’d like to stay. No, I don’t turn into a meiloorun.”

You bit your lip and stared down at the bundle of weeds in your basket, poking at it ineffectually as you muttered something unintelligible under your breath. Stifling a laugh, Crosshair climbed up onto the crumbling half-wall of a destroyed structure and extended his hand to help you up after him. You scrambled up and sat down next to him, gazing out at the tranquil ocean as the sun began to paint the high clouds in brilliant shades of gold and pastel.

“Not a bad view, is it?” you asked quietly. 

“Definitely worth waking up early,” he replied, watching your face as the light caught on your cheekbones and reflected in your eyes.

Without making a conscious decision, he lifted his hand and brushed a little loose dirt off your cheek. His damned hand trembled, and he mentally cursed. You didn’t seem to notice the slight tremor, though—or if you did, you didn’t say anything about it. Instead, you turned your head slowly, grazing your lips across his fingertips as you met his eyes. It seemed the most natural thing in the galaxy to continue to trace the line of your jaw until his hand curled around the back of your head.

Your lips were soft and warm in the cool breeze, and you tasted like sea salt and dew and something he didn’t quite recognize. Something new. He liked it. You leaned into his kiss, and when at last it came to its natural conclusion, he drew in a shaky breath.

“Hi,” he whispered. “I’m Crosshair.”

---

Want more Crosshair? I have another Crosshair x Reader ficlet here!

Taglist:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino spicy-clones @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream @littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @marierg @idontgetanysleep @moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine @multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam @banksys-rat @skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist @cw80831 @kimiheartblade @meredithroseg @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal @reader6898 @cdblake1565 @epicy0n @starstofillmydream @msmeredithrose @totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell

[justanechoflower]

Alternate true pacifist ending:

Flowey knows Chara is attached to frisk’s soul so he tries to absorb it like he did with clover in undertale yellow to reveal himself to them in his mind. But uh. Chara isn't too happy with his backwards character development.

(start @ 2:09)

Fuller explanation of this idea:

In the true pacifist run Flowey, in addition to his usual steal the whole underground's souls thingie, tries to absorb their soul too and brings them into his head.

There he turns into the terrifying photoshop flowey form by mental creation and begins fighting Frisk, hoping to defeat them and absorb their soul so he can finally stay with Chara again.

In his head frisk and Chara are split btw. But he also he splits his consciousness at one point so the Omega Flowey version is still existing peripherally (like a thought in the back of his mind) to fight Frisk while he gets to take Chara out of the battlefield and chat things out as Asriel.

Chata expresses their disgust with Asriel, seeing he is no longer himself along with having committed various atrocities to monsterkind who were the only ones Chara loved.

Flowey’s disappointment and betrayal (ironically he's really the one who did the most betraying) to this response makes him proceed to the lost soul segment of the true pacifist fight.

If this were an interactable or a functioning fan-made battle there would definitely be two endings to this! One being everyone makes up and the other being Asriel… uh…. Expiring. And maybe a fun little side ending for if you die too many times and your soul ends up being absorbed.

[feralferrule]

Saturday’s Child Chapter 4

Main pairing: Echo/f!OC, Althea

Word count: 6150-ish

Fic overview: Bad Batch modern AU. Echo/OC this is part of the Hunter and the Librarian universe by @clonethirstingisreal in which the Batch brothers live together, raising Omega.

OC Althea is a university student with a medical delivery job. Echo is a combat veteran who volunteers at the VA hospital where they meet.

Tulip is @substantial-exposure ‘s OC

Warnings: things are heating up, this chapter has swearing, physical violence, angst, tooth rotting fluff, suggestive language including mention of poly relationships, strategic performative gender roll play, kissing and sexual arousal.

This is neither well-edited nor beta read🙌

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

“Go go go go! Awwww!” Wrecker’s disappointment lingered on a groan as a shrill whistle blew and the sportscasters chatted over a replay on the screen.

Echo didn’t really see the play. Althea’s lips had pursed plushly around the edge of her drink. Her head tilted back a little as her throat worked a swallow down and her hair shifted around her face. The kitchen timer beeped. Echo refocused his attention from his peripheral vision to the floor as he braced his hand on the arm of the couch to do the maneuver to lean forward and stand as smoothly as possible.

“I’ll go check the potatoes,” Althea said, as she hopped up and glided out of the room. Her long cardigan waving behind her and exposing more of her figure that was hugged by her dress and leggings. A round of groans erupted from the other side of the seating area as a player fumbled the ball in the game.

“She was looking at you,” Jesse leaned over to say to Echo. Echo looked from Althea to him and then at Kix who was also not paying attention to the game. “So which of you’s going back there with her?”

“I’ll go see if she needs help,” said Kix.

“Leave her alone, Kix,” Echo grumbled around Jesse, “looks like the girls are going back with her anyway.”

Tulip was standing, “Wren let’s go help Althea,” she said with a wink and nodded her head toward the kitchen. Wren nodded back and they left.

“You calling dibs, Echo?” Kix asked, leaning over the back of Jesse’s shoulders.

“Why do you two keep saying that?”

“Cause you asked her out first,” said Jesse.

“We’re just trying to be fair,” Kix added, watching as Tech headed back to the kitchen.

“What makes you think she even wants any of us? That’s not why she’s here,” Echo gritted, also looking towards the kitchen.

“Well, she was talking to me and being real sweet,” Kix said, leaning back, one arm draped across the back of the couch, “and even made a pass at me when I saw her at the hospital.”

“She’s nice to everyone, Kix. What you think was a pass was just her being polite,” Echo huffed, rolling his eyes. Jesse chuckled.

Tech returned from the kitchen with plate of chips.

“Aw come on!” Wrecker boomed at the tv.

Ha!” Jesse pointed at the screen with his hand with the beer, “that’s right cause your team’s a bunch of cheaters.”

“What’s going on in there, Tech?” Kix asked.

Tech paused his bite of a chip. “They are talking but didn’t seem to want to include me- Tulip in particular.” He said with some bitterness. Crosshair smirked.

“Don’t cross her path, Tech!” Wrecker laughed.

Did Althea want you gone, too?” Jesse asked.

“No, she’s too nice- she even smil-“

“See?? She’s nice to everyone.” Echo said, “even when she doesn’t want to talk to them,”he added, looking right at Kix.

“Hey, what are you saying?” Kix asked with feigned innocence.

“He means she doesn’t actually like you,” Crosshair hissed.

“Don’t get cheeky Crosshair,” Jesse said.

“You two are going end up running her off and Echo won’t even get a chance.” Crosshair’s temper was rising.

“Yeah don’t ruin it for him,” Wrecker chimed in, still watching the game.

“That’s real funny coming from you,” Jesse said with a sneer.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wrecker asked, fully facing him.

“You remember,” said Kix.

“Boys that was a long time ago-“ Hunter began to say.

“Ohhhh… Well I was all she needed wasn’t I?” Wrecker sassed, “and Echo’s all Althea needs.”

“Oh good grief here we go,” Echo sighed.

Kix set his beer on the side table and stood “What does that have to do with Althea?”

Hunter shifted a bit taller, sensing the increased hostility, “Little ears, fellas,” he said, glancing at Omega who had been pretending to watch the game.

Wrecker stood up, totally ignoring Hunter and facing Kix.

Jesse rose next to Kix, “Who are you to say what she needs?” He asked pointing a finger at Wrecker.

“She’s a nice person. I think Echo should have her.”

Echo shook his head and stood up to go stand between Wrecker and the other two. “Wrecker settle down, no one’s having anyone.”

“Speak for yourself, Ec,” Jesse said slyly. Echo rolled his eyes.

“Don’t you think Althea can decide for herself.” Tech said, setting his plate of chips down and pulling out his phone.

“These two think they’re calling the shots as usual,” Crosshair glared at Kix and Jesse.

“You’re just like you’ve always been, think you're better than us,” Kix said stepping toward Crosshair.

Hunter tapped Omega and motioned towards the kitchen. He stood between Wrecker and the others as Omega slipped away. “Guys settle down, before they come back in. This,” he emphasized, driving his finger toward the floor, “is a family event with Omega and the girls, don’t act like you're all back in basic.”

“I was going to say middle school,” Tech shot from where he was standing behind the couch he’d been sitting on and tapping on his phone.

“I think you two should keep going so she can hear you for herself,” Crosshair seethed at Kix.

“Hear what? You being a bitch, Cross?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“You’re out of line.”

“Take that back.”

“Make me!”

Crosshair squared up as Echo stepped next to Hunter between the other four. “Stand down!” Echo shouted, “we’re all family here and no one is better than anyone else.”

“Move aside, Echo.”

“Guys there’s a kid here.”

“You’ve changed.”

“Yeah, ya think?”

“Always with the chip on your shoulder.”

���You’ve always been a cunt,”

“Fuck you,”

“Yeah you wish,”

Someone’s fist flies past Echo’s peripheral and lands squarely on Wrecker’s jaw. “That’s it!”

“Settle down both of you!!” Hunter thundered.

“Boys this is not the time or place,” Echo growled as Wrecker shouldered around Hunter to grab Jesse by his shirt and lift him off the ground pushing into Kix who bumped into Crosshair and the two of them careened towards the tv, fists flying and collapsing on the floor, Kix pulled into a headlock. Echo stepped back and caught the tv from rocking off the stand as the lamp behind Jesse crashed to the floor.

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

“What? What did they say??” Althea asked Omega, her eyes wide.

“Well I didn’t hear everything over the tv from where I was sitting, but when you came back to the kitchen, Jesse asked Echo and Kix who was going to follow you in.”

“That’s when I got up I brought Wren back with me,” Tulip added.

“So now Jesse and Wrecker are arguing which brother deserves her more and Crosshair is joining in.”

Tulip rolled her eyes.

“Oh no,” Althea worried, looking at Wren, “I do not have the social battery for this situation.”

Wren laughed out loud before she could stop herself. “Me either, and I’m not even involved,” she said.

“What are you going to do?” asked Omega.

“What was Echo doing?” Althea wondered.

“He got up between Wrecker and Jesse.”

“They’re up? Like on their feet?” asked Tulip.

“Yeah.”

Althea felt sick with a panicky combination of guilt and fear. If Echo got hurt…

Tulip narrowed her eyes at the back door. “We gotta nip this in the bud,” she said looking sidelong at Althea.

Althea sighed, looking at the hotdogs and noticing they needed to come off the grill onto a plate. She had an idea. “You’re right. lt’s because of me, I’ve got to fix this.” Taking the tongs from Tulip, she gathered the hotdogs onto the plate and turned off the grill. She looked over at Wren and noticed her color looked a little drained and she was hugging herself a bit. Althea looked at Omega and back at Wren. Tulip held the door for them as Althea carried the plate and tongs, and Omega held Wren’s hand. They all filed inside noticing how much louder it seemed with blaring commercials and several loud male voices all raised over eachother.

“You- chip- FUCK YOU- shoulder- cunt- always- did-THAT’S IT!”

“SETTLE DOWN!” Hunter’s voice rang out over it all as some loud thumps and bumps carried in with the voices.

“Maybe stay in here with Omega,” Althea said to Wren as Omega helped her to the table. Wren looked like Althea felt which made her feel even worse. She set the hotdogs down by the chili.

*Crash*

Althea and Tulip looked at each other. Althea took heart at the fire in Tulip’s eyes and set in her jaw. She knew these guys and didn’t seem afraid of any of them. Tulip led the way into the living room and surveyed the scene. Arms crossed, weight on one leg and the other foot tapping.

They all froze in turn and looked at Tulip. Wrecker holding Jesse by his shirt, Cross and Kix on the floor,

Echo holding the tv, Hunter pulling on Wrecker’s arm, and Tech by the front door, recording everything on his phone.

Althea appeared then from behind Tulip. While Tulip looked angry, lips pursed, running her tongue along her teeth, Althea looked distressed and shocked.

Wrecker dropped Jesse and Crosshair let go of Kix. Tech lowered his phone and Hunter turned to see who they were all looking at. Echo lowered his eyes, unable to bear the look on Althea’s face. Her eyes shimmered with threatening tears and she turned around and went back to the kitchen. Tulip watched her go for a second before she rounded back on them with a fury. “Nice job assholes,” she hissed at the room before stomping out.

They all looked over and up at Echo. “You all happy with yourselves now?” He gritted out. Kix and Crosshair glanced at each other. Kix shook him off and stood up.

“Now if you are all done I suggest you go in there and apologize to the girls,” Hunter said in a dangerous tone as Crosshair stood up next to Kix, making a point of not looking at him. Jesse rubbed his neck and Wrecker rubbed his hand that had been twisted in Jesse’s shirt. They looked at eachother from where they hung their heads.

“You got a smoke?” Echo asked Crosshair, only to make a face as he was offered a clove. “Never mind.”

“You quit anyway.”

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

Should I just leave? No. No I have to do something first, Althea reasoned with herself as she ducked into the kitchen. Wren looked at her sympathetically from where she sat with Omega. “Are you ok?” Althea asked.

“I’ll be alright, I just need to sit a minute,” Wren said, taking a deep breath. “But how are you doing? What’s going on out there?”

Althea glanced at Omega, “They were definitely having disagreements- but it looked like Hunter and Echo were trying to stop the others and Tech had moved out of the way to video it. I’m… so sorry about this, I’ll try to fix it before I go.”

“Are you doing alright?” Tulip asked as she appeared and hovered over Wren, soothing her back.

“Yeah I’ll be fine,” Wren smiled, “Thanks for handling things in there.”

Althea picked up a plate from the counter. “Omega, I have an idea, but I need your help, what does Echo like?” Omega caught on to the idea with a big smile and helped Althea plate up what Echo liked from all the food they had laid out.

Tulip looked over at Althea and Omega curiously. Althea noticed and said, “This might be old fashioned but I think it’s the best way to handle things at this point.”

“Are you only making a plate for Echo?” Omega asked in a whisper.

“Yep,” Althea said, emphasizing the ‘p’. “Now, can you please go tell the guys food’s ready?” She moved to stand out of everyone’s way.

Omega skipped out of the kitchen feeling very conspiratorial, “Guys! food’s ready!” she hollered then skipped back in and gave the thumbs up sign at Althea. Wrecker, Jesse, Kix, all looking sheepish and patting each other’s backs, filed in. Tech, Hunter and Crosshair followed. Hunter went straight over to Wren as the others clamored around the food.

“Boys.” Echo’s deep warning sounded out through the room. He folded his arms and looked at them all, his eyes stern under the brim of his knit hat. Everything came to a halt and they turned to face Althea, Wren, Tulip and Omega.

“I- we are sorry, for being idiots,” Wrecker said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“and upsetting you,” said Kix, looking at Althea and then at his feet.

“Yeah, sorry, ladies.” Jesse said.

They all looked at Crosshair. He glowered till he caught Tulip’s eye and mumbled a sorry, flicking his eyes up at Althea briefly. Tulip went over to him and he wrapped his arms around her and murmured something in her ear. She gave him a playful swat and whispered something back to him.

“Thank you, everyone,” Althea said softly, letting her eyes linger on Echo. His scowl softened as he noticed her admiring his commanding posture and energy.

“Let’s dig in! Looks like Althea got started already!” Wrecker said.

Omega showed everyone the plates and forks as Althea intercepted Echo at the back of the queue. “I made you a plate, Echo,” she said, “Omega helped me with what you like.”

Echo looked astonished and reached for the plate, brushing fingertips with Althea. The guys all turned to look and exchanged glances. Hunter nodded at Echo and said something to Wren. “You didn’t have to do this,” Echo said, with a hint of a smile.

“Yeah, I did.” She slid her hands over his, both his prosthetic and flesh, and smiled sweetly, caressing the angles of his face with her eyes.

Breaking contact, she placed a fork on his plate for him and turned around to cut the brownies into squares and set them out on the table. She noticed Omega watching everyone’s reactions and gave her a wink. Jesse and Kix shrugged and sighed and went about piling their plates full of chili dogs. Echo set his plate on the table and sat down in one of the armed chairs. Jesse and Kix patted Echo on the shoulder as they passed him to go to the living room with Wrecker who turned and winked at Echo with a thumbs up.

“See, I knew Allie would pick-“

“Drop it Tech,” Hunter warned. Tech gave him a weak salute and joined the others leaving for the living room.

Tulip rummaged in the freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen peas. She and Crosshair sat at the table and she pressed the bag to his blooming black eye. Althea faced the table, “I’m really sorry you guys, I don't want to cause problems with your family.”

“You didn’t cause this, these guys have beef going way back,” Echo grumbled, “this crew can be hot headed.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hunter implored, “I’m sorry your first impression of us is this way.” He added glaring at Crosshair.

“They had it coming,” Crosshair seethed. Hunter sighed and shook his head.

Althea smiled weakly, but was reflecting on problems in her previous relationship. She wanted to stay but felt that she ought to leave. Echo and the others watched her grow quiet and withdrawn.

It started to rain hard. A gust of wind slammed the screen door closed outside, snapping Althea out of her reverie. “Oh I’ll go cover the grill,” she said.

She ducked outside, found and struggled with the grill cover in the pelting rain, soaked and chilled and crying. She should have left as soon as she felt the tension. Now the brothers or cousins whatever they were- their family- were having problems. She was trouble. It was a refrain her mind spun and spun.

“Althea,” a deep, warm voice and presence was behind her. She felt the rain stop hitting her and heard it patter on an umbrella. She turned around. Echo was so close. She felt his warmth as he handed her the umbrella and took the grill cover. He quickly fit it over the grill as she held the umbrella over him. He turned back to her and reached for the umbrella again. As the porch light illuminated her face he noticed she had been crying. She saw him notice and cast her eyes down, chin trembling. He drew her into his arms. “You did nothing wrong, I’m so sorry, Althea.”

She nuzzled into his shoulder and took a big shuddering breath. She wrapped her free arm around him under his. Clinging to him she felt his strong, broad back and shoulders through his hoodie jacket. He smelled like soap and fabric softener, and man.

“I should go.”

“Please stay,” he said into her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, desperately hoping she wouldn't run off already. He tried to hold her gently and not squeeze her fast like he wanted to.

The feeling of his warm breath on the shell of her ear gave her butterflies. She looked up at him, a breath away. His golden hazel eyes were intense like a cat’s but warm and soft and caring. And they burned with want. Althea looked between them and to his lips then back up to his eyes.

He was doing the same, her mouth was so close.

She closed her eyes and nuzzled his nose, her lips barely a whisper away from his, letting him take the next step.

His mouth was on hers, pressing a soft yet firm kiss to her lips and pressing the umbrella handle between their bodies. She felt warmth bloom inside her and let go of the umbrella to wrap that arm around him. She melted into him as the umbrella shifted and settled on their heads. He cradled her head, his fingers in her hair. She pressed her body flush against his, pulling him to her. He wrapped his prosthetic arm around her lower back and squeezed her to him. She squeaked, surprised at his strength with that arm and parted her lips to take a breath and ran her tongue along his lower lip, inviting him to deepen the kissing. He met her tongue with his and she opened her mouth more, angling her head for him. He dove inside her mouth caressing her tongue with his, tilting his head to the other side and holding her face and jaw and threading his fingers back through her hair. Her heart felt like it wanted to fly away and she tried catching it with her breath. She made little sighs into his mouth which drove him wild with desire and he hummed lowly as he kissed her more ravenously.

“Echo?”

They both froze against each other’s mouths. The door cracked open. “Jesse and Kix are leaving. Oh.” Hunter stopped short as he noticed how closely they were standing, their heads covered by the umbrella but their arms clearly around each other.

“Bye Echo!” Jesse said from further in the house.

“Heeeeyyyy. Althea, if it doesn’t work out with Echo you know how to find us.” Kix said from the doorway.

Echo kept their lips together as he reached back and closed the door on the three of them. Althea smiled against his lips and nuzzled his nose.

“Find -us?” Althea asked between kisses.

He sighed and considered his words, “They like.. to share their women.”

Althea's eyes widened with surprise and then realization that they’d been dropping hints to that the whole time. He seemed a little uncomfortable with the subject so she didn’t ask about what that meant exactly. She kissed him back along his jaw which was prickly with stubble. “You mean I passed up a two for one deal?” She teased kissing just under his ear, making him shiver.

“And picked my shrinkflated dented can ass.” He said as he nuzzled her ear back.

“Oh I think I got the better buy,” she said, pulling back to look him in the eyes.

He smirked, “you don’t strike me as that cheap.” A flicker of sadness dimmed his eyes briefly as he caressed her cheek.

“Oh you’re right,” she said, looking at him through her eyelashes, “I have very good taste- for kindness,” she gave him little kisses to punctuate each word, “intelligence, respectability, integrity, bravery, sexiness,” she smiled into the last kiss. “You’re the package deal.”

Not believing his wildest dream luck, he kissed her face back to her ear heading for her neck.

“What about you? Is sharing a family tradition?” she teased, figuring she already knew his answer.

He practically growled, squeezing her firmly with his arm, flexing his fingers in her hair, sucking and raking his teeth under her ear, making her keen. “I’m selfish.”

She shiverd, as much from arousal as from the cold. “You're, oh!,” her breath hitched as he moved lower down her neck, “you’re warm.”

It started to rain harder and he felt her shivering more. As he grasped the umbrella and guided her to the door they heard car doors and an engine start. He left the umbrella at the door and brought her to sit at the table then went out to the living room. “Wrecker throw me that blanket,” Echo pointed at the throw blanket draped over the back of the chair he was sitting in. Wrecker pulled it out from behind him and threw it to Echo.

Althea felt a warm, fluffy soft blanket wrap around her.

Echo squeezed her arm and pulled away. She heard him rummaging, boiling water, pouring, stirring.

He brought her a very aromatic steaming mug just as she sneezed. “It’s a gingery chai tea. I hope that’s ok.” He handed her a tissue.

“Oh thank you, I love spicy teas.”

“It makes me feel warmer when I’m cold.” He sat down, straddling her, his arm around her shoulder.

“Thank you Echo,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “Echo?”

“Yeah?”

She shivered and he pulled the blanket up on her more as she cuddled into him closer. “I just like saying your name.”

He nuzzled her hair, “I like hearing you say it. Thea, can I call you that? You don’t seem like an Allie to me.”

She smiled, “Yeah I like that.”

“Thea, I’m sorry about tonight, my family is a lot and it wasn’t fair to you to be piled on and Tech shouldn’t have”-

“No don’t spin it that way, this was probably the only way that the forces that be could have gotten us together.”

“Are we together, I mean do you really want that?”

“Mm hmm,” she hummed, looking at his eyes that were so hopeful it made her heart ache, “I want that- want you.”

He let out a breath he had been holding, his heart soared.

She pulled out her phone. “I was going to send you this later,” she said as she pulled up their text conversation and tapped on the unsent photo. “I put the card you gave me on my dresser with all of my special things. I never thought I’d be able to get to this point with anyone again and the more I ran into you at work the more- I’ve wanted to kiss you all weekend.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you a lot longer than that.”

“Oh?” She looked up at him.

“I noticed you the first day you started.”

“Really? I was so lost,” she giggled.

“You seemed like you knew what you were doing.”

“Thanks I guess I played that off pretty good.” She sat up quickly and ducked away from him to sneeze.

She sipped her tea as he kissed her temple. He got up and brought her the box of tissues.

“Thanks, Echo, can I use your bathroom?”

“Of course, it’s right through there,” he said pointing to a little hallway next to the stairs.She grabbed her bag and slipped into the bathroom.

He sat there using the moment to process the events of the last hour or so. “Hey, how’s everything?” Hunter asked as he went over to the fridge and grabbed a soda.

“I think ok- Better than ok, really.”

“That’s great, brother,” Hunter said, “make any plans yet?”

“No, I’ve got to come up with something.”

Hunter pats his shoulder, “Let us know if we can help.”

“Thanks, man,” Echo said, feeling deeply grateful for the offer. He hadn’t dated since getting blown up in the war and was starting to spin up thoughts of not being able to be who he thought Althea deserved.

Hunter noticed him get a little sullen, “Hey come watch halftime, you and Althea can sit together.” Echo nodded and they went out to the living room.

“You’re welcome,” Crosshair deadpanned.

“For what?” Echo asked, annoyed.

“I told those two idiots to leave.”

“Oh I was wondering why they left.”

“Kix had a shift coming up and Jesse had to drop him off before they had anything more to drink,” Tech clarified.

“Well I did tell them to leave, anyway,” Crosshair grumped.

“Where’s Althea?” asked Wren

“In the bathroom,” Hunter said as he sat next to her, taking her hand. Wren rested her head on his shoulder. “Do you need to lie down?” Hunter asked.

“I thought about doing that earlier, but I’m ok now,” she said.

Echo kept glancing toward the kitchen and bathroom and started fidgeting. He couldn’t help but wonder if Althea was alright. Wren noticed him and could tell he was agitated. As the minutes ticked by and several commercials played Wren found herself trying harder to pay attention to the tv. She got up and walked over to the bathroom door. Tulip followed.

Washing her hands, Althea looked in the mirror and got a makeup wipe out of her bag and cleaned the little bit of bleary eye makeup off her lower eyelids. She applied fresh mascara and some bb cream to camouflage the splotchy mess from crying. She then added some more tinted lipgloss that tasted like vanilla and honey. She ran a mini brush through her damp hair and decided that was good enough. Her reflection still reminded her of a pathetic wet cat.

There was a knock at the door. “Hey, sorry to bother, but are you alright?” Wren’s voice sounded muffled through the door.

Althea opened the door to see both Tulip and Wren. “Yeah I’m better now, sorry to hog the bathroom. Sorry for all the drama.”

“Oh it’s alright we just wanted to check on you, not use the bathroom, there’s another upstairs, anyway,” Wren assured her.

“Totally not your fault, those jerks really did have that coming.” Tulip softened her frown and reached out and gave Althea’s hand a squeeze.

“You’ll be ok,” said Wren, “all the guys here totally support you and Echo. He will take good care of your heart. come out and sit with us. Did you get any food?”

“I really didn’t intend to stay this long and need to get home,” Althea worried.

“At least watch halftime with us, I’m sure it will be as awful as every other Super Bowl,” said Tulip.

Althea laughed, “Ok, just halftime should be ok.” They walked out toward the kitchen where Wrecker, Omega and Tech were hovering over the brownies.

“You brought the brownies?” Wrecker said to Althea, “Aw they’re so good, thanks!”

“Yes, they are rather good,” said Tech.

“Fankooo,” Omega said through a mouthful. They each grabbed another.

“You are welcome,” Althea cheered, “and thank you for having me over.”

Are you leaving?” asked Wrecker, noticing she was holding her purse.

“Not yet,” she said, hanging her bag on the back of a chair. I’ll stay through halftime, but I have so much homework to finish.”

“Oh I’m glad I don’t have homework anymore, don't miss that at all!” Wrecker declared.

“Would you like something to eat?” Wren asked.

“Thank you, but I'll just finish my drink, I think, I’m too all over the place to think about eating.”

“I totally get that,” Wren said.

Echo was sitting on one end of the larger main couch and Hunter on the other. Wren sat next to Hunter and Omega sat next to her in the middle. Althea came around and smiled at Echo who leaned forward and stood, offering her his seat at the end. Omega started to pout. “Thank you, Echo, I’ll sit right here so I’m next to you and Omega, I think.”

Omega beamed as Althea sat by her and Echo lowered himself back down. It was a cozy fit and Echo’s broad shoulder bumped against Althea’s. She wanted to really snuggle up to him, but didn’t want to get too intimate with Omega right there and everyone else around. She found his hand and rested hers on it.

“Well, well, well, look at that. The matchmaker in all her glory between her handiwork.” Crosshair said as Tulip squeezed next to him on the oversized chair he was in. Omega got a big grin on her face. Hunter reached behind Wren to pat and ruffle Omega’s hair.

“Oh?” Althea looked over at Wren.

Wren blushed, “Well, she really worked hard on us,” she said, squeezing Hunter’s hand.

Tech cleared his throat where he was stretched out on the garage couch, “Ahem.”

“Oh sorry Tech,” said Omega, “I guess you did help,” she teased.

Tech scoffed in mock offense.

Althea patted Omega's hand and they giggled together. Then, looking over at Echo, and loosing herself in his eyes, she threaded their fingers together. “Thank you, Tech,” she said without looking away.

“Get a room,” Crosshair scoffed. Tulip elbowed him in the ribs and he grinned devilishly, tickling her back and making her squeal.

Althea raised an eyebrow at that suggestion and parted her lips in a tiny smile, still looking at Echo, feeling her heartbeat a little faster. She noticed his eyes dilate a little before a look of fear flashed on his face and he looked down at his legs. Althea squeezed his hand and tilted her head till he looked back up at her. She leaned over to whisper in his ear, “As much as I like your family, I’d really like to be alone with you.” She punctuated that with a tiny kiss on his jaw.

“What is this music?”

“Who is this?”

“I like their outfits.”

“Of course you do, Wrecker.”

“You know you do, too.”

“Do you know who this is?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty cool.”

Echo and Althea tore their eyes from each other to see what everyone was talking about. Althea was familiar with the singer, Echo seemed to find it interesting, but neither of them found it better than just being next to each other. Althea was feeling increasingly tired, and felt a tickle in her throat. She felt a sneeze coming on and lept up and managed to step away and pull out a tissue that she had stowed in her dress pocket before sneezing.

“I may have caught a cold outside. I’d better get going.”

“Awww,” Omega protested, “Can’t you stay for the whole game?”

“I’m sorry sweetie, I promise I’ll be back another time.”

Echo stood and put his hand on the small of her back. “Are you ok to drive, one of us can take you home if you need and another can drive your car.”

“I’m fine to drive but want to get home before I feel any worse,” she replied.

“Please eat something at least,” he said.

“I’ll take some with me I think,” she said as he steered her to the kitchen with concern on his face.

He pulled a plastic food container out of a cabinet. “Your’re going to have to help me with what you like this time,” he said. “Oh I like everything except that liquid nacho cheese stuff- I’ll eat it but not when there’s everything else.”

“Do you want a hotdog, baked potato or both?”

“I think half a baked potato, they’re so big.”

He filled the container and snapped its lid on as she grabbed her bag. He handed her the container and she nestled it in her bag so it wouldn’t tip over. They walked to the front and Echo pulled her coat and umbrella out of the front closet where Tech stowed it. He helped her put it on and she turned around to say goodbye to everyone just as Omega threw her arms around her. “Thank you for coming over, I’m so glad you picked Echo.”

“Omega-“ Hunter began.

Althea held up her hand, “It’s ok Hunter,” she said with a small laugh and knelt down to give Omega a proper hug. “I am so happy that I get you in my life along with Echo. I feel very lucky.” Omega squeezed her harder and let go, stepping back and wiping her eye with her sleeve. Althea stood back up, “ Good bye, everyone, see you soon hopefully. Thank you, ladies,” she added, looking at Wren and Tulip.

Everyone said their goodbyes and Althea shuffled out the front door with Echo close behind. The door closed and Althea turned to Echo, “I wish I could stay longer. I really like spending time with you and I always seem to have to run.”

“Do you have any free time this week?” He cozied up to her and held her around her waist.

“I should on Tuesday after class.”

“We can meet for that coffee..”

She smiled, “It’s a date.” She slid her arms around him. He squeezed her, his hand caressing her back, resting his forehead to hers.

“Text me when you’re home safe?” he said.

“Ok.” She closed her eyes and nuzzled him with her smaller nose.

They hesitated, both not wanting to tear apart from the other and knowing kissing now would make it so much harder. He kissed her, anyway. She leaned into it and playfully bit his lower lip. “Ayee!” she squeaked out as he hummed almost a growl, spun her around and pressed her against the side of the house, crashing his mouth against hers, knocking teeth. His hand threaded through her hair. He felt possessive but restrained. For a split second she felt his arousal press into her hip before he backed off of her, his kiss ending with a trail of nibbles and pecks along her jaw.

She panted, not having expected him to maneuver her around like that, and wanting to feel all of him again, “I have to go for real.”

“Ok so go,” he said against the spot he’d found under her ear that made her quiver.

“You aren’t making this any easier,” she said with a gasp as he grazed that spot with teeth and tongue.

“I know.” He pulled back with a smirk and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips still holding her around her waist.

“Echo?” said a voice from out on the sidewalk. They both turned to see who it was and saw a man in a wheelchair by the driveway.

“Hey, Trace.”

“I don't mean to interrupt- who-“ he squinted in the evening gloom.

“You remember Althea?”

“Ohhh Althea, hi! You came?”

“Maybe soon,” she whispered in Echo’s ear, catching his eye with a minxy little smile. She could feel his hand grip into her waist as he turned a shade pinker. “Hi, Trace, I was just leaving.”

“Go ahead to the back, Trace, I’ll meet you inside,” Echo called over to him, “help yourself to any food.”

“Ok thanks, man. Bye, Althea.” He wheeled up the driveway and out of sight.

“Bye Trace,” Althea called and looked back at Echo.

“Definitely soon,” she blinked at him, enjoying how flustered he seemed. His prominent adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. He gripped her harder and was about to say something, but she ducked her head into her coat to sneeze and fished another tissue from her pocket. “Oh I’m so sorry, I don't want to get you sick, too,” she sniffled.

“Then we’d just have to recover together,” he smiled, tucking the hair in her face behind her ear.

“I’d better actually go,” she said sadly.

“Drive safe, Thea.”

She huffed a sigh and walked away from him. Then skittered back to him, held his face and kissed him quickly, turned and trotted through the puddles to her car before she let herself get caught up any longer. He did have a new guest inside and she imagined Trace was wanting to hear all about everything.

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

Trace munched on chips at the table and listened to Omega account all the details of her observations of Althea’s visit. He and Echo exchanged looks when she got to parts she didn’t really have the whole story on. Echo’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and saw the text notification from Althea. He opened the message which included a picture of some papers and a laptop with something like chemistry and math calculations:

Wish I was with you

Me too, don’t stay up too late

*He sent a picture of the empty brownie pan

Glad I got one

😮 wow they really liked them

The chili is delicious, pass my compliments on to Hunter

👍will do

Ok gotta focus

Good night

Good night 💋

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

Notes: if you are confused about the extended batch family it’s ok, so is Althea. The modern AU here is inspired by the ideas of Modern Batch AU and Modern Fives AU stories by kaydear (Illyria_Lives) on AO3 by way of the Hunter and the Librarian. (Can’t get the links to work) They are really good, highly recommend. So Jango is their dad and he was a sperm donor so there’s alot of siblings out there, and, well, it gets complex. I’m putting a slightly different spin on the background.

Tag list (let me know if you’d like to be added😊):

@adamime @substantial-exposure @clonethirstingisreal @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf @transactivecybermemory @griffedeloup @returnofthepineapple

[cdecrisesblog]

I came up with another scenario where Shadow + Team Dark were introduced in Sonic 4. Keep in mind that in this scenario they already had Shadow's series to bond over. So here we go.

*Somewhere in Mexico*

The sun was hot, the beach was empty and silent, and in Shadow's opinion, this was the epitome of paradise. Rouge and Omega laid down beside him, Rouge also sunbathing and Omega relaxing in the shade of the tent, making a low humming sound that he only seemed to make when he wasn't in Full Attention mode. Like he said, paradise. Peace.

A loud sound cut through Shadow’s reflexions, and he couldn’t help but groan at the screaming phone in Rouge’s bag.

“Your phone’s ringing.” He huffed, trying to return to his interrupted rest.

“It’s your phone, honey,” she replied.

“I’m not touching that thing.”

It was Rouge’s turn to groan. She rolled over to her bag and rummaged through it until she found the source of the sound, turning it off.

“Who was that?” he asked, just out of habit, but there weren’t many people who had his number.

“Stone,” Rouge said. The phone in her hands vibrated with more messages, and the bat pushed up her sunglasses, frowning at the messages. That got Shadow’s attention.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, he won’t stop talking about sci-fi nonsense.” She huffed and turned to Omega, still standing in the shadows. “Are you prank calling Stone again? I told you to leave the guy alone!”

“I HAVEN’T BOTHERED AGENT STONE SINCE THE END OF OUR PREVIOUS MISSION.” Omega defended himself, sounding offended by the accusation.

“Then why is he sending messages about robots from the future and the apocalypse?”

Shadow frowned and took the cell phone from Rouge. The messages kept coming, almost illegible, looking quickly typed and full of desperation. This wasn’t normal, Stone wasn’t like that.

The phone rang again with another call from Stone, and this time Shadow hurried to answer.

“Stone?”

“SHADOW!”

The tone of voice made Shadow stop. From his peripheral vision, Shadow saw Omega rise from the sand and Rouge's expression harden. Apparently they also heard Stone.

The connection failed and the man's sentences came out incomplete, but what Shadow managed to understand didn't sound good.

“I'VE... A MISTAKE...”

“What?”

“... METAL... DESTROY...”

“Stone, you're not making any sense. What's going on?”

There was a loud slam of a door, and Stone gasped for air. Shadow could hear the sound of claws scraping against metal and the man’s ragged breathing. Stone swallowed hard.

“I did something I shouldn’t have done, Shadow, and now it’s after me. You need to stop this from reaching Earth, or we’ll all be doomed.”

“What...?”

Shadow could hear his own voice catching in his throat, but he couldn’t force himself to say anything else. There was the sound of the door being kicked in, and Stone’s scream echoed across the silent beach.

“Stone!”

“SHADOW, DON'T LET HIM... THE EMERALDS... FIND SONIC... DOOMED!”

The call dropped, and the beach fell back into its peaceful silence. Shadow stared at the black screen of his phone, Stone's scream still echoing in his mind. Rouge's hands were shaking in front of her mouth, still in shock, and Omega's eyes seemed to be spinning as he tried to find a reason for all this. When the trio exchanged glances, they knew immediately what they had to do.

“To Green Hills," Shadow said. "Now."