#Beta!reader

[rawme-price]

Omegaverse Power couple gaz and reader who wear scent blockers all the time and constantly have people guessing their designations.

You love to fuck with people about it, one day ur scruffing gaz and growling at him with a deep rumble. The next hes got u cornered against a walk with ur neck bared submissively. It drives people crazy, some of them bold enough to outright ask ur designation. You both know there's a betting pool going on, and its fucking hilarious.

You swear you hear rookies argue in the halls about the way gaz left a bit mark on ur shoulder last week, only for someone else to chime in about you leading him everywhere. So far the highest bets are on you being an alpha, and gaz being an omega.

The best part? Ur both betas. Have been, always will be. You just like to fuck with people (and take a share of the prize pool when ghost wins lol)

[girl-lostconnection]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kept yourself busy, didn’t you, love?

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

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

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

An oversight, not a good thing for a captain.

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

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

But he won’t make the same mistake again.

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

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

Sticky sweet, molten with yearning, hungry for blood.

Hungry for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not going anywhere now, love. Never again.

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

That just won’t do.

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect mate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing

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

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

AO3

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

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

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

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

You weren’t everyone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t tell them I’m dying.”

Control had to be a resource you doled out sparingly.

“Done.”

“And I get my own bed.”

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

“I’m not sure…”

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

She must see something unmovable in your expression.

Sighing, her eyes drift shut and her shoulders relax.

“I will make it happen.”

Nodding once you stand.

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

Kate chooses not to comment on your morose declaration.

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

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

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

“Maybe they don’t want visitors.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I brought you a wife.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. We will take her.”

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

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

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

He rolls his eyes but nods.

“Anything else Kate?” He asks drolly.

The glare she sends him is met with a smirk.

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

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

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

“Hello, wife.”

Part 2 | Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

[specialgradefckr]

Heatwave: Day 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were living the perfect life.

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

You were a nobody before you came to the estate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna loathes being touched without permission.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna likes undressing you, alpha that he is.

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

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

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

Maybe it’s the thrill of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want him. You want him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Open,” Sukuna commands.

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

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

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

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

God, you want him to fuck you already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The very sensation knocks the wind out of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Teeth in your jugular. Hot tongue over your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna supposes it’s probably just you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For an hour or so.

[diejager]

Please!!! I need more of Beta Reader x Poly 141 please!!!

Or maybe an Omega went feral of an alpha who try to do something to her and she went FERAL???

Cw: pack dynamic, Beta!reader, fluff, tell me if I missed any.

You groaned beside Gaz, walking into a crowded room with his arm wrapped around your shoulder. It smelled of rut and aggression, adrenaline laced high and drunken thrill pumping through the pulsing veins of alphas who called this bar home. It was a pungent smell, nose clogging and headache inducing to your sensitive sense. Perhaps you should have wore a blocker like the three others did, betas often had no use to one since their - and by extension yours - noses weren’t as keen or sensitive as the others secondary sexes. Betas couldn’t scent any amount of pheromone or musk, but you were the unfortunate one born with a rare disability —or so most betas considered a disability that negated their clear-minded conscience.

Logic over emotions, the mind presided over the heart of betas. It was what made them essential in a population where the leading figures had moments of hyperactivity and extreme emotional imbalance. Gaz didn’t have any issue following his expectations, cool-minded, gentle and caring, and emotionally dependable. There were such a drastic difference between him and you, grumpy, emotional and suffering from a perpetual scent-inducing headache. He could stay level-headed in all and any situation, but you caved to anger and irritation if the smells became too much. 

He was an examplary beta, yet he always praised you ad encouraged you to join them, a warm palm on your back, or a firm grip on your shoulder, Gaz was a steady rock you learned to lean onto. He was less volatile than Ghost and Price and less excitable than Soap. It almost made you loathe how comfortable he was with everyone while you still stuck out like a sore thumb after months under their care. 

And it didn’t help that Soap had managed to convince you - coerced, you mumbled - to come drink with them. The bar was packed, filled to the brim with alphas, omegas and betas, most patched with blockers over their noses, but their scent glands still stank under the thick, patchy blockers on their necks and shoulders. Price led you to their designated booth, seemingly promised to them by a higher power. They sat and chatted, boisterous words shared between Gaz and Soap while Ghost loomed over the table to your right, taking the seat at the edge in guardianship. They soaked in the comfortable familiarity: the warm lights and brick walls of the pub, the low music and loud chatter and clatter of glass. 

It was all something that would usually make someone relax and calm or happy, but it only made you squirm in your seat, occasionally bumping into Ghost to your right and Soap to your left, squeezed between two big men that smelled so strongly. It made you slightly nauseous, enough to feel a pang at the back of your head, but keep you conscious. You sighed a fourth time, shifting once more, when Ghost placed his hand on your thigh, his palm so big and hot grounding you and keeping you still to his wandering and worried eyes. 

“You all right?” The rumble of his voice had lowered to an accommodating tone, considerate of your growing aches, “Do you need a moment?”

You shook your head, mumbling a soft ‘no, thank you’, reassuring his worry and nodding to the table where Price just arrived with drinks in hand. Ghost reached for both his and your drinks, leaning into you and bathing you in his scent, the woody musk coating you in a soft layer of comfort. You were truly fortunate that their scents were the least irritating you’ve ever encountered, soft and comfortable compared to the grating and annoying musk of other teams you’ve worked with. 

Thanking Ghost for the drink and flushing lightly after Soap had leaned over and pressed his nose to yours, smiling cheekily at Ghost, you hypothesised that perhaps you could end up liking such outing and spending more times surrounding by them.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[shmalk]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"too bad its pizza night, dweeb."

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

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

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

signed ' s. riley. '

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

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

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

[flowerfreya]

Cherry Wish

Fix It

Cherry Wish Masterlist

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

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

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

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

“Need her”, Simon sobs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[decayingpizza]

#FICREC 🚨📢

Freedom Cry by Mihawkuri on Wattpad

Apocalypse AU - Alpha!EustassKid x Beta!Reader

Christmas has come early for this reader ❤️‍🔥

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

A Eustass Kid AU x f!reader Masterpiece ✨

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

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

SMUT ❤️‍🔥🥵✅ nuff said tbh

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

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

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

Decay x

[sensei-venus]

*-Golden Sands-* CH~1

(Idk what to tag for this, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Daniel, *Beta*!Reader, Daniel and Reader are friends from New York, Did not beta read this so deal with it the next chapter will be edited)

Note:Trying to get back into writing. Haven't had much inspiration and I also feel like I'm not writing like I use to. I am going to try and focus on this fic and hopefully get some new asks that actually inspire me to come back full force again.

Sunny California is what she was promised and that's what she got. The moment her feet met the hot pavement outside Daniel’s crappy little apartment she was assykted by the hot uv rays of the sun. With squinted eyes she looked up at the old apartment building. In a way she couldn't believe that this was where Daniel and his mom had moved once they left NY. Maybe it was a bit better, but back in NY he had friends and family. Reader sighed while slamming her car door shut.

“Hey you were supposed to call when you got into town! The place is a dump right now!” the network laced voice made her head shoot up. Cupping a hand over her forehead she looked up the stairs of the apartment building, eyes meeting baby browns.

Daniel did not change a bit from the last time they had seen each other. Well maybe a little, he was a bit taller, hair just a little longer on the back, voice a tad bit deeper. But god did he still look as scrawny as ever, the rabbit teeth still sat tight in his uper jaw too. She laughs while making her way though the small gate and into the courtyard, eyes only briefly looking away from his. Be ran a hand though his hair while almost sliding down the rickety metal staircase. He grabbed one of her bags with ease.

Well that was new, Daniel back in the ray could hardly life a bike let alone a heavy bag. But that was then and this is now she supposed.

She clicked her tongue “My bad, but what can I say I got distracted while getting into town. This place is so strange compared to home. Have you seen the people walking around outside here?” Daniel just laughed at her before hauling the suitcase up the stairs. Flowing quicky behind him he pushed up the door on the far left of the second floor.

The place wasn't that messy which made rolling her eyes easy. Daniel was always the one for being sarcastic even about the smallest things.

“You can take Ma’s old room. After she moved out to go work for her new job, I kinda just made it into the guest room. I can afford the rent by myself now, crazy right?”

“Does your mom visit often?” there was a small pause while he lead her to the now-empty room. The room was plain, basic in simple words. A queen size bed took up most of the room, a basic brown dresser off to the side with a few sample pictures in the frames. Nothing special just a basic guest room. Daniel sat her bag down next to the bed. He cocked his head while looking back at her saying “Nah these days she so busy she just can't make it back here. But we have seen each other a few times since she's been gone. Its not like she never comes down here anymore.” .

Reader smiled “Thats good, I know your mom well enough that I knew she wouldn't forget to come see her baby boy all the time.” a giggle bubbled up making Daniel groan.

“Im going to hope having you come visit me isnt going to end up being something I regret.” his voice already showing how stressed he was.

The next few hours where spent sitting on the ratty old couch in the apartment talking about anything and everything. It had felt like forever since the two had see each other but in reality it was only about two years. Reader told him about how Miss Ramesh from the building over had her son Tim married off less then three months after he left. How a new playground was finally built in the old lot up the block after years of permit pulling to get it. Sadly how the old man in the apartment below them passed in his sleep last winter.

They trailed off after that with her saying “So yeah its been kinda hectic back home. But, I want to know what's been going on with you? You hardly call anymore! I was surprised when you finally asked me to come stay with you for the summer. So whats up?” the sudden look of awkwardness fell over his face.

“Well uh, its a lot...”

“Daniel…Im going to be here for the whole summer, we have time. Lay it on me, it can't be that bad.”

“Well…”

After the first twenty minutes of him telling her the whole story, starting form the first day be moved in, she really wondered if she should have asked in the first place.

A group of bullying karate teens, having said karate teens almost break his knee, winning a karate tournament, Okinawa trip that involved him almost dying in a tsunami and then a fight to the death, being groomed by a psycho karate master and harassed into another karate tournament, which he did win.

He was right when saying it was a lot to talk about.

“Daniel…wow. I don't know what to say after all that.” she was in shock after hearing all of it. When Daniel left she has as under the impression he was leaving for his own good. New York wasn't doing much for him, the idea that bewas living it up in California had lived in the back of her mind for well over two years now. Never did she think it would be like this for him.

He gave a small cough “If it wasn't for Mr Myagi I don't think I would be standing here.” it was silent between them for a moment.

“You know Reader I wanted to ask, I hope I'm not being rude or anything.”

“Hum?”

“When you came in I noticed…your still a beta I'm assuming? Your sent still hasn't changed so…”

Reader couldn't tell of she was blushing or if she was just embarrassed.

She picked at her nails “I feel as if we shouldn't overly question it. You presented way before you left and we are the same age. I think it was just a pipeline dream of ours that I was actually going to be anything other then a beta. Hell I basically have no scent even in beta standards. My parents really held on to the idea for a while, that I was going to wake up one morning with a brand new scent, you know? But it never happened. So yeah, Reader is just a beta I guess.” she let out a sad laugh.

It was hard being a beta to an alpha and omega couple. They waited years for her to present and it never happened. After she hit puberty and nothing happened they just gave up on the idea once and for all.

There was nothing wrong with being a beta, but it did sting a little knowing she was the odd one out in a genpool that basically guaranteed an alpha or omega child.

“Im sorry, I thought maybe you where just a late bloomer. Maybe after I left you would end up presenting.”

“Dont sweat it too much. I don't think I'm missing much anyway.”

Daniel grimiced shaking his head “Definitely not missing much when it comes to being a alpha. Ruts are a nightmare.” he gritted his teeth at the thought. Reader quirks a brow but doesn't add on to that. She loved her friend almost brother, she did not need to know about his ruts.

Out of nowhere he perked up “That reminds me, what do you want to do while you are here? I mean we are in the start of summer so we can do just about anything you want.”

“You're not busy?”

“No not really, I work for Mr Myagi down at the shop and do some work for my friend over at a mechanic place not to far away, but I'm free almost half the week now.” he mentioned with a grin. Good to know that cocky said of him never died she thought to herself. Taking a minute she thought about it in her head. What would be cool to check out? There was so much here to see, she couldn't put her finger on just one thing.

The look on her face must have been a clear indication of her uncertainty.

“Not to sound to tourist like but what about the beach? I know when I first got here it was the very first place I went.”

Readers eyes practically sparkled at the suggestion. The beach! Of course that would be amazing! Why not live it up on the famous golden sand of the city?

She could already feel the warm sand under her feet, sun on her skin. Oh and the nice waves of the water. Ugh she could just picture it now. She shivered in excitement.

“Sometimes I forget how good you are at picking fun shit to do.”

“You just don't give me enough credit do you.”

[thezombieprostitute]

I've had this concept floating in my head for weeks without knowing how to write it. You send this gif and it just clicks. Thank you!

Omega Hal Carter

Normally Hal doesn't mind being an Omega. Sure he's had to learn to deal with people looking down on him, thinking little of him, but there was a kind of freedom that came with that. And Hal's favorite thing is being free.

"Normally" however, was not today. Today was a festival that allowed the various packs to meet and mingle. A chance for new alliances and strengthening old bonds. Well, a chance for the Alphas to do that by picking out potential mates to be negotiated for. Hal was being used, under orders from Pack Alpha Fowler to look good, flirt with the female Alphas and not embarrass the Pack.

Hal loved flirting but all the female Alphas would talk about was keeping him trapped in the bedroom. Even if they were speaking metaphorically, he was terrified at the thought. He really didn't want to be treated like a pet: forced to stay indoors and only allowed outside on a leash. He took a much needed break from the Alphas and walked the outskirts of the festival.

Of course, even here he couldn't escape the influence of the Alphas. Several had been assigned to perimeter duty, making sure strangers didn't enter, but also that scared potential mates didn't run. He followed the scent of Alpha Barnes, an Alpha from his own pack; he used to be Pack Alpha but after getting captured by outsiders to save them, he'd lost too much of his mind. Most were scared of him but he and Hal worked well together.

As he neared Barnes he caught another scent. Female. Beta.

++++++++++++++

Some days it really sucked being a Beta. Most of the time you were happy to be allowed to do your own thing. Festival days helped remind you that only Alphas and Omega were actually wanted. At least as mates. You never felt more worthless than at these events.

You'd always give an honest effort, if only so your Pack Alpha couldn't complain. Today you'd thought you'd maybe found a match with another Beta but his pack mates wouldn't stop making fun of your extra pounds so you opted to back away. If you did get together you'd have to go to his pack and you didn't want to think about spending your life around cruel people.

So you found yourself walking to the perimeter. You weren't trying to leave, you just needed to get away from people. If only for a little bit.

That's how you came across Alpha Barnes, or how he came across you. If the rumors were true there's no way you'd ever be able to catch him off guard.

"Apologies, Alpha Barnes," you sigh. "I just needed a break. I'll head back if you want me to."

His eyes never left you. His face never changed that you could see. He often still wore a mask because the experiments had made his sense of smell even more sensitive than a normal Alpha's.

He tilted his head to the side, "you are not afraid of me." It wasn't a question but you could tell he was curious.

"As far as I know, I have no reason to be" you cautiously replied. "I'm still within the perimeter and making no move to go further. I am not a threat to you or yours. You're not a mindless killing machine like the rumors try to say. So, no, I'm not afraid of you, Sir."

You think you catch a glint of something in his eyes but you're distracted by someone approaching. Male. Omega.

++++++++++

I might do more with this later but thank you for helping me figure out how to actually get to writing it! Hope you enjoyed!

[howtokillavampire]

but what if i read one of your fanfics and then went to your ao3 account and read all of your fanfics and left a comment on every single chapter of every single one and you got spam emails from all of my kudos and comments and it made you smile, what then? what if i brighten your day with my words like you did mine, what then???

[girl-lostconnection]

Popping cherries and squeezing lemons

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

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

Gentle and affectionate.

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

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

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

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

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

Why would he want for anyone else?

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

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

And he would have if he knew what would happen.

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

He would have never introduced you to captain John Price.

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

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

Dragging you lower and lower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you do for some reason. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gets his answer shortly after you arrive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kyle would understand, love. 

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

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

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

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

Not even realising that they do.

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

But Kyle doesn’t like that one bit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking unfair, that is.

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

Someone like Kyle, maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

Price who asks for you during his heat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, that’s just silly.

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

You are perfect.

You are for John and only for John.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ice cracking, river roaring, rain finally dripping down.

Here we go, love, fucking finally. 

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

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

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

Your good omega.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ever been in a rut before, love?

He bets you haven’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like he is imagining something.

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

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

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

Straight from the source.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Using his own slick as the lube.

You don’t remember much detail after that.

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

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

So he can shape something new out of it.

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

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

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

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

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

John in heat is dangerous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…cream?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kyle should have remembered that you were always a lightweight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever happened with John doesn’t count, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing out of ordinary.

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

Like you again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because apparently you are their favourite beta.

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

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

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

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

AO3 | Masterlist | Taglist

Dividers found here.

[specialgradefckr]

Heatwave: Day 7

tw: explicit content, mentions of past abuse. 6k+ words. Toji/Reader. beta!reader, alpha!toji. hurt/comfort, whump, fluff, toji is kinda pathetic. top!toji, size kink, surprisingly soft sex, extremely domestic.

Prompt: Not everyone has secondary genders, but those who do are considered less than human.

You find him on the streets. A lonely stray, beaten and bruised.

Hair all mussed up, face dirtied, a scar on his lip too poorly healed to be anything but a punishment.

He’s on the floor, propped against the wall in some filthy, dingy alleyway. Covered in dirt, himself.

Eyes half-closed and slowly flitting over his surroundings, like he’s tired but expecting to get hit the instant he tries to sleep.

It’s not uncommon for parents to throw out an alpha or omega teenager as soon as they turn eighteen, if they even waited that long.

Many hospitals didn’t do secondary gender confirmation for minors because the parents would just… leave. Most orphanages were filled primarily with newly-presented alpha and omega teenagers.

And those were the lucky ones. Unlucky alphas and omegas got into worse places. Much worse places. A lot of them stayed around even after adulthood, because what other way was there to work for a living?

Even if they tried to pretend to be a beta, their heat or rut would give them away. Betas didn’t need to go on leave for a week every month or so. Health insurance didn’t cover suppressants if you were registered as a beta, and only betas could get jobs that provided health insurance.

And betas didn’t have the innate urge to mate like omegas or alphas did. Didn’t have the same sense of possession, loyalty, the addiction to their partner’s scent and pheromones that made abandonment impossible.

What they did have was money. All the money, power, and prestige in the world was in the hands of betas.

And if you were an alpha or omega, the best you could do was use your secondary sex to provide the rest of society with entertainment, and maybe get a meal somehow along the way. If you were young and pretty, you might get to live a decent life as some rich beta’s pet.

The stray in the alleyway is a lot older than eighteen. He looks like he’s been eaten alive. Chewed up and spat out once he lost his flavor.

You step up to him and he doesn’t even react to the noise. He’s just sitting there, against the wall, eyes half-lidded and glazed over like he’s waiting to die but still can’t quite sit back and accept it just yet.

That’s the worst part about it all, probably. Because when he was born, he would have looked like a beta, like any other ordinary kid.

Probably to parents who were happy to have him. He might have even had a good life, a happy childhood, a life full of love with a real future in front of him. Until he presented.

He’s a stray, not a wild animal. He had a home, once. Knew what it was like to have a warm bed and a full belly every night. A place to come back to. People who loved him.

A life. A real life, with dreams and aspiration like any normal person – all yanked out from under him in an instant.

An alpha, it looks like. You bend down, sitting on your heels in front of him, waiting for him to notice you. His eyes are narrow, and it’s hard to tell the color –

And then he looks up at you, and you see it. Dark and muddled but the color’s still there. Emerald glittering at you, pick me up, a treasure obscured so only you can see it.

When you reach your hand out, it’s gently, as if not to startle. He just eyes you, wryly, as if he’s too exhausted to be curious about what you’ll do.

You smile. “Hey, stranger.”

Eyes close. Not a threat. “Mmm.”

“Need a hand?”

“If you’re offerin…” He lets his head fall to the side. Not worth the effort to watch you. Some beta lady with a soft heart.

You don’t smell like anything much, not to his burned-out nose, but he can feel your warmth when you lean in closer.

“You got a name?”

Once upon a time, he did. A big name, real important-like, one you might even recognize. Now? Now he’s got nothing.

“Toji,” He gives you, before letting out a hiss as you pull on his bruised hand.

“Sorry,” You murmur, “Let me help you up. Here, like this…”

An arm wraps around his shoulders, tugs him up. It’s impressive that you try at all – Toji heaves his tired, agonized muscles into holding himself up, stumbling along with your support.

You’re doing a pretty good job as a crutch, but there’s no way you can stand his weight for long.

That’s fine. You don’t need to. All he needs is a few days off the streets.

Looks like his luck hasn’t run out completely. Not yet.

-

When you help him in through the doorway, closing it behind you, he slips his shoes off and sets them beside the door, right where yours are.

A stray, not a wild animal. He’s been in homes before, maybe even recently. Just not one he could call his own.

It hurts to think. Almost hurts to look at him, but there’s something achingly handsome about his face.

That half-sly, half-defeated look he’s always got. Those lowered brows and hooded eyes, the cut on his lip that should be mean but just looks scrappy.

He’s an alpha and he’s built like it, but there’s still an unmistakable proudness to his features. A well-defined jawline, strong chin, eyes sharp and fierce.

You’re a little embarrassed at the state of your home. Even in the best of times, you hated doing dishes, and you hadn’t exactly been expecting company. Still, it’s nothing to be terribly ashamed of, even if you apologize for the mess. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“You want to go to a clinic?” You’ve got some pills in hand – some over-the-counter generics, he’s sure – and a glass of water to go with it. “I can take you, don’t worry about the bill.”

Aren’t you just a doll? “Nah. I’ll be fine. Had worse.”

He can see it, too, transparently, how his words pull at your heartstrings. If he plays this right maybe he can get a whole week. Maybe two.

Toji’s always been the gambling sort. You look like a good bet.

“Well…” You think to yourself for a moment, “I think I have a shirt that would fit you, but not much else. I have a bathrobe, too, if you want to take a shower.”

A shower would be perfect, especially if he was going to fuck his way into your good graces. Beta ladies love alpha cock.

“Mhm.” He hums, following you to the hallway and waiting patiently for you to gesture him into the bathroom.

You hand him a robe – probably large enough for him, but extremely fluffy – and a shirt that would probably be a little small on him, but far too large to be a woman’s.

“I, uh, I don’t have separate stuff for guests – feel free to use my shampoo, conditioner, body wash, whatever, I buy it in bulk anyways.” How nice of you to offer.

He was going to anyways, of course. As sexy as the whole wounded filthy beast thing was, women didn’t like letting a dirty guy sleep in their bed.

Even if you were annoyed by it, it’d be a while before that pissed you enough to kick him to the curb. When you did, that wouldn’t be what did it.

A quick once-over confirms he’s pretty bruised and beaten up, but no broken bones. A few cuts here and there that have already stopped bleeding. Every muscle in his body is screaming for him to lie down, hard enough that he almost passes out in the shower, but other than that, he’s all right.

There’s bandaids beneath the sink. It’s more than he usually gets.

When he comes out, clad in the robe and nothing else, he’s kind of ready to collapse.

But what kind of man whore would he be if he didn’t at least give you a glance at the goods? He saunters into your living room, sliding into a plush chair beside the couch you’re currently on.

Your eyes widen gratifyingly at the sight of him, glancing away for a moment in an attempt to stay casual. It’s a little cute, but hopefully you’re not some kind of prude; that’d make things significantly harder.

“Did you find everything okay?” You say, and he notices for the first time a cat curled up next to you as you stroke it gently. It’s bright white and long-haired.

He nods. You notice his gaze, and smile.

“This is Catoru! He’s a huge diva and he loves attention.” A white tail curls around your arm as you pet, swaying gently.

Great. Competition. “Any roommates?” He asks.

To his relief, you shake your head. “I have a guest bedroom, though, you’re free to stay there for as long as you need.”

As long as you need. He’s heard that one before.

It’s all right, though. You’re just a naïve, sheltered beta; you’ve probably never even met someone who would take advantage of your kindness to the absolute fullest extent.

Toji supposes he should be honored to pop your cherry. Right now, he’s not anything but exhausted.

You set a cup of tea in front of him, “You want a snack? I have some protein bars – ”

Sounds perfect, “If you don’t mind.”

He scarfs down everything you offer him, sighing in relief when you bring him a couple more. Sips at the tea, requests a cup of water, drowns several of them before he’s really dead on his feet.

Ah. Clean. Some food in him, some water. This is what heaven must be like.

“My room is just across the hall,” You smile, “I leave my door cracked so Catoru doesn’t freak out. Just let me know if you need anything.”

And Toji feels your smile, all the way deep into his tired bones. Can’t wait to gnaw on it, suck at it, devour every last bit of it until there’s nothing left. He’s always had shit luck but it looks like it hasn’t abandoned him just yet.

He thanks you. The cat at your side winks open an eye to look at him, bright blue and startling against his white fur.

-

He’s left the door open a crack, just in case you’re bolder than you appear.

One of the particularly shit things about being an alpha or an omega is the pack behavior crap. They weren’t meant to be alone, especially while they slept. Made them nervous.

Some kind of pack-bonding stuff. It was hard to sleep without someone next to him. Made him antsy, twitchy, whenever he did sleep he woke up after an hour or so.

Meant a lot of sleepless, painful nights at the Zenin complex. He’d taking to sprinting around the complex, push ups, squats, whatever he could do to exhaust himself so much that he could just lie down and pass out until one of his cousins kicked him awake.

It usually bought him only a few hours, but combined with his alpha genes it meant he grew up built; lean and mean and strong enough to take hits that would kill lesser men.

Lucky him. After they kicked him out he was approached by some tall, scrawny looking omega called Shiu who had a job or two for a strong man with nothing to lose. Money he could blow on food or gambling while he went from one hookup to the next.

He hadn’t heard from Shiu since the last job. Not surprising, since it went worse than expected. In retrospect, if you hadn’t found him in that alley, someone elsewould have.

The thought doesn’t bother him much. Had to end sometime. Every dog has his day, and for a mangy mutt like him, he’d already gotten way more than he deserved. Even life on the streets was better than living with the fucks he shared blood ties with.

Still, as long as he’s in the game, he’s pushing his luck. If he can get you to fuck him, you’ll let him stick around longer, and he’ll get a full night of sleep.

There’s a noise at the door and his excitement rises a touch. He didn’t think you’d be willing to do it this early –

A gentle weight on the bed. Too gentle.

For fuck’s sake!

“Hey, Catoru,” He grumbles, “You’re lucky I even remember a guy’s name. Don’t make a habit of it.”

Catoru, of course, simply curls up next to him, obnoxiously close. His fur is impossibly soft. He should have been named Cloud or Snow or something.

Toji reaches, stroking the bundle of warmth and softness with short, lazy movements. His hands are rough, calloused, but it doesn’t seem to bother the cat any. He just snuggles up and purrs. It soothes his instincts to a degree he finds utterly uncomfortable.

God, fuck, he hadn’t been competition for the cat. The cat was taking pity on him.

Normally he wasn’t so picky about where the pity came from. He was way more popular with the ladies but there was a guy here and there who wanted to try him out.

Those were usually much shorter affairs, though. Women were way better. Took a certain kind of guy to want to fuck an alpha male. A lot of them got off on making him their ‘bitch’, fucking him hard and rough because he had to take it for a place to sleep.

He had enough of that shit at the Zenin complex. This is worlds better.

It’s too good for trash like him, but he’ll take it as long as it lasts.

He wakes up a few times in the middle of the night, but that’s normal enough. The cat’s insufferable, but he’s warm, and soft, and cuddly, which he’s never seen before.

It helps, until the traitor wanders off into your room, probably to snuggle until he decides to wake you up for food.

Bastard. Toji watches him stalk into your room like he owns this whole damn place. Probably jumping right into your arms.

He wonders where the shirt is from. An ex-lover? A male relative? It doesn’t smell like anyone else, but it would probably have belonged to a beta.

You’re living alone, though, which is enough for him. He’s gotten plenty of beta ladies to sleep with him despite having other lovers currently, that’s not a problem.

It’s not like he has to worry about your lover showing up and beating the shit out of him (or you) either – little perks of being an alpha. As long as you paid the bills and wanted him around, that was enough.

There’s a little part of him that always takes an intense pleasure at the thought. Protecting his mate and all that garbage.

Doesn’t matter. He’s just hanging on for now.

-

You’re not sure what food your guest would like, but it’s a good excuse to cook a big breakfast for him and you.

Lord knows, the poor man had an appetite, so you doubt even your mediocre cooking would go to waste. It’s a little embarrassing to have dishes still in the sink, but you’ll do them all at once after you’ve eaten. For sure this time.

Besides, not a lot of ways you could screw up eggs, French toast, bacon, all that stuff. It’s a few minutes of shuffling through things, putting down pans and containers, before you’re ready to get cooking.

You open the fridge, and it hits you. Eugh. Something’s gone off.

Living alone, it happens sometimes. You buy something then forget to eat it before it goes bad. But your fridge is pretty full already…

You look through the shelves, the cases, trying to find what’s gone bad. It’s weird, it’s like the rotten smell just hits you at random times, you can’t seem to find where it’s coming from.

There’s a sudden warmth behind you, like a wall of muscle, as Toji leans over your shoulder, lazily scanning the fridge. He takes one sniff, then reaches deep past a couple jars of condiments and a stick of butter to pull out some cheese.

It’s a soft Havarti, sliced, and you can see the green creeping through it. Bleh.

Toji rolls his eyes as he opens the package up, “It’s cheese, you can eat around it – ”

Oh hell no. You snatch it back and toss it in the trash. The way he’s eyeing it fills you with incredulity.

“It’s not like – it’s not parmesan or whatever fancy cheese that gets mold on it. We can just get more next time.”

“Mmmhmm.” He nods.

He wouldn’t dig through your trash, right? Right??

“Seriously, thank you for picking it out. I was looking for whatever smelled so off.”

Toji was absolutely planning on digging through your trash. Hell if he’d let good food go to waste, but your house, your rules.

“Really? What are you, nose blind?” Beta, he remembers. Not a great sense of smell.

Toji’s always had a great nose. His shitty uncles would hide rotting food around the backyard, and if he was lucky, he could get to it before it was all eaten by bugs or animals.

His cousins would play with him sometimes. Bloodhound. He can still feel the makeshift collar and leash of rope wrapped around his neck. Promises of extra food or clothes if he hunted down a misplaced possession of theirs.

What a chump he was. Took him years to stop falling for it. Ancient history. He watches you shrug.

“Guess so.” Your hand comes up to him, and he doesn’t flinch, but the strike never lands.

Instead, he feels fingers, ruffling through his hair. Softer than usual, since you made him use your fancy shower crap. You have to reach up to get to his head, and you look silly, all stretched like that, but it feels like something in his chest is stretching alongside you.

“I appreciate it.” He almost whines when your hand goes away. “Thanks, Toji.”

That shitty name doesn’t sound so bad coming from your voice. “Anytime.” The words come out softer than he expected them to.

Toji watches for about five minutes while you get ready before he quietly stalks up to the stove and starts the heat on one of the pans. God, he loved some good bacon.

Was a good day when he could snatch some from the family breakfast, even if he got beat for it. Most of the women he stayed with weren’t really the cooking type.

You don’t seem that domestic, either, but with all the food in your fridge it’s obvious you’re trying. You give him a look while you whisk together some eggs, sugar – French toast, he thinks.

“I can get the bacon,” He mutters, waiting for the pan to heat up so he can start laying strips down. “You take the other side.”

“Oh. Oh, sure!” You brighten, smiling at him – what, you’re feeding him for free, but you’re happy he’s helping?

You’re a good person, he supposes. Really good, down to the core, in a way none of those Zenin fucks ever were.

The normal, upstanding sort who went to their jobs and lived their lives without ever knowing what omega brothels were or how alphas were treated as expendable muscle.

You live in a completely different world, one that has barely, briefly intersected his. But he’ll greedily gulp down every breath of fresh air he can get here, even if that means ruining it. Not like he’s ever done anything else.

-

It’s funny, living with you. The funniest part is that it doesn’t seem to stop. It takes him some time to realize that you really meant what you said – as long as you need.

What a chump. A bleeding heart. He’s chomping at the bit to eat it all up.

He learns that you’re a teacher – a professor – at a nearby community college. The pay can’t be that good but the hours are easy, and you don’t need a car – you’re living in some nearby campus-sponsored housing as a part of your employment package. There’s grocery stores close enough to walk to, and a bus for when you need it.

You teach math, or some other nerdy shit. It’s hard not to zone out when you start explaining in depth, especially since you get that excited look in your eyes, and your voice just flows out of you like you’re on a roll.

Before you leave for classes you make yourself a coffee, and you make him one, too. It’s funny, having someone hand him a warm drink without him paying for it first. Funny, seeing you smile and say good morning at the start of the day.

Usually he tried to slink around, stay out of sight unless he knew he could turn things into sex, but you’re not expecting that so he just… lingers.

He used to peek through cracked doors or barely high enough windows to watch TV. Darting out of the way whenever someone glanced outside.

They locked him out, sometimes, like an unruly dog. Can’t have some ugly alpha mutt dirtying their doorways, pissing on the carpet or some shit.

Now, you hand him the remote and show him the channels before you leave.

He watches whatever, until you come home and he bears through your dumb TV shows (Sorcerers? Cursed spirits? Who watches this shit?) and nags you afterwards about your favorite characters, jokes and laughs about them and the plot.

So he catches up when you’re at work, too, just so he can tell you how dumb this Satoru dude is.

God, the guy’s hair is so stupid. And he’s got next to no fashion sense, Toji can already tell (never mind that he is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a stylish man). What a damn tool. Why the hell do you like this stupid beanpole so much?

He tries not to think about why your preferences bother him so much. No use thinking about stuff he can’t change.

The kids are fun, though. Megumi’s smart, even if he’s a bit rough around the edges, Yuji’s too nice for his own good, Nobara is a riot. The Sukuna guy looks like he’s gonna be a blast.

Maybe the show isn't completely irredeemable. You don’t seem to mind his slander of one of your favorite characters, giggling, teasing him, arguing playfully.

It’s fun. It’s fun, and weird, the kind of conversation he’s never had before. Mostly he flirts with women – he does with you, but you brush it off or it flies right over your head – and half-threatens guys. Or he rolls over like a dog to get what he wants.

Doesn’t get to tease people much unless he’s planning on killing them, so it’s a nice change of pace.

He hasn’t gotten his ass handed to him since before you took him in, too. Gets to eat three times a day, or more, even, when you remember to get snacks. He doesn’t ask you but when you see them start to go missing, you start to buy more, ask him what kind he likes best, and it makes him feel funny things.

Lots of things you do make him feel funny. The dumb smiles, for one. The warm meals and carefully made drinks, tea or coffee with cream but no sugar, even though you like yours half-diabetic.

You hate doing dishes, he learns, and quietly he starts picking it up himself. And there’s that smile you make, when you come back home, that look of delighted surprise on your face when the kitchen’s all clean. It’s painfully gratifying.

Same with the litter box for the stupid beast. You’re supposed to change it every day, but you sort of scrape by every other day – with his sensitive nose, he finds it easier to just scoop it every day.

He’s not even trying to help you. Barely sees why you don’t like to do it – Toji’s never minded getting his hands dirty.

He’s been filth his whole life. What’s a little more? This was pristine, compared to sleeping out in the dirt. Compared to getting pissed on, having knives or garbage thrown at him, bruised and bloodied face rubbed in the floor while somebody held him down.

It goes on for so long he wonders if he’s going to lose his edge, starts doing laps around your apartment block. One day you casually hand him a card and ask him to come with you – you’ve gotten a household membership at a local gym.

You don’t visit as often as you should (your words, not his). But you must have noticed him, seen him.

He goes during the day, having nothing better to do, and knowing it’s best to stay in shape for whatever work he may be able to scrounge up someday. He goes to the gym and it’s as weird as living with you.

Punching things, lifting things, stretching and running without his muscles screaming in agony from start to finish, without adrenaline fueling his every motion.

He goes until he’s tired and other folks at the gym give him looks, but they don’t want to fuck him or beat him up. A couple guys glance at him and whoop when he does a deadlift, and he’s really not sure why.

But it’s fun. It’s worth his time. It feels fucking amazing after – he’s all tired out but in a good way, a nice soreness that goes down to his bones and makes him look forward to the hot meal waiting for him at home.

He’s started to cook some, too. Wordlessly helping out alongside you, and then silently prepping things while you’re out.

You hate doing dishes anyways, and it feels good to see how grateful you are to come home to food and a clean home. He doesn’t mind doing it. Doesn’t mind doing any of it, when you look at him like that.

There’s a bit of cleaning to do usually, thanks to some white furry bastard leaving his hair everywhere.

The fuckin cat. What’s with that stupid thing?

He’s never had a pet before, obviously, even scrapped with a few mutts on the streets sometimes digging through the trash.

Once or twice he’d fucked someone who had a pet, and usually it growled at him, if it didn’t cower or ignore him completely. Just alpha shit.

Catoru (god, was he named after that guy in the show?) has a fucking crush on him or some shit. Fucking weirdo.

He walks up to him, rubbing against his leg, purring and meowing to be pet. Likes to be held, too, chirps happily when Toji lifts him up. Lounging in his arms like a little prince-beast he is. Making a home of Toji’s lap whenever he’s on the couch, meowing indignantly whenever he so much a shifts.

The cat meows constantly when you’re gone and Toji wondered at first if you forgot to feed the damn nuisance. But no, you’d never do that to your BABY. Stupid cat.

(God damn. He’s jealous of the fucking cat.)

Nah, the thing is meowing for attention. Wants it bad. Wants his soft pretty fur to get pet, and doesn’t care if it’s some dirty alpha whore doing it.

Eh. Takes one to know one. You did say Catoru was an attention whore.

If he’s got a few treats on hand, if he indulges the stupid animal just to keep it from whining… well, whatever.

-

And then his rut is coming up. Not surprising, since he’s healthy again and fucking lives with you, all domestic-like and shit, like you’re his mate. If anything, he’s surprised it took this long.

Normally when he feels his rut coming up he just finds the first broad he can. He’s got a handsome enough face, a more than impressive form, all he needs is a warm and willing partner.

He doesn’t usually have a problem finding an adventurous beta lady all excited to take a big alpha cock – it’s what comes after that get dicey.

You can’t knot betas, even in the midst of his rut he’s not dumb enough to try it. But his dick is big and he’s been with enough women to know that’s not actually a good thing, at least, not the night after all the “fun”. And ruts last a few days.

His dick’s been bothering him for a while, too, even before his rut. You’re just so fucking hot all the time, so nice to him, so smiley and friendly and you laugh and make jokes with him and shit.

It’s just so easy. He thinks he should feel bad about it, about using you like this, but you’re so utterly unbothered he starts to wonder who’s really winning.

You’re so fucking smart, you and your classes and your routines and your crafts and hobbies and projects. You notice details and act all considerate and shit. Pet him on the head even though he’s taller. Makes him all gooey on the inside and shit.

Blue balls fucking suck when you’re an alpha, and the cock doesn’t help. It’s a disgusting thing, big and swollen and aching, something his cousins and uncles jeered at.

A humiliating handicap that sent him humping and rutting against things like an animal, helpless to do anything but whine and moan and maybe lash out when they tossed rocks or shit at him.

One of his younger cousins liked to kick him in the dick, and another thought of a fun little game where they tied a rope between his legs, and, well –

Shit’s in the past, now. His cock works fine, he’s lucky enough for that. Made him strong, in a way. All those hits, anything could put him on his ass, and he’d get right back up.

It taught him that no comfort was coming, no mate, no home, no warmth, he had to curl up and bear through it, find a way to fuck it out and to not to expect anything but malice on the way out.

It’s not like he’s ashamed of it.

Shame is for people who have the luxury of pride. Toji knows what he is, what he's good for.

But a deep, tiny, stupid part of him is quaking in fear at the thought of rejection. A larger part of him, the practical side, doesn’t want to piss you off and get tossed out.

It’s nice here, too nice, he’s got to keep it going as long as he can, even though he knows your endless patience will run out on him someday.

You’ll look at him and see him for the garbage he is. An alpha, a beast, a dirty animal you’ve taken into your home and fed and pampered until he wouldn’t go away anymore. Garbage to toss out on the street, where he belongs.

One day even the image of you smiling at him will be a distant memory of the days when he had it good.

-

Toji’s gonna lose his fucking mind at this rate.

It’s not like he’s ugly. He knows he’s not ugly. He could accept maybe that he’s not your type, but from the way you have to avert your gaze whenever he walks around post-shower with a towel around his waist, you’re not at all indifferent to his body.

So why the hell won’t you fuck him?

He’s made it pretty obvious that he’s available. Not shy in his body at all. He’s grateful to you, always obedient, never denying any of your request. He’s an alpha, and you know that, you must know that, what he’s good for.

You won’t even ask. Won’t make any kind of mood, send out any signal.

He starts to wonder if you’ve got a partner waiting for you somewhere after all, just far away, and something terrible twists in his chest.

But he’s never had any patience for mixed signals. And this is going to happen no matter what he does, so he might as well say it.

“I’m going into rut,” He says, just to put it out there.

Right away, he sees your body language, little scent indicators that even betas give off. Flustered. Aroused?

“Oh – oh, well. Is there anything I can do to help? To make it easier, I mean…” You trail off, but he doesn’t give you time to be mortified by your own words.

“Unless you want to have sex with me, not much. Just let me get some food and water to wait it out in my bedroom with.”

Honestly, more than he was used to back at the compound. Nothing beat a good fuck, though. And it doesn’t help that you’re pretty attractive, too.

“Oh. Uhm.” He holds back a chuckle at your expression. Too cute. “I – I thought alphas and betas couldn’t really…”

“Oh yeah, you can’t knot a beta,” Toji shrugs, “But having someone with you is the most important part. None of the other betas I fucked have complained.” He was good for one thing, at least.

You look like you want to sink into the ground. “Do you – do you have someone – ”

He raises a brow at you, “If I did, they were a pretty shit partner, yeah? You were the one who dragged me out of that alley.”

“Well, that was just – ” You pause, and god, what he would do to find out what was going on in that little head of yours, “Basic compassion, you know?”

This time, he does laugh. “For an alpha?”

“Well, yeah! You’re human too, right?” You both know that’s not how it works. “And – and still. It’s not like you would have died, right? I was just helping you out.”

He gives you a wry smile. “Right. Anyways, there’s no one else. You’re all I’ve got.”

Oh, he knows what he’s saying. What he’s doing. He’s done it a million times before, but he’s never quite wanted it to work this bad.

Usually women fuck him and then they pity him. You haven’t fucked him yet, and you’re pitying him more than anyone ever has in his entire life.

A better man might be bothered by that. Toji? He can’t get enough.

Watching you stumble for words and stammer and avoid his gaze like prey. It strokes every last instinct he has and then some. He swears he can hear your heart racing, and his knot is starting to pulse in time with it.

There’s a whiff in the air. Tickling his senses. You’re a beta, and it’s faint, but he grins to himself over your stammered answer.

Jackpot.

-

You’re not as shy as he thought you’d be, is his first thought, when he takes you to bed.

You’re smaller than him – most people are – and delicate, breakable, he’s got to be careful. Normally he tries to feel a woman out, see if they like it hard and fast and he can go rough, but somehow, for all his desperate urges, his alpha instincts lock him up when he’s looking down at you.

It’s weird, how strong it is. How compelling. How much he wants to go along with it.

He’s got to do right by you. Treat you nice, make you feel good. Can’t fuck this up when it’s the very first time.

There’s a reason alphas are stereotyped as aggressive, and it’s biting at him now, pulsing in between his legs so painfully he thinks he could die, but Toji’s been on the verge of death before and that doesn’t scare him.

You looking at him with fear in your eyes? Flinching away or crying out? That’s fucking terrifying.

So he kisses you on the lips, works his hands down your body, against your shoulders like a massage. Enough that he can touch you hard but still be tender, still be good to you like every fiber of his being is screaming for him to be.

He’s never been this gentle in his life. Toji is all muscle, all lean performance like a panther, built to kill, but he’s so careful with you, touches ghosting along your skin until you’re humming and pressing back into him.

Taking a large, calloused hand in your own and bracing it over your breast with a bashful look.

And shit, when has he ever laughed during sex? You whine back at him, meeting his eyes as he squeezes and nips – not even hard enough to leave a mark – and something deep inside him trills at how it makes you squirm. How it makes you smell.

He kisses you again. God, he could kiss you forever. The taste of your tongue on his is the best thing he’s ever tried –

But he knows, when he spreads your legs, it’s about to be the second best.

Your hands bury themselves in hair that’s now soft and well-conditioned.

He feels like a beast, licking between your legs, drinking in your moans and wails as he laves over your clit. He feels like he could devour you forever and not be full. Like he’s going to start drooling any time he ever smells you.

A trained dog, with you clasping his hair like a short leash that he never wants you to let go of. You took him in, you fed him and kept him and cared for him, and now he’s yours.

Since he’s yours, you have to have him. It’s only right, only fair.

He makes you cum once on his tongue, then he fingers you, spreading you open with care and diligence, like any loyal hound would.

Your cunt is the purpose of his existence, the vessel for the knot that throbs agonizingly between his legs, and his pain is the evidence of his complete and utter devotion.

When you cum around four of his fingers, he pulls himself up to rub his cock against you. Spreading your slickness carefully along him. You’re not an omega, but he’s made you wet, his spit and your cum slick against him as he spreads it on himself.

Toji doesn’t think he’d mind being your dog. The thought comes to him as he buries himself deep inside you.

It feels like nothing he’s ever had before, like he’s melting, like the whole world disintegrates until all he’s got left is the wet heat of your cunt sucking him it.

He’d gladly be on collar and leash for you. Be your bloodhound, hunt down anything you wanted. Kill, bite, attack, heel.

He’d learn all your commands and jump to obey them like a trained animal. As long as you’d have him. As long as you’ll let him in.

His knot pulses and throbs just outside your entrance. He doesn’t mind if you can’t let him, in, if you never do, as long as he gets to feel this warmth.

Your arms reaching around him, holding him against you. Little noises you make while he drives into you with religious precision, hitting the best spot. Reaching with his thumb to rub over your clit. Kissing your lips, your cheek, your neck as you babble and moan when you get close.

He cums when you do. Nothing feels better than knowing he made you feel good. Every fiber of his body – muscled, powerful, built to rip and crush, kill and fuck – it trembles at the sight of you. Shivering at a bone-deep pleasure that dissipates throughout his entire form.

Alpha instincts scream at him to dig his teeth into your neck. Soft, unmarked, bared for him. It sings to him. He’s never wanted anything more.

But you’re a beta, and it would hurt you. So he lays kisses where he wants to bite. Suckles gently while you laugh at how it tickles, and smiles and kisses your lips like he can devour the sound of your joy, eat it, keep it inside himself like a light that never goes out.

You hold onto him, too. Like he’s something precious, like you want him here with you. He falls asleep like that, half-buried inside you, head buried between your breasts. He’s bigger than you, but he buries himself inside you, hides away in this cavern of warmth and softness like nothing he’s ever known.

He waits for you to pull away, but you don’t. You never do. He wakes up with you still against him, still snuggling up – the annoying bastard of a cat curled up at both your feet.

Maybe… Toji knows he’s living garbage, disposable, good for a fight or a fuck and then to be thrown away.

But he’d been good to you, hadn’t he? You liked him, for some reason he can’t understand.

Maybe – maybe if he can do just this one part good enough –

Maybe you’ll keep him, anyways.

[diejager]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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