#alpha dream of the endless

[obsessiveagony2point0]

🅾️ - Omegaverse

“Hob…” Death began again, her voice soft and gentle. “You may be immortal…but there is one in this room who isn’t…”

A little quick animation of a part in my fic, “Sweet, Little Star”

Whole fanfic series is here

Original Post Date: November 16th 2023

Twitter/X•AO3•Pillowfort •Linktree•Bluesky•Ko-fi

[moorishflower]

Make perfect the present (Dream/Hob Western A/B/O AU) Chapter 1 is up!

Make perfect the present || Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling || Explicit || 1/17

Alternate Universe - Western, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Western, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Historical References, Probably inaccurate horseback riding, Poetry, References to Oscar Wilde, Period-Typical Sexism, Victorian Attitudes, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Attempted Sexual Assault, Gun Violence, Blood and Violence, Rap Battles, Bandits & Outlaws, Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Pining, BAMF Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Saves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus from Roderick Burgess, POV Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Kidnapping, Period-Typical Racism

In the summer of 1895, Morpheus Sanfin – poet, omega, and disappointment to his wealthy father – flees England on the heels of Oscar Wilde's imprisonment for gross indecency out of fear that he will be condemned for the same unnatural urges. Seeking a new life in America away from the stifling hand of his father and the expectations of his sex, Morpheus sets out for California with Hob Gadling, a mustang driver who agrees to guide him, not knowing that along the way they will encounter natural wonders, the ghosts of their pasts, and perils that will force Morpheus to reconcile with both his sex and his feelings for his new companion.

Chapter 1 is up on AO3!

The fantastic header is from art done by @fishfingersandscarves. Thank you so much darlin for letting me use it <3

[dustballdrawsartwork]

Just some more detailed drawings of mine. Hope you guys like it! :D

[delta-pavonis]

White Horse Mafia fic:

show me who I am

by @dancinbutterfly & @delta-pavonis

gun rendering by Samantha Baqvel, banner by @delta-pavonis

Dreamling (Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling) || Rated E || in progress

Sequel to Name Me, Tame Me. Prequel to Early and Late.

Please read the content warnings (which will update with each chapter): Alternate universe - Mafia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting. Mafia AU, White Horse Mafia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha!Hob, mob boss Hob Gadling, Omega!Dream, gun moll Dream, Blood and Violence, did we mention this is a mafia fic?, Guns, Discussion of Sexual Slavery, Sexual Slavery, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mating, Mating Bites, Feral Behavior, Vaginal Sex

I will not let you survive parting from me again.

Read on AO3

[rachelsimbuild]

Madagascar Zoo Tycoon - The Sim 4

💖 Map : Brindleton Bay - Size : 64 x 64

💖 Pack To Used : Snowy Escape - Island Living - Get Famous - Seasons - Cats & Dogs - City Living - Get Together - Get To Work - Jungle Adventure - Outdoor Retreat - Romantic Garden - Holiday - Nodefined

💖 Hope you will like my Zoo , i just want to make something special for Sim 4 , not just a house , and this place can go for coffee or date ^^

✨✨✨✨ CC Need from SYB :

https://s4cc.syboulette.fr/caillou-rock-cc-sims-4/

https://s4cc.syboulette.fr/pride-lgbt-cc-sims-4/

https://s4cc.syboulette.fr/loft-brick-build-cc-sims-4/

✨✨✨✨ ✨✨✨✨ Download here : https://ko-fi.com/s/02c2021044

[yanderenightmare]

TW: noncon, yandere, omegaverse, subjugation, some type of sexism, angsty, also a little fluffy?

fem reader

Discussions about superiority and inferiority between Alphas, Betas, and Omegas have become more popular lately. It’s always been many people’s opinion that the weak should cater to those stronger than them—but a debate with that as its topic is unsavory. Unfortunately, they’ve found new ways to phrase it. 

A resonating “Unmated Omegas are a danger to themselves!” garners much more sympathy…

And with the rise of people talking about it in the media, it was only natural to move the conversation into school as well.

You keep your head bowed in class as the chill runs down your spine. You feel the glare of thirty fellow students—the points of their teeth, too, and how they snicker under their breath. It’s always been rather scary being an omega, but you can’t say you’ve ever felt quite so alone.  

The teacher’s an alpha, so why should he care how what he says impacts you? He’s preaching to the choir, and you’ve never had the right to sing. The three other Omegas in your class have all chosen to stay home. They probably have the right idea—wait it out until it all blows over.

But you don’t know when that might be… You don’t know if that will be.

Society is on the precipice of critical change—new politics, new laws, new systems, new rights that separate you from them. You wallow in fear of the outcome, lying awake at night and scrolling through the news under the safety of your duvet. The statements seem endless. You wonder, why are all politicians Alphas?

You don’t want any of the things they’re suggesting—mating homes to help you find the perfect Alpha to bond with, systematic pairings done from birth, auctions. Is no one going to suggest they put shock collars on all Alphas and Betas to keep them in check? They’re the ones who need to—

“Your scent is distracting the whole class—don’t you feel ashamed?” 

It’s too easy for him to have you bent over the desk, your wrist on your back in his big fist as he wraps his tie around them. He and his goons stand around, all smiles—watching—enjoying it. It’s as if they’ve planned the whole thing, the way two of them peel away from the crowd to grab each their pick of your feet. Parting them, they use your own shoelaces to tie them to the desk legs.

The ringleader laughs. There’s an awful smell coming off him in waves—it makes you quiver. He flips your skirt up and whistles at the sight, showing everyone your ass and cotton undies. The bulge he presses against you is enough to make your tears spill despite how hard you’d fought to keep them at bay, knowing it only arouses them further.

“Aww, don’t cry, little bitch. You should be happy,” he coos, leaning over your trapped form to whisper right at your ear. “Don’t you know? You’ll never feel happier than you will bouncing on my big Alpha dick. It’s all your little Omega cunt dreams about, isn’t it?” He snickers, fiddling with his belt buckle—you flinch at every sharp clink as he jostles the metal. “Well, salvation is here—”

“Keep it to yourself.” Another voice breaks through the sounds of hollers and cheers.

Your eyes open to see him. You despise how your heart jumps in relief.

“Oi, you—” the guy at your back challenges, stepping away from you and toward the interruption.

“Yeah, me,” he states blankly, jaded. He eyes the rest of the guys with disinterest—five betas, zero threat—before telling them, “All of you. Scram.”

They all take a step to walk out as if his voice alone had compelled them, but then the previous guy interjects, making them stop in their tracks again. “Tch—you know what they’re saying. All unmated Omegas are free game, and I won this one. So back off.”

It was like watching a match of tug-of-war.

“Heh,” the intruder laughs. “That rule only counts for Alphas.”

You spot your aggressor's fists curl—there’s a growl rumbling in the back of his throat. “I am an Alpha, asshole.”

“Really?” he feigns, sizing him up with a cocky tilt of his head. “Couldn’t tell.” He doesn’t seem fazed in light of the aggression—actually, it seems to amuse him if anything. “To me, you smell no different from all these other Beta losers.” 

He takes a casual step forward, hands in his pockets and a smile on his face—baring canines with grace.

“But if you wanna prove it, I’m ready when you are.”

It’s quiet after the declaration. The betas are unsure who’s side to pick, none of them eager to get caught in the middle. It becomes a competition purely between the two Alphas.

Without backup, your aggressor backs down and leaves.

“Thought so,” your savior jeers, showing the crowd out, closing and locking the door behind them.

It’s quiet after they’ve left.

You hide your face. Listening to his footsteps approach—he sighs when taking the place of the former guy. He doesn’t touch you, though.

“Y’know…” he starts. “That guy might be trash, but he isn’t wrong…” He picks up your skirt and drapes it back in place. “None of this would ever happen if you weren’t unmated.”

You speak through grit teeth. “Untie me.”

He chuckles familiarly at that, clicking his tongue at you. “What? Aren’t you gonna say please?” But he does what you say anyway. Squatting down, he starts with your ankles.

The scent of your fear still lingers in the air despite your tough act. You’ve always been so steadfast, ever since you were kids, even when it does you no good. He frees your feet—one, then the other, slowly—he even reties your laces into pretty bows before he’s done. 

He remembers it being so obvious. The sun rose in the morning and the moon at night, and you were supposed to be an Alpha while he a Beta at best. You promised you’d be by his side to keep him safe forever, and he wanted nothing more.

But then puberty hit, and nothing was as you’d imagined.

He stands and unknots the tie keeping your wrists restrained.

You immediately push him off—already storming away.

“Do I get no thank you, no nothing? Always so stubborn—” He grabs your arm.

You spin around, an unnatural snarl on your face. “Let go!”

You’d have been a terrifying Alpha. But as fate has it, you’re not. And you shouldn’t act like it. It only lands you in trouble.

But he doesn’t say that. 

“You been watchin’ the news?” he says instead, ignoring your cry and keeping a firm grip on your arm. “Seems like auctions are winning the voters. You know what that means?”

He feels you flinch, followed by a quiver. He can tell. No matter how good you are at hiding it. He can see—the way you’re fraying at the edges, barely holding it together. Always acting so strong. He can’t tell whether you enjoy torturing yourself or if you’re just that good at convincing yourself you’re fine.

“Pretty soon, new authorities are gonna come storming in here, roundin’ up every sorry unmated Omega they find, and put ‘em all on a farm where pompous Alphas can have their pick of the litter.”

He can never tell what you’re thinking, but he knows he doesn’t need to tell you any of this. You’re not stupid, you never have been. He knows you already know. But…

“You should decide now while it’s still your choice.” 

You must be terrified. He understands. But truly… it’s obvious what you have to do, isn’t it?

“It’s not like you have many options.”

It’s obvious. It always has been.

You don’t meet his eyes. You haven’t for a long while. Actually, you haven't since both of you got your test results. He understands this wasn’t what you had in mind, but you can’t afford to mope about it forever—

“How am I supposed to choose any Alpha when you’re all such assholes…”

Your mutter stunts him. It wasn’t what he expected. Or, the words were more or less exactly something he’d expect from you, but that voice—quiet and soft, dangling on the brink of sweet. If you’d said anything else, he’d have taken it as a confession.

“Can't argue with that,” he ends up chuckling again.

You hate how easy this is for him. He would cry at every turn when you were kids. It’s unfair. 

“But you can’t keep doing this, either,” he states. His voice is soft, paired with that ugly authority they all have when talking to you—talking down to you. “Just look where it gets you—scared and exhausted because of it. At least have the brains to stay home.” He says it as if it’s a joke, but you both know it isn’t. His chuckles are light—far from fullhearted.

He bends down, trying to find your eyes. He still holds onto your arm, knowing you’d sooner stomp away than listen to him. His other hand brushes your cheek gently, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You hear the call from the rafters—it’s not about what you want anymore. It’s about what you need.”

That’s what they say, isn’t it? What you need. You want to slap him. Scratch him with claws, bite his throat out—make him choke on his own words. Need? What you need is for them all to fuck off.

You mean to say it with the same sentiment, but something hard and rough in your throat makes all your words come out wobbly. “Mate an Alpha to stay safe from other Alphas. What a joke.”

You bow your head further. The tears return. They burn as they trail down the sore streaks from before.

He’s never seen you like this. He won’t lie, it makes his pants tight—feeling the urge to suck your cheeks, hold you close and comfort you. But knowing you right, you’d probably never let him. Your face would probably scrunch up in disgust, punch his gut, knee his groin, then turn on your heel and leave him on the floor wheezing.

You really would have made the most terrifying Alpha. 

“The world isn’t fair,” he agrees. “But you get nowhere cryin’ about it—do it my way, and you’ll never—”

“Have any freedom,” you cut him off with a sniffle. 

It’s about the most adorable thing he’s seen in his life.

He gets why you don’t like Alphas—they’re all gross. He makes himself sick sometimes. He can’t believe he’s getting off on watching you have a mental breakdown. There’s something seriously wrong with his side of the species. His throat’s tight, mouth watery with the urge to reap your vulnerability. 

Suppressing it only makes his inner beast furious. Some of that aggression comes out in his next words.

“I’m sorry, but the world doesn’t give a shit about your freedom.” 

The grip around your arm tightens, and you look up in shock—watching his narrowed eyes through your watery ones. 

“What you need is safety—now more than ever. Or do you like being preyed on by every Alpha around the corner?” 

Your bottom lip trembles at the reality of it—a little while ago, you were almost— 

“One of these days, I'm not gonna be here in time, and you’ll be a slave to some fucking—” 

He huffs and hangs his head. His hand loosens up—it trembles where he holds you in place.

“In all honesty, I think I’m more scared than you,” he whispers under his breath. “I think I might kill—”

He stops himself again. You don’t know if it’s in an effort not to frighten you or himself.

“Speak about needs…” he begins anew, now softer. “I need to know you’re safe. I need to—” He looks up. His eyes are back to being round. “I need you more than you need me, probably.”

There’s a desperation on his face. It almost looks like he’s on the verge of tears himself.

“So… please?” he begs. “Will you keep me safe like you promised and stay by my side?”

Your tears dry and prickle. Looking into his eyes now, you see the same boy you knew back in your childhood—that one who’d chase you all over even when you’d call him a sniveling crybaby. You realize, Alpha or not, he hadn’t changed all that much at all. 

“It’s not like you need my permission,” you end up saying.

You’ve always been so hard-headed. He has to smile. “No, but I want it.”

You nibble your lip. You can’t believe you’re at the mercy of this big dumb hunk of… you don’t have the words to describe him. He wasn’t exactly a crybaby anymore. 

“Okay. You win.” 

His eyes widen as you bear your neck with a stretch. Head high and shoulders slack. 

You swallow thickly. “Get it over with.”

He shudders at the sight. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but now it almost seemed too soon. 

“We should be supervised by a professional—you know how wrong things can go—”

“Hurry up before I change my mind.” Your eyes remain shut, and your lips pursed.

His tongue grows thick in his mouth at your bark. A sudden stroke of performance anxiety makes his palms sweaty, hands heavy and shaking. But then the sight of your soft neck has his mood shift, becoming drowsy.

He has no control over the growl that begins rumbling from his gut.

But he doesn’t apologize for it either.

He bends forward—breaths on your chest before he licks your throat. You can’t help but whimper at the warmth. He watches you through hooded eyes—your usually angry face is now all cute, riddled with anxiety you try hiding paired with the grim anticipation of pain.

“Shh,” he soothes, kissing the spot softly. He sways you against him, then lifts you up on the desk for you to sit. Grazing your neck with teeth when feeling your hands tangle two fistfuls of his shirt. He expects you to push him away, but you don’t—you tug him closer instead as if silently telling him to hurry up.

But he doesn’t want to rush, doesn’t want to lose himself—that’s how accidents happen. So he sticks to sucking gently, only tiny nibbles that leave your skin hot and lightly bruised in their wake.

You give a moan once he finds the spot, and he growls in restraint upon the pretty sound—feeling you relax despite being threatened with his teeth right at your artery. He almost humps your leg in return, feeling the boil of blood pump him hot and heavy in his pants—breaths turning equally hot and heavy, each one laced with rust.

Drool coated your neck in a cool sheen, soothing the marks made beneath it, while his lips and fangs aroused pleasure in the spot that now ached for the sting of his bite.

“Please,” slipped from your mouth while tugging him closer. 

His eyes, completely drunk on the pretty prayer, had only a slim rim of color left surrounding the hungering bottomless pits, blown full and black with opium.

No one could come and take you away from him now. Not with his print so pretty on your neck. You were his—just as you were always supposed to be.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Natsuo, Amajiki, Mirio ♡ JJK – Yuji, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ DS – Tanjiro, Zenitsu

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

[misstycloud]

Helloo i just wanted to say youre doing god's work with the whole yandere omega x reader thing. You really hit an obscure niche (compared to other omegaverse stuff) and im really happy to see someone writing about this kind of trope! That being said, may i ask for a yandere omega who's married to their alpha reader, and how the omega's yandere tendencies still manifest even though they're already married to the alpha reader? Like maybe they're still a little possessive over their alpha or they still stick close to their alpha no matter what? Thank you so much!

Yandere!omega who is living the dream. They have everything they could ever ask for; a walk-in closet with the hundreds of fine garments, multiple boxes with accessories, a lavish room with windows facing the endless garden, and a generous spouse who spoils them rotten every chance they get.

Yandere!omega who can’t help but revel in the glory and the fact that they have it so good compared to their old bullies. The same people who used so mock them for their looks and pathetic-ness, now writhe in envy. It was a satisfying sight, to say the least.

No longer were they that small and weak nerd forced to eat in the bathroom during lunch. That was in the past. It seems that the hard work had payed off and they can finally experience happiness.

Yandere!omega who, despite knowing you’d never betray them, can’t help be feel anxious whenever others gawk at you when you’re out. You’ll be walking down the street and people would turn around to look at you. You’ll sit at a table in a fancy restaurant and all they’d be able to focus on is how the serves gossip about you. Everyone wants you, it seems. Although, it’s not very surprising considering your appearance and status.

Yandere!omega who, deep down, is still insecure. What is they’re not enough? They know that to most- if not all-think that you’re way above them. Still, they managed to capture your heart and have their love reciprocated. Somehow you love them out of everybody. It’s got to count for something. But what if you see pieces of the old them and you decide everything’s over? It can’t happen. They can’t live without you!

Yandere!omega who in turn gives all those people a foul glare. There is no way they can have you. You belong to someone already; them. And they’ll never give you up. Not even if it was by your own will. Didn’t you promise on your wedding day, you’re theirs and they are yours forever? Oh, you can’t just break promises.

Yandere!omega who complains of how your secretary is bullying them and refusing on letting them into the building to bring your lunch(your secretary married themselves). They cry to you that your family is still not accepting of them and want you to break up, so you need to make choices. They tell you that your friends are bad influences and will get you in trouble one day.

Yandere!omega who hates when you spend long hours in the office. Won’t you spend more time with them? Don’t they matter, or is the paperwork more urgent? Wow, they must be soooo important to you then.

Yandere!omega who screams that you obviously don’t love them anymore. Why would you work overtime nearly every day if you weren’t avoiding them like the plague?

“I gave you my heart, soul and body the day we wed. Is it so hard for you to do the same?”

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Five - On Trial

Apologies for the delay as there were a few speed bumps that my foggy brain just did not want to hump over. This chapter gave me some grief, but I'm still happy with how it turned out :)

Trigger Warnings: religious imagery, ptsd, angst, brief mentions of rape/incest/assault/drugging/coercion/miscarriage

Flat deadened eyes bore chasms through your own.

They peeled away the impregnable shroud of shame masking the abhorrent malefactions of those you’ve wronged.

In a split second of time, those eyes foisted judgment upon all your heinous sins with an executioner’s toll. Damning you to an endless oblivion amongst the cacophony of wailing souls eternally condemned to the River Styx.

Behold! The face of your adjudicator!

Blackened barbed wire constricts the fat of his gluttonous form. Exposed sickly ashen skin held together by threaded catgut, bursting at the seams with bone-white mold. Hellfire caged in little glass vials illuminates the agonized expression glued to a visage of perpetual torment, standing against a backdrop of towering decayed limbs, basking in the multitude of jewel toned offerings left by those who worship at the base of this miserable creature’s sacrificial altar.

…Of all the cheerful residents from the Hundred Acre Wood, who on god’s green earth decided that Eeyore of all things would be the poster boy for Christmas?

The melancholically predisposed cartoon character was a mess of tangled Christmas lights, having apparently failed in his endeavor to liven up the wilted excuse of a barren evergreen behind him and somehow succeeding in trapping his own pudgy form in the decorations instead – the ‘D’ in December knocked crooked in his fruitless struggles.

A paltry souvenir magnet from someplace sunny holds the calendar aloft, Winnie the Pooh designs posted on the side of your fridge with thick glossy sheets. A gift from your fathers; a new one included in their holiday care package every year. 

You’re sure the overstuffed box currently shoved beneath your kitchen table for lack of anywhere more reasonable to house it has its plastic-wrapped replacement buried amongst the other contents. Previous years involved such colorful settings as early 2000’s internet memes or a compilation of fun facts regarding the world’s different varieties of cheeses. Not for your own enjoyment, of course, but for the chagrined expression your family insisted on basking in come Christmas morn.

Not that you admitted to liking this past year's theme of childhood whimsey…

The curlicue numbers on the wintery grid mark the passage of time – crossed out with dry streaks of red ink. Christmas is naught but five days from now, the emphasized date stamped in the upper righthand corner with a glittery ribbon as if the holiday needed even more call for attention. It means almost nothing to you outside of a familial facetime over a microwaved breakfast of cheap eggo waffles. 

You’ll suffer congenially through the good natured poking and prodding. Chloe will send a text; Alex won’t. And the day will pass by in a whisper of silence – the magic of miracles stored back in their damp corporate box for cheapened rehashing the following year.

Holing away in the confines of your solitary habitat came with the added benefit of only exposing yourself to the overhyped celebration on a reasonable once-weekly basis, driving to and fro your therapist's office; painfully ignoring the garish spectacle of such yuletide enrichment as fuzzy wonky reindeer antlers wedged atop sticker splattered minivans, off-key fourth graders caterwauling carols in the backseat, tinsel and fiberglass grating on your teeth.

At least, your antisocialness normally would save you from such headaches. 

When the pharmacy didn’t bungle communications with your primary care physician and refill your prescription two weeks early. 

The voicemail left on your phone this morning was a little more than a minor annoyance. You’d only just finished chasing the taste of bile with citrusy mouthwash, leaning your leaded weight against the cold marble of the sink, stomach still spasming with painful braxton hicks-like contractions. Shaky hands splashed tepid water on your face, wicking away the evidence of exertion and clearing your chin of digested chicken noodle. 

You’d only half paid attention to the robotic voice droning over speakerphone, wiping off your face with a disgruntled glare at your reflection and muffling a groan into the pilled fabric of your hand towel at the automated message. This was not a day to be playing at adulthood. This was a day for warm chunky socks and Disney movie marathons. 

And now because some overworked new hire chugging Red Bulls probably keyed in the wrong refill date in an over-caffeinated zeal, you were once again paying for someone else's mistake. 

(A running theme for your life.)

You shook off the bitter thought with a weary sigh, hanging the damp towel from the plastic command hook on peeling wallpaper. The buzzing of the keypad rattled the counter as you’d cleared out your phone’s voicemail, scooping up the device and trudging back around the corner to begin what should’ve originally been an easy day. 

Now, a few hours of lounging had garnered you enough gumption to voyage out amongst proper society once more, rinsing your chubby dinosaur mug from earlier in the sink as your eyes flick up unwittingly to the calendar nearby. 

You know what you’re counting even as you abash yourself for it. 

The crumpled bag of mostly full coffee grounds has been sitting in your bin for the past two days, put there in an abstract protest to the blatant disregard of your feelings by a caustic alpha. The taste on your tongue has become as phantom as the scent that once clung to your coat rack, wafted away by a bottle of descenting spray the same way you wish to purge his lingering effervescence from where it's taken root in your spine.

The offending bag collects dust at the top of the pile, placed there in a huff at the start of every morning. When its existence mocks your suffering and the grief of a life you’ll never get to live is at the forefront of every painful heave into grimy porcelain, forced onto your knees like the flaccid servient creature that beast has morphed you into. 

Still, there’s no sign of refuse or food waste on the flimsy outside packaging. It never stays put long enough to accumulate filth or bury itself in neglected disuse. At the end of the night, when the wounds of before are wrapped in a somnolent layer of protective padding, it returns to its spot amongst the clutter of your countertop, a pitiful idol to the foolish part he’s allowed to fester against your better judgment.

God, you’ve tried so hard to ignore it – you really have. With what little there is to occupy your mind in this lackluster environment, the labor of staying detached is proving arduous. John’s memory agitating the stripped-bare axis of simple order your world rotates upon.

Distraction eludes you at every attempt to forget. The warmth of your nest is the comfort of his leather embrace, the Zofran on your tongue the calloused paw at your nape grounding you in tempered reality. Soft boar hair bristles are his fingers, the zest in your meal his vigor. His face is in the deep prussian sweater jailed to the back of your closet for the sole crime of coming too close to the cerulean shade that haunts your waking memory.

You thought you already knew what it meant to belong to another. To be branded with someone else’s signet like a bored kid in history class taking chunks out of his desk until it was too desecrated with graffiti to be regarded as anything other than his unofficial property. No one wanted to touch what the school bully had already sullied.

Until John.

It didn’t matter that the seat was already occupied. He just scratched out the nameplate with safety scissors and staked his claim with a wad of gum beneath the chair.

He was dark matter wedging its way to take up space between condensed molecules, bullying the other elements into submission until his chemical makeup twisted you to something there was no coming back from. Sweeping in with the strength of a category five and the persistence of the big bad wolf.

You despise John for the damage he’s incurred to your house made of straw – all of them really – but you detest yourself even more for the gnawing disappointment flooding your gut that he hasn’t shaken the foundations further.

The hiss of pain between your teeth as you adjust the abrasive scarf around your neck serves as a sobering reminder of the real cancer infecting your cells. Even if the claim was buried under layers, it didn’t mean your flesh didn’t still carry the scars from its etching. 

Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you take to the task of unlocking each of the bolts guarding you from the true terrors of an alpha’s altruistic attention. 

Please just let this be quick.

The sneer from the old crone in aisle two has you ducking the latter half of your face in the itchy fabric that hides the one thing you’re currently being judged for.

You don’t know her name, but you’ve seen her outside the steps of your apartment enough with her hellspawn of a pomeranian to know she lives in your building. The grey curls of her poodle cut perm do nothing to hide the splotches of alopecia that come with age. Tissue paper skin dappled with sun spots begs for the youth of collagen, gaunt around her cheekbones and only highlighting her witchy exterior, a moth eaten shawl hanging loosely over the quasimodo hump keeping her from standing at a height taller than that of a twelve year old child.

The grouchy bat is clever, though, you’ll give her that. There’s a discerning eye behind those tortoiseshell frames that speak of a bygone prime filled with intrigue and gossip that’s followed her well into her twilight years. 

She’s honed her intellect well.

And she knows.

Your skin crawls with maggots under her heated glare, boring subdermal tunnels that reach beyond the capabilities of a simple itch. The writhing anomalies only add to the growing discomfort of waiting in the pharmacy queue for far longer than need be. Ten minutes you’ve been behind the same middle aged man – too diffident to interrupt the conversation going on ahead of you – as what should’ve been a simple snatch and grab of his blood pressure medication turns into three decades of catching up with a bygone acquaintance from primary school.

“–when Janine drank some weird concoction back at Jimmy’s place. Fucking health nut has his own carbonator in his kitchen and she got the bright idea on six shots of cuervo to run a glass of milk through the damn thing. Ended up spewing all over Crystal’s pants.”

To their credit, the pharmacist had at least been working on filling prescriptions as he prattled on with the bald spot beta in front of you, bustling between stocked aisles of jarred substances and counting out little white tablets with every ping from the database. He just didn’t seem to care about the goings on inside the store. “Adam mentioned that when I ran into him at the football match last June. Isn’t that O’Hara’s omega? The one who used to save her gum in a giant ball after she was done chewing it?”

Eww. Seriously?

“Nah, that’s Abigail. Crystal was Billy and Carter’s girl.”

That seemed to catch the other alpha in his tracks, a quizzical brow replacing one of mild interest as he paused his fingers over the keyboard. “Was? What happened to her?”

“Fucking up and left them, that’s what. And right after they supported her through that unfortunate miscarriage too. Came home one day to an empty nest and a note on the table telling them she was done. Poor guys never even saw it coming.”

“Wow. Who would’ve thought she’d turn out to be one of them?”

“Yea,” the beta’s tone turned sour. “Unfaithful bitch.”

The Unfaithful. 

That’s what they call you now. 

Those who have forsaken their oaths and disgraced the name ‘omega’. The sanctity of packdom desecrated by egocentric bond breakers. Scheming harlots abandoning their worshipful protectors– denying them their designated rights and withholding the gift of eternal peace upon those alphas worthy enough to be chosen.

False omegas. Government apostates to how things are supposed to be run.

Doesn’t matter that those who claim to be victims before the courts are the same conniving bastards stripping us of our bodily autonomy. Nothing is impermissible. 

Rape. Incest. Assault. Drugging. Coercion. Words that carry weight become cotton candy deadlifts in the face of a mating bond. It has no undoing – no magic words or medical procedures. There is no running towards the arms of a better pack in hopes of a brighter future; no room for another in the tether of your soul. That anchor has taken root in the rock bed and cannot be claimed outside the mysticism of a scent match. 

Crueler parts of the world would hunt you down like the runaway slave they’re too cowardice to admit they perceive you as, a bounty placed upon your head and welts on your back for disobeying, brittle nails clawing at the dirt in a last attempt at freedom, dragged back to your master in an iron wrought collar displaying the shame of your sins. 

Suppose you should consider yourself lucky that here, amongst the dredges of refined society, your kind are merely shunned.

Bosom friends all turn their backs, work desks empty into a cardboard box under the guise of ‘performance issues’. The deli at the corner claims they’re closed, red blocky letters drawing blood by the gallons as the patrons inside regard you like you’re nothing more than a sopping wet stray begging for scraps in the rain.

There are no laws that protect from discrimination for people like you. The lease in your fathers’ names and the lie from their lips are the only things sheltering you from homelessness. Others are not so fortunate as to have the word of an alpha keeping them off the street. 

The forlorn promise of a better tomorrow is all that greets you now in the wake of devastation. There is no higher contract than the bite marks on your neck. 

The scathing look from the disgruntled woman would be warranted by those around you if they were privy to the same suspicions she carried. The signs were all there if they only knew where to look.

“Miss?”

You hardly notice when they end their interaction, the off-putting customer service smile from the alpha behind the counter making the pit of your stomach rumble with unease as you scurry to the front, quietly offering up your personal information as you place your ID on the counter.

If he only knew he had the power to blacklist you in his hands…

You fork over the cash in far shorter time than the previous customer did, spending less than two minutes to his twenty before you duck away from the substantial line that’s formed in the time since your subsequent arrival. 

It’s your luck the old hag is three guests behind you, averting your gaze to the task of stashing your meds to try and keep from further interaction. Too bad a half century’s worth of smoking comes out in the rasping slur she spits at you from underneath her breath.

“Fucking glitch.”

You’ve heard the words directed at you once before, only far more cutting and uttered from a far different mouth. That didn’t stop the insult from piercing through to bone, a deep ache in your ribs that slows your gait and gives you pause beside the basket drop-off. 

A quick glance around confirms a lack of disdain from your fellow shoppers. You’re surprisingly fortunate that her biting remark hadn’t been made any louder. You frequent this shop often enough to be recognizable to most of the staff – though not on any sort of conversational terms. Being blacklisted here wouldn’t just result in an inconvenient trek farther for medical service, but a mark that would deny usage no matter the location.

Every step out your front door is a chance for your past to catch up to you… in one form or another.

A shock of cold jolts you from your far-away stare, startling a yelp that draws brief attention as you jump back from the unwanted contact, hand retreating away at the abrupt offense. Cradling it to your chest, you’re met with cobalt eyes and sunshine hair, a bright eyed pupper beaming up at you from its spot perched at your feet.

“Sorry about him!” An apologetic voice squawks to the left of you, calling your attention to the hobbling beta woman at the other end of the leash. Her neon green marshmallow puffer greets you before her dark curls and round cheeks, a prosthetic hand keeping grip on her furry friend. “He’s a well behaved boy I promise! Ain’t gonna bite ya or anything.”

“Oh no, he’s fine!” The tremble in your words is more from social awkwardness than anything, having been caught off guard in a place far too crowded for your tastes, rolling your shoulders to halt the impulse to scratch. “Just wasn’t expecting a wet dog nose is all.”

The beta, on the other hand, has no problem running a knitted mitten over the back of her neck. “Yeaaaah, it’s not often he gets away from me like that. You see, he’s my service animal.” She calls attention to the black vest around his body, a litany of bright colored patches and big blocky words adorning the functioning harness that you hadn’t quite discerned upon first glance. “He uh… was just alerting to you.”

It takes you a moment to process the words, blinking down at the panting canine regarding you with eyes more keen than the pea-brained expression would suggest. 

Good to know even a dog can sense you’re nine different levels of fucked up.

“You can pet him if you want,” comes the gentle offer upon spying the embarrassment painting your features, taking her faithful companion’s inattention in stride. The quirk of her mouth gives you a green light even if her words already did. “Far be it for me to disagree with the boss here when he puts his mind to something.”

The words of declination rest limp on your tongue, a moment’s hesitation giving way beneath the understanding gaze of an impartial animal whose sole purpose is to provide the comfort of love. Crouching down to its level – uncaring of the salt trekked state of the tile – it's almost instinctual to wrap your arms around the retriever for an act that seems so much more dangerous coming from any other being. The muzzle that finds home in the junction of your shoulder roots you through the floor, going beyond solid concrete foundation and miles of serpentine pipeways, winding through terraceous cracks unyielding to the progress of man to find purchase in the damp soil unseen for thousands of years, unbowing to the anything but the turn of the earth.

Calm is not the word; the pounding pulse in your ears and the headrush of being out in public still ring through the chittering bustle of checkout lanes to keep you on your toes. Yet the ache in your soul feels less like a boulder and more like a handful of a pebbled shore.

Pulling away from the smell of damp fur, slobber greets your face in the form of affection, features pulling taut against the playful onslaught trying its best to intrude between the cracks of your mouth. 

“Easy does it, bud.” A soft yank on his harness serves as a gentle reminder, turning from loveable pup to esteemed gentleman panting in perfect submission. “No one wants to taste what you had for lunch earlier today.”

You flash her a grateful smile for the interference, fingers moving next to scritch around the bright red collar mostly hidden by dense hairs, a glinting dog bone with cursive scrawl clacking against the knuckles of your hand. “Rocky, huh?”

“Yea,” she chuckles. “Don’t judge, but he was actually my favorite power ranger as a kid.” Her mittened hand joins yours in the thick pelt of his neck, scratching at some secret spot that gets his tail thumping, the appendage a whirling propeller trying in vain to achieve liftoff. How long they must’ve been in each other’s company for such familiarity. “Figured since this little guy was gonna be my hero too, he deserved a name befitting the courage he inspires.”

Her sincerity sparks something in you as you reach back to your own childhood, the sizzling of pancakes on the griddle against a backdrop of Saturday morning shows. Your smile warms at the memory. “Hey, no judgment here. After all, mine was Tommy.”

The moment breaks with shattered glass somewhere off to the right, the both of you reacting with varying degrees of frazzled nerves. You don’t miss the way her hand strikes out with practiced swiftness towards her hip, something nonexistent bumped away from flexing fingers by a patience nudge. Wide eyes glance down at her stalwart companion, already staring back with all the surety of his namesake, pushing her palm further against the smoothness of his head, urging her to stay with him in the safety of the moment. You don’t know the ghosts that haunt her–doing your best to avert your gaze from the glimpse of carbon fiber–but you watch as they retreat with calming breaths back to the place where they were born.

She shoots you a look you know she rather wouldn’t, an unspoken apology wrapped in embarrassment as familiar to you as it is to her, understanding passing between mirrored irises. There’s a shuffling of feet as you both scurry on your respective ways, you towards the outside air while her path takes her further inward. A quick glance over your shoulder finds him pressed against her side, snout turned upwards with a lolling tongue and dopey smile, eyes on the caregiver staring back at him with fond devotion. To have something that loves you that much…

Your gaze softens along with your words. “Good boy, Rocky…”

Fire ants bite into your cheek as the sharp crack that accompanies them leaves an outline of lava, the slap mark on your face glowing red hot and searing with the weight behind their assault. It dulls as the molten rock cools, a beating heart on the surface kept in time with the now racing pulse in your neck. The shock of it is almost as painful as the protruding iron shelves getting knocked against your spine, blowback jostling the festive display contents some poor stocker worked so hard on as cardboard cubes of kleenex clatter like ornaments to the muck-stained floor.

The outcry from your lips is muffled in comparison to groaning metal shifting under your weight, hand instinctively flying up as a wall to protect from further onslaught. Heat blooms again even under your careful touch, hissing in a gasp as wide eyes filled with glistening saline catch up a moment before your nostrils take in a familiar decadence. 

Her omega scent of rich warm brownie, fresh out the oven – but swallowed from the edges by the beginnings of char. Too high a temp getting cooked for too long, potent in its fury as it cracks and concaves. A sickeningly sweet outer shell transmuting under pressure, turning perfect gooey fudge into bubbling tar.

The visage that greets you is tempered by dread; a mixture of refined beauty and smoldering hate.

White fluffy earmuffs contrast against long chocolate waves spilling like molasses over a matching pristine peacoat – as if not even fate itself dared to sully such purity. If the air of refinement somehow doesn’t outclass you than the designer handbag does. No pack could ask for a more exemplary omega.

You’ve seen those cheekbones on the cover of magazines, that glassy skin splashed clean in luxury skincare ads. Perfect porcelain as artistically rendered as fine chinaware. Every model you’ve ever envied taken shape as your worst nightmare. Dark bambi eyes red-ringed with acidic tears, button nose flaring with each heaving rise of her trembling shoulders. Full pouty lips quiver under the enormous weight of emotions that threaten to claw almond manicured nails through your skin like chainsaws.

There is anger, but there is also pain.

And you caused it.

You do not know which response consumes you more: panic, or shame. 

“You–” her voice breaks like her heart, delicate wind chimes in a spring downpour. “You s-stay away from them…” Her words come in a struggle, fighting for stability whilst she hangs onto her composure with a thread as thin as spider silk. “They’re not yours… so… so just– just leave us alone!”

Gone is the lighthearted vision spun in innocent etherealness from that day in the store. Sparkling doe eyes now filled with scorn don’t suit the unblemished being not a foot in front of you. There’s an ingrained sweetness in her now pitiful form that so easily calls to an alpha’s protectiveness, a creature that deserves to be cherished, adorned; royalty reincarnated to a modern day princess.

There are only traces of that now standing a few feet in front of the automatic sliding doors, a smashed box of tissues keeping the mechanism from closing and sending a chill over the entire conversation. 

You shrink in on yourself, lowering your gaze in a meek show of submission that speaks where your own voice fails. How could you continue to look her in the eye when you are the reason this woman is suffering? When you are the bad guy in every sense of the word?

Filth. Sullied. Poison. Suffocating her with your very presence as if your own tainted pheromones could overcast hers.

You expect more–deserve more–but she turns on her heels, the sensors allowing passage as she hurries back out the way you suspect she only just came.

You’re as stunned as the bystanders around you, blinking at her retreating form into the small parking lot beyond. You can’t help but watch as she races across the asphalt, thoughts of her own task left behind in a trail of her own tears. Badly muffled whispers start in earnest at the display. Chorused words of ‘wicked woman’ following you out onto the pavement. Tongues lashing into open wounds kept bleeding by your own shame. 

That pain is nothing in the wake of the familiar figure of a towering form.

He meets her halfway, hulking mass climbing out from the cab of a blackened range rover at the first sign of her obvious distress. From this far away you can only make out the sounds of heaving sobs, watch as dainty hands clutch the dark material of her protector, the furrow of his brow as he searches for answers to her suffering.

Whatever she responds, you find yourself once more snapped in place by the weight of his stare, looking no less worse for wear than the first time he did. 

Logic says the phantom tartness on your tongue is a hallucination ingrained from previous exposure, but the inner omega whining helplessly to be understood doesn’t comprehend the self inflicted wounds she scores with brittle claws at the first chance to taste. In many ways, designative instincts retain the innocence of youth: purely reactionary in their naive disregard. They’re doe-eyed five year olds holding up the mangled body of a broken baby bird and proclaiming ‘they can fix it’. To them, they don’t realize the damage that comes with wishing for a bite of lemon zest when they know that cupcake is theirs, deaf to the scolding of a parent who knows better. 

After all, what gives you the right to take what hasn’t been offered? For wishing for the comfort of an alpha’s scent that doesn’t belong to you? All it does is make you feel like the shameful thief the people in the shop think you are.

So you keep your distance from the alpha and his mate, once more stuck in a whirlwind of unintentional trouble. He’s too far away to make out the hues of his eyes, but his body language tells you exactly where he stands in all this. Fingers flexed in a possessive grip, the placement of his hand curled around her mid back, the subtle hunch he takes as he tucks her tearstained face beneath his covered chin.

A choice. 

Conceal. Protect. Intruder.

You once wondered at the outcome if you hadn’t run that night; if the call that beckoned you ‘wait’ had kept you rooted to the floor. How would this mammoth have reacted - the one who only watched in pure neutrality as your world crumbled apart? Would he have let his friend make the first move forward? Would there have been an altercation? Spoken words and awkward introductions such as with their Scottish brethren? Did they care about your cowardice? Did the alphas give you chase? Lose your scent in the produce aisle and catch their breaths in the crisp night air? 

At last you have your answer. 

The judgment he passes as he turns his back to you has far more gravitas than the mopey donkey on your fridge. The conjured images of morbidity that entertained you earlier this morning feels like a holiday in comparison to the way your arteries shrivel from necrosis; down another size and a half by Grinch standards.

(Would it ever grow again?)

Closing your eyes against the sight is all you can do to maintain your sanity.

“Lass!”

As if life hasn’t finished causing you torment enough, the rough brogue catching your ears has your eyes peeling back open, the depression gluttoning away at your insides taking note at the promise of further feast, cackling gleefully at the tousled mohawk rounding the the opposite side of the vehicle his companions are approaching. Concern sits heavy on his brow, footsteps sure of their path as the pair sidle up along the drivers side of their SUV, lemon shuffling his omega through the open door he holds and into the relative safety of the back seat. You expect John to join them – to fuss and coo over her the same way he did for you in the cafe. Your masochism soaks up the envy like a yorkshire pudding at Christmas dinner.

But he makes no move to join his mate, blazing a path that leads beyond.

It’s not her he’s calling out for. It’s you.

Something smothers in your chest at the meaty glove that yanks him backwards, the heft of his brawn outmatched by the iron grip stopping him from advancing any further, shoved back against the shiny black of the range rover. The suspension creaks from the sheer force of the impact, giving you a hint as to the momentum which was suddenly reversed and applied to the hull, vehicle tilting a few centimeters off its wheelbase before thudding back down to settle on its chassis.

Charged static fills the air as overwhelmingly as the growl ripped from their chest – from which alpha you aren’t sure. The palpable anger that must be flaring in their scent chokes those unfortunate few nearby into hurrying along, a group of teenagers giving wide berth as the old man a few cars over shoves something fragile into the boot with a telltale crunch, slamming the latch shut before climbing over his center console to the steering wheel from the opposite side. No one wants to get involved in pack business, much less find themselves collateral damage in a showdown between behemoths. 

Where lemon’s mouth is obscured, John’s isn’t, giving you unfiltered access to the snarl he spits up at the man a few inches taller than him. He makes his displeasure clear in a volume still too quiet for you to grasp, but his argument is apparent in the gesturing of his arms, the wildness matched by the heart he so clearly wears on his sleeve. His packmate stands in complete opposition to the outward show of aggression by the former, striking in his marble-like appearance, firm against the blunted chisel of whatever’s being discussed. The only sign that he’s participating comes in the form of the other’s interrupted pauses. 

Your thoughts turn to the omega inside overhearing all of this. The discontent she must feel down the bond from those she loves most has to be just as painful as the ability to hear the quarreling itself. What must she be going through–huddled alone in the shadows by herself–having to listen to what you assume is an argument over another woman… one that a mate is clearly defending?

What consumes her more? Is it rage? Betrayal? Anguish? Abandonment? Jealousy? Your heart goes out to her at this moment in a way you’re not sure her packmates are knowing or even empathetic to. 

You suddenly flinch as if being struck by the accusatory finger pointed in your direction by the up-until-now stoic alpha, nose to nose with a man he’s spent nights pressed even closer against. Whatever point he makes, there’s no rebuttal from the Scot this time – only a strained moment’s silence.

At last John shoves away the arm holding him, straightening his jacket with a look that says this isn’t over as his companion walks away to the driver’s side door. You don’t pay him further mind though as John huffs out his anger like a bull, raking a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze with far more softness. He sees it in your eyes the same way it reflects in his. Two pained apologies spoken without words.

Dark tint keeps you from seeing them as they enter the vehicle and drive off, peeling away with a nod to the discomfort inside but with enough self control to not endanger the ‘precious cargo’ in the back seat.

You knew the other day was too good to be true. It’s clear now the damage you’ve incurred in your foolish desire to forge a connection. The lies John told you to placate his unthinking selfishness. Why the radio silence has been deafening your apartment. 

Nothing is alright. Everything is broken. You’ve ruined god knows how many years of passion and devotion by the sole act of your own pathetic existence. 

You’ve robbed her of that–robbed them. Another reminder that they cannot give it to you. She has taken your place. They cannot claim another.

It’s your fault. Your fault.

Your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault… 

You can’t breathe.

Something’s crawling up your throat. You can’t– 

As customers pass the threshold of the automatic glass doors, no one pays any mind to the sounds of retching in the dumpster.

<< ✿ Previous ✿ <<

[holylulusworld]

Unwanted mate (Steve's version) - Angstober 29

Summary: Rejected. Humiliated. Left outside alone.

Pairing: Alpha!Steve Rogers x Omega!(fem) Reader

Warnings: angst, a/b/o, rejection, unrequited feelings, public nudity (non-sexual), shitty father, scenting, implied kidnapping (maybe?)

A/N: This is Steve’s version of this story Unwanted Mate (Bucky’s version)

Square filled for @steverogersbingo: D4: Maria Hill

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

In your world omegas are rare, sacred even.

This doesn’t mean every omega gets treated the way they deserve.

The time has come. The alpha of your pack has chosen your mate for you. He holds your elbow in a tight grip as he guides you along the endless hallways of the sanctuary. 

Your heart thunders in your chest, and you silently pray this is not a dream. Alpha Prime chose the most desired alpha for you. The alpha of a befriended pack.

Steven Grant Rogers. He’s as tall and handsome as his name sounds on your tongue, and you hope he’ll be happy with your leader’s choice.

“I want you to be on your best behavior,” Alpha Prime whispers. “I know you are going to be a good omega for Rogers, but…he’s picky. Don’t anger him. He rejected a mate once. A bond with one of our omegas means a strong bond with his pack.”

“Yes, alpha prime,” you reply. “I know my place and will happily take my place next to the alpha you chose for me.”

You hide that Steve Rogers is the star of your restless nights. The first time you got a whiff of his scent you knew, he was your true mate. The blonde ignored your presence during get-togethers most of the time, but you are sure, he only tried to follow the strict rules of your pack.

No courting an omega if she’s not chosen. No contact with an unmated omega without the leader of her pack. 

Walking next to the leader of your pack you try to remain calm, and not slick for the alpha he chose for you. Only the thought of being close to the alpha, and that he’ll touch you in front of your packs leaves you breathless.

“He will love you, my dear. You’re exactly what he wanted,” your leader says. “Sweet, smart, and…innocent.” Alpha Prime sounds a little less confident when you step toward Steve Rogers.

The alpha stands in the middle of the sanctuary, surrounded by the alphas of your pack and his. He dips his head to watch your leader and you get closer.

“Alpha prime of Moonstone,” Steve politely acknowledges your leader’s presence. “I see, you came with a gift.” He bows for you, and it makes your heart flutter wildly. “What can you tell me about her?”

“Alpha prime of Howling commando,” your leader reflects the respectful gesture. “This is Y/N Y/L/N. I chose her for you, Rogers of the howling commando.”

“I will consider your offering, Fury of Moonstone,” the alpha says. He holds out his hand for you. “Come here. Let our packs see you.” 

You place your trembling hand into his large palm and allow Steve to lead you toward the middle of the sanctuary. “Don’t be afraid, doll. No one will hurt you here. You are among friends and allies.”

His voice is soft, but his eyes darken as you tremble in front of him. Steve shoves the thin robe you’re wearing down your shoulders, exposing your body to him and the packs.

“Omega,” Steve addresses you with your presentation. “Present for me.”

You immediately tilt your head to expose your untouched mating gland. Steve wraps his hand around your neck to run his thumb over your mating gland. 

“Untouched in any way,” the leader of your pack casually says. It’s crude to talk about you like this, but in this world, it’s a normal procedure. He doesn’t mean to degrade or embarrass you. “She’s only yours.”

Steve hums, and drops his hand to your chest, warm hand running over one of your breasts. “So responsive,” he purrs feeling your nipple hardening under his touch. 

The alpha leans closer to sniff at your neck, inhaling deeply. You only hope he can’t smell your arousal because you don’t want to be a needy omega close to this powerful alpha. “She smells pleasant but—”

Your breath catches in your throat as he steps away. Steve looks at you for a moment, considering his decision before he picks your robe up to throw it at you. 

“She’s not the one I want,” the finalty in his voice makes every alpha in the room gasp. “I cannot mate her.”

The leader of your pack wraps you in his coat. He shakes his head at Steve as the alpha steps away, not sparing you another glance.

“You reject this perfect omega?” Your leader asks, stepping in front of you to protect you. The alphas of your pack follow his lead. They crowd you to make sure none of the foreign alphas tries to take advantage of your vulnerable state.

“I cannot mate her.”

Something inside of you breaks at his words. You don’t know what it is, but it causes physical pain. Breathing gets harder and you clutch your hands to your chest.

Moments ago, the alpha touched you gently, even called your scent pleasant only to reject you in front of all the alphas you know, and respect.

“So be it,” Fury booms. He turns his back on Steve, a sign of disrespect. “My dear, go with Maria. She will help you.” He softly speaks to you, nodding at his right-hand woman, and one of the rare female alphas in your pack. “Maria, make sure she’s comfortable after this disrespectful treatment.”

“I chose not to mate that omega,” Steve argues. “I have the right to reject her.”

“You rejected every omega so far,” Fury turns back around to glare at Steve with his good eye. “No one ever disrespected a member of my pack the way you did today. There will be no bond between our packs. Not now. Not ever.”

Fury’s words are final. He doesn’t listen when Bucky, Steve’s right-hand man and second in commando tries to reason with his leader. The leader of your pack walks away, and his pack follows him. 

“And some of the scent killer please,” your voice is barely above a whisper today. After Steve rejected you in front of your pack, it’s hard for you to feel like yourself. Your bubbly personality got swallowed by the dark pit in your chest that Steve left of your heart.

“Which one?” The clerk politely asks. “Miss?”

“I’m not sure.” Unsure which scent killer you should buy you helplessly glance at the clerk. “Can you recommend one? I must hide my scent and never did this before.”

“No problem, miss. That’s my job. We will find the right scent killer for you.”

“She’s hiding in her room all day, alpha prime. All day she’s weeping and whimpering. We thought after you chose her to become Steve Rogers’ mate that she’d leave her home. What shall we do now? A rejected omega is worthless to her family.”

“You should not talk like that about your daughter,” Fury’s jaw ticks as he stares at your father. “Y/N did nothing wrong. She got wronged by Steve Rogers. I was sure she was the mate he wanted and then he rejected her without a reason. This is on me, not her.”

“Alpha prime,” your father gasps. “Don’t defend my unworthy daughter. Something must be wrong with her. She always had her head in the clouds, and her nose in a book. No wonder the alpha rejected her. Maybe we should send her to a convent.”

“What are you saying? This is insanity!”

“No alpha will claim her now, alpha prime. Another prime rejected her. There is no hope. She’s a liability, nothing else.”

“I’m responsible for her downfall, I’ll take the blame,” Fury raises to his full height. He uses his alpha voice to make your father pliant. “If you want to send her off, I’ll take her in. She will not be punished for my mistake.”

His scent hits you out of nowhere. For weeks you didn’t leave the house only to scent the alpha rejecting you close by the moment you left the safety of your sanctuary at Fury’s house.

“No,” you whisper and drop your gaze. “He can’t be here. I must—” You walk in the opposite direction to get away from his scent. 

It must be a cosmic joke that you run into the alpha breaking you down to nothing after you managed to leave your bed for the first time in days.

“I knew it was you. Wait,” his voice makes you stop in your tracks. You want to fight your instinct, but his alpha command forces you to wait for him. “I scented you from across the street.”

Steve steps behind you to bury his face in your neck. “I need to go.” You weakly reply. “Let me go.”

“I scented you, and knew it was you,” he repeats while sniffing along your neck. “Fury took you away that day and didn’t let me explain things. I couldn’t mate you because of an old bond I had to break first.”

“I don’t understand…” you sniffle silently. “Please let me go.”

“My first omega, I lost her years ago. When we were both still so young. Barely grown pups. I wanted to be sure that I could move on and visit her grave. But the leader of your pack insisted on meeting you too soon. I wasn’t…ready,” he breathes in your neck. “I had to say goodbye to Peggy first.”

“It’s been months,” you argue. “You should find a new omega then. Maybe one suiting your taste and fulfilling your every wish.”

“I talked to your pack leader a month ago. He refused to let me court you,” Steve nuzzles you. “He said, I need to earn the right to court you, and that he won’t force you to become my mate.”

“I cannot become your mate. You rejected me. Our rules say, you lost the right to mate me,” you sigh feeling his nose brush your mating gland. “I cannot become yours, and I don’t want to. Not anymore.”

“I was a fool and tried to fight my instinct. I knew the moment you stood in front of me that I’d do anything for you, and I will,” he wraps his arms around your waistline. “I don’t give a shit about Fury’s rules. You’ll be mine…”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[obsessiveagony2point0]

🅾️🫄- Omegaverse and Mpreg

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Aster :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Too perfect for this world... She belonged with the stars...

Aster from the second part of my Omegaverse Dreamling fanfic, Sweet, Little Star.

Original Post Date: November 2023

Twitter/X•AO3•Pillowfort •Linktree•Bluesky•Ko-fi

[moorishflower]

Make perfect the present END and EPILOGUE!

Make perfect the present || Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling || Explicit || 18/18

Alternate Universe - Western, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Western, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Historical References, Probably inaccurate horseback riding, Poetry, References to Oscar Wilde, Period-Typical Sexism, Victorian Attitudes, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Attempted Sexual Assault, Gun Violence, Blood and Violence, Rap Battles, Bandits & Outlaws, Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Pining, BAMF Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Saves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus from Roderick Burgess, POV Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Kidnapping, Period-Typical Racism, Plot-Resistant Perfume, Angst with a Happy Ending

In the summer of 1895, Morpheus Sanfin – poet, omega, and disappointment to his wealthy father – flees England on the heels of Oscar Wilde's imprisonment for gross indecency out of fear that he will be condemned for the same unnatural urges. Seeking a new life in America away from the stifling hand of his father and the expectations of his sex, Morpheus sets out for California with Hob Gadling, a mustang driver who agrees to guide him, not knowing that along the way they will encounter natural wonders, the ghosts of their pasts, and perils that will force Morpheus to reconcile with both his sex and his feelings for his new companion.

Chapter 17 and 18 AO3!

The fantastic header is from art done by @fishfingersandscarves. Thank you so much darlin for letting me use it <3

[dustballdrawsartwork]

BEHOLD! Icons I use to make maps! Please don't let these look like trash. forbidden t site.

[bridenore]

HD eight year fic recs : 10k to 20k words

Here are a few drarry eight year fic recs that are between 10k and 20k words. Posted in alphabetical order, as always.

All the Sense in the World by @l0vegl0wsinthedark [10k]

He had absolutely no idea what was about to happen. Maybe Malfoy would kick him in the face. Maybe he’d scream loud enough that the whole school would rush in and see him lying there between Malfoy’s legs with his cock rock hard. Maybe he’d hex Harry’s rock hard cock off. Hell, maybe Harry’d wake in his own bed in a few minutes with a rock hard cock and would never again be able to look at Malfoy without sprouting an instant hard-on. Or maybe he and Malfoy would have sex.

All Your Stars In View by @alpha-exodus [18k]

Life after the war is difficult for Harry, especially when the only thing that makes him feel better is, oddly enough, being around Malfoy. So when Malfoy asks to paint his portrait, Harry can’t refuse, even if it means baring himself in more ways than one.

Deep Waters by @huldrejenta  [13k]

Back at Hogwarts, eighth year turns out to be just as miserable as Draco had suspected. Struggling with post-war apathy, he tries to find something positive he can do for himself. Like secretly learning how to swim in the Great Lake. Only things don’t go as planned when Potter somehow finds out.

Dreaming of Harry by @writcraft [11k]

The first night Draco Malfoy dreams of Harry Potter, everything changes.

Famished by LadyGaGalion [10k]

Draco thought his life couldn’t get any worse. He was wrong. Now Harry Potter’s stuck to his arm.

He Was a Skater Boy by @m0srael [19k]

Harry Potter intends to spend his eighth year at Hogwarts avoiding the endless stares, whispers, and nosy questions that never seem to leave him be. He wants nothing more than to hide in the quiet solitude of his dorm room, keep his head down, and wallow in his grief. At least, that’s his plan right up until the moment Draco Malfoy kick-flips his life upside down.

Hold Close Your Heart and Take the Leap by  @dracogotgame  [19k]

Draco knows he needs to tell Potter their lives are about to change forever. But ‘knowing’ and ‘doing’ are two very different things. 

Hung Like a Hippogriff by Magnolia822 [16k]

After Dean Thomas catches Malfoy wanking and tells everyone about his giant cock, Harry can’t stop thinking about it. Not because he’s attracted to Malfoy, mind, but because he’s concerned Malfoy is up to something. Er … 

In the Interest of Interhouse Cooperation by @firethesound [11k]

Organizing a Duelling Club was supposed to be a fun extracurricular activity for Harry’s 8th year. But add in Draco Malfoy and a malfunctioning Room of Requirement, and things can’t help but get complicated. 

‘Ohana by plumeria47 [11k]

It started off so simple: sex whenever they wanted it, with no further expectations.  But life has a funny way of turning everything up on its head.

Pure Imagination by @aibidil [14k]

An eighth-year tale of depressed happiness, reluctant imagination, and conflicted hope. And skateboarding.

The Room that Changed Everything by @multiverse-of-fanfic [18k]

When a sabotaged potion lands Harry and Draco in detention, Harry must wrestle with two uncomfortable truths: One, Malfoy the nemesis no longer exists. And Two, Harry is embarrassingly attracted to him. With the war behind them, can Harry and Malfoy build something from the ashes, or are they doomed to be enemies forever?

Said and Unsaid (or, The Value of Knowing When to Stop Talking) by bryoneybrynn [14k]

When the Interrogator asked if he had anything to say on his own behalf, Draco shook his head, his lips pressed tight in a thin line. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.

Say It Out Loud by @pheaphilus [11k]

Eighth year was bollocks, as far as Draco could tell.

Sex and the Art of Castle Maintenance  by birdsofshore [14k]

“Come on, boys,” Zabini drawled. “You’re only delaying the inevitable.” Trouble always had a way of finding Harry, and eighth year was obviously going to be no exception.

so scarlet it was by Olena [19k]

Draco’s back for his Eighth Year as part of his parole. He’s doing his best not to annoy any war heroes and avoid Harry Potter as if his life depends on it. Too bad Harry has other ideas.

The Slytherin Host Club by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony​ [14k]

Harry is simply looking for a quiet place to finish his Potions essay. It’s a pity he ends up at the Slytherin Host Club instead. Or maybe it’s a blessing in disguise, since he’s had a secret crush on Malfoy for a while…

Through the Looking Glass and What Draco Found There by @magpiefngrl [17k]

Draco discovers the Mirror of Erised is a portal and he enters an alternate reality where your deepest  desires come true. Or how Draco found himself in the world of his dreams and Potter had to come and ruin it.

Truffles, Noble Lord of the Sky by megyal [10k]

Fuck fairies; and Longbottom, too.

Truths, Dares, and Love Affairs by @ronbinary [17k]

NEWTs are approaching, Mind Healing is mandatory, and something is wrong with the castle. And then, there’s Potter.

Tug-O-Want by @dysonrules [16k]

Harry is back at Hogwarts minding his own business when he finds himself magically drawn to Draco Malfoy. Over and over again.

Twice as Much as an Earthquake by @firethesound [18k]

Accidental bonding. Breaking and entering. Conspiring, however unwillingly, in the strange one-man war Malfoy’s waging against detention. This isn’t the normal school year Harry anticipated having, but at least it’s not boring. 

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[cocoacat323]

Scum Villian Fic Recs

So, I've been reading fanfiction for a long ass time, longer than I've been on Tumblr and have always loved fic recs, and now I realize I can make my own(yay!), so here it is. None of these are explicit or anything, but they are super good.

A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk Into The Bamboo House Summary:

Over a year after Shen Qingqiu's death, Luo Binghe consults his servant's servant, concurrently his disgraced martial uncle, for a way to bring the love of his life back. Shang Qinghua sends him in the direction of a certain time-traveling artifact, which supposedly brings one to the day they first met their soulmate. Odd, though, that the artifact ends up missing the destination by just a few years…

A story in which post-Abyss Luo Binghe relives his disciple days, while juggling his secrets, traumas, and some unexpected revelations about the man he loves on top of that.

Unveiling The Imposter Summary:

While tracking a suspicious fortune-teller, Shen Qingqiu falls unconscious. The fortune-teller extracts a glowing orb from his body, telling Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge that this Shen Qingqiu is an imposter, and they can see for themselves if they don't believe it.

Alternatively, the Demon Lord and Peak Lords watch Scum-Villain's Self-Saving System.

Characters Watch the Series fanfic. Post-Canon.

High Mountain, How I Long Summary: Shen Qingqiu, after enduring his trial, is placed into Luo Binghe’s custody at Huan Hua Palace.

meta madness Summary: Looking at SVSSS through the eyes of the universe left behind when Airplane and Cucumber died. (Note: Not a fic, but a series, but every fic in it is so good so definitely check it out.)

it's only shameless if you had any shame to loose in the first place Summary: They have not told anyone about their marriage, and at Shen Qingqiu's request, they will only do so once the wedding preparations are done. No one will have time to nag!

But in the meantime, Luo Binghe, demonic lord or not, is only an alpha. He must do something to show off his claim or he'll go insane, he really will. He'll qi deviate terribly, see if he won't.

Fortunately, as thin-faced as he is, his Shizun does not care much for proper dynamic etiquette...

love's worth running to Summary: “Shizun,” he purred, darkly calm despite the anger oozing out of his mock-respectful smile. Luo Binghe's grip on Xiu Ya's blade tightened, and he realised with belated horror that his blood was running down the sword and dripping by Shen Qingqiu's feet. His sword had to be held at an upwards angle now, to reach the place where he pierced him back then.

Shen Qingqiu felt sick. There was something wrong in this dream.

“I ask you again. Do you regret it, Shizun?”

//

Shen Qingqiu can't answer whether he regrets betraying him. Luo Binghe wants his Shizun to understand how he suffered, and drags Shen Qingqiu into his dreamscape of the Endless Abyss that night.

The only problem: Shen Qingqiu isn't waking up.

We Are Not Wise Summary:

When Shen Qingqiu drew Shen Yuan’s soul sword, it felt like being burned from the inside out. The fire wasn’t cruel, but it was still fire—hot and destructive, searing the softest pieces of him.

When Binghe’s fingers touch the hilt, he is ready for pain.

Transmigrated into a version of Proud Immortal Demon Way where cultivators manifest their own souls into spiritual weapons, Shen Yuan finds himself sort of kind of…accidentally blackmailing Shen Qingqiu into taking him on as a disciple before Luo Binghe joins the sect.

That should give Shen Yuan plenty of opportunities to make sure nothing goes wrong for his favorite protagonist, right? RIGHT!?

A story of twists, turns, hope, despair, and soul swords. Written for the Bingqiu Reverse Minibang 2023, illustrated and conceptualized by the incredible Suzu!

The Cultivating Force Summary: In which a Master and a Padawan run into a Shizun and a... Sith?

and judgement is just like a cup that we share Summary: The blob finished rotating into place in a way that wasn’t quite compatible with geometry as Shen Qingqiu understood it, and cleared a throat it didn’t seem to have.

“Greetings,” it said, somehow clearly addressing him in particular more than the room as a whole despite its total lack of features other than blueness and translucency. “I’m here on behalf of the Hyper-Celestial Peace and Order Enforcement Bureau. Crime scene secure, proceeding to interviews. Beginning with Subject One: You are Shen Qingqiu, formerly Shen Yuan, also known as Peerless Cucumber?”

"Proud Immortal Demon... Protection Squad?" Summary:

[ REWRITTEN 2023 ]

in which shen qingqiu, the nation's scum villain, doesn't perish from a qi deviation and instead, after dying tragically in his pathetic, sickly, 20 year-old body because he ate some definitely rotten yogurt he mistook for cream cheese like the absolute knob that he is, shen yuan wakes up to find himself in the body of a child, in the middle of a forest, and with absolutely no clue what world this shitty system had dropped him into. he decides to just go with the flow, one step at a time.

what could possibly go wrong?

(the answer is: everything)

(Shen Yuan Might Die Often but His) Old Habits Die Hard Summary: When Luo Binghe asks about his spiritual veins in the Holy Mausoleum, Shen Yuan's chest feels so funny that a lifetime of being chronically ill and reassuring his loved ones that, actually, he's fine kicks in. It is fine, really, because every problem in Airplane-bro's world can be solved by something that's penciled regularly into Shen Yuan's schedule at least eight times a week now.

Except the cure for Without a Cure doesn't work, and Shen Yuan's unlucky enough that Airplane-bro's plot device for winning over a tsundere via 'walking a mile in each others' bodies' hits him before he can figure out an alternative to telling Binghe that actually his five years of rebuilding Shen Qingqiu's spiritual veins diligently failed to cure him.

Luo Binghe is, of course, less than impressed to discover through personal experience what Shen Yuan, with his pain scale so skewed by years of chronic pain, never did during all his time poisoned: that, actually, having spiritual energy forming blockages and blood stagnating in your body hurts like hell.

Anyway, that's all that I've got for now. I hope that if you do take my recs you enjoy them, and remember to read all of the tags. Have fun reading!

[rachelsimbuild]

Madagascar Zoo Tycoon - The Sim 4

💖 Map : Brindleton Bay - Size : 64 x 64

💖 Pack To Used : Snowy Escape - Island Living - Get Famous - Seasons - Cats & Dogs - City Living - Get Together - Get To Work - Jungle Adventure - Outdoor Retreat - Romantic Garden - Holiday - Nodefined

💖 Hope you will like my Zoo , i just want to make something special for Sim 4 , not just a house , and this place can go for coffee or date ^^

✨✨✨✨ CC Need from SYB :

https://s4cc.syboulette.fr/caillou-rock-cc-sims-4/

https://s4cc.syboulette.fr/pride-lgbt-cc-sims-4/

https://s4cc.syboulette.fr/loft-brick-build-cc-sims-4/

✨✨✨✨ ✨✨✨✨ Download here : https://ko-fi.com/s/02c2021044

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is such a naughty little omega. Deep down, he's a very specific type of slut - the type that needs to be roughed up a little before he turns docile, the kind that wants to be cute and pushy until he's overpowered without much effort. A strict voice and firm rules are all well and good, but Hob often yearns for something a little more. He doesn't show it often because he's been raised by society to be good and obedient. However, he knows that it's not his true self.

Having sat on this for awhile, Hob's not sure whether or not to tell his alpha. Dream of the Endless is a gorgeous alpha with an amazing smell and a commanding presence, and Hob had been weak at the knees on the day they first met. He remembers blushing with pride when Dream had picked him as his mate - him, on the large side, rougher looking, not a traditional beauty - despite having his pick of the land. It had been lust and more at first sight, and for the first time in his life, he had found himself wanting to be good, obedient, and perfect enough for Dream.

Dream is from a highly venerated, very old family. One can tell just how respectable Dream is as an alpha, from the restraint he shows around Hob. He doesn't throw his weight around. He's never pushy with Hob, and in public, he certainly doesn't grope, scent or do anything of that nature, even though Hob has more than once fantasized about that prospect. He certainly has been very restrained, even in disciplining Hob (yes, Hob has tried), limiting himself to stern words and statements of expectations for better behaviour. He doesn't even spank Hob! Hob knows Dream does his utter best not to treat him like a baby-bearing little simpleton, and probably even expects him to eventually step up to run a household worthy of an Endless alpha. So Hob doesn't know how he'll handle if it his omega revealed that he wasn't who his alpha thought he was, and was, in fact, far less respectable.

Still, despite all these issues, Hob is very happy. He has a great routine at home. Mornings are for him, afternoons are for chores and the preparation of their dinner. In the evenings, Dream comes home, pounds Hob till he's sore, then forces him to totter off to the kitchen to serve their meal, still unstable at the knees and dripping with cum and slick. The casual show of dominance is almost enough for Hob's slutty hind brain. Dinner is Hob trying to eat as quietly as he can while Dream talks about his day in a smooth, deep voice, highly unconcerned about Hob's discomfort. The chairs have no cushions and his ass is usually sore, or else he's jittery and overstimulated from not being allowed to come. Evenings and nights are pretty much about cuddling, fucking, talking, and other forms of quality time. They love each other very much.

One day, Dream is a little late from work. Hob has developed a Pavlovian response to the seven-o-clock chime of the clock by now, and he just can't help moaning in impatience and getting wet. Where is Dream? He's practically rutting himself into his bed! When Dream finally arrives at 7.30pm, what does Hob do but run out of their apartment, down the stairs, and out the main entrance onto the open street, to jump up with joy and welcome him back.

Unfortunately, in all his horniness, Hob is only wearing his shirt. Passersby on their busy street will swear to seeing a naked man bursting out onto the street with his arms up, a big silly grin, and a wet, flushed dick. Dream gets out the back of his long black car and almost has an aneurysm at the sight.

Upstanding Dream of the iron restraint Endless is this close to losing his restraint. His eyes flare wide for a moment before he acts. He opens his big black coat, steps flush up to Hob, then wraps him up and manhandles him back into their apartment, steep steps and all.

Hob, startled by the sensation of being swooped upon and picked up by Dream, is starting, through his fog of arousal, to realize what he did wrong. Oh. Oh, no. Oh no no no. He, Hob Gadling, the omega of the Dream of the Endless, was seen out prancing in the streets in a highly unbecoming fashion. Surely Dream will punish him now.

Surely Dream will at least bend him over his lap and give his ass (which Hob has kept firm and perky precisely for this occasion) a flurry or two of hot, tight smacks. Surely Dream will lecture him harshly on the importance of omega modesty and self-respect, using proprietary and objectifying language on Hob's body, till Hob is crying in shame and self recrimination. He would surely state in no uncertain terms that Hob's ass and hole and dick and balls, as well as his tits, all belong to him, and on no occasion is he allowed to go around slutting them out for others, even if it's by accident. Dream would have to make clear threats to get the point into Hob's mush brain, maybe threatening to slut him out to random alphas on the street, who will treat him so harshly he runs crying back to Dream, if he really insists on behaving like that sort of street slut. Maybe paddling his backside red all the while to reinforce the point.

Surely.

Slutty omega Hob I love you so much <333

The thing about Dream is that he would love to go all traditional discipline on Hob’s ass (literally), but. BUT. Before they were mated, he solemnly promised himself that he would not allow his own base instincts to rule over him. He and Hob are civilised, intelligent people. There's no need for domestic discipline in this modern age - no matter what Dream’s deranged horny brain may think about it. Unfortunately, the sight of Hob half naked and on display to any passing stranger effectively wipes away Dream’s modern sensibilities... and he completely forgets his intention to treat his omega with cordiality and respect. Oops.

He comes out of his lust and possessive-addled haze some hours later and is horrified at what he has apparently done. Hob is laying across the kitchen table, face down. His arse is a bright, throbbing pink colour - there's a spatula laying on the table too, which clearly made the marks on Hob’s body. The kitchen floor is wet, puddled with slick and cum and probably Hob’s tears. Dream is horrified. His cock is still buried deep inside Hob’s sloppy hole, and he's still actually thrusting into his omega as he stands there and stares.

At that moment Hob turns his head to look at Dream. His beautiful brown eyes are overflowing with tears. Dream is already wondering how he can ever make this up to his poor omega - will Hob leave him? Possibly. He surely won't stand for such treatment.

"Thank you." Hob croaks instead. "This is just what I wanted. If you keep on like this, I promise that I'll be such a good boy."

Dream cums on the spot, and Hob never goes a day without a spanking ever again <3