#alpha force

[hiddenincommand]

This is the uniform of supremacy. Every seam, every glint of polished leather, exudes power and control that mere mortals can only dream of submitting to. It is not worn—it is wielded. A second skin that amplifies the authority of the one who commands it, turning every gesture, every step, into a proclamation of dominance.

The whip in my hand? A mere tool—an extension of my will. Its purpose is not just to punish but to remind the weak of their rightful place, to etch into their flesh the truth of their inferiority. Those who kneel before me, trembling and desperate, know they are in the presence of an Alpha who does not entertain defiance, who takes pleasure in breaking and molding lesser beings to his will.

This is not cruelty. It is justice—the natural order made manifest. To the submissive, it is a privilege to even glance at this perfection, let alone feel its weight bearing down upon them. You are nothing. I am everything. And that is the way it shall remain.

[chromet]

Billie Eilish X Nike AAF88

[snkrbonbon]

Nike Air Alpha Force 88

[ezrasbedroom]

i have no shame and i will go on public record to say the omegaverse is so fucking hot. i would pay ridiculous amounts of money to experience the ecstasy that being knotted in when you’re in heat probably provides.

[compaculaaa]

What Alpha Trion should’ve done against Sentinel

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 45: Heat of the Moment

Summary: There's a nervous energy to the pack as you all deal with the looming threat of your oncoming heat.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 11,479 words

Warnings: Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, a/b/o, omegaverse, NSFW, 18+, explicit sexual content, smut, heat cycles, mating cycles, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, rough sex, biting, scratching, spanking (it's like once), squirting, knotting, some violent imagery, blood, slight angst, language, slight fluff

A/N: You're welcome

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“You look nervous.”

He gives Christine a look. She’s put her doctor hat back on, sorting through supplies Johnny and Kyle picked up on their run to town. His eyes track her hands to avoid staring at her face, watching as she tucks gauze pads into the first aid kit. He swallows thickly, nerves blooming in his stomach.

She is right. He is nervous. His thoughts have been racing since he said those words, since he made the decision to man up and help you through your heat. There’s no going back. He can’t change his mind on this.

No, he’s wrong. He’s not nervous.

He’s terrified.

“It’s okay to be nervous.” She says, snapping the lid closed. There’s stacks and stacks of boxes of nutrient bars and a stack of electrolyte drinks next to your door. The things that will keep you both alive during the next week.

“I’m not nervous.” He says unconvincingly.

It’s her turn to give him a look. “This is new for you, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You’re not.” He says, his fingers twitching where they rest against his knees.

“Well, then there’s some things we should go over that might ease your nerves a bit.” She says, shifting into doctor mode. “There’s a lot that can happen during an omega’s heat, but the likelihood of something bad happening is very slim. Bad things do happen, but it’s a very slim margin data-wise of it happening.”

“But it could still happen.” He says. There is still a chance. Things have happened before, they could happen to you.

She gives him a reassuring look. “You’re not going to hurt her. Omegas aren’t as fragile as you think. Especially not during their heats.”

“But us both being purebreds...the first time we had sex, it was out of control.” He argues.

“And that’s likely the worst it’ll get.” She says. “Being purebred gives you an advantage in a heat. You’re more in tune with your instincts, which in turn will make you more in tune with her during her heat. You’ll be more aware, more conscious of what she needs and what’s happening. No alpha truly loses themselves in a rut. Things get hazy, of course, but there’s still a deep level of awareness there.”

He ponders her words, the nerves starting to ease a bit, but they don’t go away entirely. He’s never done this before. He has no idea what to expect.

“Besides, you won’t be alone for a week. It’s not just a week straight of heat-induced haze. There will be periods of awareness when things die down for a bit. That’s where betas come into play. They come in, check on things, make sure you’re well and eating and staying hydrated.” She gives him a smile. “Johnny will be here for you, and Kyle’s done this twice so he knows what to do. And if nothing else, you have me here in case, on the very rare off-chance, something does happen.”

As much as he hates to admit it, her words to ease the worry just a bit. Still there’s that deep nagging in his stomach, a pit starting to form. He could hurt you. He could do permanent damage. The mental image of him coming out of his rut to a bloody corpse won’t leave his head. Your absent gaze on his face, wearing nothing but the look of betrayal. You trusted him and he shattered it.

“You’re just as bad as she is.”

The words draw him out of his thoughts. He’d floated off into his head, off into the distance where nothing but nightmares lie. He gulps, his eyes flashing to Christine’s face. She’s wearing a small smile, her eyes soft as she stares at him. He drifted off so easily, off into his thoughts just like you do. It unnerves him, but it also speaks volumes of his trust. As much as he doesn’t want to like her, he feels safe enough with Christine to lose his head.

What’s happened to him?

“It’s kind of boring really.” Kyle says, sorting boxes of nutrient bars, putting your favorites on top. “Just a lot of sitting around and listening to two people fuck the next room over.”

“Do ye ever…”

“Sometimes.” He answers. “It’s hard not to at first, but eventually you’ll get so tired of it you’ll pray for the end of the week to come faster.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“You will.” Kyle smirks. “It gets old pretty quick. You’re mostly just listening for any sounds of pain and waiting for a break so you can go in and check on them, make sure they’re eating and drinking.”

“What about that time ye joined them?” Johnny asks.

“That’s entirely different.” Kyle says after a moment. “Focus more on keeping them alive and well this time.”

Johnny goes quiet for a moment. Never a good sign. “Do ye ever get scared for them?”

Kyle is taken aback by the question. He pauses sorting boxes for a moment, thinking over how he’s going to answer that. “I did during her first heat.” He says honestly. “I half expected to walk in there and find a bloodbath or a dead body. I sat there and waited for a sound, ready to rush in there to try and prevent it from happening. It wasn’t needed, though. John took good care of her. It’s rough coming out of it, but they both made it.”

“What do ye do after?”

“First step is make sure it’s actually over. You can tell just by touching her. The fever goes down, she gets sleepy. You get them into a hot bath first, helps with their recovery and temperature regulation. You clean up and change the bedding while they’re in the bath. Then you get them settled in bed again, bundle them up. She cries a lot. Makes you feel bad but it shouldn’t. It’s just a natural response.” Kyle stares at the stack of boxes. “Then it’s just a lot of resting, trying to get them to eat. She’s good at knowing what she needs, and you just let her lead.”

Kyle puts a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. The Scot looks downright terrified, more terrified than Kyle’s ever seen him. He understands, though. It’s a lot to take in, a lot to understand, a heavy weight to bear. The weight of making sure two people lost in their instincts don’t die or kill each other on accident.

“Don’t worry too much.” He tries to comfort Johnny. “You’ve got me right here with you.”

The living area is dark. You can just make out the shapes of the couches thanks to the nightlight in the kitchen. It’s late, and there’s a nervous twisting in your stomach. You stand in your doorway, staring out into the darkness towards the black void that is the stairwell. Your hand is wrapped around the doorknob, the cool metal grounding you as you stand there in contemplation. You’ll wake them, no doubt, and that could be dangerous.

Still…

Your feet lift up onto your toes as you slowly cross the living area, skirting around the dark shapes of the couches. Your body pauses at the base of the stairs, glancing up at the black void above. The bottom of the steps are visible in the darkness up close, and you carefully lift a foot to place it on the wood. You pause there for a moment before lifting yourself, placing the other foot on the same step. The wood creaks softly under your feet and you pause, not even breathing in the stillness.

Nothing moves so you continue, taking it step by step as you tiptoe up the stairs. Every creak and groan has you pausing and for a moment you question if you should have risked it and turned on the light. Creeping around in the darkness with three well-trained soldiers sleeping nearby was probably not the wisest idea.

Still you press onward, pausing at the top of the steps, listening for any movement. You doubt you’d be able to hear them if they were alerted to a presence in their sacred area, but still you hold your breath, ears thrumming in the still silence of the house.

You turn on your toes, going for the door on the right. Your fingers wrap around cold metal, slowly turning. You half expect him to be up and waiting to ambush, but instead you can just make out his form tucked under the covers in the darkness. The door clicks shut behind you as you close it quietly, tiptoeing closer to the bed.

“Kyle?” You whisper, standing there nervously. What if you startle him? What if he stabs you before he realizes it’s you? “Kyle?” You whisper a bit louder.

He lets out a grunt, his head lifting off the pillow. “Huh?”

“Can I join you?” You whisper, relief starting to quiet the nerves. He had been asleep the whole time.

He hums, rolling over and lifting the covers. You quickly slip under the warm blankets, staring up at him in the darkness. You can just make out his tired eyes. You feel bad for waking him when he’s going to need lots of rest later, but you can’t sleep. Nerves untouched by relief still twist in your stomach.

“Kyle?” You whisper his name as he wraps an arm around you.

“Hm?” He hums again, settling under the covers again.

“It’s going to be okay, right?” You ask.

His hand presses against your back, warm through the thin t-shirt you’re wearing. “Everything will be fine.” He murmurs sleepily. “Simon’ll take good care of you.”

“You’ll be there too, right?” You doubt he’d leave, but still part of you needs that reassurance.

“’Course.” He says, pulling you close. “Be right there with Johnny.”

“I’m scared.” You admit quietly, pressing your face into the pillow.

“’S alright.” His breath fans the top of your head.

You lay there in silence for a moment, his breathing slow and even. He’s fallen back asleep, something you need desperately. You could go into head in a manner of hours for all you know. It’s dangerous, leaving your room at such a time, but you need the comfort of your beta right now.

You press your face further into the pillow, inhaling deeply. Something twists in your stomach as you lay there, breathing in the scent on the fabric. The nerves start to settle and you relax further into Kyle’s hold, keeping your face pressed against the pillow.

It smells a bit like John.

“I’m goin’ crazy.”

“You’re going crazy? How do you think I feel?”

“Does it normally take this long?”

“It happens when it’s going to happen.” Dr. Keller says, trying to placate your nervous pack. It’s been six days since you first began to go into pre-heat and everyone is a bit on edge. “There’s no set time between pre-heat and when the actual heat starts.”

“Wish it were like clockwork.” Kyle says.

“You and me both.” You sigh. You’ve been on edge ever since your pre-heat started, something you’ve come to expect. It’s nerve-wracking waiting for the inevitable. You’ll lose your mind, black out and a week will have passed when it’s felt like hours. It’s terrifying, and you’re never quite ready for it. “The anticipation is enough to drive you crazy.”

“Yer tellin’ me.” Johnny says, nervously bouncing his knee so hard it shakes the table.

“You have the easy job.” You snap, squeezing your hands into fists until your nails bite into your palms. The nerves continue to rise the longer the hours drag on. No one is doing anything but sitting and waiting for the inevitable fever that will hit you.

“The boring job is more like it.” Kyle says, trying to diffuse the attention. “Can’t even imagine being on the other side.”

“And you’ve seen it firsthand.” You say, remembering your second heat with John. The vague glimpses of Kyle in the dark haze.

Kyle smirks. “And what a time it was.”

“Fucking christ.” Johnny groans, putting his head in his hand.

“None of that this time.” Simon says, putting an end to the thoughts swirling in the Scot’s head.

“C’mon.” Johnny almost whines.

“No.” Simon puts his foot down. He doesn’t even glance at you. He doesn’t have to. As much as the idea is appealing, you’d rather your first heat with Simon be just with him. You don’t know how this is going to end, and you’d rather not have someone else be involved in the carnage that might remain by the end of the week.

Nerves still prickle under your skin despite your pack’s attempts at calming the tumultuous energy that’s settled over everyone. It’s almost too much now, your palms starting to sweat where your hands are still curled into fists.

“Be right back.” You murmur before pushing away from the table, heading towards your room.

You leave the door open but stand there for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. You stare at the bed, at the sad attempt at a nest of sorts. The big bear is on the floor, as Simon will want it when he gets sealed inside with you. He might see it as a threat and destroy it, even if the thought sounds a bit ridiculous. You have no idea what his mind is going to be like. He’s not like John. He’s rougher, harder, more intense. The thought has something twisting deep in your stomach.

He’s not the only one worried there might be carnage left.

Your first time together had been intense to say the least, and that was while you both had clear heads. Lost in his rut, Simon could easily do damage.

You remember the buckets of plaster, the paintbrushes in the sink, your mother’s long sleeved turtleneck in the dead of summer after coming home from the care center after one of her heats. There were bruises on her face too that she tried to hide with makeup. You were one of the few that got close enough to notice.

Something about it had made you sick, almost as if you knew that would be your future.

You let out a shuddering breath as you climb onto the bed. You sit yourself down in the center, staring at the pillows and stuffed animals arranged haphazardly. It’s not right, but there’s no drive to make it right, no urge to build a nest from what’s sitting in front of you.

“You can’t force it.” A soft voice says behind you.

You turn your head to glance at Dr. Keller. “Isn’t it dangerous, going into heat without the safety of a nest?”

“Not always.” She says, taking a few steps into the room. “You’ve gone through heats before without a nest. It’s riskier, but it’s not impossible.”

“This entire situation is risky.” You murmur.

“What makes you think that?” She asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Simon and I...we lose control around each other. I’m scared...I’m scared that might happen again. And without a nest to feel safe...what if I get violent? What if Simon takes it as a challenge? Will he be able to settle without me having a nest?” The words come pouring out before you can stop them, all of the worries bubbling up like a volcano about to erupt.

“I wouldn’t be too worried.” Dr. Keller says, trying to be reassuring. “There’s a lot that can go right, and the odds of that happening are far higher than the odds of things going wrong.”

“I’ve seen it.” You say quietly, staring down at the comforter. “What happens when it goes wrong.”

“Simon won’t hurt you.” She says, putting a hand on your back. “He’s more in control than you think. There has to be a drive there to cause pain for that to happen in a heat. Heats draw out raw instincts, peel back the layers to bring forth the hidden inner self.”

You think over her words, think of the remnants of violence you had witnessed as a child. It makes your stomach twist. Your father really hid all of that beneath the guise of being a perfect pack, a perfect alpha.

You’d be a fool to think your father ever loved your mother. I’d be even more foolish to think he ever even liked her. She was nothing more than a status symbol, something to give him what he desired and nothing more.

That’s the difference, though. Simon likes you. Love might be too strong of a word, but you know he at least enjoys your company. He wouldn’t go out of his way to hurt you. Even back when you were fighting just for tolerance of your existence, you knew deep down he’d never go out of his way to hurt you. He nearly fought an alpha for you within weeks of knowing each other. He willingly showed you his face and has gone without his mask since then.

He’d never hurt you. He’s never wanted to hurt you.

“You really think we’ll be okay?” You ask quietly, your voice small and broken as you stare at your lame excuse for a nest.

Dr. Keller rubs your back gently. “I know it.”

He’s not ready.

He has no choice but to be ready.

It happens suddenly, but then again he knew that would happen. There’s no head’s up, no countdown. It comes on suddenly and then it’s go-time.

His hands are shaking.

He already knew before Johnny ascended the stairs two at a time in a frantic race to get to him. He could smell it wafting up the steps before your cry of pain in the kitchen. It made him flinch, his entire body tensing. He knew what it meant, even if he’d never heard such a thing before now.

“Simon, it’s time.” Johnny says, panting slightly. From his run up the steps or the sudden burst of adrenaline he’s not quite sure. They’re all so out of shape compared to what they once were.

“I know.” He rumbles, setting his book on the nightstand. He hadn’t gotten very far in it. He’ll likely have to restart it in a week. He was barely paying attention to the words on the page anyway.

It’s time.

He has to keep telling himself that as he rises from the bed. He debates shoes but thinks better of it. There won’t be any use for them. They’ll just be in the way. Even if something does happen, he’ll be too lost in his head to care much anyway. They’ll be entirely reliant on Johnny and Kyle to watch the house, and them.

Something about that is comforting.

Simon takes the steps slowly, descending with heavy footsteps. He feels as if he’s heading to his funeral. In a way he is. The death of his old self, the death of his boundaries, the death of his fear of vulnerability. Once he passes through that door, there will be nothing left of his old self.

Perhaps that’s a good thing.

He pauses halfway across the living room, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Still no word from Price. Something itches in the back of his mind but he shoves it aside. No time to think on that right now. He almost pockets his phone again, but he thinks better of it. He passes it off to Johnny, the Scot standing there, pale and wide eyed. He’s just as nervous as Simon feels inside, and he can practically hear his beta’s racing thoughts.

“Keep an eye on it.” He says, putting a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Any word you tell me as soon as this is over.”

Johnny can’t do anything but nod, his throat bobbing as he gulps.

“You’re a good lad, Johnny.” Simon squeezes his shoulder. “I trust you.”

Something shifts in his beta’s eyes at the words. He needed to hear that, Simon thinks. He’s got a big job to do, even with Kyle here to guide him.

Simon turns towards the other beta, giving him a nod. He can smell you already, your scent heavy in the air, clinging to your beta’s clothes.

It’s making his head start to go fuzzy.

He takes a breath, staring at your closed door. It’s now or never. There’s no going back once he enters. Some deep part of him wants to turn tail and run, escape out the door and never come back. Some deeper part of him wants to take the source of that scent in his teeth and shake it like a dog.

He’s not sure which one is more terrifying.

His fingers tremble as they close around the knob. He takes another breath, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders as he slowly twists.

The scent hits him like a train.

He’s never been hit by a train, but he’d imagine it’s something like this.

It barrels into him, invading his senses and numbing his mind. His thoughts start to seem far away as he breathes in the overly sweet musk spewing into the air like a fountain.

His eyes search out the source, and he finds it on the bed.

He finds you on the bed.

You’re laying there, naked as the day you were born, panting like a bitch in heat. You are, he supposes. You’re on your back, knees bent and thighs pressed together. There’s a hand between them, and he can just see the subtle movement of your fingers.

Needy little thing.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he takes a step forward, closing the door behind him. It seals the two of you in, closing the last barrier between the you and the outside world for the next week.

His scent starts to mingle with yours, thickening in the air as his body responds to the pheromones from your heat. He read about this, he read about all of it in preparation. Yet those facts seem far from his mind as he stands there, breathing you in.

How sweet. How delectable.

He could devour you right now.

“Simon,” You whimper his name, pathetic and quiet. Your fingers tremble as you reach out a hand for him. “Help me.”

Something stirs in him at your begging tone. You need him. You need him to help you. He’s the only one that can.

The thought has his alpha stirring in the back of his mind. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time starts to run through him.

He crosses the room in three long strides, his hand reaching out for yours. It’s warm to the touch as his fingers trace your palm. It’s so soft and feverish, sweat beading on your forehead as you stare up at him with hooded eyes. He didn’t think your whole body would be hot with your heat. He thought it was more metaphorical.

So little he truly knows.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist as his own slide down yours. Your grip is weak, squeezing as tightly as you can.

“I’ve got you.” The words rumble out of his lips, his fingers closing around your own delicate wrist. Your scent invades his brain, continuing to thicken in the air as your fingers squelch in and out of your pussy.

He bends his body down, pressing his nose against your wrist, drinking from the source. It’s so sweet, sweet enough he’d have a mouthful of cavities if one could turn this scent into candy. He wants to bite down, wants to sink his teeth into you and chew until there’s nothing left.

A rumble of approval vibrates in his chest, your body shuddering in response. A quiet whine leaves your lips, pulling him out of his haze.

“Fucking hell…” He groans, standing back up to his full height. He stares down at you, at your pathetic form laying there in the bed. “Look at you.”

Sweat has coated your skin in a shiny sheen as you lay there in the ghastly overhead light. He should turn it off. He knows how much you hate it, but he can’t move. He can’t bring himself to care. His very being is starting to slip away, being replaced by a primal need to bite, to chew, to shake, to devour.

“Alpha,” You whimper, laying there panting under him. Your fingers attempt to squeeze his wrist but the motion is weak and more of a twitch than anything.

The word coming from your mouth has a tingle starting in the base of his spine, shooting up into the deep parts of his brain. His alpha purrs proudly, practically preening at the sound of its status leaving your lips in such a desperate manner.

You need him.

“Say that again.” He almost growls, his head starting to spin. It’s a euphoric feeling and he’s barely touched you.

“Alpha!” You call out, your voice pitched with a whine. Your legs pull up off the bed, curling in on yourself in desperation.

You need him.

His fingers slide down your arm, gliding through the sweat soaking your skin. He wants to lick it, taste you in your most base form. Desperate and needy for what only he can give you. Only he can offer you relief to the plight plaguing you.

The power goes straight to his brain, then down his spine to his cock.

It’s hard already. He’s been hard since he walked into the room and was hit with the barrage of your scent. His cock had twitched to life, standing at attention, ready and waiting. His jeans are uncomfortable and he almost wishes he’d opted for sweatpants.

His hands close around your upper arm, tugging you across the bed. You move without resistance, sliding across the thin sheet. The bed protector crinkles under your body, the small protection for the mattress from the slew of fluids destined to coat it over the next week. He doubts Kyle’s parents would be happy if they destroyed the mattress.

The idea of leaving his mark here forever has his mind reeling, though.

His mouth starts to water as he tugs yo rather harshly, spinning you so your feet rest on the edge of the bed. You’re still panting as you stare up at him, your pupils blown. Goosebumps cover your skin despite the heat flowing through your body as you hold his gaze.

Bold, he thinks. Part of him wants to punish you for staring at him so openly, but another part of him loves it. Your defiant nature, the thing he knows lays deep inside of you, coming out to play.

You can call me alpha now. The words ring through his head. He wanted to punish you then, when you’d uttered those words. How dare you make such a bold claim. Yet at the same time it amused him. Little omega trying to play big alpha leader. He wonders what would have happened had he succeeded to you. Part of him wants to do that now, just to see what you’d do.

Did John ever let you take control? It wouldn’t have lasted long. His instincts would have taken over quickly. What would you do if he laid down in your place and let you take control.

No, he wants to be in control.

He stares down at you, holding your gaze. Your fingers are still moving between your legs, pumping in and out in a desperate attempt to ease the need throbbing deep within you. No matter how much you want to take over, you still need him. You’re nothing without him right now, and that thought makes him shiver.

“Look at you, all needy f’me.” He murmurs, his fingers toying with the bottom of his shirt. His clothes are starting to feel constricting, heat blossoming beneath his own skin but he’s too caught up to care. “Show me.” His voice rumbles deep in his chest. “Show me how much you need me.”

Your teeth sink into your lip, little minx, as you part your thighs. They’re wet with your juices, your fingers still stuffed into your little pussy. Slick dribbles out around them, your entire had soaked from the fluid. A low rumble vibrates in his chest as he stares down at you, his fingers darting down to wrap around your wrist.

He tugs your hand from between your legs, slick dripping off your fingers and onto your stomach as he holds it in the air. Your pussy flutters around nothing, more slick seeping out of the drenched hole. You let out a low keen as he growls, your legs trying to close together in search of friction.

“Fucking hell…” He groans, dragging a hand across the bulge in his jeans.

He releases your hand, his own finding the backs of your thighs. He pushes your legs up to your chest, guiding your hands to hold behind your knees.

“Hold those f’me.” He orders you, his hands sliding down to the curve of your ass. His thumbs pull you wide open, your hips pressing up into his hands.

“Need you, alpha.” You whine breathlessly, the need evident in your voice.

It goes straight to his head, making his mind buzz with excitement and pride.

You need him.

“Need you now!” You whimper, pressing your hips up again.

A yelp leaves your lips as his hand comes down, his fingers stinging from the sharp slap he delivers to your pussy. “Patience.” He snaps, taking a step back.

He stares down at you, laying there spread open for him. He wants to devour you, and his brain is trying to decide which part to taste first. Your skin, your mouth, your pussy. Hell he’d suck on your toes right now if it means he’ll get to taste you.

Impatience tugs at his own mind. He’s wasted enough time dragging this out. He needs to act and fast, not just for his own sanity, but for yours as well. He watches your face, lips parted as you breathe. Your chest is heaving, body trembling from the effort of holding yourself up. He knows you’d lay there the entire week if he wanted you to, but that would be cruel.

Finally he moves, dropping down to his knees in front of you. Kneeling for you already and he hasn’t even gotten you to do that yet. He could have. He could have commanded it as soon as he walked in and fucked you just like that, starting this process off quickly.

No, he wants to savor this as much as he can before he loses himself too much.

Your pussy clenches as he comes face to face with it, inhaling the musk floating off of your body.

“Look at this pretty little pussy.” He growls, goosebumps forming on your skin where his warm breath fans it. “All wet and dripping just for me.”

You taste like heaven.

His vision nearly goes white as he drags his tongue through your folds for the first time. He could cum in his pants just from tasting you, like a needy pup getting his first look at a bare set of tits. A growl rumbles through his chest, his hands lifting to press against the backs of your thighs.

“Sweet as sugar.” He growls, dragging his tongue through your folds again to get a second taste.

Just as heavenly as the first.

He wants to bury his face in your pussy and never come out. He could crawl in there and live happily for the rest of his life.

He dips his tongue into your hole, slick coating his tongue. The muskiness of your slick paired with the sweetness of your pussy is umami on his tongue. He’ll never taste anything as good as this. Now he understands why alphas get so addicted to heats. He’d happily do this for the rest of his life if he could.

You whine at the third pass of his tongue through your folds, your hips pressing against his hands.

“Patience,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. It’s hard under his mouth, slick dribbling out against his chin.

His shirt is going to be stained, but that’s fine. He may never wash it again.

“Please, alpha.” You whine, your hands sinking into the sheet under you. You’re so desperate, so needy for relief, relief only he can bring you.

The power is going to his head, traveling straight downward to his cock.

He shushes you softly, pressing another kiss to your clit before he wraps his lips around it. He sucks hard, slurping at your slick-coated folds. Your legs shake around his head, toes already curling. You’re so close already. You have to be after fingering yourself for so long.

His head is starting to spin, shivers running up and down his spine as his instincts start to come alive. He has a need to have you, possess you, devour you. His teeth scrape your clit, a sharp whine leaving your lips at the sensation. His fingers bite into your skin. He’ll leave bruises but he doesn’t care.

Omegas aren’t as breakable as you think. Christine’s words float through his head.

He’s going to find out one way or another.

He presses harder against your thighs as they attempt to close around his head. He wants you splayed open like a piece of meat set out for him. This bed is the table, and you are the dinner laid out for a starving man.

He sucks messily at your pussy, drinking in your slick and sucking at your clit. Your whines are getting sharper, louder as you get closer and closer to your orgasm. He can feel it, more and more slick seeping out of you and coating his face as your pussy flutters.

“Alpha!” You cry out as your first orgasm washes over you.

You shake under him, slick gushing out of you from the force of your first orgasm of the week. He doesn’t ease up, wrapping his lips around your clit to drag out your orgasm as much as he can. You’re still hot under his touch, sweat coating your skin and his where his hands press your legs into your chest.

“Good girl.” He mumbles around your clit, giving it a soft kiss before dragging his tongue through your folds again to gather your release.

It’s musky on his tongue, tinged with your natural sweetness. He could get addicted to this taste. He could spend the next week with nothing but his tongue buried inside of you. That would be cruel, though.

That’s not what you need.

He doesn’t relent though, his tongue pressing into your heat to drink from the very source. His face is slick from your juices as he fucks you with his tongue, his fingers bruising on the backs of your thighs. It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten a cramp yet, but perhaps you don’t care.

Omegas aren’t as breakable as you think.

He wants to test that.

You’re a whining and shaking mess as he buries himself in your pussy, nose pressing against the hard bud of your clit. Your body jolts, pushing up against his face. He’d drown here happily, but he has more to do. He doesn’t want to die just yet. Not before he’s had the chance to stick his cock in you.

He lifts his head, slick sliding down his throat and onto his chest as he licks his lips. He pushes himself up to stand, looming over you as he presses you down into the mattress. Your eyes are hazy, lips still parted as you stare up at him. The fine strands of hair that refuse to be tamed by your braid are sticking to your forehead, pinned there by the sweat soaking your skin. There will be an imprint of your back on the sheet from your sweaty body, he thinks.

He’d roll around in it if he could.

He finally releases you, your legs slowly dropping downward. You’re unable to hold them up on your own, already weak in your own need. He leans over you, pressing a knee between your thighs as his hands sink into the mattress on either side of your head. His jean-clad thigh presses against the heat between your legs, your hips jerking against the fabric.

His hand slides up your body, dragging through the sweat between your breasts, up your throat to your jaw. He grips it tightly, digging his fingers into your cheeks.

“Look at you.” He rasps, pushing his fingers downward. “Open.”

You do as he says, opening your mouth for him.

He leans down, a glob of spit dropping from his mouth onto your awaiting tongue. He doesn’t even have to tell you to do it as you close your mouth and swallow.

Bloody fucking hell.

He leans down, pinning your body to the mattress as he leans down to kiss you. “Missed this pretty mouth.” He groans, forcing your lips open with his tongue.

Your hips grind against his thigh as he kisses you, smearing your slick across your own face. It’s wet and sloppy, desperate and needy. He’s growing just as needy as you are, his cock throbbing as you wrap your arms around his back. Your hip drags along the bulge in his pants as you grind on his thigh, his own hands gripping the sheet this time.

“Fuck…” he groans, pulling away from your lips. “Gonna make yourself cum just like this? Gonna make yourself cum against my thigh like a needy bitch in heat?”

“Yes, alpha!” You whine as his lips trail down your jaw, licking at the sweat on your skin. Fuck you taste so good.

He drops his head, nudging your jaw with his nose. You tilt your head, submitting to him without protest. His alpha purrs in delight as he closes in on your neck, pressing a soft kiss against the sweaty skin. He scrapes his teeth across the delicate skin, the idea bouncing around in his head to leave bruises, to mark you up.

Omegas aren’t as delicate as you think.

His teeth close around a bit of skin, sinking down until you let out a quiet yelp. He releases the skin, pressing a soft kiss to the spot before moving further down your neck.

Your hands sink under his shirt as you continue to hump his thigh, nails biting into the skin of his lower back. He lets out a growl, biting down on your throat again. You sink your nails in harder, trying to hurt him as much as he’s hurting you.

Feisty thing.

He relents first, giving you the satisfaction as he returns to your lips, giving you a searing kiss.

“Alpha,” You moan against his lips, your nails raking up his back. It makes him shiver. “Touch me.”

“You want me to touch you, omega?” He growls, nipping at your lips.

You whine, your hips jerking against his thigh.“Yes! Please!”

“So polite.” He grins. “How can I say no?”

He pushes himself up, leaning a hand on the bed as his other hand trails back down your body. He pulls his leg away, your hips jerking in protest. He smirks, his fingers ghosting over your clit before cupping your pussy. He can feel the pulse of it against his fingers, slick instantly coating his skin.

He doesn’t hesitate, sinking two fingers into your heat. You whine, hips bucking at the intrusion. His fingers sink in easily, almost as if your body is opening in welcome for him. It is. He can feel the pull of your walls, trying to drag his fingers in as deep as they’ll go.

Fascinating.

He can only imagine how it will feel against his cock.

“Fuck,” He groans, your pussy nearly pulsing around his fingers. It’s almost as if it has a mind of its own. It does, he supposes, in your heat. It’s controlling you, desperate for what it wants, what it needs.

The thing only he can give to you.

It nearly makes him preen, the thought that you’re at his mercy. He can delay your relief as long as he wants.

The power sends a shiver down your spine.

Your pussy flutters around him, tugging at his thick fingers even though they’re as deep as they can go. He grunts, your body pulsing around him as he pulls them back, only for it to pulse again as he sinks them back in. It’s like it’s moving with him, squeezing as he pulls back, tightening as he sinks back in like it’s trying to drag his whole hand into your body.

He might be able to do that right now.

Why he had waited this long to experience this, he doesn’t know. Fear? He doesn’t know fear right now. Doubt? There’s no thoughts in his head, only how much he wants to devour you whole.

“Fuck,” he curses again, his cock throbbing painfully. “I would have said yes to this sooner if I knew it would be like this,” he groans, pushing his fingers in as deep as he can. “Fucking perfect little omega. Just for me.”

“Just for you,” You whine, pushing your hips against his hand.

Shit.

“Needy little thing.” He grunts, curling his fingers inside of you and he slowly pushes them in and out. “Can make you gush around my fingers just from this, huh?”

“Please,” You breathe, clenching around his fingers as the heat continues to burn beneath your skin. You’re so hot around him, not and tight and slick. “Need your knot, alpha.”

“My knot? Oh, love we’re nowhere near that yet.” He grins wickedly at you.

You whimper, the fluttering of your pussy around his fingers intensifying as he begins thrusting them in and out of you faster. He pushes against that spongy spot, angling his thrusts there. Your hips jerk, legs already shaking. He loves this, his little party trick. Even in your heat-induced state it still has your eyes rolling back in your head, pleasure taking over your body.

“Alpha,” You pant, your legs shaking uncontrollably. “Alpha, please!”

“I’ve got you.” He grunts, speeding up his thrusts. “I’ve got you.”

You nearly scream as your entire body shakes, fluid squirting all over his hand. Your hands wrap around his arm, and he’s not sure if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. The wet squelch of his fingers is loud in the air, his hand continuing to push against that spot to drag your orgasm out as long as he can.

“Please, please!” You gasp, body writhing on the bed.

He finally relents, withdrawing his fingers from your pussy. He drags them through your soaked folds, your juices only adding to the slick pouring out of you.

“Fucking hell.” He groans. “Fucking beautiful, that is.”

For a moment it almost looks like you get a bit bashful at his praise. It’s quickly taken over by another shudder of your body, your hands tugging on his arm. He leans over you again, kissing your lips softly. He keeps his fingers stroking through your folds, every pass of his fingers over your clit making your body jolt.

His mouth leaves your lips, his tongue dragging down your jaw to lick at the sweat on your skin. It tastes musky, not unlike the musk between your thighs. You’re delectable, like a gourmet dessert designed specifically to his tastes.

You tilt your head for him again as he drags his tongue down your neck, submitting to him once more.

“Good girl.” He groans, a shiver running down your spine at the praise.

“Need your knot, alpha.” You gasp.

His lips tease the spot right where your shoulder and neck meet. The idea floats through his head but he shoves it back. Not now. Not here. Not like this.

He can’t let go like that. It’s not his place.

“You want my knot?” He growls, distracting himself from the thoughts banging around in his head.

“Yes, please alpha!” You nearly cry, your hips pushing against his hand.

He’ll be kind, this time, he decides.

He pushes himself away from you, a shiver running down his spine. You stare up at him, legs drooped over the side of the bed. You make no move to shift your position, and he’s not sure you can right now.

“You want my knot?” He asks, his voice low and rough around the edges. His alpha is beginning to crawl out of the cage as his head continues to spin. He’s getting close to losing himself, getting close to that darkness that threatens to swallow him whole. A shudder runs through his body. “I’ll fucking give it to you.”

His shirt nearly tears as he rips it over his head. He doesn’t care, letting the fabric drop to the floor. His belt nearly hits you as he rips it free from his pants, tossing it to the floor somewhere. You’re watching him undress, something he once might have felt too vulnerable to do. Now it has him beaming with pride at the pleasure on your face. You like what you see, if your wide eyes and parted lips have anything to do with it.

He drops his jeans, kicking them off before he stalks towards the bed, naked and vulnerable. Yet, it doesn’t feel that way, shut in here with you. You’re just as naked and open, lost in your instincts and fully trusting in him. Something about that makes his cock twitch in pride.

“Present for me.” He growls, uttering the words the once thought he’d never say.

A visible shudder runs through your body at the command, and suddenly you have the strength to turn yourself over. You drag your body up the bed, pushing your knees under you before lifting your ass into the air.

“Fucking hell…” he groans, staring down at your dripping folds on display for him.

He gets it now. He understands. How stupid he was to turn this down the first time.

He cups your pussy, feeling the warm wetness of it against his palm. “You want my cock, little omega?” He growls, his cock twitching in anticipation. “You want me to stuff this little pussy full?”

You whine, arching your back to push your ass into his hand. “Please, alpha!”

You yelp as he brings his hand down on your ass. He watches it jiggle as he fists his cock, squeezing around the base to stop himself from cumming. He hasn’t even gotten inside of you yet and he’s already twitching.

Like a needy little pup.

He steps forward, dragging his head through your folds. You whine, trying to push back on him. He watches, his head catching on your entrance. It’s hypnotic, watching you so desperately try and take what you need.

He’s made you wait long enough. He’s made himself wait long enough.

“Alpha!” You whine indignantly, trying to urge him to hurry up and fuck you.

The power goes straight to his head.

He’s not that cruel, though.

Another whine leaves your lips as he finally relents, pushing his hips forward as he guides his cock into your heat. He nearly cums himself as he finally sinks into your waiting pussy, your walls immediately clamping around him. You’re so tight and warm, fluttering around him to try and drag him deeper.

Who has the power now?

“Shit.” He hisses, resting a hand against your ass as he frantically squeezes the base of his cock.

The thought has his alpha rearing up in protest.

You try and push back against him, try to force his cock in deeper but he stops you, pushing you forward instead. The top half of your body pushes into the mattress, arching your back up higher. He doesn’t even think to check as his hands close around your hips, gripping tight enough to bruise as he slowly presses his cock further into your dripping pussy.

Slick seeps out around him as he forces himself down deeper, spreading you open around his meaty cock. It’s like your body is welcoming him in, squeezing and pulsing as if it’s trying to pull him in deeper. He’s never felt anything like it, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever feel the same again.

There’s no resistance as he pushes in to the hilt, hips pressed up against your ass. Your moans are muffled, back arching as you push back against him almost like you’re trying to take him even deeper. He’s giving you everything he’s got, and yet it doesn’t seem to be enough.

It’s not.

He knows what you need, but he wants to savor this as long as possible before he loses himself. He wants to remember this. He’s not sure he’ll ever get the chance to do this again.

He wants to do this again.

Your body flutters around him as a shudder runs down your spine. He watches the way you twitch, feet brushing his thighs as you try and squeeze your legs together. You have to be dying with anticipation, waiting for him to make his move, waiting for him to give you what you need.

His hands tighten around your hips, the skin indenting as he slowly draws his hips back. Your body pulses around him, trying to pull him back in. He watches his cock, shiny with your slick, draw back out of your body before he presses back in, being sucked down deep into you. He repeats the motion, groaning at the feeling of your body doing what it’s supposed to do. It’s desperate for his cock, for his knot, and it’s trying to milk that from him.

He won’t give in so easily, no matter how badly he wants to do it.

He drags a hand down your back as he speeds up his thrusts, the wet squelch of your pussy loud in the room, nearly as loud as your needy moans. Slick dribbles down his thighs, coating his skin in your juices. It’s obscene, but it’s delicious.

His hand drops to your pussy, gathering some of the slick forced out of your body by his cock on his fingers. He brings them to his mouth, dragging his tongue across his digits to taste you again. Sweet, musky, just a hint of his own taste on his tongue.

Delectable. It makes him want to eat you alive.

“Fucking beautiful pussy.” He groans, thrusting back into you until his hips meet your ass. “All wet and warm just for me.”

“Just for you, alpha.” You say, your voice muffled by the mattress.

A low growl rumbles in his chest, his thrusts speeding up even more, becoming almost brutal as he fucks you. His status falling from your lips in such a vulnerable position has his head reeling, his alpha scratching at its cage to finally be released, to finally get a chance to devour you in all the ways he wants to.

He forces it back, just for a moment longer. He wants to savor this. He wants to make this last as long as he possibly can.

Your body is limp under him, held up only by his hands. You can’t do anything but lay there and take his cock like a good omega. It has his cock throbbing inside of you, pulsing in time with your pussy. You’re going to cum soon. He can tell by the frantic squeezing of your walls around him and the whine pitched in your moans. You’re close, and he’s going to carry you over that edge.

“Alpha!” You whine as he angles his thrusts, his cock pushing against that spot inside of you with every downward movement of his hips.

“Cum for me.” He grunts, pulling your hips back against his with every thrust. “Come on, give it to me.”

Your body shudders, hands sinking into the sheets as you come alive. It’s almost as if he commanded it, your pussy squeezing so tight around him he nearly sees stars. It takes everything in him not to spill into you as you cum, warm slick gushing out around his cock, dribbling down your thighs and the side of the bed.

He doesn’t slow his thrusts, the tugging on his cock from your spasming pussy nearly enough to send him over the edge. He wants this to last as long as he can make it.

Your body sags against his, exhausted from the heat ravaging your body and your orgasm. He pulls out of you, ignoring your whine of protest as he pushes you forward onto the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he climbs up beside you, maneuvering your body so you’re on your back in the middle of the bed.

You stare up at him with hazy eyes, your chest heaving as you pant. From exertion or your heat, he’s not sure. Perhaps both.

He pushes your legs up with his knees, draping them over his thighs as he leans over you. He stares down at your face, sweaty and blissed out. Your pupils are blown, lips kiss bruised and swollen. His thumb drags through your folds before he lifts it to your face, smearing slick across your lips. Your tongue darts out, licking at his thumb as he presses it against your mouth.

Your lips part, allowing his thumb to press into your mouth. Your tongue is warm as it drags over his skin, cleaning your slick from his thumb. He groans at the sight, his fingers sinking into the sheet next to your head.

Your teeth scrape his skin as he pulls his thumb free, sliding it down your chin to your throat. You tilt your head back, exposing the delicate area to him. He longs to sink his teeth into your skin, taste your blood pooling in his mouth. Drool gathers on his tongue, threatening to slip through his lips as he stares at the sweat-slick skin.

His hand closes around your throat, keeping your head tilted back as he sits up. Your throat bobs under his hand as you swallow, fingers digging into the sides of your neck as he holds you there. His cock twitches in excitement, so hard it’s almost painful as he stares at you, laid out before him, completely at his mercy. It’s like an erotic painting, the alpha in control, the omega in her place beneath him.

He could cum just like this, paint his seed all over your stomach.

That would be a waste.

Instead he shifts his hips, lining up his cock again before thrusting into you. Your body opens itself to him once more, inviting him right in. He sinks in to the hilt, hips pressed flush against yours as he leans over you. Your pulse thrums against his fingers, beating fast almost in desperation for what your body needs.

He tilts your head back up as he starts to move his hips, grinding in and out of you slowly. You flutter around him again, legs twitching where they lay draped over his. It’s intense, it’s intimate, it’s a position he never would have allowed himself in had he been in his right mind.

He’s not in his right mind.

He’s so far from his right mind he’s lost sight of himself, of his fear, of his worry. The weightlessness of his brain is euphoric, the last strands of himself left holding onto the cage of his alpha.

He stares down at your face, your gaze holding his. Your eyelids flutter, lips parting as you whine. The sounds vibrates against his hand, your head pushing against his fingers where he holds you still.

“Look at me.” He whispers, still grinding his hips into you. “Look at me.”

You do, eyes wide as you stare up at him. He wonders how much of you is left in there, if you’ve lost yourself completely yet. You’re unable to voice much more than mutterings of his status and pleads for what you need. He wonders just how much of you remains in such a base form of your instincts. Are you even aware of what’s happening?

He squeezes his hand around your throat lightly, constricting just slightly. Your eyes widen, a flash of panic washing through them before it fades as he releases you.

Oh yes, you’re still in there.

He picks up the pace, snapping his hips against yours. Your pussy continues to flutter and pulse around him, pulling him in and sucking him deeper. Your lips are parted, quiet moans leaving your lips, vibrating against his hand. Liquid seeps out of your mouth, sliding across your cheek before hitting his thumb where it rests by your ear.

You’re drooling.

How cute.

A shudder runs through his body as you squeeze around his cock, his balls twitching as he fights an orgasm back desperately. He’s not ready for that yet. Neither are you, he decides. His desire to stretch this out as long as he possibly can winning out against his body’s need for relief.

He releases your throat, his hands sliding up the bed as he lays himself down on top of you, pinning you to the mattress. Your body is hot and slick as it meets his chest, his sweat mingling with yours. It’s hot in the room already, the air damp with sweat and the scent of sex.

He almost misses the cold air in the barracks.

If he had more of a brain, he’d tell them to turn the heat down. Let them freeze if it means things are more comfortable for the two of you.

Your arms wrap around his back, dragging him from his thoughts. You’re moaning in his ear, body arching against his. It’s a beautiful dance, one so in-tune with nature. Humans in their most natural forms, feeding their base instincts.

He wishes he could record this in his mind, keep this memory alive for the rest of time.

“Fucking hell…” He breathes, grunting as you squeeze around him again. You’re close. He can tell by the way your pussy flutters around him.

So much he’s learning about your body.

How little he really knew.

He presses his face against your throat, breathing in your scent. It floods his nose, sinking straight into his brain.

Omega, omega, omega.

His alpha chants it like a mantra over and over. There’s an omega under him. He’s balls deep in an omega right now. He’s got an omega in heat pinned beneath his body, completely at his mercy.

A shiver of power runs down his spine.

He needs you to cum again. He needs to feel you try and milk his cock while he withholds what you need once again.

“Cum for me.” He growls in your ear, your body shuddering against him. His teeth sink into the lobe, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to pull a yelp from your lips. “Cum for me again.”

It’s like he has complete control of your body as you spasm around him, letting out a shrill whine as your nails bite into the skin of his back. He doesn’t care, the pain throbbing at the base of his cock. It’s almost too much. He almost can’t hold it as you flutter around him, trying to milk his cock again. You’re early searching out what you need, but he won’t give it to you.

Not yet.

He lays there for a moment, squishing you into the mattress but you don’t seem to care. You’re still wrapped around him, nails still sunk into his skin. Your pussy continues to flutter around him, oversensitive and desperate, but still eager. Your bodies are both slick with sweat and fluid, and he can feel the wet spot forming on the sheets from where your slick has been forced out by his cock.

Thank goodness for mattress protectors.

He understands their necessity now.

“Please, alpha,” you beg weakly in his ear, finally relinquishing your hold on him to slide your hands down his back.

“Tell me what you want.” He mumbles in your ear.

“Your knot,” You whine, arching up into him. “Please give me your knot.”

So polite, even lost in the daze of your heat.

“Bloody fucking hell.” He groans as your begging goes straight into his brain. He’s held off long enough. He’s tortured you by withholding this for long enough.

He pushes himself up on shaky arms, the exertion starting to wear on him just as much. He can only imagine how you feel. For a moment he considers doing it right here, like this, but it’s not right. No, he wants to see you again.

“Present for me.” he commands, watching in awe as your body immediately moves.

You roll yourself over, popping his cock out of your pussy as you move. It hangs there, red and soaked with cum and slick. You push yourself over onto your knees, front half pressed into the mattress as your hips lift up, presenting yourself to him.

A glob of slick pushes out of your pussy, drooling out onto the mattress below you. He watches it fall, watching where it starts to seep into the fabric.

Bloody fucking hell.

He can’t hold back any longer. He might cum just sitting here if he’s not careful.

Simon pushes himself up onto his knees, his hand fisting the base of his cock. His free hand slides over the globe of your ass, your skin hot to the touch. He leans forward, unable to help himself as he sinks his teeth into the soft skin. You let out a yelp, hips jerking against his mouth. His hands hold your hips still, his teeth biting down until he feels the skin give. A thin trail of blood seeps onto his tongue as he laves it over the mark he’s left. Your legs are shaking, a quiet sob leaving your lips.

How beautiful.

He straightens himself back up, staring at the mark on your ass before he’s shuffling himself forward to your body.

Your pussy invites him in again, still pulsing around him as he sinks into you. There’s no resistance, no fight as he sinks in to the hilt at once. You’d let him do anything to you in this state, and that thought has his head reeling.

He composes himself, hands squeezing around your hips before he starts to move, unable to hold himself back as he snaps his hips into your ass. A muffled whine leaves your lips, muted against the mattress as you lay there, bent in half for him. His hand slides down your spine to your head, fingers slipping into the braid Johnny had done for you this morning.

Was it this morning? An entire day could have passed already and he wouldn’t know.

He’s far too lost in the way your pussy flutters around him, trying to coax his knot from its recesses. He can feel it, the pulsing at the base of his cock, the pressure starting to mount. He won’t be able to stop it this time. You’ve decided it’s time and so has his cock. He’s lost control, and that makes his alpha nearly scream.

His hand grips your hair, tugging you up onto your hands. He holds you there, suspended by his hand, held up only by him as he fucks you hard. His own desperation is clouding his mind, his alpha pushing against the cage. He won’t be able to hold on much longer. There will be no stopping his alpha once he’s free.

His hips slam against your ass, the pressure at the base of his cock intensifying. He stares down at it, at the skin starting to stretch and inflate. He has to pull back, making his thrusts shallow as his knot forms. You whine at the change, pushing your hips back against his cock. No doubt you can feel it, the edge of his knot pressing against your pussy with every thrust.

How is that going to fit in there? He muses.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way, he supposes.

He watches his knot as he continues to fuck you, watching it catch on the rim of your pussy with every thrust forward. You’re a moaning mess, half begging incoherently, half whining in need. He’s so close to giving you what you need. You’re so close to relief. It’s just up to him to give it to you.

Another shudder runs down his spine.

His hand slips from your hair to the back of your neck, gripping you tightly there. He stares at it, the way his hand looks around the back of your neck. Is that what it looked like when he scruffed you? What if he did that now? How brainless could he make you with the simple shift of his fingers?

Your body shudders, your whines slurring together, almost as if you’re drunk. Perhaps you are, your body wearing down after being denied for so long.

“You want it?” He grunts, pushing his knot against your pussy.

You whine in answer, pushing back against him, lifting up off your knees to try and push his knot into you.

He releases the back of your neck, his hands falling to your hips. “Fucking take it.” he grunts, pushing his hips against you as hard as he can on his next thrust.

Your body shudders as his knot starts to push into you, spreading you open even wider. He watches in amazement as your pussy stretches to accommodate him, your walls sucking him in even more. His hips continue to move, thrusting shallowly as his knot is pushed completely into you.

It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

You’re so tight around him, gripping him like a vice. He can’t pull back, locked inside of your hot pussy by his knot. He can’t stop his hips as they try to pull back, tugging on the knot. It’s almost painful, but it’s making his head spin. He’s so close to cumming, so close to finally getting his own relief.

Your body is shuddering, whines leaving your lips with every tug of his hips. He keeps moving, keeps chasing his own high. He’s so very close, the way your pussy is nearly suffocating him enough to send him reeling over the edge.

He sees stars as he cums, his vision going white as he spills into you. He pushes his hips against your ass as hard as he can, his body folding over yours. His cock is throbbing, pulsing in time with your pussy as you milk him for every drop he gives you. You’ve cum again, he can tell by the way you pulse around him.

Your body is shuddering and shaking, getting heavier in his arms. There’s a puddle under your bodies from sweat, slick, and drool.

Drool begins to form in his own mouth as you let out a keening whine, tilting your head to the side, bearing the right side of your neck to him.

“Do it.” You whisper, arms trembling where they attempt to hold you up.

He stares at your neck, at that spot between your shoulder and your neck. It’s calling out to him, singing a siren song to draw him in to his doom. He stares at your sweat-slick skin, indented by his fingers still wrapped around the back of your neck.

It would be so easy.

He’s already sunk his teeth into you twice. What’s one more time?

You let out a whimper, going limp in his arms. He continues to stare at that spot, and he can almost see the pulsing of your desperation, your need, your want in it. How easy it would be, how simple it really is. It’s just a bite and you’re tied together for the rest of your lives. Is it really you in there? Are you asking him this by your own volition, or is it your heat-clouded mind asking something you don’t want.

Or is it something you want being driven forward by your heat?

Could you want it? Would you have asked if you didn’t? What if he makes a mistake?

His knot throbs inside you, his cock finally at ease after getting what he needed. His alpha rears in his head, pushing through the cage of his mind as his vision starts to swim. He still stares at your neck, drool sliding down his chin.

Do it, his alpha goads him. It’s so simple. Just a little bite.

He stares at that spot, the fingers on the back of your neck tightening their grip.

It would be so easy.

His head is spinning, his vision going dark around the edges.

It really is so easy

NEXT ->

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[hydrossity-zone]

References and turnarounds of all the satbk knights + chroma + weapons! (requested by @catiecat1320) (as usual, click for better quality)

full-res images: Excalibur Sonic (alt link) Sir Lancelot (alt link) Dragon Hunter Lancelot (alt link) Dragon Hunter Lancelot (Slayer Green) (alt link) Dragon Hunter Lancelot (Royal Black) (alt link) Sir Gawain (alt link) Sir Percival (alt link) Sir Galahad (alt link) Sir Galahad (Heroic Blue) (alt link) Sir Galahad (Justice Teal) (alt link) Sir Lamorak (alt link) Weapons (alt link)

[tojisun]

price catches it first — that whiff spreading in the den, clogging up his throat like ratafia. it makes him pause, words failing him now, and he snaps his jaw shut at the start of a rumble pulsing from his chest.

he turns just as the others do, watching as you rub on your throat and grumble to yourself. it is bare, the first it’s ever been since you’ve arrived at the base, and his eyes drop to your collar in wonder.

he’s heard of those before — collars that conceal scents. they’ve become a privilege, not quite a necessity, so only a few are found with them. still, rarer are those who would wear them for hours on end, and in the base, you happened to be the only one to do so.

intriguing, if not at least worrying, because price had seen your file. you’re an alpha. an alpha prime, it seemed, based on your presentation records, and yet you came to him with a collar on your throat and your scent heavily suppressed. he didn’t ask, this is not the line of work where one can, and just demanded for your loyalty and skill.

so this is the first that they’re smelling of you. it is overwhelming, like all other alpha scents usually are, but it curls at the end. sweet but burnt. crackling firewood and smoke. it is pleasant but not just; like at every turn, there has to be something that gives. something unexpected; something unusual.

john breathes in sharply, his muscles going taut underneath the fatigues when he realizes what it is. the rest of the squad follow — they sit up straighter, their shoulders drawn higher, and their scents rap against each other, mixing in dizzying blends. the den becomes packed with worry, apprehension, horror, anger, protectiveness, protectiveness, protectiveness.

still, you only look at them with a cocked brow, daring them to go. to speak of what it is weighing down on their tongues.

it is kyle to do so. kyle who you trust more than anyone else.

“you’ve been bitched.”

he says it with no malice, but just as a fact rolling off his tongue, one that makes your fingers twitch while your face stays frozen, still a mask of normalcy. of measured strength and quiet fortitude.

“i have,” you reply, also void of emotion. any other day he would commend the control you have of your emotions to not even let it slip into your scent, especially after having relied on your collar so much, but tonight isn’t the right time. tonight, john’s mind swirls, his tongue heavy with the things he wants to say.

so he tries.

“was it—”

you blink at him. then, you laugh. “oh! yes, of course. i wanted it.”

your reply fills him up, stuffing him with cotton. he realizes that your tension was of worry; you were afraid that they would judge you. and john feels lighter, elated and calm now, but also he feels disjointed, like he is floating, and john, he–

he tries.

he tries not to imagine the weight of your words. he tries not to give them shape. but his mind is faster than his conscience, and john now thinks of you, alpha prime, begging for another alpha to turn you. to fill you up and drown your scent glands with their own before gnawing on your skin. biting. biting. biting. until it takes root, upending every fibre within you to make room for the submission. for the delicateness. for the heat.

john’s thoughts only grind to a halt when the new scent is snuffed out from the room, extinguished in its entirety, leaving no trail. his eyes find you fastening the collar on your neck again, your roughened fingers unlatching the buckle to loop the leather.

he swallows like he is a man parched, but his throat only grows dryer. there is nothing for him to feast on.

it goes by so slowly; your familiarity with the collar does not aid you in fastening its loose end, and john wonders if you might need help, after all. only, just as the question is building on the tip of his tongue, he realizes what you’re doing.

what teases you are leaving.

“so,” you say like you have not just presented an opportunity for them to latch onto. “can i be dismissed?”

john hums his ascent, and ends the meeting for tonight. they watch as you gather your files before waltzing away with only the sound of your boots following you. the rest of the squad stays, awashed by the… offering.

because it was everything and that.

it was a proof of your trust, and a question of their own, one that john knows that they will eagerly prove to you. but it was also an invitation; a revelation and now a question.

john watches the way simon’s knuckles turn white as he balls his hands into fists and wonders if his boys would allow him to be the first to you.

——

this is nothing and everything alike; experimenting on omegaverse in hopes that i’ll get out of my slump </3

[lay-z]

those ties that bind us

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

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

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

Based on this little blurb. 🩶

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re staying. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’ve made your decision. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...’s olways been you, pet.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s easy and effortless.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not tonight, querida. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sad. Downright depressed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, son, it hasn’t.” 

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter One: News Crashing

Poly!TaskForce 141 x Omega!Reader

The Omega Pack Plan Masterlist

Summary: A change in procedure around base causes you to spiral as your world comes crashing down. There's only one way out of this and it starts with telling the truth.

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anxiety, Existentialism, Misogyny, Dismissive Attitudes, Angst, Rage

Mentions of: Medication,

A/N: Honestly, I'd been inspired by a few series (Standard Emergency Protocol and Pantry Solutions) I've read those and it caused me to want to write my own A/B/O COD AU, so I started this as a sort of funny fic awhile ago. I'm haven't entirely plotted out the whole story, but I have some ideas for the first few chapters. I was finally inspired to finish and post it because @cringeycookies liked the snippet I posted in a wip tag game. So thanks to everyone who inspired me, and a special thank you to @penelopepine for helping me with the dialogue and Price's reaction as I try to begin writing for them.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," the nurse responds, "we're no longer authorized to refill suppressants of any kinds for any purpose." With a push of the empty orange pill bottle back across the counter in your direction, she offers you an ugly forced smile.

"Is there really nothing we can do?!" You complain incredulously, "Nothing at all? What am I supposed to do with this?!" Taking the emptied bottle into your hands, you stare at the nurse with widened eyes and a wild look.

"There is no 'we'..." she rolls her eyes in response, focus returning to the papers before her. "But if you insist, you can always bring it up with your CO, or the Base Commander." She scribbles something out on the page, but you can hardly focus when your world is virtually crumbling apart around you. "Now if you don't mind, some of us actually have work to do around here."

Still stunned, you can't help the way your breathing picks up as your heart begins to race. About a month ago now there was a base-wide meeting where they'd finally cracked down and implemented a new program the government is trying out: OPP. The Omega Pack Plan. While it's uncommon for Omegas to even be recruited into the military to begin with, such a thing does exist. Regardless, the Base Commander gathered everyone in the Auditorium for a presentation to talk about the new program and how the army would implement it into the troops. Luckily, considering you're on an elite Task Force, it doesn't apply to you. At least... it didn't.

"What the hell is this?!" You yell, tossing the orange bottle in his direction.

He'd heard the stomps all the way down the hall and smelled you coming, so he's neither surprised by your appearance, nor startled by the toss of the bottle. John swiftly catches it in his hand as he looks up at you. "What?" He inquires, finally glancing down to examine what he's caught. "A pill bottle?"

"Captain, it's empty! They won't refill it- I can-"

A groan tumbles past his lips as he drags a hand down his beard. "Look, Panther-" referring to you by your callsign, interesting move. "There's nothing I can do, it's over my head now. I wish I could do something, but I can't." Sitting back in his leather chair, Price places the bottle on the desk; a faint rap of the plastic hitting the wood is the only sound between you momentarily before you hurriedly shut the door.

Panic begins to flood your system as you're not sure how to handle this. It's your turn to freak out. You know how this goes, you know the story now; ever since they'd implemented and dispersed the Omegas into the troops, they'd started implementing them into the Task Forces, and now they have to do so with the One Four One. Fingers curling in and out of shapes as you try to process your next move, you speak before you can even begin to plan what you're going to tell him.

"I- I'm- I..." You're pacing his office now, the heavy gaze of your Captain upon you as you try to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. The thing is, you're usually good with pressure- really good. It's your job to be good. It's just... this is different. This is your life, your livelihood at stake, the livelihood of all your future generations to come.

A sigh resounds throughout the office before you hear the low timbre of his voice. "Dove," he calls out with a gentle tone, "I want you to take a deep breath for me. Alright?" With the calm and even sound of your Captain's voice and the assured look on his face, you comply. Exhaling the last of your breath, you close your eyes and focus in on the deep intake of air through your nose. With the parting of your lips you slowly release it before giving yourself a moment.

When you open your eyes he gestures to the seat before his desk, though you know he won't take offense if you decline. Hesitant, one hand finds its way to the other, wrapping around your arm as you listen to him speak. "Now, can you explain what has you in this state? I assure you that there's nothing that can't be dealt with." You want to trust him, you know him--John Price--your Captain. He's always had your back, always made sure you felt comfortable in the Taskforce, always made an effort to check on you after things got rough.

You nod. Licking your lips, you search his blue eyes as you tentatively take the seat across him.

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, alright? I can guarantee you that unless you're trying to tell me you're an Omega, nothing you say is going to shock me that warrants the amount of panic you're putting yourself through," Price chuckles. He's obviously joking, trying to break the tension with humor. Lips drawn upward into a small smile, the Captain stares at you expectantly.

"What if I am?" You whisper, eyes unable to tear from his visage as you try and gauge his reaction. Unexpectedly, silence fills the space between you and feels deafening in the small space. The growing comfort of his office these couple of months now feels like a cage you're forced to stay in, under watch, as you stare down your superior on the brink of a battle to the death. And that's what you do. His blue eyes bore into yours, skeptically shifting between your left and right as he seems to try and get a read on you.

All of the sudden you jump at the smack of his hands hitting the desk in front of him. He laughs at you.

He's laughing at you.

And you're sitting there with your guts spilled out, dread eating away at the pit in your stomach... and he's laughing. It feels like forever is passing you by as you stare at him in shock, this moment between the two of you frozen in time as nothing else persists.

"I understand what this was now," Price explains, still chuckling to himself as he shakes his head. There's a warm smile on his face that feels eerie considering the dire context of the situation at hand. "You got me! I fully believed you for a second there, too."

Eyebrows furrowing in dark realization, you can't help but stare at him wildly. "Wha-" You begin to question him and his line of thinking, but he cuts you off.

"This was all a prank, right? The bottle, the hysterics- you really outdid yourself, Sergeant." Leaning back in his chair, he props his ankle up on his other knee. "Because let me tell you, this was good. Better than anything Soap's cooked up in awhile. Did you come up with it yourself?" There's a cheeky grin on his lips. "Ah, I know you did."

Lips opening and closing like a fish out of water, you sit in the armchair across from him pale with a dazed look across your face. He doesn't actually think that this was...

"Well, with your little triumph in your pocket, I say we get back to work, yeah? I've got some new leads from MI6 that've just popped in." With that, the man stands from his desk and rounds it. "Garrick should be back around Tea. I'll see you in the Command Station then," he informs you. It's then that he passes by, a genial clap on your shoulder while he's at it.

Left stunned in silence, you can't help but grit your teeth, consequentially pronouncing your jaw as anger ebbs through your bloodstream. Breath getting heavier, you can't help but loathe the meeting tonight. Your Captain might be satisfied with the conversation, but all you feel is discouraged. He's abandoned you, left you alone in his office with a humiliating sense of betrayal and shattered trust. Almost like you hadn't just told him your biggest secret at all.

Punching the standard heavy punching bag hanging in front of you, you grunt, ignoring the pain that gnaws at your knuckles underneath the reusable hand wraps. Sweat builds on your brow as you continue to unleash your pent up anger on the gym’s equipment. How could he?! When had you ever pulled anything even similar to this? Never! And the fact that you’ve only been on the team for a handful of months only exacerbates the abandonment you’re feeling right now. He’s your Captain! Regardless of your feelings or the situation at hand, isn’t he supposed to be there for you? He’d promised from the get go to help you with whatever you need, and now the one time you go to him for aid it backfires in your face and leaves you without any sort of solution going forward aside from straight up telling the whole team the flat out truth, and God forbid! You can’t even begin to fathom how that’d go.

A pent up and frustrated yell almost akin to something of a growl emanates from you as you tear into another round of swift jabs and punches. Regardless of the situation at hand, you’ve been trying to build up your upper body’s strength and letting out the anger you’d accumulated over this morning’s events seemed like a perfect opportunity to let loose.

The stretches and treadmill routine didn’t take a lot out of you, but the weights, and now the punching bag definitely is starting to take its toll. Sweat beads at your forehead in rivulets that drip down the sides of your neck, down your scalp past your neck and between your shoulder blades. Tank top soaked in sweat, you breathe hard as your heart pumps rapidly in your chest. You would’ve wound up here at some point or another tonight, but the Captain’s discourteous response certainly led to an earlier workout time.

While others sparsely litter the gym’s floor, you pay them no mind and vice versa. It’s not uncommon for soldiers to be found blowing off steam or aiming to beat their highest reps on the weights. Yet, this gym is reserved for higher standing members of the Force, the gym on the far side of the base where there are less people, offices, and considering the regular army men train in the bigger gym closer to their quarters, it’s mostly other higher ranked officers in here.

“Captain’s lookin’ for ya,” Markowski, another Sergeant that you’d come to befriend on base announces from the doorway, having poked his head in after leaving a few minutes earlier. He belongs to a different Task Force.

A groan tumbles out of you as you realize it’s already that time. Just as the door clicks shut, your phone chimes loudly with the alarm you’d set earlier going off. A few quick swipes of your fingers, you turn the alarm off and unlock the device, seeing a number of messages flood your notifications.

Kyle: You hear they’ve bumped up the timeline? 😯

Johnny: “ https://Tiktok/Shattered.Rat567 ” Had me rollin’ 🤣👏🏻 Gotta check it, Bonnie

Simon: You coming to the meeting or not? 🤨

Johnny: Where r u? You’re usually first here 👀 Cap’s getting peeved, watch out

Not looking forward to the inevitable mess of a meeting before you, you don’t bother rushing to join the men. With a wash of your face in the women’s locker room, a speedy bathroom break, and a grab of the items you’d brought with you, you’re heading for the Command Station.

With the time Price set the meeting, you won't get to eat dinner till afterward. You'd be lying if you said you weren't annoyed by this entire situation, your agitation from neglecting your hunger earlier has certainly come to bite you in the backside.

While you don’t have time to respond to their texts, having set the alarm with only enough time to get back to your team’s Command ‘station’ albeit more like your headquarters before heading out. Speed-walking through the orderly halls with a haste perfectly common around here, you navigate with a well practiced knowledge. Though you’ve only been here coming up on six months soon, you’re well acquainted with this part of the base.

Rounding the corner, you’re in the hall, close. Yet, the worry of being late lingers in the back of your mind and adds another layer of annoyance on top of your residual anger buried deep down from this morning’s situation. You’d inevitably come up with your solution. It’s not one you like… but it’s the only logical option. Another turn and you’re striding into the big garage-like room.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Sergeant,” Price calls out to you. Lifting his eyes from the map laid out across your station's table, he glares in your direction.

“What took you so long?” Soap snaps, his brows slightly furrowed as he stares at you from the opposite side of the table, hands lazily wrapped around his vest’s straps.

A look at your watch tells you that you’re not even late, the meeting doesn’t officially start for another minute! But you are usually waiting on them. He’s got you there.

“Yeah, you’re usually the first one here. It’s not like you,” Gaz whispers under his breath as you sidle up alongside Ghost, Gaz standing diagonal to you right beside Price at the head of the table.

“Focus,” Ghost orders the men, his hands tucked in his hoodie’s pocket. You don’t fail to notice the way he subtly takes a step further away from you as soon as they start talking again. Price goes back to talking plans as Gaz is questioning the circumstances of the information the Captain had acquired earlier when he’d had to leave the office.

“Which is exactly why-”

A heavy exhale on your behalf leaves the men frozen as their eyes drift back to you. “Do you have something you’d like to say, Panther?” The Captain questions. Jaw clenched, you tear your eyes from the map they’d settled on.

“We’ve got a big problem,” you announce, cutting off the Captain as you finally raise your gaze to meet Price’s slightly widened blue eyes.

“Well, if you see something that needs changin’ then let’s hear it,” he responds. A ‘hmph’ follows as he crosses his arms over his chest and sits his weight back onto his heels.

“It’s not about the op,” you correct him. Tilting your head side to side you attempt to crack the kinks in your neck while standing a little straighter to appear more engaged and serious.

“And it’s more important than this? What we’re doin’ right now?” Soap questions, his hands dropping to rest on the table as he looms over it, eyeing you with frustration obvious in his irises.

“What is it?” Gaz asks, a quirk of his eyebrow garnering your attention for a split-second. He’s genuinely asking, and there doesn’t seem to be a hostility in his scent as he turns his attention to you. Then there’s Ghost, who you don’t even need to look at to feel his heavy gaze on you, waiting expectantly.

“Actually, it is,” you argue with Soap, anger beginning to boil in your belly, the frustration and angst having been left to simmer all afternoon. “I can’t believe you didn’t take me seriously when I came to you earlier,” you turn your anger on Price. He looks taken aback by the outburst, something you’re not known for.

“Dove,” he calls calmly, hands out in an attempt to pacify.

“Don’t-” you bark, starting to raise your voice without realizing it. “I came to you in confidance! Trusting you when you said you’d be there to help me if I ever needed it! How could you?” Gritting your teeth, you don’t realize how hard you’re breathing as your chest heaves with anger.

“Woah, woah-” Gaz sputters, “What-” holding his hands out to try and diffuse the argument.

“I let myself be vulnerable-” You continue to shout.

“Isn’t this something that shoul-” Soap attempts to dissuade, backing down as he puts his hands out.

“-and tell you the truth, and-” you’re lunging for him across the table. You’re held back by a massive hand on your shoulder. “You laugh in my face?! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You're suddenly pulled back, off your feet, and shoved into a metal chair that'd been nearby. Your Lieutenant is hovering over you, his cold eyes now tinged with a spark of anger as they bore into you scrutinizingly. There's the sound of commotion behind him, multiple voices overlapping, yet you can't see anything with that utter giant in front of you!

“Does anyone wanna explain what the bloody hell is goin’ on here?” Ghost snaps. It's only then when the man steps aside that you can see where everyone is. With both of you in your respective corners, you simply glare at the Captain from over your crossed arms out in front of you.

“Are you bleedin’ kidding me, ya Scally?” Price grunts as he shrugs Gaz’ hand off his shoulder. “You’re still on about it! When w-"

"That doesn't explain what happened, Cap," Gaz interrupts, stopping him from going off and getting them nowhere.

He groans, running a hand over his face once more before composing himself. Everyone waits for an explanation—you too—he’d been the first to speak, and you’re curious to hear what he comes up with. “She came into my office, bloody cryin’, tossing me a pill bottle, muttering about, saying she’s a-”

You don’t dare let him finish, not wanting him to be the one to finally say it, exposing your truth to the team. "Omega. I’m an Omega, ” you finish his sentence. While you’re scared to meet their faces, you take a deep breath and force yourself to do so.

"Christ," Price curses, fingers coming up to pinch the skin between his brows as he hangs his head.

Ghost's stoicism is nothing unordinary, and in fact, is somewhat a comfort considering you'd expected nothing less from him.

Gaz looks stunned for a moment, eyes flitting about the other’s faces before the serious look on his face morphs. Lips slowly drawing upward, you shouldn’t be surprised when he starts laughing. "Yeah right," Garrick teases, "and I'm actually the Prime Minister."

Yet, it's not just him. The uproarious laughter from your right only adds fuel to the already burning flame as the two other Sergeants laugh like idiots. All as if it's some poor joke with no consequences to anyone's life, and yet... it's the truth. At the end of the day, it doesn't change anything. At the end of the day, your life is still in jeopardy and they're treating it like some joke. Unable to form any sort of retort, you simply blink; stuck in a stupor raw, stung, and with a dumb look on your face.

Soap, rounding the table slaps Gaz on the back, his face flushed red from laughing so hard. "Yer makin' my stomach hurt. God," he eggs the other on between his dying chuckles and attempting to catch his breath.

"You're really just gonna stand there and laugh?!" You finally burst. Anger surely must be coming off your scent in waves, but you don't care. Standing from the chair, you don't flinch as Ghost swipes his arm out in front of you in case you were going for the Captain again. There will be no physical altercation on his watch.

"She already pulled this on me earlier, mind you, and now what? You're trying to pull it over on the lads' too, eh?" Price goads you.

"And I was telling the truth! You're the one who said I was joking," you point out. The volume of your voice is lost on you, partially blinded by the fury bleeding out.

"I suppose you never did admit to it being a prank," Price reasons, fingers grazing his beard as he runs them over it repeatedly in thought. "But how do you expect us to believe that when you clearly smell of a Beta?"

"Even on the battlefield, after everything we've been through-" Gaz starts.

"After yer all sweaty from a workout, too. I think we'd notice, Pan," Johnny argues, illuminating a legitimate point of consideration.

"Oh please," you mutter quietly to yourself. Shaking your head, you can't believe they're really all being this daft right now. "Like you have heard of those Scent Spritzers.”

There are various perfumes on the market specifically designed to alter one’s scent. Most use it smell like an Alpha when they’re not, or an Omega when they’re wanting to seduce an Alpha when going out. But Omegas posing as Betas was rarely heard of. You’re more than sure it happens more frequently than people know of, they just haven’t been caught. And in your line of work? It’s scarce. People are thoroughly vetted, but… you’d been on suppressants for a long, long time. And a Beta perfume only perfected your hiding.

“Did you forget we’re Alphas, love? We’d be able to smell you across the room if you were,” Gaz taunts. There’s a puff of his chest that makes his cockiness even more annoying than usual.

"You really want to be an Omega? Dumb yourself down to some weak fragile thing?” Johnny jokes, nudging Gaz’ arm as he shakes his head.

“A doll who can get whoever she wants? Want to be nothing more than good for knockin' up and popping out pups?” Gaz adds on.

“Are you serious right now?” You test, seething under your skin as your hands ball up into fists. “How could you say that?!”

“It’s what people say,” Ghost comments.

“Nobody would want that and you’re out here lying about it,” Johnny pokes.

“We’re only trying to point out the flaws in your little rouse, Pan,” Gaz says, a smile lighting up his features as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"And what if I was lying, hm? Would that change anything you just said to me? How you feel about Omegas?" You scoff.

“This isn’t about your designation,” Price finally speaks. Fingers still weaved into his beard, his blue eyes lift to meet yours. “I see what this is about now, but there's nothin' to worry about, Dove.” Your Captain takes on a softer tone and all of the sudden you feel yourself start to get emotional as a twinge of sadness, of the hurt bleeding through upon understanding makes you feel seen.

“I know it's intimidating, the thought of having your first unmedicated heat, but we have medics here. It's natural. Heats, ruts, we all have them. And, hey... at least you're not an Omega, right?" Whatever relief you’d momentarily experienced sinks back down in your gut with the speed of a rollercoaster drop. It’s as silent as a stakeout, the only sound being people’s breathing. And the lack of yours.

It takes a moment to gather yourself, everyone’s eyes on you with the serious topic change. While sex and the downsides to a designation are something discussed with the boys, you’d often been left out. And to your comfort. "You know what? I can’t do this,” you retort. Backing from the group, you toss your hands up. “I guess you'll just have to wait and see," you bite back. With a whip of your hair over your shoulder, you head for the door.

The room is silent once more as everyone gawks. You’d never reacted in such a manner, had an outburst like that… this is… certainly different, and something they’re not at all used to.

“It’s because they took away her suppressants today,” Price explains. It might not have been something the group should be privileged to know. A private matter, really… but with the way you acted? He felt the men deserve an explanation, at least.

“That makes sense,” Gaz responds quietly, eyes still on the door you’d gone through.

“That’s no excuse,” Johnny counters, arms crossing over his chest with a scowl on his lips.

"Well... that went better than I thought,” Ghost comments with a shrug. “Back to the plan? We can fill her in later.”

[hiddenincommand]

“Strength commands respect, and excellence inspires awe. A true embodiment of masculine perfection, standing as a beacon of discipline and determination. In a world of mediocrity, such presence is both a challenge and a standard for others to strive toward.”

[gazsdiary]

JOHNNY'S SECRET

Johnny Soap Mactavish x Reader (Later Poly!tf141 x reader)

ABO Universe

Oneshot: Johnny's Secret

Summary: Johnny has a secret and Gaz is determined to find out what is he is hiding that makes him smile like a fool. Or rather: who.

Warnings: none

Let me know if you want this to become a series!

(I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating or imitating this work)

xoxo

Something was going on with Johnny. He had been disappearing at random hours for the last couple of days, nobody knew where he went. At first, none of them cared, maybe he was just getting some air or going to the bathroom. Who knows. He was always a bit weird if they were honest. However, Gaz had started noticing some slight changes in his new behaviour, or his new routine. For example, how he always disappeared at the same time, sometimes even leaving in the middle of lunch without giving any explanations. And always came back smiling. A stupid smile as Simon had named it, but a smile nonetheless. 

When Gaz has asked them about this Simon shrugged his shoulders and Price only frowned his lips saying that he’ll keep an eye on him. So he had made it his mission to find where his same-rank friend was when he disappeared. 

They had always been glued to the hip. Well, since he came around. It had been weird at the beginning. The connection they had, almost instantly, was electrifying. He was the one that introduced him to the rest of the pack, he would be forever thankful for that. However. 

There was no space for secrets in their relationship, and Johnny was hiding a big one. And it was Gaz’s responsibility to find out what it was, mostly for the pack stability he said. Mostly. Because, would he sound needy if he said he felt left out by his partner in crime?

That’s why he was there right now. Waiting for Johnny to come out of the medical hallway, leaning against the wall, waiting patiently looking at the door. Medical office 1. 263. First floor. Soap was there. He knew it. He had followed him all the way from the Mess, from a cautious distance. 

Is this where he had been disappearing all this time? Was he sick? Was it something so serious to hide it from the Pack? Worried fill him for a second before he heard the door open, Soap exiting with that fucking dumb smile. It fell rapidly from his face when he saw his packmate leaning against the wall, a frown adorning his forehead. 

“What’re ye doing here?” He asked in a huss, closing the door and walking fastly towards him. There was not an ounce of that smile anymore.

“What am I doing  here? Now you’re taking the piss” 

Soap growled grabbing him by the arm and dragging him around the corner, hiding away from the clinic, Gaz’s back was towards that direction.

“Listen, ye can’t be here. Ye donae get it. Just, trust me”

“You’ve been disappearing, no one knows where you are going and you tell me to go away? Me ? What the fuck is happening Johnny? Are you sick or som? You can trust me, you know-”

He almost fell forward, a weight crashing into him, hitting him on his back. 

“Ow! I’m so sorry about that, sir!” You apologised, never stopping your pace as you snuck around them “Oh, bye Johnny! See you tomorrow!” You didn’t stop walking down the hallway, slightly tripping over when you tried to catch your speed after that bump.

Gaz’s gaze followed your retreating form. You had bump into him and looked him in the eye as you apologised, you even smiled at him. He felt a warm feeling spreading inside his chest, his fingertips tingling. He had to stop the happy grumbles growing in his chest

“Who was that?”

“That’s gonna be our wife.”

[zan0tix]

My fav agents of the transsexual empire 🫶😁🏳️‍⚧️

I think personally we should draw them as adults getting to fully indulge in their teen fashion aspirations. (see second image) Callies outfit was inspired by paint splotches and embroidery as if she made her outfit herself :) A true artist!

Third is my updated readings. I say "readings" because i believe theres textual evidence for these and its how i interpreted them from my read throughs. (Only jake has the autism symbol because hes the most explicitly disabled coded in text but all of them to me are neurodivergent)

The gender labels are used loosely bc i think each of them has an incredibly unique journey/relationship with their gender that cant be encapsulated in a small set of words, and i do not think any of them would actually fully use labels either.

I am just using these to simplify down my thoughts into something easily digestible LOL MY THOUGHTS ON THEM AND THEIR PARALLELS + MIRRORS + INVERSIONS ARE SUPER COMPLEX i think about them Genuinely Literally Every Day of my Life. theyd have to be saved for a different time </3 but ya alpha kids trans 4EVER howd hussie cram THIS AMOUNT of queerness into these guys.. will never know

[hiddenincommand]

The Alpha Master’s First Steps: Asserting Absolute Dominance and Control

To command a faggot is to strip it of any illusion of worth beyond its ability to serve. From the very first moment, the Alpha Master must assert his unassailable supremacy, leaving no space for resistance, hesitation, or even independent thought. Dominance is not an invitation—it is an inescapable reality, imposed without apology or hesitation. The Alpha Master does not request submission; he demands it as his inherent right, because he is not merely a master—he is the Alpha Master, the apex of authority, and the ultimate arbiter of the faggot’s existence.

Step One: Establishing Supremacy Through Presence

Dominance begins before the Alpha Master speaks or moves. His presence alone must crush any notion of equality, saturating the space with an aura of superiority so profound that the faggot feels its insignificance in every fiber of its being.

• Posture: The Alpha Master stands as if the ground beneath his feet is honored by his weight. His every movement is deliberate, calculated, and brimming with the confidence of one who answers to no one.

• Gaze: His eyes are weapons—cold, piercing, and merciless. A single glance from the Alpha Master should silence hesitation, shatter defiance, and ignite a deep, instinctive fear within the faggot.

• Tone: His voice is a scalpel, precise and cutting. Commands are issued with the calm finality of a deity declaring law, devoid of unnecessary emotion yet dripping with unspoken contempt for the faggot’s inferiority.

The Alpha Master’s very existence must exude an unrelenting sense of control, ensuring that the faggot feels overwhelmed, powerless, and utterly beneath him. To stand in his presence is not a privilege—it is a reminder of the faggot’s nothingness.

Step Two: The First Command—Immediate Submission

The Alpha Master’s first command is not a mere instruction; it is a proclamation of dominance. It must be sharp, unyielding, and designed to obliterate any trace of autonomy in the faggot.

Examples include:

• Ordering the faggot to kneel instantly, pressing its forehead to the ground as a visible acknowledgment of its inferiority.

• Demanding silence and motionlessness as the Alpha Master inspects it with disdain.

• Forcing it to speak its purpose aloud, each word a degrading affirmation of its servitude.

Failure to comply perfectly is not an option. Hesitation must be met with swift and brutal consequences, leaving the faggot with no doubt that its disobedience is an affront to the Alpha Master’s supremacy.

Step Three: Punishment—Crushing Defiance Without Mercy

Disobedience or hesitation is not a simple error—it is an insult, a challenge to the Alpha Master’s unquestionable authority. Punishment, therefore, must be calculated, ruthless, and immediate. The Alpha Master’s wrath is not uncontrolled; it is precise, like a scalpel cutting away the cancer of defiance.

Effective punishments include:

• Physical Correction: A slap, a sharp strike, or a firm grip on the back of the neck serves as a visceral reminder of the Alpha Master’s strength and the faggot’s fragility.

• Degradation: Forcing the faggot to assume humiliating positions or repeat degrading affirmations reinforces its place as a submissive object.

• Prolonged Discomfort: Commanding the faggot to hold a degrading position for extended periods, ensuring its pain becomes a lasting memory of the Alpha Master’s power.

Punishment is not about anger—it is about domination. The faggot must feel its failure as a personal affront to the Alpha Master and understand that such transgressions will never go unanswered.

Step Four: Conditioning Through Repetition

Once the faggot complies, the Alpha Master must reinforce its submission through relentless repetition. Every command, every act of obedience, must be drilled into the faggot until compliance becomes reflexive and instinctive.

• Repeatedly ordering the faggot to kneel, stand, and bow on command ensures that its body responds automatically to the Alpha Master’s voice.

• Enforcing verbal affirmations of submission, such as “I exist only to serve,” until the words lose their meaning and become ingrained in the faggot’s very identity.

• Inspecting its posture and demeanor with ruthless precision, correcting even the smallest imperfections with disdainful commands or calculated punishment.

The Alpha Master’s goal is not mere obedience—it is total domination. The faggot must learn that its mind, body, and soul are no longer its own; they are tools for the Alpha Master’s use, nothing more.

Step Five: Imprinting the Alpha Master’s Supremacy

The final step in establishing control is ensuring that the faggot’s identity is entirely erased, replaced with the Alpha Master’s dominance. It must understand, on the deepest level, that its existence is defined solely by its utility to the Alpha Master.

This can be achieved through:

• Verbal Declarations: Forcing the faggot to articulate its inferiority and dependence, such as, “I am nothing without my Alpha Master.”

• Symbolic Ownership: Collaring the faggot, marking it with a temporary symbol of possession, or assigning it a degrading title to reinforce its subjugation.

• Enforced Reflection: Leaving the faggot in silence, kneeling in a position of submission, to contemplate its place beneath the Alpha Master’s absolute authority.

The faggot must leave these initial encounters with no illusions about its role. It is not an individual; it is property, an extension of the Alpha Master’s will, and a living testament to his superiority.

Conclusion

The Alpha Master’s first steps in asserting dominance are not just actions—they are declarations of his unassailable power and control. From the first moment, the faggot must feel its inferiority as a crushing weight, understand its role as an obedient tool, and fear the consequences of failure.

The Alpha Master does not seek partnership or negotiation. He demands complete submission, absolute obedience, and unrelenting servitude. To hesitate is to fail, to disobey is to insult, and to resist is to invite annihilation.

Through calculated dominance, ruthless correction, and relentless conditioning, the Alpha Master ensures that the faggot is stripped of everything but its purpose: to serve, to obey, and to reflect the Alpha Master’s infinite superiority. Anything less than perfection and absolute submission is unacceptable.

[aetherbabble]

It's nice seeing the only two Canadian superheroes that anyone gives a shit about in the same movie. I kid, I kid. I know some of the members of Alpha Force without googling them.

Deadpool & Wolverine | Trailer

Found the guy who killed Bambi’s mom. ❤️💛

[dmitriene]

Hiya👋👋 I hope you start feeling better❣❣ Anyways I was thinking.. Hybrid Au with any of the Cod guys you can choose, where reader and whichever of the guys you pick are both hybrids. One and or both of them go into heat/rut at the most inopportune moment possible, like on a mission or in the middle of a meeting type thing. Please and thank you❣❣😊

cw: hybrids, mating, rut, breeding, mentions of 141.

simon ghost riley realizes how important it is to discuss the next mission in order to strategize the matter between the soldiers, so when captain john price pulls him out of your grasping, hugging arms with a phone call in the morning, saying that in fifteen minutes he will be waiting for everyone in the briefing room, you both have to unglue your eyes open to the mercilessly bright morning rays and start getting ready.

the thing is, you've been lot, awfully clingy all recent week, sure, it's not something new for either of you, you've already been making simon's life harder from the point when he made you his mate, your body always wrapped or rubbing against defined expanse of his muscle and bone, kitten tail flicking around and curling over his leg, sweet face always nudging in against his own rugged and stubbled mug, his precious, needy darling.

but the further it's goes, the more possessive you got, obsessed, even, something been gnawing in at the pit of your tummy, making you scrape your sharp, tiny teeth's against the exposed pulse point on simon's neck, claw over every honed out, full corded lines of his body, make his pointed, dark furred dog ears twitch, fluttering at your very touch and ghost of a smell, cloying enough to his sensitive nose, flaring out in response to your antics, as you coated him in the smell of your body, didn't let him go anywhere without your company by his side.

the center of the reasons for your behavior were laying in impending heat, simple as that, but both you and simon missed all the signs, until today's briefing, a room full of other members of taskforce, soldiers all around both of you, and the air seems stuffy, almost, as you brush it off on being a little bit annoyed by the early morning you had to start, the burn of your skin a distant hint that something is wrong, yet you're too engrossed in listening to captain talking.

too unaware for your own good, because the smell of you permeates and fills the room until there's no space and corners left, wafting, flowing around and under the noses of your fellow sergeants and captain, heads turning, chests expanding and chasing the wafting notes that tickle their noses, making all the discussions cut short, curious, confused eyes searching your own from across the table, settling, and then does it's strucks you, body shuddering, searing hot, as you try to find simon with your slowly glassing gaze.

simon smells you before he sees you, whiskey pooling eyes eclipsing, and he feels the way his tail gives an interesting wag, straightening against the back of the chair he sits on, as it scrapes to follow his raising body, sending a screech of metal legs and a low rumble that bubbles up his constricting, swallowing throat, searching for you, his sweet mate, sitting between two ogling sergeants, their hands fidgety at the table, a simple instinct, since they know best than to touch what doesn't belong to simon, but still, it's enough to make him pounce.

saliva burns down his throat as if he’d gulped down battery acid, body moving on autopilot, chased only with the sound of his heavy boots thumping down against the shiny floor, before he reaches and snatches you off the chair, it's almost menacing, spine shuddering in it's roughness, but his gloved hands soften their touch when connecting over the curves of your shaking body, scooping you up and secure against him, and when simon's gaze shoots over each head in the room, the soldiers hide their gazes and turn around.

john's nose is covered by the palm, shielding, they all know the smell is addictive, arousing, plugging their noses and greedy mouthes, filling their bellies and pressing upon their underbelly, until they are hard in their pants, and without needing the voiced out permission, price's mouth preoccupied with biting down at his lip, simon carries you towards the door, shushing the whine that tears through your parting lips, exhaling out a feverish breath, jolting even in the tight grasp of his enveloping hold, before the door snaps shut.

it's gonna be alright, a voice of his, gravelly through sharp gritted teeth's, rings in through your ears, maybe, you seem to whimper, maybe you move, since simon's soothing is endless, blanketing over your frayed, distressed nerves, because you need him closer than just carrying, you need him naked, you need him weighting down on you, need his mouth frantic and covering you like a tactical map, need to feel your hole full, the one that is sopping wet against your sticky panties now, and your arousal bleeds with scent that won't stop abusing simon's senses.

every minute is countable, and he won't doggy you in some cramped, dusty room to give you a quick relief, so he has to walk all the way through the long hallway until his gaze sharpens at the sight of his room, shoulders squaring to bump against the door, elbow jutting down on the doorknob, until it's gives down and cracks open, letting him weight aside, spreading open further, until he steps past the doorway, your body and mind seeming to feel the changes of the air, the comfortable warmth of the walls around, the all fulfilling scent of simon, helping you to know, for sure, that you're safe.

your pointy, fluffy kitten ears flicker, no longer pressed tight against the crown of your head, tail curling in the air tentatively, then wraps around his forearm, and you let out a purr, small, contented sound as you bump your forehead beneath his masked jaw, the tension flowing off the shore of simon's shoulders muscle by muscle, melting in the weight of you in his arms, vibrating from the force of your little sounds, his own ears softening, no longer straightened forcefully in alertness, as his legs carry him forward, to bed.

there, simon would take care of your heat, fill your greedy, gaping leaky hole until it's too much and you're too full, the swelling weight of his cock inside of you, fat and curved to but against the gummy root of your cervix, tease right where you need him the most, filling you of warm spurts of his cum, leaving you plugged whole of his seed, but he'd take his time, first.

you'd get him in his own rut too soon like that, keening and blabbering his name through small, broken sobs, because you don't like how slow he moves, trying to be gentle, but you need this cock deep in your guts, battering your gummy, rippling insides until your thighs are soaked, glinting with tacky slickness that oozes out of your cunt, pounded along every wet slap of his thighs, lingering as a burn, full, hanging balls pressing against the plump swell of your ass to feel the way his bulbous tip nudges in that tiny, sensitive spot.

little claws piercing in his own flexing butt, scratching and tugging at his thumping, wagging tail, making him growl down at you, watery eyes all glazed as you peer at him through sooty lashes innocently, moaning on a purr in response, high pitched and so, so aroused, and he can do nothing but speed his already frantic enough pounds, to make sure you're sated, as you chirp in acceptance, cunt accommodating to each rutting motion of his hips, relishing in the roughness, in the sweaty mix of your scents, the darkness of his dilated pupils, enraptured by you.

until simon's thighs cramp and shake, every part of skin aflame from scarlet scratches you left, long and crisscrossing over his back and shoulder blades, as his cum oozes, drips out from your stretched out, pulsing hole, frothy globs soaking in the rumpled bedding beneath your entwined, heaving against each other bodies, and only then do you let him rest, your poor mate, panting in the curve of your neck, warm and sharp scented, his thrusts faltering, as your clawed fingers find their way in the sweaty locks at his flushed nape.

perhaps, you'll both crawl out the bed only by the time of a next mission, but it's doesn't matter, as long as you remain pleased and simon's rut won't trigger in the middle of the field, because that thing, none would survive for sure, especially not your captain and the sergeants, after the bothered state they were left in the briefing room, discussing the upcoming mission without you both, all while throbbing in their pants.

main masterlist. quidelines.