#alpha johnny storm | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeyinde · 8 months ago

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appetite | Alpha!Simon Riley

it's been decades since Alpha!Ghost had a rut. something that's probably for the best, really. his want is as hideous as he is. as ugly as his goddamn mug. it's best kept tucked away, secured under lock and key.

but then he finds you. and you're all alone. unclaimed, on the verge of heat. poor thing. it triggers a voracious rut. decades worth of want spilling out over you. you're it, he knows. feels the certainty in that statement simmering in his hindbrain, in his essence. he'll have you—now, forever. non-negotiable. where you go, he will follow.

but you run from him. stupid girl. didn't anyone teach you not to run from a starving wolf?

dubcon. size kink. size difference. a/b/o dynamics: knotting, rut. breeding kink. spit kink. implied virgin!reader. obsessive behaviour. possessive!Ghost. semi-public sex. reluctant reader bullied into submission lmao. forced bonds. implied kidnapping. basically, you're hunted down and fucked by Alpha!Simon who growls in your ear about how he's waited his whole life for you. and lucky him. he finally found you

AO3

It's been years, decades, since he had a rut.

(Broken Alpha. Ruined.)

Trauma, they tell him, will do that. Sever the drive in the back of his head, the one that rears—vicious and angry—each mating season, bringing with it the urge to breed. To claim. Own.

A form of self-preservation. It pitches a plexiglass of protection between him and his instincts, not letting them merge. Join. Done so because to be in rut, to want, to need, is vulnerability. It costs hypervigilance. Turns man into beast. Animal.

This bodily reaction makes an alpha extend themselves, like an overarching limb, to shield the omega they pick as a mate. Bearing their own neck to save another.

Naturally, they say, if he couldn't help himself, how could he ever hope to protect a fragile little omega?

They tell him it could be as permanent or temporary as he allows. Healing, they say. Time. Laughable, really. And utter nonsense because Ghost is fine.

Trauma tampered. Revenge sought, found. There's no one out there who could ever harm him, and still—

His last rut was before the mission that buried him alive. That turned him into the living dead. A mockery of man. Frankensteinian beast.

It's not something he cares much for, anyway. From what he remembers of his youth—vague snippets of memories, disjointed, blurred sensation; a profound need, an urge, to sink his cock into something, to plug them up, to bite—ruts have always been a nuisance. In the way. An annoyance that took time away from what he'd rather be doing.

And as Johnny enters his—skin pallid, waxy; cheeks flushed, eyes darkening like a brewing storm on the horizon; snapping at anything that breathes, whining like a dog, miserable and hot, all the time (ahm’a bleedin’ furnace, s’what ah’m)—he finds he doesn't care very much to go reclaim what he lost.

No skin off his nose. Nothing to concern himself with.

Besides. Omegas know better.

Even before he lost himself, dying, rotting in a tumulus, pretty little omegas with their soft hands and bashful smiles always went out of their way to avoid him. Miserable alpha. His scent alone wards them off—burnt leather, charred bones; sarcophagus dust, dirt—and he found himself alone during his burgeoning ruts more often than not.

No pretty little thing to tender the sweat on his brow, or bend over and present for him—offering up a sweet little cunt he got to bury himself inside, tie up nice and tight on his knot.

It was usually his hand. A bottle of bourbon. A printed porn stash he swiped from Tommy, who nicked it off their old man—

And when he did find a partner, it was always transactional. Hand to hand, an exchange of money. All clinical and detached. Empty. Fucking into a concept instead of a person; a vacuum eating away at his soul because he knew, then, that they wanted to be there almost as much as he did.

But what choice did either have when their home was the rotted gullet of a dying beast?

(Simon told them to stay away from shitty men like him, who broke bones in the throes of his heat, snapped his jowls at anything that got too close, and had to be chained to the bed like an animal during it—)

Nothing to miss. Nothing to mourn.

And it's not like he doesn't get the urge. Wanting to sink his cock into something warm, wet, is as recurring as a sweet tooth. A prickle in the back of his head after he devours his dinner that says, dessert might be nice.

He can fuck, but his knot never pops. A worry the doctors had—unsure what the consequences would be in the long run for such a virile, young Alpha already experiencing nature's version of erectile dysfunction so early in life.

(“pity the poor omega who has to deal with that rut,” they whispered. “might not be much of anything left of them when he's through.”)

Inconsequential now because he's pushing forty and his last rut was a false trigger. One dragged out of him by drugs and torture. The last true rut, natural and instinctual, was when he was eighteen.

It's doubtful he'd suddenly be cured at his age.

This is what he tells Johnny when he asks, pries. Broken fuck, ain't he? Unmated. Can't knot. Piss poor excuse of an Alpha. Doesn't he think it's—

“a shame,” Johnny grouses, words muffled slightly by the way he's hunched over the cheap plastic table in the canteen. His fingers dig harshly into his temple. “Alpha like you—” it's enunciated in clipped Queen's English, the barb makes Ghost scoff. “—ack! a waste. ma mam would be livid. no grandbabies t’show off? sacrilegious.”

—funny. If he's being honest. Laughable:

because for as long as Ghost can remember, he's always had a predilection to ruin his favourite toys. slaking his unquenchable lust on their tender skin, biting down to the bone, sipping on their marrow—

not really the sort of thing omegas today go for, is it?

his want is as hideous as he is. as ugly as his goddamn mug—

Instead, he shrugs. “hardly.”

“yer no’ missin’ it?”

“missin’ what, Johnny?”

“knottin’, ye surly prick.” He jeers, then, jabs his elbow into Simon's arm. “a bonnie omega to stick yer prick in. ain't missin’ th’, no?”

“no,” Simon gripes. The last thing Price needs is another order of protection against his Lieutenant. But to humour the alpha in an early stage of rut, he jabs out, hollow and full of wretched derision. “i can barely remember what it felt like. must be heaven, though. is that your plans for tonight, Johnny? gonna go and knot some sorry omega?”

It's meant to prod, poke. Sharp barbs aimed at Johnny's threadbare control, the same one held in place by a fraying, unspooling knot. Alphas in the early stage of rut are considered safe enough to be around. Not yet mindless drones, hosts to an ugly little parasite; a being forced to obey a single, instinctual drive to mate, to gorge themselves into a post-rut stupor.

Safe. Or so they say.

But Ghost knows what Johnny's feeling in the same sense as a phantom limb. A broken, fragmented memory. So, he twists his mockery in deep. All in jest, of course.

And Johnny pales suddenly. Wavers in his seat. The affirmative comes after a bout of contemplative silence. A jagged, choked yeah slips from his Sergeant’s mouth as he drops his head to the table, and groans. Miserable.

“go fuck yerself, Lt.”

Simon intends on taking Johnny up on that offer, lazying out on the futon with his hand stroking lazily along his flaccid cock, thumbing through the latest series of snapshots Johnny—ever the photographer—snapped up during his previous rut. Images of pretty omegas dressed up in fine silk, blood-red lingerie, and coy little grins on their faces, a vixen pastiche of demureness. Jejune appeal in all its coquettishness.

Innocent sluts—Johnny's preferred type. Ones who'll bat their eyes at him, nervous and full of faux modesty, while they rock back and forth on his face, tugging on his mohawk to make him lick their cunts just the way they like. Sweet, like candy. Dressed in sin.

He likes to take before and after photos of them—often with the pretty models unaware (adds to it, aye, Lt?). Ones with them batting their eyes at him, soft and shy in all their twee delight, and then fucked out, ruined and chewed up like a broken toy when he finishes with them. Bitten off more than they can swallow. Cheeky brats sobbing for mercy on his bed.

Likes, even more, to send them to Ghost. A little tease. One he has no compunction about partaking in. Enjoying to his heart's content.

Or—

Intended to, of course. Because what ends up happening is this:

Price calls just as he's getting into the new series sent to his phone—the tear streaks streaming down this omega’s face are particularly appealing, bound in intricate Celtic knots (Johnny, the artist), and gagged with their own panties—and tells him he has a job for him.

Something simple. Discreet. And local, too. Bears have been sighted in town—a mama and her cubs. Dangerously close.

The prelude to the phone call is a clipped take care’a it before the line goes dead.

Ghost doesn't need to pack much—he can't remember the last time he unpacked his duffle bag, anyway—and stays in the recliner until the mission file comes in, idly stroking his thumb across the pixelated, tear-streaked face of the omega in Johnny's clutch. Moussed. Messy. They make the prettiest picture, don't they? Drool dripping down their chin, a spillover from what the lacy, white panties couldn't catch.

Flesh peppered with jagged circles, bite marks. Johnny knows better than to claim them, and their neck is bereft of his teeth. Smooth. Unblemished.

To claim is to bond. To bond—

Well.

His earliest recollection of a relationship is his parents’. His mum, tied and trapped to a man she wanted no part of, but stuck. Unbondings, divorce, were rare during that time. Unheard of. Even now.

And under his old man's influence, he's always seen claiming as ownership. As possession. A lingering remnant he’s told is wrong, but can't shake. Can't change. It glues in the fibrils of his mind. A rotten, pulsing scab that no amount of sanctioned reconditioning can ever seem to get rid of, to scrape out of his skull.

(one he knows would be there no matter what because his sole purpose is exsanguination; bloodletting—

in his warped desire to protect the things he cares about, he ends up smothering them in the end. a child holding a firefly too tight in its chubby fist.)

But Johnny knows better. Good Catholic boy. Knows to keep a muzzle on himself when he sucks desperate kisses into the small omegas' sweet neck, breaking apart the blood vessels of their scent glands, soaking himself in their musk—potent pheromones of a needy omega in heat. Aching for a bite. To be held down and conquered.

It's wrong, they say. This ugly mass sits inside his chest like a foreign body. Scandalised eyes drilling into the side of his head like he's a monster for thinking this way.

And he is.

(always has been)

But he knows better. Knows to keep those uglier, rotten parts of himself hidden away from prying eyes. Got good at it, too. Enough that they let him into the brothels time and time again.

Still—

He can remember the closest he'd come during a rut to biting a shrill omega who screamed in his ear until his head rang, ached. Nearly did it, too. Teeth razoring over their jugular, pinching delicate skin.

Clarity came like a gunshot when he tasted blood. Chiselled a hole through his delirium, broke up the haze, and snapped his jaws up tight, locking them as he finished with a muffled growl, tongue swirling over his teeth for another taste. Another drop.

His ruts have always been messy. Bloody. Got him banned from several centres, brothels, where they offered up betas drenched in the artificial musk of an omega in estrus. Ones resilient enough to withstand the harsh coupling of an unhinged Alpha in need.

He had a problem, they said, with treating their workers like chew toys. Biting to break skin, drilling in deep enough to scratch his teeth on their bones.

Deranged, they hissed. Fuckin’ mental, mate. Stay the hell away!

Some are just prone to violence. Need to be half-sedated before they can mate without ripping their partner to pieces. Ghost has always been that sort. Aggressive. Hard to control. Rabid.

His appetite is bigger than the expanse of their skin. He sometimes thinks he could eat the whole world and still starve.

He hums, thumb sliding to cover the omega's neck. Trapped in his hand, his clutch. They're cute when they're ruined like this. Begging. Whimpering.

His cock gives a half-hearted twitch. His work phone chimes, signaling the end of his leisure.

shame, he thinks, squeezing his hand until the metal dents, the screen cracks, splinters. Pops. Hairline fractures split across their distorted, tear-stained face. He closes his fist over it until it breaks. Goes black.

really. such a goddamn shame.

Some things are just not meant to be—

—but they have a habit of falling into his maw, anyway.

It's a simple set up.

Man—

beast, monster, thing

—with his empty, growling stomach and teeth made to bite, tear, goes out hunting for a meal. In that search, he finds you.

You, Persephone personified: damned (eternal), standing beneath a spruce tree. Limned, halo gold, in the waning sunset's bashful kisses, you lean on the rough bark, idling your timelessness away.

Postcard beauty. Pinup demure. Alluring.

(creature of sin

and oh, do you reek:

The air is saturated in the tantalising scent of honeybush, roasted hazelnuts, and clove. Saccharine—almost nauseatingly so—but with a hint of spice, black cardamom, cinnamon. He drags in lungful after lungful until it tangles deep within his chest, nearly suffocating. Smothered in this earthy sweetness. Drowning. Drowning—

the perfect dessert)

It unleashes something in him. Chips at the lock buried deep in his mind, cudgelling through the hinges until they pop. Rusted, slick with oxidising oil. It peels back from the gate, unveiling this gaping, ravenous chasm, polluted and gangrenous, rotten down to the marrow. Noisome. Noxious. This frothing pit sloshes, geyser-like, and greedily foams at the maw, the mouth, aching for a taste. Something to quench this gnawing hunger.

This bottomless abyss hadn't seen light since he was eighteen, and—

The hollow space where his rib once sat throbs, aches. phantom bone. He holds his chest with his hand, feeling for the gap, the chasm, stolen from him. Ripped away, taken.

By you. you—

—so,

it's only fair that he steals something back.

(quid pro quo, or something, right?)

You greet him with a small nod when he wanders close, eyeing him warily under the black rim of your ballcap. Tense. Small hands curl into fists, partially hidden under the rain-soaked windbreaker nearly two sizes too big. It smells like you—honeyed milk, molasses; lilac, lavender and warm bread—and he fights the urge to pull his mask down, to shove his misshapen nose into your neck, and breathe it in right from the source. Drinking, feasting, on it.

This want is visceral. It coils in his guts, bubbling in his veins. His musk—heavier than yours, pungent—beads along his scent glands, mushrooming into the air like a fine mist.

Your nostrils flare. He takes a step closer, eyes skewering into you, taking in everything you have to offer. The rucksack left at the bottom of the tree, stained with dirt and leaves. A sprig of Saskatoon berries peeks out from the lopsided flap. And—

Ah.

Foraging is off-limits in this area unless granted a permit. One you don't seem to have based on the skittish way you keep avoiding his eye.

His scent thickens, tainted sour with faux suspicion, and you wince, ducking your chin, tucking it close to your chest, hiding from his spearing gaze.

All it does is give him a voyeuristic view of your fragile nape, your vulnerable neck.

His teeth ache. Jaw clenched up tight.

It looks so bare. So naked.

(Be a shame to keep it that way forever, wouldn't it?)

“Hi,” you stammer, seemingly oblivious to the musk you leak into the air, into his lungs. Forcing some sense of staid indifference into your tone. Like being here, out in the middle of the forest is normal. “Did you need something?”

On the verge of a heat like this, wobbling where you stand—

He wants to chew you up. Spit out the pieces on the pavement. Drink from the gash he'll rip into your jugular,

quench this unbearable thirst.

He doesn't know how you made it out here as long as you have, smelling like you do, and the thought burrows through the haze spuming, clotting, on the fringes of his muted periphery. Anger is an icy deluge of white water raging through his veins.

Under the mask, the remnants of his scarred lip curls. His hands close into tight fists. Balled up. He feels the tension crackling along his muscles, his body. Coiled spring. Ready to leap—

But:

There's clarity. Focus. Where he was meant to become a mindless monster, driven by instinct, he instead feels the pieces of himself snap back into place. Missing puzzle pieces. It shifts. Settles. Locks.

He wants you. Will have you. It's non-negotiable. Ironclad. You just—

Belong to him, don't you? Pretty little thief. And wandering around like this, reeking like you do, you must want him, too. Need him.

(protect, protect, protect—)

Honed in, drilling into your face to catch every expression that flickers past, he sees the moment you take a sniff, when realisation blooms in the inkpools of your gaze that you are less than an arm's length away from a starving predator. Supple, soft. All plush flesh seated seamlessly against brittle bone. Fragile.

“hi,” he echoes, and it sounds hollow. Garbled. Like he's speaking underwater. Thinks, for a moment, that he's buried again. Drowning under the crushing weight of dirt. His own tumulus. Suffocating. Choking on dirt—

But you twitch. Feral little thing. It breaks him out of this nightmarish obtundation; shaking the cobwebs loose. He tracks it like a viper. Attention narrowing, shrinking, into nothing but the way you move. Smell. You anchor him in his place, keeping him stable amid this horrific onslaught of emotions that rip talons down his chest.

“I–” you breathe in again, lashes fluttering. Strains of silk batting over your etiolated cheeks. You breathe him in. Deep. He sees your chest grow, expanding with his air. His musk. Has to bite down on a growl before it forms, the lash of a whip in his throat. Aching.

There's something spellbinding about you—caked in a layer of grime, briny sweat clogging your natural scent; wild and untamed. Uncharted wilderness, untouched by man and their dirty hands. A corrie after a rain shower. Snow melt. He wants to bathe in it. Carry it with him wherever he goes.

As if scenting this thickening desire, your eyes widen. You take a step back, swallowing audibly when he follows. Marionette on strings. Your shadow.

“I should go—”

And he knows he can't let you do that.

Won't.

He hums, a fickle, brittle thing in the far reaches of his chest.

“Go?” he flicks his hand toward your bag, head cocking to the side in a mockery of contemplation. “Don' think you got a permit for that, do you?”

“A permit…”

He has you. Your eyes lower, falling to the badge on his chest. Game Warden. You stare at it, eyes widening. Swallowing thick.

With you distracted, he leans in. Curves his body over you mockingly, like he's bending down to whisper a secret in your ear. Cupping a pretty little firefly in the palm of his hand.

When his shadow falls over you—dark and damning—you flinch back, fists trembling under the hem of your jacket. Brows furrowed, knotted tight. Your lower lip wobbles. You try to hide that, too, by sinking your teeth into your flesh until it floods white under the strain.

He wants to pry it apart with his own teeth. Take the bruised flesh into his mouth until you start to drool, whining from the abuse he inflicts on you in a mockery of a kiss.

(wants to tear through it, taste your blood on his tongue—)

“An’ I don't reckon tha's a good idea, pet.”

You shiver when he places his hand on the truck above your head. Boxing you in completely, nothing to spare—not even an inch.

He hums at that, cock giving a vicious jerk inside his trousers at the almost impossible dearth between your sizes, at the way he swallows you up in an instant. Has to take a deep breath to steady himself, to keep the inkblack tendrils swirling, gathering, at the edges of his periphery from bleeding in. This starving murder of crows.

When he speaks again, it's low. Deep. Kittenish licks from the tongue of a tiger; abrasive, rough. Mocking baritone of a shifting canyon, a mountainside, before it buries anyone alive under rubble.

“Not reekin’ the way you do. Might ‘ave every alpha in a one square mile radius frothin’ at jaws for a taste. Ain't safe out there.”

And it's definitely not safe with him.

He watches, transfixed, the moment this clicks. When your eyes waver between the hard bulk of his body—spread out, laxed; plumage unfurled—and the noisy clatter of the town just within reach. It's this thicket that cups your scent, that protectively curls over you, and keeps the Alpha's prowling about the market square from sniffing you out. A beaten trail. Hidden desire path no one was supposed to wander down.

Except the bear problem in the woods, infringing on town, and him, the gun bolstered on his thigh still hot from his warning shots into the bush.

(lost little Lamb—

wandered too far from the herd.)

You take another step, cautious. Small. It brings you flush against the tree. Your polyester jacket whines at the friction. He can see indecision play out on your face. Oscillating between the badge on his uniform shirt, the gun on his massive thigh, and the clamour of muted noise from the town just within reach. Alphas prowling. Their acrid scent is unmistakable even through the dense foliage spreading around you.

It's an impasse. Neither option affords you much choice in the long run—it's either stay here with him, with the heady scent of want, of an Alpha on the incipient cusp of a voracious rut; or risk yourself in town. There are police officers patrolling. Ones who can sedate an alpha who gets too out of hand, but still.

The mimesis of desire pooling around you might send you into heat sickness. That, or you'll get in even more trouble for fleeing a pursuing officer. Resisting arrest. Jail time, certainly.

The pendulum wavers. Your knotted fists wobble.

Then—

Your eyes leave his chest, the gun, trailing over his shoulder. Widening in surprise at whatever is there in the distance.

He ought to commend you, really. The rouse is quite believable—

But:

“Not bad,” he murmurs, leaning down further. If you won't jump, he'll push you—

He sees his mistake as soon as it happens.

As he bends, you drop. Waiting until his attention seemingly drifts elsewhere, to when he's distracted and off balance. Lured in by your faux attempt at distraction.

And it might have worked on a lesser being, but all Ghost has ever been is raw, unadulterated instinct.

He lashes out as soon as you move again, palm curling over your wrist in an instant. Snapping jowls of a defensive snake. Shackled. Locked. He tugs—

But the movement costs momentum. You use this against him, going limp. Forcing him to take the brunt of your weight on the spread of his fingers. Tricky little minx. His mouth breaks out in a feral smirk, tugging harshly on scars, on burns. Stretching skin. Distorting it under the mask, ugly and vicious.

Your scent plumes up around him, sickly sweet. His jaw aches, gums itch. He wants to bite, snap his jowls around the scruff of your neck, chew on your skin until you sob out his name—

In seconds, you twist. Swinging your body back in a beautiful pivot, clumsy as it is. You're all animal now. Reckless in your pursuit to escape. Throwing out pheromones at him—purposeful, he realises a moment too late.

And it works. Distracts him long enough for his grip to slacken. Your arm slips out of his grasp, and you're on your feet in an instant, darting through the thicket in a maddened dash to escape the heavy, starving alpha and his burgeoning hunger.

Escape, or—

Weighed down by the afterbirth of his sudden rut, a prickle of his old self buoys, brims, from beneath the mess. He shouldn't chase you. Should leave you alone, call someone—Price, perhaps. Bark out between a clenched jaw that he needs a tranquiliser and chains. Will have to break Simon's teeth to stop him from biting into you like a man starved, famished. Tie him to the back of his pickup truck, drag him to the edges of the forest. Knock him out. Knock his teeth in.

Anything.

Because they said this might happen. The doctors’ who poked and prodded. Therapists—all mandatory, non-negotiable, when he signed his name on the dotted line—murmured about unravelling. His self-control snapping like a twig. Sense of self retreating. All hiding away, protecting itself from the torrent of chemicals flooding his hindbrain. A heavy, unrelenting accumulation of a decades-long bout of rut celibacy all washing over him, all at once.

Said to lock himself up if it happens. Chains. Shackles. Nuts and bolts. Heavy tranquiliser. Immediate sedation.

And in Price’s office, in that messy filing cabinet he keeps, is a folder. A playthrough of everything that's supposed to happen if this happens.

(“but that won't happen, will it, Simon?”

and he'd rolled one massive shoulder in an easy, effortless shrug.

“no.”)

The failsafe is that he's meant to call in if it does. Precious seconds of clarity, cognisance, enough time for him to dial the number, to bark out the order. To be hunted down, rounded up, and thrown in a pit.

where he belongs.

He should. Should. It's the book. Rules. Coloured in red ink. No option to negotiate.

But as you slip through the dense foliage, angelic gold against the phthalo green bosky, the knot in his shoulders abates. Uncoils. In this sense of ease that permeates within him, he finds that he's shockingly cognisant. In full control. The plexiglass shatters, and in the ruins he finds purpose.

You smell good. Too good. Any alpha will scent you in an instant, will claim you. Take you. It makes something in his broken, moulted head shift. Crack. He can't let that happen. Has to protect you the only way he knows how—

To wrap his paws around your throat before any other Alpha has the chance to sink their teeth into you. To claim you.

All his. Little Persephone tucked tight against his ribs where you belong.

And if the way the air clots with your cloying smell—heady, potent; the unmistakable ripeness of an omega in heat—then you must want him to chase you. Want him to follow.

(escape, or—

a game.)

He tracks your movements, honed in on the rustle of the underbrush. When you're out of sight, Ghost flexes his hand, curling his gloved fingers over the leather on his palm. There's an itch in the back of his head. Festering. Rotting. He wants to reach in, rake his claws down the mass, shred it to pieces, but it affixes one simple truth inside of him:

you need him. want him. why else would you run in the opposite direction of help if you didn't want him to give chase?

And so, he does.

You're a crafty little thing. To throw him off of your trail, you leave scent markers on the tree trunks you pass, doubling back to run in the opposite direction.

It might have worked on someone else, but Ghost has spent half of his life buried in this thicket, and knows better than to follow smells in the forest. A vacuum, a great chasm; it plays tricks with sounds. Distorts scents wafting through the canopy, mingling with the natural loam, the disturbed humus underfoot.

Instead, he hums at your cleverness—his smart little omega—and shifts his gaze to the forest floor, roaming over the footprints sinking into the soft soil, the peat and moss. A breadcrumb trail leading right to you. Broken twigs, crushed bushes.

Ghost follows it. Places each foot down carefully, nose angled upward to catch the fresh wave of your heat leaking through the tangled furze. It beckons him forward. Calls out to him.

(come, come, come—)

This lost little lamb needs a shepherd.

He intends to give you just that.

(—find me)

The path you cut through the forest is a twisting sawtooth meant to throw him off your trail. Traps laid out in tall tussocks, weaved through sweetgrass all drenched in your scent. Pieces of your clothing torn at the hem, the shorn fabric pressed on pine needles and tangles furze.

These breadcrumb trails—a neat nest of wile, it seems—are cunning, he'll give you that.

Even with his eyes to the forest floor, he finds himself throwing a wayward glance in the opposite direction, snagged in your webbed subterfuge. Somewhere between the visitors centre and the first trail meandering into the thick taiga, you seemed to have realised that your boots leave indents in the mor. He follows the deep impressions in the podsol until he finds them shoved under a Saskatoon berry bush. Another dead end.

Clever little thing, aren't you?

But even when strays from the path, he's right on your tail. Confident in his scenting abilities. His prowess has always been tracking down wily little rabbits when they try to flee, picking them off in stasis from high above. The layout might have changed—his perch closer to the ground instead of a deer stand—but his eyes are just as keen. Your winding trail is ingrained in his mind. A long loop through the eastern trailhead, and he knows, instantly, that you'll try to throw him off at the placard where the west trail branches off through the dense conifers, and the east meanders downslope to the hidden stream where hunters like to trawl.

He feels a pinch of pride simmering low in his guts. Anyone else would have lost you three pitfalls back. He's enraptured by this pursuit. Smitten by you. Your clumsy little escape. Your sweet little ploys. He wants to chew into you, let his teeth leave jagged scars, false starts, on your bones. Permanent. Starlight—dusting meteor showers in milk white.

Ghost’s belly gives a tremendous growl. He huffs at the ache clawing against tissue, ravenous and unbearably empty.

He'll have you soon. All to himself.

The thought makes fresh blooms of pleasure spume from the rot in his chest, prickling through the layers of muskeg and peat, etiolated little sprout. Germinating in wet gangrene. Feasting on necrotised flesh.

He swipes his hand over a honeybush, catches the lingering scent clinging to the leaves. You must have fallen here. Tangled yourself in the furze, overcome by your heat.

Poor thing. Tired already.

He holds his hand up to the fading gossamer of twilight trickling through the dense canopy, clenching the lingering remnants of your scent in his fist. It's fresh. He wants to tuck it in his pocket, carry it around with him.

He finds you in a small clearing, bent down with your palm resting on the trunk of a tree. Nails digging into the rotting bark, desperately struggling to catch your breath. Your heat is a wildfire. It scorches the earth. Burns his nose.

You're no longer on the cusp of it anymore, but in the throes.

His rut, he finds, isn't too far behind.

Perfect synergy. Meant to be. You call to him, and the gaping, gnarled chasm inside of him answers with a growl—

Before you can blink, he moves.

He falls over you, felled timber. The earth shakes under his indomitable weight. Palms slam into the rough bark of the gnarled spruce you've taken respite against, boxing you in.

You fall against it with a gasp, hands pushing against his broad chest as he backs you into the tree. Little fists pounding on his sternum, mouth pinched, twisted in a snarl. There are pieces of bush caught on your clothes, tangled in your hair. Leaves. Sticks. A spot of dirt on your nose.

It's mesmerising.

The ballcap falls first. Morning sunlight over a boscage in bloom. Pitfalls, ravines. The canyons of your eyes quiver; this new topography shifting, sliding. Tectonic beauty in muted midnight.

He wants to reach in, feel these granite walls of yours with his bare hands. Clamber up the colluvium, the scree, until he reaches these rugged peaks gleaming at him, angry and feral, in fading twilight.

Time is endless. There's no limit to how long he has to know you—drink from your rivers, feast on your valleys; find all the hidden nooks, the crannies, shaded under the towering monoliths of your body. Chart your couloir. Defile your flume. Bathe in your estuary. Tangle himself inside your dells. Tame your chaparral.

Fastidiously. Expertly. Until no part of you is unknown to him.

Your chest heaves, mouth open as he crowds you further. Pressing into you. Over you.

He wedges his broad thigh between your legs, presses it tight against your pussy. Your thrashing stills when he touches you, when he angles his knee up, up—

There. Through the layers of clothing that separates his bare skin from your cunt, he feels the heat bleeding out against him. The wetness from your sodden panties. Undeniable proof of how much you want him. Need him.

“All wet f’me?”

“Fuck you—!” You spit, angry and feral, but you arch into his touch, pushing your pussy onto his thigh. Aching for friction.

It makes him hum. A low growl caught in the back of his throat.

“Reckon I'll be the one fuckin’ you, pet.”

And he will be. This is fact.

You shudder, brows notching together in a vicious glare. “I don't want you.”

It's hissed between the sliver of your clenched teeth. Full of heavy conviction. Forging truth out of lies—

And that's all it is. A lie. A fallacy.

(and even if it wasn't, unlikely considering the way you arch into him, needy despite the disdain dripping down your brow—he really just can't find it in himself to give a fuck; he'll make you want him—)

Ghost leans down, muzzle pressed against your neck. He inhales deep, audible. Chest expanding, lungs swelling. Full of the aroma bleeding out of your pores. Proof of just how much you do, in fact, want him. Betrayed by your own body.

He huffs out, paints the air with his derision. “Is that so?”

Ghost drags his hand down the solid line of the tree, dropping it to rest against the jut of your hip. He ducks his head, watching. Staring at the way his palm nearly swallows you up when he rests it over your waist. Spanning nearly the entirety of it—hip to hip.

It bludgeons into him. Knocks the air clean from his lungs.

He's always had a hunger for things he can cup in his palm. The barrel of his rifle. The hilt of a knife. Your wrist in his hand. The curve of your hip.

His gloved fingers slip under the hem of your shirt. Pads ghosting over your skin. Warmth bleeds through the leather, an unmistakable tell of your heat reaching its first equinox. It'll be all fire, all smoke, from this point onward. Desperate. Feral.

Groaning deep, wanting, he pushes into you further. Chest rumbling. Eager.

It takes a great deal of effort to pull his hand away. To bring it up to his mouth, fingers hooking over the edge.

The fight in you abates—marginally—and you watch him with a keen look of suspicion dancing in the moulted dirt spread over your nullah. Wary. Anticipatory.

He fights the urge to laugh—deep and delirious—and instead works on prying his mask down over his crooked nose, his mangled mouth. Letting the hem snap under his chin, kept there. Bearing himself to you for the first time. Naked. Exposed.

Your eyes widen, trailing down the jagged lines, mauled ridges of scar tissue. Drinking in everything he offers in the fading embers of a summer twilight.

He grins—a rivened, ugly thing—when you let out a heavy, quick breath, and your hips drop, rutting your sopping cunt over the wide heft of his thigh. Gyrating subconsciously. Quietly pleased by the way he looks—as maimed, as beastly as he is. He lets you. Lifts his knee, pressing his cap tight into the bark, and bumping the top of his flexing quadriceps at the apex of your groin, right where he knows your clit sits.

The breath you take is pulled in through clenched teeth, biting on the rind of a moan. Its shapeless silhouette ducks, hides from sight.

He lets you have it. Lets you run.

But it's not without recompense.

With his upper lip curled, he sinks his teeth into the leather tip of the glove above his middle finger. Letting you see them for yourself—these thrawn teeth he'll bury into your neck. Claiming you entirely as his.

Your pupils start to eclipse your irises. Lagoons of liquid black blotting over rugged peaks.

Ghost slowly tips his head back, dragging the glove with him. Eyes setting along his lashline, he drinks in the sight of you swallowing thickly, your gaze darting between his teeth, his mouth, and now—his bared neck. Voracious, greedy, in the way you feast on him. Drilling into the stretch of skin slowly unveiling itself to you.

The muscles in his neck flex against rimy skin. Adam's apple bobbing with his slow swallow.

You follow it all, but your gaze seems to fix itself on the brawny arch of his neck, falling—and then glueing— to the thick vein protruding from his flesh, pulsing with the steady rhythm of his heart, and the small, swollen bump of his scent gland beneath it.

Hunger, he finds, paints such a pretty picture on your face. The greedy, anfractuous glances a bludgeon into him; so heavily affixed with desire that the shake of your head when he pulls the glove free, letting it dangle from between his teeth, and drops his hand back to your skin, is minute. Meaningless.

You want him as much as he wants you.

The clause in this, the axiom, is ironclad. Irrefutable. Bound in brass when you shiver at the touch—feverish skin on feverish skin—and arch into his palm for more. Panting through clenched teeth, each hiss striking against that fraying coil leashing his threadbare control. To distract himself from the unspooling knot, the ache in his gums, he charts the first inch of skin he passes with his thumb, committing the sloping plains of your body to memory. The jut of your hip, the stutter in your breath when he runs the rough pad of his forefinger over the slope of your underbelly.

It's easy to marvel at the sheer enormity of his size compared to yours. Simon hitches his thigh firmly into your clothed cunt, nearly lifting you up off the ground. You teeter on the tips of your toes, falling forward into his chest to stabilise yourself. Little fists curling into the fabric of his jacket, knuckles tight against his the last rungs of his ribcage. Your head lifts, a glare chiselling into the soft fields of your face.

You hiss something at him—feral and scathing. He drops the glove, leans down to meet you in the middle, and eats your feeble protests from your lips in a bruising kiss. Scorching. His teeth knock into yours. Tongue lashes out to catch the vitriol dripping from your fangs. You make a noise in the back of your throat, and he swallows that, too. Devours it all.

It's a vicious kiss. All teeth, tongue. Bullying. He lets you sink your teeth into his tongue, huffing into the seam of your lips when you coo, victoriously, at the first drop of blood spilled.

In retaliation, he sets his hands over your ribs, and lifts you up off the ground. Making you gasp. Mewl. Your legs kick out as the back of your head catches on loose bark, raining it down over your shoulders in flakes. He doesn't stop kissing you throughout. Eyes half-mast, still open, as he drinks in the sight of yours rolling back in your head when his thigh, one the width of both of yours—fuckin’ hell—catches the perfect angle on your clit.

Loose-limbed, caught, you have no choice but to wrap your ankles around his waist, curl your arms around his broad shoulders. Clinging to him desperately to remain grounded, held aloft.

His hand falls down, cups the back of your thigh, fingers spanning the entire curve of your cheek. Held tight in his palm. He bucks into you—quick, hard. Letting you feel the unmistakable bulge of his stiffening cock, leaking spend already in the tight confines of his trousers. This groin, inner thighs, already sticky with the mess dribbling out.

You fall apart at this. Head tipping back, crown thudding against the truck of the tree. He has your lower lip between his teeth, and it pulls, skin stretching until he huffs out another breath, mocking, and unhinges his jaw, letting you go.

Mewling, whining low in the back of your throat, you clumsily rut your cunt into the hard press of his cock. Eyes hazy, liquid, with your blooming heat.

Its approach is quicker than he thought it would be, and he hums, tongue rolling over his teeth to catch the lingering taste of you. Under his hand, your skin burns. Singing with the urgency of your desperation. He answers it with a grunt, falling forward to smother you under his weight.

There's a flash of clarity in your eyes when they crack open. Brief. Fleeting. He feels your sluggish attempt to push him away, to free your hands from between your chests, and he has to dip his head to stifle another groan. It feels good to have you under him like this. Covered entirely in his bulk, his shadow.

His hand pulls away from your flesh, snaking between your bodies to catch your wrists in the palm of his hand. Only one swallows them up, and the easy way he subdued you—effortlessly—has him nearly coming undone in his trousers. Untouched.

“Fuck, want it bad, don't you?” he snarls, hips bucking into you. Chasing pleasure. He pulls your hands out, lifting to arm to trap yours in the shackle his fingers make high above your head, and—

It's devious, this.

Somewhere in the loosening agency of his self, his autonomy, he knows this is becoming dangerous. Something that ought to be stopped before he rips into you with a rabidness that promises nothing at all will remain intact when he's finished. When he's had his fill. He needs to clear his mind. To get away from the way you fit against him so perfectly. Tiny in his wicked embrace.

Like you were made to fit between his ribs. His teeth.

He gnashes them together, trying to stem the ache in his gums.

He wants to fuck you. Needs to—

But as ripe as you smell to him now—tender melon, warmed honeycomb—he knows that you're not yet ready to take him.

Ghost steps back, letting your feet drop to the soil below. With the sparse inch of space between your bodies, he breathes in the lingering scent of your breath—sharp, burning; imbued with a heady thrum of adrenaline electrifying your nerves—and finds the musk a near-perfect pantomime of ozone. The arid tang in the air just before the air. A lightning strike. It rolls over his tongue, tastes of wet pennies in the back of his throat. Heavy with anticipation.

Something he feels very keenly as well. An eagerness he hasn't met in decades. Absolutely famished for it, for this familiarity of want. Potent desire.

He mourns the loss of the way your ass fits in the cradle of his hand when he pulls it free, fingers trailing over the feverish skin of your hips, your belly, as he goes. He doesn't stop until he comes to rest on the button of your trousers, eyes flickering down to catch your gaze. Purposeful, now. Intent clear.

Nothing is stopping him from taking. Your protests are paper-thin, dissolving the moment it touches the dense blanket of humidity in the air, but he wants your submission. Wants to see your resolve break, crushed by your own hand.

The gossamer wings of a butterfly, crumpled up in your palm, and offered to him for the taking. How sweet—

You seem to realise his intentions when his thumb dips below the hem of your pants. Just a tease. Brushing against the soft skin he finds there with the curve of his nail.

Your glare is instant. The sharp tug of a drawstring pinching tight between your brow. Mesmerising as it closes over your lax expression. A fierce snap. He wants to pry it apart. Wedge himself between the seam. Create a gap wide enough for him to fit.

“I won't beg,” you grind out, acidulous. Firm.

He huffs, quietly amused by the fight still sparking in you despite the evidence of your arousal, your want of him, evident in the stain at the seam of your pants. His other hand rests on the trunk of the tree above your head, boxing you in when he leans closer. Taunting. “That so?”

You don't respond, but your glare sharpens, mouth tugging downward in a harsh frown. Displeasure sparks in the air. Cutting into him like fine glass shards. He lets it graze his naked flesh, the warning ghosting over him in needlepoint pinpricks. Entirely too captivated by you to notice the sting.

Your ire is a heady, tangible thing dripping down your brow, slashing over your cheeks. Anger, however misguided it might be, paints a pretty picture over your face. Darkens the inlets nestled in the corner of your eyes. Drenches the ravines, gorges in a startling chiaroscuro. Limns the alpines, the valleys, in a halo of golden starlight.

He wants to drink it down. Hold your fury in the palm of his hand—

Crush it between his fingers.

Because despite the dissent, your desire cuts through, and hews the air in a thick tapestry of want.

mutinous, teeth bared, but your eyes burn, rage against the prison walls, and scream, please—

His fingers dig into the bark above your head, catching flecks of sap between his nails. Knuckles turning white under the flaxen hair dusting over them, strained. The grip is unintentional. Unconscious. He keeps thinking about you beneath him. The heat of your thighs around his waist was a mere tease. A morsel when he wants a meal—

The pressure in his knuckles grounds him. Cuts through the phosphenes blanketing the edges of his vision, smothering the clarity, the cognisance, that lingers in the centre. Threadbare as it is.

There’s an ache in his jaw.

(the need to bite—)

He pulls it off, and shoves his hand tight between your thighs, cupping your cunt in his palm. Feeling the heat bleed through the gusset of your pants. The touch is harsh. Firm. He bullies his fingers into your flesh, letting out a mocking chuff when he feels the fabric dampen.

“Somethin’s’ tellin’ me otherwise.”

Your hand lashes out, grabbing the thick of his wrist. Holding firm. It should be a warning, but the obvious gap between your middle finger and thumb makes him groan instead.

“You're wrong.”

“Am I?”

You twist away from him when he leans down, chin ducking to your shoulder. Hiding. Denying him your mouth, your taste. This meagre measure of control you grapple for is easy to give. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear instead, letting you run. Flee. For now.

His voice is thick when he continues, husky. He pitches it low, lets it swirl into the seashell coil of your inner ear, earning him a shiver in response. Your nails biting into the skin of his wrist. Holding tight.

“‘m a lot of things, pet—” rucked gravel, sodden with his derision, spills into your ear. Your shudder makes him want to bite, to maim. “Wrong ain't usually one of ‘em. But you'll learn that soon enough.”

Your breath hitches. Expression morphing, shifting. Changing into something adorably beleaguered as he encircles you like a tiger, eyes drilling through the tussock, aimed directly at your head. With his body boxing you in, coiling over you like a hideous shadow, he has you trapped, caught. Little lamb writhing between the paw of a tiger.

You seem to be keenly aware of this. Your eyes are shrewd, searching, as you probe around for any escape route, but he's a bulwark around you. Inescapable.

Finding none, you suck in another breath, and slowly lift your chin, glancing up at him through your lashes. The look on your face is—

Enigmatic.

Something changes in the morphology of your mien. Fracturing. Cracking.

“Yeah?” You breathe, soft and goading. Your hips buck into his hand, rutting shallowly against the tops of his fingers. Unconscious. Like you just couldn't help it.

And he supposes you can't.

A fine sheen of sweat has been building since he took after you into the forest. Gathering around your temple, your hairline. The harsh reminder of your festering heat, once dammed by your raw disdain for him—hatred, he'd say, and doesn't the thought just make him want to laugh; you're all bark, no bite, and he knows he'll have fun breaking you in, breaking you apart—but flooded over by the primal drive to mate.

And he's perfect for you, isn't he?

Hideous bastard that he is. It's a sharp juxtaposition to your prettiness, your earthly beauty.

Under the spinel sky, you break. The hand on his wrist tightens, your hips flexing into his palm. Seeking friction. Needing pressure. Needing him. And pissed off about it. Delicious.

“Prove it,” you snap, irritation blanching the corners of your eyes arsenic white. Edging into a frenetic desperation hot enough to burn the threads of your resolve. But there's a gleam of reluctance pushing through the syrupy murk folding over you, heavy molasses. You want to give in, but there's something about him, his appetite, that makes you hold back. That makes you visibly sick at the sight of him—

Unfortunately for you, he has no such compunction to shelf his barbarity. To leash his desire, to muzzle the overwhelming urge to crush you under the weight of his accumulated need. It's decades of listless apathy. Divorced from anything resembling human emotion at the root. Carved out, scraped off bone. He was left to stagnate. A misfortunate creature submerged in a bog, dead but unable to rot.

The deluge of his savage, bestial hunger rages in his veins. It's corrosive, vile, and—

unrestrained.

Ravenously esurient. He wants to sink his teeth into you and never let go—

but first:

he needs to eat.

His meal is a feast, it turns out. Simon gorges himself until he's full. Promises that he'll stop as soon as he's satiated.

(but he's lying to himself, and to you, because he never is—

never will be.)

Tears pebble along your lash line as he feasts on your sopping cunt, licking at your fluttering rim, slurping up your slick. Your clit is pressed tight against the crooked arch of his nose, sliding and catching on the jagged ridge each time he moves his jaw to dig deeper inside of you as if he's trying to taste the seal of your womb. You pant, whine. The noise muffled half-heartedly behind your palm. Teeth sunk into your skin, lodged against your bone.

Angry rivulets rain down your cheeks, dangling like fine beads, gems, on your jaw. He wants to taste them next, as soon as he fills his gullet with the earthy tang you release.

Your tears remind of that pretty omega Johnny sent to him—a brat, he'd said; the best, Lt—and it churns in his stomach, dredging up something awful. Terrible. He wants to make you weep harder. Wants you sobbing, begging. His own little brat to take over the knee whenever he wants—

But that's where the uncanny resemblance ends.

You're not a brat. No. You're a headache. The kind that will have him written up, sat like a bad dog in his best suit, as they level him with charges, and orders, and the like. The sort of thing that even the old man wouldn't be able to string him out of—not that he would. Price is three days away from a much-deserved retirement to the mountains and sitting on his hands to keep from snatching up the pretty conservation officer who moons at him whenever he passes by.

He won't be much help to get Ghost out of trouble. That leaves only Gaz and Soap. And while he's sure they can swing it, he doesn't really want to be under their ahh, guess ye/ya owe us one, Lt/Riley.

So—

It stands to reason then that he should have you tamed before dawn. Shackled down, locked up tight. Only right considering he's the best in town to keep bears at bay. Do you really want to deal with a mama grizzly and her defenceless cubs? Or a starving male clumsily pawing his way out of hibernation?

Probably not.

So. So.

He pulls back, rests his chin on your thigh.

“Gonna be good for me, pet?” He asks, lowering his tone considerably until it catches on the gravel below.

He's not surprised when you hiss through a cloud of tears. “Go fuck yourself—”

Ghost tips his head, suckles your clit into his mouth. Tongue laving over your flesh. Blunt teeth pressing flat against the swollen bead, a tease. You tense, gasping. Hand pushing his head back, back—

“Don't, don't—” you're mewling, nails raking over his scalp. Hips bucking, pulling back. Struggling to get away. The bite marks along your thighs weep fresh blood in your struggle, filling his nose with the heavy scent of iron.

They serve as a harsh reminder of what he can do with these jagged teeth of his.

He chuckles, mouth still closed around your clit. The vibrations have you choking, spine curving into a beautiful arch.

Fingers digging into your hips, keeping you still. Trapping you. He's not quite done with your cunt, yet. And all this wriggling is something he can do without. With his hand pressed to your hips, he notches the other down your thigh. Tracing his index finger over your soft skin, dragging it close to your outer lips. Catching the tacky slick drying on your flesh with the tip.

Tiny fists rain down over his shoulders. Urging him forward, eager for more. Selfish, spoiled little thing.

What a monster he's made—

“Patience, pet,” he coos, mocking and mean. Likes the way you react to the patronisation in his tone. All taut shoulders, shaking fists. Bearing your teeth at the slight, the stinging barb. Shaking in an amalgamation of embarrassment and shame.

You seem to like it when he's a little awful to you. A little mocking. Cruel.

“Shut up—!” You hiss, lips curling as you glare down at him. “I'm not your pet—”

He ignores you. Bends down to sniff at your cunt instead, and finds his answer is the white hot desire he can taste in the back of his throat when he breathes you in.

His fingers pry apart your folds, and he greedily drinks in the sight of your drenched hole, clenching down on nothing. Poor you. His heart thunders in his chest, rages. He wants to sink inside of you—impossibly deep—until the beginning of him and the end of you ceases to exist. Rolled into a single being, atoms merged. Bodies fused. He wants to take everything from you. All of it. Eat it out of the cup of his hand like pomegranate seeds, let the skin get stuck in his teeth.

He wants to devour you whole.

(to eat—)

Settles, instead, for pawing at your cunt.

Pressing the width of it against your slit, feeling the heat of your core on the palm of his hand. Branding himself with the intensity of your desire. Another scar among many. An uncountable number of jagged asteroids cratering along his flesh, making a home out of a ghost. A shell.

Reinforced, too, by the absurdity of how terribly contrasted his flesh is to yours. Monstrous. His scarred hand rests over your pussy, encompassing it entirely with extra digits to spare. Folding each finger on top of the other to wedge between the basin of your thighs. And as his gaze comes to rest on the way he swallows you up, he is struck by the garishness of his hand—hideous scar tissue, burns—falling over your pretty cunt.

Sinful. Frankensteinian beast palming the sweet pussy of a pretty, human woman, and—

Fuck.

His cock twitches, spits out a thick glob of pre-cum.

Ghost has never wanted to ruin something as badly as he wants to ruin your cunt. You. Mess you up so badly that everyone will know you belong to him, and him alone. To brand you with the tattoo of his teeth on your mons; force a claiming bite on the pillowy skin above your clit. His ownership bracketed between your thighs, at the very apex of your hip bones. Buried into tissue right under the bulge of your womb. A fecund valley for him to lay waste; for you to grow beauty from the rot, the ash.

Cinder scraps over his nerves. Fells his resolve in a brutal sweep.

He comes undone at the seams, unravels.

Simon curls his fingers into a loose fist, passing the rugged peaks of his bone over your soft flesh. Gathering slick on thick, scarred knuckles. He holds it there, folds pried apart by his hand, content to luxuriate in the softness of your flesh, the scorching heat.

Possessively, he unhitches his thumb from the coil of his fist, and swipes it over your clit. More slick leaks out as you keen.

“Sweet omega like you should ‘ave been claimed by now,” he rumbles evenly despite the sour twist in his guts at the thought. “Might not ‘ave ended up ‘ere, would you ‘ave? Beggin’ the first alpha you see to fuck this sweet little cunt.”

“Begging?”

“Practically gaggin’ for it, weren't you?” And even though the words are his own, they sit in his gut like a stone. An angry knot tangled in his intestines, snaking its way up his gullet. Bitter. It's quelled by the sight of your bare neck. Ripe for his teeth. And his alone.

But even if you had a pretty ring made by another alpha, Simon knows that wouldn't have stopped him from taking you, anyway. Biting over the claim. Breaking it between his teeth. Precious, loving union shattered by his crooked greed. He'd have relished in it, too. Basked in the way you sobbed as he tore your alpha into pieces. An obstacle turned into a pretty effigy at his feet. Wicker pyre burning to keep him warm.

(he'd have caught dinner for you, too; hunted caribou, moose, and roasted it over the open flame. Fucked you under the blume of orange. Let the fire lick across your skin as he sunk in deep—)

He rocks back on his haunches. Mood labile, quicksilver, as his rut grows. Festers.

You deny it, breathless, as he slips the mountainous peak of his bent middle finger into your hole, stretching your rim around the scarred cartilage. You pulse around him like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird. Rapid, quick. Wanting. It draws him in. Makes him want to spit on your pretty pussy, and then break you apart on his cock—

“Such a needy cunt, eh? Starving for a good knot, ain't it?”

You hiss out your protests, but clench tight around his knuckle. He chuckles, and it's liquid. Wet rot. Lungs polluted, spitting nocuous, black smoke into the air.

“I'm not—”

“You are.”

He pulls back, pursing his mouth, and spreads your lips apart, opening you up wide and vulnerable to his prying eyes. Saliva puddles on his tongue. He gives you a moment to clue into what he's about to do, your fingers tightening, nails digging into his scalp as you do on a shallow gasp of disgust. Then, brutish, he leans forward, and spits. Lets the glob hit your clit, and he has to hold you still when you jerk, cringing away from him, snarling out your displeasure.

“You're disgusting—”

The protests are weak. Your knees tremble, giving away the growing slickness gathering on the insides of your thigh.

He hums, watches as it oozes down between your folds, over your fluttering hole, before it falls to the ground between your legs. He lets his hand fall back over your cunt, middle finger gathering his spit. Rubbing it around your pebbled clit. It's done detachedly, perfunctory. A means to an end with hardly much concern for your pleasure. Not yet, anyway.

You've given him nothing in return yet.

He intends to change that soon.

As you grapple with the harsh reality he presents to you—one of ownership, humiliation, and pleasure on his whim—he drags his finger down, sliding it between your soft lips until he reaches your hole once more. Petting around the drenched entrance slowly, softly, humming under his breath about how wet you are.

Your hips drop, greedily chasing after his finger. You won't ask—not yet—but he likes the way you rut against him: all hateful, spiteful. Like you can't decide on what you want more—to bash his head in, or keep it locked tight between your thighs. Sweet thing.

“Need me, don't you?” He sinks his finger in. Nearly whites out at the pressure, the tightness, he feels. Soft, wet. Squeezing him in a vice as you yowl, whimpering into the stretch like it matters. Like his thick, scarred finger is the most you'd ever taken before. Sweet girl. So naïve.

He drinks in the sight of your flesh forcibly being parted around his knuckle, matting the wisps of blond on his skin as it leaks down to his wrist, until that, too, is pushed up into you. His whole finger now engulfed in the wet heat of your body as you squirm around the stretch, pulsing around him like a heartbeat.

He groans when he tastes your discomfort on the back of his tongue.

“Don't worry, lovie. M’gonna take good care’a you.”

You watch him with slitted eyes as he pushes you down to the forest floor, glaring over your shoulder as he adjusts you the way he wants. Maneuvers you around like a little toy. Forearms braced against the trampled grass, knees sinking into soft moss. Thighs spread. Cunt bare, drenched. Ready to be claimed. Taken.

He drops to his knees, shuffling close from behind you. His hand drops to your lower back, pressing your torso down further into the ground below. His cock aches between his thighs. Heavy, fat. He reaches down with his other hand to where it droops, smearing pre-cum over his inner thigh. He catches it in his fist, flushed the colours of a fresh bruise—angry red, purple—and strokes along the sensitive skin of his shaft, dragging it up and over his engorged head. Pre-cum weeps from the tip, drools long strains down to the forest floor. Puddles thick between your knees.

A prelude, perhaps, for what's to come. When he has you tied like a bow around his knot, milking all the pent-up spend from his heavy, full balls.

It's been decades since he had this—

(“shame.”

he concurs.)

Simon pulls his cock up, taps it against your pebbled clit. Drinks in the sight of you keening, cunt gushing more slick out of your empty hole, dribbling down your thighs. Mingling with the mess he already started making.

It shocks him how good it feels just to tap his cockhead on your pretty pussy. To drag it through your slit, teasing it against your fluttering hole that drools copious slick over him.

He wants to make a mess of you. Fuck your pussy until you cum, until all you can feel is the split of him inside of you. Filling you. Ruining you.

Until all you can think about is the thick drag of him against your stuffed walls. Empty without him plugging you up. Desperate for his cock, his knot—hungry little slut just for him. All for him.

He presses the head of his cock against your rim, letting it catch. Holding it there. A tease. Just a little taste.

Likes when you whimper, head hanging between your shoulders, fingers curling into the moss below. You make such a pretty picture like this—the expanse of your back bare for his eyes to roam, locking on the dimples of your hips, the curve of your waist. The plump shape of your ass inviting him in—eager for a bite. Your flesh looks bare, lonely, without his mark. The contrast of his own inked palm—fingers webbed with faded lettering, some slogan he picked up in his youth. Hands etched in black. Lines bleeding, bulky. The unmistakable tremble of an incipient artist’s first brush of a needle on real skin. Jagged, garring. Ugly. He lets his hand rest against the small of your back, groaning at the way it looks.

Sinful.

You're made for soft silk and a fluffy bed. Head resting on a plush cushion instead of your arms, forehead braced over the uncomfortable squeal of your polyester windbreaker that he didn't even have the courtesy to let you take off. No. Just trousers. Panties. Pushed haphazardly down your legs, left in a pile by the spruce tree so he could throw your ankle over his broad shoulder, feasting on your cunt.

There's a spot of dirt on your asscheek. The curve of it is scraped from the bark, red and raw.

The glare you aim at him from over your shoulder is venomous. There's a smear of moss on your cheek.

You're made for epsom salt baths. Being tended to by a besotted alpha who treats you like fine china, only to be taken out on special occasions. Brushed, always, in a fine layer of dust from disuse. Sweet, tender lovemaking under the waning summer sky. Your alpha apologising for ruining you like this, for making you take the brunt of his rut. Poor thing. Gentle kisses, and hands clasped together.

He can see it so vividly in his eye. So viscerally that it almost feels like a crime when he glances down at his cock, the weeping, engorged head almost comically too big for you. The thick of him could easily swallow your cunt up if he flattened his length against you. Covering you wholly by his girth.

It's a thought that makes his hand tighten, and nearly chokes him on a moan.

Even his thighs bracketing the backs of yours is hideous to look at. Bigger, broader—there's a considerable gap on both sides of his legs that he thinks nearly his whole fist can fit there, notched against the outside of your thigh, covering the expanse of his own. Garish.

He can't wait to lay you down on your belly, lock his thigh tight on either side of your own and rut into you like that. Crushing you under his weight. Swallowing you whole. Until anyone misfortunate enough to wander by thinks he's fucking the cold ground.

His thumb strokes along your fevered skin, collecting the sheen of sweat building up on the pad. Rubbing it in. He feels it too. This unrelenting swelter. A cage, pushing down from all sides. Inescapable.

The only way to quench it is on you. In you.

“Ready for me, pretty girl?” The words are mangled in his throat, thick with want.

Your shoulders tremble. In worry, he thinks. Scents the air like a viper, letting your emotions curdle in the back of his throat. “Just get on with it—”

He meets you in the middle of that taunt, teeth against your throat.

Ghost pushes inside with a groan, eyes rolling back at the way you swallow him up. Stretching around the considerable girth, fluttering around him. Pulsing like a heartbeat.

It's heaven.

Nirvana nests between your thighs, bracketed by rings of blood. Red. Absolution imbued in tender flesh, parting perfectly around his cock in a loving embrace.

You haven't confirmed it for him, but the tightness of your cunt around his fingers, the heady scent of discomfort burning the back of his throat when he buried them inside of you, make him mutedly aware that you're inexperienced. A fact he pockets for later because if he thinks about being the first alpha, the first man, to ever claim you, take you, then he might lose his mind, he might fall down that yawning chasm that reeks of damnation, of brimstone and ash, and never recover—

So, he doesn't. Won't.

Can't.

His pace is slow as he feeds you the fat length of his cock, eyes drilling into the way you swallow him up. Rim stretching taut, flesh paling under the strain of taking him. With one hand anchored against your hip, holding you tight, and the other curled over your shoulder, fingertips resting on your collarbones, he slowly, slowly, sinks inside of you, bottoming out with a deep groan.

The outstroke drags with it an iron scent in the air. He huffs, nostrils flaring. Greedy for more. There's discomfort leaking from your pores. His girth is more than you can conceivably take, even with the preternatural help from your heat, leaking slick down your inner thighs in thick rivulets.

He holds himself there, breathing—heavy, tremulous—through his nose. His hands shake. The pressure, the pleasure, is indescribable. It coils in his guts, spumes liquid bliss in his veins. The way you feel pulsing sweetly around him is—

Equilibrium.

Every misfiring synapse inside himself is slowed. Imbued with a potent sense of ataraxia. His mind comes to a standstill. Thoughts looping over themselves, tangling into the gossamer threads of control floating in stasis. Unmoored. You unravel him.

It's further proof that you are his missing part. His ruts in the past have been calamitous. Snarls wrenched from the trenches of his chest; a gluttonous feast—a sacrifice to Hēdonē. Violent, vicious.

But this—

It's drinking ichor from the vein of Anteros.

There's a crack in the back of his head. The sound of everything, all of it—

Falling into place.

His hands tighten. Tighten some more. He holds you, sure and firm, keeping you nestled in the anchor of his embrace, unable to run, to flee. You're his. Settled. The caveat is ironclad, bound in permanence.

And Simon moans. Deep, and low. The noise jutters out of his chest, and seeps into the evening air. Fine mist, crystallising in front of him. Phosphenes of ice cemented his decision, gluing to his cheeks. The nape of his neck.

His ears burn.

“Fuckin' hell, sweet thing,” it's a guttural growl in the hollow of his throat. “Where ‘ave you been all my goddamn life?”

It's a nauseating confession, one scraped out from the vacancy between his ribs. It peppers the air in a soft, saccharine kiss. Makes you shiver beneath him, gasping in lungfuls of loam, dirt in your throat.

He grunts. Stills. He doesn't want that for you. Ever. Would rip off his own limbs before he ever let you feel the crushing weight of dirt congealing inside of your lungs.

The way he arches over you is damning. Nauseating. He curls his arm around your shoulder, your chest, traps a heaving breast in the palm of his hand, holds tight. The other falls from your hip, closes over your mons. Greedily feeling your slick, hot sex pulsing wildly around him when he passes over your clit, toying with your stretched, swollen rim. It's perfection, this.

He pulls you up, up, leaning back on his haunches until you're balanced on your knees, nearly sat on his lap. Taking him deeper than before. He drops his head back with another moan when he feels your slick gather, dripping down to coat his balls.

Everything about you is just—

Perfection. Absolution.

Your hands fly up, curling over his forearm, mewling when he pinches your nipples between his middle and ring finger.

“C’mon,” he rasps, leaning forward to press his face into your nape. You smell sweet. “Play with ‘em for me, pet.”

Nails bite into his skin. You whimper. Squirming around on his lap. But you do as you're told. Slowly, slowly, reaching up. Touching yourself the way you like. Fingers ghosting over your flesh, brushing across your nipples. Pulling, petting, the way you like. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, watches. Devours. Commits each movement to memory. Every sound, every breath. Everything.

He keeps a slow, languid pace like this. Content to just feel you pulsing around him, listening to the slick, wet squelch of him filling you up. Over and over again. A lazy rut.

It's unexpected, he knows. You've been bracing yourself this whole time, fingers digging into the podsol, spine tightening up. Waiting for the savagery to befall you.

When it doesn't come, he feels your quiet acquiescence come in a soft breath. In the way you slowly drop down to meet the deep rut of his hips. Taking your pleasure, pulling him in deeper. There's an edge to your voice, one still dipped in threads of discomfort, a waning pain that rings out, shrill, in the satin spill of moonlight over the indigo forest.

It's good like this. Tender. Not something he'd have ever imagined for himself, and the reality of it is dizzying.

Reedy, he groans. Nuzzles his misshapen nose into your scent gland. His gums pulse, ache—

But he ignores it. Swallows it down.

He's not sure what compels him to do so. Spellbound, maybe, by this unnatural softness that spools silken threads between you. Sutured in tenderness—so unbefitting of the man he is. The monster—

His hips stutter. Jerk.

“Simon—!”

You whine into it, arching back. Sweat gathers, drips down your spine, smears into his chest, belly. Matts the thatch of hair running in sparse, patchy clusters down the thickness of his midsection. A bountiful spring fattened him up. Made him soft and pillowy over his abdomen. Something you can't seem to get enough of—pressing the flat of your back against him, leaning into it. Groaning when his arm shifts, boxing you in. Crushing you to him.

Wily little kitten, purring so sweetly in his lap.

He draws lazy circles over your clit, grunting with each clench of your cunt. You're soft in his arms. Malleable. He slides his hand up from beneath your breasts, catches your jaw in his palm. Fingers spanning from cheekbone to temple and, oh—

Doesn't that just make him preen.

He drags your chin to the side, catching your mouth in a sickening kiss. All tongue, teeth. He wants to taste, to devour, every part of you. Bones and all.

It's a fight, though. You tense in his grasp, lidded eyes snapping open, wide and around. Cheeks bulging between his fingers when you twist, trying to pull away.

“Don't—I don't want to—” he bites the protests from lips. Messy, sloppy. He flicks his tongue over yours, wrapping it around you like a satiated snake burrowing in after a heavy meal. “Don't—f–fuck—”

It earns him a nip. Teeth digging into his bottom lip. Drawing blood.

He huffs into the seam of your mouth. Only fair, he supposes, and then pulls you down—hard, fast—onto his cock. The air is punched out of your lungs, flooded into his esophagus.

“Be a good girl for me,” he warns, bucking into you. It's harder this time, deeper. Tempo increasing. Growing. He feels himself thicken. Knot fattening up. Each piston of his hips seems to knock something inside of his head loose. Common sense, maybe—

The fraying knot of his self-control winding tight. Pulling taut.

He huffs again, feeling himself slip. Lost in the sensation dripping down his spine, the unified pleasure blooming in the pit of his stomach.

The air plumes with the thickening tang of your arousal—all sweet, spice. You can take it, now, he knows, and tries not to growl when you hiccup his name wetly into the air.

The muscles in his thighs bunch tight. Corded and powerful. He arches up, up, forcing his cock deep inside your cunt, splitting you apart. Rutting desperately, edging into something animalistic.

It runs a knife along the thin skin of his hindbrain. Come out, come out, come play—

He moves you again, pulling his hand away from your jaw and pushing you back down the forest floor. He stays glued to your back. Tucks his arm under your chin, and smothers you under his bulk, groaning when your thighs give out, sliding on the sweat-slicked moss below.

“Simon, ah—” your voice tapers off into a breathless cry when he pulls his hand free from beneath you, wrapping it around to join the other. Holding on, clinging to you. Keeping you locked tight against him, under him. You can't move at all like this—

The swell of his knot bumps against your stretched rim. He presses the brunt of his weight into each thrust now, spurned on by the needy way you yowl into his forearm, drooling all over his skin. Begging for it.

“Please, please, please—”

Your body is jostled forward with each harsh buck of his hips as he gives you everything he has, feeding his cock into your sopping cunt over and over again. Eager now to fill you up, to flood you with his cum. Make you swell with it. Overstuffed.

Perfect little omega, you rut back into him with each thrust, taking his thick cock to the root. Mewling sweetly when his knot begins to catch. Too much, he thinks. It might just wreck you for good—

pomegranate seeds splitting over your teeth, blood red juice leaking from the tear. spilling into your mouth. just a drop. just a drop, and Persephone is all his

—Perfect.

He teeters on the edge of ferality and control. Spinning, spiralling. Loosefooted on the wobbling chossy. Coming undone in a magmatic end—wicked heat, ashes, brimstone; he catches fire, and smoulders you under his heat. Letting the flames lick across your skin until you whine his name, desperate and needy, in the back of your throat. The thrill a bludgeon against his skull, spilling pleasure, bliss, in the broken hole you wrought.

You tighten like a vice around him—tight, tight—and he pistons into you, burrowing deep. Deeper still. Until you thrash around beneath him, soundlessly screaming his name into the dark forest. Begging for mercy, mercy, please—

He won't. Can't.

He can't get enough of the way you feel wrapped around him like this. Silken, whitehot. Tight. Tight—

It squeezes the air from his lungs. Static in his head—

And then you let go. Pulsing, throbbing around him. Pulling him in deeper, blanketing his mind in white noise. In nothing but magmatic pleasure.

“Fuck—!” He snarls, almost angry. Vicious. Chasing after his end in the aftermath of yours. Instincts are at war within him, banging against his skull. Demanding recompense. Paid it's pound of flesh.

It's what he's promised. What it's owed.

(and he always keeps his promises, doesn't he?)

Most describe their ruts as mindless, driven by instinct. No control. But Ghost has never felt more present, more alive, than when he sinks his teeth deep into your nape, nearly choking, drowning, on your blood.

For the first time in decades, he feels the crater inside himself, suffused with spare, broken parts, seal when you yield with a mangled yowl of his name, raw and fractured as it splits between your teeth. Pretty pussy swallowing up his knot when he bullies it in deep, locking you together.

pretty little lamb—

a perfect fit between his teeth.

His rut is a voracious thing.

Ghost has you on your back for the second and third round, heels resting on his shoulders as he bucks into you. Makes you stare at him—don’t look away from me, pet—as he commandeers your body with an ease that seems to break apart all demurrals as they form, rendering you sweet, malleable, beneath him to do with as he pleases.

And you are, aren't you?

So fuckin’ sweet.

(“gonna give me a cavity,” he rasps, thick with pleasure, into your ear. he has you on your belly now. holds you down with his weight, crushes your chest against the soft moss below, thighs squeezed tight between his own. you can barely make a sound with his forearm digging into the dirt right above your crown, swallowing you whole under his bulk.

(owns you like, he finds. no one would be able to see you beneath him if they wandered by. encompassed wholly by every iota he has to give—

he cums like that. nose buried in your crown, moaning low, scorched, in the back of his throat as you twitch beneath him, unable to move at all—)

It's early in the morning when he finally finishes, when his rut begins to slowly recede, and a fresh bloom of clarity yawns over his periphery. Moonrise peppers soft kisses over his aching shoulders as he glances at you curled up against his side, sleeping soundly. Exhausted by the hours and hours of mating, fucking. Taking him, his knot, drinking down everything he has to offer.

The sight that greets him is gnarled fingers wrapping around his rotting heart, affection peeking out between the brackets of his ribs. His appetite for you is dizzying. Unquenchable. He wonders if he'll ever be able to look at you without wanting to crawl inside your body. To reshape your tender flesh around his bulk until it is indiscernible from himself.

This want is agony. It's dread, desire. Greed.

His shoulders bite back in protest when he reaches up to drag his dirt-crusted nails through the prickly hair on his scalp. As dawn slowly unfurls across the midnight blue aether, he knows he'll have to leave soon. Can already feel the creeping heat gnawing in the pit of his belly. His rut starting anew. The scant hours he has of mental clarity, moments meant to eat, to feed, and regain strength for the next marathon of fucking, are needed to feel out his next move.

He glances at you again, and feels the same covetous tug in his chest as he did before, when he was thickly entrenched in the urge to mate. But as the burnt orange of the sun smears hazy fingerprints across the moulted sky, he sees you in a new, cleaner light. You're young. Much younger than he is.

It's something he ought to worry about. To feel some shred of shame, of despondency over shackling you to himself—a defective alpha with more scars than morality—when you're in the burgeoning bloom of your freshly untethered youth. All jejune beauty outclasses nature itself. Snow melts on the alpines, trickling down to feed the valley below. Life itself—

But you are his.

The ugly rings around your throat—mangled tissue swelling in the morning dawn, caked in a thick river of blood—all signify that you belong to him. And while it's a little extreme as far as claiming bites go—one would suffice, but he buried his teeth in you over and over again, biting down on both sides of your neck, your jugular, your nape; inner thighs, mons, wrists—it’s proof enough that you are meant for him. Made for him.

His pretty omega.

The rest doesn't matter. He ought to feel shame, but instead he luxuriates in it. Stares down at you with a needy sort of possession spuming in the putrid remains of his chest, mapping out the marks he put on you. And the ones he'll add to later, not stopping until covered in the perfect impression of his crooked teeth. Tattoos of his ownership all over your body.

Mutual, of course. There's a scant patch of skin, restive and empty, above his heart, save for a fine, jagged line from a serrated dagger. He'll have you bite down on the flesh until your teeth meet inside his muscle. Scarring down to the bone. He'll go, then, to the man who inks him up whenever he has the whim to desecrate scar tissue, and have him etch midnight black against fine silver. Permanent, forever. Always.

And anyone who kicks up a fuss—stupid as they might be—he’ll sort them out. Prove to them that you are meant to be his.

(unshakeable:

his spend leaks out of you, drying, tacky and thick, on your thighs. under the sleepy citrine of the dawning sun, it's tinged pink, and looks just like pomegranate juice.)

Ghost rolls his shoulder, and reaches for his discarded trousers. He's covered in a thick layer of dirt, and reeks like soil. But the thought of being buried alive is miniscule compared to the want of being buried inside you again. The urge. Insatiable. He groans with it, cock throbbing already.

He leaves you naked. No point in dressing when he plans on going home and sinking back inside of you before midday, anyway. An unneeded obstacle, really—

The clearing is close to his truck, and he sets a leisurely pace, yawning into the dawn, as he gathers you into his arms. Carrying you to it as you drool on his chest, brows pinched at the soft jostle of him trudging through the thicket until he reaches it.

He's not in a rut when he stretches you out in the back seat, spreading your sticky thighs around his hips, sinking inside, bottoming out just as you come to, waking up with a gasp.

The intense fucking from before lingers in the air. You're soft, molasses; arching into his chest, whimpering out the name he hissed into your nape only hours ago, folding into him with a somnolent submission. It won't last, of course—

You're a vicious little thing, and his back and chest twinge with the rivers you carved into his flesh when he didn't move the way you liked. Wolfish, aren't you? Spitfire hiding under the soft pelt of a slain lamb. He wants to devour you, bones and all.

He takes his fill of your malleable concession, rutting into you with a sluggish ease. Mapping out the starlight sparking in the depths of your glossy eyes. Magnetic. It pulls him deeper. Unravels him at the seams.

His hand spans the expanse of your jaw from ear to ear. He holds you like this, thumb buried in the tender embrace of your soft tongue, and begins to understand the reason behind Johnny's niche appetite when you toy with his flesh, coquettish and sweet, suckling him in—pretty seductress—and then mewl when he pushes in too deeply, bringing crystalline gems to corners of your eyes.

Angelic innocence. The type that demands he prostrates himself at your altar, let his bones be picked clean when you so wish it. And he'll give it to you—body, blood, tissue; all of it. The entirety of him, however broken, shattered the fragments might be.

He promises it all to you without a word, drilling holes in the gaps of your eyes, chasms wide enough for him to fit. When he cums, it's to a songbirds sonata. Your moans are a whisper, your pleasure swallowed down as it ghosts over his lips, clenching around him like a vice. Pretty bow. He doesn't hold back—groans, baritone; woodsmoke, into the gathering symphony, filling you to the brim. Thick, copious. He wants it to stick. To root.

When the blood sputters back to his head, he gathers you in his arms once more. Keeps you seated on his lap—shush, pet; s’alright, jus’ close your eyes an’ I'll ‘ave us home in a bit—as he starts the old pickup, and puts it into drive. One hand on the wheel, knuckles blanching white in the glimmering sunrise; sparse forests of muted blond catching, limned in the coruscating light. The other is placed on the small of your back, holding your belly to his.

Quietly, your body eases. Melts. You press your face into his chest, fingers curling into the fabric, and nuzzle into the heady scent of his sweat, his musk, still clinging to his shirt. Signing, soft and twee, in the cup of his embrace as you slip back to sleep.

He drives home like this. Mind a quiet place for once. Silent in its contentment, it's comfort. There's an itinerary still left to do, but he pushes it back for now, gaze roaming the dense green of the forest bracketing the road.

You'll like it, he knows. There's a fen on the outskirts of his territory, a little pond where wild rabbits have been known to make burrows. Deers, elk. Bears. They all come and go. You'll amuse yourself in the untamed wilderness of his abode, drawing delineations of your own as you carve out places in his home just for you.

And as he makes the turn to his hidden driveway, this buried sanctuary, he can't help but glance down at your crown, and think—

Persephone, finally home.

He finds your identification in your rucksack, nestled underneath the contraband you smuggled from the park—mushrooms, berries, bark, feathers—and sears your name to memory. Every part of you will be unravelled in the coming days, pulled from the depths of your being until it's all ingrained in his head. A gaping chasm chiselled into bone just for you. All for you.

Your address is a rental. He'll have to call them later today to cut your lease. Your job, too. They'll need to be notified on both your off time for his rut (and your burgeoning heat), and to update your contact information.

But that's later. Now, he just wants to get home. Sink down into his bed with you beneath him, and fuck you until sundown all over again. Stain the house with the scent of you. With the potent tang of your coupling.

It's yours too, after all. Should smell just like you.

And when you wake up later to him fucking his tongue into your drenched hole, fingers toying with your pebbled clit, Johnny will be busy packing the rest of your things into the pack of his pickup truck. The majority of it is already stacked on the porch, waiting for you to rearrange it all in your new house. Lease cut. His name added to your contacts as spouse, husband. Address updated. Marriage certificate laying on the table, only one line unsigned. Waiting for you.

Maybe it's too fast. You'll certainly protest like it is, bearing your teeth and hissing at him from across the room about too much, too fast, slow down, you don't even know his last name—

(“Riley,” he grouses, arms folded over his broad chest. Eyes burning in the cresting twilight. “S’your last name now as well, pet.”)

Fast—sure. He might think so too for a brief moment when he as you purring against his chest, submissive and docile after he fucked the fight right out of you, bullied you into agreeing to everything—it's for the best, after all. No one could ever protect you like he can.

Made for each other. Reinforced when he presses your fingers to the soft spot where his last rib once hung—

(“stole it,” he murmurs into the seam of your lips. “right from under my nose. only fair that i get to steal somethin’ right back, ain't it?”

the look on your face is rapturous when you press your hand to your side, eyes widening when you feel the extra rung—)

He's had decades of waiting. Waiting. And now that he's found you—

He's never letting go.

You're it, he knows. Feels the certainty in that statement simmering in his hindbrain, in his essence. He'll have you—now, forever. Non-negotiable. Where you go, he will follow.

(after all, there's something about three-headed dogs and their bones—)

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #alpha simon riley #alpha ghost #alpha ghost x omega reader #reader in this is very much roman from succession during that one scene w connor where he tells him #“no you liked it. you asked to be put in that cage."#do w that what u will

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beloveds-embrace · 6 days ago

Text

(Based on the idea of having a sensitive nose in the omegaverse, poly 141 x reader)

The air in the meeting room was dense with overlapping scents: leather, citrus, gunpowder, faint traces of cigar smoke. It was suffocating. You had been doing your best to keep a neutral face, to not draw attention to the way your sensitive nose wrinkled every few seconds as the mingling aromas assaulted your senses.

You weren’t trying to be rude; it wasn’t anyone’s fault that their scents were this potent. It was just your lot in life to have a nose that picked up everything. And you were part of this stupid task force, which meant you were constantly surrounded by some of the most intense scents imaginable.

It was John who caught your reaction first. The alpha was sitting across the table, arms crossed, earthy, smoky scent rolling off him in waves. His cigar habit didn’t help matters; it clung to his clothes, his hair, his skin- every part of him. Your nose twitched involuntarily as another wave hit you, and his brow furrowed deeply.

“You alright there, love?” he asked, low and curious, though there was an edge to it.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.” You lied quickly, forcing a smile and trying to breathe through your mouth instead.

His sharp eyes stayed on you for a beat longer, and the corner of his mouth tugged downward. He didn’t believe you, but he let it slide.

Soap, however, wasn’t as subtle. He had been perched on the edge of his chair, citrusy, spicy scent practically bouncing off the walls. The man smelled like an explosion at an orange grove- sharp and tangy, with an undercurrent of something metallic that always made your head throb.

“Are you wrinklin’ your nose at me, lass?” He asked, accent thick, tone mock-wounded.

“No! No, not at all.” You stammered, shaking your head. God, what you wouldn’t sacrifice to leave this room…

“Looked like a bloody insult to me,” Johnny teased, though there was something almost earnest in his pout. “Dinnae think I smell that bad, eh? Gaz, back me up here!”

Gaz- bless him- was seated beside you. His scent was a calm balm in the storm: a light, fresh breeze with subtle hints of cedar. It didn’t overpower your senses. It was safe, grounding. You leaned ever so slightly in his direction, seeking refuge without realizing it.

“I think it’s just her nose being sensitive,” Kyle said smoothly, shooting you a kind look. He always seemed to know when you were struggling, always gave you a quiet out. “We probably smell stronger to her.”

“You mean Price and Johnny stink.” Ghost rumbled from his spot at the back of the room, scoffing in amusement.

You glanced at him, and, God, he really was no better. He was a mixture of John and Johnny- a heavy, musky scent tinged with smoke and gunpowder, like he’d been living in a war zone for years. It was hard to breathe when he was near, though his stoic demeanor meant he didn’t take it as personally as the others.

“Oi, I don’t stink!” Johnny protested. “I smell fresh, like citrus and energy.”

“Explosives aren’t energy.” Ghost deadpanned.

“You all smell fine,” you said, hasty and desperate, your voice thin and shaky. “I just have a… sensitive nose. That’s all.”

“You’ve been wrinkling it all bloody morning,” Price grumbled, arms crossing tighter. “If you don’t like something, just say it. We’re alphas; we can handle it.”

“I don’t dislike it!” you blurted. “It’s just… strong. All of you smell so strong, and my nose is a little… overwhelmed.”

Kyle chuckled softly, a sound that eased the tension in the room. “Can’t really blame her, can you? The three of you probably do smell like a bloody armory to her.”

Price frowned, clearly still annoyed, but Johnny looked contemplative, leaning toward you with a curious expression. “You’re not lying, are you? Your nose is just sensitive?”

“Very.” You admitted, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m not trying to insult you, I promise. It’s just… a lot.”

Johnny relaxed a little, though his pout remained. “Alright, lass. I suppose I can let you off the hook this time. But you should’ve said something earlier.”

“And deal with you taking it more personally than you already do? No, thank you.” you muttered under your breath.

Kyle snorted beside you, and you turned to him with a grateful smile. “You’re the only one who doesn’t make my nose hurt, by the way. Thanks for that.”

The other three bristled instantly.

“What?” Price barked, looking genuinely offended.

“Gaz doesn’t smell any less than we do.” Ghost growled, eyes narrowing beneath his balaclava, and Johnny threw his hands up in exasperation.

“She’s playing favorites, that’s what this is!”

“It’s not favoritism!” You said quickly, holding your hands up defensively. “He just smells calmer. It’s not as… intense.”

Kyle, smug but silent, leaned back in his chair with a knowing smirk. He didn’t say a word, but the satisfied glint in his eyes said it all: he’d won.

Of course, this only made the other three more competitive.

“Maybe you just need to get used to it.” Price suggested, peering at you.

“Aye,” Johnny added, grin wide and cheeky. “Maybe we need to stick closer to you so your nose can adjust.”

“Or maybe you all need to tone it down.” you shot back, though your voice lacked bite, and they just stared at you even more intently- even Ghost.

It was going to be a long day.

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simonbrain · 3 months ago

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cw omegaverse, noncon touching, neglected!reader

you're slowly convincing yourself that your pack is trying to get rid of you. they've been acting off around you for weeks, and you aren't sure why you've been pushed to the side.

john snaps at you more often now, even during downtime when you're seeking comfort from your head alpha. the soft look he usually directs at you has been replaced by a scowl, and you're not sure if it's from the tedious amount of work and stress that weighs on his shoulders or if it's because you pop into his office every few hours to check on him. maybe you're just making it worse for him—you don't miss the way his face scrunches up whenever you appear in his doorway—so you visit him less often. hopefully he'll appreciate it if you take your sad, sour scent somewhere else.

which leads you to simon, who doesn't seem to notice you at all, not until you approach him first, and then you regret your actions when he greets you with nothing more than a grunt. there's that distant, eerie look in his eyes as he impatiently stares down at you, cocking his head to the side as your words get caught up in your throat. he's been easier to aggravate lately, and unfortunately his irritation doesn't evade you. you can't remember the last time you saw him this guarded around you—maybe when you first joined, although it wasn't this bad—but it still stings nonetheless.

"spit it out, peanut. i don't 'ave all day." your silly callsign rolls off his tongue less affectionately than usual, and you try to scrape up a reason to talk to him, as if being his mate isn't enough. when you finally ask if he's seen the other sergeants, he only scoffs and shakes his head, stalking right past you.

the blatant disregard from both your alphas has your chest aching uncomfortably and your throat winding up tight, but you walk off to somewhere else, wanting to find some dark corner so you can cry all of your frustration out.

you know you should be happy when you bump into your other two mates, grateful even. johnny crowds your front while kyle embraces you from behind, the two of them cooing at your weepy state and promising to make it all better.

but their touches are rougher than you want them to be, and kyle's grinding on you with more hunger than you can handle right now, and johnny's nosing down your neck, whispering promises of turning you pliant and brainless in a second, and you're growing more stressed each time they paw at your body as if you're just their little fuck doll—

you wrestle out of their grip and shove them both away before storming off to your room, leaving the two of them to simmer in the remnants of your stressed and upset scent, the sourness of it hitting them both at the same time. whatever heat they were feeling before is replaced with alarm, and when they try to follow you, you slam the door in their faces, choked-up sobs leaving your mouth as you slump down on your bed.

no one checks up on you that evening—not to apologise, not to see if you're okay, not even to ask if you're hungry. the smell of a distressed omega seeps out of the cracks of your door and wafts around your room, but no one comes. they must really not want you, then.

you tell yourself you're too needy. you're a strain on your alphas, always demanding their attention. you feel like an embarrassment compared to johnny, who, despite being another young omega, can get by with a simple pat on the shoulder, purring away in satisfaction. you're not levelheaded like kyle, or grounding like simon. obviously, if you were, your alphas would be all over you.

the nasty thoughts haunt your mind until you're quietly getting out of bed and walking down to john's office. you know you smell pathetic, but you keep your head down as you walk past other soldiers, who are no doubt pitying you right now.

still, you keep on walking. you need to tell john to break the bond, to rid the pack of you. it needs to be done, even as your heart squeezes painfully and you're close to letting out a sob.

you don't bother knocking, but when you walk in to the sight of kyle sitting on john's lap while simon and johnny stand on either side of their captain as they converse among themselves, you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you up already.

john notices you first, but you don't catch the way his gaze softens at the sight of your weak state. you know that they all can smell the distress on you, but you try to steady your voice and wipe the tears that are beginning to form again.

"i want to break the bond."

four pairs of eyes zero in on you, and despite the tension in the room and the seriousness of your words, despite your anger and hurt, you can't help but relax slightly as the anxiety gradually melts away. finally, they're paying attention to you.

#sorry for the abrupt ending i just needed to spew this out before i lost inspiration #price #john price x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #soap #john soap mctavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #gaz #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 x reader #rainwrites 𐙚

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dvchvnde · 2 months ago

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EXCERPT: alpha Soap x omega Reader

The call comes at quarter to six.

This deep in the mountains, poor reception makes the air crackle with static when it blooms to life. He answers with fingers numbed from the cold outside, offering little more than a grunt of his acknowledgement.

Spotted somethin' on the edge a'town. Person.

"Person?" He echoes, tapping his finger against the worn, shiny leather of the steering wheel.

It jars him. The idea of a person being out there is strange. Tourist season is over. And now the sky glooms with an encroaching winterstorm—murky brush strokes peppering along the horizon, taken from a washed out easel of a once bountiful autumn palette now muddy and blurred with use, blanketing harsh, dense clouds over the granite skyline. He can't imagine anyone wanting to be out there right now.

"Why?"

Not sure... Local spotted 'em runnin' barefoot through the forest. Ain't dressed for the winter. Omega, too—

Johnny sucks in a sharp breath, fingers tightening around the receiver. Everything sifts through his head, catagorically organised—snow on the ground, barefoot; underdressed—but it skips, snagging over that single word:

Omega.

He scrapes his tongue over his sharpened canines. The pain is grounding for a handful of seconds. Enough time for him to weigh his options: let someone else take it over—Kyle (unmated), Simon (mated with a territorial omega but one he liked to rile up), Price (divorced, unmated)—or taking care of it himself.

A bad idea.

But they all are, really.

His rut is there. Equinoctial. On the edge, the precipice. He can feel it crawling up his spine, tarlike tentacles curling around each vertebrae, jowls gnashing at the sight of his vulnerable stem in sight. Eager to sink it's teeth in.

(him, too, eager to sink his teeth in—)

The wolf that unmakes him each axial precession—vernal, estival, autumnal, and hibernal—prowls in the prison it's kept inside, waiting. Winter is always the worst rut for him. For most alphas, really. The urge to fuck and eat and sleep is a near constant pull in their hindbrain. And without the ability to swallow down tablets to dull the ache in his teeth, and sweat out the fever by running around the forest until he could think beyond the throbbing swell at the base of his cock, it eats him alive every winter.

Drives him mad.

"ahm oan it," he slurs into the plastic voicebox, pawing urgently at the keys in the ignition. He feels hot under his collar. Sweat gathering along his hairline. Condensation blooms over the windows as his fever thrums through his veins, warring with the frigid temperatures outside. Minus ten degrees celsius, his gauge reads.

He clucks his tongue in agitation. No one, much less an omega, should be out in that sort of weather unprepared. Mated or not, whoever's looking out for your safety is going to get the brunt of apologetic, rut-fueled anger.

(Price'd be proud, he thinks, huffing through the heat in his throat—)

The dispatch officer hesitates. The line filling with static briefly as if they, too, are thinking the same thing—

An unmated alpha running after an omega. Potentially unmated as well if they're barefoot and barely dressed in this weather. It feels potentially cataclysmic. Watching the tide recede on the beach and knowing that danger is quickly approaching but being unable to do anything to prevent it.

Natural devastation.

Still. Who else is out here right now that can reach them in time?

The line crackles with their last known location as he puts the truck in drive, and navigates the winding gravel path. An address follows—the omega centre in town, he knows—and it snaps through the truck like a warning.

Be good.

And he will be.

He'll find you, bring you to the shelter before the storm hits, and then find a pretty little thing to fuck the fever out on for the next week. The centre has willing omegas he can pick from. A win-win situation.

He gets to be a hero for a few hours, and then sink his knot into something sweet.

Sit tight, little omega, he thinks, tongue pressed flat to his aching canines. Rescue is coming.

#tidying up the omegaverse series so Kyle's will be next followed by price (again)#johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #fic: cur in the weeds #thinkin abt pyedog for the series name but who knows

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emeraldbloodcrown · 10 months ago

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i'm thinking of an alpha 141, with price and simon being you stereotypical alphas, while johnny and kyle might be mistaken for betas - until you piss them off and then even price and simon struggle to hold them back.

they're all alphas but they're also all part of the same pack, which wasn't planned by either of them but it's not unheard of for that to happen in a task force as close knit as the 141. it's their bread and butter to go into the most dangerous situations, to protect one another, to take bullets or knifes for the others; they're the only ones who can actually understand the depth of the trauma each of them is going through.

of course they'd bond together and form a pack. but they're all also alphas. alphas with a desperate wish to mate and breed, and they can't do that with each other, they need an omega for that. but an omega who not only accepts and respects their weird pack dynamic but actively wants that? unheard of, chances so slim they were non-existent.

but so were the chances of simon crawling out of that grave or johnny recovering from that shot to the head.

and they did find one, someone who loved all four of them, someone who wanted to be their mate and give them a child. a beautiful little girl, who somehow seemed to share all of their appearances. and it was perfect.

until it wasn't. until these alphas had to gravel with the situation that their omega was gone, mating bond ripped apart, and their little girl screaming her lungs out. so used to the omega's scent, which after months of trying their best was now fully gone, that it put her in severe distress for weeks on end, leaving not only her but her fathers restless.

and then there's you, their newly moved in neighbor, they only knew their name from their landlord when they came back from their latest mission, knocking and looking just as stressed as them.

price had opened the door for you, chest puffed and ready to tear you apart for coming at his pack but you were calm..exhausted beyond belief, of course, but understanding and most of all concerned for their girl..

"all that screaming can't be healthy for her either"

you had a small container with you, a remedy from your great-grandmother, all herbal so as not to offend her nose, that needs to be rubbed into her chest before bed.

"i'll just leave it here, maybe it helps"

johnny, always the perceptive one, will forever remember how you smiled sadly at their daughter, how your fingers seemed to itch towards her before you remembered your place and just left.

they would soon find out that you were an utter blessing, kind to the bone and so unbelievably considerate. the ointment worked wonders and for the first time in over a month, they saw their daughter smile again and each other finally relax.

and from that point on, johnny was gone, absolutely enamored by you and always jumping at the chance to invite you into their circles, knowing full well the others were much more hesitant, the pain and trauma from their omega abandoning them still stiff in their bones.

but they'd see what he already saw, and it was like you wanted to prove him right when you found out about what happened to their omega, to the one among them that should be bonded the closest to their little girl but was still able to just leave.

you clenched your fingers so tight he was almost afraid you'd break something, the muscles in your neck tightened and you downright snarled, nostrils flared and lip pulled back.

"is...is that normal? her screaming like that for weeks on end? is that likely to happen with something like this?"

the air in the room tensed, charged, similar to before a storm, and it answered all of their suspicion, when they gave you the answer that yes, it was normal - and it audibly cracked around you, like thunder striking, and you had to take a deep breath, mumbling in an old language to let your environment not be influenced by your emotions, lest you hurt or scare any of them.

"you're a witch"

and damn, it should terrify him, witches and shifters don't mix well but all he can think of is that he was right, you were perfect for them, your protectiveness of their daughter only outmatched by them, and if johnny hadn't already made up his mind, hadn't already talked it through with his pack, this would definitely solidify it:

witch or not, you were theirs and mark or not, they'd never let you leave again.

#crown mumbles #i have a distinct idea with this #can you see it??#cod mw2 #cod x reader #141 x reader #poly 141 #john price #john price x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x reader

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novemberheart · 4 months ago

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{overview} Ammends are made

{warnings} fem reader, poly 141, a/b/o dynamics, some threatening, slight emotional angst

Chapter 37 <- Chapter 38 -> Chapter 39

They are wearing you down. The near clawing and whining at the door, like two pups. Even John had given up trying to deter the two betas. John entered Simon’s room, heading straight past the man and towards the bathroom. They shared a bathroom, the other door leading directly into his room- your shared room. It wasn’t just his room anymore. He didn’t want it to be.

The door was unlocked, lucky for him. Your eyes narrowed at him, a growl dying in your throat.

“What do I have to do to make this better?”

It caught you off guard. The man with an answer to everything was unsure of how to approach this. Why didn’t he? He was your alpha. It was his job to know how to fix this.

“How do I remind you how much we love you?” He said just above a whisper. Your eyes welled, your throat constricting painfully.

“I’m mad at you,” was all you were able to get out.

“Sweet girl there was nothing we could do,” he rasped. He sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers aching to grab a hold of you.

“I just think the timing is convenient,” you started. “I’m marked, then suddenly all of the gestures go away. Marked omegas leave their packs all the time you kno”-

“Don’t be cruel,” John chided. “Threatening to leave,” he spat to himself. “When are you going to stop looking for a reason to leave us before we leave you?” he questioned. Your breath caught in your throat, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“You’re worse than I am,” Simon spoke from the doorway. How long had he been there? “Remember when you marked me and you asked me to not run away from it?” he asked. “Remember?” he pressed after you didn't answer.

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Well I'm asking the same of you,” his voice was firm- unwavering.

He headed towards the door unlocking it for the betas who charged in, nearly tripping over each other in the process. Kyle reached you first, the beta resting you against his chest. His scent was anxious while Johnny's was sad. It made you whimper, your heart twisting in your chest.

You couldn’t refuse anymore. Your stiff body relaxing between theirs, a soft purr rising in you at the sheer comfort they brought you.

This was deeper than the rest of your pack knew. The only people who knew its depths were you, Anais and Briggs. Maybe that was part of your resentment. You were scared. Scared of who was tracking you and scared of what your pack would do if they found out. Why would they want anything to do with you? You did nothing but cause problems.

Maybe you should just rip the bandaid off now.

You were already upset. The storm had already been unleashed. You were in the eye of it now.

What about Anais and Briggs? You couldn't get them in trouble.

But what if what Briggs said was true? What if your pack already knew about your visit. They had already known you went to the medical center. They were your alphas and it would be well within their rights to question the procedure that had been done. Why didn't they call you on it? Maybe they didn't want to deal with it. It was your problem- not theirs.

What would happen if you just came clean? Either way you would know where you stood within your pack. Either way you would have an answer to the question that had been eating you alive the past few days.

“I lied,” the words fell from your lips and landed against Kyle’s shoulder. He shuddered from under you. Johnny brushed the hair away from your face, the never ending ache in his chest flaring up again. “There was a wire in my leg- one meant for tracking. It was supposed to have dissolved by now, it hadn't, my body rejected it. That's why I went to the medical center. They removed it and sent it to a lab so I could see who it belonged to,” your words were shaky. You couldn't bear to look at any of them, your eyes trained on the headboard.

You waited for the vile scent of an angry pack. Yet it never came. It was like you were surrounded by statues. None of them breathing, moving or speaking.

“Not happy about you keeping it from us,” John broke the silence. “How long ago was it placed in you?” he asked.

“The doctor guessed eight-ish years ago,” you replied, holding your own breath.

“Just because we weren't with you then doesn't mean it isn't our concern,” John continued.

“Are you mad?” you asked suddenly.

“No,” he replied instantly. “I don't know- or want to know how long you were planning on hiding it from us. But you told us now, that's what matters.”

Where were you?

Why wasn't he bearing his teeth and charging towards the medical center for not informing anyone? Why wasn't Simon scolding you for not telling them as soon as they walked through the door? Why wasn't Johnny rolling up your pant leg to inspect the injury? Why wasn't Kyle already logged into a computer tracking the person down himself?

Why was everyone so calm?

“Let me see Bonnie,” Johnny murmured. Well at least one thing came true. You rolled up your pant leg, Johnny's fingers pulling the small band aid that covered your measly four stitches. “They'll need to be taken out soon,” he sighed, his lips connecting with your knee. “Hate you had to do this alone,” he growled, tucking you back against Kyle. Your heart warmed, the uneasiness beginning to settle.

“Me and John’ll go to the lab tomorrow. See if they've found anything on it,” Kyle added. That seemed more like it. The uneasiness flooded back when you remembered one little detail.

It was under Anais’ name. Not yours.

Think fast.

“It's under Anais’ name,” you explained. “I thought that would be a better idea just in case the person who placed it could still have access to it because it wasn't fully dissolved. If it was under my name there would be a record of it and they would know I know about it. If it was under her name they’d think it just dissolved and I know nothing about it,” you explained like the script had been written for you.

If they knew you were lying you think amongst their anger they would be secretly impressed.

“That's quite clever,” John muttered. “We’ll still have a look at it tomorrow,” he assured. “Don’t want you worrying about it anymore,” he insisted. “It’s on us now,” his large hand ran up and down your back, your skin erupting at his touch. You couldn't help but lean into it.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

You woke up to everything being right in the world.

The past few weeks left you exhausted and your sleeping schedule showed that. You woke up to your body being moved upright, your head lulling into a perfect spot against John’s shoulder.

“Time for lunch,” he murmured, his hands running up and down your sides. “You need some food in ‘ya,” he pressed, his lips firm against your forehead. You agreed, begrudgingly. Still half asleep as you untangle yourself from his lap, not bothering to change out of your sleep clothes, just throwing one of his sweatshirts over top.

Price

Was painted across your back making the alpha more than pleased.

“Name fits you better than me,” he hummed, his hand traveling down your back. You peered up at him sleepily, a small smile on your lips. “Missed you, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips finding their home against your cheek. “And don't listen to any pesky thoughts in your head tellIng you otherwise,” he urged.

“Missed you too,” you whispered back. You nuzzled your way under his arm, the affection making the edge in his scent disappear.

Johnny had picked up breakfast for all of you. You were grateful you didn't have to go to the cafeteria.

“Bagel with strawberry cream cheese for the pretty lass,” Johnny smirked, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “And a fruit cup,” he added. You smiled widely. This is what you had missed. Being doted on. You don't care if it makes you spoiled.

Johnny finished assembling your bagel for you, a grateful purr leaving you and you quickly gripped his jaw pressing rapid kisses against his cheek. His cheeks raised from under you.

“Anytime, peaches,” he smirked.

“You have a kickboxing class today,” Simon spoke, passing you the parts of his bacon that ‘weren’t cooked enough.’ Truth was that Simon just liked burnt food. “Still up for it?”

As soon as Simon saw the sign up sheet for kickboxing he added you to the list- in fact- you were the first name on it.

You nodded your head, mumbling a small ‘yeah’ through your bacon. The rest of breakfast was nice. Domestic. Familiar. The energy was still a bit off, mostly due to Kyle and John. Something strange was happening, but you didn't have the energy to press.

“Let’s get you ready, pup,” Simon sighed, grabbing your empty plate from you.

Getting ready included Johnny helping you pick out and outfit and then helping you with your knotted hair.

Maybe you were spoiled…

“We have to tell her,” Kyle spoke as soon as the front door shut. John sighed, folding his arms over his chest. “It's the perfect time. We can play it off like we never knew,” he continued.

“Then what if she goes lookin’ for her?” John reminded. “Especially after all that's gone down between us all. She may feel more inclined to find a different pack,” John gruffed, already working on his fourth cigar of the day.

“Give her some credit,” Kyle sneered. “She won’t just up and leave us,” Kyle defended. “And she has every right to want to reconnect with her mother.”

“Her mother doesn't deserve her,” John shot back. “She already left her once. It's not like her mother doesn't know where she is. She has probably been tracking her till it disconnected. Leave it up to her mom to decide.”

“Her mother is probably scared. Could you imagine leaving her then wandering back into her life after years have passed? She probably assumes she never wants to see her again,” Kyle illustrated. John shook his head, his lips pressed in a tight line.

“That may be true. Then what happens if she does reconnect? What if her mother moved on, has her own pack and wants to take our girl away from us? Then what? What if she could provide her with the stability we can't?” John questioned.

“What if our girl finds out we hid it from her not only once, but twice? She’ll never forgive us and I- I can't live with that,” Kyle breathed, his throat tightening. “We have to let her decide,” Kyle affirmed. “Whatever happens, happens.”

“No,” John growled. “It's our job as her pack to protect her.” John ran a hand over his face, his eyes falling onto the kitchen counter. An idea popped into his head. A compromise. “What if we track down her mother?” John hummed. Kyle’s brows furrowed. “We are her pack. We reach out to her and ask if she even has any interest reconnecting with her daughter. If she does we’ll access her- make sure her intentions are pure. Then we bring it to our omega,” John explained.

Kyle’s shoulders felt lighter already, his back resting against the chair.

“That's not bad. We won’t necessarily be lying and we’ll be able to keep our girl out of harm's way,”

“So you agree?” John pressed. Kyle nodded slowly. “Atta boy,” He smiled, his hand clapping against the betas shoulder.

“She's a fierce little thing, isn't she?” Johnny smiled. Simon was flushed under his mask, his eyes not quite sure where to linger. You were doing very well in your new class. It was much more fun than you thought it would be- especially with all your pent up emotions.

“That one yours?” A man asked from next to the pair.

Johnny smiled wider, a bounce in his shoulders.

“Aye, she is as perfect as she look”- he cut himself off. His smile faded from his face as he stared down the man. Simon’s lips quirked beneath his mask at the sergeant's change in demeanor. “She is mine,” The Scot kept it short and not-so-sweet this time. “Which one is yours?” he asked.

“I don't have one. I just like to watch someti”-

He had no opportunity to finish the thought before Johnny had him by his scruff, escorting him out of the room. “Well, you chose to watch the wrong one cause I’ll scoop out your eyeballs if I catch you looking at her again,” Johnny growled against his ear. It was a bit cliche- but it got his point across.

“Where’s Johnny?” you panted, taking a small towel from Simon to dab your face with.

“Your beta had some issues to take care of. Should be back soon,” Simon said blankly. He rested a hand on the back of your head, guiding you out of the training room.

“Did I miss the finale?” Johnny questioned, hoisting you up to press a kiss against your sweaty cheek. You giggled your feet swinging to find the floor.

“Coach said she did decent,” Simon approved, downplaying your success. You rolled your eyes, nuzzling your way into the Scots side.

“I did really good,” you smiled.

“Course you did Bonbon,” he whispered back.

Hi friends! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Ser you in four days for the next one! Lots of love 🧡

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tojisun · 5 months ago

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CW: noncon; omegaverse stuff so ruts/heats + power and hierarchical omegaverse dynamics; shift in balance of power; claiming; gn!reader; rambly as hell bc im writing this while sleep deprived but! the worms. they are going through it!!!

alpha soap who, traditionally, goes for omegas but you—

oh, how he wants you.

it was a fortunate coincidence, one that has johnny turning to the lord if only to give his thanks because he knows that none of this would have been possible if he just happened to be even a minute late. ‘this’ being the shift in the wafting scents that filled up the little, and on the brink of bankruptcy, bookstore in the corner of the street.

it’s never packed in the weekdays so johnny often goes there to unwind when his senses are overstimulated, feeling his eyes straining in their sockets and his throat closing up almost like he’s having an allergic reaction—he’s had it checked before and leslie said he doesn’t have any allergies.

patches are advertised but no one in this town ever sees them as priority because of how archaic the town still remains, but also because almost everyone is bonded. don’t mind the fact that scent patches are not only for single folks but whatever.

point is that if johnny was tired, he would find reprieve in the bookstore long enough that he was able to gather his bearings and brave another trek around the city because a mission is still a mission, and overloaded senses just needed to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

today should not have been any different. today should have just been another quick break; another quiet lull as johnny forced the buzzing senses into silence enough that he could think again.

today should have just been another day.

but then johnny was opening the door to the bookstore at the same time that someone was walking out—knobby shoulders bump against his—and johnny’s emotions flare up, eating at the reason straining at his mind. something like a storm explodes in the corners of his head, and johnny really should have realized then what it was.

it was not just oversensitivity. it was not just another bout of overloaded senses. it was—

something warm churns from the base of his stomach, before winding down his body until it pools on the plane of his spine. it felt like molten glass or liquid mercury; dragging. marking.

sticky. liquorice.

johnny breathes in, the air passing through his mouth instead. then, something buttery—like wine aged within the barrel—erupts on his tongue. it tastes like honeyed new wood.

like an alpha in a rut.

he turns, suddenly hyperaware of everything, before lashing his hand out to reach for the stranger before they could leave. the touch not soothing, and it has the alpha growling at johnny. the sound rumbles from the base of your throat, like an alligator’s bellow, and yet it made johnny’s gums ache. they want his teeth to gnaw. to tear. to mark.

you growl again, this time in warning, and johnny has spent enough ruts to understand what you want. you want to leave. to hightail out of the shop and maybe even the city, before crawling into your bed—not a nest, johnny trills to himself, not with how clean your scent is because you’re unmated—to spend your rut alone.

lord, would you fuck your own fist? or fuck a toy for your knot? would you fuck your hole too? fill it up too, or could you only cum if you are the one doing the filling?

whatever it is, johnny promises to overwrite your lonely experience. he’s here now, after all, isn’t he? and don’t alphas need help?

so johnny still doesn’t let go, his strength exceptional especially against an alpha whose rut is beginning to swell. instead, he replies to your growls with a snarl, one that is ripped from the rumble of his chest, before showing off his jagged fangs.

it is an archaic way of challenging an alpha, and he knows that no one follows the tradition anymore, but habit is difficult to change and johnny finds himself posturing against you, a shocked alpha whose raging storm of lust flickered just enough to allow johnny to fully tug you out of the bookstore and into the little winding path away from the streets. you protest, trying to shake him off, but you are so, so weak and johnny is so, so powerful, and he needs to do something before he could even think about letting you go.

johnny’s seen it done a handful of times back at the base. it’s not something price usually dishes out, but it was something everyone knew he could do. and one that he could do well. johnny remembers seeing it for the first time and thinking that betrayal will never even cross his own mind because there is something far worse than having a target on one’s back and that was—

it was to—

force an alpha into submission.

johnny remembers kyle’s interest and ghost’s morbid curiosity. hell, he even remembers his own anticipation when their captain had dragged a traitor to the centre pit by the scruff, his pheromones overflowing and stifling like a heavy fog. johnny remembers how john had made it seem so easy; how he was able to coax a gentler scent out of connors when price had cornered the alpha to the point that he bore their captain’s full weight. then, johnny remembers the marking.

the way their captain’s teeth dug into connors’ skin before tearing, and tearing, until the bite took. until the mangled mess left on connors’ olive skin would be a permanent fixture.

until connors’ alpha scent turned softer. prettier.

(price led connors to his room, and the two stayed there for days. no one questioned or teased because they all knew that bitching an alpha sometimes was better than breeding an omega.

and their captain had all the rights to call dibs on connors.)

johnny remembers all of this as he leads you away. his palms have turned clammy, gums aching once more with need. with ever-growing desire. he hears you hiss at him, snapping that he better let you go and that he fuck off before you do something he’d regret but johnny is deaf to all your threats because they’re empty.

lord, he knows you could even barely stand up straight right now—your knees knock against each other with every wobbly step. but he lets you talk; lets you use your words as shield because johnny keeps leading you away from view.

he sees a secured nook, one that was hidden away from prying eyes—you’re his, after all—and begins to settle.

to prepare for the feast now that the hunt’s over.

he pushes you forward, until all your front is pressed against the wall. your cheek is smooshed, tiny pebbles digging into your skin, and he knows that all of that would be unpleasant later when the adrenaline’s gone, but johnny can’t find it in himself to care. because he follows soon, folding himself over your back before burying his face on the crook of your neck.

you freeze. johnny takes that moment to take a deep drag of your smell.

your scent fills his senses once again, overtaking his coherence and bypassing his rationality to drown himself in the strong aroma wafting from you. it’s too good, too delicious, that it has johnny rumbling, pleased with himself for picking you up all for him because you will be, and are, his now.

the weight of his tongue and the throbbing of his gums echo his thoughts.

his. hishishis—

“god,” johnny croaks out, the first he’s said since this ordeal. “you smell absolutely divine.”

“sir. sir, please—”

“shh,” he says, pulling the collar of your shirt back. “it’d be over soon.”

“no— sir! i don’t— please—”

blood bursts in johnny’s mouth and his alpha sings in pleasure.

mine. mineminemine.

#alpha x alpha #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #soap x reader #suns #im intrigued by this flavour of alpha/alpha dynamics bc theyre so artfully terrifying #…japanese mangas have shown me farther wanders ive yet to understand

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auspicioustidings · 5 months ago

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I am sure I must have yapped about this before but consider alpha Ghost who despises omegas. Roba was an omega and he used every bit of his biology against Ghost to try and break him. He just cannot be around omegas now, he hates it when any of his pack even smells like one from being out and about.

It means their pack beta Gaz gets treated like their omega to an extent. It's not like he hates it, it's nice that they want to spoil him, but he also wants to look after someone y'know? Everyone thought he'd present as an alpha when he was growing up and he still feels the instinct to protect those weaker than him. It maybe gets to him a little that he feels like an alpha, he is a beta and he gets treated like an omega.

He does not expect to present late. He certainly does not expect an omega scent match to be the thing that triggers it. You're everything he has ever wanted and he knows he will break Ghost's heart if he brings you home. So he doesn't.

You are rejected by your scent match and it hurts. You didn't realise how awful it would be, how much it would wreak havoc on your system. Alphas can reject a scent match and not be too affected but omegas? It is horrific.

Soap smells you on Gaz no matter how much he tries to hide it. His fucking scent match and Gaz is hiding them. The others were too distracted by Gaz's new alpha scent but Johnny always did have the best nose, and he is not going to let this go. He knows Ghost's feelings and he loves the man, but he will not ignore their omega to spare him from confronting his trauma.

You don't trust him when he tracks you down. Another scent match here to break your heart all over again? He's so upset at how sick you've gotten over it, gets to his knees and begs for a chance for his pack.

Only when you finally let him take you home, Ghost growls at you. One of your scent matched alphas growls at you. You want to die. You run away while Soap and him get into a shouting match.

You meet your last alpha while you are running. Price has no idea what is happening when you crash into him as he's walking the path to home. He never thought he'd have an omega. A scent match at that? It's more than he deserves he thinks. He's happy about you running into him, you're his and it feels wonderful. Only you are wildly distressed while smelling like Soap and he needs to figure out why.

He tells you to stay put because he can feel Ghost through the bond, feel his turmoil. He should never have left you, but his concern for his pack mate took priority.

The thing about meeting all your scent matches in quick succession is that it nose dives you into a heat. But they hate you. One rejected you, one brought you to another so he could growl at you, one left you when you were in distress. You are so distraught that you can't go to them because you are certain they will only be disgusted that you would ask them for help with your heat.

You find the nearest shelter. It's a crumbling shed out the back of their property. It doesn't do much to keep out the cold, there are leaks that get worse when it starts to snow through the night. You wish there would be more because you are burning.

The snow storm muffles your scent. The only reason you don't die is because Ghost braved the storm to go grab more firewood from the shed.

There he is, the alpha who hates omegas with his scent matched omega in heat, in pain and in danger. He walks away. You accept death would be a kindness now.

Except you don't die because he sends the others. You don't die because even though he cannot stand to be around you or to smell you, he gives his pack to you. He sits in the armchair all night listening as his pack bundles you into the pack bedroom and knots you through your heat while desperately trying to combat the hypothermia that was setting in.

It's months and months of angst and tension and misery as the pack tries to divide their love between their pack mate and their omega. Ghost hates himself every time he growls at you and scares you. You hate yourself for tearing this pack apart.

There doesn't seem to be a happy ending here until a pair of betas visit town. Maybe Ale and Rudy are just what this pack was missing to make it whole. Maybe they soothe all those frayed edges, act as a buffer. And maybe, just maybe, one day Ghost and you realise all at once that somewhere between you starting to growl right back at him and him starting to make an extra cup of tea for you, you fell entirely in love.

The rest of the pack can't believe it took you two idiots so long to realise it.

#mhairidrabbles #rambling once again about omegaverse I fear #not even hot smutty rambling #just angst with a happy ending rambling

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the-queen-of-hell-666 · 5 months ago

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2024 Kinktober Masterlist

I'm so sorry for not posting like at all this year but it's been a very long year. College classes started up again this fall and I'm swamped with work. This is my list for Kinktober this year. I will do my best to keep up but anywho, I hope you enjoy!

Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Key: Fluff; 🌙 // Angst; 👿 // Smut; 🔥 // Dark; 🕸️

Day 1: Deepthroating/Facesitting (Daryl Dixon (Prison Era) x Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 2: Semi-Public Sex (Ransom Drysdale x Nurse!Fem!Reader)🔥

Day 3: Knotting (Alpha!Jim Hopper x Assistant!Omega!Fem!Reader)🌙🔥

Day 4: Phone Sex (John Winchester x Hunter!Fem!Reader)🌙🔥

Day 5: Squirting (Obsessive!Perv!Billy Hargrove x Bimbo!Fem!Reader) 🔥

Day 6: Cuckolding (Shy!Jake Jensen x FemmeFatal!Fem!Reader x Franklin Clay) 🌙🔥

Day 7: Biting/Marking (Possessive!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 8: Morning Sex (CACW!Steve Rogers x Avenger!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 9: Praise Kink (Insecure!Geralt of Rivia x Healer!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 10: Mommy Kink (Needy!Johnny Storm (CE) x Mommy!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥👿

Day 11: Caught (Daryl Dixon (Prison Era) x Fem!Reader) 🔥

Day 12: Sex Toys (Lawyer!Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 13: Virginity Kink (Professor!Logan Howlett x Virgin!Mutant!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 14: Shotgunning (Needy!Ransom Drysdale x Nurse!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 15: Tentacles (Part-Kraken!Steve Rogers x Princess!Fem!Reader) 🕸️🔥

Day 16: Spanking (Johnny Storm (CE) x Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 17: Breeding (Wolf-Hybrid!Geralt of Rivia x Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 18: Tittyfucking (Wade Wilson x Plus-Sized!X-Men!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 19: Hate Sex (Erik Lehnsherr x X-Men!Fem!Reader) 👿🌙🔥

Day 20: Edging (Young!Logan Howlett (X-Men1) x Professor!Mutant!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 21: Dub-con/Non-con (Dark!Lloyd Hansen x Innocent!Fem!Reader) 🕸️👿🔥

Day 22: Stripping (CEO!Nick Fowler x Stripper!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 23: Anal Sex (Dark!Steve Kemp x Innocent!Fem!Reader) 🕸️👿🔥

Day 24: Pegging (Brat!Wade Wilson x Mean!Dom!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 25: Lactation (Dad!Steve Rogers x Mom!Pregnant!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 26: Age Difference (Older!Daryl Dixon (Alexandria Era) x 20s!Sunshine!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 27: Gagging (Mob!Bucky Barnes x Bimbo!Fem!Reader)

Day 28: DP in One Hole (CEO!Married!Stucky x Assistant!Fem!Reader)

Day 29: Gloryhole (Jim Hopper x Fem!Reader)

Day 30: Panty Raid/Panty Kink (Shy!Perv!Jake Jensen x Slight!Perv!Fem!Reader)

Day 31: Videoing (Camboy!Eddie Munson x Girlfriend!Fem!Reader)

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thezombieprostitute · 5 months ago

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Unwanted - Part 2

Summary: Your life is no longer yours. You've been forced into becoming a different species of human. Bought and paid for, what can you do but follow orders and obey your Alpha?

Warnings: Allusions to surgery, human trafficking, kidnapping; Angst; Depression; Suicidal thoughts. Let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is described as big & tall, is female. No other descriptors required.

Part 1 -- Part 3

Levinson leads you to car but you pause for a few moments. You haven't seen outside in so long. Tears start streaming down your face as you look at the sky.

"Omega!" Levinson barks. You duck your head in fear and quickly climb into the car. He gets in on the other side and knocks the partition, signalling the driver he's ready to go. "Buckle up," he tells you.

You're quick to comply. You can't do anything else because you feel so dead inside. Kidnapped, tortured, and rejected. What was the point of all of it? Why did you have to suffer so much for someone who doesn't want you? Why did he ask for someone like you? It doesn't matter anymore. All you can do is follow orders and try to shut your brain down. Like post-surgery healing and recovery, the training they put you through. Just shut up, shut down and comply. You don't even bother looking out the window, it would only further remind you of what you missed. What you're never allowed to do again.

Levinson keeps working on his phone. You can only tell because of the sounds. You can't remember the last time you held a phone. But it's not your place to think about it, now is it? You take a breath and catch hints of the driver's scent. He also smells like fire, but more controlled. Like a large bonfire at the beach instead of the wildfire next to you.

You hear the partition roll down. The driver says, "we're far enough away, Ari."

"Thanks, Johnny." Levinson puts his phone in his pocket and turns to you. "I'm Ari Levinson, with the Department of Defense." He pulls out his wallet and puts it on your lap, making sure you see his badge and ID. "They weren't supposed to actually find a candidate. It was a ploy to buy us time until we could get more intelligence on the operation."

You blink, whispering, "I...I was mistake?"

"We're going to take you to a community of others of our kind where you can get proper care."

"I was a mistake?" you say louder. The tears start pouring. You can't hold them back any further. It was bad enough when you weren't wanted but have your entire existence upended for a mistake? It was too much. You collapse into a sobbing pile.

"Told you to be gentler on her, Alpha," you hear Johnny say.

"Not much that I could do to soften the blow," Ari retorts. "Let her cry it out, she definitely needs it. Might want to get some food, too. I can hear her stomach growling from here and I'm sure it's making things worse for her."

"Okay," Johnny shakes his head. He pulls out his own phone and calls someone telling them to have some food prepped for your arrival in a half hour or so.

You're all cried out by the time you reach the gate. It looks like you're entering an army base. That fits with the Department of Defense stuff Ari said. Both men show their credentials and the car is allowed inside.

"We're going to get you some food before we catch our flight," Ari tells you. "Do not speak until after the plane lands. Understand?"

You nod and he accepts that. What choice do you have?

"For what it's worth, I know the guy who works the commissary here," Johnny offers. "He's an amazing cook!" Again, all you can do is nod.

You're let out of the car and walk between the men towards what is labelled as the Mess Hall. Levinson gestures for you and Johnny to sit at one of the long tables. While you do, he goes to the kitchen and comes out with a few trays of food. The entire time you've sat, Johnny's kept a hand on your shoulder, likely as a way to try to comfort you while also keeping others away.

Every so often, as you're eating, someone either brave, stupid or dared into it, tries to approach your little group. But either Johnny or Levinson gives them a look that has them think twice and move along. You don't know if there's some special Alpha power or if they're just that intimidating. You also can't bring yourself to care. At least the food is good, best you've had in ages.

Levinson checks his phone, "time to get moving. Flight is ready for us." Johnny helps you off of the bench and you assume your position between the two men.

When you're seated on the plane between them, you try to buckle up. It's definitely not a commercial flight and you're unsure of all the straps. Ari sees you having trouble and helps you out. Before he buckles himself in he whispers in your ear, "when we land, you will be properly taken care of by a real community. I owe you at least that."

Part 1 -- Part 3

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @startcarvingdarling

#big & tall!reader #tall!reader #omega!reader #tall!omega #alpha!ari levinson #omegaverse #beta!johnny storm

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papergirllife · 2 years ago

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Johnny Suh

(aged up) Alpha Johnny x Omega Reader

Synopsis:

Falling for an older man is still considered acceptable in today’s society, but falling for someone who’s taken, by your own mother even, is never the cliche stories you commonly hear. You thought your little crush for your mother’s fiance was going to go away naturally, that they’ll get married and break your heart to pieces and you’d be able to move on, what you hadn’t expected was for them to break up and it was partially your fault. And when he moved away, you’d thought you'd never see him again, but your job brings you back to that sweet cinnamon scented alpha once again.

warnings: aboverse, daddy kink, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, heats, ruts, knotting, minor angst, the mother in this story is a narcissist, absent father, fainting (briefly).

DON’T LIKE, DON’T READ, JUST SCROLL, HATE COMMENTS AND ASKS WOULD BE DELETED AND BLOCKED.

wordcount: 11.4k

a/n: so i’m back, but not entirely, mental health is still bad, but um, really wanted to write this, so if this flops i’ll be deleting this and rewriting the story to fit someone else lol, okay, bye, enjoy the story. and this is based on the song cinnamon girl by lana del rey.

Growing up, there’s one thing about your life that has been a constant and that is uncertainty, all your life, instead of having a pair of parents that diligently try their best to pave a smooth road for your life ahead like most parents, they had chose to lay out eggshells instead, their behaviour had manifested a constant spike in your heartbeat whenever you make a mistake in life, similarly to the feeling of prickling your bare feet by accidentally stepping onto a cracked eggshell on the floor, that’s how you’ve always felt ever since you were a child, every step you take, a pinch here and there that’s bound to push you over the edge one day, and that day came sooner and far more unexpected than a thunderstorm.

That thunderstorm had costed your mother’s marriage, and she never fails to remind you, how your attempt of ending your life had driven your bipolar father to the brink of his sanity, blaming your mother for her inadequacy of being a parent while he excused himself so easily just because he has ‘longer hours’ in the office.

Your father didn’t even try to fight for parental rights, he merely signed you away to your miserable mother, and that broke something inside her.

She begins taking more care in her appearance and goes out of her way to meet new people, particularly alpha men, she was particular with traditional first gender stereotypes, it didn’t really bother you, the rancid scent of some alphas could be avoided as long as you were in your room.

Since you were growing into late teen hood, she only gives you the necessities, basic interactions, things weren’t getting better, but they weren’t getting worse, to you, that’s considered a win.

Things were looking bleak until your mom engaged an alpha with honey in his eyes.

Johnny Suh, a young man your mother had picked up from one of the many parties she had attended on behalf of work, a client of her company apparently, he lasted the longest compared to all the others, you thought he’d stay forever and become an addition to your broken family, until another storm brews right in front of your eyes.

That day you had been sick, your mother had to rush back from a date to take you to the clinic, Johnny, being the gentleman he is, accompanies her with you, you still remember that day as clear as crystal.

The nurse had complimented how pretty you were, and that you take after your mother, to which she was delighted of course, gushing that she gave you all the good genes, no one but this nurse thinks the two of you look alike, you have always shared more similarities with your asshole father, not enough to make you feel sickening to look in the mirror, but just enough to remind you that you’d always be associated to that asshole.

After a thorough consultation, the doctor says that you had a bad reaction to the new heat suppressants your mother had switched to for a lower price.

“You better not fail your next driving test the next time around, or else you wouldn’t be able to get yourself to the clinic for heaven’s sake, and why are you always so sensitive to medicine? Can’t you be normal for once? Why do you have to be a freak?” your mother rambled all the way to Johnny’s car.

You had kept your silence, you weren’t feeling well anyways, you don’t have any energy left to argue with her, but instead, someone speaks up for you.

“Hey, why are you so harsh on her?” Johnny asks, at first he dismissed your mother’s odd alter ego towards you as a culture difference, since his own parents have migrated to the states so many years, he had always been told parents elsewhere are harsher towards their kids, but this feels like a personal insult towards you, and he might be 10 years younger than your mother, but not to the point of having such different views on how to children should be treated.

“She’s always been such a handful, all my friends’ daughters are so much more mature than her, they help clean the house, cook, always have good grades, not a burden like you are!” your mother emphasises on the last part by craning her neck to look at you with her hideous eyes, she’s not ugly at all, maybe average if you’re being mean, but she is horrid in your eyes, which is why you never understood why Johnny, a successful man at the ripe age of 28 would ever settle for a single mother omega with the worst mood swings ever.

“Why are you speaking to your daughter like this? She’s your own flesh and blood, you never told me there was such a huge riff between the two of you,” Johnny says, exasperated, oh there’s so much he doesn’t know, this is merely the surface.

She mumbles something under her breath that you didn’t quite catch, not that you bother to listen, you just want to lock yourself up in the safety of your room.

After a week from that day, your mother comes home with a slam of the door as tears stream down her face.

“This is all your fault!” she screams with a weak shove of your shoulder before she, surprisingly, retreats to her room. Later you find out why, because of the absence of the 6 foot tall handsome man who hasn’t dropped by for dinner for days now.

You thought you’d never see him again until you see his car waiting for you one day after you finish your college entrance examination.

“Johnny?” you call out, the handsome man has grown out his hair now, a beautiful lock falls right above his right brow, giving him an even more mature look, you’d always thought he was baby faced for a 28 year old man, but now he finally looks his age, guess this what people call a ‘break up glow up’.

“Hey, just thought I’d drop by to say congratulations, and maybe buy you a meal, you must’ve worked really hard these past few months,” Johnny offers, and who are you to reject him when you’re sick of having the same food your mom cooks.

“Did you get back with my mother?” you ask when you settle down in a fancy restaurant, your uniform looks cheap against the pretty red velvet walls, you note, even the waiters had judged when you walked in.

“Is your mother here?” Johnny asks, looking up from the menu, seemingly having decided what he’s having because he’s flagging down a waiter.

Johnny orders for the both of you, you had only mentioned that you’ll probably try the pasta you want once, and he never asked you to repeat yourself nor asked you to state your order to the waiter yourself, but he waits to see if he got it right, or if you’d like to order more, to which you quickly shook your head no, scared that he just might order more. Now you know why your mother was so heartbroken, you’d cry if you lose an alpha this attentive too.

You always had an odd sense of comfort when Johnny’s around, his scent was never overbearing, he has never once bossed you or your mother around just because he’s an alpha, he has been so respectful towards you, unlike some of the creepy alphas your mother brought back.

Just being in his presence again simmers down your post exam anxiety and general anxiety, you didn’t know Johnny's departure had such an impact on you until seeing him again today, it’s like your omega feels at home again.

The two of you talked with a newfound freedom, away from your mother’s watchful eyes. She never likes it when her boyfriends give you more attention, she’s always seen you as her competition.

Johnny asks about your ideas on how your future might look while he updates you on how he took the leap to establish his own company with the support of his best friends that you heard him speak about to your mother.

But everything good comes to an end, and yours come in the form of your lunch with Johnny ending, but the big blow is what he tells you right after reaching your neighbourhood.

“My new office is in Seoul, I’ll be moving tomorrow,” Johnny suddenly confesses.

“What? You’re leaving? Again?” you ask, a lump building in your throat.

Johnny winces at the wording, he thinks you know the relationship was toxic, how he lets your mother have her way in everything, but you’re just 18, a young girl who’s hurt time after time.

“I’m sorry, this company…has been my dream, and your mother and I, we’d never get back together, I don’t think we were ever compatible, I only stayed because…, nevermind, here, this is for you,” Johnny says, opening the glove box in front of you, passing you a little cardholder wallet.

“My business card is there, it has my office address as well as my number, personal and office, there’s also some gift cards there, Jo Malone, Sephora, I know you love perfumes and make up, get yourself something nice, a small gift from me,” Johnny says.

You don’t know when you started tearing up, but you felt Johnny use the expensive material of his sleeve to wipe away your salty tears.

“It’s going to be okay, just one more year, and you’d be able to move away from your mother, one more year and you won’t be binded to her legally anymore,” Johnny reassures, but that’s not what you’re sad for, you’re sad that Johnny’s leaving again, and so far away from Busan too, there’s no way you’d be able to leave the state without your mother knowing.

“Does that mean I could come find you in a year’s time?” you sputter out, the words taste bitter on your tongue.

Johnny freezes in his spot, the feeling of being on the borderline, he’s an adult, and an alpha more so, it’s not appropriate for an omega this young to be staying with him, yes you’re legal in terms of age, but it feels wrong still, but Johnny looks at you, he really looks at you this time, and he realises how you’ve grown into a beautiful young woman, even with tear streaks and a sour pear scent that makes him miss the soft sweet scent of pears in spring, he still thinks you’re absolutely ethereal in every way.

“Okay, I’ll see you in a year’s time if you don’t change your mind,” Johnny says as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, he can’t have your pretty locks soaked in your own tears, seeing you cry and being the reason of your sadness already has his alpha howling in protest.

“Really?” you ask him once more, thinking you heard him wrongly, that your delusional mind had made things up for you.

“Yes, I promise.”

There’s so many things you want to say to him, but it’s better to keep it to yourself, you’ll just hurt yourself if you don’t.

So many things have changed since that fateful day, you no longer stay with your mother, instead, you’re staying with your rich best friend who has an apartment all to herself after her ex moved out.

You barely talk to your mother these days, merely giving an update or two for her every few weeks, at first she was ballistic when you said you were going to move out, but when you told her that Hyuna wasn’t charging you rent, she was ecstatic to help you move out of her humble abode.

You haven’t thought of looking for Johnny until you realise the modelling agency you’re working for expanded, and so now they’re planning on taking on bigger jobs by moving their HQ to Seoul, which means you need to pack up and find a place in a city you barely know.

“Still looking for somewhere to stay?” Hyuna asks, bringing over a mug of wine for you, she’s always been a day drinker, a habit she’s passed on to you.

“Yup,” you say after taking a sip, just what you needed, “thanks for this, it’ll be perfect for my nap when it hits,” you joke truthfully.

“You’re still having issues sleeping?” Hyuna asks, her brows furrowed in worry.

“It’s been a long time now, don’t act all surprised, it’s not going to go away,” you say, deciding to shut your laptop after bookmarking a few places, still a bit over budget, but maybe if you took on more jobs, you’d be able to make ends meet, and maybe no more indulging yourself in expensive food and groceries like you do now, hopefully you’d still have enough for the heating when days get colder.

“The cinnamon candles don’t work?” Hyuna asks, looking at the direction of your room, probably trying to catch a whiff of how strong the scent is.

“It helps, but it takes me forever to fall asleep, but at least I can sleep,” you say, recalling the gruelling times when you couldn’t sleep at all.

“If it’s this bad, it means what you had for him is more than a mere crush-

“He didn’t even say anything, it’s just me, Hyuna, stop giving me false hope, he only cared for me out of pity, we wouldn’t even have met if it wasn’t for my mom,” you defend yourself, it’s true, if he felt the same, he’d speak up, maybe called you or something, your mother probably gave him your number before, Johnny’s a straightforward man.

“Maybe he wasn’t sure of how he feels, how do you know he’s not suffering just like you are if you’re not willing to even give him a call, maybe you could stay with him for a few months before you secure your own place, just to confirm if what you’re feeling is truly just a fickle crush, please,” Hyuna pleads.

“I’ll think about it after my nap,” you say dismissively, leaving your bestie in the living room, she’s going to miss your stubborn ass when you’re gone, but you’ll probably be in better hands if you’re nearer to Johnny.

You don’t know how’d you get here, at Johnny’s doorstep of his big ass house in Gangnam, standing in between two expensive cars.

You had taken up Hyuna’s advice to contact your ‘almost stepfather’.

When you called him, he was surprised to say the least, he hadn't heard from you for three years, he thought you had moved on in life, leaving him as merely a closed chapter.

The phone call had been brief, just a quick congratulations and brief updates before Johnny had to dash off to attend a meeting.

Needless to say, Johnny has been excited for your arrival, he hasn’t stopped wondering how you were since the day he left Busan, he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s missed caring for you while he was with your mother, but ever since that day, he’s had this emptiness in his chest, and just by knowing he’s seeing you soon has relieved this sense of emptiness that was once a hole in his chest.

You finally plucked up the courage to ring the doorbell, quickly stepping aside when you caught whiff of the familiar scent of cinnamon.

Before you know it, you’re being greeted by the familiar alpha, he’s buffed up since the last time you’ve seen, time isn’t an issue for Johnny when he ages like fine wine.

“Hey, come on in,” Johnny says after getting over the initial shock of how much you’ve grown, instead of the little girl that her mother picks fights with, now the little girl standing before him has grown into a beautiful young lady.

Johnny has a new problem now that the emptiness is gone, and it comes in the form of that emptiness being overfilled.

Your scent, it’s different from how he remembered it to be, yes it’s still has the major notes of pear, but he remembers picking it up notes of your mother’s rose scent, which isn’t surprising since sometimes a mother’s scent lingers onto their children, especially if they’re both omegas, but now that you haven’t lived with your mother for so long, he realised that the scent lingered due to proximity, not biology, and it has him reeling.

He thought his desire to care for you is due to the fact that he once had love for your mother, but now that he’s living with you, he realises that the scent of ripe pears was also lingering on your mother just as her scent lingered on you, and now he’s questioning whether he was initially attracted to your mother because of her own scent or the soft but empowering scent of pears.

“Johnny?”

“Yes?” Fuck, he should stop having these stupid questions filling his mind, he isn’t attracted to you, maybe he should get laid soon, maybe it’s purely an instinct thing.

“I was asking you if you could turn up the heating a bit? My body isn’t as warm as an alpha’s” you remind him, but just then a sweater on the sofa catches your attention, “Oh wait, I could just borrow this, you don’t mind right? If not I’ll head up to unpack,” you say, to which Johnny nods, he forgot to even ask you if you wanted to eat anything after your long journey.

The sight of you drowning in his clothes, god, you’re going to be the death of him.

A few days later, after having gotten used to your new living environment, and adjusted to your newfound proper sleeping schedule, to Hyuna’s happiness and her constant ‘I told you sos’, you decided to cook Johnny dinner as the many forms of 'thank yous’ you’ll be giving him.

You decided to cook him a simple pasta to start off, deciding to make your own pesto sauce from scratch, which is why the two of you are spending your Sunday morning at a supermarket, browsing through the many aisles after deciding to splurge on a block of aged parmesan cheese.

You walk towards a pile of fresh basil, but frown when you see the ‘organic’ tag, these are always unnecessarily expensive, so you put the pack of basil down even though the organic ones look a lot fresher.

“Why are you putting them down? They’re a lot fresher than the brand you’re looking at now,” Johnny says before picking up the basil you had discarded.

“Oh, just thought those were a bit too pricey,” you say offhandedly.

“I’m paying, no worries, you don’t have to fret over these miniscule things when you’re with me,” Johnny says with a comforting pat on your head, god, if only he knows what those words do to you, you think to yourself before willing your emotions to be stable, he can’t pick up the spike in your scent, or he’d think you’re a freak.

“But I’m buying today, remember?” you say reminding Johnny of your promise of thanking him for his generosity of letting you stay in his home.

“You said you’d cook as a form of thank you, not buying the groceries and cook,” Johnny says before he places the pack of basil in the cart, “you don’t have to worry about price tags when you’re with me,” Johnny promises before walking ahead, looking back to see you following him with a huff, not used to walking about with someone with such long legs.

“Johnny? Where’s the blender you used this morning for your breakfast shake?” you ask, looking around the expanse of his large kitchen.

“It’s in the third upper shelf from the left,” he says from the couch, apparently he’s checking his emails despite saying he ended work at 6 not too long ago.

You shout out a quick thank you before you follow his directions, opening the cabinet door, you’re quick to recognise the device, standing on your tippy toes to retrieve the blender, you’re surprised by how heavy it is, and when you felt a slight wobble, you suddenly felt a warmth body pressed up behind you as sturdy hands came up to hold onto the blender supporting your smaller hand.

“Careful, this thing’s heavy at the top too, I don’t know why the cover’s so thick,” Johnny jokes as he pulls away with the blender in hand, immediately setting it up for you to use.

“Thanks, Johnny,” you say, glad that he was there, or you’d be cleaning up broken glass now.

“No problem, let me know if you need anything else from the upper cabinets,” Johnny says, smiling as he ruffles your hair before walking away to let you cook, leaving you with butterflies in your tummy.

“Does it taste good?” you ask after tasting a forkful of pesto pasta, you think it’s okay, maybe a little over for the cheese, but Johnny loves cheese, so you purposely incorporated more cheese.

“Tastes great, you’re really good at this, where did you learn all this from?” Johnny asks with a surprised but satisfied smile on his face, he knows you didn’t learn this from your mother, she was a more eastern food type of person.

“Just picked it up from Youtube shorts, those pasta videos are all over my explore page,” you explain with a bashful smile as you try to keep your emotions in check, you’ll die from embarrassment if he picks up your scent getting sweeter.

“Just from a quick short clip? What a smart girl you are,” Johnny compliments, he couldn’t help it, your mother had always complained about you being dumb and clumsy, always never getting top grades, but here you are, learning a quick recipe from a 30 second clip.

Your breath gets caught at the compliment, fuck, your scent definitely changed, you can feel the fuzzy feeling in your tummy again.

“It’s nothing complicated, really, it’s just a simple recipe, it’s no biggie,” you deflect, not used to being complimented this way.

“No, none of that down playing shit, take the compliment as it is, you watched a short clip of a recipe and you recreated it, that’s an achievement,” Johnny says firmly, but with no ill intent, he genuinely doesn’t want you to put yourself down anymore, he knows your mother had conditioned you to look at yourself in a shitty manner, but he’s going to change that.

You nod, mumbling another quick thank you before you go back to eating, feeling the heat behind your ears still.

Johnny isn’t dumb, he picked up on your spike in scent, and the way you look at him, he just wants to stare back into those pretty eyes of yours when he feels them trained on him.

At first it was tolerable, but as the days go by and the weather gets warmer, he sees you walking the house in nothing but shorts and a tee, and he swears you’re not wearing a bra underneath if he looks a bit longer.

Johnny is now out for a long awaited boys’ night with Yuta and Mark at Yuta’s bachelor pad.

“I thought the biggest concern would be that you can’t bring back hot omegas to your place, but you actually have a hot omega in your house, and you’re not going to do anything?” Yuta asked in disbelief.

Fuck, Johnny shouldn’t have shown them your socials, now they’re spewing bullshit instead of helping him.

“Dude, that’s his step daughter, it feels so weird,” Mark says with a huge side eye towards Yuta, which was rather common, since Yuta is the alpha of every omega’s nightmare, unless they’re into freaky shit that is.

“Thank you, Mark, finally someone who sees the logic in this situation,” Johnny said, his tone convincing, but not convincing enough to forget about the way your shorts fit around your bubble butt.

“Johnny didn’t even marry that bitch, and I know you’re a beta, Mark, but can’t you pick up how sweet she is just from Johnny’s clothes, look, man, if you’re not gonna make a move to tap that, I’ll gladly-

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Johnny said with a growl.

Yuta holds his hands up defensively, a smug expression on his face.

“No matter how much you lie to yourself, your alpha wants her, and recognises the connection the two of you share, you can't run away from that, and it's not like you can kick her out now that you offered to let her stay long term," Yuta deduced with a tilt of his head, daring Johnny to come up with a logical retort.

But the tallest amongst them goes quiet, mulling over his choices.

"Even if it's not Yuta hyung, some other alpha's going to be interested in her some day, hyung," Mark reminds Johnny, "and would you be able to stand aside and let someone love her instead of you?"

Johnny's never thought of it that way, in some twisted way, he had always thought you were his little girl, too young to be courted by alphas, but in reality, you're a grown woman now, even if he thinks he's too old for you, other alphas his age aren't going to think that, maybe not even you, you probably see Johnny less of a father figure than what he assumed.

"He's finally using that brain of his," Yuta says on the side to Mark, the two conversing among themselves while they let their friend gather his thoughts.

"How about this," Mark suddenly speaks up, "you could spend some time away from her to clear your mind, if you really miss her during your time away from each other…then you have your answer, dude," Mark suggests, looking at Yuta for affirmation.

"I mean that could work," Yuta says uncertainly, it probably is going to work, although with added risks that he won't be mentioning, he doesn't need Johnny's angry side out with a few drinks in.

"What am I going to say? Where am I going to stay?" Johnny asks, still doubting that this is a good idea, would you be fine with staying all by yourself? You haven't done that before, he thinks, but on the other hand, your mother was very much an absent parent.

"You could crash at my place, man, what could go wrong? I'll clean up the guest room for you and it'll be just like home," Mark suggests, immediately going to his phone to make a list of things to buy, like toilet paper and booze, he misses having sleepovers with his bro, and this is the perfect opportunity to make up for loss time.

"I'm leaving for a month for a business trip," Johnny tells you in the midst of having dinner together at this Japanese restaurant you had suggested, the fresh prawn tempura doesn't taste as nice anymore, now that he's bringing this up.

"Oh, that's abrupt, where to?" you ask, hoping you don't look visibly upset, but Johnny could tell from your crestfallen eyes, he could feel his own alpha struggling to take over and comfort you, yeah, he really needs time away from you if his alpha is acting this way.

"Back to Busan, my business partners are debating on opening a headquarters there, just to make things easier on the management and shipping side of things," Johnny lies, he already has a HQ in Busan, but he doesn't oversee it, god forbid he runs into your mother after everything.

"Oh, okay, do you need me to do anything with the house while you're gone other than watering the plants?" you ask, taking a sip of your green tea to swallow down your nerves, what if he sees her again?

"No, just be there to look over the weekly maids and everything would be fine," Johnny says with a sense of finality, for him, not you, because after telling you, there's no backing out, he's going to go through this like the man he is.

Everything was fine until it wasn't, and it started off with an ache in his head, it wasn't extremely painful, but it was consistent enough for him to down an advil every 12 hours.

He'd been drowning himself in work and the gym and brushed it off as a sign of fatigue, but when the headache shows no sign of fading even on a long weekend, he starts to worry, and then Mark drops another bomb on him.

"Dude, you’re starting to smell different, is your rut starting soon?"

Johnny freezes up from his position on the couch, the morning news talking about some light earthquake that happened last night, usually he'd be very focused on news like this, but his mind is now blank.

"Dude you alright? That headache you keep talking about, it's probably your rut-

"But it can't be, my rut isn't due for another 2 months," Johnny says in disbelief, quickly checking his calendar, just to double check.

"I don't know, man, but that's how you smelled like when you start your pre rut symptoms, maybe go check it out at the doctor's?" Mark suggests, stealing the bag of chips Johnny opened on the coffee table, happily munching away while his friend quickly books a doctor's appointment.

It's probably nothing, Johnny assures himself, he's been eating well, resting well, it's probably just a flu or something, he brushes off.

"Mr Suh, I fear that there are a few questions I need to ask you in regards to your condition," Doctor Park asks, his face a bit grim, if Johnny's getting some death disease then he's booking a flight to see the aurora lights, stat, there's no way he's going down without doing all the wild shit on his bucket list.

"Am I dying, doc?" Johnny asks, preparing himself for the worst, maybe stage 4 cancer, maybe some incurable shit that's passed down from the family that miraculously skipped his grandparents and parents.

"No, Mr Suh, I'm afraid you had unknowingly imprinted on someone, which is why I'm going to ask you now, are you seeing someone at the moment?" Doctor Park asks.

"No, not at all," Johnny replies, a half truth, since you're on his mind all the time.

"Then are you perhaps interested in someone? And you see that someone quite often?" the doctor asks, sceptical that an alpha this attractive is single, he could hear the nurses gushing about his patient when he walked in, even if he was blind he'd know this young man is considered attractive.

"Well, there is someone I'm somewhat attracted to, but I don't think to the point where I'd unknowingly imprint on them? And what does this have to do with my upcoming rut?" Johnny asks, still in denial that he actually imprinted on you, maybe the doctor just misdiagnosed him.

"Based on the information you've given me, you're having constant headaches, no appetite, and an upcoming early rut? Those are all symptoms of mate withdrawal, or in your case, potential mate withdrawal," Doctor Park says with a slight judgement in his voice.

"Is this…permanent?" Johnny asks, he's never been scared of things, but right now, he feels like he's a kid on a roller coaster again.

"There's a procedure to remove the imprint, however it'll be very painful, and I suggest you quickly check on the person you imprinted on, they might be having these symptoms as well, however usually the one that imprints feels it first, so you still have some time to figure things out, now excuse me while I go sort of your medication," the doctor says before leaving Johnny in the room alone.

Johnny quickly makes a quick search on where to get imprint removal in the country, just in case, and he curses when he sees the many warnings and symptoms of the removal treatment.

Doctor Park comes back in with a bag of medication, he pulls them out one by one.

"The violet pills are to numb the imprint in general, blue for your headaches, twice a day, green for your appetite loss, and red is to defer your rut if you wish to do so, however I don't suggest you taking too many of these as it worsens the effects of your actual rut when the medication can no longer withstand your rut hormones, take all of these after meals, and get sufficient rest, and please think this through as soon as possible," Doctor Park says before dismissing him for his next patient.

"So… what did the doctor say, man, you don't look too happy, but at least you look like you got more life in your face now," Mark says, gesturing at Johnny's face that is now less pale than when he left this morning.

"Yeah, I took some medicine, that's why, and I also found out that I imprinted on her," Johnny spilled, which earned the biggest and fruitiest gasps that he only hears from his beta friend.

"I'm sorry? Imprinted? Like for real dude? How did that happen?" Mark was in shock, but he was also curious, he's heard of imprints, but they rarely happen, especially with the dating culture nowadays.

"Not sure, the only good news is that I'm the one that imprinted on her, so I still have some time to think this through," Johnny says, just a heads up to Mark that he won't be rushing to pack his bags and move out of his home.

"Wouldn't she be affected also? And, what's there to think through? You wanna get it removed? That shit stings like a bitch from what I heard, even if you're willing to remove the imprint, there's no telling she would, and what if she falls sick while you're here-

"Stop, I just need a few more days, then I'll be out of your hair," Johnny says dismissively, heading back to his room for some peace of mind.

"Should we update Yuta on this?"

"Suit yourself, I won't change my mind regardless," Johnny says before shutting his door, ready for a long night's sleep.

Johnny knows you're fine, he's been staying up to date with you by asking you to water his plants everyday, today he even went as far as asking about your personal health, and true to the doctor's words, you haven't been feeling any withdrawal symptoms yet, and because of this, Johnny’s glad he bit the bullet and went for the check up early.

Anxious, that's what Johnny felt the last few days, the dismissive front he had masked on days ago now crumbling as he tossed and turned in his bed.

Johnny had felt tired after work today, which was odd, because he had purposely made himself a coffee before he left work to go to his scheduled workout at the gym, however, he had felt drained once he left the parking bay, which is why he ate a quick dinner of cup noodles and slept.

He had slept peacefully the first two hours, but after he woke up to go to the bathroom, sleep just couldn't seem to come back to him.

The sleep leaves Johnny as the prickling in his head grows, but he's taken his pills, why is he still reacting to the withdrawal symptoms?

Then he feels it, that sinking feeling in his stomach, he immediately hops out of bed, grabbing his wallet and car keys before dashing out of the door, a confused Mark who was watching a basketball game jolts at the harsh opening of his bedroom door.

"What's the problem, man? It's midnight, where are you going?" Mark asks, but nonetheless, he turns off the telly, following behind Johnny, he's never seen Johnny this anxious, he's not gonna leave him be at a time like this.

"I think something happened at home, but I don't know what, I need to check up on her," Johnny replies as he frantically watches the panel counting down to the car park levels.

"I'll go with you, it's late and if you need help, I'll be there," Mark offers, not questioning how true Johnny's hunch is.

It was quiet when he stepped into his home, but that wasn't out of the ordinary for you, you're not the type to stay up watching TV, but the weird thing is that there wasn't a single light on in the living area, you'd always leave a light on at night.

Then Johnny noticed how faint your scent was, you didn't tell him you'd be staying anywhere else tonight, but it smells like you haven't been here for half a day at least.

Johnny quickly traces your scent to your room, he opens the door, and the sight of you lying on the desk with your head down sends a chill down his spine, yes you might have fallen asleep, but you've told him multiple times that you can only sleep on a bed.

So he tries to shake you awake, but to no avail.

Mark was calling the ambulance before Johnny even asked him to, an unconscious omega is nothing to joke about.

Then everything was a blur, Mark drove Johnny's car while he sat in the ambulance with you, holding onto your hand as the medics asked him basic questions.

Johnny met up with Mark in the emergency area where he was ushered beyond the curtains due to your privacy.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Her life isn't in any danger, but they need to run more tests to confirm that it is imprint withdrawal symptoms," Johnny says, still focused on where you were wheeled in.

Then the doctor comes out, a stoic expression on his face.

"As you had predicted, Mr Suh, she is indeed going through withdrawal symptoms, so she's going to be hooked onto some drips and be given some medicine, nothing to worry about, however, please step up as a mate and actually be there for her," the doctor says with a slight edge to his tone.

"Yes, doctor," Johnny said, scratching the back of his head, embarrassed that as a man in his thirties is still struggling with professing his feelings.

Johnny watches your pale face, he did this, he’s to blame.

“Mr Suh, I’m sorry, but visiting hours are going to end soon,” the doctor informs.

“I wish to stay overnight to look after her,” Johnny says, as he texts Mark to find your essentials, thick sweaters and sweatpants, any skincare you have laying around.

“My apologies, Mr Suh, but you’re only eligible to sleepover if you book the VIP room where a proper bed is prepared for you, it’s company policy,” of course they got this greedy policy.

“Just charge it on my tab, get her the VIP room, immediately,” Johnny says, standing up from the chair he’d thought he’d be hunched over sleeping in.

“Gladly, Mr Suh, Nurse Park, please add Mr Suh into the overnight list and fetch your team to have the patient shifted.”

Johnny sighs as he follows you, keeping a keen eye when the team of nurses wheel you to your new room.

Marks drop by your things and he gets to work, cleaning your face with a towel and using the products that he recognises its uses of, he’s not a pro, but he does have a skincare routine himself too. Then, he tucks you in bed, pulling the blanket as high as your chin, knowing that you get cold easily.

Then Johnny slips off into slumber on the bed next to yours, fatigue consuming him after the stressful hour he had, but most importantly, sleep came to him because you’re finally in his presence again.

The first thing that you saw was how obnoxiously white the ceiling was, you’re quite fucking sure you had told Johnny to help you colour the ceiling black ages ago when you first moved in, wait, what happened to the silk sheets Johnny had splurged on you? Why are the sheets so rough against your skin?

You jolted up when you felt the tug of something connected to your arm, your eyes going as wide as saucers when you see that you’re currently in a hospital room, at first you thought you were kidnapped for your organs or whatever, until your nose picked up on the familiar sweet scent of cinnamon, you averted your gaze to the bed beside yours, seeing the view of Johnny’s back.

You carefully walked to him, cursing silently at the IV drip attached to you.

“Johnny,” you called to him, shaking him slightly, his contracting muscles at his shoulders alerting you that he’s waking up.

“Sweetheart? Why are you up? Let me get the doctor,” Johnny says urgently, scrambling up from bed.

“Wait, Johnny, why am I in the hospital? How did I end up here?” you ask, seeking answers in those panic stricken honey brown eyes that usually exude confidence.

“I…,” Johnny looks so lost at words at that moment, his entire confident businessman front is nowhere to be seen, he shakes his head, seemingly trying to get his composure together.

“It’s okay, you can take your time,” you reassure, sitting down beside him on the squeaky bed, an encouraging smile on your lips.

“I imprinted on you and didn’t know what to do, so I lied about going on a business trip to sort out my thoughts, I didn’t know you’d be affected by the withdrawal symptoms so quickly, I shouldn’t have trusted the doctor’s prediction, I should’ve consulted you, I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I put your life in danger even though I promised you I’d do anything to protect you,” Johnny confesses, his shoulders sagging after he’s spilled the entire story, his chest heaving as he struggles not to let his tears fall, he had put you in danger, he doesn’t deserve to be your alpha, he should’ve signed up for the imprint removal as soon as possible back then.

“Hey, Johnny, it’s alright, we all need time to think things through, I’m alive, I might’ve done the same in your footsteps, so don’t beat yourself over it,” you say, mind drifting to all the times you had felt very tired or had zero appetite for no particular reason, glad that you finally found the source of all your problems, all because of this cute alpha in front of you whose scent is so sour,

“If it makes you feel any better, I had the ulterior motive of wanting us to become something more too, when you were away, I thought you’d left me alone for good, so please don't even think about removing our imprint, please,” you plead, you sound a bit pathetic, if you’re honest, begging for a man to stay, but you don’t want his heart constantly out the door while his body hangs around, you went through that with your mother, you don’t want to go through that with Johnny as well, and you think Johnny understands what you mean too, because he releases calming pheromones, pulling you into his embrace.

“I’m not going anywhere you don’t want me to be, sweetheart, never,” Johnny promises you.

You bury yourself impossibly closer, but a crackling sound in his pocket pulls you out of your moment with Johnny.

“What’s that?” you ask, looking at Johnny for answers, watching him dig through his pocket, a packet of medicine is brought out.

“I had to take them while I was away from you, to deal with the side effects of imprint withdrawal from you,” Johnny explains.

“You won’t be needing them anymore then,” you say, ready to go home with your alpha.

Your relationship with Johnny has progressed smoothly, albeit rather slow, what you appreciate though, is that Johnny is a traditional man, going through the process of courting you, buying you flowers whenever he needs to leave for the office, cooking you food, buying you gifts once in a while, from simple things like a box of macarons to expensive jewellery.

What you didn’t expect was to find another package of medicine, when you decided to put his coat into the dryer, a packet of red pills that you recognised from a month ago.

“Johnny!” you called out to the alpha sitting on the couch, the evening news on.

“Why are you still taking these?” you ask, holding up the packet of visible red pills in your hand.

Conflict draws upon Johnny’s face, a frown between the creases of his brows.

“I didn’t want to let you know, but my rut is coming soon, so I’ve been delaying it as long as I can, I didn’t know if you’d like to, or if you’re ready for it, I’m actually prepared to spend it alone, I just didn’t know how to tell you-

“I’d love to spend your rut with you, so you won’t be needing these anymore,” you say, dumping the pills into a nearby trash bin,

“No! Wait-

“Taking suppressants are bad for you, Johnny-

“But you might not be ready, have you ever spent a rut with an alpha?” Johnny asks, but his wolf side is gnawing at his chest at the thought of its omega being with another alpha.

“I haven’t, but my heat is approaching too, and I don’t wish to spend it locked in my room anymore,” you cringe thinking about how your mother had warned you when you first presented that you should never ever sleep with anyone until you’re legally binded to one another, and that you should just suffer through your heats like a ‘righteous’ omega.

“Your heat is approaching soon too? Do you want to spend it at home or would you want us to go to heat hotels?” Johnny asks, but all you could focus on was the wording ‘us’.

“At home would be great, I want to nest a bit longer after my heat breaks,” you explain.

“Okay, we’ll go through this together,” your alpha reassures you.

The sexual tension between the two of you was so thick that a knife would've sliced through it, your approaching heat meant that your body temperature was rising steadily, that meant you had switched out your comfy sweat sets for cropped tees and cute house shorts, and the new expanse of exposed skin has Johnny struggling to concentrate on his work whenever he takes his work to the living room for a change of environment.

“Should he engage with you before your heat hits or should he wait and continue earning your validation?

You probably don’t have any extreme standards towards Johnny, but he has expectations for himself, like just the other day, he took you to a Japanese omakase, it was expensive, but your fascination towards the chef’s skill was worth every penny.

Other than that, he’s bought you flowers almost everyday, Mark had called him old schooled, courting you like what an alpha would do back in the 70s.

Johnny doesn’t really see this as a form of courting, he’s only giving you what you weren’t allowed to access in life, she was a selfish woman, she’d spent good money on a car before spending money on your needs. He recalls how you used to eat more on days where Johnny took both you and your mother out for dates, when he had asked you back then when your mother had walked away to the loo, that you don’t usually get to eat food this good, or this plenty when it was only the two of you.

Johnny curses to himself when he thinks of it, he should’ve realised this sooner, how your mother was treating you with such blatant dislike, he thought your relationship was rocky, he hadn’t known or expected that you were abused and neglected by her all along.

“What’s with the frown on your face, love?” you ask when you came round after fetching yourself a glass of water, taking a seat next to the warm alpha, you’re rather warm these days, which is why you’ve been layering less, so that you could still cuddle Johnny comfortably.

“Nothing, was wondering where you were at,” Johnny says, he doesn’t want to bring it up, you always have melancholy swimming in your eyes whenever he mentions your excuse of a mother, it’s better to not mention the past now that you’re having a good day.

“Corny alpha,” you tease, snuggling to his side, purring when his scent begins to envelope the two of you, you had specifically told Johnny that the scent of cinnamon calms you down, that you love smelling like him, consenting yourself to be scented by him at any opportunity.

“It’s work, isn’t it? Let’s take a break, how about a nap?” you suggest with an excited smile, you love being cuddled to sleep, his scent is a remedy for your insomnia.

“You should’ve become a negotiator,” Johnny says as he lifts you up in his arms, earning a squeal from you.

“I could’ve walked myself, you know,” you say breathlessly in between giggles, being carried by Johnny always makes you giddy, like you were a child all over again.

“What’s the fun in that?” Johnny retorts as he lays you down gently on his bed, and instantly his arms come circling your waist once more, Johnny can’t describe it, but whenever he pulls you into his embrace, his alpha feels like it’s coming home, having memorised your every touch, and when your smile falls a little, his alpha is clawing at his chest to prod why.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Johnny asks, his hand reaching up to cradle your cheek.

“Can I ask you something Johnny?” that question worries Johnny, but he nods regardless, he promised to himself he’d face whatever problems the two of you may come across.

“What did you see in her back then? And what do you see in me? I don’t look anything like her,” you add on, choosing to be honest with him with your insecurities, your physical features have always taken after your father, or your male producer, since that’s all he’s done for you.

Johnny stills, he didn’t expect you to ask anything like that, and he sighs, knowing that he’d have to come clean to you sooner or later.

“I was attracted to the faint scent of pears mixed with roses when I first bumped into your mother, it was so calming to me, and at that time I guess I was young, and I wanted someone who was serious with me I guess, and maybe partly because it was kinda cool, bragging to my friends that I bagged myself a milf, it was just lots of bad decisions, really, especially when I realised that the scent I found comforting didn’t even belong to the person I was seeing, and I never thought you looked like your mother, she is her own beauty, and you are your own,” Johnny confesses and reassures, unknowingly, he’s breathing in your scent now, to calm his nerves.

“All of us make mistakes, Johnny, I’m just glad you don’t see me as an extension of her, that worried me the most to be honest,” you say truthfully, “that was my biggest worry.”

“You have nothing to worry about, if you do, that means I’m fucking something up,” Johnny jokes, but with a full sense of seriousness to it, and he looks into your eyes, trying his best to convey the message that this is serious, that you’re everything to him.

“Stop looking at me like that, go to sleep, you need it,” you say, laying your head on Johnny’s pillow and his shoulder, the support your neck needed after a day of editing videos.

“I think you needed this nap more than me,” Johnny notes with a teasing tone, but nonetheless, does as you’re told, closing his eyes to drift off to peaceful slumber with you.

When Johnny wakes up, he feels your body next to his, impossibly close, and also alarmingly hot, he jerks awake, seeing your forehead beaded with sweat, immediately he knew your heat has approached, or is coming soon, he could also feel his rut arriving, having triggered by your heat, he concludes when he feels the prickly feeling he gets at the back of his neck, a sign of his upcoming rut.

Should he wake you up? You never enjoy being woken up for no reason, but he could smell your scent sweeten, meaning that you’re probably getting wet by whatever dream you’re having.

Johnny made up his mind to wake you up at half past six, then you’d at least have two hours of sleep, for now, he’s going to make some porridge in his rice cooker, so you’d have some light food to have if your heat is put on a pause, Johnny’s never been so glad for having a stocked up fridge more than now, he has to move quick, he doesn’t want you, or more so, your omega in distress if you find him gone from the bed.

Johnny finishes up the last step of his mother’s old recipe before he dashes back into his room, you were still sleeping, rolling around in the pile of clothes Johnny had placed surrounding you, a makeshift nest ro help you sleep better, and it worked, seeing how you’re sweating a bit less, your face a bit less tensed.

Johnny looks at the time on the clock, you’ve been sleeping for almost three hours now, it’s time to wake you up if he wants to make it on time for dinner to be done.

“Hey, baby, time to wake up, you’ve been sleeping for a long time amd, don’t panic, but I think your heat is here, do you still want me around? If not I could probably look for a heat hotel for myself,” Johnny reassures, even though you’ve told him many times that you’re perfectly fine with spending your heat and rut together.

“I wouldn’t want to spend it any other way, Johnny,” you say with utmost confidence, knowing that if you didn’t Johnny’s going to overthink himself not to.

“Okay,” Johnny replied with a shaky breath, he’s never been nervous to sleep with an omega, but this is you, the person that matters most in his life, it’s expected of him to be on his nerves.

Although without mark, you could feel how nervous Johnny is through his scent, the sweet cinnamon having a twinge of sour, any other alpha would’ve lost control at this point, but Johnny hasn’t even complained about his awful blue balls even once, and is instead contributing to his own pain, and so you decide to help him out, or you’d be lying in your own puddle of arousal and still you wouldn’t have came even once.

“Tell me what you want to do with me,” you suggest before you seal your lips with his, in hopes that it’d motivate him to be more expressive with you, that if you can’t lead Johnny himself to make a move on you, that Johnny’s alpha would.

Instantly, Johnny’s hands held onto your hips possessively, his face nuzzles into your neck, his tongue flicking dangerously at the spot which might bind you closer than the imprint, but you expose your neck still, your omega doing the thinking for you in this haze of lust your body is driven to.

When he brushes his teeth against your sliver of neck, you instantly feel a new flood of arousal, your scent now heavily dousing the air Johnny breathes in.

Johnny curses, and you know why, you could feel his large cock twitching in his pants, the tip grinding against your puffy clit through the many layers of clothing, the rough material encouraging you to swivel your hips faster, your mind in a frenzy to seek more pleasure, but Johnny ceases all your movements with his strong hands.

“You asked me what I wanted to do with you,” Johnny says before his hands pry your clothed cheeks apart, dropping his head to your shoulder before he inhales deeply, almost growling at the sweet spike of your scent, “I want a taste, sweetheart, could you give me that?” Johnny asks after pulling away, his eyes hooded, a red hue painted on his honey brown eyes.

“Okay-y,” you say shakily, preparing to hop off of your alpha, but Johnny ceases your movements once more, causing you to whine, your omega disliking the fact that you’re getting denied from your sweet pleasure.

“I want you to ride my face, baby,” Johnny demands, pushing you upwards his body, getting you to move as you quickly nod your head, one of your oldest fantasies of Johnny coming true right now.

Johnny helps you remove your pants and underwear, his eyes zoning in on your slicked up pussy.

“Beautiful, so fucking pretty, and all mine,” Johnny admires aloud before he jerks your body downwards, attaching his tongue to your cunt, lapping away like some mutt, his tongue greedily catches all your sweet juices before he thrusts his tongue inside your core, groaning at the way your warm velvet walls cocoon around his tongue, his mind reeling at the thought of having his cock deep inside you, how tight you’d feel around him.

Johnny’s pace is too fast, he has you grabbing the headboard, toes clenched as you whimper at the feeling of his flexible tongue and sharp nose digging at your clit when he started moving your hips for you, you’re most certainly fucking his face now, and when you thought things couldn’t feel any better, Johnny exchanges his tongue with three of his fingers and he traps your clit in between his lips, sucking hard, he had feared his jaw would really go slack if he keeps up with the strenuous routine for too long.

However, the added thickness and length quickly has you screaming, the tips of his fingers finally reaching your sensitive spot, and so you fall apart, screaming.

“Fuck, so good, daddy,” you say as you weakly grind against Johnny’s face, not registering the fact that the man under you had frozen up, but he lets you continue nonetheless, savouring your sweet release on his taste buds.

When you’re finally done riding out your high, Johnny gently flips you to his spot, now he’s hovering over you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I didn’t expect you to spill that dirty little secret to daddy this soon, my sweetheart,” Johnny says as he brushes your hair out of your face, admiring your flushed face.

Your heart drops at Johnny’s words, cursing at your lack of clarity whilst you're entrapped in this sex crazed heat.

“Don’t be so worried baby, you don’t need to hide yourself from daddy,” Johnny reassures before he kisses you softly, tasting yourself on his tongue.

With Johnny’s reassurance, you uncover yourself and start roaming your hands up his shirt to have a touch of Johnny’s chiselled body, he deduces that he can wait no longer, quickly jerking off his pants, his large cock hung in between his strong thighs, Johnny jerks off his cock with his hands as he admires your bare body, he feels himself battling with his wolf side, the desire to fuck, breed, and claim nagging his mind.

“You can still back out, sweetheart, go while my rut hasn’t entirely consumed me,” Johnny reminds you.

“No, please, I need this, I need you, daddy,” you say as you spread your legs, sitting up to reach for Johnny’s cock, but before you could even touch him, Johnny gently pushes you down the bed with one hand, the other gripping his dick in his hands, guiding himself to your entrance.

Johnny intertwines his hand with yours, hands locked next to your head as you feel his gaze burning into yours, slowly, you feel him breaching your ring of muscle, your walls opening up bit by bit as he fills you up slowly.

A whimper escapes you as you feel him surely filling you up to the brim.

“I’m sorry, baby, just a little bit more, you’re more than halfway in, baby, you’re doing a good job for me,” Johnny coos, his thumb brushing against your knuckles, an action he does whenever he picks up your anxiety spike in your scent.

When you’ve swallowed his length whole, Johnny lets you adjust to his size, distracting you by kissing you passionately, hoping that his lips would suffice as a distraction from the burn you’re feeling down there, and slowly, the burning feeling turns into slow but steady twinges of pleasure, and the fullness is driving your omega crazy, and now she’s craving for a big fat knot.

“You can move now, daddy,” you say, in a reassuring tone, your hand squeezing Johnny’s.

Johnny nods, before he pulls his hand away, choosing to hold your hips for better control, he thrusts shallowly, needing to gauge your reaction before he really starts, and the reaction is immediate, the friction of your walls against his bare cock is too good, moaning at the slight movement.

Johnny takes this as a positive sign, his alpha crooning, he pulls out most of his length, leaving the tip in before he thrusts back into you in one stroke, groaning at the way you clench around him.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so tight, so wet,” Johnny mumbles, more to himself since you’re getting lost by how Johnny almost immediately locates your sweet spot again, a whine leaving you as your toes clench and your nails drag down his back, and the pain fuels Johnny, knowing that he could drive you mad just from his dick alone.

“Alpha, please…”

Johnny’s cock twitches at hearing you beg, he doesn’t even need to dick train you, your daddy issues alone have moulded you into his perfect princess.

“Please what, sweetheart? You need to be specific,” Johnny demands, a hand coming to rub circles on your clit, he knows you’re very wet by now, but he wants you to unclench yourself, it’s not going to be pleasurable if you’re constantly tense.

“I…” you stutter, how can you voice the fact that you want him to move because you’re insanely horny? But the encouraging smile and constant calming pheromones in the air has you caving in, and maybe your omega is getting frustrated too.

“Want you to move faster, please daddy,” you say in a seductive, yet shy whisper, before you add on something absolutely unfiltered from your omega’s mind, “make your omega feel good.”

Johnny lets out an appreciative growl, ready to accept the challenge after hearing you call yourself his.

Johnny ploughs his cock inside you at a rapid pace, his hands grabbing, digging into your ass cheeks as he most literally, rocks your world.

You could feel yourself slipping away from sanity, choked moans leaving your parted lips as Johnny rearranges your guts, hooking one of your legs around his waist so that he could thrust deeper inside you, upholding your request of being filled with his cum.

A loud whine escapes you as you let yourself be manhandled, anything is fine by you as long as you could feel this overwhelming amount of pleasure going through your body.

You hold onto Johnny’s tricep as you feel yourself being rushed into another high.

“Daddy!” you gasp out once the dam of pleasure finally breaks, figuratively and literally, because the next thing you could register in your heat crazed haze is that your pelvis and Johnny’s luscious looking thighs are drenched with your release.

Your eyes widen comically as you take in the fact that you just squirted, the apology on the tip of your tongue.

However, Johnny beats you to it, voicing his positive thoughts over it.

“Fuck, baby, can’t believe you squirted just like that, your tight little hole couldn’t handle daddy’s big cock, am I right?” Johnny asks, his tone so gentle, yet his words so filthy, and that has your heart doing somersaults and your pussy clenching enthusiastically.

Then your heart drops, the love fest interrupts your train of thoughts, Johnny hasn’t cum yet.

“Daddy, you haven’t cum,” you said, immediately clenching onto the girth inside you, but Johnny grips your hips to halt you.

“You must be tired, let your body rest before your heat consumes you again,” Johnny suggests, prepared to pull out of you.

“No! Please, daddy, I need your cum, your knot, or I’d feel empty…daddy,” the last part came out as a whisper, still not being used to voicing out your carnal desires even though it’s perfectly normal, especially during one’s heat.

Johnny gives you a soft smile, a hand caressing your face before he kisses you gently on the lips.

“Present yourself,” your alpha says to you before he pulls himself out, kneeling before your beautiful body, choosing to let you make the move.

And so you did, slowly lifting yourself, turning around and presenting yourself, on your knees with your ass arched up, your pussy glistening even under the minimal lighting in the room.

Johnny curses under his breath before he quickly seathes himself back inside you, groaning at the welcoming walls that he once again sank into.

“Don’t hold back, alpha, take what you need,” you say, twisting your neck to get a glimpse at the beautiful man you’re able to call yours.

Johnny curses under his breath before he resumes the punishing pace he had going on before you reached your high. You’re really starting to think you’re a masochist, the way you enjoy the slight burn from the overstimulation has all the signs showing that you can no longer deny.

“Is my baby a pain slut? Whining that it hurts, but I can still feel your pussy getting wetter for me,” Johnny teases as he slows down his thrusts, putting more emphasis on fucking you deeper, now that you’ve came.

All you could do was nod between sniffles, struggling to agree with your alpha verbally, knowing that most men find that sexy, but Johnny coos, he knows what you want to convey, and the fact that you couldn’t even speak your mind whilst he fucks you just drives his confidence through the roof.

Before he knows it, Johnny could feel his cock bulging up, his knot forming, groaning at the feeling of your tight walls wrapped around him so closely, and his knot hasn’t even finished swelling up.

Johnny whispers sweet encouragements in your ears as you whimper at the foreign feeling of being knotted.

Soon after, his knot starts to deflate, spurts of cum painting your walls white as he calls your name sweetly, almost moaning.

And slowly, the stream comes to a stop, you were in and out of it during the time of you and Johnny being locked together, dozing off as Johnny has his arms wrap around your body, scenting you even though you are most definitely drenched in his scent from the constant physical attachment, but he understands you well enough that you need this on an emotional level.

“You can still leave if you don’t want to spend my rut with me, I can feel it starting soon, maybe give or take a few hours,” Johnny reminds you, giving you one last chance to leave if you decide to not spend a rut with him yet, which is respectable, the two of you haven’t been dating that long, most people at least wait a year of dating before spending such a vulnerable time together.

“I’m sure, Johnny,” you reassured him as you brush the flyaways from his handsome face.

“Then let’s get some food before we fuck like bunnies again,” Johnny jokes before he whisks you away to the direction of his kitchen, tummy rumbling now that you caught whiff of the scent of delicious food, you just hope your alpha is able to keep his hands to himself long enough after you guy finish washing the dishes.

You smile to yourself at the realisation, that even with all the uncertainty that started off between the two of you, the situation with your mother and how Johnny used to keep you at arm’s length, in the end, you win.

#nct smut #johnny smut #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct x reader #johnny suh #nct 127 smut #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #johnny fluff #nct au #johnny suh smut #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction

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kaismasterlist · 5 months ago

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Clueless (Avenger!Bucky Barnes | Avenger Bsf!Reader) ❤️

Small World (Dark-Soft-Dark Robber + Burglar!Bucky Barnes | Reader) 🖤

The Storms NSFW Continuation (Dad!Johnny Storm | Mom!Reader) ❤️

Proud No More Continuation (Supreme Alpha!Steve Rogers | Alpha!Reader) 🖤

Exhibitionist Blowjob With Your Dark Alpha Boss (Husband!Steve | Omega Secretary!Reader) ❤️

Wearing Bucky's Dog Tags With Your Birthday Suit ❤️🖤

Giving In To Dark!Bucky 🖤

Sunshine (Recovering Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes | Lab technician!You) ❤️

Coy (Daddy!Steve Rogers | Shy Gf!You) ❤️

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noisydelusionlove · 4 months ago

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Chapter 22: Heat pt 2 (Soap’s Turn)

Pairings: Poly141xOC, SoapxOC, GazxOC

Warnings: Military inaccuracies, A/B/O Dynamics, SMUT, Oral sex (F receiving), PinV sex, Unprotected sex (no), bodily fluids mentioned slightly, Alpha!Soap

Aurora sighs happily as she sits on the couch between Kyle and Johnny. Johnny is scooted to the end of the couch, trying to give her space. John is seated on one of the armchairs to Kyle’s left and Ghost is seated in the other one over by Johnny. He scooted his chair so it was almost touching the couch, so he could periodically place a hand on Johnny’s neck to try and calm him. Aurora glances at Kyle and then at the snacks that have accumulated on the coffee table. Kyle chuckles as he notices her looking between the two. “Looking for something princess?” Kyle says as he looks at her. Aurora smiles as she looks at him. “Was craving something sweet,” she says with a small laugh. Kyle chuckles as he reaches over the arm of the couch next to him and pulls out a small grocery bag of candies that he knows Auroral likes. Aurora lets out a happy noise as she takes the bag from his hands. She leans against him as she opens a chocolate bar and happily begins to eat. After a few more minutes the strong smell of rain and citrus hits her nose. Aurora glances over at Johnny, noticing how on edge he seems from being near her. She cocks her head slightly as Kyle leans down to whisper to her. “It’s okay, he’s just not used to being near an Omega in heat, it has the Alpha side of his Delta antsy,” Kyle says as he gently reassuringly rubs her arm.

Johnny glances over at Aurora and notices her expression is slightly upset. “I’m fine Bonnie. It’s alright.” He says reassuringly as Aurora nods and turns back to the TV. The four continue to watch the movie, as Aurora’s lucid period gets closer to its end. John’s phone rings and he excuses himself, but Aurora knows he has been trying to make his exit for a while, her heat scent getting stronger as her instincts start coming to the surface. A few minutes later Ghost clears his throat and looks at Kyle. He gives a small nod to Johnny and Kyle nods. The ghost slowly stands up and leaves the room, the scent of Omega becoming too much for him. Aurora glances up at Kyle who smiles at her. “Sorry princess, your scent is getting stronger and they want to stay in control so they don't hurt you,” Kyle explains and Aruroa gives a small nod. A little while later, Aurora has to bite out a gasp as she feels a rush of wetness between her thighs. Her smell in the room grows sweeter and Johnny groans, as the smell of rain that surrounds him slowly shifts into something a little darker, sharper, like the smell of the Earth during a lightning storm. Aurora sniffs and glances over at Johnny immediately, the smell triggers the same receptors in her brain that an Alpha would trigger. Kyle even glances at Johnny curiously, having never smelled the Alpha scent Johnny can let out, or even seen his actual Alpha nature.

Aurora takes in the smell of Johnny’s new Alpha side and a small whimper escapes her throat as Kyle chuckles. “You can go over there, Princess. He won’t hurt you, I’m staying right here like with Price.” Kyle encourages and Aurora gives a small nod before sitting up and moving towards Johnny. Johnny smiles as he sees her before he grabs her waist and lifts her so she’s straddling his lap. “Hi, Bonnie,” Johnny says with his signature smile. Aurora lets out a small chuckle as she looks at him. “Hi, Johnny.” She says before leaning down to press her lips to his. Johnny lets out a small growl, his grip on her waist tightening slightly before he places his hands on her thighs, which causes her to grind down against the prominent bulge under her. Aurora releases a gasp and Johnny takes the opportunity to dart his tongue into her mouth, a growl escaping his lips as he tastes her. Aurora whimpers as he pulls away and begins kissing down her jaw to her neck. She notices Kyle moving out of the corner of her eye, so he is sitting closer to them, just in case. Johnny’s hands move up her body, lifting the tank top she had put on up and off her body, tossing it somewhere in the room as he continues to trail kisses and bites down her neck. He stops at her scent gland, licking over it and biting gently which causes Aurora to let out a loud moan. “Alpha,” she mumbles, the phrase slipping through her lips instinctually, causing Johnny to release a loud growl. “Oh, my little Omega. I’m going to ruin you.” Johnny growls as he begins to pull at her shorts, practically ripping them as she lets out another whine. He wraps his arm around her waist and lifts her enough to free himself from the confines of his sweatpants. He uses his hold on her waist to place her over his cock. Aurora moans as she moves her hips, rubbing herself against him. His cock nudges her clit roughly causing her to moan and whine loudly.

Johnny lets out a small chuckle as he takes hold of her hips and forces her to grind against him harder. “Going to cum without me even putting anything in you Bonnie?” He chuckles darkly as Aurora gives frantic nods, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly as Johnny groans. “Do it then, cum all over my cock, without me even putting it in you, and then i’ll fuck you like you need.” Johnny growls and Aurora moans as she looks at him, her hips moving against him roughly until she cums with a scream, her body collapsing against him. Johnny laughs as he lifts her slightly with one arm and positions himself at her entrance. Aurora instantly begins moving to sink herself onto Johnny’s cock, whimpers leaving her lips, and growls leaving Johnny’s. “Oh, that's a good Omega,” Johnny growls as he watches between their bodies, watching his cock slowly disappear inside her. Aurora leans forward once he's fully seated inside of her so she can plant small kisses on Johnny’s neck, before she begins moving her hips, riding Johnny based purely on instinct. Johnny growls as he reaches around, grabbing handfuls of her ass as he helps guide her to ride him. The pleasure inside Aurora builds until she’s cumming again with a scream, her slick soaking Johnny’s pants. He releases a half growl half whine when Aurora nips at his scent gland. “Okay Bonnie, you’ve fucked me, now it's my turn.” Johnny wraps an arm around her waist to hold her still as he positions his feet better and begins thrusting up into Aurora at a fast pace. Aurora holds onto his neck as her moans turn into almost screams at the force with which Johnny is repeatedly thrusting into her. “More.” She whimpers and Johnny chuckles as he moves her so she’s laying on her back on Kyle’s lap, before he grabs her and flips her, her legs and ass hanging off the side of the couch, and her head in Kyle’s lap. Johnny smacks her ass and smiles. “Why don’t you give Kyle a nice treat too.” He says and Aurora looks up at Kyle with pleading eyes as he pulls his sweatpants down.

Kyle is hard, his tip already leaking slightly from having watched the two in front of him. As Aurora takes Kyle into herm mouth Johnny roughly thrusts back into her, causing her to lurch forward, Kyle’s cock going deep into her mouth. Kyle lets out a moan as Johnny growls. Johnny grabs Aurora’s hips to keep her still as he relentlessly pounds into her. Kyle grabs the ponytail Aurora had on her head and slowly begins moving her mouth up and down, there's drool dripping down as she moans loudly from how rough she is being used by Johnny. Kyle begins thrusting into her mouth when she looks up at him, and she allows both of the men to use her as she feels another orgasm wash over her. Her loud moans send vibrations down Kyle’s cock and he holds her still as he cums deep in her throat with a slight growl. When he pulls Aurora off of him she swallows. Johnny smiles as he grabs both of her wrists and places them behind herb ack. He grabs both wrists in one hand and pulls until she’s leaning up towards him. Johnny wraps one arm around her, reaching between her breasts to grab her neck, releasing her wrists to spread his other hand across her lower abdomen, pushing against where he can feel himself moving. “Feel how deep I am Omega?” Johnny growls into her ear as she nods. Johnny tightens his grip slightly as he shakes his head. “I can't hear you.” He chuckles as he gives a particularly hard and deep thrust causing Aurora to scream out. “Yes.” she whimpers and Johnny repeats the thrust. “Yes, what?” He growls darkly and Aurora whims. “Yes, Alpha.” He cries out and Johnny smiles. “Good girl.” He says as his hand on her abdomen moves lower to circle her clit, his eyes meet Kyle’s hungry ones over her shoulder as Johnny notices him staring at her Johnny is rubbing circles. Johnny chuckles as he looks at Kyle. “Well go ahead.” He says and Kyle moves quickly, l laying his body on the couch so he can swat Johnny’s fingers away so he can lick and nip at Aurora’s clit.

Aurora lets another loud moan as she cums, Johnny growling as she clamps down on him. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had,” Johnny growls as he continues to thrust into her relentlessly. Kyle continues his assault on her clit, pulling multiple other orgasms out of her until she’s only being held up by Johnny’s arms. One last orgasm has Johnny holding her hips tight as he cums. A whimper escapes him as he feels an unusual feeling as he cums, as if there’s more of him to shove inside her. He thrusts forward quickly and Aurora whines as she feels the same feeling she felt earlier when John’s knot caught her. Johnny releases a loud growl as he cums, harder than he ever has, his hands leaving bruises on Aurora’s hips as his eyes roll back into his head. Kyle watches, amazed before running his fingers along Aurora’s opening where Johnny is still inside of her. Kyle’s eyes widen as he feels a knot trapping the two together. As Johnny comes back to his senses Kyle quickly grabs his hands. “Don’t move, you’ll hurt both of you,” Kyle says quickly as Johnny slowly lays a spent Aurora down on the couch. Johnny stares at where they are connected, surprised to see a knot has locked him into Aurora. “Well, that’s new,” Johnny mumbles as Kyle nods. “Very. It’ll go down in a little bit.” Kyle says as he shakes his head. A little while later Johnny’s knot deflates enough for him to pull out and Kyle carries Aurora to get cleaned up before he lays her in her nest in clean clothes to let her rest until her next episode. Kyle sits down in the sitting room as he calculates the time it has been since Aurora’s heat set in. John walks in and looks at him curiously. “I think she has one more episode, and lucid point before she gets into the worst of it, the part where she wont be lucid until its over. So by tomorrow morning we should expect to all be in the middle of an orgy for the next two days.” Kyle says as John chuckles. “Better move some of the supplies closer to the room, I'm sure me, soap, and Ghost wont be any help.” John says as Kyle nods.

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waywardsou2 · 4 months ago

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Kinktober 2024: Alpha/Beta/Omega

Based on this post

Ngl this is very self indulgent and I will not be apologising for it. The scene with Soap walking in...the way it was in my head was delicious

Characters / Ships | Simon "Ghost" Riley X John "Soap" Mactavish X Male Reader

Summary | Being a male Omega in America is the worst of worst luck. Your doctor had agreed to fake the form when you were diagnosed at 11. But forgetting to take your suppressants can lead to a disaster. Or maybe a night to remember

Word Count | 4.1k+

Tags: a/b/o dynamics, scenting, double penetration, cussing, mentions of rape, dub con (if you squint), face fucking, slick, knotting

The mission had gone south. So far south that you had passed fucking geese on their way to migrate for the winter.

Two missed marks, false Intel and on-top of that a fucking snow storm had rolled in out of no where forcing the three of you to haul up in the closest building that still had its roof and walls.

That was your only grace here. That and the fact that Ghost was a walking heater. Somehow still radiating enough warmth to keep both you and Soap warm even though there was nothing to keep the chill from the storm out of this abandoned house.

The house was suitable enough. Four walls, a roof and the glass still in the windows.

All and all it could be worse.

And then it was. It got fucking worse.

Feigning needing to pee you walk away to the bathroom and lock the door. Quickly stripping off your gear as you felt something coating the inside of your boxers.

Shit

Shit shit shit

For all of your life you had been on suppressants to hide the fact that you were an Omega. Most people assumed you were a Beta and that was fine with you. They had thought that since your secondary sex characteristics started to show. But a year later they developed full and one trip to the doctors made your life come tumbling down.

In American society Omega's weren't good for anything other than being cock whores and pup bearers.

Thank fuck the doctor was reliable and had offered to fake the tests and prescribe your monthly prescription of suppressants.

After that you finished school and fresh out of highschool you enlisted to the military. Having lived with suppressants all your life you never had the face the challenges of being an Omega. Never been smelt on the streets or attacked in your own home. Everyone believes you were a Beta. And thought it was looked down upon for a man like yourself to be a Beta rather than an alpha at least you weren't an Omega. Or at least everyone believed so.

Price was the only one who knew. Since he was in-charge of what could and couldn't be delivered to the barracks and he made sure to scoop up your bi weekly delivery of suppressants and hand them to you under the table like a cover drug dealing.

Which technically it was.

You were thankful for Price.

But of course today was the day when your suppressants would start wearing off and you needed to take another dose. And instead you were a whole ocean away from getting what you needed and with a snow storm to boot. Keeping you trapped inside this house with two Alpha's.

You were so fucked

In every sense of the word

Simon and Johnny had been closest to you in the barracks despite being your Sargent and Lieutenant. The only guys who could put up with your attitude like it was a full time job. You and Johnny were the only ones who laughed at Simon's joke and only you and Simon were privy to Johnny's idle flirting. To anyone on the outside you three might've looked like a poly couple. But you were mostly happy with just being friends.

Mostly.

You'd never told either of them but you definitely had the biggest crushes on them when you first joined the military. However you never mentioned it to them because they seemed so warped around each other's fingers you didn't want to get in their way.

But right now you didn't know what to do. You didn't think leaving this room was a good idea with your heat building after years of never reaching the surface thanks to the suppressants and the puddle of slick coating the inside of your boxers and legs.

You had nothing to stop your heat and no way to cool yourself down. You could feel a sweat slowly building under your skin and a warmth in your stomach and solar plexus that was growing despite the cold. And snow wouldn't help at all you would just get hypothermia.

Fuck

"Aye lad, is everythin' aight in there?" Soaps voice called from the main room they had "set up camp" in

"Y-Yeah" you called back. You looked around and through some cupboards before you found some spare toilet paper and tried to clear up the mess in your pants but the slick in your heat was still seeping down your legs.

Sighing and smacking yourself in the head for being such an idiot you pull up your pants and buckle them as tight as you can.

Yeah as if that'll help dumbass

You open the door and hope that the Alpha's can't smell you.

You join them back in what you thought used to be a living room and sit on the dusty couch. Keeping your legs firmly crossed.

But after a while even to your nose the sent in the air was growing heavier by the second and you were starting to feel dizzy. Your body was clammy with sweat soaking your undershirt and the heat in your stomach becoming almost unbearable.

It hurt but in a good way and you couldn't think about that. Instead you watched your friends. Ghost was scoping the surroundings, not that you believed he could actually see anything useful and Soap was counting their rations to try and see how long they could survive given a worst case scenario.

You fucking hated Russia. Fuck Russia and it's stupid weather and bad Intel and bad timing.

After an hour of silence it was clear that you couldn't hide your situation anymore though you desperately tried to ignore all the signs. You watched as Soap counted the rations, he paused momentarily and you heard him take a deep breath in. Freeze and then continue calculating.

You knew that he knew you were watching him. And you knew he could smell you. His Alpha nose being attuned to the scent of an Omega in heat. The primal side of him recognises the scent of a potential mate and pup bearer.

Ghost on the other hand had gone rigid. His head no longer moving to try and see anything from a new angle out the window. You couldn't see from here but you didn't been think his eyes were moving anymore either.

Eventually he turned around. Addressing you by your rank.

Fuck

He never did that unless you were around other people. Or in deep shit. Which was often

"Private...I think there might be somethin you need to tell us"

Soap paused again, this time he looked up. He was also very rigid.

"Do I really have to say it?" You ask stubbornly as you put your hands over your stomach to cover it.

"No. Ya don't"

You sighed heavily as another warmer wave of heat washed over you.

"How come ya never told us?" Soap asked

"Johnny do you really think I would let slip to anyone in the barracks that I was secretly an Omega? I would get kicked out of the military. Or worse raped"

"Aye, that's true" he began packing away the rations before standing up

"We have about 5 days worth of rations if we stretch it. Hopefully the storm won't last that long"

Ghost looked at Soap

"Are you changing the subject?" Ghost said flatly

Soap made a face somewhere between a coy smile and a grimace

Ghost rolled his eyes inside his mask.

"How long since your last heat. I wouldn't ask, you know that. But given the situation..."

He didn't finished his sentence. It had occurred to him now what deep shit you were in. Two Alpha's with an Omega who had a lifetimes worth of heat built up in his system all trapped in a confined space. This was bound to get nasty.

"Well, I've been on suppressants since I was categorised. The doctor faked my-"

Ghost cut you off "I didn't ask for your life story. I asked for a date"

Ghost was being harsher than he was with you usually. It put you off, but you could understand why. All of you could get in deep trouble for this. Not just between each other but with higher up in command too.

"Never. I've never had one"

Ghost ran a hand over his face and turned away. A muffled 'oh for fuck sake' coming from his direction.

Generally Omega's only had sex or mated during heat. And he knew for a fact you didn't make a habit of sleeping around. If at all. The Alpha inside him reared its head at that knowledge. You were an Omega, a virgin Omega. On your first heat within walking distance of him.

He swallowed hard.

"Well we need to figure out what to do because this-" he pointed to the tree of you "-isn't going to work"

"Why not?" Soap cut in "We aren't some dickheads wandering the street waiting for an Omega to slip up. He's our friend we aren't going to do that. We are literally trained for self control Simon"

Ghost sighed again, more frustrated than anything

"I know you'd like to believe that Johnny but when has that ever happened in history? That's not how this works"

Soap swallowed. He was always good natured when it came to those he cared about and he always liked to believe best. Just because he was one of the biggest gentlemen in the barracks doesn't mean he wasn't without the influence of his primal urges. Evolution deemed it that there wasn't any other way.

Ghost walked past you and grabbed Soap by the arm. Whisking him out of the room to talk to him privately.

In the mean time another wave of heat hit and you couldn't take it anymore. You had sat there listening to the two of them while you felt your pants get soaked and waves of heat rolled through your body. It was unbearable.

You stripped yourself of your gear and under armour. Hoping that was enough but another wave of heat hit and it still wasn't enough. You took off your shirt and your boots. Trying to give your body some room to cool down but nothing worked. You were like the core of a nuclear reactor.

You heard Soap and Ghost talking heatedly in the next room over and it was enough to make your inner Omega whine. The sound of two Alpha's so close but still out of reach.

You hated how clingy and whiney you felt. You'd never dealt with the full extent of a heat. Merely a suppressed one. Mood swings, high libido and a day of hot flushes. But nothing more. This was nothing like that. This was a full blown heat. Like the stuff you read about in the pamphlets your doctor had given you.

You took a deep sniff of the air like you were taking a drag of a blunt. Clinging to it as if I was hanging in the air like fog. The smell of two Alpha's who were very very horny. The scent of want and need permeating the air.

You unbuckled your belt. All inhibitions gone.

The faint scent of two alphas.Your Alpha's. Was enough to kick start your heat fully.

You strip off your pants to find that your boxers are completely soaked all the way through. Your slick dripping through to your jeans.

You scoop up some of the slick and smell it. The intrigue getting the better of you. That's when you hear a thunk from the next room. Part of you is terrified. But that part is oh so small compared to the feelings of arousal you have thinking about your two Alpha's.

Simon walks through the door first. Seeing your completely naked, legs open with your hand in your heat touching the slick that is seeping into the couch beneath you.

As sweat trickled over your body you watched a Simon pulled off his mask and seemed to stand frozen. Fighting himself in front of you.

"Tell me to go and I will. I'll shoot myself in the foot in the other room" he says it strained. The look in his eyes filled with fire.

Your Omega reaches out for Simon. To have him help you and relieve you of the pain in your stomach. To fill you up so good. You trust him, and you know he can't help it.

This isn't the way you would have gone about this but you didn't have a choice. To you he isn't taking advantage of you though you don't have the words to say that right now. You don't have the words to tell him how much you've wanted this.

So you call his name. The word slips from your mouth in a low whine.

And he's rushing to you. Stripping himself of his gear and off his clothing in the split second it takes him to get to you.

He's on you in moments pressing his lips to your mouth and pulling your body towards his half undressed one. With his free hand he is still trying to take off the rest of his clothes. You help him out by unbuckling his pants and he takes his hand off your body to strip them off.

He's back on you again and you can feel his own heat radiating off of him. Not his natural human heater heat. This is heat from Alpha arousal.

He grinds his hips into yours desperately and tugs at your legs pulling them apart. The two of you accidentally slip off the couch but you don't stop your frantic gripping and kissing of each other.

Simon pulls away from you to to bend you over in front of him. Your knees creaking on the floor boards as you use your hands to steady yourself not to go crashing face first into the ground. Simon crouched behind you to get a full view of your heat and groans as he takes in what he sees.

"Fuck you're a Prime"

What? You hadn't ever heard that terminology used in regards to Omega's

"What?" You gasp, need still lacing your voice as you try and push back again Simon's body.

Briefly he tries to explain "God. You're a Prime. It means you don't have two holes like most Omega's. Even most male omegas have two. But all your reproductive organs are connected to the one. God damn it.

He watched as your ass leaked with shiny slick and he didn't hesitate before he stuck his fingers inside of you. They slipped too easily past the ring of muscles with how much slick had already coated your insides.

You moan at the sudden intrusion but it is so welcome. Finally some fucking action

Simon pulls his fingers in and out, a dirty squelching sound coming from your hole. Simon pulls out his fingers now covered in slick and licks them clean before shoving them back in again. All four at once.

You cry out again at the larger intrusion but you can't help but press back further into Simon. God he could work with his hands. And from watching him clean his gun you could only imagine what he looked like knuckle deep inside of you.

He pulled his fingers out again roughly and sucked them off one by one. Lapping up the slick.

"God I can't wait to fuck you. Fill you up so good little Omega"

It was then that you realised a few things.

One, whatever version of Simon you knew as Lieutenant Ghost was gone. Replaced with this inhabited, almost feral Alpha with little self control

Two, you were such a whore for Simon's dirty talk.

You felt as he pressed his cock to your hole before you were overtaken with sharp pain. He grabbed a fist full of your hair and pulled you up. Your back resting against his chest as held you by the hips over his cock.

"How much" you asked breathlessly. Not being able to help how needy and horny you are for him

"Eight inches" he whispers before sliding the head of his cock inside of your ass.

You can't see it from here but you can only imagine what you look like. You moan at how much Simon is already stretching your hole and whimper at the sensation.

You beg, you beg for more and you whine and you call Simon's name.

He growls as he grips onto your hips tighter and pushes your tight hole over his cock. Sheathing it inside of your slicked heat.

You cry out again. His cock rubbing up against your insides. The tip kissing your prostate making you wriggle around for some friction.

Simon begins bucking his hips up into you. At the same time he pulls you up by the hips. His strong grip digging bruises into the flesh.

You whine at the friction and the lack of fulfilment as he pulls out only to moan again when he slides you back down and begins to pick up a comfortable rhythm. One that has your legs shaking as your toes curl by his thighs.

His thighs were huge sitting like this. Your whole body fits comfortably on his legs and the idea of his thighs pinning you down makes your squirm even more.

Through the squelching sound your combined moans you hear a muffled fuck come from the room Soap was still in. And soon in the same fashion Simon had burst through the door Johnny was following suit. Already abandoning his clothes. His belt buckle undone.

He couldn't help himself could he, the sound of your moans and Simon's dirty talk was enough to make his own cock harden and leak pre-come.

"Fuck it" he growled as he finally stripped himself entirely of his shirt and pants. He got down on his knees pressing his mouth to yours. Swallowing an on coming moan.

His tongue is instantly inside your mouth. The wet flesh invading your mouth, you welcome the feeling of his mouth on yours.

"God did kissing people always feel this good" he mumbled into your mouth.

"Just wait until you see what they are packing down stairs. This little Omega is a Prime" Simon says into your ear. Close enough so Johnny could hear it

"You have a little fantasy about Primes don't you Johnny" Simon teased

You felt Johnny's face warm up against your own and he pulls away momentarily. You see him blush.

"Si seriously?" but Simon simply chuckles.

You moan and take one of your hands off of Simons to hold onto Johnny as Simon rams into your prostate

But you aren't done. You aren't full enough yet. Desperately you look at Johnny

"Johnny fuck my face. I know you want to. Just- Jesus fuck~ Please" tears threaten to sting your eyes from the heighten emotions that were consuming you.

Johnny stops for a moment. An almost innocent look on his face before it dissolves and that same fire Simon had in his eyes, you could now see in Johnny's.

He stands up in front of you and strokes his cock a few times. You hold your mouth open, desperately, expectantly.

And Johnny puts his cock on your tongue before pushing it inside. You moan heavily and relax your jaw allowing him more room to push inside. He does and then pulls out again pushing back in and adding a few more inches.

You don't have ruler on your tongue but you guess Johnny has to be at least 6 inches.

He pushes in and out and begins to speed up to Simon's rapid pace.

The two of them ruin your holes and you moan around Johnny's cock. Sending shivers up his spine as you do so.

If you could you would be calling their names but you are too busy sucking off Johnny to do that.

God this is more than you ever wanted. Maybe not in this circumstance but in your dreams you had seen this moment. Hopped that maybe one day you would trust yourself enough to tell your best friends how you felt. And tell them about the biggest secret a person could possibly have.

And yeah it wasn't a romantic like you had daydreamed about. But this was probably the second best outcome. Being filled by your two Alpha friends.

The three of you felt your climaxes coming to a head and you moaned harder at the idea of being knotted by your alphas. Being knotted for the very first time.

Your ass clenched around Simon at the thought. Trying to hold him inside of you preemptively despite the slick.

Simon moaned in your ear and whispered "So needy. Ain't ya. Such a needy little male Omega"

Johnny threw his head back and you tried to look at him. You could feel in your mouth his knot starting to expand and you moved your hands to grip into his thighs as he continued to thrust.

As the knot built you could feel Simon attempt to pull out but you dug your nails into his thighs. He looked down at you and with the most minute movement you shook you head silently begging him not to pull out. That you could take it. You wanted to.

Knotting someone's mouth wasn't necessarily advisable but damn did you want it. So, you tugged Johnny forward as you felt Simon's rhythm become messy. He was close too.

Johnny popped first. Your begging eyes pulling his climax out of him as his knot swelled inside of your mouth as he tried to pull out and could past your jaw. He orgasmed, the cum hitting the back of your throat. You sucked, swallowing every drop wanting his cum inside of you so desperately.

Simon came next. His knot catching at your tight of muscles and you moaned feeling the size of it plug your ass as he filled you up with cum. Both of their knots release inside of you. Their size filling you up from both ends.

You came as well you dick spurting white cum over your stomach and legs in between you and Johnny

You moan as your eyes roll back in your head feeling Simon's cum coat the inside of your stomach. Or technically your womb.

After what felt like an eternity the two of them stopped cumming as their knots deflated. And gently the pulled out of you.

Your ass leaked with cum and slick and your mouth was bruised. Lips swelling slightly from how hard Johnny had been thrusting.

Since this was your first heat you assumed it would only last for 2 or 3 days. But that was still a long time especially if you were going to be snowed in.

Johnny walked away only to come back a few seconds later with that spare toilet paper you had found earlier and gently cleaned off your face and the rest of your body. Simon held you tightly not wanting to let go of you. The possessiveness still over taking him.

He butted his head into your back and you asked him what was wrong

"I wanna scent ya real bad"

Johnny hummed in agreement as he continued to clear you off to the best of his ability. Once he done a thorough job he chucked the ruined toilet paper in the tipped over bin.

Thinking it might be time to let your true intentions come out you place a hand on the one Simon was using to hold you against him and you extended one to Johnny.

"I'm sorry it happened like this. But I think my Omega finally gave out when my heat hit and the two of you were more of a catalyst than you realised. I've liked you guys for ages. I just assumed you two were an item, so I never said anythingz. I- I want you two to be my mates. If you'll have me "

Johnny took your hand and held it up to his face. A light vibration coming from him as he purred at the genuine affection.

"Are you fuckin' purin' Johnny"

"Piss off" he chuckled back

Johnny took your confession of love as the ascent to rub the scent gland on your wrist to the one on his neck. Gently kissing the tops of your fingers in the process.

Simon did the same. Taking your hand and holding it in his. Rubbing your scent glands together.

All in all. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all

Tbh I'm considering making this a part two. What do you guys think? I might make it a standalone fic on my AO3 as well

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