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mv1simp · 2 months ago

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Haunted ♥️ Part 1 of 2

Alpha!Max Verstappen x Reader (Omegaverse AU)

READ PART TWO HERE

it’s where we go, it’s what you see (I know if i’m onto you, you must be onto me)

As Mercedes’ rookie female driver, you garner a lot of media attention, even more when you reveal you haven’t presented. You don’t care about true mates or presenting - all you wanted was the championship. You’d be a lot closer to it, if it wasn’t for the dominating Alpha Max Verstappen. But after your late presentation, you two realize there’s a lot more to your bond than competition.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, size kink, primal themes, dom!Max, Sub!Reader, enemies to lovers. WC: 5.4k

Triumphantly holding the trophy up in your hands, you beam at the sea of black and white fans who scream their approval. Winning your second race after having fought your way throughout the season as the new Mercedes driver was an unforgettable feeling - sealing in that it was your talent, not luck that got you the first. And no one had given you a harder time and held up your long overdue win than the reigning world champion - Max Verstappen. Turning to your right, you reward him with a smirk as your national anthem finally plays instead of the Dutch one.

He doesn’t hide his frustrated glare at you from his P2 podium that instinctively makes you want to sprint away and hide in your safe garage behind Toto. You’re a bit annoyed he’s still taller than you, even though you’re on the highest step. One of the downsides of being 5 foot compared to Max’s tall 6 foot frame - but that hasn’t stopped you from finally taking the win from him and proving how deserving of your seat you are, you remind yourself.

As the first female driver in decades, you’d sent shock waves through the paddock when Mercedes had pulled you out of the F4 pool and straight into their seat after the loss of their golden boy, Lewis Hamilton, to Ferrari. What had been even more shocking was the fact that you were an Unpresented female in a sport that was almost exclusively dominated by Alpha males.

Like the majority of premier athletes, most of the drivers had presented from a very young age as Alphas. Unsurprising - given the traits of ruthless competitiveness, aggression and passion that came naturally to Alphas. And out of all this group of already highly dominating drivers, Max Verstappen was the alpha, well known for his perfect instincts, the ultimate apex predator. His early career was famous because of how, at 17, his intimidating aura had been enough to make grown men racing on the same track give way to the younger alpha. This automatic submission Max was able to elicit from others was one of the many, many benefits that came with being an Alpha in society - especially for one such a powerful as Max.

So when you - who was not an Alpha, or even a Beta, but rather an Unpresented - showed up to the paddock for your first ever race and then ended up somehow going wheel to wheel with the reigning world champion by Lap 20, jaws dropped and headlines were rapidly printed. Presenting as an Alpha was rare, an Omega even rarer - with the majority of the population being Beta. However a small population also remained Unpresented, spending their whole lives without any sign they belonged to any gender. Essentially, you were like a scentless Beta - but just several rungs below on the social ladder as Alpha commands had minimal effect on you. It could be worse, you had mused when started racing - you could have been born an Omega.

Omegas were a rare breed and highly sought after. With their attributes of being sweetly nurturing and natural carers - they made the perfect match for protective Alphas. Of course, as the world had historically always been ruled by Alphas, in turn Omegas had been stereotyped as the soft, submissive, delicate ones who needed to be closely guarded in society’s eyes.

So it had been suprising to you that there were not one, but two Omega drivers on the paddock this year. Yuki Tsunoda made sense, you supposed, with his slight frame and pretty features giving him away. But he certainly swore so aggressively up and down the track he’d have the commentators asking if maybe he had been assigned the wrong group. Alex Albon had been much more surprising with his very Alpha-like build - but given his quietly confident aura and gentle nature compared to the other drivers who were always aggressively arguing, it made sense looking back. And it had been even more surprising when he announced he’d found his true mate and Alpha, his girlfriend Lily.

Really, you were grateful you didn’t have the drama that came with being assigned a presentation. Even if it meant you would never have a true mate, you could live with it if you could have a shot at being world champion. But goddamn Max Verstappen, with his intense gaze and powerful aura that even you would feel tickling the back of your neck, across the paddock, would keep getting in your way. Your first P1 though, 2 months ago in Japan, you hadn’t let him win and successfully defended him off. It was the only advantage of being Unpresented - unlike the other Alphas and Omegas on the track, you were the least affected by his suffocating presence and used that to your advantage when pulling dangerous manoeuvres that vexed the Dutch driver to no end.

And he’d certainly let you know it after your first win - after a neutral indifference to you when you approached him on your first day to greet him, unlike the majority of the drivers who’d curiously flocked to the first female one. But after you took P1 from him, he claimed angrily, with dirty fucking moves, what was that overtake on the 2nd corner- you’d formed an instant dislike of him. Just because you didn’t bend to his will like everyone else?! Just because you’d won using the same move - you pointed out to him furiously - that he’d used to overtake you on the last race?

The pair of you had become quick rivals, butting heads more and more as each race went on and providing lots of great content for the media which ate it up. Sometimes Max would confuse you into thinking you were friends - occasionally murmuring helpful advice as you watched the post race highlights in the cooldown room, or shutting down sexist questions you’re repeatedly asked in the driver interviews. You’d think this was the warm, caring Max that you’d heard existed off the grid. But then you two would have some racing incident or the other and he’d be back to the fire breathing lion he usually was.

That first P1 in Japan had been bittersweet to you - because after your argument with Max, when you’d gone back to your hotel to admire your new trophy, you’d started to becoming increasingly unwell for a few days and had high fevers. You hadn’t even realised what was going on until your Beta coach banged on the door demanding to be let in, before saying you were finally presenting, 5 years late, as an Omega.

You’d been shocked and upset, of course, leading to a very traumatic first heat in a foreign country where although the desire and lust hadn’t been intense, the longing for an Alpha to comfort and protect you as you cried and whined has been so overwhelming. You had never wanted to feel anything like that again, so disempowered - so you had sworn your manager to secrecy and after a very private meeting with you, your teammate George Russell, your managers and a very concerned Toto Wolff - you’d tearfully told them what had happened. You’d expected to be dropped from the team, but they had taken one look at your distress and instantly calmed you down. Mercedes will most certainly not be dropping their very promising rookie, who had just taken P1 at her 4th ever F1 race, Toto had reassured you firmly, exuding calm confidence as he handed you a tissue. George’s large hand rubbed warm circles on your back and within a few minutes you’re laughing at jokes the two tall Alphas made to cheer you up, unable to resist the urge to protect the small Omega in front of them and using their scents to soothe you.

Regardless of how understanding your team principal had been, the fact was it would be terrible PR for you to publically present as an Omega female and risk the loss of sponsors. Given that the first heat after the presentation was notorious for being especially painful in an effort to attract a fated mate from the very start, Toto had guided you to a discreet specialist doctor to ensure the world continued to believe you were Unpresented. You’re relieved, hating the idea of being stereotyped as something delicate and pretty to be protected when you were anything but. You literally drove like a suicidal madwoman at 300km/hr for a career! So you’d promptly been started on high strength suppressors to avoid any issues with a first heat happening in the middle of a race weekend, and a couple sprays of sweet perfume later no one would be any the wiser if they picked up on any residual Omega scent that the suppressors couldn’t block.

So here you were now, celebrating your second win in Barcelona with a few of the drivers and friends at a 3 story club downtown. Although you’d been enjoying drinking and laughing with your friends, you’d been unable to stop the shivers that ran down your bare spine from your rival’s intense gaze, still simmering with anger, across the dancefloor where he was talking to Lando. You hated the way that you still felt so affected by him, by his scent that always seemed to drift over to you, always smelling more and more heady each time you saw him. And the urge to submit to him was just stupid and desperate, you thought, rolling your eyes and taking another shot. It turns out your “slutty inner omega whore” as you had not-so-fondly dubbed her, seemed more interested in having a strong Alpha’s dick inside her, instead of hating said Alpha for trying to run her off the track. Multiple times.

And tonight, the suppressants were clearly not doing their job because you couldn’t control the way you squeezed your thighs together, panties suddenly damp with the thought of an alpha like Max keeping his eyes on you - instead of the girls who had been throwing themselves at him the second he’s entered the club. You tell your inner slut who delighted in this attention to get it together, because the attention was likely murderous rage from the competitive Dutch champion at losing a race. Forcing yourself to ignore the prickles down your spine, you take another shot instead and head back to the dance floor.

Many, many drunk dances with your girlfriends later, you found yourself safely dropped off at the hotel. Pressing the button, you waited patiently for it to come down, fanning your face because you felt strangely hot in the night chill despite having left the club. And then you feel it - that heady, dominating aura that makes you want to fall to your knees. Spinning around, you see Max standing there, dressed in a rare outfit of a fitted white tee and tight pants, accentuating his broad shoulders and thick thighs. Fuck, you had forgotten Redbull was staying in the same hotel as your team this weekend.

He smirks at you, asking if you’d had a good night celebrating, because it’ll be the last win he’ll let you have this year, Princess. You despised the nickname he’s given you over the Redbull radio one race, and how it had stuck in the media too - the pretty little Mercedes princess. You give him an unimpressed glare and tell him to fuck off, Verstappen as you get in the elevator, staying right by the front with your back purposely to him. As the doors close, you can’t help but notice through the reflective wall how Max’s dark gaze unabashedly wanders down your body, enjoying the sight of your curvy, petite form dressed in a backless halter satin minidress and stiletto heels that accentuated your thick ass. Forbidden delight curls in your abdomen from the thought of an alpha as strong as Max finding you desirable. A deeper part of you - one that you would never admit to anyone - can’t deny that you desperately wanted Max to want you, having always idolised him before you joined F1. That when you’d picked out this dress you wondered if Max was going to be out tonight, if he’d see you in this outfit…and find you pretty.

And you’d never, ever admit that recently you woke up with damp thighs and lingers of a dream of being underneath a dominating blonde Alpha, his voice deep and accented as he whispered for you to take it all for me, prinses…

Again, you promptly tell your inner slut to close her mental legs - just in time as the elevator opens before both your floors to let in a large group heading to the upstairs bar.

They’re a drunk, rowdy bunch of businessmen and you’re in no mood to be felt up - and you find yourself moving beside the protective aura of Max. You scowl at how you couldn’t seem to control yourself around the taller man then find yourself surprised when he moves to cover you from their curious gazes. His wide shoulders block out their view of how enticing you look as he crowds you into one corner, his back to them. You nervously make sure you don’t stare anywhere else but straight ahead at his toned chest, your heart beating at 200bpm as the desire that’s pulsing through you being this close to him. Especially when he’s decided to look so fucking hot tonight, that intoxicating deep scent making you light headed, like luxurious velvet running down your skin, like burnt amber, smoky and woody from the embers of a winter's night fire. That wicked inner omega of yours can’t stop purring at how your scandalous choice of dress gives Max a generous view down your cleavage.

The elevator comes to a stop with a sharp jolt on the businessmen’s floor, startling you out of your thoughts and you find you’ve placed a manicured hand on Max’s toned abs to steady yourself. And as soon as you touch him - the first time you’ve ever laid hands on him, you realise later - electricity crackles in between you both. His scent becomes all the much headier to you - as if all the same flavours had suddenly become 10 times amplified. It makes you whimper and again, your body betrays you with the fresh wetness that suddenly drenches your panties.

The change in the air is instant, tension clearly palpable as you nervously peek under Max’s arm and realise the group of businessmen aren’t leaving the lift - and instead all their eyes are turned in your direction with lustful gazes. You shiver but don’t hesitate to glare at them as you tell them to get out. They don’t move, looking entranced at you, when a low, threatening rumble from Max’s chest makes it very clear that you are not to be messed with - unless they wanted to go against the strongest Alpha in a 100 mile radius. Slightly tilting his head to look back at the group, Max’s narrowed eyes and threatening aura makes them run off with their figurative tail between their legs.

The elevator closed with neat ding, moving back up, and suddenly you realised you were in a very compromising position with your rival - who had definitely noticed the very Omega-like addictive, sweet smell you were giving off as a supposed “Unpresented” female.

Verstappen- you say anxiously, frantically thinking of what to say to convince him to keep your secret. But all thoughts are cut off when Max unexpectedly leans down and buries his face into your neck, making you gasp. Your hands grab his shoulders to push him away, to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing. But the words don’t even make it out of your mouth because your head is spinning from his lips now pressing kisses against your delicate collarbones. Somehow, you’re finding yourself winding your fingers in his blonde locks, which were just as soft as they looked.

By the time the elevator reaches your floor, you’re almost falling to the ground from the sensation but Max easily supports your weight against him. He’s guiding you out of the lift and trapping you against the nearest wall - and following immediately with his hard body pressed right up against your soft one. You’re whining that he needs to stop, what is he doing, you’re in a hallway for anyone to see, but he cuts you off again with his husky voice as he breathes out that this scent, your scent, princess…fuck, I’d thought it was perfume or something but it’s all you, isn’t it? I can’t get enough of how intoxicating you are.

Tilting your head back with his strong hands, he bends down to the opposite side now and shuts up your half hearted protests by licking a line straight up the column of your throat. Oh my god, your inner omega was having the time of her life right now. Max, you murmur weakly, and he sharply inhales as your gazes meet. The dark hunger in his eyes is clear when he tells you to say that again.

And when you sweetly call his name again, he’s kissing you, still leaning against the wall in the dimly lit hallway, and you automatically moan into the passionate kiss because it feels so good, so right as his lips moved against yours with a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

But when the lift dings, signalling another arrival to your floor, Max turns to look with narrowed eyes at the potential threat and you’re reminded of how wrong wrong wrong this is and how you’d lose all your sponsors if the media found out about this scandal. So you use his second of distraction to use your small frame and slip under his arms, hastily swiping your card and slamming the door behind you when you enter.

Heart beating, you lean back against the door as your replay what just happened over and over, your hands running over your tingling lips where Max’s - your rival - has just been a second ago. Across the other side, Max leans against your door just the same. He’d let you escape his hold - for now - but he wouldn’t next time, because he knew what it meant to smell a scent so divine it made him want to destroy anything that so much as glanced in your direction. That made him lose all inhibition and pin you against a wall as he desperately resisted the urge to bury his fangs in you right there. You were his fated mate, he thinks with relief, pure joy and warmth spreading across him with the idea of having you as his mate. The one who he’d not thought he’d find at age 26 after meeting countless women. And yet here you’d been the whole time, right in front of him, the only driver who drove him so wild on the track. He'd never thought about why the pretty little Unpresented driver was able to generate such strong responses from his Alpha unusually quickly. With a backwards glance to your room where you safely hid, Max wandered away, contemplating how he was going to claim his Omega who hated him.

Meanwhile, the kiss has sent you into an absolute flurry of panic, trying to come up with ways of convincing your rival to keep your secret, having no idea why he suddenly found your scent irresistible. Your half baked plans came to an end when Max texted you the next day to meet him in the hotel lobby to talk. No fucking way, you texted back furiously, so you can get me alone and kiss me again without my permission?

You’d flown back to Monaco an hour later, ignoring Max’s replies. Clearly, he seemed as troubled by this…situation as you were, and judging by the fact you hadn’t woken up to headlines about you secretly being an Omega, it seems Max was keeping your secret - for now, at least. And you were terribly confused by how good his kiss had made you feel, even though you were furious with how he’d done it without asking, as if you belonged to him.

So you decide to ignore Max for the whole week, but when he shows up at your apartment door unexpectedly, you couldn’t hold him off. We need to talk, he’d said tersely, and that’s how you found yourself on the apartment rooftop - surprised that Max hadn’t barged his way into your apartment. In fact, he stood well away from you, leaning against the railing and looking out towards the setting Monaco sun over the pristine Mediterranean waters as you watched his back uncertainly. Just when you were going to ask him what he wanted, he began telling you the story of how his Alpha father, Jos, had claimed his Omega mother, Sophie before she had been ready. You tilted your head, confused. You were very familiar with that particular media scandal - where Jos had deliberately performed the claiming, the ancient ritualistic tradition of an Alpha marking an Omega as theirs - in the peak of Sophie’s career, and had illegally used their mating bond to manipulate her into early retirement and focus on the family instead. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, of how no court or laws could protect an Omega fully from the abuse of a controlling Alpha.

I- I know about your parent’s story, it was quite…anyways, why are you bringing it up now? Max didn’t answer your question, turning around instead to face you. You felt that same fluttering beating of your heart as his intense blue gaze locked in on your doe eyed brown one. After she was able to get the divorce, he continued, she finally found her true mate. And she told me about the difference she’d felt, in how my father and her mate had treated her, how one had made her into the wife he wanted and the other had protected her as she chose to life she wanted for herself.

You’re truly confused now about why he’s still on this topic, and tell him that you’d even spoken with his mother when you began racing about her advice as a female on the track, and you’d expressed your sympathies for how hard it must have been to have her career tarnished so early by an abusive Alpha. Being her son was one of the few things you actually respected about him. Thinking he was foreshadowing what he was going to ask of you, your scent became sour with anger. So, out with it, Verstappen, you demanded, what’s your blackmail plan, I know you know about me being an Omega, are you going to make me promise not to try for P1 because you can forget it-

Max cut you off then, stepping forward and making you tilt your head back to look up at him. You wanted to step back so desperately, knowing what happened last time he was so close - but that inner omega vixen of yours was far too satisfied with the reassuring, soft spicy scent Max was now gently emitting. You hadn’t even known he was capable of anything other than the intense scent he used to dominate on the track.

No, schat, Max says softly. I’m not going to tell anyone anything you don’t want shared. Or use it against you. I wanted to tell you my parents story…to show you my father is the kind of Alpha I don’t want to become. I don’t want anyone to go through what my mother did. You can literally feel your body relaxing from his reassuring words, with the way he had called you darling in Dutch for the first time, from his soft look and scent. And it pisses you off to no end, that he can use his biology to make you feel like this - you’d had no idea the effect from an Alpha could be this strong on you. You realize you’ve involuntarily said that out loud when he tells you it isn’t normal for you to react this intensely to an Alpha, but it’s because it’s him that you’re reacting to. At your perplexed look, he’s reminded that your parents are both Betas and you had very limited knowledge of presentations, compared to his own family which were exclusively Alpha-Omega mates for generations.

Because…because we’re rivals? You ask, those sweet doe eyes of yours blinking up at him and making the urge to protect you bloom deep in his chest. Unfortunately for his inner alpha, he was about to cause you a lot of distress with his next words.

Because - Max swallowed, because, schat, we’re true mates. I’m your Alpha, if you’ll have me.

The distress that comes off you is instant and makes Max want to jump off the balcony railing, if it means ending your despair. You’re stammering out your shock, confusion, and then just straight denial at his claim, insisting it can’t be true - but he watches you with an apologetic expression, only speaking after a long time once you’ve let out all your conflicting emotions. He softly explains why it was true, that you might not know because your own parents weren’t a true match but what happened in the elevator, the reaction to each other’s scents - it was the first step to prime you two for the claiming.

He can see the colour drain from your face, flushed caramel skin now going pale as your distress turns to pure rage, steeped with fear - of him, Max realises. So that's why you're pretending to be so nice, isn't it? you question hotly, so that I say yes to your claiming just for you to use it order me to leave racing? And you'll act like its so different to your parents-

Max can't bear this foreign pain in his chest any longer, each furious word from you twisting a knife into his heart. His inner alpha is screaming at him to comfort and console you, so he does just that by stepping forward again and taking your small form into his large arms, forming a secure hold around you. Your annoyed shriek is muffled against his toned chest, but after a few seconds you calm down once he says, sounding so unusually desperate, he will never do the claiming until you ask him too, even if that's well after your racing career finishes. You pause, hearing the genuine sincerity in his words, and somehow deep within you a sense tells you that Max is telling the truth. As his warm, large hands soothingly rub circles on your back, you find yourself closing your eyes and lean into him, your french manicured hands pressing against his firm muscles and hearing his strong heartbeat through his chest.

You stay like that for a long time, slowly processing everything he's told you, until the sunset disappears over the Monaco horizon and the bright city lights emerge. At some point his arms have wrapped around your soft waist, one hand firmly on your hip and the other cradling your head against him, softly stroking your dark curls. If anyone had told you a month ago that you'd find yourself in this position with goddamn Max Verstappen you'd have laughed them off the track. But here you are, your inner omega purring with satisfaction at the secure embrace of your strong Alpha. You find yourself returning his comforting embrace by tentatively moving your small palms up over his pecs and across his ridiculously broad shoulders, looping around his wide neck. You hear Max's breathing hitch as he feels your shy touch, and then he’s hit with your delicious scent as your new position exposes your neck. It's the same as in the lift - so sweet, like exotic Indian jasmine on a hot summer night, like burnt sticky vanilla in the stroopwafels he adored as a kid, on the rare days he was allowed to go to the park instead of karting. But this time, your scent is even more inviting as your desire for him is stronger, and he doesn't fight his instincts and buries his face into your delicate neck again. He inhales deeply and leaves you gasping when he starts leaving lazy, soft kisses in the hollow of your throat. This time, you can't bring yourself to pull away, your fingers gently threading into his hair as you tentatively call out V-Verstappen, this is-

That's not my name, prinses he rumbles lowly, Dutch accent slipping through as he continues moving up your neck, leaving hickeys with flicks of his tongue and gentle, teasing nips of his sharp fangs - teasing, but not puncturing your tantalising caramel skin. And when you sweetly moan Max for him, looking up at him with those wide brown doe eyes, heady with desire, and a pretty red flush across your full cheeks, he meets your plush lips with his own. There's no hesitation this time, your fingers tangling into his messy blonde locks as you kiss deeply. His large hands running across your body make you feel like you're on fire. And when he grabs a hold of your thick ass, squeezing it like he owned it and and pulling you even closer to him, you're gasping and moaning sweetly into his mouth. He doesn't hesitate to slide inside your parted lips, completely dominating the kiss as he easily takes control over your tongue despite your efforts to battle against his.

Max, this is so wrong you say breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as his large thigh parts yours, your skirt sliding up as thick muscles come into contact with your aching core. You're certain he's going to be able to feel the wetness rapidly pooling between your own legs. Then why does it feel so right, prinses? He cockily responds, squeezing your ass greedily again and moaning himself when you start grinding against his leg, your wetness dripping past your soaked panties and ruining his pants. Fuck, he was never going to take these off, so he would always have the intoxicating scent of how sweet you smelled when you were so desperate for him, hmm?

The harsh ringing of your phone you'd set on a nearby table startles you. Max ignores it, flexing his thighs up against you to tempt your self control again as your inner Omega begs you to let the Alpha - your Alpha - claim you right here, right now, for all the world to see. But through the haze you see your boss's face flash on the screen and suddenly you're reminded of what's at stake. Snapping to your senses, you stumble away from Max's strong hold, making him growl in annoyance as he reluctantly releases you from his arms. This is why I didn't want to talk, you hiss at him, but he can tell from your scent you’re more conflicted than angry. Because you- you cutely flush, -we can't control ourselves for more than 5 minutes without something like this happening. You gesture to the space between you two as he watches you inquisitively, taking in every small movement with a tilt of his head like he was a lion stalking a deer. Stay away from me from now on, Verstappen you say with a scowl on your pretty face, pointing right at him, his sharp blue eyes not missing the slight tremor that gives away how affected you feel by him. I need to focus on winning this championship and not your…slutty Alpha seduction techniques.

He lets you go, smirking as you practically sprint away down the stairs to avoid any further temptation, enjoying the view of your generous ass from behind. Using his thumb to brush the dampness you left on his pants, he licks it away, chest lowly rumbling in approval as he confirms you’ll taste just as sweet as you looked, as you smelled. Next time, he promises his disgruntled inner Alpha.

After all, it was only a matter of time before he claimed you - it was a question of when, not if. The dark, controlling parts of him wanted to lay his claim on you right now, knowing that you desired him and would be unable to resist if he wanted to have his way with you. But you’d be so much sweeter, more pliable, more eager for him if he waited until you came begging.

He’d have his fun in the meantime.

READ PART TWO HERE

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bighungrywolf · 4 months ago

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When a man like this tells you at the gym to come over, who's going to resist? Just that look alone and your thoughts of continuing to live a long and full life fade away, replaced by the need to give yourself to a true alpha, someone who truly deserves to live and reign in this world.

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reallyromealone · 7 months ago

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this may be insane but Bonten takes their omega out for vacation accompanied by they're pups, each member having their own pup so that'd be like 8 pups in total😅

Title: vacation nightmares

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Pairing: Bonten x reader

Warnings: reader insert, male reader, omegaverse, Omega ready, mpreg, angst, Bonten sucks, shitty husnands

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

(name) LOVED his pups, he really did... But he was hoping for a vacation without his little army.

(Name) With the help of two nanny's and his husband's when they got home, took care of right pups, all ranging from five to infancy and it was taking a toll on him. His husband's worked long and hard to care for them and he loved that they worked hard to provide and when he was told they would be going on vacation, he was excited to have a break.

When they spoke of having children, they promised to be there for him and even help alternate since there were going to be right children but here (name) was, making sure his pups went to bed instead of going to do fun resort things with his mates because he had a ten month old and toddlers, wanting to cry a bit from the stress.

Thankfully the pups had their own connected room so (name) could collapse on the bed, feeling like he was drowning and he felt ugly and god! When was the last time his mates touched him!

When they came home in the dead of night or on the rare occasions at a reasonable hour, they were either exhausted or dad mode or both! The occasional kiss on the cheek but (name) hadn't felt loved in forever!

The Bonten men noticed (name) was distant during the vacation, during family adventures and such he seemed like he was drifting further away as the kids pulled for his attention.

When they got home, (name) was robotic as he walked to the bedroom and locked it before plopping on the bed and falling asleep, the smell of distress pungent in that part of the house as he slept for 13 hours.

"So let me get this straightened out, you guys told your over worked Omega that you were taking him on vacation to a resort that's famous for its couples activities and you brought the children be is watching 24 seven instead of having your nannies watch them and letting your omega unwind yet you are asking me why (name)s mad" Emma said over the phone as Mikey called her, (name) refusing to open the door "we thought it would be fun for the family!" Sanzu grumbled and Emma sighed over the phone at their lack of understanding.

"(Name) Rarely has a moment alone, he can't even pee by himself and you guys are rarely home! Do you know what toll that takes on a person! Theirs eight of you and yet you guys never considered taking the reigns and just letting (name) go do things by himself! Or just did things as adults!" Emma scolded them and the men eventually ended the call, thinking about it... When was the last time they gave (name) some proper loving?

Like outside of a heat?

... Holy shit it had been almost two years.

They hadn't had sex with him since their youngest was conceived.

(Name) Knew he had to go out there eventually but curled into the blankets and the exhausted expression and tear stained face spoke another story, he knew his pups were in capable hands with the nannies and questionable hands unfortunately with their father's whom he did not want to see at the moment.

He was just so done.

Just once...

He wanted a break.

Instead he felt like a single parent despite being mates to not one but eight alphas!

He felt like some 50's Omega and he hated it.

It wasn't until the following day that (name) stepped out of the room, the lack of child sounds or cartoons worried him as he went to look for his pups only to see his mates looking stressed and worried "where are the children?" (Name) Asked softly as their heads snapped up "baby! Your up! The kids are with the nannies, they're going to be with Emma and Draken for the day" ran said softly as he went up to the Omega who nodded as he looks at the for once spotless house "can we talk?" Koko asked softly and (name) sighed before nodding, better face this.

"We fucked up" kakucho said simply and (name) just stared "I just... Why do you guys only care for the kids when it's the fun stuff? Why do you guys not clean their puke-- I'm constantly CONSTANTLY with the children all the time and you guys promised! You promised to help! You guys said you would take turns being here to help and you lied! You're never home and I hate it! I feel like a single parent get im mated!" He said crying uncontrollably, curling into himself "you guys don't even look at me anymore! I know pregnancy fucked up my body but can you be a little less obvious!"

Fuck.

They really fucked up, like holy shit.

"You think we don't find you attractive?" Mochi whispered as the alphas crowded the Omega "baby, we fucking suck... Fuck we didn't even realize we were doing this" Rindō said genuinely as Mikey went to hold him "please don't, I'm sorry but I am constantly being touched or holding a tiny person and I am deeply overwhelmed especially because I just spent a week watching our children while you guys had fun-- by the way never do that to me again" (name) seethed out "you took me on a vacation and had me be the sole watcher while you guys got tanked" it would take a long time for (name) to get over this one.

"You haven't taken me on a date in over a year and yet you fucks went partying on a family vacation yet I babysat our children! Seriously what the fuck is wrong you guys!"

"Yeah, that wasn't our shining moment" takeomi said honestly and (name) scoffed "we will be better, we are so fucking sorry" Koko said genuinely and (name) just stared "I'll believe it when I see it"

Who would have thought a family vacation would have eight men sleeping in the guest rooms.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers fluff #male reader #bonten x reader #omegaverse #omega male reader

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lesservillain · 10 months ago

Text

alpha!eddie munson x omega!reader

cw: omegaverse, soul bonding, scenting, knotting, unprotected piv, breeding, semi public sex, pregnancy

an: part of the school days universe.

Five days.

It’s only been five days since you started your newest substitute teaching job at Hawkins High School.

Well, scratch that. It’s only second period, so you can really only say it’s been four days, barely 9 am even, but it’s already been just as hellish as the rest of the week.

Monday started with you not being able to find a parking spot, having to park down the road and run into class. Turns out you were trying to park in student parking and weren’t aware of the back lot for the teachers to park in.

Tuesday you dumped your coffee that you waited way too long in line for all over your notes from the teacher you were subbing for. Thankfully it was only the current week's curriculum and you were able to decipher the notes enough to get the gist of what you needed to be doing, but it was still a pain in the ass.

Wednesday your tire went flat on the way to work. Thankfully one of the other teachers, Mr.Harrington, just happened to be driving by and gave you a ride the rest of the way. You were able to call a tow truck to take your car to a nearby body shop that you walked to after work. You’re pretty sure the guy overcharged you for the tire but you were too exhausted to argue.

Thursday, oh Thursday, your students in your second period class decided that they weren’t going to take you seriously, making rude noises and disrupting class with unrelated questions, and randomly scenting just to get under your skin. This period was heavy with new alphas, and if you hadn’t been warned ahead of time, you could tell by the way they all behaved. The teacher you were subbing for was able to reign them all in somehow, but you were struggling with getting them to listen to anything you had to say.

So, naturally, this would be the class that would see your Friday turn into the worst day of the week so far.

There was only 10 minutes left in the class. There had been some rowdiness, but not nearly as bad as the day before. You were so close to moving on to your easier classes of the day when a water pipe decided to burst directly above you, breaking the ceiling tile and completely drenching you in cold water.

Everything was still for a single beat, until the silence was cut by the boisterous laughter of the 22 seniors who watched the incident happen in real time. After the initial shock, you yelled at them to be quiet, more stern than you’ve ever been in your life, and told them to read the chapter on their own while you called the office.

As you turned to go to your desk, you caught your reflection in the window and were instantly reminded that you were wearing a white shirt today, the deep magenta of your bra very visible now due to the state of your top.

Embarrassment is one thing, but when you remember the morning you had, it just pisses you off more than anything. You had initially put on a blue top when you woke up this morning, but, on top of everything else you were dealing with this week, you were also having to take care of your fiance, Dave, during his rut as well, which was a job all on its own.

He insisted that he wouldn’t be able to wait for you to get home with the pain he was in, so you let him get in a quickie while you were brushing your teeth. He also refused to wear a condom, telling you the pain would subside for longer if he could feel you. But, you weren’t falling for his tricks, and as soon as you felt his knot starting to swell you pulled away from him, ending up with his spend all over the back of your shirt.

Which led you to now, where you sit at your desk with your head down and your arms crossed over your chest trying to hold back tears as you wait for the maintenance guy to come look at the ceiling. You could hear the snickering and teasing whispers from your students but were too defeated to tell them to do their work. Only when you got a faint smell of cinnamon spice and warm smoke did you finally speak up.

“Whoever is scenting right now, knock it off before I write you up.”

Low murmuring and a voice quietly saying “it wasn’t me” to another student's accusation were the only response you received. But the smell only got stronger.

Stronger to the point where you felt your body shiver for a moment. It made your body heat up in a way you haven’t felt in a while, your thighs rubbing together subtly under your desk.

You lifted your head to yell at your students again, but was interrupted by a knock on the classroom door before you could speak. The scent was so strong now that there was no way it was from an immature alpha. that you felt dizzy when you turned your head to see who was entering your classroom.

As your vision settled on the figure before you, you felt like your breath had been knocked out of you. A tall man with beautiful curly brown hair and big, brown eyes took a few steps into the classroom. He was silent, gawking at you in the same way you must be looking at him.

“H-hi, I’m Eddie,” he stuttered, being the first to speak once the giggling from the students brought him back to reality. When you hear his name for the first time, you swear you can hear bells ringing in the distance.

“I’m here to check your pipes.” Another round of laughter fills the room, causing you to run your hands over your face and down to the back of your neck.

“Guys, please—”

“That’s enough.”

The scent surrounding you peaks as a weight falls over the room. The students fall silent, but your head reels as you feel your body heat up. It felt like the beginning of your heat, but it was nowhere close to being due thanks to your suppressants.

After a beat, the tension was interrupted by the sound of the bell. And just as quickly as it came, the thick hold on the room was gone. Your students quickly grabbed their things and exited the room without a word.

You fan yourself as you feel the fever begin to dissipate. Eddie walks over to your side, concern sewed into his features as his eyes searched your face.

“Are you okay? I didn’t think I had scented so strongly…”

“Gosh, yes, I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head to get back into your professional mindset. “I’m fine, just a little stressed.” You introduce yourself to him, extending a hand to him out of habit. You see his eyes go wide before darting to the side, his cheeks tinted pink.

You suddenly remember the state of your attire and quickly curl into yourself again, spewing apologies in an attempt to save any respect that he may have for you.

“Hey, it’s cool,” he laughs your embarrassment off, eyes still on anything other than you. “Do you, uh, want something to wear over that?” He’s pointing over his shoulder, taking a few steps back towards the door. Before you can really respond, he’s gone, almost running into a group of students as they begin to fill your class for the next period.

As your third period class enters, you tell the students to take their seats until you can figure out how class is going to go. A few minutes later, Eddie returns with his hands full and pushes a mop bucket into the room. He places a wet floor sign in the middle of the room to free his hands before he’s handing you a black sweater. You thank him quietly when you take it, vision drawn to the chunky silver rings on his…really thick fingers.

You pull the sweater over your head and are immediately dizzy with the strong smell from before, mixed with a faint smell of cigarettes and sweat in the collar. The well worn sweater with frayed cuffs was soft and warm, the Metallica logo in dark gray letters displayed across the front covers your shame, allowing you to finally leave your desk.

As you rise to your feet, you catch the way Eddie is staring at you out of the corner of your eye. Was he thinking about your wet shirt under his sweater? Why do you hope that he is?

“Thank you,” you say, subconsciously pulling the fabric to your nose for a moment. Eddie stares at you for a moment, sucking in a deep breath of air before nodding wordlessly.

“Yeah, no, uh, no problem,” he murmurs, breathing out with a huff, a small smile tugging on his lips. The second bell rings to signal the start of the next period, making Eddie jump and look around. “Oh, yeah, um, when is your free period?”

“Not until fifth period.”

“Okay,” he says, bouncing his head as he looks at the water still puddled on the floor. “Do you want me to mop this up now, or do it when I come back? I don’t want to interrupt your class.”

“That’s okay,” you say with a wave of the hand, “My next two classes are taking a test today. So as long as you’re not giving them any answers, you won’t be a problem.”

Eddie nods and gets to work, doing his best to stay out of your way while you get through your two classes. You do your best not to let yourself be distracted by him, keeping busy with grading papers and prepping your chalkboard for your last classes of the day. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t take little glances at him as he worked. Maybe you noticed the way the sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps when he carried his ladder in between classes. Maybe you let yourself indulge in the flash of his toned stomach when he lifted his shirt briefly to wipe his brow. Maybe you stared at his ass while he picked up the broken ceiling tile pieces off the floor.

In the back of your mind you knew you shouldn’t be looking, especially when you have a fiance waiting for you back home. You’re not even the type of person to ogle someone the way you are right now.

But something about Eddie’s presence was making you feel…different. Domestic. Like there was a misplaced pride in his ability to do his own job. You wanted to praise him for being a big strong alpha—your big strong alpha.

One of your students hesitates at your desk as she drops off her test, pulling you out of your fantasy. She’s one of the more quiet students, so you ask her if she needs anything as she continues to hover next to you.

“Um,” she pauses for a moment, looking over at Eddie just as he walks out of the room. She says your name quietly, leaning in a bit to whisper, “Are you and Mr.Eddie dating?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth to suppress the laugh that naturally pulled from your chest at the question.

“No, we are not,” you answer. You tilt your head inquisitively, “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re wearing his sweater. Usually people wear their boyfriends sweaters when they’re dating…”she comments as she points at the offending garment.

You smile at her, “I’m just borrowing it. I’ll be giving it back at the end of the day.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and you think that maybe the answer was enough for her. But she leans in to whisper again, “But why has he been staring at you all of class?”

A warm feeling washes over your chest at her words. Has he been keeping an eye on you? How did you not notice? Was he just keeping an eye on you or was he checking you out?

Before you could answer her, Eddie walks back into the room and your student hurriedly made her way back to her desk. You can’t help but watch him as he adjusts the tool belt that sets on his hips, a screwdriver being held between his lips as he does. As he grabs it from his mouth, you catch him looking at you for the first time. You wait for him to shy away like he did before, but instead he winks at you—fucking winks at you, before making his way back up the ladder.

The butterflies you felt in your tummy make you feel like a teen again. You don’t even know who you are right now. Have you just been so miserable in your current relationship for so long that you’re just happy to have another alpha’s attention? That can’t be, because you hate the attention that other alphas give you when you’re out on your own.

You’re not sure what it is, but as your classes end and your free period rolls in, you ask him if he wants to eat his lunch with you, giddy when he agrees.

“Is that seriously all you’re eating?”

Eddie pulled his ladder up to your desk and sat on one of the steps with a single large can of snack pretzels in one hand and a can of off brand cola in the other. He looks at you like a deer caught in the headlights as you scold him for not bringing more to eat.

“Here,” you hand him a container of some leftover mac and cheese you made from the night before, “eat this please. I think I have a granola bar in my bag, too.”

“Woah, there, sweetheart,” he laughs as you start rifling through your bag. “I don’t need you to feed me. This has been my lunch since I was in middle school, so I’m set.”

You frown at him, not satisfied with the lackluster lunch he wanted to partake in. “What if I made you a lunch? Would you eat it?”

The rosy tint dusts his cheeks once again. A toothy grin spreads across his face as he gives you a shy side eye.

“I mean, I wouldn’t want your food to go to waste, but you really don’t have to worry about me.”

Wrong. The more you’re around him, the more you feel like you need to dote on him. You want to touch him, put your head on his shoulder, hold his hand. You want to go home with him and cook him dinner and wash his hair and have him hold you while the two of you sleep side by side in your shared bed. Every sweet word he says to you pulls you in like a fly to honey.

And when your hand accidentally brushes his, you both take in a deep breath at the same time, and you know he felt the same surge through his body as you. His gaze meets yours, chests raising and falling in anticipation as the two of you wait for the other to say something—do something.

But something doesn’t come, because the bell ringing once again makes the both of you jump, not realizing how close the two of you had gotten. Eddie jumps up from his seat on the ladder, grabbing his pitiful lunch and booking it out the door.

His sudden absence makes you sad, missing him more than you reasonably should. And as you sit alone, with the shuffling of feet outside your classroom creating a white noise that lets you slip into your mind, you can’t help but think about your life with David.

He’s supposed to be your alpha. The one you’ve been with since high school since you both presented around the same time. He’s the only person you’ve ever been with, never really desiring anyone else but him before. He works a good job, bought a house for the both of you, and wants to have a family with you, the latter being the only thing the two of you never agreed on, not wanting kids despite the natural instincts of your second gender.

But, as you think about the man you laid eyes on this morning, who has made you feel more in the 4 total hours that you’ve known him than you’ve felt in the last decade with David, you think you’d give everything you have up to be with him. It scares the shit out of you to feel that way. It’s as if something has taken over your brain and completely rewired it to be all about Eddie.

Maybe the afternoon away from him would give you time to clear your head. Putting all your mental effort into your remaining senior classes, you manage to keep your mind occupied for the most part. You swear that you can smell his scent every once in a while, but convince yourself that you’re just imagining it.

As the final bell rings for the day, you plop down in your chair and just let yourself decompress. You begin to think maybe this job was something that was more than you’d be able to handle, that you’d bitten off more than you could chew. You’d been subbing for a year now, but this was the first time you’d ever been this overwhelmed after just a week. You could always go and talk to the principal now and let them know you wouldn’t be back on Monday. Someone else could deal with—

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. You roll your head to the side to find Eddie in your classroom's doorway once again.

“Come to finish the job?” You ask tiredly.

“That’s one of the things I’m here for,” Eddie says with a nervous chuckle.

He takes long strides to your side, his hands in his pockets as his feet shuffle beneath him.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just…I just wanted to know if, maybe, you’d like to go out with me sometime?”

You’re completely caught off guard by his request. A warmth blooms in your chest before promptly sinking into your stomach, forming into a solid rock of guilt and confusion.

“I…I’m sorry Eddie, I can’t.” You should probably put more effort into sounding sincere rather than disappointed. But your heart was truly distraught at having to turn him down.

“Oh, yeah, no, it’s cool,” he stutters, trying to play it cool as he takes in your rejection. “I didn’t mean to—I mean, I just, um, I just thought we had some chemistry or something…”

“Well, you wouldn’t be the only one who thought that. But, I have a boyfriend— a fiance, rather, and I—”

“Hey, it’s cool, I understand,” he waves you off as he takes hurried steps backwards towards the door. “Just forget I asked. Um, I’ll see you around I guess.” He gives you a weak smile before backing out of the classroom and into the hall again.

“Yeah, see you around,” you mutter to yourself.

Before you could even fully turn the lock on your front door it was being yanked open, David standing on the other side of the door panting like he had just run a marathon. Without warning, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you inside of your shared home and something immediately feels off.

The first thing you notice as you cross the threshold is that you can’t smell anything. The house has smelled like nothing but David’s musk since his rut started on Sunday, but now it just smells like your normal house. It doesn’t make sense, because he’s clearly going through it just as he was this morning.

David’s nose scrunches when he finally gets close to you, almost immediately stumbling back against the wall to get as far away from you as possible.

“What the fuck?” He scowls, looking you up and down with wild eyes. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Oh fuck.

You were still wearing Eddie’s sweater.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you say as you scramble to pull the sweater off, sneaking one last inhale as it lifts over your head. “I had an incident at school and one of my coworkers let me borrow his sweater.”

“You took clothes from another alpha?” David’s voice was uncharacteristically stern, likely from the adrenaline of his rut. He’d never been an angry man, even with his natural alpha tendencies, but the way he was looking at you right now made you feel real fear.

“I needed something to cover myself—“

“You fucking reek,” he says hand flying over his nose to shield himself from the lingering smell of Eddie.

The fear quickly turns into annoyance at his insult. You weren’t about to deal with this attitude he was giving you, so you rolled your eyes and pushed past him, making your way straight to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

After taking your sweet time to wash away the stress of the day, you emerge from the bathroom feeling refreshed. You’re surprised to see David sitting on the edge of the bed, face buried in his hands only to run them through his hair as you enter the bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he blurts out, “I shouldn’t have acted like that.” You can tell he’s being genuine, and you can’t help but feel bad yourself. “I just, with the rut and everything, it makes me feel like the hulk when any little thing sets me off. And I’ve been feeling like shit all day while you were gone, so when you came home smelling like another alpha…”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” you coo as you take his face in your hands, the warmth of his fever hot against your palms. “I didn’t think about how it would have bothered you. I was going to give him the sweater back at the end of the day but—“

Thoughts of your day spent with Eddie floods back into your mind. The way that his presence made you feel whole, like a part of you that was missing all these years had appeared right in front of you and changed how you think about everything. It makes you realize that the sympathy you’re having for your fiance right now isn’t out of love, or guilt that you may have betrayed him.

Rather, you feel as if you’re tending to a child that’s fallen on the playground. It’s nothing more than your natural instinct to nurture, to protect. Even more so, you realize it’s not love.

“But…something came up and he left before I could give it back.”

He nods his head in your hands, letting out a small okay. You feel him pull at your hips, bringing you closer for him to rest his head on your stomach. You run your nails over his scalp, and he lets out little muffled moans against your towel in response.

When he looks up at you, his pupils fully dilated and filled with hunger, you let him pull your towel from your body to gather around your feet on the floor.

Your back hits the mattress and David is on you moments later. His kisses are soft, his gentle hands touching over all the right places that he’s grown to learn over the years of your relationship.

He’s doing everything right, and yet you can’t help the nauseating feeling that curdles in your stomach with each passing second. Everything feels wrong. His touch is like poison, and your body is screaming at you to get as far away from him as possible. But you fight it down in hopes that this feeling will go away.

It’s only when he aligns himself with your entrance that the feeling becomes too much. You pull away from him as quickly as you can and book it straight to the bathroom to empty your stomach contents into the toilet.

The bell rings out just as you finish up with your fourth period class.

“Don’t forget your first drafts are due at the beginning of class tomorrow!” You call out as the students collect their things and make their way to the halls.

The loud rumbling in your stomach has you quickly taking your seat at your desk, opening the bottom drawer to pull out your lunch. Over the last month you’d come to understand that eating in your classroom was the best option for your sanity, because if any time you left the safety of your room, you were immediately overwhelmed by the scent of Eddie.

The two of you had barely talked since you turned him down. You kept trying to return his sweater to him, but it seemed like he was actively avoiding you, even if his scent lingered on everything he touched in the whole school.

You felt bad that things had become awkward between the two of you. There was nothing you wanted more than to talk to him. You missed him in a way that you still don’t understand.

“Hey, there’s cupcakes in the break room if you want one.” Steve’s voice pulls you from your sulking. The mention of sweets has your ears perked.

“Oooooooh, really? What’s the occasion?” You ask as you rise from your seat, excitedly meeting him at the door to walk with him.

“Teacher appreciation week,” he says with air quotes. You both roll your eyes, just thankful to be getting something.

As you make your way to the break room, the two of you talk about your classes and what your plans are for spring break next week.

“We’re finishing up the baby’s room,” he says with glee when you ask. “We picked a really nice green color the other day when we were out. Did I even tell you about that whole ordeal? How we ran into her ex at the department store?”

“What? No! What happened?”

You welcomed the distraction of Steve’s story as it helped keep your mind off of Eddie. After a month you’d thought that it wouldn’t be so strong, or that maybe you’d get used to it. But every passing day it seems like it gets worse.

Before you could follow Steve passed the threshold of the teachers lounge, Eddie’s scent becomes amplified to the point it stops you in your tracks.

“Woah, are you okay?” He asks, taking a step towards you. You hadn’t even realized that you’d stopped moving, your arm outstretched against the wall to steady yourself.

“Y—yeah I…” You feel yourself sway, a sweat breaking out as your body temperature begins to creep higher. “It’s probably just a hot flash or something,” you say as you fan yourself with your hand, “Had to switch my suppressants recently and they said that feeling hot could be a side effect.”

“Shit, let me get you some water or something—”

“Move.”

Before you can process what’s happening, you feel your body being lifted off your feet. When you look up to see who has swept you off your feet, you’re both surprised and relieved to be matching the gaze of two beautiful brown eyes, pupils blown out and almost swallowing their irises whole. You wrap your arms around Eddie’s neck instinctively, burying your face in his neck to inhale his scent. He shutters against you as you exhale into him.

You’re so overcome by his scent that you didn’t notice he had taken off with you until he’s shifting you in his grasp, holding you with one hand as he fumbles with his keys until he’s kicking open the door to…a closet?

He locks the door behind him and plops you down in a chair that sits in front of what you presume to be his desk. All around you are shelves of cleaning supplies, tools, and other random supplies that you’d not be surprised to be in possession of a custodian. On the wall behind the desk are a few band posters and a cork board littered with post it notes and work safety sheets.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Eddie’s frustrated statement grabs your attention as he stands in front of you, leaning back on the desk with a hand running through his hair.

“Are you, like, punishing me for asking you out? Were you so repulsed by me asking you that you’re punishing me by driving me insane?”

It takes a moment for your brain to properly dissect what he’s asking you, the statement so bewildering to you that you honestly think he’s joking at first. But the hurt look on his face has you shifting forward in your seat, practically on the edge as you look up at him.

“Eddie, no,” you plead with him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t offended at all…I don’t understand how I’m punishing you either.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes before meeting yours, “You’re joking. You’re telling me you haven’t been scenting around the school to get me worked up? I swear I can still smell you in my clothes when I leave at the end of the day. I figured that since you and Steve have gotten all buddy-buddy that you knew he was mark bonded and wouldn’t be able to smell you, so you’d just been freely scenting to fuck with me for the last month.”

“What? If anyone has been free scenting it’s you! I try not to leave my classroom if I don’t have to because I can smell you everywhere. Every day I have to book it straight to my desk because it’s so strong it makes me dizzy!”

The two of you are quiet for a moment, both huffing after yelling at one another, you still feeling like you’re in a haze in such close proximity to him now. He curses under his breath as he stands, pacing back and forth in front of you as he thinks.

“You’re making me nervous,” you state as you watch him move in front of you.

He stalls, turning his whole body towards you but keeping his eyes down.

“I don’t understand,” he grits out, “I’m definitely not scenting, and you said you’re also not scenting, but I swear you’re the only thing that has any sort of effect on me anymore. The smell of my coffee in the morning isn’t as strong, the smell of the oil leaking from my van didn’t bother me when I fixed it. Hell, I cleaned up puke the other week and your scent made it easier to keep my own lunch down.”

“It’s the same for me…” He looks up at you. “All the smells, I’m going through the same thing…But something else has changed for me, too.” You think back over the events of the last month, “I don’t know why, but ever since that day…I can’t get you off of my mind. These little fantasies run through my head with everything I do. Like when I go to the store, I think about what foods you might like, or when I clean around the house I think about you coming home and telling me that I did a good job. Little things like that, that I never really even thought about with my ex. At least, not in the same way I think about you.”

“Ex?”

The tone of his voice has goosebumps running down your arms and legs. The room begins to feel heavy, similar to how it felt that day when he took control over the classroom. It felt like the air was being sucked out of your lungs and replaced with him. And every stride he took towards you felt like a bag of sand dropping on your back until you were struggling to look up at him as he moved in front of you, crouching down to eye level.

“What happened, sweetheart?” His voice is smooth like honey, pulling you in with his sweetness in a way that made you feel vulnerable. You couldn’t lie to him. Not Eddie.

“I couldn’t…he made me sick,” you start, “Every time we tried to…”

“Tried to what? Use your words.” The mix of his scent and the way he was talking to you was making the heat in your body travel straight to your core.

“Anytime we tried to have sex, I would get sick. Even if I wanted to—”

“Did you really want to, though?” His head tilts to the side as he questions you, “Or were you just trying and failing to get me out of your head?”

Your body sways, his words have you feeling dizzy because he’s right. All of a sudden your clothes felt too tight, and the room was too hot, and you just wanted those big, strong arms back on your body.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, whenever I was with my ex, I wished it was you. But—but, not enough to make me sick. I don’t know why, it’s like my body was rejecting him.”

It’s silent besides your heavy breathing for a moment. Eddie stands once more, towering over you as he places his palm gently on your cheek. You instantly lean into his touch, humming in satisfaction as his leaves gentle caresses on your skin.

“I’m, uh, having the opposite problem,” he says with a hint of embarrassment. “I feel like I can’t…satisfy myself, but I’m constantly worked up whenever I think about you. Fucking my fist multiple times a day wishing it was your pussy instead.”

His thumb glides across your cheek, landing on your bottom lip and pulling it down before letting it snap back into place. Your lips part slightly in response, an open invitation for his thumb to push its way in, which he gladly accepts. He pushes it as far in as it can go, watching as you hollow your cheeks and suck on the digit before he pulls it out with a pop.

“F-f-f-f-fuuuck,” he breathes out through gritted teeth. He grips your cheeks, not too rough, but enough to make your lips pout as he tilts your head back to look up at him.

Eddie searches your face for any signs of discomfort, but is only met with the half lidded, fucked out look your giving him through your lashes, brain completely empty as you wait for him make his next move.

Fireworks erupt under your skin as his chapped lips crash into yours with enough force to push you back in your chair. Every cheesy rom-com that you’ve ever watched finally made sense as you felt the electricity light strike in your abdomen and back through every vein in your body. This was what you’d been waiting for in every other kiss that you’ve experienced in your life.

And, all at once, the sparks peak, before surging straight between your legs, a wave of slick gushing from you and soaking the seat below.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie breathes, looking at your lap with a pained expression. Meanwhile, your eyes are locked on the ever growing bulge in his work pants, drool pooling in your mouth as his blue jeans strain from the size of him.

He lunges towards you, mouth agape to meet with yours before the sound of the bell stops either of you in your tracks. You hear a crack next to your head that makes you jump. When you look you see that Eddie has cracked the wood of the chair with his bare hands, muscles and veins popping from the strain.

“Eddie—“

“Don’t go,” he begs, his voice low and gravely, “I can’t let you go again. I need you.”

He sounds so pathetic. All the still working parts of your brain start to go hazy at his groveling. He needs you. And you need him.

The shrill sound of the phone ringing on his desk pulls Eddie away from you with a huff. His eyes don't leave you as he picks up the receiver, growling “what” to whoever was on the other line.

As he listens, though, Eddie’s brows lift in surprise, followed by a Cheshire grin. “Consider us even then,” he says into the phone before he slams it back down.

“W-who was that?”

He lets out a chuckle. He sauntered over to you with a dark look in his eyes, leaning in until he’s barely an inch from your face.

“That was our good friend, Steve. He said he let the principal know you had to go home sick and got someone to cover your classes.”

Your breath hitched. Your mind was a whirl of everything Eddie you had almost forgotten that you still had classes to teach. You try to take a mental note to thank Steve later, hoping it doesn’t get lost in your mind.

“If that’s what you want, anyway. Could always go back to class—”

You surge forward, lips meeting his in a fevered kiss. “No, no,” you murmur against his lips, fingers tangling in his curls, “want you, Eddie. Don’t make me go back.”

What you don’t expect is to feel his hands grip you under the fat of your ass and lift you up from the chair. He turns the both of you around, using one hand to knock the things off of his desk before placing you on top of it with a squeak from you on impact, all the while his lips glued to yours.

His hands make quick work with the buttons on your blouse and he moves down your neck, leaving kisses and little bruises across your skin.

You feel him slotting between your legs, your pencil skirt riding up so his hard length could press against your clothed pussy. The denim of his jeans turn dark as slick continues to soak through your panties, your hips bucking against him as the familiar ache of your heat senses what you need only a few pieces of fabric away.

As soon as Eddie opens your blouse, he’s ripping the cups of your bra with a force that causes your whole body to move, making your tit bounce in recoil.

“Of course they’d be perfect,” he groans, pulling back, completely enamored at the sight of you before him. His big hands grab and kneads at the flesh, taking your nipples between his fingers and rolling them. Your back arches as the sensation, and the drag of your sensitive clit against the denim only makes you moan louder.

Eddie pushes himself into you more, reveling in the feeling of you grinding against him and soaking his leg. He takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks, letting his tongue swirl around it.

It’s all too much, your head spinning as everything seems amplified under his touch. Your hands scramble to grab the hem of his shirt, pulling the black polo and flimsily attempt to pull it off of him. You feel him grin against the skin of your breast before pulling off with a pop.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Eddie asks as he pulls the shirt over his head, as if he isn’t using every ounce of self control to keep him from completely devouring you. He wants to sink his teeth into you and never let go, but he can’t scare you off, not when he’s finally got you exactly how he wants you.

Your mouth drops as his body is revealed to you. His slim, but built frame littered with tattoos you would never know he had unless you were to get him like this. Your eyes trail down his chest, his abdomen, all the way down to where his happy trail leads beneath his jeans. The urge to run your fingers through it takes over, your pointer and middle finger dragging from his belly button until they catch on his belt buckle, his stomach flexing under your touch.

You grab at his belt, pulling him towards you until you can get a good enough grip to undo it, pulling down his pants until they drop to the floor with a thud. The boxers that remain sport a very large tent in them, and you swear you can see him twitching under your gaze.

His head falls back as your hand gently glides over him, rubbing the fabric into his leaky tip more, expanding the wet patch that was already forming there. Eddie watches you bring your fingers to your mouth to taste the sticky mess that you collected, your body going boneless when it hits your tongue. It’s like nothing that’s ever graced your taste buds before, making your eyes roll back in your head as your body craves for more.

Watching the way you react to him is Eddie’s final straw. His vision tunnels, completely focused on you as the primal part of his brain takes control. Suddenly, he’s pushing you back down into the desk, manhandling you as he tears through your pantyhose, ripping your panties in half until your bare pussy is on display for him.

Ducking down without warning, he spreads your legs apart and runs his thick, long tongue through your sopping folds. He inhales your scent, the bulb of his nose bumping into your clit in a way that sends zings of pleasure throughout your body. The tip of his tongue pushes its way into your hole, the thick muscle reaching as far as it can to lap up your sweet nectar from the source. Your hands fly to the top of his head, gripping tightly in an attempt to anchor yourself to this plane of existence while your orgasm rips through you. His name falls from your lips over and over as your vision goes white, blinding you with pleasure.

When you come back to your body you feel his hot breath fanning across your cheek, wet lips pressing into the side of your neck as he whispers sweet words into your ear.

“There she is,” he says once your eyes flutter open, “That feel good, pretty girl?”

You nod your head dumbly, making him chuckle.

“Can I make you feel like that again? Wanna make you feel so good on my cock, sweetheart. Don’t think I can hold back anymore.”

You feel the way he’s rubbing his tip through your folds, hand gripping at the base with all the self restraint in the world. The precum leaking from his tip mixing with your own slick creating a sticky mess between your lips.

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you beg, canting your hips to match his movements, gasping when his head catches on your entrance.

That’s all Eddie needs to hear. Lining up with your entrance, he pushes his way into you. The stretch is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. David was an alpha, so naturally he was big, but this? You could feel every ridge and vein of Eddie’s cock as he buried himself deeper inside you. The way his tip pressed against your cervix sent a fresh wave of arousal through you and all over Eddie’s desk.

There was barely time to adjust before Eddie was pistoning in and out of you. His hands white knuckle the skirt still sitting at your waist, using it as leverage to keep you in place while he fucks into your tight cunt. Your hands scramble to find something to hold on to, ultimately settling on Eddie’s forearms as your whole body shakes with each thrust.

“Ohhhh fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” you moan in tandem with every movement. Your brain gone, completely replaced with Eddie and never wanting this to end.

“Fuck, Eddie, please.”

“What is it, baby girl? What does my girl need?”

Hearing his voice, the way he calls you his girl lights a fire in your belly. You’d take anything he would give you right now. Anything he wants from you, you’d give him.

“Want yo-o-o-o-ou,” you pant, “Oh, fuck! Want you so bad!”

“I’m right here, sweetheart.”

Eddie leans down, his lips pressing into yours tenderly. You wrap your arms around his neck, pinning him to you until he gets the hint, letting his body weight press into you until you’re chest to chest. His tempo slows down to a sensual drag in and out. One hand grabs at your leg, bending it forward to open you up for him more. He feels impossibly deep inside of you as his head bullies that spot deep inside you.

“Is this what you needed, princess? Just needed me to get closer to you?” His face is pressed into your cheek, eyes threatening to close as he feels his resolve lessening with each passing moment that he’s inside you. But he needs you to come undone on his cock one more time before he can let go.

“Yes, thank you, thank you, Eddie, mmmmm,” the words fall from your mouth with no thought, your only focus on the pleasure that’s building up inside you. Your walls clenching around Eddie’s cock like a vice as you get closer and closer to the edge.

But, in tandem with your imminent orgasm, the dull ache inside you grows as well, blooming with a need that’s almost painful to bear.

“Eddie.”

The breathy, desperate tone in your voice has Eddie pulling back just enough to look at you. A picture of almost pure lust, say for the concerning pinch in your brows.

“I know, you’re so close, baby. Can feel you gripping me so tight,” he coos down at you. But you shake your head, trying your best to meet his eyes as you try to speak, willing him to just know what you want.

“Want it. Want it. Want it,” is all you can muster out.

“What do you want, baby girl?”

“Knot. Knot, please.”

Eddie’s movements still immediately, making you whine. He straightens up completely, looking down at you darkly, his frizzy curls a wild halo around his head as it blocks the light above.

He takes a deep breath in, nostrils flaring on the exhale, “You know what’ll happen if I do that, right? I’m not on anything that would stop—”

“Yes!” You cry, too frustrated and needy for him to move again that you begin moving on your own, fucking yourself on his cock. “Eddie, I want it so bad! Please, wanna be your girl. Want everyone to know I’m your girl.”

Before you can react, Eddie is grabbing you and flipping you over on his desk, almost knocking his computer down in the process. Only a moment later do you feel him pushing back into you with one quick thrust. His hand wraps around the back of your throat, not tight, but enough to keep you pinned down for him as he fucks you. There’s no purpose to his thrusts other than to chase his own high, but the brutal fuck and anticipation of whats to come is enough to finally push you past that breaking point.

The sound of your slick hitting the floor beneath you and the impossible grip your cunt has on his cock has Eddie following not far behind you. Just as you feel his hips falter, you feel a pressure building inside you, pushing at your walls until they’ve reached their limit. It’s painful, until it’s not. Quickly turning into an overwhelming pleasure, you feel yourself cumming again in quick succession as you feel the hot ropes of Eddie’s spend hit your cervix, filling you with an endless stream and then some.

The pressure of Eddie’s body folding limply on top of you feels amazing, the skin to skin soothing you as your still hazy mind craves him. You feel his lips on your shoulder, trailing kisses across your back until he reaches the center, just below the base of your neck. You fully expected him to continue on, simply loving on your body as you wait for him to fully finish.

What you weren’t expecting was for his teeth to sink into the skin of your scent gland. The feeling of his teeth on you is startling, and for a moment you think about your high school health class, where your teacher told you that when you bond with an alpha it would feel like the chemistry of your brain would change. There would be an instant shift that would change everything and, and…you feel nothing.

Well, not nothing. Being wrapped up in Eddie feels like being wrapped up in a blanket by a fire on a cold winter night, like warm water on sore muscles after a long day. It feels like the pieces of the puzzle have all fallen into place. It’s not big or loud, rather, it feels like home. He feels like home.

“Are you okay?” Eddie’s voice comes out muffled against your skin, his lips still pressed against your neck before he starts to rub his face over the gland.

“Mhmm,” you purr, moving your hand to lace over his on the desk, the cool metal of his rings a stark contrast to your hot skin. “M’back’s a little sore, though,” you say as you can feel your body starting to ache from the position you’re in.

Eddie pushes off of you quickly, almost pulling you with him as his shaky legs threaten to fold from how quickly he moved.

You push off of his desk like a cat stretching after a nap, shivers running down your spine as the shift presses Eddie’s still hard cock further inside you.

“Does it hurt?”

You look over your shoulder to see Eddie mesmerized on the way his knot has you over stuffed, feeling the resistance when your bodies tug apart.

The wide eyed look on his face lights the flame in your belly again. Eyes still on him, you start to rock back and forth slowly on him. You’re barely moving with your limited range, but the way he sucks in his breath at the feeling only fans the flames in you more.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you say in a sultry voice, catching his attention now. “Have you never knotted anyone before, Eddie?”

Brown curls bounce as he shakes his head. He swallows thickly, “N-no, I haven’t.”

You moan out at his confession, clenching down on him. And he whimpers, eyes clenched shut as you continue to gently rock against him.

“H-have you ever been knotted before?” He’s panting now. Standing completely still as he watches you fuck yourself on his cock.

You lean against the desk in front of you, the edge hitting your clit just right as you start to grind against it. “Only once,” you say between huffs, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge again. “It didn’t feel this good, though, fuck.”

“Oh, god—“ Eddie’s hands grip at your hips to still your movements, and you can feel a fresh wave of his cum spilling into your already stuffed cunt. The pressure pushes you over the edge with him, a silent scream on your lips as your body shakes in his grip.

He’s panting like he ran a marathon with a bruising grip still on your hips. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath, but when he does, he’s wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him.

You yelp as he sits back in the chair and situates you in his lap. You’re able to turn your body on his knot, curling into him so your face is buried in his neck, breathing him in. Calloused fingers run up and down your thigh soothingly, leaving tingles in their wake.

“Eddie?” You’re the first to break the silence. His head shifts your way, but his eyes are still trained on where his fingers dance on your skin.

“Hmm?”

“When you bit me, did you feel…anything?”

The corners of his lips curl into a smile, like you had just told him a joke or something.

“Nah,” he said with a chuckle. You almost felt as if he was making fun of you, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

“Oh, what’s this face for, hmm?” He grabs your face and pretends to bite at it, making you laugh as you turn away from him.

“Stoooop,” you whine, but your cheeks start to ache with how hard you’re smiling. “Are you making fun of me?”

“What? Why would I make fun of you?”

“Because I was being serious when I asked you about the bite! They always told us that it’s this huge deal to bond with someone so I thought it was going to be like New Year's Day in my mind or something!”

“Are you saying I didn’t totally blow your mind just now—OW!”

You bite Eddie's shoulder playfully, giggling and kicking as he tries to get his revenge by tickling your side.

“Okay! Okay! You totally blew my mind! I give!”

“That’s what I thought,” he says as he lands a quick peck to your lips, making you feel giddy at the contact. “But I promise I’m not laughing at you. I’m just…”

He looks down for a moment before meeting your gaze again with a look a lot less playful than just a moment ago.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to hear me out on this, alright?”

You nod, giving him your undivided attention as he speaks.

“So, like, I don’t know if you would even remember, but that day when we met, when I first saw you I heard these, like, bells ringing in my ears. And not like when your ears ring after listening to loud music, but, like, little chimes or something. At the time I didn’t think anything about it, but when I talked to Steve and my friend Nancy about it later, they told me that they heard the same thing when they had marked their partners.”

Your eyes go wide, heart fluttering in your chest.

Because you remember hearing bells so clearly when you saw him, too.

But how could that be?

“I know,” he says, reading the disbelief on your face, “It didn’t make sense to me either. So, Nancy, she’s really smart by the way, you’ll love her. She went and found some older books on, like, alpha and omega couples that talked about this thing called soul bonding? It’s supposed to happen when two people that are meant to be together like, imprint on each other and basically they can’t be with anyone else—”

Oh.

His voice trails off, coming to the same realization as you.

“Do you think—”

“Yes,” you respond without a second thought. “It makes so much sense. The smells, everything with David, why I can’t stop thinking about you—Fuck, I’ve only been able to get myself off if I’m wearing your sweater!”

Eddie twitches inside you again, his face a bright red at your admission.

“You’ve been wearing my sweater?” He teases with a raised brow. You nod, not seeing any point in lying about it now.

“I like to sleep in it,” you say as you snuggle into him more, “It feels like I’m sleeping with your arms around me.”

“Mmmm, I think I could do you one better. How ‘bout I let you experience that first hand?”

“You don’t think this is too soon, do you?

Eddie places a box labeled “work clothes” on top of his nightstand, reaching a hand out for you to hand him another hanger from the pile on top of his bed—now both of your bed, as he continues to hang your clothes for you.

“Sweetheart,” he sing-songs to you, “how is this going to be any different than the last two months?”

Since your first encounter in his office at work, the two of you have been attached at the hip ever since. You’d spent almost every night at his trailer, only staying at your parents house once to watch their dog while they went out of town for the weekend.

The chemistry between you and Eddie felt unreal at times, like you were going to wake up from a dream and he would be gone. Outside of his work clothes, some may say he looked a little intimidating, but he was the biggest sweetheart you’ve ever met. And when you got to meet his uncle, Wayne, a few weeks ago, you could tell where he got his chivalry from.

“I know, it’s just all so new for me,” you sigh, falling back onto the bed with a huff.

“It’s new for me, too, but in a good way.” You could hear his smile even with his back turned to you. “Besides, this place could use a little feminine touch.”

He turns to face you, taking one big step to bump his legs into yours.

“No kidding, it looked like a college dorm in here,” you say with an eye roll, thinking about the mismatched furniture and band posters he had taped to the wall.

“Well, this college dorm is about to graduate, move on to bigger and better things in life.”

“Like being baby proofed?”

Eddie hums, lowering himself down onto his knees in front of you. You prop yourself up, shifting your legs apart so he can settle himself between them, arms wrapping around your middle as his head rests on your tummy.

“I’m glad Wayne talked me into getting a two bedroom when I was looking around. I thought all I’d ever need was enough for me, but I guess the universe works in mysterious ways,” he says the last part with exaggerated mysticism, and you tug at his hair playfully at his unseriousness.

“Mmm, baby do that again.”

“Oh, my god, whatever.” You roll your eyes, thinking he’s being playful, but the bedroom eyes and parted lips say otherwise.

And soon after his hips are rolling into yours. Sweaty bodies intertwined as he splits you open, your heightened senses from the pregnancy hormones making it so easy for Eddie to keep you cumming for him.

“Come on baby, you got one more for me?”

“Can feel you squeezin’ me.”

“That’s my good girl.”

And you cum again and again and again, losing track as Eddie’s thumb works on your clit in sync with his thrusts.

He wishes he could do this forever. Watching you fall apart on his cock has to be the greatest thing he’s ever witnessed. His eyes land on your non-existent bump, imagining how big it's going to look in just a few months with his baby inside you.

“Can’t wait til you get all big, sweetheart. Gonna show you off everywhere we go,” he picks up speed, his rhythm starting to falter, “Want everyone to know you’re mine, always. Gotta keep you like this. Keep you pregnant so no one— oooooooh fuck! So no one takes you from me.”

“All yours, Eddie,” you babble out, completely brainless, “Love you. Only you.”

“Haaaahh, shit,” his head rolls back, and you can feel him cumming deep inside you. His hips slow down to a stop before he’s pulling out and landing on his back next to you.

You’re immediately cuddling up next to him, your head raising up and down against his chest. His arm curls around you, pulling you into him more so he can kiss the top of your head.

“I love you, too, by the way.”

You snap your head to look at him. “What?”

“You said “love you,” and I’m saying I love you too.”

“I did?”

“Did you not mean it?’

He looks down at you expectantly, waiting for your answer. But you don’t really have to think too hard to come up with the answer.

“Yeah, I love you.”

thank you for reading.

#eddie munson #alpha!eddie munson #eddie munson fan fic #janitor!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #alpha!eddie munson x omega!reader #janitor!eddie munson x teacher!reader #eddie munson omegaverse #omegaverse fic #eds

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pxnsneverland · 7 months ago

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Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 1)

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 2746

warnings/notes: violence, mentions of murder, gang activity

Chapter 1: The Alpha's Return

As Austin pushed open the heavy oak door, the overwhelming cacophony of sound hit him like a physical force. The deep bass of the music thrummed through his chest and reverberated in his ears. The mixture of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke assaulted his senses as he made his way into the dimly lit bar. Flickering lights hung haphazardly above the scattered tables and stools, casting shadows that seemed to dance with the rhythm of the music. In one corner of the bar, a group of men gathered around a pool table, their voices loud and boisterous as they cheered on their game. In another corner, a couple was engaged in a heated argument, their voices rising above the din of the bar.

Jerry Thompson, known as 'The Butcher' for his towering stature and imposing presence, immediately spotted Austin from his perch at the bar. Jerry's muscular arms were adorned with intricate tattoos that seemed to come alive with each movement as he stood up to greet Austin. His leather jacket emitted a low creaking sound as he moved, adding to his intimidating aura. With sharp eyes constantly scanning the room, he appeared to be assessing every person and potential threat.

"Austin!" Jerry bellowed with a wide grin, revealing his crooked teeth. Austin returned the gesture with equal enthusiasm and they met in a brief but firm hug, both happy to see each other after so long apart.

"Ace of Spades!" Jerry exclaimed, slapping Austin's back with a hearty laugh. The impact sent vibrations through Austin's body and he couldn't help but grin at his friend's exuberance. His booming voice echoed throughout the dimly-lit bar, drawing the attention of the other patrons. Heads turned, conversations paused, and eyes widened as they caught sight of the alpha in their midst.

"Still got your sense of humor, I see," Austin replied with a smirk. Despite the weariness in his voice, his piercing blue eyes sparkled with a fierce determination that radiated authority. He let his gaze wander around the room, taking in the familiar faces of his pack members and noting the new ones who had joined in his absence. The gang had clearly grown in numbers'.

"The pack's missed you," Jerry said, his deep voice barely audible over the pounding bass of the music. He motioned towards a back booth where a few burly men sat hunched over their drinks, their eyes gleaming under the dim lights. Jerry's eyes darted around the dimly lit room, his body tense with unease. He leaned in closer to Austin, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Things haven't been easy since you've been gone; a few of the newer guys, they don't respect the code... or you."

Austin straightened up, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group. The tension in his posture was palpable as he issued a silent challenge. "Name them," he demanded, his voice laced with authority and steel.

Jerry seemed to hesitate for a moment, his gaze trailing away from Austin’s intense stare. He let out a deep sigh, the weight of the situation evident on his weathered face. Finally, with a heavy hand he pointed towards the corner of the bar where two young bikers were shooting pool. Their boisterous laughter filled the room, oblivious to the fact that they were being talked about.

“Those two. Dal and Jimmy.” Jerry’s voice was rough and gruff, barely audible above the rowdy crowd. “Think they can run things their way. They’ve been challenging your rules ever since you left.”

Austin’s piercing gaze followed Jerry’s finger and then slowly moved to focus on the two men in question. They seemed hardly more than boys really, their matching leather jackets and cocky attitudes giving off the impression of overgrown pups trying to mark their territory. The sight of them sparked something in his chest - a cold, calculated anger that had him clenching his fists at his sides. “I see.” His words were sharp and clipped, void of any emotion except for a simmering rage that only those who knew him well could detect. With a determined stride, he pushed past Jerry and made a beeline towards Dal and Jimmy who were still engrossed in their game of pool. The tension in the room felt palpable as all eyes turned to watch Austin approach the group of challengers. Austin's body visibly trembles with a mix of rage and anticipation as he approaches the oblivious duo. His broad shoulders square up, ready for a fight, while his icy gaze pierces through them like a sharp blade. The laughter dies down around them as they finally notice the Alpha's approach.

Dal, a lanky man with a scar running down the side of his face, meets Austin's stare with a smug smirk that exudes defiance. Jimmy, shorter and stockier with a wild mop of red hair, takes an instinctive step back in fear and quickly averts his gaze under Austin's intense stare.

With a voice full of authority and malice, Austin addresses them. "You got a problem with my rules?”

Dal's smirk twists into a snarl as he leans back against the pool table, crossing his arms over his chest in challenge. "Our problem ain't with your damn rules, Butler," he spits out Austin's title with contempt. "Our problem is with you.”

The pool stick falls from Dal's grip with a loud clatter as he stands, his eyes blazing with anger. "You've been locked up for two years and now you think you can just waltz back in here and reclaim your throne as alpha?" He takes a threatening step forward, his voice dripping with disdain. "We've managed just fine without you, Butler. Who's to say you're still the strongest?"

"Is that a challenge, Dal?" Austin's voice pierced through the dim bar like a shard of ice, freezing the air around them. His crystal blue eyes glinted with a dangerous intensity as they locked onto Dal, who could feel his heart rate quicken under the alpha’s unwavering stare. The muscles in Austin's arms bulged as he stood tall, crossing them over his broad chest in a show of dominance

Dal shifted uneasily, almost feeling physically pinned under the weight of Austin's intense glare. The smirk on his face vanished, replaced by a fierce determination that hardened his features. Meeting Austin's gaze head-on, he squared his shoulders and spoke with a steely resolve, “Yeah, Butler. It is."

Without warning, Austin lunged at Dal with such ferocious speed that he was nothing but a blur. The crowd's hushed gasps were drowned out by the sickening thud of Austin's fist connecting with Dal's face. A fresh cut on his lip oozed blood as he lay sprawled on the ground, his body trembling with pain and shock.The air in the room seemed to thicken with tension as Dal slowly rose to his feet, wiping the blood away with a shaking hand. His gaze locked onto Austin's, filled with a fiery defiance. Without hesitation, he launched himself at Austin, their bodies colliding in a flurry of fists and grunts. But Austin was a force to be reckoned with, easily overpowering Dal with his brute strength and merciless blows. Each punch landed like a sledgehammer, causing bones to crack and skin to split. The smell of iron permeated the air as blood spilled, staining the floor beneath them. Dal was no match for Austin's relentless assault. A thunderous left hook knocked him off balance, leaving him dazed and stumbling. Before he could regain his bearings, Austin charged at him like a raging animal, slamming him back against the pool table.

Pain exploded through Dal's body as he hit the hard surface, gasping for air as if his lungs had been crushed. He struggled to focus through blurred vision, gazing up at Austin who loomed over him like a giant. With one final burst of strength, Dal tried to push himself up off the table, only to receive a brutal kick to the gut that sent him crashing back down. As he lay there, helpless and defeated, all he could taste was blood and defeat in his mouth.

Austin stood over him, chest heaving and fists clenched. His ice-blue eyes were alight with a victorious glint as he looked down at his conquest. The crowd parted in silence, every pair of eyes glued to the spectacle. Austin’s gaze shifted from Dal to the onlookers, his expression stern and unwavering. His voice rang out clear and commanding through the silence, “Let this be a lesson to all of you - I am your alpha, your leader...and I will not tolerate disloyalty or disrespect in my pack.”

He cast a final glance at Dal, then turned towards Jerry who had been watching the scene unfold from the sidelines. The Butcher's face bore a grimace of satisfaction; he approved of what Austin had done. Austin slowly walked back to him, the crowd parting to make way for their leader.

"Painful but necessary," Jerry muttered as he draped an arm around Austin's shoulder, "hopefully this little display of power will keep them in line."

Austin simply nodded his agreement, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. However, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He knew that he had needed to assert his authority but the violent encounter left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hoped that no other member would dare to challenge him; he didn't want to shed any more blood of his own pack. But he would stand his ground and uphold order, no matter the cost.

"Well, that was a helluva welcome back party," Jerry chuckled and slapped Austin on the back. The two walked to the exit, their imposing figures outlined by the dimly lit bar behind them. Austin didn’t respond; his thoughts were elsewhere – on Bonnie Barlow. How would she react to tonight's events? Would she be afraid of him...or for him? As Austin sat in his cell, thoughts of Bonnie consumed his mind. She had been his only source of comfort during his time in jail, and now that he was out, she still lingered in his thoughts. It had been five long years since he last saw her, and he couldn't help but wonder how she had been and what she was up to now. Memories of her petite figure and expressive eyes flooded his mind, stirring a mix of emotions within him. Remorse for the mistakes he made and an intense yearning to see her again. His heart clenched at the reality of his situation. He wasn't just a man – he was an alpha, a werewolf. And Bonnie? She was the quiet beauty who had found her way into his heart, and then fled from the violent world he inhabited. Even as he craved to have her back in his life, Austin couldn’t help but acknowledge the bitter truth. The world he ruled with an iron fist was no place for someone as delicate and empathetic as Bonnie.

With a troubling thought gnawing at his mind, Austin abruptly shrugged off Jerry's arm and strode out into the cool, crisp night air. His heavy boots crunched with each step on the gravel path as he made his way to his motorcycle. The machine stood there like a ferocious animal lying in wait, its metallic body glinting in the moonlight.

"Hey, where you off to?" Jerry called after him, but Austin did not even spare a glance as he pulled on his leather gloves and climbed onto his ride. His mind was too cluttered with thoughts of Bonnie, bittersweet memories that brought both solace and a haunting pain.

The engine roared to life beneath him, a low growl that reverberated through the peaceful night. With one last look at the bar where his pack was still celebrating their leader's victorious return, he revved the engine and tore off into the darkness. The wind whipped against his face as he raced down the deserted roads, slicing through the quiet stillness of the night. He welcomed the chilling gusts, hoping they would blow away the weight of remorse weighing on him. But no amount of speed or distance could erase Bonnie's image from his mind or ease the ache in his heart. His thoughts kept returning to that fateful day five years ago when Bonnie had left.

She had vanished into the ether, leaving behind a void in Austin's life that he couldn't fill. No call, no text, no warning. One day, they were holding each other at her father's funeral - her tears staining his shoulder and his arms wrapped tightly around her. The next day, she was gone, taking all traces of herself with her. Austin searched high and low, calling every number he had for her and knocking on every door he could think of. But she had disappeared without a trace, leaving him feeling lost and alone. Weeks turned into months, which turned into years. The uncertainty of not knowing where Bonnie had gone or even if she was still alive weighed heavily on Austin's mind and heart. He would wake up from nightmares, drenched in sweat and trembling, his thoughts consumed by visions of Bonnie being hurt or in danger. As much as he wanted to protect her like he did when they were younger, he couldn't do anything if he didn't even know where she was.

The soft purr of his motorbike echoed through the stillness, offering him a strange sense of tranquility as he veered down onto the dirt path that led home. Austin’s cabin, nestled in the secluded wilderness away from town, was as rugged and unyielding as he was. A shabby structure with weathered timber walls and a roof so worn it seemed to blend into the overcast night sky. Sliding off his bike, Austin crossed the threshold, stepping into the austere living space. Minimalistic and practical just like him. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth filled with charred logs from a fire long gone. The rest of the furniture was plain and functional - a worn-out couch, a small dining table, and his bed tucked into an alcove.

He shrugged off his leather jacket and made his way to the worn-out armchair by the fireplace, sinking into its familiar comfort. Pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a dusty bottle, he stared at the golden liquid swirling within. Each drop mirrored years of torment and solitude that had gradually gnawed away at his soul. Drinking was not his means to drown the pain; instead, it was more of a ritual – an acknowledgement of his broken spirit and an attempt to numb the hurt festering within. The air around him crackled as he struck a match and brought it close to the dry logs in the hearth. The fire leaped up instantly, hungry flames lapping at the wood while releasing whispers of smoke into the air. Austin watched the dance of the fire, his mind lost in the glowing depths as he sipped from his glass. The warmth of the Scotch spread through him, a perfect foil to the cold emptiness he had grown accustomed to. The silence of his cabin was only broken by the sporadic crackle of the flames and the quiet hum of woodland creatures outside. This solitude was his sanctuary and yet it was also his prison cell.

The tranquil silence was broken in an instant by a shrill ring that made Austin jump. He quickly realized it was his cell phone, a device he hadn't heard from in what seemed like ages. His fingers fumbled for the familiar weight in his pocket, almost forgetting it had been there this whole time. The screen displayed ‘Unknown’ as the call persisted, daring him to answer and reveal the identity of the caller. Who could be reaching out to him, someone he had not seen at the bar? With a deep breath, Austin pressed accept and brought the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?" His voice came out rough and hesitant.

"Austin," said a soft voice on the other end.

Instantly recognizing the voice that had haunted his thoughts for years, Austin's heart began to race in his chest. The drink in his hand suddenly felt like a lead weight, and he carefully set it down on the small wooden table beside him. His fingers trembled slightly as he tightened his grip on the phone, as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

"Bonnie..."

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!

#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler fandom #austin butler fluff #biker!austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler elvis #austin butler major gale buck cleven #austin butler smut #austinbutleredit #austin butler feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #austin butler x you #austin butler x reader #fan fiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fic

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maracllea · 2 years ago

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+ CL at GQ night awarded the Woman of The Year 2022 +

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aspiring-house-husband · 8 months ago

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…oh. my god. this may be one of the longest things i’ve ever written. you want some sub/top regency kink a/b/o? you want some heat-fucking? you want some knotting? have i got a treat for you.

normally, a king would be proud to have all alpha sons. a sign of a strong bloodline, strong heirs. dominance and assurance in the future.

this king was not proud. he was scared. all three sons were alphas- his daughters, too. every child an alpha. what would normally be a strength was a curse, as it could not help him now.

there was a young king, butting up against their border. what had once thought to be a nuisance or even a weakness, their young king was new, inexperienced, unknown. but when the kingdom opposite this royal alpha’d family attempted to take advantage of the young and inexperienced king, their kingdom fell. the young king’s empire grew. as did his army, and his power. and his bloodlust.

he crushed a revolt, only a year later, from his conquested kingdom’s militia. he carved out pieces from his eastern and western borders. through every battle, every negotiation, every victory, he proved that his blade, tongue, and mind were equally sharp. he was accruing power at a rate that made long-standing reigns weary.

the kingdom he inherited by blood adored him. those kingdoms he conquered respected him. those kingdoms bordering him were terrified.

the alpha king, of an alpha queen, with five alpha children, desperately wanted to avoid war. an ally was preferred to an enemy, and he saw what happened to kingdoms who resisted. peace was preferred, and what better way than offering a spouse to the young king, preferably an omega to be controlled and toyed with, so that the kingdom could remain uncontrolled, untouched?

his youngest son, his sweet prince. an alpha, but the most likely to submit to a young but obviously alpha king. he was dressed in ceremonial cloth and jewels and taken to the young king. the prince was stunned by the beauty of the king… but not the ruggedness the prince expected. he was not a muscular and scarred military man with blood splattered across his chest, but instead a small man with legs crossed and his chin resting, bored, in his palm. soft hair framed a curious expression around bright, curious eyes.

“young alpha prince,” the king says, the corners of his lips only barely tugging into a smile, “welcome to my kingdom. welcome to my home.”

the prince kneels before the king and bows, touching his head to the floor, his robes pooled around him on the tiled floor as a great island of nobility. he stays as the king stands, graceful steps taking him to the prince.

“quite generous of your father, sending me a toy of such noble stature.” the king circles him, his gaze drinking in the prince. “stand.”

the prince does as ordered and raises his chin. he finds the king slightly shorter than him. “an alpha, i smell. tell me, are you afraid of me?”

the prince lets his gaze flick to the king, who still circles like a predator.

“majesty, i will regard you however it is you should require me to,” the prince responds, and the king finally smiles full and across his face, but his eyes are dark. he comes to stand in front of the prince, and lifts a hand to his face, but stops just short of touching.

“may i?” he asks, and the prince hesitates in surprise at the question before nodding. the king’s hand is warm as it slowly cups his face.

“have the prince shown to his quarters and dressed,” the king addresses his men without breaking eye contact with the prince. “return him to me once he is settled in.”

the prince marvels at his living space. it has high ceilings and double paned windows that face the western skies, a plush bed larger than the one he’d had at home, and a bath with working plumbing. the hearth was alive with warm fire when he arrived, and two servants awaited to help him dress and fetch him food. not even as the prince of his kingdom had he ever felt so taken care of, so privileged. only when his handmen showed him to his wardrobe did he feel again like a plaything. his closet was not befitting a prince- it suited a concubine. hardly covering cloth draped from metal chains and jewels, his dignity spared by only a few inches. he chose the outfit that covered the most of his skin, but even that wasn’t much, and what it hardly covered could still be seen through the fabric.

“do you know what the king wants of me?” he asked one of his handmaidens, and she shook her head.

“i’ve long stopped questioning his intention. he hasn’t lead us wrong yet. he did order, though, that robes be made available to you, if your decency was less than to your liking.” she opened yet another wardrobe, and the prince sighed in relief that he could at least drape a large fur cloak over himself before he was sent before the king.

he wasn’t led back to the throne room, as he had expected. instead he was taken to an office study, where the king sat hunched at the end of a long dark wood table over maps and other papers. he took a seat at the king’s left and dared not look at the scribblings, lest he be reprimanded for curiosity above his station.

“your father is a smart man.” the king breaks the silence. “even being so far from the throne, he would’ve prepared you, yes?”

“Yes, highness,” the prince responds.

“Perhaps you will notice something i haven’t. this river isn’t supposed to flood- it never did, during my mother’s reign. but it has thrice in mine, and i can’t work out why. each time it floods, it destroys homes, and i can’t have that any longer.”

the prince sits in stunned silence before he responds.

“you’re asking… my opinion, sire?”

“why wouldn’t i? a pretty face does not a lesser mind make.”

the prince can only be glad his complexion hides blushes before he leans in to study the maps.

the royals emerge hours later with flood plane maps and funding plans for village relocation drawn up. the king takes the hand of the prince and sends him back to his chambers, but not without first again holding his face.

“my pet, from now on,” he says, his smile unexpectedly fond, “sit at my right hand.”

the bed is too plush for the prince; he cannot stop his mind from wandering. the king was not at all what he had expected. not just small and soft, beautiful and graceful instead of rugged and rough, but also kind, generous. though the prince was rarely called anything but ‘toy’, ‘pet’, ‘gift’, he was treated like not only a royal but a confidant, an advisor. the touches that he had expected from his new king had never come, and those that did were only soft enough to make him desire more. and his plush pillows were no help, hugged into the curve of his frame and just the right plushness. it made him buck before falling asleep. made him grind as he woke. made him whimper through his dreams of serving the king as he once thought he would be required to.

“highness,” the prince begins one morning, over breakfast. “is there anything more i could be doing for you?”

“for me?” the king asks, setting down his utensils and locking his fingers together, resting his chin to his knuckles and his elbows to the table. “how so?”

“i am but to serve you,” says the prince, “it is my purpose, my life. if there would ever be anything more you need from me, you need only ask.”

he couldn’t be sure, but the prince swore he smelled an arousal spike, and for the first time it made him wonder at the king’s designation. all had assumed him an alpha, but not once had the prince smelled an alpha scent from him. until this moment, in fact, not a scent at all… his eyes drifted to the metal chains that wrapped his neck with links and leather. the prince has assumed these pieces armor, but maybe they were more. maybe they hid the king’s scent.

“you are servant to me,” echos the king, fondness in his voice and tugging at the end of his lips. “you believe so?”

“i am lost to it,” says the prince, wishing he could take back how his voice cracked. too many times recently had he been erect in the presence of the king, his only disguise being his fur cloaks. too many time had he woken up dripping with the idea of the king ordering him around, owning him the way he truly was owned.

“very well,” says the king, and he stands from his breakfast. “walk with me.” the prince gladly does so, half a pace behind the king.

“with honesty, i have been waiting,” he says, hands clasped at his back. “when i took you as my own, i wanted it to be of your choice. i couldn’t help but be impatient.”

the king’s chamber door opened into a small room first, empty but for light furniture. this is where the king turned to the prince, hopping up onto a table top to sit nearly the same height as the prince.

“touch me,” he says, his voice not even close to hard enough for it to be an order. the prince obeys nonetheless, his fingers rising up the king’s sides to tease his tunic over his head. still, the leather and link around the king’s neck remains. the prince moans with the skin revealed to him, and breathes out raggedly.

“you mustnt tell anyone,” the king says, and the prince blindly nods without knowing what he was meant to keep secret, far too focused on exploring the king with his hands and the way the king’s legs have latched into him and knocked the fur cloak from his body. he manages, though, to follow the king’s hands to the armor around his neck, and a few seconds later the armor falls to his lap.

the prince’s head spins. not only was the king’s scent entirely new to him, new and perfect, but it was omega scent. it was omega, and aroused, and strong, and so incredibly sweet smelling that it must’ve been crafted just for him. if he hadn’t been hard, he would’ve swelled to full size from the smell alone.

“don’t be dumbfounded,” the king says, “i know i’m an omega, but that’s why i’m so strong in battle, so people-“

“i don’t care,” says the prince, diving his face to the king’s neck and scooping the king by the legs into his arms, “i don’t care what people assume about you. you smell so good, highness, that i wouldn’t care if they all were watching us, right now.”

the king moaned and held onto the prince as he opened the door to the king’s bedroom. he had never seen it before, and now he could guess why- the scent of omega, aroused and needy, hung heavy in the air. the prince placed the king down in his bed, which now that he could see, he could tell was filled with pillows and blankets, woven into a perfect nest. still he did not leave the king’s neck, salivating over the scent that made his head spin. he lathered open-mouthed kisses along his neck, scraping his teeth over the omega’s scent gland and prompting a wanton moan straight from the prince’s dreams. the prince cursed under his breath and unthinkingly thrusted his hips, his thin clothing doing nothing to hide either his arousal or the sensation of grinding against the warmth of the king’s body.

“pet,” says the king, breathing ragged but hands still strong as he holds the prince away from him, just enough. “undress me, pet.” the prince didn’t nod, didn’t hesitate, just pushed the king onto his back and grabbed his waistband, lifting his hips as he yanked downward. he did it with ferocity, desperation, and hardly had the mind to hear the king’s chuckle over the sight he was greeted with. the king’s hole was nothing short of everything he’d dreamed of in every rut-fevered sleep, soft and wet and warm, so wet he was dripping. the scent was strong and still so sweet, tuned to his nose alone, like it was made for him. he kneeled before his king and held onto his thighs, sliding forward, but the king closed his legs and trapped the prince just beyond his knees.

“my king?” he asked, desperate eyes looking up at the king as his chest heaved. was this what catching an omega’s heat felt like? he had rut before, but this was different, like he was driven by something external and so ravenous that he could devour the king. but he didn’t smell heat, as he had before from his oldest brother’s wife. the sticky sweet smell wasn’t among the king’s scent, his beautiful dripping warm and wet and soft scent. this feeling was all his own, without heat, without rut. he was this pathetically desperate, all his own.

the king had sat up, and finally his hands pet through the prince’s hair, held his jaw.

“put your mouth to me, pet,” says the king, “your lips, your tongue. and don’t emerge until you’ve tasted my high and swallowed it. don’t come out of it until you’ve smeared yourself in my slick and no one will be able to even smell your breath without knowing i’ve been on your tongue.”

with an unprompted moan the king falls back down into his bed and opened his legs for the prince, who presses the king’s thighs further open and eats like a starving animal. he nearly cums through his clothes at the taste, his cock strained and weeping and impossibly, painfully hard. he does not spare a hand for himself, too focused on the king’s bucking hips, his loud moan whenever he sucked against the king’s cock, the way his moans cracked and whimpered when he dove his tongue deep. to his surprise, it doesn’t take long; the king clamps down around his tongue and bathes his face in the smells of satisfaction and warmth and arousal and most of all, need.

the prince feels like a wild animal rising from his kill, his face dripping and his breathing rough. the king looks upon him with pleasure, his breath hard, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“toy, love,” says the king, barely untangling his fingers from where they had gripped into his bedsheets, “i had planned to do a lot of walking tomorrow. force me to change my plans.”

the prince shivers and undresses himself quickly. the clothing he wore couldve easily been torn, or even pulled to the side, but he took the time to yank them from his body, catching sight of his own cock for the first time that morning. he was surprised to notice an angry, throbbing knot- he had rut?

his hesitation catches the attention of the king, who sits up enough to see the knot, and his moan is nothing but heavenly as he falls to the bed again.

“i’ll milk that best if you’ve had me twice more,” promises the king. “get me there, toy.”

thrusting into the king nearly had him over the edge, but he couldn’t swell his knot without being deep inside the king, without satisfying his orders. he had to control himself, had to fuck into the king’s sloppy, throbbing, hot and wet hole without losing himself to it, but it felt like a pointless battle. he was too far gone, the scent of omega burning in his nose and making his eyes half lid, his hips snapping into the king and pulling back only halfway before impacting with the king’s tightly wrapped legs before thrusting deep again.

he growled in dissatisfaction—not the right angle, not deep enough, not lewd enough moans from the king—and pulled out to flip the king onto his stomach, pulling his hips back, and thrusting in. the noise he pulled from his omega was high-pitched and filthy, and the prince’s gaze moves between the hungry and soaking wet hole that suckles against his knot with every thrust, and the blissful expression and soft, drooling lips of the king, pressed into his bedsheets.

he barely notices as the king gets tighter, and tighter, before he clamps down again and screams, his voice broken but loud, catching and announcing every shudder, pulse, tremble, twitch, broken with soft words the prince could barely hear, words as “toy,” and “love,” and “yes,” and “pet,” and, the worst of them all, the one that had him throbbing, “alpha.”

the prince pulls out to flip the king over again. he is pliant and panting, flushed down the front of his body and looking up at the prince with undisguised adoration, obsession, lust. the prince has to look away to focus; he wants nothing more than to be inside the king and satisfy him again, but he needs to make it better. the nest he had crawled into is well constructed, and he wouldn’t dare rip at the pillows built into walls, but there is one that doesn’t seem to be for either structure or for laying heads on, one that seems thick enough. he lifts the king and lays the pillow under his back, propping up his hips to the prince, splaying his thighs open to show the soaked and reddened, throbbing, abused hole. the prince has to break his own hypnosis to move his eyes away and back to the king.

he crawls up, cock hard beneath him, and for the first time kisses the king, their mouths dancing together, tongues tangling and teeth clacking. he sinks into the king’s hole like he belongs there, lined up perfectly and finding no resistance. the king moans into his mouth and his arms come up around the prince, nails latching to his back.

“knot me,” begs the king, his ankles locking behind the prince. “knot me full, take me, mark me deep.”

the words were pleas, not orders, but the prince obeys without question. he thrusts into the king with what feels like every ounce of power in his body, deep and fast and strong. his body is alight- every sensation his to memorize. the sting of his omega’s nails on his shoulder blades. the lustful moans just next to his ear. the near-stickiness as their bodies part before coming together again. the warmth of his omega’s body. the heavenly softness of his hole. every sensation, his, and too easy to burn into his mind forever. his omega begins to tighten, to whimper, his moans sliding higher pitched, and the prince keeps his same pace, desperate to please and to do as the king ordered. the king does not cum, yet, holds himself with tension in every muscle and teeth bared.

“knot me, alpha,” he whispers, eyes bright and hungry. “so deep your seed will never find its way back out.”

the prince drops his gaze to where they meet, his knot nestled against the king’s entrance, and he lifts himself so that he can hold onto the king’s hips. he stares at the fluttering muscle of the king’s body, trying to suck him deeper, trying to be one with him, and his mind swims. still, he pulls, strong and slowly pulling the king toward him as he pushes his hips closer. the king breathes shallow, unable to see where they meet and so watching the prince, pliant and soft and beautiful as the prince guides them together. he pulls with more strength, grits his teeth, pushes forward until they snap together, knocking the prince onto his elbows again, face inches away from the king’s, who looks lustful but bewildered, as though he has looked upon heaven for the first time.

“alpha,” he breathes, unfocused eyes finally moving to the prince. “my alpha.”

“my omega,” answers the prince, and he kisses him deeply.

he rocks his hips gently, unable to move the knot but just enough to pull the climax they had both been seconds from. it crashes over the king, who thrashes and screams, and washes over the prince, who collapses and spills. he can feel them throbbing in time, his omega’s hole milking him, pulling everything from him. they bask in it for an eternity, unable to move, unable to speak, hardly able to breathe. finally, the king touches his face again.

“my pet, from now on,” he says, his eyes unfocused and body still trembling, “sleep in my bed. never leave my side. never let me be without you.”

“i am servant to you,” the prince echoes the king’s words of hours ago. “i am whatever you require.”

“whatever i require?” the king repeats, his eyes lazing closed, blissful enough in his knotting and his alpha’s rut to fall asleep, still clamped around a knot and milking it gently. “you are mine.”

the prince no longer felt the need to wear his fur cloaks. whatever skin that the kingdom could see was marked with the king’s adoration, scratches and bites and hickeys decorating every bit of his body. he fetched the king breakfast and helped him dress, but equally undressed him around hallway corners and beneath banquet tables. he let the stuck-up old nobles turn up their noses at his hard cock trapped beneath only shear fabric, all thoughts of embarrassment wiped away by the soft touch of his king, squeezing him and reminding him of the privilege only he wields.

an alpha prince, servant to an omega king. a pet for pleasure and a lover. a toy.

#a/b/o #og #story #non monster #prince #public #heat

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rwyvernarts · 8 months ago

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Ginsharin, the Silver Wheel, is an alpha Gliscor with a long reign of terror both above and under ground. Boasting a corrosive venom capable eating through flesh and stone alike, it readily raids the territories of neighbouring alphas and drags its catches — Pokémon or human — deep into the extensive network of caverns beneath Mount Coronet, never to be seen again.

#pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #gliscor #schrödinger’s cat au #wyvern art

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delopsia · 5 months ago

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if heaven's a moment | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 16,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, alpha! Rhett, omega! Reader. Size kink, forbidden love (ft. a weak excuse for the forbidden part. we're here for ✨vibes✨, not logic), food, running away, biting, mating cycles/heat, ruts, mentions of breeding (but no implication of children/anything of that nature), first times together, knotting, the worst epilogue known to man. Brief Summary: At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. But you just had to run right into the Abbott family's youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you've ever known.

There are too many cars in this damn driveway.

Scratch that, too many fucking alphas. With their bright, gaudy outfits and stupid, overapplied pheromone colognes that do nothing but give you a chemical-induced migraine. If those claims about luring in potential mates are true, then you must be an outlier because you've yet to find yourself head over heels for a man based on his scent alone.

A warmth greets your nose; something tied between leather and the embers of a roaring campfire, a hint of smokiness lurking underneath it all. Just a hint of it at first, swirling around your head like a daydream and weakening your knees, growing stronger with every step toward this old barn.

...on second thought.

The barn door opens with a groan, cutting through the silence and echoing up toward the house. Your eyes dart toward the back porch, still flocked full of mingling bodies in their finest courting attire, chatting it up like they haven't had an intriguing conversation in years. Whether or not someone heard that is anyone's guess, but nobody is interested enough to look in your direction.

Thank god because you don't have a single explanation for why you're slipping into the storage barn at ten o'clock at night.

It's too dark to see where you're going, but you've walked this path so many times that you can do it with your eyes closed. Drifting around the corner. Past the four-wheeler that hasn't run since last autumn. Through the clearing that will soon be cluttered with seasonal equipment once the hands finish tearing out the brush that has taken over the south pasture. They'll promise it's gone for good, but it'll be sprouting again come spring, and the cycle will repeat, just as it always has.

Clink.

The room spins. A weight appears on your back, forcing you face down into a bale of hay. The straw prickles your cheek, but it's nothing compared to the sandpaper texture that scratches the back of your neck. The coarse stubble of someone's recently shaven face.

A cold nose brushes against your nape.

"Hey!" You squeal, foot blindly kicking at a jean-clad leg, but he just does it again, blissfully unaware of the goose bumps rushing across your skin.

Arms curl around your waist. "What's the matter, sweet thing?" Muttered into your ear, as if there's a risk of someone overhearing.

"Your nose is cold!" And you've got just enough leverage to turn your head to the side, nipping at his jaw. Softly tugging at his skin with your teeth, ticklish little motions that have Rhett laughing, shifting to stand up straight, as if that has ever helped him escape your reign of terror.

"'m sorry," that nose bumps into your forehead, clumsy, "I only finished up a little bit ago."

Even in the dark, you can tell that he's still clad in those leather chaps, dirty from a long day in the fields and on the back of his horse. This close, they'll surely leave behind a noticeable grime on your white clothes, but you can't bring yourself to care. This is worth the stress of getting your clothes into the washer before anyone can see the stains.

It only takes the slightest nudge for him to reel back, allowing you to stand straight and twist in his embrace. Pale moonlight peeks through the holes in the roof, bathing the right side of his face. Unveiling the smile that upturns the corners of his eyes and the fading cut in his bottom lip, split open in a bar fight this past Sunday.

"They're working you that hard?" Tilting your head to the side, curious. Peak season isn't for another three weeks. What gives?

"Only on party nights," Rhett chuckles, and he's just close enough for you to feel it rumbling in his chest like thunder. "How else are your folks supposed to tell them rich fellas that y' come from a good ranchin' family?"

Your brows furrow. "I didn't know that I came with a dowry."

It's easy. Laughing with him and falling into his big, warm chest, wrapped up in those arms that ought to have been chiseled from stone for you and you alone. The scruff of his cheek scratches your skin as he snuggles you impossibly closer. Your nose bumping into his neck, just below the scent gland lurking there.

The voice in the back of your head wonders if you'll ever get to enjoy the privilege of him scenting you. Dipping his head down to rub the barely visible glands against you, not stopping until you smell just like him. The closest one can get to saying 'mine' without tattooing it in red across someone's forehead.

"So which of them alphas ya pickin'?" There's that solemn tone again, low and heavy as if the words are too much for his tongue to lift.

And you know that you shouldn't say this; it's only going to make this harder than it needs to be, but it slips out of you, anyway. "The one that's standing in front of me."

There's a sourness in the air. Barely there, but you're so close that it's impossible not to catch the switch, chased by the falter of a smile.

Oh, why does he have to look at you that way? Deep-set frown and lowered eyes, can hardly bring himself to meet your gaze, as if this will all fall apart the moment that he does. But you're still here, even if it's for a fixed amount of time. You can't have him forever, but you can until your heat decides to set in, whenever that may be.

"We'd have to flee the state even for a chance of that workin'," he's talking under his breath like it's a thought he didn't intend to make it past his mouth. But you hear it loud and clear.

"Maybe..." Feigning playfulness, if only to ignore the sour twist of your belly. "But if you ever decide that you'd like to start running, you know where to find me."

If only it worked like that. You'd love to live a life so simple that he could run up to your window and steal you away on a random midnight. Off to live your own happily ever after, never to be seen again.

Rhett tilts his head forward, then off to the side, those pretty blue eyes never quite leaving yours.

It's like knowing that you're allergic to something and biting into it anyway, but you just can't help it. There are only so many times that you'll get to do this, and the number is shrinking by the minute. Nuzzling the side of your head against his neck and lower jaw, dancing painfully close to the glands on his neck, a faint sheen the only thing to indicate their presence. Rhett's so big that you could spend all day rubbing yourself against him like a cat, always able to find a spot on him that isn't drowning in the warm scent that you call your own.

Out of nowhere, a sharp puff of air bursts out of him. Some little animalistic noise that you only ever hear when you're doing this, his nose nuzzling your temple as he makes that noise again. The arms around you pull a little tighter as if there was any space left between your bodies to begin with.

A truck engine roars to life. Obnoxious.

Rhett jolts, his head spinning toward the door you came through, stiff like some kind of well-trained guard dog. In a sense, you suppose that's exactly what he is, considering all of those bar fights with unruly alphas who could only see you as an easy piece of meat.

"Sounds like some of 'em are gettin' ready to leave," he concludes after a moment, and he doesn't need to speak for you to know what he intends to say next. He's got to take you back to the house before someone notices you're missing.

You can't help the whine that rolls out of you, pitchy and drawn out. This whole situation is so unfair; you just got here a few minutes ago! Why do you have to go back inside and parade yourself to men and women that you couldn't give a damn about? All because you were unfortunate enough to be born as some dumb omega.

"Naw, don't get all sad on me," Rhett mutters, and you're not entirely sure when he moved, but one of his hands has risen to curl around your cheek, coarse thumb stroking the skin there. "I'll come to your window, a'ight?"

"Rhett!" Your leg twitches, kicking against his side. Pulling hard on his hair, thighs involuntarily fluttering around his head. It's the most you can do with this pillow wedged beneath the small of your back. Open and on display for him and his hungry mouth.

"Shhh," but he can hardly deny himself the simple pleasure of pausing to drag his tongue in a loose circle just to feel you squirm. "Don't want us gettin' caught, do ya darlin'?"

Whining, your head thrashes back and forth. There's a 'no' on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't get it out—two little letters trapped in your wide open mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's forcing your legs up over his shoulders, oversized hands spanning out against the outside of your thighs, keeping you put.

"Won't be able to eat this sweet little pussy if your folks find out," Rhett just can't quit talking. Babbling as if he's completely and utterly lost himself in this, in you. "Fuck, can y' imagine the look on their faces?"

You're not sure if it's the words themselves or the vibration of his voice against your clit, but something about it has a bolt of lightning jumping up your spine. Rattling a whine out of your throat, hardly stifled by the teeth that sink into your bottom lip, your futile attempt at keeping yourself quiet.

"Comin' in and seein' a ranch hand between your legs, runnin' my tongue up your pussy jus' like..." and he draws just far back enough for you to see the way his tongue pokes out of his mouth as he begins to lick a fat stripe up your cunt. "This."

And your back is rising up off the bed, greedily chasing the burning heat of his mouth, as if even a second of no contact might break you into two. The beat of your heart spurred on by the sloppy, wet noises that punctuate his every movement. Half of it isn't even from you; no, it's from him drooling into you like a goddamn dog.

There's so much of it, running down your thighs and into your sheets, sure to leave a spot that you'll struggle to make an excuse for. It's a problem that you should fuss at him over, chide him for making such a mess, but he's guiding a hand between your legs, two thick fingers nudging at your entrance, and you just can't bring yourself to say anything.

It's impossible to be upset when he's got you so wet that you don't need to pause for lube, gliding into you with dazzling ease. So, so much bigger than your own touch, such a sudden stretch that you catch the hint of an ache as they bottom out. More. You haven't even gotten used to this yet, and yet you want more.

Abrupt, Rhett's pointed tongue dances around your clit, fingers crooking upward, seeking a special little spot. "Can't market ya as an innocent little omega if they know a man like me 's been eatin' your pussy for years."

If only he knew how often you think about that.

The memories that flood your mind every time you've been put in a fancy restaurant to be wined and dined by some well-dressed know-it-all, intrigued by the false purity he saw in your eyes. How it's not the small talk that has you fiddling with your fork, but instead caused by the crystal clear image of a cowboy who had gotten on his knees for you earlier that morning, eating you alive, much like how he is now.

And the perpetual, hopeless fantasy of that same cowboy barging in and taking you for his own, fed up with this sick game you've been forced to play together. All because you were born an omega, so rare that the wealthy have begun to see you as a status symbol.

Sparkles dance in your vision, glittering like fireworks. Course fingertips spiral into a little cluster of nerves, in perfect sync with the tongue still working around your clit. The invisible flames of a wildfire ignite, heat coiling between your parted thighs and flushing up your chest. Fuck, fuck, and the room is spinning around you, hands tightening in Rhett's hair as if there's a risk of being blown away.

"Rhett, I'm—"

"God, y' taste so fuckin' good," mindlessly babbling, but those eyes are peeling open, the corners of them wrinkling with a cocky grin. "Y' gonna cum?"

"Uhuh," frantically nodding, the best that you can without looking away from him and this. The sight of him between your shivering thighs, legs propped over his broad shoulders, fits so perfectly that your heart skips a beat. That coil is winding tighter and tighter in your lower belly, body stiffening as his tongue keeps working you over, loud and sloppy and out of sync with the fingers working inside of you.

His chuckle has your foot kicking against his back, a barely muffled whimper slipping out of your throat. "Come on then," a third finger abruptly joins, mouth sucking harshly on your clit. Lightning jumps up your spine, arching up off the pillow. "Give it to me, sweet thing."

And that's all it takes to have you clamping a trembling hand over your mouth, cumming without further warning. Crying out into your palm as your vision goes white, heart racing in your chest, spinning out of control. Feels as if you've been thrust into the clouds, soaring among them for a few fleeting moments.

The hand remaining on your thigh is what draws you back down into reality.

Or maybe it's the sudden discomfort of emptiness as Rhett draws his drenched fingers out of your cunt, sitting up on his haunches, obscenely shiny chin catching in the light. The pillow pulls out from beneath your hips, and it's not until you feel the rush of relief that you realize there was a strain in your lower back.

The corner of Rhett's mouth lifts, the mattress dipping as he climbs up next to you. "Reckon I wore ya out." Those jeans still unfairly cling to his hips, a little too dirty to be allowed in your bed, but you don't have the luxury or the will to complain.

Certainly not when he's settling down, an arm draping across your belly, very nearly distracting you from the scent in the air. His usual leathery scent, mixed with something a little bit sweet, a little bit warm, and entirely you.

"For now," you croak after a moment. The simple motion of shifting to lay on your side has the room rolling again, like some kind of fucked up hamster ball.

On its own selfish volition, your hand begins to wander. Gliding up Rhett's naked chest, feeling the groove of muscle and roaming over the old tattoo lurking just below his right collarbone. It's almost strange to think of how it was brand new when you first met him, so fresh that he'd yelped when you ran straight into each other.

You shouldn't allow it, but you can't resist wandering down his belly, exploring the soft muscles of his belly, only stopped by the elastic waistband peeking out from below his pants. It's impossible to miss the bulge tenting his jeans, such a sight that it almost makes his obnoxiously large belt buckle look averagely sized.

You wish you were as familiar with his body as he is yours.

"It ain't that I don't want ya too," Rhett must be able to read minds because he's already jumping onto your train of thought, "'m still worried I might..."

Lose control. You know. This conversation seems to arise every time you have a little fun together. The dangers of an alpha who gets too carried away and leaves behind too much evidence of your private rendezvous.

"What if that's what I want?" You say it so firmly. Confident.

You want him and everything that comes with him. The Abbott name, the not-so-glamourous life of being mated or even married to a man like him. Hell, you want the dirt that tracks in on his boots, the stench of sweat that clings to him after a long day at work, and the horse he's dragged to three different ranches so far. No other mare will do. Only his.

"'s what I want, too," his hand curls around yours, delicately guiding it up to his chest, where he can crane his head down and kiss your knuckles. "Shame everyone would be able to smell me on ya. Think I'd kill to be there when they realize their special little omega got mounted by some grimy ol' cowboy."

"You're not grimy," it's only after you say it that the memories come flooding in. Dirt clinging to his jaw and neck, all the times he hasn't been able to finger you due to some crude, black substance clinging to his nails. That one time, when he came back covered in a thin layer of mud, muttering something about heifers and tagging a damn calf. "...most of the time."

If it's not the moaning that's going to get you caught, surely it'll be the fit of giggles that squeeze out of the cracks in the door frame.

The roar of a rodeo crowd never fails to remind you of why Rhett does this. Feet stomping on the metal flooring of the bleachers. Hands clapping in a thundering applause. Unafraid to shout and jeer as the numbers on the scoreboard count up.

Four seconds. The bull's head twists to the left. Back legs kicking high into the air. A plume of dirt kicks up.

Five seconds. Rhett's right hand bobs in the air. Torn between the sheer will to keep up for the judges and the overwhelming instinct to use it to steady himself.

Six. Your breath fogs in front of your face. Shouting Rhett's name. As if doing so could possibly help him hold on.

Seven. The scream of the crowd is rising now. Booming voices and cowbells so loud that you can no longer hear the beat of your heart in your ears.

Eight. The buzzer sounds. Artificial flames burst from above the chutes.

You blink, and he's off the bull. The bullfighters are scurrying like ants. Rhett's scooping his hat up off the ground. Spinning around to face the scoreboard just as the rankings make their switch. You think the crowd may have preemptively exploded into celebration because they're cheering and hollering before you've even realized what the screen says.

1. Rhett Abbott 89.5

You've got to read it twice before you finally understand what that means. He's moving on to the finals next week.

And lord, does he know it.

Fist pounding against his vest so hard that his hair shakes with every strike, jolted by his own strength. Mouth open. Shouting something that doesn't make it past the arena fences, his wide eyes scanning the bleachers, slowly drifting until they seem to lock with yours.

It's impossible; he's so far away that you can hardly see his features. But he's looking at you, and he's grinning, waving a big hand toward a building lurking just behind the chutes. You've only been to these particular rodeo grounds once, but you've seen that gesture enough times to know what he's asking and that you don't have to head over there right now.

You won't see him until after he's had his five-minute shower. When he's had time to scrub the adrenaline out of his system and doesn't run the risk of knocking you off your feet by scent alone.

Do you still regret letting him know that he almost sent you into heat once? Yes.

A lot.

Though it can't be all that bad. Not when you and your newly acquired chili cheese fries have the pleasure of stumbling across a hell of a scene. Wet, unruly curls and a thin white t-shirt that's ever so slightly too small, clinging to every muscle and curve of his chest, biceps bulging from beneath the restrictive fabric. You can see his tattoo right through it, that bucking bull as prominent as ever.

A pair of green eyes squint back at you, attached to wavy blonde curls and glimmering lip gloss. She's not the only one batting her long lashes at Rhett and twisting her hair between her delicately manicured fingertips; there's a brunette giggling along next to her. A barrel racer done up in purple plaid to your left, another girl in glasses wearing a rodeo hoodie, and those are just the ones that you've noticed.

All of you are so different in nature, and yet, you have the same end goal: Rhett Abbott.

He'll come when he realizes you're here; you know he will, but hell if this influx of attention doesn't make your stomach twist. Technically, Rhett isn't yours. He can pick any one of these starry-eyed onlookers and never be happier. At least they'll never hold him to the constant strain of being with an omega.

Something plops atop your head, so big that it falls into your eyes.

"Whatcha starin' at?" There's that familiar voice that you've become so accustomed to, rumbling from somewhere behind your right shoulder. A familiar scent greets your senses: warm, twisted with the woodsy aroma of body wash, and...something else. A faint musk that makes your nose feel funny.

With the back of your hand, you push his hat up, peering at him from beneath the rim, "I was thinking."

Rhett's head tilts to the side. "'bout?"

Something tells you that you weren't supposed to see the swift flicker of his gaze. Down to the forgotten snack in your hands, then back up to your face as if nothing ever happened. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip.

"How I'm gonna explain where I've been all night," it's the weakest lie told this century, but you're covering up for it by lifting your container of fries. "Want some?"

If he catches on to the waver in your voice, then he doesn't mention it, too busy fighting off the little grin working its way onto his handsome face, still clinging to that stoic alpha demeanor that you both know he doesn't have.

One of these days, he'll figure out that his fluttering eyelashes are giving away his true emotions, almost excited to reach and take two of your fries. Cheese drips as he lifts them, so artificial that it hardly even counts as dairy, the perfect match to those greasy gas station snacks that he's been serenading you with.

"Y' weren't out here waitin' too long, were ya?" Talking in between bites, sauce clinging to his lips like an absurd gloss.

Your head shakes, cowboy hat jostling back and forth with the motion. "Only about a minute or two."

A pair of sour faces twist your way, surveying the competition. If there even is one. Rhett doesn't so much as spare them a glance. Preoccupied with you lifting his beloved hat off your head and pressing his cheesy lips to your temple like this is some kind of normal thing between you two.

"Hey!" You squeal, but Rhett's already on the move, dodging your light-hearted swat and shoving a stolen fry into his mouth.

He'd ought to consider himself lucky that he's got those big, blue eyes to get himself out of trouble. With that big laugh that bounces around your head for far longer than it should, enough to make you a little bit dizzy.

"I thought you were worried about..." pausing to swipe at the residue with the back of your hand, wiping away his sloppy kiss, "you know, people seeing?"

Your people seeing. Or hearing. Or even catching the slightest whiff that you're entertaining the very idea of someone who wasn't at last night's party.

But Rhett just shakes his head, that stupid smile prominent as ever. "Ain't no-one to recognize us out here."

...huh.

"So you're not worried if I..." Taking one step forward. Then another, until you're nose to nose, so close that you can almost taste the mint of his toothpaste. "Do this?"

His forehead thunks against yours. "Not one bit."

Kissing Rhett Abbott has always been a dream, but kissing him in public is another whirlwind entirely. The rose-tinted novelty of cementing who he belongs to, whose arms you're meant to fit into, and all of those shallow things that onlookers really couldn't give a damn about. They don't care about the strong arms that wind around your waist, the palm that flattens against the curve of your spine. How difficult it is to blindly hold your fries off to the side, trying your best not to crush them between your bodies.

As quickly as he'd leaned in, Rhett draws away, nose wrinkled.

"What?" Is there something on your breath? Melted cheese somewhere on your face?

But he just shakes his head, leaning in for another kiss. "Nothin'."

It must have been something in the wind because he doesn't make another mention of it again. His nose doesn't even twitch when you drift past the food trucks, all lined up in the front section of the parking lot, with their fried snacks, greasy meals, and sugar-filled treats that ought to make anyone drool.

You've only just finished your fries, but you've already caught sight of another truck, white in color, selling something that you don't know the name of but smells like heaven itself. There's no reason for your stomach to be growling, but it sings its little tune regardless of all the things you've snacked on this afternoon. Shame that you left your wallet in the truck and spent the last of your cash on those fries.

Why are you so hungry today?

"See somethin' ya want?" Rhett's voice is damn near the only thing that can pull you out of your stupor.

"I don't need it," really, you don't. You've already had three things from here; if anything, another greasy snack is the last thing that you need. There's food at home.

But Rhett's already taking you by the hand, drawing his wallet from his back pocket, and it's just so hard to deny his firm offer to get you anything you want. The food tastes exactly how it smells: warm and easy on the tongue. Your spare glance at the folks selling fried dessert has him bringing over two plates of it. Maybe it's something he wanted, or maybe he's eating it just to make you feel better, you're not sure, but it's gone in minutes.

In the time it takes to walk to the truck, you've acquired a bag of handmade candy, sweet and wonderful, aside from the bizarrely tart green ones that Rhett insists he likes. White lie or not, you're just happy that you won't be accidentally popping one into your mouth again.

"You're sure ya don't want anythin' else?" The squeal of the passenger door almost covers up his question. One of these days, he'll figure out a solution that'll last for longer than a week.

"I'm sure," though if he gives you an hour, you've got a feeling that the answer will be different. For now, your stomach is so full that you almost wonder how you manage to climb into the truck, the slightest bit dizzy from all that sugar and grease.

Or maybe it's from something else because it doesn't seem to be fading. If anything, it seems to be getting worse, the cars in the parking lot spinning around your head like you're in a cartoon. Even the subtle sway of the truck as Rhett gets in the driver's seat is enough to worsen it.

You can't see it, but you can feel his eyes on you. "I don't think..." That's your voice...but you never planned on talking? What are you trying to say?

Somehow, you've gotten yourself into the middle seat. Close enough for Rhett to loop his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. He's so warm that you melt like ice on a summer day, head falling against his chest, the thump of his heartbeat loud in your ear.

"Sweetheart..." his lips brush against your temple, some little thing that sends a shiver down your spine. "You feelin' okay?"

"Dizzy." Concluding before you've even realized what he's asked. "Why?"

A hand curls around your cheek, urging you to nuzzle closer as if you could possibly need any more encouragement. You're already starting to wedge yourself into the crook of his neck, right where his scent is the strongest. The little gland hidden there has a thicker sheen to it than usual, glistening even in the barely there light.

"Rhett?" You try again, and this time, you might have a little more control over what your body is doing.

His jaw scratches the top of your head, sucking in a long, audible breath. "Your heats startin'."

No, that doesn't make sense. Why would...why would your heat be starting? This isn't your first rodeo; you would have recognized the signs if it was coming on. The mood swings, the sudden onset of clinginess, the sudden bouts of lightheadedness that leave you stumbling, the insatiable hunger right at the cusp of—

"Oh."

You don't even feel your face fall. Or maybe you do, and you're just too distracted with the sting of wateriness building in your eyes, distorting your vision, and already trying to spill over. No. No, no, no, no. This can't be your heat. You've always had them toward the middle of spring, never late autumn. That doesn't—that doesn't make sense. Why would it start now?

"Hey, hey," it's not until Rhett starts talking that you realize you've been muttering your thoughts out loud.

Problem is, you don't care that he's heard you. How are you supposed to when there's the looming possibility that you're never going to see him again? Doesn't he remember? You've got to choose someone before your heat starts, or else your parents will choose for you!

"I ain't goin' anywhere yet," he's pulling you in, both arms wrapped tight around you, and even the awkward angle cannot distract you from the shiver that's settling into your bones.

"I don't want you to go anywhere at all!" You don't mean to cry out like a child, but it happens anyway, pitchy and breaking in the middle.

Rhett doesn't open his mouth again. He can't. The Abbotts may have a reputation for being able to repair anything they get their hands on, but there's nothing Rhett can say or do to fix this. All he can do is keep pulling you close until he's leaning back against the door, and you're settled up on top of him, with not an inch of space left between.

Maybe if you don't move, time won't tick by so quickly.

The one bad thing about time is that it does pass, regardless of what you have to say on the matter. Because eventually, that time does come when Rhett has no choice but to start his truck; there's an hour's drive ahead of you, and red flags will begin waving if you come home in a full-blown heat.

For the first time in a while, you see Rhett's speedometer five miles below the speed limit, uncaring of the impatient vehicles blaring the horns. Doesn't get riled up when some asshole drives by flipping him off, hardly even fusses when the guy merges too early and nearly clips the front of his truck.

All he's worried about is taking as much time as he can, keeping that arm around you for as long as he can manage. Only draws away to handle sharp turns but quickly returns soon after, and frankly, you don't even care about chiding him for his risky driving.

There's some dumb, sad song droning on the radio when he finally puts the truck into park, and it may be dark in this truck, but you can still see the wateriness brimming his eyes. You know it because you have that same glassiness, too.

You've got a million and one things you could say, and yet, you can't bring yourself to say a single one of them. There's no point in it; this is probably the last time you'll ever see him. Unmated, at the very least.

The front door opens before you can utter a single word. Don't know who it is, nor do you care.

Rhett's forehead presses against yours, mouth opening, then clamping shut just as quickly. Can't say anything either. But then he leans his head down, temple rubbing against yours, and it's the closest thing to a goodbye that either of you can manage. This short, unspoken thing; rubbing his scent on you for both the first and the last time.

Either something about him was warding off the vicious beginnings of your heat, or the very smell of him threw you off the deep end because you hardly make it into your bedroom before the dizziness takes hold again. Feet dragging across the floor, forced to guide yourself with a hand against the wall while someone else shouts their recognition to the whole goddamn world.

By the time you get your door closed, they're already muttering about which Tillerson to choose for you. Luke or Trevor? Who is the most worthy of selling you off to, like a piece of meat?

The dizziness takes over before you've even made it to the bed.

If heaven can be a moment, then this must be hell.

Waking up is always the worst. A dull, incessant throbbing deep in your bones, the edges of your vision blurry enough to give you the worst tunnel vision you've ever had the displeasure of experiencing. Sleeping on the floor has done you no favors, leaving a stiffness in the left side of your body that definitely was not there before.

It's almost enough to distract from the obscene wetness between your legs. A clear fluid that stains the crotch of your pants and has left a big spot on the floor itself.

"Maybe sleeping on the floor was worth it..." you mutter as you push yourself to your feet. Cleaning slick out of a mattress is much harder than those YouTube tutorials cropped it out to be; you'll be able to clean that before another wave of dumbness washes over.

The wipes in your bathroom are enough to take care of it, taking it off the hardwood with ease. Leaves you with more time to figure out what to do about these pants, if you're committing to trying another heat while fully dressed, or if a nightgown, while uncomfortably exposing, will be easier to handle.

Your instincts are itching at you to build a nest, but is it even worth it, all things considered? If everyone has their way, you'll be shipped off to some alpha's house by the end of the night. First with a weekend bag, then the rest of your things once the heat fades.

And what's that sitting on your windowsill?

It's an amalgamation of color: dark red, beige, navy blue, balled up inside of something gray. Hell, even when you're looking at it through the glass, you haven't the slightest clue what it is. Leaves you with no choice but to peel open the window and—

A familiar scent strikes your nose.

Rhett.

These are his shirts. Wrinkled and warm from the sun, and oh, they smell exactly like him. You can't help but squeeze the whole bundle to your chest, shamelessly burying your face into them. He must have spent the whole night rubbing on these like one of those overly friendly cats.

It's about that time of the morning when he puts his horse up in the pen while he helps with the usual barn maintenance, but you don't see her anywhere. The other horses are there: two palominos, a paint, and a handful of chestnuts, but that sturdy little black mare is nowhere to be found.

Must have put her around the other side.

Something crinkles inside of these clothes, deep down in the center of them. You know what it is before you've even unraveled the mess of fabric. Snacks. Your favorite chips, a candy bar, and the hard candies that you didn't realize you left in his truck. A torn piece of paper has been tucked into the candy bar wrapper.

Don't forget to eat :)

Such a simple message shouldn't have tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, but it does, and as much as you'd like to blame it on your heat, you know that's not the case. Funny how even the bare minimum can look like the greatest act of kindness when your heart is torn in two.

Between the impending doom that is the rest of your life and the next wave of your heat coming along, you've got no appetite. That was the whole point of your inability to feel full last night, your body's futile attempt at stocking up on calories before it devolved into a weeklong period of craving nothing but sex, and knots, and alphas, and skin contact, and everything else under that umbrella.

Still, you eat it.

It's not so bad when you manage to convince your heat brain that Rhett's little note was growled into your ear, an order that you cannot possibly disobey. Snacking on the candy bar when you climb out of the shower, taking bites in between your routine, finishing it off when you settle into bed with one of those flannels. Storm clouds are rolling in, and they're doing nothing to ward off the sleepiness your heat is bringing on.

Your impromptu nap is interrupted by the impromptu barging in of someone letting you know that Trevor Tillerson has been chosen as your alpha. He'll be here sometime around nine to pick you up and take you to some fancy resort that he's rented just for the two of you. Somewhere far, far away from Wabang and the dark clouds looming overhead.

If you had a choice in the matter, maybe it would be romantic.

The chips get you through a bout of doom scrolling on your cellphone until your face begins to feel hot, and you're rudely reminded that you've got to pack while you still can. A righteous pain in the ass that does nothing but frustrate you to no end.

How are you meant to shove a week's worth of clothes into so few bags? On your heat, no less, the one time when you'll be soaking through most of your garments! And your laptop, where the hell do you shove that? Between the shirts? Do you even bother with these shorts?

"Why am I doing this?" You mutter it as if you've got a choice in the matter, idly pawing at your spinning head.

At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. A life with everything you could ever want. Endless vacations and money to spend on anything you want because you were born an omega, and such a rare thing deserves only the best. You'd had it in your head that you'd find the person of your dreams dressed up in a suit worth more than your entire family ranch.

But you just had to run right into the Abbott family's youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you've ever known.

Now, here you are.

Your parents have invested hundreds of hours and an insurmountable amount of money into luring in alphas. They've made friendships with the families of your suitors and formed expectations for the outcome of your life that no longer align with your desires. You're in so deep that a simple 'no' will not suffice. Especially not when Rhett comes into the deal.

A sourness blossoms in your chest, spreading into your lower belly like a plague, gut-twisting and churning as if you're about to be sick. There's an invisible hand squeezing around your heart, so tight that it just might burst, but you don't feel nauseous. Not one bit, and maybe that's got something to do with the blurring of your vision.

"Rhett," whining. Rhett. You want Rhett. Here. Right now.

That dizziness is growing worse. A foreign heat spreads deep in your inner thighs, flushing to superheat the rest of your body, but your face feels cold, and something wet is spilling across your cheeks. Tears fall quicker than the rain pattering against your window. A never-ending stream that has you hiccuping, frantically sucking in breaths of air that never quench the ache in your throat.

It is the whim of your own frantic hand that leads you to grab your phone. Scrolling through your contacts until you land on the fuzzy shape of a name that you've seen enough times for it to be familiar.

It rings.

And it rings.

...and it rings.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system," that robotic voice drones through the speaker, already beginning to ramble off the digits of Rhett's phone number.

Maybe he didn't get to the phone in time. Yeah, that's got to be it. You'll try again. He'll pick up this time.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system."

Thunder rumbles outside, heavy enough to shake the house, rattling the knick-knacks on the shelves and sending slick rushing down your thighs. Sticky and burning, and oh god, your head is spinning like you're on a fucking merry-go-round.

Someone's knocking at your door, the distorted sound of your name dancing through the room. Whether or not you respond, you've got no idea, but they're responding as if you did.

"Trevor is here," her voice is oddly familiar, but a face isn't coming to mind.

"I need..." shaking your head, rattling a coherent thought into place. "I need...a little bit longer to pack."

Silence. And then, quietly, "Okay." Footsteps echo through the hallway and then dissolve into nothing.

You can't see. The colors of your room merge together into a sea of splotches, a fire burning up in your chest, the embers reaching all the way up into your skull. White and black, and gray and a spot of green that you just know is the call button. Your thumb darts across the screen. Tapping once. Nothing. Then a little lower.

The screen color changes.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system." Whether or not you manage to press 'end call,' you have no idea. All you know is that the screen color has changed.

He turned off his phone. It didn't even ring before sending you to voicemail this time; he doesn't want to talk to you.

Maybe he's already found company in one of those girls from last night's rodeo. Or maybe he's entirely decided that it isn't worth entertaining you anymore, not even in the slightest. But that doesn't explain why he's left you some of his flannels, like the one that you're pulling off the bed.

His scent has already begun to fade, but as you bury your nose into the fabric, it smells as if he's really here. A little bit of focus is all it takes for you to convince yourself that he's right next to you. A big shield, curled around you, right here on the floor. How his jaw would tickle your neck as he rests his head on your shoulder, waiting until you're ready to get up and run off into the sunset with him.

Hell, if only it were that easy.

If you were to take off on your own, right here and right now, you wouldn't make it out of Wabang. You can't smell them, but every alpha in town will pick up on the pheromones wafting off of you, and you're in no state to defend yourself.

Even without the heat, you wouldn't be safe. So long as your neck remains bare, you run the risk of being seen as a piece of meat to others, both alpha and beta. One little nip is all it would take for someone to bond you to them forever; so simple that someone can run up from behind and do it within a second.

When you open your eyes again, the world around you is a little clearer.

...strange.

Waves of your heat should last at least an hour or more, not a few minutes. Standing, even with the uneasy sway of your body, shouldn't be this easy. Yet you've got the strength to walk yourself over to the window, still open from when you took the shirts off the ledge. The wind has carried rain into the room, scattering across the floor and nearly causing you to slip. Your only saving grace is the windowsill itself, your clammy hands gripping it tight as they can.

Evidently, house shoes aren't meant to traverse the elements. Not even a little bit of water.

As if to reveal its schemes to you, the wind blows once more. Cool air kisses your burning cheeks, the only indication of how much you've already adjusted to your heat. Now, if only your eyes could do something similar and adjust to the shift in lighting.

It can't be anything past eight o'clock, but night has already fallen in its entirety, a thick blanket of black covering everything beyond the horizon. Even so, you can vaguely make out the shape of something sitting in your driveway. Blocky, but there are four bits of round metal catching in the dull light hanging outside of the barn.

Something behind it moves. Noticeably lighter than the dirt and whatever that object is.

Your eyes narrow. Fighting the urge to lean further out the window as the thing creeps across the drive. A growl rumbles out of your throat. Goosebumps prickle across your skin. It's growing closer.

Clink.

Wait a damn minute.

"Rhett?"

A laugh twists through the air with all the grace and beauty of a ballerina. "Did I hear you growlin' at me?"

"You shut off your phone when I tried calling you!" Is all your dumb, cloudy mind can come up with, pitchy and whiny like a child.

"Shh, shh, I know," there he is. The dull porch light is the only thing illuminating his handsome face.

His mouth opens like he's got something else to say, but it closes just as quickly, still searching for the right words. Then, trying again. "Ya remember what y' said in the barn 'bout runnin' away?"

"Yes, but..." pausing to look over your shoulder at the closed door before looking back at him. "What about your horse? And, and, your job and your things at the bunkhouse?"

"I got it all taken care of," he's a little closer now, enough for you to see the longer scruff clinging to his jaw. Soft. Not quite as wirey as when it's freshly shaved. "'m startin' on a ranch in Nebraska next Monday mornin'. Owner says he knows a guy with a house I can rent for us. It ain't all that much, but I—"

"Okay." You can't help yourself. He doesn't need to say another word.

His eyes flutter. "Okay." Parroting you, as if to make sure the word is what he thinks it is.

For a moment or three, it's quiet. Nothing but the crunch of dirt beneath his boots and the jingle of spurs that he's too lazy to take off. And now he's standing right in front of you, nothing but this window and a small shrub separating you. His nostrils flare, and you're certain that if it were brighter out, you'd be able to see the darkening of his pupils.

There's that smile. Sprawling across his face, wrinkling the corners of his eyes, pearly white teeth glistening like he's the star of a toothpaste commercial. Can hardly close his mouth as you lean in, lips brushing against his.

Voices echo from down the hallway, squeezing in through the cracks.

Shit.

Your feet are moving before you can even process what's happening. Scrambling across the piles of clothes that sit on your floor. Grabbing whatever you can. Shoving it into the still-open bags. T-shirts. Shoes. Loungewear. You don't know what else. What you have and what you're missing can all be sorted out later. All you know is that those voices are getting closer, and you can't get back to the window fast enough.

You're not even sure if Rhett hears them talking, but he's not wasting time by asking questions. Already pulling the duffel bag from your arms and turning back towards his truck. Lightning flickers as you run back to your bags. Heart hammering so loud that you hardly even notice the thunder that follows.

One of the voices says your name. A laugh rattles after it.

A zipper fumbles between your fingers. Climbs halfway down the track. Then catches on the hem of something sticking out. You can't see what it is.

"Fucking—" swearing under your breath. You pull it again. No give.

It'll have to do. You're already scrambling to shove the bag into Rhett's open arms. Twisting back for the last one. Phone. Where is your phone? But the room is spiraling with your movement, and your eyes feel as if they're rolling around in your skull. Vision darting every direction except for where you want it to go.

There it is. On the floor, next to his shirt. Which part of the bag are you shoving them into? You don't know.

The voices are closer. Three. Four. Five of them. Talking, laughing together as they edge near your room and your unlocked door.

"Baby." Rhett's voice cuts through your thoughts like a knife.

You don't think any time has passed, and yet, turning back to the window feels like the first time you've moved in minutes. The edges of your vision swim, merging into a haze of black as you scramble to him.

You've gotten over this window before. He's seen you do it. But as you draw a leg up and over, his hands dart out and settle on your waist. Holding you steady, like you might fall to your death if he doesn't.

Rain pelts your face like tiny bullets, freezing on your superheated skin, and the voice in your head wonders if this is what freedom feels like. The rush buzzing through your veins. The big hand that squeezes yours, the mud that kicks up under your heels as you tear down the driveway.

Wind squeals in your ears so loud that you nearly miss the clatter ring through the window. But it's too late for them to kick in the door. You're too far gone for them to catch. Because your feet are flying beneath you. And Rhett's right alongside you. And even the storm cannot conceal the glisten in his eye. The way he laughs, loud and triumphant and excited.

It's the scene that's played through your head ever since you met.

A voice calls out. Rhett splits off to slam his truck bed cover closed. You keep going.

Another one echoes through the storm. Deeper. Shouting your name.

"Stop!"

But there's no leash to hold you back. No magical lasso that they can throw out and reel you back in with. Nothing stops you from pulling on the handle of the passenger door and leaping up into the seat, scrambling to slam it shut before someone can magically appear to wedge it open.

Rhett's door squeals open. Vehicle swaying as he all but launches himself inside, fumbling for the gear shift.

The truck jerks forward, engine roaring as the tires spin. The tail end jerks to the left, then the right, then back to the left again, gunning it down the driveway.

Light pours through the front door, vaguely human blotches rushing out onto the porch. Even as you twist to look out the rear window, they're nothing more than tiny spots of color, growing smaller and smaller. The headlights of a truck flick on, but it's no use. Rhett's tires are already kissing the pavement of the main road.

You blink, and the house is gone; you might as well be a million and one mile away.

Rhett's head turns, just as yours does, eyes locking for the briefest of seconds. A little rumble of something escapes him, and it must be contagious because something a giggle is bubbling out of you, boiling into laughter.

"That was," his mouth fumbles through his smile, "not how I planned it."

"What, were you hoping to get shot at, too?" Slow, you turn to settle back into the seat, wedged between him and the duffel bag crammed against the passenger door.

Something sharp stabs in your lower belly. So sudden that it has your knees knocking together, eyes squeezing shut. As quickly as it happened, a wave of heat curls into its place, an uncomfortable wetness appearing between your legs.

A hand appears on your thigh. Hot. Clammy. "You okay?"

"Heat." Is all you can say.

That's all it is, really. Cramps. The one thing that manages to be worse than your heat itself. You can handle the overwhelming craving for an alpha between your legs, stretching you to your limit as he knots you over and over and over.

Ugh. You can't be thinking of this right now.

Just like how you shouldn't be slouching to your left, cheek squishing Rhett's shoulder, big and warm, and right where he tends to spray his cologne. Faint from a day of wear, but there's still a peppery note lingering on him, overwhelmed by...something you can't describe.

Something that makes the tip of your nose feel numb.

Odd. It was there last night, too, but you don't recall it appearing any other time before that. There was certainly no trace of it in the barn or when he snuck into your bedroom afterward. Maybe your heat has warped your sense of smell again; it wouldn't be the first time.

Rhett's foot shifts from the gas, gently pressing against the brakes for an upcoming red light, fingers audibly drumming against the steering wheel.

Something white rolls across the floorboard, tiny somethings rattling around inside. Tumbling toward the front of the truck, then falling back to thunk against the toe of your muddy hose shoe.

"'s just some vitamins," Rhett mutters, kicking them with his foot, sending the bottle thunking against the passenger door, cap popping open. A myriad of long, round blue pills spill out, decorating the floor.

Huh.

You've never seen blue vitamins before, their pastel color seeming to glow in the lights hanging overhead, Wabang's feeble attempt at keeping the darkness of night at bay. Curious, you lean down and reach out for the container. Your fingertips brush against the plastic on your first try, depth perception warped by the haze of your heat, but you get it on the second attempt.

Suppressants for Alphas only 250MG Rut Suppressants.

Your head turns to Rhett. His eyes dart from the label. To yours. Then, back to the road.

The pieces click together so perfectly that you can hear them falling into place. Resonating through your empty skull until every fiber of your psyche echoes the same thing.

"You started your rut," it slips out of your mouth like it's a scientific breakthrough. A discovery that will be written in the history books for millennia.

His Adam's apple bobs, swallowing hard. A pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Didn't want ya thinkin' that was my reason for all this."

"I wouldn't have thought that Rhett," reaching for the hand that still rests on your thigh, fingers slotting between his, lightly squeezing it in your grasp.

But his head just shakes, foot twitching against the gas pedal. The truck lurches, finally beginning to pull through that traffic light. "'s my fault your heat started."

"I know." You already put that together. It explains everything: the odd timing and the sudden onset of it at the rodeo. That funny scent he's been wearing...it was from the pills.

He looks at you again, teeth worrying his bottom lip, already swollen from the abuse. First, the licking, now the chewing. If you give it a minute, he'll start rubbing at them with his fingertips. For now, those heavy eyes dart back to the road. Guilty. "'n you're not upset 'bout that?"

You're not entirely sure what to say to him. That the timing may be inconvenient, but you're happy to be here with him, running after a fever dream that might or might not work out? Do you admit that you wish this would have happened sooner?

So many thoughts, and yet, not a word drifts down to your tongue. Instead, all you can think to do is this. Leaning over, left arm crammed between your bodies, as your right squirms across his belly, squeezing him. A poor attempt at a hug, but he softens under your touch all the same.

"It's not your fault," you murmur after a moment. The world around you is beginning to twist again, warping into a familiar blur, makes it hard to move your mouth. "You wouldn't hold it against me if my heat triggered your rut. Why would it be any different the other way around?"

You don't feel him move, but his lips find their way to your temple, lingering for a fleeting second. They would likely stay longer if driving didn't demand so much of his attention, hand idly working the steering wheel as you rumble through Wabang. If anyone has followed you this far, then surely they'll lose you here; too many winding streets for them to maintain a trail.

There's a part of you that wonders if you fell asleep because the next time your eyes open, the road is different. One moment, you're in town, and the next, you're on a dark, four-lane highway merely illuminated by the vivid beams of his headlights.

Or maybe...maybe it's just two lanes because the lights on the dash seem to have doubled. Blurry and out of focus, no matter how much you try to blink your vision back into clarity. Shifting in the seat, you lift your head.

And immediately let it thunk back onto Rhett's shoulder, vision twisting as if you've spent the past thirty minutes spinning in circles. "Ugh."

"There you are," Rhett hums. His hand drops down to squeeze your knee, giving it a little shake. "Did you know that ya snore?"

"I do not!" Your squeal comes out as a hoarse croak. So foreign in your mouth that you hardly recognize it.

An invisible bolt of lightning fires up your belly.

Slick pools between your legs, staining your underwear and seeping down to your thighs. There's a shiver in your bones that wasn't there before, wavering like a leaf in high wind, without rhyme or reason. And there's this deep set ache in your lower stomach, reaching all the way to your weeping cunt, almost sore from lack of use, demanding attention that your fingers can't satisfy.

"What's wrong?" Rhett's voice meets your ears like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day.

Shame that it can't ward off the wave of cramps thundering through your lower belly. "Hurts,"

"Jus' a few more miles, 'kay?" His arm lifts, draping across your weary shoulders like a blanket. It's a fleeting touch that'll be forced to end at the next curve in the road, but it's nice to slouch into, head coming to rest against the side of his chest. Thin muscle flexes under your cheek, stretched so tightly that you can feel the bone lurking underneath.

You wonder if he's just naturally built so wirey or if he'll be one of those alpha's that grow bulkier with a mating bond. It's hard to figure it out without being familiar with his family; if you knew the Abbotts personally, then maybe you'd have heard the stories of it happening with his father or brother. Maybe even a grandparent.

On its own, your hand shifts, crawling to rest on his knee. It's just as bony as the rest of him, and yet, conceals just enough muscle to cling onto the backs of those bulls. They're invisible at first glance, but if you squeeze, you can feel the softness of them, wrapped around hard bone.

"Are you feelin' me up?" He chuckles, wiggling his leg back and forth as if to try and shake you off.

Well, you weren't yet, but now that he's put the idea in your head...

Rhett sucks in a breath. His hips jerk, the truck lurching as his foot spontaneously presses against the pedal. You've felt him in your palm before, but fuck you don't remember him being this thick, twitching under the slightest bit of pressure.

"Wait," he grunts. That arm is already slipping out from behind your shoulder, big hand encircling your wrist.

Maybe you should have asked first. "Did I—"

"No. God no," talking so fast that he stumbles over his words, "just...hurts."

And yet, he makes no move to draw your hand away, letting it remain there as he focuses on keeping the truck on the road, grip so firm that you're almost certain he won't let you pull back. It's all you can do to ignore the way he throbs through his jeans, pulsing against your soft palm, testing the will of the zipper confining him.

It must take a year for him to begin turning off onto an exit, dark and poorly lit by a scattered array of frail lamp posts. The road thins, and all of a sudden, neon flickers to life—a hotel sign. Logo written in such gaudy cursive that you can hardly read its name.

A whine rattles out of you, squirming impossibly closer.

There's a blip in your memory.

You don't remember when he pulled into the parking lot or when you got out of the truck. But the air is cool around your ankles, and his arm is tight around your waist, forcing you to remain upright. You can't feel your feet moving, but you're stumbling along next to him anyway, head hanging low, too heavy for the rest of your body.

"Where...?"

"Almost there." His voice is on your left. Damn this stupid heat, why was that such a surprise to you?

A shrill beep sounds. Green flashes.

A bed.

It's as if a switch has flipped. The door falls shut behind you, but your feet are glued to the floor; the edges of your vision still twist, but the world around you has become noticeably...still. Surreal, even. Any moment now, you're waiting to blink away the sight of this drab little hotel and find yourself standing in the four familiar walls of your bedroom.

But as you lift your head, gaze crawling up Rhett's chest like a hungry animal, that doesn't happen. The sight of him doesn't begin to fade, his body remaining firm against yours, even as your eyes dare to meet.

According to the romance novels and the films you've spent so much time watching, you're supposed to be the disheveled one here. Hell, maybe you are. But those films never depicted how pretty an alpha can be when their rut has set in. Freshly bitten lips, messy hair, and rosy cheeks, gazing at you with those glistening eyes. It's as if you hold his entire world in the palm of your hand.

Slow, you twist, careful to mind where your numb feet fall, greedy hands roaming up the thick expanse of his chest, sculpted from a lifetime of back-breaking labor. Then, wandering up his neck, slowing to feel the vein bulging there, chasing it up into the soft hair clinging to his jaw. Your thumb swipes across his bottom lip, watching how it squishes under the pressure.

His eyelashes flutter; you wonder if he was a butterfly in his past life, still clinging to old habits. It's a question you'll have to ask him later when you're not halfway into leaning in and catching those thin lips in yours.

There goes your head again, swirling 'round and 'round, set into motion by the hum that rattles out of him. One little peck. Your hands drop back down to feel the swell of his chest. A second. His arms begin to wind around you. A third, and the heel of his palm is pressing into the small of your back, and you're crumpling.

It's like a freshly knocked-over candle. The smokey leather of his scent, haunted by the fading chemical that temporarily overrode the pheromones radiating off of him. Invisible to the nose at first, but the fire is already beginning to spread until it's roaring so bright that you reckon flames might come out of your ears.

Your arms coil around his thin waist, cinching him in with a strength you thought you'd lost. A stray foot slots between yours, his chest pushing into you, and the room is spinning. Caught by a mattress that squeals and bounces with your combined weight, unprepared for such a landing.

"You 'megas sure get strong when ya want somethin'," Rhett's hair tickles your forehead as he settles on top of you. Perfectly slotted between your parted legs, jeans deliciously rough against your exposed thighs, pajama shorts hardly doing anything to conceal you.

A little too curious, your hips roll, eager to find out if you can feel the bulge of his cock.

You can.

Worse. He felt it too, already beginning to swivel forward, a foreign pressure appearing against your weeping cunt. Something jolts up your spine. Doesn't necessarily hurt; more of a reminder of what you don't have.

"Like you're so innocent in all this," your words come out rushed, riding the coattails of a shaky breath.

He doesn't have anything to say to that, maybe a little shy as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek. A stark contrast to the bold hips that press into you, so eager and desperate to feel you. It's like the first time you crossed that boundary, ground down on each other until neither could take it anymore.

Except, this time, you've no reason to stop there.

No family. No concern about high-dollar alphas or uncomfortable, fashionable outfits. These peeling walls couldn't care less about who you coil your legs around. This bed isn't going to fuss at you for spreading your legs to a scruffy ranch hand without a pedigree.

You're the only one who cares about the way he guides himself with his nose, blindly wandering back to meet your mouth. Kisses you with all the fervor of a man who's just found everything he's ever wanted.

His hands are everywhere, cradling your face, skirting down your sides, and wandering up under your shirt, callouses catching on the soft skin of your belly as he roams beneath. Then he's above your shirt again, dragging up the swell of your breasts, on his way to grip your jaw.

It's so hard to stay still. Your fingers find their way to his flannel, already trying to work it open. It's so much harder with your eyes closed, shivering hands struggling to remain still. Fuck, this button just doesn't want to move. Stubbornly caught in the hole, refusing to slip through, even as you pull—

It snaps off. Lands atop your heaving chest. Rhett draws back, already looking down at it.

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be." The corner of his lip lifts, flashing a sharp canine. Cocky, as he reaches for the shirt, buttons flying as he yanks it open. "'s kinda hot."

And just like that, he's leaning back onto his haunches, hands skimming down your sides until his fingers can comfortably hook under your shorts. Obedient, your hips lift, knees cinching up to help get them past your ankles. They're gone in an instant, underwear and all.

Is he trying to take his time? Probably.

Does that stop you from impatiently pinching his belt buckle open and yanking on the zipper? No. No, it does not.

"Alright, alright," only Rhett Abbott can laugh this prettily, cherry red cheeks and all. "'n here I am tryin' to be a gentleman."

You and your swirling head know that he has to pull away to get those jeans off. They need to come off, but you're already whining for him to come back. Some primal, involuntary noise that you don't recall making before, pathetic as a wounded animal.

Rhett's head jerks up. "It's okay, it's okay," he's already coming back. You knew he would, but the dumb part of your brain argues that he wouldn't have unless you made that pitiful little noise.

But regardless of the reason, his big, warm body is slotting between your legs, his big chest flexing as he crawls up to meet your mouth. It hardly even counts as a kiss, more of a pressure that serves to remind you he's there. He's here. With you, and he's not going anywhere else.

"I ain't goin' anywhere," he murmurs as if he's heard every silent worry racing through your dumb little mind. Can't seem to think about anything except for him and his scent and the feel of him against you and what he might be doing next.

His head dips, nuzzling you with his temple. It's the simplest damn thing, but hell, if it doesn't suck the air right out of your lungs. The innately primal drag of his scent glands against your skin, marking you like a prize he's fought tooth and nail to keep. Perfect in every sense of the term, everything you've imagined and more.

You don't know what made your eyes drift down, but one way or another, they do, and—

"Jesus, Rhett." You've been anticipating this going a number of ways, but good lord, you didn't have this on your laundry list of ideas, what-ifs, and daydreams.

Even when you were greedily decorating your imaginary version of him, you never quite pictured his cock to be this fucking thick. So damn heavy that it hangs between his legs, hovering just above your belly, the faintest swell of his knot already beginning to show.

His chuckle almost sounds devilish; knows damn well what he's got and what it could do to you. "Don't think much of me is gonna fit." Understatement of the fucking century.

No wonder he never let you touch him; he probably thought it would scare you away. In your right mind, maybe it would, but you can almost feel the hearts blossoming in your eyes, already beginning to reach for him. Your hand freezes midway—maybe you should ask first. He still might not...

He's gently taking you by the wrist, guiding you the rest of the way. This is your first ride in this particular rodeo, but your fingers wrap around his base as if you've been doing it for decades. Oh, he's so much bigger than he looked, makes your hand appear tiny as it glides up the length of him. It's enough to have your heart jumping in your chest, pitter-pattering with a newfound vigor.

Wetness pools between your legs. So much of it that you can feel the way it runs down your thighs, and you just can't help but angle him down, dragging his fat cock head through your weeping folds.

He groans.

Your vision blurs.

The world might fall apart.

A sudden shiver takes hold of you. Quaking like you're being rattled from the inside out, another wave of slick drooling out of your poor, unused cunt, delirium settling at the forefront of your mind. Saliva drips from the corner of your mouth, the edges of your vision blurring to the point of disappearing entirely.

"Shit..." One of you says it. You're not sure who.

It's as if you're the gasoline and Rhett is the lighter, setting you ablaze with the slightest hint of a flame. You don't realize you're still wearing a shirt until after it's peeled over your head, and even then, the loss of it does nothing to soothe the invisible wildfire claiming every inch of your skin.

Oh, and you think he might have it as bad as you do. Noses and chests crashing together, pinning your arm between your bellies, his cock rutting against your cunt like it's always belonged there. He whines into your mouth, jerking forward, the underside of his length massaging against your swollen clit.

"Fuckin'..." he loses track of his words, panting against your mouth like a dog in the sun, "hell, 'm tryna go slow, but—"

Your body jerks up off the bed. Desperate. Needy. Aching for more than just a brush of him against you. The slow glide of him isn't enough. More. You need so much more. But it's hard to speak when your mouths clash, tongues tangling so sloppily that calling it a kiss would be an insult to the word.

"Go." Panting against his lips. "Slow." One more word. One more word. "Later."

Rhett draws back, spit-slick lips glistening in the light. The corner of his eye twitches. As if set off by it, you involuntarily clamp down around nothing, needily seeking something that isn't there yet. The emptiness is nauseating.

"Rhett," you plea, because why in God's name is he not in you yet?

Dumb, stupid, well-meaning alpha. Always has to be taking his time and treating you like you're made of glass, ready to shatter at any given moment. But you're made of the same material as he is, fully capable of rolling over and—

Teeth sink into the scruff of your neck. Every bone, muscle, and fiber in your body goes still. You're stuck like this. Face down, trapped beneath his body, ass high in the air for him. Big arms cage your waist, his chest resting against your back like you're a pair of wild animals—no grace or sophistication about it.

"'m tryin' to be careful with you, darlin'," his growl is muffled by your own flesh, still caught between his sharp teeth, "y' don't want me bruisin' this little pussy of yours, now do ya?"

And as if to punctuate his sentence, his hips twitch toward, cock slipping between your slick-soaked thighs. Draws back, angle shifting just enough to have his blunt tip pressing against your weeping entrance, opening you the slightest fraction, then slipping out to slide through the folds of your cunt instead.

The voice in your head suggests it's a threat. A reminder of what he's capable of. But your body says otherwise, already pressing back into him despite the teeth holding you pliant. Thick waves of want pulsing through your veins, thoughts aligning to echo the same damn thing. You need more.

A cramp takes hold of your lower belly, a stabbing sort of sensation that makes you wince. Whatever primal instinct lingering in your genetics is livid.

"It hurts." You cry in a pitchy tone you've never heard yourself use before.

"'m gonna fix it," his mouth reels away from your neck, licking over the irritated skin. "I promise."

Again, you push back. Hands digging into the bed, moving with your whole body. Sharp teeth sink back into your neck, his arms coiling around you, pulling tight until you can no longer move.

That pressure appears again, and this time, it doesn't disappear. The unmistakable sensation of his fat cock head pressing into your pussy. He feels so much different than the silicone of your toys, warm and pulsing and so much fucking thicker; you're quite literally made to take a cock like his, loose and slick with your heat, and yet there's still an ache blooming.

It feels impossible. There's no way...there's no way that's going to fit.

Oh, but the feel of his tip alone has you gushing around him, an obscene amount of slick waterfalling down your thighs and onto the mattress below. He groans, low and heavy, his heated breath tickling the back of your ear.

"Rhett..."

"I'm here," he's murmuring, and again, he's soothing the bite with his tongue. You wonder if this is what it would feel like for him to mate you. For him to sink his teeth into the scent gland on the side of your neck and let instinct take over, lick the wound clean, smother you in his scent, and then bear his pretty, pale neck for you to take for yourself.

You can't think about it for long. Not with his cock sinking into your aching heat, filling every centimeter of you, so big that he presses against each and every little nerve without needing to try. It's as if you're being split wide open, forced to do nothing but relax and take it like a good little omega.

A whimper escapes you, pitchy and involuntary. Set off by the drag of his tip against a particularly sensitive spot.

"'s that where you like it?" He coos, rumbling into your ear. It's all you can do to tilt your head back, your cheek bumping into his nose. So close, not another word spoken.

It's like being broken apart and then built back up again. Fuck you can feel him up in your throat. The stretch of him is so much that it aches. Your mouth falls open at the feel of him inching deeper and deeper, pushing the air from your lungs, winding your muscles tight. Head spinning with a gentleness that wasn't there before as if your own body knows that it no longer needs to fuss about an alphas cock.

The solid bone of his hips presses into the swell of your ass. Fully in you now. His heated breath fans out over your shoulder, heavy and carrying the faintest noises along with it.

You'd thought that you'd let go of the breath caught in your throat, but...but...

"Fuck, look at you," the soft scruff of his jaw tickles your naked shoulder, such a foreign sensation to feel him there. So unfair. You should have known this feeling years ago. "So fuckin' pretty."

His hands roam up your sides, callouses catching on the smooth skin, dragging just right. A shiver ripples up your spine, body involuntarily falling forward, only to sway back into him.

Stars sparkle. Your legs nearly come out from under you. "Shit, Rhett..."

So much. There's so much of him. In you and around you and on top of you and crowding every single one of your senses. There's no hotel. No concern about how terrible everyone at home may feel. No earth around you. Not a single star in the galaxy. Just Rhett, Rhett, Rhett.

"Move," you whisper as kisses press to the length of your spine. One after the other, like he's trying to love on each and every bone there.

You squirm forward, then back again, hardly enough to even count as a movement, but the underside of his cock drags right against a nerve that damn near takes your voice away. His hand flattens against your belly, but he doesn't hear you.

"Move," you try again, craning your head to look at him. Dark blue eyes lift, looking back at you, still peppering your back with love. "Please, Rhett—"

His hips snap into you. Pressing hard.

Your elbows crumple, falling face first into the pillow, but he just keeps fucking pressing into you, as if you could possibly take any more. A whine sparks out of you, twisting to expose your neck to him. He chuckles at that, low and dark, tongue poking past his lips to run over the delicate scent gland hiding there.

Then, slowly, he begins to move. Drawing back at a snail's pace, his forearms caging your waist as if to keep you from running away when he pushes back into you. Shivers run through your thighs, already beginning to clench from the feeling of him inside you alone.

You've dreamed of this too many times for the newness to remain for long, squirming beneath him, fighting to keep your eyes on his face. Flushed and red in the cheeks, has yet to say anything, but it's easy to tell that he's feeling it, too.

Those careful back and forths are already beginning to find their confidence, like he's slowly realizing that his cock isn't going to break you into two, no matter how much it feels like it will. Hips hitting your ass hard enough to send you jolting, a surprised little 'uh' breaking past your lips.

"Only goddamn omega in the state of Wyomin'," he muses aloud, nails dragging over the side of your ass, making you squirm against him, "n here ya are, gettin' mounted by a cowboy."

Impatient, he snaps into you. Heavy balls smacking into your clit. Electricity jumps up your belly. You hardly recognize what's happening. But you're fluttering around him. Heart lurching in your chest. Slick gushing down your thighs. Crying out as you suddenly cum on his cock. Eyes rolling back into your head and all.

"Fuck, that's...fuck," Rhett hisses through grit teeth, but he's not stopping. No, no, he's not even slowing down.

Shocks fire through your nerves with every motion. The kiss of his fat head against your nerves. The drag of his length along your trembling walls. The slight swell of a knot catching on your swollen entrance. But it feels so good that you can't do anything but hold still, clenching around him like a goddamn vice.

"Can't believe I never—mmh," his head falls forward, thunking against your shoulder, hips rolling into you in languid motions. "Can't believe I went this long without breedin' this pretty lil pussy of yours."

Air catches in your throat. Cunt sent into a spasm from his words alone. "If you keep talking, I'm...I'm..." You haven't got an ending for that sentence, left open-ended and hanging.

Kisses lead up the side of your neck, working their way to your jaw. You tilt your head, trying your best to meet him. The angle puts a strain on your neck, unable to bend any further. Even as you push your hands into the mattress and try to force yourself backward, you can't...quite...

The room shifts. Falling forward into the pillow. Rhett's heavyweight collapses on top of you. Cool air greets your swollen cunt, suddenly empty.

"Well, that didn't..." Rhett's laugh is a melody in your ear, his smile so big that you can feel it against your cheek, "that didn't work too well."

Between the emptiness in your skull and the sudden change in position, figuring out where you start and where he ends is a...challenge. He starts moving at the same time that you do. His knee awkwardly slots behind your thighs. Your knuckles accidentally smack into his jaw. And he's moving toward you, but you're twisting against the mattress, and your noses are smacking into each other—

"There's your pretty face," he grins, a little too cheerful. You've barely got time for your back to settle against the cheap mattress before he leans in.

The kiss is a little too innocent for what's going on below. Soft, chaste pecks. A sharp contrast to the way he settles between your parted legs, heavy cock bumping into you. Your hand darts between your bellies, blindly guiding him toward your sex.

It's easier the second time. The gentle glide of him, chasing away that infuriating emptiness as he sinks back into you, balls bumping into your ass. So much better. This is so much better. You're already wandering, hands roaming across the broad expanse of his shoulders, seeking the perfect spot to cling on to him.

"Look at that..." he breathes, and you don't need to guess to know what he's referring to, "gonna have y' limpin' before the nights over."

It's the kind of thing that has you shivering. The obscene sight of his thick cock disappearing between your legs stretched to your absolute limit. Impossible to look away from, even when he draws back by an inch or two, testing the angle as he sinks back in. Almost effortless, he nudges against a bundle of nerves. Sets it ablaze like a match on gasoline.

"Fuck. I can feel ya clenchin' round me, sweetheart," his eyelashes flutter, hair falling into his red face, swinging in synchrony with the lazy rocking of his body, easing in and out of you. "'s it feel that good?"

Greedy, you reach for his biceps, squishing the girth of them, muscle flexing beneath your fingertips. "Uhuh," speaking dumbly. Not another thought crosses your mind.

There can't possibly be a bad position with Rhett, but this is something else entirely. Feels so nice to wrap your legs around his hips, heels digging into his ass, clinging to his big, warm body. Chest to chest, so close that his scruffy jaw tickles your cheek, big blue eyes threatening to drown you if he gets any closer.

Your mouths fall open, meeting for another one of those kisses that insult the romantics attached to such a word. Nothing but lewd tongue and saliva running down your chins, panting into each other, breath so hot that it ought to fog up the room. And you just can't help it, not with the press of his cock against your nerves, so damn big that missing them is impossible.

He's too quiet. Stiffling little noises in the back of his throat, extinguishing them before they can make it past the tip of his tongue. One of your hands is slithering up his arm. Wandering across the expanse of his shoulders, fingers tangling into the loose curls at his nape and pulling.

A whine cuts through the air. Muffled at the end, but it's there nonetheless.

Words collide in your head. Tumbling down onto your drooling tongue. "Wanna hear you."

It should take more convincing than that, but for some reason, that's all that it takes for him to give you what you want. A little noise soars out of him with all the perfection and catchiness of the new biggest hit playing on the radio.

You think you can cum from that sound alone.

This is so surreal.

The nuzzle of his nose against yours, panting against your lips. The flex of muscle in his belly, as he draws himself back and forth, rutting into you, slow, yet meeting your body hard enough to have your back jostling against the mattress. You think you catch the sound of your name, twisted into the symphony of noises rattling around the room.

"I love you," it slips out of you with crippling ease; has been sitting on your tongue for so, so long that you forgot it was there at all.

His lips wobble up into a smile. There's a glassiness in his eye that wasn't there before. "And I love you."

He melts.

Falls into you, even.

Nothing but sweaty skin and wandering hands and peppered kisses everywhere that they'll fit. Up the side of your clammy neck, atop his burning forehead. The base of his knot is starting to swell, catching on your entrance with every stroke, tugging just enough for it to rip a gasp out of you.

"'m close," he whispers, just a little secret to be shared between you and him. Not another soul is allowed to know of this little slice of heaven situated atop this old hotel mattress. "You gotta...baby, if y' don't let me go, 'm gonna..."

"Knot." Blurting. Your eyes flutter. "Please, I want—"

He hums. Doesn't need to open his mouth for you to understand that he gets it. No fuss about the crippling lack of a condom or how you really, truly can't go back from this, instead blindly following your request with crippling loyalty. Yours. Your alpha. The one who would follow you to the ends of the earth without a word.

Even if you wanted to, it's too late to change your mind because his knot is too swollen to slip out of you. Weary, unstable thrusts are forced into an unfamiliar shallowness, but it's forcing an angle that has him rolling directly into every little nerve. You can't stop the hand that dives between your bodies, fingertips pressing to your clit in a familiar fashion.

Just a little more. Just a little more.

An involuntary clench is all it takes to have him spilling over the edge. Face falling into the crook of your neck, cumming with a choked cry that rings through your head. Fuck nobody ever told you that you'd be able to feel his knot swelling inside of you. Stretching you beyond your limit, hot cum spilling into your pussy, not a drop of it spilling out.

Without warning, your back twitches up off the bed, cumming without warning. Head thrown back. Heart pounding against your chest. Clenching like a vice around Rhett's twitching cock. You might be muttering his name because you can feel your mouth moving, but you're too far away to hear what's leaving your lips. Entirely lost in the thundering clouds looming in the skies.

However long you're up there, you have no idea, but at some point, Rhett finds the strength to settle onto his forearms. Pressing kisses to your lower jaw and trailing up to your temple, shiny with your scent. No two descriptions of it have been the same, but you like to believe his description is closest to reality. A fresh strawberry pie, sitting on the windowsill after the rain has ended.

You can't help yourself, his neck is right there. The gland exposed to you like he's trying to show it off, so sensitive that he gasps at the nip of your teeth.

He hums, leaning back just far enough to get a look at your face. Whatever he finds looming behind your sparkling eyes is enough to have a smile contorting his lips. Then, he tilts his head to the side, properly bearing his neck to you.

You know what he's offering. Asking. The quietest proposal you've ever heard.

Logic suggests that you wait. Give yourselves time to grow together. Adjust to the discomfort of a collar in exchange for the opportunity to take things slow. The world won't end if you step off onto the well-worn path of tradition; if it's worked for everyone else, then it should work for you.

But you've done enough waiting. Your heart made its decision a long time ago.

The movies made this seem like some blinding moment of passion. The moment your teeth sink into the delicate scent gland, the world should explode into colors that you've never seen before. The answers to the universe ought to dance around your fingertips, hearts springing from your eyes.

But all Rhett does is giggle.

Gidy, like a little kid on the playground, as he cranes his head to find the matching spot on your neck. Soothing it with his tongue before his canines break the skin.

Blood rushes to your face so quickly that you can hear it in your ears. Your heart jumps, and maybe it grows the slightest bit warmer, but...nothing changes. It's still you, Rhett, and his big, strong body shielding yours from the world. These hands that cradle your cheeks are still the ones that you've known all these years. He still nuzzles your noses together, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Voices rattle in the hallway. Something—no, someone, bumps against the door, her giggles intertwining with the laughter of a much deeper voice.

"Mine."

You don't recognize...

was that you?

"'re you growlin' again?" Rhett asks, in that playfully accusatory tone, shoulders already shaking with a laugh.

You don't realize your chest is rumbling until it stops. "No." Blinking. No, that wasn't...

"Didn't know y' were this possessive of me," there's no arguing with him; he knows what he's heard. Already beginning to cover your cheek in kisses, his body shifting between your legs. That knot is still snug, tying your bodies together for the next half-hour at minimum.

"I'm not possessive," you try, but it's hard to be convincing when he's looking at you with those pretty blue eyes like you're his whole world and then some. Maybe that's your hopeful heart talking, or maybe it's truly what you saw.

"Yes, you are," amusement lacing his tone, "'s cute."

If heaven's a moment, then you must be dead.

There are too many things in this damn kitchen.

Scratch that, too many fucking cookies. Some still rising in the oven, and others are scattered on plates across the counter, with their stupid, sweet aroma that does nothing but give you a mild migraine. This idea was better in theory than in execution. You'll be damned if you get ambitious and decide to bake treats for everyone on the ranch again.

A warmth greets your nose. Leather and something smokey sweet, like a marshmallow roasting over an open campfire. Just a hint of it at first, carrying in through the back door and swirling around the room like a loose tornado, growing in tune with the boots thunking toward you.

Clink.

"Are you ever taking those spurs off?" You chirp, too focused on setting this tray on top of the stove to look in his direction. If you drop these, your life might end on the spot.

Arms coil around your waist, the thick muscle rippling as he draws you back by an inch, your back coming to rest against a sturdy chest. Lips press to your cheek. One. Two. Three kisses. Leading down to his favorite grand finale: the scar on your neck.

A shiver ripples up your spine.

"Gon' have to leave soon," He doesn't answer your question. Probably because you already know the answer; he was going to, but he forgot. "'s a long drive, 'member?"

"Hang on, hang on." Placing the oven mitt off to the side, you reach for a cookie. Still warm, but no longer a burn hazard. Blindly, you lift it to your shoulder until he leans forward to take it with his mouth. "You go pro, and all of a sudden, you're insufferable again."

A chuckle rumbles out of him at that, but he's temporarily muzzled, the short hair on his chin tickling your skin when he nears the end of the cookie. His lips wrap around the tips of your fingers, stealing away the final piece.

"Like you ain't got a thing for showin' me off after a good ride," his arms tighten as he speaks, fully securing you against him now.

...and drawing your ass right into a familiar pressure. Don't need to look to know that you're pressing yourself back into the bulge in his jeans, heavy and looking for fun that you, unfortunately, don't have time for. "Are we still talking about bull riding?"

Twisting in his arms is easy. You've done it so many times that you ought to know that you should draw your head back, but your noses collide anyway. Breaking the habit isn't worth it.

"Dunno," he's got chocolate on the corner of his lip, and even his smile cannot distract you from it, "you tell me."

This is a routine you've danced a hundred times. The pre-rodeo adrenaline that has him crawling all over you like some kind of love bug, desperate to relieve the tension building in his muscles.

Relieving it is only temporary; you should know. You rode him within an inch of his life last month, and he still jumped the fence to get to you, the camera chasing him and touting you to the world as Rhett Abbott's mate—his omega, at that. So much for organically reaching out and introducing your family to the man you left everything for.

You still need to answer the bombardment of texts that have been rotting in your phone.

Careful to avoid the hot pan, your hand darts back toward the counter, feeling around until you find something warm and round. Making extra of these has been your best idea yet.

"Then we're talking about both," you pull him in for a kiss. Swift. Chaste. And before he can lean in and seek out any more, you shove the cookie into his mouth.

Your shirt is gone before you can leave the kitchen.

By the time your back hits the bedroom door, his hands are disappearing below your waistband, and sickly sweet chocolate is the only thing you can taste on his lips. There are things to do. Places to be. Bags to load into the car and a map to figure out.

But you fear you've grown addicted to these grumbling kisses of his, crave the warmth of his body against yours and all of the other things that come with him. It's a hunger you've never been able to satisfy, and not another alpha will do. Not one with money. Or someone that your family hand-picked. Or someone with a fancy cologne crafted by a brand you can't pronounce the name of.

Just this one.

#rhett abbott x reader #afab reader #oneshot #rhett abbott #outer range

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