#alpha!rumixreader

The heat crept up on you like a storm rolling in from the edge of the world. You’d been careful, timing your suppressants, staying away from trouble — especially in places like this.

But today, something was wrong.

The rehearsal studio was packed with alphas.

The Saja Boys. A few older producers. A couple security leads. And then… her.

Rumi. The towering, sharp-eyed alpha of Huntrix. Your… friend? Rival? Complication? You hadn’t labeled it, but she’d been watching you lately — watching everything — like she already knew something you hadn’t even figured out yourself.

You had been doing just fine until your breath hitched and your knees buckled mid-stretch. A sharp heat crawled up your spine, pooling low in your stomach.

Your heat. Too early. Too public. Too dangerous.

A hush spread through the room like a ripple, scent-sharpened attention from multiple alphas zeroing in.

You could feel it — the shift. The moment the air turned thick, heavy with instinct. Your scent had bloomed, sweet and desperate, unmistakably omega.

Several heads turned.

And then Rumi stood.

“Everyone out,” she barked. Her voice cracked like lightning. “Now.”

No one moved.

Not at first.

The Saja Boys glanced at each other, one of them cocking a brow. “Didn’t know you were claiming this one, Rumi,” one of them said smoothly.

Rumi didn’t blink.

“I wasn’t. I am now.”

She stepped forward — calm, slow, dangerous — until she was between you and the others. Her body tense, tall, broad shoulders rising and falling with effort as your scent grew richer, slicker, needier.

“You’re all dismissed,” she repeated, voice lower, a snarl barely held at bay. “Unless you want to fight me for her.”

That got them moving. Some snorted. A few chuckled and backed off. But none of them dared push further.

Because Rumi was a known alpha. And no one was stupid enough to cross an alpha in this kind of mood.

The door slammed shut behind the last one.

She turned to you, jaw clenched. “What the hell, Omega?”

“I—” You whimpered, folding in on yourself. “I didn’t… I didn’t know it would come early—”

“I smelled you going sweet days ago,” she growled. “Should’ve pulled you out sooner.”

She was pacing now, like a caged animal. The scent of your heat was overwhelming her too — and it scared you how good it felt to be near her. You needed something, and your instincts were screaming that she was it.

“Rumi,” you gasped, falling back onto a padded bench. “I—I can’t…”

She knelt in front of you like it was nothing. No hesitation. No performance.

Just her.

Her sharp eyes met yours — golden and intense. “You need to get through this.”

Your thighs rubbed together involuntarily. “Please—” You didn’t even know what you were begging for. Touch? Relief? Her?

Her scent swelled — all pine and ozone and Alpha, laced with something possessive and primal. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Her hands were everywhere.

Gripping your thighs. Pinning your wrists. Stroking over your sweat-slicked skin with callused fingers that felt like they owned every inch of you.

Rumi’s mouth kissed a path down your chest — slow, claiming — until her teeth grazed your nipple and made you whimper, arching off the bench.

“You smell like fucking heaven,” she rasped, voice rough with want. “So sweet. So slick. You needed this, didn’t you, Omega?”

You could only nod, voice broken. “Rumi— please, I need you—”

Her gaze darkened as she pulled back just long enough to shove down her joggers and underwear, revealing the thick black harness already strapped around her hips. She must’ve felt your heat coming — prepared for this. She grabbed the toy and quickly attached it.

The base of the toy ground snugly against her own soaked folds, glistening as she adjusted it and gave you a slow, deliberate stroke of her hand down the shaft.

“You’re gonna take every inch, baby,” she growled. “Gonna let your alpha fill you up just how you need.”

She spread your thighs wider and lined herself up, pressing the head of the strap against your entrance. Your slick dripped down onto the toy, making the slide so easy—almost too easy.

Then, she pushed in.

You cried out — the stretch was glorious, the friction sharp and raw and perfect for your needy, swollen heat. Your walls clamped around the toy instinctively, greedy and pulsing.

“Fuck,” Rumi groaned through gritted teeth, hips flexing forward as her own clit rubbed against the base. “You’re already so fucking wet.”

She bottomed out, hips flush against yours, and just held there for a second. Her hands slid under your thighs, lifting your hips slightly off the bench to angle you just how she wanted.

Then she moved.

Hard, snapping thrusts that had your voice cracking on every moan. Her strap slid deep with every rut of her hips, her abs flexing, her jaw clenched tight as she started chasing her own high right alongside yours.

The sound of her hips slapping against your ass echoed in the empty studio — wet, obscene, feral.

“You’re mine now,” she grunted, one hand sliding up to grip your throat—not choking, just holding, claiming. “No one else gets to smell you like this. No one else touches you.”

You couldn’t speak — couldn’t think. Every nerve was on fire. Your clit throbbed with each stroke, needy and untouched.

Until she slid her hand down and rubbed two firm fingers over it — fast, rhythmic, brutal.

You shattered.

Your orgasm tore through you like lightning, soaking the strap, your hips stuttering as your vision went white.

But Rumi didn’t stop.

She rode you through it, every thrust against the strap grinding her own soaked pussy right into the harness. Her groans grew louder, rougher, more desperate.

Then she came, too — biting down on your shoulder with a guttural moan as her hips bucked once, twice, grinding for friction as her orgasm hit, wetness spilling down her thighs as she collapsed on top of you.

You were both panting.

Sweaty.

Knotted in a mess of limbs and scent and instinct.

And still, Rumi held you close.

Pressed kisses to your temple.

Stroked your hair.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, voice hoarse. “I’ve always got you, Omega.”

You nuzzled into her chest, heat finally ebbing just enough for the haze to lift.

And you whispered back, soft and wrecked:

“I’m yours.”

__

You weren’t sure how you survived.

Every step felt slow, sore, and weirdly floaty. Your body still hummed — not from pain, but from afterglow. The heat had passed, but Rumi had made sure you were thoroughly cared for in… every possible way.

And now?

Now the whole room could smell it.

The second you stepped inside, silence hit like a wall. Dozens of eyes flicked toward you — and stopped.

Their expressions were a mix of wide-eyed, wary, and politely terrified.

You smelled like Alpha.

But not just any alpha. Rumi.

Her scent was plastered all over you — a thick, unmistakable mix of spice and storm, musk and sweat and pure possession. And then there were the marks.

Bite bruises on your throat. Red fingerprints at your hips. Scratches down your sides, already starting to scab.

You hadn’t bothered covering them up. What was the point?

No one would dare approach you now.

“Damn,” one of the Saja Boys muttered under his breath as he passed. “Alpha really claimed that omega, huh?”

The others steered clear. Literally gave you space — as in a full six-foot radius of respect-fear-uncertainty.

But then, she arrived.

Rumi walked in like she hadn’t just blown your back out for hours the night before — except you knew her too well. There was a little swagger in her step now. A looseness to her shoulders. A sharp gleam in her eyes that screamed: mine.

Her gaze locked on you instantly.

And when she crossed the room, you could practically hear the tension rise.

Everyone froze. Like animals sensing an incoming predator.

Rumi stopped in front of you, eyes flicking to the bruises on your throat, your collarbone, your inner thighs just visible beneath your tiny shorts.

She leaned in.

Sniffed.

Then grinned.

“Still smell like me,” she murmured, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

You flushed, your knees wobbling slightly under her attention. “You made sure of that,” you whispered back.

Her eyes darkened.

“You okay?”

You nodded.

She stepped closer — hand landing on your hip with easy familiarity. “Too sore to sit properly?”

“Maybe.”

She chuckled low. “Guess I’ll have to carry you again.”

And just like that — her teeth grazed the already healing mark on your throat.

You gasped.

“Alpha—” you breathed, trembling.

Her nostrils flared. Her pupils blown. Her whole body screamed restrained dominance. She was holding back by a thread.

Rumi pressed her body against yours — hard chest to your soft, vulnerable frame. You could feel her heat through her clothes, see the tension in her jaw.

“Say the word,” she whispered in your ear, “and I’ll take you right now.”

You whimpered, already melting. “Rumi, they’re watching—”

“Let them.”

Her hand slid up your spine.

“I want them to see who you belong to.”

You shivered.

Her lips hovered over yours, not kissing — just breathing in your scent like she couldn’t get enough. “One more day and I’m going to lose it. You’re still in season. I can smell it. I swear I might knot you next time just to make sure it sticks.”

Your heart was pounding now, skin blazing with anticipation.

And then—

She pulled back.

Smirking.

Smug.

Hungry.

“We’ve got rehearsal,” she said casually, tugging your shirt to cover one of the bigger hickeys. “Later, Omega.”

She turned, walking off without another word — but you felt her eyes on you the entire time, her claim carved into your skin and scent like a second soul.

You exhaled, your knees wobbly, your lips parted.

Because you knew. She wasn’t done with you. Not even close.

🤠

ya girls broke and living off of monster energy so anything helps- Buy me a coffee <3