#omegaverse!cod

It starts off slowly at first. Lunch together, you bring him things that you make to share. He's particularly fond of your cooking but is head over heels for the sugary treats you give him. You don't notice how there are two other alphas and a beta watching you two, as you whisper and laugh about things only omegas would get. Next comes deliberate plans to hang out away from base. You invite him to your flat, it's cozy, and you show him the rows of shelves and baskets and trunks full of nesting things. Blankets, pillows, stuffed animals, and fabric softeners and scent sprays. You explain that you change your nest and the theme of the nest monthly, just one life's little pleasures.

Johnny likes that your place is cute and kitschy and that you don't use the big lights in any room and opt for various soft fairy lights. Back on base in his pack's home, the guys notice that Johnny is redoing his own nest. He's added led strip lights, fairy lights, and softer more delicate blankets and pillows. He comes back home one day and gives each of his pack mates a squishmallow to cuddle and sleep with, really drench it in their scents before it goes into his nest. Price and Simon don't think much of the change, and they only notice when Kyle says, "Johnny doesn't normally feed into these types of behaviors."

This causes the three of them to watch their omega a bit closer. The only thing they notice is that Johnny has made a new omega friend, and any unease they had is quelled.

The fourth month comes of you and Johnny knowing each other, and now you're both very close. He has a key to your place and swings by often. So much so that your home carries his scent and the trace scent of the alphas and beta from his pack. You and him do everything that pack omegas would do, together! Things such as shopping for nesting materials, visiting omega only cafés (and you're shocked truly that he hasn't done something like that), he's even gone shopping with you for heat toys to prepare for your upcoming heat (the look he gives you during that trip was one you couldn't really decipher. But his cheeks were pink often).

So much time being spent together means that things...tend to sync up.

Johnny is the first to notice it when his heat is a week late. He confirms that he's not been accidentally pupped by his pack (they are all very careful with not getting him pregnant). The doctor laughs at him and says with a smile on his face, "Your body is probably trying to sync up with a new pack mate."

Johnny is shocked with news, and it's even more true when you start complaining about your own heat not showing up.

"Johnny, I went and saw my primary. She said my hormones are okay, but my body is preparing for a heat soon... Do you think we synced up?" You whisper on the phone with him. It's a bit later in the evening and you've been worried all day since your own appointment. Your heat was due two weeks ago. "I won't be able to make it back to my family in time to be looked after."

"Well, bonnie Bunny." He says quietly, he's laying in his own nest. Simon's shirt fits loosely on him, and the sweats he stole from Gaz fit for the most part. He's got his face in the stuffed animal that smells like cigar smoke and teakwood and notes of the expensive cologne that Price likes to sometimes wear. "My own doctor thinks we're synced up, haven't told my pack yet, but the doctor is suggesting that my team and I be benched until the new break through heat comes."

"Oh Johnny, I'm so sorry." You whimper. "I didn't think this would happen -"

"Nothing to say sorry for bonnie." His voice is low, "I think it's a good thing. I've finally got the push to ask you if you want to, uh...formally meet my pack. They know your scent, and they like it." He chuckles at the memory of Simon inhaling the lingering scent of you from a pillow case he took for his own nest. Another thing that close omegas did was share nesting items and comfort each other.

You're silent for a moment, and it worries him. There's a sigh, it's dreamy in a way, "I'll admit, seeing you with those three on base was nice. I may be respectful, but I'm not blind."

He's grinning like the Cheshire cat. Johnny has always wanted another omega in the pack, but most omegas were either afraid of Simon or put off by Price (he's a bit of a control freak). They also didn't want to be brought into a military ran pack with the chance of one of them randomly getting killed in action. It's fate really that both of your bodies decided to sync up like airpods.

The next morning at the breakfast table, before they all get pulled in different directions for the day, Johnny sets down his lab reports in front of Price. He's not daft. He knows that they know his heat is late. Kyle had made a mention of it in passing that he had stocked up on everyone's favorite snacks and whatnot and that they have not used them yet. At the time Johnny just shrugged, feeling sluggish but nowhere near ready or wanting to be knotted and fucked stupid.

Price raises an eyebrow as he sips his coffee, "You had an appointment and didn't tell us?" He seems a bit hurt. Like if something was wrong with any of his boys, his loves, he would have noticed it. Sure, Johnny's heat was late, but that's happened before when he was stressed over a mission or the outcome of a mission. He chalked it up to the last op they were on, nasty work, but they all made it back in one piece.

"Yeah." Johnny makes himself a plate of food and grabs the orange juice from the fridge. "Been feeling off lately, and it's a new break through heat cycle forming."

This time, it's Simon who snorts. He's not one for random changes. He remembers when his father would have random changes to his rut, and it always meant that he had been cheating on his mom. He really doesn't want to assume the worst right away. "What are you trying to say, Johnny?"

"I want you guys to meet my friend." He says with a small smile, "The friend that smells like toasted marshmallows and sugar cane."

The guys all perk up about that bit of information. The air in the room seemed to be charged with anticipation. Common knowledge that omegas tended to keep their omega friends separate from their packs to avoid issues. Their darling Johnny had found a friend, a new pack mate, and was trying to gauge if they would all accept her. Kyle is the first to break the silence.

"Well." The chair creaks as he leans back in it. In thought, "Is she the reason your cycle has been thrown off, and is that stack of papers from your doctor about to bench us until your break through heat is over?"

He feels a bit sheepish at being called out. "I really like her, and I've been to her house and seen her nest and I'd like to show her mine" he rattles off hastily, "nothing has happened besides us hanging out, and you guys like her scent and well..." Johnny thinks over his next words carefully. He doesn't want to offend his mates, and he doesn't want to put them on the spot. The deep sigh he lets out is long and he listens as John shifts through the doctor orders and suggestions about being benched while waiting for a new heat cycle to happen.

"Tell us Johnny." Kyle reaches over and grabs his hand lovingly. "We won't be mad."

"I get lonely sometimes and normally I can keep a good balance but sometimes you just need that extra bit to make it whole and I think she's that extra bit that could make, me- us whole." He quickly corrects, but everyone already heard.

The reality that Johnny wanted another omega in the pack settled on everyone. It was sudden but understandable. Two alphas and a beta (who leaned more towards being an alpha sometimes) could be a bit much on one omega. They didn't need to think it over, just feeling the dull scent of honey apples coming from him says it all.

John looks up from the papers and smiles gently, "Sure, we'll meet her and go from there." Getting up, he downs the rest of his coffee and moves to put his dishes away. "I'll get the paperwork put in for stand-by medical leave for us. Pick someplace comfortable for you and her, you little muppet."

Johnny can only grin about this change of events.

Tiptoe Through the Tulips-Tiny Tim

The crisp autumn wind whistled through the tunnels, howling out a wretched cry of despair before leaping onto the platform to stalk a wrought iron bench. On said bench sat a shivering woman carrying nothing but a briefcase and a sign. The sign was furled around the edges, and there was a stain of coffee on the upper corner that someone had obviously tried to get rid of but had decidedly given up upon, focussing more on keeping their fingers warmed up against their sides.

You sneezed and checked the overhead clock to see if the delayed train was on its way anytime soon. Your fingers were bright red, knuckles white from gripping on the sign firmly enough to crumple it. You gulped, the ticker’s orange lights above indicating that the train would indeed be another fifteen minutes before arrival. It seemed that there had been some sort of incident on the tracks. You wouldn’t have been surprised, really. Despite the fencing and the guards in the station, it was hard to prevent someone from slipping through the cracks. One would have thought a more effective solution would have been put in place by now, but it seemed such was not the case. In a way, you envied that ghost of your mind, freed from the world of shackles and hierarchies. And yet, you shuddered to think of all the bones that had been left behind on the rails.

You looked down to the briefcase and fiddled with the locks. There, inside the briefcase, were all the papers needed to ensure the entire arrangement went smoothly. There were your identification cards, the legal documents (already signed, you triple-checked), even the personal papers that your father had painstakingly wrote out to ensure that the guards would be sure of your identity, as if the chip in your bite collar wasn't enough proof. You thumbed the collar, mindlessly. You had your other ID card in your wallet, but most people liked to use the collar. You just wished you had an arm bracelet like the alphas and betas around you, but they said that the collar was more convenient. You just considered it an insult every time you had to present your neck just to buy some groceries.

The autumn air was brumous, doing nothing to really comfort you as you shuffled on the cold wooden bench. You checked over your shoulder, and saw naught but the staircase leading to the rest of the station. Behind you on your right was a cafe where a young beta B woman was sweeping some fallen leaves to the side. She didn’t seem tall, but you worried about how quick she might be. She certainly had long legs. It wouldn’t take much to come over and take you out from behind. It wouldn’t take much to collapse your trachea as she choked you out, and she could easily hide the body in the dumpsters. Damn the security cameras, when had those stopped anyone? Not when it was a crime against an omega, at least. You had been raised on warnings from your parents to be on guard. You needed to be on guard, you were an omega. Omegas were weak, omegas were pathetic, omegas were dead meat-

You slapped your leg, relishing in the pain that followed. You needed pain to focus. Pain was clear, simple. Pain had a cause and an effect. Easy to take, easy to understand. If you could still feel, it meant you were here, in the present. You were breathing, you were alive. And if pain meant you were alive, then by that logic, it meant that you could breathe, which was what you settled on doing.

You didn’t really understand why your father had to be so busy on that particular day. Normally, he would have been perfectly fine to go out and handle the legal proceedings himself. It would have been fine! Why was it that the cafe had been busy that day? Why did your father decide that his daughter, his omega O daughter,  needed to take responsibility and do something on your own? It was far too much pressure, and frankly, it was really not the brightest of ideas. After all, why were you here? You didn’t understand the legal logistics of all of this nonsense. You didn’t understand much of anything about this whole situation, if he was to be perfectly honest.

And yet, you sat on the bench regardless. You sat on that blasted bench with nothing but a sign and a briefcase. It would have been nice to have a coffee, but it wasn’t like you had the money to buy one anymore. Your father had always been tight on money, meaning he didn’t have much to spend paying his daughter. You had long since accepted that you’d work at the cafe for free until you inherited, if you inherited anything at all. After all, family helped family for free, didn’t they?

You sneezed. There wasn’t much around to really keep your mind off of the whole situation. Now that you noticed it, the train station was oddly quiet. It was midday on a Wednesday, certainly, but it still had your skin crawling. Save for you, the cafe worker, and the ticket taker, there really wasn’t anyone else there to take your mind off of why you were there.

Mind you, you supposed your grandmother wouldn’t have wanted you to be so anxious. She was always telling you that the only thing to fear was fear itself. There was no reason to be upset about someone sneaking up on you in a back alley. Why be worried when there is so much to do? Your grandmother probably would have been ashamed of her you for being so afraid… Oh, if she was here right now, she’d certainly hang her head in shame at what a wreck you were!

You slapped your leg again and let out a long shuddery breath. She wasn’t here right now. She would never be here now. No, Grandma was long gone. She had left this world with not much save a few precious belongings, which had been divided amongst the dwindling remaining family. She had always been a fair woman, if a bit harsh, and had seen to it that everything she owned went to the relative that had needed it most.

Jeremy, the eldest of your father’s family, was left her library. She had books collected from all around the world, in all sorts of languages in all states of being. In her collection was a series of bibles that had been out on display for all to see. Of course, her personal copy of the King James was by her bedside, but the display of bibles had been left to the eldest to learn from. Having been a man of God, Jeremy had been grateful about what had been left to him.

Amanda had been left in charge of the manor. The manor was truly an incredible estate, sprawling with unkempt wild gardens and a weird mish-mash of architectural styles to come together into a rickety castle of windows, arches and spires. It hadn’t seen much care in the final years of Grandma’s life, but it was still nothing to scoff at. Having struggled with obtaining a divorce from her overbearing husband, Amanda had been glad to finally have a place to call her own, to start a new life.

The youngest, your father, had been left with one allotment. A lump sum of money, the only remnant of the wealth the family once held onto. Years of the late Grandpa’s cunning business ventures and bold moves in the stock markets had led to quite a bounty to be had. However, once Grandpa had passed, much of his money was donated to local charities, with the grim remainders that were smuggled away left to his late wife for a safe life without him. Your father was glad for any money that could be had to support his coffee business.

The final recipient was a surprise for everyone. It had been none other than her youngest grandaughter, you. You were given the charge of your grandmother’s slave and closest companion, König. He’d been there as long as you could remember. Caring for Grandma in her twilight years, diligent and powerful, König had been her beloved slave. You had always found the gigantic man to be incredibly intimidating, what with his broad and deadly muscles wrapped around his tall, sturdy frame. Intimidating and always hidden behind an exectuioner’s hood. If one had thought to question the power in such a form, any doubt would have been quelled by the firm resolve held in those tired eyes. One had to question what lay beyond those eyes, what thoughts he had, what history lay behind him, who the slave really was. If there was one thing König was, though, it was loyal. Despite his biological tendency towards violence and the battered scars of past battles decorating his arms like medals on a soldier's chest, he was the gentlest and most caring man towards Grandma. You were absolutely terrified of him.

König, as he had been officially named, had done everything for Grandma Tweak without a single bat of his eyelids. He had been there to get her groceries, prepare her food, feed her and go so far as to wash her in the final years of her life. He had taken these burdens with pride and held his head high. He followed your fiery grandmother everywhere she went, taking care of personal matters and ensuring the elder was safe at all times. Grandma had supposedly died in his arms as he was reading her passages of the bible before bed.

However König, for all his care towards your grandmother, had not been one to extend any of his hospitality towards anyone else he came across, family member or otherwise. In fact, on your last visit to your grandmother’s home (roughly five years ago, if you counted correctly), you had been slammed against a wall for daring to disturb her during an afternoon nap. You had been seconds away from being torn to shreds when a small bell had pulled König away to stand behind your grandmother, who scolded you softly for making such a ruckus. You had wanted to argue that calling her for tea was not a reason to be thrown into a wall, but had simply stayed quiet, and accepted your punishment.

For the rest of the visit, you had been (understandably) nervous around König, who snarled if you so much as took a step out of place. Your grandmother had let it happen, and waived off your  father’s urges to call off her dog. He tried explaining that you were family. She had giggled, and replied, “Family means nothing in the eyes of vultures.”

You had been desperate to get your father to sell on the slave when you learned of your grandmother’s will, but your father had been keen on the extra pair of helping hands around the shop. Indeed, it also helped to deal with an ongoing issue within the cafe, which had led to many conflicts with the customers.

You knew that you couldn’t control who you were, or who you turned out to be, but you still couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly guilty about how you had turned out. After you had started presenting as an omega omega, customers had been eager to see what they could get away with. Some had taken to mocking you, others turned to flirting with you, encouraging you to run away with them. Others had taken to scenting the cafe, becoming violent towards other customers, and on one occasion attempting to pin you down to mark you. After that incident, you had been forced to work alongside your father, who had been less than pleased to be at the front counter. Your father was much more inclined to work in the back-end of the cafe than to be forced to work with customers, and had made sure that you knew of his displeasure at every waking moment.

Indeed, life had started to become a sort of living hell for you now. You were constantly on edge around customers, barely had enough money and time to go to the pharmacy to get scent represent medications, and you were forced to endure the wrath of your father whenever you so much as clinked a glass. The one light in your life also had suffered, as your mother had fallen ill with a disease that your father couldn’t cure with over-the-counter pain medications.

You knew that if your father had more time in the back and away from you and customers, he would surely have more time to help your mother. So thus, if an extra pair of (unpaid) hands was what it took to ease up on the workload, your father was glad to jump at it. In the end you had little say when you were forced to inherit the bodyguard that had once looked over your frail grandmother.

Thus, this led to you being sat where you were, where you prepared to hand over documents to ensure that König was taken into your care. This entire exchange was what brought you to be sat out on a wooden bench, freezing and sneezing away while you waited for a delayed train to arrive and deliver the one person you’d hoped you’d never had to see again. And because your father refused to leave the cafe, he’d sent you in his stead. So there you sat, waiting and praying the train never arrived.

In the end, the wait for the train had proven to be far less painful than you’d expected. Being lost in thought, you’d shot nearly five feet in the air when you heard a loud tolling of a bell, then the low roar of an incoming train. The heavy clunking and chuffing of the wheels grinding on the tracks groaned to a painful halt in front of you. The doors of the carriage opened like a can to let out a stream of passengers fluttering by. You winced from the sound, stiffened up as the small throng of people piled out of the train and onto the platform, buzzing around you like blackflies, shooting you stinging glares as they passed you by.

In the end, you were left with three people standing in front of him. Two men dressed in grey suits were situated on either side of a tall, looming beast of a man. His face was encased in a ferocious mask, and he’d been stripped down to only a pair of dirty canvas pants held up by a hemp rope. One of the men in suits stepped forward, calling your name.

You nodded, trying but failing to suppress a particularly violent tic in your neck.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. We offer our condolences upon the death of your grandmother, Andrea Bower. However, we are glad to announce that you are now a proud owner of one König. Please understand that there are some papers for you to sign before we can let you go. And, of course, we do believe there are some payments to be made,” the first man said and stood back.

You handed them the briefcase. They opened it to examine the contents, and after a cursory glance they nodded and shut it with a click. They looked back to you with twin barren expressions. If you weren’t so nervous, you might have been able to strain yourself to describe their faces as smiling, but as it was you couldn’t read anything past their dark sunglasses. They passed you a leash that had been fastened to the muzzle of the slave, and the other patted his back.

“Please understand that as Andrea did not leave much to König, so we had to take back many of the items that König once ‘owned’. The only objects legally listed under König’s name are a mask, his personal files, and your grandmother’s diaries and paperwork. These will be brought to your home by tomorrow evening.”

The other man handed you a card, “If you have any further questions or concerns, please call your local Slave Department Headquarters for advice.”

You nodded. The man waved over his shoulder as he turned to walk out the door.

Left there on the station, alone again (aside from the other aforementioned staff), you were left holding König’s leash. With nothing left to do, you figured you needed to go home. You expected some resistance from König, but the man simply followed behind you like a dark shadow. You tried to ignore what you presumed to be König’s glare, and fished out your wallet. You had a little bit of cash, the remnants of your birthday money, then looked back to König’s (lack of) shoes. There was no way he could be comfortable walking home with just a mask and pants. No, you couldn’t let that happen.

You made your way onto the street when a sudden breeze had you shuddering. You turned back to look at your new slave. 

At that moment, with you looking at König shivering in the autumn  breeze and you tucking your jacket around you, you saw a man discarded by society. Maybe he was taken off the streets after being unable to pay for his identity card, maybe he was sold into slavery. Maybe, you shivered, he was born into this life. All you really knew was that this man had suffered enough. You couldn’t hurt him.

So thus, instead of listening to your father, you decided that you would do your best to take care of König. You turned to him shyly.

“So, you’re probably really cold. I’m cold at least. So… I’m going to get you clothes, okay?” you said as confidently as you could manage. Your father had always told you that you had to be strong in front of your slaves. Had to show them their place.

König didn’t respond, and you were left awkwardly holding the leash and shuffling from side to side in the cold. You tried to stand still, but quickly broke from the glare when a car horn startled you. You sighed and accepted defeat. This wasn’t a great start, but it was the start you got. You huffed and spun on your heel to lead König out into the small town.

Once you both were on your way, you got a chance to take a good look at König. This new mask on his face was somehow worse than the one he usually wore. He looked like an insect now. The eyes were a cavernous black, not even the blues of his eyes being able to find light in there. The rusted metal tube from his mouth was covered in a fine grate, looking almost like some crusted proboscis. When he moved, his bones twitched and stretched under his thin paper skin

He was your grandmother’s shadow, now yours. You could feel him following behind you as you walked through the streets. He haunted you as he moved. You felt like if you let go of the leash, you’d fly somewhere far away. Maybe somewhere nice and warm. Maybe somewhere where slaves were outlawed. You could fly away and never deal with König or your father or mother or anyone. You would be free.

The thrift store came up sooner than you expected. Had you really been so lost in thought? It’s a wonder you even made it. A part of you wondered if König had guided you here, but that was impossible. König had never been here before. Hell, had he ever left your grandmother’s side? You didn’t think so. It didn’t seem right.

The bell twinkled as you walked inside with a sneeze and a shiver. This was not a safe place. Only a thin layer of glass covered the antique knife set on display, and there were rows upon rows of clothes to get lost in. You had to be on your guard here. With that in mind, you grabbed the nearest basket and brought König over to the largest size of clothing you could find.

“You can’t go out in fall like that,” you muttered. You shook your head and dropped your hands to your side, limp and vapid. You took in a deep breath before turning to König.

“Let’s get you some clothes,” you offered, “it’ll be safer for you that way.”

König stood still. You felt so terribly small compared to this giant man, but you had to be brave. You had to be strong. So thus, you threw a few large shirts into the plastic basket, followed by a couple of pairs of pants, a jacket or two, and some socks and boxers. It was hard to find things in König’s size, but you were happy when you looked at your basket. But it wasn’t enough. You looked at König’s feet and frowned. You’d need to do something about that. How his feet weren’t already frostbitten was a wonder. 

You guided König over to the shoe section and glared at the unimpressive selection of footwear. The best you could find was either a pair of  red crocs, pink wellingtons, or a very heavy set of workboots. Crocs and wellingtons wouldn’t be enough to insulate König’s feet in the cold, nor would they look professional in a cafe. With a sigh, you bought the roughened work boots. You could imagine König taking these massive boots and using them to smash your head in. Shuddering, you came to the checkout and placed the clothing items on the counter. The cashier looked at you, and then followed the leash in your hand all the way up to König. She silently nodded and scanned the meagre selection you’d been able to gather. The steady beeping of items passing the scanner and being tucked into a bag was the last thing you cared about. You were far more worried about how König stood over you so hungrily.

You gulped and grabbed the bag quickly before hurrying out of the store, accidentally tugging on König’s leash along the way. You didn’t even notice how you were gasping for air once you burst out of the store. You sheepishly looked up at König. You grimaced and whispered a small apology before you turned ahead for the long walk home. You were careful to not tug on the leash anymore, or at least as much as you could be. König seemed like he was still adjusting to the new boots. You tried your best to hurry home, occasionally glancing up and startling whenever you’d lock eyes (or so you supposed, it was a bit hard to see his eyes under the muzzle).

You carefully led the man through the corridor of streets and houses. You’d lived her your entire life but you felt like you could ever really relax. You would jump at every car horn, you’d shudder when someone talked too loudly around you. You were terrified that your scent would attract someone wicked to your front door. You tried to move quickly to not let your scent really linger in any one area, but there was only so much you could do when you were forced into a coffee shop. As you neared the store, you tried to contain your urge to just book it and leave König behind in the dust.

It took ages to get to the cafe. The sun was about to duck beneath the horizon by the time you walked through the front door of your home. This small little coffee shop was probably the only place in the whole city that you could come close to calling home.You were here more than you were in your own room. If nothing else, at least you liked the coffee shop. Day and night, soothing music played through crackling speakers in the corners of the room. It was a nice, cozy cafe. This little shop had become your own little slice of paradise, and hell.

You were able to take in a deep breath, taking in the warm smell of spices and baked goods. Everything was quiet. All was right in the world.

You turned to König with a smile.

“Well, welcome home I guess,” your smile faltered as you looked at his blank mask.

You looked around the room and took it all in. Now that you had König, everything seemed different, but just the same. Now that König was here, you could have someone dust the rafters after work. Your dad was always harping on you to get it done, but even with a ladder you couldn’t possibly reach. You tried to explain that you were an omega, and omega O at that, but your father wouldn’t have it. He swore up and down about it, but there was nothing he could do to change your biology.

You were looking at the rafters when you heard a series of thuds coming from behind you. You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise as you turned to face the opening door.

Your father looked König up and down with a frown. He ran one hand through his full beard and looked at you.

“What’s this?” he asked gruffly.

“I got König from the train station sir,” you offered hopefully.

Your father glared at the bags in your hands.

“I got him some clothes,” you explained nervously, “I just thought he needed to look presentable for the cafe.

Your father narrowed his beady eyes, but he gave you a curt nod.

“Good thinking,” he grumbled, “but still, the money comes out of your paycheck. König’s your responsibility, not mine.”

You nodded shakily as your father made his was across the floor to stand in front of König. He glared at the mask before turning to you.

“What’s with this?” he raised a meaty hand to König’s mask.

“I didn’t put it on,” you furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at König, “I think they put it on him when they were transporting him.”

Your father slipped a hand into his back pocket and gave König a once-over.

“Whelp, he’d better do his job,” your father shrugged, “I’ve had it up to here with those sick fucks coming into the cafe.”

You nodded along. For once, you couldn’t agree more with your dad. Ever since you’d presented your tertiary gender, you hadn’t had a day of peace. Everyone seemed like they wanted a piece of a newly presented omega O. It was just unfortunate that you were on the receiving end of it all.

Your dad reached up and grabbed König’s chin, turning him side to side before plucking at hsi shirt with a grunt.

“Is something wrong?” you asked as you watched your father unclip König’s leash.

“He just seems… Different,” your dad muttered, “smaller. Did they do something to him? He looks like a scrawny wimp now. You sure he can manage to take care of you?”

“I mean, I think he must’ve lost a little weight after grandma died,” you offered, “König was always really close to her.”

“Too close, if you ask me,” your father added as he stepped back. He put his fists on his hips with a frown. “You’d better go get him settled in. You’re both up early tomorrow. And König,” your father’s eyes narrowed to mean slits, “don’t fuck this up.”

König gave him the slightest nod, but it was enough to satisfy your father.

“You go get your room ready, alright?” your father started up the stairs as you squeaked.

“My room? Isn’t König getting his own room?” you asked.

“What?” your father cast you a glare over your shoulder, “and put him where? There’s no more space.”

“But don’t we have the spare-”

“No.”

You watched silently as your father plodded back up the stairs. He slowly trudged up and out of view, leaving you alone with the buz of the heater and the smell of burnt coffee beans.

“So, that’s my dad,” you said, shuddering and turning around to look at König, “I guess he hasn’t really changed much since you last saw him.”

You looked up at König and frowned. You couldn’t really see much in this lighting. Maybe tomorrow you’d get König to change a couple of the lightbulbs. With the thought in mind, you fumbled around in the dark to follow your father up the stairs, only stopping briefly to flick the lights off once you reached the top.

You slowly made your way past your father’s room and to the kitchen. You looked at König and then at the fridge.

“Do you want something to eat?” you asked.

König stared at you blankly.

You nodded and turned ahead to your room, “I’ll get us something later then.”

You made your way to your bedroom without another word. Once inside, you glanced around the cramped room before looking back at König.

“Do you want to sit down?” you asked softly. “It’s okay to sit. I know you’ve been on your feet all day.”

König didn’t look at you. You didn’t think he even heard you until he lowered himself to lightly perch on the very end of your tiny bed. You glanced at your bed, and then at König. 

Without another word, you carefully pulled out a file from under your jacket and flipped it open. The first pages seemed to be detailed notes of König’s body. From the looks of it, König was only about five years older than you. With the way he looked, you’d thought he was at least a decade older than that. You glanced at the next set of stats. At the very top it listed König’s height, a startling six foot ten that completely dwarfed you’s meager frame. You looked down at your twin size mattress again. It wasn’t like König could sleep on the floor. You could, but you didn’t want to do any more damage to your already aching back. This room was crammed as tightly as it could be. The wardrobe at the foot of your bed only had just enough room to open enough to squeeze into the drawers and the table and chair to the left of your bed served a dual purpose of being both a desk and a nightstand. It was so packed in that you couldn’t imagine where König could possibly fit in.

You looked around and bit your lip. The ground was cold and hard. You internally cursed your father for not just setting up a cot in the stockroom at the very least, but it was of no use. You figured you’d just have to get used to König very, very, quickly.

You turned to said man, and stared at his heavy mask. “Hey, um, I’m going to take that off, ok?” you said and stood to face König.

You leaned in and tried to undo the fiddly clasps. There were so many hooks and rings and clasps and buckles; it was ridiculous. How did they even put this on in the first place? Why did they put it on? König had never been muzzled by your grandmother, even though he was an alpha. You never understood how brave she was, but you admired it anyways. If König could be good with your grandmother, then maybe you could trust him without a muzzle too. You let out a little harrumph and crawled onto the bed behind König to continue. God, it was complicated even from this angle! You shook your head and continued using your nimble fingers to undo the straps, wincing as you saw the red imprints they left behind. You finally managed to make a breakthrough and returned back to standing in front of König.

“Nearly there!” you chirped and continued to fiddle away. You cursed under your breath when you accidentally made a strap tighter and hurriedly undid it with a muttered apology. You had no idea why they would have this on so tight. Something wasn’t right about this.

You gave a final yank and winced when the final buckle was undone. The mask was now splayed open like a pair of perverse butterfly wings, still was held firmly in place. Your face slowly dropped in horror. There’s no way… That would just be too much…

“Did they… Did they glue this on?” you whispered, but König shook his head ever so slightly. He hesitantly raised a weathered hand and gestured at his jaw underneath the mask.

You were a bit confused and looked under his jaw. You could really barely see what you were doing in this light. You gingerly traced your fingers along his neck but didn’t feel much besides a greasy beard and tough skin. You pulled back and hummed. You were so confused. What was König trying to tell you? You gripped the mask firmly and pulled hard. König was wrenched forwards but pulled back on the post beside him. You put a foot up on the bed to pull back harder, and grunted with effort. Why was this mask on so fucking tight?

You let out another grunt but stopped when König let out a low, growling moan. “Shit, right. Sorry König,” you whispered and stepped back. You put a finger on your chin and hummed again. “What the fuck is keeping that thing on if it isn’t glue?” you paled, “Oh my God do they stitch it in place?”

König shook his head, again gesturing to his jaw. You clucked your tongue and checked König’s jaw again. You looked closer, closer and closer until you gasped. You saw a small set of straps firmly embedded in König’s jaw. A thin line of blood was flowing out from when you’d pulled on the mask.

“Your jaw… You can’t even open your mouth with this on, can you,” you whispered and König bobbed his head, jabbing the straps in further.

You turned to rummage through your shelves for a bit. You grinned when you came across a pair of scissors and turned back to König. 

“I’m gonna be as gentle as I can be here,” you whispered and carefully moved the scissors under the strap.

König tensed, but he held still as you managed to snip the strap off. You carefully tugged the barb out of König’s jaw, hissing as it kept coming out. In total, you estimated the barb to be at least an inch long. You shuddered at the sight.

König shuffled and leaned his face to the other side so that you could get a good view in the yellow-orange light. It was easier the second time, but you still winced as you pulled the barb out of his jaw. You’d have to get the medicine kit in the bathroom after this for sure. 

Despite the resistance, the straps in König’s jaw were now off and the barbs were out. Evidently, this was some primitive way to force König’s jaw tightly shut. yYu supposed König wasn’t meant to have the barbs so deeply buried in, but you had a stronger feeling that König didn’t give a damn. The fact that he hadn’t even winced once through the entire walk home blew your mind.

With König’s jaw now able to open up, you were finally able to pull the mask free. You pulled it down, and stared in horror at what was inside the mask. Right where König’s mouth would be was a short metal pipe. The inside was caked with what looked like mouldy food. Even from at arm’s reach you gagged at the smell. You rushed to the bathroom and rinsed it out, feeling more than a bit sick as you pushed your fingers down the pipe to get all the gunk out

You held the mask in your hands and shook your head. After a minute, you looked up in the bathroom mirror. Your eyes looked puffy. When you touched them, they felt wet and sore. At some point you must’ve been crying. When did you do that? You looked down at the mask in your hands. Slowly, ever so slowly, you raised the mask up until it covered your face. In the mirror, you looked like a monster. You looked so frightening that it was hard to remember that there was a human under all of it. You stared in the mirror, debating if there really was a person under the mask after all.

Konig Dump

Konig Alternative Universes

Of course, König has heard of omegas like her - omegas who claim alphas in dangerous jobs, conniving things hoping to coast off of life on a fat, heavy pension, but she chose him, him, all sharp edges and trembling fingers, descendant of Cain and Adam and all men who have known sin and blood on their hands.

Never before has he been chosen - no, it's always been necessity that has drawn others to him, a magnetic force they can't quite resist, but her...

She chose him.

Devotion is a funny thing. He'd never understood the words of the preacher, sat knobby-kneed and fidgeting in the pews of his small hometown's church. Der Weg zum Himmel ist schmal, holprig und voller mühsamer und anstrengender Anstiege, und er kann nicht ohne große Mühe beschritten werden.. The path to Heaven is narrow, rough and full of wearisome and trying ascents, nor can it be trodden without great toil.

But he understands now.

All of this, all of this suffering, is in the purpose of Colette, the light of her holy attention.

He wastes more than a few nights deployed fucking his fist to the sound of her name, followed by that surname, Bauer, so regular compared to the gospel of her. Shoots thick ropes of his spend over the paper until the ink bleeds, and even then, he keeps it, tracing over her name with his eyes, breathing hard through his mask. He counts down the days until the deployment is over, counts the hours and the minutes and the seconds and —

Patience is a virtue he's never had. Too twitchy.

He spends the rest of the mission impatiently taking out anybody who crosses his path, accidentally dispatching an ally in his eagerness to return home to his engel. It doesn't matter; nothing matters save the drive to return from his pilgrimage. Blessed land - he's never thought of the house he lives in as holy land, but with Colette now there, it's papal, anointed ground, blessed.

When his boots land on the driveway to his home, enshrouded in trees, far from civilization, he can smell her. Stepping inside feels holy, sacrilegious - like entering a cathedral, Konig's boots leave prints on the hardwood. Every exhale fans the scent of her, heady, intoxicating, deeper than frankincense.

"Engel.."

His voice echoes through his home, and for the first time, he doesn't find the spacious halls to be empty. No, they're appropriate - a church for him to worship at the altar of his omega. His.

"I'm home."

The smell of omega in his home is gentle, the softest scent of floral notes and vanilla, sticky-sweet and unclaimed, and for the first time, his house feels not like a tomb, but a home. Shelves have been dusted, rugs vacuumed, and, fuck, there's the scent of butter and baked goods in the air.

Dann sagte Gott, der Herr: „Es ist nicht gut, dass der Mann allein ist; ich werde ihn zu einem für ihn passenden Helfer machen.“

And in his bedroom...

Her. Curled up in his sheets, looking small and soft and perfect, a book opened to her side like she'd fallen asleep reading. Her chest rises and falls, full lips parted just so slightly in her respite. She seems so unguarded, so relaxed. Like she belongs here, belongs in his home, spirited away from the rest of the world.

Fuck, she’s even dressed in white, his engel, the pale nightgown she wears doing little to hide the soft curves of her body. So soft looking, his mate, soft hair and soft skin and soft curves. Thick thighs and wide hips, full breasts that just peek out over the neckline of her nightgown.

Lovely. Perfect, no, holy - and his.

Her chest rises and falls, her breath divinity in itself. Descendant of Eve, of the first sin, and yet, as she lies there, tucked so deeply into his bed, he can't help but find her resplendent. The moonlight spills across the skin bared from the blanket tossed off of her, too hot in the midst of sleep, and Christus, she's something else.

His. His mate, his engel, his world. One who can provide forgiveness and absolution with not but a look. His breath catches in his chest, large hands curling up into tight fists then relaxing. Lovely. So incredibly lovely.

“Wer kann eine ausgezeichnete Frau finden? Sie ist viel wertvoller als Juwelen.” He whispers to himself, fingers splaying and fisting with the need to touch.

Konig's gaze darkens as he takes in the sight of his engel curled up so small and soft in his bed. She looks fragile there amongst his dark sheets, pale and lovely, a stark contrast to the harsh edges of his sparsely decorated bedroom. He can see the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath, soft lips parted just so, completely vulnerable. His mate. The one who chose him.

He's never seen anything so beautiful in all his years.

The scent of her permeates the room, sweet and sticky like overripe fruit. It makes his head spin and his cock ache, already half-hard just from her proximity. She smells like salvation itself, rich and pure, untainted by his blood-soaked hands.

Konig sheds his fatigues hastily, muscles tight and tense with anticipation. He's never undressed so quickly, boots and belt hitting the floor with dull thuds. The dog tags around his neck jingle softly as he crawls onto the bed behind her, movements predatory and graceful despite his imposing size.

Christus, just looking at her makes him dizzy with want. The curves of her body are barely concealed by the thin fabric of her nightgown, the swell of her breasts visible above the low neckline, just the slightest hint of pink areolae peeking through. He trails his rough, calloused fingers down the soft curve of her side reverently, watching in fascination as she shivers in her sleep. His engel. His mate.

His.

Konig presses closer, the heat of his bare chest searing against her back even through the thin barrier of her nightgown. She smells divine, like absolution and home, like holy smoke and purification and deific chastity. He breathes her in deeply, nose brushing the sensitive spot behind her ear and making her whimper softly. The sound goes straight to his cock.

Gently, so gently, he splays his large hand over her belly, rucking up the hem of her nightgown. She doesn't stir, lost in the throes of deep sleep, even as he slowly maps out the soft, supple terrain of her inner thigh. Christus, she's perfection incarnate. An altar built just for him.

Konig's cock leaks pre-cum impatiently against the swell of her ass. He's dizzy with want, overwhelmed by her proximity. His engel. His everything. He has never needed anything as much as he needs this. Needs her.

His hand trails higher beneath her nightgown, finding wet heat waiting for him between her soft thighs. His mate might be asleep, oblivious to his presence, but her body isn't, slick gathering at the apex of her thighs, soaking the gusset of her panties in acknowledgment of the presence of a superior alpha.

Carefully, Konig hooks his thumbs under the band of her panties, easing them down her thighs. The gossamer strands of slick bridge her cunt to the fabric and he grits his teeth at the sight, having to gently peel them away. Her scent is even thicker now, unrestrained, and it makes his head spin.

She's bare before him, asleep and unaware but still wanting of him, wet for a wretched thing like him. Soft thighs parted just enough that he can see the shine of her slick coating her pretty cunt. Christus, it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Evidence of her need for him, even asleep. Proof she belongs to him.

Konig shifts, settling between her legs and nudging them wider with his knees. He's dizzy with lust, pupils blown black with desire as he looks down at her prone form. She's his. His. Made for him. The Lord has blessed their union and he'll be damned if he waits a moment longer to consummate it.

The head of his cock nudges insistently at her damp folds, already glistening with a hint of her body's sweet readiness for him. Konig's pupils are blown wide, staring down at her with nothing but ravenous hunger as his cock bobs in front of her, engorged head near brushing her soaked folds.

He doesn't bother to stretch her, doesn't bother to warm her up. Why would he? She's his mate, his engel, his. She's made for him, she chose him, wicked and unworthy as he is, and the only thing that he can think as he tears through her maidenhead like tissue paper is that —

This is what Lucifer must have felt like, offering Eve the apple.

— And how wonderful, to know the downfall of something so cherubic will be on his hands, blood spilled across rough palms. Something holy in the work of ruinous claiming, he muses. Something purposeful.

"Wunderschön…," he murmurs, the praise rumbling up from the depths of his chest. "Perfekt…"

He can smell the tang of blood in the air. Virgin blood, her blood, consecrating this unholy act of claiming what's his. Her eyes, doelike and deep like the ocean, fly open and her pretty lips part on a shriek of pain, fat tears bubbling in her eyes that he promptly bends to lap up like eucharist.

Mine.

The thought pulses in his mind in time with his thrusts, a staccato of desperate, fervent worship, over and over as he fucks his claim into her body. Teeth bared, fresh air kissing his face for the first time in weeks, he hums as she begins to paw at his chest, trying to push him away. Perhaps he'll get her handprint tattooed on his skin, though with how each touch scalds him, he imagines there will be scars.

“Frauen, unterwirft euch euren eigenen Männern wie dem Herrn,” he murmurs, voice fevered and worshipful, drinking in her glassy eyes and her parted lips. “Denn der Mann ist das Haupt der Frau, so wie Christus das Haupt der Kirche, sein Leib, und selbst ihr Erlöser ist.”

Cry as she might, he can feel the way her walls flutter around his pistoning length, her eyes squeezing shut as if this is all a bad dream. A broken sob breaks from her, and he coos at it, coos at how sweet she sounds, his engel, his mate. Each little gasp is rapturous, has hellfire licking up his spine in greedy little waves.

But no. Not until his engel has cum, not until she's broken for him.

His fingers are talons, gripping bruises into the plush swell of her hips as he grinds himself deeper. Deeper and deeper still until his knot is beginning to swell, to stretch her even further open in preparation to lock them together. A calloused thumb finds the button of her clit - he'd researched for this, intent on spoiling his little mate - and begins to roll it back and forth, unpracticed but determined, and she keens, eyes flying wide and lips falling open. She all but bucks into his touch, clawing at him, claiming him with every raised line.

As if she wants him as much as he wants her.

The thought has König's eyes rolling back, jaw clenched in a rictus of rapturous bliss. He can feel it, the telltale throb and swell of his knot as it begins to catch with every harsh, punishing thrust—stretching Colette wider, pushing her to the limits of what her body can endure.

His lips curl upwards, and he bends over, an unstoppable force in the wake of her claiming, lips brushing against the pale column of her neck, taking, tasting, until she's shrieking her pleasure and sobbing.

It's not even when she's limp and trembling and overstimulated that he slows, stills, stops, doesn't dare pause the worship at her altar that has his hips stuttering and his knot swelling, throbbing insistently against the gummy walls of her cunt. Addictive, like this is the only thing that has ever mattered, like this is what he was made to do.

Christus, yes - this is right. This is what he was made for, this act of divine conquest and claiming. To take and ruin and breed, to sow his seed and brand his mate and let the world bear witness to the unholy, rapturous fruit of their joining.

Colette's breathless, pained sobs are like gospel to König—rapturous hymns consecrating the unholy fucking he's laid upon her. Her tear-streaked cheeks glisten in the low light, rosy lips parting on those broken, helpless little sounds as she squirms weakly beneath him in the midst of her undoing.

Overstimulated. How cute.

But Konig isn’t done. His thumb finds her clit and works at it again, rough circles, working her up up up again around his knot, leaving her gasping and mewling and choking out little pleas for him to stop, please. Each word is a prayer, has him humming softly and nosing at the curve of her neck.

His hips stutter, knot finally locking inside of her, and he groans as he begins to spill, scalding cum filling those holy walls until her stomach is just that slightest bit swollen with it. Bred - thoroughly bred.

She already smells like him. Like the slightest hint of violence and lemongrass. She was made for him, his engel, his purpose, and this is proof of that.

“Mein Wunder,” he rasps, dragging his lips against where her scent is strongest. “Gott im Himmel hat dich für mich geschaffen.”

He wonders if Adam felt the same way he feels now, entranced and enamored, but even Eve had been fallible.

His engel is not.

Perfect, she splays beneath him, all soft curves and lips glossy from her spit, and he can’t help the way he growls low in his chest at the sight of her. He’ll worship her, he’s sure of it. The sound of her name, co-lette, curls hot against his ribcage, and he aches to finalize it, to brand her as much as she’s branded him.

His engel, clever as she is, knows what he intends to do when his lips draw back, baring elongated fangs, hollow and dripping with promise.

She'll forgive him for the roughness. He knows she will, she's his mate after all, but for now, he splays a large hand against the small of her back to keep her from squirming off of him —

(his knot isn’t deflated yet, she’ll only hurt herself in her panic. such a silly, foolish little thing, doesn’t she know better?)

— and bites.

Blood, sweet and syrupy, floods into his mouth as his teeth close around her mating gland, coats his tongue and slides into his maw like something holy. Blood of Jesus, eucharist, no, holier than eucharist. No tepid wine can compare to the taste of her, all-encompassing and heavy like sin.

She screams, poor thing. Of course she does, the gland is sensitive and he's sure the venom will burn, but with how she’s close to shattering on his knot again, he's sure she can handle it. He murmurs soft prayers against her throat, lips smeared in her blood, and draws her closer despite the way she thrashes in his arms.

(weaker than him, she's so much weaker than him. something to protect. to hold. to keep locked away in the eden he's made of his home, far away from any snakes who might seek to cause her fall.

to have and to hold and to cherish, he thinks distantly.)

"Mein kleines lamm," he mutters, breath humid and sticky against the ragged tears of the wound. "Ich werde dich lieben bis zu dem Tag, an dem ich sterbe."

And even then - in death, would God be able to rip him from her side? At Saint Peter's gate, would he be able to separate them? Konig is no holy man, no righteous one, and he has no qualms damning this soft little angel to hell alongside him, if it means that her velvet cunt and her sweet moans stay close by.

No, best to damn her to his side.

He snakes one arm around her, even as she goes limp, rabbiting pulse slowing as exhaustion claims her. Drawing her close, he brushes his lips to her brow, to her cheeks, gliding her blood to spread tacky and cold across her face. Such a brave little engel, facing such pain. She’ll never experience anything like that again, he’ll make sure of it.

(except for him, of course.)

The thought has his knot throbbing once more, and he sucks in a sharp breath, clutching her prone form tighter. There will be time for that later, time to take her apart bit by bit so that he might curl up against the cradle of her intestines and stay there forever. Time to breed and take and ruin and—

Later.

For now, he contents himself to hold her, to smooth her hair back, out of her face. To murmur soft revelations against the mating bite he can’t seem to stop going back to, lapping up her blood like the finest wine.

He wonders if her cunt will taste as sweet.

Is it blasphemy, to ruin such a creature? His lips catch on her mating gland, teeth worrying at the edges until fresh blood blossoms across his palate, tinged with the acris taste of his venom. There’s something blasphemous about it, certainly, to taint her so, to make her his, but he supposes that there’s righteousness in it too.

Righteousness in *her*.

Claiming her is a sin worth any punishment. An indulgence he's ached for, dreamt of in the darkest nights on deployment. Only to wake, sweat-slick and aching, to the echo of her name on his lips.

And now she belongs to him. In sickness and in health, for better or worse. He can already see the way she’ll smile and blush as he lists his wedding vows - Ich nehme dich als meine Ehefrau. Ich verspreche dir die Treue in guten und in schlechten Tagen, in Gesundheit und Krankheit, dich zu lieben und zu achten, bis uns der Tod scheidet.

Chapters

Noctilucous - shining at night.

Elide - to leave out of consideration

Baret - strife; grief; sorrow

“Captain Price, I'm afraid that if you try to separate them too soon, Kyle may go into shock.” The psychiatrist tries to gently explain. “Not to mention the young woman that is with him.”

John stares at his pack's omega and he feels like a failure. They thought he was killed in action. Gone from them for good. He's ashamed that he was ready to write it all off despite Soap saying he could feel it in his soul that Kyle wasn't lost. He doesn't even try to pretend to be concerned about anyone else other than his Kyle. Yeah, it's nice that this woman managed to save him. What's not nice is the unhealthy codependency. They orbit each other, always within arms reach, growling whenever someone gets too close. When one sleeps, the other keeps watch. They never eat at the same time or even eat the same food. John can't imagine what kind of hellish abuse happened to where neither of them will eat together. 

Right now, both of them are lying on the bed. There are soft whispered words between the two of them. They lay in each other's arms, tracing soothing patterns on each other. Kyle has his back facing the observation window. He's hiding her. While Kyle was worse for wear when they found him, the girl was feral and extremely violent. It's clear that she's not all there, but there are moments where John swears she's clairvoyant and is always three steps ahead of the staff that has been tasked with watching them.

She counts a lot. She counts the amount of grapes in the bowl from their lunch. She counts the number of tiles on the ceiling and walls. She counts how many staff members pass the doorway window. John is sure she is keeping count of time, but he isn't sure how because there's no clock in the room, but she always makes sure she is up at each shift change. 

“I guess she's stuck with us for now.” John sighs, turning away from the two way mirror. 

I've been goin' through somethin'

One thousand, eight hundred and 55 days

I've been goin' through somethin'

Be afraid

Heat. Blistering itchy heat. Kyle wants to crawl out of his skin. It's so bad. The cold stone floor does little to give him relief. He imagines in his mind that Johnny will tease him. Nip at the bond mark on his neck, finger him open, and then slowly push himself into him. A sweet joining of flesh to prepare him for John and Simon. It would then be a week of non-stop fucking, and at the end he would he would be pleasantly sore. 

“Suppressants aren't-” a voice says through the thick fog of his concussion and heat addled brain.

There's growling coming from above his body. A weight presses down on him, and it feels like when Simon lays on him. A weighted blanket that's growling and hissing. There's a clang and the sound of glass shattering. Pained grunts and muffled shouts.

“Fuck! Sedate-” another voice is yelling and it makes his head hurt. Then it's all quiet or he thinks it's quiet. 

“You're okay.” A soft voice that sounds like it has swallowed rocks says to him. A warm hand touches him, and he hisses. “We'll get through this.” 

He opens his eyes, and the splitting headache he has only gets worse. Her eyes are wild like a caged animal, hair a matted mess. Despite this, she gives the visage of a bright light shining dimly in the dark of night (he is delirious with pain and heat). He's about to close his eyes again, but she taps him on the cheek.

“Hey, stay up. You have to stay up.” She moves him and holds him close to her breast. “Are you in heat? How long does it last?”

“Six or seven days.” He manages to croak out. Promptly after everything becomes a blur and haze.

His body doesn't feel like it's his own, but his inner omega feels good. The heat in his body is still blistering, but right now, the edge is being taken off. He grips at the flesh of her hips as he rocks into her body. He almost never is on top. His own dick never really enters any of his alphas. It's always him on the bottom, so this feels different. She's got the smooth column of her neck bared, submitting to him fully. His body bends over her, and his hips work into her, trying to desperately find relief. His dick is covered in an obscene amount of her slick, and it's mixing with his own. 

He whines, a guttural sound coming from his chest. He pants when he kisses her, bites at her lips, and shoves his tongue into her mouth. She sucks on his tongue and moans into the kiss. Her nails are bitten to the quick drag along his skin, and there won't be any scratches or welts on him. He still likes the feeling all the same. Somewhere in his mind he knows this isn't what his body of craving, he craves a knot, he desires to be ruined in the only way Simon can, to be choked and have his Captain’s beard leave a tingling feeling across his skin, to feel the jackhammer of Johnny's hips against his own.

This. Two omegas fucking. It feels like too needy pups that just discovered what sex was and didn't want to commit to the act with an alpha. 

But fuck if it doesn't feel good. It feels wet. It feels hot. It feels like the frayed edges of his mind are being cooled. It feels good to dominate her body and flesh.

When his heat breaks on the last day, he finally is lucid. The two of them are in a tangle of limbs. Sweaty bodies pressed close together at the far side of their cell. They don't bother with clothes. The thin, scratchy blanket that covers them is enough for now. She keeps her back towards the cell door, and he faintly realizes she is trying to hide him.

“What's your name?” His eyes feel heavy with sleep. Voice raw from voicing his pleasure. “My name is Kyle.”

She is quiet as she stares back at him. He is a little unnerved by how she doesn't answer right away. Instead, a small smile graces her cracked lips, and he thinks about the dangers of dehydration. She has not, to his memory, drank enough water, and she certainly only allows him a few sips here and there. Her fingers trace over his cheekbones and lips. Hands cupping his face with reverence, almost like she can't believe that someone else is in here with her.

It's a long moment of silence, and he is drifting off to sleep now. “How many days has it been?” He asks. He is trying to get her to talk. One of the first things to go as a POW is sanity. Maybe hers is already gone?

“It's been two weeks.” She tells him. “They put it in the air…I'm sorry.”

“Hm?” He cracked open his eyes, “I just got here.”

“No. The suppressants and sedatives were put in the air when I wouldn't let them inject you.”

He lost time. A big mistake, a rookie one at that. He can already hear Captain scolding him. He takes a deep breath. The come down from his heat is pulling him under into sleep. He needs it so that he can figure out with a clear head on how to escape and get back to his pack.

Before his fitful sleep finds him, he hears her speak again.

“Call me Yemoja.”

Everybody grieves different. 

I grieve different. 

Huh.

a.n: hello everyone. I plan on making you all hurt in this one. Love you. 😘

Song: United in grief. Kendrick Lamar

There's a knock at your door and you call out, “Come in.”

The door creaks open and it's Avarice. He shouldn't be in your room and his presence lets you know he snuck in. Those honey brown eyes of his crinkle in the corners and he holds up a small plastic bag filled with little square butter mints. “Look what I got Sweetie.” He's quick to kick off his boots and strip out of his shirt before plopping down into your nest.

The growl you let out is soft with no real anger behind it, “You're sweaty and you smell like outside, get out of my nest.”

Your words don't deter him. Instead he removes the ribbon from the bag and pulls out a light blue mint, “I went through all the trouble to get you these dumb butter mints you like so much.”

The insides of your stomach flip at the way he presses the candy to your lips. He smells like outside, but under it is the gunpowder that clings to him for days when he gets back from his travels. Just beyond that, if you concentrate hard enough, his natural scent of the world right before it rains struggles to come through. He's intoxicating and you breathe him in deeply.

You open your mouth and the mint gets placed on your tongue and a burst of sugary happiness settles over you. It's not love, not just yet between you both, but the promise is there.

Candy is hard to come by, and he always shows his adoration to your sweet tooth.

“I'm glad to have you back. Be gone before my dad and mom find you up here.” You lay back down, and he lays next to you.

“Sweetie,” He sounds so loving as he brushes the back of his fingers against your cheek, “I'm glad we don't live in the cities. But it gets harder and harder to take those types of freelance jobs out that way.”

“Why?”

“It just is, an omega boy we were tasked with tracking down, poor kid who couldn't have been older than like fourteen, escaped and when we found him he killed himself.” He sighs deeply, “They medicate them to make sure they can get pregnant on the first try and if they would rather have death-” his voice trails off when he realizes what he is saying.

“God punishes those who harm the weak.” You close your eyes, “I'm too hot and tired for this conversation Avarice. So please.”

You both don't say anything else.

○Present Day.●

The inside of the green dome is humid and clean. Gas masks aren't needed here. The ground is fertile and grass grows tall but not too tall because of the livestock kept on it. The sun beams down on your face through the glass ceiling. The dome took years to be built, it's your father's pride and joy and he built it with help from the community of different packs he oversees. He's something like the high head alpha or some sort. Everyone answers to him or who works directly under him.

This place is all you've ever known, peace, clean air, being barefoot, your manicured toes digging into the soil. You're supposed to be completing your own chores, you and your dog Sacha, sent out to the fields to gather up the sheep and bring them in. Your veil hangs loosely around you, it's the pretty light blue one that all young omegas in practice of priesthood wear. It creates a barrier between you and the prickly grass, Sacha lays his head on your stomach.

“We gotta get up at some point, Sacha.” You make no move, body heavy with tiredness from the humidity. “I wish Dad would let them turn the fans on. Hell.” You complain. Sacha only whines in agreement or what seems like agreement.

“Sweetie!” The distant call of your pet name rings through the air.

Your limbs move sluggishly as you sit up to spy your brother. He's racing towards you, riding on Dune. Anansi is a freshly presented alpha, young, spry, spirited, and to you a bit of a nuisance but everyone else calls him charismatic and boisterous. Wherever he goes, pranks usually follow and plenty of complaints from the beta population of the community. He looks like a clone of your father but with your mother's coloring, just like you. Bronze skin that is slowly but surely being covered in tattoos, his curly hair frames him like a halo and pulled out of his face. Bright brown eyes sparkling in the sun like gems, and a smile so wide it nearly splits his face in half. Dune huffs and puffs as he comes to a gradual stop and Anansi hops off of him. His respirator mask hangs loosely around his neck and he's dressed like he's ready to cause trouble.

“No.” You lay back down, “Find somebody else.” Sacha barks and gets up to sniff at him. His tail wags so hard that he vibrates all over.

“You're not even doing your chores.” His voice cracks with the last vestiges of puberty. “Sweetie, come on.” He begs.

“Why, so we both can get in trouble? Besides” you close your eyes and breathe in deep, “my coverings and black veils are on the clothesline.”

“Sweetie come on, what you got on is fine and we're only going out the dome for a trail ride.” He plops down next to you and leans in close. In the most conspiratorial way ever he snickers, “Your little boy toy is on the way back, don't you wanna meet him without Dad looking over your shoulder?”

Squinting against the sun, you think about the consequences. It won't be a far ride to meet your sweetheart. He's pretty and lean with honey brown eyes and sports a silly undercut. People call him arrogant but you think he is confident. He runs in mercenary circles outside of the dome, normally taking jobs that require tracking, he doesn't say much more about it. His pack has been integral in communications and security. The sad part is that his mother and your father don't get along very well, the two alphas butting heads on every little thing. Against your better judgment you get up and ignore the dread that tries to take hold of you.

“Fine, lemme-” You can barely agree fully before your pastel gas mask is yanked out of Anansi's bag. “You went in my room?”

“Didn't want to take more than one trip.” He whistles for Dune and the horse perks up ready to go. He digs in his bag and pulls out Dune's mask along with the one used for Sacha.

“Dad and mom are going to kill me for letting you talk me into letting us do this.” In the back of your mind though, you worry about if someone will notice you outside. You have the anatomy of a female omega, male omegas can beta pass easily with the right clothing. Your scent won't be well hidden without your full body veil but you won't be too far from the dome. Sacha sits still while you snap his mask in place and then double checking after Anansi's work on Dune, you climb on with him.

To the far far east of the dome is the entrance that leads to a back road. It's less traveled by on the account of all the vegetation that grows wildly and the woods and settlements where the diseased make their shanty town. Your mother twice a month goes out this gate with a small band of acolytes and nuns. Plenty of food that can be spared and medicines that she makes. Tonics that make dying easier from the effects of polluted air and disease. Potions that stop ruts and heats all together permanently, a rather painful process you've had to help administer. It's part of the good will and the right to live and die with humanity and dignity that the world denies them. From time to time, an emergency delivery is done on runaway betas and omegas that escape their cities. Pups can't be raised out in the open, too many crazies and pup snatchers, and gangs of roaming degenerates. Sometimes to your bewilderment they get it done and before the sun is down they are headed back to where they come from. So very much wanted and unwanted pups are done away with by your mom and the older acolytes who are just shy of priestesshood.

Nobody ever calls it what it is. It's illegal and goes against the laws.

The gate is the same glass door that opens out to a decontamination chamber. Anansi puts in the access code and it hisses open. The two door system takes a moment to spray you all down before the outer door slides open to the outside world. On the other side of the glass dome, birdsong is bright against the trees. The wind blows against your face and pushes back your veil, it makes the small bells sewn into the edge of the veil tinkle. Anansi snaps the reins and Dune is off with Sacha taking the lead.

“Avarice said before he left that some cities are seeking out shanty towns.” Anansi gives you a quick glance before looking forward again.

“Why on earth would they bother those people?” You snort, “ain't it bad enough they already suffer?”

“Word got out that some shanty towns have healthy people that run there for sanctuary.” He answers back, he sounds concerned. “I hope they don't find the one near us.”

“Maybe if you ask dad again he will let you bring that boy in.”

“Nah, that ain't the issue.” He shakes his head, his body tenses, “Caleb, he's healthy, would be good and new blood in the community, but he ain't leaving his uncle. Poor man is wasting away but he's too afraid to go on his own terms.” He's solemn but perks up, “But it's okay, I'm sure it will all work out!”

You hug your brother tightly as Dune leaps over a fallen decaying tree trunk. Your mind settles on the excitement of seeing Avarice and you ignore the queasy feeling in your stomach.

○●

Deep in the woods off the beaten path, amongst the blooming trees and grasses that are out of place is a group of poorly put together tents and shacks. The trees and greenery are an anomaly against the dry land, the grasses blend into the dry cracked earth that approaches the main road. Not much wildlife roamed here except the birds that flew overhead. Their chirps were familiar and caused a sense of nostalgia to run through Kyle's mind.

Paradise doesn't have many birds and they are always scared away when the sirens ring every hour to signal the time during daylight. The surrounding areas around Paradise barely hold fertile land and inside the walls, there's not much green space as packs exist on top of each other. So it is truly a novelty when he and his team find the location that was given to them.

The encampment itself is filled with people moving about, trying to have some semblance of a life. He feels terrible for what's about to happen as soon as Captain gives the orders. These places are illegal settlements, they can breed diseases immune to the various vaccines that have been made to combat the biological warfare side-effects of the past. It's also the perfect hiding spot for fresh blood, runaway omegas and the betas and alphas that helped them. Pups that could get snatched by bad people and indoctrinated into horrendous cults. He's seen the worst that life has to offer and sometimes, people who are scared don't know any better. There's sweat on his brow, saturating his cap, he hopes the sun won't give him weird tan lines again that follow his half mask. His vest is heavy against him, but like always he doesn't mind the weight, some crazies have fashioned strange weapons these days, most of them akin to medieval melee weapons and for some odd reason everyone fights like gorillas during Vietnam.

His earpiece crackles to life and it's the Captain, “Is everyone positioned?” He's tired, and Kyle can hear it in his voice. Underneath it is anxiousness because the team he's leading is larger than normal. It's their pack and a few others hired for this contract to hunt down this encampment. The intel of some medicine woman hiding in the sticks amongst the sick and dying is doing horrible things, makes this all the more important.

It's illegal to perform and or administer care that kills an unborn pup. There are also laws about distribution of abortifants and other poisons. It's heinous, especially during a population crisis and the tricky navigation to avoid inbreeding.

There's confirmation of positions, and Kyle lets Price know he's at the choke point. Some other mercenaries are with him, both to assist and to surveill each other. There can't be any fowl play with a potential capture this large.

This medicine woman is a known alpha female. Brown skin, large no taller than 6 '0 maybe 260 pounds. She's known to travel with a group, sometimes there are armed escorts, sometimes it's just her and her followers. The followers are usually betas and omegas, and from the intel they wear gas masks, hinting that they aren't sick or defective.

“Ya ken,” Johnny's voice comes through the earpiece, his voice is always light. “What if we don't find her? Then what?”

Kyle grunts in annoyance, “Then we left Atlas with Kate and Odette for no reason.”

“Aye, ye jus a wee bit mad that his stay with them throws him off his sleep schedule.” Johnny chuckles. This causes some other people on the frequency to laugh at this too. Just about every other person has a young pup at home from the last cycle two months ago.

“Focus.” John is stern and the levity is snuffed out instantly.

There's a moment of silence, the birds become deathly quiet and it's just the wind rustling the leaves. John gives the signal and chaos can be heard. From Kyle's position at the choke point, he can catch glimpses of people scrambling. Their surprised screams rise high above the automatic gun fire, dogs are heard barking, herding them towards his team's position. The first person through the trail, bursting through the brush is young. They are thin, sickly and starving thin. Dressed in rags, exposed skin showing lesions that seemed to be open, Kyle takes it upon himself to fire the first shot. It goes through their head and they drop to the ground.

They wouldn't have passed the initial inspection of health anyway.

He thinks it's a mercy.

○●

You and Anansi had finally come to a stop just a short way from the main road, just waiting for your sweetheart's return and chatting. Sacha sniffs around the bushes and suddenly he perks up, head pointed towards the trees. A distant gunshot can be heard and then more, all of them rapid fire. You look at your brother and he's looking in that direction too. It's coming from where the shanty town is and before you can speak sense into him, he's already mounting Dune and galloping towards stupidity.

“Anansi! Wait!” You run after him. Panic grips your heart and lungs. He won't want to rest until he has his friend with him. “Anansi you idiot! Fucking wait!” It's an anxious feeling that claws at you. Terror because you never should have let him convince you to leave the safety of the Pink House and its glass dome.

Your mask makes it hard to breathe as you race through the trails. Blood rushing in your ears from the sheer adrenaline, it's distant but you can hear Sacha barking as he speeds ahead of you. Then the screams, the horrible screams that cut through the sounds of gunfire. You don't stop and push through the strain of pumping your legs, the tinkling of your veil is faint and all you can think is-

‘I shouldn't have left the dome!’ On repeat.

There is a distressed shout and the neighs of Dune, who sounds panicked. The sight that greets you when you finally break through the tree line makes your blood freeze. There are bodies bloodied and beaten, people in all black apprehending the very people you and your community have grown to care for. It's like watching a living nightmare in real-time. The only thing that breaks you out of your trance is the sound of Anansi's scream, you're moving before you know it. Dodging and jumping over bodies that resist and escape in the opposite direction. In your peripheral an arm snaps out, yanking you behind a shack. Your fists lash out, swinging blindly, but you're held still and against the side of the shack.

“Sweetie!” The scent of outside, gunpowder, and as always just under that the scent of the world before it rains while faint, stops your frantic struggle. Avarice has his respirator on, his eyes filled with fear and worry. “What the fuck are you doing out here?” He hisses and pulls you close to him, just as the heavily armed men run past the opening to where you both hide.

“We were waiting for you by the main road. We gotta find Anansi and get out of here!” The whole of you shakes uncontrollably. There's tightness in your chest.

“You gotta get out of here, I'll find him, get out of here and hide Sweetie.” He looks over your shoulder and then presses his hunting knife into your hand. “Don't look back. Keep going.”

“We gotta get Anansi! I can't leave hi-” He cuts you off by shoving you forward.

“I'll find him! Go!” He shouts over the chaos.

You take off running, following the panic towards the tree line. There's barking and out of the corner of your eye you spot it, a dog with a gas mask, with skull painted over it. It charges for you, direct line of sight. The ground is hard when you land face first. You've tripped over your skirt and your veil begins to slip free of your hair. Scrambling up, you push forward, the dog closing in on you. You've lost your brother, your family horse and your dog. Avarice is still in the chaos helping people escape and you pray he makes it out.

Pain is a funny thing. Your mother teaches that physical sensations remind the flesh and body that it's alive. Pain, pleasure, discomfort, ease, all of it keeps the body alive. So when fire shoots up your leg and through your side the first thing you think of is dying. The shock paralyzes you and before you can scramble back up a knee gets pressed into your back. Your veil slips from your head as you thrash about. You can't thrash hard enough, there isn't enough air circulating through the mask and the urge to wiggle it off is strong, but you don't.

“This one checks the initial inspection sir.” A man speaks.

“Get off me you sick fucks!” You scream and kick your legs, making the pain worse.

“It's a female, looks healthy, drag her to the keep pile.” You don't see who is speaking and through the thrashing both arms are seized and zip tied at the wrist. Your skirts are dirtied as you're tugged from the path and you get your first real look at the scene. People lay in the dirt dying or dead. Blood turns the dirt muddy, blood trails that lead in different directions. The man drops you next to other hostages that you recognize. All of them omegas and betas that had made their home in this shanty town, people you have treated.

There's another wave of screaming and gunshots to be heard, and that's when you see it, how they are clearing the area. Chasing terrified and sick people into their trap, killing those who won't make the journey and those that can and will.

It goes on, this madness for what feels like ever before it all stops. The sun is setting when the last person is zip tied and the mercy callings are done.

○●

“Cap, that's the last one. This choke point is cleared up. Fifteen headcount to take back to the city for medical attention.” Kyle stands in the middle of the trail overseeing his team collecting the dead. He tries to ignore the sobbing of the fifteen people who are healthy enough to be let into the city. He knows deep down that this is the right thing to do, but the initial feelings give him pause. In the long run, these people will thank them, thank them for getting them back to safety and in their right mind.

“Four on mah end Cap!” Johnny chirps, “Three if the one coughing is hacking up a lung from illness and not dust.”

“The area is clear.” Simon radios in.

John takes a moment before his voice crackles over the radio, “Good, let's get this all wrapped up. I don't want to be out in the open longer than needed.”

Kyle walks the trail, looking at the dead and he stops right in front of a pile of dirty fabric. It's blue and has bells sewn on it. It's too fancy to belong to any of the people that lived in the encampment. He picks it up and holds the soft slippery fabric between gloved fingers. A quick scan to make sure he isn't being watched too closely, and he then presses it up close to where his mask arches over nose. It's faint but he smells the scent of an omega just under the reeking stench of fear and panic. The lingering light balm of delicate flowers, he can't place it, his nose isn't as sensitive as Simon's. A memory is tickled in the back of his mind by the scent, warmth, laughter, scratches and heavy breathing. He sees her in his mind, bright and feisty, a bit of a trouble maker, most importantly she's alive.

She's not as he last saw her, scared, shivering, calling for her mother, slapping his touch away, crying for death.

“Uh Garrick sir?” A no name youngster brings him from his memory. Kyle glances over his shoulder and balls up the fabric tightly before stuffing it in between his chest and tact vest.

“Yeah kid?”

“We did another check of the uhm…” He doesn't know what to call them. Kyle didn't know what to call them in the beginning either. He doesn't force him to classify the people and encourages him to continue with a tip of his cap. The boy straightened up and continued, “Out of the fifteen, only six are male presenting, the other nine are female presenting. Three alphas, seven betas, and five omegas, and only one of them has a face covering sir.”

He's surprised that any of them have that. In these encampments, people tend to forego basic safety. He follows the young boy back to where they are holding their detainees, yeah that sounds better he thinks. It sounds nicer and not as permanent or dehumanizing. His gaze trails over all of them, dirty and nervous, not scared, but he stops at one. She's not rail thin or sickly looking, appears to be well fed and kept up. Her gas mask is bright and colorful, charms fashioned to it like the pups at home he's seen do. She isn't dressed in gray drab rags that are falling apart. That alone makes it so that he knows she doesn't belong.

If she isn't from here…then where did she come from?

“Stand her up.” He nods to her and the young boy hurries to do as he's told. She puts up a struggle, hiss and spotting curses, but eventually she is yanked to her feet. Kyle gets close to her, she fits some of the description of the fabled medicine woman that lingers in these parts. “You're not from here are you darling?”

She doesn't speak and her breathing is labored from either pain, exhaustion, anger, or a mix of all three. Her eyes narrow in and then she turns her head away from him. He notes though, that she keeps the corner of her eye towards him, staring at his chest. Kyle follows her line of sight and sees just the corner of the fabric poking out.

He questions her quietly, trying his best to come off as nice despite how all of this may seem, “This yours?”

“Fuck you and let us go!” She doesn't hesitate to snap back.

“Darling…” He already feels a certain type of warmth in his chest. Maybe it's grief or maybe he just misses his pup's mother. His last omega snapped often, right before she bared her neck and submits to whatever he craved. Mind made up he slings his gun into a more manageable position and then hoists the woman over his shoulder. She screams and berates him, he doesn't care since it's all hot air and lip service.

“You're a brute! The second I get free I'll kill you! My alpha is nearby! He'll kill you himself the second he gets here! I'll make sure of it!” She shrieks and wiggles, trying to dislodge his grip.

“Let's get them up to the truck, I'm sure Captain Price has already been by the other groups.” He commands his team.

He ignores the idle threats walking back to the encampment. The closer they get the thicker the air becomes with the scent of blood and gasoline. His mask filters out most of it, but the twinge of what's to finally come lingers in the back of his throat. Every encampment gets burned to the ground. Everything. Nothing can be saved or spared. Escapees that made it out past the choke points can't be left with diseased things, heaven knows what will spread. Dead bodies can't be left or the wildlife, what little still lingers such as wild dogs and cats, will eat them and spread sickness.

He passes Simon who only tilts his head in question at what he's got over his shoulder. The woman may have spotted him because she goes still and quiet immediately. Up by the truck, and really it's five of them, stands John.

He's with a medic, looking over the detainees as they are loaded one by one in the back cabin. The ones that don't make the last check before they set off are pulled to the side.

A single scream is heard before a shot silences it.

John raises both brows, noticing Kyle and his guest. He doesn't tell him no right away, stays silent so he can make his case on why she isn't walking and being given princess treatment. The closer he gets though, the more realization dawns in his blue eyes. “Whatcha got there Sargent?”

It's rhetorical and they both chuckle at that.

“Found her in the chaos sir. Smells like flowers.” Is all Kyle says.

The medic ping pongs between the two of them. “Do I check her too?” They are nervous, their voice shakes too much.

“Yeah, check her.” John reaches out to grab her by the chin but yanks back before she can clamp her teeth on his fingers. “Yeah…reminds me of flowers too.”

The medic wastes no more time before taking her temp, examining her eyes, with a bit of force they check her teeth and do a skin check for open sores that have trouble healing. She only has the gunshot wound to the leg, and is declared fine enough for transport. A needle gets pulled from the medical bag and that's when she struggles again.

“Sshh,” Kyle calms her and holds her tight. Her breathing picks up and she becomes frantic. “It's just enough to keep you calm on the ride back, don't want you hurting yourself.”

“No! No! No! AVARICE HELP!” She wails and tries to throw herself from his grip.

Plenty of people are watching now, everyone knows that name. John furrows his brow and speaks low into his comm mic. The medic struggles but the needle goes right into the side of her neck right below her mating gland. Kyle's surprised to see that it's unmarked, smooth with no teeth dents.

It makes his mouth water at the thought and implications.

“She can ride upfront with us.” John states. His comms crackle with static.

“I got him sir.” Simon can be heard and under it faintly the sound of Riley barking.

Kyle doesn't stay to hear the rest of what's said and moves to get situated. It's a two hour drive back to Paradise. The sooner they get going the better.

○●

“What happens in those big cities mom?” You ask. The work day is over and just about all of your wares and trinkets are gone. “Avarice tells me they are all different depending on who runs them.”

Your mom sucks her teeth, “They're all the same Sweetie. Harsh. Crowded. Not a lot of room to live. Everyone is in fight or flight mode. People who can tough it out, thrive there.” She looks towards the city that is walled up and shakes her head. She continues, “Folks who can make babies don't ever do well there. You can make babies and if you ever find yourself in a place like that, do everything you can to take your life or resign to submission.”