✗ "B" IS FOR BREEDABLE OMEGA !!
✗ pairing. alpha! enjin x omega! zanka
RATING 18+ | in which, zanka was supposed to be an alpha. but fate had other plans. he’s an omega, forced to face his first heat alone after being cast out. one alpha in particular can’t help but take notice, drawn to his scent and his defiance, and zanka soon finds himself caught in a knot he never knew he wanted. ( 9.2K )
✉️ ~ MDNI | AO3 | enjoy reading !
✧ chapter contents - alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, mating cycles, first time, public sex, strangers to lovers, one night stands, breeding kink, knotting, creampie, scent kink, marking, possessive behavior, dom/sub dynamics, loss of virginity, praise kink, belly bulge, mild hurt/comfort
A few things to keep in mind:
1. With the lack of proper sunlight and years of soil contamination, heat suppressors are rare. On the Ground, they’re a luxury very few can actually afford. Made from medicinal herbs that “cool” the body or suppress fertility cycles, the harsh climate and barren soil make them nearly impossible to produce in any quantity.
2. Generations of pollution and neglect have affected how traits develop on the Ground. Dominant alphas, for example, have grown largely immune to weaker pheromones.
3. The general population tends to show secondary traits later than usual, typically between ages 19 and 26, though it’s not uncommon for some to present in their early 30s.
Zanka should’ve been born an alpha. No, he is an alpha.
It was basically set in stone, fate. Predestined. Born into a prestigious lineage composed entirely of dominant purebreds, it was only fitting that he would present as one, right? If only the stars had aligned perfectly, he would be living it up at the top of his class. Academics, sports, you name it. Blessed with both natural talent and the brains to back it up, he should’ve been living the good life right about now. Instead, fate had other, far crueler plans in mind. The night pressed in as he walked, each step heavier than the last. His temperature ran warm beneath his skin in a way he stubbornly refused to acknowledge.
Skill and talent only get you so far in a world that decides your place before you’re even born. If only the odds had been in his favor. Maybe then things would’ve turned out better. Maybe then he wouldn’t be out here on the streets scurrying around like a damn sewer rat. Maybe then he wouldn’t be a disgrace to his entire bloodline. Maybe then he wouldn’t be such a goddamn waste of space… nothing but trash.
And even that felt unfair. Trash, at least, had once served a purpose.
The thought sat wrong in his chest, tightening into unforgiving knots, tugging his breathing just slightly off rhythm. The heat gathered low and persistent in his gut. Starting subtly at first, easy enough to ignore as long as he kept moving, kept thinking
That is, until one particularly harsh stumble broke his stride. Zanka cursed under a weighted breath as he veered off the main road and into the narrow space between two run-down buildings, tucking himself away in a place where the noisy city dulled, and the light began to thin.
Zanka stopped there, more out of necessity than choice. He pressed a hand firmly to cold brick, steadying himself, the warmth in his body deepening, coiling tighter, more insistent now that he was still.
Maybe if he weren't just some mediocre nobody, then he wouldn’t have presented as a filthy fucking omega.
The lowest of the low. The scum of the earth. Worse than the heaps of waste rotting in no man’s land; at least garbage knew its place. His jaw tightened as another slow wave rolled through him, insistent and humiliating. He doesn’t believe it. Not even a little bit. There were no signs up until this point. None. All the pre-screening checkups, the blood work, the tests. What were they worth? Just for some senile old hag to go blabbing her dentures off about his secondary gender being a recessive omega?
Bullshit. Total fucking bullshit.
Zanka’s fingers curled against the unyielding wall, white knuckles stinging as his balance swayed once more.
Here on the ground, where even the most breathable air is more toxic than the water supply, locals have grown accustomed to the putrid stench of soot and rotten decay. It’s almost unheard of to catch a whiff of something so sweet it makes your mouth water. And now, cornered by his own body in a dead-end alley, Zanka was the one forced to pay the ultimate price as onlookers began to take notice.
Just moments before, when Zanka stumbled through the crowded streets like a chicken with its head cut off, he caught the attention of one man in particular.
Enjin, a dominant alpha through and through.
Catching a whiff of those omega pheromones, the kind any alpha would go feral over, were weak, unstable, but sharp; like delicate rose petals lined with prickly thorns. Enjin had taken it all in from across the street, a lit cigarette dangling from his dry lips, brow furrowed as he assessed the situation. Clearly recessive. Judging from the scent alone.
Did he not care about hiding his pheromones? Or, maybe he couldn't. Either way, letting pheromones this rich bleed into a crowded street was practically an invitation to get torn apart. Even if the scent was faint, modest, barely a whisper compared to a dominant’s. Still, other alphas had already started noticing, edging closer, circling like sharks.
“Rein it in, kid,” Enjin muttered, smoke curling off his tongue in sharp, hot puffs. “Pumpin’ heat pheromones this intense? You're just asking to be assaulted.”
Hell, maybe that was his end goal. Gotta admit, whatever the reason, the omegas got some serious balls pulling a stunt like that in this stretch of town. Maybe he wasn’t from around these slums? No. Definitely not. Enjin would’ve remembered that scent. Not to mention a face like that? Priceless. The kind that’d fetch a stupidly high price on the black market. It’s a damn shame, really. He’d seen the cycle play out more times than he cared to count—rape, then kidnapping, then, if the poor bastard wasn’t already zipped into a body bag, he would be sold off to some low-grade schmuck just itching to get their grubby hands on a petite little omega to call their own.
Either way, it wasn’t his business. Around these parts, civilians lived by an unspoken rule: keep your head down and mind your own damn business. Meddling in other people’s affairs was begging for an ass-whooping.
Didn’t matter how loud the omega screamed, nor how far his pheromones spread. Once a trafficking ring sank its claws into fresh merchandise, that was it; game over. Morbid? Sure. But everyone knew it like it was law.
Ribbons of smoke clung to the polluted air like a bad habit, twisting and curling through the neon haze. Enjin exhaled slowly, dragging another deliberate pull of his cigarette, letting the burn bite and chew at his delicate throat.
What to do, what to do… He had a reputation to uphold. And not the kind that comes with a handshake or a half-assed smile. The underworld respected him, feared him even, because he didn’t take space. He owned it. Being dominant came with perks, sure, but it was more than just perks: it was leverage, it was power, it was the luxury of having people hesitate before crossing you. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to let some shit blossom omega tarnish his street cred over something so… trivial.
Or at least, that’s what he told himself.
And yet, when push came to shove, curiosity had a nasty habit of sinking its teeth; biting him in the ass harder than he’d ever care to admit.
Enjin moseyed on over to the tucked-away nook before his mind was even made up. Letting the heat of his cigarette curl between his fingers before flicking the cherry into the nearest pit drain. It hissed and smoked, almost as if it had a mouth of its own.
Maybe it was just piqued interest nagging him forward, a little itch he couldn’t quite scratch. Or perhaps it was something far worse, dangerous even… pity. The word alone left a foul taste on Enjin’s tongue. And yet here he was, letting it seep past his defenses once again.
It’d be just a simple in and out.
In hindsight, it should’ve been straightforward enough.
Beat up the goon squad, save the kid, be a hero, then bounce before anyone even knew he was there. Clean. Efficient. The kind of job Enjin was good at. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy… right? Yeah, sure. He’d learned the hard way that things rarely stayed simple once he got involved. And yet, here he was, already stepping in.
Enjin rounded the corner of the dull, trash-fused alley already bracing for the worst. That was just common sense. Three grown horndog alphas tailing a fragile omega, pheromones flaring like a distress signal, was a punchline to a joke no one ever laughed at. From the panting and low, ugly sounds ricocheting off the walls, it sounded like the hunt was already finished.
A small grin tugged at the very edge of Enjin’s mouth before he could stop it. That didn’t happen often. Impressed wasn’t something he handed out lightly… especially not to a stray omega.
Two of the alphas were already down within minutes, sprawled out, ass handed to them, and not moving much. The third was learning the hard way that things had gone sideways. Whatever kind of groaning he’d expected tonight, this wasn’t it. He was locked in a headhold now, clawing and thrashing about like a cornered animal, the omega’s grip tight and unyielding.
“Stupid… omega,” the alpha snapped. “Think you get a pass just ’cause we went easy on you?”
“How many times,” Zanka snarled, breath rough, teeth bared, “do I have to tell you… I’m not a fucking omega.”
Panting hard. Too hard. And the scent coming off him was wrong—sharp, biting, nothing like heat at all. Enjin felt his grin widen despite himself. Omegas didn’t fight like that. Didn’t move like that. And they sure as hell didn’t drop two alphas and keep a third begging.
Yeah. That wasn’t any normal omega. And that made things all the more interesting.
Enjin didn’t announce himself; he didn't need to. No warning, no clever remark. He just moved.
One second, the alpha was still clawing at the kid’s arm, choking and sputtering, and the next, Enjin was there. Hand firmly clamped down on the back of his collar, grip iron-tight: a sharp twist, a solid pull. The chokehold broke as Enjin yanked the alpha back like dead weight and slammed him into the alley wall hard enough to rattle teeth.
“Time’s up,” Enjin said flatly.
The alpha wheezed, scrambling, eyes blown wide now that he’d realized someone bigger had entered the picture. Enjin didn’t give him time to think. One clean hit to the gut. Another to the jaw. The body crumpled easily after that like a dead roach, folding into the trash-strewn ground with a pathetic little sound.
Enjin’s boot came down squarely on the alpha’s shoulder, pinning him hard enough to knock the fight right out of him. The guy wheezed, face scraping concrete, scrambling uselessly beneath Enjin’s weight.
“Do me a favor and keep that mouth shut, yeah?” Enjin spoke calmly, voice low, almost bored. “I’d hate to get blood on my uniform.”
With a single swift motion, Enjin kicked him, hard enough to fracture skulls.
The impact snapped the alpha’s head sideways, the force spraying blood against brick. The rogue alpha didn’t try to talk after that. Just scrambled up, choking and disoriented, before bolting out of the alley with his tail between his legs.
“Shit… got some on me… this was a new shirt too…”
Silence followed. Heavy. Awkward.
And for the first time, Enjin really looked at him. Blood added a sharp contrast to those soft omega features; helpless and pathetic as he might seem, none of it was his.
Those eyes singled Enjin out immediately. Sprawled against a pile of loose cardboard boxes, roughed up and beaten, there was an intense glare swimming in those deep blues; loathing, aggression… and just a flicker of fear. Unsure if this new foe meant harm. An alpha helping a wounded omega out of the kindness of his heart? Yeah, right. Whether it was his body or some other price, Zanka knew help didn't come free of charge.
Enjin straightened his posture, rolling his shoulder once like he was shaking off a mild inconvenience. Three down. Just like that.
Enjin clicked his tongue softly. “Oi, kid. You tryna get the whole street on top of you?” His tone was casual, like this alley hadn’t just been a mess of broken bodies and bad decisions. “An omega like you shouldn’t be—”
“I’m not… an omega… asshole,” Zanka snapped back, sharp and unyielding. Still catching his breath, chest heaving, fists clenched like he was ready for round two. Heat radiated off him in waves, but he didn’t even flinch. Showing not an ounce of weakness, fists still tight, every inch of him screaming ‘don’t mess with me.’
Enjin narrowed his eyes. Was this kid serious?
“First off, the name’s Enjin. Secondly, is that anyway to speak to the guy who just saved your ass, brat?” Whether it was stubbornness or pure denial, Enjin had no way of telling. One thing was for sure: someone with a mindset this reckless was a danger not just to others, but to themselves.
Pumping out sweet, alluring pheromones like he was handing himself over for free? Careless.
“Bite me,” Zanka hissed, venom coating the words; the fire in his gaze was undeniable. Any other omega would’ve gone belly up under the watchful eye of a dominant alpha. But no. Not this one. Special. Damn well annoying… and that thought drew a slow, sharp smile to Enjin’s lips.
“Learn some respect,” he said, low and utterly amused. “Tongue that sharp, and you’re just asking someone to put you in your place.”
“I didn’t ask for your help…” Zanka spat, teeth clenched, every labored breath radiating an almost molten warmth.
Watching him try to stand was like watching a fish trying to find its footing—pathetic.
“I didn’t… I didn’t ask for any of this, ya hear?” Zanka hissed again, “And I sure as hell… don't need help from someone like you.”
Lethal toxins coated every word, eyes flashing with defiance even as he struggled to right himself. The brat just didn’t know when to lie down and quit. That stubborn spark, that fire burning under his skin, it was only made all the more clear by the intoxicating scent that drenched the alley. Hot. Sharp. Absolutely ripe.
Zanka slumped his full weight against the color-streaked wall. Trying to move like this? Hell, he could hardly even stand. Hugging the wall, inching along as Enjin rolled his cigarette between his lips. Simply observing. Nothing more. And definitely not waiting for the perfect moment to say “I told you so” as his knees wobbled like he was standing on stilts.
And wouldn’t you know it… Enjin had been right.
Enjin never intended to catch him. No, if anything, it served him right to fall on his ass. However, his limbs moved before his mind could catch up, and suddenly Enjin’s hand was there, gripping the omega’s waist, steadying him before he could collapse entirely. From the moment their bodies touched, Zanka let out a low, drawn-out mewl, sharp and raw. Heat rolled off him in thick, desperate waves, skin prickling with goosebumps, voice trembling, bringing to light everything he wanted to desperately hide.
Enjin’s fingers dug into the narrow, malnourished dip of his waist, firm and unyielding. “Easy now… don’t push yourself,”
Zanka could smell it. Alpha pheromones. The aroma hit him all at once, intense enough to singe the hairs in his nose and send his senses into a frenzy without rhyme or reason.
Have alpha scents always been this intense? Zanka felt drunk on it. Dizzy. Weak in a way he’d never known before now. His knees buckled, breath slipping into uneven pants, saliva gathering as he breathed in that thick, overwhelming musk.
Why him? None of those bastard alphas smelled like this… this damn intoxicating. The scent was thin, controlled, like Enjin was actively holding it back for his sake. And Zanka hated that. No, he needed it. The urge crawled under his skin, desperate and humiliating, telling him to press closer, to burrow into it, to drown himself in the smell until nothing else existed.
It rolled over him in harsh waves that somehow soothed even as they overwhelmed him, drowning him and steadying him all at once. The pinprick burn across his hypersensitive skin began to fade, the edge of his heat dulling just from being near an alpha.
How pathetic. Reduced to this. A slave to instincts he couldn’t control.
And still… Zanka craved more.
“Hey, quit squirming around, damn it. And watch where you—” Enjin froze.
Weak, trembling fingers twisted into his uniform, nails digging in deep enough to crease the freshly tailored fabric. He felt it then, the heat of uneven breaths ghosting his temple, a nose nudging far too close, blindly pawing at a scent gland. Zanka pressed in, clumsy and desperate, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as his body had already made the decision for him. He didn’t want this. Heavens no. It was such an intimate thing… to do with someone he’d only just met. But blind instinct didn't care who or when they met. Right then and there, all Zanka knew was that he needed it.
“Gotta pull yourself together, kid…” Enjin muttered in vain. Useless. Trying to reason with an omega in heat was like talking to a brick wall; stupid and ineffective.
Zanka was too far gone, consumed by the heat pulsing through his bloodstream. He hadn’t even realized the kind of trouble he was causing, pushing their bodies close; far too close for anyone’s comfort. Enjin’s pupils widened the instant he felt it pressing against him. The absentminded omega had no clue what he was doing, and yet that didn’t stop the erection straining insistently through his pants. It oozed, weeping into a darkened patch of arousal that showed plainly against the fabric.
Enjin groaned, bitter disgust rattling low in his throat pipe. Half of it was for the kid who remained too close, hips humping without a single thought as he ground against Enjin’s leg, spreading his scent everywhere. Practically announcing to the whole damn town, “This alpha got down and dirty with an omega.”
The other half was aimed squarely at himself. At the hard, traitorous pull low in his gut. Disgusted at the way his body reacted anyway, tight and aching, fighting against his own damn restraint.
Enjin, thinking fast, grabbed Zanka by the shoulder. Peeling him off was like trying to tear Velcro apart. “Seriously? Pull yourself together. Just look at yourself, do you even realize how deep in shit you are?”
Enjin’s nose twitched, nostrils drinking it in like a man long dehydrated. Fuck. The smell… it hit harder this time.
Sharp, thick, rolling off in waves that made Enjin’s lungs tighten. The further the lure was cast, the more it pulled at every riled-up alpha in the area, practically screaming, “Here’s a weak omega, ripe for the taking.”
He set Zanka down on a nearby crate, fingers brushing his skin just enough to steady him. Sighing, Enjin weighed his options. He couldn’t just leave him like this; hell, he shouldn’t. Not in this state. It’d only be a matter of time before some other horny bastards snatched him up.
And the fragrance Zanka put off… pheromones leaking like an uncapped faucet. Childish. You’d think that at his big age, an omega of his stature would’ve learned some control by now. Lucky for him, Enjin had found him when he did. Otherwise… who knew what could’ve happened? Dominants weren’t usually swayed this easily, especially by a scent this weak, this infantile, which explained how Enjin had managed to keep a level head until now. But the stronger it got, the harder it became to hold back.
“First order of business: we need to deal with that scent of yours,” Enjin decreed, fishing through his back pocket and pulling out a carton of smokes. “It’s not an end-all cure-all for what you’re puttin’ out, but it should keep unwanted attention off you for the time being.”
Zanka’s eyes softened, heavy and lidded, lost in a haze of his own heat. “Damn, last one… you better appreciate it, runt.”
Seeing as the kid could barely keep himself upright, Enjin took it upon himself to light the cigarette. He drew in a slow, deliberate pull, rolling the butt between his fingers and flicking the lighter shut. The cherry dimmed as he exhaled smoothly, eyes tracking the omega slumped in front of him; panting, trembling, scent swelling with every shallow wheeze.
Enjin plucked the cigarette from his lips and held it out. “Here, take it.”
Zanka didn’t. Head bowed, shoulders drawn tight, steam practically rolling off him. The faint pink creeping along the back of his nape told Enjin everything he needed to know. He was burning up. Bad.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” Enjin sighed, sharper now, stepping close enough that the smoke cut straight through the haze of pheromones.
He reached out, fingers brushing along Zanka’s jaw, trying to tilt his head up—
Big mistake. Zanka flinched hard, swatting the hand away on instinct, nearly tipping himself over in the process. He caught himself on the edge of the crate with a shaky breath, glaring up through those weak eyelids.
Enjin clicked his tongue. “Real smart.”
“Get… lost,” Zanka shot back, voice rough, unsteady.
“You’ve got one helluva mouth on you,” Enjin said, a quiet snort in his voice.
He moved again, quicker this time, grip firm as he cupped Zanka’s face and held him still—no yanking, no force, just enough pressure to stop the flailing. He brought the cigarette close, smoke flooding the narrow space between them, cutting through the scent by sheer insistence as he pushed the butt past those parted lips.
“Wrong enemy kid,” he added flatly. “Can’t you see I’m only trying to… help…”
In an instant, Enjin’s stomach bottomed out. The look he got in return for his unwavering persistence was, in simple terms, priceless. Absolutely priceless. Hitting him hard like a punch square to the gut.
The look Zanka gave him was dangerous, raw, and unfiltered, in the best of ways. Glassy, unfocused eyes, tongue lolling just barely from parted lips. Heat-sick and reckless, every small movement radiating the utmost need. The scent, the desperation, the unrestrained want in that gaze, it was a shameful turn-on Enjin couldn’t dare ignore.
He was in way over his head, and he knew it.
“Haven’t you ever had a smoke before?” Enjin murmurs, trying to sound casual, but the strain in his pants betrayed him heavily. “Don't just hold it in your mouth.”
A finger brushed along Zanka’s bottom lip, brief but deliberate, asserting control without touching too much. Then came the strict, unmistakable order:
For the first time, Zanka did as he was told. He sucked… just not the cigarette.
Enjin let out a short, sharp snicker—not mocking, not amused, but the kind that slipped out when restraint had begun to fray at the seams. He should’ve pulled away when the tongue ran tentatively along his finger, sucking, kissing, lapping while leaving behind a trail of saliva. He knew that. Logically, that was the safest option. But he didn’t. He stayed put. Letting it linger. Letting it press closer. Letting it drag him ever nearer to the edge. Every brush of that curious little tongue sent a heat crawling low and hard through him.
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, kid,” Enjin murmured, tone low and smooth, rich as honey.
Curiosity won over caution. His fingers lazily traced Zanka’s heated skin, icy where they met, making the omega shiver and squirm. Hot, sensitive, and alive. Enjin explored further, even whilst knowing how wrong it was. Touching an omega like this wasn’t just intimate; it was reckless, forbidden, reserved for mates. Still, he let his fingers slide down the curve of Zanka’s neck, listening to the small whimpers that withered in his throat.
Enjin’s thumb flicked behind the ear, rubbing, searching, pressing, until he found it.
The patch of raised skin tucked just out of sight made Zanka yelp and noticeably shiver, collapsing forward, cigarette hitting the ground as fists clenching Enjin’s pants like a lifeline he wouldn't dare to let go of. “Not a single mark in sight. You really are a stray, aren’t you?”
Enjin rested his thumb on the scent gland, pressing slowly and deliberately, teasing the tight knot in ways that made Zanka’s mouth salivate and his head reel. His mind went blank, rational thought drowned under the pull of instinct.
All he could do was want, ache, and burn.
The scent from this alpha was like nothing he’d ever known. Sharp, commanding, impossible to ignore in a situation like this. It stung his nose, mildly unpleasant, and yet he wanted it. Wanted to drown in it, to have it cover him completely. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Damn it… he wanted to be marked, scented, and claimed by a man he’d only just met. He wanted more than words could ever say. The heat crawling under his skin made it unbearable, prickling every inch of his overly sensitive skin.
Zanka’s clothes clung to him, suffocating, amplifying the growing ache between his legs. He needed them gone. Needed to be taken, needed to be rid of this insufferable heat that threatened to consume him entirely.
“Your scent… haa… stop… stop holding it back,” Zanka gasped, gazing through thick cornrows of lashes, voice tight with shameless need.
Enjin’s grin spread slowly, deliberately, amusement curling in his tone as he flicked ash from the cigarette and drew in a drag. “Is that any way to ask for a favor? I could’ve sworn someone was just sayin’ how they didn’t need my help.”
“I–I do, damn it,” Zanka gritted his teeth, an unpleasant warmth crawling up his spine, “So… just… let me… let it out already.”
Zanka couldn’t take much more. He was right on the edge of losing his last shred of sanity, and he hated it. Hated how easily it was happening. Hated how this alpha could just stand there, all calm and composed, watching him unravel. What a joke.
Still, his body moved before his pride could stop it.
Zanka leaned forward, fingers curling tight against Enjin’s knees just to stay upright. He didn’t press himself close out of want, not consciously. It was the scent. Thick, strong, overwhelming. He buried his face against Enjin’s crotch, breathing it in through clenched teeth, as if he didn’t, he’d tip over completely.
God… he hated how much he needed this.
Enjin’s sharp gaze narrowed when he felt the nuzzling at his crotch. Every hot, labored breath rubbed him the wrong way, making his cock twitch and grow stiff beneath the tight, restrictive fabric, so hard he swore it might tear straight through.
“You haven’t the slightest idea what you’re askin’ for, do you?” Enjin asked, already knowing the answer. Trying to reason with someone this far gone was pointless; hell, might as well talk to a wall. He groaned, not sure whether it was irritation or something worse. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He hadn’t intended to let it get this far. Too bad. Looks like it couldn’t be helped.
Enjin exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, forcing his posture back into place. He hooked two fingers under Zanka’s chin and tipped his face up just enough to break the contact, firm but not rough. “That’s enough,” he said quietly.
Not sharp. Not loud. The kind of tone that didn’t invite argument.
“Keep rubbin’ against me like that, and neither of us is walkin’ out of here clean,” Enjin muttered, more to himself than anyone else. This was getting out of hand. He knew it. And worse, he knew exactly how close he was to letting it.
Enjin bowed forward, letting the smoke scorch his lungs one final time. “Remember,” he whispered, breathing shallow and controlled, almost savoring the moment, “you started this.”
Zanka had no time to brace himself. No warning. And really, could you blame him? He was blinded by instinct, fevered, and aching, left completely in the dark. The heat only worsened, this high-grade fever climbing steadily as he felt it. That hand again, the same icy one from before, running along his jaw. The touch was gentle. Almost kind. Enjin handled him like something fragile, something that needed to be kept safe.
In his right mind, Zanka would’ve bitten the hand for daring to touch him.
But now? Now wasn’t the time to bear teeth.
Not when their mouths were so damn close.
The initial brush against his lips made Zanka spiral, startled more than anything. For a split second, rational thought clawed its way back like vile rising in his throat, sharp and panicked, before vanishing just as fast. Zanka melted. Slumped where he sat, mewling helplessly as something new and pleasant filled his mouth. Warm. Not burning. Just warm enough. The taste hit next, stale ash and bitter acid, foul and revolting, scraping down his throat and making him gag even as his body leaned into it.
The taste was disgusting. Revolting even. And still, he drank it all in.
His grip shifted, fingers digging into Enjin’s uniform, clean fabric wrinkling as he tugged him closer without thinking. Enjin had to brace a steady hand against the wall to keep himself from tipping forward completely, from crushing this trembling, adorably needy omega beneath him.
Zanka wanted more. Wanted to chase it, to push closer, to sink further into Enjin’s mouth. Gods, he was losing it. Somewhere deep down, he knew this wasn’t right, his thoughts racing, slipping right through his fingers.
He didn’t care who this man was. All he cared about was putting an end to this fucking heat.
Enjin’s gold eyes stayed trained on Zanka, watching that tight, desperate expression unravel into pure need over nothing more than a simple kiss. To think he hadn’t even let his pheromones loose yet, and already, the omega was clinging, writhing against him. Cute. So damn cute.
A small, almost unnoticeable smile tugged at the corners of Enjin’s lips, amusement hiding beneath the calm. Zanka pressed his mouth to his, sucking on his tongue like that could do anything to settle the fire throbbing between his legs. His hips bucked, jerked, rolled instinctively, demanding attention to the growl of his groin without a single word. He wanted it all. Wanted to be touched. To be fucked. Fuck… he wanted it so badly he felt like he might actually die without it.
Enjin recognized this was crossing a line; things are moving too far, too fast. However, as he tried to back away, to maintain his stance and catch his second wind, the instant he moved, panic flared in Zanka. Frail arms clasped around the back of the alpha’s nape, yanking him back in, surprise flashing across Enjin’s priceless face. Damn, kid had stamina; he’d give him that.
Enjin could have stepped back, could have shrugged him off. As easy as shooing away a pesky house nat. At the end of the day, Zanka was nothing more than an omega. But the scent, thick and scorching, the way Zanka’s lips pressed against his in that kiss… fuck, it made him no better than any other shitty, horndog alpha. His angry, flaring cock felt like it was about to burst. Tucked beneath his trousers, the tip straining and slobbering with sheer, unrestrained yearning.
Enjin pawed at the cold-biting brick; every instinct inside screamed to claim, to mark, to taste more, and he didn’t care anymore. To hell with restraint, to hell with holding back. He was going to make this omega his.
“Y’know… you're a real pain. You’re makin’ damn near impossible to right thing here,” Enjin huffed, finally managing to free himself of that chokehold.
Even from this distance, with a small valley between bodies, the heat radiating from Zanka was intense, urgent, and raw, twisted low in Enjin, whose hard-on was now actively weeping and jerking painfully inside the tented fabric. Every sweet moan, every hungry gasp zeroed in on his senses, causing him to draw a breath deep and flex his confined erection on pure instinct alone, every ounce of his being screaming to mate him, to make the omega his one way or another.
Enjin felt his Adam’s apple bob. The restraint he was clinging to, holding himself back just enough to avoid taking advantage of someone so clearly vulnerable, was wearing thin. Painfully thin. The primal urge to mate, to breed, the constant nagging at the back of his mind, the way his body refused to listen to reason… it was so fucking exhausting.
Temptation sat right there in front of him in mortal flesh and blood, ripe in all the ways that count, and Enjin was finding it harder by the second not to take a bite.
“Hey…” Zanka gasped, yanking Enjin from his restless thoughts, voice wrecked and hoarse, face washed a deep cherry red. “Aren’t you… Aren’t you gonna help take care of this?”
Enjin's breath stalled mid-inhale, catching hard in his ribcage. Zanka spread his legs without hesitation, offering himself fully. The flush along his cheeks, the shallow, uneven breaths, the desperate rise and fall of his chest... it drew every drop of blood straight down into Enjin's groin, cock twitching, straining, craving that tight, slick heat pressing against him. Fuck. He ached to bury himself inside. To feel that needy cling. To hear the soft, claiming squelch that marked Zanka as his. Every instinct screamed to take, to claim, to announce from the shadows just what was happening in this alley. Enjin's body throbbed, every nerve alight, and he felt like he could lose himself right there, utterly undone, feeling like a horny teen about to cum in his underwear.
Then the scent hit him. Invasive. Nothing like the weak traces from before. This was different; strong, thick, curling around him with careful intent. The wider Zanka spread his thighs, the clearer the source became; the slick pooling from his hole was unmistakable, soaking through the fabric at his crotch.
"Ah, kid... you're really somethin' else, ya know that? Here I am, tryin' my damndest to be a gentleman, and you're just sittin' there, spreadin' yourself wide open f’me." Enjin shrugged the jacket from his shoulders, voice low and rough. "And here I was thinkin' this was your first rodeo... sure proved me wrong with how forward—"
"It is.." Zanka whispered, meek yet dulled, a stark contrast to the boldness he'd shown before.
"Haa... is my first... cycle..."
Enjin blinked. Then blinked again. His brain short-circuited. First heat. Virgin. A late bloomer… no wonder the scent was so thick, so sweet and sharp, curling into his chest and setting every nerve on fire.
Peeved and unbearably horny, Enjin scratched the back of his collar with a heavy, resigned sigh. Shit… this night just kept finding new ways to make him feel crappier and crappier. Virgins bored him, usually whiny, predictable, forgettable. But this one? This one is different. And at the end of the night will make a fine exception to that rule. Zanka tugs at Enjin’s control in all the right ways. He wanted to bury himself in that tight heat, to make it impossible for the omega to forget, to let desire and craving take over entirely.
Instinct, lust, and that unbearable, cloying scent laughed in the face of restraint.
Zanka’s button nose twitched when he smelt it. Raising his chin, he sniffed the air and drew in a long, steady breath. He froze. The desirable fragrance flooded his senses all at once, curling down his spine and settling low in his stomach like a slow-burning spark. His pulse stammered, breath hitching as the scent wrapped around himlike a fuzzy blanket, dense and possessive, coiling tight in his chest and settling low. His fingers curled without realizing it, knuckles whitening as warmth bled beneath his skin, urging a response he stubbornly refused to name.
“Go on,” Enjin murmured, voice low, unhurried, close enough to feel. “Breathe it in. We gotta drown out your pharamones somehow. This way it’ll just make things… quieter.”
And quiet they were. The relief was almost immediate.
Zanka’s thoughts, jagged and branded with need—the ache of his heat, the tightness curling deep in his groin, the raw frustration of being trapped in his own skin—all dulled, softened at the edges, as if his body had finally found something familiar to cling to. It felt grounding. Anchoring. Like finding solid footing after slipping too close to the edge. This… this was what a true dominant alpha smelled like. Downright irresistible. Claiming in the best of ways, pressing into him and making it impossible to think, impossible not to feel.
Zanka’s chest rose and fell faster, then slower, his breaths hitching as he tried to pull more in, to drink it like water and fire at once. The scent wrapped around him, dense and possessive, tugging at the part of him that burned most. Without it, he swore this heat would devour him whole until he lost every trace of himself; but with it, he wanted to give in, wanted to burn under the weight of it, wanted the imprint of Enjin on every inch of him.
Every inhale drove him tighter, every exhale made him ache more, and for the first time in a long while, Zanka didn’t fight it. He wanted it. Needed it.
“Atta boy,” Enjin muttered under his breath, more resigned than smug. “There it is.”
Zanka’s shoulders eased despite himself, fingers loosening their grip on Enjin’s clothes as his body leaned into the sensation, craving more without quite understanding why.
“Stop teasing… haa… just—touch me already,” Zanka whined. His skin felt too tight, too warm, humming just under the surface. Even the smallest brush—or the lack of one—made him ache, unbearable, impossible to ignore.
“I—I can’t take it… do something already….”
And what kind of noble alpha would turn down a desperate omega just begging for his cock?
With one swift motion, Zanka’s pants were gone. Slick gushing along the insides of his thighs and spilled onto the crate beneath, thick, sticky, and leaking freely, coating the succulent skin in a shameful, glistening sheen. Every impatient gasp, every deliberate shiver, every tremor of his body begged for attention, to be filled to the brim and claimed.
The scent of Zanka, sharp and sweet, mixed with the thick, cloying smell of his own dominating pheromones, only served to make Enjin’s cock pulse harder, already leaking, jerking, and dripping.
Enjin mounts Zanka, positioning himself between those wide legs without hesitation, pressing close, every inch of proximity sending sparks through them. His calloused hands dug into Zanka’s hips, steadying him as the ache in his cock pulsed like an untamed fire.
Their lips met again, unhurried but hungry, the kind of kiss that lingered just long enough to promise more. Breath mingled, warm and uneven, every brush of mouth against mouth stoking the heat curling low in their stomachs.
The quiet snap of a belt buckle cut through the closeness, echoing sharply in the narrow space. Enjin’s hands moved with deliberate calm, fabric loosening, sliding lower on his hips. His breath slipped free in a low, broken exhale, the sound heavy with intent, and the air between them seemed to thicken—charged, waiting, alive with what was about to follow.
Enjin gives a few courtesy strokes to his touch-deprived cock, smearing slick, hot precum from base to tip. The flushed head burned a deep, angry maroon, beads of dew leaking freely from the slit. Through dazed lids, Zanka whimpered, hips bucking instinctively, mouth watering, eyes locked on the thick, heavy cock pulsing and twitching in Enjin’s firm grasp. Veins stood out along the thick shaft, throbbing, winding, and every subtle movement made Zanka’s slick, needy hole flutter uncontrollably. The way Enjin’s cock gleamed with his own pleasure, only served to pull Zanka deeper and deeper into submission. Slick trickled along his stained thighs, running messily down his ass crack, cold and wet, smelling of himself and feeding the alpha’s dominance.
“What… are you waiting for? Fuck… put it in me already…” Zanka’s voice trembled, soaked with need, hips rutting like he could already feel every ounce of Enjin pressing against him. “Your… your cock… I need it… inside…”
Enjin didn’t just watch—he burned. An omega so ripe, so desperate, quivering under his touch like he was made for this, made to be bred. He could smell it, taste it, feel the lascivious pheromones pressing against his own body. Enjin bit his inner cheek, dragging the tip along the wet, slippery entrance and watching as their fluids mingled.
Zanka shivered, gasping. “I… need you…”
“You need me?” Enjin parroted, voice low, measured, feeling his restraints begin to snap one by one. “Think you can handle all of me?”
He pressed the tip flush against him, guiding it slowly. It looked… perfect, like it belonged between Zanka’s legs. Slick, trembling, warm. Enjin teased, letting the head brush against that sensitive spot, catching the ring of flesh before slipping right past it, dragging along the crack of Zanka’s ass just enough to make him choke back a sob.
Zanka whined, needy and raw. “I can take it… ’m yours… make me yours…”
Enjin caught his trembling legs and drew them up, hooking them over his shoulders without hesitation, grip firm as he leaned in. His breath slipped, just once. “Fuck,” a harsh curse slipped past his lips. “You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”
No more holding back, Enjin went all in.
His hands curled around the base of his cock, guiding every motion as he pressed down. His brow furrowed as he watched the flushed tip begin to disappear, sinking into that warm, suffocating heat that welcomed him with a tight squeeze. Slick was everywhere, thin and watery, and messy, enough spilled out that it made entry without prep smoother than Enjin expected.
“Tryin’ relax a little,” Enjin muttered, choking back a heavy grunt, his face tightening with every pulse. “Shit… feels like I’m runnin’ my dick through a damn juicer…”
Zanka couldn’t repress the sounds, helpless little mewls spilling out as the initial stretch burned. A sharp sensation shot through him, his belly pulling tight around Enjin’s cock, feeling so incredibly full. Nothing like the hollow ache from moments before. This was new, different… and it felt so fucking good. He felt every thick vein drag past his rim, stuffed him completely. The intensity only kept building until his head tipped back on instinct, bracing against the cold, unforgiving wall.
The clench, those gummy walls closing in on him from every angle. Gods… it felt incredible. For a split second, Enjin was sure he could’ve blown his load inside right then.
For both their sakes, he held it back with a shallow calming breath. Needless to say, the last thing either of them wanted was for this back-alley hookup to result in even the smallest chance of a pregnant omega. So before he pulled out, before he lost himself completely, Enjin decided he was going to take his time. Have a little fun popping this virgin’s cherry.
Zanka's body writhed, hips jerking as Enjin trapped him in a mating press, his heavy balls nudging hard into the crevice of Zanka's ass, grinding into him with each deliberate shift. Until he was all the way in... that monster inside him, stretching him impossibly full, every inch of Enjin dragging, filling, pressing.
Enjin's lips curled, a low growl vibrating through his chest. "Look at you... damn kid, you're a natural. Taking all of me just like that... not bad, not bad at all."
Zanka's chest tightened, heart skipping. Enjin thought he was… a natural?
The praise hit him like a rogue train, making Zanka feel all hot and bothered as the pressure of Enjin's balls rocked him gently, dragging him back and forth with every deliberate push. Heat pooled between his legs, and he ground harder into Enjin, curling his legs slightly around his shoulders, trying to take more, needing every inch.
Zanka’s tongue clicked, breath ragged, chest heaving. “I… I can handle all of you… please… just—nngh… give it to me…”
Enjin’s eyes darkened, a sharp grin tugging at his lips. “Since you asked so nicely…”
Zanka felt every inch of him leaving his stubborn hole. Enjin made sure he savored it, sliding out slow, inch by inch, each motion teasing, bordering on torture. Zanka’s eyes scrunched shut, breath ragged and uneven, hips shivering with the pull.
“Mm… ya feelin’ that? Your hole’s tryin’ so damn hard to pull me right back in,” Enjin snickered, voice low and practically dripping with ownership.
Those tight, needy walls clenched and fluttered around him, desperately trying to milk him for everything he was worth. The sight alone made Enjin grin. He withdrew, teasing, dragging himself slow enough to have Zanka cursing through gritted teeth. Just when it looked like he’d pull free, the smooth, glistening tip of his cock peeked from that pink little entrance.
Only then did Enjin rut himself back inside in a single, merciless thrust.
Zanka moaned—loud. Too loud, too urgent, completely betraying himself.
Enjin slapped a hand over those pretty lips, though part of him would’ve loved to hear more of those soft, helpless sounds. He couldn’t risk curious passersby catching on. Zanka’s eyes flicked up, confused, settling on his face as Enjin’s much larger and robust frame pressed close, dominating every inch of space. A single finger brushed over his lips.
“Keep your voice down,” Enjin murmured, thumb brushing against Zanka’s jaw as he mewled helplessly against the palm. “Focus. Just focus on me.”
Enjin began to thrust again. And again. And again, each motion deliberate, hard, unrelenting, cock reaching deep and sliding in with ruthless precision.
Zanka’s body trembled under him, dazed, practically seeing stars with every harsh squelch. His walls clenched and fluttered with every inch given, soaking around Enjin, responding instinctively, begging for more. With little to no resistance, Enjin drove deep and steady, rutting and panting, his movements merciless and demanding all at once. Fuck… he could already feel it building, tight and coiling low in his abdomen. Every deeper push made Zanka squeal, arching gracefully into the alpha’s grip. So far gone, so utterly cock-drunk, he didn’t care about anything else in the world.
Drool slid down his chin, thick and warm, and before he could even think, Enjin’s tongue was there, gliding over it, tasting it, dragging it up in a slow, deliberate sweep. Slipping past his lips, plunging into his mouth, claiming him.
Zanka’s tongue tangled greedily with Enjin’s, chasing the taste of himself mixed with the sharp, bitter tang of Enjin. The heat, the thick, heady scent of the alpha pressed into him, consumed every thought. Every instinct screamed as he licked, pressed, and swallowed the messy, electric mixture, lost in the friction of wet mouths and hot tongues. The faint bitter ash still clung to Enjin’s cheek, only driving Zanka further from sanity, shivering as sloppy, desperate sensations flooded him.
Enjin’s voice dropped low, measured, and dangerous. “That’s it… stay with me now.”
His thrust drove deeper, pressing Zanka down until his body nearly folded beneath him. Enjin needed it… needed to claim every inch, to sink into him just right, cock sliding along the slick, pulsating walls of Zanka’s womb, chasing that perfect spot. He pressed and angled, feeling Zanka’s delicious squeeze around him like molten silk, every clench and tremble making it impossible to stop, every inch of contact sending heat straight through him. The tip of his cock hovered just shy of the uturus top, teasing, driving friction through every curve.
Zanka was drowning—pheromones, heat, slick flesh pressing against him, everything spinning out of control. He felt like he was suffocating in the best of ways.
Tiny whimpers and gasps tore from his throat without thought, each one betraying how utterly undone he was. So consumed. So helpless. So achingly eager to be claimed and stuffed.
A thick, milky ring of slick pooled around the base of Enjin’s cock with every plunge, slick practically gushing out. His hand trailed up Zanka’s malnourished waist, fingers brushing over every curve, until his gaze caught the subtle lump in Zanka’s belly. He pushed his cock in, then pulled out, testing, confirming.
“Feel how deep I am?” Enjin murmured, fascination teasing the edges of his voice. “I can see my cock buried in you…”
His fingers skimmed, dragged, pressed, meeting the tip of his cock halfway, drawing out every tight, hot shiver trapped in that little omega body.
Zanka gasped, completely broken, trying to choke down the mounting moans, tongue pressed to the roof as teeth gnawed at his inner cheek. “Wai—no! Nnn… don’t… don’t push there… mmnh… ’m gonna cum…”
“That’s it—go on. I’ve got you. Cum f’me,” Enjin said, his voice soft-spoken, a bitter edge lurking beneath the calm. Less a request than an order.
That was all it took for Zanka to lose himself in the simple pleasure of it.
Listening to Enjin, he came; spilling himself hard, his petite cock jerking as thick cum splattered across his stomach. His hips bucked, back arching, every tremor wringing more from him as Enjin’s fingers brushed slick over his shaft, dragging through the mess before clamping down around it. Zanka’s thighs shook, cum painting lewdly across pale skin as he shuddered with each pulse. His moans came out ragged and desperate, choked with need.
Seconds later, he came again.
Cock spasming with the after tremors of the first orgasm, twitching and writhing in Enjin’s calloused palm. Maybe it was because he’d never been held like this, never been taken like this… but embarrassing as it was, he couldn’t stop it. The second orgasm crashed into him fast, stealing his breath as he huffed and bucked into Enjin’s already cum-soaked hand. It spilled thick, running down over his inked tattoos, Zanka drowning in sensation, every inch of him stretched, gripped, fucked-out, and overwhelmed beneath Enjin.
His hips swayed, rocking with that monstrous cock still buried in his deepest crevice. Riding out the high, Enjin ground down lightly, milking him through it.
“You were holding onto that for a while, weren’t you?” Enjin hummed, watching that priceless expression twist between overexertion and pure bliss. It was almost cute, the way the smaller cock lurched and writhed in his hand, looking like it was about to spill a third time back to back.
“Yeah… figured you had more than that in you.”
Calling it hot didn’t even come close. It might’ve been the sexiest thing Enjin had seen in a long while. His own cock responded instantly, twitching inside those spongy walls, impatient, egging him on.
Enjin grit his teeth, a heavy breath slipping free before he could stop it.
Just a little more. He can hold it.
The heat clamping around his cock wasn’t just warm—it was bordering on boiling, so intense it felt like it might brand him, mark him with the memory of it. But fuck… he wanted to stay buried there forever. The tightness, the wet squelch echoing through the alley with each plunge into the omega’s depths; it was music. Skin slapped against skin, and Enjin stopped caring who might hear. Not now. Not when he was this close, chasing his own high like he needed it to breathe.
His eyes screwed shut, brow twitching, teeth clashing. It should’ve been a warning.
He kept thrusting. Kept chasing it, desperate. He’d thought he had control over his instincts, that he’d pull back before it ever went this far.
Along the rim, his cock began to swell, thickening, growing heavier with every snap of his pelvis. The heat around him clamped down, tight and punishing, and he shivered at the friction, every nerve alight and screaming.
All the while, Zanka, still lost in the haze of his post-orgasm blur, hissed as the stretch turned brutal; too much, too sudden, every inch of him pressed, stretched, and widened. “Why… nnghh… why is it getting… bigger…?” he whimpered, trembling as the knot throbbed impossibly hard within his tight walls.
The base bulged before Enjin could answer. His breath came in rough, ragged huffs, chest hovering possessively over Zanka as his cock stayed buried in his ass, locked in that perfect, punishing squeeze. Every movement dragged slick over skin, sweat coating both of them, and the wet, lewd squelch of it filled the alley. He tried to pull out—seconds too late—letting out a low, frustrated curse.
The one thing he’d been trying to avoid.
“H-hey… why aren’t you—take it out… aagh… it hurts…!” Zanka mewled, panic and pleasure mixing as he writhed, tried to shift, tried to pull Enjin free himself. Nothing budged. Every inch pressed tight, locked. His thighs quivered uncontrollably, slick and cum leaking out of that abused, puffy hole drip by drip.
The haze from his last orgasms cleared just enough for reality to settle—an alpha knotting an omega in heat without protection. Pregnancy.
“C’mon… pull out… you can’t cum inside… I’ll—” Zanka squirmed harder, breath coming fast, hips jerking, desperate to escape. Every movement rubbed him deeper, every brush of Enjin’s cock against the swollen knot sending another shiver of unwanted bliss.
Enjin’s arm came around him, firm and grounding, trapping him against his chest. Fingers traced slow, deliberate circles along Zanka’s spine, keeping him from flailing too hard, every touch both soothing and asserting control.
“Easy,” Enjin murmured, voice low, rough, strained. “Keep fightin’ like that, and you’ll end up hurtin’ yourself…”
The heat between them was suffocating, slick running in rivulets down Zanka’s skin, clinging to every muscle as he sagged helplessly into the embrace. Enjin shifted slightly, grinding down, trying to find a better position, knot throbbing inside, marking him completely. Zanka’s body shivered again, hips twitching involuntarily, moans breaking out around the gaggle of panic and need, every inch of him stretched, filled, and overwhelmed beneath Enjin’s weight.
Enjin slowly lifted Zanka’s limp legs from his shoulders, muscles sore and trembling from the effort. Every careful movement reminded him how tightly the omega was held in his arms, how delicate and raw he still was. He tried not to move too much, tried not to press harder than necessary, tried not to hurt him further.
Enjin knew he’d fucked up—every line in his face, every tight jaw and furrowed brow, betrayed it.
He was paying for his own recklessness, and there was no denying it now. But even like this, with Zanka cradled helplessly against him, Enjin couldn’t stop noticing how utterly his body belonged beneath him—how claiming, holding, and pressing into him felt both like punishment and the most intoxicating satisfaction.
Zanka winced, pain flooding through him as cum gushed directly into his velvety womb; some spilling out that overstrained hole.
“Breathe… I’ve got you,” came the soothing response. “Just gotta wait for this to go down.”
Zanka knew he should still be panicked—being knotted by a strange alpha during his first heat? It sounded like the punchline to a bad joke. And yet… he wasn’t.
Instead, he felt calm. Content. The heat that had consumed him moments ago faded, replaced by something surreal, something that wrapped around him as completely as Enjin’s body did. The lingering pheromones, thick and intoxicating, settled over him, leaving him dizzy, melted, and strangely… at peace. Zanka curled closer, letting the warmth of Enjin’s body wash over him, and for the first time, he let himself truly sink into the feeling. Exhausted, filled, and completely, irrevocably Enjin’s
