#abotrio

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Sticky

A/N: another drabble-y thing from the ABO!Trio verse bc I’m obsessed with it. Send prompts/questions if y’all want, this is a really in-depth and fun verse that I’m proud of.

Mike wasn’t there, but he knows exactly what happened. Not by the reports, which won’t cross his desk until tomorrow, and not by anything anyone’s told him. He knows by the way Sonny comes home late to where Peter and Mike are already lying together on the couch with the remnants of a home cooked meal held in the oven to keep them warm for when Sonny came home from his late shift. Both of them can smell the day on him despite the shower he must’ve taken at the precinct.

Clean detergent on the NYPD sweatshirt and heather sweatpants mixes with the thin scent of Sonny’s soap and deodorant, both designed to be as tolerable to Mike’s senses as possible, can only do so much to mask what’s left. Sonny smells angry, frustrated, scared, but more than anything, he smells like blood. Mike gets up intending to hug him and soothe him, but he can only get within a foot before the sticky scent of the blood makes him gag and he has to take a step back and hide the lower half of his face in his sleeve. The button-down is one of Peter’s with a stain on it from a pen exploding, similarly stained with his scent at the collar and cuffs. While he lowers himself back to the couch, Peter stands up and reaches for Sonny. As soon as they make contact they seem to fold into each other.

As he watches, Sonny bares his neck for Peter in a rare display of submission to allow himself to be cared for and loved. He needs it. The fact that Mike can’t provide that for him hurts, almost as much as the smell of the blood. It’s clingy. It sticks in the air and Mike’s clothes and even his own skin. He has memories growing up of how hard the reek of blood is to get rid of. Reflex tears are stinging at his eyes. He can’t let them out, though. This isn’t about him, it’s about his Alpha, his mate, who needs to be comforted and taken care of right now. The real world needs him more than his painful memories and the urge to go throw up.

One of Peter’s hands settles on his shoulder and he flinches before coming back to himself. Sonny still stands in the middle of the room with his arms wrapped around himself, looking lost. Fear is now a thick contender with the blood in terms of the most overpowering scent in the room.

“Everything good?” he asks in a quiet voice.

The focus should be on Sonny, not on Mike because he’s a weak Omega who can’t keep his shit together.

“The smell,” Mike chokes out in a voice much more strained than he intends, “I- ‘s too much.”

“I’ll go take another shower, use the strip-stuff under the sink.”

It had been Sonny’s idea a while ago to spend the money on the top of the line soap that can completely erase scent. Given their jobs and Mike’s sensitivity, it made sense to have a backup in case things were bad. They’ve only used it a couple of times- once after Peter challenged one of his employees, and once when Sonny went UC and had the traces of nearly twenty heavily perfumed Omegas on him. It’s not perfect, and Mike knows he’ll still be able to smell the blood afterwards even if it’s faint.

He means to tell Sonny he doesn’t have to, but the words stick in his throat. The smell of the blood has clung to Peter as well now from his attempts to croon Sonny, layering on top of his usual calming scent. Mike pulls away and grabs the pillow they had been resting on in hopes of using it to soothe himself.

[cupidmarwani-archive]

“...with Alphas having the highest percentage [of undiagnosed mental disorders] at roughly 76%. Mood disorders specifically, while most common in Omegas, have the largest diagnosis rate among Alphas due to the societal expectations of Alphas to be more energetic, outgoing, and social. Personality disorders are most commonly diagnosed in Betas (diagnosed 89% of the time) but occur most commonly in Alphas (who have a diagnosis rate of 27%). Anxiety disorders on the other hand, show the highest rates of failure to diagnosed in Alphas of all demographics, in part due to manifestation of symptoms different than in Betas and Omegas. Anxiety disorders are typically associated with anxiety and/or panic attacks, which is a common symptom among Betas and Omegas. Alphas, however, rarely exhibit anxiety attacks. Their symptoms are written off as Alpha behavior the majority of the time. Anxious Alphas are often perceived as aggressive. They have poor control over dynamic attributions (scent, command, pheromones) and anxiety manifests itself as an Alpha attempting to protect their mate(s) and pack. Only 13% of Alphas with anxiety will ever be formally diagnosed, and of those, only 28% will seek treatment.”

- Angela Amari, “Mental Health v Dynamics” (2011) p 11

[cupidmarwani-archive]

“ Mine. ” with the abo trio please

As soon as Peter’s through the doorway, Mike is practically on top of him. He barely manages to shut the door behind himself before he’s up against it, pinned, Mike nosing along his jawline almost frantically. He’s saying something, but it’s too muffled to understand, and every time Peter tries to calm him down or pull away, it just results in Mike pinning his wrists out of the way, growling mine in a low voice.

“Mikey,” he says gently, “Talk to me, what’s going on?”

“There was an incident at work, he got dosed by a perp.” Whatever’s in his system isn’t dangerous, but he’s more... feral than usual and he’s not happy about whoever he smells on you. Carmen, maybe?” Sonny says from where Peter thinks is the kitchen. 

“Carmen. She borrowed my coat.” 

Mike, seemingly satisfied, takes a step back from Peter to let him shed his coat and sit down on the couch. Beneath Mike’s heavy pheromones, he can smell something cooking in the kitchen, all cilantro and tomatoes and spice. Mike looks different now that Peter thinks about it. Pale. Dilated pupils. A sheen of sweat on his forehead. He opens his arms aim an invitation for Mike to curl up with him and try and sleep off whatever was given to him on the job. 

[cupidmarwani-archive]

“ Mmm… you taste so good baby. ” with the abo trio?

Between the two of them, Peter and Sonny can take care of Mike when his heat hits him hard. Both of them are right there, where he can see and smell and feel them no matter where he focuses his attention. Sonny’s behind him, holding him still and nipping up and down his neck, while Peter kneels between his legs with his face buried between his thighs. He isn’t touching Mike yet, not really, but he makes a point to clean up the slick painting his thighs.

“Taste so good,” Peter says, voice breathy and as wrecked as Mike feels. He swipes his fingers through the mess and lifts them for Sonny to taste. “What d’you think?”

The sound that Sonny makes has Mike squirming against his hold. If they keep teasing him, he’s fairly certain he’ll die before getting the chance to actually be knotted during his heat. 

“Alpha,” he whines. He doesn’t specify who he’s talking to, but it finally spurs them into action.

[cupidmarwani-archive]

The Marking Incident (A/B/O Trio)

Summary: This is what sets the trio on the road to getting together and is a set-up to the verse

A/N: This was gonna be a drabble but now it’s a fic merry christmas

WC: 1k

Carisi has the copy of the warrant in his back pocket when he and Mike split up. They know that there are Omegas being kept in the house, both from the tips they received and the heavy pain and fear that Mike can smell permeating every wall. There are Alphas too, six or seven and aggressive. From this distance, he can’t tell exactly where they are, which means Carisi probably doesn’t even know they’re in the building.

“Several. Aggressive. I think two to four Omegas,” he whispers.

Carisi nods and they split up with a wordless plan to meet up wherever there’s trouble. It’s worked plenty of times before, enough that Mike doesn’t worry about going off on his own with his gun at the ready. The farther into the house he gets, the stronger the smells get until it’s near overwhelming. He wrinkles his nose in distaste when it gets to the point that he can’t differentiate anything from anything. He gets an uneasy feeling in his gut and starts to reach for his radio to warn Sonny that there’s something not right when he sees the door at the end of the hallway fly open. 

Before he has the chance to do anything, his gun is on the floor and there are large hands holding him against the plaster of the stained wall. The stench of Alpha fills his nose and his thoughts. More hands find purchase on him as he tries to break free. He opens his mouth to scream and suddenly he’s on the ratty carpet unable to move no matter how much he struggles. A stubbly face pushes into his neck, marking him, trying to scent him but not willing to spend the time. All the wind rushes out of his lungs when someone uses his vest protected chest as the right place to bear their full weight while their head rests heavy against the inside of his thigh. The hand over his mouth from who he thinks is yet another Alpha smells like tobacco and hay.

He keeps fighting to get free until he hears backup coming to the rescue. One by one, the Alphas are hauled off of him until he’s left lying on the floor with the buttons of his shirt ripped open. Someone hauls him to his feet, someone he doesn’t recognize until he smells Carisi’s warm cinnamon-like scent. He’s held up against Carisi’s chest, which is probably a good thing because he doesn’t know if he has the energy left to support himself as the adrenaline high crashes. He whimpers slightly as he’s lifted up to be cradled in safe arms. Mike’s pretty sure that the person currently marking him is Carisi, judging by the continued familiar scent and the cadence of the low growl rumbling against the crook of his neck.

“Carisi, Dodds-”

Mike barely has time to recognize the lieutenant’s voice before all he can hear is the rising sound of Carisi’s growl. It gets louder and seemingly deeper as Benson comes closer until she relents and presumably backs off. While Mike always knew Carisi’s a protective and intense Alpha, he’s never been on the receiving end. Once upon a time, he had heard Carisi call the squad “pack,” something that didn’t surprise him given his traditional Italian upbringing. That mixing with his strong instincts has to be the reason he’s trying to mark and protect Mike like a baby or a mate while mumbling how he’s pack, he’s family.

They get all the way back to the precinct before Carisi sets Mike down at his desk. He hovers nearby however, growling at any Alpha who comes too close while Mike struggles to focus on the paperwork in front of him. Since he’s in no shape to do anything else, he’s stuck with busy work for the squad he can’t make himself concentrate on. All the information he’s taking in is the leftover scent of all the Alphas who touched him, not completely concealed by Carisi’s efforts, and the sensory bombardment that is the bullpen after such a large bust. More than anything, he wants to go home and crawl into bed with his mate. Their bed, their clothes, their space.

“Sergeant, you take the subway home?” Carisi asks, feigning casual interest like he hasn’t been practically vibrating in his seat the entire afternoon. Mike nods, not yet trusting his voice to support any words he can come up with. “I’ll drive you today, make sure you get home safe to y- to Stone.”

“Bit much over there, Carisi,” Rollins interjects from where she’s waiting for the printer to produce her paperwork. 

He growls again. The sound has become surprisingly common today. “I take care of my pack,” he mutters. An unspoken insult tinges the air with its bitter scent, but luckily for everyone, Rollins doesn’t fight him on it today. Tomorrow would be better, if she has to combat him at all.

After that exchange, there are no further incidents until the lieutenant sends them home and Carisi drives Mike home over a silent ride. There’s emotion he’s too tired to identify in Carisi’s scent, just barely thick enough to give him the beginnings of a headache. Another problem to add to his shitty day. Once they finally arrive, Carisi walks him up to the apartment. He mentions that it’s because it’s almost seven in the evening and the winter sun has already darkened the sky, and he wants to make sure Mike is safe, but it’s more than that.

Mike unlocks the door with shaky hands in time to see Peter walk out of the hallway with an uneasy expression. The lieutenant probably filled him in. His brows furrow when he realizes Carisi is there in the doorway. He reaches out for Mike and pulls him in close. The scent of his mate, the familiar embrace, calm him down before Peter leans back and tilts his head to the side.

“You smell like Carisi.”

“I’m ‘pack,’” Mike replies. “I think. He said so.”

Carisi clears his throat. “You are pack. Both of you. I’ll- I’ll leave you to it, ‘Manda and Jesse- it doesn’t matter. Be safe. And Counsellor...” Sonny trails off, and when he speaks again there’s an undercurrent of threat to his voice. “Take care of him.”