tpdup anon here, ddi i just read you’re writing an omegaverse mattdrai? consider me INTERESTED
Yes, this fic came about because I read an omega!leon fic (and i will not come back the same by void_fish which is INCREDIBLE by the way) and I had the following text exchange with @thefangirlingdead and decided to do something about it.
But, knowing me, I can't just write simple tropes. I have to add a twist or something different, something ~ unusual ~ to it which I can't wait to share with you guys.
MattDrai, with a side of NateConnor and some platonic McDrai. Background Larsdunn & LarsSaitl (what is Adam & Leon's ship name? IDK)
This fic does not have a title yet so I will keep you updates haha, but below are some excerpts that I'm really happy with:
Dunn's tone softens, but it doesn’t lose its edge. “Connor, I think you know as well as I do - that bond between them? It never properly broke.” He glances at Leon, then back. “If he needs Adam tonight, I’m not standing in the way. He’s still mine. I’m not threatened by this.”
Excerpt 2 (let's just say Leon has some unresolved trauma surrounding being an omega):
“You went through hell,” Connor continues, voice even, soothing. “You needed him. That’s not weakness, Leo. That’s just biology. You trust him.” His purr thrums low and constant. “And now you’ve got me. I’m here.”
Leon presses his face harder into the crook of Connor’s neck, trying to smother the ache and the heat rising in his chest. “I hate this,” he mumbles in a rough voice, barely audible.
“I know,” Connor says simply. His hand never stops moving, slow circles across Leon’s back, the steady pressure of pack-bond radiating safety. “But it’s over now. You got through it. You’re not alone.”
Nobody ever wants it. Not really. Connor sometimes, when they both need grounding, when pack-bond overrides everything else. A few other omegas here and there. But no alpha. Never.
He can still remember the words, sharp as broken glass. Ugly. Wrong. That’s not how omegas are supposed to smell.
And maybe they are right. His scent has always been different, sharper than it should be. He remembers the day Connor had tried to explain it to him, gentler than anyone else ever had: “It’s like steel,” he’d said, thoughtful and not unkind. “Like when the skates get sharpened. Clean. Sharp. Strong.”
But alphas don’t want omegas that smell like sharpened metal. They want sweet, warm, soft. They want honey, sugar, cinnamon.
(I bet you can't guess which alpha out there will prove him wrong)
