Logan isn’t the best at making nests, didn’t practice and develop his own technique and preference from young adulthood and on like the other omegas of his world. He didn't have a caring mentor to show him how to keep sides from unraveling, or explain why his instincts are obsessed with using the ugliest of all of Wade’s cardigans in the nightly reconstruction of their couch bed turned nest.
Summary: Your father always said that if it weren’t for your presentation, he’d think you were an Alpha. There’s a reason for that. Growing up in a world where Omegas are treated like garbage, you’ve fought for the respect that you have. Until you’re sold off to an old King desperate for a bride. But you will not lay down and present for your new husband. No, you will fight back.
Warnings: Langauge, Angst, Fluff, Smut, ABO Dynamics (marking, knotting, scenting, etc.), Enemies to Lovers, More to Come
Word Cont: 5K
A/n: When I finish one royal au I start another uwu. I’m not sure how often I’ll be updating, but hopefully more now that things with my book are done. Um.. yeah, enjoy!
This is a still-developing idea, so it may take me a bit longer to update. Also, only tagging dark because it’s a little dark at times but not an entirely dark fic. Taglist for the series is open, though.
~*~
“I truly do not understand why we need to follow such archaic patriarchal customs!” You complain for the thousandth time, tugging against the rope binding your arms behind your back.
Your brother and your father exchange glances while your mother smiles softly at you, reaching through the carriage window to brush your hair back.
"You must understand why we’re doing this, (Y/n). If there were any other way, we would take it.” You hum sarcastically, not believing a single word she’s saying.
Marrying you off is the easiest way to forge an alliance between the two kingdoms. That much is beyond obvious. But why they’re sending you to marry a man more than twice your own age is beyond you.
“Must I really go?” Your voice is a soft whimper, a final desperate plea for them to rethink their decision. And for a moment you see regret flash over your mother’s face.
“I wish things were different, my dear,” she whispers, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But you will one day see that this is what’s best for your kingdom. You have a duty, as I did, and as your brother does. We must do what is right, even if it is the least favourable option for some of us.”
You shake your head, tugging out of her grip and grinding your teeth together.
“Fine.”
Your one word is enough to have your mother stepping away from the carriage with a sad look in her eyes.
“If you think that we will not miss you, you are wrong,” your father says, taking a step towards you.
“Clearly my presence alone is not enough for you to rethink your decision,” you snap, not wanting to hear them try and make themselves feel better about this situation.
“You may grow to like it there,” your mother tries, “You’ll be married and become queen. You may not love your husband, but you may find friendship within him.” You look at her for a long moment before turning and facing the guard sitting across from you.
“At least try, (Y/n). Attempt to be agreeable,” your father pleads softly.
You say nothing, and they take that as the end of the conversation.
The carriage starts moving along the gravel road, bumping and jostling you far more than you’d like, but you can’t steady yourself because of your bound arms.
You stay silent for nearly an hour, having nothing to say to the people with you until the ropes start to chafe uncomfortably on your wrists.
“May I be released from my bonds?” The two guards sitting across from you exchange glances for a moment before one of them speaks.
“We are under strict instructions not to cut them until we have reached our destination. My apologies, your highness.”
You huff a sigh and slouch forward, twisting your hands and trying to find a way to slip from them.
“You’ll only make the burns worse,” Wanda whispers from beside you, trying her best to get you to stop struggling. You turn your glare to her, only to soften your features shortly after.
“What do we know of my husband,” you sneer the words then raise your eyebrows at the guards, daring them to say anything.
“He has never before wed. He’s had omegas to quell his ruts but never before has he had a wife. You will be the first.”
You hum your agreement.
First and last, if you have anything to do with it. Your marriage with your husband will not last long, and neither will his life.
~*~
The King doesn’t look his age. He doesn’t look twenty years your senior. No, he’s handsome.
You’d imagined he’d be wrinkled and greyhaired. But the man before you, the Alpha before you is very good-looking.
Hard blue eyes and dark brown hair, and a physique that the men in your kingdom wish they could achieve. He’s easily a full head taller than you, if not more, and his body is thick with muscle that he must use to conquer both Kingdoms and Women.
His hair is pulled back in a tight bun and his hands are clasped gently in front of himself, one flesh and one metal.
Ah, so the rumours are true.
You stand before the King and his righthand man with your arms bound behind your back, a defiant scowl on your face.
“May we present her Royal Highness, Princess (Y/n) (Y/l/n), of Lothiella. And His Majesty, King James, of Veronia.” The King bows, but you stay standing tall and defiant, which surprises everyone but those who know you.
“You will bow to your king, girl,” A woman sneers from beside him, her hair as yellow as corn silk.
You raise your brows at her.
“Is that any way to speak to your future queen?” You question, cocking your head to the side.
The courtyard is silent until the King lets out a chuckle.
“It’s alright, Sharon. The Princess needs time to get settled.”
He walks towards you, pausing when he’s right in front of you.
He seems so much larger like this. Thick with muscle and towering over you without even trying. He’s an intimidating man, but you’re not afraid.
He must smell that. Smell the spicy yet warm defensive cinnamon rolling off you in waves of cinnamon.
“You’re fiery, Omega. Is that why they delivered you to me gift wrapped so nicely?” The way his lips turn upwards has you glaring at him, a tsunami of cinnamon assaulting his nostrils.
“They bound me to prevent me from escaping on my travels here. Because they were wise enough to know I’d rather die at the hands of a wicked beast than spend a moment here with you.” The words are spat with malice and poison, but he only laughs as if you’re a puppy bearing your teeth at him.
“You’re cute, Omega. But surely you must know that I am a wicked beast.”
He snaps his fingers then nods towards you, ignoring the growl that rises from your chest.
“Have her highness prepped. We sign the papers in an hour and the wedding is at sundown.”
~*~
“And now, may the King welcome his new queen with her first dance,” the announcer says, voice booming and echoing through the ballroom. You want to fight your new husband as he takes your hand and leads you to the centre of the floor, right where all eyes can see you.
The two of you bow to each other, you suppressing a growl at the action while he simply seems bored.
His hand is placed gingerly on the small of your back, metal flexing and cooling your skin through the fabric of your gown.
The music begins, as does the dance. It is practiced and perfected, each step measured perfectly to the nearest millimetre.
If your mother were here she’d be proud of how lady-like you’re being.
The perfect Omega Princes.
Queen, now.
He spins you, the skirt of your gown billowing out around your legs.
“You look lovely,” he murmurs, his fingers splaying ever so slightly on your back.
“Do not pretend that this is anything but political,” you hiss in his ear, your face a mask of serene beauty, but your words have the bite of a viper.
“I want nothing to do with you, and I will not bow to you. This marriage will not last long, you mark my words.”
He steps back with the music, extending his arm and spinning you gently before pulling you back into his embrace.
“Do you think that I want this? I was forced into this, the same as you. However, I thought I might be able to make the most of your company, seeing as it is your purpose to bear my children. We may as well be civil.”
It takes nearly all of your self-control not to rip his jugular out, and he must smell the anger bubbling within you because he chuckles.
“I will bear no children for you. I am not a mare to be bred, do you understand?” He dips you abruptly, then yanks you back up just as fast, but you’re sure the movement looks tender to those looking on.
His nose is far too close to your scent gland, close enough to scent you and mark you as his if he were so inclined.
“I am a King and I will take what I want from you. You are my Omega, my wife, and it is your duty to obey me.” Your nails dig into his shoulder, the action making him wince slightly.
“I am not your Omega, and your wife only in title. And if that is how you truly see it, then I am also the Queen of your people and you will respect me.”
A soft growl bubbles in his chest at how stubborn you are, but he says nothing otherwise, and the rest of the dance is completed in silence.
“Come, my Queen,” he sneers your new title as the crowd applauds. “I think it is time we consummated our marriage, wouldn’t you agree?” You gnash your teeth together but offer him a sickeningly sweet smile, mind immediately going to the opportunity at hand.
“Of course, My King.” Acid drips from your voice and he all but rolls his eyes.
“The Queen and I take our leave for the night. We thank you for your gifts and your wishes and invite you to stay as long as you wish. Feast on the food, drink the ale, and enjoy yourselves as we will be.” Bellows of laughter erupt and you stop yourself from stomping on the King’s foot.
He turns and ushers you out of the ballroom, his hand far too tight in your own.
“If you would be so kind, my King, I would like to exchange my gown for something more comfortable. And I am sure there are many things you need to prepare for the consummation, given your age.” You smile an innocent smile and the King grinds his teeth together but lets go of your hand.
“You will come directly to my chambers once you’re done, do you understand?” You nod your head ‘yes’ bow swiftly, then turn on your heel and walk to your chambers, all the while feeling his eyes on your figure.
Alphas are so predictable.
Once safely in your chambers, you begin shedding the layers of your gown with the help of your lady-in-waiting.
“Wanda, fetch me the silk pouch beneath my pillow,” you say softly, pulling on a simpler gown that will have to suffice for tonight.
Your heart is racing in your chest as Wanda brings you the pouch, and you quickly pull the items out.
The garter gets tied tightly around your upper thigh, the dagger sliding comfortably into the sheath and a small vial of poison fitting in beside it.
When you drop your skirts back down, Wanda is staring at you in shock.
“You mean to kill the King?” She asks in a hushed whisper.
You fluff your hair up and inspect yourself in the mirror for a moment before nodding and turning to the door.
“We will not remain imprisoned in this Palace, Wanda. You mark my words.” With that, you take your leave and walk down the dimly lit hallway towards the King’s Chambers.
To distract yourself from the anxiety of that task you’ll be doing, you take in your surroundings.
The Palace is nice, that much is obvious. A place of wealth, if the marble floors and thick furred rugs covering them are any indication. It’s not nearly as flashy and overwhelming as some other Palace’s you’ve been in, but you don’t see that as a reflection of the New King’s character.
Before you know it, you’ve reached the King’s door.
Hesitant fingers knock against the oak door, and he beckons you inside gruffly.
His scent engulfs you immediately, cedar and sage and something so musky and delicious that it has your mouth watering. The thick, powerful aroma pulls you inside, draws you in and makes you feel far more comfortable than it should.
The King’s chambers are simple. A grand bed sits against the far wall, taking up far more space than a bed should. Across is a wardrobe, and in the corner near the balcony doors is a desk where the King is currently seated, eyes focused on a document.
“Come in. There’s wine on the cart. It should help loosen you up, given how uptight you are. I can only imagine the strain that bedding you will be.” You take a deep breath and, to his surprise, say nothing. No, instead you walk to the cart and keep your back to him while your fingers silently raise your skirts.
The vial is in your hand, fingers trembling slightly as you unscrew the cap and pour the contents into one of the goblets, filling it with wine right after. You tuck the vial back in your garter, then fill the other goblet and make your way over to the king, trying desperately to calm your racing heart.
He sets down the document and looks at you for a moment before nodding to the desk in front of himself, urging you to sit. You do, sitting on the mahogany desk and offering him the goblet with the poison.
He takes it, but before you can take a sip from yours he pulls that one from you too, setting it down on the desk beside you.
His hand comes up to gently caress the side of your face, his thumb sliding down to linger on your lips while he takes a deep breath through his nose, eyes flashing amber at the scent of you. That sweet omega scent that radiates off of you in waves.
“There is no need for us to have separate goblets, my darling. You are my wife. So have a sip, go on. What’s mine is yours after all.” You offer him a smile and shake your head.
“How will we unwind if we only share this amount?” He stands up, towering over you and pushing his way between your legs.
“We will simply refill it, darling. Now, have a sip.” You press your lips into a tight line, and the king grins at you, flesh fingers pushing on your cheeks until your lips pop open.
He pours some of the wine into your mouth, watching with dark eyes as a single drop runs down the side of your mouth, over your neck and getting absorbed by the material of your dress, forever staining the fabric.
You hold the wine in your mouth, trying desperately to maintain your composure, and the man between your legs only chuckles.
He leans in, lips gingerly brushing over yours before he speaks.
“If you want to kill me, you’ll have to do better than that.” And then he’s kissing you, sucking the wine right out of your mouth and saving you from the fate that was meant for him.
He pulls away and spits the wine directly onto the floor, his hands yanking your skirts up and for a moment you’re afraid he’ll take you right then and there.
As you’re beginning to fight back, he pulls the dagger out of its sheath and slams it into his desk, the blade stuck deep in the wood.
His eyes stay on yours as he backs up a step, then two, and then he turns and walks to the bed.
Your chest heaves as you watch him pull his shirt off, the encounter having scared you but also making heat pool in your lower belly.
He glances at you over his shoulder, muscles in his back flexing for a moment while his eyes darken at the scent of your arousal.
“What are you waiting for? We have a marriage to consummate, don’t we?”
You swallow hard and push yourself off of the desk, walking over to him reluctantly because you know that you could very well be killed for refusing him. And a small, twisted part of you doesn’t want to refuse him. No, the alpha before you is strong and big and everything that your inner omega desires.
He eyes you up and down as if you’re nothing more than a mare to be bred, and your lip curls in disgust.
He chuckles, taking a step towards you, heat and pheromones rolling off of his toned chest and making your head spin.
“Are you going to remove your garments, or are you wanting me to do that for you?” You glare up at him, maintaining complete eye contact as you yank your dress down, standing before him in nothing more than your empty garter.
Confidence oozes from you, the smell tangy and citrusy like someone is forcing oranges down his throat, but something about it is intriguing.
Never has he met such a confident and fierce omega.
He breaks the staring contest first, his eyes raking over your naked body and devouring every inch of you. A smirk forms on your lips and you cross your arms over your chest, accentuating your bust and jutting your hip out slightly to the side as you both see and smell his body’s reaction to you.
“What are you waiting for, oh great King? We have a marriage to consummate.” His eyes dart up to yours, the blues devoured by his pupils, then grabs your waist and pushes you onto the bed.
The breath leaves you for a moment, but when it returns you wish it hadn’t. You’re completely surrounded by his scent. No matter which way you turn your head you can’t escape it.
He watches you as he sheds his trousers, hard cock springing free and dripping with precum.
Your eyes widen slightly and you look from his member to his face a few times, the shock evident in your expression.
You knew alphas were big, but you’re not sure if he’ll fit inside you.
“Hands and knees, Omega. Present for me.” You shake your head, far too stubborn to do that, and he growls, grabbing you by your ankles and forcing you to roll onto your stomach.
His metal hand is on your back, forcing your torso to stay pinned to the bed while his flesh hand hoists your hips up, pussy presented for him, just like an omega should.
He groans at the sight of you and leans down, nose trailing over your inner thighs and inhaling deeply.
“A sweet omega,” he murmurs, fingers pulling your lower lips apart to expose you completely to him.
A snarl rips from your chest and you wiggle your hips away from him, warning him.
A harsh smack to your backside makes you yelp, body instinctively submitting, back arching for him.
“I am not your omega,” you spit, venom lacing the words. He only chuckles and stands back up to his full height, cock pressed against your slit and quickly getting covered in your slick.
“Oh really?” He thrusts through your folds a few times before pulling back, the tip teasing your entrance.
“Tell me then, who has had you before? Huh? What other alpha has feasted on you? Has forced you to submit? Who else has had this sweet omega cunt before me?” he slowly pushes in, groaning at how tight you are while you grip the bedsheets beside your head, the feeling so foreign yet so right.
He only makes it a few inches in before he’s met with resistance and he’s shocked.
Of course, he had been told that you were an untouched omega, but with the attitude you have, he wasn’t sure.
His hold on your hips softens for a moment, and he rubs his flesh hand along your spine.
“You are untouched. Untarnished by other men.” You growl softly, not liking the fact that he’s aware of your purity.
“Get on with it. Or is your knot too old? Are you unable to knot me because you’ve had far too many years of- oh!” He pushes into you roughly, forcing every thick inch of his manhood into you and keeping it there.
You’re stuffed full of his alpha cock and your tiny little pussy looks so pretty taking it all. He can’t wait to make you take his knot too.
Your attitude is gone for a moment, the mixture of pleasure and pain making your eyes roll back into your head, slick coating the inside of your thighs and dripping down onto the bed.
“Nothing to say now, huh, Omega?” The use of your title makes your pussy clench, your body’s natural reaction to having such a powerful and perfect alpha making you submit to him.
“You’re gonna take my cock nice and deep in your pussy, and then you’re gonna take my knot too. You’re gonna be my obedient little omega and you’re gonna swell nice and round with my pups.”
You want to growl, you try to, but the only noise that comes out is a soft mewl.
The alpha behind you chuckles softly, rolling his hips a few times before starting up a steady pace.
“Maybe I should mark you, little omega. Really show everyone who you belong to.” This time you do growl, the sound warning and threatening.
“Mark me and I will tear your knot off with my teeth and spit it -oh gods... spit it right back in your mouth.” You hate how good he feels inside of you, how right it feels to have his thick alpha cock right inside of your cunt.
He only laughs, hips slowing for a long moment before he starts up a brutally quick pace, his hands holding tight to your hips and forcing you to feel every inch of him.
The thick ring of muscle at the base of his cock starts to inflate, and for a moment you’re afraid. You’re not sure if he’ll fit inside of you.
“You gonna take me like a good omega? Huh? Gonna let me breed you all nice?” You whine softly, back arching further against your will, but the alpha behind you howls in delight.
Any semblance of propriety is thrown out the window as your primal urges take over, pheromones and the stench of sex filling your nostrils and making your eyes roll back.
The coil in your belly tightens, it squeezes tightly then snaps hard, sending you spiralling into an orgasm.
Your walls clamp down hard on his cock and he snarls at the feeling, eyes burning a bright Amber at the pleasure.
He drapes his body over yours, one hand supporting his weight on top of you while the other shoves your head to the side, baring your neck for him.
Hips thrusting wildly, he chases his own release, stuffing his knot inside of your tight channel just as he cums.
He paints your walls white, coats them with his seed and pumps you full, his swollen knot preventing any from spilling out.
His teeth find their way to your throat, biting down hard on the tender flesh and embedding deep in the skin, marking you as his. Showing the world that you are claimed, owned.
The feeling of his teeth in your neck and his knot in your pussy has your orgasm continue, or maybe a new one starts, but either way, you cannot form a single coherent thought, not with the way he feels inside of you.
The rawness of the new bond between the two of you shakes him to his core, and he’s surprised for a moment at how strong it is. He shakes off the thought, though, and pulls his teeth back only to lave over the spot gently with his tongue.
Your thighs tremble, entire body aching and spent from the intensity of mating, and the King takes note of that quickly. He rolls the both of you onto your sides, his knot still locking you together, but the new position allows you to relax into the bed, eyelids heavy.
“As much as you resent it you are my omega,” he whispers, voice low and husky in your ear and your walls flutter around his knot at it, making him groan softly.
You take a deep breath, sleep tugging at your mind, but you’ve one more thing to say before you allow yourself to rest.
“You may think that I am your omega, but I assure you that I am not.”
He’s quiet, thinking about your words, about your vigour and determination even long after you’ve fallen asleep and his knot has deflated.
He keeps his cock warm in your body to ensure his seed takes root. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued by you.
Your very existence tests the extent of his limits, and he’s sure you won't stop until you’ve pushed every limit and broken every boundary he has in place.
And something inside of him is eager for that to happen.
~*~
The sound of birds singing pulls you from your slumber, and for a moment you’re confused.
This is not what your chambers look like.
The events of the previous day come rushing into your mind and you look around, ears peeled and nose sniffing the air for any trace of your new husband.
He’s gone. The only evidence that he was ever there in the first place is the throbbing mark on your neck and the ache between your thighs.
You pull the blankets up to cover your chest and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, about to get up and leave when there's a soft knock on the door.
You don’t even answer, no, the person lets themselves in and offers you a friendly smile.
“Good morning, Your Majesty. I trust that you’re well-rested?” You nod, recognizing the woman as your new personal guard.
You push yourself to your feet and she frowns, moving to your side and gingerly pushing your shoulder until you’re seated again.
“His majesty has demanded that you remain in bed to allow his seed to take root.” You raise your eyebrows at her and scoff, shaking your head.
“Tell his Majesty that he can kiss my ass,” you reply, standing up and stretching, wincing slightly when you feel warmth trickle slowly down your leg.
“Natalia, will you go fetch me something to wear? And make sure it’s suitable for outdoors, I’d like to visit the archery range today.”
Visit the archery range you do. After several hours of horseback riding, and acquainting yourself with the stable staff, you’re testing out your new bow.
Arrows fly through the air and hit the targets effortlessly, and you feel some tension leave your shoulders.
“I thought I told you to stay abed today.” Just like that, the tension returns.
“I thought I told you that you cannot tell me what to do, no matter how hard you try.” You speak without removing your eyes from your target, adjusting your grip the slightest bit while the King chuckles.
“Last night would beg to differ.”
You release the arrow, hitting the target directly in the centre, then turn to face your husband.
“Need I remind you just how obvious your desperation for me was? You need me. You want me. Do not forget that your body will betray you every time. Even now,” your eyes dart down to the erection straining against his trousers, “you want nothing more than to bend me over. You cannot deny that you long for me.” He takes a step towards you, growling once in warning.
“You will watch your tongue.” You raise your brows, challenging him and taking a step closer.
“Or what? What will you do, oh mighty King?”
His metal hand is gripping your throat in the blink of an eye, not hard enough to hurt but enough to show you that he could hurt you if he wanted to.
He backs you up, forces you backwards until your back hits a training post.
“Queens are not so hard to come by,” he murmurs, eyes dark.
You only hum, body thrumming with arousal as his grip tightens the slightest bit.
“At your age, they may be harder to please.” His brows furrow and he takes a breath through his nose, shaking his head with a soft chuckle.
“And you said I was desperate for you. You’re soaking through your skirts, aren’t you?” You say nothing, only pull your bottom lip in a silent dare for him to check.
Feeling the change in the air, the electricity flowing through your bond, he does just that.
He flips your skirts up and shoves his flesh hand between your thighs, letting out a sound of surprise when he finds you bare and desperate.
You elbow is at his wrist, shoving it away from your throat and then you’re lifting a foot to the back of his knees, sending him tumbling to the ground.
Pouncing on him, you shove him onto his back and straddle his torso, your heart jumping in your chest.
“Your age must truly be catching up with you,” you muse, “I thought you were supposed to be a big strong alpha. But no, you were easily overpowered by an omega.” He growls from a low place in his chest but makes no move to get up. Instead, he lets you have your fun.
“What will you do, Omega? Will you kill me?” You purse your lips, pondering this for a moment before pulling a knife from its secure place on your calf.
“Maybe I will.” He’s surprised for a moment, that much is obvious, and you can’t help the pride that swells in you as you raise the knife high above your head then slam it back down, only for both of your wrists to be held captive in his metal hand.
He flips you over, slams your back against the ground and pins your arms above your head. His legs force yours apart, his bulge pressed tightly against your core.
“Do not test me, little omega,” he growls, leaning down to nip at the mark on your neck. A jolt shoots through your entire body but he pulls away after a moment longer, rising to his feet and adjusting himself in his trousers.
“Do not forget who’s mark you wear on your neck.” With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you lying alone in the grass, heart thundering in your chest.
You push yourself into a seated position with a huff, a frown painting your face as you watch him walk away.
An arrogant alpha. What else did you really expect?
Summary: Peter is put to the test during the omega auction preview night. Can he keep his cool while put on display for a pack of overly eager Alphas?
The Name of the Game
An evening breeze streams across the back seat of their black SUV, the windows cracked halfway down to clear out as much of Peter’s scent as possible. With the divider up, Peter can only assume their driver is another undercover SHIELD agent. Next to him, Nat taps a red manicured nail on the door, one black pants-suit leg bouncing over the other, her face turned towards the fresh air.
“Aren’t we a bit early?” Peter asks.
“We have to make a stop,” she turns to look at him, the glimmer of the city lights illuminating her with a soft warm glow. “To meet my informant.”
“Why?”
She pats the black case next to her, an embossed Stark logo barely discernible on the side. “To deliver an equipment loan. And as a courtesy. You’re a new player in the game, he’s a meticulous guy, wants to know exactly what to expect.”
“Will he be at the preview? Disguised as one of the clientele?”
“No, he’s not that kind of informant.”
Peter’s phone buzzes with a text from Tony: Be careful tonight.
His chest deflates with the release of invisible tension Peter didn’t know he was holding, this was the first he’d heard from Tony since last night’s call.
He types back: Hey, it’s me.
Peter’s unsure if the Star Wars reference exists in this verse, until Tony responds: I’m definitely Han in this relationship.
Peter smiles back at his screen. I dunno, you strike me as more of a Lando.
Tony sends him a thinking face, followed with: Smooth, brave, and sexy. I can live with that.
He’s surprised by Tony’s chill attitude towards this second op, especially considering how Peter’s first excursion with Nat went down. Peter says as much.
“Hard to believe Tony isn’t making a bigger deal about this, not being here while I go on this mission.”
“Oh, believe me - He did. Just not to you.” Nat’s weariness is reminiscent of how MJ sounded when she complained about needing a break from too many boys. “He made me review the plan, escape tactics, and fallback options in triplicate. Then he gave me an incoherent lecture on how to dress you, and a list of off-limit bondage that quickly spiraled into impure thoughts.”
“Sorry,” Peter says, even as the revelation warms him from head to toe.
“Tony’s always been overprotective,” she waves her hand dismissively. “But the thought of other Alphas touching you is driving him absolutely insane. If it weren’t for the fact that I know you can take care of yourself, I’d be calling this off.” She turns back to the window, distracted and uncharacteristically muttering to herself. “Reactions are going to be hard to predict.”
*
“Wait here,” Nat starts to ascend the rickety wooden staircase.
When Peter tries to follow she turns and extends a palm to his chest. “I’m not sure my informant can actually handle you.” Peter backs off a step, nods in understanding. “I won’t be long.”
Peter wanders around inspecting the empty, gutted brick building, it’s seen better days but at least it’s not caving in. Voices emanate from the floor above, muffled yet discernible. He hears Nat opening the equipment case and explaining how to use what’s inside.
“Long range audio receiver,” she says. “Capable of penetrating up to 18 inches of cement at 100 yards without a transmitter.” There’s some shuffling around, a few clicks of her heels, and a man’s quiet voice.
“Stark’s okay with you loaning it out?”
“Yes. Tony is very invested in this mission’s success.”
Upstairs the two continue to go back and forth over equipment instructions while Peter spends the time walking around on his hands and lazily swinging from some exposed ceiling rafters.
“I want to meet him,” the male voice suddenly says. Peter freezes mid-step, inverted on a rafter.
“That’s unwise.” Nat warns.
“I’m too close to taking this whole operation down to leave anything to chance.”
“You’re not leaving it to chance, you’re leaving it to me.”
Peter begins to ascend the stairs, he’s already figured out who Nat is talking to, recognizes the familiar solemn manner in his voice.
“Don’t make this about trust, Natasha. Even the Black Widow isn’t infallible.”
“About this I am.”
Both heads turn to look at Peter when he steps off the top stair. Even in shadow, the red-horned figure leaves no room for mistaken identity.
“Peter, I told you not to come up.”
Peter shrugs, unsure if she can even see the movement in the dimly lit space. “Not like he can hurt me, Nat.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” she turns to Daredevil, who's gone rigid as a statue, his fist balling as they press into his thighs.
“Christ almighty,” the masked vigilante mutters. A low growl with the gentling of a hum rolls from his chest, then almost immediately he’s on Peter.
Peter’s senses aren’t screaming ‘Danger!’, but he takes a step back anyway and finds himself pressed against the rough brick. Matt’s hands frame his head on either side, palms flat to the wall, rigid and tense with quick shallow breaths that hint of distress as much as desire.
Nat moves to intercept, dashing from behind, she grips Daredevil’s shoulder. Matt ignores it, instead nose dives into Peter’s neck with a long inhale coupled with his lips skimming over Peter’s skin.
“Okay, that’s enough Double D.” Peter removes the hands braced above his shoulders with slow and steady force. Matt unsuccessfully pushes against the grip, then lifts away from Peter’s neck with a startled gaze, momentarily confused at the show of strength.
Peter tries for a reassuring tilt of his head, his hands now settled on Matt’s biceps, pushing him back to fully separating their bodies. All the while Nat keeps her hand firm on his shoulder.
“I warned you,” she says. But Matt shows no sign of registering, eyes locked with Peter’s as he groans and continues to press against his outstretched arms.
Nat pulls a small vile from her blazer pocket and cracks it open. “Deep breath,” she waves it under Matt’s nose and within seconds he’s reeling back, pressing his palms into his eyes and yelling like someone stuck a hot poker up his sinuses.
“Holy hell,” Peter moves to help Matt, Nat throws her arm in front of his chest to halt him. “What’d you give him?!”
“A smelling salt,” she says, watching a little too dispassionately as Matt falls to one knee. “It dispels non-CO2 airborne chemicals, such as drugs, from the nasal passages.”
“I knew it was sex pollen!” Peter crows.
Nat looks at him like he’s gone mad before turning back to her doubled over victim. “The stuff burns a bit, but for him…” They watch Matt rub the water from the corner of his eyes. “For him it probably stings like a son of a bitch.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” Matt squeaks out.
“Oh suck it up, you big drama queen.” She gently nudges him in the butt with her foot.
Peter grimaces with the empathy only a fellow super-sensor could understand. “How long does it block my scent?”
“Thirty minutes, give or take, and it’s only partially successful.”
“Is that what you’ve been using?” Peter asks.
A single shake of her head. “Only yesterday, when we were in tight spaces. I’ll use it later tonight though,” Nat twists to look at him. “I don’t want to risk any distractions.”
Matt gets back to his feet with a dizzying sway, she helps guide him backward towards a broken window where he plops down on the ledge. Head dropped back against the frame, he closes his eyes and angles his face towards the night air.
Nat steps to the front of him, hands on her hips. “He’s too much for your overstimulated senses,” her assertion is the equivalent of ‘I told you so’.
Peter can see the deep rise and fall of his chest as he gathers Omega-free air. Then Matt stubbornly looks up at Nat. “I can handle him, I just need time to adjust.”
“You’re cute,” she folds her arms over her chest. “But more likely Peter here would be handling you.”
His head lolls to the side, once again fixed on Peter. The red neon from the club next door reflects in the black of his pupils, daring and dangerous. The sultry air in his tone is one Peter’s never heard before. “When the mission’s over, you could come back to mine and we can find out.”
Peter feels his face flush and goddamnit if Matt doesn’t let the slightest grin slip, able to detect every change in Peter’s blood pressure and his heartbeat. Bastard. The guy always did have a twisted sense of humor for someone so principled.
“Right, ‘cuz I don’t get proposals like that on a daily,” Peter rebuffs, knowing how to get under Matt’s morally upright skin.
“Shit, sorry.” Matt has the grace to sound ashamed; he should, considering the job they were here to do. “That was out of line.”
“Apology accepted. I’ll count it as a rare slip in Matt Murdock’s strict code of ethics.”
Matt jerks upright at the name drop, throws a cutting glare at Nat. “What the hell, Widow?”
She puts her hands up in innocence, “Hey, I didn’t tell him.” Turning an expectant brow toward Peter, she says, “You know him, then?”
“Yeah, he was my lawyer for like two seconds.”
A streetlight catches the downward pull of something sour on Matt’s lips, and Peter knows he’s trying to discern if Peter is lying. “I’m sure I’d remember.”
Peter avoids the blackhole gaze boring into him, looks around the gloomy, gutted brick building, typical Daredevil rendezvous point. “You always did have a flair for an urban noire aesthetic.”
Matt stands, rigid with investigatory caution as he closes the distance between them. Stopping a foot away, Matt seems to test his composure before resettling on Peter’s face, perhaps searching for some form of recognition.
“Take it easy, Big Red. You don’t actually know me, but I’m on your side.”
Matt crosses his arms. “And I should just take your word for it?”
Peter actually chuckles at the question, fully aware of his inability to avoid Matt’s innate lie detector. The pair had taken down a handful of their own New York crime bosses, and though Peter didn’t make a habit of lying, he had started to make a game of it. Numerous times he’d tried to maintain control over his imperceptible physiological reactions, only to end in repeated failed attempts to pull one over on Daredevil - Matt always knew.
“If I was lying, you’d know it.”
Peter’s response only serves to make his alt-verse companion more leery. “Nat.” He turns to her with frustration. “Gonna help me out here?”
Her enigmatic smile offers little support. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Peter idly wonders if Nat is one of the few capable of dodging Daredevil’s lie detector, it wouldn’t surprise him.
Matt restlessly shifts his feet looking between the two. “I suppose I have little say in the matter.” He pauses, his breath suddenly catches in a way that hints of Peter’s scent sneaking its way through Matt’s defenses, voraciously looking Peter up and down. “He’s gonna cause a Rite of Courting ritual.”
Nat’s less amused than when she herself first uttered those words only three days ago, echoing Tony’s response, “As long as they keep the fighting amongst themselves.”
Matt moves back towards the window, leaning on the edge near a break in the glass. “I won’t be far if things get out of hand.”
Peter spots the long range microphone in its case. “What will he be listening for?”
“Trouble,” Nat says. “He’s our back up. Technically, this is off the books. I expect the event's security to be too tight to get through with surveillance devices on our persons. This way he can monitor.”
“What’s your interest in all this?” Peter asks.
Matt looks over his shoulder. “Fisk.”
Peter startles. “Wilson Fisk? As in Kingpin?” It was a name he hadn’t heard in a while. Taking down Kingpin was something Matt had already accomplished in his world before the two vigilantes had ever met. Then it suddenly dawns on Peter… “Shit. Are you telling me Lady Vanessa is Vanessa Mariaana?”
“How the hell do you know that?” Matt's posture is rigid and flustered as he turns to fully face him.
Peter ignores the question, “How is Fisk involved?”
Matt hesitates, sizing Peter up. “The same way he’s always involved - he’s pulling all the strings. Vanessa does all the front-facing work.”
Peter cocks his head at Nat. “I thought the plan was to tag the bidders at the auction?”
“It is. The more evidence we have of those involved the better the chance of shutting it down.”
“But how does that get you Fisk?”
Matt sidesteps closer to Natasha. “Initially, the plan was to take down Vanessa…”
“But then a secret weapon fell into my lap,” Nat says, pleased.
“Widow’s wagering Fisk will want you, and now that I’ve seen you for myself, I’m inclined to agree.”
That doesn’t track with what Peter remembers about the pair. He only has a vague memory of seeing Vanessa Mariaana in news photos, but he recalls the stories of how utterly devoted to one another she and Fisk were. “I’m confused, aren’t Fisk and Vanessa lovers in this wor…” Peter almost slips. “Um, are they not a couple?”
Mutual nods confirm they are, furthering Peter’s confusion, and frustration. “But they’re both Alphas?”
Comprehension dawns on Nat’s face as to why Peter looks like a lost puppy. “It’s not common,” she says. “But sometimes Alphas do bond. Though, obviously they can’t reproduce.”
“Um…” Peter falters. “I’m not from around here,” at least that wasn’t a lie. Peter races back to the topic at hand. “Just so I have this straight: the plan is for Fisk to purchase me and then…?”
“Then you become our man on the inside,” Matt says. “You get whatever evidence you can gather that will help to ensure he stays behind bars.”
“Uh, how long are you expecting me to stay undercover? Because I wasn’t signing up to actually give him what he pays for.”
“Of course not, I would never…” Matt stutters, flustered, he briefly presses his fingertips to his forehead. “I just meant, once you’re in you can subdue security from the inside. You're enhanced, yes?” Peter nods. “Find and gather whatever hard evidence you can and get out.”
“This is all assuming Fisk even buys me, but what happens if he intervenes? Am I taking him down too?”
“If you think you can, Fisk won’t go down easy.”
Peter snorts. “A fat dude in a suit? I’ve fought bigger.”
*
“Lady Vanessa wants to see us in private when we arrive,” Nat says, her fingers brushing the back of Peter’s neck as she finishes buckling his collar. “I warned her about the change in your scent and expressed some concerns.”
Peter runs a finger under the wide mahogany strap, it was supple leather but it was already irritating him. “Do you think she’ll revoke your invite?”
“She’d be crazy to with the amount of money you stand to make for her. More likely she wants to account for any necessary changes to security.”
Peter turns sideways in the back seat of the SUV to face Nat head on. He hopes her expertise at reading people will infer the disappointed stare he levels at her. After a moment of weighty silence, she does.
“I know, I know,” Nat appeals with bated breath.
“You should have told me.”
“It may all be irrelevant depending on how tonight goes. Nothing’s changed,” she argues. “The plan has always been for you to be bought then immediately escape.”
“Escaping from Fisk is a different ballgame.”
“You said it yourself - fat guy in a suit.”
Peter huffs. “Physically I can take him, but Fisk is notoriously cunning and ruthless, you shouldn’t underestimate him. Does Tony know?”
She averts her eyes, only for a second, long enough to appear guilty at the question. “Not exactly…but isn’t he the one who said you should stop the suppressants?” Peter’s not sure that’s a fair argument, considering the state Tony’s currently in. “Vanessa’s interest in you has primarily been monetary. I didn’t anticipate your sex appeal would outweigh her thirst for profit. Not until yesterday, when I scented you and saw an opportunity…”
“And you didn’t bother to mention it to him,” Peter finishes, she simply nods. Admittedly, as much as he hates to agree, it was the right choice. “It’s for the best, Tony has enough to deal with right now.”
“It’s possible I’m wrong, and Vanessa and Fisk will care more about the percentage they stand to make.”
“But you’re hoping you’re right.”
“We stand a better chance at cutting off the head if I am. Either way, we’re taking down some shitheads.” Nat winks and Peter can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up, her tenacity was infectious.
“We’re here,” Nat’s eyes drift past him out the window.
Peter turns to follow her gaze, releasing a long, high pitched whistle as their SUV pulls up to the front of a six-story, ultra lush palatial Beaux-Arts mansion that overlooks the East River. Back home this place would cost somewhere in the $60 million range.
“It’s been rented out for the evening,” Nat says. “They don’t like to use the same place twice. It’s unlikely they’ve been able to wire it, but we should err on the side of possible listening devices at all times.” She cracks open another vial of the smelling salts she used on Matt less than an hour ago, eyes watering against the deep inhales cycling through her system. After dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a tissue, she sits upright, her spine like steel. “You ready?”
Peter checks himself over one last time. He was now wearing what he had dubbed his ‘hooker jammies’, even his shoes were more of a loungey, leather slipper. “As I’ll ever be,” he confirms.
Their driver steps around to the passenger side of the SUV to open Peter’s door. Nat crawls over him to exit first, but before Peter can follow she stops just short of straddling his lap. “There’s just one more thing,” she eyes him with a particular expression, seductive and cocky, holding up the end of a leash that she hooks to the gold O-ring of his collar. A short snap of the leather has his forehead flush with hers, a wicked smile on her lips. “And for the record, I never underestimate my enemies.”
With the grace of a panther, Nat’s heels settle on the sidewalk in front of the corner entrance to the mansion. Peter follows not far behind, the slack of the leash taut and looped in Nat’s right hand. The two security guards who flank the double doors track their approach up the rounded staircase. Nat saunters up to one unfazed, name dropping her credentials with a cool confidence.
“Madame Nakita,” the left guard greets. “Lady Vanessa asked to be informed of your arrival.” Peter keeps his eyes trained south but catches the guard’s sudden pause in movement as he lifts his wrist to speak into a hidden mic, a sure sign he’s caught Peter’s scent. A low growl from the man has Nat further stepping in front of Peter, the additional stair height helps to block the line of sight.
Eyes locked on the guard, Nat subtly tilts her head back towards Peter. “Go stand by the other guard,” she instructs, loosening the slack on the leash to give him further range. Peter’s confusion dissolves when it’s clear he doesn’t seem to have any effect on him - must be a Beta.
“I believe you were about to call your boss?” Nat’s exacting question leaves no room for dawdling, the Alpha snaps his eyes from Peter back to Nat, then continues his duties.
There’s a few moments of what feels like a tense standoff, then the Beta opens the door with a ‘Follow me, please,” and Peter trails behind the step of Nat’s black stilettos.
The sweeping foyer mirrors the grandeur of the exterior, with marble floors, a double ceiling, and hand carved moldings at every corner. Past the entrance, the sounds of people chatting and laughing can be heard in a room beyond a double wooden door. The Beta guard turns to the left and leads them into a spacious sitting room where he uses a hand held metal detector to sweep them for any prohibited items. Just as he’s leaving, Lady Vanessa takes his place, an eager grin on her lips as she shuts the door behind.
“Madame Nakita,” she nods, gripping Nat’s hand with a curt shake, businesslike. “And our main attraction,” she adds, looking at Peter with an excited deviousness that quickly turns strained and then, in a flash, feral.
Peter plays the part, backing up like an intimidated pup as the tall Alpha stalks towards. Nat releases the hold on his leash, letting Lady V corner him against the wall. The carved moldings of the wood paneling dig into his lower spine as she presses her thigh into Peter’s, her grip clamps rough, tugging him by the hair to expand access to his neck.
Peter thwarts his fighting instincts, forces his body to stay neutral, arms hanging limp at his sides. He nearly forgets to give Nat the green hand signal- thumb pressed to forefinger - distracted by Lady V’s open-mouth breathing down the tendon of his neck. Any moment now, Peter expects her to move back, but she doesn’t, instead he feels her hardening cock pressing into his groin - and damn if that ain’t a first.
Nat clears her throat, a semi-polite reminder of who Peter belongs to. It does the trick. After a few rough, breathy passes and a frustrated growl, she snarls and aggressively shoves herself away, taking four strides backward stopping next to Natasha.
“My apologies,” Lady V says, exasperated.
“Quite understandable,” Nat’s smirk errs on the side of amused, but Peter knows it’s underlying smug sentiment.
“For God’s sake, he’s going to cause a Rite of Courting ritual.”
This was the third time in as many days Peter had heard this phrase, making him question the actual antiquity of the ritual. He can only hope they’re using it like an old adage or proverb. Something like, ‘That Omega’s so breedable he caused a courting ritual!’
As much as he wouldn’t mind watching a bunch of Alpha chauvinists beating the shit out of each other, Peter doubts it would be productive to their mission.
Lady V’s gaze continues to linger on Peter, he has to keep reminding himself not to meet her eyes. “There’s no contamination,” she says to Nat, impressed and dubious. “How have you resisted him?”
“I admit I had some fun with him not long after I found him.” Nat pulls one of the vials of smelling salts from her pocket. “I use this to dull the effects.”
Vanessa glances down at the olfactory contraceptive, pinching it between two fingers and holding it up for inspection. Peter uses the respite in attention to step away from the wall, resetting to his previous position, leash hanging loose at his front.
The motion catches Lady V’s eye. She pockets the vial, her dark survey scanning the exposed line of Peter’s draped open shirt. “He doesn’t scare easily, does he?”
“Ah, well you’ve seen how troublesome he can be. I’m surprised the pup’s survived as long as he has.”
Approaching with more caution this time, Lady V gently drags a manicured nail from Peter’s temple to his chin, her other hand coiling around the leather strap of the leash. “Found him on the streets, you said?”
“Mmm,” Nat confirms. “Gutter rat turning tricks and stealing what he couldn’t earn.”
“Have you named him yet?”
“I don’t see any reason to get attached,” Nat carelessly looks at her nails. “I call him Five.”
“How…clerical,” Vanessa’s inspection feels impossibly intimate, though Peter knows it’s simply enamor based on how her inhale hitches with a reedy pitch. “And you say he was taking suppressants?”
“Yes, unbeknownst to me,” Nat’s deception flows smooth as honey. “They don’t keep his heat from cycling, but they otherwise subdue the scent. When he ran out, well…the truth was revealed, wasn’t it Five?”
Peter looks up at Nat then quickly lowers his eyes, ashamed.
“You really are a naughty thing, aren’t you?” Vanessa says it like it’s an enticing factoid. With his chin pinched between her thumb and finger, she guides his head side to side. Her towering gaze is insistent, unyielding as she tests Peter’s submissiveness. He averts his eyes to stare at his true Alpha: Natasha.
“I see he healed nicely.”
“Yes. He’s incredibly healthy for a mutt.”
Vanessa removes her hand and raises a questioning brow at Nat. “And his behavior?”
“Improving daily.” Nat somehow makes the compromising admission an alluring characteristic, some sort of sick disciplinary appeal. It seems to work if Lady V’s twisted look of desire is any indication.
Satisfied with her inspection, Lady V sharply tugs on the leash, pulling Peter forward and hands the shortened leash to Nat. “I’ll assign two of my Betas to guard him during the preview. For now, the merchandise is being gathered upstairs. Follow me.”
They exit back into the grand entryway, Lady V raises her arm to beckon over one of her men. The lumbering figure who approaches is regrettably familiar. Big Henry. Shit.
“Henry will escort Five,” Lady V locks eyes with the hulking bodyguard who looks anything but pleased to see the duo. His nose shows no signs of the damage Peter caused a few weeks ago, but Peter thinks he’s somehow uglier.
“Now,” Lady V cordially steps between Nat and Henry, a placating hand on each of their shoulders. “I know you two got off on the wrong foot, but tonight we will be following the strictest of decorum.” She gives Henry a pointed look. “Please escort this Omega upstairs to join the others.”
“Yes ma’am,” Henry obediently nods, but his words already sound strained in the presence of Peter’s scent.
Lady V notices his struggle. “Madame Nakita, I suggest you also accompany your Omega, then please join us in the parlor.” With that, Lady Vanessa leaves to greet some newly arriving guests.
Nat blatantly places herself between Peter and Henry as he leads them to a room at the end of the hallway on the second floor. Henry pushes the door open. “The Omega will wait in here.” Henry looks past Nat, aiming a vengeful scowl at Peter, who takes the opportunity to flash a teasing wink at the big oaf. The lumbering Alpha stiffens, growling in return. Peter further pushes his luck with a silent taunt as he kisses the air.
Nat whips around and slaps Peter across the cheek. She theatrically grabs his chin, presses her forehead to his own. “You behave, my little bug. I’ll know if you don’t.”
It was part of the plan, of course. Nat already knew Peter’s insolent mouth would be unable to resist goading Henry, and there was a benefit to showing she was getting Peter under control.
But still - Ouch.
Nat steps up to Henry, her back once again to Peter. “No funny business this time. I’ve given him permission to bite it off.”
*
This was expected. Peter is to get whatever info he can from the Omegas, while Nat works the sales angle. Poised as a shrewd business woman in possession of a rare commodity, Nat will no doubt have his dance card full before the individual visitations start.
He joins the other Omegas in a holding area of adjoining rooms consisting of a master bedroom, a sitting area, and a massive circular dressing room that is at least 20 feet in diameter. All decorated as ostentatiously as the first two floors they passed through, complete with a chandelier.
After a quick sweep of the dressing space Peter’s hopes sink. These Omegas aren’t in any condition to give him insider info, let alone talk to him. They look scared to death.
Music drifts from a speaker on the center dresser island, its poppy, upbeat tune a bleak disparity against the faces in the room. A few Omegas sit on velvet dressing stools, staring blankly at nothing in particular. Three are dressed in similar soft, loose fitting attire like Peter. The rest are squeezed into corsets, fishnets, garters, and other frilly lingerie sets - all appear to be in varying states of distress.
He spots Jacques, the Omega he’d managed to exchange a few words with at their last encounter, he’s bouncing around trying to put the ‘imports’ at ease. A difficult task considering only a few appear to know a handful of English. The older Omega kneels down in front of a freckled blonde to attach the garter belts to his corset, the boy's hands shaking too severely to do it himself.
“I wasn’t sure you’d survived,” Jacques says, looking sideways at Peter. “I’m glad to see you.” He finishes threading a hook, standing to face him. “We were not properly introduced. I’m Jacques.” Peter takes the offered hand, introducing himself as Five, to which Jacques gives him a knowing look but doesn’t press the matter.
“They’re all so young,” Peter observes. He motions to a small, light brown skinned Omega who’s on the verge of tears. “That kid looks like he’s 13,” Peter doesn’t hide his disgust.
Jacques nods, “Probably 15 or 16. He is small, even for an Omega. This is a particularly challenging batch, most of them do not speak English or French.” Suddenly an Omega trying to gracefully walk in stilettos trips in front of them. Peter catches him before he hits the floor, lifting him with ease back onto his feet. Jacques sighs. “I’ve had less than two weeks to train this group.”
It’s then Peter is reminded he’s here to help them, not the other way around. “How can I help?”
Jacques grins, “Do you speak any languages?”
Over the next thirty or so minutes Peter does what he can to help settle the unease that permeates the room. He muddles through some bad Spanish talking with two Omegas from Venezuela. They are already way ahead of Peter when it comes to behavioral expectations, but he can at least give them clarity as to the purpose of tonight’s event.
“Have you done a lot of these?” Peter asks Jacques once every Omega is as ready as they’re going to be.
“I haven’t kept count,” he tilts his head, humming in thought. “Including the one where I was purchased…perhaps 10 or 12? And what about you?” Jacques asks. “You are unusually calm for an Omega on debut night. Perhaps your age helps? Or perhaps you’ve been bought before?”
Peter pulls from his cover story, which holds a lining of truth. “I’ve been surviving day by day for longer than I care to admit. Hard to imagine much worse than where I’ve been.”
“I hope for your sake that is true, but I warn you,” Jacques gives Peter’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “The cruelest of Alphas desire the rarest of possessions.”
Peter doesn’t mention he’s banking on it. He decides to take a different risk.
“Would they take a way out, the Omegas, if presented with one?”
Jacques eyes Peter with hesitancy, these were dangerous waters, taboo thoughts. Heresy. In a low voice he cautiously says, “Some, perhaps.”
“You?”
Jacques walks to the speaker in the center of the room, leaning against the dresser island as he speaks. “I'm committed to the success of incoming recruits.”
“What if there were no more recruits?”
Jacques presses his lips in a thin line, turns up the volume a few notches while his voice remains low. “Then I’d be committed to the well being of the ones already here.”
“And if they were safe?”
“Why do I sense I don’t want to know why you’re asking?”
“Probably because you have good instincts.”
Jacques glances over his shoulder, as if checking for eavesdroppers. “Most of the Omegas that pass through here end up with a life far better than they would have had, myself included.”
“Doesn’t mean they don’t deserve better. Are you saying it can’t be better?”
“I’m saying, revolution comes with a cost. A cost always paid by the most vulnerable,” Jacques makes a point to look around at the Omegas in the room. “I train them to survive,” his serious demeanor settles back on Peter. “Anything more is a dangerous illusion.”
Peter doesn’t know how this whole thing is going to play out, but he knows he can’t leave it how he found it. He gently takes Jacques hand in his, reassuring.
“I promise not to start anything I can’t finish.”
*
Peter has the unfortunate honor of being at the front of the line as the Omegas are paraded through the large den on the first floor. They walk on a 12’ high platform, a narrow makeshift stage that’s been set up to put the Omegas on an elevated display. Alphas seated in cushy lounge chairs sip from crystal cut whiskey glasses, eyes bright with interest as the merchandise they’ve been waiting for is finally revealed.
Like dominos, the head of every Alpha in the room turns in succession as they catch Peter’s scent, tracking him until he comes to a stop behind Nat, standing below him. She turns, leash in hand, and Peter bends at the waist so she can reattach the strap. The room resonates with a rumble of low growls and a cacophony of sex addled excitement.
Although he shouldn’t, Peter lifts his eyes to get a peek at just how many Alphas are there, at least 20. And only 10 Omegas on the auction block.
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen,” Lady Vanessa greets, palms turned up in both reception and an order of quiet. A hush falls over the room. “These ten excellent Omega specimens who stand before you will be up for bid in the upcoming auction. Tonight, each of you will have the opportunity to get to know…”
Peter takes the time Lady V is talking to scan the room, his eyes should probably (definitely) be downcast, but it’s a transgression he can get away with, after all, he already has a reputation as a troublemaker. At least he’s respectful enough to avoid any of the Alpha’s eyes, though he doesn’t miss their wandering hands molesting the Omegas who wait on them and serve drinks.
The prickle of an onlooker's gaze lights up Peter’s senses, an imperceptible tilt of his head and he spots Nova staring at him - the Omega Big Henry had on his knees before Peter decided to ruin the ‘fun’. The Omega stands at the opposite end of the room near the door, a small serving tray tucked under his arm. Peter wonders if he once stood here, on display like a slab of meat in a butcher shop.
Instead of the school girl getup, Nova is dressed in a red and white maid uniform. It’s fancy as all hell, but it’s skimpy, and any way you spin it, it’s a fucking maid costume. Jesus, whoever his Alpha is truly was a walking kink cliche. Peter catches sight of the other three Omegas from that night, also dressed in varying type of pleasure themed attire, a blend of corsets, stockings, garters, short skirts, or no skirt at all - each for the purpose to please the guests. Ginger, the one who had been in the Lolita dress two weeks ago, sits on the lap of an Alpha that Peter knows isn’t his.
‘We all share here,’ Big Henry had said.
“And our main attraction, item number ten on the bidding block,” Lady V’s sudden appearance next to him on the platform snaps Peter back to current events. “A rare specimen unlike anything you’ve ever encountered, I assure you.” She pulls his shirt off his shoulders, down to where it catches at his elbows, exposing his torso. “No doubt you’ve already caught his intoxicating scent, but as you can see…,” Lady V places her wrist under his nose where Peter can scent her, apparently displaying his lack of reaction. “He is not in heat.”
An excited murmur fills the space, Lady V raises her voice to be heard over the building commotion.
“A short viewing will take place here, after which each Omega will retire with their representative to a private chamber.” Peter internally scoffs, more like their owner.
Some Alphas prematurely begin to stand up, even though Lady V hasn't finished. Ginger is carelessly shoved out of the lap he’d been warming.
“Myself and the masters you see next to me will speak to each of you to arrange up close and personal meetings with any Omega that has caught your eye.”
By now all the Alphas are on their feet, Peter seeming to be the only Omega they’re interested in. He spots one throwing a discreet elbow to push another out of his way. Somewhere a glass shatters and several growls underscore the growing ruckus as everyone makes a b-line towards the stage - towards Peter.
Reining in the leash, Nat defensively steps up next to Peter on the opposite side of Lady V. The two women quickly exchange looks, Peter thinks he catches a glint of mirth on Vanessa’s lips, then she turns to the guards behind them with curt instruction, “Get him to his room - now.”
One guard firmly tugs Peter’s shoulder from behind and pushes him towards the exit. Peter thinks they should’ve thought this through better, because he’s the Omega furthest from the door. Or maybe that was all part of the plan.
“Everyone please settle down!” Lady V uselessly commands. “No one will be denied an opportunity to inspect each of our offerings.”
Everything spirals into disorganized crowd control, the guards form a spotty line in front of the platform as Peter is escorted past the other Omegas. Some Alphas try to grab at him or shove past until it’s an all out commotion as he shoves his way to the door.
Someone’s pinky hooks around his own, Peter jerks his head to find it belongs to Nova. They lock gazes for the barest of moments, long enough for Nova to turn his wrist and discreetly slip something small into Peter’s hand. He’s then forcefully yanked by the collar out into the foyer where Nat and the Beta guards quickly escort him to his preview room.
The raucous noise of the den fades away as they hastily ascend the stairs, their two Beta guards show them to a room on the fifth floor, which connects to a rooftop patio. One of the guards slides open the wall of glass accordion doors, letting the fresh air in.
“Wait outside,” Nat instructs, holding the door open for the security detail as they obey, quickly shutting it behind them. She guides Peter by the wrist out onto the patio where she leans on the railing looking out over the vista of the river. The layout offers privacy from most neighboring windows.
“All clear.” Nat says, quiet and matter of fact. Peter’s confused until he remembers Matt’s listening in. She twists her head to look at Peter, her voice still low, but a small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “That went better than I could’ve hoped.”
He arches his brows at her. Seriously?
Nat continues to speak into the night air, but she does it in a codified way that sounds like an Alpha giving an Omega instructions, hidden within the words are a total count of guests and bodyguards. Now free from the downstairs tumult, Peter remembers Nova slipping something into his hand. He opens his palm to find a small white pill.
Nat immediately takes notice, gripping his wrist to inspect it. She tilts her head up at him and shakes it with a frown, plucking the pill out his hand and pocketing it. Peter can guess at its purpose, probably some kind of drug to help him disassociate. He wonders how Nova got it and if all the Omegas working here take them.
“Prepare yourself, Five,” Nat bites out back in full character. “Every Alpha in that room wants time with you. It’s going to be a long night.”
*
A long night was an understatement. Every Alpha in attendance - all 22 of them - got at least ten minutes with Peter.
The first few visits were the most difficult, if only because Peter wasn’t sure what to expect. By the fourth Alpha it wasn’t hard to understand why Nova had slipped him some drugs. Peter tried to separate his mind from the experience, telling himself to think of it like a doctor's visit. But it wasn't that easy and only helped to a small degree.
Each Alpha tested their scent against Peter, trying to get a reaction out of him in some pathetic hope to be the one Peter was unable to resist. All failed, yet it didn’t seem to be the deterrent he expected it to be, even with their bruised egos. Nat would simply say, “Wait ‘til he’s in heat.” Their eyes would go dark with lust, imagining some sex-crazed fantasy Peter didn’t want to know about.
As Nat had predicted, every one of them wanted to see Peter - all of Peter. There was no hiding his exposure from Nat, she had no choice but to stay close to protect him from unwelcome groping, and to keep tabs on her property. He appreciated her attempts to keep her eyes as averted as possible without drawing attention, but fuck was it awkward.
Comments about his ‘unusual size’, which was met with a mixture of trepidation and zeal, had Peter’s face heating the first five or six times he heard it. Eventually he just began counting down from 10 to track how long between pants drop and a comment about his dick. He never made it to two.
Wandering hands were deemed acceptable, up to a point. Several Alphas had to be physically removed by Nat herself, one after he asked for extra time with Peter only to try to sneak in a taste test of his neck. Another yanked Peter into her arms, pressing her unquestionably hard cock into Peter’s groin, once again surprising the hell out of him.
By the end of the night Peter was feeling drained and a little off kilter. He’d been displayed, groped, prodded, sniffed, and even licked over the last four hours and he just wanted to go home. He missed Tony, and even though the man wasn’t at the penthouse, he craved the lingering presence that permeated the space.
There’s a triple knock on the door, it opens without waiting for a response. Lady V enters the room with the zeal of a woman who stands to make a lot of money. Peter’s just happy it means they can finally go home.
“There he is,” she coos, strolling up to cup his cheek like it’s made of delicate porcelain. “The star of the evening. I hope you’re not too worn out, little ‘mega.” She drags a finger down to the center of his bare chest where she pauses to tap it in time with next her words. “We have one more very exclusive guest who would like to meet you.”
*
“This is highly unorthodox,” Nat states as Lady V leads them into a small study. Inside, a large man sits waiting in a gold leaf chaise lounge, the delicacy of the furniture at odds with his hulking form. Peter instantly recognizes Wilson Fisk - a.k.a. Kingpin.
Lady V crosses the room to stand behind Fisk, one hand on his shoulder.
“Apologies,” Fisk says, his voice a grating tenor, like oil in a frying pan. “I am rarely one to break docurum, especially in matters of business. But my Queen,” he lifts Vanessa’s hand from his shoulder, kissing her knuckles, “is seldom so intrigued, I was compelled to see for myself.”
“Wilson has particular tastes,” Lady V adds, her palms running along Fisk’s shoulders with admiration.
Fisk tilts his head to adoringly peer back at her. “What do you anticipate he’ll go for?”
“Considering the fever pitch level of interest tonight, I wouldn’t be surprised if he fetched upward to 20, possibly 30.”
Fisk’s eyes rake down Peter’s body like a filthy caress. “Come here.”
Nat turns to face Peter, detaching the leash from his collar. She drops her eyes to Peter’s hand where he discreetly gives the ‘ok’ symbol, he can handle one more ego-stuffed horndog, especially when it was the boss horndog. He puts on an air of apprehension, slowly walking up to Fisk until he stands between the man’s parted knees.
The shuttering inhale is no less intense than all the other Alpha’s Peter interacted with tonight, he feels a bit smug of the fact.
“Mmm…You are special, aren’t you?” Fisk runs his large palm up Peter’s stomach, taking time to press into the ridge of each muscle's outline. A content rumble deeper than any he’s heard all night rolls from within his chest. “Not soft either.”
Fisk’s fingers wrap around Peter’s wrist, so large they could circle twice, pulling Peter forward, guiding him to straddle his lap. Strong hands move down to squeeze around his waist, thumbs pressing with too much force above his hip bone in a forced grind against Fisk’s hardening erection. It feels perverse in a way the twists at Peter’s insides. “I like the weight of him, feels tougher to break than the others.”
Vanessa leans over the back of the chaise, mouth grazing Fisk’s ear. “We’d have a lot of fun with him, no?”
“No doubt.” Fisk rubs down the length of Peter’s thighs. “But we’d also enjoy a 30% cut of his sale.” Fisk’s dark, beady eyes are penetrating as he contemplates his choices, balancing the lure of pleasure against the monetary opportunity in front of him.
Peter needs Fisk to tip towards the former option if cutting off the head of the trafficking ring is the end goal. Nat and Clint’s words resonate from the day before. ‘Do you fully comprehend the power you have? If you can find a way to stir up your desire it certainly won’t go unnoticed.’
Acting sexy has never exactly been in Peter’s wheelhouse, but luckily his physicality can do most of the heavy lifting. He rolls his shoulders back, the angle just steep enough for his shirt to slide down. The newly exposed skin doesn’t go unappreciated, Fisk is quick to explore the offering, fingers tracing the curve of his ribs, lips skimming across the plane of his chest.
Peter wills himself to think of something else - someone else- knowing Fisk will be more enticed if Peter can will himself to be excited by the intimate touch, if he can find pleasure in the hand that travels up his spine. The rough texture of Fisk’s calloused hands are not completely unlike Tony’s, if he pretends, if he closes his eyes and tries hard enough to imagine. It was only three days ago that it was Tony’s hand, Tony’s lips, Tony’s tongue.
Peter closes his eyes, transports himself back to that moment, to the hospital bed, where a wandering hand seared hot under his shirt. Recalls the chill that shot up his arm when Tony licked and scraped his teeth along his sensitive wrist. Fingers desperate in Peter’s hair as his kiss drew a rapt moan from Tony’s mouth, Peter’s own name on Tony’s lips, then a flash of the older man’s hips stuttering, body jerking with his climax.
Peter unintentionally sighs at the memory, and the vibration of a low growl beneath him paired with the unexpected bruising grip around his biceps resurfaces Peter from his fantasy. He whines at the crushing force, not from the pain but from being extracted back to reality. It must be what Fisk wants to hear, and judging by the feral look on the large man’s face Peter’s mental rendering did the trick.
Fisk stands, effortlessly taking Peter along for the ride, spindly legs wrapped around his wide frame. With one hand under Peter’s ass, the other tight in his hair, Fisk pulls his head back expanding the canvas of Peter’s neck. His nose slides along the length of Peter’s tendon up to his jawline where he doubles back, his mouth carving a path down to Peter’s pulse point, sucking the skin between his lips. The rise and fall of his broad chest presses against Peter’s for three quavering, husky cycles, then he’s placed back onto the floor with the ease of a bear setting down a cub.
Fisk looks down at him with the bottomless hunger of a starved man. “I can always sell you after I’ve had my fun.”
So, @gearhead66 has asked me multiple times for any recommendations for abo dynamic fics and like the idiot I am, I always forget to make a list. But, here I am, making a list of my favorite ABO fic for not just @gearhead66, but for EVERYONE!!
Also, if you guys have any recommendations, feel free to add to the list. I’m sure @gearhead66 won’t mind one bit and neither will I!!
These are my top 5 ABO stories ranging between Vikings, Marvel, and Supernatural, and contain different warnings.
1. Better Like This by @simsadventures
Summary: You are the newest addition to New York’s elite team of Detectives concentrating on domestic violence and rape, which everyone calls the Avengers. You are an Omega, very bubbly and open to everyone around you, except one person- Bucky, your true mate. Will you be able to destroy the walls he has been building around his heart for years, or will he reject you and break your heart forever?
2. Obey by @holylulusworld
Summary: You disobeyed, and Steve doesn’t like it one bit
3. A New Bond by @honestsycrets
Summary: Reader’s old mate has died, throwing her body into a tailspin when the bonding mark dissipates. Not the best...time...on a boat
4. What He Doesn’t Know by @supersleepygoat
Summary: Dean is your Alpha and finds out you have been taking suppressants after he explicitly told you not to. With broken trust and a broken heart, he unknowingly makes a decision with dire consequences.
5. Let me In by @bloodyivar
Summary: ... (alpha!ivar)
Okay, so maybe I’m a bit bad and the whole recommendation thing. But if you want to know what I’m reading or what my favorite stories are and have been, then go follow my second blog dedicated for that @seeking-patience
I play sub characters only! I love abo and littlespace, totally open to any ideas with those. I can either do canon-ish or aus, either is completely fine. My ships are winterspider, spidershield, stucky, starker- I’ll play peter if he’s involved. Long, literate replies only in 3rd person. Any short replies I’m likely to leave, sorry! Please message me if you’re interested, I’m really open to any ideas!
Summary: Your father always said that if it weren’t for your presentation, he’d think you were an Alpha. There’s a reason for that. Growing up in a world where Omegas are treated like garbage, you’ve fought for the respect that you have. Until you’re sold off to an old King desperate for a bride. But you will not lay down and present for your new husband. No, you will fight back.
Warnings: Langauge, Angst, dark themes, injuries,
Word Count: 2.2K
A/n: Hello and welcome!! Here we go, y’all! Enjoy! I love you all very much And I hope you have an amazing day/night!
!!DO NOT COPY/TRANSLATE/REPOST MY WORK!!
~*~
“My lady, I mean no disrespect but I must ask, we have been walking for ages... do you know where it is you are leading us?”
Wanda’s voice sounds tired and strained, and for a moment you feel bad for bringing her on such a journey. But abandoning her at the Palace with that Monster would surely be a fate worse than death.
“You cannot know where you are nor where you are going when finding someone who does not wish to be found,” you explain, stepping over a fallen tree and holding your skirts up around your knees to prevent them from catching on any sharp objects littering the forest floor.
You’ve been walking for several hours. The sun has set and risen and set again, and you’ve stopped only a handful of times.
Your rations are running low and you are tired, but you cannot stop. It will be only hours until a search party is sent for you, and you’d rather not think of the consequences that will await if they find you.
“You speak wise words for a woman who is so far from safety.”
The voice startles the two of you and you freeze, eyes darting to the figure as they step out around a tree.
“You have travelled a great distance and at great cost. You have abandoned everything in search for someone whom you cannot find,” the woman muses, her black hair falling around her waist in curly billows.
“There are whispers of a woman who resides in these forests, one who works with the Gods. It is said... she can break bonds,” you say after a moment, taking a slow step towards the sorceress.
She only chuckles and shakes her head, “an old spinners tale, surely. A bond is a permanent thing, nobody would be so foolish as to try and remove it.” Though her words are said with certainty, her eyes say the opposite.
“They say the woman helps those who suffer from unwanted bonds. She saves the lives of those who would be killed by their bonds.”
Her brows draw together and she takes a step toward you, eyeing you and Wanda skeptically.
“You have come in service of whom?” She finally asks, and you let out a sigh of relief.
She’s real. She can help.
“Myself. Wanda has joined me in protection,” you explain.
“What is your presentation?” The rapid firing of questions has you a little on edge, but you need her.
She’s your only hope of getting rid of the curse on your neck.
“Omega.”
Her eyes narrow and she stops in front of you, eyeing the mark on your neck.
“Is your Alpha dead?” The way she asks it with such bluntness makes you bristle the tiniest bit.
“I wish he were.”
She quirks her brows at that and you huff out a sigh.
“My Alpha,” you spit his title, “mistreats me. He abuses me and dishonours our bond. I wish he were dead.”
She nods, lips pursed for a moment before a heavy sigh falls from her lips.
“Few Omegas can revive the treatment I offer, and even fewer live to tell the tale. An Omega’s bond to their Alpha is strong and near unbreakable without killing the Omega in the process. When the mate is dead and the bond, dying, it is easier.”
You raise your head and stare straight into her eyes, “I would rather die than be bonded to this Alpha.”
Wanda stiffens at your words, for she knows the truth behind them. If this sorceress cannot grant what you want, she knows you will not stop until you are freed from this bond.
“You understand that it comes at a cost. Both physical and otherwise.”
You nod your understanding, “I am more than willing to pay whatever it is you request.”
“I need payment before, not after.”
With a nod in Wanda’s direction, you pull off your necklace, a gift from your Husband on your wedding day, and hand it to the Sorceress.
She takes it and inspects it under the light of the moon, her eyes widening as she recognizes it.
“You are the Queen!”
She starts backing up and you shake your head desperately, following after her.
“Wait, please!”
She slows but doesn’t stop.
“I am coming to you, not as a queen, but as an Omega desperate to leave her Alpha. He mistreats me and I fear for my life. More than once have I been threatened by direct members of his council and I fear bringing it to his attention would only anger him further. Please, you must help me. Staying bonded to him is a fate worse than death and I would gladly take any consequences that come with this choice if it meant I am free of his hold on me.”
Her eyes dart between yours and Wanda’s before she turns and starts walking back the way she came.
You stand still, shoulders slumping forward and despair clouding over your head until the Sorceress turns and looks over her shoulder at you.
“Well, hurry up. We must get back before sunrise.”
~*~
“Where’s your pup? I heard you finally put her in her place,” Sharon muses, leaning against the doorway to the King’s office.
James gives her a harsh glare.
“You will not speak of my wife that way. You forget that she is your queen.”
Sharon grinds her teeth together but otherwise says nothing on the subject, leaving James to remember only too vividly the pain of what happened.
He was wrong.
What he did was wrong and hurtful and terrible and he’ll never forgive himself.
He needed to make a stand, to show his council that he’s still the strong King they remember him to be, but he did it incorrectly.
Sure, he asserted his dominance with them, but he disrespected you. He disrespected your bond.
As soon as his meeting was done he all but ran to your chambers to apologize and try to make it up to you. He was prepared to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness, but Natasha told him she saw you and Wanda head into the village for a walk.
He’s been waiting for your return, and as the sun rises he’s growing more worried.
His soul hurts.
It aches with the pain he inflicted upon you, upon your bond.
He needs to fix this.
He needs to find you and repair this and mend it.
But, most importantly, he needs to stop letting this Beta whisper filth into his ears.
“You have given me counsel that I have not requested nor needed, and the consequences will affect the entire Kingdom,” he finally says, rising to his feet and bringing his gaze to the Beta.
She cocks her head to the side in confusion, “do your men not respect you more?”
“Do you realize what this means? What you may have caused? If word travels to Lothiella, the King and Queen will bring their daughter back and our Marriage will be terminated. This is grounds for war, in their eyes. You could start a war over a petty squabble with my wife due to your jealousy! I could never marry you, Sharon! Surely, you realize that? You couldn’t give me the pups I need, couldn’t give my Kingdom heirs. It is done and there is nothing more that will be said on the matter.”
His face is flushed and he’s drawing in heavy breaths after his outburst, but he means every word.
Sharon stands stoically by the door, the amusement in her eyes long gone.
“You are hereby removed from my council until further notice. If I or anyone else ever catches you near my wife, you will answer to me. Now, go. Leave me.”
She takes a deep breath then bows her head and turns to leave, bumping past Steve and Natasha on her way.
“What was that about?” The redhead asks, looking after her friend as she disappears down the corridor.
“Sharon has done nothing but encourage my temper towards my Queen and now we may have to answer to Lothiella for it.”
Steve and Natasha exchange glances before looking back at the King.
“What has been done?”
James takes a deep breath and turns to the window in his office, overlooking the garden.
“It does not matter what has happened. Is there any word of my Wife’s whereabouts?”
Their silence is answer enough and tension builds on the King’s shoulders.
“Send men into the Village to look for her. Ask the locals if they have seen her or her lady in waiting. If we have no word by sundown then I fear I must write to Lothiella.”
~*~
The warmth of the bath clings to your bones and you sigh softly, the feeling heavenly after such a long trek through the forest.
“Is there any way to undo it?” Wanda asks softly, her eyes on you.
You’ve already consumed the small vial of liquid that the Sorceress offered, and now you wait for the pain that she spoke of.
“The only way to reverse the effects is to strengthen the natural bond. But when Alphas find out what their Omegas have attempted, what they planned to do to the bond, they, more often than not, kill the Omegas before the spell can.”
Wanda nods solemnly and turns her gaze back to you, beyond worried for your health.
Though you say the bond has been broken, she’s seen how the King looks at you, how he truly cares for you.
The bond is not as weak as you try to convince yourself it is, but for some reason, she thinks you know that.
Warmth spreads through your veins, from your fingertips to the crown of your head and down to your toes.
It’s comforting at first, relaxing, even. But gradually it increases in temperature and the warmth becomes a fire, burning through your body and singeing your nerves.
“It has begun,” the Sorceress whispers, moving to your side to take hold of your hand.
You dig your head into the lip of the bathtub and give her hand a squeeze, grinding your teeth together and trying desperately not to let the pain show.
Your muscles tense and a cry of pain escapes your throat as the flames burn at the bond spot on your neck, shockwaves of pain radiating from the spot.
The fire is unbearable, and soon your body is covered in sweat.
Wanda and the Sorceress transfer you from the bath to the bed, and you writhe in agony, your inner Omega howling for the pain to stop, for her Alpha to come back and make it all better.
“Is she going to be all right? Is there anything that can be done?” Wanda asks desperately, watching as you drift in and out of consciousness, the pain too much to bear.
The Sorceress huffs out a sigh and slowly shakes her head.
“The bond is too strong to be broken without taking her with it. All we can do now is try our best to keep her comfortable.”
She rises to her feet and places a gentle hand on Wanda’s shoulder, “I am sorry. I cannot stay any longer, for my own protection. There is food and water here, enough to last a full moon cycle. After that, you will need to find provisions for yourself.”
Wanda nods, watching as the Sorceress gathers her belongings then leaves without another word.
You cry out softly in your sleep and Wanda feels a piece of her heart break.
The amount of pain you’re in is palpable, and she refuses to sit around and do nothing about it.
~*~
James jolts upright at his desk, hand clamping onto his neck as fire spreads from the spot.
“James?”
He shakes his head at Steve, squeezing his eyes shut at the intensity of the pain.
His eyes glow for a moment before returning to their regular steely blue colour.
“Where is she? My Omega?” He growls the question, Alpha instincts on red alert at the pain in his neck, the pain that must be coming from the bond, from you.
“Nobody has heard anything since the messenger was sent to Lothiella. We’re still searching the surrounding forest, but-”
James pushes himself to his feet and shakes his head angrily, dropping his hand and taking deep breaths through the pain.
“Gather my household guard and have them ready to ride. We find her and we do it now.”
“Where do you plan on looking? How do you plan on finding her when half of your men are already scouring every inch of the Kingdom?”
He shakes his head at Steve and growls, “she is hurt, in danger. She needs me. I can feel it. Someone is hurting her and I need to find her.”
Steve huffs out a sigh but bows his head, following his King and ready to search for you.
Summary: Your father always said that if it weren’t for your presentation, he’d think you were an Alpha. There’s a reason for that. Growing up in a world where Omegas are treated like garbage, you’ve fought for the respect that you have. Until you’re sold off to an old King desperate for a bride. But you will not lay down and present for your new husband. No, you will fight back.
Warnings: Langauge, Angst, dark themes, forced oral, ABO Dynamics (bond marks, knotting, scenting, etc.), Enemies to Lovers,
Word Cont: 2.7K
A/n: sorry for being gone, I lost motivation for a while lol. also sorry If this chapter is kinda bland, I don't wanna try cause people keep stealing my fucking work. anyway, enjoy. I've got so many ideas but im just having a hard time writing lately
!!DO NOT COPY/TRANSLATE/REPOST MY WORK!!
~*~
“Should you not be in your chambers plotting your next attempt on the King’s life?”
The voice is like nails down a chalkboard and you need to take deep breaths to maintain your composure.
“Should you not be attempting to seduce my husband?”
Sharon chuckles once without humour, leaning against the library shelves beside you.
“I need not attempt, girl. I have satisfied the King for years before you arrived.”
You hum, eyes not straying from the spines of your books, “yes, but you do not satisfy him anymore. Now that he knows the feel of an Omega, he has no use for you.”
She grinds her teeth together and grabs your bicep, turning you to face her and pushing your back against the bookshelves.
“You need remember, pup, you may have his knot but I have his ear. My family has been on his council for generations. I have earned his trust. You have not. Who do you think he’ll believe were he to hear that his Omega was entertaining another Alpha?”
You glare up into her blue eyes, nose wrinkled at her scent.
“The King is not a fool. He is not dumb enough to kill me and start a war over hearsay. He will investigate, and when he finds nothing but lies on your end, you will be punished.”
Her hand tightens on your bicep and you hold back a wince.
This is going to bruise.
“You will watch your back, Omega. It isn’t safe for pups like you to roam alone. Especially not so close to your heat.”
You push a step closer to her until your chests are nearly touching.
“Is that a threat, Beta?”
She gives you one final glare before dropping your arm.
“A warning, Your Majesty. I would hate for anything bad to befall you.”
She turns and struts out of the library, golden hair swinging behind her.
You stay standing against the bookshelves for a long moment, willing your heart to calm down and your anger to lessen.
When you’ve finally regained your propriety, you leave the library and head straight to your chambers where your Lady is waiting.
“You are troubled, My Queen. What has happened?”
You shake your head, taking a deep breath before speaking.
“It seems I have... put off our plan to escape. No longer will that be on the back burner, Wanda. You will reunite with Pietro, that I promise you.”
She furrows her brows and rises to her feet, shaking her head at you.
“And what of you, My Lady?”
You only sigh, “what happens to me is in the hands of fate and no one else. No longer will I allow men to control me. No longer will I allow myself to be threatened by these people.”
Her eyebrows raise and a look of shock covers her features.
“You’ve been threatened?! By whom? Who has done this?”
You wave her off and take a seat at your desk, rubbing your temples with a wince.
“It does not matter. As soon as my heat passes I will put our plan into action. We will not remain imprisoned, you mark my words.”
She bows her head for a moment before looking at you again.
“Shall I fetch his majesty? If you are going into heat, you will need him, will you not?”
You think back to what Sharon said, what her threat was.
“No. I do not require him yet. I shall bathe and build my nest.”
She nods, “would you have me fetch you some fruits and nuts? You must keep your strength up.”
You nod, letting out a heavy sigh when she goes into the bathroom to run your bath.
The bath does wonders to ease your nerves and melt away the stress of your encounter with Sharon, and then you’re gathering all the blankets and pillows you can find to build up your nest.
It takes hours, far longer than it usually does, and even once you’ve finished with it, it doesn’t feel right.
“My Queen, I do apologize for disturbing you, but the King has started his rut. He requests your presence in his chambers,” Natalia says softly from the doorway, her head bowed.
You shake your head, sweat beading across your forehead as your heat slowly takes over.
“Tell his Majesty that if he requires me, he may join me. My heat has started and I will not be leaving my nest.”
“Yes, My Queen.”
You’re only alone for a few moments before the door swings open, the King standing there with his chest heaving and his eyes dark.
“My Omega is in heat?”
You only nod.
“Need to breed you, Omega. Fill you up with my pups.”
You lift your head from your nest and take a sniff of the air, a growl tearing free from your throat.
“You will bathe first.” The scent of Sharon isn’t as strong as it was the last time you were in heat, but it’s still lingering on his clothes, and you will not have that anywhere near your nest.
He pauses, his eyes flashing red for a brief moment.
“You will not tell me what to do, Omega,” he growls, taking another step towards your nest.
“I told you I will not have her scent in here! This is my one safe place in the entire kingdom! I will not have you ruin it with the stench of her! I will not have that Beta take from me the one thing which is mine!”
Never in all of his years on this Godforsaken planet has anyone ever stood up to him like that. Especially not during his rut.
But there you are, nearly trembling with rage on your bed, eyes flashing between their regular colour and amber.
Without another word, the King turns on his heel and exits your chambers, leaving you alone yet again.
You collapse in your nest with a hardly suppressed sob, your anger at him and the Beta and the pain of the rejection hurting your heart.
There are many who would gladly take your place and you know that. And you would switch with them in an instant.
Your face is pressed into your pillows while your heart pounds in your ears, echoing loudly with every beat.
You don’t even notice that the King has returned until you feel the edge of the bed dip.
“Omega? May I join you in your nest?”
Your eyes snap open and you stare at him in shock.
His hair is damp and he’s completely naked, but his eyes are soft and earnest.
You can do nothing but nod.
He joins you gently, worming his body around yours to get comfortable. He smells clean. A mixture of soap and cedar. Not a trace of that disgusting Beta to be found.
Humming contentedly, you nuzzle closer to him, your nose dragging over his scent glands.
“You are in heat, Omega,” he rumbles, his flesh hand tracing up and down your spine.
“And you are in rut.”
He nods his agreement, nose dropping to the crown of your head.
He takes a deep breath then huffs it out again, and repeats the action a few times.
He scents you thoroughly, scents your nest and your chambers, and each breath makes the heat in your core burn hotter.
You’ve never been this close to a rutting Alpha, and for good measure.
All rational thoughts are gone now that he's here. Your inner Omega takes full control, her focus on one thing and one thing only: breed.
~*~
“That Omega makes you look weak, James. She tests your strength and makes you look a fool.”
He raises his head at the voice, eyes meeting Sharon’s for a moment before dropping back to the document on his desk.
“You will watch your tone, Sharon. That is your Queen you speak of.”
After spending his rut with you during your heat, he’s only found himself falling harder.
“I mean no disrespect. I am speaking to you as your advisor, the way my father spoke to yours. She oversteps all boundaries with no consequences. More than once now has she snapped at members of your counsel and you allow her to do so. The men have already begun speaking, words are being whispered across the continent of this Omega’s hold on you.”
He grins his teeth together because he knows she has a point.
You’re getting bolder, speaking out of turn. Speaking to him like that is one thing, but doing it to anyone else? Doing it to him in front of others? It makes him look weak. It’ll give others the impression that it is okay to speak to him that way.
It is not.
He’s a king and he will be treated as such.
“Thank you, Lady Sharon, for your counsel. It has been appreciated.”
She nods and dips her head then makes for the door, pausing with one foot in the corridor.
“I am telling you this, not as a woman who cares for you, but as your advisor and your friend. All I want is what’s best for you and the Kingdom, and you would do well to consider what that means in regards to your wife.”
She takes her leave and he huffs out a sigh, putting his face in his hands and pondering all that has been said.
It’s no secret that you’ve got a mouth on you, but he has found it amusing at best and intriguing at worst. But to hear that your mouth is causing murmurs amongst his council is something he will not tolerate.
He cannot tolerate it.
You may be his wife and his Omega, but he is still a king and perhaps the blame is on his shoulders. He hasn't put you in your place the way a King would.
But that’s going to change.
~*~
“You summoned me?” You ask, arms crossing over your chest when you see the men gathered in the room.
You recognize one as the one that you snapped at.
“Yes. Shut the door.”
You feel a little apprehensive at being around so many Alphas, but you know James won’t allow any of them to harm you.
“I do believe that, after your last encounter with him, you owe Lord Pierce an apology.”
Your brows pull together and a laugh of disbelief falls from your lips.
“I will apologize for nothing. He is the one who made lewd remarks. He’s lucky all I did was snap at him. For his words, he ought to have his tongue removed.”
The alphas all bristle at your words but you have no intention of taking them back.
“You will apologize and you will ask for forgiveness, Omega,” James growls, anger rolling off at him.
Your inner Omega wants to submit to the anger of her Alpha, but you shove aside those feelings.
You will be treated as nothing but an equal.
“He has not apologized to Lady Wanda, therefore he is undeserving of an apology,” you say simply, holding your ground when he steps into your personal space.
“He is a Lord and an Alpha. He needs not apologize for his actions. You are an Omega,” James spits your title as if it’s rotten food poisoning his mouth.
“I am also the queen of this Kingdom,” you growl, glaring up at the man.
“A queen by marriage. And my wife would do well to obey her husband.”
“And my husband would do well to remember who he needs to continue his lineage, if only in the eyes of the gods.”
There are a few murmurs from the other men, but you ignore them. They do not matter, not right now.
“Omegas are not hard to come by. You are not irreplaceable, and if you do not prove the value of your tongue, I will allow lord Pierce to remove it.”
You’re silent, staring at him with wide eyes while the other Alphas watch the exchange intently, eager at the new possibility.
“I will not.”
James steps forward and towers over you, glaring down at you.
“You have a choice, Omega. You may get on your knees and please me with your mouth, prove to me that you deserve to keep that poison tongue of yours, or, I will allow every man in here to take their turn with you. I will not force you into one or the other, you will choose for yourself, like the independent Omega you are.”
A boulder settles into the pit of your stomach and you glare up at him, turning to the door only for him to grab the back of your neck, forcing you to submit to him despite the way your mind refuses.
“Take one more step toward the door and I will assume you chose to let them feel your cunt, Omega. Leaving is not an option.”
He spins you to face the men in the room again and you feel a snake of disgust slither up your spine at the hungry way they’re looking at you.
“You have five seconds to decide or I will allow them to decide for you.”
You raise your head high and turn to your husband, glaring into his eyes as you sink to your knees.
He chuckles viciously, watching you pull his cock from his trousers.
Time moves slowly as you make your choice, a snarl bubbling inside of you at what he’s forcing you to do.
Like venom from a snakebite, disgust races through your body with anger and betrayal close behind, the scent drowned out by the arousal of your mate.
You keep your eyes angry and focused on his as you take him into your mouth, forcing back tears as he grabs hold of your hair and pushes every last inch of his manhood down your throat.
It hurts.
It’s more than just the physical discomfort that hurts. It’s a deep tearing feeling inside of your soul that has tears biting behind your eyes.
It’s humiliating.
Your heart shatters at the way he’s treating you now, such a drastic change from the man he was only days prior.
Your eyes shut on their own accord and your mind pulls you back to your nest as your mate forces himself on you.
You think back to how safe you had felt with him, how at home you had felt. It was easily the happiest you’d ever been in your entire life.
Hell, you’d even begun trusting the bastard.
All of that is gone now.
No trust, no love, not even lust.
Your inner Omega cries and howls at the disrespect to your bond, at the betrayal, and you will allow her to cry only when you know that not even the Gods will be able to see.
No one will ever witness her pain, her anguish.
You zone out, allow your mind to leave the present moment if only to stop the humiliation from drowning you.
When he finishes, he does so on your face, leaving a hot mess that makes you want to throw up.
“See, gentlemen? My wife’s tongue is good for something.”
A hash smack sends your head flipping to the side and pain licks up your cheek and then men in the room laugh.
They laugh at your expense, at the humiliation he’s putting you through.
“Leave us,” James barks, shoving his manhood back into his pants and nudging your arm with his leg.
“Don’t leave so soon, Omega. We haven’t had our fun yet,” Lord Pierce sneers, his hand dropping onto your shoulder.
“She made her choice, Pierce. You will not touch my wife.”
The hand on your shoulder slowly drops away and you rise to your feet, keeping your gaze locked forward as you scrub the mess off of your face and exit the office.
You try to maintain your composure on your way back to your chambers, but you must stop twice to empty the contents of your stomach, apologizing profusely to the maids who approach to help you.
“My Lady! Are you all right?”
You shake your head and shut the doors tightly then turn your lady in waiting, your hands trembling.
“I-I’m sorry, Wanda. I seem to have put off our plan of escaping. No longer will we remain here.”
She rises to her feet and takes your hands gently in hers.
“What has happened? Have you been threatened again?”
You shake your head and swallow hard, “it does not matter. Pack your things, we leave at dusk.”
The last sound that wasn’t the pad of Peter’s own bare feet was the elevator doors closing with Tony in it. He was used to being alone, usually in a crusty New York apartment where you were alone with the sound of 8 million other people. Up high, where the gods dwelled, all was silent.
Standing in the center of the open concept living space, hands on his hips, Peter can’t help but wonder if anyone actually lives here? Yes, of course he knows people do, he’s one of them. But it was so pristine and orderly. Where did Tony set his mail? His keys? His shoes, hoodie, wallet, and backpack?
Peter lets out a long sigh that turns into a yawn halfway through.
“Peter.”
“Fuck!” Peter spins towards the voice, a screen on the wall between the kitchen and living room displays an amused looking Natasha, her mouth twisted up on one side. Peter grumbles as he heads towards the video call, “God damn, does no one in this verse knock?”
“Good morning, malen'kiy pauchok,” Nat’s Russian is velvetlike. “I wanted to check in on- O Bozhe moi!” She reacts to Peter’s face, which doesn’t look like the ground beef it did last night. “Peter, that’s incredible. Not even Steve-”
“Heals that fast, yeah, yeah. I know.”
“I’d come look at it with my own eyes, but I’m on assignment.”
“To Geneva with Tony?”
“Did he already take off?” Her eyes scan what little of the room she can see behind Peter. “I’m surprised he managed to pry himself more than five feet away from you after last night,” she smirks slightly. “But no, I don’t do the public facing schmalz, it doesn't exactly lend itself to undercover work.”
“I suppose having an action figure would make being Lady Nakita difficult.”
“Speaking of, I don’t expect to hear anything for a few days, maybe a week. These operations can be a waiting game and I’m coordinating with my contact.”
Right, the public sector liaison she was helping out. Whoever that was. Probably one of New York’s finest. Hopefully it’ll be one that likes him, always a crap shoot when it comes to cops and their feelings on vigilantes.
“Hey spider guy, we haven’t met! I’m-”
“Clint.” Peter finishes for him as he watches Natasha shove her shoulder back into Hawkeye’s, who’s leaning into the frame.
“You know me too, then?” Clint looks happy about it.
Know would be a very strong overstatement, but he can’t exactly say: You shot an arrow at me once. “Our paths have crossed.”
Clint gives Natasha a look that can only be described as neener-neener. Possibly a settlement from a previous debate. “I got the skinny from this little skinny,” he nods at Nat, who shoots back an unpleasant glare. “Wish I’d seen it, you putting that Alpha in his place.”
Peter shakes his head with a derisive laugh. “Fairly certain I walked away looking worse for wear.”
“Maybe, but his reputation will never recover, your face already has.”
“Do you mind?” Nat and Clint stare at one another, their profiles perfectly aligned and noses nearly touching. They’re birds of a feather, Peter has a fleeting moment of mourning for what Clint lost. What he couldn’t prevent.
“So controlling,” Clint grumbles, pivoting back to the camera. “Peter, I look forward to meeting you in person.”
“Likewise,” Peter says, Clint slides out of frame with the help of an extra push from Nat.
“As I was saying, I’ll let you know when I have any updates. What are you getting up to while Tony’s out?”
“Oh. I suppose the usual, the lab, trying to find a way home.”
Nat frowns. “Get out of the tower, you must be curious about the city.”
“I am, but I don’t feel like dealing with pick-up lines and ass grabs every block.”
“Wear a day collar, I’m sure Tony has one somewhere.” At Peter’s look of confusion, Nat hums a humoring kind of sound, like Peter’s ignorance is innocently cute. “It will let other Alphas know you’re not available.”
“Right, by letting them think someone owns me.” Peter grouches.
Nat shrugs, “Lesser of two evils? Gotta run. If you go out, stop by Anton’s in Hell's Kitchen, get the dumplings, and tell him Oktober sent you.”
Peter grins, he learned last night that he and Nat share a love of food. “Be safe.”
“Da skorava.” She winks and the feed ends.
Once again Peter looks around at the too quiet, too clean to be lived in living space.
He could head to the lab, but even after breakfast and coffee, his mind doesn’t feel very awake yet. So Peter does what any 20 year old left to his own devices in a billionaire’s state of the art tower would do - he snoops.
Revise that, he snoops as much as anyone can snoop with an omnipotent AI looking over his shoulder. Jarvis is his virtual walking tour guide as Peter checks out some of the more interesting floors. But in the end the tower wasn’t all that different from the one in his verse, the layout was new, but all the amenities were similar.
There was an olympic sized pool, a full service spa, a theater, a garden terrace with a conservatory (that was new). But nosing around is interesting for all of an hour, especially since he still gets the occasional ‘I want to hump you look’ from passersby. Without Tony around it’s just a steady reminder he doesn’t belong here.
Most days, in normal people universe, he’d have already experienced an adrenaline rush from hauling ass to one of his jobs or classes, only to roll in a good 10-15 minutes late. As grateful as he is to not have to do that this morning, he wouldn’t say no to some fresh air. Fresh air, why not? He was about to tell Jarvis to send the elevator back to the penthouse, but instead he opts for the lobby.
“Are you sure this is wise, Mr. Parker?” Jarvis voices from the elevator speakers, the AI refrains from moving the lift in either direction.
“I’ll avoid lingering close to anyone for too long,” Peter brushes him off. “I’m just going for a walk, I’ll be back by lunch.”
“If you ate lunch at a consistent time, that might carry some meaning.”
“You worry too much.”
“If I may, I believe Ms. Romanoff’s suggestion is wise. I have reviewed archival footage to locate a day collar that will suffice.”
“Seriously, J?” The lift sits unmoving. Peter crosses his arms, repeatedly taps his foot to no avail. “Fine.”
“Excellent.” Leave it to Tony to have the most passively smug AI. They ascend to the penthouse and Jarvis guides Peter to Tony’s room, which feels intrusive and disrespectful.
“You sure about this? I don’t think I should be in here.”
“I assure you, Sir would much prefer you be safe out on the streets than avoid a minor invasion of his privacy.”
Tony’s wardrobe is large, but not crowded. Impossibly perfect, like a catalog, like the rest of the apartment. No wonder Tony spent more time in the lab; even with its hard edges and cold metal surfaces it was homier than this place.
Jarvis instructs him to the 6th drawer of a tall jewelry cabinet that’s near Peter’s chest height. In the center of the velvety tray sits a beautiful gold collar, slightly less than half an inch wide. Peter delicately picks it up, it’s heavier than it looks, incredibly smooth and near seamless where the two well hidden piano hinges open outward to make the piece easy to slide on. The name Stark is engraved on the inside curve.
Peter walks to the mirror, slipping it on, latches it with the clasp that hangs from a delicate chain. The weight of it is oddly ensuring, he expected it to be uncomfortable. It feels and looks expensive. Too expensive for him and his black t-shirt. “J, there’s nothing less…showy?”
“Nothing that you would be inclined to wear in public.”
“Right.”
“I promise they are quite common in our society.”
“When in Rome,” Peter mumbles. He can always take it off if for some reason it’s not working as intended.
Reaching the lobby, Peter steps off the elevator like he and Tony do every day. He could go anywhere, yet he’s compelled to follow their typical route to Central Park.
Without the weight of Tony’s hovering presence there’s a sense of exposure Peter wasn’t prepared for. The same number of roaming eyes turn to look at him, but the amount of time they spend lingering before averting their gazes is extended. Peter’s loath to admit that the collar works, but it does. As soon as an interested Alpha takes note of it, they move on. He supposes there’s some credit to be given for respecting an Omega’s wishes, even if it’s by way of his Alpha.
Reaching the park is like crossing the finish line, Peter can breathe in the wide space. It’s a perfect 79 degree day, lifting his hand to block the sun from his eyes, he looks around and picks a direction to wander. Peter spends the next hour incident free, exploring the more obscure spaces before finally laying out on a grassy field he’d noted several times during he and Tony’s morning runs.
It’d been a long night and a short rest. Peter opts to take the collar off, loosely sliding it up his arm to keep tabs on it. After several minutes, he finds himself dozing half awake with his shirt wrapped around his eyes to block the sun.
Tony wouldn’t be too far into his flight yet, it’s almost an 8 hour trip to Geneva. Peter remembers the first time he’d been stuck on a plane with the man, years ago. God, Tony had been a hot mess. Peter couldn’t see it, not back then. Too wrapped up and completely enamored that he, Peter Parker, a nobody from Queens, was on a private jet with the man he idolized. Peter had waited on baited breath for any and every word the genius directed his way. So eager to belong, to be needed, to prove himself.
Peter flushes at the embarrassing memory, or maybe it’s just the sun warming his skin. With his metabolism, it’s an additional heat he doesn’t need, but the rays have an nourishing effect on him. A warmth that feels like nature, like being alive, the genesis for all living creatures, without which nothing would exist.
Peter’s contemplating the sun and if it’s the same age as his world’s sun, and if the big bang happened at the exact same moment in all multi-verses (it would’ve had to, right? Maybe the big bang created all the verses?), when he senses more than feels a shadow fall over him; the barely there shift of a temperature change.
Peter waits, hoping the visitor is a brief passerby. Go away. Maybe if he pretends he’s asleep the person will move on. He counts to five, nope still there. Perhaps the person is just ogling him, creepy, but far from the creepiest thing he’s experienced here.
“It’s Peter, right?”
Oh, that’s unexpected. Hands behind his head, Peter moves to lift the right side of his t-shirt to peer up at the interloper. The man's details are hard to make out, with the halo that forms around him due to standing directly in front of the sun, though the voice is vaguely familiar.
Peter sits up, the shift creating more clarity.
Shit. This guy.
The same one he and Tony encountered their first day at the park, the one Tony got all lizard-brained about. What was his name? Henry? Harvey? Harry? Harry and Peter, has a nice ring to it. That was it.
“Yeah. Hi, Harry.”
“You remembered,” his face lights up. “Do you mind?” he asks, pointing to the grass.
The last thing Peter wants is another pushy Alpha cramping what was a relaxing layabout, but it would be rude, and at least the guy didn’t start the conversation with innuendos or how he should be home in bed. Peter gestures with an upturned palm. “Sure.”
Peter sits all the way up, letting the collar fall onto his wrist, slinging his shirt over his shoulder and criss-crossing his legs as Harry sits across from him. He anxiously looks around. “You’re uh…I’m not gonna get attacked am I?”
Peter chuckles, turning to fully face Harry. “No, I’m alone.”
Harry’s eyes widen in shock. “Shit…are you ok?”
Fuck. Well, this wasn’t the first time Peter’s had to pirouette around the I’m not in an abusive relationship dance. “Yeah, yeah, just got into a fight.” Harry pointedly dips his head, mouth tightening. “No,” Peter breathily huffs with humor. “Not with him, he would never. Just picked a fight with the wrong asshole.”
“You picked a fight?”
Peter shrugs, pushing his arms behind him to lean on the palms of his hands, his fingers threading into the grass. “It’s a habit.”
“Not sure I’ve ever heard of an Omega picking a fight before.”
“Guess I’m not a typical Omega.”
Harry’s eyes skim Peter’s bare chest like the comment was permission to take a gander to confirm his statement. “So I noticed.”
Sigh. Well that took all of thirty seconds.
Harry’s face furrows when his gaze returns to Peter’s face.“You sure you don’t need a doctor though?”
Peter sits up again, his hands fidgeting with the collar, spinning it between his fingers. “Look I appreciate the concern, but I’m really not looking for an Alpha white knight to sweep me off my feet.”
Harry looks stricken. Maybe that was too harsh. “Wait. You think I’m an Alpha?”
“You’re not?”
Harry shakes his head. “Much to the disappointment of my father, I’m not.”
“Why’s that”
The skeptical look Harry returns reads as if he thinks Peter’s fucking with him. “Uh, well cuz he’s an Alpha.”
“Ah right,” as if Peter knows anything about Harry’s father.
Harry scrutinizes Peter. “You can’t tell I’m a Beta?”
Shit. Make something up. “Everything’s a little thrown off for me,” Peter deflects. After all, if he had a crazy heat scent, other stuff could be off, right? “My scent, you may have noticed, is a little…”
“Extra?” Harry offers. Peter nods. “I mean, I don’t pick up on it as quickly as an Alpha would, but I could tell once I got close enough.”
“I just figured the whole reason you approached me last week…”
Harry shyly tilts his head, but it’s a shyness founded on confidence, he looks away then back again. “No. That was simply a cute guy catching my eye.” Harry warmly smiles. “Boring I suppose.”
“I could use a little boring.” Crap, that probably sounded like Peter was interested.
“So you always smell this strong?”
Peter wonders if there's’ a danger in sharing any of this. “Yep.”
“That’s got to get…exhausting.”
Peter’s shoulders lift with a sardonic huff, yet he appreciates the unexpected empathy. “It’s a massive pain in the ass.”
“And when you’re…you know...actually in heat?” This was the first time Peter encountered anyone being delicate around the subject.
Peter’s not sure how to answer. What he wants to say is that he doesn’t have heats, but that’s just going to draw more attention to his oddities. He decides to roll with the expectation. “An even bigger pain in the ass.”
Harry laughs. “I can only imagine.”
Peter lifts the collar, replacing it around his neck and hooking the latch. “This helps keep the wolves at bay.”
“I see,” Harry looks disappointed. “So you are spoken for.”
“No.” Damnit, why couldn’t Peter just lie and make things easier on himself? “It’s to keep the creepers away.”
“Does that mean I can buy you lunch?” Harry looks hopeful and seems harmless, not that Peter hasn’t made that massive error in judgment before.
“Harry, I have to be honest. I’m not interested in finding a mate, even a short-term one.”
“How about a friend? You know,” he tilts his head with a hint of challenge, “if you’re allowed to have those.” He’s testing Peter’s autonomy as an Omega, and some part of him respects it.
Lunch with company is more appealing than alone at the tower, which just speaks to how accustomed he’s already gotten to being around people again. Hell, why not.
“As a matter of fact, a friend just recommended a place this morning.”
*
Peter knows the way to Hell's Kitchen, but he has to ask Harry to navigate to Anton’s exact location, Peter doesn’t have a phone. There’s nothing all that memorable about the exterior, a typical five story brownstone with grungy, hole-in-the-wall stores lining the ground level.
Peter pulls the door open, the ring of the bell goes unnoticed, drowned out against the hum of the crowd inside, the place is busy, smells amazing, and Peter immediately picks out several conversations happening in Russian. All a good sign that the food is legit.
“Minutochku!” A large man yells to them from behind a worn down cash register. He’s tall and stout, not overly so, his face underlined with a black, well trimmed beard that connects to his equally dark, but much shorter, hair. “Be right there!”
The interior is a bit more interesting, if not equally run down. Cheaply framed portraits of famous Russians, (Peter isn’t likely to recognize), adorn the walls. Someone yells out Anton’s name and the man behind the cash register responds. Anton approaches them with two menus. “Dva?” He asks, holding up two fingers.
Peter nods, “Oktober said I should stop by for the dumplings.”
Anton’s eyes light up, looking down to note the collar with a wide smile. “You must be Pytor!” Peter’s surprised, Nat must have been confident in her persuasions to give Anton a heads up. “How is my little Krasnyy D’yavol?”
“On the go, as usual,” Peter responds, keeping the info vague. With all of Nat’s aliases he doesn’t know what mix of lies and truths Anton has been told. “This is my friend, Harry.”
“Garri, welcome!” They shake hands. “Syuda,” he motions for them to follow. Peter is confused when it looks like Anton is leading them to an occupied table, but instead he pushes the swinging kitchen doors open and leads them to a table that is clearly intended for workers or, in their case, special guests.
“Where family eat,” Anton declares, motioning for them to sit. Harry and Peter nod appreciatively, sitting in the heavy wooden chairs with worn down, red velvet cushions. “Only the best for friends of the Red Devil! I order for you, da?”
“Yes, thank you,” Peter smiles, Anton steps away to speak to the cooks.
“You have some interesting friends, Peter,” Harry says, more impressed than suspicious. “Though I suppose not just any Omega would be running around with Tony Stark.” Peter’s head jerks up, Harry grins at the reaction. “What, you think I didn’t recognize one of the most famous people on the planet trying to beat me off with a stick?”
Peter flushes at the memory, conceding with a nod. He’s not sure what he can or should say about it, and is grateful when Harry continues as if it’s irrelevant.
“So, tell me about yourself, what are your interests? Where are you from? What do you do for fun?”
Peter bites his lip, and begins to wonder if this was a bad idea. “I’m from Queens, I’m a big science nerd, and for fun I…” swing through the air 700 feet above the city. “I guess for fun I do science?”
“Oh lord, my dad would love you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
Harry leans back in his chair, sounding conflicted. “I suppose it depends on the day.”
“What about you?” Peter takes the opening to change the topic.
“Oh a little bit of this, a little bit of that,” Harry casually says. “I’m a student at Empire State.”
“What are you studying?”
“Majoring in business, minoring in chemistry.”
Peter perks up that. “Chemistry?”
Harry chuckles. “Don’t look too excited, I’m barely squeaking by.” Peter has to stop himself from offering to tutor, a habit from time in the lab with several of Dr. Connor’s students who often needed help.
Just then Anton comes over with two small trays, each with grilled dumplings covered in a healthy layer of sourcream, dill, and chives. Peter’s about to bite into one when Anton returns with two clear shots of vodka.
“Pepper infused vodka,” Anton declares, setting the small glasses in front of each of them.
Peter looks up, apologetic. “I’m sorry, I don’t drink.”
“I’ll take care of his,” Harry interjects with a wink to Anton, who slaps Harry’s shoulder with a laugh. “Good man!”
Harry lifts the glass in a salute towards Anton. “Za tee-byá,” he says, then downs the shot.
“Za fstryé-tchoo!” Anton bellows happily as he walks back to the front of the restaurant.
“Oh damn, that’s good…,” Harry says through a constricted cough, “and strong.” He pounds his chest.
“You sure you can handle that?” Peter laughs, teasing.
“Can’t say vodka before noon is my typical Monday, but I make exceptions for new experiences and interesting company.”
“You speak Russian, then?”
“Oh god, no. I speak business, just enough to close a deal and toast to our success.”
They dig in. The dumplings are incredible, of course, and Peter and Harry find things to talk about even without Peter being able to go into the details of his situation. The cooks bring out new dishes in five to ten minute intervals while Harry nurses the second shot of vodka, treating it as a dash of pepper with his food.
“Hey I know this is not really my business…” Harry says twenty minutes into their meal. Uh oh. “...And I’m probably not telling you something you don’t already know, but my company, well my Dad’s company, has a whole department focused on scent suppressants and scent therapy.”
“Scent therapy?” That was a new one on Peter.
“Yeah, some people are interested in changing their biological assignment, at least olfactorily. Other, more extreme purposes, are for parents who want to hedge their kids' bets ahead of time.”
Peter doesn’t hide his dismay at the latter part. He could certainly relate to wanting to change how he smelled, he was already doing it, but controlling genetics was delving into some Gatacca shit. Peter doesn’t hide his dismay. “Predetermined genetics, gives a whole new meaning to the phrase God doesn’t play dice.”
Harry nods. “It’s controversial, to say the least. My dad started the division when I presented as Beta hoping he could change my.…” Harry falters, his eyes self-consciously darting around. “...And I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” He rubs the back of his neck, the shyness this time genuine. “I shouldn’t be spilling Osborn family dirt.”
Peter’s insides startle, his fork clatters onto the plate. Osborn. Holy shit. A memory so vivid Peter can see it clearly in his mind, at a table in the Feast kitchen with May and...
I didn’t know where else to go. Someone’s living in my house. Oscorp doesn’t exist. My son…
“Wait. Are you- Your company is Oscorp? Your dad is...Norman Osborn?”
“The one and only,” Harry says with a burdened sigh. “You hadn’t figured that out yet?”
Fuck me. Norman is still the truest case of insanity Peter’s ever seen, and he’s dealt with some crazy people. And if there’s a Norman Osborn in this verse, it’s a high probability the man is equally unwell.
Harry’s look grows concerned, apprehensive even, as he watches Peter process this revelation. “Peter?”
He slips back in time, trying to recall fragments of what he’d learned. He and the other Peters had had so little time together, Peter only got the short of it. But he knew Harry and Peter 2 had been best friends, that Norman had created a rift, and that Harry had died in his arms.
Looking at Harry now, his perspective spread to panorama, Peter finds himself wondering, not for the first time, if there’s some cosmic force that pulled certain people together. Peter 3 had also passingly commented that Harry had been his friend - note the past tense. If there was some common thread at play here, then Peter’s sample size for Harry Osborn was 2 for 2 in the negative outcome column. They really were destined to hurt the people they loved, weren’t they?
“Peter? You ok?”
“Sorry, yeah. Sorry,” Peter shakes his head, forcing a small laugh. “I feel dumb, I’m not sure how I missed it.”
“I like that you did,” Harry grins. “Though, I hope this doesn’t mean we’re suddenly enemies, Tony Stark isn’t the biggest fan of my father.”
“No, of course not.” Though if Peter stays in this verse long enough, enemies was likely to become their destiny. If there was a single blaring take away from this information, it was that Peter was a danger to Harry. Which really, shouldn’t he have already considered that before he agreed to lunch and found out who Harry was? Seriously Parker, you never fucking learn.
Peter attempts to keep up the same level of energy in the conversation, tries to quell the anxiety that eats at him with every passing minute he’s in Harry’s orbit. Thankfully, they were already near wrapped up with the meal, and Peter is relieved when Anton asks them if he can get them anything else.
“It was amazing,” Peter says, “just the check, thank you.”
“Ah, my malen'kiy pauchok,” Anton uses the same nickname Natasha had, he places a hand on Peter’s shoulder, voice more serious than it’s been over the entire encounter. “Family does not pay.”
“That is very kind of you.” Peter knows when not to argue with generosity, especially when it would be an insult. He stands and they shake hands, Anton pulls him into a one armed hug.
“You tell that Red Devil to visit me when she returns.” Anton instructs as he escorts them back through the kitchen.
Harry shakes Anton’s hand, giving him one more show of his business Russian. “Spasibo. Eto bylo priyatno.”
“The pleasure has been mine,” Anton replies and they exit through the same glass door which they entered.
“That was fantastically unexpected,” Harry beams as they walk in the same direction back towards midtown. “I’m very curious about this Red Devil of yours.”
Peter’s mouth twitches. “Don’t get your hopes up.” Harry looks like he wants to ask more, but must think better of it from Peter’s short response and buttoned up expression.
It’s about a 15 minute walk back to the tower, they continue chatting on more casual topics along the way. Peter catches himself being more wary of his surroundings than he had on the way there, as if the Green Goblin was going to suddenly drop out of the sky on a murder glider throwing bombs.
Out of the corner of his eye Harry talks animatedly about a night out in Moscow a few years ago, and the trouble he got into with another Alpha for looking at his Omega the wrong way. It’s probably a funny story, but Peter’s distracted, contemplating this twisted paradox he’s landed in. Here stood the man whose father from another universe, killed his Aunt in a separate, alternate universe. It was fucked up. Perhaps worst of all, Harry seemed like a genuinely good person.
The two of them were completely different, yet it's easy to see how Peter 2 and Harry had gelled. He wonders if Harry had also been attracted to Peter 2, though he didn’t get the impression Peter 2 swung (haha) that way after hearing him talk about his MJ.
“This is me.” Peter says.
“Oh, this?” Harry tilts his head way back to look at the tower. “The massive building with the name Stark written on it? Almost didn’t see it.”
Peter tries not to laugh and ends up snorting out something that sounds like one anyway. Harry really was charming as hell, and it wasn’t until recently that Peter had ever even associated that word with men. But he had nothing on Tony… which, ummm - is totally, definitely, not relevant.
“I enjoyed meeting you Harry.” Peter’s delivery has an intentional finality to it, he knows this isn’t a friendship he can build on, for multiple reasons, and he’s afraid he’s already given Harry the wrong impression.
“Can I see you again?” Yep, definitely the wrong impression. At Peter’s hesitation Harry adds, “Unless you really are his.” Harry accentuates the question with a glance at the collar.
“I’m not his, but it’s complicated.”
“It always is with Omegas,” Harry ruefully says. “Can I give you my number, in case you change your mind?” Harry gets out his phone and Peter realizes he’s expecting Peter to do the same.
“Oh umm...I don’t have a phone.”
“You…?” Harry’s suddenly making the connection of why Peter had Harry map directions to the restaurant. He can only imagine what Harry’s thinking, an Omega under Tony Stark’s sovereignty, but doesn’t have a cell phone. “In that case, I’m at the park most mornings, and you can always get a hold of me through Oscorp. Even if you just want to talk, no expectations.”
Peter tries not to laugh, he’s living with Tony Stark for crying out loud. If Peter wanted to get a hold of the president, he probably could. “I appreciate that, Harry. Thanks for the company today.” Peter turns to enter the building then stops, twisting to look back at him. “Take care of your dad, I think he needs you more than he knows.”
Harry returns a pained, wistful look, acknowledging the sentiment with a nod. Peter nods back, and disappears into the tower.
*
Peter gave up on trying to focus on quantum mechanics hours ago, it was never his strongest subject and without Tony he lacks the focus to stay on track. The day had thrown too much of a curve ball at him. Instead, he puts the generator through its paces, running the practical tests he and Tony hadn’t had time to do yesterday (wow, was that only yesterday?). Between tests, he works on something a little less intense than interdimensional trave l- something for Tony.
Peter's manipulating a holo image when, with zero introduction, a voice sounds off over the lab's speakers.
“It’s late.” Peter jumps, causing the 3D object he was manipulating to go flying off to the right of the display field. Another display pops up in front of him projecting a security camera angle of Tony outside of what Peter assumes is the United Nations headquarters. Tony pulls his glasses down for a hot second to eye the camera, confirming that he’s intentionally tapping the feed for the call. Always the delinquent.
“Early for you.” Peter says, having no idea what time it actually is.
“Yeah, the pompous wagons circle early here. Did you make a breakthrough or something?”
Peter shakes his head.
“Sir does not have a camera feed,” Jarvis informs him.
“Oh. No, why?”
“Only because it’s almost 2am and I recall a certain sleepy spider not wanting to get out of bed this morning.”
“I got out of bed just fine, thank you. And no, no breakthroughs. Just a tendency to lose track of time when I don’t have a definitive schedule or people to remind me.”
“Fair, and relatable. I thought maybe you were running around with a certain Widow.”
“Oh, please. Like Jarvis hasn’t been telling you everything I’ve been up to.”
“I’ll have you know, I’m working on boundaries. I only check in with Jarvis on the hour, isn’t that right, J?”
“That is accurate, sir.”
Peter rolls his eyes. “You call that boundaries?” Baby steps.
“So…,” Tony shifts the weight between his feet. “Harry Osborn?”
Ahh, here we go. “Con-trollll Freeeeeak,” Peter sings.
“We discuss that later. Harry Osborn - talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. We had lunch. Do you know him?”
“Not personally, I know his megalomaniac father though.”
“Yeah, Harry mentioned you weren’t a fan.”
“Did he now? How transparent of him.”
“Are you gonna be weird about this? I mean, weirder than you’re already being.”
Tony turns back to look up at the security camera. “Who’s being weird?” Peter scoffs, and Tony continues to get weirder. “I just want to know if his hands wandered, if he got too touchy, or kissed you, or tried to get in your-”
“Tony.” Peter sharply cuts him off. “He was a perfect gentleman. Besides, I told him I wasn’t interested.”
The pixelated smile on Tony’s lips happily widens, his voice full of insinuation. “Not interested because you’ve got your sights on someone else?” He casually taps a pointer finger against his own chest.
Peter’s face hurts from trying not to smile, though there’s no point in hiding it when Tony can’t see him.
“Aw Christ, the clown car just pulled up.” The doors of the vehicle Tony’s referring to swing open at the edge of the sidewalk. “Don't solve all the fun problems without me, kid. And don’t go taking your first ride on a disco stick unless it’s with me.”
“Oh my god.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Secretary, it’s been so lovely not to see you-” the audio and video feeds cut out, Peter shakes his head with an undeniable chuckle.
He should get some sleep, he can feel his already gummy brain slowing down even more, and if there’s anyone who knows how quickly things can turn sideways in a lab, it’s Peter.
“Shut us down please, Jarvis.”
“Yes, Mr. Parker.”
“Jarvis, we talked about this.”
“My apologies, Peter.”
“That’s better.” Peter stretches his arms over his head, back cracking in retaliation at the hours of being hunched over. He heads up the elevator to call it a night.
