Silver fox Oikawa bought a sailboat but had no idea how much work sailing actually is, so it sat at the sailing club forever until he sold it and bought a small yacht instead. Nothing crazy, just a cruiser—fun to drive fast and take friends out on for the night.
He’s standing behind the wheel with a crewneck tied around his shoulders and his sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose when you stumble out onto the deck from the cabins below in the morning, wearing nothing but his button up from the night before.
“Good morning,” you greet him quietly, and taste the salt air on your lips when you run your tongue across them.
He smiles, sliding his glasses all the way down to the end of his nose so he can peer at you over the frames. his grey streak looks white in the sun. “It certainly is now.”
Jack Abbot’s some sort of bounty hunter, you suppose. Comes into town without a care and rolls out like a tumbleweed. Maybe one day he’ll take you away from this place if you ask him real nice.
Warnings: attempted assault (not by jack), period-accurate misogyny, he’s got his leg, but it’s not full mobility because I wasn’t sure about how to make the amputation more period-accurate, unprotected sex, talk of pregnancy, blood and violence, gun violence, MDNI
w.c: 8.7k
“You some sort of outlaw?” You’re bent over the bar, hair pulled up near the top of your head, a few loose curls on your neck that stick to it from sweat. Morning sun’s already far too warm, peaking through the slatted windows of the saloon. It rained last night. The smell still lingers.
Jack Abbot snorts, guess he thought it was a funny question. He takes another drink of his beer.
“I ain’t no outlaw.” His voice is smooth, like the way whiskey burns going down, and he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.
He’s the only patron this early in the morning. It’s maybe an hour and a half after sunrise, most everyone else is already working for the day, but Jack never works. At least not that you know of. Those long legs of his are crossed at the ankle, his boots on the table with the spurs hanging off, as he lounges in his chair. Sipping beer real casually, one arm on the backrest of the chair next to his. He acts like he runs the fine establishment of your employ.
Complete lack of manners and utterly handsome, strong, high cheekbones with tanned skin. Silver curls peaking out from under his hat. He looked like he was carved from stone with soft, sweet eyes that make you feel like he’s truly seeing you.
“You certainly act like one.”
He did act like one. Road into town one day with his hat brim low, red bandana over his mouth. Jack said it was to keep the dust out of his mouth, but you think he likes the mysterious air it gives him. Two long rifles slung over his back, jostling with every step of his horse as he led it to the saloon. Gait was real slow and casual, like he ain’t ever had a worry in his life. You think it’s more to cover up for that limp he’s got with his right leg. Everyone’s daddy was ready to draw their guns, fingers itching near the trigger, when they saw him.
One thing about Jack, you might not know how he makes his money, but he’s got a lot of it. Well, more than most people here. Tossed his coins on the counter like it was running out of style.
“What’s it matter to ya’ darlin’?” Jack tilts his head back, looking at you from under the brim of his hat. His eyes flick down to your chest briefly before going back up to your face.
“Don’t matter to me. Just curious, is all.” You shrug, standing up straight, feeling very exposed.
Mr. Zachariah Moultman, the Red Western Rose’s owner, had you and the other barmaids wear these corsets that pushed your chests up real high. Yours is a pretty baby-blue shade with this elegant white lace trim that the girls had found in New York when visiting. You got it from Annabelle before she left town, all shaken up. Made your girls sit real pretty, but it also made the male patrons think they were owed something extra because of it. It didn't help that Mr. Moultman also owned the brothel.
And the gambling hall.
And the general store.
And about every other business and building in town.
Hell, he even owned half the next town over.
“Ain’t ya know curiosity killed the cat?” Jack drawls, uncrossing his legs and stretching with a roll of his shoulders. He stands, walking his now-empty glass over to the bar for you.
You reach for the glass, fingers bumping against his own as you do. He holds on tight to the glass, not letting you fully take it from him. There’s a little game of tug-of-war he plays with you, the side of his mouth curving up into a smirk before you get the upper hand and take the glass from him.
Triumphant, you smile. “I ain’t no cat.”
He leans against the bar, forearms resting against it. His eyes look hungry, real low and serious as he stares at you with that smirk on his face. It makes your heart flutter in your chest, and your tummy turns in a way you’ve never felt before.
You swallow it down and lift your chin. Never once have you liked someone telling you who you are and what you can do.
“Damn shame that is,” he drops his head, chuckling before looking up at you. “Ya see, I’d just love me some pussy.”
Your face turns hot instantly as you go rigid.
“And you, sir, are no gentleman!”
Jack laughs, full-bellied, leaning back away from you. It’s a throaty one that shakes his shoulders. He got the reaction he wanted. “Now ain’t that the truth, darling? If I were a gentleman, I’d’ve taken you to the church by now and had the pastor do the Lord’s work.”
The implication of his interest in you isn’t lost.
“You oughta learn some manners.” you grumble, choosing to ignore it and move on.
He puts some coins on the table, and you turn to pull him another pint. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the bar's back mirror. Jack’s watching you very intently. That unspoken offer hanging in the air. It makes you tense. Haunches raised like a cat caught in a corner, but nothing repulsive. More flustered than anything.
“Say, how come you’re here anyway?” You look over your shoulder at him as you speak, pulling the lever for the beer.
“Mr. Moultman put out work.” The scratch of a barstool being pulled out follows his statement as he plops down on it.
You slide him over his new pint and stand with your hand on your hip. “What kinda work? I mean, you blow in and out of town quicker than a dust devil. Always spend money here, too. I feel like I oughta be owed an answer now.”
“What did I just tell ya?” He grabs the glass and takes a sip. The corner of his eyes crinkled.
“Yes, yes, I know. Curiosity killed the cat, but there’s a second part of that phrase.” You lean over the bar again. “Satisfaction brought it back.” There’s a little smirk on your face when you finish.
He tilts his glass, balancing it on the edge of the bar.
“Well, I do lots of things. Mostly with a gun. Hunting, trapping, extortion, bounty hunting, you name it. Any issue you’ve got that can be solved with a clean shot or the threat of it.”
Mr. Moultman was a known shady guy. Can’t own that many things without doing something above the law. The man had swallowed the town whole. Guess that came with being out west. Real gentlemen were all settled back east, like your momma used to say. A man with clean hands ‘round here just meant he had the coin to pay others to do the dirty work.
“So you’ve got to shoot someone then?”
You aren’t sheltered. If he’s around, it seems like someone might be dying soon.
“Not necessarily,” he gives it a second thought. “Depends on if he pays up. If he does, I just take the money back to Mr. Moultman.”
It hangs in the air as the humidity does in the Carolinas. “If he doesn’t…” he trails off, tilting his glass by the rim before knocking it back center and flat on the bartop. “Well, I know better than to tell a lady what’ll happen.”
“And do you do this often?” you ask it real low and quiet, like it’s some secret.
“More often than I’d like,” both his hands are on the bar now. “But the money’s good.”
“That makes sense.” It’s easy to justify it. “Living out here ain't cheap… but neither is back East.”
He hums in agreement. The conversation lulls, staggering around like a drunkard as the question weighs on your tongue. You fiddle with the fraying edge of the bar towel. Daddy always said a lady like you should never handle a weapon. Momma would have shut it down with just a look. But that’s when you were still livin' in New Jersey.
Men out here didn’t care about proper civility. You’d seen it.
“Say, Jack…”
He finishes what's left in his second glass of beer. “Yes’m?”
You look him dead in the eyes. “Would you teach me how to shoot?”
He narrows his eyes, searching for something in you, but his posture doesn’t change. Still relaxed as ever. “Sure. I’ve got some free time this week.”
Half of you didn’t have the heart to believe he’d accept in the first place.
You blink, surprised.“I’m off on Sunday if you’re free after church.”
“No church for me, but I’ll be around.” The corners of his mouth curl up in a small smile.
───※ ·❆· ※───
“Amen.”
The church hall echoes as the service finishes. Footsteps, bibles closing, skirts rustling. Everyone had to go to the same church, with the different denominations having services at different times. As god would deem it, the Baptist service was at 9:00 in the morning, so after breakfast, you and your daddy would head down to listen to the pastor's sermon. Not to say you’re something of the religious type, but in a town like this, you oughta be. At least for appearances.
Today’s sermon was all about human relations in the eyes of God and the commandments surrounding them. How a wife must be subservient to her husband, that both must uphold the sanctity of marriage, blah blah blah. Ironic considering you know for a fact the pastor’s been at the whore house more times this week than he has been at home. But as god and the good book said, “Judge not, lest ye be judged.”
So you keep that to yourself.
You’re itching to get out of the building, boots tapping on the wooden floor, and to where you agreed to meet Jack for a shooting lesson. But of course, everyone wants to hang around and chat till 10:15 when they’ll be kicked out for the Protestants to set up. Daddy’s been chatty too, speaking with the local seamstress, Mrs. Taylor, with a contemplative look on his face.
He’s bargaining for something, but you aren’t sure what.
“How’s my favorite barkeep doing today?”
Hot breath hits the back of your neck, goosebumps rising like little pinpricks across your skin. You’d recognize the heavy gravel of that voice anywhere.
“Good morning, Mr. Moultman.” You turn and face him with a smile. While you’re not a big fan of the man, he is your employer.
“And how are you this fine and blessed morning, young lady?”
You’d think for how much money he had, he’d be a big fella, pot belly and all. Maybe with a golden pocket watch tucked into a vest that doesn’t fit right. But Zachariah Moultman was a weasel of a man. Tall, thin, gangly, and all angles. Every time you shook his hand, you could feel every single one of his bones poke into you. Like all the fat had been rendered out of him, and he was just skin stretched over sinewy muscle and bone.
“I’m doing well, thank you, sir.” He’s leering at you now. The same way he does to the working girls.
Mr. Moultman smiles, too wide with teeth too straight, too white. It’s unnerving. “That’s what I like to hear. Good, well-kept woman such as yourself seems to shine in the house of our good lord.”
You don’t quite understand what he’s saying, so you laugh politely. He keeps getting close to you, uncomfortably so, eyes trailing a little too far down your body. “Thank you, sir.”
“Sir, sir, sir,” he repeats it in a sing-song voice, tucking a loose curl behind your ear. It’s slow, like he’s been waiting to get his hands on you. “Please, Missy, call me Zachariah.”
The blood in your body turns to ice. Your skin prickles under his touch, like millipedes are crawling over it, heartbeat heavy in your throat. Being this bold in the church, where everyone and their mother could see you, means Daddy already knew this would happen. You catch his eye across the pew, and that bastard smiles at you, goes back to talking to the seamstress, and your stomach sinks.
Something awful is about to happen to you.
“That wouldn’t be proper, sir. You are my employer.” You try to play it off like he’s joking with you, but it's shaky, nerves showing through as you try to take a step back.
“Well,” he’s grabbed your hand now, keeping a steady hold on you. “I’m more than that now.”
His thumb brushes over your knuckles as he brings it up for a kiss. You must look absolutely terrified as he lets your hand down. “I take it your father hasn’t told you yet?”
You blink, and the church tilts on its axis. This can’t be happening. He knows that Mr. Moultman is a terrible, terrible man. He once beat a girl, Jessie, from Little Rock, so badly that she's been left with a permanent limp. He knows that he’s a violent drunk. He knows that no one can calm him down when he gets going. Mr. Moultman had bought the jury out after he killed a man for not paying on his debts.
“Told me what?” It's barely above a whisper, all tangled up in the back of your throat.
“Your father’s given me permission to take your hand in marriage,” you’re going to be sick. “Granted, I did have to overlook a few things, but I’ll not bore you with specifics.”
Oh God.
Daddy sold you.
He had promised Momma, on her deathbed and again at her grave, that he’d never let anything bad happen to you. Swore it on the good book. But that son of bitch, bless your granny, has thrown you to the wolves. Mr. Moultman’s mouth is moving, but you can’t hear anything. You can barely breathe, the corset now squeezing you too tightly; it feels like your ribs are breaking.
“Good morning, Zachariah,” Daddy comes over and puts a hand on your waist. His voice just about cuts through the fog. “How are you doing this sabbath?”
“I’m doing mighty, Mr. Wells. Thanking Jesus, I’ve got such a beautiful bride to be.”
He kisses the top of your forehead. “That you do, that you do, “ he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I do apologize for her behavior. I hadn’t had the chance to tell her just yet, but looking at her, you can tell she’s overjoyed.”
The two continue to talk. Over you, around you, about you. Like you aren’t even there, having your whole world torn apart. Like you’re a goddamn racehorse they can trade. It takes all your willpower not to scream like a banshee and run out of the church.
Then it’s over. Daddy’s leading you out the double doors.
You follow silently out of the church and to the horses. He tries talking to you on the ride home, but it's impossible to acknowledge him, the betrayal he’s done. It’s just another day for him.
The front door slams shut behind him as he comes in from putting the horses in. You had grabbed the nearest thing to throw when you came in before him.
“How could you!” You throw the ceramic pitcher past this head. “You promised momma you’d protect me and you’ve sold me off like I’m some damn broodmare to repay your gambling debts!”
“Honey, Zachariah told me he’d take good care of you.”
“Good care of me? Like he did to Jessie? Or Clara? Or Elizabeth?”
His face hardens for a second before that little ember of guilt is stamped out.
“You’re overreacting, darlin'. Every man's a little wily before he gets married. You’ll calm him down.”
“Were you wily? Did you beat women before Momma?”
His mouth opens and then closes.“You know I’d never.”
“So you lied again. " You grabbed a basket with a snack you had prepared before heading to church. “I can’t stand the sight of you.”
And you’re out the door, slamming it shut behind you and heading off to meet Jack.
───※ ·❆· ※───
Even after three weeks of practice with Jack, you’re still a lousy shot.
You’re standing in a little dead-end street that faces out into the great, wide open plains. It’s peaceful on this side of town. Less developed. Like you could just wander off and never be seen again. The thought has been on your mind an awful lot now that everyone knows about your predicament. Just leaving. Walking away from it all. Letting the great beyond swallow you whole.
Some of the younger boys have set up to use it as an impromptu shooting range. There are some hay bales with old glass bottles, mason jars, hell, anything made of glass, lined up on them that you’re doing a terrible job of hitting.
You’re doing a real bang-up job not hitting them. Squint. Breathe. Fire. Miss. Again.
“You gotta slow your breathing. You’re too anxious.” Jack is off to the side, arms crossed, looking on as you imagine a general would. His skin looks like he’s made of bronze in the sunlight.
“I am slowing my breathing, thank you very much. He’s had the brunt of your frustration the past couple of weeks. You really do try not to snap at him. It’s not his fault that any of this has happened. He didn’t make Daddy marry you off.
“Are ye?” He spits some chewing tobacco on the ground. “Yer looking as tense and wound up as a spring.”
He’s up behind you before you can snap again. A solid, broad chest meets your shoulders. He smells like cedar wood, his hands firm on your waist.
“Y’need to tense here,” he says, sliding his hands up along your sides to your shoulders, the butt of the gun resting against your right, “and relax here,” his knuckles brush your collarbone, light as the breeze, as he takes his hand away. “Otherwise, yer gonna shoot yer shoulder off.”
Stubborn as you might be, you didn’t have the money to see the town doctor, so you listened, even if you wanted to tell him to take his hands off you.
So you steady your breathing. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Relax your shoulders, tense your waist, and line it up. The world narrows to the green bottle in front of you. Your finger presses against the trigger, and the gun goes off, shoulder pushed back from the kick. The shot rings out like thunder. Gunpowder fills the air as the glass bottle explodes, green light filtering through all the shattered pieces.
“I hit it!” you gasp, stunned. After missing so much, it's shocking that you managed to land the shot.
Jack gives a lopsided grin. Over the sporadic periods of time he’s come to town, he likes to think he’s gotten a good read on you. Reading people ain’t hard for him, so knowing that you’ve been upset isn’t difficult. You get this little pout that makes him focus on your lips. Not one that's super obvious, just a little downturn of your lips. He’s often staring in that direction far more than he should.
“Nice to see you finally smile today,” he’s testing the waters, seeing if he can get you to open up with him. “Was thinking that a snake bit you on the ass and that's why you’re so sour.”
A laugh slips out before you can top it, hand flying to clamp your mouth shut.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be a downer.”
“S’alright.” He shrugs, easy and low, grin still plastered on. “Didn’t think it was personal. Unless it is?”
“No! Not at all.”
You might have responded a little too quickly. Jack catches that flicker in your eyes, the same one horses get when they’re about to bolt.
“You haven’t been smiling as much lately.” He’s careful now. Trying not to spook you. He just wants you to stay close.
The wind picks up. It whistles through the dry grass, stalks of wheat swaying in the distance.
You sling the rifle on your back. “Ain’t had much reason too.” Your eyes stay fixed on the horizon.
“Not happy about your upcoming nuptials, then.”
You give a brittle, dry scoff. “Ugh, not at all.”
“I hear you.” He hesitates, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Jack likes you; he knows that. Thinks you’re as pretty as the sunrise. “He’s not… polite. The way he talks ‘bout you when you ain’t around.”
Brows furrowed, you turn to face him. “How do you mean?” You only meet his eyes for a second before he looks away.
“It ain’t proper to tell you.”
“Truth be told,” your voice breaks. “I’m frightened of what he might do to me.”
He’s quiet. “All you gotta do is tell me you’d like to leave and I’ll take you where you want to go. No strings.”
“Thank you, Jack. I might just have to take you up on that.”
───※ ·❆· ※───
He left town for a gig shortly after that. Now you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere till he comes back. But you thought about it. Hell, you prayed on it. Going with Jack seemed like the best option for you. Maybe he could take you to California. Or North.
Somewhere that wasn’t here.
Mr. Moultman invited you round to the gambling parlor to “get to know each other” before your nuptials next week. You’d imagine a man would want to spend time actually getting to know his wife, but all he’d done since you got here was sit you on his knee, arm loose around your waist, and play poker with his usual band of hooligans.
“Now, Mrs. Moultman, should I call or fold?”
“Fold.”
He doesn’t listen and calls. The dealer flips the next card and reveals a second eight. The man across the table lays his cards down, as does Moultman. He’s only got a pair, but the other man has three.
“Suppose I ‘oughta listen to you.”
He leans in and sniffs at your neck. “You smell good. Like peaches. You ripe for the plucking?” Teeth graze across your skin.
“I’m afraid not, sir.” It’s hard not to shy away from him and remain confident.
“Now don’t be like that,” his hand slithers up your back. “It ain’t sinful for a man and wife to be together.”
“We aren’t married yet.”
Rage flashes across his face, a hurricane in his eyes. “You talk back an awful lot.”
You didn’t think it possible to get stiffer, but his hand on your neck proves you wrong.
He squeezed the back of it far too tightly for comfort, dirty fingernails scratching the skin.
“Now you’re gonna behave, girl. We’re gonna give the boys here a nice show of what matrimony means.” His other hand undoes the laces of your stays.
There are moments in life when you oughta think before you act, but sometimes your body just moves faster than your head. It’s a swift crack across his cheek, a small thunderstorm, as your palm connects with him. Mr. Moultman’s head swivels to the side, and the men in the room grow quiet. You’re not a prey animal, but you’ve been hunting enough times to watch them still. Seen how they pause when they know something sinister wants them.
Your stomach sinks hard and faster, falling right out of you and onto the gambling parlor floor.
“It’s alright, darling,” Mr. Moultman sniffs and turns to face you, eyes dark. “We’ve got a lot of time to educate you. Don’t we gentlemen?”
Rabbits have nothing on you with how fast you fly off of him and out the door. Fear squeezes your heart, and you clutch your chest. In part to keep your stays up, and another part because you're so afraid your heart might leap out of your chest. You’ve never been much of a runner; you prefer soft activities and hobbies, but by Mary and Joseph, you wish you had been.
Shame, embarrassment, some nasty mixture of the two, laced with anger and humiliation, bite at your heels as you tear through the quiet streets. No one's out tonight, it seems. The whole town’s hiding from a girl who got too big for her britches. Despite how much you run, your blood stays cold.
The band of men chasing after you isn’t quiet at all. Hoots and hollers bounce off the sides of buildings as they leer. Tell you how soft your skin's gonna feel under their hands. That you should have let them watch, since now they’ll get a taste. Said they’d do to you what they did to Annabelle.
It’s hard to know where to run to for shelter as they chase behind you like wild dogs. Daddy wouldn’t be no help. He wouldn’t stop them. Hell, he’d open the door for them and step outside the house to let them do whatever they wanted. You prayed Momma wasn’t looking down and seeing all of this.
Your head bangs against the ground as you’re tackled from behind, air rushing out of your lungs. Pebbles dig into your front, shirt shifted with your stays undone. You thrash and writhe, but the men gather round as Mr. Moultman turns you over and pins them above your head. Another man helps hold them down.
“Wriggly little thing ain’t ya? Gonna have to fix that.” He has the audacity to chuckle. Like you’re some show pony for him, moving when he says move. All the men laugh at it, too. Like it's a funny joke to treat a woman like this.
You gather all the spit you can in your mouth and fire it at him. It lands squarely on his cheek. Mr. Moultman’s face goes flat, laughter dying in his throat. Hell, you don’t even see his hand move, don’t know the smacks coming till your heads wrench to the side. Ear ringing, face burning, all you can do is stare down Main Street. He craned your neck so hard to the right that you could see the church hall at the end of the street. The second one’s just as abrupt, though you give yourself some grace on it. The first ones still got your head ringing mighty bad.
If you squint just a bit, the stars dance across your vision like the Fourth of July, all bright and sparkly.
“Always knew you’d be fun to break,” the sleazy scumbags got you straddled to the ground. “Just had to get your daddy on my side.”
He reaches down to his belt buckle. The metal clinking brings you back into yourself real quick. “You’re gonna be a dutiful wife and take care of me and my rights now, y’hear?”
“Get off me!” It’s wet and angry. Scratches the back of your throat nonetheless as you yell through clenched teeth. “I’ll kill you, I swear I’ll kill you.”
There ain’t ever been a moment in your life that you’ve felt so hopeless as you do now. All the men around you are laughing. Sneering at you.
Mr. Moultman chuckles. “You don’t got much say in this here, sweetheart.”
His fingers dig into your jaw as he wrenches your jaw open and pushes them down your throat. They taste like metal and dirt and make you gag. God help you. If you made it through tonight, they’d see you hung not long after. You’d grab daddy’s rifle and shoot these men like wild animals, they are.
A gun goes off.
Maybe Dod did hear you callin’ out to him.
Mr. Moultman goes limp and slumps to the side, his brains spilling out. Blood splattered across your face, warm and sticky. His corpse slumps over you, exhaling from the force.
The men around you are slow to move. Too drunk to process what was happening until another one of them crumples to the ground dead. It sends the remaining three men scrambling. Pulling out their pistols and kicking up dust as they try to locate the shooter.
It’s dark. Has been on this side of town since the sun went down. No street lamps have been lit. Only the moon, hung high in the sky so big and white, produces any light.
Nothing about the past month feels real. Maybe you’d died, and this was penance for your sins. The ringing in your ears only gets louder. Your part doesn’t feel real. Maybe your souls are being taken into the rapture, the archangel Michael coming down to bring you to the pearly gates. You sit up slowly, shoving off Moultman’s body as you do so. He’s heavy. Dead weight. Doesn’t laugh or jeer at you. Just flops to the side like a fish.
Another gunshot rings out, and another one of the lackeys hits the ground.
“Come out, you fucker!”
“I’m gon’ rip yer face off!”
The three remaining men sound scared when they scream. Too far gone to notice the glint of silver from around the corner. A third shot echoes in the empty street, hitting one square in the chest. The fourth hits Moultman’s right hand in the throat, tearing open his jugular. The last man standing doesn’t even try to fight. He just takes off running.
Then the streets are quiet. Still. Crickets make music in the night.
Gunpowder clings to your hair. All you can smell is the smoke of it and the metallic stench of blood. Can’t tell if you were near an ember, if you’d burst into flames, or if it’d be doused out by all of the blood on you. Everything hurts. Your fingers, wrists, arms, neck, and by Jove does your face hurt.
You don’t even know you’re sobbing.
“Cmon girl, up.” It’s Jack’s voice, but he sounds so far away. “Up, girl. We don’t have time for this.”
You know you should move, listen to what he says. But all you can do is continue to sob.
“Right now, don’t get mad at me for this,” Jack bends and tucks his arms under your knees and picks you up. Carries you like a bride. You thrash; the feeling of his hands on you is painful. “I know, I know. You gotta let me do this.”
“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me!” You’re screaming at him.
Jack just grips your face, forcing you to look at him. He looks tired. “Sweetheart, it's me.”
“Jack?” You stutter. It finally clicks that it's him and not someone else as you wrap your arms around his neck.
“I’m here,” His hand cradles the back of your head, the ghost of his lips in your hair. “We gotta get outta town.”
“Okay.”
He whistles low, and his horse comes out from the dark. You always knew he was strong, and if you didn’t believe it before, the way he hoists you up on the mount before hopping on behind you proved it. Leaning against his chest, you let the sway of horseback numb your mind.
Let your head go blank. Trying to forget everything that's happened in the last few weeks, few months, hell, the past few years. Maybe if you squeezed your eyes real tight, you’d wake up back when Momma was alive, and none of this mattered. When you still lived in Virginia, before Daddy took up gold mining out west. Be under that big oak tree in the back by the crick, hair in pigtails with dirt on your hands. Happier.
It’s easy to retreat into yourself and let life happen around you. You aren’t sure how much time passes like that.
The sun rises at some point, but you pay it no mind. Blood on your hands is flaking off now. Like little paint chips floating off in the wind. Still would swear it’s running fresh across you, but it ain’t. It dried hours ago in the summer heat.
You raise your eyes and see a mountain range you've never seen before in the distance. The peaks still look like squiggles on the horizon, but the shape of them's so distinct you’d’ve known it from others.
“Where are we going?” Mouths dry as you talk. Tongue darting out to wet your lips.
It feels unnatural to talk. You ain’t done it since you left town those days ago.
“Forget already?” Jack chuckles in your ear before he leans back to look at you. It feels like he sees every single secret you’ve tried to hide. “You alright, doll?”
You look back at your hands. They’re perfectly clean.
“I don’t know,” it’s truthful. You don’t know if you’re okay or not. But you do know one thing. “I go where you go.”
“You sure?”
It’s the third day you’ve been riding with him. Stopping at night to rest while he hunts. He went into a small town two days ago and got you new clothes. Took you to a river and let you wash off.
There’s no hope of coming back to town even if you wanted to. New York is out of the question for you. Too many loan sharks after your last name. It ain’t practical for a woman to be out on her own.
You haven’t felt a safety like you feel in his arms in many a moon.
“I’m sure.”
“Alright.”
Jack’s lazy smile walls off his face as he clicks his tongue. The horse protests a bit, but he pulls the reins and rights it. You’re headed to a slightly different location than you were before. Just a tad more to the North of North West instead of just Northwest.
You just hope things will stay the same when you get to town.
───※ ·❆· ※───
It’s been four months since you came to town. The Montana Territory. It’s different than anything you’ve ever known. With thin air, tall trees, and a glacier in the mountains, Jack took you there previously. It's rugged and remote. Removed from any real connections. Though the people in Bozeman say they’re gonna build a railroad
It’s different. Ain’t a bad thing or a good thing really. It's just different.
Your days are different, too. You don’t wake and make breakfast for Daddy, you make it for Jack. But Jack doesn’t come stumbling down the stairs hungover to eat it. He’s been up since before the sun has, herding the cattle and dealing with the ongoing. When you got to town, Jack traded in some stuff plus a whole lot of gold and bought a ranch.
The whole town thinks you’re his wife.
You ride into town in the late morning to go get some more flour. The bins are running low, and you want to make a pecan pie this week. Jack goes for it more than the berry pies you’ve made in the past. Likes them soft and gooey with cream poured on top.
One of the first things Jack bought when you got here was a bay colored mare for you to ride. Said it’d be best if you had your own way around. He just showed up with her one day, told you she was yours, and taught you how to ride her properly. You can still feel his hands on your waist, steadying you when you close your eyes.
Now you take Juniper out and ride to town or around the valley whenever you feel like it.
Dust kicks up around her hooves as she brings you down the main road. The town’s small and quiet, but given the time, people are milling about. You give your pleasantries as you tie Juniper to the post out front with a soft pat to her muzzle and head into the general store.
Betsy notices you instantly from her spot behind the counter.
“Howdy, Mrs. Abbot. How y’all doing?”
“We’re good, Betsy, thank you. How’s your oldest?”
She’d just given birth. She’s near your age, you think. Maybe a few years younger, but in the general range.
“Good!” Betsy beams as she talks. “That baby of hers has got some real lungs. If we aren’t careful, she’ll have every cow from here to kingdom come in the valley before the days done. What can I get you?”
“Aw, bless her. 10 pounds of flour would be great.”
“Of course,” she bends down and mills about some before putting a sack of flour on the counter. “Now, when are we going to see some mini Abbots running around?”
It catches you off guard for a second.
“Oh. We aren’t. That’s not in the cards for us.”
Betsy’s smile softens, a glassy look in her eyes.
“Oh, honey,” she reaches out and grabs your hand across the counter. Her skin’s soft like worn leather. “God will see you through. I’ll pray for y'all.”
“Thank you, Betsy.”
“Course.”
───※ ·❆· ※───
Jack's got a cigar between his lips, sitting on the porch, smoking it when you get back on Juniper. The sun's lower, not hanging high in the sky, but there’s still a couple of hours before sunset. You’re in a good mood when you take the saddle off Juniper and send her to pasture. Even though Betsy’s question still lingers in the back of your head, you ain’t fixated on it.
Walking up to the porch, he gives you a small smile. One of the barn cats that came with the ranch is on his lap. It’s the grey one that keeps bringing dead mice to the kitchen door like she’s proving her worth on the ranch.
“You look comfortable.”
“She crawled up on me and well,” he scratches the top of the cat's head, who leans up into it. “Didn’t have the heart to kick her off.”
“It’s cute.”
“You mean she is.”
“Yeah.” You look down at your skirts, smiling. “Betsy’s got the gossip mill going again, but I think I got her to stop.”
“What this time?”
“Asking about babies. Told it to her wasn't in the cards for us.”
Jack merely hums and looks back down at the cat.
You feel awkward. Like a snake’s crawling in your skin, slithering to and fro. “I can tell her we’re not married. I don’t want to ruin your prospects.”
“My prospects?”
The cat jumps off his lap and scuttles away.
“Of actually gettin’ married,” you mumble, watching the cat go.
Jack stands with a stretch and a small groan before he bends at the waist to snub out the cigar. He walks down the creaking porch steps towards you. His right leg is dragging a bit more this afternoon; he must have overdone it in the morning round-up.
“You tryna get rid of me?” He asks it with that signature crooked smile of his. Bastard loves teasing you.
“No, but I don’t want your life to be dictated by me.”
“Well,” Jack laughs a little bit. “I already got me a wife, just ask Betsy.”
“But it’s not true.”
“Only takes a pastor to make it true.”
Your stomach flips, butterflies swarming inside it.
“Surely you’d want a wife who’d perform marital duties, no? That means we’d need to… y’know…”
“Sweetheart,” his voice is low and controlled. It makes a shiver run down your spine. “I’m a grown man. I’d take care of the ‘martial duties’ just fine.”
Your face feels like a forest fire.
“Oh.”
“Oh indeed.” He touches your waist as he walks past. “I’m going to bring the steer in before it gets too late. Don’t get lost in that head of yours.”
You do try. Honest to God, right hand on the bible, you do try not to overthink what Jack said. But it’s hard not to when you sit across from him at dinner and can't help but notice his forearms when he pushes his sleeves up. You can’t help but notice how he washes the dishes once you’re done eating, even though you know his leg is bugging him. You can’t help but notice the way he watches you from the corner of his eye, making sure you’re alright. He’s a provider, in every sense of the term.
And you’re not dumb. You’re an educated woman from St. Mary the Venerable’s Day School for Girls. You know he’s interested in you; he made that clear months ago. But you’d never even considered him as an option. He left town too much, Daddy wouldn’t have approved, excuses you’d tell yourself. But now he’s settled. A rancher. A good one too.
Jack Abbot is a good man. A rare thing these days. Everyone in the town respects him, despite the short time you've been here. They trust him with their livestock, their children.
And he is very, very handsome.
Thunder cracks again. The storm had started just after Jack brought all the cows in. It gives a right chill to the air that even with the wood stove burning, there are goosebumps up and down your arms. Maybe that's why you slide on your house slippers and pad over to Jack’s room.
“Jack?” You knock on the door real soft. If he doesn’t answer, you can say it's a lapse of judgment, grab the extra quilt, and call it a night.
His voice is muffled through the door. “What is it, darlin’?”
You wet your lips. “Can I come in?”
“Course.”
You wrap your hand around the brass handle and push.
Out of respect, or maybe modesty, you try not to come into Jack’s room too often. Only there to clean or change the bedding. It feels different when he’s in here. Like the whole room was focused on him.
“You alright?”
His voice is rough. You must have woken him up.
“Yes. I’m just cold.”
“I’ve got a spare blanket in the chest.”
“No, I was thinking,” lord almighty, you feel juvenile. “I was thinking I could just share a bed with you.”
Jack doesn’t say anything, and you can’t really see his face with the little moonlight there is. It’s far too quiet for a moment, and you feel like you’ve made a massive mistake. The anxiety pricks your neck, and you move to cover it up, but before you can speak, he throws open the covers.
“Come on in.”
You climb into bed with him and lie still on your back after adjusting the covers, careful not to touch him.
“You ain’t getting warm like that. Roll over.”
Jack nudges you onto your side and siddles up behind you. It’s then you realize he’s not wearing a shirt, and you can feel the direct heat of him through your thin chemise. His arm comes over your waist, pulling you tight against him.
It feels right. Wrapped up in him like this.
You both settle into it quickly. A comfortable silence between the two of you. And it's only when things have stilled that you truly feel him behind you. All of him. Every part that makes him a man.
You shift back experimentally. Seeing if you can feel more of him against you, and boy, can you. Every inch of man behind you.
Jack shifts back.
That curious nature of yours comes rearing its head, and you push back against him. He’s firm. That budding restlessness comes back, too, and you wiggle a bit more.
“Darlin’,” his voice is right in your ear, and oh, do you like that. How strained he sounds. “I am tryna keep you an honest woman as best I can, so I am begging you to keep still.”
“You said all it takes is a pastor to make it official,” you whisper, voice all soft and airy. “What’s the matter if we see Father Adam tomorrow morning?”
His arm around your waist tightens.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I do, Jack,” you reach down and grab his hand, bringing it to your chest. “I do. I’m not some little girl, y’know?”
Jack’s fingers dig into your breast, cupping the weight of it. “Lord, do I know.”
It’s like a flip switch in him, gone with that gentlemanly persona he put on. He moves faster than a rattlesnake, flipping you onto your back and leaning over you. Takes your breath away. His hands are back on your waist, thumb caught on the fabric of your chemise, pulling it up.
He leans down, face inches from your own.
“You sure about this?” his eyes meet your own, searching for any hesitation. “Once we do this, there’s no going back. We’ll meet with Father Adams in the morning, and you’ll be Mrs. Abbot in every sense.”
Your voice catches. “I’m sure.”
With that, Jack surges forward, his mouth meeting your own. He kisses you like he’s starving. Like he’s been wandering the desert and you're an oasis. Like he’s trying to mark you, flesh and bone, fill you with parts of himself. He tastes like salt and heat, tongue against your own.
You arch off the bed, and he takes the opportunity to slide a hand under your chemise and pull it up with a slight tremor. Only the thin cotton of your drawers covers you. Jack leans back on his haunches for a moment to appreciate the view. The soft swell of your breasts, the curve of your waist, how you’re breathing heavily now.
The sound of the rain on the roof seems louder now, drowning out anything else but the feeling of his hands on you.
“Mother Mary,” he whispers, a prayer and a curse all tangled up.
Insecurity bites at your heels. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, darlin’,” his hands slide lower, pulling at the edge of your drawers.
“You’re beautiful, y’know that? Already knew you were beautiful enough to kill for, hell, I’ve done it before. But this…”
He pulls your drawers off completely with a groan. “This is enough to make a man lose his mind.”
Jack leans back down to kiss before trailing kisses down your neck. He sucks on your nipple before letting go with a loud pop. He takes his time, going down your body till he meets between your legs.
“What are you doing?” You’re flustered. No one’s ever told you about this before.
“Just relax. Let your husband treat you right.”
When his mouth meets your clit, a sort of primal understanding courses through you. Your head hits the pillow, your fingers dig into the bedding. Jack’s a man of action, always has been. Good with his hands. He takes care to learn your body, focused on making sure you feel good. Taking note of what makes you tighten your thighs around his head, what makes those beautiful little whines of yours louder.
He sets a deliberate rhythm to his movements. Giving you a steady pulse to ride and ride and ride. Let that heat burn brighter under your skin. The tension in your belly tightens.
Now, you’re no saint, you’ve taken to the pleasures of the flesh by yourself before, but it feels so different with his mouth on you. The weight of him against you, your legs over his shoulders. His hands are on your body, one on your waist, the other kneading your breast.
Jack can tell you’re near your breaking point when you let out a low moan of his name. Your hands fly to his hair. He can’t tell if you’re trying to pull him away or pull him closer, but he doesn’t move. Greedy girl. Don’t you know he’s already giving you exactly what you need? You oughta trust your husband and just ride his face like that.
Your orgasm hits like a flash flood. One strike in the sky and then the rains come pouring. It's a violent shudder that draws you taut, curling in on yourself like a babe, and then pushing you out reborn. Your hips jerk against Jack’s face, but he keeps you put, only slowing his tongue a bit. There’s ringing in your ears and a headrush so intense you feel lightheaded.
“Jack,” you whimper, tears on your lashes.
He finally pulls away from you.
“I just love me some good pussy.” He jokes as you catch your breath.
“So you’ve said.”
Jack smirks and sits up to pull off his pajama bottoms. He’s got no breeches on, so his cock springs out an angry red color.
“You want to keep going, darlin’?”
He’s always so good to you.
“We'd better consummate the marriage.”
He doesn’t rush into it like you heard most men do, but you shouldn't be surprised. He sticks two fingers in his mouth and pulls them out before bringing them to your pussy. You’re wet and messy, loose from your orgasm. He slides in with no issue. He pumps them in and out a few times, opening you up further before taking them out and lining up his cock.
The head of it catches on your hole.
“Tell me if it hurts, alright?”
You nod, afraid that you can’t even speak now.
Jack's taking it slow. Letting you feel every centimeter of him. Let’s you know the girth of him as he sinks inside you. Let’s your body get accustomed to something that he knows is going to be a very, very regular occurrence with how tight your velvet walls are squeezing him.
“Easy,” his voice is raspy, and you swear you feel it in your bones. “Let me take care of you.”
Jack stills when he bottoms out, cock buried deep inside you. But you don’t want to wait. Having him so close but so far feels like torture. You want more, you need more.
“Move,” you beg, grinding up against him, lost in the feeling. “Please, Jack. I need it.”
Who is he to deny Mrs. Abbot when she pleads so softly? Like he hung the stars in the sky for her.
Jack finds a rhythm quickly. One that cooperates with his bad leg but still gives you enough to feel sickly sweet pleasure. It’s driving and steady. Take the breath out of your lungs. You feel every inch of friction as he fucks you. He lifts your hips just a smidge, but it shifts everything and makes it more intense. His grip never falters either. He just drives deeper into you.
Maybe it's untoward for a married woman, but you snake an arm between your two bodies and your fingers find your clit, sliding it back and forth. It’s messy and wet and feels so good.
Your pussy clamps down on his cock.
“That’s it,” he groans, head tilted back in pure, delicious pleasure. “Play with that sweet little pussy o’ yours. Show me how bad you want it.”
Jack leans down, mouth crashing against your own again. The rough graze of his stubble against your jaw makes your heart skip a beat. He swallows your moans, your pleasure his own. The overwhelming desire to be inside you clouds his judgment as he loses a bit of himself inside the tight, wet heat of you.
For the second time that night, you cum. This time with a whine before your body goes limp. Jack lets out a startled cry from how tightly you squeeze him, but he doesn’t stop. Even as your pussy flutters around him. He’s close too. Can feel that wave about to crest.
“My girl,” Jack starts, the slap of skin echoing in the room. “My lady. My wife. I’m gonna treat you so good, sweetheart. You won’t want for nothing.”
Finally, the wave breaks. Jack's body stiffens as he spills his load inside you. It’s hot, leaks out the small gap between you too. His head meets the crook of your neck, his breath long and shaky. It feels natural for you to reach up, one hand playing with the curls at the base of his neck, the other running up and down his back.
“Did you mean it?” The question gnaws at you.
Jack pulls back enough to look you in the eye. “Darlin’, I have meant every word I’ve ever said to you.”
You smile at him, and Jack’s never been so glad to be alive. “Alright.”
Reasons Why Fans of Color Leave/Don’t Interact with Fandom
Casual racism that is brushed off as “an innocent mistake” or “they didn’t mean it” and then everyone pretending like it didn’t happen and moving on with their day (repeat)
Speaking over fans of color about issues that pertain to them specifically
When fans of color speak out about something that makes them uncomfortable or why that don’t interact with it (usually because of the racial/ethnic bias) they are accused of being anti’s or pro-censorship
Characters of color being used as scapegoats/bashed/plot devices
Characters of color never getting happy endings/real development
Backlash against characters of color if they do anything other than be a white character’s side kick/best friend
Actors of characters of color being harassed for something their character did or didn’t do
White characters/actors getting all the attention/credit despite the fact that they are a side character to a POC or on the same level as the POC
Fanfic authors patting themselves on the back for writing a “realistic” character of color and it’s just a bunch of stereotypes
Being told that they should be happy they were even included when they call out the above people
White fans crying about persecution/exclusion because their fav character/trope/kink/ship isn’t loved by all
Fan artists re-imaging characters of color as white/lightening skin tone
Everyone rushing to a white fans defense after a well deserved call out while the fan of color receives hate
Never having a safe fandom space and always having to be on guard with new people/fandoms/chats etc because they’ve been burned before
fans being overly defensive of the source material/performers when fans of color point out racist behaviors/depictions such as miscasting, cultural appropriation, or colorist writing
being accused of outright bullying/harassment when, even gently, pointing out racist behaviors by fellow fans or creators
being treated as more hostile than peers when expressing the same points. similarly, fans outside of the impacted minority being taken more seriously for their “objectivity”
white knighting for a culture you aren’t apart of when a non-western media is called out for racism. mostly applies to east asian media that includes racist depictions of black people, arab, or generally darker skinned people. most often done by white fans who themselves hold orientalist views of east asians as “soft uwu babies”.
being considered “too negative” or “ungrateful” for being critical of the source material. all critique expressed by a fan of color is somehow 100x more ‘negative’ than anything a white fan says
being excluded from marginalized headcanons. the white characters get to be disabled and/or queer while characters of color (particularly dark skinned characters) are only “allies” at best and bigots at worst. also includes downplaying canonically intersectional minorities for fan headcanons on white characters
complete refuse to engage in own voices stories that center BIPOC. minority made media is ignored in favor of white people talking about us (most of mcu, most of Star Wars, ATLA, the hunger games, etc.). everyone loves revolution and progressive values until they’re in the hands of the actual groups
treating our issues like costumes to insert characters into. for example: the famous MHA BLM fic and people writing about their faves protesting for gaza. (as a personal note, from a palestinian: these depictions often feel extremely voyeuristic and alienating. it’s as if you don’t take our lives seriously. an in-group member depicting their own culture and struggle for comfort is very different from you doing it as an isolated out-group member. doubly so if you’re from an oppressive position such as a white/imp core citizen.)
similarly, treating white fiction as having the same revolutionary weight as real theory or real events. the handmaid’s tale and the hunger games are not political theory. at best, those are watered down fictionalizations of brutality BIPOC already experienced. at best, these should be treated as primers for getting interested in non-fiction revolution and human rights abuses. women having rights taken away and being forced to carry children isn’t “handmaid’s esq”. it is something that actually happened to the global indigenous community and/including enslaved black people and is rooted in that material reality.
A creative fandom event dedicated to appreciating the Jedi, taking place during the entire month of June! Each week will feature two prompts, around which people can create fanwork (of any kind – fic, art, cosplay, edits, anything you can think of) or meta focusing on the Jedi and the Jedi Order. All eras and continuities are welcome; OCs, established characters, doesn’t matter – it just needs to be about appreciating the Jedi!
Rules:
If you are participating, please tag your work/meta with #jedi june and/or @ this blog so that I will see it and reblog it here. All work must be your own. Feel free to crosspost it off-site.
This is an appreciation event, focusing on what we love and enjoy about the Jedi – not what we don’t. This is not the place to air your grievances with the Code, take potshots at the Council, prop certain Jedi/certain eras of Jedi up at the expense of others, or disparage the Jedi Order or their philosophy (including the concept of non-attachment) and way of life in any way. You are free to do that on your own time if that’s your thing, but it has no place within this event.
AUs and crossovers are allowed, with caveats: again, the purpose of this event is to appreciate the Jedi as Jedi, so sticking your favorite Jedi characters in something like a modern AU or making them all Sith or Mandalorian is not really within the spirit of this event. However, AUs such as making a non-Jedi character a Jedi, having a character survive their canon death, giving a character a different teacher or padawan, or killing Palpatine off-screen in an unspecified yet embarrassing and painful manner, would all be perfectly fine. Use your best judgement to determine whether an AU fits the spirit of the event or not.
On non-attachment: in a general sense, attachment refers to grasping, clinging, possessiveness, jealousy, and the "I can't live without you"/"I will burn down the galaxy before I risk losing you" attitude. See this post and this post for more information. A romance can certainly exist without these things, so you can certainly write Jedi in relationships for this event!
Please tag any spoilers up to two weeks after the relevant content has aired.
Following the prompts is encouraged, but not required. Any sort of pro-Jedi content is encouraged all year month long, and if tagged (and following the rules), will be reblogged.
We also have an AO3 collection!
Prompts:
Week 1 (June 1 - 7):
Prompt 1: Resilience
Prompt 2: A Choice Not Taken
Week 2 (June 8 - 14):
Prompt 1: Compassion
Prompt 2: The Jedi Code
Week 3 (June 15 - 21):
Prompt 1: Interconnected
Prompt 2: Life, Death, and The Force
Week 4 (June 22 - 30):
Prompt 1: Lightsaber
Prompt 2: Jedi as Family
Bonus (any time):
Prompt 1: Memory
Prompt 2: Master Learning from the Padawan
If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask! I hope you will have fun participating!
story summary: Omegas had never been allowed within the ranks of the Scout Regiment, that was until Erwin took over as Commander. Now, it’s commonplace for Alphas and Omegas to work side by side and harmony has prevailed.
That is until one Omega slips up and triggers their first ever heat, that Omega is you…
“Shh, little one. Let me take care of you like you asked. Your skin is divine to touch… soft and smooth. It makes me want to bite it all over,” he admitted. “If you were mine, I would—” Erwin let the sentence falter, not knowing if it was wise to admit exactly what he would do if you were his. Nor did he want to admit just how badly he wanted you to be his.
pairing: Alpha Erwin Smith x Omega female reader
word count: 10.1k (brings snacks and get comfy)
warnings: omegaverse AU, no mention of titans, abundant mentions of heats/ruts, boss/subordinate dynamic, knotting, breeding kink, biting kink, aggression surrounding reader (they remain safe throughout), scenting, protector Erwin, internal conflict, mini appearances of Hange and Levi, spit, mounting, look… it’s a lot of smut and smutty thoughts all the way through 😆
thanks to @littlefreak-1 for volunteering to beta read this behemoth
Before Commander Smith had taken over The Scout Regiment, Omegas had not been allowed to serve within the division. The school of thought was generally that it would not be safe for any Omega to be around a military division largely occupied by Alphas, and not just any Alphas, but some of the strongest and most ferocious.
Erwin disagreed with that idea.
“If any of my soldiers cannot control their nature and act accordingly around an Omega then they do not belong in my ranks. We must protect those that cannot protect themselves and do so without appearing superior. No Scout worth their salt would dare defy me.”
He recalled the stunned silence he was met with when he laid out his reasoning for the draft of new recruits he was bringing into the Scouts. Even his closest ally, Pyxis, had glanced at him with doubtful eyes and a twitching moustache.
It was a brave decision, and he knew that. However, history would not tell the tales of the meek and whilst Commander Smith was not looking for fame or glory, he was certain that this generation of Scouts would become infamous. He would ensure it was for good reason and not from disgrace.
From that moment, Omegas were welcomed into the ranks and two years of peace and harmony ensued.
~
“What seems to be the problem?” Hange asked, lifting their gaze from the clipboard in their hand to peer at you over the rim of their glasses.
“You’re not a doctor. Where’s Doctor Hamilton?”
Hange clicked their teeth and rolled their eyes in exasperation. “She’s out sick. I might not have a doctorate in medicine, but I am the best we have as a stand in until she returns. I have several other patients to see so I suggest you ‘chop chop’ and tell me what you need.” They made a chopping motion with their hands, and you wanted to die right then and there.
This was exactly what you didn’t need.
Hange couldn’t know. They mustn’t know why you were here. You couldn’t afford to be turfed back into the monotonous boredom of clerking for the Military Police. There were only so many transcripts of interrogations of clearly wrongfully imprisoned patsies you could write up.
You had your limits and to go back to ‘The Pen’ as it was not-so-affectionately called, would be enough for you to consider calling your career in the military quits altogether. Then what would your mother say?
The thought of her smug expression and the ‘I told you so’ that would be written plainly across her face was enough to sour the contents of your stomach. She couldn’t understand your desire to venture even a toe out of the safety of the MP and their dedicated Omega squad. It was like being herded sheep. Every second you had hated, once again being judged on only your position on the ladder of power.
When the opportunity for non-alphas to join the ranks of the Scout Regiment arose two years ago, you had worked diligently to secure a transfer. It had not been easy, but was anything worth fighting for ever easy?
It had been nearly a full year since your new post begun and, in your time here, you had never felt more fulfilled in your whole life. You had a job that you didn’t hate, you felt like you were actually making a difference, and most importantly, you had friends. Real, true friends that were not simply others considered of the same social standing.
More so, your most recent post had put you directly into the path of a man you had admired quietly from afar for many many years… Commander Smith was everything you could ever want in a man.
That last thought surprised you, although you had long admitted it to yourself. It was not your place to lust after a man of such high stature, especially not the man in charge of the entire division and your direct superior. What surprised you was that you had allowed it to escape into the frantic hive of your mind.
It was something you had been suppressing since taking the promoted post as Commander Smith’s new personal assistant. You had made a vow to yourself that you would keep your wicked—carnal—thoughts about the blond hulk of an Alpha to yourself. Work was work and the filthy fantasies that played out when you were laying in bed in deepest nighttime were between you and your poor overused vibrator.
“It... doesn’t matter,” you said, standing abruptly.
“Uh, no no. Sit your butt back down and tell me why you asked for this appointment. I was told you indicated it was an emergency,” Hange countered with a frown.
They moved to block your view of the door, eyes narrowing at how you were obviously considering a dash for the exit. This was not helping. A flush ran the course of your spine and spread over your head. Another minute or two and sweat would be leaking from your pores as if you had just emerged from a sauna.
“Fever?” Hange asked curiously.
“Yes! I mean, yes, a fever... that’s it. I think I’m coming down with something.” You clutched at the lifeline they had unwittingly thrown.
Hange reached for a thermometer and the stethoscope laying on the orderly doctor’s desk. They approached slowly, the reassuring smile doing nothing to calm the racing pulse which would be discovered all too soon. They took the necessary measurements and drew back with their nose scrunched.
“It’s none of my business, but a word of advice — you might want to consider using less perfume. The smell is a little overpowering and what with us having a keen sense of smell, it’s probably not wise.”
Oh.
“R-right, sorry,” you stammered shyly.
If Hange only knew the truth of it.
This perfume was the only thing masking the first bloom of your scent. It was faint right now, but soon it would be so potent that Alphas from miles away would catch a whiff on the wind if it was in blowing in the right direction.
There had never been an expectation for Omegas to mask in the Scouts. Suppressants were not a mandated requirement to work here, and as far as you were aware, there had never been any incidents of Alphas overstepping. Of course, things like that could have been kept hush hush from the lowly subordinates, but there was something inherently honest in everyone you had dealings with here in Trost.
You did choose to suppress; a decision you were no longer entirely at ease with. Growing up it had been expected; the monthly injections and daily medication started the very second you entered adolescence. It was tedious.
Perhaps that was why you found yourself in this current predicament—out of suppressants and your monthly injection days away from expiration. Were you subconsciously rebelling?
The more you considered it, the more it made sense. You were in your late twenties now and the thought of experiencing what was meant to be a large part of your societal culture and physiological needs… it didn’t disgust you as it once had when you were younger.
It was just a shame that the only Alpha you wanted was well and truly out of reach.
“Alrighty then. Your core temperature is slightly elevated but not enough for me to be overly concerned. There is no noise on your chest and apart from your pulse being a little quick...” They paused, cutting a curious glance in your direction and making you jump from your wayward thoughts. “I think the best course of action would be a day of bedrest and plenty of hydration. If it gets worse come back and we’ll see about referring the symptoms to Doctor Hamilton for antibiotics to be prescribed.”
Nodding fervently, you stood quickly and surreptitiously steadied your balance with a palm on the wall beside you. The need to be out of this too small room was clawing nails down your skin, a wave of dizziness draining the blood from your face which thankfully went unnoticed as Hange became far more interested in a manilla folder in their hands.
“Thanks. I appreciate you seeing me on short notice, please send my regards to Doctor Hamilton.”
You had never dashed so swiftly to your quarters, only breathing a long sigh of relief once the door was closed behind your back and the lock clicked into place. Slowly, you slid to the floor and curled your arms around your knees.
What am I going to do?
Something stirred inside the depths of your brain, an entity shrouded in sleepy shackles that were ready to snap at any moment. A pulse of heat erupted in your stomach then vanished as fast as it had arrived. You sensed a smile stretching wide in anticipation.
Sleep found you surprisingly easily that night, all your anxieties melting away into insignificance as your body prepared for what was coming. Your silly concerns mattered not to your beastly side, they needed you fresh faced and in peak physical condition.
Your first heat was coming, there would be nothing to stop it this time.
~
Erwin drummed his fingers on the polished cherry wood desk. He was already bored to tears by the man droning on and on about... something or other. Truth be told, he had tuned out soon after the speech started. For this was absolutely a speech and not the informal conversation that had been sold to him initially.
His cool blue eyes glanced to the corner to watch you scribbling furiously on a secretary’s pad, your tongue between your teeth in concentration. He did not envy you this task, especially when he was certain you were under the weather.
“I’m fine, Commander. Please don’t relieve me from duty, I need something to focus on and we both know you don’t want to have to listen to Commander Dok. I’ll scribe just fine, I swear it!”
Erwin was fond of you, more so than he wished to admit.
Only recently had you taken over as his personal secretary when the previous one had retired from active service after finding their mate, a feat he was more than happy to witness since it was far from guaranteed in the world they lived in.
He enjoyed your sharp wit and dedication to the Scouts. Your smile had a way of lighting up the room, although he was certain that was not something he should have taken note of. You were young and enthusiastic, bright eyed and bushy tailed as some might say.
Shakily, you pushed strands of hair that had fallen into your eyes back behind your ear and he felt a deep crease form between his eyebrows. Now that he was looking at you closely, he could see a thin sheen of sweat decorating your skin.
He had to do something, and now.
“Nile, I must apologise for interrupting,” he interjected, lifting a placating hand, “but I have another engagement that I must attend to. I had no idea you wished to take up so much of my time or I would have scheduled a longer appointment. However, given that nothing you have mentioned is especially pressing, I will endeavour to meet with you again next week. How does that sound?”
Nile bristled at being dismissed so readily. “You’ll never not be a pain in my arse, Erwin Smith.”
“Ahem, no need to include that in the transcript,” Erwin said jovially, casting a twinkling smile in your direction which was not returned, much to his disappointment.
Another twenty minutes was spent negotiating with Nile, off record, before the man finally departed. When the office door finally closed, Erwin watched as your posture relaxed and your arm fell limp to your side with the pen still dangling between your fingertips.
“You’re sick,” he stated matter-of-factly.
The Commander rose from his chair and stalked closer, eyeing you carefully to assess your condition. He stopped a few feet from you, sniffing subtly before shaking his head. He was being ridiculous. He had to be.
Your eyes cracked opened slowly to roam around the room before landing on his midsection and rose up up up until you met his piercing blue gaze. If he didn’t know better, he would say you were under the influence of alcohol or something far more illicit. A glaze coated your eyes and turned them… sultry.
Erwin stiffened; his spine lengthened, and his stance fell back to one of familiarity from years in the military. He couldn’t help but watch your chest rise and fall, the rhythm unnaturally fast and it only drew his attention to the top three buttons of your blouse, ones that were normally fastened but were not today.
He should stop.
“I know you said you needed something to focus on, but I cannot have you falling over at your desk. Consider yourself on bedrest for the rest of the week—”
“But Sir! I’m fine,” you interrupted loudly. The shock of his words jolted you upright in your seat and nearly had you toppling out of it altogether just as he had warned.
“Since when do you answer back to your superior like that? This is highly uncharacteristic from you, and I refuse to allow it to continue. You are relieved of all duties until Monday morning, do you hear me?”
He hated being strict when you were so obviously out of sorts. This was not behaviour he had come to expect from you, along with his growing affection, he silently cursed himself when your eyes turned red and misty.
Standing, your head bowed in submission. “Yes, Commander. I apologise for my outburst.”
Erwin clicked his tongue against his teeth and despite thinking better of it, he raised his hand so that two fingers slid beneath your chin. “There is no need for that. All I ask is for you to get better, okay?”
It was a mistake, but one he only realised once it was too late.
A soft purr seemed to emanate from your chest, an enticing sound the likes of which he had not had the pleasure of hearing for the longest time. Erwin pulled his hand back like he had been scorched. The heat of your skin increased tenfold, and for a moment he had the desire to look at his fingertips to see if they did in fact sizzle like how they felt.
He watched you leave; dumbstruck and frozen to the spot as if he had taken root on the antique rug beneath him. It had been so long since he had first-hand experience of an Omega approaching a heat that he almost dismissed the signs as figments of his imagination.
However, the animal inside would not be so gullible.
~
That evening and the following day were a total blur.
You had no real clue how much time had passed since you were dismissed by Commander Erwin, neither did you know what time of day it was currently.
All you knew was that you were too hot and that even the thinnest bedsheet was too much for your overheating body. You writhed atop your mattress, naked and unbearably uncomfortable. The cotton from the fitted sheet was clammy from your sweat, droplets rushing from places you never dreamed of.
For the millionth time, your hands passed over your body and you hissed like a wounded animal when you grazed the stiff peaks of your nipples. You tweaked at them in turn, the painful pleasure echoing between your legs…
Speaking of which, your cunt was completely soaked.
After ruining four consecutive pairs of underwear with the rivers of slick flowing easily from your aching hole, you had endeavoured to remain entirely naked. Nature was preparing you for the only thing that would calm your mind, lift the fog that had descended and satiate your body. The abundance of lubrication present to help your Alpha ease into your body, to feed you their cock and eventually their knot with minimal discomfort.
Except, you didn’t have an Alpha.
It was funny how you knew the symptoms and process of a heat, but the theory was nothing compared to experiencing them first hand. You had no idea how those who chose not to suppress dealt with this routinely. It felt like hot knives were carving through your insides, shredding you apart until you didn’t recognise yourself. The reflection in the mirror would be someone—something else.
Distantly, you heard knocks coming from the door to your quarters, but you paid it little attention. It wasn’t like you could walk the short distance to it anyway, nor were you in any state to answer. Voices followed the knocks which grew in determination.
Hange, maybe? You couldn’t be sure. Although, you wouldn’t put it past Commander Smith to send someone to check in on you, especially if he discovered you had visited the temporary doctor recently as well as your outburst in his office.
All you could do was roll over onto your side and press your palm between your thighs, stimulating the bundle of nerves with the heel of your hand in an effort to ease the continuous throbbing sensation. You screwed your eyes shut, the black of your eyelids turning into a kaleidoscope of colours until they formed a figure—a figure you were well acquainted with—and had no right to be thinking about in this context.
Commander Erwin Smith’s silhouette shook like a desert mirage until it thickened and materialised in your mind’s eye. If you strained enough, you could smell the scent of his understated cologne and beneath that, his unique musk that was all him.
Those natural pheromones that dominated all others and highlighted his status as Alpha. Not just any Alpha, but one of the most powerful Alphas in Trost. The Alpha you admired the most if you let the little voice in your head speak freely.
Your nose twitched again, and your eyes shot wide as you realised it was stronger when you moved your head closer to the edge of the bed.
On the floor lay your blouse and skirt, the ones you had worn during his meeting with Commander Dok. Without hesitation, you grabbed up the blouse and held it beneath your nose to inhale deeply.
There it was.
A spicy scent unlike any other. It was warming and comforting, for the first time in, you didn’t know how long, you could breathe a little easier and the heavy feeling in your heart and gut lightened. You nuzzled the blouse. Holding it against each cheek in turn before returning it to your nose.
Why couldn’t you scent it directly from his skin? It wasn’t fair. You could bury your nose in the hollow of his throat. Lick lazily at the prominent bob of his Adam’s apple. Grind your feverish body against his until he was hard and ready to take you.
You should stop pretending.
Gods… what were you doing?
There was no denying the primal desires swirling like a building vortex in your brain. You wanted to be full, stretched to the breaking point. You needed to be bred like the good little Omega you were. You wanted a knot so badly you could cry.
None of these were thoughts you had experienced before and had you been in your right mind, they would have shocked you right down to the core.
Delicate shaky fingers sought out your aching hole, two slipping easily past the ring of muscles until your knuckles were lodged against the gumminess of your walls, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
Without an Alpha here to pin you down and split you wide, you would suffer. Without Erwin here to smother you with his impressive weight, you would continue to feel bereft. Wronged by a universe that danced to its own tune without thought for those affected.
Yes, it would pass eventually, but you doubted your sanity would be intact when that time finally arrived. A hurt-sounding howl escaped your throat, a lament aimed at a world that was proving to be unfair and unjust.
With a final wail, you curled in on yourself and fell into a pain-filled sleep. All the while, the commotion on the other side of your quarters door continued unabated.
~
Erwin had not needed to be notified of the ruckus kicking off in the living quarters assigned to secretarial and support personnel. He could hear it from all the way in his office. At first, he assumed it would be dealt with as all other little scuffles were, but after ten minutes, his concern heightened.
He was met with a very red-faced soldier whom he could not recall the name of. “Commander! We have a situation. Captain Levi sent me to find you… there is, well—”
“Spit it out, we don’t have all day.” Erwin demanded, barely halting in his purposeful strides in the direction of the noise. He could hear arguing, but almost above the rabble, a soft howl of distress caught his attention. It sounded familiar, and his pace quickened.
“An Omega… they are going into a heat. It seems to have riled those living in close proximity.”
Erwin stalled. “What?”
Fury bleed from his pores. Had they all lost their damn minds? This wasn’t the first heat to happen since Erwin’s command, and there had never been this level of disorder. He rounded the final corner and was confronted by six men in various states of dress, some with visible injuries on their faces and hands and at the door which he assumed led to the Omega in question, Levi stood on an overturned chair looking equal parts haughty and furious.
“Enough!” Erwin bellowed over the heated voices. “Pull yourselves together or I will be forced to take further action.”
An awkward silence descended almost immediately. The power of his voice along with the blast of authority he projected towards the troublemakers was more than enough to have their metaphorical tails lying limp between their legs.
“About damn time,” Levi snarled.
He leapt to the floor and shouldered past two engineers with matching bruises blooming purple beneath their eyes. They dared to bare their teeth, but remained silent, nonetheless. Levi seemed oblivious, or more likely he considered them so far removed from a threat that he took no note.
Levi’s eyes cut up to Erwin, an eyebrow arching at the high blush that was slowly coating the Commander’s cheeks. He knew what had caused the pandemonium and what shamed him the most was his inability to remain unaffected.
A first heat.
They were special for most Omegas and could be extremely traumatising if not handled delicately and in the right way. From experience, Erwin knew that it was commonplace for Omegas who were unattached to seek out help from other Omegas in their family or close friends. They could ride out the worst of the heat whilst knowing they were safe and being cared for, but this… he couldn’t imagine what they were going through whilst trapped in a den of literal wolves.
“You can smell it, right?” Levi whispered out of earshot of the others. “It’s a first heat and I must be honest; I am barely hanging on myself. Hange sought me out when they couldn’t raise an answer at the door, and by the time we returned… well, this was the scene. Some of the men were tearing at each other to get to the door and they had started to break it in places. Apparently, she presented at the clinic three days ago under the guise of a fever, Hange now suspects that they were suppressing and had run out of the drugs. She seemed unwilling to admit it to Hange, perhaps because they are an Alpha and Doctor Hamilton is not.”
A fever? Oh no. With alarming clarity, the puzzle pieces fell into place. Erwin knew why the howl he had heard seemed familiar, why the scent of arousal mingled with pheromones tickled his nose in such a way that he was struggling to stop himself from huffing the air like the men now forcibly being returned to their rooms.
It was his sweet little personal assistant. You weren’t sick, you were in need, and he could help you.
No! He mustn’t. He would control himself, but he could at least ensure you were safe.
“You there,” he gestured to the bloodied men who were starting to disperse. “Find cots in the dormitory for tonight, I cannot trust that you won’t try this again and I will personally cut down anyone who tries to enter these quarters without express permission. Captain Levi will escort you.”
Erwin turned to Levi and ignored the scowl emblazoned across his face. “See that the dormitories are guarded by those you trust the most and have everyone in this part of the wing relocated for the next night or two.”
“Don’t go in there, Erwin.” Levi’s warning was barely above a whisper.
The Commander clapped a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder and moved past him towards the barely intact door. “And Levi? Ask Miche to replace this door within the hour,” he asked calmly without acknowledging the words of warning, stepping directly into the breach.
For once he wasn’t going toe to toe with powerful enemies, he was facing a different beast altogether and somehow, he was more nervous about this situation than any battle he had participated in…
Your small apartment space was orderly with minimal decorations, but he noted a family photograph nailed to the wall and an arrangement of plush cushions resembling animals piled up on the cramped little couch.
His gaze swivelled absently around the room, in truth, he was doing everything in his power not to make a direct line for the bedroom. Your scent hung like thick molasses now that he was inside, hands fisting by his sides to remain where he stood. Erwin was the master of his body, not his instincts but the fight was not a fair one on this occasion.
He had never smelled anything quite as inviting, and that was entirely the problem. Whilst, he had had partners in the past, even gone through a heat or two, none of them tempted him in the way he felt tempted right this second. It was as if the scent was visible on the air, seductive tendrils writhing around him and beckoned him to move closer to the source.
It was as if all his favourite sweet treats from his childhood had melted into one tantalising scent crafted especially for him. Saliva gathered behind his clenched teeth. German chocolate cake. Fire roasted marshmallow. Raspberry jam straight from the jar. He wanted to drink it down like a man discovering a bountiful oasis after days without water. It made him feel younger, though he was hardly past his prime, but the scent invigorated his heart until he was certain he could best the top cadet in a foot race.
If someone told him that the vapour was tickling him beneath the chin, he would believe it.
After several moments of calming breaths which did little to actually calm his nerves, Erwin dared to venture deeper. He told himself that he needed to assess your condition, which was true, but if his instincts could speak, they would announce loudly their desire to catch a whiff of your scent directly from the honeypot.
The bedroom was dark, though it mattered little given his ability to see well in low lighting, and what he saw on the bed, stopped his heart for what felt like a full minute. A huddled mass lay in the very centre, your body in the foetal position with a hand buried between your legs and the other arm covering your naked breasts.
He should look away.
He should stop staring at your skin glistening with dewdrops of sweat and sticky slick pooling beneath you.
He should cover your vulnerability and walk away, leave this to someone else, but there was no one he trusted to handle this situation in his stead.
Your breathing was even and deep, a blessing given your predicament. As voices approached in the hallway outside, Erwin snapped out of his drunken stupor and did the first thing that came to mind. He pulled off his jacket and laid it over your body. It barely reached mid-thigh, but it would do.
With your modesty protected, somewhat, he retreated to oversee the work on your door being replaced. What he didn’t see was the smile of contentment on your face and the visible relief of being draped in his scent loosening the tight ache of your muscles.
In sleep you burrowed into the jacket warmed by his blood.
~
It was the sound of pages being turned in a book that roused you. It shouldn’t have, given how carefully the reader was being to not make noise, but the ache in your gut had returned and the fatigue was no longer severe enough to allow you to sleep on.
For a long moment you kept your eyes carefully closed, wondering what it was that weighed so nicely over your body and kept the worst of your current dilemma at bay. It felt like being held by a loved one, as if you were young once more and your mother was wrapping you in her protective and caring embrace.
“You’re awake.”
Commander Smith’s rich baritone rumbled from somewhere behind you. It froze the very blood in your veins until another wave of desire pulsed through you, causing you to writhe and buck, to your shame. Not him. Anyone but him.
Lies! You want him most of all… don’t deny it.
You couldn’t look at him—not now. Instead, you steeled your voice and spoke to the wall. “Commander Smith… why are you in my bedroom?”
“I apologise if you have the wrong impression, however, my presence was rather necessary given your… predicament,” Erwin supplied, sounding more uneasy than you had ever heard him. “I must be honest with you because that is only fair.”
He sighed and the sound caused a moan to bubble inside your throat, barely caught before it slipped out. Biting down on the inside of your cheek, you waited for him to continue not only because you needed to know, but the sound of his voice soothed you in ways you didn’t wish to examine closer.
“Your heat triggered some displays of aggression amongst your neighbours. There may have been attempts made at getting to you, but do not worry,” Erwin stressed when he saw how you tensed on the bed. “Your door has been replaced, and I will personally ensure your safety until it has passed.”
“Aggression? You’re telling me that—oh fuck.” All rational thought and ability to speak coherently died on a single spasm between your thighs. You should be absolutely appalled that anyone had tried to get inside your quarters without permission, but that animalistic instinct reared its head and grinned wickedly into the dark space of your mind.
It was what you needed. To be taken, filled, consumed… bred.
“Don’t speak right now, it’ll pass so just breathe for me,” Erwin coaxed softly whilst the sound of a chair creaked as it was dragged across a wooden floor. “A first heat can be very difficult. I assume you have suppressed since adolescence—you don’t need to answer. I-I don’t have any personal experience to draw upon, but I will do whatever it takes to help you through this.”
Fuck me… you thought, enraged that you wanted it so badly that you were chewing your lips bloody from speaking it aloud. Your spine bowed at the ripples of heat spreading outward from your centre to the ends of your fingers and toes, to the top of your head.
“Can you walk? I’ve run a lukewarm bath which might help cool you down.”
“No. Commander—you shouldn’t…” You broke off on a sob, wracked with another wave of scorching fire attacking the insides of your thighs at the steady drip of slick covering your skin.
“Please, it’s Erwin. Given the situation, I don’t think formalities are necessary right now. I’m going to lift you into my arms, okay? I’ll be gentle and you may hold on as tightly as you need to. Once I’ve got you in the bath, I will step outside to give you some privacy.”
The bath water was just cool enough that you sighed happily as the water sloshed over you. It was no comparison to the relief you felt whilst held in Erwin’s careful arms, but simply thinking of how easily your arms had wound around his neck gave you shivers of a completely different kind.
You did your best to refute all those lustful thoughts from months of working closely with the Commander. Of course, you hadn’t noticed how broad his shoulders were or how the short undercut at the nape of his neck tickled your fingertips when you held on. Nope. Nada.
Your nose was growing at an alarming rate with all this lying.
Through drooped lids you watched whilst he glanced around your meagre bathroom looking for goodness knows what. He was too large, too imposing for such a cramped space but despite it all, you liked him in here—wanted him to stay.
Where others may have taken full advantage of having a naked Omega within reach, not to mention an Omega in heat, Erwin had shown you nothing but diligent care. It made you wonder if your state bothered him at all, and somehow the thought that it might not… well, that bothered you.
He was an Alpha; shouldn’t he want you?
“Stay… please?” You purred when he made to exit and give you the privacy he had promised.
Erwin paused in the doorway. His piercing artic eyes roamed your face and dipped towards the fluttering pulse in your neck but ventured no further. You could see the tic in his cheek work at the same time his jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared. He was fighting himself.
One soapy hand reached for his clenched fist, bubbles dripping across his knuckles until the fingers finally—finally—loosened and gently entwined with yours.
“I shouldn’t,” he breathed more to himself.
You hummed in a half agreement, bolstered by the need thrumming through your body. “But you will, won’t you? Sit here.”
Erwin awkwardly perched on the corner of the tub before reaching for the towel he had laid out for you to wipe his wet hand. There were wrinkles in his normally crisp shirt, the top buttons unfastened and the bolo tie that rested around his throat suspiciously absent. This was by far the most casual you had been afforded to see him. You guessed not many had received such a luxury.
“Does it hurt?” he asked whilst he began to roll his sleeves towards the bend at his elbows. It was hard to follow the movements given he was sat near your shoulder, but you twisted enough to keep some of him in view, sloshing water in the process.
You took a second to assess, listening to the competing demands being screamed in your mind and body. This was certainly the most lucid you had felt since the heat had started, and you had an inkling that Erwin’s presence had a lot to do with it.
Would you ever be able to express your gratitude?
In short, yes it did hurt. However, there was a will to prove that you were not so easily overcome or beaten down. A sly voice echoed around your mind, purring and shunting you to ask for more of your Commander—far more than you had any right to.
“Not badly, I guess. But you could make it better… if you were inclined to. I think I would like it very much,” you urged gently, once more finding his hand and leading it towards the rippling surface of the bath.
Erwin didn’t stop you.
He didn’t seem to breathe or blink. Blindly, he allowed for his fingers to skim the water before breaking the surface and slipping over the wet flesh covering your shoulder. His cock strained against his underwear and trousers; the rigid length trapped along his thigh whilst thick pearls of precum oozed out to stain the heavy fabric.
He had been aroused since he first identified your scent, more so when he felt your heat descend over his like a vaporous fog. Finding you naked in bed had not fed his desire, if anything, it infuriated him and roused his protective nature.
Now that you were awake and calm enough to speak without letting out whines of distress or angry expletives… now he was truly struggling to maintain his composure.
“Do you have any idea what you are asking of me?” he murmured, wet fingertips tracing swirling patterns over your collarbone and across your clavicle. One pad dipped into the hollow of your throat, eliciting a soft moan that nearly broke him.
If you responded, he didn’t hear it.
You were sweltering to the touch; the lightly perfumed oil he had added to the water slicked your skin so the journey down your chest was made all the easier. His fingers skirted over the mounds of your breasts, avoiding your nipples although you did your best to thrust upward and force his hand so to speak.
Erwin’s tongue clicked against his teeth in a commanding tsk. “Behave.”
He continued to explore you, slowly and methodically. It was bliss. It was torture. Your head rested against the tiled backsplash; eyes closed as you concentrated solely on the sensation of his hand on you. Erwin traced the sides of your breasts down to your soft stomach; he circled your navel then ventured back up to give attention to your neglected nipples.
His breathing was more of pant when he tweaked your tender little nub between a rough finger and thumb. Your eyebrows creased when he pulled it taut and tugged firmly, the echo of the sensation causing your clit to throb in unison. It was difficult not to wriggle but you wanted to be good for him, to behave as he had asked.
“Com—Erwin… please? It hurts so bad.”
“Shh, little one. Let me take care of you like you asked. Your skin is divine to touch… soft and smooth. It makes me want to bite it all over,” he admitted. “If you were mine, I would—” Erwin let the sentence falter, not knowing if it was wise to admit exactly what he would do if you were his. Nor did he want to admit just how badly he wanted you to be his.
“You would… what?” You tried to cajole, moving just enough so that his fingertips brushed the opposite nipple, and you let out a long exhale of relief.
He couldn’t deny you, not in this matter or any other, not right now. It was funny how there was a systemic flaw in society’s hierarchy. Alphas were meant to be the ones on top, but it wasn’t always true and especially not for those who found their mates. Omegas held the power and never was it more evident than this moment here.
Erwin Smith was your superior in the literal sense. He was the Commander of the Scout Regiment, and he held responsibility for every soldier and support worker under his command. Yet here he was in the tiny bathroom of his assistant—his direct subordinate—with his hand submerged to the elbow and his cock so hard he wanted to tear the damn thing off.
You held all the cards, and you didn’t even know it, because if you did then there was no way you wouldn’t have already pounced given the instincts running through you.
“I shouldn’t be saying this, but,” he enthused when you started to whine pitifully. “I would not have allowed for you to become as delirious as you did. It must have been agony, and you were alone—I don’t like that. Any heat can be torture to endure if you deny yourself the only plausible relief, not to mention this is your first. If you were my… mate.”
Erwin paused again; aware his hand had moved without his prior notice. He was cupping your cunt in his palms, stretching and flexing his thick fingers along the seam of your labia. With ease he sought and located your jittery bundle of nerves, circling the pad of his thumb with slow, deliberate strokes.
“Tell me, Commander— ‘wanna know how you’d treat your mate.”
“Mm. I’d have taken a leave of absence the second the signs of your cycle came to light. I’d bite that lovely creamy skin at your neck where the scent gland resides, hold you in my jaws whilst I fed my cock into your drenched cunt. I’d have loved you exactly as you deserve—worshipped every inch of your scorched skin with my mouth and hands. Whispered words of devotion into your ear until I was ready to give you my knot, and more importantly, when you were ready to take it. I’d have you come time and again until you were properly sated,” he admitted with a heated growl.
You mewled at the images he fed you, his words dripping with hungry conviction and accompanied by the ministrations of his skilful hand playing between your thighs like a damn savant.
Your imagination ran at full speed imagining the knot he would give you, of the painful pleasure from his sharpened teeth piercing the scent gland at your neck and how you wished it was the mating mark he was leaving you.
As two thick digits worked inside your aching, needy hole you thought of the fullness that would come with having his cockhead buried against the neck of your womb. Gods, you wanted to be split in half until his name was carved into your gummy walls. The searing heat of being stuffed to capacity that would be far more pleasurable, unlike the current stinging sensation you were experiencing.
You grasped at Erwin’s forearm and revelled at how the muscles flexed as he continued to pump two fingers into you, his thumb aggressively rubbing at your swollen pearl. It was just enough to bring you to the peak, the waters barely disrupted, Erwin working furiously but only from the wrist down.
“You’ve no idea how badly I want to climb into this damned tub and make you take me. I won’t. I swear it. I’ll protect you and keep you safe… from me. It’s okay. That’s it—there we go. Feel it consume you.”
He was babbling—switching rapidly between commanding and anxious. His large frame threw a shadow over you; bending more he buried his nose into your hair and inhaled deeply. You thought he might have whimpered but you were too far gone to be certain. Your nails dug bloody marks into his arm, encouraging him on until you gave one final shuddering spasm and broke apart like a star finally imploding.
Tears burned in your eyes. Your stomach contracted over and over whilst you rode out a high that didn’t last nearly as long as you had hoped it would. The desire in your gut rekindled like a dying fire fed oxygen.
What had been enough no longer was.
“Erwin… please. I’ll be so good for you, don’t hold back. I want—I need it all. Everything you described! The fullness. The bite. I want to feel your weight pressing me down, dominating me. Can you...? I just want to know what it’s like,” you wailed in utter misery, absolutely convinced that he would deny you.
“I’m a nobody,” you continued, releasing your grip on his arm to wipe at your tears. “I appreciate you even going this far. I’ll never be able to look you in the eye again, but I’ll always be grateful for this. You’re a good man, Commander Smith, I’ve admired you for years.”
His laughter warmed your heart just a little. It was robust and genuine, and whilst you wanted to turn and see for yourself what expression he wore, you didn’t want to witness pity—not from him. “You can go. Just leave me a towel and I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll sleep it off or—”
Erwin’s hand twitched and you almost yelped, biting into your tongue until you tasted coppery blood. His fingers slid along the wet pulsing length of your gummy walls and slowly rose from the water. You closed your eyes, turning away when you felt him rise to his feet.
You didn’t expect him to say anything.
You certainly didn’t expect two muscled arms to plunge into the waters and lift you up and out in one smooth action. Dripping wet from shoulders to toes, you soaked his pristine uniform shirt. Only then did you dare to peek up, and the look Erwin levelled at you… it stole your breath.
Those clever blue eyes were alight with cool fire—the flames licking around his swollen, lust-blown pupils. The thick set of his eyebrows were draw close together and he looked positively furious, but in a way that only made you squeeze your thighs together all the more.
“Don’t you ever—ever—call yourself a nobody. I may be the Commander here but behind every great figure are those in the shadows who make that figure shine brightly. My ma—I mean, my assistant is brave and beautiful,” he declared with absolute conviction.
Words alluded you.
Every single thought, other than the animal voice begging you to cling to this Alpha with every available ounce of strength and never let go, had fled. Not that you needed to speak, not when he strode from your bathroom with determined steps.
Erwin lowered you to the stained sheets of your bed and stood back with an apologetic look. “I’d offer to change them but there would be no point. We’d merely end up ruining a second set.”
The heat of your body had dried most of the water from your skin, all except the thick, tacky arousal coating your tender pussy and streaking the insides of your thighs. His head canted left when you spread your legs, bending at the knees so that he could see the most intimate part of you on full display.
“Little minx,” he teased with a wry smile. His fingers fumbled at the buckle of his belt and your gaze raked him in hungrily. “Warm yourself up for me, won’t you?”
There was no modicum of inhibition left in you. You were working on pure instinct and when you were told to warm yourself, you did just that. The heel of your palm rotated against your clit whilst you spread the lips of your pussy apart and let the fingertips fuck an inch into your cunt.
Your eyes remained glued to the man at the end of your bed. He was a powerhouse of strength and virility, thick chested and decorated with battle scars. You longed to run your fingers and tongue across each faded silvery scar—to show him just how much you appreciated his every sacrifice. Erwin shucked out of his trousers and underwear in record time, but it was not before you noted the large stains on both thighs. It made your smile turn saccharine, sultry and feminine.
The length of his cock sprung upward to smack wetly against his abdomen, but the weight was too much to stand, which left the impressive sight to hang heavily between his thighs. The golden hair on his torso seemed to glisten despite the lack of a light source in the room, and perhaps it was a trick of your eyes. He rolled his neck from side to side, never once breaking his concentration on how you were toying with yourself at his command.
He fisted his swollen cock, rolling the foreskin back until the beating red tip shone from the arousal dripping out the slit. Thick veins pulsed beneath his calloused fingers as he gave a few cursory pumps, moving his grip to his heavy pendulous balls to tug them loose from where they had nestled tightly near the base.
Muscles that only came with age, experience and dedication rolled beneath his skin, smattered by those lovely coarse hairs that you wanted to feel against your cheeks. Erwin was a handsome man, that you had always known, but naked he was even more glorious—a chiselled God.
Saliva pooled in your mouth, and you swore it seemed like your teeth elongated at the simple thought of biting into the solid wall that was his chest. His biceps. The cords in his neck. His strong jawline. Everything.
Your appreciation did not go unnoticed. If anything, it made his chest puff with pride that you would find him so attractive. For the first time in years, he had no desire to put aside his wants in favour of someone else’s.
Erwin wanted you entirely, and whilst he was certain you didn’t understand the full implication of that, he would take his time. Courting you would be a slow waltz, not some frenzied race to the finish line.
He appreciated how contrary that was given he was about to fuck you into a drooling coma, but the situation called for a drastic intervention to alleviate the both of you. It had been many years since his instincts ruled him. Your intoxicatingly sweet musk had bewitched him thoroughly.
Erwin felt like a young man again—in his prime. Back when his mind did not rule his body with an iron fist.
“If you want this,” he tugged on his shaft for emphasis, “you’ll get on your knees and present like a good Omega.”
Stepping close enough that his shins met the edge of the mattress, he observed you scrambling into position, his tongue wetting the plush of his bottom lip. He hadn’t tasted your mouth yet, something he would remedy at the earliest opportunity. Right now, you would nip and bite and snap at him, something he liked, but your first kiss should be more restrained than that.
“That’s it. Good girl… look at you dripping for me. Fuck—sway your hips like that again and we won’t leave this room until you’re round and full of my pups.”
You dropped to your elbows when you felt the bed dip behind you. Your molten cheek came to rest on the sticky sheets, the angle just enough to cut your eyes up and see him approach.
Commander Smith.
Erwin.
Alpha.
He filled his broad palms with the fat of your rump, stretching you wide until your cunt flexed in want, pushing out slick in anticipation. Erwin thumbed at your entrance before raising a hand to his mouth and licking the flat of his palm right to the tips of his fingers. The saliva felt that much hotter when it connected with your needy flesh.
You’d be mortified by the obscene squelch of your juices and his spit mingling together if you were in your right mind. It was filthy—pure and simple.
What you couldn’t see was Erwin coating himself in your abundant arousal, viscous strands succumbing to gravity to drip over his balls. He was breathing heavily now, the muscles taut in his neck and shoulders with the restraint of not being inside you. A wide mitt of a hand rested at your hip, massaging whilst he shuffled closer and let the weight of his tip notch at your cunt.
“Erwin—please! Need it now. I might di—oh my fuccccckk!”
The stretch was immediate despite how well primed you were. You knew he was thick, heavy, long… but the girth was the real killer. His cock bullied into you, inch by slow inch.
“Ha-! Don’t… squirm. You wanted this, right?”
Erwin clenched his fist to prevent the warning smack he nearly inflicted on your peachy butt. He was a lot to take, he knew that, and you were not accustomed to him—not yet.
You would learn in time. He would ruin you for anyone else.
Sweat dripped along your spine at the sweltering heat of his body engulfing yours. Erwin draped himself over you like a personal blanket, his lips and tongue and teeth exploring your skin and marking you in places you would have to contort to be able to see in the mirror come tomorrow.
“Taste divine. Smell like nirvana. Gods, your cunt is moulded to me, sweetheart. Can you feel me here?” he asked with a thrust that made your knees wobble and stars spark in your eyes. He was lodged right at your cervix, just as you had imagined when all this began, although not from the man in question.
“Uh-huh!”
It was all you could manage, drool slipping past the seam of your lips as Erwin set a pace that suited him. It wasn’t the frantic fuck you expected, neither was it slow nor deliberate like his fingers had been in the bath. What he managed to achieve was a combination of pace and force that knocked the air from your lungs each time he impaled you fully. It left you whining for him when he retreated, and soon the sensation of his balls swinging directly against your swollen little nub became so overwhelming that you were certain you wouldn’t last long.
As if he sensed your dilemma, he grunted mid-stroke and reassured you as he said, “Follow your instinct. Let your body do what it wants, what it needs. I want to feel you try to milk me.”
Erwin grunted; jaw clenched tightly. His knot was inflating, and he didn’t feel anywhere near ready for this to be over. Rationally, he knew that once would not be enough for you. There would more time to kiss and fuck and touch and learn, but he still clung to this first time like it really was his very first time.
In a way it was. It was his first time with you. It would not be his last.
The intensity of your orgasm nearly had him lose his bearing, if his wrist hadn’t caught the brunt of his weight then you would have been flattened into the mattress beneath him.
Your cunt was a greedy little thing—sucking and pulsing around his cock with little room for him to retreat. All he could do was ride out the pleasure through gritted teeth and determination not to blow his load like some young pup.
“Bi—Bite. Bite me!”
Christ… you were temptation and sin, and love and beauty all wrapped in one body.
Erwin scented along your back, mounting you like any animal would and dragging the prominent ridge of his nose over the fluttering pulse in your neck. It was beating wildly, a rhythm unique to you and he hummed his appreciation when you turned to give him more access. “Here?” he asked unnecessarily.
You chewed your lip, near delirious from the warmth and continued fullness of his cock sawing in and out of your core. He was licking the scent gland that attracted all Alphas to Omegas and Omegas to Alphas, but it was not the one on the other side that only those considered mates would bite and mark.
“Y-yes.”
A lie. He could smell it.
“Are you sure?”
“I-I… of course!”
Erwin smiled into your skin and sighed, knowing he was reaching his limit. “You are not being honest with me, but that’s okay. I won’t press you right now, we will have time.”
“Oh god. This won’t be enough?” You whimpered in realisation, shame coating your features and you were glad he couldn’t see how flushed your face was.
“Can you feel my knot growing?”
You nodded once, meekly, and he continued. “Once I plug you as nature intended, you will be fine for a good few hours, certainly until we can part safely. It’ll be enough for you to sleep and actually rest, but no… it will not be enough. I’m not going anywhere, darling.”
“But you have duties! You’re the fucking Commander… why are you laughing?” you asked with an evident pout.
“I think you’ll find you’re fucking the Commander.”
“Really? We’re really going to do dad level jokes whilst you’re balls deep and I’m desperate for you to bite my damn neck and knot me? Hey—mmm.”
Your wits scattered once again as Erwin spread his weight further, mounting you more fully than you thought possible. He braced one palm at the small of your spine and his jaw snapped wide.
His teeth grazed your earlobe, the sharp points travelling past the carotid artery until his hot breath huffed out in a wave of heat that tickled down your spine. He was losing his pace, hips beginning to snap harsher against your perfectly plump rear in a faltering tempo. You held your breath as you sensed the moment near.
He was so deep—so damn deep in your guts. Erwin lunged for you, his jaw stretched, and his perfectly pointed canines pierced into your flesh like a hot knife through butter. It made you tense all over, your walls clamping down around his ready to burst cock and it tripped his orgasm with a blinding flash. Heat unlike anything you had ever experienced speared your insides, and for a second it felt like your innards might be cooked alive.
Wave after wave of cum painted the neck of your womb. Your neck throbbed from where he held you in his beastly maw. His tongue lapped at the skin trapped between his teeth, soothing the hurt in any way he could whilst he grunted and growled spilling inside you endlessly.
You could feel the knot ballooning. It travelled further into your body, and you’d be damned if you could accurately describe the sensation. In simple terms it felt like you were being filled and stretched to the very limit of your body’s elasticity.
Finally, it came to rest right where it was needed most. A stopper for any seed escaping and you knew that it could be some time before you could untangle from each other. The orgasm from having Erwin’s potent essence flood your cunt was unlike any other.
It felt like it soothed the animal inside and sent it into a tranquil slumber. With a final cry of bliss, your knees slid out from under you and sent you both falling the final few inches to the mattress below.
Erwin licked over the wound he had inflicted, wincing at the harsh purple bite mark and dribbles of blood oozing sluggishly from the shallow wound. Hooking an arm around your front, he shifted you both, so his weight was no longer suffocating you, shushing your little whimpers when the repositioning slightly moved how you were joined.
“Sleep, my pretty little Omega. Let me watch over you.” Let me trace my fingertips over the curve of your shoulder, memorise the position of every freckle and divot in your skin.
He left those parts out, afraid of overwhelming you. Fearful that you might agree to things simply because of his power and position. There was no doubt in his mind that you were his mate, but could you say the same about him?
Erwin listened to your breathing even out, the heat dissipating from your skin until you were comfortable enough to nuzzle your face into the crook of his elbow beneath you. Strands of your hair fell across your eyes, and he was careful to move them aside to watch your eyelashes flutter in sleep.
What a lie it was… that an Alpha had all the power.
You could make or break him completely. You were the Goddess in his world and the fear of not being enough for you tore at his heart. He dropped his head to your shoulder and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come and soothe him like it was for you.
“I can’t wait to kiss you under the moonlight. When you accept me as your man, your mate, your Alpha.
I will change this world for the better… for you.”
Lines of thought that seem Normal but are actually rooted in extreme puritanism:
-Seeing the nude human body is inherently traumatic
-Sex scenes in art are pointless
-Wearing kink-related clothing in public is the similar to performing a sex scene in front of unwilling participants
-Depicting female characters expressing sexuality is always degrading
-People's sexual fantasies are always an endorsement of the behavior they want to see in real life
-Sex work is more traumatic and coercive than other types of work
The goal is to treat sex as just another thing people do. That is a much healthier attitude than hiding it! It's not uniquely traumatic, it's not weird to talk about it or include it in society.
