Rolan being a service sub.
That's it.
That's the ask.
âThatâs it, thatâs the ask.â Thank you prompter⌠I did not exactly match your short and sweet energy. In fact, this turned out quite long - but I hope you enjoy! (I think I'll also put this up on AO3 as a Rolan x Reader fic, title TBC. If you're on AO3 and want to off-anon yourself, I'll happily mark it as a gift - but no worries if you'd rather not!)
tags - sub Rolan, D/s, brief bloodplay mention, collars, rimming, overstimulation. 2392 words.
Sometimes, Rolan gets in a strange mood. Helping you almost insistently, begging you to take it easy. Itâs often when youâve been out, defending Baldurâs Gate from some new menace - an adventurerâs work is never done - but just as often it seems to accompany him staying up late, as if he fears having neglected you.
Coming back from an exhausting day of fighting ghouls, you find him waiting behind the counter of the closed-up Sundries, ostensibly taking inventory. The moment he sees you, he drops the scroll heâs holding and Misty Steps to your side, before kneeling at your feet.
âAh⌠Rolan?â you ask, smiling. âHow about a welcome home kiss?â
Not that he doesnât look nice like that, youâre just surprised. Even more so when, instead of rising to give you a kiss, he throws his head between your legs, kissing your thigh.
âYou must be tired,â he says hastily. âAllow me to take off your boots. Please.â
Thereâs a twinge of something so desperate, so needy in that last word, that you feel the heat stir inside you.
âWell,â you murmur, stroking his hair. Pulling it a little, until he gasps and the softest whine escapes. âBe quick about it. I want a bath.â
Rolanâs breath catches, and he stands up, an anxious frown on his face.
âI will heat one for you -â
Snatching his wrist in the nick of time - interrupting the beginning of another Misty Step incantation - you pull him close, cupping his face in your hand. His jaw relaxes a little beneath your fingers, but he still looks tense.
âIs everything alright?â
âOf course,â he snaps, and then bites his tongue. âI thought you liked me like this,â he murmurs, looking a little unsure.
âI do,â you tell him, stroking his cheek softly. âVery much. Itâs just⌠unusual for you. Obeying me without putting up an argument about it.â
âMust I always be myself?â
Itâs asked with a rake of one pointed canine over his lip, his expression tired. Frustrated even - but not at you.
âRolan,â you murmur. âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to imply - I know thereâs more to you than that.â
You kiss him gently, lips brushing his, letting the soft pressure of his lips part yours. His are closed, but as your tongue flickers over their surface he tilts his mouth into yours, asking for more.
âI was just worried. That you felt you had to earn something from me.â
He shakes his head, eyes closed, and frantically seeks another kiss. Your tongue presses deep into him this time, fingers curling in the soft twists of his hair.
When at last you break apart, you keep hold of him there, guiding his head down.
âBoots first. And then a bath.â
'Of course.â
Sinking to the floor, he begins his deft work on your laces, elegant fingers dancing across the eyelets. When both of them are loose, you put your foot on his thigh and wait for him to tug each one off in succession, watching his brow furrow as if this is the most important task in the world. Perhaps you should sink into that feeling too. Why should he be doing anything else in this moment than worshipping you, serving you, adoring you? You deserve this.
Your heel digs in a little on his thigh, and he whimpers.
âYouâre beautiful,â you tell him.
His eyes flick up to you, widening into oceans of gilded brilliance.
âYou are beautiful. I am -â
Kicking your other boot off, you bend down, seizing his jaw.
â- not allowed to refuse a compliment,â you warn him, finishing his sentence. The cold, silvery blade in your voice does its job. Rolan nods, taking a deep, shivering breath.
'What should I do next?'
'Pour me a bath. A hot one. I'll be down in a moment.'
Heading to your room, you strip off the last of your combat clothes and rummage in a drawer full of trinkets from your travels. There it is. A beautiful collar you found in the Underdark, glowing with Draconic ruins. Admittedly, it might have been intended for a dog; but it looks big enough for Rolan's neck. And he would look so pretty in it.
Scents both woody and floral swirl through the air, rising from the bath tub steam, enveloping you in their heady grasp as you slip through one of the Tower's many magic portals into the cool stone of the Vault bathroom.
Rolan hastens over, eyes downcast.
'I have prepared it for you. Should I -'
'Rolan,' you interrupt. 'Look at me.'
He does. How obedient of him... although before his eyes meet yours, they brush over your naked form, and he subdues an eager flicker in his tail.
'Strip,' you command him.
'Is that collar for me?'
You slip your fingers back into his hair, about to remind him to follow your orders; but you don't get as far as pulling it. He's already rushing to rip off his robes, yanking with an uncharacteristic lack of care at the collar buttons.
'Good,' you whisper, letting him go.
In a moment, his clothes are discarded in a red-and-blue linen pool at his feet, his sharp toenails curling into the ground. Naked, he looks anxiously at you for direction - or approval?
'I told you,' you say, stroking his cheek. 'You're beautiful. Every part of you.'
Your hand slips down, wandering his ridged chest, tracing a lingering trail over the star of his stomach until at last you reach his thickness, his beautiful length already inflamed with so much lust he whines when you touch it.
'Sorry,' he gasps. 'My apologies - I'll be quiet, I promise.'
Your grip tightens, and he sobs.
'Don't be quiet.'
Rolan nods.
'No. I said don't be quiet.' Your fingers squeeze tighter yet, and he chokes out a groan.
'Of course - I'm sorry - anything you say.'
'Good.' You toy with his cock a little more, more tenderly this time, enjoying the pinch between his brows and the arch of his lip that tells you how much he likes it, how easily you could finish him already. Desire leaks from his tip as you thumb it.
'Should I put this collar on you? Would you like that? Would you like to feel owned?'
He shudders. 'Yes - please - yes -'
'Hmmm. The Master of Ramazith's Tower, collared. Perhaps you should wear this beneath your robes.' You tug the collar snugly, buckling it. Rolan's cock twitches.
'Ah - I believe it locks,' he mutters. 'With an incantation.'
'How do you know?' you tease him, forgetting, for a moment, your icily dominant mood.
'I, ah, was organising the drawers and... found it rather interesting.'
'You fucking whore.'
'Nnnnnh!'
He sobs, buckling against you. 'Gods, please, call me that again!'
'No. I'm getting in the bath.'
'No!' he protests, before he remembers himself. 'I mean - of course - whatever you say -'
'Mhhm. That's right. Now get me a glass of wine.'
The bath is deliciously hot, the water velvet with perfumed oils. Rolan has settled into the luxury of the Tower very enthusiastically, though only Ramazith himself knows how old those perfume bottles are. They might be collecting a little dust, but the smell is so intoxicating, you can't tell they've aged a bit. If you closed your eyes, you could picture yourself in a rose garden at sunset, caressing their silken petals and wrapping Rolan's fingers around the thorns, pressing down just a little until you could lick the blood from his pricked fingers.
Your hand slips down, palming at your groin.
Rolan stops dead as he comes back through the portal, clutching the glass and bottle in his hands tight. His cock throbs at the sight of you.
'Don't come without me,' he begs. 'Please. I want to please you - my body is yours -'
You beckon him closer, plucking the full glass from his fingers.
'Fetch that cushion,' you murmur, gesturing to the chair in the corner.
'As you wish.'
He pads over to get it, the tight curl of his tail tip betraying his arousal even from behind. And what a behind. You feel positively lecherous, drinking in the sight of his beautiful back, his wings and ridges and ass, lust written in the twist of your tongue and the arch of your back.
As Rolan returns to your side, you take a sip of wine, revelling in its rich taste.
'Put that on the floor, and kneel on it.'
His chest rises and falls with each of your instructions, no matter how small. Abruptly, you twist over the side, sloshing water all over him, taking a long look at his pretty cock. It looks even better, slicked with oil and water, glistening at the tip and burgundy-veined along its length.
Rolan's lips fall open, his breath racing. He tilts his hips a little, offering his cock for your gaze.
Well, since you've been invited. You lean further still over the tub's metal rim, pressing your fingers into his open mouth.
'Mmmmmf -'
His hips buck as you stroke his tongue.
'Touch yourself,' you murmur, sinking back into the bath with your fingers still wrapped in their wet, adoring embrace.
'Mmmm - '
Rolan frowns, protesting that commandment in particular; though he keeps sucking your fingers with an assiduous eagerness. Worship, even.
'Touch. Yourself,' you repeat more sharply.
He frowns again, the lines cutting deeper into his face.
'Nnnnn -'
You drag your fingers out of his mouth, and shrug, taking another draft of your wine.
'As you wish. If you won't behave, then you don't get to suck my fingers.'
'No, please,' he gasps. 'I will come - the moment I touch myself - you don't understand how desperate I am -'
'You won't come. Because I told you not to.'
'Ahhhh - I will try - please, just put your fingers back in my mouth - oh!'
Catching his collar in your fingers, you tug him closer.
'Hand on your cock. Now.'
Rolan hesitates, taking a deep breath; then, with an anxious grimace, he reaches slowly down between his legs, wincing as he touches it.
'You're so good, my love. Open your mouth.'
Before you slip your fingers back into him, you soak them in your wine, letting the shining ruby drops slip down their length onto his lips. He whimpers as you explore deeper, fingers pushing back into his throat, testing how well he can take you. Very well. After all, you do punish his argumentative mouth with something much larger, when he's in one of his brattier moods, and though he loves to gag and choke and protest he loves taking you. Today, though his throat hitches and his eyes water, he caresses you quietly, adoringly, bobbing gently on your fingers.
'Put this down,' you tell him, passing the half-finished glass to his free hand. Then, you lean once more over the side, pulling his forehead to your chest, stroking his horns and hair and ears. 'You're so perfect, Rolan. Gods. You're so good at serving me. You're so good at it. I'm going to spoil you for being so good - no, don't come, you can hold on -'
'Nnnnngh!'
He writhes, and suddenly a hot, wet tear splashes down on the back of your hand.
'Oh, Rolan. Does it hurt? Do you want to come that badly?'
More tears.
'Mmmm!'
His breaths are ragged, piercing the air with desperation; but they only make your blood run hotter.
'Fight it for me.'
'Mmmm! Nnnnngh - ah - fuck!'
He pulls back suddenly, and then slumps onto the floor, whimpering softly.
Jumping out of the bath, you kneel beside him, brushing the hair from his face.
'Breathe,' you whisper, and he nods.
Three squeezes of his hand, firm and deliberate. Three come right back. A smile creeps back onto your lips. He's alright. Deliciously close to the border of too-much - but just on the right side. You stroke his hair a moment longer, holding his hand over his chest; feeling his breath steady to mere fever, instead of delirium.
'I love you,' you murmur. 'Do you want to please me now?'
He nods, and the runes on his collar dance.
Gently, you tug him upright, and he takes his place back on the cushion. The veins on his cock are livid and straining, pretty ruby rivers of want; the temptation to stroke them is strong, but you resist.
Instead, you slip in front of him, putting one knee up on the bath rim. You brace your hands on the bath too, and then cant your hips back until your ass is right in his face.
'Well,' you tease him. 'Go on then.'
He dives in. Hands on your ass, spreading it so that his eager tongue can press in, first flickering and then circling and then pressing in, indecent in his haste to be inside you.
'Fuck, Rolan,' you groan, reaching between your legs again. 'Fuck! You're - so - good - don't - stop!'
If only you could enjoy the heat of his tongue longer, the feeling of it stroking you, caressing you - but you want to come so badly already, so wildly you don't want to wait. Rolan moans and whimpers into your asshole. You can't wait, not when you can feel the soft brush of his sounds on your skin, the squeeze of his fingers as he enjoys you, serving you so firmly his tongue must be aching, but he keeps his touch constant and eager, pressing into you over and over again -
'Fuck!' you shout, coming so hard you almost lurch into the bath. 'Fuck! Oh Gods -'
Twisting round, you drag Rolan to his feet, seizing him tight, and although the words 'come for me' are on your lips, they're already too late, because the moment Rolan's cock presses into your skin he shouts and sobs and claws you, spurting his load across both of your stomachs.
For a moment, you just stand, cradling him in your arms, kissing his exhausted face until he comes back to life with a hazy smile.
'Bath?' you ask him softly.
'Did I - did you -?' he asks hesitantly.
'Like it?' You laugh softly. 'Of course I liked it. Gods, Rolan. I loved it. And I love you.'
'I love you too,' he murmurs, and then groans. 'Gods. Yes. A bath.'
Before he gets in, his fingers reach for his throat. 'Do you mind if I keep this on? For now?'
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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 1 - The Introduction
Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.
Pairing: Poly 141 x reader
Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.
Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.
MASTERLIST | Next ->
âI donât like this.âÂ
âBelieve me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and Iâve pushed back as much as I can. Theyâre convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.âÂ
He wants to protest, but heâs been protesting this idea for three months. âWhat more can you tell me about her?âÂ
âNot much that isnât already in her file.â Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but thatâs not a conversation to be held over the phone. âSheâs quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.âÂ
That doesnât make him feel any better.
He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago.Â
He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. Sheâs cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasnât entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. Sheâs young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink.Â
He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. Sheâs been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didnât care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her.Â
âChrist.â He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting.Â
As if he doesnât have enough to worry about, now heâs going to have an omega under his care.Â
He hasnât considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long.Â
His team didnât need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic.Â
Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not.Â
He canât help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omegaâs photo. Theyâd be here in a week. Sheâd be flying with Laswell to London where sheâd be given a few days to adjust before theyâd fly in here and sheâll be left with her new pack.Â
Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week.Â
You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. Theyâre all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you donât understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you canât convert meters to feet in your head.Â
Youâre tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath.Â
âI know.â Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. âYouâre going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-âÂ
âClassified?â You finish for her.Â
Kate smiles. âExactly. Itâs mostly for your safety. The less you know...âÂ
The less there is to make you a target.Â
Youâd been given that speech before you left D.C. Youâd been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the directorâs office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadnât been any different than the other interviews youâd done before, except that you were chosen this time.Â
What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadnât really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going.Â
âYou donât have anything to worry about, though.â Kate continues, something youâve been told over and over again during your briefings. âTheyâre all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldnât have picked you if I didnât think you could handle them.âÂ
You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasnât an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasnât a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasnât unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal.Â
That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military.Â
That, and the excuse for violence.Â
Omegas werenât allowed to enlist, omegas werenât allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldnât have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented.Â
In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you.Â
âHow do you feel?â Kate asks, looking you over. Youâve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks youâve spent together.Â
âTired.â You run a hand across your face.Â
âThe time difference will do that to you.â Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. âNot to mention everything else.â Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. âI have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. Iâll pick us up some dinner on the way back.âÂ
You look nervous.Â
He canât blame you. Heâd felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as heâd finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesnât often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly.Â
This is different, though. This isnât a soldier heâs greeting, this is an omega.Â
His omega.Â
As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark youâd wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. Youâre not another member of his team, youâre not even a soldier. Youâre just a poor civilian thatâs been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy.Â
âCaptain Price.â Laswell greets him, shaking his hand.Â
He greets her back, but he canât help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. Youâre small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly.Â
He doesnât even want to think about that.Â
Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadnât had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent.Â
âItâs a pleasure to meet you, sir.â You say, shaking his hand. Itâs small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy.Â
âThe pleasure is mine.â He says, releasing your hand.Â
You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a momentâs notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. Youâre on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed.Â
âIâll show you around and let you get settled.â He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. âYou and I have some things to discuss.âÂ
You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141âs home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gazâs, with Soap and Ghost on the other side.Â
He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. Thereâs four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that theyâd slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents.Â
âThe lads are still running a simulation, but theyâll be done within the hour.â He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. âWeâll let you get settled in and Iâll come get you when theyâre ready.âÂ
âThank you, sir.â You say.
Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. Youâd likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months youâll have bonded with her just a bit.Â
Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. Heâd left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about.Â
âSo.â Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. âWhat can you really tell me about her?âÂ
Laswell gives him a knowing look. âThe CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isnât how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.âÂ
Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went.Â
âThey had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.â Laswell continues. âBut, you know omegas arenât cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.âÂ
âWhat sort of hesitations?â He asks.Â
âYou saw those scores, John. Sheâs a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.âÂ
Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right.Â
Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. âSheâd get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.â Thereâs something hidden in Laswellâs words, his mind filing that away for later. âI need someone I can trust with her. Sheâs smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that wonât take advantage of her.âÂ
âIt sounds like youâve grown rather fond of her.â He says, flipping open the first page of the file. Itâs the CIAâs data on her, everything theyâd done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega.Â
âLike I said, Iâm the one that picked her for your team.â Laswell leans forward against his desk. âShe knows what sheâs in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. Sheâll let you mark her, no questions asked because thatâs what sheâs been told to do. Sheâs obedient, John, almost to a fault.â
âThat could be dangerous.â Price says.Â
âYes, it could.â Laswell says. âIâm leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.âÂ
Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswellâs words arenât lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.
âTake care of her, John.â Laswell says. âIâm putting a lot of trust in you.âÂ
He hasnât failed her yet.Â
Your body is tingling. Youâre not sure if itâs nerves or something else. You havenât been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. Heâs a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked.Â
The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. Thereâs extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. Thereâs four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.
You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. Theyâre all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldnât have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags.Â
Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment.Â
Youâre breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Priceâs. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Priceâs. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You canât pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent.Â
You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Priceâs. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. Thereâs something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you canât pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk.Â
One more to go.Â
You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk.Â
This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity.Â
Heâs going to be a problem.Â
You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. Thereâs a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible.Â
Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasnât hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane.Â
âComing, Si?âÂ
Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment youâre afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard itâs pounding. Steps recede from your door and you donât breathe until theyâve disappeared.Â
You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You donât have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You donât even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. Thereâs towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. Theyâre all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute.Â
Nothing that could dampen your natural scent.Â
You almost donât hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasnât Price? What if it wasnât anyone from your new pack?Â
âJust me.â Priceâs voice comes through the door.Â
Of course he would notice your hesitation. Heâs a trained soldier, heâs always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly.Â
Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that youâre attune to it. âTheyâre ready, if you are.â He says.Â
You nod. âYeah, I guess.â It wasnât like you had much of a choice to say no.Â
You slip out the door, closing it behind you. Youâd ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. Youâre not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back.Â
âI thought weâd do it in a meeting room.â Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. âSomewhere neutral.âÂ
Itâs smart, itâll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression.Â
Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. âReady?âÂ
Not really, but you wouldnât dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. âYes, sir.âÂ
Price opens the door, stepping in first. Youâre glad for the few moments youâre hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it.Â
You can hold power over them.Â
The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. âThe Powerful Omegaâ, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to.Â
You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but youâre not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.
Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. Heâs tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile.Â
Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. âGood to meet ya, lass.â He greets you, giving you a charming smile. Heâs going to push your boundaries, you can tell.Â
Youâre beginning to see the dynamics already.Â
âAnd Ghost.â Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place youâve been avoiding since you walked in.Â
All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. Youâre not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha.Â
Priceâs hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. âCome on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.â Â
Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if theyâd read your file. Thereâs not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs.Â
âWhat about your family?â Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. âDo you still talk to them?âÂ
You shake your head. âNot for a few years. Institutes donât really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.âÂ
âYour father was a Marine, correct?â Price, even though they already know the answer.Â
You nod. âYes, sir.âÂ
âYou lived on base?â He asks.Â
You nod again. âYes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.âÂ
âWhen did you get sent to the Institute?â He asks, almost regretting answering it.Â
Itâs a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. âThe day after I presented.â You say.Â
The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gazâs eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well.Â
âMy father was a traditionalist alpha.â You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. âIt was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.â You explain. âIt was my dadâs status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.âÂ
âWhat was it like, in the institute?â Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent.Â
You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. âNot unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.âÂ
âYour test scores were high.â Price remarks.Â
You shrug. âIâm a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I donât really have to think much about it.âÂ
âDid you really kneel for two hours straight?â Gaz asks.Â
You huff out a laugh. âYeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I donât know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldnât handle the pain. Three even passed out.âÂ
âHow did you manage it?â Gaz asks.Â
Price wasnât a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance.Â
âTo be honest, I donât remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.â You shrug.
âWe wonât make you kneel for two hours.â Price says. âAnd definitely not without a pillow.âÂ
You smile softly. âThank you, sir.âÂ
Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. Youâve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and youâve stopped picking at your nails.Â
Ghost has remained silent the entire time youâve spoken, eyes glued on you. Youâve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze.Â
Heâs going to be a problem.Â
âThereâs some rules we need to go over before anything else.â Price says. âYou have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until youâve been marked. Thereâs other alphas on this base and I donât want them getting any ideas.âÂ
You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You donât want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that wonât stop some. Youâre not even sure a mark will stop them either.Â
âI want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if weâre gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.â Youâre beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. âWe have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I wonât lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and thereâs an Omega Specialist thatâs been brought in for you. Youâll meet her later, Iâm sure she wants to do a full workup.âÂ
Youâve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting.Â
âIâm starving, letâs get the scenting over with.â Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach.Â
His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. Youâd seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like itâs not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you donât like the way they smell?Â
What if they donât like the way you smell?Â
âIf youâre alright with it?â Price says, looking at you.Â
Youâre taken aback by the offer for consent. You werenât expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You wonât say no, because youâll have to do it eventually, and at least this way youâll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier.Â
âYeah.â You nod, swallowing down your nerves. âIâm okay with it.âÂ
All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you donât stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible.Â
âDonât look so worried, lass.â Soap says as they gather around you. âWe wonât bite.â He winks at you playfully.Â
Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasnât unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what youâve seen of Ghost, youâre not sure thatâs going to happen.Â
He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack.Â
You tense as Priceâs hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so youâre seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. Theyâre all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs.Â
âReady?âÂ
You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin.Â
He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. Thereâs another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland.Â
His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others.Â
âGood girl.â He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. âGhost.â He says, stepping back from you.Â
Youâre snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours.Â
Heâs testing you.Â
You wonât satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. Youâre enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl.Â
He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. Thereâs something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and youâre sure your knees would have given out if you hadnât been sitting.Â
Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphasâ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Priceâs scent hadnât reached.Â
You let out a quiet whine as heâs pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghostâs place.Â
âHow ya doing?â Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. âHanging in there?âÂ
You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head.Â
âYouâre halfway there.â He says, leaning in closer. âGot through the hard part.âÂ
His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland.Â
Youâre drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. Youâre clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you.Â
âEasy.â He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. âStill with us?â He asks, meeting your gaze.Â
âYeah.â You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadnât expected it to feel quite like this.Â
âAlmost done, hen.â Soap says, taking Gazâs place in front of you. âLucky thereâs only four of us.â
Heâs right, you think as you bear your throat for him. Youâre not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like youâre floating, enveloped in so many scents youâre not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghostâs. The look in them has changed, his body poised like heâs ready to strike at a momentâs notice.Â
Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him.Â
You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat.Â
Youâre trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. Itâs subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, itâs likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper.Â
âThere she is.â The low grumble of Priceâs voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek.Â
You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. Heâs older than you, theyâre all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze.Â
Youâre vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, theyâre all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. Youâd be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. Youâd be entirely helpless against them.Â
They could if they wanted to.Â
It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldnât stop them, and no one would help you.Â
âYou hungry, pup?âÂ
Priceâs voice cuts through your fearful daze. Thereâs a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. Itâs a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. Youâve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work.Â
Pup. Price called you Pup.Â
You havenât been called âpupâ since you were a pup. Itâs a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but itâs more commonly used affectionately. Heâs trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you.Â
The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment.Â
âAlright?â Price asks as your gaze meets his again.Â
You nod, still leaning into his touch. âYeah, âs a lot.âÂ
âI know.â His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. âDonât tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.âÂ
You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasnât unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. Youâre sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out.Â
âCome on.â He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesnât even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but itâs not entirely one of fear.Â
His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. Theyâre less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes.Â
Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, itâs almost second nature. Youâre sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear.Â
The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what heâs doing.Â
Heâs proving his ability as a provider.Â
In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. Heâs proving his capabilities in the way he can.Â
Youâre also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. Itâs not entirely indiscernible, though, and youâre sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, youâre happy to let Price do it for you.Â
He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement donât feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks.Â
A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost.Â
Then thereâs you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow youâll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you canât help but feel like youâre only going to make things more difficult.Â
I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...
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