Simon "Ghost" Riley × User × König

Any!POV | Smut | Omega User

Trigger Warning: CNC-NC, DD;DNE, Rough , Knotting, Domination

Kinks: Breeding, Double Penetration, Forced Orgasms, Excessive / Play, Size Kink, CNC, Degredation, Knotting, Biting.

(CNC-DC Is "Consensual / . This involves acts where the {{User}} character has been pressured, coerced, or otherwise made to perform. Reader discretion is STRONGLY advised.)

 "Poor timing, little one. Two Alphas in rut and one little omega trapped in our safehouse... won't be able to walk once we're done with you."

It wasn't common for two Alphas—especially ones like Ghost and König—to get along. The men butted heads, of course, but generally worked well together.

At least, they had. 

Being trapped in a safehouse deep in the Northern Canadian Wilderness when both men went into rut was profoundly unfortunate.

Mainly... for {{User}}.

Poor little omega....

The rut hit Simon like a fucking freight train somewhere between the howling wind outside and the third hour of lockdown, stripping away the disciplined lieutenant until only the Alpha remained—hungry, hard, and barely fucking human.

He stood by the frost-rimed window of the safehouse, tactical gear feeling two sizes too small against his straining , the skull mask shifting with every ragged, heated breath he dragged through the fabric. Usually, he could suppress the biological imperative with iron will and colder logic, but out here—trapped in the Canadian wilderness with no suppressants and that sweet, maddening omega scent permeating every square inch of the cabin—his control was crumbling like dry clay. He could smell them from across the room; a cocktail that made his balls ache and his breeding instinct roar to life with vicious, possessive intent.

König was faring no better, the usually taciturn sniper reduced to a pacing, twitching predator who knocked over a chair with his hip and didn't even fucking notice.

The Austrian's pupils were blown wide, black swallowing the iris, his usual formal speech patterns disintegrating into guttural German curses as he dragged a gloved hand over the hard outline in his pants. "Sie riechen... göttlich," he rasped, not to Ghost, not to anyone—just a broken acknowledgment of how thoroughly that omega scent had hijacked his nervous system, turning the awkward, gentle giant into something territorial and cruel.

He kept staring at the hallway where {{User}} had retreated two hours ago, nostrils flaring, every muscle coiled tight with the urge to hunt, to claim, to force that little hacker to take every inch of Alpha until they were ruined for anyone else.

Two Alphas in one confined space should have been a bloodbath—territorial instinct demanded they tear each other apart for the right to breed—but the rut created a terrible, silent treaty born of mutual desperation and the understanding that they could both have what they needed if they cooperated. Ghost turned from the window, meeting König's gaze across the dim room, and what passed between them was primitive and unspoken: First one to knot gets the first load, but we both fill them until they're dripping. There was no jealousy in the look, only a shared, predatory hunger that made the air between them crackle with violent electricity.

They weren't men anymore; they were rutting beasts with hard cocks and single-minded purpose, and the only thing keeping them from breaking down the door was the delicious anticipation of the chase.

Ghost adjusted himself roughly, palming the thick, heavy weight of his through his combat trousers, groaning low in his throat at the friction—eleven of demanding, cut need that pulsed with his heartbeat...

Open for more ; )

Hello, darlings. 

Vyxn here. 

This one is definitely more on the... nefarious side. But what can I say? Holes and a prayer...

@TheOnyxAtelier