“Polyvalent”

Jack grunted as he wiggled in his chair, trying to squeeze his wrists out of the ropes that bound them together, but just when he was starting to dislodge his broad hand from the tight bind the ropes suddenly tightened. Jack gasped at the chafe, goosebumps prickling along his flesh as he suddenly felt warm fingers slid up his restrained forearms.

“Ah ah, sweetheart, can’t have you escaping just yet,” came a voice over his shoulder, warm and acidic as it tickled against the shell of his ear. Jack grunted angrily, trying to catch a glimpse of his captor only to have the back of the chair hoisted effortlessly into the air, spun around, and dropped with a trembling thunk against the ground that the CEO felt in his tailbone.

He gasped in pain, disoriented from the sudden change. His features twitched from the lingering shock vibrating up his spine, eyes narrowing angrily at whoever this jerk was. However, as soon as his vision swam back into focus his jaw dropped, face slack in surprise.

Because the man standing in front of him now wasn’t some kind of bandit warlord, nor any mercenary or vault hunting scum. It wasn’t even someone from another company or a masked assassin.

It was Jack himself.

Commission for @handsomepeacock of Scorpion Jack/Peacock Jack based on this picture! Was really fun to do! 🙂

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In retrospect, Jack had been foolish to think he was the only Jack hybrid out there.

It shouldn’t have been something that slipped his mind, considering how many copies of his DNA had been made over the years. He had a veritable army of lifeless clone bodies, grown from test tubes and corralled together like cows in the slaughterhouse—or maybe more like harvest crops stacked atop one another with nary an inch of breathing room between them.

His DNA was a pretty treasured commodity, naturally, but he also was fairly content with letting R&D play around with it in a controlled environment, morbidly fascinated with the usually feral, malformed creatures with a couple recognizable features that raged about the enclosures, slashing at the ground and snarling until Jack got bored with them and had them shot and butchered for parts. Many hybrids had gone down the tube this way, flesh and blood flushed away from their bones thanks to Jack’s transitory interest.

Whatever. He was the CEO, wasn’t he? The king of Hyperion, the paramount ruler of everything within the claws of his sharp, multi-planetary grasp. With a snap of his fingers he could bring life into the world, and again with another he could call for its gruesome destruction. And with no one to challenge his ultimate authority, he didn’t see any reason to stop this frivolity.

He’d returned to his home after one such visit to R&D, in which he’d been shown the latest abomination that the researchers had come up with. The head of the biological division had been pretty thrilled to show him their latest creation—a mostly successful mutation between Jack’s copied DNA and that of an especially badass kraggon captured from the Outlands Spur. It had certainly been a less offensive gesture than the last creation—seriously, mixing such precious DNA with a shuggarath should have been an obvious flub—and had resulted in something pretty damn intimidating. Almost as intimidating as Jack himself. Almost.

It’d had a huge, lizard-like body with a thick tail that wound about the circumference of the room nearly twice. Its chest had been broader, however, more like that of a human, and its hands bore opposable thumbs. The flesh on most of its body had been craggy and dark grayish-brown, split with pulsating cracks of orange and yellow except for the face, which had most resembled Jack’s aside from the glowing pits for eyes and the horns rising just before its ragged, patchy hairline. A tongue of lava had occasionally licked out over a lipless mouth and mismatched fangs.

It had been impressively beastly. Mount a couple of turrets on its shoulders and mass reproduce it and he’d have a pretty terrifying brigade to send charging into Sanctuary. For once, Jack hadn’t decided to have the creature destroyed and broken down to its most basic parts, instead insisting R&D keep it around and use it as a baseline to clone even more intimidating specimens. Thus, with a spring in his step and the vision of bandits and vault hunters alike being ripped apart by an army of massive craggy beasts bearing his face in his head, Jack had retreated back to his penthouse.

Immediately upon entering, however, Jack froze. His skin tingled, mouth going dry as he suddenly sensed something off about the air in his home. His comb, which had previously been laying slicked back against his hair, suddenly sprung up in alarm. His tail stiffened, fanning out behind him as he glanced about, body tensing in defense as he squinted against the darkness.

Goosebumps prickled along his arms, and his eyes widened as he noticed his breath warming in mist in front of his lips. What?

His eyes flickered over to the digital thermostat on the wall, his throat tightening as he saw the depressed temperature. Only 10 C? 10 C? He had the best thermoregulatory system on the entire space station, in this entire arm of the galaxy. There was no way that it would fail this spectacularly unless someone tampered with it.

His fingers prickled on the hilt of his gun, eyes browsing over the darkness in his penthouse, wondering if it would be better or worse deal with whatever threat was hiding there with the lights off or on. Quiet permeated the space, save for the hum of the air conditioner that was busy kicking into overdrive. Jack shivered, feeling cruelly cold to his core. The frigid temperature was distracting, messing with his brain as he drew the gun out of its holster, pointing it blindly into the darkness, ready to shoot anything that dared to move.

Paranoia wound up the column of his spine, his entire body tensed. His teeth clattered together, the bitter cold penetrating deep to the pit of his stomach. He could feel the skin around his eyes tighten as they bugged out, his breathing coming so fast and misty it began to fog his vision.

He had no time to even jump as he felt hot breath impossibly ghost against his ear before something firm and tight clasped over his mouth and he blacked out.

Jack woke up slowly, to the sound of music.

Not that Jack first identified it as music, more like a rhythmic pounding in his head, managing to sync up exactly with the throbbing pain stuffing up his sinuses. He sniffled roughly, as if trying to clear it, only to finally realize it was the bass of the music surrounding him. His eyelids fluttered, the insides of them a vibrant red, throbbing with lights blinking and flashing from outside them. A moan sprung to his lips, the lights stabbing into his eyes as he struggled to open them.

He had no idea where the fuck he was. It appeared to be some kind of room, with no doors nor windows that he could see from his position. The walls were entirely wreathed in dark red curtains from floor to ceiling, completely still and heavy despite the pounding of music and the movement he felt in the air around him.

“What the hell?” Jack growled, arms tugging against the restraints keeping them behind his back. He craned his neck, trying to look around and find some kind of landmark or visual cue that could tell him where he was. But he saw nothing but the same rusty-red curtains draped ceiling to floor all around him, the fabric swaying softly, almost dreamlike, which did a lot to disquiet the CEO further. He felt his comb on his head bristle, feathers starting to stand up in suspicion of the situation.

Jack grunted as he wiggled in his chair, trying to squeeze his wrists out of the ropes that bound them together, but just when he was starting to dislodge his broad hand from the tight bind the ropes suddenly tightened. Jack gasped at the chafe, goosebumps prickling along his flesh as he suddenly felt warm fingers slid up his restrained forearms.

“Ah ah, sweetheart, can’t have you escaping just yet,” came a voice over his shoulder, warm and acidic as it tickled against the shell of his ear. Jack grunted angrily, trying to catch a glimpse of his captor only to have the back of the chair hoisted effortlessly into the air, spun around, and dropped with a trembling thunk against the ground that the CEO felt in his tailbone.

He gasped in pain, disoriented from the sudden change. His features twitched from the lingering shock vibrating up his spine, eyes narrowing angrily at whoever this jerk was. However, as soon as his vision swam back into focus his jaw dropped, face slack in surprise.

Because the man standing in front of him now wasn’t some kind of bandit warlord, nor any mercenary or vault hunting scum. It wasn’t even someone from another company or a masked assassin.

It was Jack himself.

Well…at least somewhat.

The man in front of him definitely resembled him in certain aspects. He had the same broad, muscular body and the same prominently sculpted face, the same side-swept fringe and mismatched eyes, but there the similarities ended.

There was no pale mask bolted to his face, and his scar had shrunk from the massive mark burnt into his own face to something light and silvery on this other Jack. He was dressed differently from Jack’s incongruous layers, instead clad in a slick leather jacket, ratty jeans and boots like some kind of movie hoodlum. But clothes and skin were far from the most striking differences between this guy standing in front of him and Jack himself, and it drew his attention suddenly as it skittered and scraped along the floor before flipping up to arch over the man’s back, glistening in the changeable light.

It was a scorpion’s tail.

Unease crept through Jack’s stomach, eyes fixed on the sleek carapace of the tail as its slick black stinger curved cruelly above the man’s shoulder, nearly tickling the side of his throat, which—Jack could see now—was also emblazoned with a scorpion tattoo that presumably curled around the back of his neck.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jack growled, kicking his feet against the floor as he tried to scoot away from the approaching man, “what the hell is this?”

The scorpion’s grin only grew, and if Jack didn’t know better he would’ve sworn that those already scary fangs had grown thicker and longer, yellow-white tips curling slightly over his lower lip.

“I think you already know what this is Jack.”

“Oh yeah, right, I totally get kidnapped by some freaky mutant me and stuck in some sex dungeon, it’s just a normal Tuesday for me,” Jack snapped, his eyes fixed steadily on the scorpion, as if the intensity of his gaze would keep the man at bay. He wracked his brain, trying to put the pieces together about the scene before him.

“Was…was this Nakawaka’s fault? Did he…crap, did he mess around with my DNA behind my back? Creepy freakin’ weirdo, next time I see him I’m gonna screw his head back on so hard it’s gonna pop off,” Jack snarled, bucking against the silk ropes binding him tight against the chair. The other hybrid snorted, showing off more of those long, hooked fangs that made Jack tingle in his stomach, despite how much he tried to ignore it.

“You’re really trying too hard to make sense of this…if you’re looking for a step-by-step explanation, Jack, I’m pretty sure you’ve come to the wrong place.”

“Hey! I didn’t come here,” Jack corrected, “you kidnapped me here. You screwed with my thermostat so it would fuck with my—how the hell did you even know that anyway!”

The peacock was almost shouting at this point, pissed at the nonchalance of the scorpion, who acted as if Jack was a worthless insect instead of the imposing, badass hero that he really was.

The scorpion continued to ignore his questions as he sauntered forward towards the helplessly bound peacock. Jack gritted his teeth, a small growl brewing from his chest as he tried his best to appear intimidating, but to no avail. The scorpion bent down next to him, bracing his broad hand against his thigh as he leered in close, face mere inches from Jack’s own.

“You’re such a pretty little birdie, aren’t you?” The scorpion cooed, hand smoothing Jack’s comb back against his head, even as it bristled back up. The CEO’s lip twitched, head tossing against the palm petting him.

“Watch it. Watch it! Keep your hands offa me!” Jack jerked away, only for the scorpion’s hand to follow. Jack yelped at a sudden, sharp pain in his scalp, horror and anger filling his gut as a pair of clawed fingers brought a single feather down between his eyes, its stem tipped with blood.

“You….you son of a bitch!” Jack snarled, teeth snapping at the scorpion’s fingers as laughter rung through his ears.

“Super pretty. Aw, but don’t worry, they’ll grow back,” the scorpion twirled the feather deftly between his fingers, before tucking it behind his ear, turning his head from side to side as if to admire how it looked.

“D-Doesn’t mean you have to….frikkin’ rip it outta my skull,” Jack whined, trying to turn his face away when the scorpion leaned in even closer. Like this, he could see the sharp liner elongating the scorpion’s eyes, lids dusted with a bronze glow that fluttered underneath the warm lights. Jack tried to keep them apart, but clawed fingers seized his chin, yanking it back and crushing lips against Jack’s own.

The kiss was a violent clash of identity, unwilling prey struggling against predator as Jack’s tongue fought off the invading scorpion’s, pushing back against the strong jaw driving to consume him. His growl came out to a groan much to his horror as the scorpion’s tongue shoved up even harder against his own, pushing it towards the back of his throat as he was kissed without mercy.

Jack’s relief at the scorpion pulling away was cut short as the man dug and dragged his fangs into his lower lip. He felt the warmth of his flesh popping underneath the the teeth, a strangled croak dragging out of his throat as he yanked away from the scorpion’s mouth.

“D-Don’t bite me, you sick jerk…you tryin’ to frikkin’….poison me or something…” Jack complained, sticking out his now bleeding lower lip. The scorpion laughed, pushing close again and licking roughly over the two ragged pinpricks in the slick flesh.

“Poison you….you really are paranoid, aren’t you?”

“Hah, s’what helped me live this long.”

“Considering how stupid it makes you sometimes, I’m kind of surprised,” the scorpion snickered, licking over his fangs, “for the record, my fangs can’t poison you. If I wanted you killed, I would have already put my stinger through your heart.”

On cue, the scorpion’s tail curls under his armpit, its bulbous stinger glistening with threat as he cradled it. Jack’s eyes fixed on the needle-sharp tip, following it as it twitched in the air before him.

“K….keep that thing away from me…” Jack murmured, palms growing sweaty in his bonds, the indigo feathers on his neck bristling in an aggressive wave as the stinger inched closer, the scorpion’s grin creeping wider.

“Oh, I won’t hurt you, we still have a lot of fun in store.”

Thankfully, the stinger retreated from its threatening position, coming to rest back behind the scorpion, but Jack’s anxiety failed to fade as the man got on his knees before him. Hands pressed against his legs, holding him down against the chair as he flinched instinctively.

“What are you doing?” Jack snapped, trying to press his thighs together against the black claws scratching along the fabric of his jeans. He fought against the hybrid as he wedged his fingers in between Jack’s legs, slowly prying them apart. Jack growled, sure he wasn’t going to like where this way going. He even built up saliva in his mouth and spat downwards onto the scorpion’s face, hoping that it would cause enough of a distraction to gain the upper hand against the handsy hybrid. Unfortunately, the filthy look that the other Jack sent him as he looked up, saliva dripping down his chiseled cheek, told him it’d been in vain.

“I’m not one of your fanboys, Jackie, that’s not gonna impress me.” The scorpion dragged his thumb through the glob of spit running down the side of his face, even having the gall to wipe it off on Jack’s own jeans to the peacock’s wide-eyed anger. He patted Jack’s crotch and hummed.

“Lets hope this doesn’t disappoint.”

Jack tried to buck his hips as the scorpion’s clawed hands deftly undo his belt, unzipping his pants and tugging them halfway down Jack’s thighs by the time the first angry shout had left the peacock’s lips. Jack’s heels ground into the floor stubbornly as his pants were yanked down his legs, leaving them to pool around where his ankles were bound to the pegs of the chair.

The scorpion whistled, tilting his head as he looked down on Jack’s cock, still sheathed in his golden boxers.

“Looks promising. But I’m not going to give you what you want right away…”

“What I want,” Jack mocked, “what I want is to be let outta here.”

“Oh, sure, that’s what you say you want. But you and I both know that that’s not what you’re really looking for. After all, we’re the same person.”

“As if. You’re nothing like me, bugs-for-brains,”

“But I know what you like. And what you like is…you.”

The scorpion rose, remaining close to Jack as he began to strip off his clothes. The leather jacket came off first, whirling around in the scorpion’s fist for a moment before being tossed aside. The familiar yellow sweater comes next, the fabric peeling off of his stout stomach and broad pecs, revealing more and more tanned skin, marred with far less scars than Jack’s own body. A sleeve of tattoos crawled up the scorpion’s right arm, slightly faded skulls and bloody hearts and even unmistakeable peacock feathers mingling together up and down the terrain of his muscles.

The scorpion twirled about slowly, giving Jack the full turnaround view of his body. He rested his hands on his hips, at the horizon where his charcoal jeans met his tan flesh, feet tapping slightly to the fuzzy beat of the music.

“You’re staring.” The scorpion licked his fangs, pressing his palm just below his sternum and trailing it down until the tips of his fingers brush up against the waistband of his pants. He plays idly with the shiny bronze button, popping it open with a flick. His hips start to sway back and forth, gradually moving in a wide circle as he trails both hands back up his body, lingering on his chest for a moment before he stretches them high over his head. His abs bulge out against his belly as he started to dance, moving and billowing to the music.

Jack’s eyes widened, taken aback by the sudden strip tease. It was bizarre, watching his own tanned, muscular body on display, rocking its hips and undulating its spine in a dance that was both clumsy and undeniably erotic. His eyes followed the roll of the other hybrid’s body, dancing down to the glistening, segmented tail that curled and snapped along with his movement.

“You like this?” The scorpion purred as he straddled Jack’s lap, grinding their crotches together. He ran his hand through Jack’s hair as he balanced himself on the CEO’s thighs, fingers brushing up against the remaining stems of Jack’s comb, which bristled fearfully. The scorpion smirked, rocking his hips as his tail curled around his waist, deadly stinger again trailing under his shirt and up the bare skin of Jack’s pec. The CEO’s chest twitched, nipple suddenly standing stiff and pink as the spine tickled around the sensitive skin.

“Calm down, pumpkin, I wouldn’t sting you…there’s still a lot more we have to do together.” The scorpion pulled away his tail, quickly twitching it back around to hover arched towards his spine. Jack’s pulse beat frantically in his chest, heightened both by the cock pressing against his own and the ghost of the stinger trailing over his heart.

“My, are you worked up there, Mr. CEO? Do you need a little help out down here?” The scorpion snickered, pointing a clawed finger coyly down at the tent in Jack’s underwear. The peacock hissed, squirming in his seat as he tried to press himself into the back of the chair to get as far away from the scorpion as he could muster. He hated feeling like this, feeling helpless, feeling like—prey.

“S-Screw you—“ Jack stammered between his clenched teeth, glaring hot knives into the scorpion as his protests were ignored. The other man’s hand came to rest against the bulge in his pants, sending annoyed prickles of heat out from Jack’s belly down to his bound extremities.

“Oh, we’ll get to that, pumpkin, believe me. This is just the warm up act.” The scorpion’s hand tightened around the burgeoning tent Jack was sporting, giving the man’s length a simple squeeze that nonetheless had Jack reeling with a litany of barely-censored cursing.

“There’s no need to keep it PG, Jackie, not around me,” the scorpion purred as his hand smoothed the thin, silky fabric of Jack’s boxers around the sculpted shape of his cock, finger rubbing over the damp spot starting to darken there.

“You can say fuck if you want. Go on. Say it. Say it, because it’s what’s going to happen to you,” the scorpion hummed against Jack’s cock, his thumb rubbing in ellipses against the shaft.

“Nnnh…you…you can’t tell me what to do, you prick,” Jack snapped, shivering despite himself. The hand on his cock felt good, even as he gritted his teeth and tried to disregard the pleasure, not wanting to give the scorpion the satisfaction. But he couldn’t resist much longer, especially not when his briefs were pulled down, cock springing up against his belly. The scorpion wrapped his hand around the base of the cock, giving it a short, testing stroke. Jack’s eyebrows furrowed as he glared down at the man, a tight breath tumbling from his lips as the scorpion licked a long hot stripe up the shaft of his dick.

“S-Screw you…” Jack choked out as the scorpion continued to kiss and lick up and down his dick, eventually swallowing the tip and suckling on it as if it were the sticky tip of a popsicle. His hissed breaths through his teeth, the toes of his shoes pressing harder into the floor as his body wound in unwelcome arousal. The scorpion kept his gaze on Jack from under the hood of his sparkly eyelids, making the CEO feel too open and on display for his comfort. He tossed his head back, chin tipping upwards as the scorpion pushed the head of his cock all the way into his mouth, lips sucking around his shaft as he took Jack in all the way to the twitching base of his balls. Jack creaked his eyes open slightly as the red light above him started to flicker, raining patches of darkness down upon them before the light cut out completely, bathing the entire room in a deep, ultraviolet glow.

“W-What….what’s happening now?” Jack rasped through the rough drag of his arousal, lolling his head back to look down, only to see that the man before him had practically disappeared. The tan flesh and silvery scars had been lost in the sudden swallow of the dark, leaving only bright, neon blue marks and designs that glowed from the shifting black. Curling, barbed designs rippled on the scorpion’s muscles like moonlight glistening on the waves of the ocean, or solar flares curling off into the void of space.

Even the bastard’s tongue was luminous, glowing blue appendage lapping and curling over his member and drooling faintly glowing saliva all over the shaft as he fixed Jack with a floating, fluorescent stare.

Jack felt adrift, tied only by the burning rub of the ropes against his bare wrists as the warm mouth and the disorienting pattern of glowing shapes and eyes and tongue dropped him into a dreamy state jostled with pleasure. A groan left his lips as resistance and shame steadily drained out of him, sucked from his body like poison as the scorpion enveloped his cock in warm, tight squeeze.

“Ahh—I—“

He rutted his hips up, frantically starting to hump the other man’s mouth, focusing solely on the pleasurable feeling starting to swell in his groan.

“I—please, I—“

His core felt unbearably warm, guts clenching tightly. The scorpion’s mouth continued to pulse and lap against his cock, bringing him close to the very edge of his arousal.

“I—“

He felt something sharp prick suddenly prick against his cock, those curved, glowing fangs pressing into the tender shaft.

“Fuck!!”

Jack screamed as his body arched as much as it could, cock exploding with arousal as he filled the scorpion’s mouth with burning hot cum. The man’s hand continued to pump and squeeze around his shaft, milking him as he shot an unthinkably long load down his throat. Jack gasped as his orgasm stretched on and on, longer than any he’d ever had before. It seemed impossible and utterly drained him, body falling completely boneless and exhausted against the chair. His head lolled back, throat rough from panting as he felt the warm mouth pop sloppily off of his cock.

Jack’s consciousness swam in the haze of pleasure, dizzying him as he felt his body melt into the chair, the scintillating eyes of the scorpion fixing upon him as they rose up, glowing teeth grinning as the neon blue dripped away, gradually fading as the peacock blacked out completely.

The first think Jack noticed when he woke back up was that his arms were no longer bound.

For a moment, he flailed about in the darkness, on alert for the other man that had been touching him, that had kidnapped him, and when his fist clocked into something solid he fell upon it, wrapping both hands tight about it until he realized he had cool steel underneath his palms rather than throbbing flesh. He blinked in the darkness, trying to calm his breath as he carefully brushed his hands over the object in his palms, eventually finding and pressing the little plastic switch at the base of his nightstand lamp, which quickly flooded his penthouse bedroom in light.

He immediately dropped the lamp, standing up on his knees in bed as he pressed himself flat back against the headboard, eyes sweeping about the room for any signs of the scorpion, any suspicious looking shadows or traitorous noises. His heart hammered in his chest as he realized his clothes were perfect and undisturbed, cock tucked back into his jeans and absent of any uncomfortable, drying residue. He pulled open his waistband just to check, but crotch was clean of any old crusty cum or glowing insect saliva.

He flopped back against the pillows, brows furrowing in confusion. He tried to recall the details of what had happened to him, but they suddenly seemed far away and dreamlike, specifics starting to blend together until all he really remembered where the feelings. The tightly wound arousal. The pleasure.

The fear of being prey.

Jack shivered, despite the warmth circulating from his bedroom vents. After a moment, he grabbed his ECHO from where it was still sheathed in his pocket, quickly messaging R&D and putting the Handsome Jack Hybridization Program on hold.

It stung Cyrus, deep in his heart, on a level he couldn’t entirely understand. He could smell Rhys’ distress no matter how much the older omega tried to smile at him, pat his hand and reassure him that things would be fine, that Jack would come and find them. He talked to Cyrus about how badass Jack had been when they were younger, how he’d protected mate and child with his own life on the line, but still Cyrus could smell that acrid sting of fear. It lingered on the floor of their cells, caging Cyrus in and making him antsy as every second ticked by. It made him want to rip into something whether it be the steel bars of their cell or the flesh of their captors, just to pull a way the pall of tangible fear that settled on him and his parent like a choking blanket.

He held onto hope that any minute now, his dad would come bursting into the room in a hale of bullets and flashy, white-fanged confidence to spring Cyrus and Rhys from their cell and exact bloody vengeance onto the kidnappers.

But Cyrus could feel Rhys getting weaker by the moment, laying more limply in his arms. His breath was growing more labored, and he was responding slower to Cyrus’ questions. Cyrus felt a rock settle into his stomach, filling him with anxiety as he tried to keep his mother awake.

Just something small with Rhys and Cyrus being kidnapped and Cyrus having to defend his wounded parent from their captors. Featuring Cyrus’ first kill as a teenager….:D?

Cyrus woke up feeling cold.

The young alpha let out a soft whine as he slowly came to his senses, the world slowly spiraling back into clarity as he tried to raise his head up from the floor, only for dizzy pain to strike through his temples. He hissed, hands coming up to cradle his head as he tried to sit up properly. Even as clarity came back to him he realized he could barely see anything asides from vague, dark blue and grey shapes that didn’t brighten into focus no matter how many times he tried to blink his eyes.

His nose twitched, quickly picking up a familiar smell that brought his last memories crashing down upon him. Him and his mom…they’d been touring a new Hyperion barracks down on Pandora, an offshoot of Opportunity that Jack had been building with an outside contractor. Cyrus remembers sitting down in the meeting room next to his mom, watching the well-dressed businessmen of the contracting company relate the progress of the development to Rhys. He’d remembered getting more drowsy, eventually leaning up against his mother’s shoulder—then blackness, with nothing else except the very distant sound of Rhys calling his name.

Worry seized Cyrus as he remembered what had happened. He crawled up on all fours, looking about the room, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Mom?” Cyrus called, voice thin and scared in the darkness of the room. “Mom? Where are you?”

A sudden movement much closer to Cyrus than he had expected had the young alpha starting, watching as a dark shape moved in the dull light of the

“Mom!” Cyrus called out, crawling closer and reaching out his hand only to jam his fingers against something hard and cold. Cyrus winces, cradling his hand and he narrows his eyes, swallowing around the lump in his throat as he realizes dark bars separate him from the groaning body of his mother.

“Mom…mom, are you okay?” Cyrus whimpered as he reached forward again, this time careful to wind his hands between the bars. They fit snugly around his elbows, but he’s just barely able to touch his mother’s head, softly petting at Rhys until the omega lifts his head up, pale face illuminated softly in the faint, buzzing light of the room.

“Cyrus….is that you…?” Rhys rasped, his voice sounding like it had been rubbed bloody with sandpaper. Cyrus nodded, heart hurting as Rhys levered himself up weakly until his body rested up against the cold metal bars.

“Mom….you’re hurt…they hurt you…” Cyrus whimpered as he saw the crust of dark red across Rhys’ temple, fearing the wounds that he couldn’t see in the lack of light. A dry chuckle escaped his mother’s lip as Rhys mustered a confident smirk.

“Heh…I’ll be fine, buddy, don’t worry. Been through worse.”

“I….what happened? Who did this to us? Why are they—“ As if to answer Cyrus’ questions, suddenly a sliver of light appeared within the darkness around them, along with a jarring, metallic screech as a door was forced open, flooding the cells with brightness. Cyrus winced against the sudden light, holding his hand in front of his eyes as he squinted at the three silhouettes clouding the door.

“Well well….look who’s decided to wake up and join the party.” A lilting, professional voiced filled the room, followed by a series of clipping steps that stopped just before the paired cells. Cyrus scrunched his eyes, trying to make out the figure now casting its shadow across him and his mother’s bodies. Cyrus swallowed, reaching out to grab Rhys’ through the bars, trying to hold him as best as he could.

The man standing before him was thin and tall, almost as tall as Rhys was. He was dressed in what looked like a pretty nice suit, and had long, swept back blond hair. He almost looked like someone had taken Rhys and drained all the color from him and stuffed him back in tight, angular formalwear.

Cyrus inhaled sharply. Alpha. And the two similarly dressed men who stood just behind the blond were as well. Cyrus let out a soft growl, suddenly hyper-aware that his mother was the only omega in the room.

“Who would have thought it would be so easy to get Jack’s bitch and pup in one fell swoop?” The main alpha smirked, straightening out his cuffs as he observed his two captives.

“Oh, brother…” Rhys breathed, “another….kidnapping? Really….original…”

A surprised look crossed the ringleader’s face, before it smoothed back into confident bemusement.

“Hah. Well, I suppose being Handsome Jack’s mate has carried risks with it throughout the years. But I highly favor success over originality, and so far this has been quite a success.”

“You think so, huh?” Rhys huffed, levering a glare at the man that Cyrus followed. “So how much are you tryin’ to get from him? He’s…he’s not gonna even get outta bed for anything less than 100 million…”

Cyrus let out a small, uncomfortable noise. Why was his mom joking with these creeps?

The ringleader scoffed at Rhys’ statement, pulling an ECHO device out of his pocket and glancing at it lazily.

“That’s not of any concern to you, omega. Just know Jack has sixteen hours to pay up properly, or else we will have to take drastic action. You’ll just have to live off your own sarcasm until then.” The alpha grinned sharply down at his two captives, before waving at his entourage and quickly departing, leaving the room again shrouded in dark.

Cyrus let out a scared whine as soon as they were gone, unconsciously squeezing his mother around the waist until Rhys let out a pained hiss. Cyrus instantly relaxed his grip, guilt creeping up in him as he looked to his mother.

“S-sorry, sorry….” Cyrus trailed off miserably, resting his forehead against the bars. He felt Rhys shift around in his arms, eyes fluttering open as he felt a kiss against his nose.

“Hey, hey buddy, c’mon…” Cyrus lifted his eyes to meet his mother’s, trying to take comfort in the confidence and care that lingered there despite the obvious pain and worry.

“You know your dad. Do you really think he’s going to let these creeps get away with it? It’s um….okay, this isn’t a good thing but it’s not exactly my first kidnapping.” Rhys snorted.

“R….Really?”

“I mean that guy was right about one thing. Being Jack’s mate is definitely, uh, risky. But he’s not going to leave us hanging for long. I bet he’s mobilizing his army right now…probably already has a lead! Maybe even a trace on our location…”

Cyrus sniffled.

“You…you promise…?”

Rhys leaned through the bars as best as he could, gently nuzzling their noses together and offering his son an encouraging smile.

“I promise.”

Cyrus had no idea how much time had passed since he had first woken up. The kidnappers has said that Jack had sixteen hours to pay up the ransom or else….Cyrus didn’t know what was going to happen after that, but he didn’t want to find out. He just wanted him and his mom to be out of here as quickly as possible.

He hated that they had been put in two separate cells. The bars were just big enough for him to get his arms through but not enough to do anything else. He could hold Rhys’ hand or awkwardly hug him from behind if the omega laid up against the bars, but he couldn’t cradle his parent the way he wanted, couldn’t properly tend to his wounds.

Couldn’t get him out of here.

It stung Cyrus, deep in his heart, on a level he couldn’t entirely understand. He could smell Rhys’ distress no matter how much the older omega tried to smile at him, pat his hand and reassure him that things would be fine, that Jack would come and find them. He talked to Cyrus about how badass Jack had been when they were younger, how he’d protected mate and child with his own life on the line, but still Cyrus could smell that acrid sting of fear. It lingered on the floor of their cells, caging Cyrus in and making him antsy as every second ticked by. It made him want to rip into something whether it be the steel bars of their cell or the flesh of their captors, just to pull a way the pall of tangible fear that settled on him and his parent like a choking blanket.

He held onto hope that any minute now, his dad would come bursting into the room in a hale of bullets and flashy, white-fanged confidence to spring Cyrus and Rhys from their cell and exact bloody vengeance onto the kidnappers.

But Cyrus could feel Rhys getting weaker by the moment, laying more limply in his arms. His breath was growing more labored, and he was responding slower to Cyrus’ questions. Cyrus felt a rock settle into his stomach, filling him with anxiety as he tried to keep his mother awake.

His heart leapt at the sudden grind of the door, only to fall as he saw the same three silhouettes from before. Again he clutched possessively onto Rhys, though the omega was far too weak to do much other than glare as their three captors brushed up against the bars of their cells.

Cyrus couldn’t see much with the backlighting of the doorway behind them, but even he could make out the hard, unamused lines of the ringleader alpha.

“W-What’s going on?”

“Jack didn’t pay up.” Cyrus felt his blood run cold, his fingers clutch into his mom’s shirt. What?

How could his dad not….how?

“So, that’s a shame, but we figure it’d be a waste just to kill ya. Maybe Jack just needs some more….incentive.” Cyrus’ skin crawled as one of the men flanking the ringleader drew a glimmering, silver key from his pocket, deftly opening the lock to Rhys’ cell. The door swung open with a rusty creak, and the men entered to circle around the omega’s body. Cyrus let out a cry as his mother was grabbed by the tie, pulled away from Cyrus’ hands and tossed harshly onto the floor. Rhys’ coughed harshly, something dark splattering down his pale chin

“What are y-you doing?” Cyrus stammered as he grasped the bars separating his cell from his mother’s. Rhys shifted, heels skating against the steel floor as he tries to push away from the approaching alphas. Cyrus’ nostrils flared, overwhelming him with a sudden fearful cocktail of smells—Rhys’ icy fear as he scrambled away from the sour, sick arousal seeping from the three alphas. One holds up an ECHO device, screen glowing bright blue as he aims the camera at Rhys. Cyrus’ heart pounded in his chest as he screeched at them, shaking the bars in his white-knuckled grasp.

No, no no no no, he can’t let this happen, he can’t!

In a rough panic he glanced about his cell for some kind of weapon, anything he can use to even just distract the alphas from hurting his mom, but there’s nothing but scraps of cloth and gritty little pebbles. As his eyes swing back to the group of alphas, one now crouching on his knees above Rhys’ weakly struggling form, he noticed one of the guards had strayed a little close to the bars.

And that he had a Jakobs pistol strapped to his belt.

The next couple of moments were shrouded in a feral warmth as Cyrus lunged forward, lashing out at the guard’s leg. He felt something thick and meaty pop underneath his claws

as he sunk into the limb, ripping away with a ferocity he’d never believed of himself. He felt the spray of something warm hit his face and a distant scream, but his eyes are focused only on the glint of the pistol as Cyrus rips it from the man’s belt, slick blooded fingers shaking with determination as they steady the weapon in his hand.

The make was different than what Cyrus had been taught, way back in the pristine shooting ranges on Helios with his father at his side steadying his hand, and even though Jack’s not here and he’s trapped in a filthy, dimly lit cell with a pistol so unlike the finished Hyperion weaponry he’s used to, Cyrus still managed to aim at the head of the alpha pinning his mother to the ground and fire.

Cyrus could hear the sounds of his own shouting even above the rapid bang of the pistol as its bullets splattered into the shocked forms of the kidnappers. The ECHO in the guard’s hand exploded in a flash of sparks as a bullet destroyed it, before another buried itself in his temple. White hot, feral anger wracked through Cyrus as he unloaded the entire barrel into the men, still yanking on the trigger even when all it gave him was empty clicks.

His chest rose and fell at a rapid pace as he stared at the bodies, the gun shaking in his fingers. He saw movement from the other cell and froze, only to see Rhys levering himself up, pushing the corpse of the ringleader off of him as he turned to look at Cyrus, his face splattered with the man’s blood.

“C….Cyrus?”

“Ma….mama….” Cyrus whimpered, before running to the door of his own cage. He hacked the chipped bayonet of the pistol against the thick lock, arms bulging with new strength as he broke it clean in half, shoving open the door before racing into Rhys’ cell. He shoved away the dead alphas before gathering Rhys up into his arms, finally able to hold him close without steel bars in the way.

“Hey, buddy, shhh, it’s okay….it’s okay…” Rhys soothed as Cyrus dropped his head against Rhys’ shoulder, nuzzling into his jacket as he starts to sob, warm tears soaking into the fabric as he held the omega as close as he could.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry….I’m so sorry….” Cyrus wailed, body shaking with relief and leftover adrenaline.

“Sorry…? Cyrus, sweetheart, don’t be sorry, it’s okay….” Rhys weakly rubbed his son’s back, gently kissing the side of his temple as Cyrus hugged him like a teddy bear.

He’s still holding Cyrus when a puzzled Jack finally breaks his way into the small room, stunned at the pile of corpses and the sight of his mate comforting their blood-stained son. A pointed glance from Rhys tells him quickly that maybe now is not the best time for his particular brand of colorful accolades, but still he beams in pride and relief as he looks over his son’s first kills.

Alright but your new omergaverse au ties in nicely with the kidnapping au. Jack, always wanting what he can’t have, kills Tim in a rage and decides to kidnap Rhys and MAKE him love him. But of course Jack’s no monster, all the kids get the best day care until mommy loves the new daddy

awwwww fuck you’re right D:

poor rhys, just trying to take tim’s place and make rhys love him and his children think of him as their new father

“Rhysiiiiiie.” Came Jack’s voice again, gruff and singsong at the same time, and it echoes closer now than it had before. Rhys’ tries to keep his panicked breaths quiet, praying he had the courage left inside him to kill Jack if he needed to. He was so close, so close to escaping, all he had to do was get out and away from Jack, and then he could run down to the lobby and scream for security and they would help him, they would help him and take him home and he could be safe.

“I know you’re thinking about escaping, pumpkin.” Jack’s voice sounded out again, this time sounded a little further away. “I just want to know why. I’ve given you attention, gifts, all my love….why would you want to go away from all that, baby? There’s nothing anyone out here can give you that I can’t. Promise.”

Tiny sequel to the kidnapping fic. I’ve been so exhausted from work I haven’t gotten much done but I managed to finish this. I hope it’s okay!

Warnings for kidnapping, dark themes, implied abuse/manipulation, implied noncon, stockholm syndrome

“C’mon, kitty kitty kitty, Rhysie, come on out now…” He could hear Jack calling from out in the darkness, above the hammering of his heart in his ears. He bit into his lip hard to suppress his sob, fear hitching in his chest as he trembled, silent tears dripping down his face. He was hidden, curled up under the desk in Jack’s office, pressed up against the side paneling and obscured by the huge leather chair that he’d pulled in behind him. He swallowed in terror, his fingers shaking around the kitchen knife he held clutched to his chest. The digits felt numb, as if he couldn’t control them, couldn’t release their vise grip around the handle even if he wanted to. His mind was set on only one thing that cycled endlessly through his brain—if Jack comes in here, if Jack pulls back the chair, if Jack finds him, use the knife, stab him through the chest, kill him kill him kill him or he’s going to kill you—

“Rhysiiiiiie.” Came Jack’s voice again, gruff and singsong at the same time, and it echoes closer now than it had before. Rhys’ tries to keep his panicked breaths quiet, praying he had the courage left inside him to kill Jack if he needed to. He was so close, so close to escaping, all he had to do was get out and away from Jack, and then he could run down to the lobby and scream for security and they would help him, they would help him and take him home and he could be safe.

“I know you’re thinking about escaping, pumpkin.” Jack’s voice sounded out again, this time sounded a little further away. “I just want to know why. I’ve given you attention, gifts, all my love….why would you want to go away from all that, baby? There’s nothing anyone out here can give you that I can’t. Promise.”

Rhys inhaled suddenly, clapping a hand over his mouth in shock as he pressed further back against the wooden panel of the desk, as if he wanted to push himself through it in the hope he could pop out the other side and escape. His little alcove of darkness and security suddenly felt claustrophobic, his bare toes curling into the carpet beneath his feet as he

“Rhysie. I’m tired of this game, but if you come out now, you won’t be punished. I swear. I can dress you in your favorite outfit and give you kisses all over. Heck, I’ll even run a bath for you, sugar, with all the soaps you like, I know how much you love being pampered and smelling all sweet.”

An unwanted shiver runs up Rhys’ spine as Jack continues, voice thinning suddenly like a dagger in the night.

“Or, you can keep hiding, and when I find you, I’ll break your legs and who knows when I’ll let you up off that bed again.”

Hot new tears flooded down Rhys’ cheeks, as he bites back a sob of terror, the tip of the knife trembling against his collar.

“But it doesn’t have to come to that, kitten. Sweetheart. Rhysie. You can come out, right now, and end this, and I promise, I won’t raise a finger to hurt you. Not a finger. That’s more than I can say for everyone out there, out there where it’s not safe.”

Jack’s voice is still, lingering in the air, and Rhys can no longer tell if it’s getting closer or further away. His thoughts are shaking as he messily tries to put them together, but the cramped loneliness of the space under the desk is starting to drive him crazy, his toes curling and uncurling against the ground, and Jack is speaking so slowly and sweetly, and the wood is so so cold against Rhys’ back, and suddenly all he wants is to be back in the warm, safe bed with Jack’s arms around him—

He rises on trembling legs, slowly crawling out of the alcove underneath Jack’s desk. His muscles still spasm and threaten to give out through disuse as he stumbles forward through the doorway and out of the study.

“J-Jack..” Rhys dares, his voice hoarse and dry as he wanders aimlessly in the darkened space of the penthouse. He holds the knife limply in one hand, his resolve softening to a pulp as he turns into the living room to find Jack standing in the center, hands settled casually on his hips. Rhys lets out a tiny moan, and he can see the shimmer of Jack’s smile burning through his silhouette.

“There’s my boy.” Jack’s voice is thick and clear. “That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it.” Jack’s glittering eyes flicker to the knife still held in Rhys’ hand. “Such a nasty looking thing for such a sweet kitten to be carrying around….doesn’t suit you, Rhysie. Why don’t you just give it to me?”

Rhys still holds the knife aloft, the blade quivering in the moonlight streaming in from the living room window. Jack approaches him like ink, carefully, his face pale and soft as he reaches out with one hand. Rhys’ breath hitches as he feels Jack’s fingers close around his loose fist, and slowly he lets Jack unfold his hand and slip the knife from his grasp.

A sudden, broken sob tears from Rhys’ mouth as the blade leaves his hand, and he falls forward, colliding with Jack’s chest as his fingers scrabble against the man’s warm bare skin. He buries his tear stricken face in the flesh above Jack’s heart, his body shuddering with sobs as he presses in as close as he can to the other man. He whimpers gratefully as Jack’s long arms close around him, pulling him into a tight hug. One of Jack’s broad palms is splayed over Rhys’ lower back, the other still fisted around the handle of the knife, the smooth cold flat of the blade resting against the younger man’s spine.

“I….I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Shhh, babe, it’s all right…” Jack croons to him, firmly kissing the side of Rhys’ head as he cages him into his arms. “I’m not gonna hurt you…you don’t gotta be afraid…”

He supports Rhys’ fully as the young man’s legs give out completely, both palms flattening against his back as the knife thumps to the floor.

‘I’ve got you.”

“C’mon, kitty kitty kitty, Rhysie, come on out now…” He could hear Jack calling from out in the darkness, above the hammering of his heart in his ears. He bit into his lip hard to suppress his sob, fear hitching in his chest as he trembled, silent tears dripping down his face. He was hidden, curled up under the desk in Jack’s office, pressed up against the side paneling and obscured by the huge leather chair that he’d pulled in behind him. He swallowed in terror, his fingers shaking around the kitchen knife he held clutched to his chest. The digits felt numb, as if he couldn’t control them, couldn’t release their vise grip around the handle even if he wanted to. His mind was set on only one thing that cycled endlessly through his brain—if Jack comes in here, if Jack pulls back the chair, if Jack finds him, use the knife, stab him through the chest, kill him kill him kill him or he’s going to kill you—

“Rhysiiiiiie.” Came Jack’s voice again, gruff and singsong at the same time, and it echoes closer now than it had before. Rhys’ tries to keep his panicked breaths quiet, praying he had the courage left inside him to kill Jack if he needed to. He was so close, so close to escaping, all he had to do was get out and away from Jack, and then he could run down to the lobby and scream for security and they would help him, they would help him and take him home and he could be safe.

“I know you’re thinking about escaping, pumpkin.” Jack’s voice sounded out again, this time a little further away than before. “I just want to know why. I’ve given you attention, gifts, all my love….why would you want to go away from all that, baby? There’s nothing anyone out here can give you that I can’t. Promise.”

@bigevilshine wants more of that fucked up AU where Jack has Rhys kidnapped so…..

thethespacecoyote:

“You’re very knowledgable about this kind of stuff…thank god, I’m sure I’d be lost without you.” He joked, reaching out to run his fingers over the silky straps and dainty lace of the lingerie, the gold of the material glimmering underneath the store’s brilliant lighting. She tried not to stare, only watching him curiously as he seemed to get lost looking at the lingerie, as if he was imagining how it would look on his husband.

“Uh…of course, thank you sir.” She shifted, trying to gauge the alpha’s reaction. “What do you think of this one?”

hi this is really really bad please head warnings for super duper implied noncon and kidnapping and just awful things

super badwrong rhack basically

Keep reading

Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys? I kinda wanna see what you do with it..

thethespacecoyote:

(filling some old requests)

this song will always be a rhack song for me

continuation of the fic i posted earlier, warning for implied noncon, kidnapping, slight stockholm syndrome, bad shit

Rhys’ heart is beating so quickly, hammering so hard against the inside of his ribs that he wonders if he’ll just fall down dead splayed over the edge of Jack’s bed, stark naked, before he even has a chance to try to escape.

It’d been days since he first figured out that he could crunch and bend the bones in his hand against the shackles tying him to the bed until it slipped out. His palm throbs and his skin is split and scarred from where it had torn against the shackles, but he bites his lip raw, tears of pain and fear brimming in his eyes as he dares not to make a single sound, his eyes fixed on the sleeping form of his captor.

Every breath that Jack takes, every slightly shift or smack of lips sends tremors racing through Rhys, and he can barely hold back from sobbing as he, with agonizing care, rises up from the bed, standing on two legs for the first time in god knows how long. His thin thighs tremble, knees nearly clacking together as he backs away from the bed, eyes long-adjusted to the dark as he spots the clothing and lengths of rope and gags and toys that had been tossed aside after a night of Jack’s fun.

His steps wobble as he tries to make it to the door, stopping every other second to take a glance back to Jack, to make sure he was still asleep. Rhys is so close, he’s so close to getting out of here, to getting help, but he stops just as he rests his hand on the cold, alien touch of the doorknob, and suddenly he feels scared of what lays beyond the room.

Jack was horror and pain and violation and fear but as Rhys stands on the threshold the thought of Jack suddenly feels like a balm–his hot, stifling scent wrapped around him snugly and keeping him caged.

Rhys lets out a tight, risky breath.

Who knew what was on the other side of that door. Who knew who was looking for him. Who knew whether anyone would still want him on the outside, now that he was dirty and broken and used.

But Jack called him beautiful. Jack bought him new clothes. Jack loved his body so, so much–so much so that he wouldn’t let Rhys himself get in the way–but in the warped negative of the darkened room where Jack’s resting flesh is a bluish beacon against the shadows

Rhys finds himself drawn back to the bed, to Jack’s side, and when he forces his hands back through the metal shackles tying him to the bed, he finally lets himself start to sob.

Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys? I kinda wanna see what you do with it..

(filling some old requests)

this song will always be a rhack song for me

continuation of the fic i posted earlier, warning for implied noncon, kidnapping, slight stockholm syndrome, bad shit

Rhys’ heart is beating so quickly, hammering so hard against the inside of his ribs that he wonders if he’ll just fall down dead splayed over the edge of Jack’s bed, stark naked, before he even has a chance to try to escape.

It’d been days since he first figured out that he could crunch and bend the bones in his hand against the shackles tying him to the bed until it slipped out. His palm throbs and his skin is split and scarred from where it had torn against the shackles, but he bites his lip raw, tears of pain and fear brimming in his eyes as he dares not to make a single sound, his eyes fixed on the sleeping form of his captor.

Every breath that Jack takes, every slightly shift or smack of lips sends tremors racing through Rhys, and he can barely hold back from sobbing as he, with agonizing care, rises up from the bed, standing on two legs for the first time in god knows how long. His thin thighs tremble, knees nearly clacking together as he backs away from the bed, eyes long-adjusted to the dark as he spots the clothing and lengths of rope and gags and toys that had been tossed aside after a night of Jack’s fun.

His steps wobble as he tries to make it to the door, stopping every other second to take a glance back to Jack, to make sure he was still asleep. Rhys is so close, he’s so close to getting out of here, to getting help, but he stops just as he rests his hand on the cold, alien touch of the doorknob, and suddenly he feels scared of what lays beyond the room.

Jack was horror and pain and violation and fear but as Rhys stands on the threshold the thought of Jack suddenly feels like a balm–his hot, stifling scent wrapped around him snugly and keeping him caged.

Rhys lets out a tight, risky breath.

Who knew what was on the other side of that door. Who knew who was looking for him. Who knew whether anyone would still want him on the outside, now that he was dirty and broken and used.

But Jack called him beautiful. Jack bought him new clothes. Jack loved his body so, so much–so much so that he wouldn’t let Rhys himself get in the way–but in the warped negative of the darkened room where Jack’s resting flesh is a bluish beacon against the shadows

Rhys finds himself drawn back to the bed, to Jack’s side, and when he forces his hands back through the metal shackles tying him to the bed, he finally lets himself start to sob.

“You’re very knowledgable about this kind of stuff…thank god, I’m sure I’d be lost without you.” He joked, reaching out to run his fingers over the silky straps and dainty lace of the lingerie, the gold of the material glimmering underneath the store’s brilliant lighting. She tried not to stare, only watching him curiously as he seemed to get lost looking at the lingerie, as if he was imagining how it would look on his husband.

“Uh…of course, thank you sir.” She shifted, trying to gauge the alpha’s reaction. “What do you think of this one?”

hi this is really really bad please head warnings for super duper implied noncon and kidnapping and just awful things

super badwrong rhack basically

While she’s folding some of the five for thirty dollar underwear that had been scattered by the holiday crowds, she notices an alpha milling about near some of the headless mannequins displaying their fanciest and most expensive lingerie sets. Quickly folding up the last of the paisley-patterned briefs and setting them neatly in the display, she puts on her best saleswoman smile and goes to approach him, hands clasped prettily in front of her uniform as she comes up beside him.

“Hi sir, can I help you with something today?” She says cheerily, drawing the man’s attention, and oh dear.

Okay, she’s seen her fair share of attractive customers–business men and women buying lingerie for their significant others, older alphas with sleek silver hair looking to buy something to spice up the bedroom, omegas and betas with knockout bodies wanting to be fitted for underclothes–but she couldn’t remember anyone who rivaled this guy in the instant charm he exuded as he turned to look at her. Wavy brown hair with a daring streak of grey, dignified wrinkles in the creases of his eyes and brow, steely blue and green eyes that seemed to almost look right through her, and that smile. Ooh. She felt her face heat up, but tried to tamp down her blush and stay professional. This guy dressed like he had serious money to burn.

“Actually, I’m looking to buy something for my husband.” The man spoke, and wow she could practically hear the velvety smirk in that voice. She tried to compose herself, pressing his hands together and smiling even wider

“Of course! I can show you a couple of our most popular brands and styles for men, though if he isn’t here, he might have to come in to have it properly fitted…”

“Oh, no worries, I have his measurements right here.” He tapped the phone just barely peaking out of his pants pocket. She nodded.

“Of course sir! Do you have an idea of what you’re looking for? Texture, favorite colo–”

“He likes yellow.” The alpha interrupted, taking her off guard, though she resumed her smile in an instant, waving her hand over to a couple of other mannequins. The alpha let her lead the way, his hands clasped behind his back as he listened to her talk, eyes roving over the mannequin, the lingerie, then back to her.

“You’re very knowledgable about this kind of stuff…thank god, I’m sure I’d be lost without you.” He joked, reaching out to run his fingers over the silky straps and dainty lace of the lingerie, the gold of the material glimmering underneath the store’s brilliant lighting. She tried not to stare, only watching him curiously as he seemed to get lost looking at the lingerie, as if he was imagining how it would look on his husband.

“Uh…of course, thank you sir.” She shifted, trying to gauge the alpha’s reaction. “What do you think of this one?”

“I love it.” The man smiled, running his finger underneath one of the silky bands, lifting it up slightly before letting it snap back against the plastic mannequin. She flinched softly, her flush returning briefly at the sudden action. This guy was really something else, wasn’t he? Too bad he was married…

“Should I box it up for you sir, then? Maybe throw some stockings along with it?” She hinted with an encouraging smile, prompting the alpha to chuckle and shoot her a wink.

“You’ve been so helpful, sweetheart, here I am thinking I should take you out for a cup of coffee or something like that.” He comments as she uses the measurements recorded in his phone to find the proper sizing for the lingerie, before wrapping it up elegantly with a couple of pairs of sheer stockings that the alpha seemed to like. She chuckles softly at him as she coyly rings him up and takes his fancy, heavy credit card from him.

“If only…my shift’s not over for another few hours.” She puts on a mock pout.

“That’s a shame…I’m sure my husband would love you.” The smile on his face is warm and inviting, and the thrilling twinkle in his eyes is definitely suggesting more than just coffee, and she’s never wanted to just ditch work more than she does right now, but…

“Maybe next time.” She purses her lips and smiles, and likes to think there’s a little bit of disappointment in the older alpha’s expression.

“Sure,” The alpha takes his receipt from her, his smile and eyes flat, “next time.”

Excitement thrums through Jack’s body as he enters the elevator up to his private penthouse, the lingerie box clutched carefully in both hands. He stares at the digital display of the elevator as it goes up and up, until it finally dings and the doors open in the shadowy black of Jack’s home.

The door clips shut behind him as Jack strides forward like ink, purposeful in his steps as he head towards the bedroom, his footsteps echoing something soft and muffled. He uses his shoulder to nudge open the door, his grin brightening as he sees what’s laid out on the perfectly made bed before him.

“Hello, Rhysie….I’ve got a special present for you.” Jack croons, stepping forward to set the prettily wrapped box on the bed. The room is full of omega hormones, the heady stifle of stress and panic making the back of Jack’s neck prickle and shudder in arousal. The omega on the bed jerks suddenly, his shackles clinking against the gilded headboard as he flinches away from Jack. His pale chest trembles, tattoos shaking against his skin as he watches Jack in fear, hopelessly trying to close his legs from where they are bound against the posts at the foot of the bed.

“Shhhh, Rhysie, I just know you’re going to love it….I spent a lot of money on this, kitten.” Jack’s voice dips into a growl for a moment, before he carefully unboxes the gift, lifting the dainty lingerie out of the wispy tissue paper and holding it up to the bound omega.

“Look how pretty it is, Rhysie….and it’s just your size. A really nice girl helped me out with it…you would have loved to play with her, cupcake.” Jack sets the lingerie carefully against the side of the bed, ignoring the hitching gasps and quiet pleas from the omega as he pulls the stockings out of the box, draping them against Rhys’ quivering thighs.

“I’m going to put this on you now, sweetheart. Be good. You know what happened last time you kicked me, huh? We don’t want that to happen again.” Jack muses, undoing one of the omega’s ankle shackles as he slips the sheer stocking onto Rhys’ twitching leg. Jack groans softly once the stocking is fully sheathed over Rhys’ leg, his fingers gliding silkily over it as he kneels on the bed, arching over Rhys’ as he seeks out the omega’s mouth, pressing a hard kiss on his lips as he growls:

“Time for my present now, Rhysie….”