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bakerstreet2020-05-11 01:46 am
justformemes) wrote in bakerstreet2020-05-11 01:46 am
Entry tags:
A/B/O - May
In our world, sexual roles are commonly defined by genders -- male or female or other, by sexualities -- gay or straight, bi or asexual or in-between. But what if they were defined by something else entirely?
Alpha/Beta/Omegaverse is a fusion of fanfiction tropes and animalistic behavior. In this world, sexual roles are divided into three categories: the Alphas (the dominant, the protective and the aggressive), the Betas (ordinary humans) and the Omegas (submissive, fertile and able to carry children).
RESOURCES:CONTENT WARNING: Below the cut contains descriptions of animalistic sexual behavior as applied to humans, situations of dubious consent, explicit situations, mpreg, and scenarios of societal oppression. Click with caution!
Fanlore on the Alpha/Beta/Omegaverse
Alphas, Betas and Omegas: A primer.
ROLES:
1 - The Alpha.
* Stereotypically type A personalities.
* Anatomically: Males have a penis; females may have a penis in addition to a vagina.
* Alphas knot their mates, meaning that the base of the penis swells and locks them inside their mate while they produce copious amounts of semen in an effort to breed.
* Strong sense of smell.
* Near an Omega in heat, they experience a compulsion to mate that is almost impossible to overcome.
* Alphas may go into rut, which is their equivalent of Omega heat, and drives them to mate.
2 - The Beta.
* Ordinary human being.
* Males have penises; females have vaginas.
* Can mate to anyone.
* Might be able to smell hormones of Omegas and Alphas, but will not be overwhelmingly affected by them.
3 - The Omega.
* Stereotypically submissive, quiet, intelligent and less physically able.
* Female anatomy is similar to Betas; males are self-lubricating and may have either an external or internal vaginal setup.
* Regularly go into heat, which involves being overcome by the urge to mate. They are unable to consent while in heat.
* May be made compliant by a bite to the neck. However, that may also induce a mating bond.
* Often regarded as second-class citizens or prizes to be won.
SITUATIONS:
1 - Bonding - Love at first sight. You've spotted your soulmate. You can smell them, you can feel them, you know that they'll be with you until the end of your days. Unless there's something between the two of you. It could be age - maybe one of you has to wait until the other has reached maturity. It could be that the bond is one-sided, and the other has yet to fall in love. It could be an unwanted bond, or society could have divided you into different places. Is your love strong enough to conquer?
2 - Heat/Rut - The need is coming on you strong. Everyone for a half-mile around can smell it. Better find someone to ride it out with, or hole yourself up in a room with a few bottles of water and a durable sex toy. And you'd better hope that there isn't someone out there who will take advantage of your pliable state. Best case scenario, there might be a Beta who can take care of you, or fend off anyone too predatory.
3 - Pregnancy - Whether through a heat or not, you're pregnant. Congratulations - or condolences. Is it time to start a family, or time to start panicking?
4 - Suppressants - You're using suppressants to keep yourself on an even hormone cycle, skipping heats, or maybe pretending to pass as a different class of society. After all, Omegas might want to be in the military, where they're not usually allowed - or an Alpha might want to take a job in a university or as a nurse. Shouldn't they be allowed to, if their hormones are suppressed? Just hope that you don't miss a dose.
5 - Mistaken Identity - That friend that you always thought was an Alpha, or an Omega, or a neutral Beta, turns out to be something entirely different, and your world is turned absolutely upside down. Does it challenge your preconceptions? Or does it just ruin the balance between you two?
6 - Unlikely Pairs - After all, there's no actual reason that Alphas have to mate with Omegas. Maybe two Omegas can satisfy each other. Or two Alphas. Or your intended mate could easily be a Beta. Maybe this is just about breaking out of your pre-established role and becoming something new.
7 - Manifestation - In some cases, an individual may not know they are Omega, Beta or Alpha until their first heat/rut/manifestation, usually happening in early teen years. It may take you by surprise; it may be a blessing, or may be a deep disappointment.
8 - Other - Adventures in getting jobs, making families, fighting bad guys, and anything else you can come up with!
no subject
--well he won't admit it to Sam or Natasha but for all the 'I'm ninety-five, not dead' a stolen kiss goodbye with Peggy Carter and a hurried moment to disguise what was happening from onlookers with the redheaded spy--and that rounds out the list of kisses Steve Rogers has had recently in his life. And of the two of them? The one with Peggy is the only one that really matters. Sometimes, if he thinks hard about it, he can still remember what it felt like: soft lips, velvet against his chapped, brief and fierce and protective and aching, all at once.
In his weaker moments, he thinks they both knew then that he wouldn't make their promised date. Her words, soft American accent, messy bun, Maggie, bring him back to the present and he gives her a smile that doesn't even come close to reaching his eyes.
"Of course," He motions toward a table in the corner of the seating area, good vantage points, if he sits in the far seat his back will be against the wall and the only people behind him will be those ducking into the hallway to find the restrooms.. "I'm Steve." He doesn't offer a last name, and honestly he shouldn't have given her his first one, but--it's hard to lie to someone wearing Peggy's face, even if they're not her. He just needs to hold onto that--this isn't Peggy. Don't lose your footing, Rogers. Keep a lid on it. Pull it together.
He can picture Sam's expression, hear his voice give a dry reminder that: 'We're already on one ghost hunt, Steve, don't send me on another'. With Maggie's nod of agreement, Steve heads toward the empty table, tucking himself in the far chair and reaching up to take his coffee.
"What do you do in DC?" See--he can do this. It's a normal conversation. Captain America on the run would never--he's preserving his cover. The fact that she's the spitting image of the only woman he's ever loved is--tangential, at best. Perhaps if he keeps telling himself that enough, he might even believe it.
no subject
But, Maggie Foster doesn't. Snipers aren't on her horizon any more than disgraced superheroes are.
With him so close, Peggy's memories (artificial synapses they're not real) come flooding back in. His lips pressed against hers. The way his eyes lit on her in that red dress. The cut of his shoulders. His hand in hers. Oh, she thought she'd never see him again. Peggy looks down, busies herself with tearing open brown sugar packets and dumping them into her tea. It's a surprise even to her that they're not trembling for how unsteady she feels. Her eyes sting with the threat of tears and she blinks it away.
Get it together, Carter. Those memories are as real as Maggie Foster is. By the time she looks up again, the smile is back in place.
"I work up at Capitol Hill, with just about everyone else in this city," Peggy laughs, and stirs her tea. "Nothing big, yet. I interned with Senator Carson during his campaign. I was offered a position as an aide when he took office."
This close, Steve's familiar scent tickles at her nose. When he stepped out of the vita ray chamber, his familiar and sweet scent -- like chestnuts roasting on the fire -- had been replaced by something a little sharper, and more powerful. Back then, Peggy remembers, she was disappointed. Steve upgraded, in every way but that. He smells different now. No, that's not it. He smells the same, this brand new body just likes it more. He smells like good, rich dirt right after rain. Like the first cup of coffee on a Sunday morning. Like--
"How about you, Steve? You in politics?"
no subject
The coffee in his hands should be too hot, but like most things it doesn't seem to affect him. He busies himself with drinking it, ignoring the burn of hot liquid across his tongue. He'll let the burn settle him, remind him he's here, in DC in the 21st century and he's not back in the war--
There's a laugh at her question and he shakes his head. "I've never been good at politics--too many rules that get in the way of doing the right thing." The grin he gives her this time is wry and he can hear Sam again (is it weird that his conscience sounds more and more like Sam these days?) telling him part of a damn cover, Cap, is not being yourself. Stop giving her the evidence she needs to figure out exactly who you are.
"I've heard about Carson before--he's got good ideas."
no subject
Beneath the light banter, Peggy's beginning to feel a little weird. (Okay, weirder.) Which is saying something considering the situation. She shifts in her seat. There's something about Steve's scent that tugs at her in new and strange ways. She's only been an omega for two years, but she's never reacted to an Alpha before. There are theories -- scientists are good at those. Peggy supposes it's kind of a pre-requisite for the profession. Most of them revolve around her lab-grown body not fully developing all omega qualities. (Peggy's favorite, propagated and subscribed to by one single scientist, is that she hasn't reached "puberty" yet. The qualities will follow, says the theory, once she reaches twelve or fourteen years. To be fair, she hasn't had a single period yet -- not that she's complaining, that's certainly not something she misses -- so maybe there's something to that theory.)
She doesn't need all omega qualities to be useful, Peggy overhears one scientist say one day. The point is, she smells right. If we need her to go into heat, there are pills to induce. Her being immune to Alpha pheromones is not a drawback. What can she say? The people who grew her and raised her are a delightful bunch. Though, she supposes that's to be expected from people who recreate a person's long lost love -- taking care to change her orientation to better suit his -- just to get him to come back to the fold. (Peggy's not entirely sure she believes their motive for sending her after Steve. It seems an awful lot of effort for something a conversation could probably achieve.)
Peggy leans in across the table, her hands wrapping around the tea cup, and she breathes in. Deeper than she intends. A sort of warmth blossoms across her collarbones. She knows she's staring. She should stop. But her eyes are busy hungrily drinking him in. He's just as handsome as she remembers. More, even.
"So, no politics. Non-profit work? Doctors without borders?" Peggy guesses, still smiling. She shifts again, knees rubbing together lightly as hooks her foot around her ankle again. This is unexpected. She reaches up and rubs her hand absently across the nape of her neck.
no subject
"I'm afraid not," No need to let her know he's distracted, that she's affecting him. It would come across as rude at best, and antagonistic or predatory at worst. Steve does not throw himself at an omega -- no matter how good she smells. He busies himself taking another sip of coffee, trying to use the strong scent of coffee to distract himself from her smell. "Between jobs, actually."
He's about to expand, tell her some made up story when his phone buzzes, and then buzzes again, and then a third time. "Excuse me, sorry--my--" he doesn't expand, because he doesn't need to let her know about Sam. He's not that far gone, looking at her. He picks up his phone and scrolls through the text, the smile on his face fixing in place as he works to keep everything neutral.
2:01 Code Red
2:01 Hostiles in the apartment
2:01 Didn't engage. Saw them as I was coming back from mtg
Two more messages buzz in as he's reading.
2:01 At least six. Looked like retrofitted SHIELD gear
2:02 You know where to go.
His attention flicks between the phone and then back up to Maggie. It's not--it shouldn't be. But all of it suddenly seems a little too comfortable, a little too--
--it's Peggy's ghost in the cafe he's started to frequent. It's the smell of an omega that lingers in his nose, clouding his senses. It's SHIELD agents or whatever it is they're calling themselves these days in the safehouse he and Sam have been using, undisturbed for weeks. Steve isn't one to completely deny coincidence--they happen sometimes. But this?
His hand tightens around his coffee and his eyes flick to the exits, and then back to her face. Is she a part of this? He doesn't--she doesn't have the look about her. Like she's an agent--but then, she looks exactly like Peggy and god his heart aches because he wants to steal even just a second more time with her so he can pretend (because, honestly, that's why he's here with the coffee and the conversation. He's pretending she could be Peg and there's a way this could be a world where he and his best girl could be together, not both alphas but Peg the strong and independent omega and he the devoted and caring alpha--) just a little longer.
"I'm sorry, Margaret--Maggie. There's been an issue at my apartment. A water-pipe broke, apparently," It's not exactly known that he is traveling with Sam. Maybe she's meant to be a distraction--no. He doesn't--he can't think of her like that, even if his rational brain is arguing she must have something to do with it. He wants to stay--to linger near her. And there's this part of him, irrational and irresponsible that somehow wants to ask her to come with him even though coming with him means going off grid for the next twenty four hours and then meeting Sam at a location only the two of them know about. What is it about her--
"I hope we'll run into each other again."
no subject
The mission, Peggy fears, might just be falling apart around her. This is supposed to be laying the groundwork for trust. We're playing a long game, Ms. Carter. (Peggy didn't snarl "Director" at him. It represents growth, really.) We need you to earn his trust. We can afford to let it take time. The proposed slowness is why they've set up a one bedroom apartment on the Metro line most convenient to Capitol Hill.
Maggie Foster is an expensive, and intricate cover. Someone (or several someones) spent time laying her down. She has a driver's license (from Chicago, the same as Senator Carson), a wallet full of credit cards, and a carton of half-eaten Ben&Jerry's Baked Alaska in the freezer. Right next to the freezer burned chicken she really ought to have thrown out weeks ago.
They promised Peggy this was a slow con. Plenty of time for her to slowly gain Steve's trust (and then warn him away before the trap snaps shut around him) before bringing him in. But, the frozen look on Steve's face makes her suspect perhaps there's a part of this plan to which she never received her invitation. The rapid fire texts also tell her that he's working with someone. The higher ups assured her he's on his own. All his former allies scattered to the winds.
"Margot, actually," Peggy corrects, pretending so very hard that the sound of her name (even one she rarely uses) on his lips doesn't send electricity racing through her nervous system. If she could only be herself-- Except she's not the person she thinks she is, anymore than she's the person she's pretending to be right now. "It's short for Margot. Not Margaret. Sorry-- doesn't matter. You should-- a burst water pipe sounds serious."
Peggy stands and smooths down her skirt. The gesture is well-worn, and familiar. Helps settle her nerves. This is all going off the rails.
"If you don't mind-- I don't believe much in blind hope," she holds her hand out for his phone. "Let me at least give you my number. It's too easy to lose someone in this city." Peggy's eyes flick up to meet his. "I only just met you, but I would hate to lose you this soon."
no subject
It's a win-win. Except, of course, they hadn't planned on Sam Wilson. On someone seeing them infiltrate the apartment that Steve's been holed up in (Nick Fury had more information about Natasha Romanoff than even she knew--and some of that information got into SHIELD's hands before the fall) and alerting the soldier. There's chatter in her ear now as they hear that something's gone wrong--people shoving things back where they go, photos of maps and nots being snapped.
"Margot," he repeats, because of course it's not Margaret, but it's close. Everything about her is--close, but not quite. "But you go by Maggie--" Steve's easy demeanor is gone, lost in the things that make him Captain America--tactical, a leader, strategic. He's not aware of it, but his scent has sharpened too, making a couple other omegas look their way. He would be embarrassed, if he wasn't focusing on the mission and the infiltration.
"Ah--" He can't think of a reason to deny her his phone. And the thing is--he doesn't really want to, either. He doesn't want to lose her, even if he's just found her. "Yeah, sure--" He hands his phone over, just catching Sam's latest text:
2:03 They took some papers, but they seem to be clearing out fast
no subject
Peggy swallows tightly, her fingers curling around his phone. Warmth spreads through her fingertips, and her knees hint that maybe she ought to sit down voluntarily before they give up on her. She blinks at the phone screen for a second (he hasn't changed the default screen to something personal yet). She can do this. She's a professional. Before thumbing in her number and saving it under "Maggie - cute @ Starbucks" -- she scans his recent messages (whoever Sam is, she doesn't think her employers counted on his presence).
Since Peggy woke up, she's known they intend her to be a pawn in their intricate game of chess. However, she didn't expect them to throw all of that away and start a game of checkers against a chess champion. Idiots. Peggy forces a smile and hands the phone back. Their fingers brush and it's like an instant shock of electricity. Peggy's breath stops and she gives him a wide eyed look.
"Don't worry," Peggy offers, voice a little unsteady. She reaches up and rubs the back of her neck absently. It sure would be nice, if they remembered to mute her communicator. It's feeding into the low grade tension headache creeping up the nape of her neck. "I didn't even call myself. Leaving the ball entirely in your court."
no subject
His eyes flick to hers even as his breath stutters in his chest and his heart flips sideways and twists before righting itself. He watches as her movements turn tense, nervous and while the rational part of his brain tries to argue that too much of this is a coincidence and she has to be a part of this entire thing--the alpha part of him that he's been doing a great job of repressing for a good long while wants to do everything it can to keep her from feeling that tension and those nerves.
It takes every bit of self-control Steve Rogers has to not replace that hand of hers with his own, to keep from pressing down against that pressure point, to put her down on her knees and assure her that she's good and perfect and everything he needs. It's--improper, it's impolite, and it's so regressive if he wasn't caught up in it, he might make himself sick. As it is? God--he fights for control and tries to ignore how the previous attention they were getting has turned knowing.
Fuck.
"Cute name," He says as he looks down at his phone and then, like an idiot, presses the large green 'call' button. What was that about the ball being in his court? "There. Now you've got my number too."
no subject
The phone they gave her buzzes loudly in Peggy's purse. When she takes it out the screen is lit up with his number, and Peggy's smile fades just a fraction. Apparently, a small part of her was clinging to the hope that Steve wouldn't be stupid enough to call her wired phone with his very traceable phone. They have his number now, and whatever trap they're setting is going to start closing around him.
Hiding her faltering smile, she saves the contact as "Steve - hot @ Starbucks" and tucks the phone back away. Though not before tilting it just enough his way for him to see the screen. When she looks up again, the smile is back in place.
In her ear, the voices have mostly stopped yelling, but there's a staticky kind of sound that lingers. Come on, at least switch bloody frequencies! Peggy wishes she could snarl it at her handlers. Instead she is stuck awkwardly saying goodbye to the man she thought she'd never see again.
The headache is getting worse. It's hitting faster than she can remember any tension headache hitting before. But maybe they didn't build this body quite right? Peggy's fingers dig harder against the nape of her neck, her brow creasing despite her best efforts. Really, she doesn't feel right. The flush of warmth across her collarbones seems to be spreading through her limbs and the fabric of her clothes scratch against her skin. Really, they ought to turn up the A/C just a little.
"So I guess this is 'see you later'?" she offers, plowing through with the kind of determination that's supposed to be Maggie's defining feature. She takes a step towards him that she doesn't mean to take. Stops herself.
Sweat is beading against the nape of her neck now, rolling down the length of her spine. Meanwhile, her scent warms and matures as it rolls off her in response to the scent of him.
no subject
He's about to reply, give her a 'yeah, see you' when he catches a whiff of her scent. Oh. She's--
His nose flares, eyes cutting to the few alphas in the room. They're definitely paying attention now, and not for the right reasons. He hears a low growl rumble near them, and it takes him a second to realize the sound is actually coming from him. Jesus, this isn't--he isn't this kind of alpha. He doesn't just Claim the cute girl who looks like his ex in a shop because it looks like she didn't take her heat suppressants like she was supposed to.
"Ah, Maggie, You might--" He gestures for the door, "Being in a crowded place isn't going to help you any. You have a car nearby?"
She has to know what's happening, he can see that her temperature has climbed at least half a degree if not more in the time they've been together. Well, honestly, in the last ten minutes. She's headed for a heat and it's coming on hard.
"You can't get on the subway like this--"
no subject
"What?" Peggy's brows dip together in a soft frown. The script of the awkward-coffeeshop-goodbye has been derailed somewhere and it seems Steve is reading from a different script entirely. Her free hand comes up, tugs at the collar of her blouse. It's been warm in here ever since she sat down, but it's somehow gotten worse in the past couple of minutes. "I don't have a-- I take the metro."
Metro, Steve. Not subway. It makes you sound too New York. He's not very good at being on the run. He's let himself fall into routines that can be tracked. Followed. Predicted. Giving his phone number up to the first cute girl who asks for it. (Maybe she's not the first. Maybe there's a slew of girls out there with the number of what Peggy sincerely hopes is his burner phone. The thought makes something dark and possessive twist deep in her gut. He better not-- She stops that thought in her tracks. She has no claim on him. He's an Alpha now, and even if he wasn't, Peggy isn't the Alpha who first took an interest in the skinny omega he used to be.)
The communication dot crackles behind Peggy's ear, but she can't make out the words through the static. Her limbs feel wrong, skin too tight, and--
"Sorry, Steve." She braces a hand against the table, jostling the still mostly full cup of chai. "I don't-- I don't feel so good."
no subject
But this woman who wears Peggy's face and smells like home and a thousand lost chances he never got to take is pressing his luck. For the record, if she asked, she is the only person (cute girl or otherwise) that he has given his number to since he went on the run. Well--her and Tony, but that was a special circumstance. Also for the record--she was about the only alpha that took notice of him back when he was ninety-five pounds soaking wet and fighting everyone he could-- he wasn't on anyone's list of most desired omega.
"You can't go on the metro like this--" he argues, before she sways and has to brace on the table, half-spilling her chai. He should pause, help clean that up--but his full attention is on the omega currently hurtling for a heat. His hand comes out and steadies her, steady grip wrapping with surprising gentleness around her arm and keeping her upright.
"Maggie--I think you're going into heat." He doesn't think, he knows--but she seems like she doesn't have any idea, so maybe it's not welcome information. "Is there someone I can call?" This is it, the chance he's got, because much longer and he's not going to let anyone--beta, omega or otherwise--near her. He's already having to fight the urge to just lift her here and now.
"Someone on your consent list?"
no subject
This is a Starbucks. A mission. Not a-- not a good place.
Peggy's attention drifts to his eyes -- wide and worried and maybe just a little dark and it makes her knees go weak -- and she could drown in them, honestly. Her brain connects his words on a couple of seconds of delay, her eyes blinking as the implication sinks in. She shakes her head reflexively.
Someone is speaking very fast now, the sounds vibrating through her skin, but the words all sound disjointed and distant. Overwhelmed and drowned out by the scent of him. He's always smelled good, but now he smells like the best thing in the world -- the dirt after rain, fresh cotton sheets, him -- and she just wants to bury her nose at the crook of his neck and breathe him in.
"That's not-- that's not possible." It's becoming harder to think. Thoughts flitter past in jagged and sharp little fragments, slicing her open as she tries to grab at them. It's Steve's eyes, back when they were too big for his face, pupils blown wide and dark as he tried breathing his way past a heat that might've killed him back in the mud and the rain of the Super Soldier boot camp. It's the heat curling at the base of her spine. It's the sterile white room where they bemoaned her body's lack of an omega response. It's Maggie, and the communications dot behind her ear, it's the crowd of people listening in, it's trying to maintain her cover.
Peggy's knees keep wanting to give out beneath her. Clumsily, she steadies herself with a hand against his hip. This body has never been in heat. Peggy's never been in heat. She doesn't know how to do this. Fear slices through her, and for a second there is clarity. If this body is going into heat, if Steve is the gentleman she remembers-- everything is going to change.
The flicker of fear must be unmistakeable against her desire darkened eyes. She swallows tightly, fingers digging against his hip. Her other hand scrubs over the nape of her neck again, the base of her little finger dislodging the communications dot. It falls to the floor, little more than a speck of dust.
"I don't-- There's no one." Her voice is coming out thick and raw with honesty. "I don't have a list."
no subject
One of the baristas gives him a look that he interprets as 'we'll clean the tea, get her out of here'. He needs to--pretty soon she'll be full into it (part of his brain tells him this is a little too fast, a little too much, it shouldn't come on just like this--but it's hushed by the alpha that is responding to an Omega in need)--and he'll have to fight every alpha in this place to keep her virtue intact.
"Possible or not it's happening, Maggie--" He uses the grip he's got on her elbow to tug her forward, out of the Starbucks, onto the street. At least here the scent of her is tugged away slightly by the wind. The tradeoff is the twist of heads as people walk past and he catches her gaze and holds its. That fear twists something in him and he knows, suddenly, that he can't leave her here.
Sam'll be pissed. He knows he will -- where are they supposed to go with an omega halfway into a heat?--but Steve walks away now and some alpha picks her up--even if she wasn't Peggy's doppelgänger, Steve couldn't live with himself.
"Alright. Hey, look at me," His other hand comes up and wraps around her other elbow, holding her completely steady. At this point, her legs could give out and she wouldn't fall. "I'll keep you safe. There are--facilities. Clinics I can take you to." It's what he should do--for both her and his sake. He's on the run, he doesn't have time to spend three days holed up with a woman he met in a cafe--and she literally can't consent. But--god, he doesn't want to let her out of his sight.
no subject
Is this what omegas feel like every single month? This itch beneath their skin, this warm haze clouding all their thoughts? It's unbearable. How did Steve even do it? Back in the filth and the mud of super solider base camp. How did he survive? At least she hasn't gotten to the arousal stage yet. She's just slightly overheated, and easily distracted.
Outside, the fresh air clears her head for a moment. The scent of Steve is less out here. Not gone by any means, just not quite so overwhelming. Peggy drags down a couple of deep breaths, filling her lungs and clearing her head. There's a moment where her thoughts come a little clearer. The channel hasn't gone quiet. It's gone. Peggy has a very limited time window here, to get away from Steve before they hit the point of no return (even the best Alpha will succumb eventually) so he can make a run for it.
People are staring. Their heads turning towards her like little sunflowers as they pass. Then Steve catches her eyes, and the rest of the world fades away. There are important things she has to think about. But she's distracted by the press of his thumb against the bend of her elbow. The skin is thin and sensitive there, and the innocent touch has her breathing in sharply.
Her knees buckle, it brings their bodies a little closer together, but his grip on her arms keeps her upright. She blinks up at him, tongue darting out to wet her lips. She wants to kiss him. Quite badly.
A heat facility would be a good thing. Steve can deposit her there, go on the run and then-- ditch his cellphone. He needs to ditch his cellphone too. Why? She doesn't remember. Her handler can pick her up from whatever clinic Steve drops her at and he'll be safe. She opens her mouth to say as much, but what comes out instead is a soft whine. Her hands are on his chest -- she doesn't remember putting them there -- twisting in his shirt. He says he'll keep her safe, and she believes him.
A man in a suit passes them, stops, comes back. He smells like an omega, and he has a big scowl on his face.
"Listen, buddy. You gonna get your girl inside already? Or keep her out on the street like an asshole?"
no subject
Steve tracks the flick of her tongue with his eyes, hungry and interested in a way that would embarrass him if he was in his right mind. Thing is, he may have more control, but an omega sprinting toward heat--especially one that looks pretty much like the love of his life--effects him just as much as her.
He's about to say something, a recommendation of a nearby facility when a very cross omega in a suit comes up to them and addresses Steve. The low growl that escapes him should mortify him. It does, even through the haze of Peggy--Maggie's scent.
"This doesn't concern you," He rumbles with that same growl, even as what's left of his brain tells him that this guy makes a good point. She's headed into heat and he needs to get her out of here before things get really complicated. He shifts her slightly, tucking her against him to keep her upright with one arm as he looks over her shoulder toward the street. They need a taxi--
He spies one and motions, the red and white pattern still throwing him off. He's a New York native when it comes down to it, and he expects the Taxis to be yellow--
--focus, Steve. He nudges Maggie toward the taxi, confirming the driver is a beta through the window. That's the last thing they need--two alphas trapped with an omega smelling like this in the same confined space. Once he gets the confirmation, he pushes her toward the back seat, following after.
"Where should I take you?"
no subject
Peggy stumbles blindly into the taxi. Sweat-slick skin sticks against the leather seats as she shimmies her way to the opposite end of the backseat, her tight pencil skirt slipping up to reveal bare knees and a good part of her thighs. Her purse strap tangles with the seat belt on her way over, and it slips from her shoulder.
The purse, unzipped still, topples over and her phone, the thin wallet, a blister pack of Advil, a chapstick, a pack of Kleenex, and the tampon she shoved in there for authenticity all spill out across the seat. The phone snags in her mind for a second, and then Steve climbs into the cab with her, and her attention snaps to him. She watches him, throat dry with longing.
Her brain is a hazy mess. Trying to think through it is like driving through dense fog at night. She can barely see the road ahead of her, headlights dimmed low, she has to inch forward to keep from losing control entirely.
The cab driver -- perhaps sensitive to her needs, or perhaps just aware of the blistering summer heat outside -- is blasting the A/C. The cold air is helping. But as the door slams shut behind them, with some finality, she knows it won't last long. The smaller space, this close to him-- It's only a matter of time before she loses herself completely.
Choices are being made for her, this brand new body betraying her, and it's all going too fast. She is running out of time.
"What?" Too late, the question registers with her brain and she blinks up at him, slow and owlish. They made her memorize the address to Maggie's apartment. The place is fully furnished, they've gone all out, but Peggy hasn't slept in the bedroom, can't make her way from the bed to the bathroom in the dark, and she can never remember which cabinet has the plates in it.
Not-SHIELD insists it's fine. Maggie just moved. He won't pay that much attention anyway. It's just a place for him to pick you up and drop you off.
Peggy thinks they're morons.
"I don't--" His eyes are so earnest, shining out of that familiar face, and the thought of how disappointed he'd be if he knew the truth twists her lungs so hard she can barely breathe through it. Her hand rubs over the nape of her neck again, the touch sending tendrils of warmth curling their way down her spine. It eases the haze a little. Her fingers brush the spot just behind her ear, and she's surprised when they don't feel the little bump of the communications dot.
Right. She lost it.
They're on the move, and she lost the communications dot.
She braces a hand against the leather seat. Or rather, she means to, her hand lands on something slick and angular instead. She looks down. It's Maggie's phone.
"Steve," she says, voice thick in her mouth. She nudges her phone towards him. It slides across the seats, and hits the side of his thighs. The sight is so distracting. Peggy just wants to-- no.
"You have to lose the phones. You know the rendezvous." The words seem to stick in her throat, but she forces them out all the same. "You'll need a strong magnet. An EMP if you can--" She screws her eyes up tight and forces her head back against the headrest.
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Taking her to her apartment is a terrible idea--not for the reason Maggie's identified. That would be an issue, of course, because Steve is trained to notice that sort of thing--the details that people don't notice. The baseball game on the radio. The mismatched curls of a hairstyle. The curve of an underwire on a bra that shouldn't be there. He would notice the lack of use in the bed, he would notice her unfamiliar steps in the apartment, he would notice the carefully arranged pictures and furniture to make it seem like someone lived there. Steve's seen SHIELD's undercover set up before, and they--much like a leopard--do not change their spots. But the reason he shouldn't take Maggie to her apartment is because if he gets her in a confined space, he won't be able to keep his hands to himself.
It takes him a second to process what she says, his brain too tangled in the smell of her, the way she feels, close enough he could--better not to think about it. The sound of his name has him focusing in on her, attention fully dialed in. But the words don't process right, clinging on different warnings in his head that try to process through the haze he's slipping into right alongside her.
"Maggie?" He looks down, at her phone between them and then his eyes flick down to his own pocket. "What are you talking about?"
no subject
"Steve Rogers." His name sounds off in the flat, American accent she's still somehow clinging to right now. They both know he didn't offer his last name. (And that he damn well shouldn't have offered his real first name either. But, not-SHIELD was counting on Peggy's appearance throwing him off, and they were right. Though she suspects they had no way of knowing what a complete curve ball the carefully manufactured "chance" encounter would throw them.)
"I need--" His body pressed tight against hers. His hands splayed wide against her skin. His mouth-- Peggy swallows harshly, blinks up at the ceiling of the cab. The warmth is beginning to center at the core of her, fanning flames she'd rather not have fanned right now, thank you very much. The window is so brief. Already, the chill of the A/C is beginning to dim beneath the heavy scent of him. Peggy wants to bury her face against the crook of his neck and breathe him in. Wants-- No. Focus.
"Lose the phones. Now." Her authoritative tone doesn't carry the same weight without the pheromones to toss behind it. It's certainly not helped by the warm cookie scent of omega slowly descending into heat.
"The EMP is for--" The tracker nestled in her spine. The one they grew alongside her spinal cord. She lets out a soft and wet whimper, and gives him a desperate look. She needs him.