Curate, connect, and discover
hiiiihihi I like your Jason x reader alpha and omega stuff! Could you write a Jason in rut pls?
The apartment was too hot. The air thick with Jason’s scent—gunpowder, leather, and something deeper, darker, needier.
He was pacing. Restless. Every muscle in his body coiled tight, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His rut was coming in hard, harder than usual, and the only thing keeping him from completely losing himself to it was you.
You, curled up in his bed, blinking up at him with wide, patient eyes. Your Omega scent was everywhere, wrapping around him like a damn vice. It was soothing and tormenting at the same time, because fuck, you smelled like home, and Jason’s instincts were screaming at him to claim, to mark, to make sure every inch of you knew exactly who you belonged to.
“Jason,” you murmured, your voice like silk, threading through the haze in his brain.
His jaw clenched. “You should leave.”
You tilted your head, eyes flicking over him—his tensed shoulders, his fists gripping the sheets, the way his breath came too sharp, too ragged. You should be nervous. Hell, you should be scared. But you weren’t. Instead, you pushed the blankets off, crawling toward him, your scent blooming even sweeter in the air.
“Not gonna happen,” you said softly, fingers brushing over the back of his hand.
Jason shuddered. His body ached. His rut was tearing through him like fire, and you—soft, willing, his—were just within reach. His Omega. His mate.
He exhaled sharply, eyes flashing with something feral. “I won’t be gentle.”
You smiled, tilting your head to bare your throat—trust, surrender, invitation. “I don’t need you to be.”
Jason growled, the last of his restraint snapping like a frayed thread. And then he moved.
He had you pinned in seconds, pressing you deep into the nest of blankets. His hands roamed over your body, rough and urgent, mapping every curve, every inch that belonged to him. His lips found your throat, hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin before his teeth scraped against it—a warning, a promise.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as you arched into him. Jason groaned, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. His hands gripped your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, holding you still as he pressed himself closer, his scent thickening, overwhelming.
“You’re mine,” he growled against your skin, voice raw with need. “Say it.”
Your breath hitched, your body trembling under him, but your voice was steady when you answered. “I’m yours, Jason.”
Something in him snapped. His hands tightened, lips ghosting over your scent gland before he bit down—not hard enough to claim, but enough to stake his claim in this moment. Enough to make sure every single part of you knew exactly who you belonged to.
And Jason? Jason was never letting go.