Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Contrary to popular belief, the Empire did, in fact, let omegas act as Stormtroopers. It wasn’t commonly known, but omegas were calm, naturally submissive, and receptive to commands. Betas were preferred, of course, but for the Stormtrooper population, omegas were very much accepted and encouraged to join, even more so than alphas. Of course, there were rules. Suppressants, for one. Migs hadn’t had a heat in… years, maybe. He was pretty sure he gave it a shot after his discharge, but it had been awful and lonely and the alpha he’d holed up with didn’t smell right and he’d abruptly decided never to do it again. Scent blockers were another thing to mitigate the heats and existence of any omegas within their ranks. All Stormtroopers were meant to smell null, sterile, void, like walking droids. Not even the GAR had forced their clones to block their scents, but no one ever mentioned that. There were a lot of things unmentioned regarding the GAR.

When he got his discharge, Migs hadn’t stopped taking suppressants or scent blockers. It was one of the few things about being a Stormtrooper that had never really bothered him. It was useful, even. He had never been a picture perfect omega. Wasn’t interested in that sort of thing. He knew he was half feral, unmated and unwanted except by the more sadistic sorts, so it was better to just be carefully void than to open himself up to criticism. No one had to know about the slit between his legs, bone dry after years of chemical abuse. No one had to know how he wanted to bare his neck when a particularly burly alpha threw his weight around. And no one certainly had to know competent, dangerous omegas that could punt him through a wall got him going. Not that omegan love was discouraged in society. But…

Well, he didn’t like the comments about omegan love. And about how betas loved porno reels about omegas like Migs getting beaten and coaxed into submission, taught how to act like a real omega by a sweeter omega, a prettier omega, an omega that presented on command and was raring to show someone like Migs his place in the galaxy. It wasn’t that it wasn’t hot, or anything, it was just the… trust, probably.

It was better to just not open himself up to the scrutiny. The salacious comments. The gazes. The way omegas like him were undressed with eyes in seedy bars as people daydreamed about what it would be like to make him kneel, make him want it, like he was a particularly willful fathier that just needed to be broken a little.

So, no one knew.

The New Republic prison was invested in keeping riots to a minimum, so he’d been pumped full of subpar suppressants there, too. Secondary genders were not listed anywhere but medical charts, to discourage handsy guards so they didn’t have to deal with the paperwork. On paper, to prying eyes, he was nothing but a Human male, and he was fine with that. He got shot up once a week by the doctor with chemicals, got his ration of scent blocking patches, and continued as he always was planning on continuing. Unmated, carefully unwanted, and unchanged.

And then that goddamn Marshal showed up the day he was supposed to get his shot, and he only had a week’s worth of scent blockers. One thing led to another, and here he was, sweat beading at the back of his neck, the last of his scent blockers plastered on his glands to hopefully let him get a clean getaway, uncomfortable damp between his legs, and Mando and the alpha Marshal who was getting a little chummy with the other female alpha were talking about how he must have died on the extraction.

He was going to walk away. He really was. But Mando had been eyeing him, suspicion tainting his scent as Migs tried to change into his regular clothes. The poor guy was still reeling a little from taking his helmet off, Migs wasn’t all that sure as to why it was a big deal, but it seemed like a religious thing. Exactly why he’d never thrown his lot in with religion. The mix of guilt-suspicion-guilt-suspicion was mind boggling and just catching a whiff of it was absolutely fucking exhausting. His brain felt like it was turning to mush, partially because of the pre-heat, partially because the omega he’d had wet dreams of ever since he literally ripped apart a cluster of fucking security droids with his bare hands was here and Migs was under his targeted attention, partially because they were just going to let him go.

So. He was going to walk away. He was. But then the Marshal tilted her head, nostrils flaring, and then the fucking Mando leaned back, like realization was dawning on him as Migs tried to step away.

“Mayfeld.” Little gods, why did that vocoder have to do that?

“... I’m gonna… Okay, I’m going,” Migs blabbered, but then the Mando stepped forward, big and imposing with that kriffing cinched waist that did something to Migs’s addled brain, and a gloved hand wrapped around his wrist.

“... You’re…”

“Are you gonna kill me or not, dude?” Migs demanded, yanking his wrist out of Mando’s grasp. “I don’t have a kark---”

“Mayfeld, are you a kriffing omega? ” The Marshal blurted, and Migs froze as the subtle scent of pre-heat trying to desperately escape the confines of his scent blockers spiraled out into the air. Another bead of sweat slipped down his temple, and an unwanted snarl rose up in his throat.

“What the hell is it to you?” He demanded, back stiffening and offense rising up, and the Marshal and the Mando exchanged glances.

“You’re in pre-heat,” Mando said, like he was carefully choosing his words, and the offense practically exploded from Migs in a flood of emotion.

“Yeah, well, it was a long karking flight and you decided to pick me up right before my suppressant shot.” He was being contrite. He was. He wasn’t a changed man, but he was a slightly calmer man. But this was entirely too much to deal with.

“When was your last heat?” Mando asked, and color rose in Migs’s cheeks.

“That’s none of your business.”

“So. Years,” Mando supplied, and Migs made a deeply aggrieved noise, just bordering on pain as his scent finally broke through the patches, broadcasting his distress to all sundry.

“Yeah, that’s not going to fly,” the Marshal decided, and Migs gave her a look with all the self-contained loathing he possessed.

“I’m sorry? ”

“You’re on a planet crawling with Imperials and angry locals, you haven’t had a heat in years, you’re pre-heat, in thirty minutes you’re not going to be able to walk straight. We’re not marooning you on a planet in heat,” Mando said, and indignation practically ripped through Migs.

“I’m an ex Imperial sharpshooter, a wanted mercenary, I have killed men for looking at me wrong--- ”

“Yeah, Mando, you handle him,” the Marshal said and started to back up. “Pissy omegas are not my territory.”

“You’re not going to handle me--- ”

A hand reached forward before Migs could jerk back, and clamped right around the back of his neck. In an instant, he went stockstill, brain fully turning to pudding as gloved fingers pressed down on sensitive scent glands. It took him a second to realize he was being scruffed. By another omega. An omega he’d been helplessly attracted to for months now, and he found himself swaying on his feet, mouth dry and head spinning with unwanted hormones as he tried to locate where his tongue had gone.

“You can handle yourself?” Mando asked, and the vocoder didn’t really let emotion slip out, but Migs felt like he was definitely being mocked, but the fingers were pressing just a little more tightly, and a thumb was stroking, and no omega was breaking out of a scruff this close to a hellish heat.

“Kriff, Mando, did you scruff him? ” The Marshal asked, and it was enough to prompt Migs to let out an honest-to-gods growl. “Easy, princess, omegas aren’t my thing.”

“He’s a mess,” Mando said as he pressed his thumb up higher, just enough for Migs to instinctively bare his throat. “... Yeah, he can’t go out on his own.”

“Then toss him in the cargo hold and help him build a nest. I’ll tell Fett to expect him back,” the Marshal said, and Migs’s blown-out gaze tracked her walking away, frozen in place and helpless to fight against the blasted Mandalorian who was just about to let him go.

The thumb stroked down the line of his scent gland one more time in a soothing motion, and then suddenly Mando was moving, dropping his grip so he could bend forward and just toss Migs over his shoulder like an alpha in a bad holo porno. Not recovered from the scruffing, all Migs could do was let out a plaintive whine of protest, but Mando wasn’t having it. A firm hand wrapped around the back of his thighs, and Migs barely managed to focus enough to realize the pauldron was pressing into his gut in a manner that was almost painful. Or, wait, no, that was a cramp. When was the last time Migs had a cramp?

“Kriffing… Mando, ” he growled, giving a token struggle as he realized what was happening the second Mando set foot on the ramp. Silent as ever, the Mando just strode into the Firespray, Migs leaving behind a scent trail of whorish need behind him, slick leaking out of his pussy as his body got with the program. There was nothing to indicate Mando was even listening to him beyond an almost soothing grip on his thigh, the hand tightening and relaxing as the Mando keyed open the cargo hold and dumped Migs in a mess on the floor.

“Wait here,” he ordered, and then tilted his head. “I’m locking the door from the outside until we talk.”

“You’re throwing me onto a ship in pre-heat with three alphas, Mando!” Migs snarled, struggling to sit up as another haze of hormones washed over him.

“You were going to walk out on an unknown planet crawling with Imps with no ship and no weapons in the middle of a heat,” Mando replied, and yeah, it was a bad idea, but now Migs was going back to prison. As content as he was there, it was still prison, and he was in heat.

“I could have handled it! ”

“I’m not leaving another omega to get attacked and raped, Mayfeld,” Mando snapped, and a low, boiling growl rose out of Migs chest as he clambered to his feet.

Migs was an unconventional omega. Maybe that was what prompted him to just lunge at Mando, muscles coiled, a traitorous voice whispering in the back of his head prompting him to force Mando to make him submit. He tackled Mando in a whumf, and the two of them hit the ground, rolling to slam into the cargo hold door, and Migs, belatedly, realized he hadn’t thought this through, because beskar hurt to hit. A curse escaped his lips as his fist connected with the helmet, and Mando flipped them, lightning fast, and they had definitely done this before. Migs had lost. In seconds. He was a ranged fighter, not a brawler, and Mando knew it.

Hard bulk slammed him into the cargo floor, Mando firmly seated on his rapidly warming groin, and Migs snarled again, lashing out with a flat handed punch to snap his head back. The beskar edge caught on his palm, opening up a gash that smeared blood across the helm, and Mando lifted off just long enough to bodily slam Migs face first into the floor. A hand landed on the back of his head, pressing him down as the other pinned his wrists to his back, and then Mando just dropped his weight onto his back in a full blanket.

He was heavy. The full weight of him pressed Migs into the floor of the ship, forcing his chest down in a compression to slow his breathing as pain lanced across his palm. Instinct alone had Migs squirming to press his ass into Mando’s crotch, and Mando pressed down even further, either in response or to get him to stop, Migs didn’t know.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Mando’s voice was soothing, prompting Migs’s traitorous body to go limp, and his hand tightened just a little more on Migs’s wrists. “I’m going to get things for a nest and your hand. You’re going to stay here. I’m going to come back, and if you’re calm, and have your brain in one piece, we’re going to talk about if you want to be left alone, or if you want me or Fett to help you, because Cara and Fennec aren’t ones for omegas. If your brain isn’t in one piece, do I have your permission to help you take the edge off until you can think clearly? Because I think it’s pretty clear what you like.”

The scent of arousal was filling the room, and it took Migs a second to realize that Mando was also turned on by the whole thing. He’d liked Migs going immediately on the offensive, and the thought alone had him wanting to struggle just to get a scent of approval lancing through the air. Not one for self control, he did, squirming under the bounty hunter, not really trying to get out, more just trying to press up against his groin to see if he can’t get him slicking up.

“Mayfeld,” Mando hissed warningly, and pressed him down as Migs’s distressed scent shifted to something more like ‘helloooo sailor’. Embarrassing, but he might as well play it off.

“Fine! Yes! Kriff! ” Migs snarled and went limp just as the cargo hold door slid open. The unique scent of Fett’s alpha filled the room, and as one, the two omegas twisted their heads to take in the sight of the alpha standing there in the doorway.

Caught.

Fett had his helmet on, so Migs couldn’t see his face, but from his scent, he was very amused by the scene before him. It felt a little condescending, and there was a slight tinge of interest there that had Migs’s hackles rising.

It wasn’t that Fett wasn’t attractive. He was. His scent was nice and calming, full of ozone and oil, and Migs appreciated it. Very much. He liked alphas, and he liked omegas, and he generally liked the male types, though he could find interest in the occasional female alpha and a female omega that could take him in a fight. But he was also just entering a heat for the first time in years, and he was admittedly freaking out a little bit. He’d seen what alphas could do to an omega in his position, and occasionally he’d seen an omega do the same, but it was far rarer. He was in a vulnerable position, and he barely trusted Mando as is, mostly because Mando had left him alive, which made his level of danger go down exponentially.

Fett was not someone who had qualms about killing people. Migs was somewhat comfortable with Mando, and he’d like to stick with him, thank you very much. He was not nearly heat addled enough to let that sense of preservation get overridden by the need to slobber on a knot.

So, there was nothing to stop the animal instinct to growl and shift ever so slightly, just enough so Mando slipped to shield his body even more. A sense of mortification hit Migs. He knew it was natural, an omega looking to a non-compromised omega to protect them, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t embarrassing.

Fett wasn’t intimidated by the growl in the slightest. Instead, he just tilted his head, checked them over, and something went tight in Migs’s stomach as his gaze trailed down that skirt he wore, wondering what was underneath before the sense of danger once again overtook him.

“Am I interrupting?” Fett asked as Mando’s hand flexed on the back of Migs’s head.

“He cut his hand. I need the first aid kit,” Mando replied. “And some things scent marked by you. Not you.”

“Your heat kit is where you left it,” Fett replied, backing up enough that Migs relaxed ever so slightly. “Jittery thing, isn’t he?”

“Half feral,” Mando replied, like he was proud, and spread out his weight just a little more, calming and soothing, and Migs went boneless into it. His hand relaxed on the back of Migs’s head, and he tilted it ever so slightly to bare the side of his neck facing away from Fett before he realized what he was doing.

“I’m right here,” Migs hissed as soon as he registered he’d given Mando a sign of submission, and the Mando let out a huff of laughter, pressing his groin into Migs’s ass in a slow, teasing grind, like the alpha wasn’t standing right there, watching them behind that helmet of his. It felt a little like a show, and while Migs had always felt a little… uncomfortable, with the way omegas put on shows for alphas, he couldn’t deny that it was a lot more thrilling when he was in the middle of it. Maybe it was being openly wanted by two literal killing machines. Respectful killing machines, for all that Fett was looking at him like he was a prime cut of bantha steak.

Kriff, he was soaked. He had no idea how much they could smell through those helmets, but he assumed it was a lot. And he was cramping. His stomach was starting to burn, and it was lacing the hazy arousal scent with discomfort. It felt like someone was digging a vibroblade into his blasted uterus.

“We know,” Mando replied mildly, and Migs’s brain snapped back to the conversation. “We’re fine in here, Boba. Just a cut. Can you give us the room?”

“I’ll re-scent your kit for you,” Fett replied and the cargo door slid shut. He must have heard the fight. Aggravating. What had Migs been trying to prove? That he was hard to get? There were probably other ways to do it.

“You gonna behave while I’m gone?” Mando asked, and something between a whine and a growl escaped Migs’s mouth.

“ Yes, kriff, just… ugn. ”

“I’m going to get up now,” Mando replied and slowly released his grip on him. With agonizing slowness, he brought Migs out of the comfort of being pinned, the heavy torso pulling back inch by inch, until he was sure Migs wouldn’t freak and fully sat up. A glance over his shoulder revealed the Mandalorian sitting there, shiny beskar smeared with fresh, warm blood, and Migs reflexively licked his lips at the sight.

Maybe it was the Empire, maybe it was the mercenary work, but he had definitely gotten his wires crossed somewhere.

“Stay here,” Mando said and ripped off a piece of Migs’s tunic. “Press that to your hand and keep pressure. I’ll be back in five minutes. Don’t bleed out while I’m gone.”

And, with that, he was gone, the cargo hold door sliding shut behind him and locking. Migs slowly sat up, his stomach screaming in pain as more sweat trickled down his neck and soaked his tunic. His hand was bleeding sluggishly, and the heat was fully settling, hard and fast. He had known it was coming for the past few days, but now that it was setting in, there was nothing he could do in the face of it. It had been years since the last one, and the suppressants he’d been on were utter shit. He’d gone from top of the line chemical blends to the fodder suppressants New Republic taxes covered, and his body had taken a beating. Not to mention they were just coming out of a fight, and he had just been put through some intense emotional upheaval, so that wasn’t going to make things any easier for him.

It was going to be a rough heat. He was barely cognizant enough to start wrapping his hand, a halfhearted effort, but enough to get the pressure on the gash. The Mando was gone, and he was on the cold floor, alone in a cargo bay without a soft blanket or pillow in sight, and…

He barely noticed when the fragile whine started up, instincts demanding he start stripping. Migs hadn’t gone through many heats in his life, but he knew this one was hitting hard and unnaturally fast. There could have been a variety of things that contributed to it. Close quarters with three alphas, no suppressants, one hot omega he wanted to ride into oblivion, a hair raising heist followed by a narrow escape over a kriffing waterfall… There were a number of factors, and his stomach was hurting.

When had he lost his top? Sweat was beading up, smooth and inexorable, and his head felt hot. Too hot. He needed to stop and consider consequences. The metal of the cargo hold floor was so cold, though. Cold and welcoming against his burning skin, and kriff, why did Mando have to scruff him? That wasn’t helping matters, not at all. Scruffing put him into overdrive. He hated scruffing, but damn if it hadn’t felt good. He wanted him to do it again, just so he wouldn’t have to think, and his hand hurt, his belly hurt, he needed some painkillers stat. Human hands had a lot of nerve endings, and he was paying the price for that stupid flathanded punch.

There was an overwhelming urge to spread his scent everywhere, rub up on everything in sight, but he was too damn busy rolling over to press his bare chest down onto the cargo hold floor. His underwear was sticking to him, wet and warm and gross and slimy, and he wanted to take it off. Right now.

‘You really fucked up this time, Migs,’ was a coherent thought that spun through his head, and then the cargo hold door was opening. His head snapped up, eyes blown wide and trying to focus on the sight in front of him. Mando was there, a bag in hand, with a kit slung over his shoulder, and Migs let out a downright pitiful whine.

“This is why you take a yearly heat, Mayfeld,” was all Mando said, and he whined again at the lack of sympathy in his voice. The other omega closed the door and made a show of locking it, and Migs rolled onto his back, struggling to sit up and get his thoughts in order. “Down.”

“Kriff… fuck, ” Migs swore, completely ignoring Mando as he scrabbled back on the floor to press up against the cold wall. Mando strode forward, not unlike a predator stalking prey, and he tried to get his brain together enough to beat down the urge to bare his throat.

“You don’t listen,” Mando said and dumped out the contents of the bag, blanketing the floor in a plethora of blankets and shirts and skirts that reeked of Fett and Mando both, and what smelled suspiciously like sex.

Oh. Oh, Migs was being propositioned by another alpha’s omega. And Fett wasn’t going to rip his head off? This was fine with them? Did they normally do this? What the hell had happened to the prudish Mandalorian with the shit ship that got territorial over weapons? He remembered telling that bastard of a Devaronian to stand down when he started getting into his shit, knowing full well how twitchy an omega could get when their space was invaded. It hadn’t been out of sympathy, of course. Just self preservation. And Mando had just… offered up his alpha like that?

Migs was pretty sure he was the kinda guy that had a heart attack over showing off a strip of his wrist.

“Mando, wha---” He cut himself off, words dancing around from him, and the air around them took a sharp turn into distress and frustration. Migs’s distress and frustration, because it felt like his brain was cooking in its juices, and he was overcome with too much energy and nowhere to put it.

Mando’s T of a visor tilted towards him, almost threateningly, and Migs blinked as he wondered if those soft brown eyes could get hard. Was he mad? He didn’t smell mad. Maybe exasperated?

“Din.”

“Wha---?”

“I’m helping you through your heat. My name is Din.”

Migs swallowed harshly, licking his dry lips, and his gaze traveled down to his imposing form, just a few inches taller than him, and kriff, that was intimidating.

“Migs,” he rasped, and the Mandalorian… Din, went down onto one knee, reaching out with one gloved hand.

“Come here,” he ordered and beckoned, and Migs tried to recall where his dignity had wandered off to. The pause was just a second too long for Din, and he clicked his tongue harshly. “Come here, Migs.”

His voice had dropped a few octaves, and a shiver wracked up Migs’s spine. His limbs gathered themselves to move, and Din let out a quiet croon, reserved solely for other omegas. In an instant, Migs was moving, instinct driving him towards the source of that croon that promised comfort when he thought he was losing his mind, and Din’s scent turned to one of sharp approval. A gloved hand wrapped around the side of Migs’s face, and he pulled him into the mess of blankets.

“Are you with me?” He asked, pressing his cold, bloody helmet to Migs’s burning forehead, and Migs managed to let out a quiet, questioning answering croon, Basic too much for him to grasp in that moment. “Yeah. You’re with me, aren’t you?”

There was approval there. No worry. No sense that something was wrong, even if the barely-coherent Migs in the back of his brain, shoved under the omega coming out to play knew something was wrong, and Din just knew that if he showed it, Migs would panic. It was soothing. Din knew what to do, what Migs needed, and Migs could let him take the reins. Right?

No. He wanted to be a brat. He wanted to make Din fight to get him under control, wanted to make him prove that he had what Migs needed. This wasn’t enough. He should have higher kriffing standards. But what higher standard was there than a Mandalorian that had already beat his ass to hell and back? Migs was really scrabbling here, but…

Maybe he could give Din a hard time… later. Yes. Later. Right now, he just needed… The scent of Fett filling the room, the scent of a sated omega that knew exactly what made an omega feel good, because from the smell of things on the blankets, Fett had thoroughly instructed him. This omega could take care of him. He knew what Migs needed. He knew, he knew, he knew, and Migs knew that he knew, and---

“Let me see your hand, Migs,” Din ordered, and Migs whined, because he didn’t want Din to fix his hand, he wanted Din to fix everything else going on. “Give it. Now, omega.”

Oh.

Oh.

He called Migs omega.

Why the hell was Migs now holding out his hand? This was pathetic. Absolutely fucking embarrassing. This was why he hadn’t liked the last heat. How fucking pliant he got, how he didn’t throw a fit, couldn’t, how he lost all control of himself and just submitted when he wanted to fight and struggle and---

There was another low croon as Din took his hand and unwrapped the binding, and Migs realized his scent had soured again. Din was omega. Did he have to fight? It was different than submitting to an alpha, wasn’t it? He could just… be with Din right now, and he wouldn’t have lost anything, right? Not that submitting was losing. He just wanted to do it with a little more… aggression. Fight. Not just go belly up and writhing for a knot. He wanted to be a challenge, because he had always been a challenge, and spent his life fighting omegan instincts just to prove that he could. Migs was consistently given an inch and took a mile, and he wanted to be like that all the time.

Din was smoothing bacta over the cut, plastering it with a real bandage, and Migs abruptly decided that enough was enough. His hands were itching to start organizing a nest, but his brain was demanding he make things hard just because he could, and before he knew it, he was reacting. Hard trained muscles coiled, and Din hit the floor with a bang, Migs triumphantly straddling him without a thought given to how needy he was really being, because he was on top and in charge and---

Din’s gloved hand was down the back of his pants, sliding through his slick, and Migs went stockstill.

“This how we’re going to do it?” Din asked, idly rubbing along his folds, not pressing in between them, just a brush of leather against red curls he couldn’t see yet. Migs’s scent took a turn, somewhere between aroused and frustrated that Din wasn’t bothered, and he ground down on him with a low growl. There was a sense of satisfaction that Din was hard in his pants, and Migs rocked back and forth on that bulge, knowing full well how intensely sensitive an omega’s cock was.

“Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” Din crooned, still entirely unbothered, and Migs let out another low growl, because Din wasn’t rising to the challenge. He was just laying there, like he’d already won, and it was simultaneously unfathomably sexy and infuriating. Migs kind of wanted to try and punch him again, even if it was a terrible idea. He was never a very fast learner.

The fingers slid up his folds, pressing just underneath his cock in that one specific spot that made stars explode behind Migs’s eyes, and he let out a strangled moan, slumping on top of the other omega as Din relentlessly massaged the flesh there.

“You’re in no position to make demands, omega,” Din growled, and Migs shuddered, hands clawing for purchase on his armor, but Din didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Just pressed and stroked and massaged, like it was a job, and oh, fuck. Migs had wanted him to dominate, but he wasn’t expecting him to play so dirty. It took him less than a few seconds to get Migs’s thighs trembling and desperate whines for more pouring out of his lips, and then Din just flipped them over with predatorial ease. He yanked his hand out of Migs’s pants just long enough to wrap his fingers around the hem and yank them down, underwear and all, and Migs kicked around wildly to get the pants and shoes off. In an instant, he was spread out, pale skin flush and panting as the haze of heat descended on him, and he rolled his hips up with a gasp as Din pressed back down.

“Hurts,” he gasped, and he hated how broken it sounded. He wasn’t broken, he wasn’t needy, he didn’t need to be taken care of.

“I know,” Din breathed. “I’m going to fix it. Suppressants have you all fucked up, but I can help.”

Right. It wasn’t just that he was an omega. A normal heat wouldn’t be like this. It was the suppressants. He just needed a spare hand to get him through it, that was all. Migs could be fine with this. It wasn’t any different than someone making sure he got back to whatever ship he was on while he was piss drunk. That was it.

Din sat up between his legs, and peeled off the soaked gloves to set them to the side. Then, his bare hands reached up for his helmet, and panic overtook Migs. Distress filled the room, and he lunged forward to stop Din from taking it off.

“Wait,” he pleaded, not sure what he was doing, and Din froze, head cocked in concern.

“What?”

“It upset you,” Migs blurted, and sober, not knot-headed Migs would swear it was because he couldn’t take distressed omega scent right now. At least, not another distressed omega. He was already fucked up enough, thank you kindly. It wasn’t about how vulnerable Din had looked, like he had any business being a vulnerable omega in the middle of a karking Imperial base. It wasn’t about how Migs had stopped his stupidly pre-heat self from crooning at him in comfort, like that was going to help anything or change that he was too fucking cowardly to go face the man that had killed Stormtroopers in droves like they meant nothing, when at the time they were Migs’s everything. Rebels he could handle. They were supposed to kill them. Not their commanding officers. Not the people they trusted to keep them safe.

It wasn’t because Din was braver than him, and it made every latent omega instinct in Migs want to protect that bravery.

Din’s head tilted, and then a wave of the scent of fondness, like he was fond of Migs, overtook the room. Migs’s hands faltered on his bare hands, and Din leaned forward to press their foreheads together like it meant something.

“Do you really think Mandalorians go through three days of mindless fucking and fever with a helmet on, crackshot?” He asked, and Migs blinked. Hard.

His hands relaxed over Din’s, and Din let out a huff of laughter before straightening up to take off his helmet. That bare, brown-eyed face was bared to Migs, and he set the helmet aside like it was something holy before he started to unclip his armor, piece by piece, neatly stacked in the breastplate until he was left in his flight suit, which was unzipped and wrestled out of so he could nestle back between Migs’s thighs and run his hands down his torso in an electrifying trail.

“You with me?” He asked, and Migs nodded, trying to lock his legs behind Din, because he wanted him in him already, knot or no knot. Din, however, wasn’t having it. His big hands wrapped around Migs’s thighs and pressed them back down.

“No,” Din said, sinking down lower and lower until his face was level with Migs’s cock. “You’re too demanding, crackshot.”

“Ngh,” was Migs’s only response, his hips flexing to push right into Din’s face, and his grip shifted to push them back down.

“No,” Din growled, and pressed him down. Migs let a noise of offense, trying and failing to flex his hips again, but Din kept him pressed down on the blankets that smelled of sex and satiated omega, smug alpha. Migs growled, trying to push up again, and was rewarded with a bite to the tender skin right around his cock, small omega fangs pressing in and holding. Pain erupted, and Migs let out another growl, trying to flex away, but Din kept on, holding him there like he was making a point. The pressure of his teeth increased inch by inch, steady and climbing, and Migs whined. He threw his head back, squirming on the floor, and Din kept up the dominating bite, asserting that he was in charge and Migs just had to deal with it.

It took a minute for Migs to stop fighting him. The pain in his stomach wasn’t going away, and Din was unimpressed with his feeble attempts to demand he be satiated. Horrifyingly enough, more slick was leaking out at the steady, rough treatment, and Migs found himself letting out a broken whimper.

Din let him go, breath ghosting over his twitching, red, painfully hard cock, and Migs bared his throat.

“You’re lucky I like a handful as much as you like being a problem,” he said, every word felt on Migs’s sensitive cock, and he whined, high and needy. Din let out a low chuckle of amusement, and fingers pressed against his slick pussy, this time dipping into his folds to stroke along his entrance. “Let’s see if we can’t take the edge off, hm? With how fucked up you are, you got a week to fight me as much as you want, so try to just enjoy the first time.”

The promise of being able to fight back somehow did more to press Migs into submission than the bite itself, and from the slow-growing grin on Din’s face, you could smell it.

“So that’s it, huh?” He asked as he pressed two fingers into his sloppy hole, stroking along his walls. “You just like being a problem everywhere. In bed, out of bed.”

Migs let out a whine, his walls clenching at Din’s dropping tone, and Din laughed at him as he slowly pulled two fingers dripping with slick out of his hole to taste them.

“I don’t mind giving it up, personally,” Din continued as he lapped at Migs’s slick. “I like being good. Boba appreciates that, if you couldn’t smell.”

“I could,” Migs rasped, and Din turned his attention to his holes again, curiously gathering up slick to stroke along his puckered asshole. Migs twitched, his scent dipping into curious unease, and Din trailed back up to his pussy.

“That’s alright,” he purred, his fingers slipping back in to lazily fuck in and out, still not enough, but Migs was willing to take it for now if he just kept talking. “I like having someone to fight, too. You’d make a good chew toy. Boba’d like you making a ruckus, too. He likes having a chance to have a firm hand. I think it’s the daddy kink.”

Migs’s eyes went wide at the image of Din staring up at Boba with those pretty brown eyes and sweetly begging for Daddy’s knot, and Din laughed at the sudden rush of slick over his hand.

“That’s what I thought,” he said smugly, and then all thought was stolen from Migs as Din just dove in to bury his face in his pussy and start lapping at his entrance, trailing his tongue along the folds and sucking on the sensitive flesh before he plunged in.

Migs let out a yelp of surprise, his hips bucking up, and Din pressed him back down so he could dive in and devour the heady heat slick. Migs had heard heat slick tasted different from regular slick, was practically a drug for some people, and Din did nothing to dissuade that rumor as he lapped and lipped and sucked and fucked him with his tongue like it was a job. One hand pinned him to the floor of the ship, and the other wrapped around his weeping cock, drawing up and down in long, deliberate strokes as he ate Migs’s pussy like it was his last meal. He was inexorable. Single minded in his focus on getting Migs off, and Migs was helpless under his tongue. How did a man that spoke so little have such a wicked mouth? Migs was dying. He was actually dying, and---

The orgasm took him by surprise. One moment, he was fine, and the next, he was moaning and shaking, pouring in a mess all over Din’s hand and soaking his face with slick as Din licked him through it. It wasn’t enough, his brain immediately told him. He needed to be railed. But it was enough, for right now. Every tense muscle relaxed, and he became a limp puddle on the floor of the cargo hold, panting, shaking, his words gone in the face of the overstimulation. The knot in his stomach relaxed, just enough to make the pain bearable, and he threw an arm over his face as he tried to catch his breath. His throat was raw.

“Better?” Din asked as he slipped back up his body and pressed his mouth to his, smearing Migs’s face with his own slick and cum, and Migs was too exhausted to protest as the need coiled in his gut again. Not overwhelming, not like it was, but enough to be uncomfortable almost immediately.

“Yeah,” Migs breathed, and Din pecked his lips as he sat back.

“Boba is bringing more pillows and blankets and some food and water,” he reported as he stroked his hands down Migs’s thighs. “And painkillers. My inflatable knot, if you want it.”

“I’d kill for a hypo right now,” Migs said, and slowly sat up to look at the nest that was all wrong and needed correction.

“Boba doesn’t like to skimp, so he’s probably got one,” Din replied, and then tilted his head. “You good to make a decision now?”

Migs was still very much in heat. It was burning and uncomfortable and he felt like shit, but he was also now able to form coherent sentences. Din could have just stroked him off and called it a day, but instead he took the time to bury his face in his cunt and eat him out like he was a feast. Migs could appreciate that. The care. The promise that this was what he was looking forward to if he let Din stay. Now that his brain was clearer, it felt more like Din was working to prove himself worthy of Migs’s cunt, which was what he wanted.

But this was also going to be a heat from hell. He knew that. He could feel it. This was still practically preheat. He’d likely spend the majority of it out of his goddamn mind. It was not going to be an easy three day stint that was manageable with alpha pheromones and a little assistance from his hand. It was going to be constant work just to keep his fever under control and not killing him. He wasn’t going to make it through without actual medication and a knot.

In hindsight, it had been pretty fucking stupid to refuse to go through it for years. The whole reason it had sucked the last time was because he hadn’t gone through it in years. He had banged his head against a wall and expected the same result, and, well. He’d probably done dumber things, but this was up there with the pinnacle of his stupidity. Right next to enlisting in the Imperial Stormtrooper program at thirteen years old, after his father kicked him out post presentation.

“I’d… I’d like you for my heat,” he said carefully, picking his words with care. He knew Din. He liked Din. Din had already proven he could get him off, and Migs knew he could drive him out of his mind if he wanted. The last time this happened, he went through an alpha, and nearly snapped. It had been a bad scene, and he didn’t want a repeat of it. The alpha hadn’t taken well to his penchant for trying to push, got mad, and Migs had almost not made it out of there. He hadn’t died, had never been in danger of dying, but he’d been… miserable the entire time.

But he also had to be honest with himself. If it got bad, Din might not be enough, as loathe as Migs was to admit it. Plenty of omegas got by just fine with other omegas. But plenty of omegas weren’t as stupid with their bodies as Migs was, and they didn’t exactly have access to a high class medical facility to get him through it.

“But… If it gets to the point where you can’t keep up,” because he had to be honest with Din, too, if they were doing this, “you can ask Fett in.”

He could make it through without Fett. Contrary to rumors on the holonet, this sort of thing didn’t kill omegas. But a miserable heat-stuck omega made everyone else miserable, and there was no reason to senselessly torture everyone on board and himself if he could avoid it. It had been awful last time, and he didn’t want a repeat of the situation.

“Boba alone, or Boba with me? ” Din asked, his lips twitching, and gods, he couldn’t hide a damn thing on that face of his, could he? It had to be the helmet’s fault. He’d been spoiled.

“With you,” Migs answered promptly, because at heart he was a relentless hedonist, and if he was going to be miserable, he might as well indulge. “But only if I get… bad. ”

“You’ve done this before,” Din said, his eyes searching Migs’s face, and Migs crinkled up his nose.

“Yes.”

“Hated it?” He sounded amused.

“Yes.”

“I’ll have to fix that,” Din said, and there was a beep on the other side of the door.

“I have your things,” Fett said through the comm, and Din got up, gesturing for Migs to do as he pleased with the blankets and clothes scattered along the floor. Migs tilted his head at it all, sniffing delicately as he started to sort through all of the items. The door opened, and his head snapped up, nostrils flaring at the fresh alpha scent that was filtering into the small space. Boba had a large box in his hands, precariously stacked with cushions, and a large foam pad was set on the floor next to him. Din accepted the box and kicked in the foam pad, exchanging a few words in a language Migs didn’t recognize.

Fett didn’t have his helmet on this time, and his amber eyes were burning into Migs over Din’s shoulder. There was the instinctive urge to preen, but he was also very aware that he was very naked and relegating a perfectly serviceable alpha to ‘the backup’. Would he take offense to it? Was he angry Migs was apparently fucking his omega? He didn’t seem all that mad. His scent was more twisted up in lazy compliance, no feeling one way or the other. There was an edge of casual arousal under it, but he wasn’t that bothered.

Some alphas didn’t get territorial over omegas fucking other omegas. But there were a variety of reasons that could be. Migs was probably overthinking this, but it was Boba Fett. Boba Fett. The man was a legend, and Migs was romping around with the omega that called him Daddy. Fucking Daddy.

If Migs asked him in, would he want him to call him Daddy? The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he averted his eyes. Din said something in that language, likely Mando’a, Migs had never heard it, but he knew it was a thing, and Fett’s eyes snapped back to him. A sly grin overtook his face and he replied in kind, reaching forward to smooth a hand along Din’s side so he could pull him in for a lazy, indulgent kiss that made Migs’s gut clench with want.

Another peck, and Fett was pulling away with a gentle pat on Din’s ass. The door slid shut and locked, and Migs looked away, red climbing in his cheeks.

“Was that Mando’a?” He asked, and Din turned back to set the box down and unroll the foam pad. He pressed a button and the foam bulked up, easily the size of a full bed, and Migs hurried to gather up the blankets and get them out of the way so Din could position it.

“Yes,” Din replied, and Migs reflected that it was a weirdly beautiful language. Perfect for a rumbling growl, and gods, he couldn’t be thinking about a sacred language like that. What was wrong with him? Was this just going to be his brain for a week? Finding everything and anything hot? “He thinks you’re pretty.”

Migs’s brain ground to a halt, and he blinked a few times.

“I am,” he agreed, because when in doubt, fall back on cocky self-assurance. Din snorted and spilled out the box, revealing more blankets and an excess of pillows and worn sleep clothes. Varieties of textures and patterns, nothing he would associate with Mandalorians, and when did they find the time to get all of this? How long had they been fucking? He could have sworn the Razor Crest had been blown to kingdom come, and it wasn’t like an alpha to keep things for omegas hanging around. All of these blankets seemed new, too. Like they had been purchased in a hurry and…

Oh.

Oh.

Migs’s eyes flitted to Din, picturing himself losing his territory, nest, and reportedly his entire family, if reports of Mandalorians descending on Nevarro were to be believed. And then losing a child on top of it all. The clone trainers always had a penchant for attaching themselves to the youngest cadets. Migs himself had been practically adopted by CT-6459, until the clone disappeared one day. He had no idea if the rogue clones running around kidnapping and dechipping each other had gotten their hands on him, or if he’d been sent for decommissioning, but he did know it was a thing for Mandalorians to imprint on kids. Badly. Genetically from Mandalore or just raised in the culture. Din was fully raised in Mandalorian culture, and an omega, so he imagined he was taking it pretty hard.

Fett must have gotten all of this shit for him, in an attempt to soothe him. Din was broke as hell, had been since Migs knew him, and these were high quality nesting blankets and pillows. Variety of textures, specifically designed to hold scents through several washes and leave them smelling fresh enough, there was no way Din afforded all of this. Boba Fett, though? Yeah, he had money. He had a lot of money.

Suddenly, the prospect of him coming in if Migs started to lose it wasn’t that terrifying.

And Din was sharing it with him. Building a nest with him. Migs had built one nest in his entire life, and it had been pitiful and shit and he’d dismantled it in a rage halfway through. He didn’t know how to make one. Din probably knew how to build one. Migs had never really been in tune with his ‘instincts’.

“Has anyone told you you’re shit at emotional regulation?” Din asked, and Migs gave him an affronted look.

“Has anyone told you you’re shit at emotional sensitivity?” He shot back, and Din tilted his head in that weirdly birdlike way.

“About once a week.”

Migs briefly reflected that it would be like him to roll into bed with the other least omega-like omega on this side of the galaxy. It was almost comforting.

Until he looked back down at the nesting material, and his face screwed up in irritation again.

“I don’t nest,” he said, and Din tossed a blanket at him. Migs caught it on instinct, and Din slowly tilted his head the other way.

“Don’t nest, or tried once and decided you were bad at it?”

“Hey, man, if I wanted to fuck a mindreader, I’d have propositioned Vader when I still had the chance.”

Din’s brows furrowed in confusion, and Migs briefly recalled that this was a man that did not know shit about fuck. If you gave him a lineup of a bunch of wrinkly old Human men and told him to pick out the Emperor, he’d probably blankly stare at you and walk away. It was weirdly endearing, but if Migs wanted to explain every reference he made… Well, he didn’t know what he’d do. Probably find a farmboy or something.

“So you have only nested once,” Din said, and they were back to the topic at hand. “Just start scenting things and go from there.”

“Yeah, the only instincts I’m good with are instincts that keep me alive, ” Migs groused, but he started rubbing the blanket on the side of his neck, saturating it in his scent.

Well. Even if he humiliated himself, he could just tell Din to make the damn nest on his own. It didn’t have to be a pretty nest. It was going to get taken apart when they were done. Cargo holds were not for sleeping, after all. Or fucking, really, but the Firespray class was built for speed and damage, not size. Fett probably had a cabin, and maybe Fennec, this looked like an XL kind of deal, but Migs could not imagine fucking in either of their cabins. Those were their dens, and he’d started out with Din, not Fett. It would be anxiety inducing. He needed his space.

Slowly, with Din’s guidance, he started to piece together the nest. The two of them eventually fell into a rhythm, with Migs scenting and fussing, looking to Din for cautious approval, and Din’s apathetic acceptance. Nests didn’t need to be pretty. Just comfortable. He could work with that. Eventually, the full nest came together, a heaping mess of pillows and blankets, and just in time, because Migs’s temper was starting to prick and his brain was starting to run off on him just as Fett called to inform them the pre-flight checks were done and they were taking off to lay low somewhere in neutral space.

“Ready to get started?” Din asked, and Migs took careful stock of his… their nest, his nostrils flaring as he catalogued the scents to make sure they were appropriately placed.

“... Yeah. I’m ready.”

He wasn’t actually ready, but, hey. Shit happened. At least he got a few orgasms out of it.

Migs had no idea how many hours it’d been. He was faintly aware that they were still in hyperspace, but his focus was drifting in a heat addled haze. He was a mess of various fluids at this point, his cum, Din’s cum, their combined slick, and it was getting difficult to catalogue where he started and Din began.

Din was behind him, his hips pistoning in and out, his cock slipping in and out of Migs’s sloppy hole with wet squelches, but it wasn’t enough and Migs was getting frustrated. It wasn’t that Din was small. He was about the size of an average beta. It was just that he was just not big enough. There was no knot, Migs needed a knot, he was going to die, Din was killing him by denying him what he needed, Migs was going to kill him---

“You’re losing it, crackshot,” Din whispered against the back of his neck, sharp nips collecting along his spine, and Migs whined, high in his throat as he pushed back insistently. One hand wrapped around Migs’s cock and Din slammed in, grinding against the sweet spot as he stroked him evenly.

“I need… ha, I need, fuck, would you fuck me like you mean it. ” Migs was somewhere between pleading and demanding, his voice a tremulous whine he didn’t recognize. “Gimme the fucking toy. ”

“Sure you want the toy again?” Din murmured, and Migs’s hips jackknifed, trying to press into his hand and cock at the same time with limited success. He was hot, so fucking hot, Din wasn’t fucking him, he was just grinding, Migs wanted to get railed, and Din just wasn’t doing it.

“I want the fucking toy,” Migs snarled and opted to slam back into the cock, forcing him to pull on Migs’s, and Din bit down on the back of his neck hard.

“You threw a fit over the knot last time,” Din replied, and had Migs done that? He didn’t remember. Now that he thought about it, though, the thought of an inflatable knot felt downright insulting, wrong, fucking rude that Din would consider putting it in him, why was he laughing at him?

“There’s your problem, crackshot,” Din said and abruptly pulled out, a whine bursting from Migs’s throat at the action. Firm hands got him by the waist and Migs was flipped over onto his back, Din laying down on him so he could put pressure on him as fingers toyed with his slit. “You know what it is?”

“I… I… hng, why are you, why’d you stop? ” It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay that Din had stopped. Didn’t he know that? He couldn’t do that.

“Because you’re spoiled, Migs,” Din purred as his fingers dipped into his heat. “Spoiled. Nothing’s good but the real thing, is it?”

Migs helplessly bucked up, and Din sat up, easily fitting three fingers into his hole as he fingerfucked him with steady motions. Nothing too fast, or too slow. Just enough to keep Migs wound up on his fingers. Hot kisses started peppering his neck, and a tongue slaved over his scent gland before Din sealed around it and sucked hard. Migs whined, shoving down and jerking up, assaulted with dual sensations.

“That’s it,” Din murmured and let out a quiet croon at the breathless sob that escaped Migs’s lips. “A mess, you know that? A kriffing mess. You’ve been in a wave for six hours, but that doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”

Migs let out a whine, struggling for air, and Din stroked his free hand down his side.

“Shhh,” he breathed, like Migs was a skittish fathier, and he couldn’t find it in him to care about the treatment. “Hold on. I’ll give you what you need, won’t I?”

“Please,” Migs sobbed, and maybe somewhere inside him was mortified, but he couldn’t be damned to care.

“Daddy did this to me. You know who Daddy is?” Din asked as he worked in a fourth finger, and Migs’s hips jerked. Almost enough. Din pressed him down, palm flat on his stomach, and Migs stilled on instinct. A lone thumb rubbed soothingly up and down, and then he slid his hand down to press slowly right over his weeping cock, where his fingers were jammed up into his body. “Migs. Who’s Daddy?”

“Boba,” Migs whispered, his thighs trembling. Something in him told him something good was coming, and his mind whirred back to pornos he used to jack off to of omegas up to their wrists in omegas in heat.

Good. It wasn’t a knot, but it was real. It was a hand, and he wanted Din’s hand.

“That’s good. That’s very good, princess,” Din breathed, and Migs let out a shaking cough, overwhelmed and drowning in sweat and pheromones. “You know what I’m about to do?”

“Yes,” Migs whimpered, and something in him barely recalled when, in a moment of clarity, he had told Din he was just fine with this. He’d agreed to this. He liked this, when he saw it on the pornos, but he’d never tried it. Been too scared to, outside of heat. It was different than a knot.

“You want me to do it like Daddy did, hm?” Din asked as he slowly pressed in, half of his palm in, and Migs nodded desperately. “Yeah. You want Daddy to do this to you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Migs cried, and Din slowly pulled out before pushing in again, working already lax muscles into further looseness.

“Say it all. Say you want Daddy to do this,” Din ordered, and Migs couldn’t find it in him to refuse.

“I want Daddy to do this,” Migs gasped, his muscles twitching and trembling violently as Din gave a few experimental thrusts, burying his nose into Migs’s neck to inhale his scent.

“Does it hurt yet, princess?” Din asked, and Migs shook his head no. Was Din scenting him to make sure he wasn’t in pain? “That’s good. Think you can take a little more?”

“Please,” Migs moaned, reaching up with his injured hand to try and grab at Din, but he caught it with his free hand to press it back down.

“What did we say about that hand? No grabbing.”

“I’m sorry,” Migs babbled. “I’m sorry.”

Din gave him an answering croon, and then he was folding in his thumb to tease around the edge, pressing it, retracting, pressing, retracting. Slowly, he worked to the first knuckle, and Migs arched up, injured hand flexing uselessly, and Din stopped.

“You gotta be still for me,” he said, and Migs went limp. “Do you want me to scruff you? Will that help?”

“Please,” Migs rasped, because he remembered that he liked scruffing, and Din released his hand so he could reach behind his head to wrap his hand firmly around his neck.

In an instant, Migs went limp, hazy and drifting, and for a moment, he thought maybe he could be sweet. He could be sweet for Din. He could be still, because right now, his bones had run away on him, and his muscles were turning to goo, and Din was finally pushing his entire hand in.

It was too much of a stretch, but not enough. It was good. Not like a knot, never like a knot, but it was big, and Migs was full, so fucking full, and Din wasn’t moving. He was just sitting there, slick drenched around his wrist, lube that had been drizzled at some point or another halfway up his forearm. When had he got the lube? Why did he need lube? Between the two of them, there was enough slick to cause a scandal.

The grip on his neck tightened, and Migs’s thoughts drifted away on a cloud. Din waited, his face inches from Migs’s, and then he leaned forward to capture his lips in a kiss. The fist shoved up his cunt started to steadily pump in and out, dragging across every nerve and lighting him on fire, and the grip on his neck didn’t budge, didn’t move. All Migs could do was melt into the kiss and let Din fuck him within an inch of his miserable life.

Stars, why had he not wanted to do this? This was amazing, this was perfect, this was everything Migs had never knew he wanted, Din was fucking him with his fist, slow and steady, up in Migs’s guts like he belonged there. Maybe he did. This was how Boba fucked him? Boba did this to him? Migs wanted more, wanted all of it, he was dying, he was flying, he was going to explode.

And Din kept going, slow and steady, Migs mindless in the scruff as he fucked in and out of his cunt, all the way up in his guts, and Migs was going to marry this man, he was going to mate him, he wanted to carry pups with him, wanted to take that hand and live on it and share his alpha and die, just like this, he was going to die if Din went any slower.

“That’s it,” Din murmured. “Look at how sweet the little spitfire can be, huh? Just needed a gentle hand, didn’t you?”

Migs was beyond speech. It was gone, gone, gone, and he was okay with that, choking on his own air as Din fucked him within an inch of his life.

“Daddy wouldn’t fuck you like this,” Din said against his lips, pressed a kiss, pulled back, pressed another, sloppy and wet. “But that’s because you’re built for cock. You can take a cock rough, can’t you, princess?”

Yes, Migs wanted to howl, but he couldn’t. It was all he could do to just keep breathing.

“Yeah. You’d take his cock like a champ,” Din purred, nipped at his lower lip. “Crying for it, begging, sucking that knot up like the greedy whore you know you are. Isn’t that right, princess? But you like this, too, don’t you?”

A twist of his wrist that lit Migs’s world on fire, and Din panted against his lips.

“I know I like this. Nasty little omega, falling apart on my fist like this,” Din breathed and dragged his fist out almost entirely before plunging it back in. A whine escaped Migs, bordering on a yelp, and Din ducked his head down to lick into his mouth. “All out of those mean words you like to throw around. If I knew you were an omega when you stepped on my ship, I might have just done this to shut you up.”

Migs whined, high and broken, and Din laughed against his lips.

“I know Xi’an wanted to fuck you. Wanted to fuck me, too. Think she would have been mad, if I stripped you down and did this? Right in front of everyone? Those alphas, always so mad when they aren’t the center of attention.” A drag, another twist, and Migs sobbed. “Poor things. That’s what I like about Daddy. He doesn’t mind not being the center of attention. He likes seeing me get myself off. Think he’d like it if you were his boy, too? I think he would. He’d love to see me shut your smart mouth. Drown you in my cunt while he stuffs you with that knot you want so bad. I wouldn’t let you breathe, if I knew someone else was taking care of you. I’d just take what I want, and he’d like it. Tell you to make me feel good. You’d be treated like the fuck toy you are, wouldn’t you?”

Din leaned in, kissed Migs hard and deep, memorizing the map of his mouth as he kept pumping, and it was too much, Migs was clamping down, he was going to cum any fucking second, Din had done this, who needed an alpha, Din was killing him, he was murdering him, and Migs was so blissed out, he didn’t even care.

“There you go,” Din murmured. “You gonna cum? For me and Daddy? I bet if you scream loud enough he’ll hear you, know what I’m doing, know we’re talking about him in here while I’m fucking you with my fist. Look at how beautifully you’re taking it. Perfect.”

“I… I… ha, ” he couldn’t scream, he couldn’t, not with the scruff, and Din seemed to know this, because he pumped a few more times, nice and steady as Migs’s muscles fluttered, and then he released him just as he twisted his fist and pushed his thumb up to dig into his g-spot.

Migs seized up, not enough to do any damage, he was too fucked up to do much more than a halfhearted arch, and his mouth opened up as his eyes went wide.

“Daddy!” He nearly screamed, and thin omega cum squirted out of his cock, hitting him in the face as he shook around Din’s stilled fist, the thumb digging and grinding into his g-spot. Stars burst across Migs’s vision as he lost his mind on Din’s hand, and Din gripped his side tightly, just shy of soothing, letting him ride through the orgasm that overtook him like a thunderwave.

It took a minute for him to come down from it, panting and shaking, shuddering and gasping for air. Din waited for him to recover himself, petting his side nice and slow, gathering up the sweat and wiping it off on the blanket under Migs. Only when Migs stopped twitching did he pull his hand out.

Something told Migs it should be fine now. It should be calm. The wave should be going down now. He had cum and cum and cum. It was a miracle the last one wasn’t dry, but there was still that burning itch, the uncontrollable need that had him trying to push himself with shaking arms and wrap his legs around Din’s hips. Din paused, looking a little lost, and Migs didn’t wait, didn’t even register the change in scent broadcasting Din’s unease as he turned them over and settled on Din’s lap. He was barely capable of holding himself up, but he needed more, he was burning, he needed cock, he needed it, and Din’s would have to do.

He wasn’t steady enough for this, but he didn’t care. Trembling thighs lifted himself up, and he blindly reached for Din’s hard cock, slowly sinking down on it with a whine and a moan before he just collapsed on his chest with a frustrated sob.

“I gotta…” A hiccup, a shudder, and Din smoothed two hands down his sides, helped him steady himself as he weakly brought his hips up and sank down. “I gotta…”

“Do you want me to call Daddy now?” Din asked, and Migs buried his face into Din’s throat to inhale the scent of exhaustion and stress that was starting to sneak out.

“Please,” he sobbed, and Din stroked down his side as Migs went limp on top of him, still working his hips with what little energy he had. He needed a nap. He wanted food, but the itch was driving him insane. He felt like he was crawling out of his skin.

“Okay. I’m getting Daddy,” Din said, and reached over to pick up the comlink. Migs took a shuddering breath, trying to calm down, trying to think, and Din rubbed soothingly up and down his spine as the comlink blinked on.

“Boba?” Din said quietly into the com, and Migs let out a high, pleading whine as he tried to work back down.

“Need me, baby?” Boba’s rough growl came across the com. “Sounds like you’re getting desperate in there.”

“He’s exhausted, but he can’t stop going,” Din said and a hand reflexively reached out to grab Migs’s wrist before he could claw at his chest with his injured hand. “And bring the cuffs. He’s hellbent on fucking up his hand worse.”

Migs mindlessly worked his hips, letting out another quiet whimper, and there was a pause on the other end of the call.

“Do you need my cock, princess?” Boba asked, and Migs buried his face into Din’s throat as color climbed up to his ears.

“Please,” he whispered, and there was a pleased rumble on the other end.

“Daddy’s coming, we’re coming out of hyperspace, I gotta land the ship, but I’ll be there,” Boba said, and the com ended as Migs gave up in despair, going flat on Din with his cock still up his ruined hole. Din shushed him, setting the comlink to the side so he could hold onto the wrist while still petting up his spine.

“You’re okay,” Din crooned. “You took it so well, princess. The whole fist. You’re gonna be a little tired after that, it’s okay, nothing’s wrong.”

An omegan purr rumbled up in Din’s chest, and Migs curled in on it as he panted and whined, drool leaking out of the corner of his slack mouth as he senselessly mouthed along Din’s delicious scent glands. He was getting drunk on that carefully curated, calming scent, and Din seemed to know it, because he lifted his hand to press Migs deeper into his throat so he could breathe in nothing but fellow intoxicating omega.

“He’s coming?” Migs mumbled, his brain addled with the talk of the alpha with the broad chest and thick thighs he knew would leave his hips aching in the best of ways, and Din shushed him, idly working his hips up just to keep Migs a little hazy.

“That’s right. He’s landing the ship so we can have it to ourselves,” Din soothed and let a rumbling purr break out as the ship slowed out of hyperspace. “You want it to just be us three, don’t you?”

“Don’t care,” Migs panted, pressing down on the slim cock stuffed up his cunt, and Din’s hand curved around his ass to grasp it and spread, his fingers idly working to press along the edges of his slit. Migs gasped, twitching as Din idly toyed with his folds, and Din twisted his head to press sloppy kisses along the side of his face.

“You’re a mess, aren’t you?” Din hummed, and Migs let out a hitched breath, begging for more.

“I’m not, ” he insisted, and started to sit up just to prove it, something in him demanding he use what few brain cells he had to fight back now that his muscles had stopped trembling and he felt a little more steady.

There was something wrong. He knew there was something wrong, but that was for Din and Boba to worry about, not him. A curl of pleasure twisted in his chest at the thought, smug and satisfied, pleased with himself only in the way an omega being thoroughly taken care of could be.

“Got a little fight back in you?” Din asked, his scent broadcasting tired amusement, and Migs lifted himself up to sink down. There was still a desperate, burning need, but now he knew Boba was coming, and he could give himself a victory lap. Even if he was going to pay for it later. “You’re gonna give me chafing at this rate, princess.”

Migs let out a rumbling purr in response, sitting down on his cock and rocking steadily as he braced his good hand on Din’s chest. Din just smiled up at him, hands set on his hips as he pushed up to meet Migs. Frustration was still ebbing at the edges, but Migs could be content for right now, the excitement mounting. From the smell of it, Din was getting excited, too, even if he was as tired as Migs was. Maybe less. He wasn’t the one dealing with the hellhole heat, after all. Just marathon sex that was lasting entirely too long, and the tinge of frustration that the wave that was driving Migs insane wasn’t breaking.

At least the cramping had gotten under control, with the help of painkillers and a steady rate of orgasms.

Migs leaned down as the ship shuddered with the telltale signal of them breaking through the atmosphere, and their teeth clacked together as they tried to navigate through a kiss with the turbulence. Not to be deterred, Migs pressed into it, trying to blanket Din with his weight like he was in charge now, and Din let him, the pressure of not having to be in charge for much longer making him heady and lazy. The bounty hunter rolled up his hips with a sinful twist of his hips, glancing across Migs’s oversensitive g-spot, and he gasped into his mouth.

“I bet that’s starting to hurt,” Din purred, and then he did it again, like the asshole he was. Migs stiffened against him, his hand winding in the blanket beneath them, and Din ground the head of his cock into his spot, just enough to break what little composure Migs had fought so hard to win and send him mindless once again, limp in Din’s lap as the ship set down on land.

“Di n, ” Migs gasped, and Din grabbed his ass with both hands to grind him down, forcing him to submit to the overwhelming overstimulation that was dominating his brain and soaking into his pores.

“Can’t have Daddy show up when you’ve got some sense in you,” Din whispered and nipped at Migs’s ear. “I’d look like I was slacking, mm?”

“Fuck,” Migs swore, and Din reached between them to grip his still-hard cock.

“No wonder you’re fucked stupid. All the blood that’s supposed to be in your brain is right here, isn’t it?” Din asked, jabbing up with a punctuated thrust, and Migs yelped, though he would deny it till the end of his days. “Too much for you, huh?”

The steady grinding drove Migs back into his mindless haze, panting against Din’s scent glands with wet lips, practically inhaling his pheromones that were switching back to smug determination.

“Poor thing,” Din crooned, and Migs whined, desperate and loose, and Din greedily claimed his lips in a kiss as he ground and ground and ground, his hand just holding his cock, not stroking, just holding. A thumb brushed over the head, and Migs jerked forward, entirely unaware of the sounds of Cara and Fennec leaving the ship and Boba locking the door to the ramp behind them. Heavy footsteps echoed towards their nest, heard by Din, but not Migs, and an override key was put into the locked door.

Migs’s head snapped up as the door hissed open, and there stood Boba, head tilted in interest at the sight before him. His helmet was shoved under his arm, and Migs tightened around Din’s cock as the other omega ground up into him. A sharp thrust, and another yelp was pulled out of him.

“Look at you,” Boba purred, and Migs just melted as Din bared his throat in greeting. Boba waited patiently in the doorway, and it took Migs a second for him to realize he was waiting for both of them to bare their throats before he intruded on their domain.

Carefully, Migs tilted his head to the side so Boba could get a good look at his swollen scent gland, and Boba took that as welcome. The door slid shut behind him, and he set his helmet down next to the neat pile of Din’s armor. Migs started to get up, but Din’s hands tightened on his hips, forcing him back down onto his cock.

“I’ll be there in a moment, little ones,” Boba said, amusement lacing in his aroused scent. “Why don’t you keep doing what you’re doing, huh?”

A collection of hyposprays were removed from his pocket and set at the edge of the nest, and he started to remove his armor, piece by piece. Migs whined at the influx of alpha scent, but Din just buried his face into his scent gland to nip and suck to keep him distracted. A set of cuffs were carefully set inside the nest, just close enough for Migs to inspect, followed by a chain.

“Din says you’ve been grabby when you shouldn’t be,” Boba said calmly as Migs slowly processed that they wanted to tie him up. “The ship is locked. We’re miles outside of any town. Can’t be tracked. Can we cuff you so you don’t hurt yourself more, sweetheart?”

Migs inhaled, shook as Din stilled so he could answer, and buried his face back into the omega’s neck with a plaintive whine.

“Don’t wanna make a decision?” Din asked in amusement, tilting his head back to look at Boba with some unknown communication. A pause, and then Boba stripped off his shirt.

That got Migs’s attention, and his gaze snapped back up to soak in the sight of fat layered over densely packed, acid burned muscle. A tongue lashed out to lap at his lips, and Boba tilted his head, eyes shining with amusement at the spike of arousal in the room. Din huffed out a laugh, rolling his hips up.

“Been talking to him about you,” he said, and brushed against his sweet spot again. “Got him all worked up. He’s been wanting to ask for you for hours now, just too stubborn to do it.”

“He got an attitude?” Boba asked, like Migs wasn’t right there, but words were beyond him as fresh alpha pheromones started to take over the room.

“When he’s got the brain for it,” Din replied in amusement, like Migs was funny, and there was another brush against his sweet spot, like he was proving his point. Something between a whimper and a growl escaped Migs’s mouth, and Din laughed, doing it again, to pull the same noise out of him. “See? Attitude.”

Boba snorted and dropped his skirt. Instantly, Migs’s eyes went wide, because Boba did have big thighs, and a goddamn arm for a cock hanging heavy between them at half chub. The alpha stepped out of the skirt and kicked it to the side, going down on his knees on the nest. Migs let out a low noise, twitched as alpha scent of arousal blanketed him, overtaking his senses and promising exactly what he’d been wanting.

“Wouldn’t even--- ngh, take the fake knot,” Din gasped as he ground up into Migs, his hands gripping his hips like he was scared he was going to run away on him. “Had to fist him.”

“Took a whole fist, did you?” Boba asked, a grin twitching at his lips. “Sure you can keep my knot nice and tight in there, princess?”

“Fu--- ha, ” Migs breathed out, inches away from saying ‘fuck you’ if Din hadn’t jabbed up into that fiery spot that still managed to make him see stars. From the look on Boba’s face, he knew damn well what Migs had been about to say, and he thought it was funny.

“Yeah?” He murmured as he walked forward on his knees and gently pushed Migs up just enough to cup his face in his hands, check his temperature, look into his eyes to take stock of blown out pupils. “You need a break, don’t you? Six hours. You’re barely here.”

“No,” Migs hissed, panic surfacing at the thought of having to stop before getting a knot, and Boba stroked the back of his head soothingly.

“When you’ve got a knot. Promise,” he said, and let his hands wander down his torso, lighting over corded muscle and teasing at his nipples. “You got my baby all worn out. He’s barely keeping it up. Ready to give him a break, hm?”

“I’m not tired, Daddy,” Din protested, and Migs shuddered at hearing him call Boba that.

“Like that, do you?” Boba asked slyly, and a thumb hooked under Migs’s jaw to push his chin up, forcing him to bare his throat prettily. “Looks like I got two little ones on my hands.”

“Wanna see you knot him, Daddy,” Din whined and jerked his hips up. “Told him I’d ride his face.”

“Yeah? He been taking good care of you?” Boba asked, still keeping that pressure on Migs’s jaw to keep him bared, and Migs almost hated himself for not even fighting it. Almost. If he was going to give it up for an alpha without complaint, it might as well be fucking Boba Fett.

“Mmm.” Din thrusted up, and Migs choked. “I’ve been taking care of him. Think I like it.”

“Yeah? Like having your own plaything to take care of?” Boba growled, and Din bared his neck prettily in a grand show. Migs whimpered at the sight, and Boba hushed him.

“I do, Daddy,” Din whined, and Boba leaned down to press a long, lingering kiss to his lips, Migs’s face still pressed up and back in his grasp.

“You took good care of him,” he murmured. “Let Daddy help now.”

Blanket omega satisfaction overtook the room as Din went boneless under Migs, and Boba wrapped his hand around Migs’s throat fully to push him back into a sitting position, seated on Din’s cock and panting. Boba reached down with his other hand to pump at his length, eyes locked with Migs as he searched them for something that was probably lurking in his scent.

“I got rules, little one, but I got a feeling you’re the kind to break them to make a point, so let’s wait until you got some thoughts going on up there before we chat about them, hm?” He said as he pulled himself to full arousal. “For now, the only rule is that you tell me red if you want to stop, yellow if you want to slow, green if you’re good. I ask you for confirmation, you do your best to answer, or I’m gonna treat it like a yellow until you can. You can do that for me, can’t you? Just three colors.”

“Yes,” Migs rasped, because he could do that, and that was fair. He could remember three colors, and if all else failed, his scent would do it for him. He knew his colors. Red, yellow, green.

“That’s very good, princess,” Boba purred and pushed him back, sending him on his back on the foam pad that formed the base of his nest. “Baby, come get me wet.”

Din sat up, rolling out his shoulders and shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. The other omega crawled forward, bending forward to swallow down Boba’s length, and the alpha reached forward to pick up the cuffs.

“These are because you keep hurting yourself,” he said seriously with a glance at the bloodied bandage wrapped around Migs’s hand. “What’s your color?”

Migs eyed the cuffs. In their line of work, with Migs’s history with run-ins with the law, cuffs were an exciting thing, but they were also deeply suspicious, and something in him recognized that, registered it as fun-maybe-not danger. But…

He liked it when Din scruffed him, and that did the same thing, didn’t it? Maybe even more, because a scruff Migs couldn’t get out of. Not unless he tried very hard, to the point of extreme discomfort. Cuffs? Cuffs were easy. He knew how to get out of cuffs.

“Green,” he managed to slur out, and then his eyes were drawn to Din’s pretty, plush lips wrapped around Boba’s length, sinking down and pulling back while Boba just completely ignored him. Did he like being ignored? Migs couldn’t stand being ignored, and he was the center of Din’s regular alpha’s attention. Was Din enjoying it? He wasn’t jealous?

A million and one insecurities surfaced, and Din pulled off just long enough to give Boba a plaintive look. The communication was clear: make him stop thinking. Migs would have been offended if he had the mental capacity for it.

“Why don’t you give him a kiss while I get him set up?” Boba prompted, and Din immediately leaned over, diving down to claim Migs’s mouth in a searing kiss that tasted of Migs’s slick and the salt of an alpha’s cock. Migs whined, diving into it, and barely even noticed as Boba took either hand and clicked them together. The chain was gathered and clipped to the cuffs, and Migs managed to pull back just in time to watch Boba draw his arms over his head and chained his hands to a bolt in the floor designed to lash cargo to. Migs tugged on the chain, testing the give, and Din tilted his head back to him to kiss him again.

“That’s better,” Boba murmured as big, searing alpha heat settled between Migs’s spread thighs. His attention snapped back to the alpha, eyes wide and mouth parted, and Din huffed out a laugh.

“He’s ready for you,” Din said smugly, like he hadn’t just spent six hours getting Migs ready, and Boba hummed.

“I’d like to see his tics for myself,” he purred, and thick fingers probed at his dripping cunt. “Didn’t you want to take a ride on his face, baby?”

Migs’s brain short circuited as Boba plunged his fingers in and immediately found his g-spot, and a full body shudder wracked at him as Boba stroked at it like it was a fascination. The chain clattered noisily, and Din laughed again, slinging one leg over Migs’s face as he settled down. Migs, already accustomed to this, opened his mouth on instinct, sticking out his tongue, and Din settled down like he was the best seat in the Senate.

Boba took a moment to stroke at his spot, pressing and prodding before he was satisfied, and Migs found himself squirming even as he tried his hardest to pay attention to the dripping, sweet, salty omega cunt in front of him. Din smelled delicious, but Boba was right between his thighs, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to pay attention to so many things at once. There was finally an alpha in the room, and he was going to get a knot, but Din was warm and his thighs were just as criminal as Boba’s and fuck, he tasted good. Migs hadn’t realized how much he loved omega slick when it wasn’t hopped up on suppressants and needed to be forcibly fucked out.

There was something warm and weighty prodding at his entrance, and he pushed his hips back demandingly, his hands flexing with nothing to grab. The folds on his mouth were distracting, wanting to claim all of his attention to lick and suck, and gods, how did people focus like this on a regular basis? Boba’s hot hand was on his hip, forcing him to keep still, and Din was gripping his head with a quiet whimper, which meant Migs was doing a good job, sucking on his labia and licking into his cunt. Maybe slick was addictive. But…

His mind wandered back to that spot Din had practically assaulted when Migs first took over his lap, and he shifted his head slightly so he could press the tip of his nose right under his cock. If Din knew it felt good…

His attention was rewarded with a quiet, needy yelp, and Din ground down on his face, practically sealing his cunt over his nose and lips, just like he promised, and there was a snort of amusement behind them.

“Talented little thing, isn’t he?” Boba asked, and then he was pressing.

Migs let out a high pitched whine as he was speared open with a relentlessly thick cock, and Boba slung his legs over his thighs as he steadily pushed in, right to the hilt. Migs seized up, hands clutching uselessly as he tugged on the chain, and Din pressed down again, surrounding Migs with nothing but the scent of omega cunt, the juices dripping into his mouth and suffocating his nose. Air suddenly became a commodity in the face of the conjoined assault, and Migs fell into the asphyxiation, no choice in the matter except to just stick out his tongue so Din could just ride it. Boba wasn’t moving, letting Migs struggle for air, and a hand left his hip so he could pat Din gently on the side.

“Let him have some air; he’s gonna need it,” he ordered, and Din lifted up, just enough so Migs could gasp for air before Boba pulled out and slammed back in, fucking the air right out of him as soon as he got it, and Din dropped down to suffocate him again as Boba started slowly fucking in and out of his abused cunt.

“Oh, my baby wants to be mean? ” Boba crooned, his thick shaft splitting Migs right in half as he tried to decide if he should struggle or settle into the pleasure pulsing through him, even with the lack of air. Din lifted up again, letting Migs pull in a gasp of air, and then he settled right back down, grinding down so he could thoroughly mark Migs up with his juices.

“Should’ve smelled him when I brought up drowning him in my cunt,” Din groaned as he sought to dig Migs’s nose into that brilliant spot between his cunt and his cock. “He might as well have begged for it.”

Migs wanted to run his mouth, remind him that at the time, Din was fucking him within an inch of his life, but there was a certain novelty in being gagged to the point where he couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t sure if he liked having a quip ready more or less. Din didn’t seem to care how he felt about it, instead rocking on his face and pulling back to let him breathe, the other omega’s slick dripping down his jaw and pooling in the hollow of his throat. Boba waited for Din to lift up before he sank in again, setting a steady, sedate pace that glanced along his g-spot every time. It wasn’t a rough fuck; he wasn’t going to do that while Din was sitting on his face like that. It was more like the punch of his arm of a cock was trying to lull Migs down into a slumber, keep him satiated and mindless, calm him down, not get him more wound up.

Fuck, the alpha knew how to use his hips. It was a steady roll, relentless and dominating, an alpha assured of his dominance and in no hurry to prove that he could fuck the sense out of someone. It felt like a promise, and when a hand wrapped around Migs’s cock, well.

He could hardly be blamed for the keening whine that worked its way out of his throat as he yanked on the cuffs, and Boba laughed, not cruelly, but it felt a little condescending in the best of ways.

“What a mess you left for me, baby,” he said, and Din lifted off so Migs could get a front seat view of Boba wrapping a firm hand around the other omega’s waist as he kissed him, slow and sweet. The roll of his hips was driving Migs insane, but he never wanted it to end. Din’s arousal tented through the air, weirdly proud and smug.

Boba pulled back, completely pulling out, and Migs’s panic suddenly spiked into something indignant as he took a moment to rub his cock against his abused hole, slapping it against his cunt teasingly.

“This is what you needed, wasn’t it, baby?” He crooned, his fingers tightening on Din’s waist, and Din bared his throat. “You needed someone to take care of, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Din said sweetly, and pushed back, blocking Migs’s view as his wet cunt descended back on his face. Migs got with the program, his mouth sealing over his labia so he could suck on the folds and swirl his tongue around them, and Din reached back to grip at his head.

“Stick your tongue out for my baby, princess,” Boba ordered as he slapped his cock against Migs’s wet cunt. “Let him use you, yeah? I think it’s time you show your appreciation for him taking care of you.”

Migs stuck out his tongue fully, and Din settled down on it, grinding down and whimpering as he reached around to fuck his cock with his hand. Boba’s approval scent gew at the sight, and he rolled his hips in hard before picking up the pace, each thrust carefully aimed and the drag out delicious. Migs felt like he was losing it. He probably already had, but each thrust fucked a little more clarity into his mind as Din rode his tongue with stark determination.

“Don’t cum yet, baby,” Boba ordered. “You’re gonna ride his cock when I knot him. I want him to watch you.”

A whimper escaped Migs’s mouth at the thought of Din riding him while he was locked up on a knot, and Boba slammed his hips in with a groan.

“Does the little princess like that, hm? Wanna watch him ride you?” He gasped out, and something akin to satisfaction rose up in Migs at the tremble in his voice as he switched to shallow thrusts. Migs did that. Sure, he was just laying there, but he did it. The alpha liked being in him, and that was good enough for him. “Baby, get your hands on those little tits of his.”

Big hands descended on his nipples, and Migs choked on the slick pouring down his throat, tongue sore and raw as Din rocked back and forth on it. Clever fingers pinched and toyed with his heat-sensitive tits, and Migs arched up into the contact with a spluttering whine as he tried to figure out how breathing worked. They were going to kill him, and Boba wasn’t even railing him. He was just fucking him, steady, pounding, perfectly angled, perfectly hot, the slap of his hips against Migs’s thighs loud and permeating the room. Some omegas would have run through an unfairly big cock like that, worried about their cervix, but Boba knew all the angles, knew how to fuck so it felt like nothing but big and thick and full, and Din tasted hot and sweet and Migs was being used like a fuck toy, just like he’d been promised, and it was all too much.

“Gonna knot you, princess,” Boba groaned, and his hands latched onto his hips with bruising force just shy of too painful. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

An incomprehensible noise worked out of Migs’s throat, and Boba growled in response, a playful noise, promising the danger Migs had always chased after, the danger he lived in, and fuck, that was too much, it was too much.

The knot started to expand, pushing Migs’s over-fucked nerve endings into overdrive, and a hand clamped around the base of his cock to keep him from cuming as it pressed on all of the best bits. Boba rocked in and out of him, pulling out and pressing in to make his rim stretch and scream with the overstimulation, before he stilled inside him, fully locked as warm cum started to fill up Migs’s body.

It was like someone had finally switched him off, and Migs went limp, arms aching with the stretch of being pinned over his head. The wave wasn’t fully over, but it was receding inch by inch as his brain finally processed that he was being knotted, and it was a real, firm knot, hot and heavy in his stuffed cunt.

Din lifted off as Migs’s scent finally started to broadcast that he was satisfied and well-fucked, and Boba caught him in a kiss.

“Migs. Color?” Boba prompted, and Migs’s dick twitched in interest. The wave was falling back down, but Din had taken such good care of him, and he wanted… he wanted…

“Green,” he rasped, words finally coming back to him as he laid there in a puddle, and Din purred in satisfaction.

“Wanna take care of Din?” Boba asked, and Migs nodded, hazy and drifting, still wanting to cum, and cum in that sweet omega cunt he had the taste of memorized. “C’mere, baby. Give him a show.”

Din slid back down his body, putting his back to Boba, and Migs’s brain short circuited at how good they looked against each other, Boba worrying at unmarked mating glands, respectful, but with intent, and Din gave him a lazy grin. The other omega teased his cunt over Migs’s rock hard cock, letting his juices drip on the head, and Boba gripped him with both hands to lower him down, stopping halfway.

“Ask him to ride you, princess,” he ordered, and Migs whined, twitchy and wanting to snap his hips up, but the knot had him firmly locked in place. He wasn’t going anywhere if Boba didn’t want him to.

But he was stubborn. Now that he was satiated, the old urge to be a problem on purpose was rising up, and he caught himself stuck between the instinct to be a brat and be an omega, and didn’t know how to mold the two, and Din had done such a good job taking care of him, he should ask nicely and make the alpha they’d thrown into the mix happy. He should be grateful, he should do exactly as he’s told and---

A chuckle overtook the room, and Boba lifted Din up so just his head was in, and Din was grinning lazily down at him, smug and enjoying Migs’s hesitation.

“He’s got too many things going on in that brain of his, doesn’t he?” Boba asked in amusement, and Din huffed out a laugh.

“Wants to be a brat, wants to be good, can’t decide what to do when he’s got enough brain cells to remember that he’s an asshole,” Din said, just as amused as Boba let him slide back down just a little.

“How about,” Boba said and pulled Din off completely, letting his juices drip onto his cock as Migs let out a frustrated growl, “we compromise, because I think I got your type pegged? What do you think, princess?”

Interest stirred, and Migs pushed himself up with a tiny show of baring omega fangs in defiance, though he managed enough to let his scent broadcast that he was very interested in compromise. Boba pressed a kiss to the side of Din’s throat, and he bared his neck with a pleased hum, not bothered with the attempt at domination.

“You keep being a brat, we encourage you being a brat, because Din here likes punishment, whether he’s watching or receiving, and I like a challenge. Everyone wins. You get to be an asshole without fighting your instincts, because I want you to be a dick, I get to fuck the fight out of you, Din gets to have a plaything. How’s that sound?”

Something inside Migs relaxed as he realized he was dealing with an alpha that was willing to work with him, no, even wanted a spare omega that acted up, and therefore, to please the alpha, he just had to keep doing what he was doing. It was uniquely freeing, and all of his muscles uncoiled. Omega fangs were hidden away, and he managed to get his thoughts back in order as he tugged on the cuffs.

“I’m going to take it as a challenge to make you regret that,” he promised, and Boba laughed against the line of Din’s throat.

“I look forward to seeing you try.”

Din sank down onto the head of his cock again, and Migs slammed his head back down.

“And since you don’t want to play nice,” and there was a punctuated jab of his knot against his g-spot, pulling a keen out of Migs’s throat, “how about we convince you?”

Migs’s eyes rolled back in his head as Boba did something with his knot, hitting sensitive nerve endings and building a wave of pleasure that plateaued as he stopped, and Boba’s scent blanketed the room, heavy and dominating and pressing. Migs couldn’t even get a mouthful of air without being invaded with alpha pheromones, pushing him to want to submit, to ask nicely, and the grind started up again.

“Why don’t you ask Daddy nicely if you can have his baby ride your little cock, huh?” Boba rumbled, and Migs’s brain froze to a halt.

Boba wanted Migs to call him Daddy. He knew Din had, but Boba was now asking, and that was too much for his fucked up brain to handle.

A punctuated slow grind, an inhale of alpha pheromones, and Migs was a bit too tired to kick up a fuss.

“Daddy, please,” he gasped, and Boba let out a growl of approval, letting Din slip down just a little more on his cock.

“Daddy what? ”

Din was so hot, and wet, and everyone thought omega cocks were useless for anything but stroking, but Din wanted to ride his cock as badly as Migs had wanted to ride his. He’d put his mouth on Din plenty of times in the past six hours, fingered him, stroked him, but he hadn’t fucked him. Mostly because Boba was his alpha and they clearly had some kinky shit going on and something stopped him from it, but now Boba was telling him he could. Boba wanted him to.

“Daddy, please lemme… lemme fuck him, ” he gasped as Boba ground into him again, the cock feeling that much more hot and big, and Boba nipped at Din’s neck.

“Go ahead, baby,” he ordered and relaxed his grip on Din’s waist so Din could slide down, slow and smooth, hands gripping Boba’s as he let out a keening moan. “There you go.”

The three of them paused as Din fully sat down on his cock, and Migs whined, tugging on the cuffs as Boba bit the back of Din’s neck. They looked good, Boba pressed up against Din’s back, Din fully seated on Migs’s cunt and panting.

“Like that omega cock, baby?” Boba asked.

“Yes, Daddy,” Din gasped and Boba lifted him up, sank him back down, and wrapped his hand around Din’s weeping cock.

“Go ahead and get yourself off, then,” he ordered, and Din started to ride Migs

It was too much. The hot, wet heat wrapped around him. The knot filling up his wet cunt. Migs whined and tugged, trying to writhe, but Din’s thick thighs stopped him just as much as Boba’s did. He felt owned, getting used like this, and he suddenly saw the appeal of a steady thing. He’d had his fair share of flings, but with Din riding him like this and Boba up in his guts, he wanted a repeat, outside of heat like this where he was overcome with burning need. He wanted it on the regular, and that was a dangerous thing to think, but he was too fucked up to care.

Din rode him like he was taming him, even and paced, just the way most omegas liked, and Migs whined through it, gasping and panting as Boba just kept grinding into him as he stroked the other omega off. It was steady and slow, a direct contradiction to the hellish, desperate need that had been possessing him for hours now, and it was good. Din was clenching around him with every drag, pushing him further over the edge, and Boba was just enjoying the sight of them whining and writhing as Din took the pleasure he wanted from Migs.

“That’s it. Look at him, baby,” Boba murmured against his ear. “You’re getting him all worked up, aren’t you?”

“Trying, Daddy,” Din gasped as his hands braced on Migs’s chest as he rolled his hips and then ground down. “Wanna keep him.”

“You do, huh?” Boba asked, a slow smile curving across his face, and Migs’s breath was driven out of him at the sudden press of a knot on his spot, Din rolling his hips to milk him for all he was worth. “We’ll see how he feels when we’re done, hm?”

“Gods,” Migs choked out as Din leaned over him, Boba’s knuckles brushing over his stomach, and the other omega wrapped his lips around his scent gland and sucked. “Fuck!”

“That’s it,” Boba crooned. “Come for me, little ones.”

That was too much. Din seized up on Migs, muscles contracting to just shy of painful, and he spilled across Migs’s stomach. The clench of his cunt sent Migs over the edge, and he came inside of the other omega with a cry, jerking on the cuffs and squeezing his eyes shut at the overwhelming pleasure.

It took a moment for everyone to calm down. Migs was in a haze, the wave of heat starting to retreat, and Din went limp on him, blanketing him with pressure as Boba stroked both of their flanks to bring them down.

“That’s it, little ones,” Boba praised. “Beautiful. You did so well.”

Migs relaxed into the praise, mind drifting on a wave of satisfaction as the wave broke, and Boba gave Din a quiet command as he let himself relax into the warmth of a heat that really, objectively speaking, wasn’t that bad.

“Princess,” Boba said and Migs hummed, lifting his head to look at him with a hooded gaze. “Din’s gonna give you something to sleep so we can let your body recover before the next wave. That okay?”

“Kay,” he mumbled, and dropped his head again, too tired to care. A nap sounded good. He could use a nap.

Din lifted up, and then there was a pinch in his neck, and his eyelids suddenly seemed too heavy to lift. That was okay. A nap. He needed a nap. Naps were lovely.

Boba and Din were kind of lovely, too.

He could feel the heat was nearing its end. It had been a hellish five days, and Boba had had to put bacta on his dick thanks to Migs’s needy demands for a real knot, but it was finally almost over, and Migs was a bit of a mess.

Boba had been handling hunting down some Mandalorian named Bo-Katan Kryze between waves, and it sounded like neither Din nor Boba liked the woman, but they were putting up with it in the name of more firepower. Life was still going on beyond the cargo hold door, and that meant Migs was probably going back to prison when this was done, which he wasn’t looking forward to. It was easy for Cara to turn a blind eye in the aftermath of the wanton destruction. It was a little harder to justify it now.

The heat had sucked everything out of him. He knew he was going to be weak and sick for weeks after this, until he worked back up to full health. Din had procured a birth control shot for him after the first knotting, though Migs was quietly certain that after the years of abuse, he was basically sterile, and if he wasn’t, well, there was no way he was carrying a child to term. Boba had been the perfect picture of endless patience, putting up with his outbursts and downswings, and it was all just too good for it to stay this way. Not for someone like Migs Mayfeld. Sure, both he and Boba had been lapdogs of the Empire, Boba even more than Migs, but Boba had at least not signed away his autonomy, his personhood. He’d never enlisted in the army.

And, deep down, Boba Fett was just a better person than Migs. Someone who deserved an omega like Din, who fought tooth and nail for a child that wasn’t even his. A strong, capable omega that got the job done no matter what it took, didn’t panic because an old, weak man who made a coward’s decision and didn’t even know Migs’s name was in a room.

So, he knew it was coming to an end, and he kind of hated it. They were gearing up for a fight, and he would be useless in it, wouldn’t be okay for weeks, would have to be left on the ship with Boba while others who hadn’t stupidly fucked up their own bodies out of fear stayed behind. He wasn’t even sure he could survive prison when they tossed him back in.

His brain was spiraling with the connotations of what was coming as he laid in a comfortable lump with Din. Boba was making a call and getting them food, and Din was wrapped around him like he didn’t want to let go. The other omega was sleeping, and Migs was trying his best not to let his scent sour and wake him up, but it was a losing battle. If he wasn’t careful, he’d probably go into heat drop, and then everyone would have to deal with it, and he’d wasted enough time as it was. Din was worried sick over the baby, could have maybe gotten him back by now, maybe, Bo-Katan was hard to track down, and Migs was getting wound up with him after so long in close quarters like this. Sympathetic omega bullshit.

“Stop thinking,” Din mumbled against his neck, pressing his forehead into the light stubble that was starting to prick around his scalp, and Migs pursed his lips as he looked at the cargo hold door.

“Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t really feel it. With a grunt, Din pulled him in a little closer, like that was somehow possible, and a hand trailed down the sticky mess on his stomach to draw circles around his navel.

“What’s got you so upset?” Din mumbled as he rubbed his forehead against that bare stubble, and Migs pressed his lips together.

“Nothing you need to add to your shit,” he replied, and Din’s hand stilled before he sat up slightly, pressing his palm to Migs’s stomach so he could turn him onto his back.

“Why not?” He asked, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and Migs let him manhandle him, even if looking into those sad brown eyes was the last thing he wanted to do.

“You got a missing kid and enough to worry about. No use dwelling on a convict, Din,” he said, and Din tilted his head in consideration.

“Convict? So that’s what’s got you worked up,” he said thoughtfully, eyes flicking up towards the door. Migs didn’t need to reply to that. They all knew what happened after this.

“Boba asked me to bond with him after we got Grogu back,” Din said suddenly, and something mournful passed over Migs. He knew, it was obvious, but…

“He’s one hell of an alpha to land.”

“I like to think I’m a pretty good catch, too,” Din said, and Migs snorted.

“Over inflated ego is my thing, not yours,” he said and squirmed back, fully prepared to fall into banter before Din got fed up with his shit and rolled him over to stick his face into his cunt.

“For another omega, I mean,” Din continued, and Migs’s brain ground to a halt.

“What?”

“I think I’m a good catch. For another omega,” Din repeated, like Migs was stupid, and he probably was, reading that much into it. “Boba’s got plans to take on Hutt space with Fennec. There’s a power vacuum. Thought I’d tag along. With the kid.”

That was… Well, that was something Boba would do. If anyone could wrangle out that mess, it was him. He’d be good at it, probably. And with an omega like Din at his side? With an alpha like Fennec brought to heel? No one would want to cross him. The three of them together would be like rolling up with an army. They’d be unstoppable.

“He’d definitely get that mess functioning,” Migs agreed, and Din stared at him like something was going right over his head.

“We could use a sharpshooter. Fennec’s good, one of the best, but you can never have too many crackshots.”

Oh

Oh.

Migs hadn’t read into that too much. He hadn’t read into it enough.

“I’m not asking you to bond with us,” Din continued. “But… a courting would be nice. I like alphas, I like omegas, I’d like to hitch myself to both, but it’s pretty rare that I find an omega that fits all of my… tastes.”

“I’m an asshole and a mess,” Migs protested, not because he wanted to say no, but because waiting for the boot to drop was a nightmare, and he’d rather hurry it along.

Din’s eyes flicked down to the dried fluids on Migs’s stomach, his raw and puffy cunt, his swollen tits and tender nipples, before his gaze went back to Migs’s face as a slow smile stretched at his lips.

“We like messes. The asshole is just a bonus.”

Migs considered it. His mouth opened, shut, and then the door opened. Boba stepped in and then stopped at the scent of sheer bafflement that was filling the room.

“Am I interrupting?” He asked, one eyebrow lifted, and Din lifted his head to look at him with a slow grin.

“I asked him if we could court him while staging a hostile takeover of Hutt space and then he broke.”

The casual mocking broke Migs out of his dead stupor, and his head reared back in offense.

“You’re not going to blow up a goddamn palace and call it a date. I want a fucking… a picnic or something.”

“A picnic? ” Din echoed in disbelief, and yeah, Migs would hate a picnic, but he’d already backed himself into a corner.

“Yeah. A picnic. With an execution. And no kriffing Hutt stench to ruin the mood.”

“And an execution wouldn’t?” Boba was thoroughly amused, and Migs turned his indignant gaze on him.

“It’s about the mood, Fett,” he spat. “ This one’s idea of a date is two separate heists that ended in dead bodies, you can’t ask me to just get away from the theme on the first date where we aren’t breaking into a high security--- mmmf! ”

Din cut him off with a firm kiss, because the asshole was the first to realize that short of heat hormones and a gag, it was the only efficient way of shutting him up, and Migs made an indignant sound before pulling back, his temper rising in a fine fashion.

“Don’t cut me off, I want mood lighting and at least one dead slaver and a high powered sniper rifle as a courting gift, and you’d better not skimp on the kriffing scope and---”

“I don’t have the sniper rifle right now, but how’s this for a first?” Boba asked, and reached into his skirt to pull out an intricately carved box, offering it to Migs, and he blinked several times.

“Did you… when did you have the time? ” They’d been stuck on this goddamn ship for a week.

“Placed an order in town and had Fennec pick it up,” Boba replied with a shrug, and thrust the box at him. “Take it. It’s a matching set with Din’s.”

Suspicion rising in time with excitement, Migs took the offered case and opened it, blinking at the sight of a holstered DL-47 nestled securely in silk, complete with an embroidered leather belt and all the bells and whistles. Flash suppression, a silencer, modified sights for a trained sharpshooter, and if he squinted, an advanced cooling system and larger charge cartridge.

“Oh…” He mumbled as color rose in his cheeks. Here he was, throwing a token fit, and Boba got him a goddamn personalized DL-47 blaster. Normally, omegas got something pretty, and this beast was stunning.

“Do you accept the courting gift?” Boba asked, like he was going to say no.

“They’d have to pry it off my dead body,” he vowed, because goddamn, it was just like a karking Mandalorian to get a blaster for a first courting gift.

“Wonderful. Your heat’s died down enough to leave the ship, and I got some targets up outside. Want to take her for a spin?”

“Yes,” he said and bolted to his feet, but Boba stopped him.

“Clothes, princess,” he prompted, and Migs was going to blame his genetics for his red ears.

“Right. Clothes.”

Looks like he was taking on a kriffing Imperial warlord and the whole of Tatooine because someone gave him a kriffing blaster and some good dick.

He was too damn easy, but hey.

If life was going to be easy, he was going to take it. And this? Boba and Din?

This was easy.