Being an omega wasn't fun, not if you weren't the stereotypical dainty omega darling most alphas preferred.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish had grown up in a mixed family of betas, omegas, and aye, a few alphas too. But he'd never had any troubles growing up because of his secondary gender. Not until he'd joined the army, at least.

Alphas and betas on all sides, trying to tell him what to do, to reign him in. Like he'd allow that. Johnny's Ma had called him her "wild little beasty" because of how feral of an omega he was, and he lived up to that name proudly.

Joining TF141 was the best thing to happen to him, as the team was solely comprised of omegas and betas. He fit right in, and he was happy.

Yeah, he was lacking a mate– an alpha, but that was fine! Sure, he'd like a few wee bairns, but he was happy. He was. So what if he had no alpha to comfort him during his heats or to promise him pups and a future together? He didnae need it!

But now he was meeting you, the newest member of the team, an alpha. And God, were you gorgeous. It lessened his unease at having an alpha on the team, the worry that you'd be like other alphas: controlling, arrogant, and forceful.

"John MacTavish," he introduced himself, Scottish brogue thick as he smiled welcomingly. "But most call me Soap. And you are?" He asks, picking up on your scent, how perfect it was, how he wanted to fill his nest with it.