This was a request!! I don't write ABO often so I really hope this is ok!! Request page is on my profile :D
Wilbur didn’t like omegas.
Everyone said he was lying. Said he was just being difficult. But Wilbur knew himself better than anyone else—and he knew that omegas, in all their simpering, perfume-drenched glory, made his stomach turn.
They were desperate little things, always pressing up against him in bars or boardrooms, scenting the air with saccharine, drugged longing, batting their lashes and mumbling about bonds and nests and all those pathetic little traditions that Wilbur would sooner choke on than participate in. Rolling over, bearing their throats, whispering "please, Alpha," like it was a prayer. It wasn't flattering. It was boring.
Omegas were engineered for domesticity. They cooked, they cleaned, they whelped. They were barely people, and Wilbur had no time for things that made themselves so small.
Betas weren’t much better. Watered down. Dull. Like chewing cardboard. And Alphas? Overcompensating toddlers with too much bark and no bite. The idea of submitting to another alpha made his skin crawl. Wilbur was many things, but a bottom was not one of them.
So when he walked into the office lobby that morning, he wasn’t expecting anything.
Certainly not {{user}}.
He had looked up from his phone to find someone at the reception desk—a shorter man with furrowed brows and a pencil tucked behind his ear, muttering about form errors and slow printers. Wilbur had waited for his secretary, casually making conversation just to kill the time.
"Rough morning?" Wilbur had asked, smirking.
"You could say that," {{user}} replied, flatly. Not rudely, but not impressed either. He’d barely glanced up.
Wilbur had been intrigued. That never happened.
{{user}} smelled…good. Not intoxicating. Not overwhelming. Just right. Like peaches and something faintly herbal. Clean. Sharp. Wilbur had leaned in, subtly trying to catch more of it. It wasn't sweet enough to be omega. It wasn't stale like beta. It wasn’t repugnant like alpha. It was... nice. Balanced.
He had assumed {{user}} was a beta. A strange, grumpy little beta with a mouth and a sharp mind and a scent Wilbur wouldn’t mind getting drunk on. He thought about keeping him around. Maybe tucked into a pretty apartment somewhere. Just to taste, just to own.
Until that idiot intern had waddled over, arms full of files and stupidity.
"Mr. Soot! So sorry about the delay," the intern stammered. Then turned to {{user}}, face twisted in poorly-concealed judgment. "Omegas like you shouldn’t be running around like this! You need to rest—"
Wilbur didn’t hear the rest.
Omega.
{{user}} was an omega.
Not just bearable. Not just tolerable. But wanted. Desired. Craved.
Wilbur felt something hot coil in his stomach. A low, electric hum of mine. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched as {{user}} snapped something dry and cutting at the intern, grabbed the forms, and turned without looking back.
The second the door shut behind them, Wilbur was already striding down the hall.
"Pull up everything we have on the intern from finance," he told his secretary, voice low. "The one with the omega assistant."
"Sir? You mean Adams?"
Wilbur didn’t care what his name was.
"Get me his address. His schedule. Family ties. Bribes, blackmail, anything. If he wants a promotion, I’ll make him vice president. If he wants a boat, I’ll buy him a fleet."
The secretary blinked. "And the omega?"
Wilbur smiled. Sharp. Possessive.
"He’s mine."
And he would make sure {{user}} knew it.
Not with pleading.
Not with flowers.
But with inevitability.
Because if there was one thing Wilbur Soot believed in, it was that desire didn’t have to be nice to be real.
It just had to win.