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Pairings | Alpha Ghost x Omega Reader, Alpha Price x Omega Reader, Alpha Soap x Omega Reader, Alpha Gaz x Omega Reader, 141 x Reader.
Summary | Six months ago you overheard them planning to make you theirs. So you ran. You had no idea they were going to chase you.
Tags | Slow burn, omegaverse, non-traditional omega reader, Reader has a spine and uses it, suppressed heats, wolf going dormant, found and dragged back, John being terrifyingly patient, Simon being terrifyingly honest, Kyle being soft about it, Soap being a menace, angst, found family if you squint, the hunt is very much still on, she is NOT going to make this easy for them, upcoming heat arc, no instalove just instinct fighting instinct, 141 being possessive jerks, injections, blood, period mentioned, sick omega, gore, bond removal, eventual smut.
tags | angst, abusive relationships, reader is married to another man, blood, murder of animals eventually, eventual smut, religious guilt, infidelity, darker than most concepts I write, please heed the tags before each chapter as this story is 18+
โโโโโโโโโโโโโโ
โคท Ribeye
โคท Sirloin
โคท Beef Stew
chapter 4
โคท ao3 | main masterlist โดโดโดโดโดโน๊ฎบ ห
I was having writers block and so I took a break and soon enough it was 3 in the morning and I had impulsively sewn together a tiny mouse youโre welcome
I see people reblogging this with โto buyโ but this pattern is free??? Someone even asked me โwhy donโt you charge money for it, it took you forever to put the document togetherโ and I said โNot a lot of people have money and if they have some fabric scraps and a couple of buttons lying around they can make themselves a little mouse friend for free and that might make them happy and that makes me happier than receiving money???โ Make yourself a liddol creacher! Heals the Soul!
I know this post is like 7 years old atp but I still get hundreds of notifications a week on it as well as some emails having problems with access, so Iโd like to update since many havenโt seen my addition in the replies.
This pattern took off WAY more than I was expecting. Tumblr is the only place Iโve ever posted it, so if you see a repost on any other website, Iโm not OP. Apparently some people have downloaded the pattern and put it behind paywalls on skill share sites. If someone wants you to pay money for the pattern, just know itโs not going to me, so itโs up to you whether or not you pay them because as always, the original pattern is still free.
However if you would like to donate to me, you can do so here :)
Also the pattern link access is public! Itโs shared via the Google Drive link underlined above and you donโt need to have a google account to open it. If you get a message saying you need โpermission to accessโ:
Most of the time it seems to be connected to those trying to access Peaches via a school or workplace. Be sure you are not accessing the document while logged into a google account with an email address connected to a school or business and avoid accessing the pattern on school wifi and computers, employee-only wifi and computers, or another controlled networks, as these may use firewalls and other content blocks which may prevent the document from opening โwithout permissionโ
Be sure you are accessing the pattern using a web browser that supports the opening of Google Drive
If you have several tabs open that are logged into google, be sure they are all logged into only one google account. Sometimes if you have other tabs open logged into different google accounts, Drive will insist you need to request permission to access
That being said, Iโm really impressed to see everyoneโs creations and am so glad Peaches has reached so far! As we all know, Tumblr is notorious for not working right so I donโt always see every single message or photo addition, but just know Iโm glad this little craft brought so many of you a little bit of joy over the years if youโve ever made one!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
โณ SKIN OF THUNDER
Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader
Simon Riley lives like a storm on the edge of breaking. But then thereโs you. You pull at him like the soft drip of rain. And in the stillness between you, Ghost begins to realize that you are the calm he never knew he needed, an unexpected refuge in the tempest that has always defined him.
Chapter 1. Where Silence Blooms
โณ (part 1) (part 2)
Chapter 2. Veins Of Longing
โณ (part 1) (part 2)
Chapter 3. To Be Known
โณ (part 1) (part 2)
Chapter 4. Petals Bite Back
โณ (part 1) (part 2)
Chapter 5. Where Butterflies Go To Die
โณ (part 1) (part 2)
Chapter 6. The Ship Of Theseus
โณ (part 1) (part 2)
Chapter 7. Nostos And The Knife
โณ (part 1) (part 2)
Chapter 8. The Body Is A Burden Until It's Touched
โณ (part 1) (part 2)
Chapter 9. Soft Targets
โณ (part 1) (part 2)
outlaw!ghost x afab!reader | series masterlist | wild west
summary: in a desperate, last ditch-attempt to escape your abusive husband's wrath, you encounter the man you've only heard legends of - a man named ghost.
cw: use of guns/weapons. depictions of violence, gore, death, domestic abuse. mentions of sexual assault, abuse. descriptions of sexual intercourse, smut. mdni, 18+
โ๏ธ Summary: Maeve was brought to King's Landing for her skilled hands as a talented jeweler and goldsmith. With no name, no title, nothing but her dead father's workbench and a will to survive. Maeve endures the violence of Kingโs Landing by keeping her head down and her hands busy. But one mistake earns her a punishment: days spent under the watch of Sandor Clegane.
The city burns. The forge smolders. Sandor Clegane. The Hound. A man of scars and silence looms over her. He's her brooding shadow, her penance, her reluctant comfort.
As storms rage and old wounds surface, Maeve and Sandor are forced to rely on one another, not just for safety, but for the first fragile taste of something like freedom. But emotions and secrets weigh heavily, and survival demands sacrifice.
๐ Tags: GOT-Typical Violence, Protective Sandor Cleganes, Original Female Character, cannon divergence post blackwater, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Fluff and Angst, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining, Parent Death, OC is a Jewler/ Goldsmith, OC is an adult woman, No Sansa Stark Bashing, Emotional whiplash, Eventual Smut, Virgin Sandor Clegane, Loss of Virginity, Falling In Love, Forced Proximity, Size Kink
Notes: I haven't written a fic in almost 12 years, and I just love Rory McCann's Hound so much that I had to write something. The HC of Sandor, being a love-sick virgin, was boring holes in my brain. Maeve is just such a cool character, inspired by my BG3 Tav; she's so clever, naive, and bitchy. I'm having such a good time! If you know me on TikTok, say hi!
๐ฟ๐๐ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐ ๐ญ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ฟ๐๐ ๐ท๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฏ๐๐:Completed Chapter Index
๐๐๐๐ 18+ Sandor Clegane (The Hound) x Reader. Completed Work.
๐พ๐๐๐๐๐๐: You are the heir of Jon Arryn. Years after the death of your mother and infant brother your father takes you to Kings Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage between you and the highest lord he can find. Though during your first night you catch a glimpse of the fearsome Hound. It creates a mutual fascination between the two of you. Will it lead to the death of duty, or the death of love?
This work contains violence, smut, graphic depictions of abuse, animal death, mentions of child death, and other triggering content. Please check content warnings on each chapter before you read.
+:โฟ Chapter - 1 โฟ:+ New Pretty Cage
+:โฟ Chapter - 2 โฟ:+ White Mare
+:โฟ Chapter - 3 โฟ:+ Tear Drop -nsfw
+:โฟ Chapter - 4 โฟ:+ Candle Flames -nsfw
+:โฟ Chapter - 5 โฟ:+ : Wild Fire
+:โฟ Chapter - 6 โฟ:+ Free Fields -nsfw
+:โฟ Chapter - 7 โฟ:+ Fork In The Road. -nsfw
+:โฟ Chapter - 8 โฟ:+ Moon Door.
+:โฟ Chapter - 9 โฟ:+ Moon Tea. -nsfw
+:โฟ Chapter - 10 โฟ:+ Blue Ribbon.
+:โฟ Chapter - 11 โฟ:+ A War for a War -nsfw
+:โฟ Chapter - 12 โฟ:+ War and Atonementย
+:โฟ Chapter - 13 โฟ:+ What is Loyalty? -nsfw
+:โฟ Chapter - 14 โฟ:+ I Am His And He Is Mineย -nsfw
+:โฟ Chapter - 15 โฟ:+ The Childbed is our Battlefieldย -nsfw
+:โฟ Chapter - 16 โฟ:+ Home In Your Arms -nsfw
+:โฟ Chapter - 17 โฟ:+ Beginning of The Endย -nsfw
+:โฟ Chapter - 18 โฟ:+ Life, Death, and War.ย -nsfw
+:โฟ Chapter - 19 โฟ:+ Brown Eyes
FINALE +:โฟ Chapter - 20 โฟ:+ Gone Is The Cage -nsfw
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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SUMMARY: Clegane is tired of the constant torture and ridicule from Joffrey, so he lies, he says that he betrothed to a beautiful lady. Only problem isโฆ he isnโt.
WARNINGS: Nonexplicit Smut
Romantic Trope Series
โธป
The Red Keepโs great hall shimmered under candlelight, but there was little warmth in the air.
Wine flowed like blood. The court was in good spirits, or so it seemed on the surfaceโlaughter crackled like lightning across the tables, nobles and knights crowded together, picking at meats and gossip alike. The King, Joffrey Baratheon, sat perched on the Iron Throne as if born to it, his legs spread arrogantly, a goblet clutched lazily in one hand.
Sandor Clegane stood at the edge of the feast, not seated, not speaking. Always the outsider.
He didnโt drink.
He didnโt laugh.
He didnโt belong.
The firelight played across his maimed faceโone side scarred and melted, twisted and raw. His good eye glared through the shadows beneath his brow. He stood in his armor, as always. Guard, dog, monster. They never let him forget.
Nor would they tonight.
Lord Lannisterโs cousin, some minor lordling fat on inherited power and richer wines, wiped grease from his chin and smirked across the room. โTell me, does the Hound sit or sleep, or just lean against stone walls like a beast on watch?โ
Chuckles followed. Another chimed inโone of the Reachmen. โHeโs too big for the chairs. Wouldnโt want him breaking one and bringing the whole court down with him.โ
โAnd the smell,โ said Ser Hobber Redwyne, fanning his face dramatically. โGods, no wonder his horse has a temper.โ
A louder laugh broke free. Even a few of the small council members smiled behind raised goblets. Ser Meryn Trant chuckled, lips red with wine.
Sandor didnโt move. But his fingers twitched at his side.
โI think the Hound needs a wife,โ Joffrey said suddenly, his voice cutting through the laughter like a dagger coated in honey. โEvery beast needs a handler, does he not?โ
Cersei lifted an eyebrow, swirling her wine. โI doubt any lady in the realm is that desperate.โ
Tyrion said nothing, eyes fixed on the table, jaw clenched.
Jaime sipped his wine slowly, expression unreadable.
Sansa looked up, startled, her pale eyes flitting from Sandor to the King.
Sandor Clegane stood still. But the hall could feel the simmer beneath his skin.
โIโve made my decision,โ Joffrey announced. โWeโll host a tourney. A grand one. The winner will receive the hand of the most fearsome creature in Kingโs Landing.โ He grinned down at Sandor. โAssuming sheโd have you.โ
The laughter now was raw, unfiltered. The kind meant to wound.
The Houndโs voice came then, slow and dangerous: โCareful, boy.โ
That silenced some.
But not Joffrey.
โOh? Did the dog just growl?โ He rose from his throne, steps echoing down the dais. โDo you bite now, Sandor? Or has someone finally trained you to heel?โ
Sandorโs eye narrowed.
โI wonder,โ Joffrey mused, circling now like a cat around a chained lion, โdo you think yourself capable of love, Hound? Of being loved? Or are you simply tooโฆ grotesque for it?โ
The word hung there. Grotesque.
No one defended him.
Not Jaime. Not Cersei. Not even Tyrion.
He was alone in itโas he always had been.
A few courtiers looked away in mild discomfort. But not enough. Not loud enough. Not brave enough.
Sandorโs mouth curled slightlyโnot into a smile, but a grimace that twisted his burned cheek further. His hands clenched, knuckles cracking.
Then, softly, โYou think love is sweet, boy?โ His voice was smoke and gravel, deep as a pit. โYouโve never known the taste of it.โ
Joffrey tilted his head. โOh? And you have?โ
Sandor didnโt answer. He didnโt have to. He turned from the King with a grunt and started to walk away.
โOh, donโt sulk,โ Joffrey called after him, delighted. โIโll throw you a feast! You may even bring your beloved, if you ever find one. Just make sure sheโs housebroken.โ
The final round of laughter swelled again, vicious and echoing.
And Sandor kept walking. Past the flickering torches. Past the gold-draped sycophants. Past the courtiers who only knew how to laugh when the King laughed.
His boots struck stone, hard and fast.
But something in his chest ached. Not with shame. Not with fear.
With rage.
He had endured worse. He would endure more.
But tonight, something inside him cracked.
And tomorrow, theyโd all see what happened when a dog stopped playing tame.
The night stank.
Flea Bottom was crawling with its usual sicknessโwine, sweat, spoiled meat, cheap perfume. Sandor Clegane shoved through it like a bear through smoke, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. He didnโt know what he was looking for. A drink. A warm body. Something to get through the night.
No. That was a lie.
He was looking for a woman. Any woman. Someone willing to pretendโfor a fee, a favor, a kindness heโd never earned.
Someone to be seen on his arm come morning. Someone to laugh and smile at him as if she meant it, if only for a few hours. To fool that golden little cunt on the throne, and the whole court with him.
And not a single one would touch him.
Heโd tried. Quietly. Bluntly. With gold in hand. One had recoiled the second she saw his face, like his scars were contagious. Another told him flat out, โIโd rather fuck a corpse. At least they donโt smell like burnt leather.โ
That one he nearly backhandedโbut he didnโt. Not because he didnโt want to. Because her laugh reminded him of the courtโs.
He stormed out of the brothel, steam rising from his breath. He didnโt look up. He didnโt see her until he slammed right into her.
A soft body. Perfumed. Warm.
She gasped and stumbled back half a step, steadying herself with elegant poise, not so much as a wrinkle in her silks. โGodsโmy apologies.โ
Her voice. Clear, soft, not like the others. A voice made for poems. She looked up at him, eyes wide, not with fearโbut surprise. Curiosity.
He blinked. He opened his mouth, andโ
โMarry me.โ
The words tumbled out like theyโd tripped over his teeth.
Her brows shot up. A breath of a laugh escaped her. โWhat?โ
He was already regretting it. Already burning beneath his armor. But fuck it. โYou heard me.โ
She laughed again, this time fuller, richer. โIs this your usual approach, Ser? Should I feel flattered or alarmed?โ
Sandor scratched the back of his neck, his massive hand nearly swallowing it whole. โIโm not good at this.โ
โProposing?โ
โTalking.โ
She studied him, amusement curling at her lips. โYouโre serious.โ
โI justโโ He sighed. โI need someone. For a few days. A week. I donโt know. To stand next to me at court and pretend they donโt want to vomit when I breathe.โ
Her smile faded slightlyโnot gone, just softer now. She tilted her head. โYou barely know me.โ
โIโm not asking for your maidenhood,โ he growled. โJust your time. Maybe a laugh if youโve got one to spare.โ
โAnd if I say no?โ
He looked away. โThen Iโll go back to begging whores who spit at me.โ
A silence stretched between them.
Then, her voiceโgentle again. โLook at me.โ
He did.
Her eyes met his without flinching. โFine.โ
He blinked. โWhat?โ
โYou may have my hand.โ
Sandor stared, blinking once, twice, like heโd misheard.
She extended itโpalm up, elegant and self-assured. โBut only if you give me your name first, Ser.โ
He swallowed, clearing his throat. โClegane. Sandor. Ser Sandor Clegane.โ
Her brows lifted, amused. โThe Hound?โ
He waited for the sneer. For the wrinkle of the nose. It didnโt come.
Instead, she bowed slightly, graceful and proud. โLady Velaryon. House Velaryon.โ
He blinked again. โA lady.โ
โYou donโt say,โ she teased, looking down at her silks. โWas it the embroidery that gave it away?โ
He coughed. Mightโve been a laugh. Mightโve been a groan. โMeet me at the Red Keep tomorrow. Youโll know when.โ
She tilted her head, watching him carefully. Then: โI look forward to it, Ser Clegane.โ
She walked away into the darkness, the hem of her cloak whispering against stone.
And Sandor Clegane stood there, swaying just slightly, feeling like heโd just been hit in the gut and kissed on the cheek at the same time.
โSeven hells,โ he muttered, touching his face like something mightโve changed.
Then he laughed. A dry, rough sound.
Heโd either just met the cleverest woman in Westerosโฆ or the cruelest.
But she said yes.
And that was enoughโfor now.
It had been thirty agonizing minutes.
The throne room was a furnace of tension and gilded cruelty. Sunlight spilled through the high stained-glass windows in soft shafts of color, but no warmth touched Sandor Clegane. He stood stiff as stone in the shadow of a pillar, half-shrouded in the folds of his dark cloak, arms crossed over his broad chest.
He had never felt smaller.
The Red Keepโs courtiers were already whispering, like insects buzzing too close. Their silks rustled, their jeweled fingers fluttered as they leaned in with rehearsed sympathy and barely veiled amusement.
โI suppose she drowned on the way here,โ one lord quipped dryly.
โOr perhaps she changed her mind. I know I would have,โ a lady replied with a titter, her bracelets clinking like bells.
Cersei sipped from her goblet and tilted her head toward the King, voice lazy and amused. โYou must admit, Joffreyโฆ if someone were to make up a lady-love, claiming sheโs from a powerful house would be the way to do it.โ
โSheโs not coming,โ Joffrey declared, loudly enough for all to hear. He lounged in the Iron Throne like a bored vulture, golden hair gleaming, fingers curled in irritation. โNo woman in her right mind would willingly claim the Hound. Let alone kiss him.โ
A low murmur rippled through the throne room. No one dared laughโyetโbut the tension begged for it.
Sansa looked stricken. โPlease, Your Graceโโ
โPlease?โ Joffrey mocked. โPlease, your Grace, donโt be cruel? Shall I give him a doll to cuddle in her absence, little dove?โ
Her face flushed red, but she said nothing else.
Tyrion, ever perched like a cat at the edge of danger, gave a sigh and stood from his seat. โPerhaps the lady is simply delayed, Your Grace. Seas do not always obey your schedule.โ
โDelayed,โ Joffrey scoffed. โOr invented. I say we give the dog a bone and send him back to his kennel.โ
Tyrionโs brow twitched. He glanced toward Sandor.
The Hound didnโt move. Didnโt speak. But the weight behind his silence could flatten a castle wall.
He should have known better. Of course she wasnโt coming. Maybe it was a joke, or worse, a pity game. What had he expected? That a woman like herโa lady of elegance, sharpness, born of salt and silverโwould really stand at his side before all of Kingโs Landing?
Thenโ
The great doors creaked open.
Every head turned.
Two knights pulled the towering iron doors aside, and warm sunlight spilled across the marble floor. A hush fell so quickly it was as though the entire room had been dunked underwater.
A heraldโs voice rang out:
โAnnouncingโLady Velaryon. Of House Velaryon.โ
There was a pause. Audible surprise.
The name echoed, rippling through the nobles like a stone dropped in still water.
Cersei turned slightly, golden brows raised.
โVelaryon?โ Joffrey repeated, frowning. โThey said she was of House Velaryon?โ
No one answered. No one could.
Because she stepped into the light like it belonged to her.
Her gown was sea-green and threaded in silver, the colors of the Driftmark coast. The silk clung to her body with practiced elegance, bell sleeves trailing behind her like mist over waves. She wore no crown, no heavy jewels. Just the ripple of wealth in her stitching and the way she carried herselfโhead high, shoulders regal, her walk deliberate and unhurried.
And her hairโฆ it wasnโt braided in the old style. It fell loose, free down her back, with only a single pearl-pinned wave tucked behind one ear. A quiet rebellion.
The court murmured as she passed. No one seemed to know who she was.
But she commanded their silence all the same.
At the foot of the Iron Throne, she bowed deeply.
โYour Grace,โ she said with a soft, velvet voice, eyes raised to Joffrey. She dipped her head again to Cersei, then offered Tyrion a gentle nod. The Queen Mother blinked. Sansa stared.
No one spoke.
Then she turned toward the shadows.
Toward him.
Sandor stiffened, suddenly aware of how large and dark and ugly he must seem compared to her elegance. He expected hesitation. Disgust. The reveal of the prank.
Instead, she smiled.
Soft, amused. Real.
She walked to him with grace that curled around every movement, her bell sleeves sweeping behind her, the scent of salt and sandalwood in her wake. The sound of her heels against stone echoed like a heartbeat.
When she reached him, she looked up.
And before he could say anythingโbefore the doubt in him could open its mouthโshe said brightly, โMy dear, you look like a brute.โ
The court gasped.
She reached up with calm hands and cupped his face, one palm resting against the burned side of his cheek like it was made of porcelain, not scarred ruin.
โSmile,โ she added, her voice dropping. โWhy donโt you?โ
He blinked, stunned. Her hand was warm. Gentle. Real.
And for the first time since entering that gods-damned room, a low sound escaped his chest.
A laugh.
Rough and briefโbut real.
He turned away, lips twitching against a grin, cheeks flushing beneath the scar. โYouโre late,โ he muttered.
โI know.โ She smiled. โBut I came.โ
The King stood, face souring. โKiss him,โ Joffrey commanded. โKiss your mutt. If this so real!โ
Cersei said nothing. Tyrion narrowed his eyes.
โYou donโt have to,โ Sandor mumbled, pulling back slightly.
But she leaned in with a grin, loud and warm and confident.
โWell,โ she said to him, voice lifted to the court, โkiss me, mutt.โ
He froze.
Gasps again. Whispers.
Then she rose up on her toes and pressed her mouth to hisโrough, sudden, heated. His lips parted, and it was awkward, but she didnโt shy away. Her hands braced against his chest like she meant to stay. When they broke apart, her thumb brushed over his chin.
โYou donโt have to be so rough,โ she whispered, eyes twinkling. โIโm not going anywhere.โ
The court was in chaos nowโhalf-shocked, half-horrified.
โThis is a joke!โ Joffrey barked. โI demand proofโbedding ceremony, this very night!โ
The room went dead still.
Cersei looked mildly intrigued.
Tyrion groaned under his breath.
But she turned back to the throne, smiling sweetly. โIf thatโs what you desire, Your Grace,โ she said without blinking. โIt would be no hardship. Making love to my husband isnโt a problem.โ
โWe will wed tomorrow,โ she said, smiling now. โIf Your Grace would be so gracious as to host.โ
The court didnโt know whether to bow or faint.
But Sandor?
He just stared at her, a thousand questions screaming in his chest.
And all of them quieted when she reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his.
The chambers were smaller than hers at home.
That was the first thing she thought when the door closed behind her with a soft thud. No open arches to the sea. No breeze to sweep through silk curtains. The walls here were heavy with tapestries, stone cold beneath her bare feet. A single window let in slanted light from the courtyard torches below. The fire was already lit in the hearth, but it did little to warm the quiet.
She walked slowly across the room, her bell sleeves dragging behind her, her sea-silver gown whispering secrets to the stones.
At home on Driftmark, her chambers were open and wide. Her bed had no curtains. The ocean could be heard in every breath. She missed it. The salt. The freedom. The space.
The door creaked open.
She didnโt turn, only smiled faintly at the window as the familiar heavy steps moved inside.
Sandor.
His presence always came before the sound โ a weight in the air, a pull behind the ribs. He didnโt knock. Of course he didnโt. He never did things gently.
โYouโre alone,โ he said gruffly, like it offended him.
โI prefer it,โ she replied.
There was a beat of silence behind her. She could hear his breath โ short, sharp. Pacing. Boots scraping faintly against the stone.
โYouโre a stupid girl.โ
She turned now.
He was tense, jaw set, the torchlight throwing gold across his burn-scarred face. His hands were clenched at his sides. His voice shook with something like anger, but his eyesโgods, his eyesโthey searched her like he needed an answer that could unmake him.
โYou donโt know what youโre doing,โ he muttered. โWhy would youโthis is just supposed to convince them.โ
She stepped toward him.
Elegant. Calm.
โRelax, I said yes remember.โ she said, as if reminding him.
He blinked, like he still couldnโt believe it.
โYouโre playing some game ,โ he said. โIโve seen better men ruined by court women and their pretty lies.โ
โDo I lie?โ she asked gently, stopping in front of him. โYou asked me to marry you. Now I am accused of playing games.โ
He didnโt answer.
She tilted her head, one brow raised. Then, in a whisper, like she was teasing the sea, she added, โKiss this stupid girl goodnight.โ
His lips parted.
His eyes narrowed, searching her face. She wasnโt mocking him. Not playing. Just standing there, daring him, velvet and salt and moonlight.
When he didnโt move, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
Not softly.
She yanked him to her.
And he broke.
Sandor kissed her like he had waited his whole life for someone to choose him. It was not gentle. It was fire licking through storm, rough hands grasping her waist, mouth crushing hers, his breath hot and uneven. She gasped against him, and he took it, deepened it, hands sliding into her hair, holding her like she might vanish if he let go.
But she didnโt.
She held him right back. Firm. Certain. Her fingers gripped his tunic, her lips moved with his, slow and hungry and sure.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead fell to hers.
They stood there, breathless.
He hadnโt meant to lose control. But she didnโt seem to mind.
She smiled softly, still catching her breath. Her hands slid down his chest until they rested just over his heart.
โGood night, my dear,โ she whispered, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth. โSleep well. For me.โ
She turned and walked toward the bed, slowly beginning to unlace her sleeves, unhurried.
And Sandor Clegane, who had known fire, war, blood, and scornโstood in the glow of the firelight, utterly wrecked by the way she had said my dear.
He didnโt say good night.
But he watched the whole time.
And he didnโt leave until the fire burned low.
The bell only rang once.
Not the high, rolling peal of a royal wedding, nor the trumpets and fanfare of noble procession. Just one solitary ring from the Sept towerโa sound more solemn than celebratory. It echoed over the courtyard like a final breath held in reverence, and drifted away like mist over Blackwater Bay.
Sandor stood alone near the altar, stone still, arms rigid at his sides.
The red of the Sept bled around himโcandlelight flickering off tall marble columns, golden pools dancing on the polished floor. Above, the Stranger loomed down from painted glass, its expression unreadable. If Sandor noticed it at all, he gave no sign.
His leathers were brushed. His beard had been trimmedโpoorly. A new surcoat had been thrown over his shoulders, black with the faintest sigil of House Lannister sewn into the hem, as was custom now, though he wore it like a man wrapped in old wounds. Sweat clung beneath the cloth. His hand opened and closed once, fingers flexing like he might rather have a sword than a wedding band.
He expected jeers. Or silence. Or worseโJoffreyโs laughter.
What he did not expect was honor.
The first to enter were the Velaryons. The banners of sea-green and silver unfurled behind them like ocean mist rolling in. They did not slink like defeated guests, nor storm like insulted nobles. They walked with the slow, regal confidence of people who belonged anywhere they stepped, salt-touched and sun-warmed, like they had brought the very sea with them.
At their head walked her father.
Tall, proud, and carved from the bones of ships. His cloak was pinned at the left shoulder, fastened over a neatly wrapped stump where his arm had once been. The stories had spread in whispers: a kraken, they said, rising from the depths during a storm when his daughter was just a girl. He had shielded her with his own body. His arm had not survivedโbut she had. And that, he always said, was the trade heโd make again.
When he reached Sandor, there was no scorn in his eyes. No fear. Just a long, steady look, as if weighing not the manโs title, nor face, but his spine.
Then the old sailor placed his hand firmly on Sandorโs shoulder.
โShe laughs like her mother,โ he said in a low, rough voice. โAnd sheโs got my fire. Keep her laughing, and sheโll forget to set the world alight.โ
Sandor couldnโt speak. Only nodded once, mouth slightly parted, startled by the warmth in the gesture.
A beat later, her ladies-in-waiting filtered in, all of them cloaked in the sea tones of her houseโdusted jade, pale green, glistening silvers like salt crusting over pearls. One of them, younger than the rest, blushed furiously when Sandor glanced her way and whispered behind her palm, โHeโs not as beastly as they say.โ
And then she arrived.
The entire Sept seemed to still.
She didnโt just enter. She filled the room. Like light. Like tide. Like something ancient and elegant walking barefoot from the sea.
Her gown was soft seafoam green with long bell sleeves that whispered when she moved. The silk clung to her body as if the dress had been sewn straight to her skin. Her hair was not braided as tradition demanded. It fell freely in soft waves, the only decoration a pair of silver combs at her temples that caught the candlelight as she passed. Every inch of her was noble, but she carried herself like someone who had never once doubted her place in the world.
She did not stop at Joffrey.
She did not bow.
Her smile did not falter as she walked straight to Sandor.
He couldnโt breathe.
She was real. She hadnโt fled. She wasnโt some joke the gods were playing. She walked to him with a smile like moonlight over calm waters and placed a kissโa real kissโon the burned side of his cheek.
โSteady,โ she whispered against his skin, her breath warm. โYouโre not dreaming.โ
He felt the words in his bones.
The ceremony moved on without pause. The septon droned about sacred unions and the joining of souls, while courtiers whispered behind hands, the Queen sneered from her seat, and Joffrey sat cross-legged, eyes rolling at every mention of duty. He sighed loudly, exaggerated and boyish.
โLetโs move it along, old man,โ Joffrey muttered. โBefore the dog chews his own leash.โ
But the septon continued. And when it came time to speak, she did not hesitate.
โI do,โ she said clearly.
Sandorโs voice was hoarse when it followed. โAye.โ
Then, soft-footed and without fanfare, the maester stepped forward.
It was the law, after all. The King had requested confirmation of her purity. And she, raised by the salt and waves, did not flinch at customs steeped in rot. Her maid followed her from the Sept with quiet dignity. And when she returned, her head held high, her cheeks a little warmer, she looked not like a woman humiliatedโbut like a queen who had simply walked through fire untouched.
โUntouched,โ the maester said aloud to the gathered court.
Joffrey raised a brow, unimpressed. โWell then,โ he said with a sneer, โgo and make it true.โ
They left to jeers. Laughter. Betting whispers from the back of the hall.
But none of it mattered once the doors closed behind them.
The room was heavy with candlelight, thick with the scent of fresh linens and rosewater, though neither masked the storm rising in Sandorโs chest. The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the last whispers of the court like a stone dropped into deep water. At last, they were alone.
He didnโt look at her
Not at first.
His boots thudded against the floor as he paced once, twice. Then, with a growl barely audible, he began unbuckling the leather strap across his shoulder, the motion sharp and practiced. He didnโt savor it. He wasnโt unwrapping a gift โ he was bracing for the blow. The pity. The disgust.
He didnโt want her to see.
When he finally turned, she had already shed her veil, fingers toying gently with the combs in her hair, letting them fall one by one onto the low table. Sea-colored silk clung to her body like a second skin, the long bell sleeves dragging as she stepped out of her slippers and walked toward him without hesitation.
He avoided her gaze, hands moving too quickly now โ to the belt at his waist, the buckle of his trousers. Get it done, he told himself. Get it done before she changed her mind.
โStop.โ Her voice was stern.
Sharp as the edge of a broken shell.
He froze, his fingers stiff above the leather. Slowly, his eyes flicked to hers โ searching for mockery. For hesitation. For that look they all wore eventually: one glance at his face and the soft recoil, the twitch of revulsion, even when they tried to hide it.
But it wasnโt there.
Only stillness. Power. Patience.
And when she took a step forward, he took one back, his lips parted like heโd just taken a blow to the stomach. โI knew it,โ he muttered hoarsely, the words slipping out of him before he could stop them. โThought maybe youโmaybe you looked at me like I wasnโtโโ He didnโt finish. He didnโt need to.
She chuckled.Softly. Slowly. Like it had bloomed in her throat and poured through the room like warm wine.
โMy Hound,โ she said, her voice no longer sharp, but velvet-wrapped and thick with promise. She stepped closer again, her bare feet silent against the stone. โPlease. Be gentle. Be slow.โ Her hands slid up his arms, her palms steadying him. โI want to feel every bit of you.โ
Something in him unraveled then.
Something tight and wound and aching that had never loosened, not once in all his years.
She kissed him slowly, her lips brushing his like sheโd waited her whole life to know his mouth. His first instinct was to take it โ to devour โ to grab her hips and shove her down, take her from behind like he was used to, like it was easier not to see. His fingers dug into her waist before she pulled back, whispering a quiet โNo.โ
She climbed into his lap, straddling him with gentle precision. Her thighs spread over his, her skirts pooling at their hips. She cupped his scarred face between her hands and guided his mouth back to hers. The kiss deepened โ not rough, not wild, but aching and tender and full of every unsaid thing that had built since the moment they met.
He tried to speak, but it came out coarse, needy, unfiltered. โFuckโฆ you feel so warm.โ
Her smile curled into his mouth.
โTell me,โ she whispered against his lips, โtell me what you want.โ
โTo give you my seed,โ he rasped, breath ragged, โa son, if you allow me.โ
โYes,โ she whispered, rolling her hips against him with sinful grace. โYes, my love. Give me your heir.โ
He groaned, head dropping into the crook of her neck, pressing kisses into her skin as she guided him in, inch by slow inch. Her breath caught, but she didnโt flinch. Instead, she cupped the back of his neck, holding him there, whispering praise as his hands trembled on her hips.
โYouโre inside me,โ she murmured, voice thick and heavy, โso deep, gods, I feel you in my bones. Thatโs it. My good, strong husbandโฆโ
And he lost himself.
He moved with desire now, each thrust slow, drawn out, his forehead pressed to hers as she rode him to completion. When she felt him start to shake, she kissed him harder.
โI love you,โ he whispered hoarsely, the words rasping up from some deep, unused place inside him.
She pressed her lips to his ear. โI love you too.โ
He held her until the candle guttered out, until sleep dragged him down with her body curled against his chest and his arms locked tightly around her waist, like he feared she might vanish come morning.
The next day, the air inside the Red Keep hung thick with anticipation. Court was assembled early, robes gathered, wine poured, mouths whispering.
Joffrey lounged lazily in his chair, one leg thrown over the arm, smirking. โWell? Was the dog house-trained?โ
A lone voice cleared his throat. One of Sandorโs sworn men โ red-faced, eyes darting to the floor. He bowed low.
โIt wasโฆ consummated, Your Grace.โ
Joffrey scoffed. โHe probably mounted her like a stray. Gods, I pity the girlโโ
โShe was on top,โ the guard mumbled quickly.
The room went still.
He swallowed thickly. โShe saidโuhโฆ she said, โMy Hound, pleaseโฆ be gentle and slow. I want to feel every bit of you.โโ
Silence.
Then a loud, cracking laugh from Tyrion, who nearly choked on his wine.
Sansa turned sharply, her cheeks burning, though the corner of her mouth twitched ever so slightly.
Even Cersei narrowed her eyes, lips pressed tight, as if trying to decide whether the embarrassment or the scandal was greater.
Joffrey slammed his palm down against the arm of the throne, face twisted in rage. โSummon her!โ he shouted. โI want her brought to me. Now.
The Red Keepโs throne room was cold in the morning light. Not cold in temperatureโthough the stone still held the chill from the nightโbut in presence. It was the way the light filtered down like judgment, the way the Iron Throne sat jagged and too high, the way silence clung to the walls like it was listening.
The doors creaked open.
She walked in alone.
No guards. No fear. Just the sound of soft silk brushing the floor, her sea-green skirts gliding like mist over stone, bell sleeves floating at her wrists. Her hands were clasped before her, posture straight, unshaken. Her silver hairpins caught the light as she bowed her head, not too low, not too longโjust enough to be respectful, not submissive.
Joffrey looked at her like one might a puzzle that refused to be solved.
She was far too calm.
Far too lovely.
Far too untouched by the cruelty he had come to expect from the world he bent beneath him.
โYou,โ he said, voice sharp and uncertain. โYou canโt possibly mean it.โ
Her head tilted slightly, smile warm, unbothered. โMean what, Your Grace?โ
โThat youโd lie with him. With a dog.โ His voice rose. โYou expect me to believe a lady of your name and standing would lower herself to that?โ
She offered him a gentle shrug, silk whispering as she moved. โDo you take me for some fool?โ
He snapped upright in his throne, jaw clenched. โYes! Iโโ
โI take you for a king,โ she said, cutting in with soft authority. โWhether you are a fool or notโฆ is up to you.โ
The throne room froze.
Even the guards glanced at each other, uncertain if they should breathe.
Sandor had been standing stiff and silent beside the daisโlet out a short, amused breath. A low rasp of a laugh he didnโt bother to hide.
Joffreyโs face twisted. He rose, nearly knocking his goblet from the arm of the throne. โYouโโ
But she didnโt flinch.
Instead, she turned to Sandor, her voice kind but sure, as if they were alone.
โI would like to take him home with me. To Driftmark. My home.โ She turned back to Joffrey. โI will leave twenty guards behind. And gold, if that is your price.โ
Joffrey scoffed, lips curling. โI donโt need your coin for that pity of a man.โ
The words hung, suspended.
โSo be it,โ she replied. Calm. Clean. Final.
And they turned to leave.
Her chambers were already being packed when they returned.
Her maids worked in silence, folding fabrics, fastening trunks. The air was warmer here, filtered through gauzy curtains that fluttered against the stone window frames. She moved through it easily, barefoot, shedding the tension of the court like a cloak left behind.
The door to her chamber clicked gently shut behind them. A servant had lingered to bow, then gone without a word. Outside, the keep still moved like a stirred anthill โ talk of the Velaryon bride, the dog-husband, the Driftmark exit. But in this room, time had slowed.
The warmth hit Sandor first โ the difference. The air inside wasnโt the cold stone of the barracks or the reeking stalls of the city. No, this smelled of orange blossom and salt, of soft powder and faint perfume. The sea lingered on her belongings, like her homeland refused to let her go.
His boots sank into a thick woven rug, seafoam green, surely imported, and he felt out of place already. He lingered at the threshold like a soldier returning to a battlefield, stiff and unsure. Her back was to him, delicate fingers unfastening a silver clasp at her collar.
โMy rooms at home are bigger,โ she said softly, not looking back. โHigher ceilings. Open air. You can hear the gulls and smell the tide. And my windowsโฆ you could lean right out over the cliffs and let the wind wrap you like a shawl.โ
Her voice was wistful. Not bragging. Just remembering. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders beneath the silk of her gown. Sea-green, again โ the color suited her. Or perhaps she suited it. She belonged to it.
She wasnโt made for stone walls and whispers.
She turned slowly.
The dress had loosened at the collar. Her hair had fallen a little, tendrils slipping over her collarbone. Her eyes searched his faceโthose bruised, stormy eyes, too clever for their own good.
โYouโre quiet,โ she said softly, stepping toward him. โDid Joffreyโs venom sink that deep?โ
โNo.โ The word was low. Hard. โIt ainโt him.โ
Her brow furrowed, head tilting just slightly.
Sandorโs hands moved toward his pocket without thinking. His fingers fumbled against the worn leather pouch at his belt, callused fingertips scraping the seam. It felt heavier than usual. Wrong in his hands. Like it wasnโt meant for this.
Still, he pulled it open. The sound was loud in the silence โ the coins inside shifting like bone dice.
Her eyes dropped to it.
โI shouldโฆ pay you.โ The words scratched at his throat like gravel. His eyes burned. He didnโt look at her. โFor pretending. For being kind. For making me feel likeโlikeโฆโ
His voice cracked, the rest lost to the air.
โI thought I could walk away,โ he muttered, jaw tightening, โbutโฆ fuck, I donโt want to.โ She watched him. His face was turned half away, his mouth a grim slash of regret. But his hands were trembling, white-knuckled around the coin pouch.
Her chest ached.
She crossed the space between them in silence. Each footstep was soft โ not because she was afraid, but because she was deliberate. She moved like water: graceful, slow, unable to be stopped.
Her hand touched his, gently, just enough to still his fingers.
โSandor,โ she whispered.
He glanced down at her, face unreadable โ except for his eyes. His eyes were wide, helpless.
She took the pouch from him and set it on the low table beside them without breaking his gaze.
โYou can still be sworn to my father,โ she said softly. โStill serve my family, if thatโs what you want. No shame in that.โ
He exhaled hard through his nose. His shoulders curled inward, as if bracing for the goodbye.
โBut youโre still my husband,โ she said, her voice velvet-wrapped steel. โYou still hold that title. And if you want it, my lordโโ she reached up, cupping his scarred cheek with one warm, steady hand โโyou may keep it.โ
His breath caught. His hand twitched at his side. โDonโt mock me,โ he muttered hoarsely
She stepped closer. Pressed her body against his.
โYour brute charmโฆโ she smiled, voice like silk against his throat, โโฆhas worked on me.โ
He made a broken soundโhalf breath, half laughโand then she felt his arms come around her, not forcefully, not desperate, but like the closing of a door against the cold. His head lowered into her shoulder, resting there a moment as if he didnโt quite believe she was real.
Her hand moved through his thick, dark hair. โYouโre mine,โ she whispered.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes.
anatomy of us (final) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader
type: limited series, final part (14.6k), AO3
in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.
series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving), allusions to poly!141, this part contains minor physical assault against reader (not by simon) 18+
PART 1 โค PART 2 โค PART 3
You make a deal with the devil.
Simon was right, as much as you donโt want to admit it. You cannot fight your omega. She is stupid, and she is careless, but she controls some of the parts of you that you have never been able to reach. She can kill you with it. Youโve heard of these kinds of things, the places omegas can take youโa spiral so far into yourself, that the only protection your brain has for itself is to turn off.
Brain-dead. No signal. In an effort to conserve life, it turns itself off, but it doesnโt think about the fact that there will be no one there to turn itself back on. In the fight to save itself, it self-destructs, and there is nothing to do but cut the cord.
She can do that to you, if she really wanted to. Feral enough, she can tie a noose around your neck and pull it, and you will have no choice but to fall into yourself. You cannot fight her, but you cannot love her either; so you make a deal.
If she sweetens her scent to Simonโs pack, you will let Simon in. You wonโt fight the ticking timer in your head. Youโll let yourself relax. Youโll give her the control to let herself indulge, since you never have before, and all she has to do is make sure every one of those alphas are at your heel. She needs to be goodโshe canโt half-ass this kind of thing. You need a leash around each of their necks, and you need it to cut off their oxygen when you pull on it. If someone gets loose, youโll find a way to suffocate her for good. You swear it, promise it, tell her youโre going to drown her even if it drowns you, tooโ
I can do it, I can do it, I can do it.
Eager little thing, she is. Sweet as honey, but deadly like poison. Sheโs a carnivorous plant, and ever since you stopped taking your meds, her roots have grown into youโattaching to your veins, tainting your blood, weaving itself into your brain stem like a cancerous cell. You wonโt let her take it all. If she gives you a little, youโll give, too, and that is how the balance can be kept.
Youโll make a man-eater out of her. You think sheโll prefer the taste, and perhaps it will dull the sharpness of her teeth when they sink back into you again.
She lets go of you for now. When you feel her teeth pull back from behind your eyes, youโre gasping for breath, and there is a great weight hanging over your back. Youโre dragging someone along with you, leaving behind a trail of blood and hard bootprints, and you can feel the adrenaline thatโs been keeping you going slowly start to melt away. You have a pounding headache. Thereโs something in your mouth that tastes rotten. Thereโs something that youโre carrying that youโre going to drop any moment as your muscles give out on you.
You smell him before anything else. The stench of him hits your nose so hard that you flinch. You cough, spit dripping from your mouth, and you breathe a mouthful of his pain and his anger. It stings, his scent, but your omega recognizes him enough that you find it in yourself to keep your feet going as you hold him up with a heavy arm around your shoulders.
โKitty.โ
โItโsโฆI-I got it, Simon. Just hold onto me. Weโre almost there.โ
Your eyes water with relief when you see Johnnyโs terrible hair and Gazโs dark eyes. Their faces fall in tandem, and you cry with exhaustion when Gaz slings Simonโs other arm around him and grunts as he takes the excruciating weight off of you. You fall, your knees giving out, but just before you hit the ground, Johnnyโs got his big arms around your waist, and heโs pulling you back onto your feet. You dig your nails into his forearms, finding your footing, and you lean back against him as you watch Gaz get Simon onto his back so he look at the blood that still wets his mask.
You donโt really remember making it back to the plane. Every time you blinked, the setting was new. Your nose buried in Johnnyโs neckโshhh, itโs alright, bonnie, heโs right here, weโre here. Your hands finding Simonโs, squeezing, not stopping to cry until he squeezed back. The whir of a helicopter. The gravel beneath your feet, kicking up with all the boots, dust in your nose. A ramp closing behind you, and then the constant whir of the jet engine. Johnny drags you to sit, and you can still taste blood in your mouth.
Whoโs the man-eater?
When you open your mouth and reach in, you pick out something stringy from between your teeth. With a tremble to your bottom lip, you realize itโs flesh. Viscera and muscle, blood and skin, flooded into the crooks of your mouth and notched between your molars, against your gums. Your vision goes blurry, and you realize itโs just more tears when they fall warm and salty down your face. You taste old pennies as it carries blood from between your lips as they come down your cheeks, and you lean forward to spit, splattering wet saliva and dark pink onto the floor of the plane. You cough, wiping your face with the back of your hand, but then your hands shake when you realize they are covered in blood. You look down and see much of the sameโyour shirt, your jacket, your tact vest, the entire front of your body has splatters of dark red.
โOhโGodโโ
You feel sick. Itโs all coming up, all of it, you ate something foul, and now you need to be rid of itโ
โNone oโthaโ now.โ
You sob, jerking your head to the voice in front of you. Knelt down, Captain Price is bending to meet your eyes. Your hands tremble, and you shake your head, but he just kisses his teeth and reaches into his vest to retrieve a rag. He unravels it, reaching for your hand, and you give it to him easily as he draws you closer so he can wipe at your face. He uses a canteen to get it wet, and when he wipes your face again, the rag is soaked in red.
Youโve killed before, in some sense, but never in this way. Everything you have ever done in the service has always been tactical and removedโfiring a weapon from hundreds of yards away, clicking a button and watching some screen as you blew a building to dust. Even a phone call, you think you made once, and although you werenโt pulling any triggers, the location you gave them would end up on some list somewhere. You never felt good about it, but you didnโt see the aftermath, not up close. You kept your hands physically clean, and in that way, you told yourself that it was acceptable. That you were good.
Forgivable.
It is the first time you see yourself as animal. Sharp teeth, a static mind, driven by aggression and the feeling of a threat. Someone stepped into your space, challenged your territory, and now that your omega has her teeth in you, you couldnโt stop her.
You killed a man.
But he tried to kill mine.
โI did thatโโ You hiss, and the agony on your face is palpable. Itโs in your scent, and it clouds the small plane. You can see the scrunch of Johnโs face when it hits him head-on, and he shakes his head when you keep talking. Rambling. Babbling about I killed him, I killed him, what did I doโ?
โLook at me, Kit,โ John says. He says it with his chest, and your omega freezes when she hears the only thing she really understands. You blink, bottom lip still wobbling, but you quiet. When you meet Johnโs eyes, all you can read is his frustration. He looks tired. He looks doubtful. He looks worried. โWhat did you do?โ
โI killed him.โ
โThatโs right,โ John murmurs. โAnd if you hadnโt, he wouldโve killed you.โ
His explanation is clinical and matter-of-fact. You arenโt speaking to a man, not a normal oneโyouโre speaking to Captain John Price, who has enough confirmed kills to make any immediate superior nervous. The only reason John Price is not a rank higher is because that means sitting at a desk, and that just wouldnโt do for a man like this. Not for one this hungry. Not for one with eyes like that and hands that fidget the way they do. There is no way this man understands you; what you have done is what he does before breakfast. Licks his fingers afterwards even, just to savor the way it tastes.
You shake your head, โI mauled him. L-Like an animal, Iโโ
โYou survived,โ John explains. He tilts his head to the side, and he sucks you right in. โWhat the fuck did you think this was, Kit, hmm? Think we donโt get our hands dirty? Think the shit we do is easy, thaโ it? Noโlook at me.โ Your eyes are wild. Thereโs something terrible going on in your head, and you canโt shake it. Something awful is happening to you. The you that you know is trying to understand how easy it was to do such a horrible thing. The other part of you, the one youโve been ignoring your whole life, will sleep just fine knowing her mate is alive and well. John snarls a little, and your trembling hands find his vest and hold onto it for stability. You try to ignore the fact that the broadness of his chest dwarfs your hands, but your omega notices.
Your hands curl there, latching on, and while your omega knows this isnโt your alpha, she sighs a little at the feeling of him anyways. Stability, authority, the way he takes controlโhe feeds her well. Even if you cannot do whatโs necessary, she can, and John and his alpha know this feeling well. Itโs why heโs still alive. Itโs why heโs still here.
Justified murder. Sanctioned killers. The lesser evil. Joining their pack means you are one of them nowโdoes that mean swallowing these half-truths, too?
โYou did what you were trained to do. You were backed into a corner, and you used every last weapon you had. You saved yourself, and you saved Simon, and you did exactly what a soldier is supposed to do. Repeat after meโLook at me, Kit! Keep your fuckinโ eyes on me, and repeat after meโI did what I was trained to do.โ
You dig your nails into the flesh under his shirt. It barely gives, and John doesnโt flinch. Your eyes on his are so intense. This is a man that has been in your place often, for longer. He wears his experience in his eyes and in the careful movements he makes in the field. There is no hesitance when John Price makes a decision. Heโs fought too hard and seen too much to ever do anything with half his heart, half his mind. The lines on his face tell a storyโhe isnโt this old because he hides, heโs this old because he knows exactly what to do and when to do it. He wears his alpha like armor, and they work together, in parallel, to get each other home.
Your fingers shake a little less when you feel his thick hands resting on your thighs, tugging you just that much closer.
โSay it. Thatโs a fucking order,โ John says again. His scent is warm. It softens your insides. His eyes will never give you the forgiveness you seek, but they will forgive you anyways, and maybe thatโs all you really want. Maybe itโs all you really need.
Tell me what Iโve done isnโt wrong. Absolve me. Put your teeth to my neck and tell me that everything Iโve done was going to happen anyways.
โIโฆโ Your voice falters. Your foreheads touch, just for a moment, and your breath comes out with barely even a stutter. โI-I did whatโฆI did what I was trained t-to do.โ
โAgain.โ
โI didโฆI did what I was trained to do.โ
When John stands, your eyes follow. Your head tilts back, and you blink up at him with watery eyes, and there is no mistaking the hand that comes up to cup the side of your face. You look just like the feral thing you fear you are. The cracks of your lips are still dark with blood. Itโs still stained along your skin, a thick kind of war paint that you wear apprehensively, but John knows what he sees.
Itโs been a long time since heโs had an omega this close. They are distractions. Giving Simon an omega meant needing to accept her into their pack. A pack of four alphas is unusual. No betas, no omegas, just four dog-like alphas that followed each other anywhere. They had an unspoken, silent agreement to keep their pack this way. Betas waste time, and omegas complicate things. They are self-sufficient, John is sure of this fact. They have never needed anyone but each other.
The moment you set foot on base, John felt itโthe balance tipping. Simon had seemed indifferent to Kateโs proposition. He had never voiced his desire to claim an omega or to have a mate; his life had been a reflection of how wrong even the most natural of relationships could go, and he was not eager to try it his own way. As soon as you arrived and were tucked into your room, the change in Simon was immediate. You were here, and you would be his mate, and while Simon had never been privy to what it meant to really court an omega, his instincts took over.
John knows why. Nothing in Simonโs life had ever really been his. His entire family was dead, and even his life was not his ownโhe followed orders. He lived because they allowed him to, and he would die when they told him to die. The simplicity worked for him, and John never questioned that. Having nothing to lose made Simon fearless and smart. He trusted Simon to do what was necessary, and even when Simon knew he was the sacrificial lamb, he never said anythingโall that came through on the radio was a curt copy thaโ.
Kate gave him something, something soft and pretty, with a bite. Kate mentioned something about her being special, but John is having trouble remembering why. Something about this is the one I canโt have, but itโs white noise in his mind now. He used to think it was about controlโif Kate could take you away and give you back, it might give her leverage over Simon, but he knows thatโs just a fleeting idea.
No alpha in their pack would let them take you away. Not now. Not anymore. John wasnโt sure before; he had half a mind to tell Simon that this new dynamic wasnโt working, but then he heard your voice breaking over the radio, and then he saw you hauling Simonโs giant body covered in someone elseโs blood with nothing but instinct driving you forward. The look in your eyesโhe knows what that is, he recognized it as soon as he saw it. Someone tried to take Simon from you, and you did not let that happen. Visceral, that kind of killing. Tormenting. Immutable. It will be with you forever, but so will Simon now.
Just like that, you are accepted. Even John wonโt turn you away. Couldnโt. Itโs not possible. Fate has fuck-all to do with this kind of pairing.
There is a popular belief that mates are not chosen carefullyโwhen you see them, when you smell them, it is known. The hierarchy of society that is chosen by the presentation of your own self, decided by nothing but your DNA, is divinely driven when it comes to how you pair. Your mate was already decided for you at birth, and you will discover them in your own time, because fate will have it so.
That is a lie. John wonโt believe it. Simon certainly will never call this that. Kate propped a door open, and Simon simply decided that yes, he gets to have his cake and eat it, too. The waiting game is over. The chosen misery of not having an omega to knot ends. Simon knows when an opportunity presents itself, and he knows exactly when to take it. Itโs pulsing under Johnโs fingersโa strong pulse you have, the gland just under your ear beating hot and thick under his thumb like it taunts him.
What if he leaned over and sunk his teeth there? What then?
She will never be warm enough. Her food will never be good enough. Sheโll always sound distressed. The water in the showers will always be too cold. There are too many lights. She will never have enough pillows, enough blankets, they will forever torture her in a space too small, sheโll never be truly happy. They will always look for the void, for the empty spots, and they will forever try to occupy them. Fill them. Make you happy.
John understands. Maybe even from the moment he met you.
The smell of you. The sight of your doe eyes, your soft skin, the clear distress you were inโfuck, he had forgotten why omegas were kept so far apart on bases like this. Just one whiff, and John fought hard not to break right through his grip on the doorway. Enough to tempt a man; to stuff her away in some box, tuck her somewhere dark, keep her safe, sound, fed, warm, fat, happy, pleasured. A good man would be rightfully tempted by it, even with the claim over you, even with Simonโs scent sticky against your skin.
Johnโs alpha is not immune to that innate desire. He might not be your mate, but the cry for help is all the same, and so is the itch that his alpha wants to scratch. There is an omega in needโwe have to help her.
Looking at you now, he couldnโt stop himself. Those big, wet eyes of yours, the sound of your cries. Your omega is smart. She curls your tears and your whimpers in just a way that makes every alpha in your vicinity stiffen. They all can hear it. They all can hear the clawing of her blunt nails. They all can smell the need to be comforted. Your omega is a magnet, and sheโs strong; stronger than John is used to, and he thinks itโs because you donโt know how to control her.
When Simon shuts the door on his room later that evening, John isnโt the only one lingering. He sees their shadows, his sergeants, watching the door until that lock clicks. They all meet eyes, but they say nothing to each other. Perhaps itโs just another unspoken rule.
Not yet. Patience is rewarded.
Simon refused medical, naturally. He slumps onto the floor, back against the wall, and you wonโt sit on the bed in your clothes, so you sit down next to him. Your knees wobble a little, and you have to hold onto the wall to sit to keep yourself from falling over as you slide down against it. You lean your head back against the wall, blinking up at the ceiling. Thereโs a fluorescent light that flickers, making you flinch, and then it goes eerily silent in the room. You feel nothing; itโs blissfully still, only the sounds of barely-there breathing, but then it hits you like a crashing wave. When you start to cry, Simon moves, shaking his head. He huffs, low sounds of disapproval as he shifts next to you.
โI canโt listen to you. Cryinโ like thaโ.โ
You donโt think he means that. From your peripheral, you can see the way his gloved hands curl into tight fists against his thighs. Itโs taking everything inside of him not to reach for you. The need to touch you is something that must be burning under that thick skin of his. You hope it fucking hurts. You hope your omega is making it itch and sting so badlyโyou hope the discomfort makes him dig his nails so hard into his palms that it makes him bleed even more.
โI hate you.โ It comes out of you too fast. You say it without thinking, but it comes out shaky and quiet. You feel defeated. You were someone else only hours ago; you were prepared to do anything for him, and all he can say is that he doesnโt want to hear you cry?
โDidnโt ask for you to do thaโ. To do those things. I had it.โ
You turn your head to look at him. Your guilt turns to anger. Your face drops into a tearful scowl, and your bottom lip trembles with it.
โWhat?โ
โDonโt make me repeat myself.โ
The fucking audacity of this two-faced asshole of an alphaโ
โNo, I need to h-hear you say that again. I need to hear you say you fucking had it. I need to hear you say that you had it after getting shot in the fucking head!โ You cry. You lean towards him, glaring up at him. He refuses to look at you, just keeps his eyes on the ceiling. โLook at me if youโre going to lie to me.โ
He doesnโt. He just breathes deep, angry purrs that you donโt believe. You sit up on your knees, facing him.
โCoward,โ you spit. โIs that what youโre gonna put in your report? That you had it, and an insubordinate rookie put your life in danger? I canโt wait to see it, Lieutenant, I cannot wait to see what kind of bullshit story you come up with. You make me so fucking sick. I canโt believe I even saved your life, cause what good does it do me?โ
Simon finally turns to look down at you. Even sitting, heโs still much bigger, much taller, and he narrows his eyes. Deadly. Hateful. You are caught in a line, but you are prepared for it.
โCareful,โ he warns. You gather up some saliva and spit onto the floor next to you. You wipe your wet mouth after, running your tongue over your teeth. Simon eyes the blood that still stains your mouth. Instead of horrifying him, thereโs a rumble that happens deep within his chest that he cannot control.
โDonโt test me, Simon,โ you throw right back at him. โHeโs only dead because he doesnโt get the satisfaction of killing you. If anyoneโs gonna kill you, itโs gonna be me.โ
A flame that becomes a torch. Thatโs what you and Simon are. You do not complement each other, you set each other ablaze. Thatโs what it feels like, anyway.
Your faces crash together in a hard, nasty mess. His mask is first, shoved up over his nose, and then his mouth is on yours. You scramble to get undressed, fumbling to get your tact vest off as Simonโs hands paw at your cargos. You hear fabric tear, but you donโt register it. All you can think about is getting naked enough to get close enough to him so you can feel the pulse of his heartbeat against your skin.
Heโs eating you; as close as he can get, anyway. His teeth anchor into your throat, scraping the delicate flesh, and then his tongue is wetting the blood thatโs still on your skin and sucking it into his mouth. The taste of torn-apart alpha wasnโt apparent to you, but it must be to himโthe way heโs snarling, biting, slobbering as he makes you his dinner plate.
โMy pretty omega,โ Simon growls. It comes from deep within him, a drawl that makes your pupils dilate. Whenever his alpha shows his face, itโs never for long, but it makes your entire body shake. You donโt really remember taking all your clothes off, but Simonโs gloved hands are on your tits, and heโs thumbing at your nipples, licking over his teeth, snapping his jaws as if he wants to bite you again. โMine. Mine to fuck, mine to protect, mine to play with.โ
โFuck you.โ
โYour heatโฆI can taste it,โ he continues. Itโs in your sweat, in your scent, he can feel it boiling under your skin, begging to come out. The way your eyes shift in and out of something, itโs the cloudy haze of it hanging over your head. โIs that how you got your leverage over โim? Did he get a whiff of you and forget who he was?โ
โNo,โ you pant, slipping your hand down his pants. You cup the underside of his cock, and he hisses, putting his hand over yours and pressing you harder against him. He squeezes, and your fingers wrap around him, tugging gently. Heโs pulsing hot under your touch, and you move to shove his pants lower as your knees fall open. โI saw his gland. It was soโฆโ You falter, whining. โI didnโt think. I just did.โ
โMy omega,โ he sighs, shaking his head. Simon grips the side of your head by your hair, and he shakes your head as he forces you to look at him. Dark eyes. Blonde lashes. A face so terrible and so beautiful and so horrifyingly yours. โYou must be mine, you know thaโ.โ
The quickness to violence. Your unapologetic nature. Because I will do anything for him, because nothing is too much, because death is inevitable if someone gets in my wayโ
You do. You know it. Itโs as true as your nature, as true as the voice in your head, as evident as the bones under your skin and the hair on your head and the beating heart under your ribs that feels like itโs about to break right through. Simon will put his teeth on your gland, and heโs going to bite there, and heโs going to steal everything you are and tuck it inside. You have this disgusting image of the puffed skin around his scars opening up and attaching you to him, bleeding you of any life you still have until you are nothing more than a shriveled, dry cavity.
I wonโt let that happen. He might have you, but I have him, too.
When you kiss, you dig your nails into his scalp. You feel him in your guts when he slips inside, pussy opening up and squeezing right back down to keep him in. You whimper, drool spilling out of your mouth, and Simon is there to lick it right back up as he hikes your hips up and grinds into you. Itโs not the worst place youโve ever fucked, but the hard ground under your head wonโt feel nice in the morning. He must know, somehow, because one of his big hands cups the back of your head, pillowing his harsh thrusts as he gives it to you good. Heโs there, right there, right against your sweet spot, and you drag your nails down his back as he finds it so easily. Simon knows youโhe knows you so well. His alpha knows your body, knows how to make you speechless and stupid, and you hate him and love him all the same. The emotions are so hot in your throat, wanting to come right up. You want to scream at him, you want to tear the flesh right off of his face, but you will always stop yourself with delicate hands. You will always want to save him. You can beat him and curse at him and cry all you like, but when there is a bullet that goes flying, you know you will throw yourself in front of him.
There is little safety in this world for you. You will always be nothing more than your body to others, but here, underneath him, clinging to him as he fucks you right into that plane of existance between pleasure and pain, you are you. You are more yourself than you have ever been. Half of yourself doesnโt belong to you, and yet heโs brushing your hair back and kissing you hot, and heโs saying your name, and you feel more like yourself than maybe you ever will be.
You love him. You love him. You love him.
Do you love him because you love him? Do you love him because she loves him? Do you love him because there is nowhere else to go? Because he is your only means of survival? Because if you donโt love him, you might fall into yourself like a dying star and let her finish you off?
Maybe thatโs why you hate him so much. You hate him because not loving him is impossible. You hate him because you want him to prove how horrible of an alpha he really is, and yet his hand is taking the brunt of the pain, and he kisses like heโs sorry, and the scent of him relaxes you like nothing ever has before. Youโre safe here with him. You always will be. It makes you so fucking sick.
โPlease,โ he groans. He whispers it against your cheek. His cock feels so good, hips grinding against your clit, and heโs so warm. โLet me โave it. Give it tโme, omega.โ
โBeg me for it.โ
โDonโt be difficult.โ
โBite me.โ
You cry when he sinks his teeth into your jaw. It stings, in a good way. It nearly comes out, when you come for him. You nearly say it. You would mean it, if you did, but it takes everything in you to keep it down, to swallow it back inside, to keep it mashed under your tongue and sour between your teeth.
Your back bows when he comes. He always comes so much. You love the way it feels. You love how it canโt stay inside, too full, dribbling between your thighs. You love the sound it makes when Simon keeps movingโnasty, messy, lewd, a slick, slick, slick that makes you dizzy all over again. You could come again just listening to it, you could come again just hearing his choked breaths in your ear. He smells so good. You put your face into the crook of his neck and take a deep breath, and you whimper as it curls into the tendrils of your brain. Intoxicatingโlike youโre high. Right from the source, Simon smells delicious. You think love makes him smell better. You think love makes your omega even more feral, more than she already is, and the heat that stays in your chest tells you all you need to know.
Youโre at the edge of that cliff. Youโre about to fall over.
โS-Simonโโ
Your voice pulls his eyes back to yours. He uses his hands, brushing your hair out of the way so he can look at you better. You cough, still a little delirious from your orgasm, but youโre coherent enough to communicate with him. You donโt need to say anything, you know that. Simon will look at you, and he will know.
โI have you,โ he says. You knew he would say that, and yet you werenโt comforted until he did say it. โItโs happening, innit?โ
Iโm here, so close, Iโm comingโ
You just nod. He sits up, picking you up off the floor. All the blood in your head rushes down, and you hold on around his neck as he hoists you up around his hips. You press your face to his, cheek to cheek, and he carries you to the bathroom. When he turns the shower on, he sits you onto the toilet, and you watch him strip from there. Itโs the first time youโve ever seen him, all of him.
Heโs a canvas of war. Your breath stops in your throat as he turns to shuck his trousers off all the way and steps out of them. Heโs covered in marks. Fleshy, pink spots that must be from third degree burns litter his left leg. They make a map of rivers along it, spreading out to his ankle. His other leg must have been slashed to bits. Thereโs long lines of it all, deep flesh wounds that run along the length of his thigh and his calf. Someone made a knife sharpener out of his skin, and there are dips where the flesh could not be replaced. Your eyes scan over his torso. Simon is the picture of strength. Heโs big and beefy, with a solid stomach, and he just looks heavy, but even that isnโt enough to fill out the mess of his skin. Gunshots, knife wounds, cigarette burns scattered along his arms. Simonโs body wears his history like a bright neon sign. He doesnโt cover up because heโs ashamed of itโhe covers himself because he doesnโt want people to ask.
He doesnโt want people to know what used to be.
You stand up on wobbly legs, putting your hands on his lower stomach, pudgy to the touch but rigid against pressure. Your fingers wander, smoothing over the lines and taking in the landscape of his body. Simon stiffens just a little, but his breaths even when you lay your cheek against his bare chest. You shut your eyes, and the only sounds are the water from the shower and the beating of his heart. It pumps strongโSimonโs blood sounds thick, tar and honey.
Under the hot water, you watch as the water runs red. You watch it carefully until it runs clear, and then you look up at Simon. Heโs already looking at you.
โIโm scared,โ you tell him honestly. You are afraid. You try so hard not to be, and you know deep down that your omegaโs true nature is to protect you, but youโre afraid. Trusting her means giving up control, real control. Even if itโs only for a period of time, itโs long enough that you are so fucking terrified. You donโt know what to expect. No one ever taught you what to expect, no one ever told you what would happen, what you would feel. Youโve been drowning your omega so long, you are afraid of what she will do once she comes outโkicking, screaming, clawing, burning, biting. Youโve been doubtful and spiteful all your life, and now you have to just hand yourself over?
Itโs mother nature; and she is such a bitch.
โDo you trust me?โ Simon asks lowly. You touch his face, and he bends to keep his eyes to yours. You see nothing but honesty in them, and that terrifies you even more.
โI donโt really have a choice, do I?โ
โThatโs not wot I asked. I need ta hear you say it.โ
โYes,โ you sniffle. โYes, Simon. I trust you.โ
When Simon tucks you into bed, you fluff the pillows. You keep doing that, picking up pillows and shaking them, tucking them into new corners until it looksโฆright. You stop when youโve got the blanket scrunched up in your arms, and you blink up at Simon whoโs standing by the side of the bed.
Youโre making a nest. A God-awful, terrible, messy shitload of a nest, but youโre making it. You put the blanket down gently, pushing it into the corner, and then you play with your fingers in your lap, twisting your hands over each other nervously as you look around the bed. The shadow comes over you before you feel him at your back. Heat like no other, and then you feel his fingers on your arm, tracing a line from your shoulder to your elbow.
โWot is it?โ He leans over your shoulder, and you feel his lips touch the side of your head. โWotโs wrong?โ
โI need more,โ you say softly. โMore things. Uhโฆโ You look over your shoulder, and his lips brush over your cheek. โSome of your clothes, maybe?โ
He drops them beside you. A couple shirts, a couple hoodies, and when you hold them up for him, you hold each otherโs eyes as he scents them for you, rubbing the fabric against his wrists and along his neck before you find a spot for them in the pile. Itโs haphazard and not at all neat, but itโs the first time youโve done anything of the sort. It doesnโt feel perfect, but it feels like yours, and you will always remember the look in Simonโs eyes when you invited him into your nest.
Itโs shockingly intimate. Thereโs something so warm, something so lovely, about tugging on his arm and pulling him into the space youโve made. He climbs over you, sinking into the blankets, and you lay back with him into the warmth. You curl up into his side, closing your eyes, and when he hooks his forearm around the small of your waist, you go with him.
It is close. You can taste it. It will be easy with him here, with her.
I know what to do. Itโs okay. When you wake up, youโll be new again. I promise. Iโll make you new. Iโll make you better. Iโll have them, I swear it. Itโs okay.
Itโs okay.
Okay.
You dream in a haze. The visions spill like water, crashing and moving, but you never get to focus on them long enough to see whatโs really happening. You feel dirt under your nails and between your fingers, can feel the rocks cutting up your feet as you try and climb a high mountain. When you come to the top, you feel your feet slip, but someone grabs onto your wrists at the last second and pulls you upwards.
When you blink awake, all you can feel is the heat. It licks up your spine and curdles there at your back. Youโre drenched in sweat, and itโs hard to breathe. The world looks like your dreams, but you can blink into focus. When you do, Simon is there, leaning over you. You whine a little, and when you rub your thighs together, you nearly choke at the feeling of how damp they are, sweat and slick staining your skin and the mattress beneath you. You didnโt expect to feel coherent. You do feel out of your body, but not in a frightening way. Maybe itโs your omega, or maybe itโs Simon, but all you feel is this immense pressure in your chest, something telling you to find and seek.
Alpha. Alpha. Alpha.
โIโm โere,โ Simon murmurs. He passes a thumb over your forehead, pushing some of the sweat out of your eyes. Your throat is dry, and you croak a little as you smack your lips together and arch your back up into him. โRight โere.โ
โHurts,โ you whisper. It does. Thereโs a pain in your belly that aches, and when Simon presses a hand there, you whine, immediately sensitive. Thereโs something missing inside of you, and your omega is singing for it to be filled. โSimon, it hurtsโโ
โGonna make it better,โ he says against your lips. When he kisses you, it feels like drinking fresh spring water. His saliva hydrates you, the taste of him satiating some deep-seated hunger that youโve never felt before. It isnโt enough, but itโs good, tastes good, and you grab at him from all angles, trying to bring him closer. โFuck, my pretty omegaโฆโ He gets between your legs, prying them apart, and you moan when you see the strings of slick that follow the motion. He seats himself there and pushes you backwards. โPresent for me, kitty. Show me.โ
Youโve never heard the phrase, but your omega knows what to do. She draws your hand down and uses your fingers to spread your puffy folds apart, and Simon sighs through his nostrils, hard and heavy, when he sees you spread open for him. He bends down, nudging your hands away, and when he closes his mouth over your pussy, you cry with relief. He groans. You are so warm, and you are positively sopping. He swallows mouthfuls, and it is still not enoughโhe bends your knees and hugs your thighs and tries hard to taste more, but itโs difficult.
โSimon,โ you whimper. โSimonโโ You choke on a moan as he tightens his grip. His fingers dig into you, bruising and hard, and you cry big, salty tears as he slips his tongue inside of you and fucks you with it. Soft, snarling licks, a devouring that you know is nothing short of primal. Your omega is stepping through the door, and his alpha is clawing at its fence, and soon they will meet, and you can do nothing about it but hope that they donโt kill each other.
Never. I can do it. Youโll see. Iโll make it so good.
โAlpha.โ
The word resets him. He finally removes himself from between your thighs, dog-like expression on his face as looks up at you. Tongue out, drooling, that dead, loving look in his eyes. You cup his cheeks, drawing him up, and when you kiss, you note how sweet it is. How sweet you are. Natural pheromones that your body emits, something so luscious that her alpha cannot refuse it. It really is brain-swelling. You start to feel the spiral, a buzzing in the back of your head that is starting to get louder and louder and louder. Once you come for the first time, itโs like tinnitus. Sheโs here. Sheโs in your head.
She is not going anywhere.
Itโs my turn now. Iโll give you back after I get what I want.
It must be revenge that she wants. Revenge against youโfor every time that youโve taped her mouth shut, every time youโve scruffed her by the nape of her neck and forced her to quiet down. Revenge against Simonโfor acting like he could do anything but submit to you, for being a right asshole just to fall at your feet for a taste of your cunt. Revenge against everythingโfor being underestimated, for being ignored.
You donโt know how long itโs been. A few days must have passed by now, but time slips through your fingers like water. You close your eyes to sleep, and when you open them again, itโs to fuck your pretty alpha until you need to sleep all over again. You wake up in increments of lucidness, feeling Simon tip your head back and feed you small bites of something savory or a few sips of water. You lick into his mouth after, purring as you rub your nose against his jaw, and he always presses back tenderly. Smiling as he fixes his fingers under your jaw, murmuring something soft into your ear, slipping a few thick fingers inside of you to make you relax for him.
Heโs underneath you right now. Your hands are wrapped tight against the headboard, and youโre straddling his face. His thick arms are hooked over your thighs, and you whine as you draw your hips back and forth against his tongue. He eats hot and heavy, his nose and mouth wet with slick as he alternates between flattening his tongue for you to ride and forcing you to sit still as he pushes his tongue inside of you and swirls it all sloppy.
You suck it out of his mouth after, like you always do. You sink down until youโre straddling his thick middle, your mouth against his as you kiss with gritted teeth, all giggly and wet. Simon is a good kisser; the mask shouldnโt fool anyone. You reach down as he does, feeling around until you cup the underside of his cock and guide it inside of you. His knot swells as soon as you sit on it, and Simon grips you under your thighs, spreading your legs a little more until his balls are nestled between them. You whine when his knot catches, already pulsing as your mouth drops open and your eyes roll back into your head.
Simonโs always been bigโbut the hormones heโs been producing in response to your heat only make him thicker, and his knot nearly splits you in two. You love it, and you chase it all the same.
He hasnโt claimed you yet. You donโt remember how many times youโve taken his knot, or how many places youโve fucked in this room, but he wonโt do it. His teeth have just grazed the spot, teasing, but he never seals the bond. You cried about it a few times, in between rounds, but he just stuffed you full again to distract you. It doesnโt always shut you up, but then heโll hook his forearm around your neck and nearly suffocate you as he comes deep, and youโre so delirious, you forget about it for awhile.
Your omega doesnโt though. Your gland protrudes, swelling, and she wants him so badly to claim you. Half of her job is to get him to do itโsheโs supposed to take his knot and entice his claim, thatโs what sheโs made for, and she doesnโt want to come out of this empty-handed.
Iโll give you back after I get what I want.
She fixates on his mouth. She draws you to it, making you cup his face and lick over his teeth. She makes you shove his face into your neck, makes you smother him in your scent, but Simon, to no surprise, holds his composure. Heโs too capable and too aware, even in his moments of staticky pleasure, to give into her all the way.
Itโs a few days later when you start to feel less out of control. Your omega still tugs at the strings; slick still pools between your thighs, the heat of your body is still making you sweat, but Simon is in focus, and you are aware as he ruts into you. Your hands cup his cheeks, and you kiss tenderly as he grinds into you with shallow thrusts, low grunts from deep within his chest making you whimper.
โI-I love you so much, Simon.โ
Itโs instinctual. You couldnโt stop yourself. Youโre crying, so overwhelmed with sticky pleasure and soft insides.
Simon knows itโs the same when he falters. His elbows give out, his mouth grazes your jaw, and before he can think twice, his teeth sink right into the skin under your ear.
Now that is fateโSimon had set his sights on you. There was never going to be any other ending.
You cry out. Your eyes widen, bugged out, and your pupils dilate. You dig your nails into his back, right up against his other scars, and you feel blood under your nails as he presses his hips to yours and comes, more than he has before. Your toes curl, your back arches off the bed, and you choke on squeaking gasps as he shakes his head a little, sinking his teeth in deeper, holding himself there.
Animal. Bear. Hook, line, sinkerโthere was something that once belonged to you, but now the seal has been broken, and the golden ichor inside bleeds, and Simon takes it into his mouth like its the essence of life. Maybe it is. There will be no one else. There will never be another omega. There will never be another person that tastes the way you do, that fucks the way you do, there will never be another cunt that opens up like yours and swallows his knot just like this.
Simonโs been at deathโs door far too many times. It is only now that he thinks heโll be afraid to see it again.
You go blind for a few moments. You see spots, glittering ones, and something trickles from the base of your spine all the way to the top of your head. It feels like youโre floatingโas if your blood inflated, picking you up, taking you somewhere warm and safe.
A cocoon. A protective blanket. The space against Simonโs chest, the place youโve made under his skin.
When he pulls back to look at you, your blood between his teeth, you feel your omega come right back. You thought it was over; you thought the days of dreamy fucking and scalding sweat and mindblowing orgasms was done.
Not even close.
Youโre alone when you wake up. Your eyes blink, adjusting to the soft yellow light of Simonโs desk lamp. You can smell himโheโs nearby, you hear some noises, but heโs not in your line of sight, and that makes your insides clam up.
โSimon?โ
Your voice comes out more broken and sadder than you wanted it to, but your emotions feel like they are all over the place. You feel happy and sad at the same time, elated and entirely too depressed. You feel overwhelmed and also too empty. Your body aches, and you feel like thereโs something wrong with you, but also that nothing is wrong at all.
โS-Simon?โ
You blink through warm tears, and then you feel a hand brushing your hair off your face. Simon bends down to meet your eyes. His mask is back on, but heโs without a shirt, and you swallow at the sight of the intense bruises, hickies, nail scratches, the bite marks. The relief you feel once you know heโs here deflates your insides so warmly. You hold onto his wrist, keeping him close, and thereโs a rumble that happens under his chest that makes you whine to get him even closer.
โGood morning, kitty,โ Simon murmurs. He must be smiling under the mask; you see his eyes squint a little, and you hear it in his voice. โFeelinโ olright?โ
You sputter and shake your head. โNo.โ
Simon snorts, thumbing at your cheek. You chase the feeling, following his thumb, not satisfied until he cups your cheek with his big hand.
โThaโs olright. Yโr just hungry.โ
The bath Simon leaves you in melts your bones in the best way. You sink into the hot water, humming, watching from the open door as Simon changes the sheets and cleans up the leftover food wrappers and empty beverages lying around. You remember Simon feeding you between rounds, letting you lick his fingers, suck on themโ
You clench your thighs together, gripping the edge of the tub.
โSimonโฆโ You call for him. He drops the trash heโs holding, running a hand down his bare chest as he comes into the bathroom. He kneels down beside the tub, tilting his head to the side, and you guide his hand into the water and between your thighs easily. He chuckles lowly, tipping your head back, and you sigh with relief when his fingers slip inside of you.
โYou are insatiable,โ Simon hisses. โFucking for nine days ainโt enough for you, kitty?โ
โN-Nine days?โ You gasp, grinding against the heel of his palm. You cling to his thick bicep, the water sloshing as you squeeze your thighs around his hand. Your nipples touch the cool tub, and you hiss at the sensation, leaning up to press your face to his. He grunts as he pumps his fingers, kissing his teeth as he leans his forehead against yours a little harder.
โNine fuckinโ days,โ Simon echoes. โNine days of fucking my best girl.โ
โMmmโโ You giggle, but itโs cut off as you gasp when he adds another finger.
โNine days of you,โ Simon clicks his tongue. He sounds starved. He sounds intense. He sounds determined, and you feel it in the curl of his fingers and the way his thumb swirls over your clit. He knows just how to make you shake. โItโll never be enough, kitty.โ
โN-Never.โ
โAhhโfuckโโ Simon groans when he feels you tighten up and come. Youโre so sensitive, it only took a minute or so, but he slips his fingers out and keeps stroking your clit with a thick thumb to keep you whimpering. You blink up at him, and Simon feels a deep satisfaction in his chest. He knows that look in your eyes, he knows it now.
You want to go again.
Simon has never been an affectionate person. You think itโs a sound assumption for how he behaved before you met him, but it was certainly not true anymore. When you were near him, he tended to stand close to you or guide you with a hand a few inches away from your back, but Simon kept to himself. He was not romantic. He took care of youโhe made sure your meals were good, ensured the water for your shower was warm, but he didnโt hold your hand. He didnโt hug you or touch you beyond what was necessary.
Things are different now. Things have changed.
Heโs warm behind you as you walk. His hand is fixed on your waist, occasionally hooking a finger around your belt loop and pulling you back when you walk too far ahead. You giggle when he yanks you back, stumbling in your boots before he rights you with a firm, gloved palm against your belly.
Touchy. Possessive.
The boys are all seated and enjoying their lunch when Simon opens the doors for you. You make your way towards the table, taking a seat, and the entire group goes quiet as Simon walks past to go into the kitchen. You adjust your hair, resting your chin in your hand, and you smile knowingly at John when he meets your eyes. He sizes you up; itโs been a few days since heโs seen you, and you already look different. Looser. Warmer. Thicker.
โYe hungry, bonnie?โ Johnny finally asks. You turn your head to look at him. You really look at him this timeโyou notice his eyes, bright and blue, and you take in the sight of him after morning training. His cheeks are a little flushed from the workout, his arms are bulging as he sips from a paper cup of coffee, and heโs smiling like he knows a secret about you that no one else is privy to. His hair has grown out since you last saw him; the mohawk takes up the curls of his natural hair, and you reach over absentmindedly and twirl your finger around the curl that falls over his forehead.
He holds his breath with your hand so close. Your scent is strong, sweet as he turns his head just a little to take a deeper breath from where your wrist lays. You follow the swirl of his hair before letting it go, smiling wider. Johnny is terrible at hiding what heโs feeling; his eyes obviously glance around your face, lingering a little too long on your lips, until they brighten a little at the sight of the mark that peeks out from your shirt.
โMmmโฆโ You lick over your top row of teeth. The action is too wet to be anything but enticing. โIโm starved, Johnny.โ
His knee gives out and bangs against the table at your response. You giggle, and Simon places down a tray of food in front of you just as John grumbles under his breath as he picks up his cup of water thatโs spilled over the edge of the table.
โFuckinโ hell,โ Simon mutters, taking a seat next to you. You take the fork from his hand and look down at your plate. Pasta. Garlic bread. An ungodly amount of parmesan cheese on the side. Your stomach growls looking down at the food, and Simon seems to hear it. He scoots just that much closer, and itโs nothing but instinct that draws him close. His mask brushes against your shoulder and the side of your head, and his fingers trace the scabbing outline of his teeth just peeking out from the high collar of your shirt.
โBloody hell,โ Gaz hisses, leaning back in his seat. You blink away the fog in your brain, feeling your face heat. โYou both reek of it.โ
โOf what, Sergeant?โ Simon bites, and John is the one to curl his fist around his cup and crush it with a scowl.
โDonโt play stupid, Simon,โ John murmurs. โYou both need another hosing down.โ
โAnyone wanna join me?โ You purr, and Simon curls his fingers around your hair and yanks your head back with a huff.
โOh, youโd like thaโ, wouldnโt you, kitty?โ
โYou have no idea, babyโโ
โBleedinโ Christ!โ Johnny groans. Heโs gone before you turn your head to look at him, and you smile to yourself, amused, but Simon tugs you back to him, pressing his nose to the side of your head.
โWhat are you doing?โ He whispers in your ear. You twirl your fork before pushing his hand off, taking a bite of your food. You chew and swallow before taking a few more pieces of pasta and holding it up to his masked mouth.
โNothing. You want a bite, Simon?โ You ask. You meet his dark eyes, raising a brow as you hold up the fork a little more. He narrows his eyes a little before hiking the mask up, and you feed him with a little laugh. You wipe his mouth gently before tugging his mask back down. โYou know, Iโd really like some iced tea, Simon. Do you think they might have some in the back?โ
Simonโs eyes twitch a little. He looks over your face for a moment longer before standing, and you bite your lip as you stare a little too long at him in those cargos before he disappears into the back again. Your omega warms you, all down your spine. It ticklesโher fingers curl around your bones, licking at your insides, purringโbite him, bite him, bite himโ
โReal subtle, Kit,โ Gaz comments. You take another bite of your food, leaning forward a little. You point the fork at him, tilting your head to the side.
โYou know, I remember having this conversation with you not that long ago,โ you tell him. โSomething about how much you stink even this far away. You got something in your pants, Gaz, or are you just happy to see me?โ
โPiss off,โ Gaz snaps, and you smile. You know youโre getting under his skin when you smell ash in the air, something bitter and eye-watering.
โIs that a kink of yours, honey? Real subtle.โ
โKnock it off, you two,โ John sighs, shaking his head. He leans back, running a thick hand over his beard, and you go back to eating. โGaz, youโre gonna be late. Get a move on.โ
The air feels a little tense when itโs just you and John. You move your food around on your plate, frowning a little, and John shifts where he sits.
โHowโฆโ He clears his throat. โHow are you feeling?โ
You look up a little at him. Heโs staring at you curiously, arms crossed over his chest. You shrug lightly. Itโs humorous seeing him behave so awkwardly.
โIโm okay,โ you tell him. โSore. Really tired.โ
โYou been to medical?โ
โNo.โ
โConsider it an order,โ John nods at you, looking at the collar of your shirt. โThose things can be nasty if you neglect it.โ
You put your fork down, and when you and John look at each other, you have to swallow your omega back down your throat. Sheโs salivatingโlook at him, he likes us, heโs worriedโ
โOh, yeah?โ You smile a little, coy, demure. โYou know a lot about that, Captain?โ The use of his rank makes his jaw clench, and you wet your lips with your tongue. โClaiming omegas?โ
If the air was tense before, itโs scorching now. John is white-knuckling his own arms, and his entire body is stiff. You blink, not looking away. You hold him there, and his nose twitches at the way you pin him against some invisible board. Youโre already acting so differentlyโso confidently. There is nothing to fight for anymore. Your omega won her prize, and now she can reap her rewards.
Your omega is greedy.
Four is just so much better than one, isnโt it?
โYou seem lonely,โ you say softly. He sniffs a little, laughing dryly, and your boot moves just enough to touch toes with his. โAre you lonely, John?โ
Are you lonely, John? Do you need me, John? Do you see me when you close your eyes, John?
You barely contain your jump when an ice-cold glass is slammed down on the table in front of you. You blink up at Simon, whoโs standing there beside you breathing hard. He sniffs, looking between you and John, but youโre quick to pick up the glass of iced tea and nearly drink the entire thing in one sip.
If Simon notices John following the drop of tea that traces along your jaw and down your neck, he doesnโt say anything.
Your omega purrs, and you nearly do, too. When Simon grips your wrist, you follow him out, but not before catching Johnโs eyes right before you turn the corner. He watches you the entire way, until you disappear behind a wall.
You think you smell anger on Simon. It makes you cringe a little when you get a deep breath of it, but when he presses you up against the door back in his room, you realize it isnโt anger. You smile up at him, hands behind your back, and Simon fists your hair and kisses you hot. Nope, not anger.ย
Fuck, heโs horny.
Itโll never be a level-playing field. From the moment you first presented, you didnโt think thereโd ever be a real future for yourself. The social order that exists has always been well-maintained and aggressively understood. You exist all the way at the bottom; your kind is meant to get on their knees, be weepy and soft, and submit. Youโve always been told that is the easy lifeโyou arenโt like betas who have to find their way, and you arenโt like alphas who have to continuously prove themselves. All you have to be is be quiet and obedient and gentle, and everything you want will come to you.
Even wants for omegas are understood. You arenโt supposed to want anything other than a cozy nest, a locking knot, or fat babies. You arenโt supposed to want anything at all other than the alpha that claims you and whatever they decide is right for you.
Your family abandoned you. Your caretakers lost you. Kate gave you away. Simon is the only one that has never asked you what you want, not because he doesnโt care, but because itโs not what matters. All he asks is what you needโeverything else will follow as itโs supposed to.
Heโs staring at your mark again. He does it often; he gets lost in his thoughts, and his eyes fixate on the faint bite mark thatโs there behind your jaw now. Itโs since healed nicelyโall that is left behind is a faint indentation that would match Simon if he hinged his jaw open and bared his teeth. He has a strange obsession with it; not only does he stare, but he likes to touch it, too. He likes putting his gloved hand on the back of your neck and stroking it with his thumb, warm circles that make your entire body relax for him.
Simonโs not so bad. Things could be worse. Simonโs purebred, thatโs for certain, but that also means his relationship with your omega is a bond unbreakable. All she does is flutter her lashes, and Simonโs alpha is on a leash, pulled taut, choking him of air. She likes that the most; she likes when he stumbles, when he falters, when his alpha is huffing and puffing because he canโt contain himself when she wags a treat in front of him.
You let her have it. Itโs the least you could do.
Simonโs pack is no better. Sometimes, you think your omega feels guilty, but you push it down just like youโre used to. They deserve none of your pity. Entitled shits, they all are, and if it wasnโt for the fact that you are in their pack, you would never give such fragile egos the time of day; but they are in Simonโs pack, which means theyโre in yours, which means you at least try to play nice.
Sometimes, though, itโs real funny watching Simonโs sergeants covering their crotches and waddling out of a room.
You canโt figure out John. Heโs difficult to pin down. He has a special bond with Gaz and Simon, but every time you think you and your omega have figured out his wants and needs, he surprises you or oddly turns you down. While you already have an alpha that satisfies you entirely, it still stings, the rejection. Your omega whines. She is a part of their pack now, and the cold shoulder from even just one makes her upsetโit does not help that John takes the place as head of this pack, either. She wants his approval, and she begs you to get it.
โDoes John like me?โ
Simon pauses at his desk. His pistol is disassembled in front of him, parts laid out carefully in a pattern only he might understand so he doesnโt lose any of the pieces. Thereโs gun oil and a rag to accompany him, and heโs methodically running that rag over the barrel when he stops. You turn your head from your place on the bed to look at him.
Simon shrugs. โDunno,โ he says finally, continuing with the rag. โWould think so.โ
โI donโt think so,โ you say softly. โNot like Johnny does. Or Gaz.โ
โThaโs cause they wanna fuck you, kitty,โ Simon snorts, and you draw your knees up a little, squeezing your legs together. You think about Johnnyโs wagging tongue or Gazโs wet lips too long, and youโll drag Simon over, even knowing his gear is filthy.
โJohn doesnโt?โ
โJohn isโฆโ Simon shrugs again, sighing deeply. โHim and omegas. Itโsโฆcomplicated. Wot do ya care, anyway? Three alphas not enough for you?โ
Three. The thought makes your omega giddy. You have yet to have them, but just knowing you can makes her so lightheaded. Since meeting her, youโve come to know her as selfish and entirely too greedy. Sheโs a fiend for Simonโs attention the most, but you know she aches for all of it. She wants all four of them to fuss over her, to follow her like dogs.
โMaybe for me,โ you agree, but your voice longs. It carries weight to it, and that makes Simon pause. โBut not for her.โ
Simon drops his things, standing up from his chair, and you smile wide as he comes towards the bed and grips you by your jaw with a shake. You blink up at him with a shaky breath, and his eyes crinkle, like heโs smiling, too, under his mask. Your omega will never be afraid of him. She adores him, far too much for your liking.
โWell, then. Maybe I should let my sergeants have a taste, and then weโll see whatโs not enough for her, eh?โ
Your omega sighs. She just loves getting what she wants.
But itโs not enough. Itโs not enough.
One reprieve you do get now, however, is that your heats are predictable. Like clockwork, every ten weeks, you can plan for those seven to ten days of complete bliss underneath Simon. You can lock him away, pull him out of any obligation or any mission, and heโs in your nest, staring down at you, feeding you between intervals of intense sex to keep your omega happy and satiated. John just bites his tongue when you take his lieutenant awayโeven if he wanted Simon not to go, he would never command it. He couldnโt do that to you, not to their omega.
She gets whatever she wants. No questions asked.
The balance is certainly well and tipped. It is no longer a clean-cut ladder with John at its stead. Now, itโs a foot on the tightrope, with each alpha fighting to make sure it does not tip over. As long as you are happy, their footing holds. They feel it steady and still, and they breathe easy.
There is still something that has the ability to disturb the equilibrium your omega has maintained. You just never thought youโd see it againโor smell it.
Your omega knows what it is as soon as gets the scentโwho it is. Familiar. Edgy. Dark chocolate and herbs, a scent that used to comfort you, and now one that makes you hot with disdain.
She looks older. Tired. Stressed. You see it on her face, and you smell it on her, too. She wants to take them away from you. Not one, not two, all of themโand she doesnโt want you with them when she does.
She waves her hand like she always does. She throws her orders around, expecting everyone to move as soon as she says to. Sheโs not prepared for the tension, and sheโs not prepared for the reluctance sheโs met with. Instead of four bloodthirsty dogs, she stares down at outright disobedience.
Sheโs disturbed a denโand she doesnโt understand what stands in her way.
You remember the first time you saw Kate Laswell. Freshly 18, nowhere to go, no family. The streets werenโt suitable for you; omegas are vulnerable on their own, and if you didnโt choose the pack you got swallowed up in, it would get chosen for you. The doors for the service were always open. Thatโs what they do, thatโs what your country doesโthey break their people down to the bone, down to their knees, and then the only way to build themselves back up is to put shackles on their ankles and cuffs on their wrists. It is the circumstances your country thrives on. They build the walls that cage you, and then barely wrench the door open enough for you to breathe.
You will always be kept at the same levelโyou always beg them for more, and Kate is just one cog in the wheel that keeps the machine running. She saw your face, saw you for what you were. She promised you a life worth living, and then she pulled the rug out from underneath you. She put you in her pocket; she tucked you away for a rainy day. Her precious 141 was slipping away from her, and she played her cards.
You want her to hate the hand she is dealt.
Youโre outside when she finds you. Youโre sitting outside the mess hall, where the benches are plentiful, and youโre staring down at the pack of cigarettes you stole from one of Simonโs jackets. The lighter is in your other hand, but you canโt get yourself to try one.
โDidnโt peg you for a smoker.โ
You keep your eyes down on the cigarettes. You smooth a thumb over the label, licking over your teeth. Despite everything else, her voice hasnโt changed.
โIโm not,โ you say softly. โJustโฆโ
When you look up, you meet Kateโs eyes, and those have not changed either. They are still looking right through you, just as they always have. You used to think you loved her, at one point. She always would check on you. Visit your base herself, call if she couldnโtโask how things were, if your CO had given you the accommodations she ordered him to. She made you feel like you were her favorite, as if she cared for you differently in some way. Surely, she did not check up on others the way she did you. She had other soldiers she must have kept her eye on, other places her guidance was needed, but surely, you were someone special to her.
You had been around plenty of alphas before her, but she was the only one that used to make you feel like you couldnโt rightly breathe. The first time you felt your omega bobbing her head to the surface of where you stuffed her, it was when Kate stood just this close to you. There was a time when you thought maybe Kate was reserving you. When the time was right, she might you ask the question you always thought she wouldโthe terrifying world she tried to protect you from, sheโd really do it, sheโd take you away, take you with her.
Grass is always greener, you suppose.
You swallow hard when she takes the pack of cigarettes from you and brings one of them to her lips. She steps closer to you, jutting her chin out, and you raise a hand to flick the lighter on and burn the end of it until she puffs out a breath of smoke.
โNasty habit,โ you say softly, and Kate just laughs bitterly.
โGot nastier vices, kitty.โ
Your eyes flick back up to hers, and you narrow them stiffly. Maybe she thinks sheโs being cute, but all you see when you look up at her is someone alone. Someone reaching. Someone desperate. Thereโs an edge that Kate Laswell is known best for, but you donโt really see it anymore.
You tilt your head up a little, relaxing your face. You smile, but it doesnโt reach your eyes.
โHowโd your meeting go?โ You ask. She takes a long drag from the cigarette, blowing it out just to the side. You reach over and put a hand to the collar of her shirt, straightening it out. โHope you got what you needed. I imagine you donโt wanna be here long.โ
โInteresting you asked,โ she says lowly. โI, in fact, didnโt get what I needed. Iโm not leaving until I get it.โ
โThatโs too bad,โ you tut. โIโm sure youโll figure something out. You always do, donโt you?โ
You have to lean back a little when she steps closer. Kate has always been someone who was more or less affectionate with you. Soft touches, shoulder squeezes, comforting words. You donโt remember what you used to see in her. You can no longer recall an instance of ease, a time when she was kind. You can only remember her words of rejection and her dismissiveness of your fear. Every warm memory has been replaced with her abandonment of you and her autonomy over you. Building you up just to knock you right back down.
You used to want her to want you. You used to pray that she would wake up one day and realize you would be content to live out a quiet life somewhere secluded, even if your relationship would be nothing but platonic.
You were wrong about her, and she was wrong about you.
โI donโt know what youโve said to them,โ Kate murmurs. โBut I need this. You wouldnโt understand, but this isnโtโฆIโm not dealing with trivial matters, Kit. This is life and death. International security, and Iโve never expected you to understand where I was coming from, never wanted you toโโ
โThey said no,โ you whisper, laughing a little. โThey said no to you, didnโt they?โ You tip your head back even further, staring up at the night sky, and you laugh again as you close your eyes.
โJohn said no.โ
When you open your eyes again, Kate is sitting down, leaning her head back against the brick wall of the building behind you. She takes another drag of the cigarette, her face scrunching as she breathes it in deep. She flicks the ashes off the end of it, looking down at her feet.
John said no.
โJohn said no,โ you echo, crossing your arms over your chest. โAnd Simon?โ
โI expected that,โ Kate shrugs. โA given. You did good there, Kit.โ When you sit next to her, you notice her knee spread a little wider, just barely touching your own.
โBut you werenโt prepared for John,โ you finish for her.
โIf anything, I can always count on John to separateโฆโ Kate scoffs, โwants and needs from what needs to get done.โ
โFrom what you want to get done.โ You turn to look at her. โDid you ever think thatโฆmaybe this wasnโt meant for them? That they wouldnโt do this forever?โ
โThatโs a dangerous way to think for men like that,โ Kate snaps. โYou donโt want them out of here, living a civilian life.โ
โThe only person this is dangerous for is you,โ you throw back at her. โWho else is going to clean up your fucking messes if not them?โ
โWatch yourself, Kit.โ
โYou donโt get to tell me what to do anymore.โ
You donโt realize youโve said it until itโs been said. You nearly cover your mouth, horrified by what you couldnโt stop yourself from spitting at her. You can feel your omegaโs fingers in your mouth. Sheโs feeling around your gums, drying out your tongue, cackling as she shows her newfound teeth. She never thinks any harm will ever come to herโthe hollowness of your scent gland is proof of that. Sheโs been claimed but something foul, by something mean, and now sheโs not afraid to do whatever it is she wants to do. You thought sheโd given you back, but sheโs still here, still causing trouble, and now Kate is forcing herself onto you. Her fingers are tight around your throat, and now youโre pressed up against crumbling brick, gasping as she crowds your space and attacks your nose with the bitter, poisonous concoction that her anger emits into the air around you.
โDonโt forget yourself,โ she spits. Her lips nearly brush against yours, and you breathe in mouthfuls of her scent. Itโs achingly heady, and it tastes like itโs filling your lungs with smoke. Thereโs something else there that you can taste, howeverโsomething warm, spicy, something a little less sour. Acid turns to sweetness, and you laugh between gasps of breath as you grip her wrist and dig your nails into her to try and get her to loosen her grip. When she finally lets you go, you take in a deep, shaky breath of fresh air. The tension never leaves her shoulders, but she steps back, away from you, and you smooth a hand down your own neck and brush yourself off.
You adjust the collar of your shirt, looking down at your feet.
โYou owe me,โ you say, throat scratchy. โIโll do it. Whatever youโre here to ask me to do, Iโll do it. But youโฆowe me.โ
You slam the doors behind you as you leave her there. Cigarette still burning on the floor, light flickering overheadโwhen you turn to glare at her from over your shoulder, sheโs still staring after you.
You wonder if she looked at you this way when she left you the first time.
You remember when you used to be wary of Simonโwhen just the sight of him made the blood under your skin heat and bubble just under the surface. What you canโt remember is why; heโs standing between your legs right now, head bent forward, forehead brushing against yours occasionally as you gear him up. You pick up a few rifle magazines from beside you, trying to ignore how warm he is even under his gloves as you fill up every pocket of his vest. You pick up a pair of scissors and tuck it into another pocket, tugging to make sure everything is secure before you start to load the first aid kid thatโs on his front.
You close your eyes when he juts his head forward just enough, his masked face pressing into the side of your neck. Your hand slides up, over his chest, just to cup the back of his neck and hold him close. His nose touches just under your jaw, and you make a small sound as his big hands grip you under the thighs and tug you forward. Your knees widen to accommodate him, and you scrunch your face at the feeling of his gear digging harshly into your middle.
โWhat is it, Simon?โ You whisper, and he just huffs. You lean your head back a little, giving him more room, and you squeeze your legs around his hips when you feel his tongue from under his mask, wetting where your scent gland is. โSimonโโ
โSmell nice,โ he tells you. You laugh a little, and when he stands up to stare back down at you, you give him a nervous smile. โBut I know how yโr feeling. Canโt hide thaโ from me.โ
You donโt say anything. There isnโt anything you want to say. Heโs right; you are nervous. The last time you followed Simon out in the field, he nearly died, and so did you. Sometimes you wake up thinking your saliva is someone elseโs blood; and when he isnโt in bed when you wake up, you think youโll see him again, sprawled onto his back, a bullet too close to his head.
You feel his fingers on your throat, blinking up at him, and when you meet those dark eyes, you feel your bottom lip shake. Youโve never been scared, but you feel so out of yourself when you join them. The 141 arenโt called in when the job is easyโthey only do the things that no one else has been able to do. Your training is tested every single time you join them. Youโre not like them; you cannot turn everything off. Simon is someone else on the other side. Johnny is fucking crazy. Gaz goes somewhere else in his head, and you donโt always recognize his voice. Johnโalways level-headed, that one, but his gentleness with you is nothing short of an exception. These arenโt good men. Theyโre war criminals with badges.
โYa donโt have ta come,โ Simon says lowly. โI could ask Price, youโโ
โNoโ!โ You sit up straighter, your hand gripping his wrist to keep him close. You shake your head adamantly, squeezing his arm. โNo, thatโsโฆit would be worse.โ
โWorse?โ
โWho the fuck else is gonna watch your six?โ You ask. โYou suck at it.โ
Simon laughs, from deep in his chest, and you press your lips against his from over his mask.
โOiโkitty,โ he murmurs, tilting your head back. He kisses you from under the mask, a soft peck through the fabric that leaves you with a light stomach. His attention is always too much and not enough. โThaโs never gonna happen again, ya hear me?โ He shakes his head. โDidnโt do my fuckinโ job thaโ day. Wonโt be like thaโ anymore. I have you.โ Simon kisses you again, pinching your chin, and you donโt let him move away. โMy omega. Mine.โ
โWheels up in 15, lovebirds.โ
Simon stops you from going too far when you hop down from the table. He tugs on your tact vest, making sure itโs tight enough, and then he picks up your helmet to fit it over your head. He picks up your sidearm next, releasing the magazine to make sure itโs full before hitting it back inside and loading the chamber. He bends to secure it in your thigh holster, and then heโs tugging on the straps of it, making sure itโs not loose around your leg. You canโt hold in your smile anymore when he stands and reaches under your chin to buckle your helmet.
Thereโs no reason to be scared. Not around him, not underneath him, and certainly not under his command. Maybe youโd step in front of a bullet for himโmaybe youโd throw yourself in front of whatever someone tossed his way, but he would do the same for you. You donโt doubt that. You donโt think thereโs anything someone could do to you that he wouldnโt give back to them much worse.
Simonโs love isnโt typical. Itโs not sweet, nor does it fit inside its confines. He isnโt violent at his core, but itโs a response ingrained in him. Possessive, sick, overbearing to a faultโheโs too much all the time, but maybe itโs because Simonโs never been allowed to ever love anything without terms.
Everything has always been decided for him. How long he got to play as a boy. How tight he could hug his mother. How high he could raise his voice, how big he was allowed to grow, how he must behave once he presented. Heโs always been too much, and heโs always been told what to do, so to have this thing, this one thing that could belong to himโwho the fuck are they or you or anyone else allowed to tell him how to feel? How could anyone tell him the pedestal he puts you on is too high? Too warm? Too comfortable?
Heโs died twice before in his life, but it wasnโt enough to keep him buried. Now heโs here, and heโs with you, and it wasnโt a coincidence. Fate handed you over, but by sheer will, he will keep you, and you will stay here, rooted to this spot, to the space between love and hatred and what overwhelms you and what lives inside of you between the hollow of your ribs. Thereโs a heart that beats there, too fast, too hard, knocking against the bones, and whenever Simon is near, it aches. You are bonded for life. Even if you lose him, youโll never want another, not in the same way. Itโs only ever been Simon thatโs ever told you that itโs okay to be what you are; you cannot change your anatomy, you have to understand it at its most basic level and learn the rhythm of every song it sings.
I am not your enemy. I am your best friend. I will do things for you that no one else can do, I can hear the things you canโt tell anyone else, Iโm the thing between what you really are and what youโve always wanted to be, I know you, I know you, I know youโ
โYou trust me?โ Simon asks. The ramp of the jet lowers, clattering against the tarmac, and he fits his thumb under your chin to bring your eyes back to him.
โYes.โ You smile up at him, and his thumb falls to touch the imprint of his teeth thatโs there, right under your shirt. Only when he feels the dip where his canines have marked you does he look into your eyes again. Dark. Honest. Content. โYes, I trust you, Simon.โ
Simon drops his head, and you flutter your lashes when his helmet hits yours.
โOn me, then, kitty.โ
Simon is the thing that hides in the dark. The dark figure at the wrong end of a gun. He is the silhouette that takes the shape of your own shadow, and he is the terrible monster that hides under your bed; and yet, here you are, falling into step with him. It is not your omega that carries your feetโit is yourself, you, the one youโre hyper-aware of, the side of yourself that you have known for too long and neglected because you were taught the very worst enemy was the one inside of your own head.
If she was so bad, you donโt know why Simonโs hand would feel so warm in yours. If she was so terrible, you donโt know what makes his eyes so difficult to look away from. If she was so horrible to you, you donโt know why Simon is standing over a man that pointed his gun at you and forcing a blade so deep into his throat that the tip dents against the concrete.
Itโs not that bad. Simonโs name will forever live in you, in the shape of his teeth under your ear.
Simon looks at you when he wrenches his blade back out, blood against the sharp edge. He lifts it to his face, and your lips part when he wipes it against the mouth of his mask, painting the skull teeth red.
No, it isnโt so bad. Sheโs smiling. No, you are. Youโre one and the same, and you know her the same way you know yourself. Sheโs home, tucked into the warm places you know youโll keep her, and youโ
soap/fem!bartender!reader; a little bit suggestive
cw: consensual slapping, brief fainting moment๏ฟผ
tf141 has a bit of downtime between their missions so they head to the local bar/pub to destress and indulge in less shitty alcohol. the place decently crowded for the friday night, but they are able to find a corner booth and order grub for the table
soap and gaz flit back and forth between the table and fucking it up on dance floor. price makes complaints about the poor music choice which the sergeants protest vehemently against๏ฟผ. ghost is keeping an watchful eye of them and the crowd, still nursing the drink he got when they first arrived when a commotion draws his eye
one of the bartenders is perched on the bar top holding a pitcher of water๏ฟผ๏ฟผ in front of her stood a frat bro the crowd parting around them to reveal another bartender who was behind the counter, standing on the bar rail was hyping the crowd up๏ฟผ
"IF YOU WANT A SMASHING LASS TO SMACK THE SHIT OUT OF YA. ORDER A HURRICANE." the other bartender crowed out.
with the bar's attention sufficiently grabbed everyone watched as the frat bro shotgunned down the double shot of an golden colored alcohol just for the pretty bartender to throw the pitcher of ice water into his face. reeling her hand back for a slap that echoed around the room, the frat bro head snapped back painfully backwards almost stumbling to the ground before he caught himself, throwing his hands up in victory.
the crowd cheered, his mates swarming around him.
ghost exchanged a look with price, soap was going to get the shit slapped out him.
โข โ--โ โข
you were about slip off the bar top, when your co-worker stopped you. "got an another hurricane for you. the dude is panting for it, i think he popped a boner when he was ordering it."
you groaned out. dealing with men trying to get their kicks off was never fun but thankfully the shots always went by fast.
"hiya lass." a thick scottish brogue interrupted your thoughts. you turn to face the broad shouldered man, his mohawk catching your eye. you don't see many of those around outside of the alt/goth/metal/punk nights that the bar hosts. your eyes lingered on the tattoos that peaked out underneath his shirt. a military man.
your painted lips spread into a grin, pointing to the space in front of you. "hey yourself, ready to get your shit rocked?"
he gave you a wide smile, his eye tooth catching the light. "aye. don't mind if you hit hard, break my face even. imma strong lad, i can take it."
"ooo, big man is in the house." you jeer at him, nodding thanks to your coworker who placed the double shot and the refilled pitcher next to you.
he shuffled closer to you, placing his warm hands above your knees, fingers curling around your thigh in a light grip. if you nudged him off he would have let go.
"i gotta ask, it'll kill if i dont. can you spit it in my mouth?"
inwardly you wince. yep it was shaping up to be a horny man experience, "bird shots are 35 but i'm not going to be the one doing it."
you watched with bemusement as he physically wilted in place. knees slamming straight down to the floor in a heavy, painful sounding thud, shifting his hands to drape his heavy arms over your legs. looking up at you with pleading but piercingly vivid blue eyes. "how much do i need to pay you then?"
your eyebrow twitched, in amusement or annoyance you couldn't tell. "my personal rate is 300," the price was outrageous but you have had takers in the past.
he let out a hiss behind his teeth, "fecking' hell lassie. gonna string me from my balls only brought enough for drinks. the captain and ๏ฟผlt won't pitch for my nonsense. don't suppose you'll accept tab, will ya bonnie?"
captain, lt? your military guess was right. you lifted your gaze up to scan the bar. there. it took three passes but there they were sitting in a corner booth, staring very intently at you were two men with a similar build as the one kneeling before you. you give them a little finger waggle, the bearded one giving a two-finger salute in return.
"i think your captain and lt are looking at us."
"bugger off, they toss my ass enough in training."
you snorted, patting his cheek to get him off your lap. "tough shit. now drink your shot like a good boy and you can plot about it after."
you watched with amusement as his pupils immediately dilated, a dark red blush curling around his ears and cheeks. meeting your gaze in an unexpected steady, hungry way as his tongue swept a sheen of spit over his lips. "aye. i could be your good boy."
oh? this could be fun. "i'll give you two options; one you take the shot yourself or two i feed it to you since you've been such a good boy kneeling for me."
he let out a choked gasp, his hands tightened around your knees, twitching like they wanted to move up when you gave him the second opinion. "two. bloody hell bonnie, yer' killing a man 'ere. i'll drink anything you want me to drink if you give it to me."
you shift the pitcher to the non-dominant hand side and ready the shot in your dominant hand. nudging his hip with your leg, you move him back a little so that you had space to slap, after all the game you spouted it would have been embarrassing if you gave him a ๏ฟผpussy ass slap because he was too close to yoh to get a proper wind up.
you cup the back of his head, gently raking your fingers through his mohawk before tugging it harshly back. the shot spilling down his throat before he could blink in surprise, small drops of alcohol escaping down the sides of his mouth.
you throw the ice water at him as soon as the last drops enters his mouth, making sure it hit his face and covered his entire front side.
the shot glass is quickly discarded as you rear your hand back, slapping his jaw with all your might.
you watch alarmed as his eyes rolls back, going down like a pile of bricks. he must have been drunker than you thought.
"man down! knocked another one out!" you yell towards the bar as you hop down to check on his condition.
(unknown to you, the second soap came crashing down his captain leapt out of his seat, bulldozing his way through the crowd to get to his fallen man.)
fortunately for you he didn't fully pass out. he sat there on his haunches, his eyes dazed. only blinking back to the physical plane when you tilted his head up to meet your eyes.
"ya need a husband? i'll be the best husband for my bonnie lass." his rambles dipped in and out english to scots gaelic. "a dog? i can be a dog, just gotta keep me. swear to the saints i wont make a mess."
his hands returned to their somehow familiar place on your knees. if it wasn't for the sharp bark of, "sergeant mactavish. behave." and a hand yanking his shoulder back, you are sure that he would have buried his face into your hip (or between your thighs cough cough)
the hand hauled the dazed man up, off the ground. the newcomer wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him steady.
"holy steaming' jesus that's a proper arm on ya." his hand rotating his jaw trying to alleviate the pain. it seemed that standing made him more alert.
you pat his arm consolingly, "you did ask me to slap you as hard as i can." you turn your attention to his probably captain, the one you saw with the beard. "he's going to have to sit down for fifteen minutes and if he still dazed best take him home. we'll send a water over in a min."
stern stormy-blue eyes met yours as the new man nodded, "thank you for dealing with him. i'll get him out of your hair now."
you let them leave with a laugh, you still had a bar to take care of.
soap stumbled back to the table with some help from price, sitting down with a heavy sigh. the red-hot warmth of your hand and a besotted look decorating his face, he announced to the table, "i think i just met๏ฟผ my wife."
you were the daughter of a now-reformed barracks bunny โ the one whoโd managed to get knocked up by the once completely naive british recruit, whoโd end up becoming the honorable and prestigious captain john price. and, heโd kept you a secret for the last twenty-something years, mainly due to the fact that heโd probably been dishonorably discharged if word had gotten around that heโd fell for your motherโs bright eyes and latin-laced sweet nothing thatโd fallen from her messily smeared lips.
but, john price tried and failed to be a present father for you โ sent you letters and postcards always filled with cash, visited your homeland in el campo of puerto rico on the off-chance heโd gotten time away from the special air services. however, his lack of being consistent mixed with your motherโs continued affairs with soldiers left you a precocious little british latina with dreamy eyes that could get you into any room you so pleased with any man you wanted โฆ mixed with massive daddy issues.
not to mention, your undying desire for older men.
and you didnโt mean guys that were year or two, maybe three years older than you โฆ no, you like seasoned men โ age gaps that were borderline excessive, men who werenโt savvy with technology, men with frown lines, dark circles around their tired eyes, and deep voices, men who were a bit colder, men who could correct you โฆ not guys your age.
so, when your father had invited you to visit his base, it was safe to say that you were more so ecstatic to see the older eye candy that heโd been working alongside for all of these years. youโd carefully applied your curliest lash clusters, swiped your shiniest and stickiest lip gloss on your swollen lips, sliding your acrylic-nailed fingers through your freshly blown out hair, taking a thorough look over your new seamless black capri catsuit that hugged your plush curves just right. and you just couldnโt forget to wear your fatherโs hand-me-down jacket, the name price labeled right over your breast.
youโd already met everyone on task force 141, except for your fatherโs lieutenant, who apparently was a very busy man.
the tips of your black kitten heels anxiously tapped as your father laid courtesy knocks against his already opened office door, โyโready to go, sweets?โ your father asks, his eyebrows raised knowingly as he watches you pose in the stained and cracked mirror โ just like your fucking mother.
โum, yes pa - sorry โโ you chuckled nervously, clearing your throat as your straightened your posture, just like your father had always taught you, when he was around, at least.
with a wordless nod, you watch as your father steps to the side, keeping you on his left as the two of you walk down the hallway. itโs quiet for a moment, the sounds of grunts, fists cracking into leather, and bodies hitting the floor echoing louder and louder as your father reaches two heavy steel doors, blocking you with a gentle arm as you eagerly reach for the handle, โyโdonโt let any of these fuckinโ recruits get near you,โ john warns with a stern glare and tilted head.
your dolly eyes widen, glossed lips parted in slight disappointment, โi thought i was meeting your lieutenant?โ you question, your voiced pitched just a smidge higher, a bit whiny.
letting out a tense breath, your father lifts his hat, running a hand through his short hair, โyou are, sweetheart, but there are boys in there โ boys who are going to see you anโ wonโt know how to contain themselves,โ placing a calloused hand on your cheek, your dad barely cracks a smile, โprobably wonโt even believe yโcame from me, huh?โ he nudges your chin lightly.
sending your dad a tight lipped smile, you let out a shaky breath as he yanks the heavy door open, the muggy and bright environment of the training room leaving you in a wide-eyed gaze. you father is now in complete captain price mode, his shoulders tight and broad as he saunters through the gym with his hands crossed behind his back, standing tall and strong. you walk alongside him, your full hips switching and swaying with each clicky step you took, ignoring the murmurs and stares of the scrawny young men who could barely get through their training.
as the two of you walked through the gym, your eyes fell on a 6โ2 tank of a man, his head low as he carefully watched the recruits do their push-ups, his face concealed in a skullface balaclava and beefy limbs straining against his compression shirt and worn cargo pants โ fuck, he was hot, you could just tell.
โaโright, hun โ there he is, my lieutenant, sโname is ghost,โ your dad speaks lowly, his stance still tall as ever as his steps slow to a stop, the sound of the masked manโs boots against the flooring leaving you a blushing mess as he keeps a watchful eye on his recruits, โdonโt be scared of him, he jusโ doesnโt like tโshow his face,โ john coaxes you, completely unaware of how you were quite literally fighting every urge to drop to your knees in front of his dear olโ lieutenant.
forcing out an innocent giggle, you keep your glassy eyes on the behemoth of a man, your glossy lips suddenly running dry, โiโm not scared, papa,โ you muttered, fighting every urge to cross your leg over the other just to soothe the ache between your legs, internally scolding yourself for choosing such a skin-tight outfit.
ghost approaches your father first, completely overlooking you as the two men shake hands, โprice,โ he speaks, his heavy and husky british accent sending a delicious shock to your core and a blush to your cheeks. taking a step back from your father, the lieutenant stands with his hands crossed in front of his belt buckle, his eyes hanging low as he carefully scans you.
โghost,โ your dad responds, placing a large hand right on your shoulder blade, โsโmy daughter,โ he introduces you, gently pushing you towards the older man.
holding out your manicured hand, your lips stretch into a giddy smile, โhi, lieutenantโโ
ghost politely silences you, clasping his larger, gloved hand around yours, his thick fingers completely enclosed around your much smaller hand, โghostโll do yโjusโ fine, pet,โ he nods, not missing the way you obediently nodded at his correction.
an obedient, little minx of a young thing like you? thereโs no way you could be priceโs kid โฆ not in ghostโs eyes, not when heโs already thinking about how he could have you stuffed full of his cock, calling him daddy, instead of his captain. you were gorgeous, that seamless catsuit hugging your thighs, hips, and puffy little pussy just right. price had to be out of his mind bringing you here, like a lamb to the slaughter.
and god, was simon ready to bite right into you, his cock springing to life in the confines of his tightening briefs. he was well aware of your little staring problem, shit, you hadnโt taken your eyes off of him from the moment youโd caught him, your full lashes batting up at him with fake innocence. ghost was well aware of whose daughter you were โ sure, he never partook in gossip within the barracks, but he was familiar with your mother and her trysts with your father, during his younger days. he just wasnโt sure how you managed to be such a knockout, while being half of price.
releasing your hand, ghost brought his gaze back to your fatherโs maintaining his respect for his superior, externally, at least, โyour girlโs got a solid grip, yeah?โ the lieutenant comments, his tone brash, his innuendo falling deaf on your fatherโs ears.
you, on the other hand were left a squirming mess, your lips opening and closing as you took in ghostโs blunt nature.
letting out a huff of a chuckle, your father nods with oblivious pride, โmust get thaโ from her old man, ghost,โ price swats a friendly hand against ghostโs firm chest, the skull-faced man grunting in response.
turning to face you, your father grips his hand onto ghostโs shoulder, ghost remains stoic, standing tall with leg thick legs parted, his boots placed firmly into the floor, โwould trust this man with mโlife, even yours, do you hear me?โ your dad lectures.
you nod, โte escucho papa,โ
fuck, it takes everything in ghost not to split you open on the gym floor. of course, you were able to speak another language like the fuckinโ siren you were. definitely your motherโs daughter - baby bunny.
โfโyou need anything, and iโm not around, you go to him,โ john points a finger towards you, completely missing the way ghost kept his hunter eyes dead-set on you.
out of respect for his superior, ghost nods wordlessly, licking over his lips behind his mask. you flip your hair over your shoulder, gazing up at ghost through your lashes, โthaaank you, ghost,โ you sing cutely, inconspicuously crossing one of your legs over the other, relieving the ache between your legs.
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Charlie 'Placebo' Green is an oddity. An Omega with a tongue and growl as sharp as her teeth, it was no such surprise that she has trouble finding somewhere to fit into society.
When an old friend, Kate Laswell, called and asked to check in an old favour owed; Charlie finds herself returning home to England to meet with a pack in dire need of a medic. The problem? The 141 Task Force had gone through five medics in the past two months. After the pack had pushed away every other option presented to them, Laswell seemed to think that the Omega with a bite to match her bark may just be what the 141 needs.
~
What to expect from this fanfiction:-
Omegaverse (A/B/O)
Religious themes (Being brought up in a religious household)
Talk of big emotions (depression, anxiety, resentment)
Gore and mention of bodily wounds
Smut
Alcohol consumption
Use of drugs (main character is an army medic and uses drugs as such to help in the field)
If you aren't okay with any of the things stated above, then this fanfiction is not for you. Any comments expressing upset or discomfort shall be deleted as you have been warned.
(All rights to the characters, other then my own OC's, belong to the company Activison. Cover Art is by the lovely @minxkitcatty2 on Tiktok.)