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bi-writes · 2 days ago

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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 ⏤ PART 2 ⏤ PART 3

You make a deal with the devil.

Simon was right, as much as you don’t 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. You’ve heard of these kinds of things, the places omegas can take you—a 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 doesn’t 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 Simon’s pack, you will let Simon in. You won’t fight the ticking timer in your head. You’ll let yourself relax. You’ll 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 good—she can’t 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, you’ll find a way to suffocate her for good. You swear it, promise it, tell her you’re going to drown her even if it drowns you, too—

I can do it, I can do it, I can do it.

Eager little thing, she is. Sweet as honey, but deadly like poison. She’s a carnivorous plant, and ever since you stopped taking your meds, her roots have grown into you—attaching to your veins, tainting your blood, weaving itself into your brain stem like a cancerous cell. You won’t let her take it all. If she gives you a little, you’ll give, too, and that is how the balance can be kept.

You’ll make a man-eater out of her. You think she’ll 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, you’re gasping for breath, and there is a great weight hanging over your back. You’re dragging someone along with you, leaving behind a trail of blood and hard bootprints, and you can feel the adrenaline that’s been keeping you going slowly start to melt away. You have a pounding headache. There’s something in your mouth that tastes rotten. There’s something that you’re carrying that you’re 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.

“Kitty.”

“It’s…I-I got it, Simon. Just hold onto me. We’re almost there.”

Your eyes water with relief when you see Johnny’s terrible hair and Gaz’s dark eyes. Their faces fall in tandem, and you cry with exhaustion when Gaz slings Simon’s 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, Johnny’s got his big arms around your waist, and he’s 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 don’t really remember making it back to the plane. Every time you blinked, the setting was new. Your nose buried in Johnny’s neck—shhh, it’s alright, bonnie, he’s right here, we’re here. Your hands finding Simon’s, 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.

Who’s 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 it’s 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 it’s 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 same—your shirt, your jacket, your tact vest, the entire front of your body has splatters of dark red.

“Oh—God—”

You feel sick. It’s all coming up, all of it, you ate something foul, and now you need to be rid of it—

“None o’tha’ now.”

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.

You’ve killed before, in some sense, but never in this way. Everything you have ever done in the service has always been tactical and removed—firing 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 weren’t pulling any triggers, the location you gave them would end up on some list somewhere. You never felt good about it, but you didn’t 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 couldn’t stop her.

You killed a man.

But he tried to kill mine.

“I did that—” You hiss, and the agony on your face is palpable. It’s in your scent, and it clouds the small plane. You can see the scrunch of John’s 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 do—?

“Look at me, Kit,” 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 John’s eyes, all you can read is his frustration. He looks tired. He looks doubtful. He looks worried. “What did you do?”

“I killed him.”

“That’s right,” John murmurs. “And if you hadn’t, he would’ve killed you.”

His explanation is clinical and matter-of-fact. You aren’t speaking to a man, not a normal one—you’re 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 wouldn’t 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, “I mauled him. L-Like an animal, I—”

“You survived,” John explains. He tilts his head to the side, and he sucks you right in. “What the fuck did you think this was, Kit, hmm? Think we don’t get our hands dirty? Think the shit we do is easy, tha’ it? No—look at me.” Your eyes are wild. There’s something terrible going on in your head, and you can’t 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 you’ve 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 isn’t your alpha, she sighs a little at the feeling of him anyways. Stability, authority, the way he takes control—he feeds her well. Even if you cannot do what’s necessary, she can, and John and his alpha know this feeling well. It’s why he’s still alive. It’s why he’s still here.

Justified murder. Sanctioned killers. The lesser evil. Joining their pack means you are one of them now—does that mean swallowing these half-truths, too?

“You 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 me—Look at me, Kit! Keep your fuckin’ eyes on me, and repeat after me—I did what I was trained to do.”

You dig your nails into the flesh under his shirt. It barely gives, and John doesn’t 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. He’s 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 story—he isn’t this old because he hides, he’s 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.

“Say it. That’s a fucking order,” 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 that’s all you really want. Maybe it’s all you really need.

Tell me what I’ve done isn’t wrong. Absolve me. Put your teeth to my neck and tell me that everything I’ve done was going to happen anyways.

“I…” Your voice falters. Your foreheads touch, just for a moment, and your breath comes out with barely even a stutter. “I-I did what…I did what I was trained t-to do.”

“Again.”

“I did…I did what I was trained to do.”

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. It’s still stained along your skin, a thick kind of war paint that you wear apprehensively, but John knows what he sees.

It’s been a long time since he’s 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 it—the balance tipping. Simon had seemed indifferent to Kate’s 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 Simon’s life had ever really been his. His entire family was dead, and even his life was not his own—he 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 anything—all that came through on the radio was a curt copy tha’.

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 can’t have, but it’s white noise in his mind now. He used to think it was about control—if Kate could take you away and give you back, it might give her leverage over Simon, but he knows that’s just a fleeting idea.

No alpha in their pack would let them take you away. Not now. Not anymore. John wasn’t sure before; he had half a mind to tell Simon that this new dynamic wasn’t working, but then he heard your voice breaking over the radio, and then he saw you hauling Simon’s giant body covered in someone else’s blood with nothing but instinct driving you forward. The look in your eyes—he 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 won’t turn you away. Couldn’t. It’s not possible. Fate has fuck-all to do with this kind of pairing.

There is a popular belief that mates are not chosen carefully—when 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 won’t 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. It’s pulsing under John’s fingers—a 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. She’ll 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, she’ll 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 in—fuck, 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 Simon’s scent sticky against your skin.

John’s 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 need—we have to help her.

Looking at you now, he couldn’t 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 she’s strong; stronger than John is used to, and he thinks it’s because you don’t know how to control her.

When Simon shuts the door on his room later that evening, John isn’t 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 it’s just another unspoken rule.

Not yet. Patience is rewarded.

Simon refused medical, naturally. He slumps onto the floor, back against the wall, and you won’t 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. There’s a fluorescent light that flickers, making you flinch, and then it goes eerily silent in the room. You feel nothing; it’s 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.

“I can’t listen to you. Cryin’ like tha’.”

You don’t think he means that. From your peripheral, you can see the way his gloved hands curl into tight fists against his thighs. It’s 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 badly—you hope the discomfort makes him dig his nails so hard into his palms that it makes him bleed even more.

“I hate you.” 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 doesn’t want to hear you cry?

“Didn’t ask for you to do tha’. To do those things. I had it.”

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.

“What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The fucking audacity of this two-faced asshole of an alpha—

“No, 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!” You cry. You lean towards him, glaring up at him. He refuses to look at you, just keeps his eyes on the ceiling. “Look at me if you’re going to lie to me.”

He doesn’t. He just breathes deep, angry purrs that you don’t believe. You sit up on your knees, facing him.

“Coward,” you spit. “Is that what you’re gonna put in your report? That you had it, and an insubordinate rookie put your life in danger? I can’t 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 can’t believe I even saved your life, cause what good does it do me?”

Simon finally turns to look down at you. Even sitting, he’s still much bigger, much taller, and he narrows his eyes. Deadly. Hateful. You are caught in a line, but you are prepared for it.

“Careful,” 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, there’s a rumble that happens deep within his chest that he cannot control.

“Don’t test me, Simon,” you throw right back at him. “He’s only dead because he doesn’t get the satisfaction of killing you. If anyone’s gonna kill you, it’s gonna be me.”

A flame that becomes a torch. That’s what you and Simon are. You do not complement each other, you set each other ablaze. That’s 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 Simon’s hands paw at your cargos. You hear fabric tear, but you don’t 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.

He’s 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 that’s still on your skin and sucking it into his mouth. The taste of torn-apart alpha wasn’t apparent to you, but it must be to him—the way he’s snarling, biting, slobbering as he makes you his dinner plate.

“My pretty omega,” Simon growls. It comes from deep within him, a drawl that makes your pupils dilate. Whenever his alpha shows his face, it’s never for long, but it makes your entire body shake. You don’t really remember taking all your clothes off, but Simon’s gloved hands are on your tits, and he’s thumbing at your nipples, licking over his teeth, snapping his jaws as if he wants to bite you again. “Mine. Mine to fuck, mine to protect, mine to play with.”

“Fuck you.”

“Your heat…I can taste it,” he continues. It’s 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, it’s the cloudy haze of it hanging over your head. “Is that how you got your leverage over ‘im? Did he get a whiff of you and forget who he was?”

“No,” 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. He’s pulsing hot under your touch, and you move to shove his pants lower as your knees fall open. “I saw his gland. It was so…” You falter, whining. “I didn’t think. I just did.”

“My omega,” 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. “You must be mine, you know tha’.”

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 way—

You do. You know it. It’s 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 it’s about to break right through. Simon will put his teeth on your gland, and he’s going to bite there, and he’s 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 won’t 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. It’s not the worst place you’ve ever fucked, but the hard ground under your head won’t 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. He’s there, right there, right against your sweet spot, and you drag your nails down his back as he finds it so easily. Simon knows you—he 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 doesn’t belong to you, and yet he’s brushing your hair back and kissing you hot, and he’s 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 don’t love him, you might fall into yourself like a dying star and let her finish you off?

Maybe that’s 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 he’s sorry, and the scent of him relaxes you like nothing ever has before. You’re safe here with him. You always will be. It makes you so fucking sick.

“Please,” he groans. He whispers it against your cheek. His cock feels so good, hips grinding against your clit, and he’s so warm. “Let me ‘ave it. Give it t’me, omega.”

“Beg me for it.”

“Don’t be difficult.”

“Bite me.”

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 can’t stay inside, too full, dribbling between your thighs. You love the sound it makes when Simon keeps moving—nasty, 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. Intoxicating—like you’re 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.

You’re at the edge of that cliff. You’re about to fall over.

“S-Simon—”

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 you’re coherent enough to communicate with him. You don’t need to say anything, you know that. Simon will look at you, and he will know.

“I have you,” he says. You knew he would say that, and yet you weren’t comforted until he did say it. “It’s happening, innit?”

I’m here, so close, I’m coming—

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. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him, all of him.

He’s 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. He’s 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. There’s 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. He’s big and beefy, with a solid stomach, and he just looks heavy, but even that isn’t enough to fill out the mess of his skin. Gunshots, knife wounds, cigarette burns scattered along his arms. Simon’s body wears his history like a bright neon sign. He doesn’t cover up because he’s ashamed of it—he covers himself because he doesn’t want people to ask.

He doesn’t 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 strong—Simon’s 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. He’s already looking at you.

“I’m scared,” you tell him honestly. You are afraid. You try so hard not to be, and you know deep down that your omega’s true nature is to protect you, but you’re afraid. Trusting her means giving up control, real control. Even if it’s only for a period of time, it’s long enough that you are so fucking terrified. You don’t know what to expect. No one ever taught you what to expect, no one ever told you what would happen, what you would feel. You’ve been drowning your omega so long, you are afraid of what she will do once she comes out—kicking, screaming, clawing, burning, biting. You’ve been doubtful and spiteful all your life, and now you have to just hand yourself over?

It’s mother nature; and she is such a bitch.

“Do you trust me?” 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.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“That’s not wot I asked. I need ta hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you sniffle. “Yes, Simon. I trust you.”

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 looks…right. You stop when you’ve got the blanket scrunched up in your arms, and you blink up at Simon who’s standing by the side of the bed.

You’re making a nest. A God-awful, terrible, messy shitload of a nest, but you’re 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.

“Wot is it?” He leans over your shoulder, and you feel his lips touch the side of your head. “Wot’s wrong?”

“I need more,” you say softly. “More things. Uh…” You look over your shoulder, and his lips brush over your cheek. “Some of your clothes, maybe?”

He drops them beside you. A couple shirts, a couple hoodies, and when you hold them up for him, you hold each other’s 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. It’s haphazard and not at all neat, but it’s the first time you’ve done anything of the sort. It doesn’t feel perfect, but it feels like yours, and you will always remember the look in Simon’s eyes when you invited him into your nest.

It’s shockingly intimate. There’s something so warm, something so lovely, about tugging on his arm and pulling him into the space you’ve 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. It’s okay. When you wake up, you’ll be new again. I promise. I’ll make you new. I’ll make you better. I’ll have them, I swear it. It’s okay.

It’s 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 what’s 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. You’re drenched in sweat, and it’s 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 didn’t expect to feel coherent. You do feel out of your body, but not in a frightening way. Maybe it’s your omega, or maybe it’s Simon, but all you feel is this immense pressure in your chest, something telling you to find and seek.

Alpha. Alpha. Alpha.

“I’m ‘ere,” 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. “Right ‘ere.”

“Hurts,” you whisper. It does. There’s a pain in your belly that aches, and when Simon presses a hand there, you whine, immediately sensitive. There’s something missing inside of you, and your omega is singing for it to be filled. “Simon, it hurts—”

“Gonna make it better,” 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 you’ve never felt before. It isn’t enough, but it’s good, tastes good, and you grab at him from all angles, trying to bring him closer. “Fuck, my pretty omega…” 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. “Present for me, kitty. Show me.”

You’ve 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 enough—he bends your knees and hugs your thighs and tries hard to taste more, but it’s difficult.

“Simon,” you whimper. “Simon—” 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 don’t kill each other.

Never. I can do it. You’ll see. I’ll make it so good.

“Alpha.”

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, it’s like tinnitus. She’s here. She’s in your head.

She is not going anywhere.

It’s my turn now. I’ll give you back after I get what I want.

It must be revenge that she wants. Revenge against you—for every time that you’ve taped her mouth shut, every time you’ve scruffed her by the nape of her neck and forced her to quiet down. Revenge against Simon—for 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 everything—for being underestimated, for being ignored.

You don’t know how long it’s 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, it’s 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.

He’s underneath you right now. Your hands are wrapped tight against the headboard, and you’re 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 you’re 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 shouldn’t 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.

Simon’s always been big—but the hormones he’s 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 hasn’t claimed you yet. You don’t remember how many times you’ve taken his knot, or how many places you’ve fucked in this room, but he won’t 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 doesn’t always shut you up, but then he’ll hook his forearm around your neck and nearly suffocate you as he comes deep, and you’re so delirious, you forget about it for awhile.

Your omega doesn’t though. Your gland protrudes, swelling, and she wants him so badly to claim you. Half of her job is to get him to do it—she’s supposed to take his knot and entice his claim, that’s what she’s made for, and she doesn’t want to come out of this empty-handed.

I’ll 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. He’s too capable and too aware, even in his moments of staticky pleasure, to give into her all the way.

It’s 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.

“I-I love you so much, Simon.”

It’s instinctual. You couldn’t stop yourself. You’re crying, so overwhelmed with sticky pleasure and soft insides.

Simon knows it’s 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 fate—Simon 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, sinker—there 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.

Simon’s been at death’s door far too many times. It is only now that he thinks he’ll 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 you’re floating—as if your blood inflated, picking you up, taking you somewhere warm and safe.

A cocoon. A protective blanket. The space against Simon’s chest, the place you’ve 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.

You’re alone when you wake up. Your eyes blink, adjusting to the soft yellow light of Simon’s desk lamp. You can smell him—he’s nearby, you hear some noises, but he’s not in your line of sight, and that makes your insides clam up.

“Simon?”

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 there’s something wrong with you, but also that nothing is wrong at all.

“S-Simon?”

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 he’s 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 he’s here deflates your insides so warmly. You hold onto his wrist, keeping him close, and there’s a rumble that happens under his chest that makes you whine to get him even closer.

“Good morning, kitty,” Simon murmurs. He must be smiling under the mask; you see his eyes squint a little, and you hear it in his voice. “Feelin’ olright?”

You sputter and shake your head. “No.”

Simon snorts, thumbing at your cheek. You chase the feeling, following his thumb, not satisfied until he cups your cheek with his big hand.

“Tha’s olright. Y’r just hungry.”

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 them—

You clench your thighs together, gripping the edge of the tub.

“Simon…” You call for him. He drops the trash he’s 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.

“You are insatiable,” Simon hisses. “Fucking for nine days ain’t enough for you, kitty?”

“N-Nine days?” 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.

“Nine fuckin’ days,” Simon echoes. “Nine days of fucking my best girl.”

“Mmm—” You giggle, but it’s cut off as you gasp when he adds another finger.

“Nine days of you,” 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. “It’ll never be enough, kitty.”

“N-Never.”

“Ahh—fuck—” Simon groans when he feels you tighten up and come. You’re 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 it’s 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 you—he made sure your meals were good, ensured the water for your shower was warm, but he didn’t hold your hand. He didn’t hug you or touch you beyond what was necessary.

Things are different now. Things have changed.

He’s 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; it’s been a few days since he’s seen you, and you already look different. Looser. Warmer. Thicker.

“Ye hungry, bonnie?” Johnny finally asks. You turn your head to look at him. You really look at him this time—you 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 he’s 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 he’s 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.

“Mmm…” You lick over your top row of teeth. The action is too wet to be anything but enticing. “I’m starved, Johnny.”

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 that’s spilled over the edge of the table.

“Fuckin’ hell,” 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 it’s 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.

“Bloody hell,” Gaz hisses, leaning back in his seat. You blink away the fog in your brain, feeling your face heat. “You both reek of it.”

“Of what, Sergeant?” Simon bites, and John is the one to curl his fist around his cup and crush it with a scowl.

“Don’t play stupid, Simon,” John murmurs. “You both need another hosing down.”

“Anyone wanna join me?” You purr, and Simon curls his fingers around your hair and yanks your head back with a huff.

“Oh, you’d like tha’, wouldn’t you, kitty?”

“You have no idea, baby—”

“Bleedin’ Christ!” Johnny groans. He’s 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.

“What are you doing?” 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.

“Nothing. You want a bite, Simon?” 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. “You know, I’d really like some iced tea, Simon. Do you think they might have some in the back?”

Simon’s 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 tickles—her fingers curl around your bones, licking at your insides, purring—bite him, bite him, bite him—

“Real subtle, Kit,” 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.

“You know, I remember having this conversation with you not that long ago,” you tell him. “Something about how much you stink even this far away. You got something in your pants, Gaz, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Piss off,” Gaz snaps, and you smile. You know you’re getting under his skin when you smell ash in the air, something bitter and eye-watering.

“Is that a kink of yours, honey? Real subtle.”

“Knock it off, you two,” John sighs, shaking his head. He leans back, running a thick hand over his beard, and you go back to eating. “Gaz, you’re gonna be late. Get a move on.”

The air feels a little tense when it’s just you and John. You move your food around on your plate, frowning a little, and John shifts where he sits.

“How…” He clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”

You look up a little at him. He’s staring at you curiously, arms crossed over his chest. You shrug lightly. It’s humorous seeing him behave so awkwardly.

“I’m okay,” you tell him. “Sore. Really tired.”

“You been to medical?”

“No.”

“Consider it an order,” John nods at you, looking at the collar of your shirt. “Those things can be nasty if you neglect it.”

You put your fork down, and when you and John look at each other, you have to swallow your omega back down your throat. She’s salivating—look at him, he likes us, he’s worried—

“Oh, yeah?” You smile a little, coy, demure. “You know a lot about that, Captain?” The use of his rank makes his jaw clench, and you wet your lips with your tongue. “Claiming omegas?”

If the air was tense before, it’s 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. You’re already acting so differently—so 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, isn’t it?

“You seem lonely,” you say softly. He sniffs a little, laughing dryly, and your boot moves just enough to touch toes with his. “Are you lonely, John?”

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, who’s standing there beside you breathing hard. He sniffs, looking between you and John, but you’re 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 doesn’t say anything.

Your omega purrs, and you nearly do, too. When Simon grips your wrist, you follow him out, but not before catching John’s 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 isn’t anger. You smile up at him, hands behind your back, and Simon fists your hair and kisses you hot. Nope, not anger.

Fuck, he’s horny.

It’ll never be a level-playing field. From the moment you first presented, you didn’t think there’d 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. You’ve always been told that is the easy life—you aren’t like betas who have to find their way, and you aren’t 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 aren’t supposed to want anything other than a cozy nest, a locking knot, or fat babies. You aren’t 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 doesn’t care, but because it’s not what matters. All he asks is what you need—everything else will follow as it’s supposed to.

He’s staring at your mark again. He does it often; he gets lost in his thoughts, and his eyes fixate on the faint bite mark that’s there behind your jaw now. It’s since healed nicely—all 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.

Simon’s not so bad. Things could be worse. Simon’s purebred, that’s for certain, but that also means his relationship with your omega is a bond unbreakable. All she does is flutter her lashes, and Simon’s 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 can’t contain himself when she wags a treat in front of him.

You let her have it. It’s the least you could do.

Simon’s pack is no better. Sometimes, you think your omega feels guilty, but you push it down just like you’re used to. They deserve none of your pity. Entitled shits, they all are, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you are in their pack, you would never give such fragile egos the time of day; but they are in Simon’s pack, which means they’re in yours, which means you at least try to play nice.

Sometimes, though, it’s real funny watching Simon’s sergeants covering their crotches and waddling out of a room.

You can’t figure out John. He’s 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 upset—it 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.

“Does John like me?”

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 doesn’t lose any of the pieces. There’s gun oil and a rag to accompany him, and he’s 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. “Dunno,” he says finally, continuing with the rag. “Would think so.”

“I don’t think so,” you say softly. “Not like Johnny does. Or Gaz.”

“Tha’s cause they wanna fuck you, kitty,” Simon snorts, and you draw your knees up a little, squeezing your legs together. You think about Johnny’s wagging tongue or Gaz’s wet lips too long, and you’ll drag Simon over, even knowing his gear is filthy.

“John doesn’t?”

“John is…” Simon shrugs again, sighing deeply. “Him and omegas. It’s…complicated. Wot do ya care, anyway? Three alphas not enough for you?”

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, you’ve come to know her as selfish and entirely too greedy. She’s a fiend for Simon’s 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.

“Maybe for me,” you agree, but your voice longs. It carries weight to it, and that makes Simon pause. “But not for her.”

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 he’s smiling, too, under his mask. Your omega will never be afraid of him. She adores him, far too much for your liking.

“Well, then. Maybe I should let my sergeants have a taste, and then we’ll see what’s not enough for her, eh?”

Your omega sighs. She just loves getting what she wants.

But it’s not enough. It’s 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 he’s 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 away—even if he wanted Simon not to go, he would never command it. He couldn’t 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, it’s 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 you’d see it again—or smell it.

Your omega knows what it is as soon as gets the scent—who 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 them—and she doesn’t 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. She’s not prepared for the tension, and she’s not prepared for the reluctance she’s met with. Instead of four bloodthirsty dogs, she stares down at outright disobedience.

She’s disturbed a den—and she doesn’t understand what stands in her way.

You remember the first time you saw Kate Laswell. Freshly 18, nowhere to go, no family. The streets weren’t suitable for you; omegas are vulnerable on their own, and if you didn’t choose the pack you got swallowed up in, it would get chosen for you. The doors for the service were always open. That’s what they do, that’s what your country does—they 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 level—you 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.

You’re outside when she finds you. You’re sitting outside the mess hall, where the benches are plentiful, and you’re staring down at the pack of cigarettes you stole from one of Simon’s jackets. The lighter is in your other hand, but you can’t get yourself to try one.

“Didn’t peg you for a smoker.”

You keep your eyes down on the cigarettes. You smooth a thumb over the label, licking over your teeth. Despite everything else, her voice hasn’t changed.

“I’m not,” you say softly. “Just…”

When you look up, you meet Kate’s 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 couldn’t—ask 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 couldn’t 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 would—the terrifying world she tried to protect you from, she’d really do it, she’d 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.

“Nasty habit,” you say softly, and Kate just laughs bitterly.

“Got nastier vices, kitty.”

Your eyes flick back up to hers, and you narrow them stiffly. Maybe she thinks she’s being cute, but all you see when you look up at her is someone alone. Someone reaching. Someone desperate. There’s an edge that Kate Laswell is known best for, but you don’t really see it anymore.

You tilt your head up a little, relaxing your face. You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“How’d your meeting go?” 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. “Hope you got what you needed. I imagine you don’t wanna be here long.”

“Interesting you asked,” she says lowly. “I, in fact, didn’t get what I needed. I’m not leaving until I get it.”

“That’s too bad,” you tut. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You always do, don’t you?”

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 don’t 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.

“I don’t know what you’ve said to them,” Kate murmurs. “But I need this. You wouldn’t understand, but this isn’t…I’m not dealing with trivial matters, Kit. This is life and death. International security, and I’ve never expected you to understand where I was coming from, never wanted you to—”

“They said no,” you whisper, laughing a little. “They said no to you, didn’t they?” You tip your head back even further, staring up at the night sky, and you laugh again as you close your eyes.

“John said no.”

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.

“John said no,” you echo, crossing your arms over your chest. “And Simon?”

“I expected that,” Kate shrugs. “A given. You did good there, Kit.” When you sit next to her, you notice her knee spread a little wider, just barely touching your own.

“But you weren’t prepared for John,” you finish for her.

“If anything, I can always count on John to separate…” Kate scoffs, “wants and needs from what needs to get done.”

“From what you want to get done.” You turn to look at her. “Did you ever think that…maybe this wasn’t meant for them? That they wouldn’t do this forever?”

“That’s a dangerous way to think for men like that,” Kate snaps. “You don’t want them out of here, living a civilian life.”

“The only person this is dangerous for is you,” you throw back at her. “Who else is going to clean up your fucking messes if not them?”

“Watch yourself, Kit.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

You don’t realize you’ve said it until it’s been said. You nearly cover your mouth, horrified by what you couldn’t stop yourself from spitting at her. You can feel your omega’s fingers in your mouth. She’s feeling around your gums, drying out your tongue, cackling as she shows her newfound teeth. She never thinks any harm will ever come to her—the hollowness of your scent gland is proof of that. She’s been claimed but something foul, by something mean, and now she’s not afraid to do whatever it is she wants to do. You thought she’d given you back, but she’s still here, still causing trouble, and now Kate is forcing herself onto you. Her fingers are tight around your throat, and now you’re 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.

“Don’t forget yourself,” she spits. Her lips nearly brush against yours, and you breathe in mouthfuls of her scent. It’s achingly heady, and it tastes like it’s filling your lungs with smoke. There’s something else there that you can taste, however—something 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.

“You owe me,” you say, throat scratchy. “I’ll do it. Whatever you’re here to ask me to do, I’ll do it. But you…owe me.”

You slam the doors behind you as you leave her there. Cigarette still burning on the floor, light flickering overhead—when you turn to glare at her from over your shoulder, she’s 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 Simon—when just the sight of him made the blood under your skin heat and bubble just under the surface. What you can’t remember is why; he’s 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 that’s 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.

“What is it, Simon?” 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. “Simon—”

“Smell nice,” he tells you. You laugh a little, and when he stands up to stare back down at you, you give him a nervous smile. “But I know how y’r feeling. Can’t hide tha’ from me.”

You don’t say anything. There isn’t anything you want to say. He’s 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 else’s blood; and when he isn’t in bed when you wake up, you think you’ll 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. You’ve never been scared, but you feel so out of yourself when you join them. The 141 aren’t called in when the job is easy—they only do the things that no one else has been able to do. Your training is tested every single time you join them. You’re 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 don’t always recognize his voice. John—always level-headed, that one, but his gentleness with you is nothing short of an exception. These aren’t good men. They’re war criminals with badges.

“Ya don’t have ta come,” Simon says lowly. “I could ask Price, you—”

“No—!” You sit up straighter, your hand gripping his wrist to keep him close. You shake your head adamantly, squeezing his arm. “No, that’s…it would be worse.”

“Worse?”

“Who the fuck else is gonna watch your six?” You ask. “You suck at it.”

Simon laughs, from deep in his chest, and you press your lips against his from over his mask.

“Oi—kitty,” 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. “Tha’s never gonna happen again, ya hear me?” He shakes his head. “Didn’t do my fuckin’ job tha’ day. Won’t be like tha’ anymore. I have you.” Simon kisses you again, pinching your chin, and you don’t let him move away. “My omega. Mine.”

“Wheels up in 15, lovebirds.”

Simon stops you from going too far when you hop down from the table. He tugs on your tact vest, making sure it’s 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 it’s full before hitting it back inside and loading the chamber. He bends to secure it in your thigh holster, and then he’s tugging on the straps of it, making sure it’s not loose around your leg. You can’t hold in your smile anymore when he stands and reaches under your chin to buckle your helmet.

There’s no reason to be scared. Not around him, not underneath him, and certainly not under his command. Maybe you’d step in front of a bullet for him—maybe you’d throw yourself in front of whatever someone tossed his way, but he would do the same for you. You don’t doubt that. You don’t think there’s anything someone could do to you that he wouldn’t give back to them much worse.

Simon’s love isn’t typical. It’s not sweet, nor does it fit inside its confines. He isn’t violent at his core, but it’s a response ingrained in him. Possessive, sick, overbearing to a fault—he’s too much all the time, but maybe it’s because Simon’s 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. He’s always been too much, and he’s always been told what to do, so to have this thing, this one thing that could belong to him—who 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?

He’s died twice before in his life, but it wasn’t enough to keep him buried. Now he’s here, and he’s with you, and it wasn’t 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. There’s 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, you’ll never want another, not in the same way. It’s only ever been Simon that’s ever told you that it’s 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 can’t tell anyone else, I’m the thing between what you really are and what you’ve always wanted to be, I know you, I know you, I know you—

“You trust me?” 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.

“Yes.” You smile up at him, and his thumb falls to touch the imprint of his teeth that’s 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. “Yes, I trust you, Simon.”

Simon drops his head, and you flutter your lashes when his helmet hits yours.

“On me, then, kitty.”

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 feet—it is yourself, you, the one you’re 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 don’t know why Simon’s hand would feel so warm in yours. If she was so terrible, you don’t know what makes his eyes so difficult to look away from. If she was so horrible to you, you don’t 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.

It’s not that bad. Simon’s 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 isn’t so bad. She’s smiling. No, you are. You’re one and the same, and you know her the same way you know yourself. She’s home, tucked into the warm places you know you’ll keep her, and you—

Well.

You’re right where you’re supposed to be.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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boopsiesdaisies · 2 days ago

Text

being near each other (pt 2)

bob reynolds/sentry x reader | 3,791 words | angst/fluff | gn! reader

THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS

tw: panic attacks, swearing, brief mentions of sex

both you and bob are still pretty bad at feelings

a/n: i was not expecting the first part of this to blow up as much as it did, so i decided to not clean my room and write an even longer sequel. thank you @scarlett-witchh for suggesting for a sequel! shoutout to lauren for the starbucks orders <3

link to part one!

___

You had finally begun to find some peace with your roommates. While the clean-up from last month’s “incident” had fully exhausted you, the established routine was comforting, not to mention you had finally embraced your feelings for Bob, well as much as you could. Everyday started to feel like paradise, you practically skipped around the base every morning, romantically sighing through your meetings and missions. Even as you walked into the meeting room with a knife soaring past your face, nothing could have dampened your mood.

“Okay, okay, I have all of your drinks!” You yelled, breaking up the chaos in front of you.

All your teammates froze in their exact positions and slowly turned their heads toward you.

Walker was ducking in front of you with his hands over his head. Yelena’s arm was still outstretched from throwing the kitchen knife, which was now firmly planted in the wall behind you. Alexei and Bucky each had an arm reaching towards holding Yelena back, while Ava was clearly encouraging the behavior. The last person who caught your attention was Bob, seated calmly in the corner, nose in a self-help book, clearly having only looked up at your entrance over the commotion of the fight. As your teammates processed your statement, they all sat down in their respective seats, the previous argument forgotten for caffeine.

“First an iced americano for John, even though I’m certain you don’t actually like it and drink it only for the name,” you said as you handed out the first drink.

Walker attempted to defend himself, but you had already moved on to the next drink in the tray, you cautiously balanced.

“Next, I have God only knows what is in this for Alexei, with approximately fifteen pumps of some kind of syrups in it,” you placed the drink down, its vibrant red color shocked even the barista.

“It is my new sponsored drink!” Alexei responded. “Now known as the Red Drink.”

“Is that meant to be a play on the Pink Drink because I think you’re going to have more copyrights on your hands,” Yelena sighed.

“No, not Pink Drink at all!” He bellowed. “It is my drink that will gain many followers on the Instagram.”

You decided to keep going and ignore him. “Next, I have a hazelnut shaken espresso for Yelena.”

“Thank you,” she immediately sipped the drink, and you watched as her shoulders visibly relaxed.

“Next, an iced matcha latte for Ava,” you handed her the drink as you rounded the table, and she nodded her thanks.

“A black coffee for Bucky, and finally the second to worst drink here, a vanilla bean frap with six shots of espresso, and extra whipped cream for Bob.” You handed the last two their drinks, as you placed yours down on the table. As you handed Bob the drink, your fingers brushed for just a moment, and you felt the heat pull up your face.

You cleared your throat as you attempted to will the blush away, “now, does someone want to explain to me why a stray knife almost landed in my carotid artery on my way in from picking up coffee for all of you?”

You nestled into your seat, next to Bob of course, and pulled your legs up towards your chest. He smiled at you, his cheeks warm as well.

“It would have hit you in the ear at best, you’re giving Yelena too much credit,” Walker started to instigate the room again.

“Oh, like you would have better aim with two idiots trying to pull you off the table,” Yelena bit back.

“Enough you two,” Bucky sighed.

His sighs resembled more of an exhausted father as the days living in the tower went on. The meeting continued on, not without the occasional quip from Yelena or Walker about the argument from before, but you didn’t particularly care anymore. Your eyes moved softly to the side of Bob’s face. His lips were slightly parted as his finger guided his eyes across the lines of the text of his book. Ever since moving in, Bob gained a steady collection of self-help books in an attempt to learn to better live with the Void. His right hand laid flat on the table as he balanced the book on the table, and you found your hand subconsciously reaching to hold his. As you laid your hand on top of his, his hand pulled away to the book, and didn’t return the table. You snapped your head to the side, brows tight as you tried to question what just happened. Bob’s eyes remained steady on the book, though you could tell he wasn’t focused on the words anymore as his grip tightened on the book.

The two of you had spent the past four weeks in a happy bliss, spending soft moments out of missions together. You had frequent movie nights between either one of your rooms, watching anything from shitty action movies to even shittier rom coms but just getting to spend time together made it all worth it. You had even begun to try to teach him how to cook, just simple things so he could survive a bit better without someone on the team watching over him as closely. He was doing so incredibly lately, with only one appearance from the Void since the incident last week, although he had yet to try to use his newfound powers regularly.

His actions just then confused you, sure you two were doing all the cheesy couple things you had learned to follow, but you had been so careful to avoid any unnecessary touching, besides the regular hand holding, since you could tell that it scared him. Holding hands now had been standard practice between the two of you, even in front of the team, all of whom either didn’t care enough to say anything, or the more likely answer was they all had their own problems enough to not bother either of you. Walker and Alexei knew something, since it was their genius ideas to rig the mission chart to even start your “relationship” with Bob, but you weren’t really clear on how many “guys’ nights” actually happened regularly. You didn’t really have a relationship with Yelena or Ava to talk to them about this, you were cordial sure, but you’re not sure if gossiping about boy problems was the next step in the friendship.

Yet now, fear began to creep in the corners of your mind, if Bob didn’t want to hold your hand anymore was there something wrong? You had made it very clear you were willing to go at his pace, especially since he had just served as an experiment, and forcibly given powers that no one really understood. Despite that, it had been a month of comfortable hand holding, and the occasional head on a shoulder. You cursed your inability to discuss emotions, maybe that girls’ night would be the solution to your problems, although remembering the moment you walked into with Yelena throwing knives and Ava encouraging her, maybe they weren’t the ones to go to for advice.

Sound interrupted your downward spiral as the meeting was clearly adjourned and you missed all of the content that may or may not prove important later, although missions for the greater good were not in your interest of your greater good right now. Bob had stood faster than you could process and scurried out of the room, as opposed to his normal joyful gait around the tower.

“What was that?” Yelena’s voice broke through the silence, and it was clearly pointed at you.

She then proceeded to clear her throat loudly.

“Oh shit right! Uh, I need help with something; Bucky, Alexei, and Ava, why don’t you come help me with this thing?” Walker’s voice was higher than normal, and as you looked at him you swore you could see pen marks all over his hand.

All of them poured out of the room with a level of speed that made you a tad bit uncomfortable, as Yelena’s eyebrows raised, reposing the question.

“What was what?” You asked incredulously.

“That, little…thing,” Yelena moved towards you, sitting down in the chair next to you.

“What? Oh, that,” you replied, realizing you were right, Yelena was probably not the person to go for advice on this.

“You two are like so happy, and now it’s weird, and now it’s all of our problems,” she continued.

“Well, that’s not my fault,” you said, immediately defending your actions.

“I’m not saying it’s anyone’s fault,” she sighed, clearly trying a different approach “but you two are making less kissy faces at each other lately and it’s bringing the mood down.” “I don’t make kissy faces!” You shot back.

“You absolutely do, but the two of you need to figure it out,” she said, standing.

“Maybe just fuck already?” Walker’s voice came through the doorway, as he was comically yanked away.

You heard the sound of Alexei loudly hushing him, and the sound of a slap. Clearly, the other team members were eavesdropping.

“Did you all just stage an intervention for me?” You asked.

“Listen, as much as Walker is an idiot,” Yelena’s voice raised for the last part, clearly addressing the audience beyond the doorway. “You two are cute little idiots and Bob’s been pouting about something, so figure it out.”

“You act as if it’s just simple enough of asking him what’s wrong!” You stood.

“It is?” She responded, turning back to you.

“It totally is not!” You answered.

“It totally is!” Walker’s voice shot back from the doorway, as you heard a slam and his groan as someone most likely hit him with something. Part of you was hoping it was Ava, helping Yelena get revenge from before.

“Shut up Walker, your wife left you, you don’t know shit about relationships!” Yelena’s voice peaked with the anger from before as she stormed out of the meeting room to the sound of your sigh.

You continued to sigh and stomp a bit as you exited through one of the side doors, hearing a louder clamor as the fight from before was clearly continuing in the background. Your feet carried you subconsciously to Bob’s door, the sound of music softly playing in his room. You knocked once, softly against the door, part of you hoping that he wasn’t going to answer to save you the stress of addressing your problems right now. You could totally walk away and shove them down, but if you learned anything in the past time with the team, shoving emotions down was, unfortunately, not the correct answer to make them better.

Bob pulled the door open just a crack, and peaked through it. Shit, only he could make this look endearing and made your heart flutter.

“Can I come in?” You asked.

Bob hesitated for a moment, and looked down at his hands, then answered. “Sure.”

You walked into his room that was now completely repaired. No more broken furniture or bits of glass around the room. Just a soft melody playing off a speaker somewhere, with a few plants that you had gifted him to liven the room up. Despite literally only having the clothes on his back when the move-in process began, he had quickly acquired multitudes of knick knacks that covered the room. Even though the city was rebuilding and reopening from the Void’s takeover, you insisted on taking Bob to all the tourist parts to explore as your first “date,” although you struggled to call it that, and let’s just say you would never be able to say no to his face.

“What did you need?” Bob asked.

He had hung around the door, and continued to avoid your gaze.

“I should be the one asking you that,” you smiled, and stepped closer to him.

He sidestepped away from you, and moved past you further into his room. “I don’t need anything, everything’s great, why would I need something?” He asked, stumbling over his words.

“Considering that was your response, something is probably wrong,” you replied.

“I–” he started to speak, but he just let his mouth hang open and then closed it without finishing the thought.

“You can talk to me,” you started. “I thought we had been through this, Bob, we would talk to each other? Listen, if I’m too much for you or you don’t want to do this, I would rather just know, before I get too invested–”

“No! No,” Bob’s hands shook as he held them up to stop you. “It’s me.”

“What about you?” You asked.

“I’m afraid,” he said, softly, letting his arms fall and hang at his sides.

“Afraid?” you pushed.

He didn’t rely.

“Are you afraid of me?” You felt a painful lump rise to your throat, you knew who you were and your past, but part of you hoped that maybe he would see past that. See you for you, and not what you were forced to do in the past.

“Not you!” The look of shock on his face brought a second of comfort to you, and he moved closer to you. “I’m afraid of me. Well, not me, him, I guess? I’m not really clear on how to refer to us.”

You smiled softly, relieved. “Let’s agree on him, because I don’t think that it’s you.”

“Okay, him,” Bob agreed. “Last week, when he tried to make an appearance it was because, well, I don’t know how to say this without it being weird.”

“I can promise it’s probably not that weird,” you affirmed.

“I thought about kissing you and got really nervous and then it happened and now I’m afraid of being near you because you make me nervous because I like you a lot and I’m afraid of being a fuck up but if I’m not near you I’m even more afraid because you actually make me feel safe and I just feel like I’m doing this all wrong and I’m just word vomiting at this point so who knows if you’ve actually made sense of this,” he began to pace as he spoke and you could feel the energy in the room change as all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Bob, stop,” you went to put your hands on his shoulders but he pulled away.

“And see! Because you’re such a nice and perfect person you try to help me and when you touch me, it’s going to happen again, and it’s going to be just like the kitchen, only this time you’re going to hate me for it. And then everyone is going to leave me and I’m going to alone again and –”

“Stop, you’re spiraling,” you grabbed his shoulders despite him previously trying to pull away, knowing that the contact would probably help him.

“I can’t stop! Everything you do makes me nervous,” he said, fear beginning to manifest in his eyes as the eerie silver of the Void.

“And you don’t think you make me nervous?” You asked.

“What?” He responded.

The seriousness of the question seemed to stop all of his thoughts in one moment.

“I’m so nervous around you all the time, but I still hang around you because I like you too. And even though I’m scared as shit everyday, I want to be better, and so I tell myself that being afraid is what lets me be near you in the first place, so I’m willing to be scared.” You smiled, as your hands began to rub up and down his arms, trying to soothe him.

“You’re scared too?” He asked, and you noticed the brightness in his eyes beginning to fade as they returned more to the color of the blue eyes that you’ve found comfort in everyday.

“Of course I’m scared!” You laughed. “I’m standing in front of one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, and not to mention you’re hot as shit and you actually like me, even though I suck and I’ve done so many shitty things, and you know about them, but you like me anyways.”

“You think I’m hot?” Bob asked, causing you to laugh in response, out of all the things you’ve told him tonight, that’s what he got from this?

“Yes, I think you’re really hot Bobby,” you smiled as one of your hands tucked his stubborn piece of hair behind his ear.

“Wow, ‘cause coming from you that’s like” he said, looking a bit star-gazed. “That’s like wow.”

You struggled to keep eye contact with him, you’ve always struggled to accept compliments, but with him compliments made you feel even warmer.

“So what do you want to do?” You asked, part of you fearing an answer that made your chest tighter.

“What do I want?” He asked, part of him looked surprised, as if this was one of the first times he was asked for his opinion on something.

“Yeah, do you want to keep trying this?” You felt so small under his gaze.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked in reply, feeling the shift as if he knew it was his turn to comfort you.

“I just, if you’re afraid, and it makes your powers go crazy, I don’t want to take the chance of hurting you,” you finally looked away from him, trying to fully pull away.

“I’m more worried about hurting you, and you’re worried about hurting me,” he laughed. “You were right by the way.”

“Right about what?” You replied, his laughter seeming out of place.

“That we’re bad at ‘this’ thing,” he referred to the same invisible thing from before.

“Yeah, we are bad at this,” you started to laugh too, letting yourself enjoy the moment.

“I don’t want to be afraid to touch you,” he whispered, as if admitting the words out loud would summon him. “I don’t want to be afraid to kiss you.”

“Then don’t be, or if you tell me, I’ll try to make it better,” you stepped closer to him.

“You always make it better,” Bob stepped closer, the distance between the two of you practically not existent a this point.

While there was a softness to the moment, both of your breathing was quick, but silent, the energy was really what pulled your attention to the distance between you. You could feel the electricity of the moment both metaphorically and literally as Bob’s powers began to physically draw energy towards him. You were afraid to speak, ruining the tender moment, the sounds of the music fading faster behind you. Taking a deep breath, you steeled your nerves, you didn’t care if you got burned, you knew what you wanted. You grabbed the sides of Bob’s face and guided him closer to you.

You smiled softly as your noses brushed, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Uh-huh,” Bob replied, eyes slightly glazed.

“Is that okay?” You confirmed.

“Please,” Bob whispered in confirmation.

Clearly, he didn’t care about the fear at that moment either. The moment your lips touched you finally knew what the power of a thousand suns felt like. It was entirely hot, but so soft, so entirely Bob. In this moment, you were so grateful that you had decided to stay home from that mission, because this snippet of your future made everything so worth it. Bob’s hands hovered over the sides of your face, then your shoulders, and then fell back down to his sides like he had no idea what to do with them. Without breaking the kiss, you pulled his hands towards you and placed one on your waist and another on your shoulder. You moved your hands back to the sides of his face. His lips seemed so unsure against yours, but so perfect.

When you pulled away, Bob’s eyes were wide and mouth was agape. The room was at least six degrees warmer than before you kissed, but even the room felt cool against your skin. You began to softly laugh and tuck his hair behind his ear. Even with your efforts the piece slid back out to infront of his eyes.

“How do you feel?” You asked softly, you knew that it was still Bob from his eyes, but wanted to ensure you weren’t about to face your past mistakes again, at least not right now.

“Good, good, I mean great, yeah great,” his words seemed to reflect the short circuiting of his brain.

“Okay, you can tell me if it wasn’t” you reassured.

There was a second of silence, where he nodded. You felt the worries that stuck with you since the meeting earlier began to melt away with the heat.

“I promise you I’ve kissed people before, I just–” Bob started and you laughed harder.

“What?” You replied, a laugh bubbling in your chest.

“I swear I’ve done this before, I just – It’s just – It’s just you,” he tried to verbalize his thoughts but he seemed so entirely lost.

It warmed your heart in a way you could never have put into words.

“I think you did perfectly,” you replied. “You never have to justify yourself to me y’know.”

“I know, I just feel like I totally blanked out ‘cause I did, and like my brain just sorta screamed for the entire time.” He said.

“I hope it was at least a good blank out,” your hands fell from the sides of his face moving to one on the back of his neck and the other on his shoulder.

“Oh yeah, it was good, you’re good, you’re perfect actually,” he stumbled through his words.

You began to fiddle with the hair that rested at the nape of his neck, while laughing at his words.

“Well I’m glad I beat all those other people you’ve kissed before,” you teased.

“Oh ten times better,” he genuinely assured you.

“Well then I hope you’re okay if I kissed you again,” you asked.

“Again?” He stuttered out as his eyes widened. He attempted to recover, “I mean, yeah, I’m cool with it.”

Your mouths met again with Bob’s meeting you in the middle, his hands still firmly planted where you placed them. Before you could really enjoy the moment, you heard a voice in the background.

“I told you Yelena! You owe me fifty bucks!” Walker’s voice was the very last thing you wanted to hear.

“They're literally not fucking Walker, they are fully clothed,” Yelena yelled back.

Although, once you turned around, the split lip and the beginnings of a black eye forming on his face told you that you didn’t really need to exact any revenge on him since Yelena seemed to have dealt with the problem before it began. While you wished that your roommates would find someone else to bother, since they ruined this really nice moment, you laughed, because you wouldn’t be here next to Bob if they didn’t feel the need to meddle.

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moonlight-presence · 2 days ago

Text

Pale, Pale Moon

Remmick X Female Reader

Summary: On a lonely, moonlit road, you walk toward town—aching, afraid, and utterly alone. But the night has other plans. From the shadows, Remmick appears, his voice honey-smooth and eyes glowing with something not quite human. He seems kind, even charming, until his gaze lingers too long on you, and his smile stretches a bit too wide. What begins as a quiet walk becomes a haunting transformation. With whispered promises and otherworldly hunger, Remmick sinks his fangs into your neck, not to harm, but to rebirth. Then... you take him under that pale, pale moon.

4,245 words

Notes:

🌙 chomh teann = so tight

🌙 Aon duine = nothing

🌙 foc = fuck

!SMUT CONTENT!

You should’ve known better than to trust a word of a man—no matter his sweet talking or his kind goddamn eyes when he offered you a ride home. You were so fucking naive, thinking he had no other intentions besides helping you get back to your folks who, by now, must be worried sick. You try not to think too much about that, focusing instead on the faint lights at the end of the road that lead into town. The moon, thankfully, was bright and full in the sky, judging by its size, giving you an additional source of light as you walked alone by the side of the road.

You looked down at your wrists and saw that the man’s fingers were bruised on your skin, reminding you of how you had kicked him in the crotch and opened the door of his car to sprint away from him. Thank God nothing more happened… and thank God he didn’t come chasing after you. You weren’t sure how far away you could’ve run until he eventually caught up to you. A shiver ran down your spine, and you adjusted your shawl.

You had been walking for a good twenty minutes now, and judging by how close the town was, you still had a good thirty minutes to go.

“You stupid idiot,” you murmured to yourself.

Then, amid your anger and frustration, you heard rattling, like a wild animal moving through the woods, from your right. You stopped dead in your tracks, slowly looking at the forest beside you and, obviously, seeing nothing but trees and the wind passing through them.

“Now, now, don’t be imagining things. Just get your ass back home and forget this ever happened,” you told yourself out loud, somehow needing to hear a voice amid the silence.

You continued walking, holding your shawl tighter around your body as the night grew a bit colder for the time of the year. Your thoughts wandered back to your parents and how worried they must be. They were quite old now, giving away their age in you, who was not as young as you had been. But those days of adolescence were gone, giving way to the responsibilities that came with adulthood. Time could be such a bitch sometimes.

You were supposed to be married by now. That was the proper way of things, as folks often said around town… But you still hadn’t found a single man worth your time, and you, for sure, didn’t wanna marry just for the sake of it. So, alone in your youth, which often left a sting of pain in your chest, you continued with your walk.

More time passed, a couple of minutes at most, until you heard another noise that made the hairs on your body stand up. Something was definitely out there in those woods… and you hoped it would remain there.

You were now a bit scared, fingers shaking around your shawl, as your feet ached from the uncomfortable shoes your mother had made for you. Perhaps it was your exhaustion talking, too. You didn’t know at this point.

“Get a hold of yourself… Come on now,” you whispered, fastening your pace.

You tried to control your breathing until you figured out you couldn’t. So, instead of drowning in that sweet old fear, you did the one thing you knew calmed your nerves.

You sang.

Oh, pale moon rising over the pines, come

Lawd away until the sun does rise

Leave the day by the, by the door, I don't

Care if sun don't shine once more, that's what I said

Ooh, ooh

Oh, oh, oh

Huh

Mm-hm, mm-hm

You finished your humming softly, letting a breeze of wind brush through your face almost like a human hand caressing your skin. You have always hated nighttime, especially when you had barely any light around you and were all alone.

God knows what demons or creatures wandered those woods…

The rest of the song found you then, easing your nerves like a cup of warm milk with a teaspoon of honey.

This time, you sang a little louder, feeling bolder in the silence, and giving a proper performance to the night creatures.

I'm gonna spend my money on somethin' sweet and strong

Gonna move my body through the whole night long

Gonna sweat the way I been longin' to, nobody gonna

Tell me nothin', that's what I'm gonna do, that's what I said

Woo

That's what I said

Mm-hm, mm-hm

Oh, oh, oh

A slight smile spread on your face as you walked in rhythm with the song, moving your body sideways and creating a dance with each step. Suddenly, the night felt less cold, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous you must look. No bother, there wasn’t anybody for miles to witness this. You were free to sing and dance as you pleased, not scared of being quieted by anybody.

I wanna sing

Like I hear the crickets do

I wanna hoo, yeah

Like the owls do

I wanna howl

To the moon

Scream

You raised your voice at the last note, letting it linger for far too long. It felt sweet on your tongue, so you savored it as you looked up at the moon and smiled. It was pretty, you noticed, and you would have marvelled at it for longer if you didn’t hear footsteps… behind you.

The first thing you did was stop your walk, freezing in place until you were sure that those were, in fact, human footsteps. And they were, there was no mistaking the sound of shoes by an animal’s paws.

You swallowed dryly, dread filling your chest as you remembered so well what had almost happened to you that night. You had to run. If you did, you could maybe make it into town or just come close to any people.

You had to try, goddamnit, you had to.

Instead, the person behind you spoke, a few steps away from your back, and a cold shiver ran down your spine.

“Hey there. Beautiful night, isn’t it?” he said with a voice so sweet that it made your ears resonate with the sound. “I thought I heard some singin’ down the road… You wouldn’t happen to be that sweet voice I heard, would you, darlin’?”

You didn’t turn around, fear filling your chest and holding you hostage.

“You must have me mistaken, sir,” you replied, making your voice friendly just in case this man had a temper.

“Is that so?” he said, and you heard him walk around you. He appeared in front of you, and you raised your eyes to meet his for the first time. When you did, you almost swore for a second that they were red… But no, they were blue.

“Yes, sir,” you confirmed, tightening your shawl around your body. He tilted his head slightly, and you saw his teeth appear underneath his lips as he smiled. “I’m just on my way home. I don’t want any trouble, sir.”

“Trouble, darlin’?” he asked, confused. “Who said I wanted any trouble? I was making my way to town too, ya know? I just heard your beautiful voice and decided to see who was singin’, nothing more.”

His accent was like all the other folks you knew, but in some words, it seemed to slip into something else. You didn’t recognise it, but you were sure he wasn’t from around here. No matter how much he tried to seem like he was.

“That’s very kind of you, sir, but if you don’t mind…” You went to walk, but he didn’t step aside. Your heart picked up its pace.

“What happened to your wrists?” he asked, eyeing your bruises.

You immediately hid your wrists under your shawl and straightened your back, trying to act casual.

“Nothin’. Just fell.”

“Is that so?” he said, obviously skeptical. “Alright, if you say so, darlin’...” He grinned at you before adding, “What’s your name? I’m Remmick.”

You hesitated but then told him your name.

“That’s a beautiful name. Pleasure to meet you.” He raised his hand, clearly wanting to either shake or kiss your hand.

You thought about rejecting his request, but the way he looked at you and spoke was too inviting to refuse. He had such a way about himself… And you didn’t quite know why. Maybe it was because he was handsome.

So, you gave him your hand, and he held it before lowering his lips to your skin. You thought he was gonna kiss it, but instead he pressed your skin to his mouth, and you felt him sniff the area. You frowned, pulling your hand away, but he held it and finally kissed it, releasing his hold after.

“You are too kind, sir, but my folks must be worried sick by now, and I must really get goin’.”

Remmick smiled and nodded slowly.

“I’ll walk with you then.”

“Sir, that’s really not necessary.”

“Oh, but I insist. The nights can be so lonely, can’t they?” he said, and there was a hint of a joke under his voice. “We wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to you, would we, darlin’?”

“I…” You thought of arguing further, but ended up giving up. “Very well.”

You two resumed your walk in silence, and you didn’t sing anymore. It didn’t feel right any longer, especially with Remmick walking beside you and looking, from time to time, at you. You tried to tell yourself he meant no harm, but you couldn’t really shake off the feeling that something about him just wasn’t quite right.

However, you continued walking until the pain in your right foot turned too intense and you felt blood stain your ankle and shoe. Right about then, you stopped walking.

“What’s the matter, darlin?” Remmick asked, looking at your feet. You heard him sniff the air, and then his breath caught in his throat. “You are bleedin’.”

“It’s nothin’, sir,” you said. “I just need to sit down for a bit.”

“Let me see the blood,” Remmick said, guiding you towards a broken tree on the side of the road. You followed him and finally sat on the trunk. He kneeled in front of you, eyes fixed on your bloody ankle. “You poor thing. That looks like it must hurt.”

“It’s fine, really-” But he was already taking off your shoe, making you wince.

Blood was dripping down your ankle, and you bit your bottom lip at the pain.

“It smells so sweet,” Remmick whispered in awe as he lifted your leg. You felt your cheeks heat up as your skirt got pushed further up.

“Sir, if you please-”

“I knew you were different, ya know?” Remmick said, cutting you off as he moved closer to your blood. You tried to release your leg, but his grip was too strong. “I could smell you from miles away, darlin’.”

“Let me go,” you said, panic clear in your voice.

“Ssshhh,” he said, putting his finger to his lips. He looked up at you then, and you gasped as droll fell from his lips, and his teeth were sharper than before. “It will all be better soon.”

“What are you?” you asked between shaky breaths. You looked into his red eyes and saw something unnatural in them. Whatever this man was, it couldn’t be human.

Remmick grinned. “I’m your savior, darlin’.”

That was all he said before he jumped at a supernatural speed on top of you, making you fall back to the grass. You screamed in horror as his teeth sank into your neck and pierced the skin. The pain was so unbearable that you screamed until your throat ached and your lungs gave out.

Then, your eyes fell shut and you floated into darkness… You were sure you were dying, and you felt yourself drifting away to meet your ancestors. You could almost see them on the horizon, looking at you with inviting hands and warmth.

But it was as if there was a wall in your path. One you couldn’t cross. You yelled their names, but it was in vain as they slowly disappeared into dust.

Then, you were reborn.

Your eyes snapped open, and you breathed blessed air. You gasped and coughed, putting your hand to your neck and feeling dried blood there. You were supposed to be dead…

“All better now, isn’t it?” Remmick said. You licked your dry lips, feeling them colder than usual, before looking at Remmick, who was kneeling next to you. His mouth was dripping with your blood. “It’s okay, darlin’. I’m here.”

His red eyes left you in a trance, making you giggle and reach for his hands. He held you to a sitting position, and you stretched your arms and cracked your neck. A smile stayed on your mouth.

You felt euphoric, like life didn’t mean anything before. You could feel the coldness of the night and how comforting it was. Every sound was sharper in your ears, and your reflexes seemed to be better, too. You felt unstoppable and… you remembered. Your life and his.

You knew who he was now. You felt his pain deep in your chest, like a crushing weight.

“Remmick…” you whispered, putting your hand to your chest. “I feel so different. So goddamn good.”

“Yeah? Can you feel how sweet it is?” he asked, putting one hand over yours. “It’s all better now, isn’t it? Nobody can hurt us now.”

“Nobody,” you repeated. “Aon duine.”

Remmick’s grin deepened at your words, and you laughed loudly, pushing yourself towards him.

“Kiss me now,” you begged, wanting to feel him closer. “I wanna feel you. I need you, Remmick.”

“I know… It’s alright. Come here,” he whispered.

Your lips met in a fiery kiss, and you groaned as you tasted your blood. Remmick wasn’t lying; it was truly sweet, like a nectar.

Your tongues danced with each other until you pulled back with the need for fresh air. Your chest heaved, and fire seemed to be inside your veins as the heat of arousal filled your body like a poison. But it was far from venomous… it was addictive and nonlethal. A combination not made possible until now.

“I know how you liked to be licked, darlin’,” Remmick whispered against your lips. “And I know what makes you drip.”

You couldn’t say anything to his filthy words, so instead, you put your elbows behind you and spread your legs. His eyes were shining in the dark, and you saw them look between your thighs as you pulled your skirts up and revealed your dripping arousal. You weren’t wearing anything down there, only your dress and shawl, which was now long forgotten somewhere in the grass.

Remmick licked his bottom lip slowly, chuckling and crawling towards your spread thighs. You smirked at him as he moved and finally reached the middle of your legs. The pulse on your crotch was maddening, and you didn't remember ever feeling this aroused for anybody else.

“Look at that… Isn’t that just so perfect?” Remmick said, rubbing his hands from your ankles to your thighs. His skin was calloused but comforting. “Don’t mind if I steal a few kisses, do ya?”

You brought your right hand to your folds, spreading them and coating your digits with your arousal, before bringing the glistening fingers towards his mouth. He didn’t need to be asked twice as he wrapped his lips around your fingers and swirled his tongue, tasting you. A deep moan left your mouth, and you saw him grab and squeeze his cock through his pants.

“Come taste me, baby,” you begged.

A string of saliva fell from the corner of his lips as he removed your fingers from his mouth. His white shirt was unbuttoned on the chest, revealing his chest hair and a necklace, and, as you stared at him, he grabbed your thighs with his two hands and pushed you towards him, making your back and head hit the grass.

You laughed, grabbing his hair as his head went between your legs.

“Oh fuck…” you whispered as he applied kisses around your vulva. He licked and nibbled at the flesh until you were whining for him.

Just when he thought you had enough of his teasing, did he wrap his lips on your clit. When he did, you arched your back and pulled his hair roughly, making his fangs grow a bit. You felt his lust in your mind and laughed again, until he licked your folds up and down, and made you moan instead.

“Remmick… Just like that… Fuck,” you said, breathless.

He groaned against you and moved his tongue on your clit, flickering it and creating a mind shattering rhythm. You looked down at him and saw that he was staring at you as well. Your eyes met and you kept eye contact, loving the way his hair was fisted in your hand and his mouth moved on your cunt.

“That’s it, baby,” you encouraged him as waves of pleasure ran through you. You pulled his hair roughly again, which made him grab your thighs harder.

Remmick continued with that same pace that was just so right until you felt that tight, familiar feeling on your stomach. It was tightening fast, ready to burst, and you dropped your head back on the grass, moaning loudly his name.

“I’m close, baby,” you warned him with a breathless voice. A whine escaped your lips as he sucked on your clit suddenly, making a spike of pleasure run through you.

“I… I’m gonna cum,” you managed to say.

Remmick moaned against you, and that was all it took before you arched your back and felt arousal pour from your entrance. Your walls pulsed and your clit throbbed against Remmick’s tongue as sweet pleasure made your mind go blank. You pushed your cunt towards his face, almost riding it as he held you down.

Just when you began feeling a bit overstimulated did he stopped his movements, pulling away from your clit.

“Hm, hm…” he said as he cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand. “You sound so damn pretty when you cum, baby.”

You were breathing heavily as you looked at the night sky. Your skin was glistening and your cunt still trembled with the aftermath of your orgasm.

“I’m gonna need you to fuck me now, baby,” you said between breaths. You looked at him and were pleased to see him unbuckling his pants.

“Since you asked so nicely…” he teased you with a grin. He pulled his cock out and you looked at it. It was glistening with pre-cum and as hard as a rock. “How do you wanna get fucked, darlin’?”

You closed your legs and got to your knees in front of him. Then, as he stroked himself slowly, you turned around and lifted your skirts to your waist, revealing your backside to him. Remmick didn’t say anything but a hand appeared on your ass cheek, grabbing it roughly.

“That’s a good girl,” he said in a thick Irish accent. He had dropped his southern accent shortly after you were bitten.

You bit your bottom lip, dropping to your elbows as you felt him run the head of his cock on your folds. He teased himself and you for a while, running his cock up and down and making you shiver and clench on nothing.

“Give a girl what she needs, would ya? Please, baby,” you said to him with a whiny voice.

Remmick chuckled, one hand on your ass and the other on his shaft.

“But you look so pretty all needy for me, darlin’,” Remmick said.

You bit your bottom lip again, and pushed your ass towards him. Remmick groaned, and you smiled in victory as he lined himself with your entrance.

“Now, now… Let me make it all better,” he said before thrusting inside all at once.

You gasped as he entered you, your head dropping between your shoulders. Remmick let out a deep groan as he stopped fully inside.

“Foc… Chomh teann,” he said, now holding your waist with both hands.

He began fucking you slowly, pulling himself all the way out just to slam inside. You couldn’t do anything but fist the grass and moan his name as he set a good pace. His cock hit all the right places inside you, somehow. It was as if it was meant to fuck you all your life.

“Fuck. You are taking me so goddamn well,” he said with a laugh. You moaned his name again and clenched around him.

He grabbed your ass cheeks roughly until you felt his nails pierce your skin. You were sure he had drawn blood from your flesh, but you couldn’t care less as euphoria pumped inside your veins. Everything just felt so good.

“Harder,” you said to him.

Remmick obeyed, and you arched your back and moaned louder than ever as you felt his balls hit your skin with every thrust. The wet and slapping sounds you were making were like music to your ears, and you felt your fangs grow. You needed some blood after this. And soon.

“Take it… Come on, fucking take it,” Remmick moaned, pulling your hair. You hissed at the pain but laughed, feeling him hold your head slightly up.

You held your torso up with one arm and brought your other hand to your clit, rubbing it roughly and feeling your walls clenching on his shaft. You were getting close again.

“Remmick… Ah… Fuck…” you said, looking to him as he pulled your hair again. His neck and chin were still covered in your blood, and his lips parted as he let out ragged breaths. He had never looked more beautiful.

“You gonna cum?” Remmick asked you, bringing your face closer to his. He had more strength than you, so it was as easy as walking for him. “Tell me, baby.”

“Yeah… I’m real close,” you replied, inches from his fangs.

“Then do it. Come on, darlin’, cum around my cock,” he whispered, licking your lips.

You grabbed the back of his neck, feeling his sweaty hair and skin, while the other hand rubbed circles on your clit. He gave you a particularly hard thrust that made your breasts jiggle.

Remmick must have noticed because soon his hands were on your breasts. He ripped open the dress from your chest like it was a tissue, and you gasped as he grabbed your boobs and squeezed them.

“Fuckin’ beautiful tits,” he moaned.

It was too much for you with the added stimulation, so your orgasm burst through you at long last.

You opened your mouth and let out high-pitched moans against his lips as your eyes fell shut. Remmick fucked you through it, feeling your walls clench and unclench around his shaft as you came.

“Fuck… Beautiful,” he whispered, voice strained.

He fucked you unevenely until he stilled his hips and hot strings of cum shoot inside you, making you groan. He whispered your name in your ear while he came, making you shiver.

Then, he put his lips to your neck and licked the two holes his fangs had left on your skin. It sting a bit but you didn’t paid it any mind as you stopped your fingers on your clit and started calming down.

“There we go. Feels good, baby?” he asked you.

“Yes… Real fucking good,” you replied, feeling your skin almost burn.

He held you for a bit more until you dropped to your hands, and he removed himself from inside of you. When he did, you felt his cum drip down your ass, making you shiver. Remmick saw it too as he collected it with his fingers.

“Want a taste, baby?” he asked as you turned around and sat on the floor. Your dress was ruined now, ripped open and covered in blood, sweat, and cum.

“Yeah. Let me,” you said, grabbing his wrist and putting his fingers inside your mouth. You tasted his salty cum and moaned, making Remmick smirk.

“You really are different, aren’t you, baby?” he said as you pulled back your mouth.

“You bet,” you replied, licking your lips.

Remmick chuckled and put himself back in his pants, buttoning them up again and fixing his blouse. You tried to clean your dress until you saw it was pointless.

“That’s no problem, darlin’. There are plenty of dresses in town, I reckon. You may take as many as you want,” he said.

You giggled, breathing deeply as you got to your feet. He followed your lead.

“So… What’s next?” you asked him as you looked at the empty road.

“Well…” Remmick grabbed your waist from behind and put his chin on your shoulder. “I think the people in this town need our savin’, don’t ya think? I can feel how miserable they are, even from here. A goddamn shame, really.”

You hummed with a grin, looking at the lights on the horizon.

“I think you right, Remmick. They need our savin’...And I happen to know just the place to visit first.”

Remmick hummed and grabbed your hand as you two walked down the road. You could hear the drumming heartbeats of the folks in the town, leading you closer and closer to them. But they could wait… First, your parents needed some saving.

Then, everybody else would too.

#sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners movie #remmick #remmick x reader #remmick smut #remmick x you #remmick fanfic #remmick imagine #jack o'connell #x reader #smut #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #vampire aesthetic #vampires #vampirism

492 notes · View notes

callikari · 2 days ago

Text

YOU'RE MY FAVORITE ╰┈➤ kind of problem 。。。

PRECIS 。 he doesn't hate you (but he think he likes it that way.)

西村力 x fem!reader 1218 fluff highschool au opposite attract ─ kissing teasing emotional vulnerability skinship

REBLOG FOR A KiSS

nishimura riki hates mornings, loud people, and unnecessary affection. so of course, fate seats him next to you.

you — with your sparkly pens, cherry lip gloss, and the habit of being genuinely nice to everyone, including him. you talk too much, always smile like the world isn’t exhausting, and keep offering him gum even though he never says thank you.

(he always takes it.)

“you should smile more,” you say one morning, tapping the corner of his mouth with your pen. “you’d look cute if you didn’t look like you hate everything.”

“i don’t want to look cute,” he mumbles.

“too bad. you kind of do.”

he chokes on his water.

you treat him like someone worth taking care of.

when he shows up with damp hair, you push your umbrella into his hands without asking. when he skips breakfast, you press half your sandwich into his palm. you say his name like it’s normal to look at him gently, like it’s not strange to care even when he doesn’t make it easy.

and somehow, he doesn’t push you away.

riki acts annoyed. at your chatter. your energy. the way you remind him to drink water like you’re responsible for him now.

but then it’s picture day, and you’re fixing his tie like it’s second nature, murmuring something about how “you’d be helpless without me,” and he just… lets you. doesn’t move. doesn’t stop you.

when you pat his chest lightly after, like you’re proud of how he turned out, he has no idea what to do with that.

“look at you,” you say. “pretty boy.”

he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

he gets a paper cut during class and barely reacts, but you notice.

“riki. you’re bleeding.”

“it’s fine.”

you dig through your pencil pouch. “i’ve got bandaids—want rilakkuma or space rockets?”

“…rilakkuma?”

“thought so.”

you stick it on for him, then tap it once like sealing a deal. “good as new.”

he doesn’t respond. just leaves it on for the rest of the day.

“drink water,” you tell him, holding out your bottle.

“i’m not a toddler.”

“didn’t say you were. but dehydration makes you cranky.”

he glares at you, but takes it.

(he pretends not to notice the lip gloss mark on the rim.)

when you find out he’s been skipping meals, you start showing up with something wrapped in foil.

“what’s this?” he mumbles.

“something with actual nutrition, for once.”

“you’re acting like i’m five.”

“you’re acting like you don’t need it.”

he eats it anyway.

(you cut the crust off the next day without comment. he doesn’t complain.)

“you’re kind of like a cat,” you say once, watching him swat at a paper ball someone threw at him.

“what?”

“you pretend you don’t like people, but you keep showing up. and you’re grumpy when you’re hungry. and—” you grin— “you’re secretly affectionate when no one’s looking.”

“take it back.”

“never.”

you boop his nose. he mutters something under his breath and doesn’t meet your eyes for the rest of lunch.

one day he shows up late, hoodie on, eyes heavy. you don’t ask questions. just tug him toward the empty music room and sit him down.

you pull out a cookie from your bag. press it into his hand.

“eat first,” you say quietly. “then nap. i’ll wake you up before class.”

he looks at you like he wants to argue, but doesn’t. he eats in silence. and when he finally closes his eyes, you drape your jacket over him and keep watch.

he says your name softly, right before he dozes off.

that afternoon, he finds you by the back steps.

“why do you baby me?”

you look up from your phone. “what?”

“i’m not some charity case,” he mutters. “you don’t have to do all this.”

you shrug. “i know.”

“then why?”

you blink at him, like the answer’s obvious. “because i like you.”

he freezes.

“like, not just ‘you’re tolerable’ like. i actually like you. and you’re terrible at taking care of yourself, so i do it for you.”

“…oh.”

“you okay?”

he hesitates. “you like me?”

“yes, riki.”

“…like, really?”

“you’re exhausting,” you sigh. “yes.”

he stares. then: “can i hold your hand or are you gonna turn this into a whole thing?”

you smile. “i mean, i could—”

he takes your hand.

you stop talking.

he’s still grumpy. still rolls his eyes when you make a big deal out of nothing. still pretends he’s unaffected when you fix his hair or lean your head on his shoulder.

but he lets you do it all.

and when he calls you “sunshine” under his breath — quiet and honest, like the word is just for you — you pretend not to hear it, just so he’ll say it again.

he’s not good at affection. not the way you are. his hands get awkward, his words feel clumsy, and he never knows if he’s doing enough.

but he tries.

he starts carrying an extra granola bar in his bag — not for himself, but for you, when you’re running late or forget to eat. he won’t say it’s for you, but he slides it across your desk when you’re too tired to smile and mumbles, “you always feed me. figured i’d return the favor.”

you beam at him like he just handed you the sun.

he nearly explodes.

one day, it’s cold and rainy and you show up to school shivering, jacket forgotten. at lunch, you come back from the vending machine to find his hoodie draped over your seat.

you look at him.

he doesn’t meet your eyes. “it’s not a big deal.”

“riki—”

“just wear it.”

you slip it on. it smells like fabric softener and him.

“you’re warm,” you tell him.

“shut up,” he says, ears red.

when you forget your umbrella, he waits outside your classroom after school, pretending he was “just passing by.” walks you home without a word. you don’t bring it up, and neither does he. but the next day, he hands you a compact umbrella, still in the wrapper.

“keep it in your bag,” he says. “you forget stuff.”

you blink. “you bought this for me?”

“don’t make it weird.”

you smile anyway.

he starts noticing the little things — how your hands get cold easily, how your hair gets tangled when it’s windy, how you forget to take breaks when you’re stressed.

so he does what he can.

throws a scarf at you in the morning. pulls you toward the shade when it’s too hot. slips your favorite snacks into your bag with no note, no explanation, just a quiet kind of care.

it’s not perfect, but it’s him. trying.

and you notice. of course you do.

“you’re getting good at this,” you whisper one day, threading your fingers through his as he walks you home.

“at what?”

“being mine.”

he squeezes your hand. doesn’t say anything.

but when you get to your door, he kisses your forehead — awkward, fast, barely a brush — and mutters, “you’re my favorite, okay? just… don’t tell anyone.”

you grin. “your secret’s safe with me.”

(he kisses you properly a week later. still shy. still soft. but this time, he doesn’t pull away.)

taglist is open :: @nocturnebite @cheruphic @chrrific @manaah02 @jungwonbropls @ijustreallylike2read @ijustwannareadstuff20

vi says :: i worked hard on this so i hoped you enjoyed it TT

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abyssalfaith · 2 days ago

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astro obs :

I know a guy with scorpio mars in perfect and absolute conjuction to lilith (in scorpio too obs), and unfortunately the theory coincide with the reality, he is struggling with alcool addiction and sex obsession. On the other hand, he is an amazing vendor and really have this way to lure people in doing what he want. He's also a great dad and a great friend.

Lilith in the first house (solar return or natal) will make older men (if you are a women mostly) "afraid" or "triggered by you", in my own experience it's also making a dynamic of poeple being pulled by your aura while actively trying to get away from it (in other word, you are too much...)

Solar return : moon in the tenth house : nervous exhaustion from your work relation can be possible, do not take personnally the shit coming from your co worker.

Not to be in the clichée but ... Leo rising ? Are you able to make something not about you ? Like yes girl, you are there, we get it, you are better than us. Yes girl. Okay.

Having multiples personal planets in the first house of someone is not always an amazing synastry. Depending of the planets involved, the first house person can feel threatened and try to mimic the planet person. They see all the dimension of the planet person and it reflect their own insecurities.

Ascendant in the descendant synastry is a must, you see throught the other one what you are searching for.

6th house synastry in underratted, I have this with my best friend, I have a stellium in his sixth house, and for 7 years now, we never had more than three days without speaking to each other. In a ways or another you feel the need to be in one another life, it feels like home.

Natal chiron in the 7th house is a curse. You feel like the friendship you are trying to make is over before even being formed. You feel like you are too much, too much in pain too, I think that in a way, the other feels it too. There is something inside you craving the other but being disgusted by them. You crave something deep, but the sky is opening above you when you realise that this deepening bond you try to project push them away.

That is it for now, forgive my grammary, english is not my natal language.

#astro community #astrology #astro notes #astroblr #astro observations #astrology blog #synastry #moon #saturn #cancer #solar return chart #solar return

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differenteagletragedy · 21 hours ago

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Simon, without ever really considering it, places a lot of weight on a name. It's why he likes the separation between Simon and Ghost, why he gets to a point where he calls Soap Johnny, even when no one else does. It's important, what you call someone. There's a lot in a name.

With you, you'd never even know about Ghost -- to you, he's just Simon, and that's all he ever wants to be. He doesn't want those worlds to mix. Simon will do just fine.

But, after you've been dating a while, when you've convinced him to relax enough to lay his head in your lap while you watch tv and you let out a soft little "there you go, baby"?

Well that's something else entirely.

Because he's never been a "baby." He's never been "honey" or "sweetie" or any of those other cutesy little names you come up with, but when you call him those things, it's nice. Sort of relaxing in a way he never knew it could be.

"Baby, can you change the lightbulb for me?" "What's for dinner, baby?" "Right there, baby, don't stop."

He notices, every single time. It makes him want to try it too, to see if it'll give you the same little easy thrill it gives him. But he's not sure what kind of pet name feels right. He turns over words and phrases in his head when he's trying to go to sleep or in the shower -- he'd absolutely never admit this to you -- and he practices, trying to figure out what feels natural, what feels like you.

In the end, all the practice is for naught, because the right one slips out without him even thinking about it.

It's after he comes home from a deployment, exhausted from both everything that happened and from trying to hide his desperation to see you. When he gets home, you take him in your arms, and all the tension, for the moment, anyway, just falls right out of him, and he holds onto you like a lifeline.

"Missed you so fucking much, sweetheart."

He can feel you smile, your face pressed against his chest, and while he is glad to see you seem to like it, he wasn't prepared for how much he'd like it himself.

Because what you call someone matters. He'd spent the first half of his life as Simon, the second as Ghost, and now, as a complete surprise to him, he's getting a third chapter where he gets to be "baby," where he gets to be close enough to you to share these special little names. He gets to know your sweet heart, and it's more than he deserves.

But he'll never, ever stop trying to earn it.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod ghost #call of duty ghost #love of my liiiiiiiiife

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 days ago

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I don't know if anyone has already asked this, but if someone has I apologize for not knowing! Dante and Virgil reacting to their partner getting hurt during a battle. (If you can, could you do the white rabbit too? I love him so much ^^)

Dante

His wise cracking quips and unserious act were quick to be dropped the moment you were hurt during battle. Suddenly nothing was funny anymore, nothing was worth holding back anymore and he had no reason to hold back when they brought you harm.

So Dante was quick to repay the favour by allowing himself to give in to the devil within him for a moment and allow himself to unleash pure carnage unto the demons that hurt you, inable to find the need to stop, not until they were all dead and smoking corpses at his feet.

His need to make others feel even a smidge of pain that he felt throughout his body was all that mattered to Dante, lost within the anger and violence that only seemed to continue to rage within him with not stop in sight, the pain of potentially carrying him through the battle until he managed to finish off the last of the demons coming his way. Funnily enough he wasn't even tired when he finished the massacre, and since there was nothing left to kill, his mind was forced to remeber that you were very much bleeding out a good few feet away.

That's when his anger becomes worry as his feet carried him to your body, pushing him to get to you as his legs burned with ache and exhaustion. The worst case scenario began to play within his head the closer he got to you, the fear spreading through his veins like ice until he was reasured that you were still with him by the sound of your heart against his ear as he holds your body close to his chest.

You were okay but that didn't mean he was going to be leaving your side any time soon, he was glued to your side until he could see for himself that you were going to be okay without him swaddeling you, his demon side wanting nothing more then to bundle you in blankets and protect you fiercely from unseen foes. He's just acting out because he was scared, frightened that he was going to be left alone once more.

Vergil

He's left feeling like all the power he's acumilated wasn't enough, that it will never be enough to keep you safe, knowing that no mater how powerful he becomes he's not excused from the possibility that you become the target to get to him.

He hates just how quickly he is to be made to feel like that little kid again, especially when you were lying in hurt before him. Vergil couldn't help but hate how the all too human feelings clog in his throat and his chest and causing an uncomfortable weight to settle on him that ended up becoming unfathomable anger.

Vergil had never moved faster then he did in his entire life, probably becuase he didn't have anyone like you to make him feel as though he was on a time limit, like if he were to waste a single second in getting to you then he's risk loosing you even more. So he doesn't hesitate with his slashes and consistant judgement cuts as though he was trying to show that the countless demons that he cuts down, those whom he casts away without having to try, could never understand just the amount of hell Vergil would go through for you.

He wouldn't let anything get in his way, not when you were within reach, not when he could prevent the feeling of loosing everything for a second time in his lifetime. Vergil was desperate and a desperate Vergil was a dangerous Vergil who would fight tooth and nail like he's done before in order to make sure you never suffer, not under his protection.

White Rabbit

Doesn't take kindly to you being hurt.

He's lost alot already, hanging on by whatver grudge and resentment he had towards humans with an iron clad grasp, yet the moment he foudn you he thought that life might've desided to grant him a break and gift him someone that wasn't going to going to slip from his grasp anytime soon.

Humans never stop to think how their actions affect others, they're a selfish bunch who live in such an indivdualistic mindset and an attitude that is self serving, yet selfish when it comes to the viewpoints of others that they harm with their pathetic need to have everything. greed is apart of human nature and they are the last to admit that they attribute to such greed by taking anything and everything from others until they get bored, like overgrown children who had yet to finish growing and develop their own morales.

So when you got hurt simply by helping some makians, having been mistaken for a demon yourself, only made Rabbit infuriated at human stupidity, they tend to pull the trigger before they know who they're shooting at, such a trigger happy bunch they were and Rabbit didn't take so kindly to such things as he enacts his own bloodbath. It's not something he takes to immeditely, not unless he's been pushed to do so and with you lying on the ground hurt, he makes an exception as he maths a path for himself to you while relieveing some stress.

Rabbit doesn't want to loose you like he lost everything else in his life, he wouldn't dare let fate take away another good thing, for what else would there be left of him if he lost you. He had been given a poor hand in life and most of his misfortune was given to him by humans, he had felt that he had nothing left of his heart until you, and now he was faced with the threat of having the last shred of his heart taken from him.

Naturally Rabbit was going to do whatever he could in his power to prevent the horror story that was his life to come into full effect, to prevent an seeimgly set in stone fate for those who got near to him in any capasity, his curse was that his cause would go nowhere and he'd be left with the piles of bodies of those he onced called family. He fights for your life that hangs in the balance, for it was something he would fight for is to see you smile and open your eyes for the rest of your shared lives together; so rabbit fights and he fights hard in order to protect you from becoming apart of the long list of people he's lost within his tragic life, fighting against fate to hold you one more day.

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writeriguess · 1 day ago

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I've been bingeing through your page for the last two hours and i'm OBSESSED I'm going out of my way to request something

could you please make a bakugo x reader fic where reader has a wind type quirk that causes strain on her back from the force of the wind so Katsuki massages it for her? preferably fluff

Thank you!

Blown Away

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the Bakugo household bathed in the soft glow of streetlights filtering through the windows. The quiet hum of the city outside provided a stark contrast to the usual chaos that accompanied your life as a pro-hero.

You sighed as you pushed open the door to your shared apartment, dropping your bag unceremoniously by the entrance. Every muscle in your back screamed in protest as you moved, the aftereffects of another high-intensity battle weighing you down. You had spent the last three hours whipping up gale-force winds to evacuate civilians from a collapsing building, and now, every inch of your spine felt like it had been crushed under the weight of your own power.

"Oi."

You barely had time to register the familiar voice before Katsuki was in front of you, arms crossed, crimson eyes narrowing as he took in your slouched posture. His blonde hair was still damp from a recent shower, his black tank top clinging to his broad shoulders.

"You look like shit," he stated bluntly.

You snorted, too exhausted to fire back. Instead, you trudged past him toward the couch, practically collapsing onto it face-first. A muffled groan left your lips as you buried your face in the cushions, trying to will away the searing ache running down your spine.

"That bad?" Katsuki’s voice had lost some of its usual bite.

You only nodded against the couch.

He sighed, and for a moment, you thought he was going to scold you for overexerting yourself again. It was a frequent argument between the two of you—how you pushed your body past its limits, ignoring the toll your wind quirk took on you. But instead of berating you, you felt the couch dip beside you.

"Sit up."

You peeked at him from over your shoulder, brows furrowed. "Huh?"

Katsuki rolled his eyes, already reaching for your arm to pull you upright. "Just do it, dumbass. You're not gonna get any better lying there like a damn pancake."

Reluctantly, you pushed yourself up, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain up your spine. Katsuki shifted behind you, settling his legs on either side of you, effectively caging you in. Before you could ask what he was doing, you felt the warmth of his hands against your back, his fingers pressing experimentally against your stiff muscles.

You jolted. "Wait, what are you—"

"Shut up and relax." His thumbs began working slow, deliberate circles into your lower back. "You’re always bitching about this, so let me do something about it for once."

You blinked, surprised by both his tone and the tenderness in his touch. Katsuki was many things—loud, brash, explosive—but gentle wasn’t usually one of them. And yet, here he was, pressing his thumbs into the knots of your back with the kind of focus he usually reserved for battle.

A sharp inhale left your lips as he found a particularly sore spot. "Katsuki—!"

He grunted, not pausing his movements. "Yeah, yeah. I can feel it. You're all fucked up, idiot."

You groaned as he pressed harder, pain and relief mixing in a strange but not unwelcome sensation. His hands were warm, strong, each movement precise. You could tell he was being careful, despite the gruffness in his voice.

"You need to stop doing this shit to yourself," he muttered after a while. His voice was quieter now, like he didn’t really want you to hear it. "Told you before—you put too much strain on your body with those winds. You think you’re invincible, but you’re not."

You let out a breathy chuckle, tilting your head back slightly. "Says the guy who literally blew out his own arms in high school."

A low growl rumbled from his throat, and he pinched your side in retaliation, making you yelp. "Shut up. This isn’t about me."

You smiled, even as your body trembled under the combination of exhaustion and his ministrations. "You’re worried about me."

"Tch. Of course, I am, dumbass," he muttered, but his hands didn’t stop moving. If anything, they softened a little, fingers tracing gentle patterns between your shoulder blades before pressing firmly into the tight muscles. "You think I like seeing you like this? All hunched over and in pain?"

Your chest warmed at his words. He wasn’t always good at expressing his feelings outright, but moments like these—where his actions spoke louder than anything—were more than enough.

"Katsuki…" You exhaled, letting yourself lean back slightly against his chest. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you. "Thank you."

He clicked his tongue, but his fingers gave your sides a soft squeeze. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get used to this, windbag."

You grinned, eyes fluttering shut as his hands continued their careful work. "Too late."

Despite his grumbling, he didn’t stop.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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sturniololuvz · 2 days ago

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could you make a fic where chris is a single dad and he’s trying to bath his like 7 month old daughter and she keeps splashing him and nick and matt are there and it’s a cute fluff moment

Splish Splash Disaster

Chris was soaked.

Like—t-shirt sticking to his chest, dripping hair, water in his socks—soaked.

“Okay,” he said, deadpan, staring at the tiny human in the tub who was squealing like she just won the lottery. “That’s the third time you’ve done that.”

His daughter blinked up at him with wide, mischievous eyes, then immediately slapped both palms into the bath water again, sending another tidal wave over the edge of the tub.

Chris flinched and wiped his face. “Fourth.”

Matt, crouched by the bathroom door with a towel draped over his shoulder, couldn’t stop laughing. “Dude, you’re losing. She’s got you beat.”

Nick popped his head in with a juice box from the kitchen. “Why does it sound like someone’s drowning in here?”

“She’s splashing like it’s SeaWorld,” Chris muttered, gently trying to guide her hands away from the water while she giggled and kicked like a frog. “And I don’t think she’s legally allowed to be this strong.”

Nick took one look at the soaked floor, Chris’s wet socks, and the foam-covered baby girl absolutely thriving in the tub — and burst out laughing.

Matt handed Chris a fresh towel. “Want me to take over?”

Chris gave him a look. “She likes you too much. She behaves for you.”

“She likes the chaos,” Nick said, sitting on the counter. “She’s literally your clone, bro. This is karma.”

The baby squealed, grabbing a rubber duck and immediately launching it like a grenade at Nick’s chest.

“HEY!” Nick shouted, stunned. “I’m not even in the water!”

Chris looked at his daughter, jaw dropped. “Did you just—you aimed! That was intentional! Are you a baby or a linebacker?”

She just grinned, cheeks chubby and dripping, waving her duck around like a victory flag.

Matt leaned over the tub and gently cupped his hands under her arms. “Alright, tub monster, let’s get you dry before you turn into a raisin.”

Chris reached for the towel as Matt carefully lifted her out, swaddling her like a burrito.

She nestled into Chris’s chest, warm and slippery and still trying to wiggle free.

Chris looked down at her, heart softening instantly. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Nick snapped a picture of them before Chris could stop him. “I’m posting that on the family group chat. You look like you just went to war.”

“Because I did,” Chris said, but he was smiling. “She won.”

Matt handed him the baby’s lotion and pajamas. “Want help with bedtime?”

Chris shook his head. “Nah. I got it. Just—maybe mop the floor so nobody dies.”

Nick was already grabbing paper towels. “On it.”

As Chris carried his daughter out of the bathroom, she sighed sleepily against his chest, tiny fist clutching the corner of his shirt.

“You’re exhausting, you know that?” he whispered.

She blew a spit bubble in response.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead.

And in that moment — soaked, tired, and wrapped around the finger of the tiniest chaos gremlin — he wouldn’t have changed a thing.

⸻

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matt stuniolo fanfic

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songbirdseung · 3 days ago

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𝑻𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑨 𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑲 / 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑱𝑶𝑵𝑮𝑺𝑬𝑶𝑵𝑮

"𝐒𝐞𝐞?" 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. "𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮." (𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵)

Another day, another long hour spent in the studio, watching your boyfriend stress over his mixtape.

Jay was always passionate about his work, but sometimes, he got too caught up in it so much so that his shoulders tensed, his brows furrowed, and his temper ran a little shorter than usual. You were used to it by now, but today, the frustration rolling off of him was heavier than ever.

Sitting behind him on the couch, you watched the screen full of music files and confusing waveforms, pretending to understand what was happening. Every now and then, the members would stop by to check in on Jay, only to be dismissed with a sharp “I’m fine.”

Sunoo, the last to try his luck, plopped down beside you with a sigh. "He's so rude, how do you deal with him?"

You chuckled. "I think he's just really in the zone."

Sunoo hummed, glancing over at Jay’s stiff shoulders. "Maybe help him blow off some steam," he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows before standing up to leave.

You rolled your eyes at his insinuation but couldn't deny that Jay needed a break—desperately.

"Seongie?" you called out softly.

No response.

Sighing, you finally got up and padded over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Only then did he acknowledge you, reaching for your waist and pulling you onto his lap.

"I'm sorry, baby," he mumbled, resting his chin on your shoulder. His voice was deep and tired, weighed down with exhaustion.

"Jay, it’s okay," you reassured him, rubbing small circles on his back. "But you need to take a break."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I can’t. I need to finish this."

You frowned. Stubborn as always.

But as your fingers trailed up to his shoulders, kneading gently at the knots in his muscles, you felt him relax against you. His body melted ever so slightly, a quiet sigh escaping his lips.

"That feels… really nice," he murmured, rolling his shoulders into your touch.

Encouraged, you continued, pressing your thumbs into the tight spots. Jay’s grip on your waist tightened instinctively, his breathing growing slower.

"See?" you whispered, smiling. "A little break won’t kill you."

But as you adjusted your position on his lap, shifting just a little to get more comfortable, you felt him tense again for a very different reason.

Jay sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers gripping your hips firmly. "Babe-" His voice came out strained. "Could you, uh, stop moving so much?"

You blinked, confused for a second. Then, realization dawned on you.

You smirked.

"What’s wrong?" you teased, pretending to be innocent.

Jay groaned, leaning his head back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "You know what’s wrong."

"Do I?" you hummed, shifting just a little more.

His grip on your waist tightened. "Y/N-"

You giggled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "Relax, babe. I just want you to take a break."

"Yeah?" His eyes opened slightly, dark with something unreadable. "Because it kinda feels like you’re distracting me instead."

You shrugged playfully, twirling a piece of his hair between your fingers. "So? Maybe I want all of your attention for once."

Jay exhaled a laugh, finally looking at you properly. His hands moved to your face, cradling it as his thumb brushed over your cheek.

"You already have it, baby," he murmured, before pulling you in for a lingering kiss, one that made you forget all about the studio, his work, and everything else.

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #engene #enha #enhypen x reader #jay #park jay x reader #enhypen jay #jay enhypen #jay x reader #park jay #jongseong #park jongseong #park jongseong imagines #jongseong x reader #enhypen jongseong #enha jongseong

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bratbarzal · 24 hours ago

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How do you think Poppy and Luke's gf get along/hit it off when they first meet? Like what are the vibes, is it at a game? I'm assuming it would be after Cheeto is born?

written as a follow up to LIH and TSOU and including characters from OYS (none of which have to be read to enjoy this hopefully lmao) this is such a niche blurb but it's really sweet!! trust Luke to mess up the ending of tsou by getting surgery 😔😔 no more reader jumping into his arms 😔😔 let's pretend he catches her on one side so I don't have to think too much about it thanks 💕 also this ties into another blurb I have planned for their first date lmao but that will hopefully be done by the end of the month!! contains: fluff!!! in abundance!!! wc: 2.8k

"You know you're gonna have to let me get up at some point, right?"

You feel the vibrations of his words against your cheek before you fully register what Luke is saying, his neck warm against your temple as you rest against it, your body slung over his just enough that you're not crushing him.

"Don't have to do anything," you hum in defiance, lips moving against his skin as you hook your leg over his from above the sheets so he has no actual leverage to move away - like he would in the first place - and stretching your arm across the width of him, your fingertips tracing featherlight touches along his collarbone - careful to avoid his bad shoulder - until the arm on the side you're resting on curls as much as it can around your hip. "You're not the boss of me."

He snorts out a laugh that makes your chest feel tight, and you suppose he sees the irony in that statement just as much as you do - considering how you'd only just promised him when you'd both set off from Detroit yesterday that you'd be happy to play nurse for as long as he needs.

For as shitty as the timing of Luke's injury has been - missing out on the rest of the playoffs, and subsequently ruling himself out to play in the world championships - you've been reaping the benefits of the whole thing, entirely.

He'd somehow managed to schedule his surgery so that he could surprise you at your commencement - lying that he hadn't been fit to be discharged yet and showing up alongside Jack as you waited with Ellie for her to be able to see her boyfriend while you worried endlessly about your own.

And the two of you had disappeared together after the ceremony, spending the whole weekend holed up in your room at the sorority before you would have to clear it out. He had attempted to help you pack up the few things that remained, and had come with you to move what you couldn't ship home to your mom's place into storage with the promise that he'd help you sort through it when you came back in the summer to the lake house.

He hadn't been the best assistant, his arm all slinged up, and all, but you still liked having him around - even if it was just to be a pretty face and a warm body to cuddle into at the end of the day, too exhausted to do much else.

And then you flew out to Jersey with him to clear out his locker at the Rock away from the whole media circus, spending the week in his apartment with him while he dealt with some other business. It had never been the plan to come out here - but you wouldn't trade this time with him for anything.

The latter end of the season had been hectic for Luke, and you wrapping up with school had been just as bad - and finding time to fit in the tribulations of a new, long distance relationship was hard work, but the two of you got through everything, the worst of it behind you entirely.

And you've been enjoying playing house with him, away from everybody else - it's the first time you've really gotten the chance.

Ellie and Jack are back in Michigan, and Quinn left to go back at the same time Jack did. His parents are there, too - and your mom is where she always is, back in Chicago.

No sorority sisters, none of Luke's friends or his teammates, who have all dispersed back to their home states or countries.

It's just the two of you, and no responsibilities, and it's been incredible, even if it has only been a day, so far.

"We should probably get up and do something," he hums, "Feel like all I've done for the past week is sit around and watch you."

"Like that isn't your favourite thing to do," you scoff, leaning up and pressing your lips to his jaw, planting a soft kiss to the scratchy skin there and making a mental note to convince him to shave, later - maybe even offer to do it for him. Clinging on to the 6 hairs that remain from his attempt at a playoff beard is getting a little sad, unfortunately.

"You got me there," he smiles softly, and you kiss the curve of his lips, too, too pretty not to. "We could go watch a movie?" he mumbles against you, "Maybe grab food after,"

"Mmhm," you respond, too into kissing him over and over, the soft bump of his nose against yours the only thing to get you to part.

"There's a viewing for Thunderbolts in like an hour," he tells you, and you roll your eyes while biting back a laugh.

"I was ten seconds from climbing on top of you, and the only thing on your mind is showing times for Thunderbolts?"

"I can only avoid spoilers for so long, babe." He pouts, and you huff as you roll off of him.

"Such a dork," you mutter fondly to yourself as you push yourself off of the bed and watch his eyes trail down your figure as you stand. "I need to go get my bag out of the car," you tell him as you reach for the hoodie you had helped him shrug out of last night, and the shorts he'd fumbled you out of with just one hand. "Do you want me to make you something to eat when I come back up?"

"I doubt Jack left anything in the refrigerator while he was here," he grumbles, eyes still on you as you bring his hoodie down over your body and jump into your shorts, "I'll shower while you're downstairs and try get ready quick enough that we can stop for breakfast, yeah?"

"Okay," you lean back over to kiss him, "Please be careful in there, I don't want a lecture off of your brother for not taking care of your properly."

"Damn," he smirks, "I was gonna try and fake another injury so that you'd have to jump in with me to supervise next time."

"You just have to ask, idiot, don't hurt yourself on my account."

You part with one more kiss before you're making your way through his apartment, picking up your shoes on the way and grabbing his keys from where he'd left them on the hook by the door.

The two of you had been in such a rush to get up to the apartment the night before that you'd left your bags in the trunk of his car - the car he'd actually let you drive from the airport, despite the fact he'd once told you that you drive like a maniac and he'd never trust you behind the wheel again - and you're grateful that Luke didn't bring a bag himself or you'd have to haul them up on your own.

Getting your bag from the car back to the elevator is hard enough work - overpacking to the point of ruin, as always - and when you're finally inside and stretching out the muscles in your back, you hear the faint call of, hold the door, from around the corner.

Your hand shoots out before the doors can close, palm pressed to where they disappear, and then you're face to face with another girl - hair astray, chest heaving to try and gain her breath back, and the cutest baby you've ever seen attached at her hip.

"You're a lifesaver," she huffs as she steps in, leaning back against the far wall of the elevator as the doors start to close again, "I mean these things are quick, but if I don't get a snack in her hands in the next two minutes, this whole building is gonna know about it."

You chuckle, slightly tranced by the way the baby girl is staring at you - brown eyes wide and soft pink lips turned up in what you hope is a smile.

You reach into the front pocket of Luke's hoodie, and of course there's a pack of cookies in there, unopened from your flight yesterday. "Here," you smile, reaching out to the girl in front of you with them in your hand. "They're oatmeal cookies, I'm pretty sure. My boyfriend can't go anywhere without a snack either, but he's a grown man," you scoff, "Nowhere near as cute."

"You really are a lifesaver," she accepts the packet with a grateful smile, tearing them open, breaking one in half and handing it straight to the little girl, who brings them up to her mouth with zero hesitation. "I'm Poppy," her hand extends back out to yours, "And this is Lina."

You tell her your name while you shake her hand, and there's a flash of recognition as you say it, her eyes darting past you to check the buttons on the wall of the elevator.

"You're Luke's girlfriend!"

"How did you know that?"

"My partner is one of Luke's teammates, Nico." She smiles, "You made Mitchie!"

"Mitchie?" You frown, and she twists her hip until the diaper bag slung across her body comes into view, a familiar crochet giraffe slotted into the side pocket.

"We don't go anywhere without Mitchie."

A slow grin creeps onto your face as you look back at the baby clinging onto Poppy's side - dark eyes, soft brown hair, dimpled cheeks, just like Luke's team captain. The captain whose baby shower he had been trying to find a gift for all of last summer.

You've heard little pieces here and there about Poppy and Lina. Random little stories from Luke, a recollection of a brief encounter with Ellie, but you hadn't expected to meet her yourself in the middle of the building elevator without Luke around.

"I didn't realise you guys were back, I would have come to introduce myself, Luke's been telling us about you all year, hasn't he, bug?"

You feel the warmth seep up into your cheeks at that fact - the two of you technically only being together for the last 6 weeks or so.

"We got in last night," you tell her, only realising the elevator has come to a stop when it's on your floor, and the doors start to open. "He's inside if you want to come and say hi?"

"Are you sure?" Poppy asks, "I can always drop by later, or something?"

"No, it's fine, he's going a little stir crazy to be honest, might be good to see a familiar face that isn't mine."

"I get that," Poppy snorts as she follows you out of the elevator, Lina still happy as a clam on her hip with her gums wrapped around the cookie, soft little lip smacking sounds and hums coming from her direction. "Nico left a couple days ago and we've been walking circles around the local park just to stay busy. Everybody just disappears this time of the year."

"At least the weather's nice," you chuckle, unlocking the door and letting the two of them in before you close it again - relief flooding you at the fact that Jack had blitzed the whole place clean before he left last week. "We're around all week if you need us for anything."

"I see why the kid's so in love with you," Poppy grins, switching her daughter to the other side of her hip and pressing a kiss to her temple. "We might just take you up on that offer, you love your Uncle Lukey, don't you, Lina Bug?"

The sound of Uncle Lukey spreads something warm and crackling through your chest - the picture of his dorky self entertaining a baby, putting on dumb voices and getting super into all the play pretend and make believe stuff is sparking thoughts within you that you never even had before.

And at the mere mention of his name, Luke emerges from his room down the hall - thankfully dressed after his shower, though his shirt is creased and his jeans are unbuttoned - an immediate smile brought to his lips that you haven't seen in the last few days.

"Cheeto!" he exclaims, and you stop him just before he reaches the two of them so you can button his pants together, patting a hand to his stomach to signal that he can go.

He curls his good arm around Poppy, the two of them falling into a sweet and familiar embrace before he diverts his attention to the baby in her arms, who's round cheeks flush just at the sight of him - similar to the way you seem to react to him sometimes.

He coos at her, and she giggles back - her cookie discarded as she throws her arms out to be held by him, and you barely stop yourself from wincing as he picks her straight up, his bad shoulder be damned.

"Are you supposed to be lifting babies?" Poppy frowns, and you're thanking God she seems to be on the same boat as you as the two of you watch him softly bounce Lina about.

"Other babies, probably not," he replies, "Nothing will stop me picking up my little Cheeto, though." The voice he puts on is deep, almost comical, lips pouting and brows furrowing as the baby giggles back in response, little squeaks of delight erupting from her chunky little figure.

"Cheeto?"

"She didn't have a name for a long time," Poppy smiles over at you, "Looked like a cheeto in all of her scans, so that's what we called her before she was Lina, and some people can't let it go."

You smile back, sort of weirdly grateful that she didn't clap back with an, it's a long story, so that you could be involved.

"What are you doing here?" Luke asks, twisting until he's facing Poppy while the little girl he's holding puffs her cheeks out at him.

"We were just gonna go out for a walk and grab something to eat, but I realised I forgot snacks for the walk and I met your wonderful girlfriend in the elevator. We have you to thank for this mushed up cookie, I think," Poppy holds her hand out to show him the soggy mess in her hand from where Lina had discarded it before, and you press your lips together to bite back a smile.

You can't really imagine holding anybody's half chewed food - let alone a baby, the thought of it sending slight shivers down your spine.

"We can get breakfast with you, if you want, we were heading out too, right babe?"

Luke looks over at you with widened eyes and a slight, hopeful smile, all thoughts of Thunderbolts seemingly forgotten. You can hardly say no to him, though - you haven't seen him this excited since he got injured, maybe even before then. And you like Poppy, too.

She probably has some dirt on Luke, and she seems like the type who's willing to share.

"Yeah, I bet you know way better food spots than this one does, he'd shovel anything in."

"Hey," he pouts, but he's overshadowed by the laughter of the woman beside him, who looks over at you with a warm smile and gratitude reflecting in her eyes.

"That sounds incredible, actually," she beams, "I'd really appreciate the company."

And that's how the two of you end up spending the entire day with Poppy and Lina - grabbing breakfast at a little cafe Poppy recommended, her catching you up on all her favourite Luke stories as the baby ends up on your lap at one point, stealing half of the avocado from your toast as she let you feed it to her, then joining them on their walk through the park, and even looking after Lina just the two of you while Poppy has a much needed break for an hour up in her and Nico's apartment.

You see a different side to Luke - and as much as you loved him before, as much as you didn't think you could possibly love him any more, you somehow do.

You love the responsible side to him - the side that for some reason knows what temperature Lina likes her bottles, and the signs that she's sleepy, or hungry, or wanting to explore. You love the caring side to him - the side that urges Poppy to leave her baby in your care, and take some time for herself after days of Nico being away, knowing that she's in for a lot more solitude in the weeks to come.

You love the side of him that shares it all with you - gets you involved in such an intimate part of his life you never had access to, before.

And by the end of the day, when you're feeding Lina some blended vegetable concoction Luke had made for her just before Poppy gets there, and you're catching the bits she spits out in your bare hand like you'd been cringing at just hours ago - you realise you love how he gets you to open up to ideas you wouldn't have ever considered until you became familiar with Uncle Lukey, and you can't wait to see what other sides of him you can uncover in all the unlimited amount of time you now have with him.

#luke hughes imagine #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes blurb #💌.tsou #oys!asks #technically lmao #*writing #I just wrote this out of nowhere lmao!!! thank you for sending this I know it's been a while!!

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