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We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.
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where in make believe are we … ?

close-up :3
#bailey’s barts.#the property of hate#tpoh fanart#tpoh hero#tpoh rgb#tpoh#i made this in 9 hours for a fine arts class & i don’t even know if it’s eligible for submission#PLEASE let me submit
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i have been spending so much time adulting lately AND i just remembered i still haven't even done my taxes UGHHHHHH i am so tired. going to watch the two hours of kim's convenience scheduled on pluto every weeknight and edit some crosswords during the commercials.
#no time to watch cql today i spent all day 1) working 2) doing laundry and 3) trying to figure out how to avoid getting poisoned#with asbestos given i am a renter and have absolutely no control over what is done to my apartment#backstory is that my bathroom floor has been rotting for the past nine years and no one has done anything about it#but we got a new property manager recently and i brought it up with him and he has been SUPER on it. which is great!#except that i brought up the concept of asbestos today when the contractors were here to give a quote#and they all acted like it hadn't occurred to them before?? even though this building is 100 years old????#so that was a bad sign. then the guy told me his company were the ones who did the siding work last year#which means they're the ones i overheard saying outside my window 'YOU know there's lead in the paint. and I know there's#lead in the paint. but we're not gonna remove all of it' or whatever. great sign#and then i gave the name of the company to my friend who knows all about this shit and she looked it up and they don't have a license#for asbestos abatement...#so i'm getting really nervous#spent a bunch of time on the phone with my renter's insurance company to see if they could help me be proactive about it#by somehow idk putting pressure on my property management company to do it correctly? but they can't#AND i discovered. they can't even tell me what my policy covers. unless i submit a claim. and the claims adjusters won't even talk to me#unless there's damage to my belongings. and there ISN'T damage to my belongings NOW. i want to PREVENT it#ANyway. it's been this kind of shit and me trying to figure out if i can move AND trying to avoid the like 5 different ways i could be#laid off etc etc it's been a fun time AND I STILL HAVEN'T DONE MY TAXES!!!!!
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I was thinking about adding "guy makes another guy his pet" to an updated "which of these plot points did I make up" poll for blue lock and realized that I can think of multiple duos that that applies to 💀
#bolo liveblogs#blue lock#bllk#I mean I meant it wrt to 261 kaiser and ness ''a dog that will submit to my malice''#but like. what about rin and nanase's ''you are my property'' thing. which was nuts btw we don't talk about that enough#or aiku and that guy with the dog motif who called him his ''owner'' that one time#and reo and nagi are a lot subtler about all of this but didn't chigiri say#reo was upset bc he was ''betrayed by nagi who up until this point he thought was just his dog'' once#wasn't that a thing that happened. I feel like I'm going insane
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left my flute (very expensive) (we only bought it a few months ago) on the train (how i lost my old flute) (my mum is going to be furious with me) and now i dont know if im ever going to get it back (i need a flute to be able to play the flute) (idk if my mum will be willing to buy me a new flute if i lose this one) (its not like i can afford one theyre like £1500 at an absolute minimum) so anyways i feel like throwing up now 👍
#i submitted a lost property form but. like. i cant guarantee that someone will hand it in to lost property.#pip squeaks
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just took some delightful midnight adderall so I can finish my finals week shit before it's due in. uh. 11 hours, 1 minute. and I'm thinking about how my advisor keeps shit talking theoreticians and computational astrophysicists but in the politest, most british ways possible
#'well do we really /know/ anything from simulations?' (<- after I said that almost all of what we know about the physical properties of#galaxies comes from observations & spectroscopy and she was deciding if she wanted me to reword that or not)#karen I imagine several people would have a bounty on your head for saying that out loud#I'm still not over her saying that [cosmology prof] was invited to the summer astro talks because 'we can pretend that he's an astronomer'#when my dad picked me up at the airport he said he was 'impressed' by my 2:29am text message to him because it would have been#3:29am for me when I sent it and immediately shot down my suggestion that I'd just schedule sent it#told my mom I'd be passing the fuck out as soon as I've submitted everything and she's probably not seeing me until saturday afternoon#subtitle of this semester is 'don't think too hard about my message timestamps :) it's okay :)'
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#WHY is it so fucking difficult to get people to contact me back about apartments??#i have contacted at least five different property managers/realtors/whatever the fuck you call the people who are supposed to respond#to questions about their properties and literally only one has actually responded#all the others have ignored multiple attempts at contact over the past two weeks#there was one other that emailed me back to tell me the property they were advertising (that is still listed as available) isn't actually#available and asked me to respond with info about what i'm looking for but they haven't gotten back to me again in several days#like how the fuck am i supposed to rent an apartment if no one is actually responding#and it's not even like my applications have been rejected or something because i can't even get to the point of submitting an application#like what the fuck??#and of course the only one that has gotten back to me consistently and reliably is the one for the apartment with no windows in the bedroom#which i don't even think is legal#but at this point it's my only option and i am very frustrated over that#like jesus christ this is obnoxious#anyway#moving drama#personal
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I hope what ever asshole cultist invited the stay at home daughter movement a very your dick gets rips into bits and eaten by pigs
#the stay at home daughter movement RUINED MY LIFE#IT RUINED MY CHILDHOOD BECAUSE I WAS FROCED TO BE A HOUSE SLAVE AT AT NINE INSTEAD OF A KID#IT RUINED MY HIGHSCHOOL LIFE AND ALL LIFE PLANNING BECAUSE I WAS NOT ALLOWED TO GET MORE THEN THE BY LAW NEEDED SCHOOLING BECAUSE I WAS#WXPECTED TO BE A HOUSE SLAVE TO MY FAMILY UNTIL THEY PAIRED ME OFF TO A HUSBAND THEN ID BW HIS HOUSE SLAVE AND SEX SLAVE BECAUSE MY JOB IS#CLEAN HOUSE COOK POPULATE THE QUIVERFULL AGENDA AND HAVE 160 KIDS THAT'S KIDS AND NO INTEREST NO HOBBY NO INDIVIDUALITY JUST#CHRISTIAN HOUSE SLAVE OOPS I MEAN WIFE AND MOTHER#IT TOOK AWAY ALL AGENCY I HAD IN MY LIFE BECAUSE MY PLACE WAS CLEANING N COOKING NOT SCHOOL NOT JOB NOT FRIENDS NOT GETTING SMART NOT#GETTING INDEPENDENT IT DRIVES YOU TO RELAY ON A MAN COMPLETELY AND TO SUBMIT COMPLETELY YOU HAVE NO SAY YOU ONLY EXIST FOR WHAT WVER JOB TH#MAN WANTS YOU TO HAVE#I HOPE WHOEVER INTERDUCED THIS TO MY PARENTS CULT GETS EATEN SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY#I'VE NEVER TRIED TO BETTER MYSELF GET MORE SCHOOLING GO FOR A DCENT EDUCATION I'VE BEEN FROCED TO BELIEVE I CAN'T SURVIVE BY MYSELF AND#THEY'RE PROBABLY RIGHT BUT FUCK THEY MADE ME SO STUPID AND.I LET THEM BECAUSE I THOUGHT THAT'S WHAT GOD NEEDED#FUCK GOD FUCK RELGIOUS MEN AND FUCK ALL PARENTS WHO PURPOSELY SABOTAGE AND HOLD BACK THEIR CHILDREN FOR THEIR BENEFIT#I'M ANGRY#I DIDN'T DESERVE THAT LIFE I NEED TO FUCKIN GET OUT OF THIS CULTIST HELL I'M TIRED OF LIVING BY THESE STANDARDS AND RULES I WANT A SAY IN MY#LIFE I WANT A LIFE INDEPENDENT FROM GOD AND HIS FOLLOWERS I WANT A SAY IN MY LIFE#I WANT TO BE A PERSON AND NOT PROPERTY OF NO ONE NOT MY FATHER NOT MY MOTHER NOT MY BROTHERS NOT MY HUSBAND NOT GOD FUCK THEM ALLLLLL I WANT#TO BELONG TO ME AND ONLY ME AND I WISH I HAD A WAY OUT THAT I COULD SEE AND ACTUALLY OBTAIN BUT I JUST DON'T#I DON'T HAVE ANY HOPE FOR ANYTHING BECAUSE THE STEPS WILL NEVER BE TAKEN FOR THINGS TO GET BETTER I WILL DIE A DAUGHTER AT HOME I WILL DIE#SERVING THIS CULT AND THEY WILL USE MY CORPSE FOR WHATEVER SERVES THEM ALSO MY NAME WILL BE USED IN WHATEVER WAY PLEASES THEM#I WILL NEVER BE MYSELF I WILL NEVER GET AWAY EVER IT'LL JUST BE IN DAYDREAMS AND WORDS BUT NEVER REALITY
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"Other purposes" such as training generative AI, printing on t-shirts, etc.
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We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.
#polls#incognito polls#anonymous#tumblr polls#tumblr users#questions#submitted nov 17#polls about interests#art#artists#artists on tumblr#visual artists#copyright#intellectual property
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Rules: Make a 24 hour poll with the names of your WIPs, let it run, then work for 10 minutes for every vote the winner receives.
Thank you for the tag, @angelcasendgame!!!!! I am not sure I will be able to work on anything very soon just because life came after me again, and turns out I'm gonna be moving over the next month or so, but I really do hope I can find time!!
None of these have names yet lol. I put the SPN ones first, but technically I've been trying to break my writer's block by returning to The Great Gatsby (It's all Nick/Gatsby btw, just realized that might not be immediately evident) with limited success. It's always come easier for me. But all of this is stuff I do actively want to work on.
Ohh I don't know who to tag. I'm sure everyone in this circle has been tagged already, and most of the people I talk to regularly enough to know about their projects have more or less left Tumblr... I do absolutely want to pass this your way though, @antique-ro-man!! (It's Wes, btw!) I also wanna tag @heyfagbutt! And then anyone else who sees this and wants to participate, I also encourage it!! This is such a cool idea :D !!
Long, rambling explanations down here ⬇⬇
I think the name is pretty explanatory? The gist of it is they go after the same guy and become pseudo-enemies but they keep bumping into each other like this and decide to work together after a while 👍 this is a really bad hook LMAO. Anyway, I'm trying to build on the idea that they work REALLY well together when they do it intentionally but fail comically when they don't.
Pretty much what it says on the tin as well. No Supernatural AU. Dean goes to a community college to get a certification to help with his work elsewhere, but Cas, a figure drawing model, catches him drawing (which Dean's been doing on and off as a hobby) and tries to get him to sign up for the arts program.
I technically only have a summary of this, and I'm not entirely sure if I will write it all out, but I do want to at least put more time into the development before I dedicate to giving up on it bc of scope lol. I just have SUCH a soft spot for fake relationship AUs. Also, I just found out that while I have FINALLY aged into independent FAFSA eligibility, I am once again tax bracketed out. Anyway, financial abuse is real and I want to project my suffering onto Dean. Also immigrant Cas, but I haven't decided where I want him to be from yet. I think this has a lot of potential for some pretty hefty character redesigns too so it's also compelling to me from that angle. I guess I could also write it for TGG, but I did initially think of it for Destiel, so.
I don't know how to explain this one very well except that I had unhelpfully written "poolboy au" in my notes and then proceeded to forget what the hell I meant. This fic was an attempt to resurrect that but ended up being a funky modern West Coast re-imagining where Gatsby can't even "make it" as much as he wants to, and Nick can't find a place to live except for a less-than-legally rented pool house. It's not meant to be a full rewrite or anything though.
Uhhh yeah, I'm keeping the details private for this one ahaha but that's just because it wasn't supposed to be a big deal and I told a friend she would see what it was when it was done...like oh god probably a month ago at this point... My original scope for this was quite small, but research for it, indecision, and a nasty case of writer's block that I've had for nearly a year now have kept development a bit slow. Hopefully, I'll finish it before the year comes to a close.
I also don't know how to explain this one well other than "after being rejected by Daisy (Canon Divergent), Gatsby attempts to buy his way into a bewildered Nick's heart. Though the fic is from Nick's POV, Gatsby's just had his worldview shattered and is in a bit of denial, but instead of pursuing Daisy harder, he channels all of that energy into Nick (though he's not really sure why he's doing it at first). I wasn't sure what to put up at the top because I absolutely don't want my code name for this public at least until it's done LMAO.
#new post#tag game#spn#cause i'm gonna kick this over to my main too bc of the tgg#but i SAID i was gonna quarantine the spn stuff here so .#sorry i feel soo much more rambly than normal#did you know that some property managers will approve you in fewer than 2 hours after you submit your application?#can't stop thinking about that
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you said that fandoms with a lot of characters will only include those with 2 or more submissions which means i have to know. youre counting each object show as a different fandom right. some tournaments ive seen LUMPED THEM *ALL* TOGETHER and. PLEASE tell me youre not doing that. PLEASE. i dont even know if the osc got enough characters submitted for this to be relevant but please i have to know
I think the only object show that got any submissions is inanimate insanity, unless I just didn’t recognize an acronym in a submission and haven’t gotten to making their poll yet
#but yeah if any others are there I’ll count them separately#although I think only 2 inanimate insanity characters were submitted anyways so that won’t be an affected property#not a poll#ask#anonymous
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lol fuck that guys pipes <mantra of clearing out my shower with draino instead of trying to get my dipshit absentee landlord to call a plumber for me
#literally the process ALWAYS goes like this: i submit a claim on my tenant website. nothing happens. in two days i call my property manager.#it goes to voicemail. the next day i call again and MAYBE get a pick up or else i get voicemail again and they call me back while im at work#they confirm they will send someone. a week goes by. out of the blue i get a call while I'm at work.#“hey this is the plumber im 5 minutes from your house lol is now a good time?” me: no im at work. “well can someone else let me in?”#me: no i live alone. “oh uhh well they [landlord] didn't tell me that. how about tomorrow same time?” me: no i will also be at work.#then we go back and forth for a while trying to schedule something because nobody else has a key to let work people in to my place#THREE TIMES WITH THIS SAME PATTERN. WHY DONT THEY EVER SCHEDULE AHEAD OF TIME?? WHY DO THEY JUST SHOW UP WITHOUT WARNING WHEN I'M NOT THERE#once to replace my fridge once to check out my toilet and once to replace said toilet. god.#emily.docx
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Once again I’m crying over having a decent landlord like fuck when we revolt and kill then all I’m Protecting Brian he’s never done me harm
#me submitting a mildly pissed off request after a 3rd bat at 11pm last night#and by noon he’s already contacted local animal control/wildlife group#and scheduled to have someone cap the old chimneys as well as do another inspection in my house#and then when I try to kinda play it off like oh. it’s a 100 year old house. there’s gonna be little holes for creatures to get in#he’s like ‘mice and rats maybe but bats are a serious issue we need to take serious’ like#🥺#okay Brian thanks for listening to me#this is why I can’t fucking move out of my apartment#or if I do to get out of campus area I’m gonna look at other properties he has#again the bar is in Hell for landlords
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#the way i am still having to deal w mistakes people made while i was out of the office over a month ago 😑#one of my coworkers submitted a rent request for a client w the wrong property management and pay to address despite my previous requests#being for the correct pm/pay to she just didn’t pay attention to the stuff we’ve submitted before#and they’ve been trying to deliver the check and they can’t bc it’s wrong#so she emails me today to send over the ‘new’ pay to info (it’s been on file over a year) to correct it and bc the pay to name on the check#is wrong we have to voice that one and submit a new request and i explained this in my email and said what i was going to do re: asking#for the check to be voided and submitting a new request and my boss emailed back to ask if i could reissue it. did you not read my email.#and i replied to say we can’t reissue bc the pay to name is wrong and she replied to say yes shannon i knew we would have to reissue#again NO#it can’t be reissued#please#get a mf grip#why am i being paid less 😭
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A new tool lets artists add invisible changes to the pixels in their art before they upload it online so that if it’s scraped into an AI training set, it can cause the resulting model to break in chaotic and unpredictable ways.
The tool, called Nightshade, is intended as a way to fight back against AI companies that use artists’ work to train their models without the creator’s permission. Using it to “poison” this training data could damage future iterations of image-generating AI models, such as DALL-E, Midjourney, and Stable Diffusion, by rendering some of their outputs useless—dogs become cats, cars become cows, and so forth. MIT Technology Review got an exclusive preview of the research, which has been submitted for peer review at computer security conference Usenix.
AI companies such as OpenAI, Meta, Google, and Stability AI are facing a slew of lawsuits from artists who claim that their copyrighted material and personal information was scraped without consent or compensation. Ben Zhao, a professor at the University of Chicago, who led the team that created Nightshade, says the hope is that it will help tip the power balance back from AI companies towards artists, by creating a powerful deterrent against disrespecting artists’ copyright and intellectual property. Meta, Google, Stability AI, and OpenAI did not respond to MIT Technology Review’s request for comment on how they might respond.
Zhao’s team also developed Glaze, a tool that allows artists to “mask” their own personal style to prevent it from being scraped by AI companies. It works in a similar way to Nightshade: by changing the pixels of images in subtle ways that are invisible to the human eye but manipulate machine-learning models to interpret the image as something different from what it actually shows.
Continue reading article here
#Ben Zhao and his team are absolute heroes#artificial intelligence#plagiarism software#more rambles#glaze#nightshade#ai theft#art theft#gleeful dancing
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anatomy of us (2) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

type: limited series, part 2 (7.2k), 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) 18+
PART 1
Tradition is not something you are fond of.
It’s something forced on you. When you question it, it’s offensive–how dare you question these things, made sacred over time? Why would you want to betray thousands of years of history? Time makes it definitive. Your being makes it natural. You submit because that is the natural thing to do, so in that sense, you submit to it all.
That is your duty. That is your calling. When you are claimed, you belong to them. You are property. Autonomy be damned–your place is on your knees, keeping your mouth shut, and any behavior against that is nothing short of a punishable offense, proper. Disobedient omegas make for troublesome households.
To keep you in line, you must be held at a short length from your alpha. It is what is done. It is what is expected.
Tradition.
Simon keeps a hand on you, curled at the base of your spine as he leads you back to where the sleeping quarters are. You know it’s for your protection, but the better part of you wants to smack him off of you whenever you feel his palm press just slightly against you. When you make it back into your room, Simon pauses in the doorway after he opens it for you. He looks nervous almost, sheepish. You turn to face him, looking him up and down. “You can come in if you want. I’m not gonna carry all my stuff by myself, you could probably carry a fucking tank looking at you.”
Simon finally comes inside, ducking his head a little to make it in. You know this room wasn’t meant to house an alpha, but it’s still startling to see him do it, taking up way too much space to be anything but claustrophobic. He watches as you pack your things, stuffing your clothes into your bags and picking up small trinkets around the bedside table and desk. After the bag starts to get heavy, you shove it into his arms as you look towards the bed. It’s a standard issue twin-sized, with barely enough sheets to keep you warm and a lumpy pillow that you hate. You make a face at it before turning around and putting more things into Simon’s arms as you empty the closet.
“Tha’ it?” Simon mutters, still able to peek over the mountain of items that he holds, and you shrug.
“That’s it.”
Simon’s own room is like a hospital room. It’s too clean–there’s nothing personal anywhere, no pictures or barely any clothes other than military issue fatigues. The only civilian clothes he has wouldn’t even make you think twice if you saw him in a bar–Simon will always look like a soldier, through and through, and his room stinks like it. It smells clinical, and nothing about it is cozy or warm. You stand in the middle of the room as Simon puts your things down. You ring your hands together nervously, eyeing the bed with one single, thin sheet on it. It’s too small of a bed for the both of you. It’s too small of a bed just for Simon–you don’t want to think about the kind of sleeping arrangements you’ll need to fit with him on it.
“Wot’s wrong?” Simon asks lowly. You look over your shoulder at him. He’s putting your things into the closet. He’s divided it in half already, and some of your clothes are already hung up next to his. You look back at the bed, pursing your lips.
“There’s not enough blankets,” you say softly. “A-And…And the pillows, here, I don’t like them.”
Simon turns back to your bag, picking up another shirt to hang. You glare at the back of him. It doesn’t do anything; he doesn’t erupt in flames like you might have hoped, but it does give you a moment to notice how well those jeans fit him.
Fuck. Keep it together.
“I’ll get you more blankets,” he shrugs. “And a different pillow.”
The answer is immediate. No fuss. You want to complain, to bite back at him for it, but you don’t know how you would explain your displeasure. You’re looking for a reason to tell your omega that she’s a scheming, hopeless, naïve little shit.
“...I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” Isn’t that what he had said? Isn’t that what he had said when he gripped you by the throat and made you realize that everything you had thought about alphas was true? Hadn’t he already shown you that none of them are redeemable?
Not Kate. Not John. Certainly not Simon–they’re all scheming, terrible fucking people, and you cannot wait until you can sink your teeth into Simon’s jugular and rip it out.
Belonging to, being one’s own, fuck if you care. Simon can claim ownership all he wants, but he’ll never tame you. Your omega might be pulling the strings at the moment, but you’re going through withdrawals, you think. Your medication was your lifeline. It kept you from falling off the tightrope, and you just need to learn how to stay upright without it. You can. When you get it back, when it’s in your hands again, she’ll understand.
She has to understand that only you know what’s good for you.
Simon places the rest of your things on his desk. A couple personal things, like your jewelry and some knickknacks, and then your bag with the rest of your clothes to be folded and put away. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. At least before, you could pretend like things were still a little normal. You could pretend that in your own room, you were simply waiting for another assignment, that you were just waiting for Kate to give you a call and move you somewhere new, somewhere safer.
“Am I just supposed to stay here and wait for you?” You ask finally. Simon shuffles around the room. He doesn’t look at you; instead, he takes a seat at a desk way too small for him and spreads a few papers around, frowning when he reads something that he doesn’t like. “Is that…is that my job?”
“Dunno.” Simon takes his phone out of his pocket, and he starts typing. “Don’t really feel like babysittin’.”
“I can take care of myself, you know,” you tell him. “I…I have combat experience. I was in training before this.”
Simon snorts, still focused on his phone. He shakes his head a little.
“Cute,” he mutters. “Tha’s cute.”
Patronizing shit.
“I bet I can shoot a target ten times better than you,” you spit at him. His fingers hover over the screen for just a moment, irritated, before he goes back to typing. “And I can hold my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”
Simon puts his phone back into his pocket. He crosses his arms over his chest, letting out a deep breath before coming over to stand in front of you. You tip your head back, and he reaches down with a hand to cup under your jaw, holding you there. Just like that–your omega has you. You lean in, just that much. Simon sees it in your eyes, and he sniffs, looking you over.
Maybe he thinks you’re pathetic. In some sense, you agree with him, because what the fuck is wrong with me? You get one look into Simon’s eyes, and something chemical in you fires. You bend, and you relax, and you know if he asked you to open your mouth so he could spit in it, it would take a tremendous amount of effort to tell him no. It angers you and excites you all the same, and the conflicting flashes under your ribs bring tears to your eyes.
You hate yourself. You hate yourself for not being able to say no. You hate yourself for being everything they said you would be. You hate yourself for being nothing like you thought you were.
You’re soft. Sweet. All bark, no bite, a spiteful kitten that deep down, aims to please. The only thing that really baffles you, though, is why you only feel this way with Simon.
Is it because they told you that you were his mate? Is it because he’s done something, that he’s projecting some kind of scent? Has he already unknowingly changed your very makeup so your body knows that you are bound to him? When you look into John’s eyes, you see alpha. You see big, salivating dog, and if you could, you’d rip the hairs of his beard out just to see him in pain.
But Simon–it’s like you can’t move. Every time you look at him, and he looks at you, he holds you there. Just like now, he’s got you, and you feel like he can read everything you’re feeling. He’s being fed your secrets, and you hate him for it, but I can’t look away, please look away, please don’t make me–
“Need to get you somethin’ to eat,” Simon says finally. “And it’s time to meet the rest of the lot.”
Simon is starting to get used to keeping a hand on you. It annoys you a little, to feel his hand at your back, but the annoyance dissolves when you realize this base is filled with sneering alphas. They holler and yell, and they are very large and angry, but they still are small compared to Simon. They quiet whenever they walk past you, and even the whiff of omega doesn’t deter them with Simon behind you.
In the mess hall, you see Captain Price sitting at a table with two others. When you get closer to the table, you cough a little, stumbling back, and Simon catches you around the waist to hold you upright. The stench of alphas hits you like a truck, and Simon grunts as he tells you relax, fuckin’ hell.
You give him a hard stare–how the fuck would he know? There’s four alphas in your close vicinity, and they’re all puffing their chests and smiling, and it stings to smell them all at once. You turn your head a little to shield yourself, and when you filter everything else out but Simon, it frustrates you a little how much of him seems to calm you down.
Smells so good. Get closer. Press your nose to it, I-I want more–
“I see you two are getting along nicely,” John comments, leaning back in his chair. You roll your eyes a little, and when you lock eyes with him, you purse your lips and try to look anything but pleased. Simon guides you to sit down; he motions to the bench, just to the left of where someone else is already sitting–a big, burly soldier with crazy blue eyes. He has a terrible haircut, short along the sides with tufts of curls falling down the middle and over his forehead. He’s wiggling his eyebrows at his lieutenant behind you. Across from him, there’s another alpha with dark eyes and soft skin, and he’s smiling like an idiot around the rim of his plastic cup. You’re a little nervous–you had spent most of your time on your old base surrounded by betas who barely gave you a glance, and now you’re off your meds and being hit with a million different sensations everywhere you go. Simon’s touch on your back eases your shoulders a little.
“Tha’s Johnny,” Simon points to the one next to you. “Tha’s Gaz. ‘n I’m sure ya had the pleasure of our Captain.”
“Yeah, looks like your beard is still in tact, so glad to see it,” you say curtly, crossing your arms over your chest. The two sergeants laugh, ducking their heads, and John raises a brow before looking at Simon with a clenched jaw. Simon just shrugs, stretching his arm out on the back of your chair, and you get the feeling this happens often–John giving Simon that look, and Simon merely brushing it off. You smile to yourself a little, looking at Simon from over your shoulder. When you meet eyes, he stares back, looking over your face. He lingers on your lips for just a second too long before looking back up again.
I bet he tastes good under that mask. Let’s find out.
“Hungry?” He asks, and you blink. Your omega has never been inside of your head like this. You nearly opened your mouth and asked him for it, asked him please, please–let me taste, I won’t look, just let me taste you. You swallow her down a little, and you just nod to keep yourself moving. Simon stands up to make his way towards where the food is, and you watch curiously as instead of standing in line, he pushes open a door into the kitchen and disappears behind it.
“LT’s been gettin’ ye special meals,” Johnny says with a full mouth. You frown a little, and not just cause he’s chewing with his mouth a little too open.
“What do you mean?”
“He has the cooks make you somethin’ special,” Gaz says as he takes a sip of water. He leans back, smiling again, and it irks you a little. Alphas are brutes, disgusting big things with too many hormones, and you hate that this one gets to be pretty, too. Not that John or his sergeant aren’t attractive, but this one definitely enjoys a good mirror selfie, and it shows. “Something not on the menu. He didn’t like that you weren’t eating much, at the beginning. Made a fuss, and now he gets you better food.”
“He can do that?”
“Well, would ye say no to tha’ big man?” Johnny snorts, dipping his crusty bread in sauce. You look back towards the door, and Simon comes out holding a tray. He sets it down in front of you, and you bite your lip looking down at it. It smells so good, and you pick up your fork gently, sticking it into the pasta and twirling it. When you take a bite and sigh, Simon takes a seat next to you, and you can barely hear the sweet rumble in his chest of satisfaction.
Providing for you. Taking care of you. He’s so capable, isn’t he? Look at what he does for you.
If Simon notices you scoot closer to him, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t react either–it wasn’t a conscious choice.
Simon’s shower has hot water. Not that the showers you’d had were cold, but the communal showers were just that–communal. Shared, and although your escort always made sure you were the only one in there while you showered, it was still feeding off a water heater that always had barely any juice left. Lukewarm showers, so you tried to finish quick.
Simon’s shower turns the water scalding. You giggle with relief when you stand under it, letting it loosen your sore muscles and relieve your aching bones. It feels good, and you take a little longer in there, taking your time and enjoying the heat.
When it’s time to wash your body, you realize you’re missing your own soap. You look around for something else, noticing the unlabeled bottle that rests on a ledge. You squirt a pump of it into your palms, and when you raise it to your nose, your eyes flutter shut.
It’s the eucalyptus you smelled on Simon. A little plastic aftersmell, which you know is from whatever backwater dollar store the military buys it from, but on Simon, it smells so good. You lather it in your hands and hold it up to your nose, and you sigh deeply.
He’s just outside. Why don’t you call for him? I bet he’s listening. I bet he’s waiting for us.
You slide your hands down your arms. With the heat of the water, the whole bathroom starts to smell like it, and you let your hands slide down further, over your waist, between your thighs. When your fingers touch your puffy clit, you’re nearly jolted back into reality.
“Fuck–” You gasp, reaching for the level, shutting the water off. The last of the water curls down the drain, and you cough as you look around. You curl your toes, grounding yourself, and then you get out of the shower and reach for the towel. When you look into the mirror, your pupils are blown wide, and you feel like you don’t recognize yourself. You drop the towel and dress yourself, trying to keep your mind occupied with menial tasks.
Get your shit together.
When you open the bathroom door, Simon is back from his little errand he had run. He’s carrying a few blankets and a thick comforter, and there’s a few new pillows on the bed with it. You use the towel to keep drying the wet strands of your hair, and Simon turns around when he hears you walk in further.
You pass by him wordlessly as you reach the bed. You put your hands on the blankets that he put down, and you close your eyes when you feel how soft they are. Threaded cotton and fleece, lots of thick feathers in the comforter to make it nice and fluffy. When you turn to look over your shoulder, Simon does a terrible job of pretending like he wasn’t just staring at your ass in the little sleep shorts you’re wearing. You want to snap at him, but your omega pinches your tongue.
Take them off. Take them off. Take them off.
“So, what…” You clear your throat. “How are we supposed to sleep in that bed? T-Together?”
Simon tilts his head to the side. You start to despise the mask. You hate that you can’t tell what he’s thinking, not even a little, and after the rather joyous conversations you’ve had with Simon (barf), you can’t say you’re entirely excited to be in this close of a space with him.
“Don’t worry,” Simon murmurs. “I’ll be good.”
Oh, that totally makes you feel better.
Prick.
He makes you get into bed and turn facing the wall as he turns out the lights. He pulls at the edge of his mask uncomfortably, and you realize he doesn’t want you to see his fine. Fine, you think to yourself, throwing the sheets back with a huff, bet you’re fucking ugly mug would blind me anyways.
You cuddle under all the blankets, snuggling into the new pillow that sinks under your head. You hum gently, closing your eyes, and you aren’t able to see Simon rubbing his chest warmly as he watches you. He sucks on his teeth, not truly understanding what he feels, but knowing that it’s soothing the beast in him to take care of you.
It rattles him. Simon isn’t used to this. He’s not used to feeling like he doesn’t have control. He resisted this for so long. He tried so hard to fight, he said no to Kate over and over and over again.
Omegas to Simon were liabilities. To care was to have a target on your back. To be mated meant having something to lose.
Ask Price, is what he told her, ask the fuckin’ sergeants, anyone but me, but she wouldn’t hear it. It had to be him, it had to be, and then she locked him into a room with her, and she leveled with him.
She told him that you are special. That you are precious. That omegas like you don’t exist, that you are one in a single generation, and there isn’t anyone else in the world that will do except for him.
Price, married to the field. The sergeants, immature and might as well be titled barracks bunnies. But Simon–purebred, quiet, controlled. Terrified of himself and what he is. His unofficial pack that he defends with his entire being, that is the only alpha worth giving to you.
Kate had thought about it before. What it might be like to push the hair away from your neck and sink her teeth there. As easy as putting her signature to paper, she could have the CIA running laps to keep you protected, but she knew that wasn’t the life for her. It couldn’t be.
In every situation, Kate would have to choose that lesser evil, and in her world, it would mean her choice would unlikely be you.
Simon? Simon answered to no one. Unlike his sergeants, he cared little for authority; he wouldn’t blink twice saying no to his superior. Unlike his Captain, Simon didn’t mind choosing the bloody way out. He was the first with his finger on the trigger, and the last to sweep a room. Kate knew–if Simon had to choose between the greater good and the omega he claimed?
Fuck the greater good. That, she could count on.
If Kate only asked for one thing, it would be this. She did promise you. She promised she would keep you away from it all. She promised that she would make things right. She promised that she would protect you, but even Kate answers to others, and the reality of this kind of world is that the only way to really protect you was to give you away.
To put you into the same world that you had only begged to be kept away from.
Nobody likes playing matchmaker, but maybe putting together the most stubborn and angry people in the world might save you from yourselves. At least she hoped so.
You’re nearly asleep when you feel Simon come to bed. All the lights are off, and it’s pitch black in the room. There’s some shuffling around the room, and then you feel the blankets move. All of the sudden, a heat stronger than you’ve ever felt takes up the entire bed. Pressed against your back, a solid chest, and then a huge arm falls over your waist.
“We cuddling now?” You mumble sleepily, and Simon breathes out slowly, not responding. When you fall asleep, it’s unnervingly easy. Your omega purrs, digging her nails into you, and when you turn your head in the dark and feel the brush of his unmasked face against yours, she preens.
He’s right there–just a little taste. Just a little. Please, please, please–
Omegas cannot claim, but they can bite. It takes everything inside of you not to sink your teeth into him.
“You smell that? Smells like fuckin’ sweets, mates.”
You take off your headphones and safety glasses, looking over your shoulder. There’s a few recruits a few lanes down from you, wiggling their eyebrows and licking their lips. One of them crudely grabs his crotch, winking at you. You make a face.
Gross.
“Let me see you, baby. Smell so good.”
You holster the gun you’re holding, leaning against the counter with your hip. You raise a brow, tilting your head to the side.
“Are you done?” You ask, and they take that as their cue to start walking closer. An invitation.
They don’t get very far. You smell him before you see him. On instinct, your shoulders relax with that whiff of charcoal. You push off the counter just in time for him to come up behind you, and you feel the heat of his chest as it presses against your back. The recruits in front of you stop immediately, and you feel a disgusting sense of satisfaction when Simon bends over your shoulder to look at you.
“‘n wot’s this?” Simon growls. You shrug, crossing your arms over your chest.
“I don’t know. They wanna have a dick-measuring contest, but I think they’re afraid they’re gonna lose,” you say. You let out an annoyed sigh, turning again to put your safety glasses on. You put the headphones back over your ears and take the gun out of your holster, turning the safety off as you line it up with the paper targets near the back of the course. “You know. Cause my dick is way bigger.”
You unload the clip just for fun. You’re supposed to be practicing on accuracy, which for you meant slower, spaced-out shots to try and hit the same spot over and over, but the sound of the gun going off again and again helps distract you from the laughing, untrained dogs that are littered across the shooting range.
When you put the gun down after emptying the magazine, Simon is salivating. The paper target head is obliterated, each bullet almost next to its last. When you turn around, Simon tilts his head to the side. You holster the gun, starting to walk, and Simon lets his eyes drop to the sway of your hips as you pass by him. It’s not a conscious decision, the way his fingers curl into fists and squeeze hard.
“Told you,” you say to him. “Huge dick, right, baby?”
Something flares in Simon’s chest when he hears it. Like a switch, his legs start moving, following you, and when he passes by a recruit that is standing much too close to you, Simon shoves the recruit back so hard, they smack their nose against the wall and curses from the impact, blood dripping under their bruised nose.
The rest of the day, you don’t see another rookie walk even five feet into your vicinity. Even without a mark on your neck, you are claimed, and right before you leave your room for dinner, Simon is fitting a dark hoodie over your head. The smell overwhelms you. It’s soaked in his scent, and you turn to face him, looking at him suspiciously. Your omega keeps you from questioning him. She wants you to start walking, because she knows he’ll touch you when you do.
It’s that night that Simon asks John for you to join them. All Simon does is slide the shredded paper target across his desk. John picks it up, tacking it onto the wall. He chuckles, shaking his head. It’s an impressive piece of paper, but being a good shot isn’t the only reason someone is cleared to work with them. Even besides that, it’s forbidden.
“Omegas aren’t allowed in the field, Simon,” John reminds him. “You know that.”
“Think tha’s why we should take her,” Simon mutters. “She’s a distraction. A good one.”
“A weapon,” John frowns. He can already hear Kate screaming into his ear if she ever saw you geared up between them on an op.
“A tool.”
“And what does she think of that, eh?” John slips his hat off, tossing it onto his desk. He sighs, running a hand over his beard, and he shakes his head. “And Kate…Kate would hang my fuckin’ head.”
“Not Kate’s responsibility anymore, she’s mine,” Simon bites back. He knows it’s wrong. In all honesty, the sentiment tasted bad from the moment he said it to you, but it is easier to let you believe that he’s using you then try and make you understand him. You wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t get his reasons, and that’s fine, so if he has to be the bad guy, so be it.
The least he could do is make himself useful. Put your skills to work, poke your mind. See what you can really do.
“Don’t let your girl hear you talkin’ like that, Simon,” John says lowly. “Not her, and certainly not Kate.”
“But you agree,” Simon continues, chuckling lowly. “I speak for her. ‘n I think she’d be right in on it, Captain. Wot else is she to do, eh? Sit in my fuckin’ quarters and wait f’me? Wot kind of life is tha’? She needs this. She’s good. I can teach ‘er. She’ll learn. Well and good she will, I know it.”
John sniffs, running a big hand over his short hair before tapping a pen over the target paper on the wall.
“I need her OK,” John relents finally. “I need to hear it from her. I get that, I’m alright with it. But she has to know what she’s getting into, Simon. And no one but you is responsible for her. If she gets into something, I’m not gonna risk Soap or Gaz for it–”
“I know,” Simon mutters. “She’ll be my shadow. I’ll teach ‘er.”
She’ll be good. She’ll be good because she’s mine.
“Bravo-7, sitrep.”
“Eyes on target. Waiting on confirmation.” Simon looks over his shoulder for a moment, where you’re sitting as his cover. You look cute, he thinks. All geared up. He lets his eyes sweep over the cargo pants that are cinched around your waist. Your nice curves. Thick thighs. Fuck, you smell good, even with all the sand up his nose and the smoke clinging to his mask. You have your rifle tucked into your elbow, and you’ve got it aimed towards the door of the roof.
“Is it always so fucking hot?” You ask, running your wrist over your lip. You’re sweating; you can feel it dripping down the back of your neck and along your back. You’re wearing a lot of gear, but you’ve done this before, and you don’t remember it being so uncomfortable. It must be the climate–you’re not used to this kind of desert, and you need to get it together.
Despite the irritation you feel every time you look at Simon, your omega wants to please him. She wants to show him she can do this, that she’s capable, and you’re starting to not like that she’s behaving as if you and her are one and the same.
I’m in control. Shut the fuck up. Let me focus.
“Just watch the door,” Simon mutters, turning back to focus. He adjusts the scope of his rifle, taking a deep breath as he leans into the stock. He gets his target into his line of sight, and he narrows his eye a little more to watch the group more closely on the ground. It’s hard to ignore you. Normally, the person covering him goes almost unnoticed. Their scent never affects him, not enough to make him look away from his scope, but there’s something in the air way too close to him, and he scrunches his nose a little as he adjusts his position on the ground. “You stink, by the way.”
“Shut the fuck up,” you snap. “Not my fault.”
“Certainly is y’r fault.”
“You reek, too, you ass,” you mumble, wiping your forehead again. You adjust how you’re sitting, clearing your throat. It’s scratchy, and you’re starting to itch a little all over, too. “Like wet dog.”
Simon smiles under his mask. He keeps his index finger next to the trigger, and you keep yours on it.
“How much longer do we have to do this? I mean…I thought you were SAS. Don’t you guys…get your hands real dirty? I mean, don’t you go tearing doors down? Get a lot of action? I mean, we’re just sitting ducks on a roof here right now.”
“Wot, you wanna go kick some doors down now?” Simon asks. He shakes his head. “The real job is boring. We do things nice and clean, we only get dirty when we ‘ave to. If I can get a target from 1000 yards away, then tha’s wot I’ll do. Besides. This is wot I’m good at.”
“Yeah, you look real good there on your knees, honey.”
Simon blinks hard when something strong hits his nose. It stings, makes his eyes water. He coughs a little, dropping his head for a moment.
“Fuckin’ Christ,” Simon hisses. “Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?”
“I-I don’t know,” you whisper. You take your hand off your rifle for a moment to adjust the collar of your shirt, but it doesn’t help. You shift a little, loosening your tactical vest. You want to take it off, but you know that’s a bad idea out here. It’s hard to think clearly, though, when your brain is cloudy and you’re starting to see things in double every so often. “It’s…it’s too hot.”
Simon huffs, “‘n when was the last time you had a heat?”
“I’ve…I’ve never.” You clear your throat. “I’ve never had one.”
Can you smell him? I can smell him. He smells so good.
Simon nearly leaves his post. He grips his rifle tight, gloved hands squeezing the metal, and he turns to look at you incredulously.
“Fuckin’ repeat tha’?”
“I know you’re blind and dumb, but don’t tell me you’re fucking deaf, too,” you mumble. You swallow, wiping your face again, and Simon presses on the radio on his shoulder.
“Bravo-7 to Bravo-6, how long do we got?”
“Just observation on target for now. Why?”
“Need 10 minutes.”
Simon shuts off the radio. You blink, starting to see double pretty consistently now, and you take a shaky breath as you grip your rifle a little tighter. You hear shuffling behind you, and you look back to see Simon moving from his position.
“What are you doing? Simon–”
“Get over ‘ere.” Simon sets his rifle down. “Tha’ wasn’t a fuckin’ suggestion, tha’ was an order!”
There’s something different in his voice at the end. Something more animal that lilts his drawl, and it makes you coherent enough to start moving–like his voice made all the fog clear up for just a few moments, long enough for you to realize you need him.
Closer. Closer. Closer.
You put your rifle down, crawling over to him, and just as you stumble, Simon catches you. You put your hands on his shoulders, falling into his lap, and he hoists you up until you’re straddling him. You feel him starting to tug on your cargos, and even in your daze, you squeeze his shoulders.
“S-Simon? What are you…What are you doing?”
“Y’r gonna go into heat soon,” Simon mutters. Alarm bells go off in your head, and you dig your nails into his shoulders. He can see it clearly–the panic on your face.
“H-Heat? R-Right now?”
“Not right now,” Simon clicks his tongue. “More like a…pre-heat. Get y’r bloody pants off–”
When Simon tugs your cargos down enough, you gasp when you see the mess your panties are in. They’re soaked, drenched until the cotton is a darker color, sticking to your cunt, and you whimper as Simon tugs you back into his lap with your pants around your ankles. It’s awkward and messy, and you’re sweating bullets, hot and bothered, and your chest feels tight. There’s nothing romantic about it, nothing sweet about the way Simon turns you in his lap. It’s hurried, but you’re just as desperate, clawing to whatever piece of him you can touch and trying to sink into him. If you could, you’d pry him open and force yourself to tuck yourself inside of him. You want to live there forever. You want to be in his skin, soaking it all in–you want it. You want this, don’t you?
He’s touching us! He’s touching us! Let him in!
“W-What’s happening t-to me?”
“‘s olright,” Simon whispers in your ear. “I’ve got ya. There we are…” He cups your pussy, making you squirm. You jolt in his lap, throwing your head back against his shoulder, and he hums as you sink into his touch. Something inside you curls and lights on fire. Your vision blurs, and his scent surrounds you. “Oh…fuck…tha’ wot ya needed, swee’eart? Yeah…”
Yes! Yes! Yes!
“Simon–” Your back arches, and you push your hips into his hand. When he touches your clit, your omega seizes inside your head, and it’s a feeling like you’ve never felt before.
She takes the reigns; and God, does she fucking pull.
You palm at the zipper of his pants. There’s something there, something you want–and you need it. There’s something in your chest that blinds you, that familiar voice in your head that chants–take it out, take it out, take it out.
“‘m workin’ on it, love,” you hear from behind, and you realize you’re talking. You’re out of your body, you think. You’re not yourself. When you feel him in your daze, big and throbbing under your hand, you whine. It comes from deep within your chest, a bubble of nonsense, and Simon coos. He drags your hips closer, and his cock slips under you, between your folds, and you use your palm to keep him pressed to you. You can’t see him, but you felt him when you first met him, and you’re feeling him now.
If there was any doubt that he was anything but an alpha, that thought disappears when his fat tip kisses your clit. He’s hot and throbbing under your hand, and he is more than enough to appease the voice in your head that’s screaming for some kind of inherent relief that it knows he can give.
“Simon, I need it–I need it–”
“I know, love.”
Fuck, Simon would win any dick-measuring contest, you think. Barely the tip of him, and you’re baring your teeth, gripping his thighs and digging your nails into him as you try and breathe through the stretch. He’s not even fully hard yet; the blood is rushing to his cock, and you moan and cry as he sits you down further and further and further–
“What the fuck–what is it you have in your fucking pants, a-a fucking pipe–?!”
“Y’r so much prettier when y’r mouth ain’t runnin’,” Simon mutters. “Ahh–fuck–’s mine, oll mine–”
You put your hands on his knees and throw it back. You’re feral, brain foggy, and all you can think about is getting yourself off. Your body clings to Simon like a thick, curling vice, pussy clamping around him and taking him to the root. You’re dripping down your thighs, wetting his cargos, and you’re thankful that he’s wearing black, otherwise you can’t think about the mess you’d really be leaving on him. The sounds are lewd. Frantic smack, smack, smack against his thick thighs, and the sound is only making you drool for more. He’s so big. He’s hitting you deep, and you swear your insides have never been stretched this far, but it’s like your body is molding itself to fit him. Like you’re making room for him.
It’s so good. It feels right. Your omega growls like an animal, crying with relief. It’s the only thing she’s ever wanted, and she has it in her hands, and she licks at your scent gland until it practically vibrates. Simon’s face is pressed to it, like he can hear her calling. His mask is the only thing separating you, but you can feel his teeth straining against the fabric. They cut over the gland, wet like his tongue is poking against it, too, and your omega screams.
Bite me, bite me, bite me.
“Not yet,” Simon grunts. “Won’t take.”
“You’ll make it take.”
He laughs, and then he punches the air out of you with a nice thrust. Then he’s on you. Suddenly, you’re on your knees, your tummy against the sandy rooftop, with a stallion of a soldier on top of you, taking you like his last meal.
He sounds like more bear than man. Growling, spitting, both hands on either side of your head as he fucks you into the floor. There’s a smile on your face, soft relief that leaves you in your pretty moans and gurgled pleas. It feels so good. The tip of his cock curves and hits against the same place each time, sending pulses that rack your body over and over and over again. Your thighs are shaking, and then Simon slips one hand under you and cups your pussy, fitting it just right until you can grind down on his palm in perfect timing with the way the fat tip of him hits you just well enough. It should hurt. You’ve never taken anything so big–of course you’ve practiced, but nothing can prepare you for the real thing.
This is still practice. You’re not in your heat, not really, and Simon hasn’t lost his fucking mind yet.
Like a fiend, you chase it. The stars, the mountain to climb, the beautiful end. You get up a little more onto your knees and you wrap a hand around his neck, force him against your jaw. You goad him on with pretty words, soft moans–that’s it, right there, please.
It’s not his first time. It’s not his first time relieving an itch he can’t scratch, and it’s not his first time taking an omega by the neck and pounding into her until she can’t speak, but it’s the first time his resolve shatters.
He wants to bite. He’s never felt the urge to bite. If it wasn’t for the mask, his teeth would be an inch deep in your neck, and he’d be memorizing what your blood tasted like for the first time. Your scent is just that much off that he knows it isn’t the right time, but fuck–the need is there. It’s clear.
Special. One of a kind. No one like her. Soft. Sweet. Mine.
His knot swells a little, but it doesn’t lock. You’re not in a proper heat, so it’s not right just yet, but you can feel the edge of it, like the preface to a glorious poem. Thick and spongy, hot, and when he comes, your eyes roll back in your head. It feels like being thirsty for days on end and finally getting that sweet drink of crystal clear water. He pumps you full, creamy and thick and dribbling between your thighs as you squeeze them together. Subconsciously, you’re trying to keep it inside, and Simon groans when as he latches his mouth over your scent gland under the mask and sucks–so hard, it pinches you just right.
The stars align. The tide wanes. You mumble softly, dopey smile on your face, and when your own high hits you, and you’re squirting into his hand, you let his rumbling, low voice pull you back to earth.
“I ‘ave ya, swee’eart,” he says. “Shhh…easy, kitty…Shh…yeah, easy.”
You sigh with relief. Simon handles you with ease. He picks you up, gets you to sit back on your heels. You don’t see it, but Simon fits his wet fingers under the mask, and you keen when you hear him suck on his fingers and hum.
He likes us. Hear that? He likes us.
“Want you to eat me,” you giggle suddenly, and Simon wipes you down, picking your pants back up and zipping them. He pats your ass gently, smoothing a hand over the back of your neck. He knows you’re still in a different headspace. He knows there’s still something else drawing your breath, but he’s trying not to think about it too much. It sounds so much like you.
“Do plenty o’tha’ when we’re in the thick o’it, kitty.”
Back in the humvee, Johnny is smiling like an idiot. He’s sitting next to Kyle, hitting him with his elbow as he wiggles his eyebrows at you and Simon sitting across from them. You tilt your head to the side, glaring.
“What?” You snap, and Johnny cackles. His eyes are flashing, and he reeks like happiness.
“Smells like ye had fun.”
“My gun is loaded, shithead,” you warn him. “And I know how the fucking safety works.”
When Johnny moves to sit in the front near your captain, you try not to think about the sudden warmth over your knee, and the squeeze of Simon’s hand on you.
NEXT
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