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charliemwrites · 30 days ago

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Omegas are the best for the military. Everyone knows that, it’s just common sense.

Omegas are notoriously level-headed and calm, protective without the tendency towards aggression and territorial possessiveness that characterizes their Alpha counterparts. They’re cooperative and adaptable, with heightened senses that at one evolutionary time kept them safe from rabid Alphas.

Now, it’s best suited to sniffing out potential threats, communicating sub-vocally, and noticing the smallest changes in their environment. The military finds them much more economical for combat, special ops, and even espionage compared to Alphas, who are pheromone sensitive, hard-headed, and generally indelicate.

That said, they’re not without their uses. Alphas tend to be lean, fast, and vicious. That aggression makes them both sword and shield in a fight, filing their sense of pain and fatigue down to almost nothing until the threat is neutralized.

Still, having a full-time Alpha in a squad isn’t a necessity except in special circumstances.

Per usual, Task Force 141 is special circumstances.

Four specialist Omegas with a metric ton of trauma per team member has the unfortunate consequence of hormonal imbalance. One thing feeds into another, a heat is put on hold for a mission because they can’t spare the manpower - it stacks and stacks and stacks until sleep is scarce and their usually well-maintained instincts are bursting at the seams. Compound that with the near loss of one of their team members…

The new Alpha is already there when the team returns from their latest assignment.

Laswell is waiting on the tarmac and an operative in black gear is standing a polite distance (plus one step more) from her elbow. Well within peripheral, but deferent. Their hands are clasped behind their back, shoulders straight but loose.

As TF141 approaches, Price expects the Alpha pheromones to waft his way any moment. It’s normal, expected even. A new environment, meeting strange Omegas, Alphas usually burn through their neutralizers quickly. Perhaps a vestigial instinct to carve a space for themselves in the world. Not necessarily their fault, but it happens.

Price is surprised that he smells nothing from the Alpha at all. Just the scents of detergent and soap, clean and standard. A quick glance at Simon confirms their most-sensitive nose doesn’t detect anything either.

Laswell introduces them, an Alpha that she’s personally worked with before and can verify is solid both on and off the field.

The Alpha’s muzzle is heavy duty but long-wear design. Hard-case and rigid instead of the more popular soft and flexible ones. Cushioned but firm at the bridge of the nose, chin, and corners of the jaw. Buckled tight at the back of the head, steel grid pattern across the front.

Price doesn’t arch his eyebrows at it but it’s a near thing.

They duck their head in greeting when Laswell introduces them as Saint, eyes flicking up briefly to each team member, eye-shine reflecting green in the bright runway lights.

Soap whistles, impressed.

“Yer a big ‘un, tha’s fer damn sure. Didnae ken they make ‘em like ye,” he drawls. Ghost cuffs him upside the head, reminding him to behave.

Saint blinks and doesn’t say anything. Curious.

“Let’s do proper introductions inside,” Price decides.

It goes much the same way in the 141’s den as it did out on the tarmac. Saint stands quiet and still while the Omegas take their turns.

There’s no scent to familiarize themselves with, so it’s mostly offering theirs to the Alpha. Except Saint doesn’t duck down to the neck Gaz offers. Instead, they pluck up his hand and bring his wrist to their muzzle. Inhale so quietly that only the swell of their chest indicates that they’re breathing him in.

They chuff softly, hold so loose that Gaz’s hand nearly drops from theirs. It’s approval, it can’t be anything else, but it sounds so… detached.

Still, Gaz chuffs in return, and makes way for the others. Saint does the same to Soap and by the time Simon steps up, he’s already tugging his sleeve up and his glove down.

Simon, to his own surprise, receives the same polite huff as the two sergeants. Most Alphas have found his direct scent to be unpleasant - too sharp and savory, bordering on Alpha. But Saint doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

When it’s finally Price’s turn, the only difference is that Saint swipes their own wrist along his. Scent claim. Not marking the 141 as theirs, but rather Saint as belonging with them.

Laswell, suspiciously amused, takes her leave soon after.

The 141 has an Alpha. A permanent one.

Living with an Alpha would have been a learning curve on its own. Living with SAINT is something else entirely.

For one, they apply clinical-strength neutralizer religiously. They have spares stashed everywhere. In their go-bag, their combat gear, the den, the lockers - even one in Price’s office. It’s better than the ones with fragrance, but if not for their ever-present muzzle, no one would be able to tell that they’re an Alpha.

And speaking of the muzzle.

It goes beyond common courtesy and public conduct. Even in the den, they keep the thing tightly pressed to their face, and don’t remove it for anything. They eat in their room and drink through straws when necessary.

When Price tells them that the team wouldn’t mind if they used a bite guard in the den, they just chuff softly and brush a hand along his shoulder. The muzzle stayed.

It’s not to say they don’t seem comfortable. Day by day, little signs of trust and ease seep into their Alpha’s mannerisms if they know where to look for it. A brush of skin here, a sub-vocal purr there. Spending hours upon hours in the den, available for any of the Omegas to sit with or cuddle or chat to. As much as teammate as an Alpha in the traditional sense.

It doesn’t take Soap and Gaz long at all to start hanging all over them, but Saint takes it with all the patience of their namesake. Price finds Soap lounging in their lap most times that they’re sitting, or leaning hard into their side while they watch recruits.

The muzzle is a no-touch zone, but they don’t get even growl the first time Soap discovers that. They just redirect him with a quiet click of their tongue, and let him nuzzle in when he apologizes.

Gaz is hardly any better, scent marking Saint like some bad Alpha stereotype. Poor thing goes around smelling overwhelmingly of bergamot and honey sometimes, but they never mind, never stop him from pressing his face to their chest or their back or even into their hands. Rubbing his face over any bit of skin or fabric available, even their jugular, despite the vulnerability of such a spot.

Still, Saint is aloof.

They’re perfectly responsive to their Omegas, head tilting at the slightest vocalization, quick to offer physical comfort when asked. They hardly ever seek it out for themself though, and show none of the near-obsessive behaviors associated with even the most mild of Alphas on the spectrum.

“I dinnae think Alpha likes us,” Soap whines one evening.

Saint is eating in their room, leaving the Omegas to a cuddle pile while they wait for their return.

He’s been lamenting it for a while now, repressing the rejected pang in his gut any time Saint doesn’t vocalize back, or reach for them first.

They work out in the Alpha-Only gym on base and do their laundry in the designated Alpha wash. Neither of those are regulations, it’s a choice they make. And it hurts a bit.

Saint is sweet, but their politeness goes past the point of old-fashioned.

“Course they do,” Simon grunts, dismissive. “They probably like us too much.”

“How do you reckon?” Gaz asks.

“Alpha didn’ go t’ eat ‘til we were all fed,” he replies, shrugging.

And it’s true. Saint doesn’t collect a scrap of nutrition until every one of their Omegas has had something to eat. Even Price, stubborn and work-focused as he can be, is gently urged to eat before Saint fills their own belly.

It doesn’t stop there.

Saint is always the last one on or off a transport, and quick to notice if any of them are injured. They’re always present around large groups of other Alphas, especially recruits.

The sheer amount of time they spend available is unusual, preferring the den to rest in their off hours - even sleeping there on occasion.

Then Gaz’s heat is due. A week out and he’s already feeling it descending - it’s been well over six months since his last one. His skin feels itchy, his senses on overdrive. Thirsty and hungry and generally feeling restless beneath the skin.

“Alpha,” he calls.

Saint’s eyes are on him instantly, one-sided conversation with some other, non-Pack Omega forgotten. Gaz purrs, pleased.

“I want something of yours.”

They tilt their head, a silent question.

“A shirt or something,” he specifies.

And something in their gaze flickers. Gaz isn’t sure what it means, but it definitely looks positive.

Saint brings him something better - a blanket. It’s intimate; it’s perfect. It smells incredible, if… oddly faded. From his most reserved Pack member, it means the world.

Gaz balls himself up with it in the nest he assembles over the next day and a half, until he wakes up one morning with the knowledge that his heat will l well and truly have taken hold before midday.

He puts in his notice and calls his Pack.

Saint is the last to enter his barrack, a huge bag of supplies in their arms. Not just for Gaz, but for the rest of them. No one will be leaving unless duty calls.

And it’s perfect. The best heat Gaz has ever had. Surrounded by Pack and protected by his Alpha, who stays on watch while Price and Ghost and Soap fuck him through the dregs of preheat and well into Heat proper.

Half of him purrs at his Alpha’s dedication to protecting them, to providing for them. The other half protests the Alpha’s attention being anywhere but on him.

“Alpha,” he calls. And when that only earns him Saint’s eyes and not his affection, he barks, sharper, “Alpha.”

They come to him instantly, settled in between his legs, smooth their thumbs along the glands at the base of his neck. He curls into them trilling and chirping and needing more than just social acceptability right now.

And finally, finally, a low rumble sounds through his Alpha’s chest. It’s deep and rich, hits the subharmonics in a way that has all the Omegas going still and quiet. Their voice purrs out a moment later, practically vibrating their skulls.

“Easy, Omega.”

Gaz bares his neck, whispering, “Saint.”

They lean in, breathing loud and deep, warm hands soothing an ache in his lower back. “I’m here, Kyle.”

They fuck well into sundown, Kyle so wound up that he can’t bear to be parted from Saint to even let them breathe. Any space between them is whined or growled or bitten out of existence, the ever-indulgent Alpha soothing their Omega with their body, with the newly discovered vocalizations that he just can’t get enough of.

Ghost and Price have to feed and hydrate him between rounds, working together to manage his clingy limbs and careless (but sharp) teeth. In the meantime, Soap helps to do the same for Saint, who is far more cooperative.

“How’re you still goin’?” Soap wonders, amazed, slipping bites of granola between the bars of their muzzle. Saint is sitting upright with Gaz collected against their chest, sweaty but already breathing evenly again.

Saint licks a bit of chocolate off their lip and meets his eyes easy as anything, serene for how blown out their pupils are.

“I’m your Alpha. I go until you need me to stop.”

Which just sets them all off, each taking (needing) a turn with their Alpha.

By then, their neutralizer has begun to wear off, friction and sweat and fabric thinning the chemical deodorant to nothing. The scent is intoxicating, unlike anything any of them have ever smelled before. It’s overwhelmingly Alpha, overwhelmingly good. Even Ghost and Price, rare to bend the knee to anyone, find themselves weak for that scent.

No wonder Saint keeps it on lock, it’s practically a weapon in itself, not demanding submission but expecting it. A foregone conclusion. In a social setting it would be a brutal domination, rude wouldn’t even be the right word for it.

Saint isn’t just an Alpha, they’re on the extreme end of the spectrum.

The kind that comes with counseling and desensitizing therapies. Etiquette schools and specialized doctors.

The kind of Alpha that can not only manage four chaotic Omegas, but give them what they need.

With types like Saint, Alpha isn’t just a designation, it’s a title. And the 141 is proud that it’s theirs.

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #simon riley #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o #non traditional omegaverse

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waves-against-a-cliff · 3 months ago

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After the end - Post-apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - You won't be cornered in your territory and that's final. You begin to make little presents for your trespassers should they dare to enter your woods. Meanwhile, the four alphas find something very interesting...

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader. The reader is officially a bad ass

Prologue

You stared down at the nest you had created and suddenly felt disgusted and angry. These alphas have stepped onto your territory and made you react like this. Three years of near bliss, despite the struggles, gone. The anger rolled over you in waves, it boiled your blood to the point you felt hot all over your body.

No. You weren't about to cower in your cabin and let some stupid alphas wander all over your territory. You were going to do something about it. You marched back towards your living room and opened one of the closets on the side of the hallway. You grabbed the bag full of supplies and swung it over your shoulder then looked at the shotgun leaned against the wall.

You hesitated only for a moment before you grabbed it too. Even in the times before the world ended you hadn't been one for conventionality. You preferred to be alone on your own property living your own life. And no alpha or beta, whether back then or now, was going to take this from you. You shoved the extra ammunition into your pockets and unbarred your door.

The cold winter air nipped at your skin and distantly you could still smell their combined scents. You pulled stuffing from a torn apart pillow and stuffed it up your nose. Happy hunting indeed, you thought as you stepped off into your piece heaven that would become their hell.

"Hey captain," Gaz said as they wandered through the very small town. It had likely been abandoned for ages. The first thing Gaz had noticed was that the windows were smashed in but the doors boarded up. Then he noticed the marks, spray paint in different symbols meaning something or another. "I think this place has been completely stripped bare."

Price hummed thoughtfully and turned to look around at the other buildings. All of them in similar states of disrepair but all with symbols sprayed onto them. He turned to his team, and contemplated their next steps. "Do you think they might still be around?" Ghost spoke up finally.

Price glanced at his lieutenant. They had stuck together when the entire world had completely gone down. First the electricity and then a disease. It apparently didn't take much else to throw the world into chaos. People killed people all the time before but not even Ghost had been prepared for the level of depravity some people dove to. Kidnapping local omegas, killing betas or hunting alphas for sport. Blowing up buildings and ransacking stores.

They had all stuck together as a pack since that was what they had always done. They wandered from place to place and it had taken them a little over a year to make it back to the UK. Bonds grew stronger and their ruts continued. They were all each other's support. Price considered the facts in front of them.

"Negative. I don't think whoever did this is still around," Price said as he eyed the pharmacy. The only building not having been closed off or marked with an 'x'. "Soap, Gaz, go investigate the pharmacy, me and Ghost will try to find any other buildings not marked."

They wandered around the town for a bit with Gaz and Soap meeting back up not long after they had departed. "Over tae counter medicine like Advil but nae much else," Soap tossed Ghost the bottle who looked over it.

"Not expired yet. Good find."

"Wait," Gaz suddenly said and sniffed the air. Everyone paused, Gaz had the best nose of them all. Able to sniff out any scents even days old. He walked over to a telephone pole that had a red smear on it and sniffed with his nose almost on the old blood.

He felt his cock chub up his pants immediately at the scent. At first it smelled like sweat and dirt but underneath that was a tangy, sour then sweet like a granny smith apple or a green grape, scent. An unmistakable smell of omega.

Gaz turned to the three other alphas, "There's an omega around." He grinned.

Hehe I'm gonna have fun writing this

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lay-z · 20 days ago

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❄️ Day 7 – Make do

Synopsis: Stuck in a safe house on a mission in the middle of nowhere on Christmas Eve, you and your alpha teammates are in dire need of some comfort.

Pairing: alpha!TF-141 x fem!omega!Reader Warnings/Info: No smut. | Omegaverse; military!Reader; a/b/o dynamics; emotional support (dog) omega; fluff; suggestive content; flirting; teammates to lovers/mates; eventual poly!relationship; eventual romance; typical omega/alpha behaviour

Word count: 2.5k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

Location: [Redacted]

EST. remng. time until exfil: 8 hrs. 4 min. 37 sec.

The wind is howling outside the shabby safe house, whistling through the creaks and cracks of withered floorboards while the rain keeps pouring down in ice buckets, fat drops pounding against the leaky windows.

You fear the seemingly ancient hut might cave in like an unstable card house with each violent gust of wind.

It’s definitely not cosy and anything but how you’d imagine to spend your holidays this year, but alas – you’re in the military, freshly recruited by a secret special ops task force just a handful of weeks ago, and neither war nor terrorism take a break, so you won’t, either. And you’re still trying to proof yourself to them, to those rugged, dominant and battle-hardened alpha soldiers.

Still, you’ve been away from a proper nest for nearly a month now and it’s starting to make you terribly anxious. You cannot possibly be of any use for your assigned alphas like this, not if you can’t even take care of yourself properly, and it’s showing.

Sometimes, the novelty of this arrangement catches up to you, makes you question your whole being and purpose. Especially, when you struggle to approach certain members of the squad to even offer your help and do your job. However, Captain Price had informed you in the beginning that you’re their first assigned emotional support omega, that some of his soldiers have never even been in close proximity to one before. He never told you who, but you already have a good hunch.

You don’t want them to know about your inner turmoil, though; don’t want them to think of you as some spoiled, prissy omega when you’re definitely still a soldier, as capable of the same war atrocities as they are – even if your nature gets in the way sometimes.

So, you do what you do best, grit your teeth, keep your demeanour neutral and make your usual rounds, seeing if anyone is in need of your support, though you’re ready for their usual declination – which is something that stings even worse than your own unmet need for comfort.

Nuzzling the cold tip of your nose into the thick collar of your winter combat jacket, you peel yourself away from the raggedy cot in the guest bedroom, boot-clad feet dragging along the creaking floorboards as you square your shoulders despite your own discomfort and walk down the short hallway into the dimly lit, sparsely furnished open living room.

And your nose immediately wrinkles at the concoction of sour, agitated alpha scents, cigar smoke, gun oil and musty wood. It’s bad enough to make your eyes water, but you swiftly blink away the gloss in your eyes, determined not to let them know how bad this is.

“Gentlemen,” you speak your greeting into the room, clearing your dry throat awkwardly as you assess the situation while the men barely seem to acknowledge you.

Captain Price is standing by a cracked window, puffing on a stubby cigar while staring outside into the semi-darkness, watching the storm, his broad shoulders tense and spine rigid.

Gaz is reading a worn softback book, sitting in the corner of the shabby couch where the old standard lamp flickers every couple of seconds, his dark brows drawn together in concentration, though his eyes barely move.

Soap is slumped in the only upholstered armchair, the battered cushions looking like they’ve seen better days; long legs stretched out in front of him, his bulky arms resting on each armrest while his head is tilted back, eyes flickering behind closed eyelids.

And the Lieutenant, Ghost, is sitting at the wobbly table on an equally wobbly chair in the darkest corner of the room, sharpening and cleaning his ballistic knives, the heavy scent of restlessness accumulated in his spot, though, as usual, his expression is hidden behind his skull mask, an air of indifference carefully crafted around his self while his own nature betrays him.

Their behaviour is making your stomach twist into knots and you swallow down a soft whine as your inner omega starts trembling with anxiety.

Then, Soap speaks up, his gruff, roguish voice breaking the tense silence, “Ye busy, sweetheart?”

You blink dumbly, eyes flickering around the room, unsure if he’s truly talking to you or–

But Soap lifts his head then, a boyish grin on his lips as his bright cerulean eyes lock with your, nearly making you squeak in surprise.

“C’mere, Corporal.” He says, lifting his bare right hand and curling his index finger, beckoning you over playfully before patting his thick thighs. It’s not an order, but the sudden interaction between you and the Sergeant has the other alphas perk up one way or another.

Price glances over his shoulder, blowing out a thick plume of smoke around the cigar between his lips. Gaz looks up from the pages of his book, one eyebrow raised curiously, his warm brown eyes flickering between Price, Soap and you while Ghost stops polishing one of his knives briefly before proceeding again.

It’s the first time one of them has made the conscious decision to ask for your presence, disregarding the brief and rare sniffs all of them have taken of your comforting omega scent in between action and battles.

Almost unconsciously, you give a stiff nod before approaching him while he sits up straighter in the armchair, moving his legs and angling his knees to give you more space.

“How–uhm–How do you… want me, Sergeant?” You ask tentatively, oblivious to the double-meaning of your innocent question, struggling to keep up your professionalism as you rock back and forth on your heels, heart pounding in your throat.

Soap’s formerly tired, half-lidded eyes light up with mirth as he drinks in your uncertainty, and deep down, he feels so bad for himself for denying himself and you this comfort that you and the rest of the squad so desperately need – all on orders from Price; the admonition from several weeks ago still ringing in the young Sergeant’s ears.

“Don’t overwhelm her, lads. She’s precious tha’ one, a bloody fine soldier, and we wanna keep her around with us.”

But the Captain forgot that this is literally your job, that this is why you’re here with them in the first place, and gods damn, Soap needs a whiff of your scent, of something else but his or his pack mates acrid stench – something more like candied apples, cinnamon and fresh wildflowers – something more like you, sweet, sweet omega.

Soap holds his right hand out to you and waits for you to reach out as well, before he grasps your smaller, cold hand swiftly, pulling you onto his lap while he keeps you steady with his left, manhandling you until you’re sitting perched up oh so prettily on his broad lap.

Your lashes flitter briskly, bright doe-eyes flickering nervously as you drink in his features this up close and Soap is preening internally at the reaction you’re showing him, so surprised and almost innocent despite your occupation.

“Ye like sitting here with me, aye, sweetheart? Not too much for ye, innit?” He queries nicely, loud enough for the others, especially Price, to hear, while the corners of his eyes crinkle with giddiness.

You scan the room discreetly, vigilant eyes moving left and right, like prey looking out for predators, unsure if this might be some kind of test perhaps, to see if you’re a good omega, able to do what you’re supposed to. Looking back into Soap’s pretty eyes, you give a slow nod, “Yes and no, sir.”

“Aye… thought so.” Soap chuckles gruffly, pulling you closer against his buff chest, eager to have your warmth and scent seep through his clothes, mark his skin and calm his restless soul.

Gaz can’t take it anymore, can’t even continue pretending to be preoccupied with this stupid book in his hands. Not when you’re sitting on Soap’s lap like that, whispering and giggling with him like you’ve never done anything else before. It had already been hard enough, acting as if you weren’t there since you joined the team, when all Gaz wants to do is bury his face in your neck, nuzzle your soft skin, cuddle you close and have your soothing purrs reverberate against his chest.

He didn’t have a chance to hear them yet, but he’s sure you would make the cutest sounds and noises.

His jaw ticks when a whiff of your saccharine scent wafts over to him while he’s still seated on the shabby couch, just a few metres away from you. Perhaps, he could just snatch you right out of Soap’s hold–

The low rumble of Price’s chiding alpha growl makes Gaz bristle, eyes widening imperceptibly as he ducks his head slightly, because how did the old geezer even sense that he was becoming jealous… and possessive.

Suddenly, Soap calls out, “Oi, Garrick? Ye want a turn?”

Gaz perks up; closing the book at once, though he looks over at the Captain for guidance and permission, because he sure as hell won’t disobey a direct order like Soap did when the latter had asked for your comfort.

Meanwhile, Price’s annoyance is still simmering below the surface, vein throbbing rhythmically in his neck as he listens and watches how the Scottish Sergeant is acting with you, all gentle and playful, practically putty in your presence.

The room reeks less of agitation and discomfort now, their aggressive alpha pheromones now dulled and whitewashed by your strong, syrupy omega scent, melodic giggles and dainty demeanour, and Price has to admit, Soap does seem to be in higher spirits now.

So, he meets Gaz’ pleading eyes with a firm nod, and watches the younger alpha scramble to his feet, opening his arms invitingly, while Price keeps his distance, chewing on the glimmering cigar stump to ease his own restlessness.

“Hand her over, MacTavish,” Gaz huffs, long fingers wiggling in anticipation, “You wanna stay with me a bit, hm, sunshine? Aye, ‘course you do–” He coos at you, leaning in a little and getting a first real nose full of your intoxicating scent at this proximity. His pupils dilate at once, making Soap chuckle as he loosens his arms around you reluctantly.

You answer with equal eagerness, eyes twinkling happily as you slip into Gaz’ strong arms, chirping, “Yes, sure!”

You end up sandwiched between Soap and Gaz on the small couch, cooped up in two different pairs of strong, bulky arms while both young alphas gush over you, courting for your attention as they nuzzle, kiss and lick your neck, your hair, any patch of exposed skin they can reach. You don’t mind them scent marking you for the first time, don’t mind the way they’re getting excited as you feel their big bulges strain against the rough fabric of their combat trousers whenever you’re switched back and forth in their embraces.

Just once do you need to correct Soap’s behaviour by pinching the nape of his neck, when he bucks his hips up against your clothed core, rubbing his growing arousal against you briefly. But Gaz chides him, too, and that’s that before you continue coddling them as much as they do you.

Ghost is usually great at blending out his surroundings while simultaneously being hyper-aware of them, but you’re slowly and surely starting to get under his scarred, pale skin, carefully chipping away at his resolve with each tentative offer of your assistance to him and his packmates, always looking mighty eager to please and serve.

Fucking hell.

It's sickening, really, how your enticing omega scent seeps even through the barrier of black cloth covering his nose.

He’s never allowed himself to smell something so sweet, let alone be in close proximity with someone like you.

When Price had submitted the application for an emotional support omega for the 141 to the brass, Ghost had nearly lost it and, in a semblance of panic, threatened with both resignation and applying to transfer to another task force, anything that would put space between himself and any omega, not trusting himself to be around something precious and fragile like that.

And then you showed up one day, pretty as a peach, ripe as one, too, and Ghost reluctantly accepted your presence with a grumble, enforcing Price’s order not to get too close to you, though, that’s easier said than done, he’d learned fairly quickly.

Now, Ghost can barely keep himself from staring at the couch, where both Soap and Gaz are seemingly having the time of their lives – basking in the attention of their own little omega. He’s never seen the two alpha Sergeant’s act so bloody… corny.

And yet, the Lieutenant can’t help and wonder how it must feel like to hold you, to feel your weight on his lap and feel your hair tickle his nose when he leans in to–

“I know what I said about her,” Price clasps his heavy hand on Ghost’s shoulder, bringing him back to reality, “– but perhaps you shouldn’t keep restraining yourself like that, Simon,” The Captain mutters, “It ain’t healthy.”

“An’ what about you, sir?” Ghost counters, not looking up as he finishes up polishing his last knife for the third time.

Price huffs in amusement, fishing another cigar from one of his breast pockets.

“Don’t ya worry about me, lad.”

When Soap pulls back from your kiss-swollen lips at once, you whine softly, chasing after his pretty mouth, already utterly spoiled bit the little bit of attention you’d gotten from the young Sergeants, until the expression on his handsome face makes you pause and snap out of your contented daze.

“Ye ready for a turn, Lt.? Think ye can handle it?” Soap snickers while Gaz scoots to the other end of the couch, clearing his throat loudly, looking at anything but the behemoth of an alpha in his black combat uniform, now standing in front of the couch.

Your eyes go comically big as you tilt your head back against Soap’s broad shoulder to gaze up at the stoic Lieutenant; the cloth of his skull mask now tucked up to the bridge of his crooked nose, revealing dirty blonde stubble and several thick silvery scars along his exposed neck and the lower half of his face while his onyx eyes stare down at you with unmatched intensity.

“I dunno, Johnny,” Ghost gruffs out, tongue darting out to lick his chapped bottom lip, “Think yer pretty bird can handle me?”

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novemberheart · 2 months ago

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{overview} Your pack comes home

{warnings} fem reader, cursing, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, chapter story, short chapter, fighting, slight angst

Chapter 36 <- Chapter 37 -> Chapter 38

“John I”-

“Get in now,” he growled lowly. You swallowed, holding Vernie closer in comfort. Kyle stayed by the car opening the door for you. Both of them were being pelted by rain. You swore you could see steam coming off of them.

“Kyle,” you started. He nodded his head towards the car, urging you along. You crawled in, already shedding your backpack off. The car was warm, infested with the putrid smell of an angry alpha. The door shut behind you, Kyle and John getting in the front.

This wasn't the reunion you had expected.

You could probably say the same for them.

Your eyes locked on the rearview mirror, hoping to catch John’s gaze. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel, the only sound being some labored breathing and rain snapping against the military-grade vehicle. You chewed your bottom lip, angling yourself towards Kyle.

You wanted to touch him.

You refrained.

The car came to another screeching halt, both men getting out. John opened the door for you this time. He refused to look at you. It was in the elevator when you started to crack. You resisted the urge to throw yourself at John, instead curling against the elevator wall.

“Go take a shower and get warm,” John commanded, opening the front door. Johnny and Simon were at the counter. You whimpered low in your throat, Johnny’s face curling At the sound. Simon was looking at you.

His eyes were completely unreadable beside the glimmer of dissatisfaction. He didn’t even seem angry. Maybe John was angry enough for the both of them.

You couldn’t bear it.

You latched onto Simon first, loud sobs wracking your body. He was stiff under you for a moment, before melting against you. It was biological.

“Stupid girl,” he grumbled, lips rough against your raw cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you sputtered, your claws tearing the thick layers covering his shoulder. He pulled away, his hand resting against your stomach to keep distance between the two of you.

“Go shower. We’ll talk then,” he commanded. You sniffled, nodding in agreement. You picked Vernie off the floor heading towards the bathroom to get her dried off. You shedded your clothes, opening the bathroom door just enough for Vernie to slip back through. She immediately paddled over to Johnny who hoisted her up, his nose resting against her scruff.

She smelled like you.

The bathroom door opened while you were in the shower, Kyle’s arm darting in to drop off a few clothes before closing.

They couldn’t be that mad.

Maybe the fact you had been separated so long was working in your favor.

They were sitting on the couch when you came out. It was eerily quiet, all of them sitting up straight upon your arrival.

“I want you to start with your visit to the medical center,” John spoke, leading as always. You decided to settle on the floor, the carpet plush under your knees.

“You were looking at my chip?” You questioned.

“Of course. That’s why we got it,” He replied instantly.

You had them right where you wanted.

“You had time to do that but none to call me?” You shot back. “I’m not an idiot. I’ve been marked. No effort is needed anymore,” you grumbled.

They didn’t like that.

Well, neither did you.

The hairs on your neck stood up at the sound of their low growls. It was like they did it unintentionally, immediately cutting themselves off as you shrunk back.

“Laswell had access to it,” Kyle spoke. “She’d keep us updated. We weren’t in a position to contact you,” Kyle explained. It felt condescending. Like all of them were confused as to the point you were trying to make.

“I don’t believe you,” you replied bluntly. “Before you were able to contact me every few days at least then all of a sudden that changed?” You questioned.

“Yes,” Simon interjected. “Calling you would lead to risks and put you in danger.”

“You could’ve sent a message through Laswell,” you argued.

“We couldn't,” Simon affirmed. “You're just going to have to understand that,” Simon barked, moving to a stand. Your face curled, your body following close behind. You rested your chin against your knees. John sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Why’d you go to the medical center?” John pressed. His voice was softer, resembling your alpha.

“I fell earlier this week. I thought it was okay but it started to look infected. I got it taken care of.”

They hated how monotone you sounded.

“Went by yourself?” Johnny spoke up. You knew he would have the biggest problem with you going through something like that alone.

“No one was here,” you spat back.

John stood up and Simon spun on his heels. Both of them opened their mouths to speak. John was able to get the words out faster.

“Stop actin’ like you weren't taken care of,” he growled. “Yes, you were alone, and I did everything in my power to make sure that didn't happen, but you were safe here. We made sure you had enough to last you for three times the amount of time we were supposed to be gone. It may not feel like it sometimes but everything we do is for you, even things you don't quite see,” he finished with a shaky breath.

“Really? So sitting in a hospital room alone, absolutely terrified of what's wrong with me is you taking care of me?”

“Course not,” he shot back. “I hate that you had to go through that and were without the people that are supposed to make things alright for you. But you understood what would happen if you joined this pack. I’ll put you first- no matter what- but it can't always be instant,” he spoke through a clenched jaw.

You could feel yourself softening by the minute.

You hated it.

You weren't ready to just get over it.

They had cut you off like it was nothing. Even now they sat before you showing very little signs of actually missing you. Maybe they were still angry at you for leaving the base.

“Can I go to bed now?” you asked quietly.

“No,” Simon responded. “The hell were you thinking leaving base?”

“Self sabotage?” you shrugged. “Maybe I wanted to get back at all of you for leaving me for so long. Maybe I wanted to prove to myself that I could actually do something. Maybe I wanted to see if it would make you come home,” you choked, turning your head over your shoulder.

They remained silent.

This was unbearable. Your eyes red and swollen. The sting of lemons in the air. Your knotted hair.

All because of them.

And their fucking jobs.

“Should bloody ‘retire’ after this,” John growled, taking a large puff of his cigar. Nothing sounded better at the moment. Two weeks away from you hitting him like a truck. He could retire from the field and resign himself to paperwork. He’d get the two of you a house with some land for you and Vernie to run around. Take you into town for dates. Take you out on the lake and teach you how to fish. He’d grill every night and the two of you would end each night looking at the stars.

His radio going off snapped him out of his thoughts.

Simon groaned at his headache, popping another pill in his mouth. They were some form of suppressants. It was supposed to make being away from you easier. Those who had insisted they worked obviously didn't have an omega like you.

“Right behind you,” Simon nearly chuckled.

He wasn't quite ready to retire yet. He still had some fight in him. But he had underestimated just how much you had domesticated him. The thought of stretching out in a recliner with you propped on his lap was far more compelling than this.

The betas had been worse off. Johnny had been acting like a zombie since day four. His fingers are constantly rolling the bracelet you had made him between his fingers. Kyle was just prick. Growing more and more frustrated each time he was denied access to you, whether by phone or through tracking. At least they had Laswell.

They had to persevere.

The enemy was lurking around. Waiting for one slip up. One thing to hold over their head.

What better thing than you?

“Don’t do it again,” John chided coldly. You wiped your eyes against your shoulder, nodding.

“Can I go to bed now?” You repeated, even softer than before. “All of you are tired too,” you added, already moving to a stand.

Their brows furrowed as you made your way towards your door.

Your mattress was still in John’s room from your heat. There had been no reason to move it back.

Had you moved it back?

“Fat fucking chance,” Johnny growled, connecting the distance. “Just got back from a month of hell and I’d rather die than sleep alone,” he gruffed. “That’s the only way you could get me to sleep alone,” he added. His hands found your waist, easily lifting you up. A small moan escaped you at the contact, your body begrudgingly aching for his touch. He purred roughly, his nose buried in your neck. His hand twisted the knob to your room. You hadn’t moved anything back. John breathed a sigh of relief.

“What were you going to do? Sleep on the floor?” John questioned.

“I want to be by myself,” you breathed, your legs trying to touch the ground.

“You’ve been by yourself enough,” Kyle piqued up. “In that head of yours,” he murmured the last part. You were tossed on the bed, the sheets cold and uninviting. The pit in your stomach only grew, your face hiding itself in the pillows. Johnny flopped down next to you, Kyle following suit. John and Simon remained in the doorway, Simon disappearing towards his room.

You were sandwiched between the two betas, which was all you had wanted the past few weeks. Now you wanted anything else.

“Some forced proximity will do you good,” Kyle sighed, his arm tossed over you and Johnny. You remained silent and still, breathing in the familiar scent of your nest. It smelt like you. No traces of your pack embedded within its fibers. It wasn’t theirs anymore. It was yours.

It was yours.

They were infringing on your territory.

A nasty snarl escaped you, causing both betas to take a scoot back.

“Bonbon?” Johnny breathed. The sound could’ve rivaled an alphas. Their stomach churned, John shifting on his feet. The noise echoing in his brain, his alpha on fight mode. Something had frightened you. His eyes shrunk, looking for a threat.

The air escaping his lungs when he realized.

They were the threats.

He bit the inside of his cheek, his mouth tangy from copper.

“Give ‘er space you two,” he commanded. “Now,” his voice urgent. The betas crawled out slowly, their eyes pleading- their eyes waiting. Waiting for you to whine and usher them back into bed. Pleading for you to seek comfort in them. Instead they got your back, your scent increasing in the air to drown out theirs. John grabbed them both by the arm, pulling them towards the door.

They felt a wave of relief when you stood up, face downcast as you headed towards the door. Johnny extended his arm, ready to meet you in the middle. That was quickly replaced with dread when it shut in their faces.

Hi friends! 👋See you in four days for chapter 38! As always lots of love 🧡

#novemberheart #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #poly141 #price x reader #simon ghost riley #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o #poly141 x fem reader #poly 141 #poly141 x reader

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queenhunter102 · 10 months ago

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The picture they use to show you off on base

The boys from Kortac were asking the 141 if they had partners, all of them agreeing or grunting at the kid. “Come on Show us”

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

the picture he shows off is one, where you are sprawled out on his chest, fast asleep, your hair a little messy from the impromptu nap, his hand was visible in the picture holding your hand, your face a little blurred.

Captain John Price

John would Show the picture where you were sat on a bench, your back twisted looking at the pond behind you, his shirt YOUR shirt, was soaked from water, and a water gun sat beside you, your hair soaked.

Johnny ‘Soap’ McTavish

Johnny’s is one from your first date, the picture looking down the boot you were sitting in the back of his car, of your head tipped back with your cup in hand, a blanket over your lap, the tray of food laid out the only movie playing behind him, casting the only light into the picture

Alejandro Vargas

Alejandro’s picture was of you standing on the porch of his parent’s house, your hands on your hips and a look of mock anger on your face, there was fluor covering your face as well as your jeans and t-shirt, the sunset in the background hitting you with just the perfect amount of light.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

Kyle’s is one of you on your wedding night, you laying on the bed facing away from him, your back bare, littered with bites and hickeys, lovingly placed all over your back, the sheets rustled and messy, parts of your hair sticking to your forehead and other parts sticking up.

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godihatethiswebsite · 3 months ago

Text

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Three - Deja vu

Remember when I said this was supposed to be the easy side project made of easy to consume chapters that was supposed to be easy on my brain? Oh the way life throws a wrench in things.

Apologies for the wait but thank you for the patience! A bit longer of a chapter this time (almost double the length) because if you also read my other fic you'll know I have a moderation problem :)

Trigger warnings: angst, depression

Time converted its seconds into a slow-motion camera, capturing the hectic moment as a series of shutter clicks in your mind. Rich earthy elixirs trapped like icicles in a frozen pour from heated spouts. Spare precious change suspended in mid-air spilled from jittery hands. A systolic heartbeat waiting to finish its rhythm. An overplayed Christmas jingle with the record player set to the lowest speed.

How did you not pick up on the telltale signs sooner? It wasn’t as if this was a first occurrence for you anymore. Precious moments of escape wasted daydreaming of warm comfort when it could’ve been spent backpedaling to the safety of your vehicle. Even more insulting when you considered how perceptive you’d been not ten minutes prior, untrusting of your nose to keep you from trouble in the supermarket bakery, head on a dizzying swivel for any more unwanted surprises.

Yet here you were again, betrayed by the very caffeine that was supposed to be your savior, too slow to duck back out the shop before your scent had a chance to reach his nostrils.

Now you were pinned in place by a complete stranger who had no business smelling that edible.

Pupils blown wide mirrored your own. Blue irises framed by full lashes contrasted against a faded tan that spoke of time spent abroad in warmer climates. Dark brown hair shorn close on the sides peaked into a mussed up mohawk, slightly damp from melted snow and tousled by the wind. Your eyes unfocused to take in the body belonging to the man - shifting lower, past slightly parted lips greedily inhaling your scent and a craggy chin scar encircled by a dusting of dark stubble.

A deep brown leather bomber jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders only a few shades darker than his hair, upturned against the elements and protecting a tree trunk neck, accented along the trim by matching tufts of a lighter insulating sherpa. A hint of medium wash jeans caught in your periphery, unable to glance further at the lower portion of his body, too encapsulated by the cosmic force that kept you snared within his gaze.

The back of your neck prickled with the knowledge that whatever was passing between you in the charged space across the checkerboard tiles was a transient mirage at best and a dangerous amalgam of broken aspirations at most. That grim lesson had been embedded into your retinas the hard way–

No matter how potent the connection, this man was not yours.

You shouldn’t be here. You should not be here.

The alpha didn’t miss the way you transferred your weight onto your back leg. Predatory focus latched onto the subtle way you shifted, instincts preparing behind barely contained canines. You’d accidentally triggered something; a millennia’s worth of ingrained primality overriding the structured norms of good societal behaviour. Like an old timey saloon, it was an overstrung standoff to see whose will would break first.

Your need to run outweighing his need to possess.

Eyes narrowed slightly, he pointed right at you with a warning look. In a rough brogue, “Don't…”

You didn't listen.

“Hey hey hey–!”

It was all too familiar now - this choreographed dance of avoiding uncomfortable affairs instead of facing them head on, ignoring the startled clamor of bewildered customers as you darted past a group of unsuspecting teenagers through the narrowing gap of the cafe door.

Nearly bowling an elderly couple over in your haste to escape, you fumbled out a half-hearted apology as you skidded around the next corner with a high pitched squeak, losing traction on the glassy ice in your well-worn snow boots and catching yourself on a vintage lamp post that you used like a springboard to gain a few precious milliseconds of a head start.

This was twice in two days now that you’d undergone a fateful encounter the majority of the population could only dare dream of. And here you were bolting from destiny like a frazzled rabbit scurrying helplessly through the underbrush from what should have been your savior.

What the hell kinda luck was this?! And why did it have to choose now of all times?!

The door flung open only moments after, the previously innocent bell chime now a harbinger of doom. Heavy footfalls slapped through the condensed slush of snowfall. Something feral rose up in the presence of a hunter in pursuit of his quarry.

There was something on your tail, and it felt far more intimidating than a starving wolf leering at his lunch.

Your pulse was bellowing in your ears, weaving through the conglomerated foot traffic as best you could with a body not prepared for a long winded chase. A hot poker stitched your side and hobbled your gait. Frost coated your lungs with every ragged inhale, sapping what little breath capacity you had and crippling until you were little more than a wounded mammal, panicky and acting on pure foolish adrenaline. The rational part of your brain spoke of the futility against someone his size, the brief glimpse afforded to you of his stocky frame earlier proof that your alpha was capable; well fed, sculpted for survival, muscles made of endurance and stamina.

Everything desired in a good mate, the back of your mind unhelpfully supplied.

Long strides ate up the distance, navigating the pavement far more sure footed than you.

“Bleedin’ Christ!” growled out the voice. “Will ye jus’– wait!”

The firm grip on your bicep rather than his frustrated words was what halted you in your tracks. The slippery slush beneath your feet gave way to an involuntary squeak as another hand snapped out to steady your skidding, keeping you from tucking ass over tea kettle. Heavy breaths turned visible in the frigid winter air as you panted from exertion, sucking in a heady mixture of espresso and chilled vapors that fogged up your mind and muddled your senses.

Fuck, he smelled good.

A gloved hand shuffled you further out of the way from the crowds of passersby, huddling beneath a shopkeeper's veranda, muffled conversation from the building’s interior a muted buzzing compared to the ringing in your ears. He shifted so as to take the brunt of the whipping winds on his back, sheltering you from the worst of it and allowing you to blink clear the stinging snowflakes from your eyes.

Although you never really stood any substantial chance of escape, there was still something surreal to be said about standing toe to toe with an alpha outside your family circle. He beheld you with the same wide eyed stare you gawked at him with, pupils stuck in a constant state of dilation as he huffed in your shared air, just as drunk off his scent match as you were. At this proximity, even the outside breeze wasn’t enough to dampen the waves of pheromones spiking like heated tesla coils between you. Unlike you, he found it in him to scrounge together just enough self control to soften his stance and manage a relaxed smile your way.

“There now, lass.” His words weren’t winded in the slightest, something that petulantly annoyed you in your weakened state - even if the accented baritone of his vibrato was soothing the consternation from your veins. “See? No need fer misbehavin’.”

There was an obvious gentling to his tone; something placating with an edge of sternness that felt at odds with his choice of haircut. Blue orbs roamed your face as if he half expected you to collapse on him, no longer holding on to you but keeping a readied hand hovering in case your shaky legs gave way. Truthfully - with how you were still sucking in breaths - you weren’t quite sure his assistance wouldn't be needed.

“Christ, LT was right about ye. Got a scent that can skelp a man flat on his arse.”

Even in your current state he must’ve judged you steady enough to maintain balance, despite still keeping the rigid preparedness in his shoulders as his hands sought a place in denim pockets. “Got a habit fer runnin’, dontcha?”

The capability of speech was all but lost to you, tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth and dry as a wilted prune abandoned on the vineyard soil. You’d at least managed the bare minimum of appearing less like a beached guppy by snapping your jaw shut, but the snicker from his lips at whatever he found while searching your face revealed your inadequacy to mask as a functioning human.

Azure eyes sparkled with mirth. “I ken I’m a looker, hen, but I ‘ave tae say it’s been a while since I’ve left a bonnie lass like yerself truly speechless. Strokin’ my ego a bit, ye are.”

“Your coffee…”

The first words you say to the man of your dreams and all you can think of is his wasted cup left unoccupied on the counter.

“Eh, it’s only a drink.” His shoulder’s finally loosened with a shrug. “More concerned about yers. Not tae make ye feel bad, lass, but ye’re lookin’ a wee bit peckish if I can say.”

So your mirror liked reminding you every morning.

You waved him off on instinct, not needing the alpha to start concerning himself with your health. Not like there was much either of you could do about it. “It’s fine. Shouldn't be spending the money anyways.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, raising an eyebrow at your justifiably frazzled appearance, but choosing not to question it just the same.

“Gonna be honest, lass. Wasn't exactly expectin’ ta bump into ya.”

You could tell by the bite marks on another woman’s neck.

No. Stop it girl. That’s not fair to him.

You shoved back the bitter taste of jealousy, forcing a smile you both knew was awkward. “Yea… what are the odds…”

“Mind ye, when the others mentioned their wee run-in with ye at the shop the other night I ken’d there was a chance– Christ, when Cap’n finds out the…” His words carried on, but you stopped processing them beyond a certain point in his ramblings, focusing more on the melody as it slowly faded to the background. There was a lilt to his speech that didn’t quite fit the occasion - at least to you. A restrained awe; measured happiness so as not to overwhelm you right off the bat with unbridled emotion.

Part of you was thankful for his careful insight considering the delicate nature of the situation. But even so, the squiggly edges of his personality felt forcefully crammed into an elaborate puzzle rather than fitting naturally into a predetermined space.

You should be thrilled to be having this conversation. Things should be clicking and the world should make sense and his voice should be songbirds twittering in your ear on a beautiful summer’s day without a cloud in the sky and…

All you can hear is the man in a blue camry honking at the lady jaywalking in front of his car, the squeal of halted tires and shouted insults from hot spilled coffee across his lap. The poor woman on the corner shaking a can of loose pennies in hopes of a two dollar meal from the shop down on 7th Ave. Dogs barking at strangers and high heels clacking on wet slushy pavement.

Overstimulation hits you hard, leaving you incapable of making out anything but the shapes of his mouth without any of the feedback. His voice muffles despite only the foot distance between you, and try as you might you have no idea what’s causing that smile on his face. For all you know he could be just as easily discussing the week's snowy forecast or reciting Chaucer like those lunatics on the steps outside the performing arts college.

The nagging presence makes itself known in the back of your mind, adding to the chaos plugging your senses and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a way that has nothing to do with the chill. The disgruntled alpha half a country away calls to your fraying nerves, taking advantage of your weakened mentality and twisting like a gnarled root around your windpipe. You disguise the full body trembles with a forced shiver, the restlessness of your fingers giving in to the urge to claw at your mating mark, hiding the motion by readjusting your scarf more securely and clearing your throat. A cold sweat breaks out underneath the insulating layers of warmth, adding to the already miserable conditions of the snowy bluster. There’s only so much more you can take before you split apart at the threads and reveal to the stranger just how rotted your insides were.

You needed to end the interaction.

“Look–” you interrupt his languid tirade, voice barely holding steady and as timid as a field mouse, mittened palm up to keep him from going any further and stunning him into silence. “You don’t have to do this. This kinda thing just… doesn’t happen to normal people. I’m not gonna hold anything against you when it was a one in a billion chance of us ever crossing paths. You have your life and I have mine.”

Something hard caught in your throat and gummed up your words, threatening to crawl into your lungs and make a permanent home if you focused on it for too long - gave it too much power. You hoped he didn’t see the way you forced yourself to push through. “Let’s just… be adults, acknowledge that it happened, and go about our day as if we were two strangers passing by on the street. No expectations, no mess. ‘Kay?”

Clearly not envisioning that reaction now that he’d finally gotten his paws on you, something in his look tightened at being told ‘no’. “Hardly seems fair.”

Who was he to know ‘fair’?

“And what about us?” he continued with an unexpected bite. “Ye think we can jus’ ignore the fact that our scent match is wanderin’ about somewhere in the city unguarded and at risk of bein’ hurt or– or taken?”

You could almost taste the self satisfaction flaring across the tainted bond, fighting back a wave of nausea and bristling at the emotional wound he unknowingly gut punched.

“And your omega?” You watched him flinch at the obvious retort, both hating and relishing in his discomfort at having reality thrown back in his face. At least you both knew there was an element of betrayal lingering beneath the surface. “You really want her to have to come home every day with you smelling like another woman? Your fated woman? Do you realize the damage that’ll cause not just to her but to your mating bonds?”

In a perfect world, this whole encounter would be different. He’d say hi, you’d give him your most winning smile. The two of you would go back to the cafe and he’d pay for your coffee. You'd sit across from each other with stars in your eyes, getting to know the ins and outs of their soul for however much time your schedules allowed, blowing off prior commitments in favor of lyrical words dancing sugar plums around your head. Numbers would be exchanged and you’d both part ways feeling lighter and hopeful and impatiently waiting for the start of the next exciting chapter.

God, you hated fairy tales.

The alpha was clearly frustrated at how the conversation was playing out, scratching a rough hand through his mohawk with a groaned out hiss, eyes darting around empty space as a grimaced mouth searched for the right words. “Look, lass. The four of us–”

Four. There were four of them. Four mates.

“–aren’t gonna stop worryin’, not now that we ken ye’re within reach and without a pack of yer own.” Blue eyes skimmed downwards trying to peer beyond the veil of your scarf, flicking back up to your face when he failed, searching for a sign that you remain unmated as he suspects by your reactions thus far.

Glancing off to the side, you avoid his gaze and focus on the piles of brown snow gathered along the curb, not trusting yourself to keep a straight face under his careful scrutiny. He must take your avoidance as confirmation, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, yea. We’ve already bonded another. Nothin’ tae be done about it now and there’s no use bawlin’ o’er what might ‘ave been. But if ye think that's gonna stop us from tryin’ tae be a part of yer life then yer sorely mistaken.”

There’s an endearing quality to his convictions - as misguided as you believe them to be. So sure of himself, reflected in the take-no-objections posture and firm set of his brows. All confident alpha bravado.

A small part of you keens at his certitude, recognizing it on a primal level and wanting to bask in the commanding presence your– the alpha provides. But those same instincts that scream at you to welcome his protective nature also serve as a reminder of why that could never work.

There’s a reason packs only keep one omega. While alphas are stereotyped as being the possessive pigheaded brutes who covet your kind like unstable beasts, everyone knows there is none so fierce as a territorial omega, baring her teeth to encroaching females without a moment’s hesitation to defend. It’s not like you’re the worst sorts of overly attached pack mates though. Society wouldn't be able to function if an omega snapped every time they all came within three feet of each other.

But to have the two coexisting within the same ecosystem fighting over the affections of the same alphas…

If the heartbreak wouldn’t kill them, the blood on their teeth will.

The fact that he’s trying to send all that flying out the window is both impressive and infuriating in its stubbornness.

Your own voice is far more subdued as you fidget with the hem of your coat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work…”

“Oh aye? Turnin’ down gaggles of soulmates jus’ a light Saturday mornin’ fer ya then?”

Despite the dour mood, you huffed in something akin to levity at his words, feeling some of that tension unreel from your bones in the face of the small upward curve of his lips that accompanied them. “If I say yes will that convince you to throw in the towel?”

Enchanting eyes sparked with determination and something playful. “Hate to break it tae ya, lass, but we’re a right stubborn bunch o’ blokes.”

“And her?”

Cerulean eyes hardened again. “We’ll sort that out between us.”

A leather covered arm reaches out to guard your left side, a firm body stepping into your space to block you from a passing beta encroaching too close on your private conversation. You don’t miss the slight rumble in his chest given as a warning to the traipsing man, the subtle growl claiming this spot and two of you in it, an intimidating scowl berating him for nearly knocking into you because of it. It catches you off guard, unconsciously leaning into the alpha's safety from the unaware intruder, the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating his clothes and coating you in a fresh pot to ease your delicate nerves.

It takes the two of you a moment to separate despite both of you knowing the ‘threat’ is gone; and even then the amount of space between is kept minimal at best. It’s hard to deny the pull molecularly chaining you to this man whose pheromones are carving out spaces in the cracks between the marrow like rapids, filling the pock marked gaps and branding your existence as something completely different than it was before.

The structural fibers in your body are being split in half like colliding atoms in a particle accelerator. It’s a molecular tug of war between listening to ancestral instincts imploring you to stay with the protective alpha and past emotional trauma begging you not to give in to complicated matters of the heart. You’ve been hurt once before by someone of his kind and the last thing you needed was to punt yourself all the way back to square one when it had taken you so long to reach this part of your healing journey.

You know where that path leads. There’s nothing waiting for you but despair.

Unknowing or lacking regard for your internal struggle, the alpha surprises you by shifting his arm to sprawl across your shoulder, a gentle but unrelenting force ushering you back in the direction you’d originally come running from, the deceptively casual grip brokering no room for argument. “Now, what’s say we make up fer scarin’ ye earlier with that cup of caffeine ye were gantin’ after, eh?”

Maybe if you’d possessed a stronger will you might’ve opened your mouth to protest his commanding treatment over you. Instead, nestled close to his body and tucked in tight against his shoulder, he was gentleman enough not to comment on the small whiff you snuck on your way back to the cafe.

The soft instrumentals playing festive tunes over the cafe speakers were an appreciated break from the harsh monotony of whirring kitchen equipment. Depictions of snowmen and candy canes painted artistically on the inside glass celebrated the joyous season. Evergreens and mistletoe; frozen fractals falling from white fluffy clouds. A veritable winter wonderscape - the natural frost accumulated on the outside only adding to the weathering effect.

Red and green twinkle lights hung strewn across overhead support beams. Garlands with small plastic ornament bobbles snaked around the insides of display cases. An electric votive nestled cozily in miniature wreaths and placed at every table flickered warmly for an added ambience to the already welcoming interior.

The holiday decorations had been up since Thanksgiving, but you’d never taken a moment to really notice them, too focused on the transactional exchange and the time on your phone to give it more than a passing glance of acknowledgement. Fidgeting in your seat, it was a welcome distraction.

You’d been ushered towards one of the secluded tables upon returning to the cozy cafe, your companion either ignorant or uncaring of the odd glances tossed your way by those still inside who witnessed your previous outburst. You kept your head ducked from the initial embarrassment, blood heating your face as he helped you out of your coat and slung it over the back of your chair, making sure you were settled before sauntering off towards the register to place the drink order you’d rattled off.

While he stood distracted at the counter amongst a sea of waiting customers, one of the older baristas with a candy cane apron discreetly tried to flag down your attention, meticulously cleaning one of the espresso machines with a soiled napkin purposefully tilted away from his view.

The words in scribbled sharpie pointed your way: ‘You ok?’

Touched by her concern, you gave her a surprisingly genuine smile despite your jittery insides, easing her enough to pass along a thumbs up as she goes back to working on whatever festive drink concoction the lady at the drive thru has deigned to torture her with. It was kind of her to look after you given the strangeness of the day. But against what should be all rational thought you trusted the man who was for all intents a complete stranger.

Here’s to hoping life didn’t pair you with a serial killer.

Shaking your head of such nonsense (hopefully), it took you a moment to recall the last time you gave yourself permission to linger somewhere. With the exception of the hour spent every week in Dr. Miranda’s office, you avoided congregating in public spaces for more than the few minutes it took to get in, get out, and return to the safety of your abode. Crowds made you skittish; the abused animal inside burrowed deep within your rib cage voicing its objections and reflecting its displeasure in the way it made you outwardly twitch. Once upon a time even stepping foot in a place like this - enclosed, swirling with clashing aromas, a singular point of escape - seemed like such an unattainable goal. Even now the awareness of the situation caused your agoraphobia to writhe under your skin, poisoning like fire ant venom and tempting your lungs into anaphylactic shock.

Deep breaths, girl. In… out… in… out… let it wash over you… inhale… exhale…

You are safe. You are safe. You are–

Like nails on a chalkboard, the scratching of wood against ceramic jostled you from your meditative process, an involuntary yelp met with a small grin of apology as the imposing alpha placed your own drink in front of you before taking up residence in the open seat across. Something about the setting exacerbated his already potent smell, mixing with the sweetness of the beverages and leaving you with a deep gnawing ache to lean across the table and drink it straight from the source.

The tide of anxiety receded back to the depths of your mind, your inner omega settling in the presence of your scent match. Even if you couldn’t escape the dark presence prowling like a half-starved panther on the other end of the bond, the natural relief that came with sitting three feet away from your opposite designation had you breathing steadier than you had since leaving therapy a short while ago. You may not be entirely comfortable with this predicament, but at least the attention came with a few built in perks.

The fake candle in the center highlighted the limited edition designs on your respective drinks, but it’s the name scrawled in sparkly black sharpie that catches your attention on his disposable cup. “MacTavish?”

“John,” he confirms, “pleasure ta meet ya, lass. Though I s’pose tha’s how I should’ve started things out in the first place. With, ya know… manners.”

“Not like I made introductions easy for us…” you mumbled with a wince, tracing over the cafe’s symbol on your cup as a small distraction from having to make eye contact at the admission.

“Aye, ye didn’t. But I cannae fault ye fer havin’ a sense of self preservation starin’ down a big burly Scotsman, now can I?”

It had been moreso about running from your problems than being outright intimidated by the man, but you weren’t about to question his assumption and open up a whole new can of worms in the process. “Right...”

There was a brief pause as he stared at you expectantly, hoping you’d return the favor now that he’d taken that first step with an official greeting. Something about offering up even that little part of yourself scared you though. It felt like handing over power to the fae folk; like once he knew your name he could strip the autonomy from your spirit and ensnare you forever in his enchanted domain.

Instead, you took a sip from the hot liquid in your hands, soothed by the syrupy blend like a steady palm rubbing lines down your back. Not nearly as good as the earthy bouquet your nose had been sampling with every inhale. Maybe if you’d added a pump of caramel…

You fought desperately to ignore the part of your brain that whispered comparisons to the rich espresso-y figure across the way, stopping any and all sidetracking towards scandalous thoughts of a more private taste testing.

This was not the time for slick inducing fantasies.

Once he realized he wouldn’t receive an echoing answer, he mirrored you with his own brew, humming in approval at whatever pleasant taste he found and dropping the subject temporarily. Thankful he didn’t push, you read further down on his own drink, unable to help the small scoff of surprise after reading the incriminating label.

“A sugar cookie latte? Not the most masculine of drinks, is it?” You’re not sure where you found the courage to softly tease him over his beverage of choice. Clearly his heavy alpha pheromones were messing with your logic receptors. “Thought your kind liked to keep things dark and bitter.”

“I'm an alpha, lass. Chasin’ after sweet smellin’ omegas is what we do fer fun.” There was a sparkle there that hinted towards your earlier predicament, a not so subtle implication combined with his cheeky grin that reassured you it was all good natured. You at least had the decency to duck your head abashedly, face heating up from more than just the warming drink. “Kinda gives us a wee proclivity fer honeyed tastes.”

Honestly, he had a point. Can’t say you’d ever thought of it that way before. I mean, seriously. Whoever said alphas needed to be gritty when they came naturally ingrained with a sweet tooth?

“Guess that’s why she smells like chocolate.”

Your lips formed the words without thought, something mean tugging at you the same time he did. Nails bite into the recycled coffee sleeve like sharpened teeth, taking out the urge to scratch on the poor item rather than call attention to the scarf still secured around your neck. Couldn’t even get through a normal outing without him adding his two cents to the mix.

A hard tap on the tabletop called your attention back to John. You’d maybe expected an affirming response, but what you don't expect is to find him staring at you from across the table with a suddenly serious expression, speaking to you in an almost chiding manner. “I'd rather ye didn’t bring up sore spots to intentionally cause yerself pain.”

He didn’t allow you to hide, his face moving in tandem with yours as you attempted to duck his gaze, the blunt observation leaving you sheepish as you worried your bottom lip.

“...can't avoid the conversation forever.”

“Aye. But the least we can do is get ta know each other first.”

That genuinely puzzled you. “Why?”

Even through the bulk of his winter coat you could see the way the material stretched to make way for his biceps as he crossed them over his chest, leaning back in his seat as he regarded you with easy going eyes. “Yer my scent match, lass. Ye think I'm not o’er ‘ere stewin’ in a fruity cocktail wishin’ I’d ‘ave taken ye tae a juice bar instead?”

Your face heated again at the implication. Seems his own thought pattern wasn’t too terribly dissimilar to the wiley suggestions pawing at your psyche with scintillating ideas of debauchery. “Wouldn't go that far...”

“Got no shame in admittin’ yer drivin’ me up the wall.”

He really didn’t, did he?

“Not sure you should be saying things like that.”

“Probably.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ne’er been one fer followin’ rules though. Doesnae make sense when we're both wantin’ the same thing.”

You examined him over the rim of your cup, forearm resting on the sticky laminate as you leaned in closer, almost imploring in your tone. “Isn't that just further proof we shouldn't even be talking right now?”

Taking a sip of his own, he brushed off your concerns like a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Ye really think ye can jus’ wipe yer hands and forget about us?”

Silence laid thick in the air between you. There was no point denying when he felt every bit the earth-rattling gravity well that had the two of you touching toes beneath the table.

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smugness from his expression. “Exactly. I may not be takin’ ye ta my bed, lass, but yer mine nonetheless.”

You shouldn't have liked the way that sounded. For the past four years of your life you’ve been unwilling property to a man holding you confined in a secret realm of bleak oblivion. You’ve begged and pleaded through every starless sky to go back to being the woman you were before fate intervened, desperate for peace in an internal war. All you ever wanted was freedom; to bound over mountains and soar across fields. To scrape off the layers belonging to him and build castles in the clouds far beyond his reach.

Yet here you were thanking the maker of scent wicking panties that your match couldn’t detect the perfume wafting up between your legs at the thought of him staking his claim over you.

“So,” he went on, “we figure out a way tha’ we can be in yer life that doesnae cross any boundaries and ye gain four brutes that'll gladly shank a man fer ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of wording before taking a sip from your cup. “Sounds a tad extreme if you ask me.”

Canines gleaming, the look he sends you is downright carnivorous. “Oh, yer in fer a spell, lass.”

Chatter turns to small talk in an effort to distract you from the discomfort of previous conversation. Turns out he’d drawn the short straw when he and his pack mates realized over piles of paperwork and exhaustive meetings that certain individuals who would not be named - but he’d been more than happy to throw under the bus - hadn’t checked some things off their list while out doing a routine grocery run the other night. Seems like the previous two you’d met were left nearly as shaken as you after the encounter, forgoing the last few needed aisles in favor of ending things early to process tough decisions behind closed doors.

That’s all the information he offers; no further details exchanged on the matter. The internal workings of your personal lives kept private. It didn’t take a mathematician to understand why you prefer to remain guarded, but you assume on his end it had a fair bit to do with the obnoxious purple elephant in the room, trumpeting and stampeding all over the future you could’ve built had it just stayed locked in a zoo. There’s still some moments along the line where he lays a trail of tiny bread crumbs, challenging you with hungry eyes to follow the path through winding woodland and glittering caves towards whatever lay beyond. You’re tempted a few times to chance a couple steps, toeing the line of curiosity but always pulling back to the safety of the unknown.

The less you know about their lives the better. You never even inquire as to the missing three names.

Eventually you settle on the topic of just how exactly he proposed this hairbrained… relationship?... was going to work. Fuck, there really had to be a better word for it. Not friends, not lovers. Not a situationship. Not total strangers anymore.

Companions? Counterparts? Symbiotes?

Either way, you’d both been spouting suggestions for the better part of five minutes and you weren’t any closer to a solution that would leave both parties feeling satisfied. Granted the only thing that could work for you would be as little interaction as humanly possible, but he was firm in his convictions.

“We can keep it ta texts fer right now if ye like.”

“But then she'll feel bad if she sees you writing them.”

“Then we'll jus’ ‘ave tae come visit.”

“But then I'll feel like some sleazy homewrecking call girl.”

“Now yer jus’ bein’ a numpty.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yea, ye should stop tha’.”

“John!”

“Lass.”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that flippant laughter off his face and pry it from his mouth with dental tools. The damn thing was unfairly infectious in the way it warmly beckoned a smile to your lips. Here you were trying to be sensible about the situation he created and so far all attempts to come to some sort of compromise were met with off handed ribbing and facetiousness.

You wouldn’t admit that some of the holdup was partially your fault - looking for desperate excuses to keep this from happening - but it hung suspended in the quiet between your words. And what’s more he knew it too.

“What about the occasional email?” you threw out for the hell of it.

John outright guffawed at the ridiculous suggestion, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables without a care towards who heard, brawny arms tossed upward in fond exasperation. “This ain’t a business transaction, hen! Saints, what a notion…”

“Well…” you sputtered, “then it seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

Please just drop it.

He just looked at you with further amusement, swirling circles on the table with the bottom edge of his now empty coffee cup. “Ye always a neurotically charged mess or is this jus’ my lucky day?”

Oh god. In your desperation to undo the upheaval he’s already causing in your life you really weren’t painting a pretty picture of yourself were you?

You cringed backwards at the realization. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I’m making myself look like one.”

“Aye, but a bonnie one,” he agrees.

“And you’re not worried about the mental stability of the person which life has comedically deemed yours and is making a complete fool of herself?”

“Just tryin’ tae make ye smile. It's been workin’.” A fact he looked quite proud of.

And it was. You couldn't deny that. For how much havoc this was wreaking on the parts of yourself that had become so ill equipped to handle basic human interactions outside your minuscule inner circle, there was a part of you that was glad to find you still possessed the capability of laughing with a stranger.

The conversation paused as his brow knit in confusion, the faint buzzing of a cell phone rattling in his pocket barely audible over the din as he drew it from the interior lining of his coat. The way he held the device and flicked through it with his thumb implied a text message as opposed to a phone call, huffing as he read over the contents before palming it in his meaty hand.

“Och, the louses are houndin’ me fer their caffeine fix. Hang on a tic, lass.” Flashing a quick smile, his chair slid back with a sharp squeak as he stood, strolling back towards the counter and flagging down an unoccupied barista. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes, ogling his stocky frame as he rattled off coffee orders from the conversation pulled up on his phone. Even the sweet beta girl behind the register wasn’t impervious to his roguish charms; just a little more subtle in the way she admired the casual arrogance in which he leaned against the marble.

How long had it been since you last let your eyes wander over the shape of a man and thought of something other than a rancid dumpster and abrasive brick scraping morse code across your exposed back?

There was something uniquely disarming about the alpha. In many ways his ability to break past your bullshit reminded you of Dr. Miranda. Both refused to let you spiral to darker thoughts, spinning the world into one of muted colors rather than shades of desolate gray. But where she spent years undoubtedly locked in a study hall pouring over dissertations and cramming decades of designation theory over red bulls and ramen, John had accomplished that same level of trust in a matter of–

You checked the time on your phone. The pair of you had been sitting in this cafe for roughly fifteen minutes now. That’s all it took for this whirlwind of a man to blow away the cobwebs accumulating in your chest and deliver a shot of adrenaline to your synapses.

Too bad the monster in your veins would make sure it didn’t last.

John came back from the counter holding a cardboard coffee carrier by the handle, looking down at you expectantly from his position towering over you. “Right, lass. Need tae be droppin’ these,” he raised his arm a smidge, gesturing to the drinks, “off tae the lads. So hows about we quit the stallin’ and skip tae the part where ye stop overthinkin’ things and lemme have yer number?”

He didn’t even let you open your mouth in feeble defense of that (true) statement before serving you a warning look that dissolved the syllables from the tip of your tongue. From what little you’d gathered during your brief stint together, you didn’t doubt his potential gumption to wrangle you to the cold tile floor - even in the presence of all these people - just to fish the device out of your pocket himself if need be.

Personally, you didn’t feel up to testing his bluff.

Working off pure muscle memory, you handed over your phone and watched as he pulled up your messaging app, inputting his name amongst the scant others on the list and shooting off a fruit emoji. If he noticed the sparse amount of contacts in your phone he didn't comment on it. Not like it was hard to miss a grand total of four separate text chains.

His phone buzzed again from the text he sent himself, handing back your device with a smile that erred on the side of slightly devious contentment. The bastard knew he won and was being unfairly smug about it. “There now. See how easy that was, lass? Perfectly painless.”

That’s when it hit you.

“What if she says no?” The sheer panic gripping your chest catches you off guard as much as the blurted out words. Trepidation crushes like a hydraulic press, the thought of this precious fleeting moment being all you ever get seizing your body like a hundred electrified shocks. The rickety tower of emotional stability you’d been working so hard to keep steady seemed to crumble beneath your feet now that there was a chance he wouldn't be around to keep it from falling. “What if this is all just some big mistake and we never should have met and I end up ruining your pack–”

Gods, this was so fucked up. A minute ago you wanted nothing more than to never hear from John again and now your inner omega was giving you whiplash trying to cling to an alpha that wasn’t hers by the skin of her blunted teeth.

This was exactly why you didn’t want to have anything to do with them in the first place! It was a no win scenario that was only going to make things worse by confusing your already emotionally precarious omega. Delaying the inevitable. Dragging things out. Torturing her wounded soul trying to wring water from stone.

But you couldn’t give him up anymore - not now. Maybe once you’re home safe in your nest and can breathe clean air not tainted with his fragrance. When you’ve forgotten the oceanic hues that gleam at you with such open eagerness. When his brogue and his candor are replaced with flashes of doe eyed brown and thick flowing locks and the taste of chocolatey truth cuts too deep to heal. Maybe distance will make this ache inside easier to bear.

But at this moment, despite your earlier hesitations, you weren’t ready for the clock to strike midnight on the impossible.

If he couldn’t read the distress on your face then he certainly was made aware of it by the sour smell of overripe fruit cascading off of you, bitter and tart and pungent as you began to spiral, getting lost in a torrent of what ifs and worst case scenarios.

You never got to finish your verbal stream of consciousness. Alpha instincts snapped into action before you could begin blowing fumes, disregarding his coffee as he hoisted you up from your seat with immediate alertness. Strong arms encased your vulnerable form, one hand cradling the back of your neck with gentle pressure, engaging the bundle of nerves located there with a direct line to the body’s limbic system. An omega’s weak spot; it overrides all internal circuitry and sends calming signals to the brain, disengaging stress receptors, activating the amygdala, bringing you to a headspace of obedience and security. It was highly taboo to touch an omega there without their explicit permission; a right reserved only for close family members and chosen pack mates.

You should be angry– you should be furious. How dare he assume that just because he was your scent match that it gave him any right to manhandle you! Robbing your ability to retake control and leaving you just as helpless as that fateful night in the alley.

But he was. And you just didn’t care. Call it biology working against you, but all you felt in that moment was a deep rooted need to sink into his grounding embrace and let your mind go blissfully blank. Trusting in fate to send you an alpha with morals and integrity. Handing over the keys to a man who knew how to drive.

Releasing more of his smooth creamy scent into the air around you, body and designation worked in tandem to soothe every aspect of your overwhelmed being. Outside influences floated away with all the cares of the world, revolving around a fixed point in space exactly where you stood. Nothing else existed in this fraction of the universe. Just two souls destined to be together by forces beyond comprehension.

This was what you were made for. This felt right.

And, god– he was purring for you.

“Hey hey– shhh shhh. Settle, omega, settle... easy now. Jus’ like tha’... There’s a good lass.”

Slowly but surely, the acrid odor of anxiety faded back into the sweet juicy scent of a fresh crisp pear. A small whine escaped your lips as he sapped your body of strength, held aloft only by the taut muscles in his forearms. Glazed over eyes reflected the haze fogging your senses, melting you down into something gooey and malleable that dripped like corn syrup, sticky and coating every inch of your skin in a clear varnish. Breathing became easier. The heavy thumping in your ears faded back to white noise. Bones turned rubbery and tendons fell limp until you could no longer remember what upset you in the first place.

No longer needing the subduing effects of gentling, his hand moved from its spot at the back of your neck to the base of your skull, thumb tenderly stroking where skin met hair, shushing soft assurances against your temple.

“Ye needn’t worry a strand on tha’ bonnie wee head of yers. Ye dunnae ken her like we do. Jus’ leave everythin’ tae me. I’ll sort things right as rain, yea?”

The rational part of your brain knew better than to believe honeyed lies, but in the cloudy serotonin you simply nodded into the dark leather of his coat, spellbound under his tranquilizing touch.

“Atta girl. C’mon, let’s get ye tae yer car.”

Helping you back into your coat, he made sure you were bundled up nice and snug before shuffling you outside into the frosty air, a hand resting over the small of your back in a way you didn’t object to in your current slothful state. The chime felt a little less abrasive this time around as you exited the cafe, moving in the direction of your car parked in its spot alongside the bustling rush hour traffic.

You knew the elderly thing was a spectacle to behold; all chipped paint and rusted metal, duct tape holding the bumper together, a dent in the passenger door from where your neighbor’s kids had kicked a ball into it last spring. There was a crack across the windshield from where a bird made friendly with it earlier in the year that sliced through your vision but didn’t impede you from driving.

‘Character’ was the word you used to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t what everyone else usually chose. John obviously fell into the latter camp.

“Ye sure tha’ thing’s operable, lass?” He scrutinized every banged-up, well-worn inch of it, pulling a face at what he found lacking and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not sure I trust it ta get ya to point b without a few bumps and scrapes.”

You sighed at the familiar criticism, having heard much the same from your fathers. “It gets the job done. Still safer than walking around by myself anyways. I promise I wouldn’t drive it if I thought it’d get me killed one day.” Only a partial lie at least.

He was clearly unconvinced, but blessedly didn’t say anything further besides whatever mumbled remark he kept under his breath. Watching quietly while still keeping an eye on the surrounding area, he stayed near your side as you fumbled with the keys, grabbing the handle to hold it open as you tossed your bag on the passenger seat. “Right. In ya go then.”

You thought that would be the end of it as he closed the door behind you, buckling your fraying seat belt and hoping he was far enough away that you could safely attempt to start your car without any more judgment from him if this ended up being the one time it didn’t turn over.

You jumped slightly as his gloved hand tapped on the glass, turning your head to watch him motion for you to lower the window. Rolling the old school contraption down, you were again hit with a velvety shot of espresso as he half leaned in towards you, forearm resting against the top of your car.

“If ye think fer one minute tha’ I’m gonna jus’ up and forget about ye now tha’ we’re partin’ ways ye’ll be sorely disappointed lass. Tha’ there thing in yer purse’ll be ringin’ before ye ken it and I’m not afraid to come lookin’ if I dunnae get an answer.”

The promise in his tone felt suspiciously like a threat, but one without any real intended consequence. His relaxed posture and sparkling irises assured you that while he’d probably still be cross if you ignored his attempts to reach out, you wouldn’t be awoken in the middle of the night to someone taking a battering ram to your flimsy front door.

At least, you hoped they wouldn’t.

Flashing you a playful wink, John took a step back from the vehicle. “Take care, omega. Be seein’ ya real soon.”

You’re shouting your name at him before you even realize what you’ve done, the small part of you that longs for a deeper connection clawing free from the part that fears having her heart shattered. From a few feet away you could still see the fireworks bursting in his eyes, the way he stands a little taller and puffs out his already broad chest with euphoria at your proffered olive branch. You can’t bring yourself to regret it when his unabashed smile conjures images you never dared hope for.

He waited until you rolled up your window and heard the telltale click of the locks on your doors engaging before finally taking off, crossing to the other side of the slippery street and walking with a hand tucked into his coat pocket until a line of cars finally blocked his retreating form from view.

You sat there for a moment with your hands on the steering wheel, the silence in the vehicle more deafening than the wind howling outside. The past twenty minutes played like rewind on a VCR, speeding through the chain of events leading to the present to be watched again and again and again.

After the fifth or sixth replay, all you could think of was rushing back to your apartment before fate could intervene once more and you accidentally run over your fourth scent match’s pekingese with your fucking car.

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moody-alcoholic · 4 months ago

Text

These Violent Delights

Chapter 2 - Show Me This Life

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe. 7.5k words. You’re trying to learn more about yourself and the people around you, which is easier said then done, especially now you’re moving across the country. At least you can trust them right..?

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (scenting), talking about periods, alcohol, language, mentions of past abuse, nightmares, angst.

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

“Professor?” He’s not listening to the downright annoying voice behind him. His hands balled in fists as he looks at the broken earth. They came as quickly as they left. He sniffs the air. 4 of them, all men, and the omega she’s gone too. He can’t smell her death in the air. There is no point in a clean up effort, even if there was it could take months. The omega is gone. That’s his priority, to find her and take her back.

“Professor?”

“What!?” He snaps turning round to see Miles stood behind him gripping a tablet. He watches the alphas eyes dilate as the scent of anger fills the air. He doesn’t want to see him right now, or anyone. He wants his omega.

“It was the CIA.” He says reaching out with a tablet. The professor grabs it out his hand looking at the profile.

“Who is she?” His voice still filled with anger. He needs answers, he sees the name Kate Laswell. It doesn’t ring a bell.

“I’m not sure we’re working on it.” He says. Pathetic. Useless.

“Get out of my sight!” He shouts, thrusting the tablet in the man's hands. He turns back around as the first drops of rain are starting to fall. Now the place will be flooded too. The smell of death hangs heavy in the air. He closes his eyes breathing it in. It’s metallic, harsh, he can taste it in the air. He wonders if any of it is her blood. Her scent is fading with each gust of wind.

Kate Laswell.

The name spins round in his head. How did the CIA find out? He thinks back to the visitors he’s had over the past few months. It could have been any of them. He’s just come back from DC to secure more funding, what was he going to tell them now? The lab is destroyed and the omega gone. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He wants to ignore it throw it into the sinking earth and forget about it. He lets it ring out watching the sky darken as heavier clouds move in, he can feel the electricity in the air making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

How dare they take his omega.

Johnny comes to see you after breakfast. He always looks so cheerful, beaming as he comes over.

“‘Mornin lass sleep well?” he asks

“Yeah.” You reply, you had good dreams again, Dr. Piper was there too.

“Wanna go for a walk? Thought you could use a change of scenery.” He winks at you. You nod almost too enthusiastically, swinging your legs out the bed. He brings over your slippers and a dressing gown. You put them on following him out the room. He loops his arm in yours leading you out the ward and towards another building. You enjoy the fresh air and the sun on your face.

“What’s Dr. Piper doing?” You ask, stopping to look through a door window.

“She’s been teaching us all about you, and us I guess now we’re all in the same boat.” He says, as she’s sat typing on a laptop. John and Kate must trust her enough to give her access to a laptop, that makes you smile.

“Think I could join?” You ask.

“I don’t see why not, but what do you need to know about yourself?” He chuckles. You’d be surprised. You walk through the door. Piper's head looks round from the laptop and she smiles.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” She asks.

“Fine, I would like to get out of the hospital.” You say smiling, she nods looking past you at Johnny.

“I heard you’ve been teaching them.” You say.

“Yes, as much as I can. I’ve been helping Kate go over the research they took from the lab.” You don’t know why that makes you swallow hard.

“Can I join? I’d like to know more about what was going on.” You say trying not to sound nervous. She smiles.

“Cause you can, although some things you might already know.” She says.

“What are you talking about today?”

“Scenting, hopefully, maybe get the alpha’s to control their scent more.”

“That would be nice.” You say before you can stop yourself. She smiles as you hear the door behind you open. The scent of alpha fills the air. It’s not John though the presence is darker. It’s Simon. The hairs stand up on the back of your neck, you’re too scared to turn, you don’t want to turn. You look at Piper, she looks sympathetically, she wont project her scent onto you, you know that. They need to get used to you and you used to them. Besides, one of them might be claiming you next month.

“Where have you been hiding, ey?” You hear Johnny say.

“None of your business sergeant.” A gruff voice comes back. You slip down into a seat not taking your eyes off Piper. You hear a chair scrape back as Johnny sit’s down talking with him. It’s a few minutes later when you hear John and Gaz arrive. Kyle you learned his name, but he likes to be called Gaz. The smell of John’s alpha washes over you, it’s more calming then the other man, even Piper can feel it.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Gaz asks you as he sits next to you.

“Fine.” You say smiling at him. You look back over at Piper as she begins her lesson.

A lot of the information you already know, how scent works, where it comes from. Alpha’s have the strongest scent but also have the hardest time controlling it. Betas are very good at controlling scent and masking, it’s common for beta’s to use their scent to calm alphas and omegas. Omegas are the best at detecting scent, it’s a defense mechanism at the end of the day. Being able to smell the threat before it’s right next to you.

“You’ve all scented the omega, what about each other.” She says stepping to the side. “Any volunteers.” You almost step up automatically but instead it’s John who steps up. Piper walks around him.

“Kyle.” She motions at him, he steps up.

“Stretch your neck your, your hormones will do the rest. Remember the scent comes from the back of your neck.” She explains. You watch as Price bears his neck towards Gaz. His nostrils flare as he breathes the scent in. The scent of his alpha fills the room, you can see Gaz wobble as he breathes it in. It makes you chuckle, the memory of new betas passing out after scenting you or an alpha. Doctor Piper moves to pull Gaz away and she helps him back to a seat. He looks out of it, and John won’t be the only alpha he has to scent today.

“Who’s next?” She asks the room, her eyes landing on you for a second. You get up walking over to him. You’ve only ever scented one alpha before. The professor, John’s scent is already overwhelming enough. You get up going towards him, he smiles at you, it helps put you at ease as you reach up. He’s taller then you and you have to step up on your toes.

“Scenting each other is important for packs, once each member has gone through the process of projecting their scent onto one another it creates a bond between you all.” She explains. A pack. You never thought you could be part of a pack before. You close your eyes leaning in to scent him.

“The ground after rain.” He says quietly as his scent fills your nose. You slowly open your eyes, your mouth hanging open, pupils dilated.

The ground after rain and smoke, that’s John’s scent.

You smile at him, you don’t need Piper's help to get back to your seat. John’s eyes stay on you as you sit down.

The next few minutes you’re blissed out enjoying the alpha’s scent, it’s calming, safe. It’s only when John’s finished you start paying attention. The two beta’s go next if not just to give you all a break. It’s followed by an explanation of masking, the ability to hide your scent, betas are the best at it. You feel the energy in the room change when Simon eventually walks next to Piper.

“Two alpha’s in a pack is unusual, doesn’t mean it cannot work though.” She says, you can tell she doesn’t seem that confident. John goes first then Gaz and Johnny. It’s only you left. You get out your chair walking over to him slowly. His scent is strong, he looks down at you through his mask as you tip your head up to him. He bares his scent for you. The ground after rain and something you can’t name, it’s metallic, it makes a lump form in your throat.

You back up from him, he’s not as scary as he seems now. He makes your head spin as he turns to look at you, his eyes meeting yours. He has dark brown eyes, you let out a breath, smiling at him. You feel Pipers hand on your arm. Goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. You turn going back over to your seat.

“Okay, that wasn’t so bad.” Piper continues as she presses her hands together. “The calmer you are, the less prominent your scent is. If you’re stressed or upset you’ll have a harder time controlling it.” You look over at Simon, he sat down next to John instead of going to the back of the room.

You stop listening to Piper, keeping your eyes on him. What was the other smell, the ground after rain, something else, thick and heavy, harsh as it hit your nose. You flare your nostrils trying to breath him in but you can’t smell him anymore.

Dr. Piper talks about masking and how to spot it. She says as soon as there is a beta specialist here, they will be able to help them more, she can only do so much. You know from your own experience that a lot of things are just instinct. The last thing she talks about is scruffing.

A pit forms in your stomach, you’ve never had good experience with that. That’s the point though you’re not supposed to. You remember back in the bunker, the professor would sometimes do it for no reason, sometimes for hours on end. Your hand goes up to the back of your neck.

“For alpha’s and beta’s it’ll just feel like someone has jolted you, or hit you hard in the back of the neck, it’s painful. For omega’s it’s completely immobilising. It’s only to be used in extreme situations, I personally would argue there should never be a reason to do it. There are less invasive ways to subdue someone without resorting to scruffing.” She looks round the room, her eyes landing on you. You would happily go the rest of your life without being scruffed again.

The door to the room opens and you turn to see Kate walk in with a tablet in her hand. Dr. Piper wraps up her speech moving back over to her laptop as Kate walks up to hand the tablet to John. You’re watching them as you hear Johnny move to sit next to you wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“So what do I smell like?” He asks. You smile, breathing him in.

“You smell like clean sheets, straight out the dryer.” You say.

“That’s boring, anything else?” He asks huffing.

“It’s a good smell, a nice smell, safe.” You reply smiling. You’ve always felt safe around betas. You both watch as John get’s up pressing something on the tablet.

“We’re going to be moving to Washington.”

“DC?” Johnny asks.

“The state.” John says.

“Lot’s of rain, you'll be right at home.” Kate says. Dr. Piper looks over from the laptop. You watch her eyes flick between Kate and John.

“I’m sure it won’t take you long to pack?” He asks looking round the room. Johnny and Gaz are already on their feet.

“C’mon love, I’ll take you back.” Johnny says holding his hand out for you.

“It’s okay, i’ve got it.” Dr. Piper says smiling. Johnny winks at you before he leaves with Gaz. You’re not sure what all the winking is about, but it makes you smile, heat rushing to your cheeks. Once the room is empty Dr. Piper comes to sit next to you. She rests her hand on your thigh.

“I have some clothes for you so you’re not suck wearing hospital scrubs all the time.” You smile at her nodding.

“You did well today, you should be proud of yourself.” She says squeezing your leg.

“Simon is intimidating.” You admit still thinking about his scent, the scent you can’t place.

“He’s an alpha, you’ll get used to him.” She says standing up.

“Let’s go get you changed and something to eat before we leave.” She holds her hand out for you. You take it as she picks the laptop up.

“You’ll like Washington.” She says. “It’s by the ocean, lots of evergreen forests and sea air.” You smile at her, that does sound nice.

You’ve never been on a plane before. It’s massive, bigger then you expected, it’s a cargo plane. You can’t help staring at it in awe, you watch soldiers driving crates up into it. You see Kate and John talking outside the ramp of the plane you stick close to Dr. Piper letting her lead you up to them. Kate turns to look at you.

“It was nice to meet you, I’m sure we will see each other again at some point.” Kate says, reaching her hand out.

“You’re not coming with us?” You ask, she shakes her head.

“No, I'm needed elsewhere, I’ll be in touch though.” She smiles. You feel sad she’s leaving at least you had one other woman around. Piper’s hand presses on your back leading you into the plane. You’re looking all over the place, something always pulling your eyes in a new direction. Piper walks you to the front of the plane through a door into a room with what you recognise as ‘normal’ seating. Johnny and Gaz are already sat down talking.

“Hey lass come sit with us! We’ll let you have the window seat!” Johnny calls waving at you. You turn to Dr. Piper who nods at you smiling. Johnny and Gaz move, letting you sit by the window.

“Excited?” Johnny asks, sitting back down next to you.

“Nervous, I’ve never been on a plane before. Does it go fast?” You ask. Gaz chuckles.

“Oh yeah, like hundreds of miles an hour.” He says nodding. You swallow looking back out the window. You can see people walking around, driving around in strange looking vehicles.

“How long will it take?”

“About 4 hours.” Johnny says. You look back over at them, looking past Johnny at Gaz. His head is turned away from you as he looks out the window in the other aisle.

“You know I had an aunt who was afraid of flying.” Johnny says. You turn to frown at him.

“I’m not scared.” You say. Johnny smiles.

“Well if you do get scared you can hold my hand.” Johnny winks.

“Christ.” You hear Gaz chuckle. You hear the door open and see John and Simon walking in taking seats behind you.

“LT’s scared of heights.” Johnny says nudging you. You hear him sigh behind you. You can tell it’s not true but you smile anyway, you know he’s just trying to put you at ease. You watch out the window as you hear all kinds of banging and new noises. When the plane starts to roll back you feel strangely nervous. You can tell Johnny picks up on it nudging you to pull your attention to him.

“This is the best part you know.” He says putting his hand out palm up, you lace your fingers with his without thinking. He gives your hand a squeeze as the plane turns. You hear the engines start then before you know it the plane is barrelling down the runway. You squeeze Johnny’s hand way too tight until you feel the plane lift off the ground. As soon as that happens you relax.

“See, not so bad.” Johnny says nudging you. You nod at him before looking back out the window, watching the ground get further and further away. You watch the plane go through the clouds as it turns, making your stomach drop. You squeeze Johnny’s hand tighter, there’s a quick stabbing pain in your side as you rearrange your position.

“Do you have any family?” You ask Johnny without looking away from the window.

“Yeah, you?” You weren't expecting him to ask you. You turn to him, pulling your hand out his.

“I don’t remember my dad. My mum liked to bake, I have this memory of her. It was a sunny day, she always smelled of apple’s or cinnamon.” He has a sad look in his eyes. You don’t want him feeling sorry for you. You look back out the window.

“What happened to them?” Johnny asks.

“They died.” You say. There’s another scent in the air, it makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. You know that scent, it’s Simon.

When you land, you travel a few hours on the road to get to the base. The whole place is surrounded by dense woodland. It makes you happy seeing so much nature. It's an army base but it's deep in the forest. You saw the ocean Dr. Piper was talking about while the plane was landing.

You've never seen an ocean before.

When you get into the barracks the smell of fresh paint hits your nose. The walls are bare and tall, there are windows with grates over them. You’re walking into a sparsely furnished living room, a sofa, a dining table and chairs. There’s a TV, you’ve not seen one of those in years. A kitchen in the corner, it’s only a small with a sink, fridge and oven.

Apparently this building is just for you and them, the people who saved you. 141, you've heard people call them.

“Ooo, fancy.” Johnny says as he comes in behind you throwing his bag down. You move to let the rest of them come in. Fluorescent lights flicker on and you walk in looking round. There’s a corridor that leads to an emergency exit.

“I call the biggest room.” Johnny calls from behind you.

“You can’t just call a room.” Gaz says.

“Yeah, says who?” Johnny asks going over to the sofa with Gaz following after him. John’s hand comes to rest on your shoulder.

“Why don’t you go pick first?” He says watching Gaz look inside the kettle. You turn to look at him as he moves his hand. He nods you in the direction of the hallway. You smile at him and head down.

The first two rooms are an office and what looks like a shared bathroom. You continue down to the next two rooms. They’re both bedrooms, they’re pretty much identical, a bed, a wardrobe and a desk. You keep going all the way to the end of the hallway, there are 6 rooms 3 on each side. You find yourself at the last room to the left. It has a massive window looking out over a field, you can see the walls of the base.

You walk in the room running your fingers over the desk. It’s bigger then any room you’ve ever had before. You look in the distance through the window, you can see trees, more trees then you’ve ever seen. You're surrounded by an evergreen forest. It makes you happy, maybe you could convince John to let you explore it one day. You lift the handle on the window. It only opens a small amount but you can smell the fresh air, hear the trees swaying in the wind. This is your room.

“What do you think?” You turn to look at Dr. Piper standing in the doorway. You smile going over to her.

“I like it.” You say.

“Wait till you see the lab they’ve got ready for me.” She smiles. You close the door behind you as you leave, locking it and pulling the key out. You look at the room opposite you, Dr. Piper's bag is already on the bed. You’re happy she’s going to be close to you. You make your way back down to the common room where you can hear laughing and talking. It makes you smile. You haven’t been in an environment like this before.

“Tea?” Gaz asks from the tiny kitchen. You blink at him, looking as he stands there with mugs in his hand.

“I’ve never had tea before.” You say walking over to him.

“Want to try it?” He asks, you look at the bags in the cups as he pours the water in. The smell fills your nose, it's herbal. You nod watching him spoon sugar into some of the cups. He pushes one towards you then reaches into the fridge taking out some milk. You hear the door to the building open turning to see Simon walk in. He walks over to Piper and hands her something. She thanks him as he walks away. His eyes meet yours and you smile at him. You wish you could see if he was smiling back. At least he’s not sending shivers up your spine any more.

“Want to come see the lab?” Piper asks coming back over to you. Gaz pushes a mug in your hands. You shake your head.

“I’m going to try tea.” You say smiling and following Gaz over to the sofa. Piper smiles.

“I’ll see you in a bit then.” She nods at you heading out. You sit down on one of the sofa chairs.

“This is rubbish, all these channels are American, how are we supposed to watch the footy now?” Johnny says as you watch him flick through the channels. You warm your hands on the mug pulling your legs up onto the chair. You blow on the tea waiting for it to cool, Johnny lands on a news channel. You watch it mesmerised by what’s happening. You get distracted by John coming out of the office, he walks over to pick up a mug and comes over to see what’s on the TV.

“What do you think?” He asks looking at you, you look confused for a second then you remember the tea. You bring it up and take a sip. It’s warm and milky, you can’t place the flavor but it’s sweet. You nod at him and he smiles.

“Where did Dr. Montgomery go?” He asks.

“She went to the lab.” Johnny says without looking up from the remote. You take another sip of the tea, your stomach growls and you realise how hungry you are. John checks his watch.

“You should all get something to eat before the mess closes.” Johnny jumps up off the sofa while Gaz downs the rest of the tea. You place your half drunk cup on the coffee table with the others.

“C’mon lass before they eat all the cake.” You smile at that.

“Is there really going to be cake?” You hear John laugh as Johnny throws his arm over your shoulder. When you get to the dining hall there are still a few people hanging out. You pick up a tray following Johnny and Gaz’s lead. You see foods you’ve never seen before you want to try everything. Johnny recommends things and you end up with two plates of food. And 2 servings of chocolate pudding which you end up eating first. Johnny and Gaz chuckle at you while you go round your plates trying a little of everything until you’re full.

You eat so much you feel like you can’t move when you’re done. Johnny steals one of your plates to finish off your mash. You lean back wondering why you’re so hungry, you count in your head again. It’s definitely not your heat. There’s the stabbing pain again. It’s not in your side anymore it’s in your abdomen.

Shit. It’s already the end of the month, your period should be any day now.

You sigh, you’ll need to tell Piper and ask her for a mattress protector. You don’t think John would be happy if you ruined the bed on the first night. You listen to Johnny and Gaz talking about past missions. You can’t help but catch people looking at you. It makes you feel self-conscious, you feel like Johnny and Gaz can pick up on it too because before they start a new anecdote they decide to leave.

It’s late evening as you’re leaving the mess hall with Gaz. Johnny said he needed to ‘hit the gym’ so you were left alone with Gaz. You don’t mind, following him as he leads you across the grounds back towards the barracks.

“Do you have a family?” You ask him trying to distract yourself.

“Yeah, a big one actually.” He says smiling. You smile back at him.

“Do they all live in the UK?”

“Yeah London.” He smiles.

“Do you miss them?”

“All the time.” He sounds sad, you feel bad. “I can show you some photos, I have some in my room.” You nod seeing him smile. There’s the pain again, a stabbing pain in your bowels. You stop, Gaz stops too turning to you.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, I just need to see Dr. Piper.” You say. You look over at the red brick building.

“That’s where the lab is right?” You ask. Gaz nods.

“Want me to come with you?” You shake your head smiling at him.

“I’m good.” You say walking off towards the building.

Dr. Piper is filling up a cupboard with new lab supplies when a door slams closed, making her jump. She turns looking round the lab.

“Hello?” She calls, gripping the test tube rack. She takes a breath in. Alpha.

“John?” She asks, looking round the stack of boxes. She takes a step back backing up into something. The contact makes her jump, spinning round to see Simon standing behind her.

“Jesus, have they thought about putting a bell on you lieutenant?” She breathes feeling relieved. He hums making his way round to the other side of the table.

“Price wanted me to come and see if there was anything you needed?” She can’t read his expression under his mask. He has such a looming presence in the room, John told her Simon was taking the changes the hardest. She only had time to quickly look over the files John had given her on him, maybe there would be some answers in there. Maybe she could get him to talk.

“I think I’m good, got enough equipment in here, we're going to give the CDC a run for their money.” She says trying to lighten the mood. He looks at her nodding. A man of few words, along with his overpowering alpha sent, he’s always the most intimidating person in the room.

“Has John made any progress on finding the people I recommended?” She doesn’t expect an answer from him but she’s already decided she’s going to get him to talk to her.

“Working on it.” He says looking in a box of supplies. She nods, pressing her lips together. She tries to remember what she learned in her psychology classes. Her eyes follow the bulking figure around as he heads over to the door of her office.

“What made you work for someone like the Professor?” He asks, she smiles, keeping her distance.

“I agreed with his original vision for the project. I was fresh out of med school, he was offering a unique career path.” She explains watching to see his reaction. He’s good at hiding it, he’ll be a good alpha.

“What changed?”

“He started getting more extreme. His experiments getting more and more unethical. He started to lose track of his goals.” She moves over to open another box of lab supplies.

“Why didn’t he kill you?” He asks, walking towards her.

“I was close with the omega, the professor had broken his bond with her. She needed someone safe, she could trust-”

“So he could keep torturing her.” He cuts her off, she looks up at him, his arms crossed. His eyes are digging into her, she can feel the anger in the air let alone smell it.

“I’m a doctor first, I never hurt her.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.” He says, his words harsh causing her to sigh and close the box up.

“Like you’ve never killed anyone.” She scoffs.

“I’m a soldier.”

“I’m a doctor.”

“Just because you didn’t pull the trigger doesn’t mean you haven’t killed people.” He says

“She’s alive, that's all that matters!” Piper snaps.

“And that makes you think you’re different then him?” He scoffs. Piper shakes her head, taking a step over to him.

“You don’t get to judge me. I did what I had to do to keep her safe, alive.” She says, tipping her head to the side watching his expression. His scent doesn’t change. His eyes are still digging into her.

“I read the report, over 15 years she was down there.” His voice is low, it makes the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

“You don’t get to judge me.” Piper repeats, she can’t lose her confidence now. He shakes his head, his anger is heavy in the air. She should back down, everything in her body tells her to run and hide from him.

“You haven’t told her about the professor yet?” He asks. Shit, she was hoping to avoid this conversation. She lets out a sigh.

“Did John ask that?” She asks. He doesn’t say anything, she stands her ground.

“You say you’re one of the good guys but what else doesn't she know? Does she know who he is?” His alpha is on full display, his scent thick in the air. It makes her back down, she can’t avoid it this time. He shakes his head.

“Her own father, christ, she should at least know he’s alive.”

“Why do you care so much?” Piper says backing up, she doesn’t want to but she can’t help it. A new scent fills her nose. Omega.

You step out from round the corner. Hugging your chest, tears in your eyes. Simon and Piper both turn to you. You feel like you can’t breathe, you stare, mouth hanging open as they watch you waiting to see what you’ll do.

Your dad. It can’t be real. He wanted to claim you.

You feel sick, you can’t even remember what you needed from her now. You take a step back, before you know it your body is turned and you’re sprinting out the room. You sprint as fast as you can across the grass back towards the barracks. You don’t stop, throwing yourself through the door. You don’t even register Gaz calling you as you rush past him to your room. You slam the door, turning the lock. You brace yourself on the desk sucking in gulps of air. Your lungs are burning.

He’s your father.

He’s alive.

There’s noise in the hallway.

“What happened?” It’s John’s voice. You can smell the alpha in the air. Simon is here too. Someone tries the door handle. Then there’s a knock. Dr. Piper calls your name. She is the last person you want to see. She’s knocking on the door.

“Go away!” You shout, your voice breaks.

“He’s not your biological father, he married your mother to get to you!” Piper calls through the door. You don’t care, you're angry you want to scream. You go over to the door pulling it open. It almost knocks Piper off her feet.

“That makes it better then, he just groomed me instead! Why don’t I remember him!” You snap. You look round at everyone standing in the hall. Your eyes flick to John, he looks confused, worried, they all do.

“It was a side effect of the first formula, it effected your memory.” She says.

“I remember my mother.” You say. Dr. Piper shakes her head.

“Who do you think of when you think of her?” She asks sympathetically. You think of the memories, of her baking, you playing in the house on the hill. It’s a sunny summers evening, you can even imagine the birds singing in the trees.

“My mum, the house on the hill-.”

“With the pies, it’s a summer evening.” Piper finishes. She reaches out to grip your shoulders. You flinch but she holds you in place looking into your eyes.

“Think hard about who you see when you think of your mother.” You close your eyes out of spite. You try to imagine her face but you can’t. You let out another sob, why can’t you picture her face. She’s always so real in your head, the pies, the garden.

You squeeze your eyes. It’s Dr. Piper, she’s who you see, she’s who you always think of when you think of your mother. You open your eyes, you can hardly see her through your tears. You back away from her.

“She was so real.” You say between sobs.

“I know, she had to be. You needed something to cling onto. Something to keep you grounded.” She says, taking a step forward but she doesn’t enter your room.

“You lied to me!” You shout at her wiping your tears away. You’re angry, you don’t think you’ve ever felt this angry.

“We did what we had to do to keep you safe.” She says, you can hear the pleading in her voice.

“We? You mean you and the professor.” You say dropping your shoulders. You can’t believe what you’re hearing, you trusted her. You want to hate her, you wish you could hate her. You turn back to look at her, she looks sad, you can smell the sincerity in the air. You want to scream at her, you want to be mad, you never want to see her again. You rub the back of your neck. You feel betrayed.

“I’m so sorry.” She says. You don’t want to see her anymore. You reach over and slam the door in her face. You wish you had a nest you could crawl up in. You don’t even have that. You hear their voices from the other side of the door.

You don’t care, you throw yourself into the bed pulling the covers over your head. For the first time you wish you were back in the bunker. Back in the tiny room you called home for the most of your life. You close your eyes. You wish you could think of your mother but the memories are tainted now.

...

When you wake it’s dark out, the window is still cracked open and you can hear the wind blowing through the crack. Your head feels heavy, your throat dry, you get out of bed. The room is cold but you leave the window open, you want to smell the fresh air. You take a breath opening the door, Dr. Pipers door is closed, all the doors are, there’s no noise in the building now.

The only light you can see is coming out the bottom of the office. You take a deep breath in as you pass it, it’s John. You go into the kitchen looking through the cupboards for a glass. You hear the office door open as you run the tap. John sticks his head round the corner, you watch his nostrils flair. You don’t care that you smell distressed, it must be strong enough for him to pick up on it though.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as you sip the water.

“Fine,” it’s a lie, you don’t really know how you feel. He takes a step towards you.

“We were going to tell you, Dr. Montgomery thought you should get settled in first.” He says, you put the glass in the sink.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry I acted the way I did.” You say, you don’t know why you feel like you have to apologise but you made a scene. You’re not supposed to do that. Omega’s are to be seen and not heard. The professor's words spin round in your head.

“Don’t be silly, come on I have something for you.” He says, you nod following him. He goes into his office, the room is smaller then the bedroom, there’s just enough room for the desk, a sofa and some filing cabinets. Everything is still in boxes though as he bends down picking something up off the sofa. He turns handing you a pile of pillows and blankets.

“Dr. Montgomery said you might want to nest.” He sounds unsure what that means, you reach out taking the pile in your arms. You want to still be mad at her. She’s right though, you want a nest. It makes you nervous as you look up at John, the last nest you made was destroyed. John would never do that, you trust him.

“Thank you.” You say feeling the soft fabric. You wish you could run off and make a nest in the forest, surrounded by nature where you can watch the birds. Maybe high up in a tree somewhere where no one can reach you.

“If you want some space from her I can keep her busy.” You look up at him. You wish it was that simple.

“We’re bonded, if I’m away from her for too long I get moody, sad, lonely.” You wish you could explain it, the feeling of not being with someone you bonded with. He’ll understand, if he claims you, that’s the strongest bond there is. It’s the same reason you can’t bring yourself to hate her, no matter what she’s done.

“If there is anything you need you just have to ask.” He says his hand comes up to squeeze your shoulder. You breathe him in, his calming alpha scent fills your nose. You trust him, you feel safe around him.

“Thank you.” You say as his hand drops, he smiles at you.

“You should get some rest, it's late and we have a lot to do tomorrow.” You nod, turning to leave. You make it to the door hearing him following behind you.

“John,” you stop swallowing the nerves. “Do you think maybe one day we could go for a walk in the forest?” He’s going to say no, why did you even ask? You squeeze the pile of bedding biting the inside of your cheek. His hand lands on the small of your back as he pushes you through the door turning the light off and locking the door.

“Maybe, I’ll see what I can work out.” He says. You smile walking down towards your room. You turn back to look at him walking into his room, it’s right next to the office. He smiles at you as you walk through your door. You dump the pile down under the window. You wish it would open more so you could stick your head out and breathe in the cold night air. This would be a nice place to build a nest, you’re too tired now though. You leave the curtains open and climb back into bed. You can see out to the sky from the bed, there is no moon tonight, but you can see stars. You’ve never seen stars before, it makes you smile.

You dream you’re walking through the forests with John. It’s warm but the sun is broken up by trees. You can hear the birds singing up in the trees. The air is thick with electricity, you end up by a lake. The sky is dark, there are rumbles of thunder in the distance. John comes up behind you, his hands land on your shoulders. His hands are strong, firm as they squeeze you.

You lean back pressing your back against his chest. You close your eyes as the scent of his alpha fills your nose and you relax into him. There’s another crash of thunder, it shakes you and your eyes flash open. There’s no lake anymore, John’s gone too. You smell apple pie, when you turn the forest is gone and replaced by the house, the house on the hill. You try to back away but something is stopping you. Hands grip your arm nails digging into your skin.

“Why are you trying to run?” The voice is low and harsh in your ear sending shivers up your spine. It’s the professor, he’s forcing you to walk towards the house. You try to stop but he picks you up in his arms, you kick and thrash trying to claw at his skin. He laughs, his arms wrapping round you tighter. The smell of pie is replaced with the overwhelming smell of blood.

You can hear Dr. Piper’s voice. It takes you all your energy to push against him in a last ditch effort to escape. It doesn’t matter though, he lets out a deep laugh, his hand coming round to grip the back of your neck. You scream as pain radiates down your spine, your body goes limp, you can’t fight it, you try to call out but your breath catches in your throat and everything goes black.

the whisky wasn’t cutting it. It’s his second glass and his nerves were higher then they had ever been. He’d been ignoring calls all day, leaving it to his assistant, his prodigy; Miles Ashford. He’s spent the past year as his assistant. At first he wasn’t sure why he kept him around, but he needed someone to keep his work up to date above ground. He’d promised him an omega, once he had perfected the formula. He was so close. He stood up, downing the rest of the glass, the alcohol burnt his throat. He was so close, almost perfect. There’s a knock at the door. He walks over to the drinks cabinet again reaching in and taking the bottle of whisky out.

“Come in!” He calls. He watches as the door creaks open and Miles walks in. He walks in slowly, making sure he’s definitely allowed in before closing the door behind him. The professor sits down behind his desk.

“I spoke to your contact at the CIA. He knows who Laswell is.” Miles put a folder down on the table. “She’s been on vacation for the past week.”

“Red herring?” The professor asks, pouring whisky in his glass. Miles shakes his head.

“She was investigating you but Shepherd did his job, threw her off the scent then she went on vacation.” Miles puts another folder on the table. The Professor recognises it straight away. Doctor Piper Montgomery.

“She’s been putting feelers out for old staff members. I think she’s searching for someone.” He says. The professor picks his glass up.

“I should have put the bitch down when I had a chance.” He says, shaking his head. “Where is she?”

“She was in New York but now she’s missing.” Miles says, the professor's eyes dig into him as he thinks taking a sip of the whisky. He lets out a long sigh.

“Find out who she’s talking with and why. If you find her, kill her.”

“What about the CIA?” Miles asks.

“I think General Shepherd is capable of keeping that under control.” He lets out another sigh. Miles nods, he turns to leave the professor looks down at the file on the table. He looks at the image of Piper sticking out. Anger boils up inside him as he finishes the drink. Fucking bitch. He should have killed her when he had the chance. This is her doing he can smell it from a mile away.

He grips the desk slamming the glass down as hard as he can. It shatters the broken glass digs into his hand, ripping the flesh. He grits his teeth at the pain bringing his palm up to his mouth. He can already feel the flesh trying to repair itself.

He pulls the picture out the file. It’s a picture of you and Piper. You’re looking at her, your expression soft, his thumb runs over your face. There’s an aching in him. He needs you back, he needs to claim you. He’s going to find you, no matter what it takes.

Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui

Special thank you yet again to rememberwren <3

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ghouljams · 2 months ago

Note

supervisor: we are not gonna test their gd sperm count

Site Memo from ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛:

Stop asking if you can clean up the ejaculate in SCP-141-C's containment unit. I know you freaks aren't trying to help out the janitorial staff.

Messages from now defunct slack channel "I want to [redacted] the anomalies":

⬛⬛⬛⬛: Oh no I'm on SCP-141 supervision duty :( whatever will I do :( ⬛⬛⬛⬛: Oh no it's 141-C :( he'll probably jack off :( oh no :( ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: Girl if you don't stfu ⬛⬛⬛⬛: >:) ⬛⬛⬛: I've never been so jealous in my life. ⬛⬛: Test his sperm count I want that man's babies. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: lmao ⬛⬛⬛: lmao ⬛⬛⬛⬛: Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ says I'm not allowed in containment. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: Booooooo ⬛⬛⬛: Boo Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ boo ⬛⬛: At least Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ lets us talk to 141-A. ⬛⬛⬛⬛: Lucky :( ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: Who's on 141-D(addy) tonight. ⬛⬛: You gotta stop calling him that I almost put that in my notes yesterday. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: I'll stop calling him that when he stops looking like that. ⬛⬛⬛⬛: What does 141-D even do all day? ⬛⬛: Nothing. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: Make panties drop. ⬛⬛: He's literally so boring, he just sits there. He's working ⬛⬛⬛⬛: ??? ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: What the fuck is that? Hello. ⬛⬛: Hello???? ⬛⬛⬛: Slack is glitching hold on. You all seem rather useful. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: Just reboot the channel. ⬛⬛⬛: So annoying when it does this. Oh Gaz is going to love this.

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #scp au #scp!tf 141 #a = price #b = gaz #c = soap #d = ghost #kate laswell #e = laswell #go for watcher :)

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teletubbyinlipstick · 4 months ago

Text

Kiss Me More, Please.

Artemis. R.

Guys, idk what to say lmao, I've been obsessed with these men mostly thanks to @angel-eyes-and-devil-hearts , the ultimate legend. This one's for the hoes fr

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a balmy Sunday, grey clouds hanging low, creating a dense fog. You had just been transferred from the states to an elite task force in Europe. Delightful. At 24, you had made a name for yourself as a sniper, over 20 kills with 6 badges of honor to show for it it was no wonder you eventually got sent to higher rankings.

You just didn't realize those rankings would be in a pack with 2 alphas and 2 betas. As an omega, it puts you on edge a bit to share such intimate spaces with alphas. But, being completely honest with yourself, you can't deny they smell heavenly. John Price, the pack alpha, had a woodsy pine, undertones of cigar, and mint made a head spinning concoction, and you embarrassingly whined when scenting him for the first time.

The other alpha, Simon Riley, was a bit…harder to gauge a reaction. He was never mean, if a bit standoffish, at the dining hall he always made your tray and carried it for you. He held doors open, a protective hand on your back when guiding you places. He smells of cedar and eucalyptus, a faint patchouli pulling through.

God, why did these alphas smell so fucking addicting.

Kyle Garrick was a sweet beta, with kind eyes, strong wide shoulders, and, in your professional opinion, one of the finest asses known to man. He was so sweet and open, he helped you put up tapestries in your room (with explicit permission as invading an omegas den could end badly) , always gave you extra snacks during training, Kyle was a true man through and through. He smelled of vetiver and amber noir. When you shoved your nose into his neck to get more, you picked up a tang…citrus.

It wasn't your fault you usually ended up having to change your panties after hanging with him.

Johnny MacTavish was the last one you met, a strong level-headed beta with a feisty sense of humor and a very good shoulder to cry on. He might've been the last to meet you but certainly the one you bonded to the quickest. He liked to sling you over his shoulder and take off through the training post your delighted giggles chiming through the wind. He was your go-to movie cuddle buddy, and he always had an open space on his lap for you. He smelled so fucking divine bonsai, cloves and an allspice lavender, anytime youre within his vicinity it usually ends with you in his lap, drunk of his scent and purring loudly. The smell of lilies, cinnamon, and chamomile wafted from you; it was soothing and the answering rumble from the alphas chest had your omega preening.

It's hard not to crush on him.

It's been almost 2 and a half months since you arrived. Tf141 made it very clear their intentions on you by week 3, declaring they wanted you as their pack omega. They wanted to spoil you, protect you, and provide for you. The sudden declaration was sprang up by Johnny over a random breakfast at the table. You had gazed wide-eyed at all of them, almost like a deer in headlights.

“I...um…I need to think about it…” Truthfully, you really didn't. You knew you wanted them. All of them. It was nerve-wracking you were younger, a bit more inexperienced in life and romance. What if they ended up hating you? Or being annoyed at your unknowing? What if you gave them your heart so beautifully beating, and they gave it right back, stabbed through with 4 shiny knives.

You're unsure if you could live with that.

So going on week 6 of being on task force, week 3 of confession, you have yet to give them an answer. It was crude of you, you knew it. But it was hard to form the words, hard to speak when your heart swelled to your throat and lodged itself there. Leaving you breathless and fumbling; spewing out nonsense in hopes of adoration.

Right now was one of those moments you were sitting across from Price, fiddling with your fingers as you both gazed at each other in silence. You knew why you were called in here. You knew they wanted-deserved- an answer.

"Come here, y/n." Your breath hitched, oh god, his voice. Deep, barretoned words woven with an authoritative spike. You felt too hot, too seen under his intense gaze. Swallowing the lump forming, you gathered what small ounces of courage you could. Straightening your spine under the alpha's eyes.

"No." It came out more steady than you expected, and if the raised eyebrow of John was anything to go by, he wasn't expecting the answer. It emboldened you, made you feel taller, bigger than the man in front of you almost.

"No?"

"No. You come to me…please” And oh boy, did he take it as the invitation it was, eyes twinkling in amusement, something darker brewing in them. He pushed himself up from the chair, walking round the desk to stand directly in front of you. Your head tilted back to stare up at him, mouth parted as the courage left you in a swoop.

John's hand grazed across your jaw, thumb trailing down your throat before cupping your cheek. It was nerve-wracking, being in the presence of a God with nothing but mortal thoughts to shield you.

"The last time I was told no, I tore the man's throat out where he stood." A gasp left you, tensing just slightly under his palm. Was it a threat? Was it even true?? Maybe you read the room wrong. Maybe he was sizing you up. It's not like you had to wonder long. He tutted, pulling you from your thoughts as his other hand swept stray hair from your face.

"I find you enrapturing, Y/N we all do. You have bewitched us. And I would let you say anything to me. Anything. And now I'm asking you to please say how you feel. You know we want you, we see you as our omega. But we want you to want us. Do you?” You didn't know what to say, speechless in the hands of a prophet. The way he spoke was hypnotizing, and you leaned into his touch, hands grazing up his muscular chest until you cupped his jaw on both sides. Tugging him down, and my my my did he bend to your whims. Noses bumped together, breaths mingling, and you looked into his eyes.

"I-I…want you guys too. I want to be the pack omega” A stuttered breath in from the alpha in front of you had that flame of courage coming back full force. You gripped him harder, tilting your child up.

“Kiss me, please." A huff of air, and he was on you, kissing you so sensually, so sweetly you wondered if you would drown in its bliss. It was as cliche as every romance book ever said, wanton and needy with touch of his lips on yours. And God wasn't it unfair? To have euphoria in human form, holding you, kissing you like you hung the stars.

And when he finally pulled back, both of you panting, foreheads pressing against each other. You only had one thought.

"Kiss me more, please."

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soaps-mohawk · 3 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 38: Shattered

Summary: Things aren't okay. They never will be again.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,520 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, medical stuff, injuries, brief description of a possible death, language, mention of weight loss due to medical stuff, emotionally heavy chapter (again), slightly graphic imagery, illness, so much crying

A/N: I just want to make something very clear here since there's a scene in this chapter that might be interpreted this way, but 'mega is NOT suicidal. That's not something that's going to be in this fic, and neither is self-harm. It would have been well warned in advance if that was going to be something coming up in this fic. She's struggling a lot, but she's not suicidal, she's not going to become suicidal, nor will she self-harm even off screen. So don't worry. That's not what's happening. It won't be happening.

Okay, just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy the suffering!

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The scream slices through the silence seconds before chaos erupts.

John is on his feet and out the door before Kyle is even fully awake. Simon is on his heels down the stairs, the two of them nearly colliding in their rush. His heart thuds in his chest as he sees your door open, the overhead light on. It’s bad. It must be bad if the overhead light is on. You hate the overhead light.

He barrels in like a bull, ready to fight. The screaming has stopped, but it still rings in his ears. The fear, the panic. Something has happened. Someone got in. He should have made you take the room upstairs. He should have put a barrier between you and the door. That window. Someone could break that easily and grab you before they even noticed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

The screaming has stopped, but gut-wrenching sobs have taken its place. He takes a moment to scan the room. Nothing is misplaced. The window isn’t broken, there’s no bodies, no one that shouldn’t be in there.

“You’re okay.” Christine soothes you as you sob. “It was just a nightmare.”

The bright fluorescent overhead light burns his eyes as he stands there, staring at the bed. Christine is right there, having beaten them across the living room, or perhaps she had already been in there, having heard you in your distress before they could. You're tucked in her arms, your face against her shoulder as she holds you.

Nightmare.

The safety and security the cottage promised has faded, leaving you at the mercy of the horrors your mind can conjure up in your sleep. Something twists deep in John’s stomach as he turns, motioning for the others to back up and give you some space. You won’t want them there, and things will only get worse if you notice them.

His heart is still thudding in his chest as he stands there, the sharp sound of your scream still ringing in his ears despite his confirmation of your safety. The other three look just as startled as he feels, standing there tensely in the dark living room. He brings himself to move, turning his back on them for a moment to try and gather his thoughts as he flips on the lamp in the corner. It casts a warm light across the living room, far too warm for how he’s feeling. He’s trying not to panic, trying not to be sick on the floor from the worry. His heart is in his throat, trying to choke him. He’s trying so hard to be strong, not just for him, but for his pack, for you.

He sinks down on one of the couches, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been so sure something had happened, that their safe little bubble had been breached and someone knew about their whereabouts. He had been so sure someone was trying to hurt you with a scream like that.

Maybe someone was, but not in reality.

What is it you dream about now? Your nightmares about your father and your traumatic presentation must seem like nothing now compared to what must haunt your mind. Do you dream of Graves and his torture? Do you dream of them leaving you behind? Do you dream of dying because of their failures?

A hand settles on his shoulder, a body sinking onto the couch next to him. Arms are wrapping around him, easing him against a solid chest.

He’s crying.

He didn’t even realize the tears had started flowing.

He can hear the reverberating voice in his head, yelling at him, telling him not to show such weakness in front of his pack, in front of his team. He’s supposed to be the strong one, he’s supposed to be the stable one keeping the pack afloat and steady. Yet here he is, breaking down in front of them.

“It’s okay.”

Kyle.

His sweet Kyle.

How he’s been neglecting his sweet beta, and yet, how willing Kyle still is to reach out and comfort him in such a time of visible distress. That’s what betas are supposed to do. Mediate and balance the emotions of the pack. How have they been coping with all of this? How have Kyle and Johnny been managing in such a time of disarray and upheaval? Have they been managing it? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know the state of his pack, of the members of his team.

What a failure he is.

He lets himself lean against Kyle, something filling his chest as Kyle’s soft scent seeps into his senses. He’s projecting it, not just for John but also for the whole room. Johnny is crying too, soft sobs tearing from his chest as he sits on the other couch. Simon is on his knees in front of him, trying to get him calmed and breathing.

They’ve been ignoring and denying each other for days, fraying the bonds further while trying so hard not to. The pain they’ve been causing in their emotional constipation and intentional neglect is almost worse than the pain caused by their infighting. At least fighting they were feeling something. At least fighting they weren’t cutting each other off so willingly.

“We can’t do this anymore.” He says, his voice thick and shaky from his tears. “Cutting each other off. It’s not helping anything.” He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Kyle’s chest, letting the comfort wash over him for the first time in a week and a half.

How he’s missed this.

“It’s not doing any good for any of us.” Simon says, shifting onto the couch next to Johnny.

“Especially not our omega.” Kyle says, voicing the thought flashing through all of their minds.

“We may not be able to do much to help her right now, but we can focus on each other. That is something we can do.” John swallows thickly, his alpha starting to come back to life, his instincts aware again as he stares at Johnny and Simon. “Doing nothing isn’t good for any of us. We need to have something to focus on, something tangible we can do. Denying each other comfort isn’t going to help anyone.”

“I full-heartedly agree.”

John whips around, Christine standing in front of your closed door. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room, hadn’t sensed her standing behind them. Johnny and Simon are the only two that don’t look startled, but they must have seen her come out from their position facing your door.

“Sorry.” The corner of her lip twitches up in a smirk. “Thought you would have noticed.”

John clears his throat. “How is she?”

“Settled again.” Christine says, moving over to the chair.

“How long has she been having nightmares?” Kyle asks.

“Since that first day in the med center in Dallas.” She says, sinking into the chair. How heavy this must all be on her shoulders. “I’d almost call them more sleep hallucinations. Mostly of Graves. Seeing him in the room, being attacked by him.”

“Is there anything that can be done to help?” John asks.

“For these kinds of nightmares? Not really.” Christine folds her hands in her lap. “Her brain is trying to process what happened. Until she feels safe enough to truly begin working on processing the trauma, it’s likely the nightmares will continue.”

“Is there anything we can do to help her feel safe?” Kyle says.

Christine’s lips purse as she looks between the four of them. “I’m not sure any of you could do anything right now directly, at least. She’s not open to that yet. Working on your bonds with each other, though, could help her omega finally settle and allow her emotions to even out again. That can help her feel safer, remove that instability and the fear of losing control again.”

All of them share looks, John and Simon staring at one another. They hadn’t even thought about that. Well, at least he hadn’t. Christine had told him months ago that omegas need their alpha when they distress, when their omega takes over. They can come back from it with the help of an alpha...their alpha. Without one, the chances of survival were slim. Yet here you are, trying to do it all on your own. Having to do it all on your own.

That ache in his chest starts again as he stares at Simon. He sent Simon after you, he made Simon go through that process of seeing you in that state and scruffing you. He made Simon be the one to help you through that. He made Simon be there when you needed an alpha most because he couldn’t face the fact that he abandoned you, he left you behind like you were nothing but another faceless soldier.

He wipes his face as the tears start falling again. He truly is a failure of an alpha.

Despite Christine’s reassurances, John can’t help the automatic reaction to your screams. On his feet instantly, his heart pounding in his chest ready to fight bare handed whatever might be causing such a reaction. Whoever might be causing such a reaction. He can’t fight the demons in your head, though, and he’s always greeted by the sight of Christine by your side, comforting you as best she can.

He wants to hate her, wants to be angry at her for taking his place, doing what he should be doing. His alpha scratches at his mind every time he sees her by your side, giving you comforts he should be giving, but it’s his fault. It’s his fault she’s the one there with you. It’s his fault you’re suffering so much. Those thoughts send his alpha crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs.

It doesn’t matter the time of day, whether it was a nap or the middle of the night, your screams have a pain throbbing deep in his chest. His heart is constantly racing, waiting for that rush of adrenaline at the sound of your terrified scream, at that rush of instinct to protect and fight. He’s not sure how much his heart can take.

He might have a heart attack by the end of their stay at the cottage.

That’s something he’s been trying not to think about.

They can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he knows you’ll want to, how much the others will want to. Eventually they’ll begin to go stir-crazy, itching for something to do. They still have jobs, and Kate can only keep them off the radar for so long, and can only give so many excuses. Eventually they’ll have to go back. Eventually they’ll have to make that decision of what comes next.

He’s going to delay that as much as he possibly can.

They can’t go back while Shepherd is still out there. They can’t trust that anywhere is safe while he’s still skulking around, while he still has contacts that could put them all in danger. That could put you in danger.

That’s not a risk he’s willing to take again.

But what comes next?

What will they decide to do? Can they go back, knowing what the inevitable will be? Can they take that risk of having to leave you again, put you through that constant fear and worry that they might not come back? What if they all leave again? Could you survive the fear that something might happen while they’re away again? Not to them, but to you?

Could they leave you alone again?

Those are thoughts for another day when they’re inevitably faced with the fact they have to return to society and their lives and jobs.

They have time.

He has to make sure you’re okay first.

You’re not okay.

You’re so very far from okay.

The bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow around the room.

There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there.

It’s one of the rare times you’ve woken before you can react, before you can scream and alert everyone in the house that you’ve had a nightmare. They’ll all come running. All of them.

You hate it.

You hate the nightmares, you hate the fear, you hate the constant pain and worry and the constant knowledge that your pack is right there. They want to go back to how things were, they want things to go back to normal, but they can’t. They expect you to forgive them, to go back to loving them, but how can you after everything?

They left you.

They let this happen to you and they just want you to pretend like nothing happened. That’s what they would do. Go back to normal life after being tortured and forget it all happened because that’s what they do.

You’re not them.

You don’t want to be like them.

Cold. Heartless. Uncaring. Unwilling to put anyone but themselves first.

Fuck them.

The only thing keeping you here is the fact you’re bonded to them. That, and you’re an omega. You’d get picked up off the street and brought right back here to your owner. Or, worse, you’d get picked up by someone looking for a cute little omega to add to their collection.

Or worse.

You’d get picked up by someone else.

Graves. Shepherd.

If you’re lucky, they’d kill you instantly. Leave your body on the front porch for the others to find. You won’t care anymore. You’ll be dead.

You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks, wiggling yourself back until you’re leaning against the headboard. Your shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. It still throbs, still aches, still occasionally almost puts you on the floor when you try to reach over your head with it. Your throat is healing too. Soup isn’t quite as horrible as it was a few days ago. Solid food makes you ache, but at least you can get it down without feeling like you’re swallowing glass.

You still haven’t spoken to them, though.

You can hardly stand to look at them.

Fuck them.

Just the thought of them makes you want to scream.

Dr. Keller says it's normal, being angry. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ The anger, the fear, the pain, the depression. It’s all normal. It’s all part of the process. It’s all necessary. You won’t get better holding it all in. You won’t get better numbing yourself. You won’t get better if you don’t allow yourself to feel everything.

You hate it.

Why should you have to go through all these feelings, all this pain? Why should you be the one suffering because of their decisions? It’s not fair. They should be suffering. They should be in pain. They should be the ones on the brink of insanity because of the fear and the pain and the suffering and their omega constantly screaming at them.

It makes you want to scream.

Screaming will only draw them in, force them closer. Screaming will alert them all, make them all come running. You don’t want any of them near. You don’t want to have to see them again.

Fuck them.

You let out a huff before wiggling back down the bed until your head hits the pillow. You won’t go back to sleep. You never do. At least you have the pain and exhaustion and tumultuous emotions and your very nature to excuse your constant naps, constant sleeping during the day. They don’t need to know you’re not sleeping at night. They won’t care. They don’t care. None of them do.

Fuck. Them.

You want your phone, you want something to keep you occupied. It’s probably lying somewhere on the side of the road shattered beyond repair. That, or it’s back in the barracks. The barracks. Fuck that place. You’ll rip your hair out strand by strand if you have to go back there. It’s not safe, it’s not happy. There’s nothing good about that place anymore.

It’s just a place of pain. You might as well have been tortured by Phil there.

You were tortured there.

It wasn’t a physical torture, but a mental one. The entire experiment was just torture for you. No one thought of you, no one cared about you.

Dr. Keller cares.

It’s her job to care.

Still, you can’t hate her entirely. She’s the only one that understands. She’s the only one that can help. She’s the only one that’s been helping. Not just now, but back then. She cared, she fought for you, she did her best with what she had. Sure, she made mistakes, but so did you. She’s the only one you can forgive.

She’s the only one you want to forgive.

Fuck the others. Fuck your pack. Fuck those fucking soldiers who were never going to care about anyone but themselves, who were never going to care about anything but their jobs and their duties and the good of the world.

You should have been their world.

They couldn’t put you first. They wouldn’t put you first. They didn’t want to put you first.

They won’t change. They can’t change. There’s no hope for change.

You’ll just go back to the way things were before and be forced to pretend everything's okay and that you’re happy and fine and content. Were you ever really content or were you just trying to make the best of the situation? Were you deluding yourself into believing you loved them and cared about them and that they loved you and cared about you to numb the fact you knew deep down that they never would, that they never could. Were you deluding yourself into thinking everything was fine and dandy to hide the constant pain from the knowledge that you would never come first?

The pain begins to burn in your chest again. It’s hot like acid, rising in your chest to your throat, threatening to choke you. It’s a deep pain, one nestled right in against your soul. Tears leak out of your eyes again as you squeeze them shut, pushing your right hand against your chest in an attempt to get it to pass.

You thought you were dying the first time.

You could only be so lucky.

The bond.

It’s trying to break, trying to sever itself, trying to free you from the constant pain, but it can’t.

Maybe because deep down you don’t want it to. Maybe deep down you want to forgive them and move past all of this. Maybe you want things to go back to normal, even if normal means pain and distress and fear. Maybe you want to believe them that they’re finally going to put you first.

‘Maybe’ is only a doorway to disappointment and pain.

Fuck yourself.

Fuck your omega.

Fuck your pack.

Hell, fuck Dr. Keller for not fighting harder, for not doing more.

Fuck Graves and his haunting of your nightmares.

Fuck Kate for choosing you.

Fuck Shepherd for creating the initiative in the first place to try and cover his own ass.

Fuck them all.

You tug the blanket higher around yourself, rolling onto your right side.

Fuck. Them. All.

You don’t want him here.

He does it now, usually in the mornings.

You hate it.

You like it. It’s nice. He’s the only one making an effort.

He never says anything, surprisingly enough. It’s silent as he sits there, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Always coffee, never tea. He won’t sink that low. He brings you a cup, but you can never bring yourself to touch it. You feel like a mental patient stuck in a straight jacket. You could free yourself, but that would bring too much awareness, too many questions, too much pain.

You don’t want to.

So instead you sit there in silence, staring out at the sea. It’s so far away still, yet it’s right there. You can hear it and smell it and see it.

The sea.

They brought you to the sea.

John remembered. He did it for you.

The thought has something stirring in your chest, and it’s not pain or anger.

You hate it.

Johnny leans back in the chair, his eyes on the horizon like yours. He sits there in that chair every chance he gets, usually in the mornings when Dr. Keller takes time for herself and leaves one of them watching you through the sliding glass door. You do feel guilty for forcing so much on Dr. Keller’s shoulders, yet you need her.

You’re not ready for the others yet, no matter how loudly your omega screams at you.

You don’t want them.

Fuck, you desperately need them.

Your eyelids flutter frantically as you try to keep the tears at bay. You can’t cry. You can’t let him know how close you are to breaking down. You can’t.

You can’t reach out.

You can’t take his hand.

How desperately you want to.

You nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the sliding door opens, Dr. Keller’s soft footsteps crossing the wood planks of the porch.

“Ready to go inside now?” She asks, pressing the back of her hand against your cheek. You don’t say anything, don’t react, frozen in fear of everything coming tumbling out in front of Johnny. “You’re getting cold.”

Johnny glances your way and you immediately turn to look at Dr. Keller, scared to look him in the face. That desperate hold you have on the gaping wound in your abdomen will open and your guts will come spilling out like some gory scene in a horror movie.

Disembowelment thanks to your own weakness.

Dr. Keller holds the crutch out for you as you push yourself to stand. Your legs are strong enough you could probably walk without it, but it’s still nice to have it in case you get tired.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

It’s the weakness from your liquid diet over the past week and a half. The weakness of being unable to eat solid foods, to properly nourish. You’ve lost weight, your clothes hanging from your body in a way they never did before. You’ve lost the softness that marks you as an omega, but it feels fitting. You don’t feel like an omega anymore.

You don’t feel like anything anymore.

You’re fighting your instincts out of pain and suffering and stubbornness. You keep taping your omega’s mouth shut despite how loudly she screams at you. You don’t want your instincts. You don’t want that need. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually it has to recede and your omega has to go back into her cage and sleep. Eventually you can numb yourself to it and force it away forever.

That will certainly make things easier.

But will it make things better?

No. Probably not.

It’ll make things worse.

But if it allows you to keep your distance, allows you to avoid them, you’ll risk it. You’d take numbness over anything right now.

How you miss those long days of depression while they were away. How you took those days for granted.

Who knew those hours spent worrying about them and their distance and what might happen to them would be for nothing?

What you wouldn’t give for all of them to disappear right now.

How badly it would destroy you.

“She’s at war with herself. That instinctual need is screaming at her, but that emotional pain is keeping her shut away. If anyone is going to get through to her, it will probably be you.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Simon clenches his jaw as he stares at Christine. As much as he wants to hate the doctor and her ability to see straight through him, he can’t deny how necessary her presence has been. She’s the only one you tolerate, the only one you’ll let close. Without her you’d probably be rotting in bed, stuck and unable to do anything out of stubbornness. You won’t let them close, yet you need them close.

You’re going to rip yourself in half, metaphorically and possibly even literally.

He shakes that mental image from his mind. The horrifying images his mind has conjured up over the last few days have his stomach churning. Even his tea no longer looks appetizing.

He put milk in it this time. Almost how he likes it. Almost how he wants it.

“Johnny’s the one actually trying.” Simon says, staring across at her. She doesn’t shy from his gaze, doesn't even flinch. “You should talk to him.”

“While I agree, reintroducing a beta from the pack is the first step, eventually she’s going to need an alpha.” Christine says.

“She needs her alpha.” He argues.

“She doesn’t want her alpha.” Christine counters. “He’s going to be the last she lets close, but she’s going to need some kind of stability.”

“I can’t give her that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Simon clenches his hand around his mug, his knuckles going white. She’s infuriating, yet he can’t be mad at her. Not completely. The good she’s doing for you, for the pack, far outweighs his annoyance with the doctor. She’s right. He knows it deep down, but he can’t. He can’t do that, he can’t put you through that. He’s already done enough. He did his part, he faced his fears, he saved your life. That’s enough for him. It’s up to John now.

John has to do the work to fix it. He broke it, it’s no one else’s job to fix it.

“Maybe both.” Simon finally says, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s not my job to fix this.”

He leaves his mug behind as he stalks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He can’t stand being in the house any longer, cooped up with the same five people. Four people and a ghost.

He shakes his head, jogging down the steps into the gravel. He should go for a jog. A long jog. He could jog to town and back. That will clear his head.

That’s a long jog.

If something happens while he’s away, he won’t get back in time. It’ll be his fault because he took the time to do something selfish. He can picture it, coming back to find five bodies laying in pools of blood, dead because he wasn’t there to help, because he wasn’t there to fight.

It’s a ridiculous thought. There’s three other highly trained soldiers in the house. If anyone tried anything, they wouldn’t make it past the door. He can see it now, Price’s alpha coming out in a rage because someone dared try to enter and hurt his vulnerable omega. He’d probably win in a fight ten to one if that happened, and he has Kyle and Johnny to back him up. Christine would take you and run the first chance she could. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not again.

Still, he can’t shake that fear. If he can’t sprint back, then it's too far. If it will leave the pack too vulnerable, he can’t.

To the beach and back, then.

She’s like an angel.

The soft sunlight streaming through the clouds makes her glow. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was shining just for her, sending down a beam just to illuminate just how ethereal she is.

The Garrick beauty is genetic.

Kyle is beautiful in terms of a man. He shares the same ethereal glow as his sister, but Ashley? You don’t feel worthy of looking upon her.

“Kyle never mentioned an omega, but then again, he never says much about his job.” She gives another dazzling smile, your heart rate picking up just slightly. “Can’t, I should say. You haven’t been with them long, huh.”

“About nine months.” You say, your voice still a bit hoarse. It’s not quite healed yet. It might be that way forever.

“Such a short amount of time to go through so much.” She says, giving you a soft, sympathetic look. You don’t know how much she knows, though it’s still fairly obvious you’ve been through hell. That you’re still going through hell. “Christine told me a bit about what happened. I don’t blame you one bit for being upset at them. I would have left them, but I know. In a perfect world, right?”

You make a quiet sound. Indeed in a perfect world where omegas have rights and can make their own decisions and could leave and have support in doing so. You’d leave with Dr. Keller or even Ashley, even though you’ve only known her for ten minutes. She has the same magnetic energy as Kyle, so much so you don’t mind the way the scent blockers burn your nose. She probably smells like something warm and soft, something comforting.

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” She says, settling in the chair. It’s cool outside, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit.

You scramble for something, anything. What is it you like to do? What are your hobbies? You’re drawing a blank, your mind searching through its filing cabinets to find where you shoved all the things you like to do.

“I like to read.” You finally say, remembering the stack of untouched books on the dresser across from the bed.

“Oh? What do you like to read?” She asks.

What do you like to read? What is a genre? What are books?

“Oh, I read anything, as long as it’s interesting.” Is that the truth? You’re not quite sure.

“I see, I see. Well, there’s quite the collection on those shelves inside. I’m a reader too. Read through those entire shelves over the years.” She grins at you. “We could do a little book club, if you’d like. Read some books and talk about them over some tea. We could get Christine in on it too. Have a little thing just for us girls.”

You nod, staring at her in awe. This is the first time someone outside of your little circle has offered to do anything with you, for you.

You want to do it.

You want to spend time with someone who isn’t your pack, who isn’t Dr. Keller.

“Okay.” You say, still staring at her in awe.

“I could come over on the weekends, or we could do a call if you’re not up to seeing anyone.” She continues, and you’re not sure if she made this plan before she came, or if she’s coming up with it on the spot. Regardless, you're still impressed by her and her dedication to a complete stranger.

“Would...would that be too much?” You ask, your brain starting to wake up again, the wires connecting once more.

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I live and work in Exeter, so I’m not too terribly far away.”

You’re not sure where Exeter is off the top of your head. Your mental map isn’t even sure how far away London is...or even where you are on a map of England. Are you even in England right now?

“What do you do for work?” You ask, realizing you’ve been silent for an awkward amount of time.

“I’m a finance lawyer.” She says. “Mum used to say ‘you love to argue so much, you should become a lawyer.’” She laughs. “So I did.”

“You must make a lot of money.” You say. You don’t know how much lawyers make in England relative to the US.

“I make enough to be comfortable.” She says. Enough to travel back and forth every weekend. “Seriously, though, if you need or want anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to come sit with you and give you a break from those stinky men.”

You’re not quite sure what happens to your face. It contorts, muscles shaking off the dust and starting to move before you even realize it. Your lips are tilting upwards instead of downwards. Something is happening. Something that feels good, something that you’ve been missing.

You’re smiling.

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long time. Weeks. Not since the cameras. Not since your pack left. You haven’t felt like smiling in so long you’re certain you forgot how to. But yet, here you are, smiling at Ashley. It’s not a genuine smile, one that crinkles your eyes and shows joy, but it’s a smile. It almost hurts your face after so long.

She’s funny too.

Stinky men.

They are that.

Your smile falls as soon as the sliding glass door opens, your head whipping around to look. Ashley turns to look too, perhaps out of instinct at your sudden movement.

You’re half expecting it to be one of the guys, maybe Kyle out to ruin the moment, but it’s only Dr. Keller.

“How are things going?” She asks, stepping up beside you.

“Good.” Ashley says. “We’re planning a book club.”

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises a brow, looking between you. “I think that would be fantastic.”

“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Ashley says, giving Dr. Keller a smile.

You stare up at Dr. Keller, watching the way her lips turn up a smile, her eyes shining with...something. Her hands open and close, tugging at her pants almost nervously. Your brows raise as you look back up at her face. She almost looks...flustered.

Oh.

Another grin forms on your face as you stare between them, Ashley still smiling and Dr. Keller still looking a bit flustered.

Oh.

“You could join us if you want.” You say slowly, still looking up at Dr. Keller.

She seems to snap out of her daze, her gaze darting down to you. She gives you a soft smile, back to her composed, professional self. “If that’s what you’d like.”

You nod. Even though you see her constantly every day, you’re not tired of her existence yet. She’s the only one whose existence in the house doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out, the only one you want to talk to, to see, to have around. If you had the choice, you’d be here alone with her.

That’s not possible. You know it’s not.

“A thing for just us girls.” Ashley says. “On the weekends. No pressure whatsoever.”

“I think that would be fantastic.” Dr. Keller says. “A nice little distraction.”

“A nice break from those stinky men.” You say.

Both Dr. Keller and Ashley erupt in laughter.

Another smile tugs at your lips.

You don’t want to be here. You can feel him staring at you from behind. He hasn’t moved since Dr. Keller left, still just standing there like he’s not sure he can approach you or not. You hope he doesn’t. You want him to.

You don’t say anything, still staring out at the ocean, but you can see him reflected in the glass, obscuring your view of the horizon. Hatred burns inside of you as you have no choice but to stare at him, even when you’re trying not to. He’s like a ghost, always haunting you. He always will be.

“I didn’t want to try to rush into this.” He finally says, knowing you’re not going to say anything. You won’t greet him, welcome him into your space. It already feels like an intrusion into your safety, him being here.

Is this becoming a safe space? A nest? No, not that far. It’s becoming sacred to you, though, and having him in it without invitation feels wrong. It makes you uncomfortable.

You hate it.

“But I just wanted you to know that we’re all feeling the weight of what we did, I’m feeling the weight of what I decided to do. We all feel guilty for putting you through that, for forcing you to endure things you never should have.”

He swallows thickly, falling silent for a moment. You almost feel like laughing at his attempt at an apology, another attempt at an apology. Why is he even bothering? He knows you won’t forgive him. He’s probably doing it for himself again, to make himself feel better.

“I know it’s not an ideal situation, being forced in such a small space together, but we all wanted you to know that you’re the one setting the boundaries. If you don’t want us to be somewhere or do something, then you can tell us, or have Christine tell us. If you don’t want to see us at all, we can make our best attempts at that.”

“That would be ideal.” You say, breaking the silence you’ve held for days. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the hospital, since his first sad attempt at an apology.

It shocks him to stillness and silence.

The words hurt, burning your throat like acid as you stare at his reflection in the glass. You hate it, how pathetic he looks standing there. Where’s the big, tough alpha? Where’s the strong protector? Where’s the person that’s supposed to take care of you and care about you?

He never existed.

He left you behind.

He never cared.

Anger begins to bubble within you.

“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice shaking. “I never meant for this to happen-”

“You think your sad attempts at apologies are going to work?” You hiss at him through your teeth. You push yourself to stand, turning to face him. “You left me. You fucking left me there knowing full well what was going to happen!” You’re shouting now. All the quiet movements on the other side of the wall in the main area stop.

They’re all listening.

It’s not like you’re giving them much of a choice not to.

Fuck them.

“I know,” He says, his eyes wide as he stares at you.

“Do you? Do you know?” Your voice is wavering, your throat starting to ache but you can’t stop. Not now. It’s all coming out and there’s no stopping it. “You. Left. Me. You willingly turned your back on me time and time again even when I was being tortured! You leaving was torture enough and you still chose me second. I’ve always been second. I’ve never mattered enough for you to even question anything!”

You let out a sob, the sound cracking in your throat. It hurts, but it will always hurt. You’ll always carry this hurt with you, so you want him to hurt too.

“I asked you once if you would ever leave for me. You said if things got dangerous, if my life were ever at risk because of you, you’d leave in a heartbeat.” The tears are falling, streaming down your face. “Was that a lie?”

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at you. Does he even remember that conversation?

“Was that a lie?” You shout, making him jump.

His eyes drop to the floor, his scent souring. Good, you think. Let it hurt.

“Answer me.” You say, pushing him to give some response to your question. You need to know. You need him to say it.

“I didn’t intend for it to be.” He says quietly.

“You didn’t intend for it to be.” You say, bitterness coating your tone. “What the fuck does that mean? You said you wouldn’t let me go even if the initiative failed. Was that a lie too? Was it all a lie to keep me happy and complacent? ‘The job always comes first,’ even when my life is in danger, right? The job always comes first over everything, even me. You lied to me.” You swallow the sob threatening to come up. “I want to hear you say it.”

He stands there, tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn’t moved hardly a muscle, still frozen like a statue.

“Say it!” You scream at him, your throat tearing around the words. You’re surprised you’re not tasting blood yet from how raw it feels.

“I lied.” He says, swallowing thickly. “I lied to you and I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologize.” You cut him off starting to pace as the anger burns hot in you. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you don’t deserve to apologize. You don’t deserve the chance at forgiveness. You’re a shitty alpha and you always have been!”

You let out a sob, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and it brings you some sort of relief deep down. So he can feel things after all.

“I don’t know what I expected, though.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “You military men are all the same. It’s always about the job and the image and the ‘greater good’ and making sacrifices, even if that means sacrificing your pack. You’re just like my dad. You never wanted an omega, you never wanted me. You cast me out and let me suffer when I needed you most.”

The anger burns hot in you again, shooting through your veins until it’s choking you as you stare at him standing there pathetically. He thought he could apologize, he thought his groveling would mean anything to you. Fuck him. Fuck them all.

“You left me.” You grit out, your hands starting to shake. “You left me! You abandoned me, you let me get hurt! You didn’t care, you never cared about me!” You storm over to him. “Fuck you!” You scream, hitting his chest. “I fucking hate you!” You shove him back, sending him stumbling. “Get out!” You shove him again, pushing him back towards the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again!”

He stumbles back out of the door and you slam it in his face so hard it shakes on its hinges. You click the lock as you sob in pain, pain both physical and emotional. Your chest aches, a tearing feeling burning through it.

The bond.

You don’t care. You don’t give a fuck anymore. You hate him, you hate them all.

The tears and sobs threaten to choke you but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You don’t care about anything anymore except the anger burning hot through you, making your hands shake. Your legs give out and you slide to the floor against the door, sliding until you’re laying down on your back on the hardwood. It’s cold against your skin but you don’t care. You can’t care anymore.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

John stares at the wood in shock. The slam of the door still echoes in his ears as he stands there, frozen. He knew the chance of a negative reaction was high, but something like that? Something to that magnitude?

Your words cut into him like a knife, searing his skin and leaving blisters behind.

Hands push him out of the way. He stumbles to the side, his brain still catching up to his body.

“Sweetie, I need you to open the door.”

The words are muffled from the ringing in his ears, the ringing of your screams as you cursed his very being.

Liar.

His legs are shaking as he turns, his body moving automatically towards the door. The other three members of his pack are frozen, watching him as he crosses the living room, as he wraps his fingers around the handle of the sliding glass door, as he pushes it open just wide enough to slip through.

The thud of it closing feels like a seal being stamped. He’s cut himself off, fraying that bond forever.

Your words still ring in his head as he stands in the middle of the porch numbly.

Liar.

He is a liar. He made a lot of promises that he couldn’t keep, promises that he broke because of his decisions. He should have made you feel comfortable enough to reveal those cameras right away. He should have gotten you off base as soon as you revealed them. He should have never trusted Shepherd, or even Kate in that moment. He should have fought harder, he should have sent you away from base as soon as he made that decision to leave.

So many things he should have done differently.

You can’t change the past.

Liar.

He left you when you needed him most. He proved time and time again that he’d always choose the job over you, no matter what he promised. You’re not a soldier. No matter how much he tried to prepare you, train you, you’d never be able to fight like them.

Not without taking drastic measures.

He saw the blood. He saw the bodies. He saw the proof of an omega pushed too far, an omega forced into its primordial state.

You did it because they left you.

You did it because you thought the abandoned you.

Those words ring out the loudest in his mind. Above all the others those words linger, replaying over and over again.

‘You let me be tortured.’

Christ.

He runs a hand over his face, the realization shocking him as a cold chill settles under his skin. There’s a weight dropping in his stomach, threatening to sink him straight through the planks of the porch and into the ground below.

You think they left you.

He turns on his heel, shocked to find Simon standing behind him. He can’t read his face, hidden behind the mask that hasn’t come off since they arrived at the cottage. He doesn’t need to see his face to read the giant alpha. He’s known Simon long enough to be able to read him just based on his body language.

He’s angry, frustrated. John half expects him to start yelling too, but that’s never been Simon’s style. He only gets loud when he needs to. Instead he’ll stew and glare and darken the room with his rage. The target of his anger will feel it and know, and that’s almost worse than if he’d express that anger through words.

Despite the cold chill of Simon’s stare, John’s mind is reeling too much to care. It all makes sense now. Your distance, your turmoil, your own anger.

“She thinks we left her.” The words come tumbling out before he can stop them.

“We did.” Simon says, the words short and sharp.

“No, no,” John shakes his head. “She thinks we left her with Graves.”

Simon shifts on his feet, the planks of the porch creaking under his weight.

“Of course Graves would fuck with her head, make her feel like she had been abandoned. It was never about following orders for him. He would have tortured her no matter what.” Anger burns hot in John, at himself, at Graves. Of course you’d assume the worst, of course you’d believe Graves because he was playing on your own doubts.

They left you so easily at the barracks, of course they’d leave you to be tortured.

“She’ll never believe you.” Simon says. The squaring of his shoulders has deflated a bit.

“No, she won’t.” John shifts on his feet, staring straight at Simon. “But I’m not going to be the one to tell her.”

Her hand presses against your forehead, wiping some of the sweat beading on your skin. Despite your shivers, you’re burning hot. A fever. You worked yourself up too much earlier in your outburst. She had been proud of you for finally releasing some of it and showing some emotion, but she knew the consequences of getting so worked up would be high. Your omega is still unstable, on top of still trying to physically recover. You hurt yourself doing that, even if it was necessary.

She shushes you as you whine, fingers grasping at the blanket clumsily. She pulls it higher over you, your body shuddering underneath the pile already stacked on top of you. She’d put every blanket she could find over you, and yet you still shiver. Worry floods her again as she stares down at you, your eyes pinched closed. You must be aching, your show of anger taking its toll.

It was necessary, but at what cost?

If your temperature continues to spike, the risk of distress heightens. You can’t handle distress in your current state, which would mean your omega would come out, finally be freed again from the unprotected cage it's been pushed back into. If your omega comes out, that will require John to help, which may only drive you further into distress.

She needs to try and stop this before the situation continues to deteriorate.

But how?

How can she move you past this without the help of your pack? She can’t give you the comfort you need. Medicine or any therapeutic methods can help solve the issue at its core. Sure she can try and lower your fever with medicine, but you need your pack. You need that comfort and stability that only they can offer.

You need someone, and it can’t be her.

If your omega comes back out, they might never be able to get it back in. It’ll be the end of you. All of your recovery, the fight you’ve put up against your body and your instincts and your mind will have been for nothing.

You need someone.

An idea begins to form in her head, her hand resting against your forehead. It’s hot under her hand, your skin burning. You might hate her later for this. It’s risky, but sometimes risks have to be taken in dire situations. Sometimes those risks pan out in the end. What will happen if it fails? The inevitable that’s going to happen if she doesn’t try. It’s a lose-lose situation, but if it works, it could be a win-win.

She can’t help you, but maybe she has someone who can.

She tucks the blankets around you, cocooning you in an attempt to keep you warm and still while she steps away. She won’t be gone long.

She leaves your door cracked open just in case, even though she doubts you’ll be moving much while she’s away.

Just in case.

One can never be too careful.

She heads up the stairs quietly, going slow to avoid startling any of them. She’s intruding on the safe space they’ve made in their solitude. It feels like invading sacred grounds, but it's a necessary invasion. Their omega is in danger. They’ll forgive her.

The bathroom door is closed at the end of the short hallway, a light on inside. The lights are on in both rooms too, glowing beneath both doors, and she takes a gamble. Based on the heaviness of the footsteps above the kitchen she can guess the room on the right is the one Simon and Johnny are staying in. If she’s wrong, she’ll have some explaining to do before she’s ready, and she knows John will have his thoughts about this. Though, with what happened earlier, perhaps he’ll agree. You won’t see him, but maybe...just maybe...

She lets out a deep breath before knocking firmly, waiting a breath before she calls out.

“Johnny, I need your help.”

She just hopes you don’t hate her too much later.

NEXT ->

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