Summary: The fire came suddenly, without any warning, but the realisation is what hurt him even more.
The fire began without warning.
One moment, the forest rested in its usual early autumn hush, the next, it roared to life, snapping through branches with hungry orange tongues. You had been gathering kindling when the first wave of smoke curled across the ground, soft as mist at first, then choking.
You called for him, coughing.
But the wind turned, and everything became grey.
You tried to hurry back along the narrow path leading to your cottage, but the smoke blinded you.
You stumbled, coughing, reaching for trees you could no longer see.
Your eyes watered, your breath burned, and panic clawed at your throat.
“Please, where are you…”
Somewhere far away, a voice tore through the forest, raw and broken.
“Where are you! Where are you!” He called for you, desperate.
His voice.
His terror.
It carried through the smoke like a wounded animal’s cry.
He was searching for you. He must have seen the flames rise from the clearing near the river. He must have believed you were trapped or hurt or worse, already gone.
The crackling fire drowned everything but his desperate shouts.
Even then, they were fading, consumed by the storm of smoke.
You tried to answer him, but another coughing fit choked you. You fell to your knees, shaking, vision swimming.
The last thing you heard before everything went dark was the thunder of heavy footsteps breaking through the undergrowth.
Then black.
You woke to cool air and the rough rhythm of movement.
Arms held you tightly, protectively, as though the world might tear you away if he loosened his grip by even a bit.
Your cheek rested against a broad shoulder, and through the fog of your thoughts, you heard him whispering your name again and again.
“Do not leave me… please, do not leave me…”
His voice shaking.
You blinked slowly, the smoke clearing from your lungs as the forest receded behind you.
He was carrying you through the last unburnt stretch of trees, one arm hooked under your legs, the other holding you to his chest as if you weighed nothing.
Your fingers curled weakly into his shirt.
Instantly, he froze.
“You are awake,” he breathed, his words cracking.
He sank to his knees, still holding you close. His whole body shaking with relief and something deeper, something close to anguish.
“I thought I had lost you,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours. “I called your name until my voice failed. I ran through the fire, I searched, I searched until I could not breathe.”
Your hands touched his face.
“You found me,” you said softly.
He swallowed hard.
“I would have searched until the forest burned me.”
His breathing was uneven, frantic.
He pulled you closer, burying his face against your throat, inhaling the scent of you as if reassuring himself you were real.
“You frightened me. You frightened me so deeply I thought my heart would stop. I cannot lose you. I cannot survive the world without you in it.”
Your fingers slid into his hair, grounding him.
“You will not lose me.”
“But the fire… You were gone…” His voice broke.
You guided his face up, your hands cupping his cheeks. His eyes, usually so steady, shone with raw fear and fierce devotion.
“I am here, and I am safe because of you.”
His breath caught. His grip tightened around your waist, almost desperate.
“I love you. I love you in a way that terrifies me. When I could not find you, everything in me shattered.” The words escaped him like a confession that finally tore free of years of restraint.
Your heart ached at the intensity in his gaze.
You leaned forward and kissed him, slow and deep, your lips soft against his smoke-roughened ones.
He inhaled sharply, then melted into the kiss, a trembling sound escaping him. His hand slid into your hair, the other holding you firmly against him.
He kissed you like he had almost lost you.
He kissed you like you were salvation.
He kissed you like he would never take another breath without tasting you again.
When you finally parted, he pressed his forehead to yours, shaking.
“I will not let anything take you from me. Never. Never.”
You rested your palm over his heart, feeling its fierce, trembling beat.
“And I will always come back to you,” you whispered.
He held you tightly, his arms locking around your body as the smoke drifted far behind.
As it is food drive season I'd like to remind people that while food might be edible past these dates, food banks and food pantries will not use food past those dates, so please don't waste their time by donating things they will not use
If I’m understanding this correctly, X is owned by a white nationalist who pays poor people of color in developing countries to pretend to be working class white Americans to scare other white Americans into being afraid poor people of color from developing countries are going to ruin America?— Max Berger (@maxberger.bsky.social) November 23, 2025 at 11:30 AM
Elon Musk released a transparency feature that seems to have defaulted to revealing locations (you can shut it off). So ALL KINDS of MAGA accounts were outed as being based in pretty much anywhere but the US. Elon accidentally revealed the extent of the MAGA con.
Elon Musk even talked about how this would expose "foreign influencers" but he's a white supremacist that believes in antisemitic conspiracy theories so he thought "foreign influencers" would be pushing for more immigration, trans rights, and other "degenerate" ideas.
Your writing is EVERYTHING - from the details to the plot, I cannot describe how you can do that !
Request ;Michael sparing your life when you do something that makes him curious and excited - like kneeling in front of him or something like that ! I writed something like this on another account, but you write so good you have to do something with this !
With blood, knife Play, choking, some very very brutal Mikey, Pain kink-
Sorry for my bad english, my first language is french 😘
Salvation
Pairing: Michael Myers x Female Reader
Summary: You were never supposed to survive him. You could have fled and buried the haunting memory of that fateful night– yet something draws you back to the ruins of faith and blood. Back to a place where your fear turns into something more like devotion.
TW: DARK content, heavy religious influences, dubcon, blood, gore, knifeplay, choking, foul language, BLASPHEMY, unprotected sex, rough sex, vivid descriptions of pain, power imbalance, abuse, and more. Read at your own risk
Word Count: 8,081
MDNI-NSFW
A/N: This fic is HEAVILY reliant on Christian influences, so please read at your own risk. I recommend listening to Christian Woman by Type O Negative, which I had on repeat while writing this fic. I really struggled with this one, ngl... enjoy!
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They say fear is the oldest and strongest emotion– primal and unrelenting. It’s an instinct woven into every creature, the deciding factor between life and death. The fear of the unknown is the greatest thing of all, or so Lovecraft once claimed. Yet, something about the quote never sat right with you. Fear is a fleeting thing– it tends to lack depth. It’s a faceless ghost– the sensation of goosebumps prickling against skin, the jitter in your bones as you shiver from adrenaline. But no matter how hard you tried to picture it, to show it, the emotion evaded you.
You groaned, fingers moving instinctively across the page of your sketchbook as you tried to capture the essence of the scene before you. The town square was buzzing with movement– costumed figures prowling through the streets, faces covered in an assortment of masks and bodies disfigured under layers of fabric. Children clutched worn pillowcases, bounding from vendor to vendor in order to get their hands on a new sweet treat, parents following closely behind. Haddonfield’s annual Halloween Jamboree was nothing short of tradition, the mid-sized town throwing a lavish festival the Friday before the week of Halloween, something about being family friendly– as the mayor had said a few years back. The event itself was always a hit, with college students flocking the scene from the nearby campus once the sun had fully set and the adults could come out and play. The festivities, as cheerful and decorative as they were, hid a much darker secret.
As Halloween approached, so did the threat of death. As much as people tried to ignore it, no matter how close parents held their children, no matter the curfews or buddy systems– death always came to collect. A heavy exhale escaped you, thumb smudging the shadows of the sketched scene, darkening the edges– there, it almost looked real. Almost alive. Gazing over the sketch of haunting figures parading down the sidewalk, something caught your eye. A frown caught on your lips, brows furrowing. Holding up the sketch to the darkened sky, you glanced upwards, comparing fiction from reality. A muddled shape etched into the background of the town square– had you meant to draw that? A smudge… no, a figure, so faint it was nearly swallowed up by the charcoal shadows, standing just in front of the treeline– watching.
“You’re doing it again.” The sound nearly made you jump out of your skin. Whirling your head around, the sketchbook clattered onto the wooden bench, now forgotten. Tiffany leaned over your shoulder, brow cocked in amusement at your jumpy state. Rolling your eyes at her antics, you quickly scooped up the sketchbook, frustration bubbling in your stomach. “Jesus Tiff, you scared the shit out of me–” Your gaze caught the shape of the charcoal pencil on the concrete, “–ugh, my pencil! You owe me a new one.” You huffed out, gingerly rolling the ruined utensil between your fingers. Tiffany mumbled out an apology while moving around the bench, the scent of cigarettes invading your nostrils as she collapsed next to you. “Seriously babes, it’s almost Halloween– not some art critique.” Her nose scrunched at that, and you shoved her shoulder halfheartedly. She squealed at your assault, shoving you back before continuing. “...Can you put down the creepy sketches for one night? Jennifer and I skipped the callbacks afterparty to be here.” She pouted, those damn doe eyes burning into you, guilt gnawing in your stomach.
You sighed, tucking the sketchbook into your backpack. “I know, I know… I’m just–” “–Being a little weirdo like always?” Jennifer cut in, plopping into the open spot to your right on the bench. She grinned at you, pushing a beer bottle into your hand, the other gripped around another glass. You instantly took a swig, grimacing as the warm taste of stale beer invaded your senses. “C’mon, this is like the last Friday we have together before rehearsals start! We have to do something fun.” She mused, Tiffany nodding along absentmindedly while she fiddled with her jeans. “This is fun!” you protested, but you couldn’t help but smile at them, knowing they had already won you over. Tiffany and Jennifer were your vices– they could convince you to do just about anything, no matter how much you disagreed with them. That’s what made your friendship so strong, they pushed you out of your comfort zone, and you kept them from going off the deep end.
Something about tonight, however, felt different. The Halloween Jamboree was too loud, too bright, too crowded. The air buzzed with anticipation of an unnamed influence, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight. Jennifer drained the last of her drink, tossing the bottle haphazardly behind her with a smirk. She straightened suddenly, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looked you and Tiffany over. “You know what we really need?” She questioned, and your stomach dropped a bit. The last time she uttered that phrase it resulted in you being banned from half the frats on campus after she stole the composite pictures from Lambda Chi Alpha. You chuckled slightly, the image of her drunkenly tackling a pledge like a linebacker with the picture cradled in her arms flashing in your mind. Tiffany cocked a brow, apprehension coating her response, “What?” Jennifer flashed a wolfish grin, plucking the beer from your hand, ignoring your whines.
She took a swig, contemplating her words before speaking, “–We need a real scare. I say we do something actually terrifying…” She glanced at the costumed children in front of her, brows furrowing before she added, “-None of this kiddie haunted house bullshit.” Tiffany was instantly intrigued at the prospect, but you were less assured. “Like what?”, you questioned, yanking the beer bottle back into your hands and taking a sip. Jennifer shrugged, but Tiffany’s eyes gleamed– an idea popping into her head and she grabbed your shoulder. “I mean… There is that old church just outside of town.” She mused, Jennifer quickly taking the bait. “That’s perfect! You’re a genius, Tiff.” Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. The church.
You had heard the rumors, the stories. Some said it had been abandoned for decades after the fire ravaged the building, leaving the charred remains scattered along the forest floor to rot. Others said it never had been abandoned, the decaying steeple housing something much more sinister. Whispers of the couple that was brutally murdered earlier this year quickly fluttered through your mind, their warped corpses draped over the altar. “Demon worshipers”, the sheriff had said, but you weren’t so sure. The church was your secret– having been obsessed with the dark ruins that seemed to swallow you up every time you walked through the doors. You had sketched it from memory countless times, the skeletal archways and dusty pews burned into your brain. Something about it always called to you.
Jennifer’s grin only widened, and you fought to keep your expression neutral. “What do you think, scaredy cat?” She mocked, the beer turning sour in your mouth at the taunt. “–Think you can handle it?” You swallowed thickly, debating saying something. You wanted to say no, the idea of having your friends trample around your safe space making your stomach churn. ‘It’s not safe’, you wanted to plead, ‘–it’s dangerous’. Instead, you found yourself pulling your backpack over your shoulders. “Let’s go.” You mumbled, causing an excited squeal to erupt from your friends, who were hot on your heel. You quickly finished the beer, tossing it into a stray trash can as you passed, a heavy sigh building in the back of your throat. Three girls exploring a haunted church a few nights before Halloween… what’s the worst that could happen?
__
The church was always grim at night. Like an icon to broken faith, it loomed over the treeline– the charred steeple cutting through the horizon like a knife. The rusted iron gate stood ajar, the hinge groaning as you pushed it further open, like a mouth leading into darkness. The wind howled in the distance, whipping through the shattered windows– making the building sound as if it were breathing. You shivered against the cold, braving onwards. Leaves crunched under your boots as you walked, Tiffany and Jennifer following closely behind. Weaving through the asymmetrical headstones of the cemetery, you paused at the entrance of the church, Tiffany tripping over her feet as she glanced upwards. The wood of the heavy doors had deteriorated over time, moss and mushrooms sprouting from the ground upwards. You leaned against the heavy door, pushing one open with a grunt. The wood gave way, the rusty hinges screaming as you opened the door. Stepping inside, the three of you gaped upwards, taking in your surroundings.
“I need a cigarette.” Jennifer mumbled, eyes trailing the stained glass depicting different saints and angels. The moonlight streamed through the gaping holes in the ceiling– the rafters in various stages of decay as your eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Sidestepping a fallen pew, you made your way forwards, navigating through the familiar maze of stone and wood. The air was thick with rot and dust, hanging heavy around you like a weighted blanket. Your hand traced the ornate carvings of a confessional booth, the wood now splintered and covered in graffiti. A place once considered to be holy– now desolate and abandoned. Jennifer rammed into the overturned pew, obscenities flying from her mouth. Ushering the duo over, you pulled them to the back of the church, the cracked marble of the altar glowing faintly under the moonlight. The air stilled here, a chill seeping into your bones as you stared forward. Tiffany straightened, swallowing thickly. “Is... is that where–?”
You nodded, the gruesome crime scene photos from the newspaper flashing in your mind. Jennifer, ever fearless, moved forward. Brushing her hand against the altar, she hopped up, legs swinging as she sat on the resting place of two unfortunate souls. Your stomach boiled at the disrespect, but you held your tongue. “Ya know…” She started, fishing out a cigarette from her pocket. Lighting it, she took a drag before continuing. “Some say they saw the devil before they died. That’s why the police never found their killer.” Tiffany shuddered at the statement, eyes catching a drop of dried blood hidden underneath the altar. You rolled your eyes, “Their friends were drunk. I mean…” You gestured around yourself to the decaying church, “-Who else comes to a church to play the Ouija board? They were seeing things.” Jennifer pushed off of the altar, heels clicking against the dusty floor as she took another drag. She exhaled, blowing the smoke into your face– your eyes stinging as a cough ripped from your throat.
You snatched the cigarette from her fingers, anger building. “Whether you believe in it or not, go smoke outside. You’re being rude.” Jennifer’s brows furrowed, an angry pout building on her lips as she glowered at you. “Jeez, someone’s got their panties in a twist tonight.” She huffed out, taking the butt of the cigarette from your hands and moving towards the front door. “I’ll be a minute…” She called over her shoulder, eyes meeting yours with a twinge of irritation. “–Don’t wait up.” Her footsteps retreated outside, and Tiffany sank into a wooden pew– trying to steel her nerves. Your fingers twitched, itching for your sketchbook. You wanted to capture the essence of the church, something about it so harrowing it stayed with you every time you left. The cracked altar, the rusted candelabras, the splintered organ shoved into the corner– it whispered to you, begging you to explore, to dive into the depths.
You glanced at the altar once more, trying to imagine the final moments of those who came before you. The hiss of spray cans against stone, the clink of beer bottles and the smell of cigarette smoke. The whispers to a wooden board, the shrieks of excitement as the planchette moved. An unexpected visitor– a struggle, a piercing shout– then nothing. Was the violence in a place deemed sacred the reason for your obsession? Or was it something darker, a force calling you from the bowels of the church? Did they pray to a god they didn't believe in as they were slaughtered, or did they know that they were forsaken? Your mind spun with the possibilities, fingers burning to sketch the outline of the saints etched into the wall. They had to have seen, they had to have known, yet nothing saved them… why?
A gurgled scream tore through the stale air, causing your spine to stiffen. Your head whirled, eyes meeting the frantic Tiffany, who shot out of the pew. You both turned towards the noise, fear settling in the pit of your stomach. Jennifer. Your throat dried, heart pounding in your chest as you called out– a piece of you begging, pleading for a response. Nothing. The silence seemed to swallow you whole, your feet anchoring you in place. God, that scream– the sound seared into your brain as you gaped at the door. Tiffany bolted towards the front door, feet skittering across the assortment of debris littering the floor. Your brain yelled at you to move, to run and follow Tiffany, but you were frozen in place. Stumbling forward, she reached the expanse of the open door, darting out momentarily. Your heart leaped within your chest, mouth opening to speak– but any semblance of words died on your tongue. You looked upwards. The iconography of forgotten saints glaring down at you in the haze of night, solemn faces weathered by time. Is this how it felt to feel the wrath of God?
Tiffany rushed back inside, slamming the wooden door with a force so strong it made the church tremble. Deathly pale, she stumbled over the debris, collapsing in a heap a few feet from the doors. The smell of vomit filled the air, and you flinched. The sight of her– broken, trembling, driven half mad– snapped you from your trance. You whispered across the darkness, arms beckoning her towards you, but she remained rooted in place. “What… What did you see?!” Tiffany choked on a sob, breath hitching. Snot ran down her face, and she whipped her face with her damp sleeve. “Tiffany–” Your voice hardened, urgency rising like bile in your throat. “–Where is Jennifer?” At the mention of her name, Tiffany went rigid. She shook her head violently, as if the words themselves would summon something terrible. “She’s…”, Her fingers dug into the floorboards, clawing for something solid. “Oh god– she’s dead.”
The words hung in the air– and a piece of you begged that it was some kind of joke. But nothing about the trembling girl in front of you seemed staged, it was all terrifyingly real. You swallowed hard, straining your ears for any sound of movement. Adrenaline began to flood your senses, your heart feeling like it was going to burst from your chest. The church was quiet– too quiet– the only sound coming from the wind whipping through the rafters. The heavy door shuddered slightly as it was pushed open once more, the shriek of the hinges catching your attention. The open doorway was a gateway to the void, no matter how hard you squinted darkness met your vision. Hope rose within your chest, pushing your shaking legs forward– one step, two. Maybe Jennifer had gotten hurt, maybe Tiffany saw the blood and panicked, maybe– just maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.
A shadow passed through the threshold of the doorway, thick and oppressive. Tiffany let out a pitiful whimper, shrinking further into the floor, refusing to look behind her and into the doorway. You squinted against the darkness, trying to make out the shape you swore you saw move into the entrance of the church. The stale air in the church thickened, and you swallowed dryly, eyes tracing the doorway. A stream of moonlight broke through the battered steeple, cutting through the darkness– and then you saw him. That godforsaken pale mask you had only heard of in ghost stories, those hollow eyes that burned into your skull. Like death itself, the boogeyman of Haddonfield had come to pay his due. Michael Myers. A part of you knew, deep down that Jennifer wasn’t coming back. Whatever had made her scream had already decided her fate, and even worse– you were next.
The church seemed to tighten around you, the air growing suffocatingly thick. Your knees locked in place, fear crackling through your veins. You should have known better, that there was no salvation in a house of God– not here, not tonight. Michael stepped further into the church, breaching the line of sanctuary, and you knew– no prayer would save you now. Tiffany tried to run, she really did– but nothing could keep her foot from catching on the edge of an upturned rock. She stumbled, a frantic yelp ripping from her throat as her twisted limb crumbled beneath her. Her fingers clawed at the floor, desperately trying to drag herself from the shadow looming over her. Gasping for air, she outstretched a hand– praying, begging for salvation. Like a lamb sent to slaughter. Your mouth went dry at the absolute irony of it all– hunted down in a revered sanctuary. Mentally you screamed at your legs to move, to give out, to do anything other than stand there and gape like a deer caught in headlights, but your feet remained rooted to the floor.
“God, please help me–” Tiffany sputtered out, calling out your name like a lifeline, tears streaming down her face as she writhed like an overturned bug. “... I don’t want to die–”. The pitiful words pounded in your skull, yet you couldn’t tear yourself away from the scene. Michael refused to stop, hand gripping the back of her hair and pulling her head upwards off the floor. Her eyes met yours, and the blood drained from your face. The saints loomed overhead, their engraved expressions frozen in silent judgement, empty eyes watching, waiting. Their lips did not move to save her– for she was already damned. The knife came down in a single, unceremonious slice, severing the fragile skin of her throat. Her prayer gurgled on her tongue, blood spilling over her hands as she clawed at her throat. Tiffany convulsed, her eyes bulging from her skull as she choked on her own blood before deteriorating to the dusty floor.
Silence fell over the church once more, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your knees buckled beneath your weight, a dull pain stabbing into you as you collapsed. The stone needled through the denim of your jeans, and your hands trembled, barely supporting you. Michael moved onwards, a shadow cast by the hand of God– silent, inevitable. His gaze burned into you, scorching your flesh as you stared, unable to look away. The sickening dribble of blood, a calculated step, two. And then– slowly– you lowered your head. Your fingers curled into fists as your head dipped, breaths coming out in frantic huffs as you knelt, body possessed by something ancient, something primal. His overwhelming presence bore down on you, the outline of his boots barely visible under the curtain of hair pooling from your head, obstructing your view. Another deep sigh came from Michael– your judge, jury, and executioner– the knife, your penance, gripped tightly in his fist.
“Please,” the word slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself, voice hoarse, resolve shattered. You couldn’t decipher what you were pleading for… the finality of your punishment– or deliverance? Your prayer echoed around the space, the weight of his gaze bearing down against you. The church walls stood, unmoving. The saints did not weep– the grounds did not split, swallowing you up into the depths of hell– just silence. You remained frozen, head bowed to the floor like a deranged sign of reverence. You didn’t dare to raise your gaze, not when you could feel him standing over you, his presence practically suffocating. Michael did not move, motionless above you. You could have sworn you heard him breathing– slow, steady, somehow human– but everything else surrounding him embodied the unnatural. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity, time itself faltering around him, heavy and stifling.
Then, footsteps– slow and calculated. You squeezed your eyes shut as they receded, the jostling slam of the wooden door swallowing his form into the night. The cold rushed through your lungs as you gasped for air, shuddering as you released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. Just as soon as he appeared, he was gone. For the first time since his untimely appearance, you forced your body to move– hands flattening against the floor as you shakily pushed yourself upwards. Blood coated the soles of your boots as you stumbled towards the entrance of the church, and you forced yourself to look. Tiffany’s motionless body lay mere inches from your laces, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling– eerily mirroring the saints glaring down at you.
You knew Jennifer wasn’t going to be any better, another lost soul put in the wrong place, wrong time. Your fingers dug into the splintered wood of the door, and you pulled the door open, the frigid nighttime air biting into your skin. They were dead, but you– you were alive. Your stomach lurched, a strangled sob ripping from your throat as you dry heaved against the doorway. Your body shivered, wracked with fear, with grief, and something much worse. Something that burned in your chest like shame– something that felt like gratitude.
__
The funeral was a blur. Jennifer’s family was a wreck, her mother sobbing openly as they lowered the casket into the ground. She clawed at the wooden box as if to drag her daughter back into the light– to life. Tiffany’s parents were more solemn, her father silently watching the scene unravel as he held his wife to his chest. There’s a saying you read in a book once, that parents only feel true sorrow when they bury their children within their lifetime. Seeing it all now, however, the saying was all the more horrific. You stood at the back of the service, nails digging into the palms of your hands– leaving crescents in their wake. The questions from the officers interrogating you just days before still swirled in your head, voices muffled against the sobs of the funeral party.
We just wanted to explore, you had said. They ran– but I don’t know why I didn’t, too. You expected disbelief, the fragmented pieces of information you remembered painting a picture of the boogeyman you were sure had been blamed for many other crimes. In the end, the weight of two bodies– killed days before Halloween– seemed to be enough evidence that mirrored your claims. You didn’t cry– you couldn’t, not when you had survived. The guilt gnawed at you, clawing through your ribcage to the point where you felt like you couldn’t breathe. It was immeasurable, but there was something else growing within you– something darker. Michael had spared you, not due to mercy or luck, but from something you couldn’t quite place. He had watched you– stood over you with your life practically balanced between his fingers– and he walked away. Your mind couldn’t let it go, replaying the moments like a broken record, trying but failing to analyze what could have been your saving grace.
You had stopped sleeping since that night. Every time you closed your eyes, he would be there, towering over you– a silent threat. You dreamed of him, not as the brutal murderer that ripped the life from your friends, but as something far from human. He was always there, lurking in the back of your mind like a shadow. Throughout the restless nights, you would toss and turn, the events of that forsaken night playing in an endless loop. The church. The knife. The screams. But most importantly, the haunting silence that followed. The air always felt heavy during the night, as if you were being watched– the hair on the back of your neck standing straight up as you tried to force your bloodshot eyes shut. You tried everything to relieve the stress: chamomile tea, lavender lotion, weighted blankets, a noise machine. Yet the sweet solace of sleep never came, the only semblance of rest coming from the daydreams that followed your every waking moment.
You became withdrawn from school, the days bleeding together after the funeral into a mess of smeared memories. Your classmates assumed you were grieving the loss of your friends, the trauma uprooting your life in a way that left you… different. If only they knew the truth, the nightmares plaguing you at night, the guilt of it all, weighing down on you like a wet blanket. He consumed your life, from the moment you dragged yourself out of bed to the second you shut your eyes. It was as if you missed him– the thought alone made you feel sick. But it was there, those dark thoughts crawling within your chest, feelings you could only describe as a fucked up gratitude. Michael had spared you, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions. And no matter how hard you tried to push the feelings down and snuff out the curiosity, you wanted to find out why.
The darkness manifested itself within your work. At first, you didn’t even notice– mindless doodles on your notes as the professor lectured in class, sketches charcoaled in your notebook during the nights you dreaded sleep. Somehow, he always managed to take form. The curve of the blade of the knife, the angle of his shoulders, the hollow outline of his mask. As your mind wandered, the page would fill with details you only could have imagined– the sharp curve of a nose, a widow’s peak of dark hair, steely eyes. Fingers would haphazardly turn the page, having a mind of their own as you zoned out. One page, then two, then three. By the time you looked down, snapping out of your haze, the paper was riddled with him. Your paintings began to darken– landscapes draped with shadows, an outline of a figure in the distance at the focal point. Images of the icons within the church became anything but saintly– empty sockets sunken into withered heads, the sight ghastly morbid. Clay sculptures related to broken bodies filled with deep slashes, hands outstretched for any semblance of mercy.
During class critiques, even your professors noted the sudden change in your content– casting worried looks your way as their eyes scanned your work. “This feels… heavy. Haunted, almost.” You brushed the comments off, lying through gritted teeth. Some bullshit excuse on the study of trauma– yet you knew that it was further than the truth. But when you returned to your room, you found it transformed into a gallery of him. The paintings, the sketches, the sculptures burning holes within you– calling to you, taunting you. He was everywhere, like a stain you couldn’t scrub away. And although you hated to admit it, a part of you knew you couldn’t if you tried.
You started to confess. Not to a priest or a therapist– but to your bathroom mirror, the warped reflection in the glass being your only comfort. Your fingers would trace the cool surface, hushed whispers filling the dim space. “I should have died–”, breath fogging up the glass as your dark confession echoed against the tiled walls. Voice shaking, you added: “... with them.” They were sane, choosing to scream and run in order to try and beat death. But you, you had knelt– and for that, you lived. Your nails dug into your palms so hard it drew blood, the dull needling through your skin in a way that made your head spin– the pain buzzing through you like a draw of a cigarette. You barely recognized the individual that stared back at you: skin flushed, hairline beaded with sweat, hands clammy. But the most unnerving was the look in your bloodshot eyes, swimming with a darkness you couldn’t quite place.
It was wrong– falling into the abyss of sin, playing back the memories of that night with an almost obsessive admiration. You should have moved on by now, gone to therapy, maybe started medication and begun to pick up the shattered pieces of your life. Instead, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, chanting your own damnation like a prayer– fingers subconsciously tracing the shape of his mask against the glass. Images of you on your knees in the church flickered through your mind, and your chest tightened with something far more sinister than fear. Something worse… something reverent. You could still feel the weight of his gaze when he towered over you, encompassing you so thoroughly you could feel it in your soul. Tearing your gaze away from the mirror, the damp skin of your forehead pressed against the cool glass for comfort, mantras swirling in your head like a broken record player. There is no salvation in a house of God.
You flicked your gaze to the bathroom door, an idea seeming a little too much like temptation sprouting within your mind. Maybe– just maybe– if not salvation, there was clarity found only in the place you had sunk to your knees all those nights ago. Pushing yourself away from the mirror, determination began to stir within your gut. You had to go back– to see. You couldn’t run away from your demons, you had to confront them. Slipping into the night air, a chill settled within your bones, an unknown force spreading goosebumps across your skin. As you trudged through the dark, you thought back to the pivotal moment: the scrape of the stone against your knees, the sound of his ragged breaths, the crushing tension crackling in the air like wildfire. It had felt– holy, the sensation gnawing at your stomach, clawing into your throat in a way that made you question your own sanity.
No… not holy. But something dangerously close.
__
The church loomed over you, eerily identical to that night. A sleeping beast– the rusted gate resembling a gaping mouth to the pits of hell, inviting you inside. You stepped through the threshold, the crunch of gravel the only noise as you approached the heavy doors. A part of you cursed your actions, the idea of coming back being nothing short than madness. You were chasing answers that were ghosts, fueled by trauma and grief– not by reasoning. And yet, you pushed onwards, hands steeled against the heavy wood. In your peripheral a small pool of dried blood painted the stone walls of the church, hosting the last moments of your friend’s life. You refused to look, swallowing thickly as you finally pushed the door open. The church welcomed you with open arms, the pull so heavy you felt as if you were possessed.
Moonlight crept through the open ceiling, casting the interior in a ghostly haze. The church seemed frozen in time since your last visit– the cracked marble altar glaring back at you in an almost inviting manner. Your knees ache at the memory of kneeling there, a subconscious feeling of guilt burning against your throat, pulse quickening as you retraced your steps. Approaching the back of the church, the familiar scent of dust and rotting wood filled your nostrils– along with the undertone of something metallic. Your jaw clenched at that, eyes wandering to the broken pew that resulted in Tiffany’s death. The stale air suddenly shifted, and then you felt it– the weight of a presence behind you. Your breath caught in your throat, yet you refused to turn, already knowing the source. His boots scraped against the uneven stone, measured, calculated. The sound sent an electric current down your spine, causing you to stiffen beneath his gaze, eyes trained forwards towards the altar.
A small part of you had imagined this moment, the possibility of returning to the scene fueled by the same darkness invading your artwork, your life. But the reality of him standing there, mere feet away from you was too much, consuming you whole. Your fingers twitched at your sides, forcing your body to move, to look– and there he was. Michael Myers stood behind the last row of pews, the moonlight casting his shadow across the church like death, untouched by time. The mask that plagued your dreams caught the light, its hollow eyes drinking in your frozen form, the call of the void. The knife was gripped loosely in his hand, dangling at his side– a stark reminder of his sins. You should be terrified, but for reasons you couldn’t even begin to explain, you weren’t. Something buzzed against your skin like an unspoken prayer, and you found yourself speaking before you could stop yourself, “I… I knew you would come back.”
Michael’s head tilted ever so slightly, silent at your words. He never spoke, you knew that much, but you felt his response– the action in itself almost mocking you. You could feel him, his presence so thick with tension it coiled around you like a snake, poised and ready to strike. You swallowed thickly, body betraying you as your knees buckled under his gaze, and before you could stop yourself, you were sinking to the floor. The cool stone dug into your knees, the familiar sensation almost comforting against your skin. A trembling breath escaped you as you knelt before him, unable to do anything but watch. Michael took a step forward, then another– the air thinning as he approached, boots halting inches from your knees. You craned your neck upwards, stomach churning as you gaped at the silent killer. He was so close you could feel his warmth, the scent of metal and something much more primal seeping into your senses. Your lips parted, but any semblance of begs died on your tongue.
Instead, you whispered a confession– one that would seal your fate. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” You don’t know the things you do to me. There was a pause, a shift in the air as Michael looked down at you– studying you. The cold metal of the knife brushed your cheek, yet you did not flinch, your body rooted in place, entranced. You felt chosen– a sacrificial lamb that should have died all those nights ago, but somehow didn’t. But now here you were, offering yourself to him willingly. The knife nicked your cheek, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the sting, the blade glinting in the moonlight. Your heart hammered in your chest, threatening to crawl out of your throat. Would he end it now and finish what he started? Or– your eyes shifted from the blade to that unholy mask– would he let you live? The decision was his alone, his cross to bear. The knife inched closer, pressing into the cut so suddenly a whimper bubbled in your throat, leaving you waiting– wanting.
The knife never strikes. Instead, it traces along your cheek, the tip ghosting along your jaw. Your breathing is shallow, uneven puffs filling the cool air as the metal pressed ever so slightly into your skin– a warning. You tilt your head upwards, bearing your throat to him– your offering. The action causes the tension in the air to snap, you feel it in the way the air becomes too heavy you feel as if you were suffocating. Michael doesn’t speak– he doesn’t have to, you know what he wants, what he has always wanted, and what the devil inside of you wants too. Forgive her, for she knows not what she does. Heat pools like hellfire in your stomach, and your tongue darts oh so subtly to lick your chapped lip. He moves at that, inevitable. A hand wraps around your throat, pulling you upwards with strength that seems far from human. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, fighting the urge to struggle against the touch as your toes scrape against the stone, begging for leverage.
His fingers wrap around your neck so forcibly your jaw groans from the pressure, thumb pressing against your hammering pulsepoint– beating for him. Your pulse flutters against his skin, throat bobbing as you try to breathe. You should be struggling, should be fighting, but something about the way his hold makes you feel owned ignites fire across your skin. His hold softens ever so slightly, and you greedily gulp in a breath, thighs clenching as something sinful churns in your gut. He leans down, mask scraping against your forehead as you drown in his gaze. The light catches, and a ghostly blue devours you, your blood turning to ice at the sight. His breath comes out in ragged huffs, escaping through the holes in his mask– washing over you like a baptism. You were drowning in him, but it was anything but holy; it was something much worse.
You don’t know who moves first. All you know is that one moment you are gasping for breath in his hold, and the next he has his fist wrapped in your hair, dragging you towards the altar. Your scalp screams for relief under his hold, your legs struggling to root yourself as you are all but practically thrown on the altar. The marble is cold against your back, sinking through the thin material of your top– but not as cold as his touch. His hand wraps around your throat once more, holding you in place against the altar as goosebumps erupt across your skin. The knife trails down your chest– and before you can protest, the blade is cutting through your top, slicing the flimsy material into shreds. Your nipples harden against the frigid air, chest heaving as you look helplessly upwards. The tip of the knife traces over your left breast, tapping slightly against your pebbled nipple, causing a shudder to rip down your spine. The knife trails to the valley of your breasts before halting at the flesh above your heart, digging into the skin slightly.
You grit your teeth at the sensation, a droplet of crimson rising to the surface from his ministrations. It was so wrong– knowing you were mere inches from death, yet the fire licking at your stomach left you spiraling towards sin. You clenched subconsciously, skin feeling suddenly too hot as the knife retreats from your skin. Thrown to the side, the knife clatters loudly against the marble, Michael’s hand cupping the abused mound roughly. His thumb dips into the blood, smearing it against your skin– tainting you. The hand around your throat squeezes teasingly, and your hips buck ever so slightly at the sensation. Your breath stutters as he paws at your breasts, rolling the sensitive flesh beneath his fingers. You shudder, a whine building in your throat from the pressure, tears pricking your eyes at the needling pain. You had never felt this way before– the pain coating your skin in a way that left your head spinning, thighs clenching around nothing as you squirmed against his touch.
His fingers brush down your naval, crudely unbuttoning your jeans before ripping them and your panties down your legs, leaving you naked against the marble. Your breath stutters, spine aching against the hard surface as Michael slots himself between your parted thighs. Your body is an offering– a sacrifice for the taking as your sins are laid bare. Michael’s fingers dig into the fat of your ass, hauling you closer to the edge of the altar, pressing your flesh against the scratchy denim of his jumpsuit. Your jaw trembles as your clit scrapes against the jumpsuit, sending overstimulating sparks up your spine. You jolt at the contact, Michael brazing onwards, groping, prodding at you like an unwrapped gift. His fiery touch was anything but gentle, his calloused fingers digging so hard against your skin you moaned weakly, wincing at the realization that bruises would be left in their wake. Michael let out a huff, seemingly pleased with your body laid out before him, hand retreating from you to unbutton his jumpsuit. Still held in place, you squirmed slightly, back screaming as you moved against the unpolished marble, chafing your skin.
Every movement resulted in an intoxicating pain that sent you reeling, your penance. The worn stained glass cast a kaleidoscope of colors on Michael’s mask, the saints above watching in silence. Do the saints weep at your sin? Do they turn away? Your thoughts are torn away when the tip of his cock brushes against your folds. You panic, trying to push yourself upwards, babbling nonsense with his hand around your throat. You aren’t ready, you don’t think it will fit– but Michael is undeterred. Jutting his hips forwards, his cockhead dips between your folds, stretching you uncomfortably. You realize that it’s pointless to reason with the devil– if he wants something, he takes it. Your insides are screaming as Michael pushes onwards, driving into you inch by inch. The tears fall at that, stinging as they mingle with the blood on your cheek. You feel as if you are being split in two, thighs clenching so hard you worry you’ll snap. Michael’s hips meet yours, and you swear you can feel him in your throat.
Leaving you with no room to adjust, Michael bottoms out, snapping his hips forward and starting a brutal pace. All you can do is take it, fingers reaching out to clutch at the fabric of his jumpsuit, the only thing grounding you as his hips stutter forward. You gasp, the stretch feeling as if you were burning from the inside out, tits bouncing as your back scraps against the altar. You openly sob now, the pace too intense, too rough– so full you feel as if there is nothing left but him. The denim of the jumpsuit brushed your clit again, sending an electrical current across your skin, tearing a broken moan from your throat. You were melting, skin so hot that you already feel as if you are in the pits of hell. Michael grunts, cock plunging into your gummy walls with such force your head spins. The sounds of your staccato gasps echo in the church, accompanied by the lewd squelch of your pussy sucking him in. If you were a better woman, you would have felt shame, yet the only thing you could feel was the ache between your thighs.
With every thrust, the signing pain began to subside, turning into something so intense your mouth gapes. You suck in a shuddering breath, eyes rolling as his tip hits that oh so sensitive spongy spot, causing your toes to curl. The hand around your neck tightens, his grip unrelenting as you gasp for air. God, it's too much– your head spiraling from the shards of pain shooting up your back from the friction– yet you couldn’t do anything else but moan. “Michael–”, his name is a breathless plea, a wicked prayer as his weight sinks into you. Your body arches beneath him, a sinner consumed by rapture. A sheen of sweat coated your skin, dripping down the valley of your breasts. Michael’s hips rolled against you like a man driven mad– but you knew better, he was no man.
The hand wrapped around your throat in a vice-like grip released, hips abruptly leaving yours as he pulled out, causing your pussy to flutter around air. Fingers digging into the fat of your hips, you were flipped as if you weighed nothing, tits crushed against the cool marble as you were pushed face down onto the altar. Your hair was quickly bundled around his fist, forcibly arching you against him as he realigned himself to your leaking hole– pushing himself back inside with ease. Your tongue lolled from your lips at the sudden shift in position, Michael’s cock delving even deeper within you. Pain shot through your already tender scalp, white sparks flying across your vision as you stared into the abyss of night laid out above you. Stars poked through the gaping hole of the church ceiling, the heavens glaring down at your sin– mocking you. Oh God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Your hips ground against the stone edge, your legs trembling under the weight of his brutal thrusts.
You had long abandoned any semblance of sanity, openly weeping as you fell from grace, utterly corrupted by the way his hips rolled against your ass. You clawed at the altar-top, nails chipping from the force as Michael barred down fucking into you so roughly your breath caught in your lungs. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, pussy fluttering as the tension built within you– a testament to your sin. The action was anything but holy, the scent of sex practically dripping from your shaking form as you were bullied into from behind. The taste of metal invaded your mouth, teeth gnashing against the flesh of your cheek as a pitiful attempt to stifle your moans. You were his offering– his to take, his to taint, and you were falling fast. Your stomach tightened, tension becoming unbearable as your spongy walls were all but abused.
The knife was still there– lying beside your head, discarded as if it was no longer needed. Then you realized– it wasn’t, he owned you now. And with that, the heavens collided. A scream tore from your throat as you came, relief flooding your body as your brain short-circuited, toes curling from the force. Michael fucked you through the orgasm, balls slapping against your clit in a way that left you in a sobbing, overstimulated mess. You clenched around him, his pace beginning to falter as Michael climbed towards his own release. Your knees gave out, your hair being the only anchor keeping you from collapsing. Michael’s breaths came out in primal huffs, a low growl slipping as he came– thick ropes of cum filling you to the brim. You shuddered at the feeling, mind blank with nothing but the sensation of the shallow thrusts of Michael stilling against you, pushed to the hilt. You struggled to catch your breath, heart practically beating out of your chest as you went lip under his hold.
Michael pulled his softening cock from your folds, the sensation making you whine. Your lips fluttered at his retreat, cum spilling down your thighs as the void overtook you. Your hair was freed from his grasp, scalp tingling as you limply pressed your temple to the cool surface of the marble. His weight abruptly vanished, yet you were too fucked out to care. For a moment, you didn’t dare move, skin damp with sweat– with sin. Every inch of your skin burned, scrapes and bruises coating every surface, the corruption sinking into your soul. You were ruined– and yet you found yourself blindly reaching for him, fingers swiping air. Confusion wracked your form, and you weakly turned, fingers gripping the altar for support– but he was gone. The ritual was complete, the offering devoured. You had given him everything: body, mind, soul– and now there was nothing left.
Your discarded clothes pooled at your feet, a soulless reminder of the events that had taken place. A raw, broken sound escaped your chest– a laugh bubbling past your sobs. This was your penance, your punishment for offering yourself so willingly to something that would destroy you. Now, you were alone– utterly and completely at the mercy of God himself. A shiver crawled down your spine at the thought, knowing he had left you once before, yet you had returned. So what was stopping you from doing it again? Your lips parted ever so slightly, a single prayer slipping past– not to God, but to him. “Michael…” You knew there would be no response, only silence. But as you slowly gathered the ruined fabric at your feet, you knew deep down that he was listening. He was always listening. And now that you had offered yourself to him, he wouldn’t have to come for you; you would go to him.
Because there is no salvation in a house of God, only him– and he is the only one left to worship.
Summary: Kyle has chosen you as his omega. Now it’s time to mark his territory.
Pairing: Alpha!Kyle x omega!reader
Word Count: 2,165 words
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, a/b/o, omegaverse, watersports, piss kink, omorashi (kind of), not related to CRCB
A/N: so yeah...y'all are learning a lot about me this month. Again, if it's not your cup of tea then don't read it 🤷♀️ it's that simple
MASTERLIST
His hand is gentle around the back of your neck, thumb brushing the scabbed over teeth marks on your shoulder. You’re his now, specially chosen to spend the rest of your life with him. You couldn’t have picked a better alpha. He’s big, strong, eager to protect what’s his. He’s proven himself as a capable provider and protector. It makes you purr in delight, the sound rumbling in your chest.
The purr pitches up into a quiet whine as his thumb presses into the center of your mark, warmth flooding through your body. Kyle's lips twitch up into a satisfied grin as that warmth floods your underwear, your pussy clenching around nothing in response.
“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” He smirks as if he hadn’t just caused the instinctual reaction in you. There’s a subtle growl to his voice, his inner alpha sneaking in around the edges. It makes you want to roll over and show your belly. Or even better, bend over and present for him.
He takes a small step, closing the distance between you as a low growl rumbles in his chest. His hand slides from your neck, trailing down your back. His fingers trace the line of your spine, following it down until he reaches the dip just above the fabric of your skirt. He uses that hand to pull you closer to him, your hands pressing against his chest to keep yourself from slamming into his chest. He’s hard under your hands, built of lean muscle. He’s strong, just as alphas should be.
It makes you want to lick him.
He leans his head down before you can lift yourself onto your toes, licking at the skin of your neck. Another quiet whine escapes your lips as he drags his tongue along the column of your throat, the hand on your lower back sliding down to grip your ass. He’s hard, the prominent bulge in his jeans pressing against your stomach. You grip his arms as he nips at your mark, more slick flooding your underwear. The scent of your arousal is thick in the air, making a low growl rumble in his chest.
One of your hands slides down his chest, trailing down over the hard planes of his stomach before it reaches the bulge in his jeans. You press your hand against it, dragging your palm across the thick length pushing against the constraining fabric. He lets out a groan, nipping at your neck before he grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away.
“Need to mark you.” He growls, squeezing your wrist in his hand before letting go.
A shiver runs through you at the thought, an excited purr rumbling in your chest. You had been surprised when he didn’t do it as he claimed you. Most alphas can’t control it, the natural urge to claim and mark at the same time too strong for them. Of course he has incredible control over his instincts, his mind, and his body, likely from his years spent in the military.
You’re silently glad he hadn’t done it then too, since it’s messy and can make for quite the cleanup afterward if you’re not prepared for it.
He nips at your bottom lip before he straightens up, staring down at you. “Bathroom.” He says, the growl still thick in his voice.
You let out an excited purr, scrambling for the bathroom. There’s no specific place it has to be done, but in times like these it’s best to use the most logical option. It’s the easiest and makes for significantly less cleanup.
You’re already stripping out of your clothes by the time he joins you, his eyes burning as you bend over to slip off your skirt. He slips his hand between your thighs, making you jump. His fingers press against your slit, feeling the slick drooling out of you in your arousal and excitement.
A yelp slices through the air as he smacks your pussy, making you jump again. “Tub.” He growls and you move automatically, pushing the shower curtain to the side before climbing in.
Goosebumps form on your skin as you settle in the tub, the cold porcelain pebbling your nipples. You rub your thighs together as he begins to strip revealing his smooth skin and the scars that mark his body. He had never told you about them, but then again, you might not have been able to know much. You don’t know much about his time in the military, though probably for good reason. He wants to separate himself from that as much as possible now.
That’s why he decided to take an omega now. That’s why he chose you.
Your eyes trail his form, perfect like he was chiseled from marble. Your eyes trail down his body to that patch of dark hair that trails between his thighs and down below the waistband of his pants. The bulge in his pants looks almost painful as he stands there, letting you look. Your toes curl as he drops his pants, the thick length between his legs swinging as he steps out of them. A moan leaves your lips as you stare at it, your back arching as the instinct to show off for your alpha takes over. Your pussy clenches as you think back just a few days ago when he’d fucked you properly for the first time, rutting against your ass as he licked your neck, preparing you to take his knot and be claimed.
He grins, staring at your breasts as you push out your chest, making yourself seem as attractive as possible to his alpha. He approaches the tub, not wasting anymore time as he steps in so he’s standing at your feet. He nudges at your leg and you get the hint, draping one leg over the edge of the tub, the other foot resting on the lip against the wall so you’re spread open for him. He purrs as he stares down at your slick folds drooling with arousal. His eyes trail up your body to your face as he licks his lips.
He steps up closer to you, standing between your spread legs. His hand grips his cock, thick fingers curling around the length. His other hand rests against the wall behind you as he leans over you, letting out a grunt. Your eyes are trained on his cock as he squeezes his hand around it, focusing hard. He has to be desperate after he chugged almost two liters of water over the last two hours in preparation.
“Fuck,” He groans as the first bit dribbles out, splashing against your stomach.
You moan as the musky scent of him floats around you, mixing with your own arousal. He angles his cock downward, a steady stream beginning to flow out of him. It’s warm as it hits your skin, your head tilting back against the wall as he relieves himself, his scent coating your skin to mark his territory. You moan as the warm liquid trails down your skin and drips onto the cold porcelain beneath you.
He pushes his hips back, shifting his aim to your pelvis. You let out a high pitched moan as his piss slides through your folds, mixing with the slick gushing out of you.
“Fuck...” He groans again, watching your hips buck as you clench around nothing. “Up.” He says, bending down to grip your arms.
You nearly slip as you hurry to stand, moving instinctively as you turn, pressing your hands into the wall as you push your hips back. There’s no preparation needed as he pushes into you, only a slight burn at the stretch but you’re too gone to care. He pushes his hips against your ass, fingers closing around your hips to hold you steady as he begins to fuck you.
His thrusts are sharp, jolting your body with every thrust. You push against the wall to hold yourself steady, watching his piss drip off of you, droplets sliding down your legs. The scent of him is strong in the air, the alpha musk going straight to your brain. It satisfies that deep instinctual need to be marked as his, as his territory.
“Come on, come on.” He grunts, his hips slapping against your ass. He pushes into you fully with a moan before warmth floods your passage. He lets out a deep groan, harmonizing with yours as you realize what’s happening.
The warm fluid pushes up against your walls, filling you full. Your legs shake at the sensation, the knowledge that he’s claiming you in every way he can. His hands are bruising around your hips as he holds you still, pressed flush against him as he empties his bladder inside of you. The pressure almost becomes too much, some of his piss forced out around his cock from the sheer volume of it. It streams down your legs, coating your skin in his scent.
You could cum just like this, spread wide around his cock and full of his piss. He holds you still as you try to rut back against him, forcing some of his piss out of you. It splatters against the bottom of the tub, wafting his scent up around you.
“Mine.” He growls, one of his hands moving from your hip to push against your pelvis.
A high pitched moan echoes in the otherwise silent bathroom, the pressure almost too much. He thrusts into you a couple times before he pulls out, his piss spurting out of you immediately. It splashes against the bottom of the tub, your legs shaking as it’s forced out of you by the fluttering of your pussy.
He’s immediately inside you again, picking up the pace he’d kept before. His thrusts are wet from the piss coating your skin and his, liquid dripping out of you and sliding down your legs still.
His scent nearly drowns you, your eyes rolling back as his fingers rub circles over your clit. You don’t last much longer, cumming around his cock with a shriek. He doesn’t let up, still circling your clit as his other arm slips around you, pulling you up against his chest. You’re on your toes, hands pushing against his arms as he holds you up.
“Do it.” He groans against the side of your head, holding you tighter. “Mark me.”
You let out a whine, trying to relax your body as he thrusts into you. His hand leaves your clit to push against your pelvis, aiming his thrusts so his cock pushes against your full bladder. It almost hurts, being full for so long and now being bullied by the head of his cock.
His thrusts still as you push back against his chest, hands gripping his arms as your bladder releases, your own piss dribbling down your folds and his cock where it’s spreading you open. He groans, the sound low and drawn out as it drips down his balls, coating him in your scent.
Your breathing hitches as you finally get relief, your piss mixing with his on your legs, your scents creating a cocktail of musk and sweetness. There’s no denying it now as he continues to thrust into you. You’ve been marked and so has he. You squeal as his knot expands, your legs slipping to push against the edges of the tub to open yourself wider for him.
His knot spreads you impossibly wide, warm with the last bit of your piss being forced out of you as he pops it in. The relief is almost better than the stretch of his knot, the painful pressure in your abdomen finally gone. He cums inside you, filling you up with a different kind of warmth.
He grunts against your ear as you squeeze around him, his knot forcing an orgasm from you, milking every last drop of his cum into your body.
“Bloody fucking hell.” He groans, both of you standing there for a moment. You’re trembling, his arms the only thing holding you up.
His knot tugs inside of you as he slowly maneuvers you so you’re sitting in the tub again. You’re in his lap, legs spread over his. His hands slide down your stomach, pushing against the bulge in your pelvis. You let out a whine as it pushes his cock against your walls, one last little bit of piss dribbling out of you and down over his balls.
He chuckles, sliding his hands down to your thighs, rubbing his hands over the mix of your piss and his on your skin. “Few weeks.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “Then we get to do it all over again.”
Your pussy flutters at the thought, squeezing around his knot as you let out a pleased purr.
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Summary: As your relationship begins to shift with your pack, you find yourself with an itch you just can't seem to scratch.
Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Kyle x Johnny
Word Count:
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, very rough sex, big feral energy, excessive biting, blood, choking (for like one sentence), squirting (I cannot be stopped), crying, manhandling, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), cum eating, cum sharing, cock warming, reader gets folded like a chair several times, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, some feelings, just barely a hint of angst, and fluff. (Also just in case, Price is being a tease at the end)
A/N: Uh, yeah. I don't have any excuse for this one. The same warnings as last time apply here, don't read it in public, sit down, underwear, you get the point. Enjoy you depraved heathens
MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->
A low growl rumbles in his chest, vibrating through your entire body. This one is different, the pitch lower, the back of your neck prickling. Your legs shake at the sound, pussy clenching around him as he nearly piledrives into you.
“Say it.” He growls, his voice rough with the edges of his alpha. It has you keening, pushing back against him. He uses the hand around your throat to lift you, bending your back almost painfully as he growls into your ear. “Fucking say it again.”
“Alpha!” You whine, choking around his hand as his fingers dig into your neck for a moment.
He releases you, letting you flop bonelessly on the bed as he continues to snap his hips against your ass so hard the bed slams against the wall. You can’t do anything but lay there and take it, your vision starting to go blurry from the pleasure.
Simon’s hands frame your head, gripping the sheets as he grunts and groans over you. You stare at his arm, at the muscle in his forearm as he holds himself up, straining from the exertion of fucking you so hard your vision is starting to go blurry. You shift your head to the side, moving closer to his arm before sinking your teeth into his wrist. He lets out a warning growl, but you sink your teeth in harder, the coppery taste of blood filling your mouth. He leans down, sinking his teeth into your shoulder in retaliation until something slides down your chest.
It’s not sweat.
You bite harder, undeterred by his own teeth in your shoulder. You’re not giving him this one. There’s a feral urge in you to fight, to sink your teeth in a shake like a dog until he gives up. Blood trails in rivulets down to his hand and onto the sheets as he gives in, releasing your shoulder. You purr in victory, releasing his wrist. He curses, yanking his arm away before he covers your mouth with his hand. His fingers dig into your cheeks, muffling your whines and moans as he licks at your shoulder, blood slowly dripping from the wound.
“Fucking little omega.” He grunts, his thrusts starting to get sloppy.
You can’t do anything but moan against his hand, his thrusts pushing your clit against the side of the bed. Your breaths are rapid through your nose, your mind buzzing from the near blinding pleasure. Pleasure tickles at the base of your spine, making your legs shake to the point of nearly giving out. You’re not sure how much longer you can last, not with the way he’s pounding into you.
He cums suddenly, his hips snapping against your ass before warmth shoots into your belly again. You moan against his hand, eyes rolling back as his orgasm fails to tire him. He picks the pace back up almost immediately, thrusting wildly into you. High pitched moans cut through the air as he releases you, pushing himself up to stand. Hands pull your hips back off the bed, fingers digging into the soft skin as your shaking legs offer no support for your body.
His thrusts become shallower, less sloppy and more focused. Your hands curl into his sheets, certain you’re going to rip the fabric as the overwhelming feeling begins to fill you once again.
“Alpha!” You shriek, his cock aimed for that spot inside of you again. The pressure is building, almost becoming too much. “No, no,” You whine, feeling like you might explode. You know what’s coming next, and you’re not sure you can handle another one. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Your legs do give out as fluid squirts out of you, soaking Simon and forcing his cum right out of you. It drips onto the towel, your body spasming in his hold. You can’t do anything but lay there and whimper, your very veins burning from your orgasm and the overstimulation.
Simon shoves you back up the bed, pushing his cock back inside you. You clench around him, the feeling almost too much as he starts his brutal pace back up, his hips driving you into the side of the mattress. His hand tangles in your hair, pushing your face into the sheets as he growls, rutting into you like an animal. Your body feels hot, your skin burning and your mouth getting dry from the exertion. You feel almost like you’re in heat again, the needy pleasure starting to fog your brain.
If only he could knot you right now. That might ease the ache beginning to form in your pelvis.
“Alpha,” You gasp, your hands scrambling back to reach his. “Alpha, please!”
“Fuck,” He growls, releasing your hips to grab you by the shoulders, fingers digging into your skin as he uses the leverage to pull you back against him.
Your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open as slick gushes out around him, dribbling down your thighs, mixing with your sweat. You’re close again, your sensitive pussy driving you closer and closer to the edge. Your back arches, pushing back against him as your hands lift, gripping onto his fingers.
“Alpha, alpha please.” You whine, hands squeezing tightly around his fingers.
He leans down, pressing his face into the back of your neck, his breaths puffing against your heated skin. He drags his tongue up your spine, lapping at the sweat coating your body. He growls, tilting his head before sinking his teeth into the back of your neck.
You let out a high pitched shriek, your vision going black. You writhe under him, feet trying to gain some sort of traction on the floor but you can’t get your legs to work. You’re rendered nearly immobile as his teeth sink into the delicate skin, his hands slipping under you to grip the sheets.
He continues to fuck into you, growling around your neck. Tears are leaking out of your eyes, the sounds coming from your lips a mix of sobs, moans and pathetic whines. Another orgasm wracks through you, your body shuddering under him as he sinks his teeth in until you bleed, spilling into you.
He releases you after his cock stops twitching, letting your body go. You nearly slide off the edge of the bed but he grabs you, flipping you back over onto your back. The back of your neck is stinging as he maneuvers you up the mattress, pushing your thighs back up to your chest. His eyes are nearly black as he stares down at you, blood on his lips and dribbling down his chin. His arm is bleeding still where you bit him, smearing across his skin and yours.
He holds your thighs against your chest as he pushes back into your sensitive pussy, still hard and almost throbbing. You can do nothing but lay there, whimpering and whining as he takes you over and over until your vision goes dark.
Your body aches. It pulls you from sleep, the pain waking you from your precious slumber. You let out a groan, shifting against the hard surface under you. You can’t get your arms to move, your limbs shaking as you try to get your muscles to work. You’re beginning to panic, feeling almost paralyzed.
A hand trails down your back, rough fingers following the line of your spine. You whimper, pressing your face into Simon’s chest.
“Easy.” His deep voice rumbles under your ear, rough and huskier than normal.
Your throat feels raw, your tongue heavy in your mouth. You try to speak but all that comes out is a whine as you become aware of the intense throbbing between your thighs.
“What do you need?” He asks, still stroking your back.
“Water.” You manage to croak out, peeling your eyes open.
Your vision is blurry, your waking brain quickly becoming aware of the pain in your body. Simon shifts under you, making you whine as the jostling just makes you aware of more pain.
Your skin feels like it's on fire, a tingling burn stinging the back of your neck. Your neck and shoulders are sore and aching, and there's a deep thrumming pain between your thighs. As memories of the night before begin to resurface, you know you're covered in bites and bruises, dried blood caked to your skin.
Simon shifts you again, another whine leaving your lips. He shushes you gently, pulling the blanket tighter around you as he maneuvers himself out from under you. You're laying on the floor, covered with the comforter off his bed. When you moved here, you're not sure. There’s a point where your mind goes blank, where the memories are cut off and nothing remains.
Simon quite literally fucked the life right out of you.
You’re suddenly aware of the chill in the room as you lose Simon’s warmth, another whimper leaving your lips. Simon gently maneuvers the blanket around you, tucking you into one side before rolling it around you until you’re immobile in a blanket burrito. You can’t do anything but watch as he digs through his dresser, pulling on a pair of sweatpants.
“Be right back.” He murmurs before he steps out of the room, leaving you alone.
You blink slowly, trembling slightly from the combination of the cold and your aching body. You can’t pinpoint which part of you hurts the most, your muscles feeling like you just completed a marathon without any training. You suppose you have in a way. Last night was certainly a marathon of sex, one which probably continued long after the gap in your memory started.
Simon returns, water bottle in hand. You stare up at him as he closes the door, moving to sit on the floor again. He maneuvers you in your blanket burrito so you’re sitting up, tugging you back against his chest. You wince at the pressure between your legs and pelvis in the position, trying to shift in your confines to ease the ache. Simon unscrews the cap on the water bottle, your eyes drawn to the scabbed bite mark on his right arm. You remember doing that, sinking your teeth in until he bled, the coppery tang still on your tongue. The feral need to win the battle of wills, the determination blinding you to the pain in your shoulder where he had sunk his own teeth into you.
One of many places.
Simon lifts the bottle to your lips, holding it steady as you eagerly gulp down the water. It eases the ache in your throat, the dryness making your tongue feel like it was coated in sand. It’s like finding an oasis after stumbling through the burning desert.
There’s a slight tremble to Simon’s hand as he holds the bottle for you, tilting it slowly as you guzzle down the contents. A sour edge borders his scent, something you pick up as awareness continues to return to you. Your brows furrow as you sit there, trying to make sense of the thoughts swirling through your mind as the sourness in his scent intensifies.
You finish off the water bottle, taking in a few deep breaths. “Simon?” You say quietly, your voice not quite as hoarse as it had been thanks to the water.
“I fucking knew it.” He breathes, his body tensing behind you.
“Simon.” You say, trying to wiggle out of the blanket burrito you've been confined in, looking like a fish flopping around.
You finally manage to flop yourself over his leg, rolling out of the blanket. You lay there for a moment, trying not to show any sign of the pain in your body from the exertion. You push yourself up, pushing past the pain as you lean on your arm. You're slightly out of breath from your efforts, taking a moment to breathe.
“Fucking look at you.” He breathes, eyes trailing the brutal picture you paint sitting there.
You raise your eyebrows, scanning his exposed skin. “Look at you.” You counter, bite marks and scratches littering his arms, and you know there's more under his shirt and mask.
You push past the confusing, contradictory thoughts, the tickling in your mind telling you to stay back, to let him work through what he has to work through and not risk making the sour scent coming off of him worse. You can’t hide the pained groan you let out as you push yourself onto shaking hands and knees, half crawling, half dragging yourself across the short distance to him.
You plant yourself next to him with a heavy sigh, leaning on one hip as you face him. You ignore the throbbing between your thighs, the discomfort in your body as you prop yourself up in front of him, planting one hand between his thick thighs still spread on the floor.
“Yeah, I may be hurting right now, but it's because you quite literally fucked the soul out of me.” You lean slightly so you're looking him in the eye. “I don't regret it, and I wouldn't change anything. Hell, I would have let you go another round this morning if you hadn't put me through however many rounds last night.” You can’t handle the discomfort of sitting anymore, flopping yourself back down onto the floor, resting your head on his leg as you try to find a comfortable position. “Shit, I'm gonna have to take up yoga if you keep trying to fold me into some of those positions.”
The ache in your muscles isn’t all from the lengthy activities last night. You distinctly remember having your knees pressed against your chest several times.
“Lucky you didn't make me pull a hamstring or something.” You continue, staring up into his dubious gaze. You roll onto your side, immediately regretting it as your sore hip presses into the floor, but you refuse to show your discomfort for his sake. “If you're really that concerned, then take me to see Dr. Keller. Plop me in a wheelchair and wheel me over there.”
You go quiet, staring up at him for a moment. He's barely moved since you flopped your way out of the blanket like a fish. You can't tell what he's thinking, only that the sourness is gone from his scent. The silence is tense despite the easing of his discomfort, hanging heavy over the both of you. You sink your teeth into your sore lip, raising your brows as you wait for some kind of response, some acknowledgement, some mutual sharing of the thoughts running through his head. It only feels courteous after he simultaneously rearranged your guts, made you cry, and fucked you like a real alpha.
“Are you going to say anything?” You finally break the silence, blinking up at him.
His shoulders lift as he inhales deeply, panic shooting through you for a moment as you wait for some kind of rejection or anger. “I miss when your thoughts were inside your head.”
You stare at him in surprise for a moment before biting your lip to try and hide your smile. “I thought you hated that about me.”
“I take it back.” He says, reaching forward to brush his fingers across your jaw.
A quiet purr rumbles in your chest as you lean into his touch, nuzzling against his hand. You stare up at him, holding his intense gaze fearlessly. Something stirs in the back of your mind as a low growl rumbles in his chest.
“Fucking hell.” He growls, moving his hand from your face to adjust his sweatpants, the musky scent of arousal thickening in the air.
“Well, you're on your own with that.” You say, pushing yourself up from where you're laying. “I am all fucked out.” You flop over onto the floor, facing away from him.
He hums, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Might have to call Johnny in. I'm sure he's all worked up from last night. He'd wrap those pretty lips around my cock in a heartbeat.”
Despite the deep throbbing, burning pain in your pelvis, you feel yourself becoming aroused at the mental picture of Johnny kneeling between Simon's legs, mouth wrapped around that thick cock. Will he still taste like you? Johnny would know.
“Fuck.” You breathe, trying to calm the dampness starting to slick your pussy again. You scramble for any distraction, anything to think of besides Simon folding Johnny in half on the bed and growling as he fucks his beta just as roughly as he did you last night. “Simon?” You breathe, glad your legs are too tired to press together for friction.
He hums, still palming himself over his sweatpants.
“How did we get on the floor?” You ask.
“Was between the ninth and tenth rounds.” He says. “When I made you ride me, all needy and whiny.” He shifts behind you, starting to crawl toward you. “Couldn't even lift yourself up. Touched your clit once and had you cumming immediately, sensitive little thing.”
You bite back a moan as his fingers slip between your thighs, dragging through your aching folds. “Okay, okay.” You reach back, trying to slap his hand away. “‘S too much.” You whine. “Gonna drag myself across the hall so I can take a hot bath.”
You lift yourself up onto your arms, your legs too tired to even push up onto your knees again. You pathetically attempt to drag your body towards his door, Simon letting out a quiet sigh. He hooks his arm under your knees, tugging you back closer to him.
He shifts up onto his knees, letting out a sigh. “Let me find your knickers and I'll take you.”
He helps you into your underwear and the shirt you wore yesterday before he scoops you up off the floor far too easily. It’s a short walk down the hallway to your room, your body still shivering a bit from the cold.
He sets you on the edge of your bed before going into the bathroom to turn on the water for the tub. You wonder if he’ll do it, if he’ll push past that barrier and allow the intimacy of the moment, or if what had transpired last night had been enough, had pushed that barrier to its extreme.
You watch him as he comes back out, standing in front of you. He no longer looks like the opposing figure you had once seen him as. He's still large, but he's lost the intensity and danger. Even now with his shoulders tensed and hands curled into fists, you're not intimidated or afraid. You can tell he's nervous, hesitant. This is a big move for him, and you're not sure he wants to make it yet.
“You can go get Kyle, or even John.” You say quietly, gently as you stare up at him. “I won't be upset. We've made a lot of jumps over the last few days. If you need to take a step back, I don't blame you.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Relief or maybe gratitude, perhaps both. You wouldn't blame him for not wanting to be so vulnerable, especially after the vulnerability he showed last night. It’s asking a lot of him, and you’re scared to push him too far, make him retreat into himself again after so much progress.
“I'll...go find someone else.” He says.
You nod, giving him a small smile. “Okay.”
He turns away from you, heading back towards the door.
“Simon?” You call and he stops, turning back to face you. “Go easy on Johnny. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself.”
He lets out a sigh, rolling his eyes. “Fucking hell.”
You're fighting the dampness in your underwear as you walk with John towards the med center. It's been almost three days since your first time with Simon and you've been fighting arousal almost every minute of every day. Despite the physical ache still lingering from the intense fucking you had done, you haven’t been able to stop the aching arousal from dripping into your underwear constantly.
This isn't your normal scheduled appointment with Dr. Keller. You wanted to see her to make sure nothing was wrong. You hadn't felt like this after your first time with any of the others. Sure you had gotten aroused every time you thought about it, but it hadn't been uncontrollable like this.
The cool air in the med center is a blessing as you head for Dr. Keller’s office, John following behind you. You shift on your feet as you wait for the door to open, the brush of your arm against John’s almost electric. You sink your teeth into your lip, trying to stop the arousal from intensifying just in the presence of your alpha. He knows something is off, probably able to smell the intense arousal that has plagued you for the last three days. You haven’t done anything about it, trying to allow yourself to rest and recover after Simon fucked the sense out of you.
Dr. Keller opens the door after what feels like a lifetime, and you quickly inhale the calming beta scent wafting out of the room, hoping it will ease the ache between your thighs.
“Come on in.” She says, holding the door open for you.
You stand on your toes, kissing John’s cheek in parting before entering Dr. Keller’s office. You take your usual seat, lowering yourself gingerly into the cushions. It’s a relief compared to the brutal plastic of the benches in the mess.
Dr. Keller sits in her usual spot at the couch, eyeing the fading marks littering your skin. “This isn’t our usual appointment.” She starts, her brows furrowing a bit as she lifts her gaze to your eyes. “Everything alright?”
“I, uh,” You stumble over your words, not having even thought about how you’d bring this up to Dr. Keller. “There’s a situation that’s developed.” You say, leaning back in the chair to try and ease some of the ache between your legs. “I don’t know why it’s happening or why it’s started now, but uh,” You swallow the nervous lump in your throat. “Simon and I had our first time a couple days ago. Things got...heated.” You scratch at the healing teeth marks on the back of your neck. “Very heated. It was like we...”
“Lost control?” She suggests, seeming to almost know what you were going to say.
You nod. “Yeah. Things got a bit...rough before we even had sex and then...when we did, things got almost...violent.” The word tastes bad on your tongue, but you’re not sure how else to describe it. Rough wasn’t enough, but perhaps violent was a bit too much. “And ever since then, I’ve just been constantly horny and I don’t know what to do. It wasn’t like this with the others, not even John.”
Dr. Keller hums, staring at you for a moment. “It sounds to me like your instincts are out of control.” She says simply. “You’re both purebreds, which means you’re both more sensitive to your instincts, scents, emotions, even physical things like body language. You’re more sensitive to each other, too. In those moments of intense emotion, it’s not uncommon for things to get a bit out of hand, for instincts to take over, especially when it’s a new relationship.”
“That makes sense.” You say. “He always seems to just know things, sense things about me that the others don’t. Sometimes it’s like he knows what I’m thinking. Both times it happened there was just something so...animalistic about it.”
“Mhm.” Dr. Keller hums, nodding in agreement. “There’s always a risk when purebreds are together that things may slip out of control. Your omega peeked her head out because she sensed a virile alpha, and his alpha came out to meet her. No matter how much control one has over their instincts, moments like that can throw all the hard work and training out the window.”
“Is there a way to stop that?” You ask.
“It will start to even out on its own to a point, as you and Lieutenant Riley adjust to one another, but there is something that may help both of you. I was going to bring this up during our next appointment, but this might be a better time. Captain Price and I discussed it while Lieutenant Riley was away.” She sits back on the couch, crossing her legs. “I know you know that purebreds have stronger instincts, and are more sensitive and aware of them. While that can be helpful in certain situations, I’m sure you also know it can be a hindrance, especially in moments of high tension or highly emotional situations.”
You nod. “Yeah. I know.”
“What you likely haven’t been told,” Dr. Keller continues. “Is that it’s possible to learn to balance those instincts, and even utilize them.”
You blink at her. It is news to you. No one has ever told you that was a possibility. You’ve only been taught that your heightened instincts made you more desirable, and how they can help you learn to serve your alpha and your pack.
“Lieutenant Riley likely learned how to balance and utilize his during his military training. Regardless of if he was taught directly or not, his training taught him how to stay calm in tense, stressful, highly emotional situations. It also taught him how to utilize his instincts for his job.”
“That’s why he can read me so easily.” You say, the pieces beginning to come together.
“Purebreds are more sensitive to things like scents. Your noses can detect subtle changes, even lingering scents, things non-purebreds can’t. That makes it easier to read emotions, and also predict potential threats.” Dr. Keller’s lips twitch in a smile. “That also means you’re more sensitive to things like arousal.”
Your cheeks flush as you think of all the times you’ve been turned on by Simon during training or one of the other members of your pack. He’s known the whole time. He could sense it long before the others could.
How did he keep control of himself for so long?
“How do I learn to do what he does?” You ask.
“I can help you learn to balance your instincts so you’re less vulnerable to them, but only another purebred skilled in instinctual control can help you learn to utilize them.” She says.
You let out a breath, sinking down lower in the chair. “No one’s ever told me that was a possibility.”
“They wouldn’t have.” She says. “There would have been no benefit for the institute to teach you how to do it. It would have made you too aware of your skills and abilities, the control you can have over others. They want subservient omegas that bow to their alpha. It’s hard to do that once you’re aware of what you could be.”
“Can...can we do that? Work on my instincts?” You ask.
Dr. Keller nods. “Of course. Captain Price has already voiced his approval when I spoke to him about it. I think it will be very beneficial for you to at least learn to balance your emotions.”
“How do we start?” You ask.
“The most important part of all of this is your breathing. I know I’ve said it before, but that’s crucial to keeping your head clear and aware. Your breathing starts to pick up, your instincts kick in.”
You nod. “Okay.”
“We can start with the easiest exercise, which is a trigger point exercise.” She says. “It utilizes common trigger points on your body that elicit instinctual responses when pressure is applied to them. There’s trigger points all over your body. On your legs, arms, sides, and of course, the neck.”
You nod again. “O-Okay.”
“We wouldn’t start with the neck, since that elicits the strongest response and would be too overwhelming at first. We’ll work up to that.” Dr. Keller says, standing up. “It’ll be easiest to do it sitting on the floor.”
You shift off the chair, easing yourself onto the floor, sitting cross legged. You can’t help but feel nervous, despite the fact you trust Dr. Keller. You’re branching into new territory, something you didn’t even know was a thing until a few minutes ago.
“Breathe.” She says, sitting cross legged in front of you. “The most important part of this is the breath. It’s going to feel intense, your body will react no matter how hard you try and stop it. Let it happen, let your body do what it’s meant to do and just be aware of those instincts starting to surface. Don’t think too hard on them, just let them be there and focus on your breathing. Okay?”
You let out a breath. “Yeah.”
“I’ll know if things start to be too much, and we’ll stop immediately.” She says. “Hold out your arms.”
You do as she says, her hands warm as she wraps her fingers around them, supporting them.
“Close your eyes.” She directs, her thumbs coming to rest right below the inner bend of your elbow on the inside of your forearms. “Deep breaths.”
You take a deep breath in and she presses down with her thumbs.
You can’t stop it as your body tenses, panic beginning to bubble up in you. It’s too much, the feelings wrong, the alarms in your brain starting to go off as your body detects some kind of threat. Your arms try to tug free of her grasp but she doesn't let go, your shoulders lifting to try and protect your neck while your hands can’t.
Your breathing has picked up, near hyperventilating as the instincts flood your mind. You don’t know if you should run or hide or lay there and play dead. Your hands have curled into fists, fingers shaking from the adrenaline pumping through you.
“Breathe.” Dr. Keller’s voice cuts through the alarms in your mind, reminding you of why you’re doing this in the first place.
You fight to take a deep breath in, your breath catching and hitching in your chest. It almost hurts as you let it out, your lungs still trying to push air through rapidly. You continue to fight through the thoughts and instincts, through the natural reaction to panic about a threat that’s not even there. You’re in Dr. Keller’s office, sitting on the floor with her, trying to learn to balance your instincts.
Slowly you begin to gain control over your breathing, easing the ache in your lungs as you take deep breaths in and let slow breaths out. The instincts begin to calm, the rational part of your brain beginning to return as you become aware of the thoughts and emotions swirling in your head.
“Good.” Dr. Keller says, releasing your arms.
You’re shaking just a bit as the instincts begin to ease away, the threat fading. You open your eyes, still breathing deeply as the swirling thoughts in your mind start to die down. Your shoulders have relaxed, the need to protect your neck fading away.
“Good job.” Dr. Keller says, smiling at you. “It will take a lot of practice to master, but now you know you can do it. It’s not foolproof, there will be times where the situation is too much, but this can help keep incidents to a minimum.”
“Thank you.” You say, looking at her, emotions starting to rise again in you. Not ones of fear or panic, though. Quite the opposite, in fact. “For everything you've done. When I first got here, I wasn't even a person. I was just a title, a status. But you and my pack have helped change that, have helped me realize I'm an actual person, not just an omega.”
“Good.” She says, smiling softly at you. “I'm glad you're starting to unlearn the things society has taught you, and I'm glad we've been able to help you in that journey.” She takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “You are far more than your status, far more than what you can do for someone else. You are a wonderful human who has managed to keep such kindness despite everything you've been through.”
A smile tugs at your lips, tears burning behind your eyes. “You really think that?”
“I know it.” She says, squeezing your hand again before letting it go. “Come on, let's get you back to the barracks before lunch.”
Breathing. That's the most important part. Just focus on your breath.
If only it were that easy.
You've been up since 3 AM, a painful ache throbbing in your lower belly. Your thighs are slick, your breaths coming in quiet pants from the intensity of the need pulsing through you. It's only gotten worse as the minutes have slowly ticked by. Breathing through it hasn't helped any, and neither has shoving your hand into your pajama pants.
You huff out an exasperated breath, reaching for your phone. Your eyes scan the contacts, trying to decide who will be best to ask. You let out a breath, your finger hovering over the number of the only other person that might be up at this hour, who will be up soon regardless.
You type out the quick text, holding your breath as you click send.
I need you.
Your phone buzzes almost immediately with a reply.
Come here.
It was like he could almost sense it, waiting for you to reach out, to ask. You throw the blankets off you, leaving your phone on your nightstand and even forgoing slippers as you make for your door, blinking against the brightness in the hallway as you pad down the hall to his door.
You knock softly before pushing it open, stepping into the darkness. It takes you a moment to adjust after the bright fluorescents in the hallway, blinking the spots in your vision away before you can make out the soft light coming from a phone screen.
You make your way over to the bed, the body shifting to make room as you approach. You hear the deep inhale, the quiet groan as you drop your sleep pants before climbing in next to him.
“Christ, what's got you so worked up?” His voice rumbles, a hand trailing down your side.
“Dunno.” You say, leaning into his touch. “Woke up like this. Can't get it to stop.”
There's a quiet rustle of fabric before he's leaning down to kiss you, lips slightly chapped as they move against your own. The hand on your side drifts downward, hiking your thigh up before he slips lower, palming you over your panties.
“Fucking hell, soaked right through.” He groans against your lips, holding his hand still as you grind against his palm. “Needy little thing.”
“Please,” You whine, nipping at his lips. “Please.”
He curses, pushing the fabric to the side before pressing two fingers into you. They slide right in, aided by the copious slick and your own attempt to ease the ache.
You groan quietly against his lips, his mouth moving down your throat, sucking marks into your skin to match the fading ones. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding him there as he slowly fucks you with his fingers. It’s not enough, your pussy clenching around his fingers in search of something else. Something more.
You grind down on his hand, the ache in your belly intensifying. “Need you,” You whimper, your thighs clenching around his hand. “Please...Please Simon.”
He groans against your throat before pulling his fingers from you, rolling over so you're on top of him. He lifts his hips, your hands gripping his sides for leverage so you don’t fall off as he pulls his sleep pants down until his cock is free, already hard and you haven't even touched him. You settle back on top of him as he lowers himself back onto the bed, your clothed slit settling over his cock.
You drag your hips back and forth a couple times, moaning as the heat of his cock pulses through the dampness of your panties. Sweat has begun to bead on your skin and you tug your shirt off, dropping it onto the floor beside the bed. You stare at him, or at least where you assume his face is. You can’t see much, the room nearly pitch black except for the small bit of light coming in through the window. It sends a shiver down your spine, your omega begging for some kind of light, something to ease the vulnerability the darkness threatens.
Hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into your skin. You’re brought back to reality, back into the moment. You’re sitting on top of Simon’s cock, hands pressed into his stomach. Despite the vulnerabile position, you’re hardly in danger of what the darkness might be hiding. Simon knows, he’d know even in this position. Alphas are always aware of their surroundings, always ready for a threat, especially in the presence of an omega. Nothing could ever hurt you with him this close.
You swallow the nervous lump in your throat, easing the fear away as you take a couple deep breaths in and out. Breathing. That’s the key.
You lift yourself up tugging your panties to the side as you grab his cock with the other hand. You drag his head through your dripping folds a couple of times before lining him up and sinking down onto his cock
The stretch has your legs shaking. Despite having taken him before, it's almost too much at this angle. The sensations have your mind going blank, forcing every last thought except for Simon and his cock out of your mind. You begin to rock your hips, sinking down on him with every press downward. Your hands brace against his stomach, feeling the flex of his muscles under you as he fights to control himself, as he fights to let you keep control as you sink down onto him fully, sitting nestled against his hips.
You both curse at the feeling, his grip on your thighs tightening as you give yourself a minute to breathe.
Just breathe. Focus on your breathing.
Simon rolls his hips up, your breath catching in your throat. Your nails dig into his stomach, all thought of control going out the window as you begin to move, bouncing yourself on his cock.
He guides your movements with his hands, lifting his hips to meet your thrusts. You're trying to be quiet, but you can't help the moans and whines being pulled from your lips. You don't want to wake the others, draw them from their precious sleep, something you had been trying to avoid.
Simon muffles a particularly loud moan by shoving two of his fingers in your mouth, the two that had been inside you. You can taste yourself on his skin, your tongue lapping at the two digits.
You're going to cum soon, your thighs squeezing around his hips. Despite the fact it's only been a couple of days, the pent up frustration of constantly being horny and not being able to do anything about it has you teetering over the edge from just a few rolls of your hips and the stretch of his cock.
His other hand moves to your clit, rubbing tight circles over the pulsing bud. It's too much, the sensations in your body and the relief of the ache inside you. You cum with a cry around his fingers, your body shuddering with pleasure. He plants his feet on the bed, thrusting up into you as he chases his own high.
He spills into you, groaning as he makes a mess of your pussy. He yanks you down against his chest, still hard inside you, his hips rolling as he continues to thrust into you.
You don't have to see his face to know you're nowhere near done. For once he's going to follow in Johnny's footsteps, trading his morning workout for a different one.
“Christ almighty, ye look like an animal got a hold of ye.” Johnny says, gripping your chin as he turns your head back and forth, his eyes scanning every mark on your skin, the old fading ones and the new ones from this morning.
“I think one did.” Kyle says, pulling the collar of your shirt down to check for more.
“Don’t worry, I bit him back.” You shrug.
They both pause, sharing a look before looking back to you.
“Did ye now?” Johnny says, releasing your chin.
“Yup. Made him bleed.” You say nonchalantly.
“Bloody hell.” Kyle says, releasing the collar of your shirt.
“Feisty little thing.” Johnny says, going to poke your nose but you turn, snapping at his finger instead.
Kyle chuckles as Johnny yanks his hand away before your teeth can close around his finger. “Don’t know what you expected, mate.” He says with a smirk.
You lean over, sinking your teeth into Johnny’s shoulder playfully. “You’re very biteable.”
“Am I?” He smirks, tugging you closer. “Only problem is,” He pulls your shirt collar to the side. “I bite back.”
His teeth sink into the skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting until you let out a quiet sound. He releases you, dragging his tongue across the new mark on your skin. Kyle presses up against your back, trapping you between the two of them.
“Easy.” Kyle says, pressing a kiss to your new bite mark. “Gonna make Simon think it's a competition.” His hand settles on your waist, slowly sliding higher and higher as he presses kisses across your shoulders.
Your scent intensifies in the air as heat begins to pool between your thighs. You squirm on the couch, seeking out relief from the ache between your legs. It’s been a steady pulsing since this morning despite the thorough fucking Simon had given you.
“Fucking hell.” Johnny groans, shoving you back into Kyle’s chest before undoing the button of your pants, ripping them off your legs and tossing them to the floor.
He pushes your legs up until they’re almost pressed against your chest before shouldering his way between them. You let out a quiet groan as your sore muscles are stretched, pushed into what’s becoming a very familiar position. Johnny lets your thighs drop onto his shoulders, relieving some of the ache as his hands grip your ass, holding your hips up.
Your lips part in a gasp as he presses his face against your underwear, inhaling deeply. A long, low groan falls from his lips as your thick scent goes straight to his head. He laps at your underwear, adding to the dampness already soaking into the fabric. Kyle’s arms wrap around you, holding you still as Johnny mouths at your pussy through your underwear.
A thrill runs through you at the thought of him eating you out on the rec room couch where anyone could walk in and see. It won’t take long for your scent to waft through the barracks, for John and Simon to realize what’s going on. All they’d have to do is walk down the hall and stand in the doorway to watch their betas make you cum. What would Simon think seeing Johnny’s head between your thighs for the first time, instead of just hearing about it? Would he lose control? Would he snap and tear Johnny away so he could fuck you again himself? Or would he hold Johnny’s head between your thighs until he makes you cum before he makes Johnny fuck you while he takes Johnny from behind?
“Shit.” You gasp, clinging to Kyle’s arms as warmth rushes through you, forcing slick to gush from your pussy.
Johnny moans lewdly, shoving your panties to the side before slurping at the slick dribbling from your hole. A shudder runs through you as you finally feel his mouth against your skin, your head tilting back against Kyle’s shoulder.
“Feel good?” Kyle asks, his breath fanning your ear.
“Uh huh.” You nod as Johnny’s tongue flicks through your folds. “Fuck, feels so good.”
Johnny groans against your pussy, his hips rutting against the couch. You wonder if he can taste Simon on you, the three loads he dumped into your pussy this morning. You’d showered, but you know scents linger in other areas longer than others.
You watch the flexing of Johnny’s ass as he grinds against the couch cushion, rocking his hips desperately for friction. You wouldn’t complain if Johnny bent you in half and fucked you right here. You’d take both of them happily if it means the aching in your core is eased just slightly.
Kyle’s hand slips between your legs, gripping Johnny by the mohawk. He groans against your pussy, the sound vibrating through you. “Make her cum with your mouth and I’ll suck you off.”
Johnny lets out a moan that would make most porn stars jealous before he eagerly slurps at your clit. The sound is wet and depraved, but you don’t care, your hips pressing against his mouth in search of more. He eats you like a man starved, slurping your slick like he’s parched and it’s the only thing that can ease his thirst. You’re a trembling mess in Kyle’s arms, hips grinding against Johnny’s face as you get closer and closer to your orgasm.
“Gonna cum on his tongue? Gonna give him what he wants?” Kyle groans in your ear, fingers plucking at your nipples through your shirt.
The sensations are almost too much, your thighs trembling around Johnny’s head. Kyle pinches your nipple as Johnny sucks hard at your clit, your orgasm hitting you like a runaway train. Your thighs clamp around Johnny’s head, smothering him against your pussy as you let out a high pitched whine. You’re not sure he can breathe, but you doubt he’d complain about dying from suffocation in this position.
Johnny continues to lap at your pussy as you shake in the aftershocks of your orgasm. It’s nearing overstimulation, a whine leaving your lips as you push at Johnny’s head. Kyle sinks his fingers into Johnny’s mohawk again, letting you flop back against the couch as he hauls Johnny to his feet.
Their lips meet in a sloppy kiss, all tongue and teeth as Kyle licks your slick from Johnny’s face, tasting you in his mouth. Your body is thrumming, pussy still fluttering as you watch them. Your lips part as Kyle sinks to his knees in front of Johnny, palming at the prominent bulge in his pants. You watch with bated breath as Kyle tugs Johnny’s pants down, Johnny’s hard, weeping cock springing free.
Kyle wraps his hand around the base, slowly jerking Johnny’s cock a couple of times. Johnny’s eyes are blown as he stares down at Kyle, lips parted as he pants softly. His flushed face is still shiny from your slick and Kyle’s tongue, looking like the symbol of lust and depravity. You all look like it, Kyle kneeling on the floor with Johnny’s cock in hand and you laying on the couch almost half naked, bearing witness to the intimate event about to transpire.
Kyle leans forward, dragging his tongue across Johnny’s tip, collecting the precum dripping from his engorged head. Your teeth sink into your lip as Kyle takes Johnny’s cock in his mouth, slowly sinking down his length. It’s warm in the rec room, and you're surprised there’s no steam on the windows from the heat radiating off the three of you.
Kyle pulls back until just the tip of Johnny’s cock is in his mouth before sinking down again, taking him fully into his mouth. Johnny is panting, one hand holding the back of Kyle’s head, the other resting on Kyle’s hand where he’s holding Johnny’s hips. Kyle bobs his head on Johnny’s cock, and you can see the strain in Johnny’s body, muscles tensed as he tries to keep control, tries to keep himself from fucking into Kyle’s mouth.
You shift on the couch, turning on your side to watch the debauched scene in front of you. Drool leaks out the side of Kyle’s mouth as he takes even more of Johnny’s cock in his mouth, his nose almost touching the trail of dark hair on Johnny’s stomach. Drool nearly seeps out of your own mouth as you watch them, so focused and in tune with each other. Johnny’s close, you can tell by the way his breathing has changed, how strong his scent is in the air.
“Fucking, just like tha’.” Johnny moans, his accent thickening as he loses control of himself. “Feels so fucking good.”
You stare at Kyle, your eyes dropping to the prominent bulge in his pants. An idea forms in your mind as you push yourself off the couch, slipping behind Kyle to kneel on the cool floor. The tile feels good against your heated skin, the pressure on your kneecaps forgotten as you reach around Kyle’s body, undoing his pants. You reach into his boxers, pulling his cock free. It’s hard and heavy in your hand, the thought of him being aroused just from watching you getting eaten out and sucking Johnny’s cock making your pussy pulse. Kyle lets out a groan as you begin to jerk his cock, the sound vibrating into Johnny, an echoing moan leaving Johnny’s lips.
A string of curses fills the air from Johnny, his fingers digging into the back of Kyle’s head. “Do tha’ again.”
You jerk Kyle’s cock in time with his own movements on Johnny’s cock, resting against his back as you watch them both. Kyle continues to moan around Johnny’s cock, his own twitching in your hand.
“Fuck...” Kyle groans, pulling off of Johnny’s cock for a second. He continues to pump Johnny’s length as he leans back against you, his hips thrusting into your hand.
“Feel good?” You murmur in his ear, pausing to squeeze your hand around the base of his cock. “Make Johnny cum with your mouth and I’ll let you cum.”
Kyle groans, his free hand releasing Johnny’s hip to squeeze your thigh before he takes Johnny into his mouth again.
“Gonnae cum.” Johnny moans, unable to stop his hips from rocking, fucking his cock into Kyle’s mouth.
You pump Kyle’s cock faster, his hips jerking as he gets closer and closer to the edge. He lets out a long moan around Johnny’s cock, Johnny letting out one of his own as his hips jerk almost violently. His head tilts back, mouth open as he cums in Kyle’s mouth, his fingers closing around Kyle’s wrists.
Kyle releases Johnny’s cock, shifting slightly so he can tilt his head back towards you and you know exactly what he wants. You lean over his shoulder, pressing your lips to his. Kyle passes some of Johnny’s cum to you on his tongue, the fluid salty and slightly bitter on your own tongue. You continue to kiss Kyle, drool and cum slipping down your chins as you jerk his cock faster, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.
“Fucking christ.” Johnny curses, watching the two of you as he tucks his cock back into his pants.
Kyle spills on your hand and the floor, moaning into your mouth as he squeezes your thigh. He pulls away from your lips, lifting your hand to his mouth to lick his own cum off your skin.
Johnny lets out another string of curses you can’t even begin to try and translate as he watches you both. “Gonnae be the death of me.”
You let out a laugh as you lean your head on Kyle’s shoulder, just catching a dark shadow moving away from the rec room door out of the corner of your eye.
Your bare feet pad silently against the cold tile as you make your way down the hallway. You shiver in the cool air of the barracks, the plain white walls offering no warmth against your bare skin. The door is cracked open but you knock anyway, not wanting to just barge in.
“Enter.” The gruff voice calls from the other side of the door.
You push the door open, slipping in before closing it behind you. You pad over to the desk, rubbing your eyes.
“Hi sweetheart.” John says, leaning back in his chair to stare up at you. “You’re up late.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” You say, moving around the desk to stand in front of him. “Missed you.”
He sits back as you crowd into his space, straddling the chair before sitting yourself comfortably on his lap. He grunts quietly as you flop down, wrapping your arms around his neck. He shifts you just slightly, his hands resting on your bare thighs.
You press your hips against him, resting your head against your arm as you try to get as close to him as you can. His fingers dig into your thighs for a moment before they slowly slip up under your baggy shirt. They rise higher and higher until they’re cupping your ass, squeezing your cheeks for a moment.
“You forgot your knickers.” He says, tilting his head closer to your ear.
You shrug, pressing your face into his neck. “Too uncomfortable.”
He hums, picking up the arousal quickly fogging the air in the small office. “Needy little thing, huh.” He groans as you push your hips down against him.
You let out a quiet sound, licking at his neck. “You’re the only one that hasn’t made me cum yet today.”
His hands leave your ass, pushing you back so he can stare at your face. He cups your cheeks, staring up into your eyes. “You’re exhausted.” He says, his thumbs brushing the puffy skin beneath your eyes.
You pout, pressing your hips closer to him. “But I need it.” You lean your head down on his shoulder. “I feel like I’m in heat.”
“Simon has that effect on people.” He says, adjusting your position on his lap again.
You grind down against him again, smearing your wetness on his pants. Your pussy feels raw and swollen from the events of the day, yet you can’t help the neediness, the desperation pulsing through you. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, every nerve ending alive and desperately seeking relief from the arousal pulsing through you.
“Please, alpha.” You whine, fingers curling into his shirt. “Need you.”
John sighs but he relents, lifting you up slightly so he can undo his pants. You lick your lips in anticipation as he frees his half hard cock, pumping it a couple times before pressing the head against your slit. You grind down against it, whimpering as it catches on your clit.
“Easy.” He scolds you, guiding his cock to your hole, easing you down onto it. It’s only half hard, but it slides in easily thanks to your arousal.
You let out a whine at the stretch, your legs shaking as John lowers you until you’re seated in his lap again, his cock buried fully inside of you. You clench around him, your body finally beginning to relax as you sit on your alpha’s cock.
“I’m busy.” He says, pushing his chair back up to his desk. “Make yourself cum.”
Your pussy clenches around him as he goes back to his work, your hips starting to rock back and forth. Your teeth sink into your lip at the sensation of his cock moving inside you, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He pays you no mind as he continues to work, his indifference stirring something inside you as you plant your feet onto the floor, pushing yourself up on his cock.
Despite his attempts at keeping focused on his work, he can’t hide the quiet groans leaving his lips as you bounce on his lap, fucking yourself on his cock. It’s thrilling, his disinterest in what you’re doing, allowing you to use him, to take what you need. You had spent years expecting it to be the other way around, for your alpha to use you whenever he wanted, to be forced to spread your legs anywhere at any time when he got in the mood.
Sure, you do that now, but it’s because you want to. You want to fuck your pack like an animal, you want them to take you when they feel the need, you want them to ease the ache that’s settled into your body now that the connection between the five of you has begun to change, to develop.
This, though, this is different as you use John’s cock for your own pleasure, clinging to him as you desperately seek relief. He doesn't even have his hands on you, typing away at his computer instead, fully focused on his work. How he’s doing it, you’re not sure, though you suppose he has to be very good at staying focused even in the most distracting moments.
You clench around him, circling your hips on his lap as you try to get a reaction out of him. He offers you nothing but quiet grunts and groans, not even looking at you as you fuck yourself on his cock.
You lean forward, sinking your teeth into his earlobe. He finally reacts, letting out a grunt from the pain. His arm wraps around your waist, squeezing your side until you relent.
“Fucking minx.” He groans, keeping his arm locked around your back. “Gonna make yourself cum? Make a mess of my cock?”
You whine, legs straining as you continue to bounce on his length, his cock hard and pulsing inside of you. He’s close too, you can tell by the way his breathing has picked up, by the low growls rumbling in his chest.
You shift your hips again, moaning at the way his cock brushes against that spot inside you at this angle. You’re tempted to lift yourself up, to try and replicate the party trick Simon had shown you, but you’re too tired for that, too desperate to cum as soon as possible. You’re shaking, barely able to move as you push closer and closer to your orgasm, John’s arm around your back starting to move you, to give you support as you chase your high. You are exhausted, your body aching. Your pussy is sore from Simon this morning, your knees aching from kneeling on the rec room floor, your thighs burning from the exertion of riding both alphas in your pack in one day.
You fall against John’s chest as you cum, slick coating his cock as you finally reach your release. You tremble in his arms as he shifts his hips under you, bucking up into you a few more times before he cums himself, spilling into you. You moan as his warmth fills you, cock twitching inside your aching pussy.
You go to lift yourself off John’s lap but he forces you back down, pushing his cock and his release back inside you. You let out a whine at the feeling, your pussy fluttering around him.
“You wanted my cock so badly,” He growls in your ear, his arm still hooked around your back. “Then you can sit here on it until I’m done.”
You let out a quiet whine, legs squeezing around his hips as he releases you, returning to his work again. You lay your head on his shoulder, breathing deeply as you focus on the feeling of his softening cock inside you. His cum is slowly sliding out around his cock, your hips twitching every so often as you try to ignore the feeling of him buried inside you.
A shaky breath leaves your lips as you sit there, clinging to him as the ache between your legs finally starts to fade, eased away by your alpha’s cock buried inside your pussy.
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