when he kisses your puffy pussy so sweetly and says a little breathlessly “my poor baby” as if he wasn’t the one absolutely pounding you into the next week
him feeding you frosting from his birthday cake with his fingers; breathless smile plastered on his face as you suck on his digits, your eyes tender as you look up him. and his cock is so hard, he wants to ask everyone to leave so he can fuck you
love the idea of two boyfriends who take turns on you all night. every time you thing its over, ten minutes later a stiff cock is nudging at your cunt again-
and they urge each other on, shit talking about how the other isnt making you cum hard enough, how he's not gonna be able to get hard again-
threesome where you're not allowed to talk, just 2 guys doing whatever they want to you. and you just have to lie there and take it, be manhandled, and bossed around.
and all the while they're conversing about how good your holes feel like you're not even there, and what a good girl you are just shutting up and taking their cocks.
Keepsake
previous - masterlist
Ghoap/female reader - omegaverse au
The voices wake you.
Low, rough, they seep through the floorboards, down the hall to where you’re curled up in the back corner of a closet, tucked away with your back to the wall, covered in the blankets you stripped from the bed.
You slept here, you think, though the last twenty four hours are pretty hazy. You were in the SUV for a while, speeding down the highway as you desperately tried to keep track of the road signs, which way you were headed, trying to hold onto a sense of direction, only for it to slip through your fingers as night crept into day, and the highway turned into back roads.
“Where are we going? Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” You asked, again and again, and only Johnny answered, turned around in the front seat to face you, blue eyes piercing yours.
“We’re takin’ ye to a safe house, an’ we’ll explain everythin’ as soon as we get settled. Ye should try to get some sleep, it’s a long drive.”
They told you nothing after that and as hard as you tried to fight it, sleep took you. Your nervous system was shot, the car was unnecessarily warm, and their proximity, their scents… it was a battle you were never going to win.
Even after they pulled into the driveway of a very normal looking house in an unknown town, they said nothing. Only opened the child locked doors and watched as you uneasily stumbled out of the car, warily walking between them up the stairs to the front door, half asleep. Sick to your stomach.
You slept walked inside, following behind Johnny as he led you to a bedroom.
“We’ll stay here for the night.”
“For the night?” Nothing made sense in your brain. This was a bad dream, you decided. One you just needed to wake up from. He nodded. Some sort of sympathy shone in his eyes, but it was dark around the edges, clear blue waters turned caliginous.
“We’ll move again in the mornin’.”
You should have questioned him, pushed back, argued, but you didn’t have anything left in you. You were drained, and there was an inner desire growing inside you, one that was desperately trying to push you into the arms of your mates.
Mates, who wanted nothing to do with you.
Mates, who you wanted nothing to do with.
So instead, you turned your back. Dragged the blankets and pillows from the bed and curled up in the closet, hidden away from the world, from them, at least for the rest of the night.
Now, their voices are what rouse you. They grow louder, closer, reverberating down the hall until they stop, and a knock sounds in their place.
You instinctively press back against the wall.
It’s quiet, and then… your name.
It’s not the first time you’ve heard it from them, your memory is hazy but you remember Johnny, or Simon, saying it while the three of you were running. Though it sounds different now, in the light of day, less like a command.
More knocks, this time more insistent, and you hold your breath, waiting. Wondering.
It doesn’t take long. The door creaks open, boot steps echoing across the wooden floor, coming to a stop in front of the closet.
Maybe you should run now. Or fight. Launch yourself out of the closet like a wild cat and attack.
Where would you go? You don’t even know where you are.
You’re still holding your breath. You don’t want to smell them, don’t want the leather and tea to sink into your skin, don’t want it to rearrange your soul. You don’t want them.
The closet door swings open, and there he is.
Johnny.
He’s clean, showered looks like, wet hair at his nape, eyes shining and bright. His bond mark, the bite, peeks out over the collar of his jumper, and you can’t help but stare at it.
“Good mornin’.” His lips quirks to the side with an almost smile. “Did ye sleep in here?” You don’t answer. You can’t, everything is jumbled up in your head now, your demands, your confusion, your fear, all of it compounded by the pain that’s starting to ebb back into your bones. All you can manage is,
“I want to go home.” His almost smile turns almost sympathetic.
“There’s breakfast in the kitchen. An’ tea.” He shifts, opening up space between him and the closet. “Will ye come out? We can talk.” Breakfast, tea. Normal things. Like any of this is normal.
When you don’t move, he sighs.
“If ye dinnae come out on yer own, I’ll have to do it myself.” Your eyes go wide.
“What? And drag me out of here?” His mouth tightens.
“If I have to.” Your throat goes dry, panic swooping up your spine, hard and fast, and for a second all you can do is stare at him wordlessly. Map his face, his shoulders, his hands, the body of your alpha, your mate, a piece of fate that was supposed to make you feel safe. Make you feel loved.
“I don’t understand what’s happening.” Your voice is small, as small as you feel. Pathetic.
“I know.” He shifts, creates room between him and closet door, and jerks his head. “Let’s go down, get somethin’ to eat, and I’ll explain what’s happenin’, alright?” You stay frozen, and he sighs. “C’mon omega, ye must be hungry. An’ ye cannae take yer meds on an empty stomach.” The reminder of your meds sends scorching shame into your cheeks, and you look past him, through him, to the bedroom door, the hallway and kitchen and world waiting beyond, all of it unfamiliar and cold.
Yours instincts are at war. Part of you wants to burrow down into this makeshift nest and never leave, part of you wants to run screaming down the hall and through the front door, and part of you, the most foul, traitorous part, wants to bury your face in Johnny’s neck and breathe him in. Breathe him into your bones.
These aren’t options, and you don’t like Johnny’s either.
So you move.
The table is set for one. A plate of food, a fork and knife, a steaming mug of tea. You say nothing as you slide into a chair, Johnny doing the same across from you with a shadow over his shoulder.
Simon.
He’s not wearing the mask now. He towers over the table with a watchful expression, sweeping you from head to toe like he’s completing an inspection. If you pass, if you fail, you can’t tell. His face gives nothing away.
Your focus drifts past the plate of eggs and toast to the orange bottles in the middle of the table.
Your meds.
Instinct has you reaching for them, standing out of your seat, relief already settling in the pit of your stomach and calming the churning apprehension that’s been building, the dread of the misery you know is coming.
Simon beats you to it, swiping them up into a giant paw. “After you eat.”
“Are ye in pain?” Johnny asks softly, and you stare at a speck on the wall over his shoulder.
“I want to know what’s going on.” You can’t acknowledge the hurt, the suffering that they caused. It’s too much. Johnny’s jaw tics, but he doesn’t push.
“Alright.” He sighs. “Ye’re in danger.” Of course you realize this already, but to hearing it out loud feels so much worse. It hits you like a brick.
“Why?” You croak.
“Because of us.” Simon’s admission is rough and pointed like a serrated blade jammed up under your ribs. “Because of who you are, to us.”
“You mean… nothing?” You look away, look down at where your hands are twisted together in your lap. “That’s what I am to you, right?” Johnny leans in, scent sharpening.
“We lied.” You knew it down to your bones, you knew fate when you smelled it, but to hear it after seven months of tossing and turning over it, after being sick over it, it makes your head swim. “An’ we’re sorry ye’re hurtin’-”
“You rejected me.” You whisper, gaze snapping up, flicking between their faces. Simon’s expression is a mask of neutrality, Johnny’s more focused. You wouldn’t say either are particularly kind, but maybe you don’t know how to read them, yet. “You humiliated me.”
“We had to. The bond will put you in danger.” Will. The omega in you purrs at the intent, and you push it down.
“Why?” Simon rubs his jaw, folds his arms across his chest.
“Who we are, what we do, it’s dangerous. And there are people out there who will use you to get to us.” Dread churns in your stomach.
“Who you are?” Johnny nods.
“We’re in a task force, a multi-national special operations unit that handles time sensitive… problems.” You blink. Everything slows down as you try to piece it together, make it make sense. “Problems governments contract us to fix.”
“So… that’s like… the military?”
“Kind of. Maybe, outside the military a bit.” Johnny looks like he’s diffusing a bomb, deciding which wire to cut, which to leave intact.
“A lot.” Simon grunts. “We’re not part of any specific country’s military.” Right, multinational.
“Oh.” The food in front of you has never looked more unappetizing, not in the face of the conclusions you’re drawing. “So… you’re dangerous.” Johnny kind of grimaces, but Simon nods.
“And you’ll be collateral damage. The people that are after you, they’ll kill you if they get their hands on you.” You can feel the blood draining from your face.
“Si.” Johnny gives him a look, but the bigger man only shrugs.
“Need to make sure there are no misunderstandings. She needs to understand how serious this is.” Misunderstandings.
“What kind of misunderstandings?” When they don’t answer right away, you crack under the weight of Simon’s heavy gaze, the only thing you want, the only thing you know, slipping free from beneath your tongue. “I want to go home. Can I go home?” You ask weakly. Something dark curls around the edges of Johnny’s irises, a wisp of black smoke and shadow that clears when he shakes his head.
“No.” One word, cut and dry, and your nose stings with the threat of tears.
“You can’t just keep me here.” You protest, trying to control your breathing, your rising emotions.
“We’re not,” Simon deadpans, “we’re movin’ today.” Johnny scoots in, scraps his chair across the floor until his knees are almost touching yours, leaning down into your line of sight.
“The things we said at the diner, they were lies. We were tryin’ to protect ye from all this.” His hand goes flat on the table, inching closer, close enough you could twitch a finger and touch him. The temptation being pushed by your instincts is so strong, it’s almost too hard to fight it. “We know this is frightenin’, but ye have to trust us for now. We’re the only one who can keep ye safe.”
“And if I refuse?” Simon moves, settles into a chair opposite Johnny, the wood and screws groaning under his massive weight. He pushes the plate of breakfast towards you.
“That’s not an option.” You open your mouth to argue, but he shakes his head. “Eat your breakfast, take your meds, get dressed. We’ve got a long drive to the airstrip.”
“An airstrip?!” You squeak, eyes wide. “Like, for planes? We’re getting in a plane? Where are we going?” Your heart rate kicks up, rattling in your ears.
“Somewhere safe.” Johnny soothes, his scent turning sweeter, calming. “Somewhere ye can stay put for a while, where ye willnae be found.”
“But when it’s all over… I can go home?” You can feel the tension in the air, the tightrope you’re walking snapping taut.
“Once we’ve eliminated who identified ye, we’ll take ye home. I swear.” A dark, foul thought threads through your mind. One that immediately makes jealousy turn white hot, an iron begging to be touched.
“What about your omega?” Simon cocks his head.
“You’re our omega.” Syrupy sweetness spreads through your veins, sweeping you up into a haze of contentment. He said it. He said you were theirs. You have to actively choose, intentionally fight to hold onto your sense. It’s wrong, he’s wrong. You’ve seen the bites.
“N-no your… your marks…”
“They’re ours.” Johnny says gently, his eyes softening. “We’re bonded to each another.” He reaches for your hand, and instead of pulling away like you know you should, you let him take it. Let him rub his calloused thumb over your palm, let the closeness of your alpha, your mate, wash over you without protest. “We didnae know about ye, we would have waited if we did.” It’s too easy to fall into the sentiment, and your instinct is to preen, purr for your alphas.
It’s all too much, too confusing, your head is pounding and your muscles are sore, stomach twisting. It’s this exhaustion, this ache that has you breaking down, your shoulders slumping.
“Okay, I... okay.” You’re not sure what it is you’re saying okay to. You don’t have a choice in this matter, Simon has made that explicitly clear, and you’re in danger. Someone wants to kill you. What can you do?
Johnny pulls the mug of tea into his hands, long fingers stretching around the circumference of the chipped porcelain, and then pushes it into yours.
“Let’s get some breakfast into ye, an’ we’ll get ready to leave. That alright?” His palm settles on your knee, warmth bleeding through your leggings, and the touch smoothes some of the jagged edges in your mind. You nod.
you sleeping on your tummy, one leg stretched out and one knee bent close to you. and your boyfriend arrives, cock hard and aching for you. he presses his bulge to your ass and rubs it against you, groaning as he does so. inhaling the scent of your shampoo. rubs your pussy through your panties before he pulls his cock out. he moves your cute undies to the side and fills you up with him :( and you begin to wake up and you’re so needy. so unbelievably needy for him
At first, you’re not sure what exactly it is you’re smelling. Leather and tobacco soaked in sea spray, mixed with cardamom and honeyed black tea.
What is that?
You sniff the air. It’s barbaric, embarrassing, but you can’t fight the instinct that has your nose lifting, nor can you stop your feet from automatically moving, following the trail.
Your skin prickles as it grows stronger, and there’s a pinch in your stomach, a light twinge that yanks you forward, propels you out of the kitchen and into the dining room, hot on the heels of whoever it is that smells like this.
An unbidden, fully uninhibited omega whine crawls up the back of your throat as the scent rises to it’s full strength and leads you down a row of red pleather booths, to where two alphas sit across from one another.
The whine is loud.
They both turn when you get close, nostrils flaring, eyes widening with surprise, suspicion, and your focus splits right down the middle, the rational, logical part of you trying to stay in control, and the animal, omega part of you trying to bare your throat. Offer yourself up.
Now that you’re here, in front of them, the scent has shifted. It’s still strong, but somehow softer. Warmer.
Safer.
It’s safe.
It’s more than safe, it’s like light. Blinding, baptizing, white light that sinks into your cells and rolls through your shoulders, unclenches your teeth and tightens your core.
It’s holy. The closest you’ll ever get.
Scent matches.
True mates.
It’s kismet. You know in your bones, in your cells, they’re yours. They’re meant to be yours.
Not one, but two.
“Omega.” The one breathes, drawing your attention, your focus. He’s tall, muscled, brown hair cut into a mohawk, bright blue eyes like Caribbean waters. So handsome it hurts, his scent is the warm, honeyed tea, the cardamom in the fall.
You forget yourself. Forget this place, this dead end job, this backwoods town. Forget the little notepad in your hand, the old almost dried out ball point pen between your fingers.
“I…” Speak. Say something, say anything. Your gaze swings to the other alpha, the one who looks too large for the booth, the room even. Where the blue eyed one is handsome, this one is severe, beautiful like a sharp cliff that sheers off into the ocean. Focused brown eyes with a crooked nose, black hoodie pulled up over his head. There’s something dark about him, something dangerous, and it’s his scent that is the burnished leather, tobacco leaf, dried salt of the sea.
Your gaze drifts, and then snags on the sight of a bite. Just barely peeking over the outline of the hood, is a clear as day bite mark. A claiming mark.
A bond.
Your stomach drops.
This alpha is bonded. You glance at the other one, blue eyes, and immediately find his in the same spot, proudly displayed. These are not new, fresh bites. They’re faded, scarred over, commitments, and it all plays out in front of you like a horror movie. Two alphas with two marks, and one omega, standing in front of them, too late.
They are not for you.
The truth is crushing. All this time, all your life, you hoped, you dreamed, and now that dream is sitting in front of you, crumbling to ash.
“I’m…” You’re… what? You’re sorry, maybe. Sorry this happened. Sorry you’re here, sorry you’re their scent match, their true mate, when they obviously already have an omega.
You don’t know. You can’t think, can’t hear over the pounding of your heart, the tight draw of your lungs. The air in the room has gone thin, overhead pendant lights gone dark. You feel sick. Your knees feel weak. Everything is falling apart.
“Two black coffees.” The order snaps like a whip from the dangerous one, the one in the hoodie. So ordinary, so routine.
It’s like a slap to your face.
Blue eyes gives him a look, one you can’t place, while brown eyes keeps his gaze locked on yours.
“Did you hear me?”
“Simon.” Blue eyes says quietly, but it must fall on deaf ears because brown eyes, Simon, cocks his head.
“Two black coffees,” you whisper back to him, the three words scratching the back of your throat. Fated mates, and these are your first words to each other. Two black coffees.
“Make a fresh pot, if it’s not already.” He instructs, and the heat of humiliation rises in your cheeks.
“Simon.” Blue eyes says a little louder this time, a little harsher, and Simon finally drags his eyes away from yours.
“It’s her job Johnny.” He doesn’t spare you another glance as he looks down at his phone. “Isn’t it, omega?”
“Y-yes.” You whisper, knuckles aching from how tight you’re clinging to your pen. “Be right back.”
You get the coffee. Everything is on autopilot, and they barely even look at you. Simon, the mean one, turns his face towards the window as he hands his menu over, and Johnny, the blue eyed one, only glances at you briefly before looking away.
Your already broken heart cracks into a million pieces, shattering inside your chest so violently you swear you can feel it.
They don’t even leave you a tip.
And you should know to leave well enough alone, because you do. Because life has kicked you in your soft spots enough, you’ve been taught lessons a plenty.
But when you see them leave, when they turn their backs on you without so much as goodbye, you can’t stop yourself from running out the back door, gravel flying under your feet, trying to catch up with them as they’re about to get into a truck.
“Wait!” You can’t help it, you have to try, and they both go rigid at the sound of your voice. “Don’t you … don’t you smell it? Smell me?” Your hope is a reckless, desperate thing, a tenacious thing that refuses to die.
No matter how many times it’s been killed.
When they don’t respond, when they meet you head on with grey rocked expressions, you know you should stop.
But you can’t.
“I’m your scent match.” You try to explain. Maybe saying it out loud will make it make sense. “I’m your mate.” Something flickers in Simon’s eyes, something you can’t make sense of, and it’s gone as soon as it comes, replaced by ice. Winter coats his next words.
“You’re nothing to us.”
You’re nothing to us.
Your blood runs cold. The world spins around you.
“Oh.” Johnny moves, takes a small step forward. It’s barely there, more of a lurch than anything, and your eyes start to burn with tears as he looks at you, impossibly blank.
“Go back inside, omega.” You want to cry, you want to scream, you want to beg them to see it, see you.
“I don’t understand.” You whisper, more to yourself than anyone else. You’re lost now. Drowning. Rejected.
Scent spikes. Salted leather and honeyed cardamom, they mix together, the once intoxicating, drug like heady cocktail now turning acidic, sour on your tongue. The scent that felt safe, now poison.
“There’s nothing to understand.” Simon says, sounding bored. Like he’s lecturing a child. “You’re confused, happens all the time.” What?
“It does?” Does it? You’ve never heard this, but then again, you’re not really on the cutting edge of… anything, really. You don't pay attention to the news, or science, or pop culture. You're too busy trying to keep your head above water.
“Sure.” His mouth twists into a cruel smile. “You’re not the first desperate omega who’s tried to attach herself to us.”
It would have hurt less if he had struck you.
Johnny sucks in a breath. It’s barely there, but you catch it, and your biology refuses to let go. Your hindbrain digs in its heels.
He’s wrong. He has to be. Maybe he just doesn’t know it.
“No," you protest. “No, I know what I smelled.”
“No ye didn’t.” Johnny says, shaking his head. He's pitying you, you realize in horror. “Ye’re just confused.” Your world is being torn in two. Violent sheared away at the seams, your instinct wails, screams in the back of your mind, your grip on reality slowly pulling away. This isn't how it's supposed to be.
“I’m n-not. Please.” You whimper, but you don’t know what you’re asking for at this point. All you know is it comes out reedy and broken. Simon’s jaw flexes, Johnny looks over your shoulder, a blank, glazed look in his eyes. Shut down.
Your knees hit the gravel. Rocks scrape at your skin, tear at your tights, dig and draw blood. It should hurt, but it doesn’t. You can’t feel anything except for this hole in your chest. This hole where your mates are supposed to be, where bonds are supposed to be.
“Pathetic.” Salt in the wound. Simon practically spits it at you, and your vision glosses over, tears now spilling down your cheeks. “Get up.” It’s not a request, it’s an alpha bark, something you’re biologically subservient to, something your body forces you to obey. You push yourself up, heels of your palms in the gravel, little rocks falling from where they’ve embedded themselves in your knees.
Johnny reaches into his jacket pocket. You wonder, for a split second, if he’s going to pull out a card, or a piece of paper, something, anything, that could connect you to them. A tether.
What’s left of your pride, the very small scrap, withers and dies when he produces two folded up bills, and bile rises in the back of your throat when he chucks them at your feet.
"Almost forgot. Yer tip." It cuts so casually, like it means nothing, like you're nothing more than trash. A problem he has to throw a few bills at. Worthless.
“Don’t follow us, don’t try to find us, we’re nothing to you.” Simon warns over his shoulder, already walking away.
“An’ ye’re nothin’ to us.” Johnny echoes as you stand frozen in place, watching your alphas climb into the truck, watching as your mates prepare to drive away. The engine roars to life, the headlights sweep across the parking lot as they pull out, leaving you behind. Leaving without another word, leaving destruction in their wake. Not even looking back.
The alpha at the counter doesn’t really speak to you.
It’s not abnormal. You get plenty of folks, all ranges of them in here. It’s a pass through town. People pulling off the interstate to get gas and a bite to eat, a revolving door of stranger’s faces.
So, he doesn’t really say much, but it doesn’t really bother you. He orders coffee with milk and a standard breakfast, eggs scrambled, toast, sausage, the usual. And then after that, he’s quiet. Either lost in his thoughts or he doesn’t care to share them, and you don’t care either way.
You’re here regardless. In this diner, waiting tables, gritting your teeth, faking smiles, just like you have been for the last six months.
Since them.
They haunt you like a phantom. A cold you can’t shake. Their proximity triggered your basal instincts, your buried need, and put you into heat. A miserable, painful one that you spent alone. One you almost died from, and once the smoke cleared, you were left with the sickness, the very kind you didn’t even believe existed.
Bond corrosion.
Poisoned.
Since then, it’s been non stop suppressants, scent blockers and whatever you can get your hands on for pain relief. Every day, for six months. Cleaning out your checking account, your savings account, everything just to buy medication.
The over load of pills can’t be good for your health, but neither is the alternative.
But does it matter?
You’re nothing, after all.
The man clears his throat. You realize you’ve zoned out and he’s watching you, waiting.
“Can I get a refill?” He motions to his empty mug. There’s something wrong with his face, something off. A serrated blade of foreboding, something sinister in his eyes.
A shiver runs down your spine.
“Of course, sorry.” You lean over with the pot, careful to pour slowly, and at the same time, he drifts forward, close enough you register his breathing.
His sniff.
He’s smelling you.
You pull back, startled. Alphas don’t smell you, not anymore. Not with the blockers.
“Thought you’d smell different.” He drawls, eyes sweeping your body, hips to face. “Sweet, or somethin’.”
“I’m sorry?” What the fuck? He just shakes his head.
“Never mind,” he lifts his mug in a salute. “Thanks for the top off.”
“Uh, sure.” You try to calm the uneasy feeling that’s now swirling in the pit of your stomach, the off kilter axis you’ve been thrown into. You chance another look at him, but he’s gone back to ignoring you, reading something on his phone, and you take the opportunity to slip away, mentioning to your coworker that you’re going on break, before stepping out into the back parking lot and cool crisp air.
Gravel crunches under your feet.
Don’t think about it.
Your mates’ rejection has become a living, breathing thing inside of you. A tumor taken up residence in your brain, something that white and grey matter grows around, accommodates, changes shape for like it’s a part of you now. Permanently altered down to your DNA. Every morning feels like it only happened the day before, even though it’s been almost seven months, but your designation, your biology, the crux of who you are, makes it impossible to move on. Time ticks forward, but you stay stuck, frozen in place with empty bonds that grow heavier and sicker inside your soul, poisoning you from the inside out. Trapped in a moment where your scent matches throw battered bills at your feet and turn their backs on you. Leave you.
Pathetic.
Desperate.
You didn’t think it was possible, biologically, for mates to leave one another, to want to be separated. Rejections are so rare, they’re like ghost stories told in the night to scare little children.
But here you are, alone with rot in your soul where two bonds should be.
Dogs bark in the distance. Somewhere past the parking lot, the trees, a trio of howls start up, loud enough that it startles you. They don’t stop, not after a few seconds, or a minute. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, that unsettling feeling turning to wariness, discomfort.
It’s enough to force you back inside, locking door and double checking it.
When you make back into the dining room, intending to check on your sole customer, you discover he’s gone. Mug emptied, cash left next to the napkin, empty sugar packets wedged under the saucer.
His absence lightens a load, loosens your shoulders, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
He’s gone, and that’s one good thing at least.
You keep checking your rear view mirror on your drive home. The sky is starting to purple, bloom like a bruise, and while there are no other calls on the road, you can’t shake your discomfort, the unease that’s crawling up your spine. Something was off with that alpha. Something was wrong. You can’t shake it.
And why does it feel like he was there for you?
The light in the hallway is out, naturally.
It never gets changed. Just another shitty part of this shithole building that houses your even shittier apartment. The one with uneven floors and drafty windows and water stains all over the ceiling, ones that gradually grow larger and larger, leaving you to wonder when it’s all going to come crashing down on your head.
Some place to call home, even though that’s what it is. Your home, the only place you have, in this backwoods town that caught you in its snare.
You rub your chest with your knuckles as you fiddle with the lock, jimmying the key just right, getting it to the point where it finally pops and lets you turn the handle.
The door swings open, to a dark apartment.
You frown.
You always keep the hallway light on. Always. You hate coming home to pitch black apartment, hate the way it makes you feel, like nothing is waiting for you, no one. You’ve thought about getting a dog or a cat, more than once. Just so there’s someone to welcome you home, snuggle with you at night.
For a brief second, a split moment in time, your brain breaks. It goes blank.
And then-
You smell it.
Cardamom.
Tobacco.
Sea salted leather.
Honey black tea.
It’s muffled. Covered by what you suspect is blockers, but for you, for their mate, it’s clear as day.
Your hand flies to the wall, slapping against plaster, looking for the light switch in a panic as your heart pounds in your ears, but as your fingers graze it, something moves in the dark. A mountain cuts through shadow, faster than you can even blink, and then your mouth is covered.
“Don’t scream.” The rough voice says in your ear. A voice you recognize. A voice who called you desperate and pathetic, a voice belonging to the man, the alpha, that left you behind in a gravel parking lot.
Your body knows him immediately. Instinctively. You hate yourself for it. Your omega hindbrain lights up like a jackpot has been won, trying to drag you under, soften you, turn you into some starved, pathetic thing, reduce you to nothing but everything they think you are.
Alpha.
Mate.
Safe.
No.
You bite. Hard. Jerk back and then unhinge your jaw, bringing your top teeth down onto what you’re assuming is his gloved palm, as hard as you can.
He doesn’t even flinch.
So then you scream. You let your lungs loose behind his hand, thrashing in his hold at the same time, causing enough of a disturbance that he loses his grip for a nanosecond, enough time for you to pull far enough away, far enough to reach the light switch and flick it on.
He lets you go.
The living room light floods your surroundings, illuminating him in all his cruel glory.
Dressed in black from head to toe. Combat boots. Black hoodie pulled up over his head.
Skull mask covering his face. Skeleton gloves on his hands.
It’s terrifying. He’s terrifying. He looks like the grim reaper.
He’s larger than life in your apartment, towering inside it like a monster in a doll house, dark eyes focused on you with such brutal intensity you have to look away.
“What… what are you doing in my apartment?” The words are rusted metal scraping up your throat and out of your mouth. Metal and bitter and painful. His jaw flexes under the mask.
“You need to come with us.” Us?
Johnny appears over his shoulder in the hallway at the exact right time, a zipped up black duffel in his hands.
He looks the same. Brilliant blue eyes, impossibly handsome face. Only the mohawk is different, longer.
He offers you a small smile. It shocks you. Getting hit by a truck would be less surprising.
“You can’t… You can’t be here. What are you doing here?”
“We’re here to take ye.” Johnny says, taking a slow, careful step towards you, palms flat and non threatening at his side, duffel still slung over his shoulder.
“Take me?”
“Aye. Take ye somewhere safe.” It’s at that moment you realize there’s something strapped to Johnny’s thigh.
“Is that a gun?” You squeak, the already loud pounding of your heart now vibrating in your ears, your blood turning to ice as fear churns in your belly. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen a gun in your life. At least, not up close. “Wh-why do you have a gun?” Johnny’s smile disappears, his face turning severe. Serious. His eyes flick to the window, then to Simon with a nod, a silent conversation unfolding in the room, one you’re not a part of.
You should run. Flee. Try to make it around the blockade that is Simon’s body and make a break for the door. But you can’t, you’re stranded, a ship run aground, lost in the fog. Your body is already shutting down, at war with your instincts and your brain, an impossible fight unfolding inside your tissues, a battle all the way down to the molecular level.
“Get yer shoes.” Johnny motions to the pair of sneakers next to the door, the best pair of shoes you have, better than your worn out work non-slips. You shake your head.
“No, what? My shoes? I don’t… I don’t know what you’re d-doing here, or what’s going on, but-”
“What’s going on is you’re comin’ with us.” Simon nods to the duffel Johnny is still holding. “Got everything?” It’s your duffel, you realize with dawning horror, the one that lives in the back of your closet, unused and mostly forgotten.
Now, it’s stuffed full.
“Why do you have that?” Why, why, why. All these questions in a room full of deaf ears.
“We had to pack your stuff. Now get your shoes.”
“Pack my stuff?” You ask weakly, because it’s all you can do. You’re a parrot, repeating everything, trying to make sense of it.
“I got everything I think ye’ll need.” Johnny says gently, face soft. “Some clothes an’ yer toothbrush. Yer meds.” Your face heats with shame. Your meds. The suppressants, the blockers, the pain killers, all on display on your nightstand. You imagine them, in your room, in your space, going through your things, cataloging them, studying them. Seeing them. Seeing your pain, your destroyed nest, the one you built meticulously and then tore apart after they came and went. “Anythin’ else ye need we’ll-” he stops dead, face turning towards the living room window.
Simon kills the lights. You open your mouth to ask, again, what is going on, but words die on your lips when a small red dot appears in the room, it’s trajectory lined up right next to your head.
The rest of it happens very fast. Too fast.
There’s a crack, like a whip, and then the window explodes, spraying glass everywhere. You’re suddenly in someone’s arms, Simon’s, his body curved over yours, a shield that takes you down to the floor and keeps you there with an impossible weight.
There’s more cracking, popping, Johnny and that gun, firing into the shattered glass, your frightened screams covered by the gloved hand on your mouth, and then you’re being pulled onto your feet.
“Move.” Simon barks in your ear, and your body automatically responds, a puppet played by a master. He’s half dragging, half pushing you through your apartment’s front door and then down the hall, thundering towards the emergency exit. Everything is happening so fast, too fast, and you can’t process it, can’t even begin to put the pieces all together as the door opens and the three of you spill out into the night.
What is happening?
The alley behind your building is pitch black, and you stumble, tripping as Simon pulls you in tighter to his side, an impenetrable force, pinning your body against his.
Another crack splinters the air and you scream as Johnny swears, his gun coming up from his side.
“Keep your head down.” Simon orders, and you close your eyes, following along numbly as he leads you past your building and around the corner.
This can’t be happening.
Whatever this is, it can’t be real.
Johnny appears on your left. You get a whiff of him, honey black tea steeped in raw fury, the violent edge of it tainting that honey sweetness you smelled before, and he’s so close, close enough you can feel his heat through your shirt.
“Almost there,” he murmurs low, and you hate, loathe, how it sinks into your bones. How it tries to warm you.
There’s a black SUV parked at the end of the alley, engine running, lights off, waiting. Waiting for them, you realize numbly as you’re propelled forward, waiting for you.
You try to dig your heels in.
“I’m not going-” Simon yanks open the back passenger door, grabs you by your arm.
“You are.” There’s no room for an argument, no room for even a single word. Before you know it, you’re being tossed into the back seat, door slammed at your back before Johnny is climbing in up front and Simon is sliding behind the wheel.
The engine turns over.
The locks click.
And then you watch as your apartment building fades into the distance, your life and everything you ever knew slowly disappearing from view.
him walking into the kitchen one morning in only his underwear, cock hard and heavy enough it bounces against his thigh when he walks. he doesnt acknowledge it; he pours himself a cup of coffee and gives you a nod.
"you're staring at me," he says.
neither one of you have acknowledged the tension between you. the way he watches your lips and the way you undo your bikini tops when you sunbathe by the pool.
"I'm just really hungry all of a sudden," you say. "Your son fed me before he left, but he just... didnt fill me up."
the next day, you get your coffee in just your panties and your favorite bra. he's back again, just as hard as he scooches behind you to grab the pot from the percolator. his cock is press against your ass and you can feel how thick he really is.
"did you get your fill this morning?" he asks from over your shoulder.
"no," you press back slightly. "I'm ravenous."
"You think he'd be more like his father. I always make sure my woman are stuffed."
You two get into a habit of hugging when you say good morning. He wraps his arms around you and keeps you tight so you can feel him against your stomach. Sometimes he lifts you on to the counter to "hug you better". like that his cock is pressed right up against your cunt, angled perfectly as if he's about to enter you.
"Best hug we've ever had," he whispers with a roll of the hips.
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stormborns
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snowghoul
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