FINAL Part of the Wife at First Sight series (18+ MDNI)
Happy New Years Eve!!! I cannot believe we’ve made it to the end! Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think my random lil drabble would be so loved and would eventually grow into this
Thank you for all the love and support and especially for your patience in between uploads! Hope this last part doesn’t disappoint!!
Between the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the defeaning sound of blood pumping in your ears combined with the whimpers escaping your open mouth, you fail to hear just how lighthearted Simon’s chuckle is from between your thighs
He can’t get enough of you like this, his girl, his sweetheart, his love, his wife, all desperate and needy for him, and yet he’s barely touched you
At least not properly anyway
Much to your current dismay
Finding the rec room empty at this late night hour, the two of you huddled up on what you so kindly reminded him was a shared couch, he’s taking the opportunity alone to tease the absolute shit out of you
What had started as an arm slung casually over your shoulder, turned into his other hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on your knee, which led to his large, warm palm slowly stroking up and down your thigh, reaching higher and higher each time until he was slipping his fingers beneath the skirt of your dress, digits barely skimming the edge of your underwear beneath
His eyes are fixated on your face the entire time, drinking in each and every expression you make for him, wishing he could forever remember the way you look as you try not to give in entirely to the pleasure he’s bringing you
It was a losing battle to begin with, but when Simon’s fingers cease rubbing against the increasingly damp spot in your panties, and instead pull the sticky fabric aside just as your man slides off the couch and lands on his knees in between your thighs, you give up the fight for decency entirely
He absolutely revels in the gasp that leaves your lips as his broad shoulders push against your thighs, demanding their rightful place between your legs, his eyes still locked on yours as his face moves closer and closer to your hot center
“Simon,” You don’t mean for your words to sound so much like a plea as they pass your lips, but Simon and his skilled hands have you brain all foggy. “We don- we don’t have ti- time. They’re suppo- supposed to be coming so-”
Your words are lost and forgotten as he tugs his balaclava up just high enough to plant a chaste kiss to your soaked folds. Your fingers quickly tug the mask the rest of the way off his head, feeling the smirk on his face when you snake your fingers through his messy locks.
“You’re the only one I want comin’ right now, love.” He murmurs against your inner thigh, planting small kisses against the sensitive skin, chuckling softly when he feels your fingers gently tugging him back towards where you want him most
He widens his tongue to run through your dripping folds, tasting your lust for him straight from the source. You can’t help the moan that leaves you any more than you can control the way your legs instinctually widen further for him, your body relaxing deeper into the couch cushions as Simon sets to work on you, his own groan of satisfaction vibrating through you
“Si, oh my god, Simon.” His name is the only thing your brain can comprehend as his mouth skillfully brings you closer and closer to that tantalizing edge, that falling off a cliff feeling where you know Simon is waiting at the bottom to catch you, if only to bring you right back to the peak again
His lips are wrapped around your sensitive, throbbing nub, causing you to nearly see stars behind your eyelids as one of his hands lets go of their strong grip on your thigh, bringing it instead to gently circle a large finger at your sopping entrance before he sinks it in entirely, evoking yet another beautiful moan from above him
His attention on you is wholly undivided, his dedication to your pleasure unmatched as he works you up higher, especially after all that teasing he put you through earlier, you both know your climax is rapidly approaching, and his impressive stamina means he is nowhere near stopping his efforts
You can feel him teasing a second finger at your hole, but it’s just as he slips it in with the first one, combined with a skilled sucking at your clit from his mouth, that you quickly stumble over that edge, temporarily blinded by the feeling of ecstasy he gives you, his ministrations never slowing as he prolongs your climax
It’s not until the ringing in your ears begins to fade and you come back down to earth, that you slowly push his head away from you, hearing another kind of ringing echoing through the room
“Si, your phone.” You murmur between panting breaths, still absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair, feeling the slight sweat breaking out along his scalp
“What if I wan’ another one out o’ you, huh?” He asks, planting a kiss to your knee, though his hand is already reaching towards his back pocket.
“What if I want to marry you, huh?” You quip back, knowing who’s likely on the phone, raising a playful brow in his direction paired with a teasing smile which he gladly returns.
“Yes?” Simon asks, putting the phone to his ear put keeping his eyes on you as you attempt to put yourself back together, straightening out your skirt and fixing your hair, hoping it wasn’t too obvious you just got devoured by a Lieutenant on the common room couch
“Well if you two lovebirds dinnae mind, some o’ us would like to get this show started!” You can hear the strong accented voice say through the line, giggling softly as Simon rolls his eyes at the Sergeant.
“Captain’s arrived?” He questions as he finally stands up, extending a hand to you to help you up as well. “Alrigh’ Johnny, we’ll meet you at the spot.” Barely waiting for a reply, Simon is sliding the phone back in his pocket and giving his attention back to you, promises of finishing this later and reciting vows between your thighs dying on his tongue when he sees the sparkle in your eye at hearing him mention the spot.
Before he had ever officially proposed, he knew where he wanted it to happen, and when you had mentioned you weren’t too particular about location, he’d suggested his idea, elated when he saw your grin and knew you agreed
He wanted to marry you, to make you his wife and to become your husband, in the very spot you first met
That very same hallway on base where you’d nearly run into him and unknowingly started a fire in his heart that has yet to go out, the flame growing bigger and brighter each day
That very same spot, which to anyone else appears to be like any other hallway on the base, but to Simon it represents so much more
It’s the spot where his eyes landed on you for the first time and he knew his life would never be the same, where he watched you smile at him and came to terms with the fact that he would never know peace again until he knew your name
And now, he holds your hand in his, walking together towards that same spot, now with the intention of changing your last name
There wasn’t much either of you needed as far as a wedding goes, you weren’t keen on having anything extravagant or grand, as long as it ended in you both being married, you’d be overjoyed to simply go to the courthouse
Each of you had only one request, you wanted to wear a simple white dress, which Simon had happily bought for you without allowing you to see the price tag, and Simon wanted the Captain to officiate the ceremony
While Price had been more than pleased to be asked something so special, he hadn’t been quite as keen on receiving a call on his personal cell from his Lieutenant during his holidays, asking (if not downright pleading with him-) if he could return sooner rather than later to marry them, only half joking that they really would just run away to a courthouse if he wasn’t back by the end of the year
Which is where you find yourselves now, on a practically empty military base during the end of the holiday season, most everyone gone to celebrate with their families and loved ones, meanwhile your handful of loved ones have gathered here, the very closest location and soonest time the Captain could return to make this all official, with only a few minutes until midnight on none other than New Years Eve
As you turn the corner together, a faint blush spreads through your cheeks at Johnny’s low whistle and Kyle’s cheering. Even John’s sporting an enthusiastic grin on his visage, arms crossed across his chest as they watch the couple approach
It feels nearly too good to be true, nothing short of a dream come true, as you turn to face Simon, your soft, smaller hands held steadily in his larger, calloused ones, eyes locked on the other as they speak all the love you hold for each other than no word in any language could ever properly express
Having seen their stoic Lieutenant fall head over heels for you from the very get go, the lads feel downright honoured to be here, witnessing the start of your new lives together, the moment where Simon officially makes you his wife after all
No one present can deny that it is truly something out of a fairytale, when both vows are said, love is expressed and devotion is promised, Price is able to officially declare you married as husband and wife, and when your lips come crashing together in your first kiss as a married couple, it happens to be right when the clock strikes midnight, and fireworks erupt in a blaze of glory and passion outside
Because in the end, as complicated as the journey (or downright painfully obvious some might say but ya know-) to get to this point in your relationship might have been, the love between you both could not be simpler
He had loved you from the very moment you walked into his life, from the moment your eyes glanced up and instantly met his, from the moment you opened your mouth and he heard the voice he knew he would do anything to continue hearing for the remainder of his days
While you yourself had been immediately enamoured with the tall man who first introduced himself as your husband, believing his advances to be a playful joke everyone but you was in on, you couldn’t help the way your heart fell for him faster than you could wrap your head around, showered in his unapologetic affections and undivided attention from the very start
But as soon as Simon took that leap of faith, opening himself up and being truthfully vulnerable with you, he couldn’t understand what he’d been waiting all this time for
Not when he now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that was the luckiest man on this earth, to be able to love you and somehow, you loved him too
Not when he was able to knock down that final barrier, to literally rip the mask off and just be him, a feeling he still could hardly explain
How does he put into words the fact that he feels more human, more whole, more him, just from being near you?
He’s never had this before, never experienced something this profound and earth shattering, both terrifying and exhilarating. Does everyone feel this way? Is everyone who claims to be in love also going through the motions of having their heart willingly ripped out of their chest and put into the hands of another, just to have it gently put back in better than it was before?
No, he doesn’t believe everyone feels this
This love, is only between the two of you, for the two of you
He knows there can’t be anyone else out there who has it this good
Especially when considering, Simon is the only one who gets to call you his wife
And just like that folks, Wife at First Sight is wrapped up!!!
I really hope it doesn’t disappoint anyone, and leaves everyone feeling as happy as all your kind comments on this story have made me!
I seriously never anticipated for this story to become a series, let alone for it to have received as much love as it has, so again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for all the love, the comments, the patience, everything!
I would absolutely be down to write more about these two, especially if you have any prompts or ideas to suggest, but we’re going to call this the end of the official series, anything else that might come will be nice little add ons
PART I: NOODLE SOUP
↬ sevika x pregnant!reader | 5.4k words
SUMMARY:
Sevika rescues a pregnant stray from the streets of the Undercity as her good deed for the decade, but plans go awry when she starts to enjoy the companionship, and her entire lone-wolf worldview comes crashing down.
The kicker? Her stray is very much human, and the circumstances of your condition create a whole new set of challenges—challenges best solved with good, old-fashioned murder.
TAGS: 18+! pregnancy fic, mentions of past rape, protective!sevika (she's still a bitch though i love her)
NOTES: i have no idea if people will even like this but i had fun writing it so theres that. never been interested in pregnancy fics, but i just needed protective sevika in my life idk. btw the actual rape is only briefly mentioned in passing. no descriptions whatsoever
-> READ ON AO3 | ARCANE MASTERLIST
Sevika is having a shit day.
Well. Shittier than usual.
The sole of her boot broke off this morning, Silco's contact never showed up at the docks, and her favorite food place was closed by the time she passed through the Lanes. And to make matters worse, it started raining. Not only is she tired and hungry, but now she's soaked through to the bone.
So when she cuts through an alley to shave off a few minutes of travel on the way home, she really isn't in the mood for the voice that calls out to her. Beggars are a cog a-fucking-dozen in the Lanes, and she ignores them on instinct. There are worse things in the shadows that know her name, after all.
But for some reason, she decides to take the bait tonight. Turns back to look at the ground then stills at the sight of you, bathed in the neon lights of the city’s beating heart. There's no hiding the roundness of your stomach beneath your shirt, or the gauntness of your cheeks. Clothes dirty, hair unwashed, as if you were thrown out on the street like an unwanted stray.
The state of you makes her sick to her stomach. Angry at the world. For a brief moment, she remembers what—who—she fights for: the little people like you that often fade into the background. The chaos of the chem-barons and the Enforcers sniffing around tend to take center stage.
“I'm sorry for bothering you, but do you have any food?” Your voice comes out weak and raspy, desperation splitting each syllable at the seams. “I don't want money, I just—I'm starving and nobody will help me.”
Sevika nods toward the swell of your belly, so round it looks painful. “Where's the dad?”
You inhale a shaky breath, face twisting up in a pained grimace before hardening back to neutral stone. “I don't know. Don't even know who he is, actually, but I—I didn't ask for this. I swear, I'm responsible. I would never—fuck, it doesn't even matter. I'm sorry.”
She wonders how many times you've plead your case to passersby in an attempt to convince them to save you. How many actually believed your story.
But there’s no faking that grieving look in your eye, and the implication of how you ended up here changes things.
There are very few situations in this world that affect Sevika, but injustice pains her most. She’s seen the worst of this city a million times over, has contributed to the chaos in ways she isn't proud of, but she still holds a place in her heart for the people who got the shit end of the stick. People like you, and the kids starving in the streets, and everybody else cursed enough to be born in the hell she calls home.
“Get up,” she says, a bit more gruff than she means to, and your eyes widen in fear. You curl in on yourself as tightly as you can, arms folded over your belly. “You want food or not?”
As soon as the words leave her mouth, she regrets it. A disaster waiting to happen, appeasing a walking liability. There’s a reason why she doesn't bother with attachments or relationships outside of work and gambling.
But then you struggle to your feet, fighting gravity as you clutch at the brick wall for leverage, and she holds out a hand to steady you.
Her first mistake.
You grasp her fingers and gaze at her with eyes that gleam, like an outstretched hand is your first ever taste of tenderness.
(It probably is. Nothing surprises her anymore.)
As she leads you through the crowded streets, you turn into a skittish thing, eyes darting over the crowd, clinging a bit too hard to her wrist. When you step on the back of her boot, it only takes one venomous glare for you to keep your distance until you reach your destination: a hole-in-the-wall noodle shop. Big portions for cheap, in exchange for shit service and mediocre food. The only place open besides bars this late, and she wouldn't dare drag you into one of those.
She corrals you over to an empty table and pulls out the seat against the back wall for you to take. You glance around a moment, flinching at the slam of the front door, before easing yourself down into the chair, a hand protective over your stomach.
She wonders why. Why you’d care so much about something borne from an awful situation. It doesn’t make any sense.
The waitress strolls up to the table with two paper menus, eyes landing on her with a sultry smile. “Well, well, well. Sevika. Haven’t seen you around in a while.” The waitress—Zaya, maybe? her face seems familiar—looks you up and down with a curl of her upper lip. “Seems you caught yourself a stray.”
You bow your head at the comment, soothing over the mess of your hair in an attempt to make yourself more presentable. Sevika shouldn’t care as much as she does, but you’re just… pitiful. Pathetic, if she wants a more apt, less kind term to use.
“Something like that.” Beneath the table, her metal hand tightens into a fist, irritation burning hot inside her chest. Not in the mood for bullshitting. “I want my usual.” She glances over at you. “Double order.”
The waitress stands around for a long moment in an effort to strike up conversation, but Sevika pays her no mind, fully interested in the scratch marks on the table. Eventually, she leaves with a frustrated huff.
A long silence passes between the two of you. She isn't about to engage in small talk, and you look ready to burst into tears. Fine by her. Conversation was never her strong suit anyway.
You look up at her, then away, then back, a focused furrow to your brow. She opens her mouth to snap at you—*say what you want to say—*but you speak first.
“I know you. Well, of you,” you say, voice so quiet she almost can’t hear you over the white noise of the restaurant. “You’re popular.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
You heave a tired sigh, palm drawing rhythmic circles over your belly. “I don’t have any way to repay you.”
“No shit. That's the whole point.”
“I’ve heard this place is expensive.”
Sevika snorts. “This is the cheapest food in the Lanes.” Her eyes dart down to your stomach, visible just over the lip of the table. “One bowl can feed two people.”
You fall silent, avoiding her gaze to instead stare a hole through the wall near her head. “Thank you.”
A different waitress drops off the food (good fucking riddance, Zara), and you immediately tuck into your bowl, inhaling the noodles like you haven't eaten in weeks, dripping sauce all over your area of the table.
After you almost choke on a too-large bite, Sevika rips the bowl away from you with a growl of irritation. “Slow down. You're making a mess.”
You blink at her in surprise, eyes wide and misty, and grab a nearby napkin to clean your face then mop up your splattering of sauce. “Sorry. I’m just hungry.”
“You still have manners, don't you?” Despite the bite of her words, she takes pains to slide the bowl slowly across the table.
Sevika doesn’t know how to be soft. Never really had the patience, the capacity for it. She doesn't surround herself with people like you who require a tender hand. The kind of people who fear their own shadow.
She should get up, pay the tab, and leave. She did her good deed for the decade. She doesn't owe you anything.
But she can't will her legs to move. Thinks, instead, of you waddling back to that alleyway, of the pouring rain, of someone a lot more cruel than her stumbling upon your defenseless form in the middle of the night.
This is exactly what her old man used to warn her about: the inconvenience of companionship. One big distraction designed to veer her away from the end goal.
And yet—
you sit back in your chair with a content smile, shoulders relaxing from their spot beside your ears, and you look at her like she hangs the stars in your sky
—she doesn't move.
“Feel better?” she asks, elbow balanced atop the table as she adjusts her weight in her seat. She doesn't fidget, but the reverent look you aim her way gets her the closest she's ever been in her life.
Nothing good ever follows me. Get out while you still can.
You nod. “Yeah, but I think I ate too much.”
She glances down at your bowl. You licked it clean.
A wave of pride swells within her at the sight of you: eyelids already drooping, hands curling your jacket tighter around your shoulders. If you could, you'd no doubt be purring.
Cute.
Her face twists into a scowl, silently shooing away the thought as she rises to her feet, and you stumble in an effort to follow her.
“Are you—” you pause, hands clasping tight over your chest. “Do you know anywhere I can stay? At least to get out of the rain tonight?”
Sevika’s eyes narrow, gaze inspecting the features of your face for any hint of… she doesn't know, really. Manipulation, dishonesty maybe. But all that stares back at her is a woman with one big baby-sized responsibility and no means to care for it. You're scared shitless. There's no faking that.
Damn. Looks like she's got herself a stray for the night.
“Come on,” she grumbles, curling a hand around your upper arm.
She pays at the counter, your presence hovering just behind her elbow, and ignores the goodbyes from staff as she leads you out the front door.
“Where are we going?” you ask, a bit breathless from the speed of your walk in an attempt to catch up to her.
Fuck, she just wants to go home.
“My place. Just for tonight.”
You nod your head, reaching again for the comfort of her wrist, and she lets you. Too exhausted to argue.
The walk to her apartment takes longer than usual, your stride stilted from the bulk of your belly, fatigue weakening your legs.
Sevika's never really thought much about where she lives in regards to safety, but the shadows swallow the darkness tonight with you in tow. The locals know not to fuck with her, but they don't know you, and they leer in a way that makes her hackles raise.
She tugs you closer when a burly man steps off the stoop of his house, calling out to her.
“Whatcha got there, big girl?”
“Your head in a box if you don't fuck off.” A matter-of-fact statement. A promise.
He laughs, high-pitched and nervous, arms raised in placation. “Alright, alright, I hear ya. Not in the mood for jokes.”
She stops in her tracks and squares her shoulders, ignoring your quiet oof as you collide with her back. Because no, she's really not in the mood for jokes.
The man fidgets in place a moment as if weighing his options, before he backs away to the front door of his home. “Alright. I'll be seeing you.”
When the front door closes, she releases her hold on your arm and begins walking again.
“Who was that?” you whisper, fingers trembling as they reattach to her wrist.
“Nobody. Let’s go.”
A few minutes later, you're first inside her apartment, shivering from the chill of the rain. You look around the barebones living room—a broken-down couch, a scuffed chair in the corner, various tools scattered over the coffee table. Very little in regards to decoration.
Sevika doesn't like coming home. The emptiness tends to swallow her whole. Nothing waiting for her but an empty bed and the sprawl of silence.
“You need a shower,” she says, discarding her cloak over the back of the couch.
“I don't have any clothes.”
“I know.”
She just wants to sleep. Would rather not be dealing with this when a busy day looms ahead, but she couldn't just leave you there. A decision that goes against every cell in her body, every lesson she learned in her youth, but she couldn’t.
She just couldn’t.
She fetches you a worn shirt and a pair of boxer briefs then shows you to the bathroom, and you whisper your thanks as she tosses a spare towel on the sink.
You stay in there a while, and she passes the time by tinkering with her prosthetic.
Finally, the door swings open and you walk out, dirty clothes bundled under your arm.
“I finally feel like a person again.” You tug down the hem of her your shirt, fabric stretched over your belly. “Thank you.”
She grunts in response, and you take a seat across from her at the kitchen table, head tilting as you watch her work. You don't say anything. Just follow the movement of her hands.
The next time she looks up, your cheek rests on your folded arms atop the table, eyes closed, shoulders rising with each breath you inhale.
Asleep. Poor, helpless thing.
She considers leaving you there, doesn't want to bother with setting you up on the couch, but her legs are already moving before she makes a decision either way.
Carrying you is difficult given the bulk of your stomach. She holds you like a thing made to be broken, soft and careful, the cold metal of her prosthetic cradling your neck, her other arm beneath the bend of your knees. Walks slow to keep from waking you, enraptured by the rapid-fire expressions that flicker over your face. Anger, pain, sadness, anger, fear, fear, fear—
Must be a horrible dream.
She lays you down on the couch then covers you with a threadbare blanket found in the back of her closet. Takes a seat on the coffee table and thinks about what the fuck she’s going to do with you.
You can’t stay here, but she can’t let you live on the street either. So there’s the issue of finding someone to house you, but she can count the people she trusts on one hand (with five fingers left over). The shelters are already full-up, and under zero circumstances will she go to Silco for help.
She finds herself in a mess of her own fucking creation.
You roll onto your side with a dreamy groan, hand ghosting over your belly in your sleep. She wonders if you even want the kid. If you spend your days grieving a life you’ll never get to have because there's no other option.
Sevika doesn’t remember much of her own mom. Died when she was young giving birth to a little brother that failed to survive through the night—a waste in her eyes. That was her first brush with grief, the foundation of beliefs that her old man raised her with: the harsh life of the Undercity holds no room for love, or compassion, or attachment.
If the Enforcers had called for a doctor like they were supposed to, her mom might still be alive. But she doesn’t like to dwell on the past, on what-ifs. No damn point in it.
She pulls out a cigarette in hopes that the smoke will drown out the memories. Looks over at your sleeping form. Looks down at the cigarette. Heaves a frustrated sigh then puts it back in its metal case.
You're an inconvenient little thing. A stray with too many stipulations. No more than a headache.
(If she adjusts the blanket to cover up your cold, bare feet on her way out the front door, nobody has to know.)
The next morning, you’re half-asleep on the couch when she approaches you, arms stretched overhead, mouth opened wide in a yawn.
“Listen up.” She takes a seat on the coffee table, resting both elbows on her knees. “I’ll be gone for a few days, so if you’re staying here, we need to go over some ground rules.”
You snap to attention, face bright as the sun, scrambling to sit up. “Staying here? Really?”
“If you follow the rules.”
“Yeah! Yes, I—“ your brows tilt upwards, tone turning desperate, “whatever you want, I’ll do it. I swear.”
A part of her—the space reserved for optimism collecting cobwebs—almost believes you.
She holds up a finger. “Don't touch anything that isn't yours.” Another. “Don't go out at night, and when you do go out, don’t talk to anybody.” Another. “Don't answer the damn door, not even for me.” You nod along, enraptured gaze glued to hers. “You got all that?”
“Yes, ma'am.” At her raised brow, you stammer, “I—uh, sorry, I just… don't know what you want me to call you.”
“… My name.”
“Sevika.” She nods. “Okay. Then, thank you, Sevika. I mean it. You saved my life.”
With a roll of her eyes, she rises to her feet. “Yeah, I'm a real hero.”
“You are, though.”
She doesn't like this. The way you look at her all awestruck and worshipping. Doesn’t deserve it when there are people out there who would treat you much better than her—people who would actually care about you and the kid in the long run. If you're dead-set on keeping it, then it deserves the chance to grow up right. Loved.
Eight hours ago, she strongly considered leaving you in the street, starving and pregnant. So no, she’s not a hero. And she’s fine with that. Her path in life is a different, less savory one.
“There’s money in the kitchen for food,” she says. “Use my bed if you want.”
And then she leaves.
.
.
.
Truth be told, Sevika doesn't expect to see you when she gets home from a week-long binge of violence and booze, bruised all to hell, a headache splitting her skull down the middle. The edges of her temper sanded down to something less volatile.
Once she walked out the front door that morning, she stopped thinking about you. Brushed you off as a fluke, a mistake of lowered inhibitions.
(She thought about you a lot. Wondered if you were staying smart, being careful. If you actually used the money she left behind. If you were even alive. But she would rather die than admit the worry—no, no, Sevika doesn't worry—that fleetingly consumed her.)
You stand in the kitchen, bent over at the waist with an elbow propped on the counter, rubbing circles into your lower back. Bare from the waist down, the hem of your shirt does little to cover the swell of your ass—the little slice of heaven between your thighs, bathed in shadow from the poor lighting in her apartment.
Her fingers itch for a cigarette. She’s finally gone insane.
The room smells like a filling meal, everything left in its original place. Nothing unusual aside from the weight of your presence, and something warm settles in her stomach, heavy as a rock, so unfamiliar it makes her nauseous.
She chooses to ignore it.
“Get into trouble while I was gone?”
You jolt at the sound of her voice, righting yourself with a gasp when you spot her standing at the back of the couch. “Sevika, you're back!” Why do you almost sound relieved? Why do you smile at her? “And no, I…” you nod to the stove where a metal pot sits on the front burner, “I tried to make some soup, but I don't know how good it'll be.”
She walks over to you, boots heavy on the floor, and lifts the lid. Side-steps the wafting steam. “Smells good at least.”
“My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up. It has rice and fish, so it's filling.”
The simple suggestion of a home-cooked meal makes her mouth water, especially made by someone that isn’t her, and she’s eaten much worse in her lifetime. Could never afford to be picky.
Exhaling a long breath, you reach down to once again rub at the small of your back, shifting on your feet. The only sign of discomfort aside from the pinch in your brow.
She huffs, nudging you out of the way. “Sit down. I'll finish up.”
“You don't have to—”
“Kid's giving you trouble. I got it.”
You blink up at her, a relieved smile stretching your mouth, eyes curving into crescents. It's… cute. “Thank you.”
Unfortunately, she soon learns that the soup is more of a porridge, thickened up by the starch in the rice, the fish rubbery from cooking too long.
Well. At least you tried.
She fetches two bowls from the cabinet and notices a stack of dishes that weren’t there when she left. The sink is also empty, as clean as you could manage given all the rust.
Maybe there are some perks to keeping you around.
She calls you over to the kitchen table, and you take the seat across from her with a tired groan. Thank her when she sits a steaming bowl and spoon in front of you.
Sevika always eats alone when she’s home. It’s been that way for as long as she can remember. Rarely ever a choice on her part because she never got the hang of making friends (too unapproachable, people used to say), so your presence is odd, settles wrong inside her gut.
“You’re hurt,” you say around a mouthful of food, and she looks up from her meal to find you squinting at her, head tilted.
“I’ve had worse.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It wasn’t supposed to.”
You pout over the metal of your spoon, brows twitching, but say nothing in response.
However, something nags at her.
“So. Do I wanna know why you're not wearing underwear?”
Your mouth flattens into a thin line, embarrassment scrunching up your nose. “Sorry. It just… it's a pregnancy thing, I guess? I get sensitive sometimes. If you know what I mean.”
Her imagination does a good job of filling in the blanks. Thoughts that she never wanted to have about you.
“And that's a bad thing.” More statement than question, her own assumption given your discomfort.
“Good until it turns bad. Really convenient for, uh, certain activities.” You shift your gaze to your bowl of soup, a wide grin rounding out your cheeks.
“Not in my bed, I hope.”
She really, really hopes you didn't fuck yourself in her bed. Doesn't feel like washing the damn sheets.
“I couldn't if I wanted to. Haven't seen my own feet in over a month.” The tone of your voice implies that you do want to, that you've thought about it recently. “No, the uh… the girls at The Rose took me in for a while. One of ‘em was a mom, too, and I guess she felt bad for me. Hormones being a bitch and all.” You shrug, pointedly ignoring her stare. “I prefer women anyway.”
Sevika only briefly considers the revelation in regards to herself, or the fact that you lived in a whorehouse for a brief stint of time, because a more sinister implication rears its ugly head:
You prefer women. You're pregnant by a man with, in your own words, a baby you didn’t ask for.
She already clocked the circumstances the night she found you, but now she knows for sure. And she's furious.
“I'll fucking kill him.” A promise hissed under her breath.
There's no reason for her to get involved, to stick her nose where it doesn't belong, but she can't sit back and do nothing while that bastard walks free.
Your head snaps up, confusion twisting at your brow. Her eyes lock onto yours, unblinking, and whatever you see in her face makes you frown.
Softly, overcome by grief, you say, “He's not your responsibility.”
“This is my city. I don't want a monster like him living in it.”
Your drop your spoon in your bowl with a sharp clatter, turning away from her. “I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have said so much.”
Sevika leans forward, elbows folded on the table, half-eaten soup already forgotten. She's lost her appetite anyway.
“So he did hurt you.”
You don't answer for a long while, worrying a hand over the curve of your neck, eyes darting over the pattern of her floor.
Until you nod your head.
She stands up from the table with her bowl then empties its contents into the nearby trashcan. Can't bear the sight of you anymore, sitting so pitifully in her chair, thumb following the curve of your belly.
“I'll take care of it.”
You know by now that there's no point in trying to change her mind.
.
.
.
Her sheets smell like you—the first thing she notices when she finally crawls into bed, shoving her face into the pillow with a frustrated growl. She inhales. Curses herself on the exhale. Inhales again because she's lost her fucking mind.
She ends the dilemma by ripping off her pillowcase and throwing it to a shadowed corner of the room. Still, everything smells like you. Not even in the damn room, and your presence haunts her.
This is getting ridiculous.
Her fingers twitch, craving a cigarette or a blunt or cigar or anything to distract her from the hem of her pants. She won't do that to you—use your smile or your smell or the curve of your ass to get herself off. Not after what she learned just a few hours prior.
But she considers it for longer than she has any right to, and for the first time in forever, guilt curdles sour in her gut.
.
.
.
In order to find out the identity of your rapist (just thinking of the word brings acid to the back of her throat), Sevika comes up with an idea. One of her best.
She plops down on the cushion next to you and takes the book from your hands to get your attention.
You scoff, open your mouth in protest. “What are you—”
“We're going to the Lanes tomorrow.”
At her direct approach, you blink, adjusting the blanket over your lap. “Okay? Why?”
“There's a vendor showcase. I need to buy some things.” A bold-faced lie, and you seem to pick up on it, eyes narrowing in suspicion. She sighs, adds, “I'll buy you something pretty.”
She needs to get you into a crowd because she knows how criminals work. If he sees you, he’ll make himself known one way or another. Wouldn't pass up the opportunity of rubbing what he did in your face.
The hardest part of this little plan will be banking on him actually showing up, but most of the Undercity flocks to the showcase to buy products on discount before the year’s end. The perfect opportunity.
You search her face for… something. An ulterior motive, maybe—one she doesn't have—before sighing. “Okay.”
The next evening, she drags you by the scruff to the bustling hub of the Lanes, streets lined with pop-up markets and food carts, people celebrating and shouting and haggling prices. Your hand remains firm around hers, a neccessity given the thick of the crowd.
Everything is fine at first. She parts the sea of people to allow you through without issue, biting her tongue when you stop at each stall to see what’s on offer. Handmade clothes, street food, jewelry that she only glances at. She forces down her frustration when you take too long sorting through necklaces—if a bit enamored with the way you hold each of them up to your face, thumbing over the chain and the gems and the crystals.
You look up at her with a toothy smile, eyes outshining the fake diamonds in your hand, and her heart stops. Something sickly-sweet weaves through her ribs, squeezes so tight that she almost chokes on it.
Affection.
This isn't good. Her worst fear realized. Every atom in her body screams for her to run far away, to wipe you from her memory, to stay lonely and sad and safe.
Instead, she throws the necklace you chose back into the display and picks up one you looked over previously—the only necklace at the booth with real gems.
“This one is better,” she says, offering it to you for inspection.
“Yeah. This would’ve been my second choice.”
She nods. Pays the vendor despite your very vocal protests then helps you secure the clasp at the nape of your neck. Your skin brushes against her knuckles, soft and warm. A sharp contrast to the callouses that litter her palms and fingers. (And still, you always hold her hand.)
Too intimate. She knows better than this.
Until you spin around and rush her with a tight hug, the swell of your belly pressing against hers, your arms solid around her waist.
She's gonna be sick. Should push you off, lecture you about personal space and boundaries, but she thinks about her mom dying alone on some cold floor in the middle of the night, and she thinks about your smile, and nothing seems to matter much anymore.
She lets you hug her until you're satisfied, and you step away with a quiet, “Thank you, Sevika,” and she almost throws up right there in the street.
And then the night goes to shit.
One moment, you're strolling beside her, babbling about the ingredients of some dish you hate, and the next has you stiffening up, breath heaving in an instant, your fingers winding so tight around her hand that her joints creak.
She looks down at you, finds you wide-eyed, staring at something off in the distance with such abject horror that she puffs up on instinct.
“No no nonono, that's him.” You duck behind her, face fitting between her shoulder blades. “Oh, fuck, we have to go. Please, we gotta go.”
She knows who you're talking about. Who he is. No mistaking your reaction, the way you shake and sob against her back.
A lightning strike of fury consumes her.
“Where?” she hisses, twisting around to look at you. Your mouth opens and closes, fighting to make words, and you duck away from the touch of her hand on your shoulder. “Show me.”
You shake your head so fast your neck threatens to snap, both hands circling tight around her wrist, and you tug at her until you're rocking back on your heels. “Please don't. Please. I just wanna go.”
But fate smiles on her as she looks through the bustling crowd. Only one man acknowledges your existence, tucked behind a food stand on the corner of the street. He thinks he’s subtle about glancing over at you, a predatory glint to his gaze that she wants to gouge out.
As luck would have it, she knows him. Some bottom-of-the-barrel lackey for Smeech that often passes through The Last Drop, so disposable she doesn't even know his name.
Her feet move before she even realizes it, vision tunneling to the pinpoint of his cackling face as he smacks at the man beside him.
“Sevika!”
At the sound of your scream, she stops. Looks over her shoulder to where you search in a panic, shuffling on your feet, the crowd already closing in, jostling you in place.
Fuck. Fuck.
Leaving with you means disobeying the very foundation of who she is, nurtured into a brick wall weapon. She never backs down from a fight, but she can't leave you behind, either. Not like this—inconsolable, barely coherent to the world around you.
She shoves through the throng of people, the scowl on her face swearing murder to anybody who dares to even look at her wrong. She wants blood, wants to cut her teeth on something soft and vital. Craves it so bad that her hands go numb.
Those same hands take you by the arms, ushering you into a nearby alley, away from the chaos of the crowd.
She doesn't comfort people. Has no fucking clue how to calm you down aside from a stilted pat to the back. “Hey. You’re alright.”
You sag against her with a relieved sob, begging her not to leave you again. Begging her to take you home.
Home. Her apartment, rundown and small and shitty, is home to you.
It takes less than a second to make her decision, and she ushers you away from the market.
Fine. The bastard can live another day. She'll ask around the Lanes, catch him by surprise when you're not around to stop her because she knows him, and by the time she's done, there won't even be a body left to burn.
She makes it a promise.
TAG LIST: @thesevi0lentdelights @iamastar @ryoiii @tiyawnyana @muclunga (only doing this the one time cause i hate tag lists hfjkdfhgfjkd)
little thing with John Price that goes from angst to smut to angst again and then fluff and back to smut....pretty much checked all the boxes here i think. okay yay <3 also ill be honest...idk if i like how this turned out, but.....here it is *serves up half-eaten charcuterie board made from lunchables*
Basically Price is using your daddy kink as a trojan horse to rewrite your neural pathways <3 but like...with love
Shoutout @coco-killed-the-angels for implanting these worms (insecure girl x price) into my brain <333
CW: deep insecurities (bc i'm the one writing it, so...it's a given), daddy kink, crying, praise kink (?) - does it count if he's just praising you in a sexual setting and its not necessarily a kink idk, if you're allergic to true, deep love and you just want smut this is not the work for you, not DDLG but like...the cousin of it. Or sibling. DDLG adjacent.
Your day had started off rough.
Well, the whole week, really. With deadlines and headaches looming over your head, it's no wonder that you ended up in such a state this morning.
You were just barely fighting the childish urge to just whack the brush over your head, so you tried to move on to putting your makeup. Which only ended in you crying in frustration when it started to cake up, and then you began crying even harder when your tears started making the rest of it slide off of your face.
"So fucking stupid." You had whispered under your breath as your shaky hands wiped at your face in a sorry attempt to fix everything - only to make it worse.
That's how John found you in the bathroom, furiously scrubbing at your face with a towel to wipe everything off as you sobbed quietly to yourself.
"Woah, woah, woah...sweetheart." His hands are quick to wrap around yours to halt your movements, and you try to bow your head to avoid his gaze, but he tilts his head right alongside you. "What's all this, huh? What's wrong, sweet girl?"
And he tries his hardest to comfort you, he really does, but you're just so lost in your anguish that you blow up in his face the moment he suggests you be gentle with yourself.
"No! I have to wear makeup today because my face is breaking out and I look ugly, b-but I keep ruining it because I'm crying! God, I can't do anything without ruining it!"
Maybe you were just hormonal or about to get your period, but it didn't matter. Your insecurities sound the same no matter what chemical is bouncing around in your brain to cause it.
Which is how you ended up here - on your hands and knees on the bed, facing the mirror on the dresser with John's cock nestled deep inside of you.
He had already been working you up for hours, teasing and licking and fingering you until you could barely hold yourself up - which explains why he's got one hand curled at the base of your skull to hold your head up by your hair to force you to watch as he fucks you.
But he's not even fucking you. He's just...sitting inside of you. Not moving. Making you whine and whimper as he stares at you through the smudged reflection of the mirror. You plead with him quietly, fresh tears blooming to wash away the dried tracks from your earlier malaise, but he just shakes his head and pulls your hair back a bit more.
"I already told you what to do, sweetheart. Go on." But you just blink at him dumbly with those teary eyes, too far gone to remember how you got here, let alone what he just said five seconds ago. But that's alright - if war taught him anything, it was how to be patient. Especially with a soft thing like you.
"Daddy's not moving until you say something you like about yourself."
Oh, right. That.
You had kind of been hoping he would just fuck your brains out so you could ignore your little meltdown earlier and forget it ever happened - but clearly John had different plans.
"I don't want to."
Brat.
Even when you were trembling beneath him and begging him to fuck you, you still had the nerve to talk back to him. But John knows you well enough to know that you aren't acting out just for the fun of it. So, he isn't going to punish you now. You're upset, and insecure, and you just want him to take it all away so you don't have to think about it.
Which is exactly what he's doing - even if you can't see it from where you are mentally. He's just playing the long game.
"One thing, baby." He murmurs in your ear, locking eyes with you in the mirror as he curls himself over your back to press his hairy chest into you, making you mewl softly. "Just say one little thing you like about yourself, and Daddy will fuck you, just like you want. I promise."
And you poor thing - you're just so desperate. You're cunt is leaking around his cock and no matter how much you try to rock your hips back to get some kind of friction, he's holding you too tight to make any real progress.
So you give up. Or give in. Either way, you decide to just let go and think of something - if only just to get him to pound you into the mattress the way you wanted.
But when you looked at yourself in the mirror - all puffy eyes, splotchy cheeks, and tangled hair - all you could see is what you didn't like.
Every bump, every scar, every part that's too much, and every part that's not enough. Suddenly every mean voice in your head has a stage - telling you about all the times you failed and how you aren't worthy of anything good in this world. Ugly, stupid, worthless, annoying-
There's nothing you can think of, even to just throw out meaninglessly to get him to hop off your case. Nothing.
And all you can do is choke out a pathetic sob - lower lip trembling violently as you squeeze your eyes shut to block out the mean voices circling around in your head. "Daddy, I can't...I c-can't think of anything."
He had expected a bit of resistance from you, but the way your face crumpled so sadly at the prospect of complimenting yourself made his heart ache in his chest. Clearly your insecurities were running deeper than surface-level, and he'd have his fair share of work cut out for him if he wanted to make you feel better.
"Shh, hey, hey, hey. It's okay." He coos softly, removing his hand from your hair to curl it around you to rest it against your sternum. He sits back against the bed and takes you right along with him, planting you on his lap with your back pressed against his chest - with his cock still inside of you. You're grateful for it, since you know you'd just spiral even more if he took it out and left you feeling empty and cold while you were already on the verge of a complete breakdown. "Daddy can help. I'll help you out, sweetheart."
"We can think of things together, my love. It's okay." He murmurs quietly as he wraps his arms around you, rocking you back and forth slightly as he gently hushes your tears. His thumb comes up to wipe away the fresh tears that slip down your cheeks, and he can feel his heart cracking in two at every little heartbroken whimper and sob that manages to escape your lips.
"What about your pretty eyes, hm? The ones that help you read all of those books, even when it's a little dark? The same eyes Daddy loves to wake up to every morning?"
You blink owlishly through your tears, your hiccups coming to a halt for just a second as you begin to process his words. He's not talking about the color of your eyes or what shape they are, but what they can do. You've been so caught up on how every part of you looked...not what they were actually meant for.
Your eyes aren't supposed to be the prettiest color or the 'perfect' shape. They're job is to help you see. And you can read, and admire the sunset, and cry, and watch TV - and none of it has to do with how your eyes look. They're the same eyes that lock onto John's from across the room and tell him 'it's too much. can we go home?' without ever having to say a word. And he always knows how you're feeling, just from taking one look at your eyes.
"And what about your hair? Don't you like braiding it and putting it up in all those pretty hairstyles? Don't you like how Daddy can play with it when you get all sleepy?" You turn your head around to look at him through your tears, and you take in a shaky breath as you nod your head silently in agreement. "Yeah...I know I like it, sweet girl."
You let out a restrained whimper as his words settle over you, your heart cracking in a way that it never has before - like its rearranging itself to fit the beautiful image of his perception of you. You can feel his hand gently squeeze your arm to silently urge you to continue on your own, and it takes you a minute to think of something before you let out a trembling whisper.
"M-My nose..." You sound uncertain, blinking up at him for validation only to be met with a loving smile and an encouraging nod. "I like my nose."
Your nose was never meant to look like everyone else's. It's just there to help you breathe. To bring oxygen to your blood to keep you alive and healthy. And it helps you smell everything - the bread at the farmers market, John's cologne bottle whenever you missed him too much in his missions, even the gross candles at the store that you force John to smell too just so you can both suffer together. It even crinkles up whenever John presses a kiss to it when you aren't expecting it, which always makes him laugh and makes him press just one more to it to get you to giggle and swat him away.
"Yes...good girl." He praises softly as he presses a line of kisses along your shoulder, reverent in both his touch and stare as he tilts your chin back towards the mirror. "Keep looking at yourself, darling."
"And Daddy loves your beautiful smile...you know, that's the first thing I miss when I go away. I keep a little picture of you in my vest just so I can see it even when I'm on my missions. I love seeing my gorgeous girl look so happy." His words coax another watery sob from you, which he quickly soothes by running his hands gently up and down your arms. Eventually he trails them down and circles his hands around yours, using his thumbs to massage gentle circles into your palms as you cast your gaze down to watch. "And your hands...didn't you bake me those cookies last week with these hands?"
"Yes, Daddy." You nod once again, and he brings both of your hands up to wipe at the tears that are dripping off of your cheeks and down to your torso.
Your body let you express your love for him in all the ways you wanted - hugging, kissing, cuddling, crying, laughing, talking, listening, touching - you could go on forever now that you're really thinking about it.
Your body was a vessel for love - a home that could fit all the adoration and affection that John could possibly give you and you could give him - and instead you were using it to house all of the shame everyone else had burdened you with over the years. But John had all the patience in the world, and if he had to pick that shame out piece-by-piece in order to burrow his love inside of you, then that's what he'd do. Happily.
"Pretty, pretty, pretty...such a pretty little girl you are." He punctuates every one of his words with a kiss to your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, your hair...all until he reaches your ear when he finally whispers, "I'm so lucky to have you, baby."
And you poor thing - now your blubbering in his lap as your brain tries to comprehend the sheer amount of love he's pouring into you, and he just continues to hold you patiently as you work through it. It's only when you finally calm down a bit that he speaks up.
"I think you're so beautiful, my love. Inside and out. But if you look in the mirror and you don't like what you're seeing, for whatever silly reason, I want you to remember that your worth comes from a lot more than how you look. Do you understand, baby?" He waits until you nod your head before he plants a kiss right to the crown of your hair. You can feel his hand settle on your thigh, thumbing the sensitive inner skin as he locks eyes with you in the mirror.
"Do you want to keep going?" And then you see it - settled underneath his love and admiration for you is a spark of concern. He doesn't want to push you too hard, especially in a delicate setting like this. His cock is still hard and nestled deep inside of you, but you know if you said the word right now he'd end this all in a heartbeat to make sure you were comfortable and taken care of.
But you don't want him to stop. It feels different this time around - like it's not just sex. It's something more ritualistic than that. So you nod your head once more, making sure to keep your eyes on him in the mirror so he can see how earnest you are.
And slowly, carefully, he readjusts you back into the position you were in before - on your hands and knees facing the mirror. And you can see him watching you closely for any sign of discomfort or regret, but all he's met with is trust in those teary eyes of yours.
"Keep telling me what you like, sweetheart."
And so you do. Clumsy compliments stumbling out of your mouth as he finally starts to rock his hips, granting you the relief you've been craving from him for what feels like forever now. And the more you praise yourself, the more intense his thrusts get - but he never turns rough. Not even for a second. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he whispers his own devotions into your ears, pushing himself as deep as he can as if he's trying to plant the words directly inside of you.
You're so overwhelmed by the love and the pleasure he's giving you that you barely even realize how fast your orgasm is sneaking up on you, but he notices. He can feel you clenching around him as your thighs begin to shake, and he doesn't waste a second in gently guiding your gaze to look at yourself in the mirror once more.
"Are you a pretty girl, baby?" He grunts softly, barely staving off his own release long enough to drive his message home. You begin to nod your head frantically, too caught up in your impending climax to form any coherent sentences as you begin to flutter around him - but he's not having any of it.
"Yeah? Go on, then. Daddy wants to hear you say it."
"I-I'm a..." Your stuttered words are cut off by a deep moan, and your eyes squeeze shut tightly as you clamp down around him. "I'm a p-pretty girl!"
And then you're sent into the most mind-shattering orgasm you've ever had in your life. You can feel yourself gush around him and you hear his restrained curses as you collapse into the bed, but even your own voice sounds muffled as you call out his name with a quivering cry. He fucks you right through it, leaving you trembling and crying from the intensity as he finally spills inside of you with a few tears of his own.
He just barely catches himself before he collapses on top of you, and it takes him a minute to catch his breath before he readjusts to, very carefully, pull himself out of your squelching cunt. He coos gently as you whine at the loss of contact, and he scoops you up like you're a porcelain doll that'll shatter if he's not careful.
You're still so fuzzy from the intensity of it all, but he places you in his lap to let you bury your face in his neck, and his arms quickly wrap around you the second that your trembling form curls up to him like a kitten in a storm.
"There she is." He whispers softly as he kisses your forehead, one hand trailing up and down your back as the other one circles tightly around your shoulders to ground you with his presence. "There you go, sweet girl. Take a deep breath, my love."
He can feel the little puffs of air hitting his neck as he continues to hold you, and it brings him back down to earth as well as he works you through your comedown. Soft whispers of praise graze your ear as he moves to clean you up, keeping his movements soft and careful when he sees your eyes begin to flutter shut.
And you look up at him with so much love and trust when he finally pulls you down to lay back against the pillows, he can't stop himself from taking a moment to brush at the soft skin of your cheek before he presses his lips against yours. It's not hungry or lustful - just pure love being poured into you as he pulls the covers up to cover your bare form.
He pulls back just enough to murmur quietly against your lips, eyes looking down at you with so much reverance it makes your head spin.
"I love you so much, baby."
And you can't help the little wobble in your lips or the glassiness in your eyes as you rest your head against the pillow, pulling him closer with your shaky hands as you plant a little kiss on his lips.
you're 18 weeks pregnant now, closing in at the six month mark, and it all started a few days ago.
while it were previously your lower back and feet killing you, it's your breasts driving you crazy today.
they've swollen nearly double in size—or so it feels like. your areolas have become bigger, darker, just like your nipples—and you're so, so bloody sore.
even the briefest brush of soft texture and pressure makes you wince, but walking around without a pregnancy bra is just as bad for your back at this point, so you grit your teeth and try to go about your day as best as possible while your breasts strain against your bra and shirt.
both your mates have been called in for duty last night, and both of them left you reluctantly while you assured them that you're going to be fine on your own—though you're not so sure about that now, less than 24 hours later.
you've broken down thrice—once because you couldn't put on your socks with your large belly in the way, twice because you couldn't get your nest right the way you wanted it, and thrice because—how the bloody hell are you supposed to do this by yourself if something ever happens to your alphas on their job?
what if you're on your own, when your pup comes? (highly unlikely, both simon and johnny have already turned in their special leave for your due date)
hormones, you keep telling yourself.
it's the hormones speaking; putting bad, nasty thoughts in your silly omega brain.
and now you're sitting in a makeshift nest on the couch, built with their dirty laundry and a quilt from your bed, an open pregnancy book in your lap—the expectant omega—though you can barely register the words you're reading as you sit by yourself.
you desperately try to ignore your own spiking scent—laced with the bitterness of distress and a sour hint of discomfort—but it's getting harder by the minute as you keep glancing at the hallway, hoping to hear the front door unlock and for the sweet sigh of relief that would follow when your alphas come home to you.
glancing down at your prominent baby bump, you wonder if your doctor made a mistake during the many ultrasounds and checkups you've endured by now—how can you be so large already carrying only one pup? there must be a twin in there, too.
a faint, tired smile graces your lips. twins. minions of their fathers. tiny versions of simon and johnny running around the house, squealing in joy as they're chased by their daddies.
what a lovely thought.
brushing your flat palm over the curve of your belly, you press your fingertips into the taut flesh, pursing your lips then. 18 weeks—and you haven't felt much of a flutter from your pup.
you've read about it. you could feel them by week 12 and yet—nothing.
your face drops as your heart skips a panicked beat.
why haven't you felt anything yet?
a weak whine bubbles up in your throat as you rub your belly more insistent.
"h–hey," you croak, voice husky from lack of talking. you don't talk to your pup much, but several mum's already told you it's good. that it is necessary, actually.
why haven't you talked more to your puppy? are you screwing up that badly already?
"are you okay? are you—are you—" you swallow thickly, whining again when you don't get an immediate response, and you cup the sides of your bump with both hands, eyes stinging with fat tears.
in your panicked frenzy, you don't even hear the truck pull into the driveway, the slamming of car doors in unison, followed by the usual bickering of your alphas as they enter the house on heavy boots.
you're sobbing at this point, book long forgotten and shoved aside while you press a blanket that smells like your mates to your face, soaking up your tears.
"doll?"
"bunny?"
they immediately pick up on your scent—on the distress and panic, the sadness lacing your usual sweetness—and before you can react, johnny is rushing to your side, and cradling you to his chest with a low, soothing rumble.
"doll? what's wrong? are ye hurt?"
startled at first, you quickly find yourself desperately clawing at his shirt, dropping the blanket to cry against his chest.
"simon?!" johnny calls out to the other alpha, his own panic and fear rising. "something's wrong, mate!"
you try to shake your head, tell them you're merely overwhelmed, but the couch is already dipping with simon's added weight.
"whot's wrong?" he growls against your neck, huffing your scent to figure out the problem on his own while his arms wrap around you from behind, cradling your pregnant belly. "bunny? talk to us."
still trembling in their arms, and even though you're still crying, you're simply relieved.
"i'm jus'...just happy you're home—" you hiccup in between words, frantically gripping at simon's arms while nuzzling into johnny. "can y–you stay for a bit? please?"
and when you gaze up at them with glossy, big doe-eyes, nose snotty and voice hoarse, both of your mates can barely handle the sight of you, like a kicked kitten left outside in the pouring rain.
"come, love," simon mutters against your nape, already shooting a heavy glance at johnny—a silent order. johnny nods and rises from his spot, gently grasping your wrists while simon nudges you from behind.
"we'll take ye upstairs and don't even think we're gonna leave yer side," johnny chuckles, pulling you up and into his arms. "we couldn't wait ta get back home ta our bonnie 'mega."
you whimper quietly, thankful for their presence and care as you let them guide you back to the bedroom and your shared nest.
"i'm sorry that i'm such a mess," you mewl, still snivelling and wiping at your wet and snotty face while simon clucks his tongue in chide, slapping your bum playfully like he always does, "nonsense."
"aye," johnny nods with a chuckle, "we shouldn't have up and left ye like that—"
"shouldn't be leaving yer side at all anymore," simon growls, adjusting the disheveled nest as johnny helps you crawl into it. "gonna tell price that one of us will have to stay home with ya from now on."
you barely register what they're saying as they start to bicker again, exhaustion taking over you all while they fluff up the nest and discuss the next steps at work before joining you.
eventually, your mates are curled up on either side of you protectively as if shielding you from any harm; rumbling lowly in their buff chests while stroking your bump soothingly, caressing your hair, your curves, peppering kisses all over your face—
they don't say anything else, not when your scent finally changes to something more pleased, safe, and saccharine between them, and your own soft omega purrs add to their deep rumbles.
and you feel the tiniest flutter in your belly while your mates warm, heavy palms rest on its prominent curve.
Doe hybrid!reader x predator hybrid!TF 141 x herbivore hybrid!KorTac
Finale
Previous
For a while, you questioned why you had ever committed yourself to a life without this kind of connection. Your pack and your herd, working in harmony together. But when the high started to wear off, you got a sinking feeling in your stomach. In just a few hours, you would have to give this up again.
The teams gathered for the mission the next morning in a sort of blissful ignorance. They got ready together, checked each other’s equipment, wished each other luck. But by the time you were all loaded up into the transport vehicle, you felt a sense of dread pressing down on you.
The teams were mixed on either bench, beside you, Simon sat with his hand resting over his thigh. No longer trying to claim, but trying to anchor himself to your presence. Nikto was across from you, his leg extended so that his boot was hooked under your ankle. And Horangi was on your other side, his arm curled around your waist while he rested some of his weight against you.
A sort of concentrated gloom filled the air. Everyone was left with more knowledge than they would have cared for. They knew that this was dangerous, they knew that some of us could die, and in the backs of their minds, they all knew that the bliss you all had been living in would soon be over.
“Are you okay?” Horangi whispered, massaging his fingers into your hip. No doubt, he felt it to, the foreboding weight of that inescapable end. You didn’t answer, you didn’t have the strength nor desire to put your thoughts to words. Instead, you simply tucked your head against his neck, breathing as much of him in as you could.
The operation was grueling, the second you stepped out of the truck you were leaping into ankle deep mud and enemy fire. But under the pressure, your teams blossomed. König darted out, blundering through enemy soldiers while Soap raced along side him, covering him with fire and tearing out the necks of anyone who dared to get close. Gaz, Horangi and Aksel moved like a machine that had been in operation for years. They passed through enemy fire like phantoms, eliminating their targets with terrifying efficiency. Fender, Hutch, and Price were nearly the same, except for their destructive mentalities. They tore at the enemies resources, taking out their cars and rampaging through their encampments. Ghost and Nikto stuck with you, constantly on either side while you rushed past enemies to get to the target. It was like it was alway meant to be, you never felt so whole and complete.
When the dust finally settled, you were all left with a sense of peace. Predator and prey congratulated each other, and both spent some of their time calming their nerves with your scent or simply hugging you close. For just a moment, you were left in that bliss, but the depression had always linger just beyond. It just waited until you returned to base before launching its attack.
The feeling of a herd, that peace and calm that you had lacked for so long, you felt it slipping through your fingers. So, your instincts went into survival mode. For your last meals together, you chose to eat alone, separate from anyone who could remind you of what you would be losing. You ignored the hallow ache of your heart and decided to sleep alone, without a herd nor a pack to comfort you. You were trying to put a distance between yourself and KorTac, for the sake of not breaking your heart when this was all over.
Price noticed the change almost immediately. He always knew when one of his cubs was hurting. He could see it in your eyes after they left the mission. The way hope and bliss almost seemed to drain from your face. He had never seen you so happy as you were when KorTac and the 141 were together, sure, you had purred for him and the guys before, but this? The blissed out look on your face as you rested in the arms of your herd told the whole story. Without even knowing it, he had been depriving his doe of a connection that felt nearly fundamental to the rest of the team. And now? He could see it in everything you did, how you shied away from any further herd activities. You didn’t indulge like you had so desperately wanted to. You had filled your stomach and sated your instinct for the first time, and the immediate reaction was the fear of losing it again. He couldn’t have that, he couldn’t have his doe, the most docile of his cubs, miserable and deprived.
It was the last day of their stay in the safe house. Yesterday had been a mission success, so tonight would be the last night you spent here. And it would be the last night of you even being near a herd. That’s why you could only poke at your salad, moving the leaves around as if they may spontaneously disappear. Your stomach ached quietly with hunger, but you didn’t feel like appeasing it. It quieted the hurt in your chest, the unending pain that knew your chance at a herd had slipped away. Maybe you could opt for some suppressants when you got back to base. Anything to make sure that the pain of denying your instincts didn’t linger.
Not too far, you could hear KorTac’s chatter, you were nearly honed in on it. They spoke joyously over a massive bowl of mixed fruits and veggies. Each one pressed to the next as they filled their bowls again and again. 141’s table was quiet, as it usually was. The guys were all hunched over their plates, quietly scooping food into their mouths while you sat in a more isolated corner of the room, curled around your small and nearly full bowl. So this is it? You wondered. You were just supposed to let half of yourself walk away? You felt like you were disappearing where you sat. By the time you all broke away to go to bed, you felt like you were drifting, floating through your pain and quiet heartbreak as you thought about the satisfaction you may never have again. But then, just as you were sure the rest of the task force would be asleep. A small but heavy knock landed on your door. You stood, quickly adjusting the oversized shirt and shorts you were wearing as you waddled to the door. When the heavy wood creaked open, Price was on the other side, a sort of sad, knowing look on his face.
He could smell it all the way from his room, the sweet scent that they had all grown so accustomed to had gone sour. Ghost had mentioned it as they all left dinner, “doe is hurting.” He said simply, keeping his voice low. Price knew from that point that he had to take matters into his own hands.
You stood there, feeling hallowed out, as if a firm breeze might grab you and pull you away forever. Price had this look in his eyes, one that you had never seen before. In a slow, almost careful motion, he offered up his hand. “Walk with me.” Three simple words, without explanation. You hesitated at first, not overly keen on moving around at night. But eventually slipped your hand into Price’s and let him pull you into the hall and through the home. You didn’t know where you were going, it felt like your mind couldn’t focus enough to even question it as Price’s warm hand pulled you from hall to hall. Before your brain could process it, you were standing in front of a door and Price was knocking. “You need this, little one.” He murmured, bracing both hands on your shoulders as you waited.
There were a few creaky footsteps, then muttering. Next, the door opened and a very shirtless Horangi was staring back at you. Behind him, you could see the rest of KorTac, all starting to stir in their beds. Internally, your mind and dulled instincts started to reel. “Captain Price?” Horangi asked, but his eyes were on you. There was a sad look in them, like he could see right into your mind.
“She needs you guys.” Price said simply, releasing your shoulders and stepping away. “I’ll go and get the others.”
Horangi stood there for a moment, behind him you could see Nikto and Aksel got up from their beds. You felt like you were adrift, caught between two rushing tides, waiting for something to help you float. “Yes sir,” Horangi said, but softer this time, gentler. He stepped forward and reached out a hand for your own. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Mere seconds and you were burying your face in his chest. You wanted to sob, wanted to cry. His arms curled tight around you. Enveloping you in his scent and warmth. “Fuck….baby girl, you’re trembling.” The door shut behind you but you didn’t even hear it. Low, soothing rumbles vibrated from Horangi’s chest as he guided you deeper into the room. “What’s wrong?” Hutch asked, standing up from his bed and moving closer like the rest of them. “I don’t know. But fuck- her scent…”
Aksel stepped up behind you, gently opening up Horangi’s arms so that he could sandwich you between them. “Sweet thing…” he murmured, tucking his head against your neck and gently trying to ease your tense posture. His nose brushed over your skin, reaching your pulse and nudging it tenderly as he too started to purr. A broken whimper escaped you, trembling from your lips as you soaked in their warmth from either side. It was too much, and yet not enough all at the same time. Your body was starved, yet your mind screamed to escape your inevitable fate.
Both men pulled away, looking at each other worriedly before looking back at the two, tall, lingering shadows in the corner of the room. “I think that you guys are going to need to be the first.” Horangi said, as Nikto and König stepped forward.
They were silent, like phantoms. And both men were also dawning very little, outside of their masks and sweatpants. They stepped forward, surrounding you just as Horangi and Aksel had. When they did, you could feel your body and mind jolt in opposite directions. You couldn’t focus, torn between desperation and the fear of losing it all. “Liebling,” König murmured, hoisting you into his arms with ease.
The instincts that you had worked so hard to try and bury started to stir. They urged a weak, trembling whine from your lips. “Haven’t been taking proper care of yourself have you?” König rumbled, sinking one of his hands into your hair and guiding your nose to his neck. “Been cooped up for too long.” With his guidance, you tucked your head under his hood. It was like a curtain had been closed around you. Your world became his warmth, his strength, his scent. You buried your nose against his neck, desperately sucking in more and more of that sweet, honeysuckle smell. In just a few seconds, your resistance against your instincts broke. Your tongue darted out, lapping at his pulse while pleased rumbles radiated from his chest. “That’s it…there’s our good girl.”
Nikto stepped up behind you, suddenly, you felt the pressure of to fingers pressing down on either side of your neck, digging right into your pulse points. You yelped again, trying to squirm away, but Nikto pressed up against your back, letting you feel his warmth combined with König’s. “Easy, little doe.” He purred, working his fingers into the points. “I promise it will help.” Every nerve in your body felt like it was buzzing. A fire burned through your veins, making your toes curl. You bit down on König’s shoulder, squealing as the overstimulation washed over you. Then, just as suddenly, a warm, pleasing feeling started to replace it. Your muscles unraveled and melted, your chest started to rumble with deep purrs. Your jaw loosened and your forehead fell to König’s shoulder.
“There we go…” Nikto shifted behind you, followed by the familiar sound of his mask mouthpiece coming undone. “Our little doe has been starving her own instincts.” He murmured just as his lips found their way to your neck. Your purring intensified as pleasure continued to roll through you. How could you have ever kept yourself from them? You wondered, moaning softly when Nikto’s hand wandered down to your tail and massaged the base. Your back arched into his chest, earning a deep, pleased rumble that joined König’s.
“I’m dying here, guys.” Horangi’s voice was strained and rough with desire. König let out a chuckle that you swore you could feel in every bone of your body. Then, his hood was being drawn up and away from your face. Aksel was there, his gentle eyes reminding you almost of Price. “You feeling better sweetheart?”
You blinked lazily, giving a small nod. Then, now following every whim your instincts had, you reached out over König’s shoulder for him. He smiled, grinning as he grabbed your hand in his own. “Pass her off, boys.”
Smoothly, you were transferred over to him, Horangi closed in behind you and eagerly filled Nikto’s space. “How’s our little doe?” Aksel murmured, leaning to pepper gentle kisses over your cheeks. “Talk to us, what’s on your mind?”
A soft, shuttering sound fell from your lips, earning you soft neck kisses from Horangi. “Don’t want to lose this.” You murmured, reaching up and curling your hands around Aksel’s antlers. “I-I can’t lose all of you.”
Right before your eyes, Aksel almost seemed to melt. With just a thin, sleep shirt covering his torso, you could clearly watch as the muscles in his chest and shoulders uncoiled. “Fuck if you aren’t the most tempting thing we’ve ever gotten our hands on.”
A low, warning grunt came from Hutch as he stepped forward. “You know better.” He grumbled simply, stepping up and gently massaging one of your ears. The men all seemed to share glances, but you couldn’t care less. You actively melted between them, sighing and mindlessly kicking your leg as Hutch increased the pressure.
Just then, there was another knock at the door, followed by the almost urgent shuffling on the other side. Fender opened it, stepping back and letting Simon, Johnny, Gaz and Price through. In an instant, you felt their eyes on you. A whine tore from Johnny, “bonnie,” he cooed, stepping up beside Aksel. In one smooth motion, you were passed over to him. He buried his face in your neck, urgently rubbing his cheeks over your skin. “I’m sorry, we should have intervened sooner, we should have stepped in.”
You whimpered, sinking your hands into his hair. “Johnny…” Simon stepped up behind you, growling a low warning. “Like this, you mutt.” Next thing you knew, a hot mouth was sealing over your pulse. A moan fell from your lips as the pleasure rolled through you in waves. Simon sucked a harsh purple mark into your skin, smirking at his work when he pulled back.
“Don’t get her worked up now,” Price scoffed, circling around the three of you. “That’s not what we’re here for.” Price slipped his arms around you, pulling you out from between them.
Johnny let out a sharp whine, but König stepped up behind him, giving his tail a gentle tug. A yelp escaped Johnny, quick as a flash he was spun around and starring up at the moose hybrid. Dare you say you even saw some blush on his cheeks. “Give her some time,” König rumbled, “you’ll have plenty of it. Even after tomorrow.”
“That’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it?” Price asked, tucking your head under his chin. “You don’t want them to leave.”
Something deep within your chest ached painfully when you heard him breathe your worries to life. All you could manage was a sad nod to confirm his suspicions. “The least we can do is help her be comfortable for a night”, Fender said, followed by the sound of scrapping wood. “König, help me out with this.”
The whole room filled with the sound of rustling. As if they had done it a billion times before, both teams melted together in a collective effort. Some focused their attention on you, others worked on grabbing extra pillows and blankets, and the majority worked on pushing all of the beds together.
“Here, grab these pillows, and somebody get her one of our shirts.”
Before you could be drawn out of your gloomy haze, you were being transferred to yet another persons hold. “Let’s get you more comfortable.” Nikto’s quiet, familiar voice passed over you. Vaguely, you were aware that he had brought you into the joined bathroom.
He set you on the counter, combing your hair away from your face. “It’s not like I’m in heat.” You grumbled, opening your eyes lazily to look up at him. Once again you were struck by how much he reminded you of Simon. He was wearing a black tank top that barely hid his muscular chest. Nor the mouth watering curve of his abdomen to his hips. At every point of visible skin there were scars. Some were similar to Simon’s, and some weren’t anything you could recognize.
A clever, almost sly smirk danced over his lips where they were visible under the upper part of his mask, bringing out a hint of dimples. “A doe who’s been starved of the proper attention is like a doe in heat. You’ll be most comfortable with a nest. With our scents and our warmth. We can at least give you that.” He reached up, gently tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Can I take this off?”
You raised a brow. Admittedly, you were fully prepared to say yes, but still… He chuckled, reaching up and gently pinching your cheek. “Not to touch you darling, as much as I would like to. I’m only going to put you in one of my shirts.”
With that explanation, you nodded and lifted your arms, smiling when the scent of your shirt was replaced with the smell and soft fabric of his. When you returned, the whole room had been rearranged. In the center, beds had been lined up side by side, each of them working together to support the largest nest you had ever seen. It had pillows, blankets, and more importantly, them, all curled into a perfect bundle. “Come here, liebe.” König said, patting his chest as he lied back. Nikto carried you over and gently laid you down over him. Like a blanket of warmth the whole group surrounded you. König beneath you, Nikto to your left, Aksel to your right. Horangi crawled ontop of you, nuzzling into your shoulder blades and letting his full weight press down over your hips and legs. Fender and Hutch made up the edges, draping their arms over the group. Simon slipped in between Fender and Nikto, Price ended up further up on the nest, with Gaz curled against him and Aksels arm slung over his legs. And then Johnny joined you, tucking his face against your neck while the majority of his body rested on König. “There we go…” König sighed beneath you.
“Everyone comfy?” Price called.
“Never been comfier.”
You fell asleep in the same bliss that had enraptured you with this group in the first place. It was perfect, heavenly even.
In the morning, the golden light trickled through the windows and shined down on the mass of tangled limbs and warm bodies. Everything was at peace. Everyone slept deeply and soundly. When you all did wake, it was slowly. You had ended up tucked away against König’s side, with Nikto curled around you, Simon’s arms draped over you, and Horangi sprawled out over all three of you. Johnny had taken up the space on König, with his arms slung over his antlers, his body sprawled out, and his head tucked in against König’s shoulder. Hutch ended up getting dog piled, with Aksel and Fender lying out over his chest and stomach. And then there was Gaz, who was curled up around an empty space in the bed, where Price should be. “Where’s John?” You mumbled tiredly, sitting up with your hair a wild mess.
“Dunno…go back sleepy bye…” Horangi grumbled into Simon’s shoulder. His hand flailed tiredly, trying to push you back down to the bed. But your instincts were starting to buzz.
“No serious. Where’s John?”
König started to stir, then Gaz and Nikto, “w-what?”
“What’s wrong?”
Simon sat up, which led to Horangi sliding off to the side of the bed with a very displeased grunt. He looked around, righting his balaclava, “where’s Price?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” You slowly detangled yourself from the group, looking around the room as panic started to tease the very edges of your mind. Then, to your utter relief, the door swung open and Price stepped inside. He found you instantly among the others. A large, pleased smile curled over his lips. “I have a bit of a surprise.” He said, lifting a piece of paper and dangling it in the air.
“John, we’ve been looking for-“ you froze mid sentence, looking at what looked to be a paper signed not only by him, but some people you didn’t even recognize. “What is that?”
“This-“ he chimed, stepping forward with a sway that told of hidden excitement. “is written permission to permanently combined the 141 and KorTac task forces-“
“NO FUCKING WAY!” The whole group was up in an instant. You leapt forward, wrapping your arms tight around Price’s neck as tears of pure joy sprung for your eyes.
So this was the true end, that the story would never have a finale. That you wouldn’t have to give up your herd, and that your team didn’t have to abandon the connections they had so rapidly been building. All of your fears fled as if they had never existed in the first place. And when you were done balling your eyes out, you and your team went back to bed, curling up together for the next few out and thinking about the many identical mornings to come.
I'm thinking about omega reader being transferred to the task force 141 by Laswell and the guys are nice enough, but always keeping you at arms lenght. You're not blind, you see the way they treat each other, the easy movements, small gestures, the touches and the silent smiles. Hell, even Ghost who's the least expressive out of them crinkles his eyes at the sight of Johnny's messy mohawk in the morning, captain Price wordlessly offering Kyle his coffee made exactly to his liking. The unmistakeable way Soap's scent gets a little sweeter when putting his head on Gaz's shoulder, meaningful looks between Price and Ghost, their own secret language you're not privy to.
As soon as you enter a room the laughter dies down, smelling them get a bit alerted like a stranger just barged in on them, during training it almost seems easier for them to not have to pretend anymore. You're not sure why they resent you so much, it doesn't have to do with the fact that you're an omega because Soap is one too. So really what's their problem? You try to be the bigger person, maybe they don't want to make you a part of their pack, which stings but whatever, but they could at least try to be nicer coworkers? While on missions the head count always finds you last, almost an aftertought, like your sleeping bags haven't been next to each other for the past few weeks on the cold floor of the safehouse. When the four of them have each other's backs you find yourself pressed against a wall with nobody to watch your six.
When during a mission the dilapidated building collapses somewhere above you, barely escaping the blocks of concrete falling down, there's no one calling your name on the small radio. After some agonizing minutes you make your way from under the rubble, awkwardly trying to catch up to them to the pick up point. If they noticed the state you were in, none of them bother to comment on it, only a bluntly clipped "Took you long enough" and the fact that you can barely stand on your legs is the only thing stopping you from throwing a punch. What was this? You understand them not wanting to bond with you, but that was straight up negligence on their part.
The first thing you do after getting off from the heli is requesting a transfer from Laswell, John can wait a while for that damn report. She's not thrilled with the news, but also not surprised, she must have known something like this was gonna happen, the 141 were a unit and there wasn't any space left for somebody else. She requests you stay for one last mission, needing all five of you to infiltrate one of Makarov's secret bases and get the hostages alive. You accept her conditions and already start marking the date in a calendar, two months from now.
After the last mission they start noticing something strange about you, not being outright hostile, but definetely keeping your distance from them as much as possible. The previously bitter note in your scent being replaced with an indifferent undertone, the first time your original amber aroma comes back they do a double take. They're not jealous that now you don't want anything to do with them, of course not and Ghost doesn't almost break the cup in his hands when hearing you laugh at something one of the sergeants of another team was saying. What was that funny and why were you even sitting with them in the mess hall? The first time Kyle's greeting goes unanswered, he thinks you maybe haven't heard him, the third time he knows you're ignoring him on purpose. Not even Johnny's attempt to invite to go look for nesting supplies manages faze you, at some point in the past you would have been ecstatic at an oportunity like this to bond with another omega, but now it seems useless if you' re gonna leave them in a few months anyway.
They don't acknowledge that something is really wrong until you deny their invitation to the pub, the first time they actually bothered to ask you as a matter of fact. What use is all this when you're on the verge of leaving? You feel the way their individual smells shift a little, burnt and sour undertones, but you play this out as the nerves for the upcoming mission. This time you don't bother to look behind if one them is following, you know they already grouped with each other. Everything goes well as you're evacuating the hostages until you hear that unmistakeable ticking sound and there's a cold shiver down your spine. Damn it! Soap was supposed to take care of that, there's not enough time to defuse it in less than a minute, you don't have that kind of expertise so running for your life it is. You scream over the radio for everyone to evacuate as fast as possible, but you're still too far from the exit and suddenly there isn't a floor anymore under your legs and it all goes black.
Eyelids opening heavily just for the hospital light to hit your eyes, blinking a few times and the first thing you see is a white ceiling. Turning your head around to the beeping sound and watching your vitals on the screen, you remember the mission, the explosion and suddenly you wish you could go back to unconsciouness. Price is gonna chew you out as soon as he finds out you're awake, but at least it's now over with the task force. Pressing the button for the nurse to come you already make a mental list about packing up, it shouldn't take more than an hour, the sooner you leave the better.
To your surprise there are four figures behind the nurse and you realise they've been on the other side of the door the entire time? How did you not noticed them? While answering the nurses's questions you realise why you didn't noticed them, it's the smells or lack of them. Are they wearing supressants? Your unspoken question is answered by the nurse telling you that you lose your sense of smell due to the head trauma, she calls it scent blindness.
Your first reaction is confusion or maybe it's disbelief followed by anger. It's their fault! Scent is a vital part of how an omega navigates the world, it's how you avoid danger, how you guess someone's true intentions when you don't trust their words and now it's all gone. It's a shame things ended up like this, the nurse barely manages not to react at the mix of angry and stressed smells in the room. You think you hear Soap or Price saying everything will be ok, how they'll figure something out, but you don't believe a single word they say, they could be lying straight to your face and you wouldn't know about it. Your only salvation comes when the door opens again and there's Laswell already telling you about already making transfer to another team with mostly betas where your loss of smell wouldn't be a problem. Of course, you don't notice the mix of smells souring the room, but the nurse almost starts coughing asking your now ex teamates to leave.
Please write more featuring (the original stuffed cat) Mr Kitty. Simon deserves a raggidy old stuffed animal
Omg Mr kitty🥺🥺
No one knows this, but Mr kitty used to be an actual cat. A stray that would come through simons back yard, with shabby grey fur and little white socks. Back when simon was still small enough for Mr Kitty to push him around.
Little four year old Simon loved Mr kitty, lying in the sun with him and eating tuna with him. He would spend hours outside silently waiting for Mr kitty, then squeal in delight when he showed up.
Of course, when Mr kitty had to "go on vacation" after eating something his Da left out. simon was inconsolable. He cried day and night even when his father yelled at him, then silently for weeks on end.
So his Ma found a little plushie at the bottom of a thrift bin and decided it was the perfect gift.
Thus, Mr kitty was reborn.
A small, bean-filled cat plushie. It followed simon everywhere. To school, to bed, to dinner. He would talk to Mr kitty all the time, would find comfort in him. When his parents didn't love him, Mr kitty did. When simon woke up terrified, Mr kitty was there.
Even when simon got older, he held on to Mr Kitty. Full of embarrassment, he couldn't let the small plush go. Now, it lives tucked in a shoebox under ghosts bed, only to be pulled out on really bad nights.
When he feels more simon than ghost, he holds Mr kitty to his chest and hums lowly, trying to mimic the deep rumbles of Mr kitty that soothed him so much as a child.
Simon who still has Mr. Kitty in a box under his bed, safe and hidden.
He cant leave base without the fear of someone finding the little thing and tossing it, thinking it trash from the way one button eye is missing and its fur is all wrinkled.
Like his dad once did when he found the ratty thing hidden under little Simons pillow
He had spent hours crying silently, searching for it in every nook and cranny
Only to find it in the bile filled trash.
His ma in one of her kind moments, helps him wash it and dry it before his father can find out the thing was still in the house.
After that night one dark button eye is missing forever.
Ghost who cant bring Mr. Kitty with him on missions. Too terrified of bringing the last pieces of Simon onto a battlefield and loosing him there.
Ghost who cant bring himself to touch Mr. Kitty in fear of tainting the wee thing with the blood staining his hands.
Ghost who also cant sleep without Mr. Kitty tucked securely against his chest, in the hope that keeping Mr. Kitty close will keep Simon close, will keep his Ma and Tommy and all their soft moments together tethered to the tainted wretched thing that is Ghost.
The room smells like disinfectant, warm blankets, and that weird hospital air that feels too clean to be real. You’re half propped up in bed, exhausted in that bone-deep, cosmic way, staring at the absolute UNIT swaddled against your chest.
Your baby is… enormous. Respectfully. A marvel of biology. The nurses kept saying things like “wow” and “that’s a strong baby” with the same tone people use when they see a truck doing something illegal.
And Simon?
Simon is unwell.
He’s standing too close to the bed. Too stiff. Like if he locks his knees he’ll pass out. His skull mask is gone, because apparently hospital staff draw the line there and without it, he looks wrecked. Red-eyed. Hair a mess. Hands shaking like he’s about to diffuse a bomb using chopsticks.
Soap walks in first and immediately stops dead.
“…Jesus Christ.”
Price follows. Gaz behind him. All three of them stare.
Soap points. “Is that— is that the baby?”
Gaz squints. “That’s not a baby. That’s a loaf.”
Price clears his throat, deeply impressed. “Strong start. Good head on ‘em.”
Simon makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
“Shes breathing,” he says urgently, like this is breaking news. “She just— she breathes and then she sighs.”
Soap grins. “Yeah mate. That’s what babies do.”
“No,” Simon insists. “This one does it… meaningfully.”
You adjust the baby slightly and Simon flinches like you just tossed a live grenade.
“Careful!” he blurts, then clamps his mouth shut, horrified. “Sorry. I’m sorry. You’re doing perfect. I just”
The baby lets out a tiny grunt. A chunky, offended little noise.
Simon’s entire soul leaves his body.
“She’s mad,” he whispers. “I’ve upset her.”
Gaz is already losing it. “Lt, you look like you’re about to apologize to the Prime Minister.”
Soap leans over the crib. “Blimey. Look at those cheeks. You could lose a man in there.”
The baby’s hand escapes the blanket and immediately grabs Simon’s finger.
Simon freezes. Again.
“…she’s got me,” he says quietly. “I can’t move.”
Price sips his coffee. “You’re a parent now, Simon. Accept your fate.”
Simon looks at you. Completely undone. Voice shaking, eyes soft, like he’s staring at the sun but it’s wrapped in a blanket.
“I don’t know how you did that,” he says, reverent. “You’re incredible. Both of you.”
The baby yawns. Wide. Dramatic. Fat
Soap actually clutches his chest. “I can’t believe this. The scariest man I know just got emotionally KO’d by a newborn.”
Gaz snaps another picture. “This is going on the fridge.”
Simon doesn’t even protest.
He just gently presses his thumb against the baby’s knuckles, whispering like a vow, like a promise, like a man who is absolutely, irrevocably gone.
“Hi, love,” he murmurs. “I’m yer dad. I’ll sort it out. Promise.
Simon Ghost Riley, will not survive becoming a father.
there is nothing better than waking a pretty girl slowly from sleep by running your fingers gently along her clit until she's unconsciously twitching her hips, eyelashes fluttering -- almost awake -- then getting your mouth on her and applying firm, hard pressure, unrelenting, until she squirts all over your face and tits
getting to catch another hour of sleep pillowed in her body and covered in her cum is a close second
ghoul i had a premonition that if johnny ever found out about omegaverse, he'd probably fuck dick and balls into the same hole just to simulate the feeling of a knot
ough
Johnny wiggling his finger into your cunt beside his cock, crooking it just enough to give you some extra stimulation. it's fun and it feels good and you're cock drunk enough that you don't care what he's doing as long as he keeps doing it. then he adds another finger, and another and it pinches a bit, the stretch starting to burn alongside your confusion. what the fuck it he doing? but every time you try to get the words out he's pinching your clit and kissing at your neck, making you just a little looser, a little more pliant for him until finally he feels like he has a chance at doing what he wants
he pulls out enough to wrap his fingers around his cock, reaching lower to grip his balls, tugging the loose skin up to press against the underside of his dick. he keeps them tight there and then presses in again.
it's a tight fit, and you huff and fight him on it the whole way. you don't understand, poor thing, but he's dizzy with the thought. maybe he can't knot you properly but this is the next best thing right? you'll like it once he gets them in, you'll drool and moan like the omegas in those naughty little stories he's caught you reading.
Thinking about mer!reader who was born in captivity meeting mer!ghost who was born wild...
You both meet in a mer sanctuary, you having been rescued from an aquarium going bankrupt and ghost under treatment for a boating strike. You've never seen another mer before, but the strange creature in your tank undeniably is one, that much you instincts tell you.
But....but he's so big, bigger than anything you've seen before! You doubt he could ever comfortably fit in your tank! Just looking at him makes your fins flutter nervously, hiding in the rocks on the shelf built into the pool.
He keeps peeking into your cave, chirping and churring in a way that makes your instincts perk but you don't really understand. Safety? Pod? You don't know.
Meanwhile, ghost is losing his mind.
This strange mer is too damn small, and he keeps trying to ask "are you okay? I'm safe, did they hurt you?" But all it does is squeak like a pup and hide!
Ghost can't fit into the tiny cave with the mer, and his instincts are already freaking out because he's separated from his pod! He needs to protect the weird pup!
....how the hell the workers intend to care for you when ghost is at risk of drowning anyone who tries, they have no idea.
Request fill for nonny who wanted captive vs wild mer!!!
Simon Ghost Riley’s interests were a bit… different.
Not weird. Maybe nerdy? This is besides the rock collection he’s been building up since he was a kid, and besides the plethora of Lego sets he still loves to build (he doesn’t have shit else to blow cash on, why not?) and besides the knife collection—
Simon Riley has played this extremely adorable yet addicting puzzle game that has a very well known and loved mascots. He doesn’t even remember how he got into the game, but it’s been 3 years playing the game now and perhaps the collection of cute stuffed animals and stickers on his home laptop has— accumulated. Maybe too much
So when there’s a collab with his favorite video game at his favorite cafe, and with a strike of luck wins the raffle for players over level 100— of course Simon Ghost Riley is at the event!
And early at that.
Well— maybe he was sitting at the cafe near by. So stand off ish, in all black, mask on with a cap, no one could see the three collector item kitty cat keychains he had on. Too nervous to wait in line and look out of place, his knee bouncing up and down, phone clutched tight in his hand. Eyes stuck on the growing line, the cute pink, purple and blue’s of the decorations— he loved it. But could he really go in? By himself?
And he’s lucky you walk by, a little ditzy and absentminded, if you hadn’t so loudly gasped and asked if he was going to the cafe next door— someone probably would’ve asked him to leave the premises.
You slap your hand over your mouth, “Sorry, that was loud. But I saw the purple ticket on the table! You have to get in line to get a good seat like… now! Or all the influencers will take your spot.”
His ears burn red, scratching his hair, “Yeah, But… it’s a little-“
“—You like it, don’t you?”
Simon eyes widen a little, “Well, yeah.”
“Then you should enjoy it to the fullest! Dont worry about what other people think!”
And Simon doesn’t even fully register it all, you’re taking his hand and helping him up, “We can sit together! Double the fun when it’s two people, it’s true!” You give him that jaw dropping smile that has his stomach feel like it’s about to flip. A new reason to be nervous taking over.
But he’s thankful for how headstrong you are nonetheless, got a perfect seat by the window with you, got to try to new sweet treats and drinks while thankful the mask he had covering his face his mask to hide the amounts of times he gushed at the cute items and how cute you looked across from him, giggling and taking pictures with and for him. Got a bag full of new merch, a long with a friend to finally talk about his hidden hobby with.
a/n: alt ending where they… “get to know each other” in the car after the event, your face all pressed into his hoodie that smells like him and licking and biting up his neck while he helps you grind your hips against his hard on through his pants . Your panties creating a stain the more your roll your hips, can feel his chub poking you through your sticky folds, don’t even remember how he got that Jean skirt that went to your ankles off of you, but Simon likes how good you look a little disheveled, biting your lip as you say his name that’s still fresh to you in barley a whisper. And Simon can’t help but let out low groan after low groan, the way your ass feels in his calloused hands, how hot you look in that shirt of his favorite mobile game practically squeezing your tits, the way you keep pulling away from kisses to look into his dark brown eyes that match yours— you’ve got the man hooked.
Every Jedi has their own particular twist - Kit Fisto uses a hallucinogenic seaweed found on his native planet. Plo Koon’s is literally lethal to non Kel-Dor but is the galaxy’s best known grease remover. Mace’s stash appears relatively tame, but has an aftertaste that kicks in half an hour later when you’ve already drunk half the bottle and cannot be removed by any mouthwash known to civilization. No one knows what Yoda’s tastes like, except possibly Dooku and the only time he was ever asked his eyes went blank, his shoulder twitched compulsively and he he immediately called a retreat - it is therefore the most sought after secret in the temple. Luminara has a variety that tastes of something only describable as “pure regret”. She’s been working on “horrified realisation” for a while now but has only managed “embarassed mortification”. Qui-Gon liked to infuse tea and spices into his brew, and brought back more than a few exotic species to feed his habit. Obi-Wan continues the tradition, however due to the increasing stresses of war the tea varieties he uses have steadily been increasing in both bitterness and caffeine content. It is colloquially known as “the sleepless death” and is banned in eight star systems. Skywalker’s version is surprisingly palatable, does not cause hallucinations and packs a kick stronger than a Dug on steroids. It’s made of bugs.
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