a dark!a/b/o universe where omegas are kept mostly in breeding/selling facilities for alphas.
they don’t even see the light of day — every omega is kept underground.
so how does one get bought, you say?
candles.
goddamn candles.
each facility will get the scent of their omegas to make candles as a ‘selling point’ for each one, in order to keep them as ‘pure’ as possible. the only time these omegas interact with an alpha is when they’ve finally been bought.
a cruel design to send them into heat as soon as they come within the scent field of the alpha who’s just bought them.
so, of course, ghost goes down to these facilities quite frequently to scent the candles, waiting until he finds one that makes his eyes roll back. the workers always know what he’s there for, and point him to the new batches.
new omegas.
it’s been happening for months now, so he was expecting just another trip of subpar scents before going home—
until he smells your scent.
he freezes, reading the description on the candle, before thrusting it into the worker’s hand.
“get ‘em,” he grunts, pawing at his mask that now felt incredibly suffocating and hot on his face and neck.
poor you has no idea what you’re in for.
and yes, simon absolutely lights the candle while he’s pounding into you every which way, both of you deep into your respective ruts/heats🙂↕️
AN: i feel like ghost is one of those alphas who’s so obsessed w you he gets a rash if he’s not in you. send tweet
Perfectly shaped for Simon, with plush hips to grab, fat tits to bury his ugly mug into, and a scent worth dying for.
A true plump pocket-sized fairy—his words.
Docile when treated right; he's never heard anything else but lovely chirps and purrs coming from you. The occasional yelp when he smacks your ass to watch it jiggle or nips at your mating mark whenever cuteness aggression possesses him like a wicked demon.
That is until he comes home from duty, smelling like another omega one evening.
The moment you pick up on it, that incredibly biting scent of cherry blossom and burnt caramel, your nose twitches and you bristle, eyes zeroing in on Simon as he approaches you in the kitchen.
The scent is so overwhelming, you smell it over the herbal tea you're brewing.
"My love," he greets you gruffly, oblivious still, "how's yer day been?"
And you don't reply anything, but there is a sudden rumble in your chest. A soft yet warning growl steadily building up deep inside of you, like a tigress coming alive to protecting her territory.
Simon freezes over the sound, dark eyes widening imperceptibly like he's sensing an unknown threat in the dark. Reaching up, he pulls his balaclava off at once; dirty blonde hair disheveled and sticking up from his skull.
"Love?" He asks again, a more gentle inquiry.
Until it hits him, too. That saccharine, foreign omega scent clinging to his fatigues, his skin.
It immediately offends him as much as it does you.
His crooked nose wrinkles, brows furrowing with a snarl, though not because of you, "Isn't what ye'r thinkin'," he assures you, palms coming up as if soothing a wild animal. "Some daft rookies gettin' in a bloody fight. Had to intervene—"
Your teeth glint in the soft LED lights under the kitchen cabinets. The tea kettle starts whistling as the water boils. Standing there in your cosy bath robe and fuzzy slippers, growling at him for the first time, you look comically ominous.
Sweet, supple fairy.
Simon swallows thickly, his prick chubs in his cargo pants as your pupils keep dilating, your scent spiking with jealousy; spicy and dangerous.
He groans, "I'd never—"
"Go shower," you hiss, causing his jaw to snap shut tightly, throat bobbing. "Bring your bloody uniform to the dry-cleaner's tomorrow or I swear I'll burn them, Simon Riley."
His pulse throbs in tandem with his cock now, knees nearly buckling as he fidgets with his mask.
"Yes, ma'am," he nods, "anythin' else for my—"
You take a step towards him, growling, "Now."
And Simon has never ever scurried like this in his life before; a strange mixture of anxiety and arousal oozing from his pores as he strips on his way to the bathroom, chuckling like a madman under his breath.
*deep sigh* I was, as always, inspired by @ilostthewar , aka Baby Moth. This is that post right here.
This got pretty long and I sorta like it. And I will be writing this in multiple parts because I am a sucker for porn with plot.
Title: Soap found her
18+ poly omegaverse 141 x reader
You had known Soap, or Johnny, as he insisted you call him for all of three months. He is one of the few omegas on base, and it's nice to have the comraderie. You work in the civilian and contractor sector, doing intelligence and all of the alphas and betas annoy you. They normally do their best to either coddle you or assert their dominance. So when you meet Johnny, it's like a breath of fresh air.
It starts off slowly at first. Lunch together, you bring him things that you make to share. He's particularly fond of your cooking but is head over heels for the sugary treats you give him. You don't notice how there are two other alphas and a beta watching you two, as you whisper and laugh about things only omegas would get. Next comes deliberate plans to hang out away from base. You invite him to your flat, it's cozy, and you show him the rows of shelves and baskets and trunks full of nesting things. Blankets, pillows, stuffed animals, and fabric softeners and scent sprays. You explain that you change your nest and the theme of the nest monthly, just one life's little pleasures.
Johnny likes that your place is cute and kitschy and that you don't use the big lights in any room and opt for various soft fairy lights. Back on base in his pack's home, the guys notice that Johnny is redoing his own nest. He's added led strip lights, fairy lights, and softer more delicate blankets and pillows. He comes back home one day and gives each of his pack mates a squishmallow to cuddle and sleep with, really drench it in their scents before it goes into his nest. Price and Simon don't think much of the change, and they only notice when Kyle says, "Johnny doesn't normally feed into these types of behaviors."
This causes the three of them to watch their omega a bit closer. The only thing they notice is that Johnny has made a new omega friend, and any unease they had is quelled.
The fourth month comes of you and Johnny knowing each other, and now you're both very close. He has a key to your place and swings by often. So much so that your home carries his scent and the trace scent of the alphas and beta from his pack. You and him do everything that pack omegas would do, together! Things such as shopping for nesting materials, visiting omega only cafés (and you're shocked truly that he hasn't done something like that), he's even gone shopping with you for heat toys to prepare for your upcoming heat (the look he gives you during that trip was one you couldn't really decipher. But his cheeks were pink often).
So much time being spent together means that things...tend to sync up.
Johnny is the first to notice it when his heat is a week late. He confirms that he's not been accidentally pupped by his pack (they are all very careful with not getting him pregnant). The doctor laughs at him and says with a smile on his face, "Your body is probably trying to sync up with a new pack mate."
Johnny is shocked with news, and it's even more true when you start complaining about your own heat not showing up.
"Johnny, I went and saw my primary. She said my hormones are okay, but my body is preparing for a heat soon... Do you think we synced up?" You whisper on the phone with him. It's a bit later in the evening and you've been worried all day since your own appointment. Your heat was due two weeks ago. "I won't be able to make it back to my family in time to be looked after."
"Well, bonnie Bunny." He says quietly, he's laying in his own nest. Simon's shirt fits loosely on him, and the sweats he stole from Gaz fit for the most part. He's got his face in the stuffed animal that smells like cigar smoke and teakwood and notes of the expensive cologne that Price likes to sometimes wear. "My own doctor thinks we're synced up, haven't told my pack yet, but the doctor is suggesting that my team and I be benched until the new break through heat comes."
"Oh Johnny, I'm so sorry." You whimper. "I didn't think this would happen -"
"Nothing to say sorry for bonnie." His voice is low, "I think it's a good thing. I've finally got the push to ask you if you want to, uh...formally meet my pack. They know your scent, and they like it." He chuckles at the memory of Simon inhaling the lingering scent of you from a pillow case he took for his own nest. Another thing that close omegas did was share nesting items and comfort each other.
You're silent for a moment, and it worries him. There's a sigh, it's dreamy in a way, "I'll admit, seeing you with those three on base was nice. I may be respectful, but I'm not blind."
He's grinning like the Cheshire cat. Johnny has always wanted another omega in the pack, but most omegas were either afraid of Simon or put off by Price (he's a bit of a control freak). They also didn't want to be brought into a military ran pack with the chance of one of them randomly getting killed in action. It's fate really that both of your bodies decided to sync up like airpods.
The next morning at the breakfast table, before they all get pulled in different directions for the day, Johnny sets down his lab reports in front of Price. He's not daft. He knows that they know his heat is late. Kyle had made a mention of it in passing that he had stocked up on everyone's favorite snacks and whatnot and that they have not used them yet. At the time Johnny just shrugged, feeling sluggish but nowhere near ready or wanting to be knotted and fucked stupid.
Price raises an eyebrow as he sips his coffee, "You had an appointment and didn't tell us?" He seems a bit hurt. Like if something was wrong with any of his boys, his loves, he would have noticed it. Sure, Johnny's heat was late, but that's happened before when he was stressed over a mission or the outcome of a mission. He chalked it up to the last op they were on, nasty work, but they all made it back in one piece.
"Yeah." Johnny makes himself a plate of food and grabs the orange juice from the fridge. "Been feeling off lately, and it's a new break through heat cycle forming."
This time, it's Simon who snorts. He's not one for random changes. He remembers when his father would have random changes to his rut, and it always meant that he had been cheating on his mom. He really doesn't want to assume the worst right away. "What are you trying to say, Johnny?"
"I want you guys to meet my friend." He says with a small smile, "The friend that smells like toasted marshmallows and sugar cane."
The guys all perk up about that bit of information. The air in the room seemed to be charged with anticipation. Common knowledge that omegas tended to keep their omega friends separate from their packs to avoid issues. Their darling Johnny had found a friend, a new pack mate, and was trying to gauge if they would all accept her. Kyle is the first to break the silence.
"Well." The chair creaks as he leans back in it. In thought, "Is she the reason your cycle has been thrown off, and is that stack of papers from your doctor about to bench us until your break through heat is over?"
He feels a bit sheepish at being called out. "I really like her, and I've been to her house and seen her nest and I'd like to show her mine" he rattles off hastily, "nothing has happened besides us hanging out, and you guys like her scent and well..." Johnny thinks over his next words carefully. He doesn't want to offend his mates, and he doesn't want to put them on the spot. The deep sigh he lets out is long and he listens as John shifts through the doctor orders and suggestions about being benched while waiting for a new heat cycle to happen.
"Tell us Johnny." Kyle reaches over and grabs his hand lovingly. "We won't be mad."
"I get lonely sometimes and normally I can keep a good balance but sometimes you just need that extra bit to make it whole and I think she's that extra bit that could make, me- us whole." He quickly corrects, but everyone already heard.
The reality that Johnny wanted another omega in the pack settled on everyone. It was sudden but understandable. Two alphas and a beta (who leaned more towards being an alpha sometimes) could be a bit much on one omega. They didn't need to think it over, just feeling the dull scent of honey apples coming from him says it all.
John looks up from the papers and smiles gently, "Sure, we'll meet her and go from there." Getting up, he downs the rest of his coffee and moves to put his dishes away. "I'll get the paperwork put in for stand-by medical leave for us. Pick someplace comfortable for you and her, you little muppet."
Johnny can only grin about this change of events.
He's also very excited to experience a synced heat with another omega in his pack. But he's not the only one if the dreamy look on Kyle's face and how Simon looks to be excited is anything to go by.
Hybrid!Wolf!Ghost is fucking feral. He's always been too good at managing his ruts, hiding away in his room and pathetically jerking off to try and make himself feel better no matter how desperately he wants to shove his cock in any hole— he's good at self-control.
Good at self-control until you come along. A much smaller cat hybrid, too bitchy and too good for even taking suppressants, driving the men in base insane with your scent. His first instinct is to attack— to latch his sharp teeth into your neck and shake you around until he erases that annoying, smug smirk off of your face.
You can feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, hand pushing down on the middle of your spine to test your flexibility while he thrusts into you at a brutal pace, pulling out only to slam his cock into you with a singular forceful thrust.
Low groans and growls mix in with your whiny moans, slick making his cock glisten every single time he tries to pull out only to be sucked back in by your needy cunt. Your body and scent are making his body haywire, forcing him to lean down and desperately rub his face on the back of your neck, trying to mark you with his scent despite the awkward angle.
Simon's thrusts are brutal, bruising your cervix more and more every single time his meaty thighs slam against your ass. His warm hands hold onto your waist and use your own body as leverage to stuff your cunt, stomach flexing as pleasure begins to coil within him.
He slams himself as deep as possible, forcing you to take him to the base as his knot begins to swell into you. He holds you in place, barely pulling out anymore, yet still fucking into you with the same intensity, shooting ropes of hot cum right into your fertile womb, breeding you.
Half-lidded brown eyes stare down at you when you start to whine underneath him, soothingly running a hand up and down your back to get you to relax while his knot keeps you tied and vulnerable.
Hi. Sorry. Can't stop thinking about massive Alpha Simon held up in a corner overlooking a bar. Glaring at anyone and everyone. Tough OP. Johnny's in the hospital, Kyle is sitting with him, and John is dangling someone over a ledge right now. His whole Alpha Pack is trying to mend itself together and here he is. Getting drunk.
Doesn't matter. Not when your table can't stop looking, can't stop whispering, can't stop licking their chops over this massive Alpha with the biggest attitude, biceps, thighs—and everything in between—around.
You aren't being so obvious, but you can't help but look too. You know you aren't the one that will get taken in the bathroom. Or alleyway. Or to wherever this Alpha calls his den. No, that's for your Omega friends who dragged you out of your cubby (you call an apartment) and begged you to hang out. Ypu knew that it's safer for an Omega to have a Beta around, someone who will make sure the Omegas were looked after and safe, but even if you were being used as a babysitter, you still enjoyed everyone's company.
Except for the Alpha who caught the attention of all of your friends. Who made their sweet, syrupy scents fluff up and drown the entire table, and flowing throughout the bar to reach him. Who giggled, twirled their hair, their gum, the straw in their drink, as they eyefucked him and begged for him to take one of them. Maybe all of them.
It's happened before. Long night for you, staying out in the hallway as it happened, all to make sure that they got home safely.
You couldn't help it. You couldn't just leave. You had to help. You had to make sure the Omegas were okay. You just couldn't walk.
You figured it would be the same as before. Your stomach twisted and you wished you could have more to drink, but you knew you shouldn't.
Poor Beta. Taking care of everyone else, but never you, huh?
Probably why Simon can't stop looking at you. Drinking you in as you starting drinking water. As you buy the entire table food and make sure the Omegas ate.
Yeah, they're beautiful. They can get him going. He knows they are absolutely Johnny's type, but you...little Beta.
You have the Alphas attention.
Maybe it's why everyone is surprised when a special meal, a sheppards pie, is placed in front of you. You couldn't even tell the bartender that you didn't order it before he points to Simon in the corner and leaves.
Everyone is shocked, you included.
Your mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water. Everyone is staring at you like you sabotaged them. Like you did this on purpose.
Providing food, a meal, nutrients, to another was beyond words. Providing for someone who you didn't know was unheard of, unless it's an Alpha wanting an Omega.
Your shoulders drop, and you know what had happened. He smelt someone else and thought it was you.
Wasn't the first time it'd happen. Won't be the last. Begrudgingly, and with the stares of your friends as you slowly walked over to his table holding the delicious smelling, warm and most perfect pie (its your favorite. You eat one every birthday dinner, just as a little treat for yourself) and stop in front of him.
He can't stop smiling.
The curl of his lips, like he won a prize. The scars tugging his flesh in opposite ways, but spoke to your instincts and told you that he was a survivor. That he had been through war, battles, trials. He had clawed his way out of hell and lived to tell the tale. His brown eyes, almost black under the warm lighting, gleamed with a sense of pride.
Little Beta wanted to eat the meal with the Alpha that provided it. How sweet.
"I-I think you made a mistake, Alpha." Your voice was soft, but strong. You wavered, but you kept eye contact as you told the biggest Alpha around that he was wrong.
Fuck, Simon was so hard under the table.
"Mm, that right, little Beta?" You nodded your head, turning your head to look back at your table before stopping, slowly turning back to the predator before with wide eyes.
"I-uh, I'm sorry. You know I'm a Beta?" Your eyebrows twisted together, confusion heavily coming off you, and Simon could feel the beginning of his knot slowly form. He groaned lowly, free hand gripping his cock over his pants and squeezing. The motion is not lost on you, and Simon smirked as your pupils widened and your breath hitched.
"Of course, sweet thing. Why else did I get you the pie?" Your shoulders slightly lifted, but you couldn't stop your mouth from watering as the smells of the herbs, the meat, the potatoes filled your lungs with every second you held it. You know you should give it to the Omegas. You know he's toying with you. No Alpha actually wants a Beta—
"Gotta get your strength for tonight, Beta. No quittin' on me while I'm knotting you, got it?"
And oh....if that didn't sink you into the seat directly in front of him, eyes wide with hearts plastered over them as you began to eat in front of him, showing the Alpha what a good Beta you could be. You could listen. You could eat. You could take his knot—
Simon just smiles at you, ignoring your table who is fidgeting to get you back and to get a piece of the Alpha. He encourages you to eat and drink water as he drinks his last beer and surrounds himself with your coy scent, subtle and hidden but there. And growing.
Sweet Beta will be so perfect taking Simon's knot.
Maybe he can get you to stay around. Help take care of his pack.
Maybe he'll give you a reason to stick around (or two).
Alpha!Simon practically gnawing at the flesh on his arm, talons digging into muscled thighs as he gets a sniff of your scent, the sickly smell of honey glazed cherries.
You’re such a pretty mess, all whiny in his sheets later, slick coating your inner thigh as you moan out, sweat clinging to your skin. So impatient for him :(
He’s all over you, licking at your neck like a rapid dog, teeth grazing every artery as he inhales, cock rushing with blood.
“A-Alpha,” you whine, ass flush in the air, presenting to him, “I need you.”
His growl is feral, claws digging into your hips as he relentlessly pounds into you, walls gripping his cock as they clench in submission. You’re so complacent, so perfect for him.
His omega.
“Take this fucking knot baby, gonna pump you full of a litter. Gonna look so perfect all roun’ with my babies, ain’t you?”
Your moan was enough as your slick gushes down your pussy, cries gaping from wall to wall as your pulled back against Simon’s chest, hair thrown to the side as he sinks his teeth into your neck and sucks.
His thrusts get sloppy as he sucks in the metallic taste, knot forming as he cums, ropes of silk filling your tight hole up, ready to stick and give you kids.
psychopathy - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader (MDNI)
masterlist
omegaverse smut with loser simon riley who thinks he’s damaged goods but even that won’t stop him.
(aka he’s so fucking obsessed with you and yet is so convinced that he’s not worthy enough for you that he sneaks into your office to fuck a pair of your used panties)
possession. bone deep obsession. everywhere he goes, you’re fucking there. maybe not physically, but traces of your scent, of your being, linger. a mug you sipped your coffee out of every morning that he stands by too long, the clear, sticky sheen of your chapstick still present on the rim (“simon, the fuckin’ a/c in here is on too godsdamned high all the time, it wrecks my lips”). the gun you had just used out on the range that you had meticulously cleaned before placing it back in the armory that he can’t help but sniff like a damn thing possessed as he walks by, your scent all but ingrained in the metal after spending so much time by your side. then, the tiny fucking post-it notes with your messy script littered around base, little reminders to yourself about plans and paperwork. no one notices when a few go missing, stuffed together in a wadded mess in the front pocket of his cargo pants. anything to keep a little piece of you closer to him. one post-it he stole sits in the top corner of the mirror in his private bathroom (perks of being an officer) is a messy reminder he swiped off of your desk a few months prior, a small coffee stain in the corner from where your mug from that morning had sat on it.
meeting with simon @ 13:30 (:
it was the smiley face scrawled after the little reminder that had really made his heart skip a beat, the ugly sense of need overtaking any rational thought. the small spark of innocent joy making his head go haywire.
simon is fucked. in more ways than one. sure, the fact that he’s absolutely obsessed with you is definitely part of it, but beyond that, he knows that he could never actually get close to you in the way that he craves. he’s broken. damaged. an irreparable, miserable excuse of an alpha that is little more than a living, breathing weapon.
none of that stops him from wanting it though. from spiraling.
and one day, he feels it. the feverish itch deep in his being, the very first signs of pre-rut. he knows what he’s supposed to do, what he should do, but the possessive, obsessive part of his fucked-up mind is hyperfocused on one thing and one thing only: you.
it starts small. he knows you go to the gym every morning before settling down to do some paperwork in your office, and he knows you keep your dirty gym clothes, rife with your sweet omega pheromones, tucked away under your desk. so, he sneaks in when you step out for a moment, determined to just snag a single piece of your clothing, just to keep the ugly beast inside him at bay. to keep him from doing something he knows you’d regret.
but, oh dear gods above. someone is watching out for him somewhere in the universe, because sitting right at the top of the bag is the pair of the panties you had worn to the gym, neatly-folded like it’s a present waiting just for him. he could cry from the way your heady, sweet scent wraps around him as he pulls the still-slightly damp scrap of fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply. his eyes roll back, a deep growl ripping itself from his chest. he doesn’t even care that the pheromones - your pheromones - are slightly stale on the fabric. it’s you. his mind is reeling, and the feverish itch climbs ever closer to its peak, and he can feel his rut barreling towards him at full-force.
his logical side knows he needs to keep his distance. he knows he’s not good enough for you, that he could never be the alpha you need. but fuck, how he wishes he could be. he glances at the door for a moment, attempting to gauge how much time he has before you get back, but his rut-addled mind is slow, thoughts sliding through honey-thick. all he can focus on is your scent, and the way his cock presses heavily against his cargos.
he doesn’t even think. he pushes out from underneath your desk, but he doesn’t go far. he settles behind your desk, his back to the wall to keep his sight on the door. he tells himself it’s to make sure he can see when the lock starts jiggling, so he can pretend this never happened, but a part of him, a sick, twisted, damaged part of him, is hoping that you will catch him (and that you’ll like it).
your panties are pressed back to his nose as he quickly unbuttons his cargo pants, his cock thick and heavy and already weeping as his scarred finger sweeps over the slit. his eyes roll back as he takes himself into his hand properly, stroking quickly as he huffs at your sweet scent.
but it’s not enough. it’s not enough.
his hand is rough, and no matter how much pre-cum leaks from his angry red slit, it’s not nearly as pleasurable as he knows sinking into your tight, slick heat would be. he groans in frustration, tears of obsessive need pricking at the corners of his eyes. he throws his head back as his thumb brushes over the particularly sensitive underside of the head of his cock, but it’s still not enough.
well, if he can’t fuck you, he’ll take the next best thing.
he brings your panties down to his cock, wrapping them around his length as a barrier, your pheromones wrapping around his cock in a mockery of the way he wants them to, and he starts fucking up into his hand in earnest. it’s better, but all he can think about is mounting you and fucking you stupid until his knot locks you together. as the images flash through his mind, he leans forward, his free hand holding onto the carpet as he adjusts himself so that he is on his hands and knees, completely fucking into your panties like he wishes he could fuck into you.
he’s so close. surrounded by your pheromones that have soaked into your office space, he doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to absolute ecstasy. the pistoning of his hips is getting sloppy, and he can feel his balls tightening, but then he hears it. your keys engaging the lock on your office door. he’s fully panting now, trying desperately to reach his release before you get inside, so that you don’t have to witness the true level of his depravity.
he hears the lock click open, and that is what sends him over the edge. he cums loudly, growls and groans and your name falling past his lips as his cum soaks the panties still wrapped in his hand.
he’s still on his hands and knees, his massive body shaking from the magnitude of the release as he tries to catch his breath, and he hears your keys clatter to the floor, accompanied by a sharp gasp of surprise.
Pairing: Alpha!Simon Riley X Omega!Reader, TF141 X Omega!Reader
Summary: The team finds out you've been taken, and they gather to try and get you back before it's too late. Meanwhile, Theta-6 welcomes you home with open arms and a new purpose.
Warnings: language, angst, a/b/o dynamics, kidnapping, angst, violence, injuries, TW: mentions of assault, SA, sex, mentions of surgery/medical procedures, human trafficking, mentions of female sterilization,
Word Count: 2.8k
A/n: mmmm only one or two more left after this teehee. might take a bit longer for me to get the next two parts out cause they aint exactly finished yet but anywho, not proofread, happy sunday, enjoy
!!! This chapter contains content that could be considered triggering to some readers !!!
~*~
The table is cluttered with intel.
Satellite images, classified manifests, hastily scrawled notes in Soap’s hand.
Simon braces his hands on the edge of the table and leans over the map. Shoulders tight, jaw clenched. It almost looks like he’s getting ready to scream.
Every marked location. Every facility they’ve investigated. Every single lead they have had has turned up empty.
Gaz is slumped in a chair at the table, chin in his hand and bags beneath his eyes.
Soap stands over by the wall, lips pressed into a thin line with his arms crossed over his chest.
The room is silent, as if they’re all praying for a miracle that won’t come.
“Laswell just confirmed it,” Price says, barging into the room. “We’ve got movement.”
Three heads snap in his direction.
Price tosses a few grainy photos onto the table and Simon is quick to snatch them up.
“Theta-6 transport convoy. No standard clearance. They took an old decommissioned flight path - Northbound.”
The pictures are shit if you don’t know what you’re looking for.
But Simon can see the facility as clear as day - built to blend in with the mountains around it.
“Where is this?” He asks, handing the photos to Gaz, who then passes them to Soap.
“Few hours from here. Signals dead. No wireless, no traceable comms, but she’s there. We’re sure of it.”
Simon’s eyes lock on the pin Price places on the map.
Tucked in the mountains. Alone in the snow. Where God-knows-what is happening.
The last place his Omega should be.
Soap exhales sharply through his nose, fingers flexing. “So the rumours are true, then?”
“To some degree, they must be. But that doesn’t change anything. This is another operation - hostage rescue. Not the first time we’ve had to do this.”
“Just the first time they’ve taken one of ours,” Gaz mumbles, cracking his neck and waking up a bit.
“They didn’t just take her,” Simon says, voice rough with emotion. “They made her think we let them. She probably thinks we’ve abandoned her.”
Not probably - he knows that’s what she’s feeling.
He could feel it through the bond all night. Can feel it now, even.
“That’s the point. How else would she be so compliant? You really think your Omega would go with them if she thought she had a home here?” Price asks with a scoff and a shake of his head.
“So what’s the plan?” Soap asks, stepping toward the table with the rest of his pack.
Minus one.
“Full black,” the Captain answers. “No calls, no backup. Stealth in, hard out. This is a one-shot op. We get her and any others out, or we don’t come back.”
Simon’s gathering his things before Price is finished speaking.
“She’s still alive,” he says quietly, almost like a vow. “It’s weak, but I can feel her. She’s holding on.”
Soap claps a hand on his shoulder, gaze solemn.
“Then we’d better give her a reason to keep holding on.”
Gaz looks between them, then over at Price.
“We leave tonight?”
The Captain nods. “Wheels up in thirty.”
~
Thirty minutes is a long time when it only takes you two to get ready.
So Simon spends about ten of those 28 remaining minutes in what used to be your room.
When he gets you back you’re with him. Living, eating, sleeping, staying, breathing, existing.
He’s never letting you go again.
He can feel the drum of the helicopter starting, and he knows that the gear must be almost, if not already, all packed.
He’s seated on the edge of what used to be your bed. Head hanging and hands clasped together as he thinks of you.
His eyes fall closed and he takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Controlled.
The bond hums faintly beneath his skin, thin and fragile as spider silk. But it’s there. That dainty thread of panic and heartbreak is stretched so tight it could snap.
He’s going to follow it straight into hell if he has to.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispers into the empty room. “Just a little longer. Jus’ need you to hang on for a bit longer.”
There’s a pang of something - grief, guilt, and devotion all twisted together into some ugly Frankenstein of feelings.
He’s not good at softness. Not good with words.
But with you, it seems easier now.
“I know what you think,” he continues after a moment. “You think we let them take you. That we stood by and watched. But that couldn’t be further from the truth, love.” His jaw flexes and his breath gets shaky.
“I know I should’ve… said something. Said more when I had ya. I should’ve… been there, I could’ve stopped them… I–”
Lightning.
It rips through him, starts at his neck and singes every nerve ending.
His heart seizes in his chest for a moment before doubling its pace.
Your fear, so sharp and white-hot, slams into him with such violence he gasps and doubles over.
It’s so raw and sudden and all-consuming that his ears begin to ring.
He’s on his feet and down the hall in an instant, racing toward the helipad.
“We need to move!” He barks as he passes Soap and Gaz.
The blades start whirring, the wind kicking up dust and gravel as the men rush toward the helicopter.
Price shouts something behind him but Simon doesn’t stop. He’s the first one on, gear barely secured as his heart jackhammers in his chest.
The team scrambles in after him, and the bird lfits off the ground into the night.
~
The world is blurry as your eyes blink open, sluggish and crusted with dried tears.
You don’t remember falling asleep.
Two guards stand inside your cell at the door. One of them has restraints in hand, the other simply watches you with his hand on his taster, ready to subdue you if necessary.
Your Handler steps in a moment later, her hair pulled back in a tight bun.
“Up. You’re being prepped.”
You don’t move.
You stay there, curled up in a ball on the cot, glaring at them with puffy red eyes.
With a mildly annoyed huff, your Handler snaps once and then the guards are moving in on you.
Cold metal clasps around your wrists and ankles as they haul you to your feet.
You don’t bother trying to fight them this time.
Your feet drag against the floor as they lead you through the house of horrors, each step numbing you more than the last one until you’re a hollow shell.
They lead you down one sterile hallway after another, stopping finally in front of a thick steel door secured with a fancy looking lock.
With a press of her palm and a few clicks, your Handler has the door open.
She’s taking you down a different hallway now, but this one feels clinical.
Sterile white tiles, buzzing fluorescent bulbs, and the sting of antiseptic in the air.
It sends a shiver down your spine.
Worse than that, though, are the two rooms on either side of the hall.
The room on the left has walls lined with windows, giving you an incredible view of the operating room they are currently preparing.
Your head spins and the edges of your vision start to go black.
How did you end up here?
Before you have a chance to even catch your breath, you’re being pulled into the room on the right.
They strip you naked before the door even closes, ignorant of your weak protests.
A thin hospital gown is yanked over you, and they don’t bother to secure it in the back.
Please no.
Stainless steel counters line the wall of this little medical room, cluttered with labelled trays and surgical instruments. There’s a deep basin sink in the corner, where one woman in scrubs is washing her hands methodically, humming softly to herself as if this is just another regular day.
And for her, you suppose, it is.
There’s a medical cabinet humming beside her, faint condensation collecting at the edes of the glass.
The air in the room is several degrees colder than the hallway, and goosebumps are quick to rise on your skin as your restraints are removed.
In the center of the room is a padded chair reclined all the way back.
Your breathing stops.
The stirrups are extended and restraint cuffs are bolted to each side of the frame.
Your legs lock but that doesn’t stop the guards.
“No,” you whisper hoarsely, but they continue.
They wrestle you onto the chair with ease, strapping your ankles down before you can even try to kick.
The female Handler steps toward you as the guards step back, a controlling hand landing on your leg.
“Let’s not struggle this time, alright? We’d like this to be painless for you, and our guests don’t like damaged products.”
A fresh wave of terror crashes over you as the reality of your future settles heavily on your shoulders.
The Handler steps back, sending a cool draft of air wafting over you.
You feel so exposed, so humiliated.
The guards are shameless in their staring, eyes focused on the spot between your legs until the nurse finally steps there.
“I’ll just be getting you prepped.You’ll be under local anesthesia, of course. Awake, but calm. We find it helps the transition when our Omegas witness their physical shift in purpose.”
The overhead lights buzz almost as loud as her voice, and you wish they’d fall from the ceiling and crush you to death.
The nurse clatters through her tray of supplies as she methodically sets out her tools. Though each tool is labelled, you couldn’t begin to guess what any of it means or what any of them are for.
“Please,” you whisper, tears slipping down your cheeks, “please don’t do this.”
“Hush now,” the nurse coos. “We’re not hurting you, dear. We’re just fixing you up for your new future.”
You squeeze your eyes shut and turn away as you feel her gloved touch against your skin.
Everything feels too cold and hurts just a little too much as she cleans you, preps you.
You want to disappear inside your mind as she works on getting your body ready to no longer be your own.
But right as you try to retreat into yourself - the bond flares.
Just for a second. Maybe a fraction of a second. But it’s there.
A flicker of heat. A beat of warmth, comfort, presence.
Like for that very brief moment, you’re not alone.
It vanishes as quickly as it came, but it was there and you know it.
And it only makes you cry harder.
Not from hope, god no, you’re not that stupid anymore. It’s from the deep ache in your gut that tells you someone still feels you, even now, and they’ve chosen to leave you to this fate.
Your Handler leans in again, brushing your damp hair back from your forehead with gloved fingers.
“We’re finished now. You’ll remain here until the anesthetic starts to take effect.” She smiles like this is routine.
Like it’s kindness. Like she’s doing you some favour by depriving you of freedom. Of choice.
Gloves are removed with crisp snaps, and within seconds you’re left alone with the two gawking guards and your misery.
Five minutes go by. Hiccuping and trying to stifle your sobs, you wait for the guards here to get tired of looking and to start touching instead.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen, and then you realize that they can’t.
After all the effort the nurse put in to get you ready for your life-ending-altering surgery, they surely can’t go and mess it up. Not before you’re sterilized.
Slowly, your sobs subside into steady streams of tears that trek across your face like rivers on a map.
Your mind wanders as the seconds tictoc on, each one bringing you closer and closer to your new fate.
You wonder where you came from. Where you really came from.
Surely, you must’ve been born to a mother at some point, right? You weren’t grown in a lab, your future was just carefully curated since childhood.
But maybe at one point you did have a mother.
You sniffle as you try to imagine her. Imagine what that could be like. What that would feel like.
A mother who carried you in her womb for a proud nine months. A mother who devoted her body to grow yours, to bring you into the world to accomplish all the greatest things she could imagine and more.
You’re sure you had a mother who would have loved you, who would have never ever wanted this for you. One who would never have given you away or let you be taken, or whatever cruel events must have occurred to land you in the hands of Theta-6.
If you’d stayed with your mother, she would’ve taught you how to braid your hair and how to throw a punch.
She would’ve been strong, had to have been if you’re her child.
The two of you would’ve been best friends.
And maybe, in this world where you have a mother, you’d meet Simon the old fashioned way.
Maybe you’d bump into him at a coffee shop, like in the books Soap would sneak to you.
Maybe he’d offer to buy you another drink, and you’d spend the day chatting in the window while the hustle and bustle of life passes by without a care.
Maybe he’d court you, nice and proper. Treat you sweet and gentle and never ever raise his voice.
Maybe he’d build you a house and give you a pup, start a pack of your own.
Or maybe you’d move in with all of them, the whole team.
Maybe you’d find your happily ever after in a farmhouse surrounded by the firecrest protectors a girl could dream of.
Slowly, your wet lashes part and you stare up at the foggy lights swimming in your tears.
Maybe there is an alternate universe where all of that is real and more.
But that’s not where you are.
No, you’re here, spread open and freezing waiting for your life to be changed in a way you haven’t even fully processed.
