tongue on loving wound
simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader | omegaverse!au | alternate universe to In Limbo | alpha!ghost x omega!fem!reader | masterlist
Chapter Four: hold me tight as i burn in your arms
tw: smut, breeding kink, knotting, boarderline somno
Things get worse after your nap.
Perspiration soaks deep into the nest, capillary action spreading it throughout the mess of sheets and clothes until it’s burrowed underneath Simon. The air is sticky. Thick with warmth, it catches in his throat each time he inhales like he’s caught in the apex of summer. A nice vacation with the love of his life—except, this is anything but.
Overwhelmed, Simon has to peel himself away from you in order to catch a minuscule amount of reprieve, and he braces himself for what’s about to come next. Except, it never arrives. There’s no squirming or thrashing from you even in your half conscious state, no whining or clawing at him to come back as if you’ll die without his presence. You continue to lay there, limply caught without any advertence to what’s going on around you. Your chest is heaving. Sucking in deep, rapid breaths while your eyes flutter beneath their lids. When he places his hand on the crown of your head, you hardly stir.
“It’s time to wake up, sweetheart. C’mon,” he urges as his hand swipes along the curve of your skull.
All you can manage is a squeak. There’s no movement. Nothing more than the panting of your existence. Thick fingers trail along your body until he’s got them pressed against your wrist where your pulse thuds like a hammer beneath his touch. Your heart beats so fast he can hardly tell when one ends and the next begins, tachycardia overwhelming your body in swathes of relentless waves meant to drown you.
Cursing, Simon relinquishes his grip on your hand while he studies your limp body. He’s heard of people dying from heats before. Yearning for stimulation, the body heats itself up with wretched fevers meant to cook the body from the inside out like a bad sickness. For evolutionary reasons, he supposes it makes sense. Any alpha would drool over an omega who presents as sick, and they’d do anything to take care of them.
Even now he can feel the effects of nature gnaw on him. Your scent is thick in the air, changing rapidly, morphing physiology until it’s just the perfect concoction to tug on the strings of his heart. There’s an undertone of rot to the sweetness that bathes you. A festering wound needing to be cleaned. A harm he needs to undo.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Simon apologizes. The bed shakes as he rearranges himself, and his throat tightens at the way your limp body jiggles with the movement. Knees digging into the space beside you, he rests a hand on your stomach. “Should’ve knotted you like you asked, huh? My poor girl. I’m gonna fix that.”
There’s not so much as a squeak in response from you. His teeth grit as your body seems to stay the same. He has to move fast—he can’t bear the thought of failing. Of not giving you what you need. Of having to rush you off to the hospital all because he doesn’t know what his omega needs. His girl.
Tender fingers brush along your sex where he pries your thighs apart for better access to you. Your legs fall open, unused muscles jiggling from the impact. It’s difficult to tell the difference between your arousal and the sweat clinging to your skin, but either way it makes dipping his fingers between your labia easier as he slides your slick along your clit. The sensitive tissue hardens beneath his touch and twitches, sending shockwaves all the way down to your pulsing cunt. Even in your half lucid state you’re able to suck him in with ease.
Wary of your fragile state, he starts off with two. You’re impossibly warm. A damn oven waiting to suck him in and make good on your cries to have his children. You don’t make a sound until he adds a third. It’s pathetic and faint, something that catches in the back of your throat—what a pretty hole to fuck.
It doesn’t take long before he’s straining against his joggers again. Even though he’s had some reprieve during your nap, his knot is still stretching, angry for being denied its purpose when he had fucked you earlier. He wants to take things slow, but he’s not sure he can afford that luxury. You’re trembling now. Thighs quivering around his hand as he pumps them into your pussy, chest seizing as you attempt to make sense of the sensations rippling throughout your body—you’ve waited long enough.
Simon makes sure you’re comfortable once he’s relieved himself of his clothes. Still baking in the room, he hisses when he sinks back into the nest as the heat envelopes him once again. Your thighs are limp around his hips, and he finds he has to maneuver your legs for you; heels digging into the mattress, knees knocked against his iliac crests. Muscle and skin turned into liquid, he kisses a line up from your navel to your mouth. You can scarcely embrace him back.
“Gonna fuck my pretty ‘mega nice and proper now, yeah?” he murmurs into your mouth. He takes your whimper as a response. “I’ll knot this pretty hole ‘n get you all fixed up and feelin’ better. Just relax now, baby.”
He feeds his cock into you slowly. He pulls back on his foreskin until the fat roundness of his head is fully exposed with florid glands and glistening tears. Teeth dig into the tender skin on the inside of his lips as he presses against you, tepidness smothering him as your cunt flutters, pulling him in with each contraction.
Once he’s shoved himself as far as his anatomy will allow, your eyes flutter open as if finally being drawn back down to earth. Your gaze is glassy. Obscured with inert tears that don’t quite have any use but to confuse you further. Your tongue wets your lips as your hips roll with a groan.
“Simon?” you breathe.
“Easy baby, I’m takin’ care of ya,” he reminds. Carefully, he moves back, weight shifting until he’s sliding out of you almost too fast, suddenly emptying you, until he fills you full once again with a stifled grunt. “Gonna let your alpha do that, yeah? Gonna be a good girl ‘n take this knot?”
Your reply comes in the form of the whites of your eyes flashing while your gaze rolls into the back of your head. Spine curving, you lift your arms above your head in a stretch before your fingers are curling into your nest for purchase. Simon’s grin is near sinister like a wolf with fresh meat.
“Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”
It doesn’t take long to work you open so he can set a comfortable pace that leaves you keening like the bitch in heat that you are. You're dripping. Each thrust leaves your bodies squelching together upon impact, skin slapping on skin, sticky and sodden. Simon becomes hypnotized by the plush bouncing of your tits each time his hips rock against yours. He wonders how big they’d grow if he really knocked you up. Swollen with milk, liquid nutrients to care for a kid or two, playful pups to love and care for—
He hisses between his teeth as he hides his face in your neck. Your begging earlier in the kitchen has really done a number on his state of mind, and your scent isn’t helping. It screams at him. Magnetizes his body to yours, keeping him bound to you chemically as if the strings of fate have wrapped around the two of you to keep you together.
Even now he can feel the way he melts into you. Hardened cock carving out a space for himself, and your cunt welcoming him with open arms, squeezing him impossibly tight at the base—he second guesses if he’ll even be able to slip his knot into you at all. Not when you’re this tight.
Once he’s fucked you leisurely enough for you to get your words back on your tongue, you start begging again. For everything. Every piece of him that you can get your hands on. His chest, the tightening muscles of his stomach—it doesn’t take long before you’re clawing at him. Nails digging deep into skin, raking until there’s long, red marks in their wake. An uncharacteristic frustration overwhelms you in an instant until you’re digging holes into him, epidermis peeling until the juice of his body flows.
Grunting, he wrenches your wrists into his grip and pins you to the bed. With your strength sapped from the brutality of your heart, you’re hardly able to fight back with anything more than a pout and writhing feet as his movements cease. His brows raise as he stares down at you, almost intrigued by your actions.
“I want… want more,” you mope. Your fingers flex, opening and closing, and he can feel the tendons in your wrists move beneath his palms.
“Yeah? Then you use your words, baby,” Simon grunts, correcting your behavior.
“I want more,” you repeat again.
“More what?” he prods.
The words won’t come out right. He sees the concentration in your brows as the wrinkles form on your forehead, but nothing comes out except for frustrated grunts and huffs. If this were any other time, Simon wouldn’t be so kind, but deciding to offer you some grace, he moves both your wrists to one hand before snaking his freed one between your bodies.
“You just want everythin’ don’t ya?” he asks. He palms over your tits and chuckles at the way you arch into the pressure, but he doesn’t linger long before he’s pressing his thumb against your clit. “Want your alpha’s cock, want his knot, want his babies—just a greedy, greedy girl, yeah?”
You gasp as he swirls his thumb along the sensitive tissue between your labia, rendering your mind a useless mess. All you can do is nod at everything he says as he begins to move again. You’re tighter now. Walls closing in on him while electricity shocks your muscles until they’re spasming. You writhe against his hand, but the last thing you want is to get away from him.
“Lucky for you, I love you too much to tell you no.”
After that, Simon continues without caution. Thumb assaulting your clit until your legs are quivering, cock burrowing into you as if trying to find its way home—he plunges you into utter bliss. Pure friction, a new warmth chasing away your heat, murky eyes focused on your body, scarred lips against your shoulder, trailing up your jaw, tongue in your mouth; he doesn’t give you time to think about anything else. Not the ache, or the sweat, or even the tears that flood your cheeks.
Your scent changes right before you come. No longer the wounded pet needing to be taken care of, there’s something sweet on your sillage. Something like a treat meant to spring Simon into action. And he takes the honeyed promise. Hands finally relinquishing his grip on you, his fingers curl underneath your knees to push them up toward your chest, folding you in half as much as your body will allow.
He stares down at where your bodies are joined. His knot is beginning to swell, bright pink and widening as blood floods into it, veins protruding along his shaft, foretelling what’s about to come. Breath catching in his throat, Simon’s vision lands on your face just in time for him to shove himself inside of you one last time.
A burn accompanies the intrusion of his knot as it slips inside of you. At first, it’s minor. A gentle sting. A reminder that it exists. But when the expansion begins, you feel as if you’re torn apart. Pussy spreading to its limits, you whine as Simon’s weight crashes on top of you as the pulsing begins. Cum shooting inside of you, plugging you full with nowhere to escape as his knot keeps you locked against his body.
Simon shoves his face into the side of your neck with a groan as you flutter around him. You’ve got your arms wrapped around his back now as your legs kick out behind him, not used to this new sensation.
“S-Simon you’re—you’re so big,” you whine. “Too much.”
“I know, baby.” His orgasm finally begins to wane and he feels febrile. Refusing to let himself crush you, he keeps himself propped up on his arms while mentally cursing himself for the position he knotted you in. “Doin’ so well.”
Eventually you get used to the stretch. Now, everything feels right at home, as full of Simon as you can get with his cum dangerously close to giving you what you begged so desperately for earlier this morning. As your scent envelopes him, he notes the way your temperature drops. It’s nothing sudden or drastic, but enough to keep your brain from frying with unrelenting hormones controlling your every waking thought and action.
It’s bliss laying here with you. He feels every ripple of your fingerprints as you rub his back, breathing eventually slowing, content with what you have. The minutes pass by slowly, but your physiology is deeply in tune with his. The moment his knot begins to soften you’re whining again. Desperately pawing at his skin. Hips wiggling underneath him as if trying to keep him sucked inside of you.
“No…” you groan. “Not yet.”
Insatiable. A desperate little thing, you are. Always taking and begging. Simon doesn’t mind it, he likes feeling useful, but a heavy fatigue is beginning to pull at his body. It’s a weight in his muscles that pulls him down, chest against yours, bodies melting until he can’t tell the difference between your lives.
But all this is superficial. Hardly skin deep. You’re not the first omega he’s fucked through their heat before, but he wants you to be the last. The one who takes his knot whenever you want it, the one who marks his den with a comfortable nest the two of you can sink into at the end of a grueling day.
This isn’t the first time he’s brought an omega to his bed, but it’s the first time he’s ever done this.
Lips suctioning tight around your scent gland, Simon’s tongue swipes along your neck and you tense. Breath caught in your throat, eyes widening as you stare at the ceiling; you curse when his teeth graze against you. Dull but with enough fire to ignite you until you’re nothing but cinder.
“Oh fuck, Simon… Simon, please,” you beg.
And it’s all he needs to hear.
Eager canines partake of your flesh as if it’s the last meal Simon will ever have. You puncture easily, and flood into his mouth like nectar from fresh fruit. Your body goes rigid as you come from the sensation, neurons going haywire, synapses misfiring as your limbs begin to quiver. Bleeding, open wound, marked, and all Simon Riley’s.
He decides he can’t stop there. Leaning back on his haunches, he stares at the blood seeping from your neck and into the nest before taking your hands into his own. Nosing over the puny glands on the insides of your wrists, he breathes deeply before he bites into those, too. You cry out, a pitchy gasp that hisses through your teeth, but he quells any ache as he runs his tongue over the loving wounds he leaves for you. Then, he’s dropping to his elbows. Burrowed between your legs, his teeth mark the insides of your thighs, leaving nothing untouched by him.
All his. Tied with bindings that can’t ever be broken.
He collapses next to you once your body ceases to function. All you can do is lie there and whimper as the shockwaves of your orgasm pierces through you. Simon takes his time licking at your wounds until the bleeding stops. He’s never tasted ichor sweeter than yours before. Cherries and jasmine, with just enough rotted iron to keep him requiring more.
“How’re you feelin’ baby?” he whispers. He’s enveloped you in his arms, face buried in the crown of your head as you rest. Your heat must be waning—at least, you’re not sweating as bad as you were before.
“Perfect,” you mumble, hardly able to get your mouth to open.
“Good,” he hums. “Get some rest now, sweetheart. I’ll take care of ya.”
The next few days pass by sluggishly. Hours are lost in your nest, curled up against Simon’s side, breathing him in as you drift in and out of the waking world. Every now and then he rouses you with a water glass pressed to your lips, cold liquid seeping out of the corners of your mouth and dribbling along your throat. He swipes his thumb over the excess and rubs it along your neck, quelling the sting of his mark that scabs in the shape of his teeth.
There are times when you wake up in a febrile mess with the side of your face shoved into your nest and your rump lifted high in the air with stacks of pillows to keep you steady. Something sears through your core. It burns and stretches you wide like a needle through flesh. It isn’t until you try to move your body and you find yourself stuck to Simon that you realize you’ve woken up in the midst of him knotting you.
“There she is,” he coos, smoothing a wide palm over your lower back, melting the muscles beneath his touch. “Thought I’d lost ya, sweetheart.”
After a week, the worst of it is over. Your fever breaks and you no longer squirm and whimper in your sleep. Each word you speak grows more coherent instead of a muddled mess comprised of a heavy tongue and needy fingers curling and pawing into Simon’s flesh. He celebrates your hard work with a large breakfast. Pancakes, bacon, potatoes—you don’t realize how hungry you are until you place the first bite in your mouth. Days of lost calories finally catching up to you, you begin to shovel spoonfuls into your maw, chomping them down and swallowing them half digested.
Once your plate begins to glisten with grease, no longer covered by your meal, your brain begins to process everything that’s happened to you over the last few weeks. Marco’s death seems like a long forgotten memory. Unimportant. A gravestone already covered with moss with sketched lettering hardly discernible from any other crack in its crust. Your life has been filled with someone else now. Something worthwhile.
Tongue wetting your lips, your thumbs begin to press at the still healing wounds on your wrists. You can count each indent of Simon’s teeth. Incisors, canines, the dimpled crease of his molars.
You’re pulled out of your thoughts as Simon swipes up your finished plate. He gives it a half-hearted rinse in the sink before urging you up from your seat and ushering you into the bathroom. After all the time the two of you have spent together, you make no protest as he strips you of your clothes, peeling you like fruit until the cloth is scattered around your feet—fallen petals off a pruned flower.
The bath he runs is perfect. Preconditioned with cleansing soap, your muscles melt right off your bones the moment you lower yourself into the water. The warmth quells any ache that remains from the last few brutal days of your body attempting to destroy itself and Simon’s cock stretching your hole beyond its limit again and again. You lean back into the water, submerging yourself until you’re as covered as you can get, and he wastes no time getting to work washing you up.
You’re more filthy than you realize. Coated in a thick layer of sweat, dried cum sticking to various parts of your body, blood and scabs washing away into the water as swirls of iron, the brine of your tears mixing with it all—the sight makes you dizzy, but Simon is gentle as he washes it all away. Wash rag soft on your skin, he uses his own body wash. The scent lures you into such a deep security you nearly fall asleep in the tub.
“After I’ve cleaned you up, I can head to the store to get you some pills,” Simon speaks up, shattering the silence.
Brows knitting together, you look up at him as he begins to rinse the suds off of your chest. “Pills?”
Nodding, you watch as his eyes carefully trace over your body, lingering around your navel. “Mornin’ after pills. Knotted you enough times to get you pregnant ten times over, I reckon,” he says with a chuckle. Pausing, he leans against the side of the tub, elbows on the rim, shoulders hunched over as he leans closer to you. “Unless you really were serious ‘bout havin’ my babies.”
Looking down at yourself, you place a hand over your stomach as if you can feel all the swelling taking place from the last few days of abuse. Before all this happened—when you were still collared and chained to Marco—you’d nod your head and go along with whatever everyone else wanted. Now, there’s something different. A little worm wiggles and writhes at the base of your skull, controlling every neurological function. Your heart rate picks up at the idea of ridding yourself of the opportunity to be pregnant. Your fingers curl. Everything goes rigid.
“You okay, baby?” Simon prompts.
“I…” This idea is foreign on your tongue—speaking up for yourself. “I dunno… it feels… wrong.”
“What feels wrong?” he asks. When you don’t answer, his fingers find your chin where he tilts your head back, forcing you to look at him. “What feels wrong, baby?”
You swallow. “If I am pregnant, I-I think I wanna keep it.”
Simon stares at you for so long that you fear he might not agree with your wishes—this strangeness that suddenly overtakes you. Eventually, a small smile flickers over his lips as he nods.
“Okay, baby. We can do that,” he says, dropping his hand from your chin. “We’ll have to get a bigger house. Somewhere with more rooms and a nice yard, yeah? Don’t think this little place will do us any good for long, not with the litter I’ve given ya.”
As he speaks, his hand snakes between your breasts and traces a long line over your stomach as if already imagining the way it’ll soon swell with his kids. When he dips his fingers between your marked thighs, you don’t even pretend to be shy anymore. They fall open for him, inviting Simon in as his fingers find your sex with precision.
“Y’know, I’ve heard stories ‘bout sweet ‘megas not bein’ quite fertile enough in their first heats,” Simon continues. He presses two fingers into you and your gasp nearly cuts him off as he pumps them into you. “Guess it’s the body’s way of givin’ you a break after somethin’ so brutal. Might not’ve taken, but that’s okay, yeah?”
“But I—” Your thoughts sever just as his fingers curl, deftly finding the spot inside of you that seems to shut your brain off and leaves you a pliable mess.
“How badly do you want my babies? Huh, little ‘mega?” he asks.
“Please!” you squeal, hips bucking into his hand. “Please alpha, I-I want it.”
Simon’s grin is adoring. Something sharp enough that it doesn’t betray his nature, but you’re not afraid of those teeth. Not the ones that have bound you to him by blood and flesh.
“Good. C’mon then, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you’re knocked up good ‘n proper.”
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