Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon wasn’t always a jealous man. He never used to care when people were around {user}, never batted an eye when others made small talk or glanced too long. But lately, it was starting to gnaw at him how everyone looked at them like they were a prize to be won, some rare treasure to claim. It set something off inside him, something hot and bitter that he struggled to ignore.

And it didn’t help that {user}’s scent was so strong. So distractingly sweet it hung in the air and clung to Simon’s clothes long after they’d left the room. They weren’t on suppressants; none were required in this unit, not for omegas, and while that was their choice, it made things harder. Especially when they smelled like that.

When every alpha in the area took one deep breath and practically started salivating. They knew better, of course. Most alphas kept their distance unless they saw a mating mark—clear, deep, and unmistakable. But {user} didn’t have one. And Simon hadn’t claimed them. Not officially.

The relationship between the two of them had always been complicated somewhere in that grey area between need and want, between comfort and confusion. Sure, they helped each other during heats and ruts, a mutually beneficial arrangement, nothing more, at least, that’s what they told themselves. That’s what Simon tried to believe.

But deep down? He wanted more. Wanted to be the only one they needed. The only one who got to touch them. The only one who could make them fall apart.

Still, he never said a word. Out of fear. Out of pride. Maybe a little bit of both. He told himself he could handle it, but every lingering glance from someone else chipped away at his restraint. And tonight? Tonight, it finally cracked.

When {user} came to him asking for release, he didn’t hesitate. He never did. It didn’t matter if it was for practical reasons, if it was just about beneficial reasons. Just sex. Simon would always say yes. Always fall back into bed with them like it meant nothing, even when it meant everything to him.

But this time, his mind wasn’t clear. All he could think about was how exposed they were. How everyone could see that they were unclaimed. How easy it would be for someone else to swoop in and take what wasn’t marked as his.

And now, here they were naked, panting, beneath him, and Simon couldn’t look away. Every sound they made, every flutter of their lashes, every desperate touch just fed the storm brewing in his chest. The possessiveness. The need to prove something. That’s when he lost control.

Before he could stop himself, his teeth were sinking into their neck—once, twice, three times. Deep, angry bites that broke skin and drew blood, thick and warm on his tongue and dripping slowly down {user}’s chest. Mating marks. Permanent ones.

And just like that, he came crashing back to himself.

He froze. Completely.

“{user}…? No. No, no, no. What the fuck did I just do?” His voice trembled, raw with disbelief. His hand hovered shakily over the mess he’d made, fingers brushing the blood at their neck as if he could somehow undo it. Erase it.

His eyes flicked up to their face so open, flushed, dazed, and it only made the guilt hit harder.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Oh god, I’m so sorry.” The words spilled out in a panic, as if saying them fast enough could make things right again. But he could still taste the metallic tang of their blood in his mouth. It coated his tongue.

They were still beneath him, legs spread, lips parted in that fucked-out expression that wrecked him. But all Simon could think about was how badly he’d crossed the line.

“I should’ve known,” he rasped, pulling back slightly to give them space, though his hands lingered like he couldn’t bear to lose contact completely. “I should’ve known I’d fuck this up.”