Chapter Text
You didn’t think dying would bother you that much. After spending years serving Master, you starting thinking maybe dying wouldn’t be such a bad alternative. But that was before death became such a real possibility. Now that you’re facing your own death, you’re scared. You don’t want to die.
The cold metal bites into your thigh through your thin slip. You shiver so violently you think it’s going to break your bones, rubbing your thighs together and curling tighter into yourself, cradling your frozen fingers against your chest. You back aches, still bleeding sluggishly. Your eyes water, but you’re not sure if it’s from the icy wind that finds its way into the metal dumpster or from the reeking garbage beneath you.
Master always threatened to get rid of you, calling you a worthless, useless Omega bitch. Once he lost his job, he couldn’t afford to feed you anymore. Doing household chores like cooking and cleaning didn’t really save him any money. The closest slave auction is three towns away, and you wouldn’t bring enough to even cover the petrol getting there and back. At least, that’s what Master told you, offhandedly and half-apologetically as he chained you to the bottom of a dumpster to freeze to death.
It’s been a cold, hard winter, and tonight is no exception. If you hold still and quiet, you can hear the gentle fall of snow against the metal lid of the dumpster. You shuffle your bare feet beneath you, leaning forward in an effort to get close enough to push the lid open. But the chain attached to your collar yanks you short, choking you. You cough, rubbing your throat and backing away to curl up in the corner to try and preserve body heat. Even if you could get out of this dumpster, where would you go? You don’t know how to get back “home.”
You tuck your hands under your armpits, idly wondering how long it will take to get frostbite. You’re already starting to lose most of the feeling in your fingers and toes. It’s too dark to see anything, but you’re certain that your breath makes a fog in the air. All you are wearing is a long sleeve slip that belongs in the bedroom. It offers you almost no protection from the cold, your legs bare.
It hurts, being thrown away like trash. Master always said you were disposable, and now he’s left you to die in a dumpster. He didn’t even bother giving you a clean, merciful death. You’re going to freeze to death, chained to the bottom of a rancid dumpster and nestling amongst the trash in a pathetic attempt to stay warm. It hurts to be so insignificant that you didn’t even deserve a quick death or a proper burial.
You find yourself unable to keep from leaning against the sharp and slippery bags of trash, slumping over when your muscles finally give out. Your head dips to your chest, too heavy to hold up anymore. Even breathing in and out takes effort, your heart beat slow and sluggish in your chest. You’ve stopped shivering, and you know that’s not a good sign. It won’t be too long, you think in dread. You’ll drift off to sleep and never wake up.
Your start to nod off despite trying to stay awake, startling back awake in an unsettling, jerky rhythm. You’re starting to succumb again when a loud crash startles you back awake. You hear footsteps crunching on gravel, getting closer and closer to your dumpster.
Maybe it’s Master, you think, blinking blearily. Maybe he’s come back. The dumpster lid is suddenly lifting up, and icy wind stings your skin. Something heavy thuds to the ground and the person lets out surprised string of curses in Russian. Not Master then.
You weakly glance up, trying to focus on the figure in front of you but all you can make out is a dark shape towering over you. You can’t make out the man’s face in the shadows, can’t focus your eyes. A tentative sniff is enough to tell you it's an Alpha. That alone is enough to make your stomach flip.
A hand reaches out, pressing against your cheek. His scent is overwhelming, strong and smoky and unexplainably warm. If you had any strength left you would flinch away, but your muscles are too weak. You whimper instead, a broken, wounded sound coming from your throat.
The man curses again in his gravelly voice, more forcefully this time. He begins to unzip his coat, shrugging out of it. Your stomach knots with dread as he disrobes, but he lays the heavy fabric over your form, tucking it around it around you. The coat carries his warmth and an even stronger wave of his scent. You press closer to the warmth.
His hands reach towards you, sliding along your collar until he finds the chain. There’s a sharp pull against your collar, and you’re dully aware this Alpha has just snapped the chain with his bare hands. He reaches into the dumpster again, and this time his hands slide under you, lifting you up and cradling you to his chest.
There’s a rocking motion as he carries you, shielding you from the wind with his body. He’s murmuring something in Russian, and you can feel the vibrations from his chest. You close your eyes and nuzzle closer into his warmth, letting your senses slowly fade.
— - —
You wake up with a shiver, and then another one. The full-bodied, teeth chattering shivers wrack your body. Feeling is coming back to your fingers and toes with painful pin pricks, like thousands of needles stabbing you. You flex them, hoping desperately that you won’t lose them to frostbite. Your hands are draped across your stomach under fabric, and you’re almost afraid to try and see what color they are.
You blink in confusion, sitting up a little. You’re lying on a couch, your arms unchained, covered with a thick blanket. You glance around the room in confusion. It’s dimly lit, with little furniture and sheetrock lined with holes. Someone clearly lives here, doing their best to get by. But it’s warm, and that’s more than enough.
A man walks into the room with a washcloth in his hands, stopping abruptly at the sight of you sitting up. You freeze as you look up as at the absolute mountain of an Alpha towering over the couch.
He’s massive, broad shoulders and bulging muscles. His head nearly touches the ceiling and his biceps are bigger than your head. His ears are still tipped red from the cold, cheeks a little ruddy where they disappear under his dark beard. His hair is shaved almost to his scalp, emphasizing a harsh look about him. He’s easily the largest Alpha you’ve ever seen in your life. And he’s got you cornered.
He watches you intently with his dark eyes. Your breath stutters in your lungs at the power in his gaze. Slowly, you tilt your head to one side, offering him your bare neck in submission.
“Ты чувствуешь себя лучше?” he says, the tone questioning. His voice is gruff, as though he hasn’t spoken in a while, but quieter than what you expected, no trace of an Alpha command.
You swallow, feeling the collar around your neck tighten painfully with the movement. Your insides are knotted with dread. “‘M sorry, Alpha. I can’t — I only speak English.” Your voice breaks over the words from disuse, throat still raw from screaming for help.
His eyebrows raise briefly in surprise. “English. Okay.” He takes a step forward to sink down on his haunches in front of the couch, placing one hand on his chest. “My name is Viktor.”
You blink in surprise as he moves down on your level. Not towering over you but practically kneeling at your feet and looking up right into your eyes. His brow in drawn in thought but his gaze is curious. His eyes are a striking shade of light brown and —what the hell are you doing looking an Alpha in the eye?
You can feel your face flush but he isn’t looking away and he doesn’t slap you either. You press your lips together. Are you supposed to give your name, or remain silent until you are asked a direct question? Is this a test? Maybe he plans to rename you.
He scrubs one hand over his face wearily and sighs at your lack of answer. Your heart sinks. It was a test and you failed.
“Did — did your Alpha leave you?” he asks at last.
He must still smell Master on you. You press your lips together, stubbornly resisting a drop. It’s all you can do to nod shortly. The Alpha makes a quiet, contemplative noise at that, pressing his lips together in suppressed anger even though he was clearly expecting that answer. He opens his mouth to speak.
“Please.” You can’t believe you’ve cut him off, stomach twisting in knots at the repercussions for doing so. But you’re desperate and the words come blurting out of their own volition. “I —please don’t take me back,” you beg.
It’s unlikely he’ll keep you. Alphas want to break in their own Omegas, train them themselves. They don’t want another’s leftovers that are conditioned to behave in a specific way, mind inflexible after years of serving the same Alpha. You want so desperately to convince him you are good, you can be pleasing, won’t be difficult or hard to retrain.
A muscle ticks in the Alpha’s jaw. “No,” he says at last. “I will not take you back. But I will not keep you either.”
Your heart sinks. You knew better, you knew he wouldn’t want you. But it still hurts to be rejected by a brand new Alpha, especially after being thrown away by your Master. You know you’re not exactly young anymore, but you’re not old yet, even by Omega standards. You know you’re not as pretty as you once were either, the softness all but stripped from your body. Still, the rejection stings more than it should.
The Alpha doesn’t expand on his statement but asks another question. “Are you hurt?”
He doesn’t know, you realize. Your long sleeve slip covers your bloody shoulders and the thick reek of garbage must be masking the smell of old blood. He doesn’t realize you’re injured, defective. He won’t keep you if you tell him, you think suddenly. He’ll put you right back on the street. You have to be of able body for him, a good Omega who doesn’t need to be punished in the first place.
You shake your head, unable to give voice to your lie. You regret it as soon of you’ve done it, your stomach souring at your deception. But you know in your heart this Alpha won’t keep you if he knows the true extent of your damage.
He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re not telling him the truth. Instead he nods and stands to his feet. “You are hungry?” he asks, looking down at you.
You open your mouth before closing it again. You’re starving, but you can’t tell him that. More likely than not if you do say yes you’ll end up with something besides food in your mouth. Besides, you can’t appear needy. Your shake your head shortly.
The Alpha frowns and turns to face you more fully. “When was last time you ate?”
You swallow, trying to remember. A muscle in the Alpha’s jaw spasms at your silence and he turns towards the kitchen, only a few strides from the couch. It’s a small area, a stovetop, mini fridge, and sink with hardly any counter space and only a few cabinets. He pulls a container out of the mini fridge, opening the lid and beginning to scoop portions of it into a pan over the stove.
“I — I can cook,” you offer desperately. You know that it’s not much but you were taught how to cook and serve as a child and were always stupidly proud of it. You can be useful to this Alpha. Your fingers are still stiff and inflexible with the cold but if you could warm them up over a hot stove you’re sure you could make them work.
Watching him work in the kitchen is making you anxious. You’re the one who does the cooking and serving, not the other way around. You hesitantly get to your feet, drifting towards the kitchen. “Alpha, I can—”
“Nyet,” he cuts you off harshly.
Your teeth clack closed and you sink to the linoleum, folding your arms behind your back and bowing your head in penance. Master would have crossed the kitchen in a single stride and grabbed you by the throat. But this Alpha stays at the stove instead, his back to you. He pulls a plate from the sink and sets it down, his gaze never wavering from the pan in front of him.
What did you do wrong? You wrack your mind trying to figure out what you’ve done and how you can fix it. You have to figure it out, you have to because—because your mouth fills with saliva while he stirs the contents within the pan and you’re so desperately hungry. It smells heavenly, like cheese and meat. It’s probably a casserole of some kind. You wonder what it would taste like.
You won’t find out. There’s only one plate. Perhaps the Alpha will feed you on the ground. It wouldn’t be the most demeaning thing that ever happened to you. But you’ve angered him already somehow and if you want to eat tomorrow you’ll have to figure out how to avoid doing it again. While your mind whirls uselessly, the Alpha dishes the now hot food out of the pan and onto the plate, setting it to one side of the stove.
After a beat the Alpha glances at the plate and looks for you. It takes him a moment to find you on the ground. He frowns. You’re not allowed to ask for things, you know that. Still, you can’t help but glance at the plate longingly before tearing your gaze away to make a jittery ascent to the Alpha’s chest, pleading wordlessly.
The Alpha’s frown deepens, somehow free of violence, but nonetheless far from pleased.
The Alpha inhales as though he’s going to speak and then stops, reconsidering his words. At last he picks up the plate and moves to tower in front of you. “Stand up,” he order. You wobble a little but push yourself to your feet, keeping your eyes lowered. It’s not hard considered you only come to the middle of his chest when standing at your full height. He gently pushes the plate into your hands.
You can barely look up from the food long enough to glance at the table he steers you to across from the couch. It’s small, only big enough for two. He pushes you down into a seat and you let yourself slip into it pliantly, still clinging to the plate with both hands. It does look like some sort of casserole. Smells even better up close. There’s a fork on the plate.
The Alpha turns away, his back to you as he busies himself with placing the container back in the small fridge. You watch him, noticing the way his sweater rides up to show cut back muscles that taper into his waist. He straightens and his eyes meet yours.
In the split moment of eye contact, you get to take in his facial expression. The drawn brow you see there instantly sours your stomach. Maybe he regrets bringing you in from the cold. Maybe he resents sharing his food. You flinch away from his displeasure, dropping your gaze.
“Eat,” he says, more confused than angry. His voice has a bewildered lilt. You look down at the plate in front of you. Oh.
You set the plate down on the table with the precision of handling a bomb and reach for the fork. You glance up at Viktor hesitantly and he nods in encouragement. It could be a trick. That’s happened to you before. He could be setting you up for failure, ordering you to something forbidden. But then if you refuse to do so, you’re being disobedient. It’s a lose-lose situation. The best you can do is to obey the Alpha’s orders.
Your hand shakes as you pile a bite onto the fork and bring it to your lips. You quickly stuff it in your mouth, half-expecting Viktor to launch himself at you from across the kitchen. It’s hot, hot enough to scald, but it’s flavorful and amazing and thousands of times better than the gruel you’ve been eating for years. You glance up at Viktor and find his expression relaxes as you chew. He nods once to himself and turns back to the kitchen.
The second his back is turned you begin to shovel the rest into your mouth, barely pausing to chew. It’s hot enough you have to exhale while chewing to keep from burning your mouth. It’s delicious, kubasa and and rice and sauerkraut. More flavor than you’ve tasted in years. There’s only a few bites total but you can feel it warming your stomach already, settling heavily as you scrape your plate.
Viktor appears in your peripheral as you finish. You blink slowly and glance up at him, stomach almost painfully full and suddenly exhausted. He rumbles in satisfaction, pleased somehow. You can feel yourself mellowing in response, a biological reaction to the Alpha. You’ve pleased him.
He huffs softly, a quiet, deep sound. “Come with me now, up up.” He herds you to your feet.
You’re dumb with exhaustion and biology but you know a command when you hear one. You struggle to your feet, slightly unsteady as you follow the Alpha into the next room, big enough for a single bed. There’s no smell other than the Alpha and cleaning products. He doesn’t have another Omega then.
You’re not sure whether that’s a good thing or not. On one hand, it means there won’t be competition for limited resources where only the best Omega gets fed. But on on the other, another Omega would be more patient explaining the Alpha’s rules. You could help each other and have someone to talk to.
The Alpha beckons you into the bedroom after him. Your full stomach suddenly feels queasy. He’s fed you. He fed you and you did nothing to deserve it. He’ll ask for it now. Of course he will, it is his right. You hope you can hang on to the food instead of bringing it back up. He’ll lead you to the bed and yank at your clothes and —
You avert your thoughts quickly. You can’t afford to get lost in your mind, not right now. Not with a new Alpha.
But the Alpha doesn’t go to the bed. Instead he leads you through the bedroom and into a small bathroom. He reaches into the tiny room and flips on the light, illuminating a cracked sink, a toilet, and a shower all in one cramped space.
The Alpha gestures vaguely to the shower. “You can get clean,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I will leave clothes for you.”
You blink dumbly for a moment and then flush with embarrassment as the realization hits you. You’re filthy, you reek like a dumpster. Of course he wants to clean. And he’s asking you to clean yourself instead of making you hold still while he scrubs you.
“There is towel,” Viktor adds when you don’t move.
You duck your head at his voice and slip into the bathroom. Viktor leans forward and you turn in sudden panic but he’s closing the door between you with a gentle click. You freeze, staring at the handle.
You can hear his heavy footsteps receding, so you step forward and gingerly try the handle. It turns easily under your grip. Not locked then. But why would he close it? To give you privacy? It doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t matter, you remind yourself harshly, he gave you a task to do.
You jerk yourself out of your stupor and begin to strip out of your slip, pushing the hated thing away. It reeks, you do too, but it’s embedded with smells of pain and fear and Master’s lust and you wish you could burn it. As you take it off, you’re careful not to turn it inside out in order to hide the bloodstains across the back. You ball the hated thing up and shove it into the corner.
You step into the shower, drawing the curtain closed behind you and eying the controls nervously. Warm water is a special treat, but you haven’t done anything to earn it yet. But the Alpha didn’t specify not to, and the temperature lever is already set to what must be his favorite setting.
It’s probably safest to leave it where it is, right? So the Alpha doesn’t have to find the right temperature for himself later? That probably makes up for not taking a cold shower. Not to mention you’re dying for warmth after your close call.
The Alpha’s temperature, while not hot, is warm enough you can feel the tense muscles in your shoulders and back loosen. You tilt your head back, trying to let the water trickle under your stiff leather collar. It’s too tight to slip a finger under, but maybe the water can get through. The spray stings against your tattered back but you grit you teeth against it.
You wash your hair with quick efficiency. There’s only soap, no shampoo, but you’re grateful to feel the oil and grit wash away. You scrub at yourself with the suds. After making sure you’re clean and have rinsed all of the soap out of your long hair, you switch off the shower.
The warmth from the water quickly begins to disappear and you hurry to dry yourself off with the towel slung over the shower curtain rod. It’s thick and soft and you have to resist the urge to hug it to your chest. Maybe if you are very good Viktor will let you keep it as a blanket.
As you step out of the shower you see a stack of clothes on the toilet lid. Viktor must have come in while you were showering; you didn’t hear him. The clothes are so tempting you find yourself reaching for them before you force yourself to stop and question if he would have ordered you to wear them. Most Alphas don’t want their Omegas wearing clothes at all. You hate being naked, vulnerable and cold and displayed. It’s your own selfish preference that wins out in the end as you finally unfold the fabric.
It’s a hoodie. His hoodie, oversized and soaked with his scent. You pull it over your head, stuffing your arms into the sleeves and pushing the hood back so it’s not falling in front of your eyes. It’s absurdly oversized on you, the shoulder seams reaching halfway down to your elbows.
There’s a pair of boxer briefs underneath it that you pull on quickly. When was the last time you wore underwear? As you unfold the matching sweat pants, a pair of socks falls out as well. You marvel at the abundance of warm clothes as you pull them on gratefully. Perhaps he thinks you’re particularly susceptible to cold and doesn’t want his new possession getting sick or dying.
You nervously appraise yourself in the mirror. The hoodie swallows you and you’ve had to roll the pants three times at the waist and the cuffs. You’re drowning in fabric. You look like a child, you don’t look like an object of desire. You’re dressed for comfort, not for someone else’s pleasure. It’s not your place to question why, you remind yourself.
You step out of the bathroom silently, searching for the Alpha. He’s not in the bedroom but the kitchen, elbow deep in dishwater as he scrubs a pan. Your stomach gives a sick flip. You should be doing that.
The Alpha looks up at you and in your peripheral vision you see his lips twitch in a smile before he turns away. “Good,” he says. You watch him, nestling into the warm fabric and dipping your chin beneath the collar to inhale his scent. It smells like a wood fire and something else, slightly musky and earthy that must be pure him. Maybe he wanted you covered in his scent, as a way to repossess you from Master.
Surely he’ll bed you now. He wanted you clean first, wanted to wash the reek of garbage and other Alphas off first. Maybe he even wanted to soothe you a little so you didn’t smell of fear. An Alpha who takes the time to calm you down first is already better than your worst fears. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad. Granted, your standards are practically in the gutter at this point.
The Alpha dries his hands and slips past you into the bedroom. The sinking sense of dread that crept up on you in the bathroom threatens to overwhelm you but you manage to turn and mechanically follow him. You’re about to step across the threshold of his bedroom when you jerk to a stop to avoid running into him as he comes back out.
The Alpha steps forward, a bundle clenched in his fist that he holds out to you. You look at it dumbly. The Alpha presses it gently but insistently against your chest when you don’t take it. “It is cold still. I do not want you to freeze.”
You take the fabric from him, unfolding it to realize it’s a blanket. Your fingers curl into the soft fabric, thrown off balance by the unexpected kindness. You realize he’s waiting expectantly. You can feel his presence looming over you even though you keep your eyes trained down. He’ll ask for it now, for your gratefulness after displaying such generosity.
“You are tired,” he says.
You nod numbly. Yes.
“Get some sleep. You will feel better.”
You blink. Sleep? Surely he doesn’t mean in his bed but then where—You wish he would just tell you where he wants you, even drag you over by the arm. If could choose, you’d pick the corner of his bedroom between his bed and his closet. It’s the most out of the way spot, where he won’t be inconvenienced by tripping over you.
But instead of assuming you get the luxury of sleeping on carpet, you ask. “Ah- where will be out of your way on the floor?” Your voice is scratchy with disuse. You’ve said more tonight that you have in a long time.
“That Alpha made you sleep on floor?” Viktor asks with a frown.
You nod, hunching your shoulder a little. When you were good, yes. When you were bad he kept you in chains all night. The Alpha smells angry. Maybe you assumed too much.
“Well, not here,” the Alpha says calmly, so at odds with his scent. “I want you to sleep on couch.” He tugs you by your wrist gently, so gently, back into the other room. You follow eagerly, painfully hopeful he really does plan to let you sleep on the couch.
You’re not prepared for him to turn and lift you by your armpits, gently depositing you on the couch. The sudden movement pulls at your back but it isn’t meant to hurt you. The Alpha fluffs one of the pillows and hands it to you. You pry one hand off of the blanket to gingerly accept it.
“Not much, but it should make the nest.” The Alpha says, surveying you with a rueful smile. “Get some sleep.” And then he pads back to his bedroom, surprisingly quiet for an Alpha of his size. You watch him go, your mind racing.
A nest? He wants—he would let you make a nest? Master never let — you can’t. And you’re on the couch. For the second time today. You can barely pull your disjointed thoughts together. There’s some rustling from the Alpha’s bedroom, a cough, and then silence. He’s really going to sleep, you realize slowly.
Still, it takes a few minutes for you to uncurl from where you’ve frozen in a sitting position. You wrap the blanket around yourself in a series of quick tucks and cuddle the pillow to your chest as you turn to press your back against the couch back. You’re warm and full and clean and you’re on a couch. An hour ago you were dying and now you’re on a couch.
It makes some sense, he just doesn’t want to trip over you. You almost froze to death, the blanket is to keep it from happening again. But you’re in a makeshift nest on the couch and just exhausted and relieved enough that you’re falling asleep before you know it.
Chapter Text
You wake up to the sound of a door opening and sit up so fast it almost gives you whiplash. It’s bright, too bright. You’ve slept far longer than you should have. You should have been up hours ago, before Master, should have been there when he woke up to—
You’re not in Master’s house. The Alpha from last night is standing in the doorway in front of you, chest heaving and wearing a sweat soaked hoodie. He holds both palms out in front of his chest is a soothing gesture. Not Master. You feel a rush of relief.
“Easy,” he soothes, his morning voice deep and scratchy. “I did not mean to wake you,” he adds apologetically. His deep brown eyes are earnest and searching, as though he’s trying to see if you’re okay.
You drop your eyes, trying to regain your training. Your behavior has been unacceptable. You’ve barely started your day and you’ve already looked him in the eye. You were sleeping when he came in, that alone is unacceptable. Omegas that oversleep are lazy and useless and they get put down. If they’re lucky they only get corrected so they may be of more value in the future.
“Sleep okay?” the Alpha asks.
You’re not sure how to take that, can’t gauge his facial expression when you’re looking at the ground. You did, you slept better than you can remember in years, warm and soft and full and all alone, no one grabbing at you. But surely he doesn’t actually care about that. It’s a threat, a warning for your behavior.
You scramble off the couch, dropping heavily to your knees and folding your arms carefully behind you, eyes locked on the ground. “I—ah—I apologize for sleeping so long, Alpha” you rasp, bending at the waist until your forehead almost touches the ground. You were classically trained, capable of a dozen standard poses. This one is for penance, though you’re not sure the Alpha will recognize your silent admission of guilt.
The Alpha slowly crouches in front of you. He seems to do that a lot. It makes your stomach twist uncomfortably and you sink a little lower in an effort to remain lower than him. He doesn’t react to how you’ve left your back unguarded but a shiver still runs down your spine at the sheer bulk of him. He’s quiet, struggling to find the right words. You wait in silence, eyes trained on the floor.
“I know your Alpha was not kind,” he says at last. “He did not let you eat enough. He did not let you speak or look him in the eye. He left you to die, no?”
You nod, a single jerky motion. You couldn’t meet his eyes if you wanted to right now.
The Alpha makes a short, tight sound as though he’s smothered his first response. He takes a deep breath before addressing you again. “It will not be like that here. I want you to speak with me. I want you to eat when you are hungry and look me in the eye and call me by name.”
He reaches for you and gently tips your chin up. You let your eyes dart up, uncertain and half-expecting a trap. Instead the Alpha—Viktor—smiles in encouragement, though it is somewhat forced. You notice for the first time he’s handsome, the way the sunlight hits his brown eyes and sharp jawline. It’s an odd thing to notice while your heart thunders against your ribs as you wait for him to hit you.
“I do not want an Omega. I have never wanted an Omega. Once we get you back on your feet we will find you good home. Better than me.” Your stomach sours at that. He doesn’t want you after all. You thought—after feeding you and trying to get you to nest he would—but of course not. Of course he doesn’t want you. He literally dug you out of the trash.
Alpha Viktor must smell the change in your mood. “You need not be scared of me. Or anyone else, as long as I am there.”
You lower your eyes deferentially at the promise, unsure what else to do. Master wanted you to fear him. Even though you want to obey this strange Alpha, not being afraid of anyone is a tall order.
“Eyes up,” Alpha Viktor says.
You flush with embarrassment as you meet his gaze. You know better than to slip up like this. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t, I just—”
“Da. I know. It will take time.”
He leans forward into your space and cups your cheek. You blink in uncertainty and tilt your head to the side to expose your neck in a vague hope to appease him. His eyes are drawn down to your collar and something shifts across his face. Displeasure. Disgust. Fury. He reaches for your throat and you’re thinking he might not be so understanding after all.
Panic flashes through you and you have to dig your fingernails into your palms to keep from grabbing his wrists. The collar is too tight for him to get a finger beneath, so he grabs the D ring and the weld at the back. His arms ripple with one hard jerk and the collar tightens before snapping in his hands. He moves back out of your space with a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
You’re rooted against the back of the couch with shock. He just—you knew he was a strong Alpha but he just snapped two inches of leather like it was nothing. He could crush you. He could snap your femur in half like a twig. He could kill you without trying. He’s infinitely more dangerous than Master and he wants you to eat his food and look him in the eye and act like a person instead of a thing.
Vaguely, you notice that he dumps the collar in the kitchen trash on his way by. “I will shower, then breakfast. For both of us,” he adds forcefully.
You nod in agreement, mind already whirring as he moves into his bedroom. You’re frozen in place as your mind runs back over the last few moments. It’s only the sound of the water starting that jerks you from your stupor.
Breakfast.
It was a command, the first that this Alpha has given you. You can make breakfast. You’re actually good at cooking. Well, you used to be.
There isn’t much to make in the kitchen. You hoped for eggs, you remember how to make those, but there aren’t any in the small fridge. All you can find to make for breakfast is oats with a little milk to go with it. There’s only a few cabinets, so it’s not hard to find a pan and some bowls.
You’ll have to guess at the Alphas’s portion size, but he’s absolutely massive so you’re thinking about three regular portions. And…he did say that you would both be eating so you force yourself to add another half cup of oats to the simmering water.
It’s easy to lose yourself in the process of making breakfast, focused on getting everything exactly right. You find a bowl and a spoon and after a short debate, start a pot of coffee for Viktor.
It’s nice to focus on cooking. It’s something you actual like, a small way for you to express yourself. Not to mention that being in the kitchen means being over a warm oven and surrounded by food.
It’s so pleasant that you’re almost startled when Alpha Viktor steps into the kitchen in a fresh tracksuit, a towel around his neck and his beard still dripping water. He showered faster than you thought he would and your initial delay means that breakfast won’t be ready for another few minutes.
You shrink a little, opening your mouth to begin apologizing.
“You did not have to make.” Alpha Viktor sounds surprised.
He told you that he expects you to speak with him, but you have no idea how to respond to that. Of course you had to, he told you to. Your stomach twists. You have no idea how to navigate around Alpha Viktor, how to please him. You’re not even sure you can speak past the lump in your throat.
You offer him the cup of coffee you brewed in leu of responding, failing miserably at keeping eye contact. The best you can do is to focus your gaze somewhere around his throat. He cups both hands around your wavering grip, his fingers brushing yours as he accepts the offering.
“Спасибочки.”
You pull your hand back, eyes skipping up to his face. His expression is soft, eyes fixed on yours. You feel uncomfortable under his gaze, like a bug under a magnifying glass. Master never looked at you if he could help it. You were to stay out of sight, stay silent, but always close enough to obey any command at a moment’s notice.
Alpha Viktor breaks eye contact first, turning away to place his cup on the table. You turn back to the stove, almost limp with relief. You haven’t broken an unspoken rule then. By his surprised reaction, you may have even raised his opinion of you. There's a rattling behind you as Viktor sets silverware on the table.
You don’t let yourself get too complacent. You carefully dish most of the oatmeal into a bowl, leaving a little around the edges of the pot that you can claim as your own breakfast. He said both of you were eating, you remember it clearly.
But when you go to hand Alpha Viktor the bowl, his mouth thins into a line of displeasure. He moves to the cabinet, pulling out another bowl and dishing a portion of his own food into it. You wilt a little, waiting for the rebuke.
It doesn’t come. Instead, Alpha Viktor pushes the warm bowl into your own hands and guides you into a chair at the table. “Sit. Eat.”
You go pliantly, sinking into the chair that you’ve been steered to, still holding the bowl in your hands. The Alpha takes a seat as well. He glances over at you and nods once, just like last night, before turning his attention to his own bowl.
You're more confident this time, reaching for the spoon that he laid out and taking the first bite. Just like last night, the Alpha doesn’t react. He doesn’t even look over at you. You let your shoulders sag and start eating in earnest.
It’s good. Warm and bland, but good. Viktor nudges something across the table towards you. “You like sweet?” he asks. If it were Master, you wouldn’t answer. You might even deny having a sweet tooth altogether. But somehow, you find yourself nodding despite yourself, gaze still fixed on the porridge.
“Try some,” Viktor encourages. You finally glance up to see that Viktor is giving you honey to sweeten your porridge, to make it taste better. You glance up at him once and he nods again. It’s more than enough permission for you to try something that you so eagerly want.
Viktor watches you with interest as you take the first bite of your sweetened breakfast. The first taste of it across your tongue is heaven, rich and sweet and so delightfully different from the bland gruel you’ve eaten for years. You sigh blissfully and Viktor’s face softens before he turns back to his own breakfast again. You both eat in silence for a while.
You can’t understand him. He seemed surprised that you made breakfast. He insisted that you eat breakfast with him, at the table. He gave you honey to sweeten an already generous breakfast. His generosity is unfathomable to you.
As you’re wondering at his behavior, the Alpha speaks up. “I will feed you better for lunch, I swear. I am trying, but I am not doing good job,” Alpha Viktor murmurs sheepishly, as though he is ashamed of what he can provide you. “I was not expecting a guest.”
A guest. You’re a guest rather than an object, a piece of property that could just as easily be fed kibble or not fed at all. You stare down at your bowl, debating whether or not to speak. He hasn’t had an Omega before. He needs to know that this isn’t necessary, that he’s not supposed to treat you like a guest. “You—you’re spoiling me,” you blurt out. “Two meals in a row.”
Alpha Viktor presses his lips together and looks away to hide his facial expression but he can’t hide the acrid smell of anger in his scent. You shrink in your seat, an apology on the tip of your tongue but the Alpha is already mellowing, his shoulders relaxing and his attention moving back down to the table. “You are easy to impress,” he says at last. “Two meals is not spoiling, but basic human decency.”
He stands and begins to reach for your empty bowl but you beat him to it, lurching upright and following him to the sink. You hover so closely at his side while he tries to wash up that he finally lets you take over entirely, a relief to you. You need to find a way to provide value to this Alpha, to get him to keep you.
He doesn’t go far, moving back the table to start writing while you clean up the kitchen. You’re putting up the clean bowls when the door slams open and another Alpha strolls in like he owns the place. Viktor freezes at the table. You don’t know what his rules are for guests so you quickly decide to kneel in the greeting stance, back straight but head bowed and hands on your thighs.
The Alpha pulls up short when you move, finally noticing you. You don’t dare look up but you can feel his burning stare. He snarls something in Russian. Viktor is moving to stand in front of you. His response is quiet, fear seeping into his tone.
Shit. Viktor is scared of this Alpha. Viktor is bigger by far, but that doesn’t always mean anything. This might be someone that ranks higher than him in his pack or even the pack Alpha. The new Alpha smells similar enough to be pack; his scent has some of the same familiar tones as Viktor's but it’s more caustic, something harsh and repellent about it. Like cigarette smoke instead of a wood fire.
You don’t speak Russian, but it’s clear they’re arguing. Viktor is hanging on to his composure by a thread. You find yourself moving before you think in an instinctual move to calm the two Alphas. You move to Viktor’s side and then carefully fold into a the formal submissive pose. Kneeling, knees spread. Back straight, shoulders level. Head tilted just so to bare your neck. Clearly kneeling at Viktor’s feet but also showing submission to the new Alpha.
The Alpha grunts in surprise and speaks to Viktor over your head. You can feel the new Alpha’s tension loosening. He turns and moves to the table, dropping heavily into one of the chairs. You know exactly what kind of Alpha this is, know how to appease him. You unfold and slide past Viktor to the coffee pot, pouring a cup for the Alpha and delivering it. He accepts in with a grunt.
Viktor gives you an uncertain look but goes to sit with the Alpha. You pour a second cup with surprisingly steady hands. You were uncertain before, thrown off by Viktor’s behavior but you know how to handle this. You keep your head down as you make your way back to the table and set what you’re assuming is Viktor’s favorite mug in front of him. It was the only one that on the drying rack, suggesting that it’s his first choice. It’s distinctive from the rest of the set because of a chip on the handle. Maybe he likes broken things.
His fingers brush yours as he closes his hands around the mug. His thumb sweeps across the inside of your wrist. Your skin burns with the touch, a silent reward. Everyone knows Omegas crave physical affection more than anything, and Alphas use it as either a reward or punishment. Viktor has never touched you like that before. He must be pleased with how you handled the situation.
You’ve finished all your tasks, so you decide to kneel next to Viktor’s chair within his reach. Not because you think he might punish you otherwise, but because you have no idea who this Alpha is and you’d rather be in Viktor’s reach than in anyone else’s.
It’s normally easy to zone out, to let yourself drift. You try to do so while the Alphas talk but the tension is too sharp. Viktor is clearly agitated with the situation and there’s a cloaked violence to his father that sends alarm bells through your mind. Instead of truly drifting, you adopt a neutral expression and fix your eyes on the floor under the table. It’s well swept, but it could use a good mopping.
You’re not sure how long the Alphas talk and you try to measure the tone of their clipped words before the stranger rises and stalks away just as abruptly as he entered. Viktor doesn’t stand to watch him go.
Instead, he turns to you the moment the door swings closed. “I am sorry for my father,” Viktor bites out bitterly. His father. That explains the familiar scent, the fear due to his authority. “Come up here,” Alpha Viktor orders softly, tugging at your shoulder.
You unfold yourself smoothly, standing back to your feet. Alpha Viktor is sorry for his father. Then his touch was never a reward at all, but a silent apology. He does not reward with touch but he does apologize for his pack leader, which seems even more ineffectual. Pack word is law, simple as that. His pack leader could have done any number of things to you without repercussions. Instead you got off easy with only a few harsh words.
You don’t say as much to Alpha Viktor. Instead, you let him look you over to assure himself that you’re alright. He’s still agitated, moving around the small flat and grabbing a gym bag and his coat. He has to go, he explains. Work. You stay here.
You nod numbly. It never occurred to you to try to leave.
Viktor gives a hasty, flustered rundown of the apartment amentities, the shower and the food, and encourages you to make yourself at home before he leaves and locks the door behind him. The lock is on your side, which doesn’t make sense to you, but it’s not your place to mention such things.
You press against the window after he leaves, watching him make his way across the street. There’s a group of boys with a ball who call to him as he passes their game. He drops his hand on the top of one boy’s heads, jostling it gently in apparent affection. They clearly adore him, clamoring his his attention before he finally has to leave.
He’s good with pups. Kind. Patient.
It only solidifies what has been growing in your mind all day. Alpha Viktor is an anomaly. He is quiet and gentle, despite being twice the size of most Alphas on the street. If you could ever choose an Alpha to serve, it would be this one. Now you just have to convince him to keep you. He told you to make yourself at home and that equates to making yourself useful.
Chapter Text
Viktor comes back earlier than you expected. You spent the morning cleaning the kitchen, washing all the dishes and disinfecting the refrigerator. By the afternoon you moved on to the bathroom, which didn’t look like it had been cleaned in years. It took most of the afternoon, but you finally got the bathroom cleaned down to the grout. You’ve only just started on the living room when the door opens. You startle, almost falling off the chair you’ve climbed to dust the faded curtains.
Viktor’s hoodie is drenched in sweat once again, a different one than this morning but the same navy blue beanie. His gym bag is slung over one shoulder and he’s holding a paper cup which billows with steam. He glances up at you in surprise and amusement as he shoulders the door closed.
You scrabble down from the chair. “I ah, I cleaned…” you offer lamely, doing your best to direct your gaze at his face instead of his feet. You’re not sure what to do with your hands. Instinct tells you to fold them behind your back but Viktor doesn’t like that. The cold air he’s brought in makes you shiver and you wrap your arms around your middle in a vain attempt to stay warm. Viktor stiffens as though the action displeases him.
He thrusts the paper cup into your hands. “For you,” he explains shortly. You cradle the warm cup to your chest, breathing in the fragrant steam. Viktor shifts his weight. “Try it.” He nods at you encouragingly when you hesitate.
Your first sip is ecstasy. It’s sweet and just shy of being too hot and it warms you to your toes. The chocolatey sweetness makes something in you explode with delight. You haven’t been allowed to indulge your sweet tooth in years, a distant echo of your childhood. To taste something so delicious twice in one day…
You glance up at Viktor, unable to contain your delight. “What is it?”
He watches you with a kind, amused expression. “горячий шоколад” he says in his native tongue, pausing as if trying to remember something. “Uh…chocolate?”
You nod, even though you’ve never heard of anyone drinking chocolate before. “Do you—” you extend the cup but he declines with a soft laugh.
“For you,” he insists with a small, shy smile in return before turning away to drop his gym bag in his room.
“What did you eat for lunch?” Viktor calls behind him.
You stiffen. “I didn’t — I wouldn’t take your food without permission, Alpha. Viktor! Sir.” You stammer, tripping over yourself in an effort to explain.
Viktor turns back, brow furrowed. “You wouldn’t take….” He catches himself, tilting his head up and taking a noisy breath. “Hmm. You have my permission. As long as you are in this house, you eat.”
You nod, eager to agree with the first real rule that he’s given you. You used to have many rules, all the time. Never eat unless given permission. Never speak unless spoken to. Never move from where you were placed. Never say no. Never look an Alpha in the eye. And on and on, lists of nevers that never end.
If Alpha Viktor makes rules, you’ll be happy to follow them. So far he does’t seem to much like your previous training. Learning rules is always hard. Most alphas like to beat their rules into their omega, to show them what will happen if they ever disobey them.
Some alphas make their omega hold still for them, to count or to repeat a rule with every strike. Others just tied their omega down and let them scream until their voice broke. You’d hold still for Viktor. Just suck it up and get through it, learn the rules and learn to keep Viktor happy. That’s all that matters, showing him how good you will be. And you will be good for him, you will be. That’s why you need to learn the rules in the first place. You want to learn the rules.
You weren’t always so eager to please. Back when you were still young and strong, it would take hours before Master could get you to submit. He wasn’t a particularly strong Alpha, but he was determined to get you to give in to his commands, to kneel for him. As time went on you struggled to resist, if only because you hadn’t hit subspace in such a long time. But your knees still never hit the floor.
Master learned to weaken you with starvation, beating, and sleep deprivation. His Alpha voice was impossible to disobey under those conditions. After a while, you lost the will to disobey him altogether. What could you gain by such impertinence?
You won’t make the same mistake with Viktor. If he commands you, you’ll go willingly.
“Hey, what are you thinking? Come back to me,” Viktor says softly. You blink and realize that he’s squatting in front of you, bracing your shoulders with his hands. It makes your insides squirm uncomfortably. An Alpha should never be below an Omega like this. It feels wrong. He shifts, peering into your face.
You must have had an…episode. It’s happening before. You get lost in your mind sometimes. You go stiff and stare off into space and won’t respond when you are called. It almost happened that first night when you thought Viktor was going to bed you.
Now you’ve really done it. Viktor isn’t sure if he wants to keep you or not and instead of coming home to a warm meal and a clean house, he’s come home to a broken Omega in the middle of a psychotic episode.
“Hey.” You were doing it okay. Shit. You shake your head a little, focusing on Viktor’s earnest face in front of you. Alpha Viktor meets your eyes and simply says, “Come here.” No Alpha voice, no firm tone, only those words.
Before you know what’s happening, you’re in Viktor’s lap. Viktor strokes your hair with one hand, the other resting firmly on the back of your neck. You relax against him, and just like that you’re floating.
You’re surrounded by a comfortable warmth that you haven’t experienced since you can remember. There’s a muffled voice above your head, but you don’t pay attention. The Alpha’s stomach has a nice vibration when he speaks, the sound of his voice making you slip even further into bliss.
In the back of your mind, you’re aware that you’re slipping into a subspace. Viktor didn’t want an Omega, didn’t want to deal with these highs and lows. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. But a hand cards through your hair, occasionally making detours to stroke your cheek. You drift, high on the contact.
Notes:
Viktor: I'm a terrible person, I can't take take care of her
Also Viktor: brings her hot chocolate, stops her from spiraling into a panic attack, sends her into subspace
Chapter 4
Notes:
Enjoy the first look into Viktor's POV at the end!
Chapter Text
Viktor doesn’t bring up your mental slip. Instead, he sits you down at the breakfast table and tells you his rules. There are only a few, but they’re all good. You must never go outside without a coat and boots on. You can’t work unless you’ve eaten. The last is the best one of all: he doesn’t want any other Alphas to use you. It’s the first time you’ve ever had rules you like, but more than that, the fact that Viktor is giving you rules at all fills you with hope. He might keep you after all. He wouldn’t give you rules if he wasn’t going to keep you.
Today is the first day that you’re going outside. He hasn't said so, but Viktor clearly wants to keep an eye on you after your episode yesterday. He's taking you with him to work today and he's given you a coat and boots to use. You glance down at the items in wonder. The coat is one of his, a puffer that smells like him and will no doubt dwarf you completely. But the snow boots are your size and still have a tag attached. “I do not want you to catch cold,” Viktor reminds you, snapping off the tag and shoving it in his pocket before you can read the price. “You must never go out without them.”
You agree readily, obediently shoving your feet in the boots and pushing your arms into the coat. The sleeves are ridiculously long, hanging over your hands entirely. At least you won't need gloves. You fumble with the zipper and Viktor moves in front of you, pulling the zip up to your chin. He pulls the hood up, brows drawn in concentration as he brushes your hair back and tightens the hood so that it doesn’t fall off.
Satisfied he nods, opening the door and ushering you out with a hand on the small of your back. It’s cold outside, in a way that takes your breath away every time you experience it. But with a coat and boots, it’s bearable. Viktor pulls up his collar and gestures at you to follow. You move close, barely keeping from stepping on his heels.
He leads you across the street that you’d seen from the window. No pups are out playing on a day like today. As you walk, you look around despite how the wind stings your eyes. You haven’t been outside much in the last few years. It’s thrilling, even just to see the frosted store windows and hunched over figures maneuvering icy sidewalks.
Still, it’s not easy to keep pace with Viktor while keeping your footing. Several times you find yourself breaking into a jog to keep up. Each time he slows his own pace, as though he’s forgotten that his legs are longer than yours. He reaches for you when crossing the street before checking himself, as though he wanted to hold your hand.
You’re so focused on keeping up, that you run into his back when he stops abruptly. You backpedal immediately, an apology on your lips. Viktor only smiles and gestures at the gym door. “Here we are.”
He opens the door for you, setting off a small bell inside. You can already feel the warmth leaking from inside, stepping in hurriedly to avoid letting too much warm air out. You can feel Viktor follow at your back, stopping to kick the snow off his boots.
Inside, you look around in wonder. There are two boxing rings in the middle of the space, both elevated above the ground and covered in black mats. On one side are rows of heavy bags hanging from the ceiling and on the other are various weights and machines. The gym smells like sweat and Pinesol, but despite the mirrors that reflect your figures it looks almost empty. You're surprised to hear voices and turn to see two men talking next to a rack of weights in the far corner.
They turn at the sound of the door shutting, revealing Ivan and an unusually large Beta. He begins walking over. You glance at Viktor, but his eyes are down as he works the zipper of his coat, shrugging it off. He doesn’t see Ivan getting closer.
At last, Ivan reaches the two of you and plants his feet. “Go wait in the office, ‘mega” Ivan orders you curtly, not even looking in your direction. So he does speak English.
You don’t move. Your muscles are all but trembling with tension, your breath is shallow and sharp, and your heart is beating frantically but you don’t move. Viktor hasn’t told you what to do yet.
Ivan turns a narrow-eyed look at you. “Go. Wait. In. The. Office,” he repeats, making an Alpha command out of every word.
You flinch, despite how hard you’re trying to hold yourself still. It’s a strong command, strong enough that you almost obey it. You probably would have if not for Viktor.
You glance at him, internally begging for him to help end this confrontation. Viktor looks concerned, but he jerks his chin down in confirmation. You let yourself give in the command, turning and following on of the Beta trainers.
The Beta leads you to the office, which has large glass windows that face the boxing rings. He pulls out a chair from under a desk and pats the seat invitingly. You sink into it gratefully and give him a smile. His lips curl a little and he gives you a thumbs up before ducking out.
Once he's left, you unzip your coat and, curling your feet under you, lay it over your lower half. You're warm, but not too warm. You prop your chin up with one hand, watching Viktor. He’s watching you too, glancing your way every few minutes. You wave with a bashful smile every time and something that looks like a smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he goes back to working out. Eventually he stops checking altogether, completely focused on his training.
You knew he was strong, of course you knew. But to see it like this is something else. He doesn't seem to be fighting today, but his workout goes on for hours. Pullups. Throwing a medicine ball. Ropes. You watch and learn about his world. He doesn't seem to get tired, doesn't slow down or falter. Instead, he pushes through, sometimes roaring with effort. After he'll pull back, huffing and offering a little smile at his trainer as they clap his back, likely praising his efforts. His father, however, remains a glowering, silent presence hovering around Viktor, never smiling and never offering any praise. At least he seems to forget about you.
You watch for hours until you can barely keep your eyes open anymore. In fact, you fall asleep on the desk, only woken up a sudden slam. You yawn, blinking back sleep and stretching your arms over your head. A large hand closes around your wrist and yanks it up and you along with it. You yelp in pain at how it pulls on your sore muscles, but your mind begins catching up quickly.
It’s an Alpha, probably a boxer who trains here, but he isn’t looking at you. Viktor’s too-big sleeve has fallen down past your elbow, and his eyes are glued to the angry scabs that circle around the back of your arm. His grip on your wrist keeps you from pulling back and hiding the injury.
He barks something in Russian that has you cowering backwards but with the wall behind you there’s nowhere to go. The boxer slams his wrapped fist against the concrete next to your head. You flinch violently, jerking your head away. You stutter, unable to actually form any complete words. You can't begin to understand why he's so angry and even if you could, you can't apologize in Russian.
The boxer growls and begins to pull you out the door. When you realize where he’s headed, you began to beg, regardless of the language barrier. “I’ll—I’ll stay out of your way. You won’t ever run into me again. Please don’t—don’t do this.” If he shows Viktor, it'll all be over. He'll kick you out on the street, he'll throw you away like he should have done that first night.
Your groveling falls on deaf ear. The boxer doesn’t even spare you a glance as he yanks you along by your upper arm. He shouts something and you recognize Viktor’s name. Your pleas die in your throat as Viktor turns around from where he is working on a heavy bag. Numbly, you note Ivan has left the gym already. Thank goodness for small miracles.
When he sees the Alpha’s grip on you his face hardens and he moves forward, closing in on you with the force of a semi truck. The boxer pulls you in front of him, pining one arm behind your back and raising your other arm up and out toward Viktor. By the time your frantic brain catches up with what is happening, the boxer already has pulled the cuff of Viktor’s sweatshirt down to your shoulder. He snaps something in Russian over your head, angry and clipped as though he's mad at Viktor of all people.
Viktor stops in his tracks, eyes widening as he grabs your arm as well. His fingers lightly trace the scabs that circle around the back of your tricep with a gentleness you would never have expected from an Alpha his size.
Viktor looks down at your with fury in his eyes. “What is this?” There's no trace of gentleness in his voice, only anger.
You break eye contact, eyes darting over to the sparring match going on in the ring. Viktor steps forward and grabs you by the chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “What. Is. This.”
The Alpha command in his voice hits you hard enough that you physically flinch, but Viktor’s firm grip doesn’t let you bow your head or expose your neck. You drop your eyes in submission instead, trying to keep from trembling. Viktor's angry with you, and rightfully so. You lied to him. You hid from him.
“I—I was bad,” you whisper, voice breaking. “It was my fault, I messed up and I made him mad.”
“I asked you,” Viktor says quietly. “You told me there were no injuries.”
You fight back tears at the disappointment in his voice. All your lies and scheming and all you've done is made it worse. All you wanted was to avoid this moment and now it's playing out exactly as you imagined. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me. I didn’t want you to know I was bad.”
You can feel yourself slipping, spiraling into a drop. Viktor must see it too, because he pulls you away from the Alpha and against his side. He rattles something off in Russian over your head. You mold willingly against Viktor’s side, wishing you could disappear.
Viktor’s hand closes around your shoulder. You numbly put on your coat when he holds it out to you at the door, let him steer you out of the gym. Outside the wind cuts right through you like a knife. You shrink in on yourself, tears welling in your eyes. You tell yourself that it’s the cold that’s making you tear up, not the fact that you’ve ruined everything with Viktor.
Viktor is a looming glacier at your side, silent and frigid. It’s a long walk back to his home, one made in unbearable silence.
Viktor unlocks the door and steps inside, pushing you in front of him. “Go lay down on the couch,” he orders. He disappears into the bathroom, not waiting to see if you followed his order.
You go in an instant, taking off your coat and folding it before draping yourself on couch so you’re lying on your stomach. Vaguely you wonder if he’s going to cane you. Master would have. For lying to him. But you also disrespected him in public. Master would beat you down until you couldn’t get up for that, pin you down by the scruff and force your submission during sex to remind you of your place.
Viktor returns, his arms filled with bottles and packages. He spreads them out on the rug and sinks to the ground beside the couch. You tremble a little as he reaches for you. His hand slows and hovers over you.
“I am going to dress the wounds,” he tells you. “Only that.”
You nod dully in reply, holding yourself still obediently as he pulls the sweatshirt up and over your head to reveal your back. Cold air hits your bare skin, making you shiver. You don’t dare look over at Viktor, but he is forebodingly silent.
You know what he’ll see. Master came home angry last week and found a target for his rage when he saw you. He took it from your back. The wounds are half scabbed but it isn’t healing right. Your back is tight, swollen with redness around the wounds that leak cloudy drainage. You know that’s not a good sign. You probably stained his sweatshirt. Ruined his property. He’ll have to punish you for that too.
“Is it also…lower?” He asks at last, voice tight. The scent of his anger fills the air. You nod mutely. The drop is really hitting you now, tears starting to spill down your cheeks. Viktor makes an unhappy noise and shifts closer to you.
“I am not angry at you,” he says quickly. He moves forward and drapes something soft and light across your lower half, tugging at in until it is settled to his satisfaction. A blanket, you realize. The gesture warms you in more ways than one and you sag, tension loosening from your back. Viktor notices the change immediately. “You are very good, to trust me now,” he praises softly.
The sudden rush from his praise makes you feel lightheaded. It’s not helped by the ethanol-sharp scent that comes from the bottle that Viktor uncaps, burning your nose. You glance sideways at Viktor as he carefully pours something onto a rag. You turn your head back, closing your eyes in a desperate attempt to calm your stomach.
“It needs to be cleaned,” he explains. “You are doing good.”
The first touch of the rag against your back burns like it’s splitting your skin open all over again. It's much less than you deserve but your muscles still tighten in an aborted attempt to flinch away. You hold yourself still, almost trembling with the effort. Even with clenched teeth, you can't hold back a whimper, reflexive and pained.
Viktor freezes behind you, pulling the cloth back. “Okay?” he checks cautiously.
“Yes, Alpha,” you rasp immediately, a learned response to the pain. Lowering your shoulders, you roll them backward almost seekingly. Another beat passes and then Viktor’s touch returns. You’re ready this time, biting your lip to keep from hissing in pain. You let out a breath, relaxing into the stinging sensation. You focus on the feel of his large hands as they graze your back, rough to the touch but warm and gentle against your skin. You feel yourself relaxing into his touch as something loosens in your chest.
“There we go,” Viktor croons. “Very good.”
Even each stinging touch of the cloth as he dabs at your back is careful, almost delicate. He doesn’t want to hurt you. It’s a rare realization and a sudden comfort. He murmurs softly to you the entire time, praising you and humming in an attempt to soothe you as he touches the deeper wounds. It’s more praise than Master ever gave you in all your years with him. Nothing Viktor is doing can match the things Master has done. Nothing he could ever do to you could hurt you, you think.
Exhaustion begins to catch up with you, falling into the repetitive and familiar cycle of pain as Viktor meticulously cleans and bandages your back. He murmurs encouragement as he works and whether or not he’s aware of it, he’s long since pulled you out of the drop and is now slowly pulling you into a drift. You used to hate it whenever Master used his Alpha voice to make you drift, but you can’t seem to make yourself mind this. Viktor’s quiet presence and warm touch is nice. His constant touch and mindless praise lulls you into a light doze.
You bask in the the gentle brush of his calloused hands against your bare skin, content enough to let you eyes drift closed. You don’t know how long you’ve been drifting before a bolt of pain jars you back and startles you out of your stupor. Viktor is dabbing at a particularly painful bite across your left shoulder blade. For the first time, you notice the sharp scent of his anger and the way his hand is trembling.
Have you done something to upset him? Perhaps he’s concerned the wounds will scar. No one wants marks from another on their Omega. Maybe he’s disappointed in the fragility of your skin. Blinking away the fog, you twist to look up at him. “Alpha?” you ask groggily. “What’s wrong?”
-- - --
She jerks away when he touches the soaked rag to the bite mark on her shoulder, startling hard enough to pull herself out of the drift. Viktor curses at himself for not being more gentle. The flicker of pride for getting her to drift in the first place is all but extinguished in light of his other failings. She twists her head back over her shoulder to look at him. “Alpha, what’s wrong?” she asks, still groggy from the drift. She’s frowning. Viktor put that expression on her face, he hurt her, he’s bad for her.
Viktor swallows hard and looks away, pretending to busy himself with the bandages spread across his leg. He twines them through his fingers, pulling them taunt with the effort of keeping his composure. He tries to choose his words carefully, but he can’t hide his anger. “He hurt you,” Viktor snarls at last, unwilling to look up. “That Alpha. He hurt you.”
“Yes,” she agrees placidly, a note of confusion in her tone. Her response is painful, as usual. The fact that she doesn’t see the cruelty in it threatens to unravel him. She—she thinks that she deserved it even. The bandages creak from the strain. “I’m okay,” she adds hurriedly, “I’ve had much worse.”
Just when Viktor thought they’d reached the bottom it just keeps getting worse. He takes a ragged, unsteady breath. He feels lost without a target for his anger, thrown off balance by his own effort to keep from frightening her. He can’t do this. He thought he could, but he’s not helping.
She reaches out and squeezes his hand in her tiny one, reassuring him. “But I’m okay now, Alpha. You take good care of me.”
She doesn’t know what it means to be taken care of. She doesn’t understand what a truly dismal job Viktor is doing. Viktor can’t speak past the lump in his throat, twisting his mouth bitterly. Instead of responding, he goes back to bandaging her.
It soothes him a bit, to care for her. To slowly cover up the torn flesh with bandages until all evidence of cruelty on her body is hidden. She seems to enjoy it too, closing her eyes and relaxing underneath his hands when they brush against her skin. Viktor tries not to read anything into it, tries not to imagine that his clumsy touch is bringing her some comfort.
“You will not be hurt like this again,” Viktor promises, sudden and sure. He doesn’t have a lot of redeeming qualities, but he is thus far unbeatable in a fight. “I will not let it.” No one will lay a hand on her ever again because they will have to get past him first to do so.
Chapter Text
When you wake, your head feels unbearably heavy and your muscles weak. Viktor is in the kitchen, you can hear the banging of pots and pans. You should have gotten up first, you should be cooking him breakfast. You try to sit up, shivering with cold despite the sticky sheen of sweat covering you. You feel oddly sore, almost like after a beating. Your head spins with the movement and when you try to stand, you fall heavily to one knee.
Shit. There's no time to hide it from Viktor. He's at your side in an instant, brow furrowed.
“M’fine,” you slur. Your clothes are sticking uncomfortably to you pull at your back, which feels oddly tight. You can’t be sick. A pang of fear goes through you. Sick Omegas get put down. “Please don’t leave me,” you plead, desperately fisting the front of Viktor’s shirt.
“Wha—”
“M’sorry,” you mutter, trying to get your bearings. God, if only your head would stop pounding. You can’t be sick. “M’sorry. Please don’t leave me. I’ll heal.”
“You are delirious.” Viktor frowns and he leans over, palming your forehead.
You shiver, your muscles aching with the movement. You’re burning with fever, almost drunk with it. Viktor curses and lifts you into his arms easily, depositing you back on the couch. Vaguely you’re struck by how tiny your body truly is in comparison to him.
“I’ll heal,” you try again, because it doesn’t seem to be registering with Viktor. “I’ll heal I always do, you don’t have to—please don’t, I’ll heal, I’m sorry—”
He’s not listening, disappearing into the bedroom. You know better, you know how to feign being well, how put on a mask and stifle coughs and sneezes so Master doesn't learn that you're sick. If you get sick, you get locked in the crate at best, left to recover or die. No further resources will be wasted on you until you prove that you'll be worth the investment. At worst, sick Omegas get culled before they can infect others. It's why you can never show inadequacy, never give him reason to get rid of you. You were caught off guard at this sudden weakness, you never had a chance. Your throat wasn't even sore yesterday and today you feel like you've been hit by a truck.
Viktor reappears wearing a coat and hat. His mouth tightens as he looks at you, shivering and swaying where you're sitting. He has your coat too, and he helps you into it, stuffing your unresponsive arms in and zipping it up to your chin. He pulls a hat down over your ears before sweeping you up in his arms again and shouldering open the door.
You stomach flips sickly and you weakly grab the front of his jacket. The slushy concrete blends with the icy sky in a swirl of movement and for a moment you’re afraid you’re going to throw up on him. You grit your teeth against the urge to vomit.
Viktor stops, craning to look down at you in concern. You blink and try to focus on Viktor’s face hovering over your own. The fever is burning away the last shreds of your consciousness but you have to know, have to make sure.
“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” You know your face must look as scared and lost as you feel. “Alpha?” You can’t stop imagining him taking you to an alley and dumping you. Tying you to a fence and telling you to stay, leaving you utterly helpless against any Alpha who comes along. But he wouldn't...he wouldn't have given you the coat if he were going to do that, right?
His expression twists. “You think I mean to kill you?” he asks incredulously.
“I’m—I’m damaged. I am no use to you now but I will heal I just-”
Understanding lights in Viktor’s eyes. “I’m not going to leave you,” he says, voice gruff. “You are sick, I am taking you to a healer.”
You let out a shuddering breath, and you think a tear might slide down the side of your face. You close your eyes nestle closer to Viktor, trusting him to do what he says.
— - —
When Viktor stops, you crack your eyes open. It’s small and dark, your eyes haven’t adjusted yet. Viktor says something in hushed tones over your head as he lays you down on a cot. You can make out an old woman, nearly hunched in half with age pushing at Viktor and snapping something. Your panic spikes.
Viktor turns to you immediately, likely noticing the change in your scent. “You are going to be all right now. Just rest,” he says, stroking your sweaty hair back from your forehead.
You fade in and out for a while, shivering and aching.
— - —
Viktor wakes you up, lifting you to a sitting position and demanding you swallow the tea that he thrusts into your hands. You groan at being forced upright. You're exhausted, limbs heavy and eyelids drooping. You just want to sleep, but Viktor is insistent that you drink.
“I — I’ll do whatever you want. You don’t have to drug me. I’ll be good,”
Viktor doesn’t scowl like you expect. His face looks almost sad and incredibly weary. “I am not drugging you. It is for the sickness.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, presses the warm cup to your lips. The smell of herbal tea floods your senses. Your stomach flips with nausea, but you don't even think of refusing. You drink, bracketing Viktor’s hand in your own shaky hands as you try to obey him. He makes a distant noise of encouragement.
— - —
You sleep feverishly. You wake up at every sound, on edge and fearful but still under the thrall of the laced tea. You startle awake only to fall asleep again, shivering as you give in to exhaustion and helplessness. Time stretches and slips away in your fever. Every moment lasts forever and entire hours pass by in a fleeting second.
In and out you fade. You dream of freezing to death in a dumpster and wake up sweating. Several times you’re aware of a silent presence at your side, a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Someone lifts your head and tilts a cup to your lips, and more tea slides past your lips.
— - —
The next time you wake to blinding pain along your spine as something peels away from your sticky, bloodied skin. You’re on your belly, naked from the waist up. You thrash in panic but Viktor’s hand closes over the back of your neck. “Breathe,” he orders. Someone, the old woman, is dressing your back. Viktor is there. Your body loosens in relief.
— - —
When you blink your eyes open again the room is pitch black and you’re curled on your side. You're burning, burning and the blankets on top of you are only making it worse. You thrash out weakly, trying to shake them off. The woman bends over you, tugging the blankets back up. “о милая,” she coos.
You don’t speak Russian but you recognize the endearment and sympathetic tone. It’s enough to make your eyes prick with tears. She cups your face and rubs her thumb across your cheek, wiping away the tear.
You expect her to leave, but instead she sits down on the cot and begins to sing a lullaby, dabbing at your forehead with a blessedly cool cloth. If you weren't burning, it would be so nice. Your eyes drift closed.
— - —
When you wake up for good, the smokey, earthy scent immediately tells you you’re back in Viktor’s apartment. You're clear-headed for the first time since this started, no longer drunk with fever or drugged with whatever was in that tea. Your fever must have finally broken.
You’re lying down on the couch, a blanket drawn up to your chin. Viktor is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, his back leaning against the bottom edge as he watches the tv. There’s lights and flickering figures on the screen, but no noise coming from the tv.
You shift, turning a little to face Viktor, to apologize. He’s already looking at you, alerted by your movement. It takes you aback, his warm and penetrating gaze.
"Okay?" he questions softly.
You nod, unable to speak past the lump of emotions in your throat. He. . . he cares. You were sick and useless and a complete burden and he stopped everything to help you. To heal you. Simply because he wants you to be okay.
You must still be tired, because you can't help the hot tears filling your eyes. You feel warm. Safe. Cared for, even.
“Thank you,” you croak. For once, you actually mean it.
Chapter 6
Notes:
Featuring... Viktor's POV!
Chapter Text
The Incident, as you think of it in your head, changes things for you. For one thing, it proves that Viktor cares about you. You’re not just making it up, it’s not wishful thinking. He truly cares. And now that you’re looking for it, you see it in everything he does.
The first day that you're back in his apartment after the Incident, he refuses to let you get off the couch all day. He’s reluctant to leave you to go to work at the docks or train at the gym. It’s only after you promise to eat and drink in his absence that he finally relents. When he comes back it’s earlier than usual and he brings you a treat: a gingerbread cookie dusted with grains of sugar.
The cookie snaps when you bite into it and the taste of sugar and cinnamon explodes in your mouth. You close your eyes, savoring the sweetness. There’s ginger too, just enough to give it a kick of spice.
When you open your eyes, Viktor is staring at you. You blush and he smiles in return, gently swiping sugar from your upper lip. You had thought the fever was gone, but your cheeks burned then, even after Viktor ducked his head and brushed past you.
You redouble your efforts to please Viktor, to follow his rules. There are only a few but you repeat them constantly in your head. You must never go outside without a coat and boots on. You can’t work unless you’ve eaten. The last is the best one of all: he doesn’t want any other Alphas to use you. You like following Viktor’s rules, like belonging to him. It makes you feel safe, it makes you feel protected.
Like when strange Alphas proposition you when Viktor leaves your side in the mail room or at the grocers. “Sorry,” you say flatly, not sorry at all. “Alpha says I’m not to be shared.” And even if they react with irritation or aggression, even if they order you to your knees you don’t have to obey. You don’t have to do anything they say because that’s not your Alpha and you don’t take order from anyone else but him.
But that’s the problem. You finally feel protected and safe and happy and it's made you stupid and now you’re going to ruin everything. You didn’t realize the extent of your mistake at first. But a few days after the Incident, one of the neighbors knocked at the door and Viktor asked you to answer it because he was cooking.
When the strange Alpha saw you instead of Viktor, his expression changed. Even through the cold air, you recognized the scent of lust and excitement immediately. When he offer Viktor money in exchange for taking you back to his apartment for the night, you knew Viktor would say no. When he begin to elaborate on what he would do to you if he had enough time and a breeding bench, you knew exactly how Viktor was about to react.
You didn’t hear Viktor coming, but he crossed the kitchen in a split second, slamming into the other Alpha and pushing him away from you. His tone in Russian was dangerously quiet, pushing the Alpha back harshly to punctuate his words. The Alpha slunk away quickly and Viktor locked the door before turning to you.
"Okay?" Viktor's hands hover on either side of your face, as though he'd like nothing better than to cup your face in his hands. You nod roughly, forcing yourself to offer him a smile.
Viktor's returning smile is equally strained. When he returns to the stove, his shoulders rise with exaggerated deep breaths. You find yourself staring at the snowflakes slowly melting inside the doorway, turning his reaction over and over in your mind the way the river worries a rock until it becomes smooth.
It takes you most of evening to work through your reaction, or rather, lack of reaction. Your scent didn’t spike in fear. You didn’t cower before the strange Alpha. You simply…waited. You trusted that Viktor was going to come for you, to help you. You should have been more frightened that you were.
But you knew that your Alpha would protect you.
He hasn’t bitten you. Hasn’t claimed you. All he has done is feed you and show that he cares about your well-being but apparently that’s more than enough for your biology to decide that Viktor is your Alpha. Somehow you thought it would feel different, as though the bond would snap into place like deadbolt turning in a lock. The reality is less dramatic, as though the bond has grown slowly, like a plant reaching towards the light.
You don’t tell him. It’s stupid and selfish but Viktor would send you away if he realized how attached you’ve become and you can’t breathe when you think about that. And it helps you. It takes off some of the pressure off of your Omega needs and it protects you from the commands of other Alphas. The relief and satisfaction of that are almost enough to make the new development seem like a good thing.
And Viktor doesn’t really give you orders because he’s Viktor. And even when he does on accident, you’re more than happy to obey. Sometimes you wonder what it would be like, getting to be Viktor’s Omega. It would be nice, you think. He’d be kind and protective take care of you and you’d feel so safe. And—to be honest you think you might actually like sex with Viktor. He’s different from the other Alphas. Kind. Soft. Protective instead of aggressive. Thoughtful.
But Viktor isn’t yours, even if you are his.
Because your stupid biology is convinced that Viktor is actually your Alpha it feels like he’s rejecting you, avoiding you. You know he has no idea. You know, logically, that despite what your biology has convinced you that you don’t actually belong to him.
And that means you can’t ruin this. You can’t be needy or desperate or bad in any way. That means that you have to make this work. Viktor is the best Alpha you’ve ever had and you don’t deserve him. You have to make make yourself useful to Viktor. You have to have value for him, and historically speaking you only have one way to be of value.
It's just....he hasn’t been very receptive to that idea.
For one thing, Viktor is body shy. You’ve long since had any embarrassment about nudity beaten out of you, no matter how much you personally dislike it, but Viktor reacts to seeing your body as though he’s just walked through a church with muddy shoes. Viktor walked in the bathroom while you were changing once before and instead of reaching for you with a meaty paw and pulling you against him, he physically covered his eyes and turned around and walked out again.
His reaction was all the more odd for the fact that he changes the bandages on your back once a day. You bare yourself from the waist up and he carefully unwinds the bandages and replaces them with new, clean cloths. You don’t understand how the soft brush of his warm, rough skin against the most vulnerable part of you can be less intimate than him merely seeing your nakedness, but it isn’t your place to question things.
The next time you ask for permission to shower, you leave the door open in a silent invitation. You thought he was going to act that time, your stomach dropping in a low swoop as his footsteps approached. The door clicked closed silently behind you and it was only after a full minute of holding your breath that you realized Viktor had not closed it behind him but rather closed you in by yourself.
You tried harder next time, reaching for his belt when he settled on the couch with you to watch tv. Viktor jerked back as though burned. It was the first time you felt truly guilty. You felt sick to your stomach for causing Viktor to react like that when you know how much unwanted touch can burn.
Viktor doesn’t want an Omega, so you try not to be needy or clingy. It's just that your idiot Omega brain won’t quit thinking about how Viktor seems disgusted by the prospect of touching you, how he’s rejecting you as an Omega. You don’t truly want to have sex, but his rejection means he's not interested in you. Some part of you just wants to be touched and accepted by your Alpha.
Despite knowing better and feeling the sting of embarrassment over clearly not being wanted, you like Viktor. He’s kind and he asks you questions about your day. You like how his eyes light up when he talks about boxing and how he chooses his words slowly and carefully. If he ever punishes you, you know it will be because you deserve it, not just because he’s angry or bored or had a bad day at work.
You decide to try one last time because you are determined to repay Viktor. He has spent so much money on you. He’s fed you and clothed you and housed you and you have given him absolutely nothing. After dinner, when he insists on washing the dishes once again, you rally yourself to offer the only thing you can to the Alpha who has already given you so much. You won't touch him again, not when he finds your touch so repugnant, but you can make your offer more clear.
Even though your stomach turns at the idea, you force yourself to follow Viktor into the kitchen. His back is turned, which is good because you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Instead, you stare at the floor resolutely, fingers clenched around the too-big sleeves.
“You can fuck me, if you want. You can do….what you want. With me.”
Viktor drops the dish he is washing. It plunges into the sink of water and makes a loud splash in the silent room. “What?” Viktor turns to look at you, his gaze burning like a brand. When you dare to glance up, Viktor's face is flushed red to the tips of his ears. He must be angry. He doesn't smell angry. “Nyet. That is not - I do not. Nyet," he stutters.
You shrivel beneath his rejection, shoulders rounding. “Oh.” Your voice sounds small. You nod sharply. “Thank you for dinner.”
You slip away to the bathroom to brush your teeth, a cowardly move. Staring into the mirror, you peer into your own eyes and listen for sounds coming from the kitchen. Several minutes of silence pass before the quiet sounds of moving pots resumes.
It usually doesn’t bother you, when people don’t like you. You’re fairly used to people wanting nothing but for you to go away on the few occasions when Master left the house with you. It was a relief when people looked away or pretended not to see you. It’s safer to be unwanted, invisible.
So why does it bother you so much that Viktor doesn’t want you?
You’re not as pretty as you used to be. Not as young. You’re grown now, no longer a child. You’re covered in healing scabs and green-yellow bruises and pearly white scars in places. You’re not a clean slate anymore, but you find yourself wishing that you were. You wish you were beautiful and pleasing, for Viktor. Viktor has been nothing but kind to you and you can’t figure out how to be kind back.
Maybe he regrets finding you. Maybe he wishes you had never come into his life and brought your troubles with you. He clearly doesn’t want you near him.
Except…why would he pay for a doctor then? Why would he feed you and give you a warm place to sleep and your own coat and pair of boots? It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about Viktor makes sense.
“Can you come here?” Viktor calls from the kitchen.
Your heart jumps into your throat. In leu of a response, you quickly move into the kitchen. Viktor is sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, he gestures for you to sit as well. “I want to talk to you,” Viktor begins carefully as you sink into the chair. He leans forward, gripping the sides of the table with each hand.
You rapidly run through your interactions with him over the past few days, trying to think of anything you might have done to anger him. You're already formulating an apology, a penance, something to do better.
He’s angry, you can see it in his tense posture, as though he’s holding himself back. You can smell it in the air. He’s angry and he’s trying to hide it very poorly. But angry about what? You can’t think of anything, can’t remember but you never do and it always is your fault. Your Alpha is angry at you and it's your fault and you can’t breathe.
You are— you are not in a good place right now. You’re holding on to your composure by a shred, by your fingernails. You can’t handle the heavy silence as Viktor sits there trying to find the words to say. Your stomach sours with dread.
“I’m sorry, Alpha,” you blurt out. “I’ll—I’ll fix it, I can do better in the future. I accept any punishment you see fit.”
Viktor’s expression darkness and you die a little more. You curl in on yourself, chest aching with sudden pressure, your breathe hitching. “I’m sorry,” you try again. “I would—I would be more precise but I don’t know—“
“Stop.”
It’s over. You don’t even get to beg him to keep you. It’s over and you don’t know why. Maybe he’s tired of you, bored. It wouldn’t be hard to find someone younger, someone better. But you, you’ll never find someone as kind as Viktor, as generous as Viktor. Someone who you genuinely like.
And with that, your higher functioning just—stops.
— - —
She slides from the chair onto her knees, babbling something too slurred for him to understand. She bows her head, curling over on herself in a way that has got to be pulling at her stitches, which are the only thing keeping her shredded back together.
The sight of her back keeps him awake at night. Who could hit someone so painfully small? She’s less than half his size, underfed to the point that her bones jut out from her ribcage and backbone. Every time he touches her he’s so very careful to be as gentle as possible for fear of breaking her fragile bones in his thick clumsy hands or ripping open a wound. How could someone purposefully tear apart her back? What could someone so eager to please, so timid and obedient, possible have done to deserve that?
Viktor’s instincts are screaming at him to help her but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. He thought they were making progress, he thought she trusted him. And now she’s—
She’s breathing shallow and quick, her eyes blown wide. As he watches, she gathers herself into a submissive pose on her knees with her arms folded behind her back and her torso bent forward until her forehead almost touches the ground. Viktor realizes with a dawning sense of horror that it’s the pose she has used in the past when she’s certain she’s made a mistake and he’s about to hurt her.
Viktor isn’t her Alpha, she shouldn’t be submitting to him like this. Maybe her owner made her submit to every Alpha she encountered. It’s an old practice, barbaric but still used sometimes. It makes the Omega unstable, makes them desperate to please everyone and then ultimately forces them to fail when the Alpha commands inevitably contradict each other.
Viktor inches closer, holding his hands out in what he hopes in a calming gesture with his empty palms facing up so she can see he’s not trying to hurt her. “What is happening? What are you saying?”
She begins murmuring the same string of syllables, but this time he’s close enough to make it out. “M’sorry, sorry, m’ sorry.” She’s clearly terrified and desperate and it’s become increasingly apparent that she has absolutely no idea what she’s even apologizing for.
Viktor can’t find the words when the realization hits him. He’s stupid, not realizing what was happening until his—until she dropped so badly that she’s literally on her knees in front of him begging for his forgiveness. She’s in a drop. Her Omega instincts have completely taken over as a survival instincts. It’s biology, meant to soften the Alpha’s rage and bring them to their sense.
It’s wrecking havoc on him. He can barely keep himself from confessing everything to her. That he does like her, he wants her to stay. He thinks about her all the time, wondering if she’s happy and if she’s eating enough when he’s not there. He’s constantly wondering if there’s anything he can do for her, planning ways to surprise her. He wants to take her grocery shopping and buy her pastries and kill everyone who has even made her cry. He’d give her anything, absolutely anything she asked for. If he has it, it’s hers.
Viktor doesn’t say that. Instead, he tries again, with a softer tone. “Omega. I am not mad at you. I want to help you.” Hopefully the title will pull at her instincts. He takes another step closer but stops when she cringes back.
“Please,” she latches on to his offer of help instantly. “Just give me one more chance and I—“
“I don’t—what do you think I am going to do to you?” It’s a selfish question, one Viktor never should have asked while she’s still in a drop.
He can see the physical effect his carelessness has on her. She shivers and hunches further over, giving off the dizzying scents of desperation and fear as she no doubt remembers all of the past ways she has been punished. Viktor has to fight to keep his composure, to keep from growling and ripping the apartment apart in his rage. He’s just scare her if he does that.
He can—he can fix this. He has to. Viktor moves slowly, lowering his frame to floor to kneel in front of her. He slots his hands under her armpits and tugs her upright, hopefully easing the tension across her back.
“Look at me please.” It’s not even close to an Alpha command but it hits her like one in the drop and she meet his eyes instantly. Viktor is careful to keep his voice soft and his tone is mild. “I am not going to hurt you,” Viktor says, meeting her eyes earnestly. “I am not going to throw you out. I just want to speak with you. I am not angry.”
She tries to drop her gaze again, but Viktor was already anticipating it. He catches her chin with two fingers, lightly tipping it up to meet her eyes. “Please come back up for me.”
— - —
You surface as quickly as you dropped. Viktor is kneeling before you, tipping your chin up to meet his gaze. His expression is drawn in anguish and worry. You did that. The guilt you feel is overwhelming.
“You dropped,” Viktor supplies. His tone is even, measured. “I do not know what you think, but I am not mad.”
You blink at him. “You’re not angry?”
Viktor makes a rough, dissenting noise in his throat. “Not at you.”
“But if I did something wrong—“
“Not like that.”
“I don’t understand,” you say plaintively. If you only knew what was wrong you could fix it.
“It is not your fault, I should have been more clear that I never wanted you for sex.”
The rejection stings, even when you didn’t really want to succeed in the first place. You blink back tears, smother the sound of distress that tries to come keening out of your chest.
Viktor's scent sharpens in response. He moves closer, trying to bend lower than you so he can peer up at your face. “What’s wrong?” His tone is confused rather than mocking, which surprises you into honesty.
“You don’t want to use me,” you blurt all at once.
“… No,” Viktor agrees, still looking bewildered.
“You spent money on me. I’m eating your food. You haven’t — I haven’t done anything for you. I’m not useful — I have to be—”
“No.” Viktor cuts you off, forcefully this time. “I will not touch you like that. I spend money yes, but not so you will let me touch you. I help you because you are a person and you need help. I do not care if you are useful. I do not care if you sleep all day and night, except it would worry me if you did. I just need…” he takes a deep breath. “I just want you to be safe. And happy. And to have what you need.”
“You were angry at me, I manipulated you into feeling bad for me.” You tentatively push back, wary of contradicting him entirely. Master’s accused you of it before, using your Omega pheromones to manipulate him into taking pity on you.
“No,” Viktor shakes his head. “I was never angry at you.”
Somehow, you believe him.
Chapter Text
Viktor has a fight tonight, and even though he’s assured you that you shouldn’t wait up for him, you can't imagine falling asleep before he gets back. Viktor apologized repeatedly that he couldn’t bring you to the fight, but you’re not entirely sure you would have wanted to see that. To see Viktor get hit. To see him hit someone else. Anyways, Ivan would be there and that's reason enough for you not to go.
So you wait instead, telling yourself that you’ll be helpful when he gets back. You check the freezer for peas to hold against a black eye and then scold yourself for assuming Viktor will be hurt. Time drips by like molasses in wintertime as you try to dismiss the images that come to mind unbidden of Viktor being punched, doubling over in pain. He's huge, you remind yourself pointedly. You've seen him train. He almost knocked out a Beta in full protective gear while sparring. Viktor will be fine. He's undefeated for a reason.
Despite your jitters, you find yourself growing sleepy. You stubbornly fight back against your heavy eyelids, head bobbing as you sink lower and lower in the couch. Despite your best efforts, you’ve almost fallen asleep on the couch when you hear a key turn in the lock. As the door opens, you jerk yourself to your feet so quickly it makes you lightheaded, forgetting that you're on the couch instead of the ground.
Viktor grins as he sweeps inside, no sign of pain in his body language as he drops his bag and locks the door. You sweep your eyes up and down Viktor, looking for injuries. There’s a nasty cut across his cheekbone, shiny with vaseline, but he doesn't seem to feel it.
“I win,” he announces, eyes alight with excitement.
"Of course you did." His enthusiasm is contagious. You find yourself smiling even as you map the length and depth the cut along his cheekbone. You are almost the same height as him like this.
Viktor huffs, but his mouth curls into a smile as he moves to your side. “I am fine.” He answers your unspoken question, tilting his head a little to let you look at his face. You lean in and barely catch yourself from holding his face. Instead, your hands hover awkwardly on either side of his jaw as you look over the wound.
He is fine. It’s not as deep as you thought, but it looks raw and painful nonetheless. “I will stitch, you will see,” Viktor assures you. As you move to step off the couch, you realize that his hands were hovering at either side of your hips. He pulls back quickly, turning away without commenting on it.
You follow him to the bathroom, where he pulls a first-aid bag from under the sink, and then you follow him back to the living room. He falls heavily in the chair, unzipping the bag and unpacking it with practiced ease. You recognize the tools, the curved scissors and sterile thread. In another life, you remember stitching another’s flesh closed and begging them to be quiet, praying it wouldn’t get infected.
When Viktor reaches for a compact mirror and holds the already-threaded needle to his face, the fear you felt then comes rushing back to the surface.
“Wait!” You surge forward, hands outstretched. Viktor freezes, glancing at you in surprise. You’ve surprised yourself, but you can’t back out now. “I’ll do it. I mean, I can do it. If you want.”
It sounds absurd, coming out of your mouth. What were you thinking? Of course an Alpha isn’t going to agree to let an Omega take a needle to their face.
“I just mean you shouldn’t have to do it yourself," you clarify, drawing back and crossing your arms behind your back.
Viktor watches you for a moment, his gaze open and searching all at once. And then he caves, setting down the mirror and handing the needle over easily. It makes you feel off, as though you hold too much power. But when you think of how Viktor took care of you when you were hurt, you know he deserves nothing less.
You don't start immediately. Instead, you insist on sterilizing everything. Viktor has the resources, the hot water and even latex gloves. There will be no prayers whispered over embroidery thread and stitching needles this time. You can do it right.
Viktor submits to your ministrations easily. There are no painkillers in the kit and when you suggest the vodka from the top of the pantry he shakes his head. You try not to overthink why that might be the case or why he doesn’t wince as you draw the surgical thread through his skin. How many times has he done this himself? Did he use the money for painkillers on the doctor for you? Your hands threaten to shake, but you fight to keep them steady.
"Sorry Alpha, I will be very careful not to leave a scar or cause any-"
Viktor cuts you off with an impatient wave. "You can not mess up my ugly mug," he insists, tone flat.
He's not joking, he actually believes it.
You press your lips together but don't outright contradict your Alpha. Instead, you tie off the first suture carefully. You’ve had more practice at this than you’d want in a lifetime. Viktor’s face will not scar. Your work is even and careful.
"Tell me about the fight," you request mildly.
Viktor regales you with highlights of the fight as you work. His steady voice never wavers and that, in turn, steadies your hands. His passion for boxing is clear in the way his eyes light up as he describes his strategy. It helps, somewhat, to know that he loves what he does. It would be different if he were hurt doing something he were forced to do. In the end, you suture the open cut closed with a row of seven even stitches.
"There," you announce, stepping back and handing the compact mirror to Viktor for him to view the result. "I am sorry for the pain, I did my best."
Viktor's eyebrows jump in surprise when he views your handiwork in the mirror. "It looks better than mine ever did," he remarks mildly. His fingers ghost across a scar that cuts through his eyebrow. You swallows back the odd lump in your throat and busy yourself with cleaning off the table.
As you turn, you knock an empty glass jar off the counter. It shatters at your bare feet, glass shards scattering across the floor. Your mind goes blank at the familiar sound, old fear rushing through you. You lunge forward to clean the mess, as though hiding it will erase what you’ve done.
Viktor is faster than someone his size has any right to be. You haven’t even touched the first piece of glass before he is lifting you up by the armpits and walking you backwards, away from the glass shards.
Your mind goes blank at being manhandled and you trip and tip backwards, all of your weight suddenly in Viktor’s hands. He ignores your startled flailing and gently guides you to the floor, setting your back against the wall.
“Sit,” he says. And then, chidingly, “I would not let you fall.”
You’re used to being manhandled, but not with such carefulness or such kind intent. In the past, people have only ever pushed you around to hurt you, not to hold you and keep you from falling. Your elbow was dislocated once when Master yanked you to his side. It’s strange to be held by someone strong and not be afraid.
Viktor straightens and holds his hands out, motioning for you to stay there. “Give me a moment. I have to clean.”
You should be scared. Even though Viktor has never hurt you and he’s treated your wounds and given you a bed and plenty to eat, you should be scared. It’s the reasonable response. You should feel terror, you should apologize as best you can and brace yourself for your punishment. Fear is reasonable and helpful.
Master would have beaten you hard enough to break bones if you had broken something of his. He would have slammed you against the table and held you down by your throat and taken what he wanted after.
Master has thrown glass at you before. Hurled his drink at you and demanded that you fetch a broom and clean it up, leaving you to pick your way over to the cleaning supplies under the sink with bare feet. Leaving you to scrub away your own bloody footprints after.
But that is not what's happening right here. You went away in your head but when you surface you see Viktor on his hands and knees sweeping up glass that you broke so you don’t accidentally cut yourself on it. Your fear is quickly receding, replaced by something else that you can’t quite name. Something warm and raw and decidedly dangerous.
He stands and flashes you a reassuring smile before carrying the dustpan to the trash. You have a strange urge to reach out and squeeze Viktor's hand between yours just as you used to comfort other Omegas. Of course, you could never be so bold and familiar with an Alpha. You would sink to your knees and bury your face in Viktor's thigh in gratitude but for the knowledge that Viktor would hate that. There's no apparent way to express how you feel, nothing good enough to convey the depth of that raw feeling that you dare not name.
Instead you stand on shaky legs instead and show Viktor his plate of dinner that you've left in the oven to stay warm.
Even once everything is put away and Viktor has retired for the night, you can’t sleep. You keep thinking of Master shattering glass at your feet and Viktor picking you up and sweeping the glass himself. The two scenes play over and over in your head, long past when you should be asleep.
You can’t quit thinking about Viktor, about his torn skin and his blood on your fingers. Sudden, overwhelming anxiety seizes you. You know that he’s probably fine, but you need to check.
You pad silently into Viktor’s bedroom and creep to the side of his bed. His face is relaxed in sleep, a bruise already forming around his eye. The cut on his cheekbone is scabbing over but it looks clean and healthy.
You sink to the floor. At this angle, you can’t see his face anymore but you can see his hand dangling over the edge of the bed. His knuckles are bruised and fingers curled into a loose fist. Again, you wish you could reach out and twine your fingers through his, but you know better. Instead you curl up into a ball and tuck your hand under your cheek, staring up at his hand for reassurance that he’s real, he’s there. You can hear his slow, deep breaths and can practically feel the heat radiating off of him.
Warmth. Alpha. Safe. It’s enough to lull you to sleep.
— - —
You’re brought to your senses by the odd sensation of the floor falling out under you. You begin to stir in panic but Viktor quiets you. “Sleep,” he murmurs, an Alpha order. Your eyes drift closed without your own volition as he sets you down. He pulls a blanket over you, rumbling contently. The last thing you’re aware of is a warm hand brushing against your cheek.
— - —
You wake up in Viktor’s bed and freeze in panic, wracking your mind for how you got there. There’s a vague memory of Viktor’s arms around you and his soothing rumble. He must have found you curled up next to his bed like a needy Omega pet. Your cheeks heat with shame.
But he didn’t kick you away or lock you out in the cold, he tucked you in his bed so you could be warm and get more sleep after he left for his run. And that warms you in an entirely different way.
You push yourself out of Viktor’s bed and pad into the living room in socked feet. You pick your sweater off the couch and pull it over your head before surveying the fridge. You feel lighter than you have in years, oddly hopeful. Viktor will be back soon with a sweatshirt that he's sweated through and smile warmer than the sun. Today feels like a day for making pancakes.
Notes:
Starting to get to the comfort! This chapter was inspired by 365 Days 2, specifically the juxtaposition of how Massimo and Nacho handle broken glass around the main character. I just love trashy tv.
This chapter is a bit shorter than normal but the next update will also be faster than they have been. Trade-off!
Chapter Text
You’re humming to yourself, mind drifting as as you wash syrup off the breakfast dishes. You know you’ve got a stupid smile on your face but you can’t seem to help it. Viktor was so surprised by the pancakes. Judging by the expression on his face after the first bite, you're not the only one with a sweet tooth. He lingered after breakfast even longer than usual, as though he could barely drag himself away to work. You’re so engrossed in replaying last night and this morning over and over in your mind that the voice surprises you.
“I knew you would cost me money, Omega.”
Your head snaps toward the new voice, the blood freezing in your veins. Viktor’s father has entered the apartment without a noise, the door still open behind him. He moves towards you slowly, surely. A predator. You freeze as he moves closer, backing away from the sink warily to keep the same distance between you as he advances. Your hands drip soapy water on the floor.
“Another mouth to feed. Viktor is soft,” the man spits out, still moving closer. “Have no money for gear, equipment, sometimes even food. But you, you think you are worth more than us.”
You don’t dare to look him in the eyes, mind whirling as you try to figure out how to deescalate the situation. Your heart is beating rabbit fast against your chest. Maybe you can appeal to his traditionalism. “It’s not my place to question my Alpha’s decisions.” You try not to think about how it feels to call Viktor your Alpha.
The man smiles as he closes in, an ugly expression. “You’re a pretty enough bitch. I am thinking somehow you convince my boy you’re more important than you are.” Your back hits the corner of the kitchen and you have no more room to back up.
His scent is overpowering. It has the same familial notes of smoke and musk but it’s bitter instead of earthy like Viktor’s, cigarettes instead of a wood fire. It feels jarringly wrong. You may no longer be scared of Viktor, but you’re terrified of his father. You've heard plenty of horror stories about Ivan Drago, the disgraced boxer who killed someone.
“Alpha Drago—” you try to appease him, dipping your head to show him the back of your neck. Your body is wracked by a tremor you can’t hide.
Ivan takes a final step forward and his hand snaps out like a viper, seizing a handful of your hair. You can feel the roots beginning to tear in his tight grip, the muscles of your neck forced at an awkward angle. You wince in pain, biting your lip to keep from crying out.
“You have no place here.” Ivan yanks your hair back, forcing you to arch your back and show him your throat. He moves closer, shoving his face down in yours. You tilt your head away, trying to distance yourself from him. He backhands you, and you distantly feel your lip split open. “Omega bitch. If Viktor was a real man he would saved the money for doctor and put you down himself.”
You can’t breath, can’t think. You’re on the edge of dropping and even though you’re fighting against it, you’re losing. Your breaths come quick and shallow. You try to go limp, spine loose and hands open at your sides, show him that you’re submitting to him. It doesn’t work. His other hand closes around your throat and squeezes.
“You know what we do with sick dogs?” Ivan leans forward to snarl in your face. “Put a bullet in the bitch’s brain before it whelps out a litter of sick pups.” You try to inhale and choke instead, a pathetic whining rasp. You can’t draw air into your frozen lungs. You have to fight to keep your hands at your sides instead of clawing at his hand.
“Not sure you are worth the bullet,” Ivan sneers. He's right. Viktor hasn’t commanded you to do anything. You haven’t been useful or good or done anything at all. “Maybe I save money and drown you like a pup.” Being chained in a dumpster to freeze to death was one thing. You can’t imagine being shoved into a bag and thrown into the icy river to drown. The thought of it is enough to make you shiver violently. You can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can feel the blood rushing to your face and your eyes are bulging and your heart is beating out of your chest and you’re dropping in earnest now you can’t —
Ivan drops you. You land hard, knees cracking against the linoleum. You push yourself backwards under the small kitchen table until your back hits the wall, curling in on yourself in a pathetic attempt to protect yourself from whatever comes next. You expect violence, Alpha strength behind fists and knees. You’ve starting shaking violently. You can’t catch your breath, can’t stop the panic rising in you. A sob tears out of your throat.
There's a noise of disgust from above you. You wedge yourself further back, between the wall and one of the chairs. Master would have cursed at you for hiding, grabbed your arm and yanked you out from under the table and beat you until you couldn’t stand.
The Alpha snarls something in parting and slams the door shut. You remain motionless, suddenly aware of the sound of your own breathing, rapid and shallow enough to cause dark spots on the edge of your vision. Viktor doesn't like it when you drop. He doesn’t want an Omega, so you can't be needy. Ironically, the fear about dropping only sends you further down.
You’re slipping. You used to go through drops all the time with Master and you can feel yourself backsliding now, the drop looming and unavoidable. It’s normal, you know, for Omegas to drop regularly. It’s just hard to come back out of it by yourself. You’re frantic, desperate to even out before you drop too far to come back on your own. You can fix this. You can at least try to be a good Omega.
You fight it, trying to hold on with your fingernails if need be. Viktor doesn’t want to deal with your Omega issues, he made it very clear how much he disliked dealing with it when you dropped the other night. You can't be a burden on your Alpha - you can't prove Ivan right. He almost killed you just now if he comes back-
Ivan almost killed you. Your Alpha lied to you. The realization is enough that you lose your tenuous grip on your mental stability all together. Alpha Viktor said no one would ever hurt you again and they have, which means he may have lied about other things too. He might punish you after all. Which is - fine. You know you've earned punishment for angering the pack leader. It's your fault. You know you're a bad Omega but you just thought - you just prefer it when Alphas don't lie to you about punishment or being angry with you. It always hurts worse when you're not expecting it.
Maybe...since he took you to the doctor once he'll do so again.
You almost hold it together at the memory of the doctor. Of Viktor's worry and concern and gentle hands. The sticky spot of syrup on your bottom lip that Viktor wiped away this morning, now split and dripping blood. You almost, almost claw your way up.
But there are rings around your neck slowly bruising in the shape of fingers and the scent of angry, smug Alpha in the air.
You drop.
__ _ __
Viktor doesn't come home for lunch. He rarely does. You shouldn't have hoped otherwise, it was selfish and needy. You work through the lunch hour without stopping. Vikor has thanked you for cleaning before, told you it was helpful. Of course, that probably says more about Viktor than it does you but you turn to cleaning nonetheless. By the mid-afternoon the apartment has been cleaned so thoroughly you can’t find anything else to do. You drift for a while.
Dinner. He'll be hungry when he comes back.You make dinner robotically, cleaning your messes as you make them and watching the windows darken in the corner of your eyes. While dinner is in the oven you scrub the sink until it’s clean enough to perform surgery out of. Viktor is later than usual.
You wash your hands and sit the casserole out to cool and try not to look at the clock. Eight o’ clock comes and goes and the dinner is quite cool and getting cold. You put it back in the oven to keep warm. The kitchen is as clean as it will ever get so you move to the living room, dusting surfaces you know haven’t had time to build up dust since this afternoon. Lights flicker on in the apartment building across from this one.
You can’t stop, you physically can’t, and your hands have started shaking. Maybe Viktor is out finding someone else to take you off his hand. Someone who knows how to handle you. Someone with the proper tools. A cage. Cuffs. Whips. Master always wanted to buy a breeding bench but couldn’t afford it.
When Viktor comes back and finds you dropped again —he's going to be disappointed in you. Angry perhaps. You knew he doesn't like it when you drop and you did it anyways. Maybe he won't like punished you but he'll do it because it will help you become better. Viktor is strong, much stronger than your past Alpha. You think of Viktor's strength and how he hits people for a living. It's probably going to scar. It might maim. You've seen other Omegas with twisted limbs that were broken and didn't heal right. Viktor could break you on accident. He could kill you.
You're a bad Omega. You're a burden and extra mouth to feed and you have no place here. The pack Alpha said so. You're useless and bad and stupid. You just have to—the grout! How did you forget the grout in the kitchen? You have to fix it.
It’s at least past nine now. Your hands are a little raw and you’re still shaking. It’s cold in the apartment—colder than normal. You want to check the time but if you stop working for a moment with your luck that will be when Viktor walks in and sees you being bad.
You’re a bad Omega. You need to—you need to fix it, fix this. You can’t stop, he’ll be home soon you can’t—you can’t be bad you have to be good have to fix—have to be perfect—
You're so caught up in your own mind that you don't hear the key in the lock. It's only when the door opens, bringing a rush of cold air and Viktor's scent that you realize he's home. He flicks on the light, illuminating you like a cockroach in the middle of the kitchen on your hands and knees. The sight stops him in his tracks.
You flinch, drawing yourself into a more appropriate submissive position, kneeling with your knees spread and wrists crossed behind your back. You bend over until your forehead touches the floor, throat working with a frantic apology that you can't seem to voice.
You don't dare look up, but you can almost feel Viktor looming over you. He’s massive normally, but kneeling like this makes the Alpha seem twice as big. Viktor explodes, swearing angrily in Russian. His tone is harsh, little more than a growl. He’s angry. Your stomach sours at displeasing him and you flatten yourself a little more.
Viktor moves closer and sinks to his haunches in front of you. You can't help but flinch a little
"Can you look at me, please?"
There's a hand under your chin, lifting your gaze until you are making eye contact with Viktor, whose face is twisted with poorly concealed anger.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
You shake your head without thinking. Your heart is racing in your chest so fast that it feel like it’s going to burst. Viktor’s jaw clenches. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
You shake your head again mutely. Viktor’s expression darkens as he looks at your throat. His fingers ghost over the marks, his eyes stormy with anger. He lied. Alpha lied, he is angry and he will hurt you. "What happened?" he demands again.
You mean to obey, you really do, but when you open your mouth nothing comes out. You swallow and try again. You have to explain that you didn't mean to admit you were hurt. You have to apologize for dropping and for angering Alpha Drago. You have to convince him that even though you're bad you can learn. You can be useful, even. Viktor has commanded you, he's given you an order.
Your breath hitches as your throat works once again and nothing comes out. You swallow harshly, heart stumbling over itself in panic. You can't do this one thing. You have one order, a simple command, and you can't-you're a bad omega, you're a burden-
Viktor cuts you off with a slashing motion. "Stop, just stop."
You nod numbly. You knew an apology wouldn’t help. Still, it doesn’t help the sadness that floods through you. Viktor has never hurt you before. He lied. And you—you’re so stupid and presumptuous, assuming you can apologize your way out of this. Assuming it will be like last time. Your Alpha doesn’t want you to apologize. There’s only one way to make an Omega truly sorry.
You slowly climb to your feet, disappearing into Viktor’s bedroom. He calls out after you but you don’t stop. Instead you fetch his belt and move back in the living room.
He’s not sitting down like you expected him to be. Instead, he’s still on his feet where you left him, his scent sharp with anger and something more complex. You slide into a kneel easily, laying the belt at his feet. Muscle memory. This time your voice works, sounding calmer than you feel as you ask, “Would you like to me to count, Alpha?”
Viktor lets out a violent string of syllables in his own language. You flinch just a little. He hasn’t reached for the belt yet, but a backhand from him would knock you to the ground. He’s massive, absolutely looming over you, and his scent is almost completely overpowered by rage now.
“Alpha?” You don’t understand. “I can earn it. Please, Alpha, let me earn it.” You’re desperate and about to lose the only person you can’t survive losing.
‘What are you— earn what?” That’s an easy one, you know the answer. It’s been drilled into you your whole life.
“Forgiveness.”
There’s silence above you, quiet enough that you can hear the wind howling outside.
“I am not mad at you.”
“Yes, Alpha,” you agree automatically.
In your peripheral vision you can see his hands clench in a fist. He takes several noisy, deep breaths before purposefully opening his hands again.
“Why do you think that I want to hurt you?”
That one’s easy to answer. “Not my place to question. An Alpha has a right to do whatever he wants to his Omega.”
“Sugar,” Viktor says carefully. “You know I’m not your Alpha?”
“You are,” you answer promptly.
“I told you I did not want an Omega,” Viktor snaps, his voice sharper than any whip.
“I’m sorry,” you choke out. You’ve disobeyed your Alpha, disappointed him. You knew better. Your Alpha gave you an order and you directly disobeyed him. You're a very bad Omega.
You feel a hand on your face distantly, but you can’t respond, can’t look up. Someone curses over your head again. You vaguely feel them back off, dialing a phone.
“I need help. I just got home and she—someone has been here and hurt her and she’s dropped again. It is like she is not there. When I came in she was literally trying to work herself to the bone, her hands are bleeding everywhere and now —“
“No, I will not be calm.”
“I’ve pulled her up before but this is worse.”
“Designed to be of service? Do you hear yourself? I thought —”
“Da, I am listening.”
“Okay, then tell me what it is to do.”
There’s footsteps, someone moving around the room. The radiator squeaks and then a flood of heat fills the room. You didn't realize how cold you were before, but with the sudden rush of warmth it becomes painfully apparent. You can’t feel your hands or your feet and your breath clouds the air.
“I’m not going to—
“Well it had better not go that far.”
Hands on your face rouse you a little, turning your face towards someone—an Alpha.
"Sugar?"
You tilt your head up and to the side, head angled to give the Alpha access to your jugular. The hand slows but doesn't stop.
“Can you look at me?” the Alpha asks.
You shake your head without thinking. Your heart is still racing in your chest, so fast you feel like it’s going to burst.
"Okay," the Alpha says softly. "Okay." You only vaguely register arms curling under you before you suddenly go weightless as you’re scooped up and away from the floor. You whine, terrified as it pulls you from your obedient position, but the Alpha doesn’t pause as he carries you into the bedroom.
You blink at the bright light inside the bedroom, trying to maintain equilibrium as the Alpha sets you down on the bed.
He moves away for a moment, coming back with a sweatshirt that he pulls over your head. Your limbs are heavy and don’t follow your directions, but the Alpha pulls the sleeves over your arms easily. “Good,” he tells you. “You are doing good.”
The praise soothes something in you, calms the frantic need fizzing in your chest. Something in you warms a little bit. Your eyes move from their sightless stare to track his facial expression.“‘M good?” It slips out without you meaning to. You shouldn’t have asked. He probably said it as an accident and now he’ll correct you and tell you how bad you are.
The Alpha moves closer, so tall. “You are very good,” he says, and he cups your cheek in his massive hand and he’s so warm you just melt. Viktor catches you easily, bundling you to his chest and burying his face in your hair. “I am so sorry,” he murmurs against your temple, skimming his fingers over your neck. “I should have been here. I made you a promise.”
You don’t reply. Instead you just press yourself against his chest until you stop trembling. At last Viktor stirs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Can you stay here?” he asks. You nod jerkily and he pulls away. Your cheek feels so cold without his hand.
Did he leave you? You blink, trying to figure out what you’re doing in an empty room.
“Alpha?”
He calls back from a different room, "I’m here." You sway, feeling conflicted. Are you—what are you supposed to be doing? Viktor walks back through the doorway and your chest loosens with relief. Viktor.
“Hey,” he says with a soft smile.
You can barely keep yourself from reaching out and dragging him closer in desperation.. Instead, you dig your fingers into your forearms. “Please don’t leave. I’m trying. Please,” you beg. It’s stupid, it’s horribly bad of you, giving in to your needy Omega instincts like this but you can’t help it.
“I won’t leave,” Viktor says with so much patience that you almost sob. He moves into your reach and cups your chin in his hand, flashing a tight smile even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You are still cold. Come with me, okay?”
He pulls you up, leading you into the bathroom by your wrist. The shower is on. Does he want you to get in? You don’t—you don’t want to get wet. Master used to leave you sometimes — in the rain and it was so cold and you don’t —
You drop to the tile to kneel but Viktor anticipates it, lifting you easily and setting you down on the closed toilet seat. You lean heavily against him and he kneels between your legs and holds you up with one hand cupped around the back of your neck. The angle is awkward, not quite centered. It’s almost like he’s leaving you room to bolt out of the bathroom. Like he’s purposefully trying to keep from caging you in. And you’re above him, once again. It makes you a little nauseous. You should be — it’s not. It doesn’t make sense. The perspective is off.
“The steam should help warm you but I need to get you up out of the drop,” he tells you.
He needs you out of the drop? That doesn’t make sense. You had to drop, right? It’s normal, Omegas drop periodically. But he’s already moving, one hand gently gripping your chin as he rubs his beard back and forth over the skin of your cheek and your neck, scenting you with calm rumbling sounds.
It helps you surface but it leaves you feeling even more overwhelmed than before. He must see it in your face because he wraps his arm low around your waist and pulls you to him. You wrap your arms around his neck, horribly needy and clingy and absolutely reveling in his strength and warm and stability.
He goes back to scenting you, scraping his beard along the exposed skin of your collarbone and absolutely dumping off calming pheromones. You feel yourself drifting, as though you’ve been wrapped in the warmest blanket in the world that smells like safety and comfort and home.
Viktor pulls back, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw as he peers into your face. You look back openly. You can see his face more clearly than ever before and it’s so pretty. You lift one hand to trace at the curve of his beard, carefully to avoid the half-healed line of stitches on his cheekbone.
“You have the best face,” you tell him earnestly.
Viktor blinks in surprise and then squints at you, titling your chin to look in your eyes. “You are little high,” he decides. “I overdid it.” You shouldn’t be looking at his face but you can’t help it. You stare his facial expression, noticing how red his cheeks have turned. Is he angry?
He looks away first, caressing your ragged hands with his thumbs. Your palms are dwarfed where they are cupped in his. He turns them over and inspects the raw patches where you’ve skinned your knuckles from scrubbing and blistered them with cleaner.
Viktor turns away, keeping one hand on your shoulder propping you up as he rifles through the cupboard, pulling something out before turning back to you. “Can you hold out your hands?” he asks.
It takes you a moment to process the question. You push against your mushy brain and present him with your hands, palms-up. “Very good,” Viktor praises as he gently turns them over and rubs ointment over your raw knuckles, his touch feather light.
You shouldn’t be looking at his face but you can’t help it. You stare at his ear, notice how the shell of it has turned red just like his cheeks. It’s a good ear. You look at the cropped dark hair behind it and notice the sweat beading on his neck. He doesn’t seem to notice, focusing on your hands. Your hands feel nice, like the pain has been drawn out.
Something in your chest begins to rumble, a deep content purr that manages to surprise you. It breaks off as soon as you notice and you frown deeply, glancing down at your chest as though that will give you an answer. Viktor bites his lip, looking torn between laughing and crying.
He sits up, moving back out of your space. For the first time, he seems to notice the sweat beading on his neck and chest and he pulls his shirt over his head in one motion. He’s not— he’s too hot then. He wanted—your brain is mush and you try to focus but the scent rolling off him now— he wanted you to be warm but it’s too hot for him now.
“M’sorry,” you manage thickly. “You can—if, you can make it colder.”
“Okay,” Viktor assures you, flashing a smile so genuine he couldn’t possibly be mad. “I want you warm. But that might be all of the hot water I can afford.” He moves away, and you almost whine at the loss. The shower turns off and then he’s back, gathering you in his arms. You lean heavily against him, breathing in a deep, heady drag of his scent that lingers in the back of your throat.
Viktor carries you out of the bathroom and you shiver at the change in temperature. It’s cold in the living room without the steam. Freezing, maybe. How is Viktor okay without a shirt? He sits down against the couch, placing you on his lap. He switches the tv on with the remote in one hand and uses the other to press you against his chest.
No wonder Viktor isn’t cold. He’s radiating warmth like he’s the sun. You plaster yourself to his chest, seeking his warmth and scent and wishing that you could just press yourself inside of his skin. Heat radiates from his thighs, his broad chest, the breath against your ear. He begins lightly massaging the nape of your neck with one hand and you turn boneless against him. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you to him and securing you from falling.
Viktor leans down and gently presses his lips to your cheek, already pulling back again before you register what he’s doing. Your cheek tingles where his lips were. You don’t understand his touch, don’t understand the meaning behind it.
Before you can muster the brain power to respond, Viktor begins to narrate the fight on tv and explain the difference between heavyweight and lightweight and what counts as a penalty. His heart is beating slow and steadily in his chest and you find yourself dropping again, but it’s different. More pleasant. Like going to sleep instead of spiraling into a panic attack.
Chapter Text
“We need to talk about your drop,” Viktor states from his seat across the table. He’s been waiting to bring this all up morning, you could tell from the moment you woke up, but he insisted on making you breakfast first. You were groggy enough to welcome the reprieve at the time, but now you’re actually going to have to have the conversation you’ve been trying to avoid.
You flush with embarrassment and push your half-eaten bowl of oatmeal back. Even sweetened, you could barely eat more than a few bites. Your memories of the actual drop are fuzzy at best. But you remember Viktor’s gentle hand on your face and his voice saying kind things until you surfaced from the dark, deep hole that had sucked you in. You never knew that’s what it was supposed to feel like to surface from a drop.
You open your mouth to apologize, but Viktor stops you with an outstretched hand. “I want to go first.” He seems determined to try to even the footing between you two, volunteering information to make himself equally vulnerable.
He glances down at the table and scrubs a hand over his mouth, gathering his thoughts for a moment. It gives you a moment to watch him without getting caught. The stitches across his cheekbone look good, only a few days away from needing removed. Between Viktor’s stitches and scabs and the purpling bruises around your throat, you make quite the pair.
“Everything was fine when I left yesterday. Maybe better than fine.” Viktor flashes you a quick smile before he continues. “I got an extra shift at the docks, which is good for us. I called, but you did not answer. That is okay, I am not mad.”
“Later, the power went off in the gym. Turned out the outage was across half the city, is why I was late coming back.” Viktor pauses, clears his throat. “I get home, you are scrubbing the floor with bloody hands in the dark. You cannot look at me, cannot speak except to apologize. And you seem to think that I am your Alpha.”
Hearing Viktor describe your behavior is mortifying. You’ve never felt lower. You can’t explain this, can’t excuse your actions. “I’ll stop,” you whisper, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I never should have let it happen but—”
You’re choked up by sudden emotion and you swallow hard as you push against the beginning pull of another drop. Viktor’s hand finds yours on the table and squeezes gently.
You huff a laugh as you look down at your intertwined hands. It’s like a dam being broken. “But you’re so kind. You’re — you take care of me. I feel safe around you. It wasn’t conscious at all, I can’t control the way I react to you.”
Viktor shakes his head in disbelief. “Do you not think I felt the same? I—I cannot breathe when you are in pain. All I think about is making sure you are safe and warm and happy.”
So you are disturbing his life. You’re suffocating him, another clingy Omega, just like you feared. You rush to control the damage, ready to promise anything if he'll let you stay. “I know that you don’t want to be my Alpha, but—”
“I never wanted an Omega because I never wanted a partner who could not leave if they wished,” Viktor corrects. “I—my life is small and violent. I cannot offer you what you deserve. You cannot want a life with me for yourself and I cannot bear to be a replacement for your past Alpha. I know he was cruel beyond reason. You tried to leave him, yes?”
Your stomach dips and you look away, feeling Viktor’s heavy gaze on you as he waits for an answer. “Leave him?” you evade.
“Your back. You tried to run away and you were caught.”
You take a moment, trying to find the words. “I never tried to leave. He left me.”
His eyebrows have furrowed in concern, his expression twisted in distress. “What happened?” he asks, his voice thick as he braces himself for the answer he doesn’t want to hear.
You shake your head, setting your jaw. “He left me.” You swallow down the emotions that ache in your chest and refuses to look at him. You know you won’t be able to stand the look on his face. You know that Viktor will work out what you mean.
Viktor hums shortly, a tense, unhappy note of understanding. You both sit in the realization for a moment.
“And now you think I will leave you.” Viktor’s tone is certain, as though he is thinking out loud rather than asking you a question.
His fingers curl around your chin and turn it towards him until you meet his eyes. “What happened last night?” His voice is a whisper, eyes torn with emotion. Your lip quivers under his thumb. Viktor lets out a broken exhale as his touch ghosts over your split lip.
“Ivan was here,” you admit. “He was unhappy with me. He doesn’t think I’m worth keeping and he made that very clear.” You gesture vaguely to your throat. “I was trying not to drop, cleaning helped a little but in the end it was too much for me to handle.”
Viktor’s eyes are dark as he looks at the marks around your throat but he doesn’t interrupt you.
“I’m used to bringing myself out of drops, but it just…got worse. The power must have gone off here as well and I didn’t even notice. It’s harder for me to pull myself out of a drop when I’m cold or wet.” Specifically when you’re left outside in the snow. Or left by yourself in the cold, dark basement. Given your history, it’s no wonder you dropped once the power went off.
You’re pulled out of your own dark memories by the realization that Viktor’s hand is shaking against yours with fine tremors, like he’s vibrating with the effort of controlling his instincts. You know that you’ve hurt him with what you’ve said, what you’ve admitted about your past Alpha and his father. He’s clearly distraught and all he’s focused on is trying to make sure you’re okay. To comfort you and keep you company.
Before stopping to think, you push yourself out of the chair and into his arms. You feel his chest and lungs compress as you slam against him. He grunts at the impact but even when caught by surprise, Viktor catches you easily, bundling you onto his lap and burying his face in your hair. You twist your fingers in his jacket and pull yourself closer.
“I am so sorry,” he murmurs against your temple, skimming his fingers over your neck. “I should have been here. He should have never touched you. I made you a promise. He was not—he was not always cruel like this,” Viktor admits. “He was always aggressive but once my mother left—he had nothing to stop him.”
You don’t reply—what could you possible say? Instead you just press yourself against his chest until you stop trembling. Viktor’s grip is just as tight on you. Slowly, both of your scents mellow.
At last Viktor stirs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.“He will not touch you again,” Viktor murmurs. “I made you a promise. And I know you do not believe me but I will never hit you. I know because of what I do, you think I like to hit. That is not true. I like to fight. I am good at it. It is who I am. You are not someone to fight. You are someone to protect.”
“I’ve never had an Alpha protect me before.”
“But you do now,” Viktor contradicts immediately. He stops, seeming to realize what he’s said. He swallows and looks down, almost shyly. “I—I would like to take care of you, if you will let me.”
You freeze, slowly running over what Viktor has said in your mind. He can’t mean that, but he said it. He’s shown you, time and time again through his actions that he wants to be there for you but this. . .
“As. . . a friend?” you question, more emboldened that you ever would have dreamed a week ago.
“As your Alpha.”
You reach out a hand to brace yourself against the chair edge, using the sharp bite of the edge against your palm to try to ground you in reality. This feels surreal, too good to be true. There’s a catch probably. It’s all been an act and he’ll reveal he’s just like Master.
“Sugar?” Viktor scrunches down, trying to peer into your face from where you’re sitting in his lap. “Can you — what are you thinking? Do you need some space?”
“You don’t want an Omega.”
Viktor grimaces. “For one moment, try to forget what I said. Stop thinking about what I want. What do you want?”
“I want to stay.” You realize it’s true as you say it. You do want to stay. You want to wear your new warm clothes outside with him on walks, and watch bad tv with him, and go grocery shopping with him for ingredients to make new dishes. You want to wait up for him after fights and help stitch him back together. And you want him to stitch you back together.
“Are you — are you sure?” Viktor sounds tentative, clearly afraid of pushing you to agree.
You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life. Even when, or if, Viktor changes his mind or realizes that your Omega pheromones are manipulating his Alpha instincts, you want this, for whatever brief a time it may be.
“I’m sure,” you say. “I want you to be my Alpha.”
Viktor pulls you closer into another hug. “You have every right to think Alphas are cruel and vicious, your very skin is proof of that. But I promise I am not that kind of Alpha,” he swears. “I will never hurt you, I swear on my life.”
You push back to look up into Viktor’s eyes. He lets you break his grip instantly, meeting your gaze steadily with his deep brown eyes. There’s no lie in his expression, nothing but the earnest assurance that you’ve come to think of as his default expression around you.
Viktor reaches up and brushes away a tear you didn’t realize was running down your cheek. You breathe in sharply as his hand caresses your face and close your eyes, more tears slipping down your cheeks. Your heart aches with a stabbing emotion you can’t identify. A sob heaves forth from your chest and the last semblance of your self-control breaks.
“It’s not—it’s not, I can’t—” You manage a wobbly breath between sobs. “I never cry.”
“It’s alright,” Viktor says. “Just let go.”
“If I—if I d-do, I don’t know if I’ll ever” — a sob tears through your chest— “stop.”
Viktor cradles your head in his chest, embracing your trembling body. Your tears are getting his shirt damp, but he doesn’t seem to mind, holding you close.
You can’t remember the last time you let yourself cry. You’ve been wearing a mask for so long, long before you ever met Viktor. You’ve been hiding your feelings for your own protection. You learned to turn your emotions off and after awhile, you stopped feeling anything at all. You were just empty, frozen.
Viktor has poured himself back into you. When you first began to thaw, all you could feel was fear. But slowly, that began to change and you felt warm, safe, cherished.
You lean into Viktor, clutching at his shirt as you cry. Even though you’re sobbing uncontrollably, there is something relieving about being able to express your emotions freely, to let it all out. Viktor never lets go, rubbing your back reassuringly.
“It is okay. You will be okay, sugar.”
Chapter Text
You’re not exactly sure what you were expecting to change after Viktor agreed to be your Alpha, but for the most part nothing is different. Viktor follows his normal routine, eating breakfast and dinner with you, working during the day and training in the evening. He doesn’t seem to expect anything different from you. If anything, he seems slightly more determined to make sure you eat enough and are warm enough.
The only thing that really changes is that Viktor begins purposefully scenting you. It’s not like Viktor avoided touching you before. There were brief, shining moments of contact when you passed each other in the hallway or brushed hands while reaching for the same dish. But this is different, it’s longer, lingering contact meant to let his scent mix with yours. It's meant to mark you as his and it does if the looks you get at the gym are any indication.
And unlike the bruises and scabs that used to mark an Alpha's claim on you, Viktor's touch is always gentle, even helpful. In the morning, he pulls you to your feet when you finish putting on your boots and doesn’t let go of your hand even when you’re standing. It’s simple. Ridiculously simply. You shouldn’t still be thinking about the weight of his palm on the small of your back when he guided you through the doorway of the gym hours later. You shouldn't keep replaying something as mundane as Viktor moving you to the inside of the sidewalk on the way back home.
That night, his hand settles on your shoulder while he peers down into the pot you have simmering on the stove. Later, after you both finish dinner and clean up (Viktor insists that it’s his turn to wash the dishes), you both move to the couch to watch tv for a while, as has become routine. The only problem with the routine is that Viktor has always refused to sit on the couch with you. He always insists that it’s your space.
It’s nice, truly. It’s just that you have a new fuzzy memory of lying on his chest on the couch when he brought you back up from the drop that seems infinitely better and you're quickly becoming addicted to his constant touch.
When Viktor moves forward to settle down into his usual spot on the floor, you scoot over from where you’re sitting on the couch, making room for him to sit. He hesitates, brows drawing together. Of course, you know he probably doesn’t want to be near you. He's body shy, after all. Helping you through your drop was just him being nice. Your scent must give away some of your disappointment because he’s shuffling closer immediately, lightly sitting next to you.
Something in you hums at that, pleased as he carefully drapes a blanket to cover both of you. You let yourself lean against him a little.
It’s halfway through the movie that you shift a little more, turning more towards him. As you tuck your legs under you, your knee touches his thigh and your side presses against his. Viktor takes a deep, shaky breath, but he doesn’t push you away so you let yourself lean against his side.
— - —
It doesn’t exactly surprise him when he feels her weight against his side on the couch. She’s always cold and he’s always warm, so it makes sense. Still, when she cuddles into his side, fully relaxed against his body, Viktor feels his heart jump. He tries to keep his focus on the screen but can’t help stealing a glance at her. Her eyes are half-lidded as they watch the flickering tv set in comfortable silence, clearly fighting against sleep.
It’s a losing battle. After a few minutes, her head begins to nod and she sinks deeper and deeper into his arms. He doesn’t quite realize what’s happening until she tips over entirely, her head resting on his thigh.
Viktor freezes, trying not to move or even breathe too much. Don’t move or you’ll scare her, Viktor chides himself. You’ll remind her that you’re dangerous and she’s touching you and she’ll panic. She’s easy to startle. Less easy to startle now, maybe, but he’s seen how she stiffens at the sound of raised voices or flinches at sudden movements.
She has nightmares sometimes.
Viktor doesn’t have words for how precious she is to him. He has no idea how to convey the depth of his feelings to her. Instead, he slowly raises his hand and ghosts it over her hair. Her hair pooled around her like water, one strand dipping over the plane of her cheek.
He moves as slowly as a glacier, as gently as a snowflake kissing the ground, but it doesn’t make a difference. As soon as he brushes it back, she stirs.
She sighs and blinks her eyes open, looking up at him. She blinks slowly, sleepy but clearly aware of where she is. And then she smiles and makes a drowsy noise, twisting like a cat to curl towards him. Her knees press against his side and she pushes her face into his stomach, seeking his warmth, untroubled by the maelstrom going on in his own mind. Her hands curl into his shirt and grab fistfuls of the fabric.
Viktor remains perfectly still, ready to hold his hands up in surrender and let her dart away at the smallest indication that she is scared or uncomfortable. Instead, her hands slacken their grip and her faint smile smooths out as she falls fast asleep again.
Viktor sits in stunned silence.
She looks beautiful, as always, but she looks painfully vulnerable like this. Her long lashes cast shadow across her cheeks. Her skin has started gaining more color either from the food or exposure to sunlight, but any progress is tainted by the yellowing bruises ringing her throat. The bruises are a painful juxtaposition to how relaxed she looks at the moment. Her lips are pursed slightly, her cheek squished where it presses against his thigh.
If she realized, if she saw him caressing her face with his gaze (because he cannot soil her again with his hands) she would rip herself from his side. She would realize how ill-equipped Viktor is to love her, how little he truly has to offer. Except she did look and she smiled and fell asleep on his lap.
She knew where she was. She knew who she was laying on. She is a survivor of unimaginable abuse at the hands of Alphas, she has every reason to loathe and fear his touch. And yet, she trusts him. She trusts him to protect her while she’s at her most vulnerable. Viktor isn’t sure if he’s worthy of that trust. He feels sacrilegious, like a sinner entrusted with some sacred and holy relic. He feels unworthy, unable. But none of that matters.
She trusts Viktor to protect her, to comfort her, to give her the life she so badly deserves.
And she will receive nothing less than every good thing the world has to offer. He swears it to her silently. He will give her everything that is his to give, find a way to get whatever else she desires. He will never leave her side for the rest of his life, unless she sends him from her. Even then, he will love no other.
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