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    Summary

    Reader insert. **** replaces y/n.

     

    Excerpt:
    It's one of those things you don't talk about or even acknowledge. They're the marks on your arm, the delicate filigree of names that's a jumble of mess. A pretty mess but one that gives you anxiety because it's not /normal. Nothing about your arm represents anything you want because... Ugh... Even in your thoughts it was difficult to say.
    It was part shame.
    Part denial.
    Part self loathing.
    Nothing good came from the ruin that was your forearm.
    Normal people had one, few people had two, and rarely did an Omega have a pack and that's what your markings meant.
    Pack Mate.
    Whore.
    Omega.

     

    My take on Omega pack mates. Omega's with a bite vs the overly submissive traits.

    Language:
    English
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