Below the cut is implied explicit art. as in nothing is shown below the torso but it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. If that makes you uncomfortable or you are under 18 I suggest not opening it. Thank you :)
Finally done! ༽つ۞﹏۞༼つ
Comic style layout is definitely not my strong suit (which is why this literally took my a week to make lmao) but getting to a place I was happy with was very fun!
Shout to @ghouljams whose post (click here) I was inspired by to make this Ty!
It's not often that John asks Johnny about his life outside of the job; typically, the man drops a comment about how he's 'due tae get pished' or 'awat fir ma Mammy's cookin' without any prompting. But he's yer to utter a word.
"Away tae visit a cousin."
It's a half-hearted response; Johnny only briefly glances away before his gaze is back to the floor. John's tired, he wants a hot meal, and he can't sleep, so the other man is simply going to have to talk.
"Outside of Scotland? If you tell me he lives in England, you'll never hear the end of it."
Johnny's hair barely moves when he shakes his head. John assumes that's the power of styling wax and sweat, he'd judge if he wasn't intimately aware of the smell of himself at the current moment.
"Naw, he's in Barlinnie. Dates usually dinnae line up fir me tae visit, first time in a long while."
It takes all of John's self-restraint not to laugh, no matter how bastardly it may be. The sergeant expects judgment over a family member's prison time, and hours earlier, he watched John put a bullet through someone's carotid artery.
"What's he in for?"
For all his reserved attitude, Johnny's lip twitches when he talks. He's amused by what his cousin did, and frankly, shit at hiding it.
"Walloped some cunt's teeth oot an git caught fir it."
Johnny's shoulder is warm to the touch when he claps his hand on it. John chooses to ignore how the Scotsman leans into his touch before he catches himself and straightens up.
"Wear tight jeans, give the rest of them in there something to enjoy."
Johnny's face lights up fire truck red, and only then does he smack John's hand away with a muttered fuck off, but he's smiling for the first time all day.
“I…I just want to kiss you first. More than anything, I think.”
This earns him an amused huff. “Sweet Johnny…”
John’s cheeks grow warm. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are,” Simon replies, his voice soft.
----
Technically fanart for my fic "Accept Invite" - a "What if they met while playing Call of Duty?" AU. If you like uhhh *checks tags* gay chicken, bisexual awakenings, phone sex, long distance pining, and cozy domestic slice of life, then I humbly present this as an offering ✨
Also, Simon has a service dog. Her name is Sadie. She is best girl.
Ghost glanced at his sergeant, grunting as he sat down, leaning down to untie his boots.
"Fed 'er." He grunts, undoing the knots. "Was cookin' one of my mum's recipes, felt like it."
He pulls a foot free. "Smell must'a wafted over to 'er 'ouse. She was my neighbour at the time." He explains, Soap listening intently. "Well, not too long later I hear a knock at my door. I check and there's this pregnant bird standing there, askin' if she can have some o' whatever I'm cooking."
Ghost looked up, standing to take his pants off now that his feet are free. "'ow could I say no to tha'?" He scoffs slightly, throwing the balled up pants into the basket in the corner. "Sweet thing like 'er coming up to a man like me? Mum would've come back from the dead if I did."
Soap chuckles a bit, pulling a fresh top over his head. "So ye fed a pregnant lass and she stayed?"
"Aye." Ghost nods, top off, mask pulled off as he begins wiping the eyeblack off his face. "Couldn't refuse even if I wanted too. She was a vision, mate. Big belly, glowing cheeks, and..." He trails off, remembering how cute you'd been, standing at his door, heavily pregnant and hungry for that delicious meal that lured you into his home.
"Lt?"
Ghost grunts. "Kept feedin' 'er. Like a damn cat, she kept coming 'round." He mutters. "Was there when our daughter was born. She put my name on the birth certificate and I knew I wasn't letting 'er go." He says, opening his locker, pausing as he took in the photo taped to the back.
You and your little girl, only a few months old.
From behind him, Soap hums.
"Think if Ah make my mum's pie Ah'll get a pretty lassie too?"
No thoughts just ghost being horrified when his baby girl insists that he doesn't love her.
Small round face flushed red from wailing, tiny hands slapping against the breakfast table after ghost had set down her pancakes shaped like hearts.
"Stop it!!! Stop it dad!!" She wails, and ghost freezes at the fat tears that roll down her face "you don't love me!! Stop pretend!!! No love meee!!!"
This is nothing compared to her occasional tantrums, genuine heart-broken sobs as she declares ghost hating her. Simon, her own father who retired when she was born, who quit smoking after she said he smelled funny all the time, who leans all the way down when she wants to hold his hand on walks.
Ghost tries to soothe her, kneeling down to talk "man-to-man" as he says it. That only seems to upset her more today, kicking at his face and sobbing harder.
It's only when you come in from the kitchen and scoop her into your arms that she settles at all.
"What's wrong, sweetpea?" You ask, though you heard the whole thing from the kitchen. When she nearly breaks into outright sobbing again, you ask "your dad loves you very much, what makes you think he doesn't?"
It's now that she finally looks at ghost, eyes shiny with tears and clinging to your shirt for comfort "dada doesn't smile at me ever. Because dads smile at their daughters but he doesn't!! he doesn't love me!!"
Oh.
Simon...never really was able to emote much due to his scars. Of course he never smiled. Not that his little girl knew that.
Ghost goes tense across from you, expression darkens. Ghost doesnt like to talk about the things that happened to him, can hardly stand to see himself in family photos. He always told you he wasn't built to be a father.
He slips out of the room before you can say anything, and your daughter only takes that as proof, crying again.
"I told you, dad doesn't love me!! He doesn't want me, he hates me!!!"
Just outside the room, ghost starts to shed tears of his own. Why did he ever think he could give her what she needed?
He grabs the car keys before slipping out the back door. No need to make a fuss.
umm not sure if i like this but omegaverse kinda-neglected reader! x tf141 (ghost focus), angst, good ending, gn!reader, SFW
You’re a beta. That should come as a relief, many tell you every day they wish they were your designation instead. No heats, no ruts, not even stinking up a room when you got a bit too overwhelmed by an emotion.
Just in the middle: a nice calming scent, a decent paying job— never too high, a beta CEO wouldn't be able to control anything— and the lack of any crazy season that would get you all flustered. Your sense of smell was incredibly different to theirs, but you werent given much chances to complain considering all they went through in heats.
So naturally you were taught your life revolved around alphas and omegas, all the way from secondary school when you were sat next to the reactive Alpha’s to “try and make them behave better”. In biology class your designation was skimmed over very quickly in favour of understanding how to react to their emotional changes and the like, and anything else you had to figure out for yourself.
It’s not like getting out of school into the workforce was much better. Omega’s rights had changed greatly in the past century, and no one would bat an eye at them being in most jobs— so applying was even more impossible. Even when you did get into the workplace, it was like alpha’s would immediately stop listening when there was an omega in the room, or vice versa. Truthfully you were jealous of their natural pull to each other, like the relationships you’d read in books or see in swoon worthy movies.
“There’s all sorts of jobs— chefs, mechanics, cyber analysts, engineers, dont just have to be a soldier.” The army recruiter outside your local supermarket rambles, clearly trying to get at least one recruit today at the minimum. Otherwise he’d definitely get in big trouble. “And you’re a beta, so you can do both work with Omega and Alpha jobs! You’ll be fine!”
“What?” You look at him, that mention perking you up and he looks at you with glee. You were only listening in hopes he’d get you off his back, but that was certainly news to you.
“I bet you’re sick of fighting with even more people for jobs now, huh? In the military omega’s and alphas are kept very seperate, even so, they’re required to be on suppressants so everything’s very easy.”
—————
So, that’s how you ended up here, bullied and forced into the shape of a soldier, something you still feel fake about even after countless deployments. It’s quickly forgotten though when you have the thrill of finally finding your place in society.
Your first team was mostly alphas, a beta here and there, but it felt great to have them treat you equally, slapping a hand on your back and grinning at a job well done. The omega team wouldnt even bat an eye when you were assigned to them, just as welcoming. Truly the best of both worlds, you could be anything you wanted in this system— it was like it was built for you to thrive.
Then the taskforce got established, and by a stroke of luck, you got transferred on. “You always run this early?” A hand lands on your shoulder, and you jump just to meet Sergeant Mactavish’ grin. After completing your demolitions course with flying colours, you soon got assigned under him. His hair is wet, mohawk flat for once, and you can only assume he just washed off. Still, his scent washes over you, easing your momentary shock and you nod, smiling. “Yeah, isn't the water too cold this early?”
“It’s alright. C’mon, let’s go meet the others for breakfast.”
You follow him, the faintest happy scent trailing off of you as you do so, and spiking just the miniscule amount when you sit down at the table.
“Please please give me your bread roll, i love the jam they use for it.” Gaz pleads, clasping his hands together and you can't help but roll your eyes, letting him trade it for his fried egg. “I love you so much-“ He mumbles, already taking a bite out of it that Price rolls his eyes as he takes a seat.
“Almost thirty years old...” He mutters and you giggle, eyes moving to where Ghost comes with his tray, sitting next to Price.
“I saw you on the track, you looked tired.” He says, giving you a pointed look, and making your cheeks flush. Oh, right. The night prior you’d been suddenly awaken to help deal with a feral omega, forced to give up hours of sleep to soothe them to submission..
“Just didn’t get the best sleep. I’ll feel alright after a coffee.” You give him a small shrug, eating more of your food. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer before nodding and carrying on.
The sergeants were more than happy to include you in all their plans, barely batting an eye when your scent wasn't as strong as theirs or in combat training you couldn't hold as much of an intimidating presence. Nor did the Captain and the Lieutenant care either, always praising the fact you could slip by unnoticed, with no chance of wavering from the other two designations and such.
It felt almost like a pack.. and it was perfect. So perfect.
“Johnny, just spill it!” Gaz groans as the Scot dances around the subject for the tenth time that morning, making you all roll your eyes at the breakfast table.
“I got an omega!” The whole table falls silent, and then Gaz lets out a low whistle patting him on the back whilst the Captain nods approvingly.
“And you wont show us a photo?” Ghost chimes in, making Soap stumble to get his phone out, excited as he passes the phone around. A sweet, soft omega. Round cheeks, a bright smile, hanging off his arm like it was the key to her heart. A perfect match to him.
“She looks perfect with you, good on you, son.” The Captain says, giving him a gruff smile and Gaz snickers at his father-like praise. Then they turn to you, as you sit in shock, fork gently clattering on the plate.
Your jaw hurts from how you physically have to force a wide enough smile, standing up and coming around to congratulate him properly. It’s even worse when Kyle insists he should show more pictures and so you stand there between them, making fake ooo’s and aaah’s in hopes it would hide the slightest change in your scent.
It changes everything.
“Soap, me and Gaz are going to the pub later—“
“Ah… cant, omega wants me to watch a movie with her. What about friday?”
“Oh— do you mind if we do some sparring today?”
“Uh.. okay, sure. Just gotta finish up this text to my omega. Ye know she’s getting stronger by the day! I’ve been helping her keep fit, yknow, to stay safe and all.”
“Do you want to go grab lunch?”
“Oh— sure. Feels like i havent seen you in forever.”
You smile wide when he finally agrees to hang out with you again— after all, it’s not like he was acting like this with Kyle. So you both enter the mess, going to grab your plate.
“Ahh.. the ‘mega loves chicken like this, makes hers a bit more seasoned though. Bloody good.” You smile weakly, trying to start your own conversation about work, and the mission you’ll be going with him on.
“Oh ye havent heard yet.” He falls quiet and you tilt your head in confusion, about to place the dish on your tray.
“Havent heard what? Was there a new brief?”
“You should talk to the Captain.”
Confused, you do stop by his office later that evening, gently tapping on the door with your knuckles and announcing yourself. With a weaker scent, he couldn’t tell you apart from the alpha’s across base with their scent blockers on, unlike the rest of the taskforce.
“Come in.”
“Soap said i havent heard something about the mission im going with him on soon? Did something change?”
“Ah, right. You dont need to go anymore.”
You blink in surprise, suddenly really confused by all of this and you step forward a bit more, scent souring. Not that he’d pick up on it.
“He’s a claimed alpha now, there’s no need for a beta to mediate.”
You stand there, the contents of your stomach in your throat as you process his words. Mediate. You werent there because of skills.. the CO who encouraged you to take a demolition course didn't even think you were good at it either. They just needed a beta to mediate in a field lacking them.
“Oh. Right.”
A month passes by of you watching Soap slip away from you, barely talking to you if not about his omega, never joining you on a morning run until you’re sure he’s forgotten about you altogether. At first you had chalked it up to him just being busier with mated life. After all, you’ve witnessed the pull of an omega first hand many times, how it makes them change. Though, his relationship with the alphas didn't change in the slightest.
With his protective instincts he was drawn to the alphas more now, always hanging around Gaz and and Ghost when they weren't busy, beelining straight past you unintentionally. You cant really blame him either, no one remembers the beta’s faint scent.
It was Gaz next. One evening you were leaning against him on the couch, unable to hide your despair and luckily he’d been nice enough to let you sit there without explanation. It was nice, you thought that if you had no Soap, at least you had your other best friend. He always made you smile, and he was the reason you even got a slice of attention from Soap these days.
And then it came.
It started small, just hanging around Soap more often than not. Really you hadnt thought much of it, but it did feel rough when you sat also on the rec room couch just to watch them fully invested in something you could never join in on. You figured it was about Soap’s omega again, not something you particularly wanted to hear about.
Then it turned into turning down bar nights altogether. They would both cancel, Gaz excusing it with ‘plans’ whilst Soap was always honest. Sure you had the whole team, but being in the vicinity of four alphas in an alpha only bar was enough of a scent overload to give any beta a headache.
Then you saw his lockscreen on accident, just wanted to check the time really. It was unmistakably obvious though, the smiles, calmer than Johnny’s one, but just as gorgeous and adorable. A real treat for the eyes.
“Congratulations.” You mumbled when he came back to the couch with his can, raising a brow at you.
“What..?” He knew, of course he did. You knew his lying look.
“Got yourself an omega, when are you gonna tell the others?”
He seems embarrassed, quickly grabbing the phone off of you, cheeks burning. “How did you see that?!”
The next morning he announces it to the team and you join in with congratulating again, only too aware of the cycle that was soon to repeat. Only, it wasn't too bad with Gaz. You were grateful, so grateful when he still would spend a lunch or two with you, or even just talk to you.
“Hey, we going on our usual grocery run this week?” You two were put together on the rota for stocking the rec room and so you both head out, riding shotgun in Gaz’s car.
You both had a copy of the list, walking around the store together, until you eventually got them all. “Oh! Just a second, need to grab some scent stuff.” In the small beta section they allowed, there were really good products to clear out scents from others that’d stick to betas and linger around. After all, you had a keener sense of smell, so being around the taskforce meant it racked up pretty fast on your clothes and on your room.
Kyle was the first you confided in after you suddenly fainted once, at a bar, the scents too much for you to handle. Though you managed to quell it pretty quickly with these. Some you could just spray in your nose and go— perfect for getting rid of the oncoming dizziness.
“You know you dont have to get the fanciest things, just get the base ones. It’s at the back of the store and they’re expensive.”
You pause, he never questioned this before, not even the first time you had nervously told him— afraid to be undermined.
“There’s no base ones..” You say with a raised brow, but you cant bring yourself to be too rude to him. Even if his tone was almost sharp, scolding, as if you were being selfish. Right now it feels like you’re reduced to your designations, and that’s it. Not humans, not friends, not even teammates. Alpha and beta. “There’s only one brand that ever does it.”
“Really? And what about the cheap scent clearers? The ones you used to use before.” He gives you a firm look, challenging, and you swallow, unsure where this hostility came from.
“..They got pulled off the shelf, Kyle. Thousands of beta’s got chemical burns— i couldnt smell properly for a week.”
He pauses for a split second, like he’ll acknowledging the truth in your words and his wrongs, then just huffs, turning to scan where the empty checkout is. “Fine. Get what you want then, but I'm going to pay. I’ll meet you at the car.”
When you return with the small plastic bag, he puts his hand out for the receipt so it can be handed to you at a price for expenses on the card. “I paid for it myself.” You mutter back, your scent tinging sour and in the close proximity it might be noticeable this time. He pauses, and then puts his hands on the wheel, choosing not to comment further.
———————————
The sergeants are on a mission, one you were supposed to be on, but now you’ve been shoved into another with unclaimed alpha’s who need a bit of extra settling. Or rather someone lesser than them they can secretly believe they’re higher than. It doesn't feel much different to secondary school now, and you find yourself with less will to argue about it.
Thankfully, Lieutenant Ghost is here with you. He’s always been alright— not exactly friendly but not rude either. You were quite intimidated by his rank at first, convinced he’d be strict and unforgiving but he’s content if you get the work done.
“Handled that bomb in record time.” He comments beside you on the way back to base. There was another demolitions expert on the team but when news came up that there was another bomb they had not suspected, he immediately put his trust in you to disarm it.
“Thanks for the chance, Lt.” You smile up at him and he nods, acknowledging your hard work. After all, you really did always put in more than your best. Even so, he cant help but notice you sink as soon as he shifts his attention to someone elsewhere, the conversation falling quiet. He’d be blind to notice the gap between you and the sergeants, even if you were a beta and them having omega’s shouldnt even bother you. Him and Price had to regularly reminds them to not walk around in clothes stinking of their partner.
“The sergeants are back from their mission, could hit the pub tonight. Whole team can come”
You feel too bad to decline now, so you just nod. “Okay. Yeah.”
—————
The Alpha only pub is bustling and you offer to grab the third round just so you can escape the thick scents building around you. It doesnt help that you’re basically rationing your scent-refresher as of right now.
“Omega’s doing good.” Soap responds to Price’s questions.. At least you’ll miss this mandatory conversation while you go. The bartender already knows you, greeting you with a welcoming smile as you start your order. It’s all going on Price’s card, so you take the opportunity to get a sundae instead of alcohol. He did owe you one after an explosive you caught right by his position. Besides, it was less than a tenner, and you’d savour it for life.
“Heat’s coming up though. It’s only three days long usually, but should go smoothly. The store almost ran out of supplies too.” Soap sighs loudly, shaking his head and Kyle nods along, also probably having similar issues.
You’re not exactly listening, carefully holding the plate of drinks so you don't accidentally spill it with the countless bodies in this crowd.
“If they got rid of the beta section, they’d have more to spend stocking on the omega stuff.” A soldier hanging around elbows Soap, but he doesnt disagree. If anything the buzz of alcohol just makes him want to finally speak his truth now.
“Right? I mean really? Beta period products? Beta scent enhancers? Like those would actually even work to attract an alpha let alone an omega. Those scent refreshers cannot be real either, i mean, you’d think they’d want to smell us, ya know? Not like they get anything else— ”
The table goes silent, Gaz obviously kicking Soap in the leg until he looks up and meets eyes with you. The other soldier doesnt bat an eye, raising a brow at you. “Oh, your drinks are here. Can you order me two aswell?”
“I’m not a waiter” You snap back, and the Captain stands quickly, taking the tray from your hands and placing it down on the table.
“Think your team wants you back over there.” He motions for the soldier to go with his eyes, and he quickly leaves. “Thanks for grabbing them, i’ll get yours. Come, sit.” He turns to you but you freeze, shaking your head, and turning back into the crowd. “I’ll get it myself.”
“You idiot!” Gaz puts his head in his hands at the very obvious tension from Soap’s words.
“I didn't know they was there!” He retorts, though also slumps into his seat a little more. “It’s true. What do you want me to say?”
“Enough.” Price sighs, pinching his brow, he should’ve stopped the sergeants earlier but he hadnt known he’d be stupid enough to say that. Even if it was something that they were all thinking.
They take their drinks from the tray you brought, Gaz and Soap downing theirs immediately as if that’ll get rid of the dread hanging on their head. Price begins to sip his light chatter starting up again until Ghost suddenly speaks up.
“They still haven't come back.”
It’s been five whole minutes, and there’s no sight of you to be seen anywhere.
—
You’re sitting at the back entrance of the pub, empty at this time with the game roaring inside the pub. The alleyway it leads into is dirty, a few football decorations here and there, but mostly just black bin bags spilling out the large bins. There were two guys who had been staring you down for a while, like you were something that needed saving. The second one of them approached and caught your lack of omega scent, they immediately groaned and just turned away.
You just stick your spoon back in your sundae, not even lifting your head the entire time, just letting the cold sweetness try and keep you together.
There’s a small noise as someone sits down beside you, a rustle of clothing, and then the soft click of a lighter. You turn your head, slightly surprised to find Ghost there instead of a random drunk bloke hoping to score a sweet thing. He meets your eyes but neither of you say anything as you go back to eating your sundae.
“Should’ve got the other one.”
“What?”
“The bigger one.” He shrugs, the cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. “Price told us to order whatever.”
“This is the only one that can come in a takeaway cup.” You mumble and he doesn't say anything further, not even when you lick the spoon clean.
“Why are you here?” You ask, unable to keep silent anymore. It’s not like he actually came to see how you were, and you’re suddenly glad he didn't come ten minutes earlier when you were on the verge of bawling your eyes out.
“S’posed to be a team night.”
“Maybe for the Alphas.” You grumble and he cant help but hum alongside you, not arguing with you on that fact.
“Cant stand the smell, can ya? Got the takeaway cup cause you knew you’d need to go regardless.” Of course he figured it out immediately, though you’d think it’s impossible to read you given how some people treat you.
“You mad i’m not fawning over your scent?” You scoff and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, making sure no chocolate sauce lingers— especially with how he’s watching you right now.
“Johnny is a stupid drunk, ‘lright?.” He mutters, a bit of bitterness in his tone that always lingers, but it’s not directly at you. “Price’ll convince you it’s just his instincts and all, looking after the omega.”
You look over at him and give him a deadpan look, the most honest you’ve ever been with the man. Usually you’re pretty agreeable, in fact the only time you’ve had a conflicts was when they got injured. Turns out you’re the only voice of reason whenever that happened, as the smell of the blood sent the rest of them into a spiral of worry.
And well, after that, he can't really blame you for being like this.
“I’m going.” You mutter, standing up and throwing the plastic cup in the bin before wiping your hands on your jeans.
To your surprise, he doesnt hesitate to follow you as you round to the front, heading to the little bus stop. It’s not the first time you’ve left early, but it is the first time someone’s made sure you’re alright by the end of the night.
————————
Soap only makes a quick apology which you’re forced to just accept,, because what else can you really do? Mess up a whole team because of one thing he said which wasnt that far from the truth?
As predicted, Price did try and tell you it was due to protective instincts, wanting the best for his omega. Right, the same instincts that made him leave you like you were dirt on his shoe.
Besides, life was getting busier for you as you now got passed between two teams. Either working with Ghost and Price or a different group of alphas. Passed around like a damn stress toy in your opinion.
“So we’re going to the one in the highstreet?” Gaz and Soap are chatting on the couch, not that you’re listening, just getting your things out the cupboard to make yourself a hot drink.
“My ‘mega loves it, craves the food there all the time. She’s gonna love meeting yours.”
Whatever, it wasnt the first time they’ve discussed plans in front of others. Wouldn't be the last.
“I’ll text the Captain and Ghost.” Soap adds, humming as he starts tapping away at his phone, opening their group chat you assume. One that you’re clearly not on, given that they dont invite you.
“You think he’ll even come?”
“He’s not that antisocial.”
“Yeah but he’s only one without an omega dumbass.”
The container you're holding clatters against the table and they both back to stare at you with the exact same wide eyed look you’re giving them. If he’s the only one then Price..
You walk out like nothing happened, even if you can feel the tears start to burn your eyes. It was all going so well, you were all happy together— werent you? So why?
The cycle repeats for the third time. You’re taken off another team, not deemed useful enough anymore. You congratulate Price when you next see him, and he doesn't say more than a thank you. Somehow it hurts more that he didn't purposefully tell you— he just forgot, like everyone else did.
You stopped coming by the rec room the last time the sergeants had a movie night without you. The texts between them and you ran dry, and after skipping one breakfast, you just never came back again. That’s just how it was now, and they didn't even reach out once. In fact, all of the last messages were from you. An unanswered question, a conversation cut short, or a text that just never even got opened.
Except for Ghost. He still spoke to you— well, as much as he’s known to anyway. A hello in passing, a chat between sets in the gym, maybe when you’re queuing for food. As much as you wanted to take the opening, you just couldnt, too terrified to. After all, it was only a matter of time until Ghost left you aswell. You should know that you should savour every last moment, cling onto it tight, but you just can't. It’s not like you two were ever the closest anyway.
——————-
You’ve been moved to an omega team this time. It’s not the first time you’ve worked with one, but usually they can balance each other out easier since they aren't as explosive as Alphas. It also means this is a mission you can't slip up on from the months of work they’ve put into this.
They welcome you immediately, and you grasp the ropes of it all fairly quickly, until it’s finally the day. The prisoners are right where you expected them, and just as told, the one in the middle has explosives strapped all over.
They evacuate the rest out whilst you kneel down before the explosives, watching the wires and where they turn and twist intently whilst the person tries their best not to squirm too hard. Even with your best efforts, nothing seems to match what you know but you frown as you notice the wire reaching towards the chair they’re bound to. Down to the floor.. a weak floorboard. The weight of the chair.. essentially a mine.
One hostage on that chair— you move her off and everyone dies. What do you even do?
“Do not stand up at any point, okay? I’m going to get you out, but you have to trust me.” Shrugging all the gear off, you cut the straps that locks the person to the chair.
You hand her your gear carefully and step back, just enough to reach the doorway. There’s no telling how large this bomb is, but you can assume it cant be enough to seriously damage the ship you’re on.
“Okay, you need to shuffle forward just slightly and place the gear behind you, okay? Then, when you’re ready, cover your head with your hands and run towards me.” The woman trembles, doing as you told and the weight of the gear seems to be a good enough trade off for the mine to not set off.
After that, she bolts, and you pull her through the doorway and as far away as possible, shielding her as the shockwaves rattles through the ship.
———————
Ghost hadnt expected to see his phone buzz at this time, by the infirmary no less. But when they relayed what happened, he had made his way there immediately. You had just come out of surgery, a high enough dose of anaesthesia in you that you just werent acting right. He intended to wait outside until you stabilised, that is until the nurse rushes out suddenly.
“Would you mind coming in, sir? We need someone to restrain them.”
He steps inside to see you squirming against another nurse, slurring and trying to escape your bed, clearly panicked.
“Stop that, you’re going to hurt yourself more.” He reaches for your flailing wrists, forcing the nurses out the way as they stand at the back and watch you get manhandled by the alpha.
Something in his gut feels uncomfortable with the stains of red across the bandages across your body, burns peeking out of some. So he carefully restrains your wrists against each other, holding them firmly.
“L-lieutenant?” You stammer out, dazed eyes searching for him intently until you manage to focus on his mask. Finally you stop freaking out for a moment. He turns but the nurses are already gone, probably called to another patient— the operation you were on had quite a few injuries for different reasons.
“Yeah, it’s me. Y’just came out of surgery, you’re okay now, alright?” He carefully lets go of your hands, helping you reposition yourself after you had tried to squirm off the bed. “I’ll grab the nurse, then we can see when we can get y’outta here.”
The nurse?
You blink at him, looking around at your surroundings, the sterile smell of the place attacking your nose. Simon was an alpha.. and the nurses, well specifically in this wing.. your eyes glance to the sign outside the door, the familiar writing.
“No- no you cant!” You barely manage to grasp his arm as he pulls away and he looks at you in confusion. The beeping in the room starts getting even louder than before, almost incessant and you feel like your chest is going to explode.
“Your heart rate is rising, sarge. You need help—“
“Lieutenant— no, please-“ You whine pathetically as he pulls away from you, leaving him stunned until he reluctantly steps closer again before you throw yourself entirely out of the bed to reach him.
“I wont let ‘em hurt you, promise.” He can only assume you must be scared of needles or something, a fear of medical care surely. He never knew that about you, and it spikes something in his chest, a cog in his head. The fear radiating off of you is palpable, and he can smell the faintest change of your scent in the air.
“No- no! The nurse— she’s an o-omega, you cant—“ You choke out, head getting dizzy from all the sudden movement as you desperately clutch his sleeve. It forces him to stay right there, not the grip on his sleeve but the desperation in your eyes.
“Sarge— i’m not gonna act like a wimp in rut from talking to an omega.” He huffs but he knows you’re out of it. It must be the anaesthetic getting to your head, making you say all these silly things.
“You’re going to leave me- you’re going to—“ A sob escapes you as grip loosens on him and he freezes, watching you curl into yourself. Your forehead gently hits his arm, tears wetting his sleeve.
“I’m right here.” He says, voice quieter and it makes him breathe relief when the beeping settles down to a steadier rate, even if it is still high and you look even worse like this— so lost and terrified.
“You are..” You sniffle, pressing your nose further against his arm. “t-the omega nurse- she- she’ll come and you’ll leave with her. You’ll leave me- a-and never speak to me again, please- lieutenant please.” Your hands tighten and he swallows sharply, letting your words sink in.
It was never about envy, not even the way you stared at them whenever they spoke about omegas. It was pure fear. And this feeling in his chest, it was tightening with each soft sniffle from you, instincts flaring. He’s never felt like this in his life, infact he was convinced he never would. But he just cant stand the sight of you like this— the bloodstained clothes, the fear in every small movement, your vulnerability.
He steps forward without thinking about it, his free arm gently prying you off of him until you fall back against the pillows. “Not leaving you for some random omega, you silly beta.” He scolds, picking you up off the bed until your head rests on his shoulder, sniffling into his shirt.
“Gonna take you where you belong. Gotta tell me if i hurt you, though.” Warmth spreads through him now that he has you against him like this. It clicks something in his brain he didn't know was waiting for a stimulant.
All that leaves your lips are the sobs that keep coming, staining his shirt, but finally settling now the dizziness has settled. “Dont go.. don’t, please, you cant..”
You’re right, he cant keep you around these omegas and all of this. No, he needs you to be healing properly around things you like— you want. He needs to look after his beta.
He grabs your duffel off the chair where it’s left, checking the corridor twice before marching through the quiet corridors towards the barracks.
when your stupid ex boyfriend kicks you out of the flat, he forgets to give you your cat back. you find the meanest looking guy in the bar to help you get her back.
type: one-shot (3.4k), ao3
cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of violence, smut, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral, simon is not a good or nice person (except to reader), reader also maybe isn't a good person who knows, reader has hair long enough to hold, curvy/plus-sized!reader, size difference, size kink, military inaccuracies, 18+
There is a special place in hell for men like Michael.
You can see her through the window by the door. Her big eyes are looking at where you are, paws against the glass. Her mouth opens, and she scratches at the window, and your bottom lip trembles as you set your hand down where she touches.
You could care less about the things you left inside. Your clothes, your bags, your shoes, even your fucking computer can stay behind, but not her. Your tabby cat is inside, sitting by the window, and Michael changed the fucking locks.
You bang on the door for an hour. You leave, come back, keep banging, but no one ever answers. You've never felt this desperate or uneasy, but every time you come back and see her by the window, you nearly lose all of your composure. It isn't fair. She doesn't belong to him. He can take years from you, take your money, take your sanity, but he won't take her. You'll come back every single day. You'll become a nuisance. You'll never let him relax. Until he gives her back to you, he will never know peace.
A single day passes before you decide it's time to take drastic measures.
The nearest military base is situated a good distance away, but not so far that you won't drive to its neighboring city. There's a small main road with a few local shops, including a few restaurants, a bookstore, a coffee shop, and the crown jewel—a pub.
It's just after supper time when you ring the bell above the door walking inside. On a Friday evening, it's lively, packed close with warmth and tall pints and plastic baskets full of chips and greasy fingerfoods.
There's a lot of military around here. You can tell by their haircuts and the way they chug their glasses; but you aren't looking for baby-faced rookies with too much pent-up aggression. You're looking for the meanest guy in the room, and that means someone with scars and someone who goes cloudy behind the eyes when you ask him how he's gotten back from where he's been.
That man is sitting at the far booth with his back to the wall. A place where he can have an eye on the rest of the room at all times. Big, gloved hand wrapped around a sweating glass, gaze focused on the foam of his beer as he pretends to listen to whatever the red-cheeked man across from him is laughing about.
You ask the bartender what they're drinking and order another round, picking up each glass and making your way towards their table. You'd be nervous if you weren't so determined. You stand awkwardly beside the table before his friend notices you there.
"Tha' fer us, bonnie?"
He juts his chin out at the drinks you're holding, and you set them down with a nervous smile.
"Yeah," you look between them. You fixate on the big guy, who barely squints at you over his drink, and you bite your lip. "I was hoping you had room for one more."
His friend cackles, "aye. Always fer a pretty face."
"Cute," you swallow. "But…I wasn't really talking to you."
The bigger one sits up at that. He leans back in the booth, rolling out his shoulders, and you hop up onto the seat next to him. His friend seems to get the message, picking up his new drink and tipping it towards you before taking a long drink of it and going to find a warm spot at the bar.
"Lookin' for advice or a fuck?"
"Neither," you say softly. "You're big, yeah? Are people…generally afraid of you?"
He laughs, and when he wipes at his masked face, you see a glimpse of a tattoo sleeve that adorns his massive left arm.
"Suppose."
"Great. How much for you to be my bodyguard for a few hours?"
He kisses his teeth under the mask, and then he turns his head to look down at you. His eyes are half-lidded, the skin looking a little greasy under the eye-black smudged there, but he's so calm and collected and amused. You've amused him; you're entertaining him. It's the most interesting thing that's happened to him all week, and you hope you're keeping his attention.
"Wot's tha' include?"
"It's gonna be illegal," you mumble, biting your bottom lip. "Just a little bit."
"Tha's my specialty, love."
"Not murder," you clarify, and he just shrugs. "Just…a little breaking and entering. Maybe some intimidation."
"'s Friday night, swee'eart, at least offer me somethin' fun."
"This isn't funny," you suck in a shaky breath. "It's…" You look down at the sticky pub table, swallowing again. You dig your nails into your own legs to keep your composure. "I need to get something back. Something that belongs to me. So it's not really…it's not really stealing."
A pregnant silence falls between you. You fail to keep the tears at your lash line back, and you quickly use the back of your hand to wipe your face gently. You think about your cat scratching for you on the other side of the window. You think about her sweet face; you think about Michael forgetting to feed her in the mornings as he usually did, and how he never changed the water filter in time even when you asked him to.
"'m Simon."
The low timbered voice breaks you out of your inner spiral. You look up at him again, and when you meet his eyes, you're finally able to let out a breath of relief. You don't know why, but there's something extremely soothing about sitting next to him. About being in his vicinity. He's so large and takes up so much space, but it's warm there, and he's not as mean as his outer layer might suggest. He's calm, and the way he presents himself tells you that it is not by luck that he's still sitting beside you.
You tell him your name, and his gloved hand touches under your chin.
"Olright, love. Lead the way."
Every time you have ever come back to this apartment, you have met the closed door with dread. A little fear. You feel none of that; not with the apparition at your back. You knock on the window beside the door, and like always, she appears. She meows on the other side, her eyes wet as she scratches and sniffs. You look over your shoulder at Simon who tilts his head to the side.
"This wot he stole?"
You look back at her on the other side of the window, shrugging.
"No," you say softly. "But it's all that matters."
The jiggling of metal brings your attention back to him. Simon is at the door, a multi-tool in one hand, and he's focused intently on working the doorknob until you hear the sound of a lock turn and then the door opens. The chain on the door jangles just as Simon opens it slightly, and you watch with rapt attention as he sticks his arm inside for just a few seconds, and then he swings the door open wide.
You push past him, reaching for the cat. She meows loudly, coming right to you, and you coo as you bend and pick her up from the floor. Loud purrs and sweet chirps follow as you hug her to your chest. You pet her little head, turning towards the living room. You used to keep her carrier behind the couch, and you find it as you go searching for it, exactly where you left it. You slip her inside and zip it up.
"What the fuck is this?"
You freeze, standing up straight and turning. You're caught, definitely—you knew he must have been home by the fact that the chain was latched, but you tried the nice way. You weren't going to get your cat back by being patient, not anymore.
"I'm just getting her, I'll…I was just leaving."
"Fuck no, you broke into my flat."
"Our flat," you snap back, putting the straps of the carrier over your shoulder. "And I'm leaving."
Michael looks like he's going to take a step towards you, but then he notices the dark shape in the corner of the room. He frowns a little, squinting.
"Who the bloody hell is that?"
You turn just in time to see Simon take a small step forward. The sudden movement seems to terrify Michael; he scrambles backwards into the kitchen counter, making the plates behind him fall off the counter and shatter onto the ground. He nearly trips over himself trying to get distance, and Simon seems to think it's very funny. He laughs, chest heaving, and he looks down at you as he gets closer.
"Flopping like a fuckin' fish, he is, in'he?"
Michael looks around frantically before he finds a pair of prongs. His hand shakes as he holds the pointy end towards Simon, spitting at him.
"Get the fuck out of my flat! T-The both of you!"
Simon's reaction tells you that maybe he has a few wires crossed in his head. He steps forward instead of away, laughing still, and you watch warily as he tilts his head to the side and nods his head towards Michael.
"Go on, then, mate," Simon taunts. "Try it."
Like a fool, Michael obliges. You flinch when Michael swings, but Simon tilts his body at just the right moment to dodge. He smacks Michael's arm, but he tries again—and like playing footie with a child, the weapon is now in Simon's hand, and then oh—
Michael's screaming as it pierces through his open palm.
He bleeds a lot less than you thought he might. Sadly, also, his blood is as red as yours. You thought he might be a little less pathetic at a moment like this. It is a gift, however, to see him bursting into tears as Simon grips the collar of his shirt and leans over him.
"Lot like you like to take things that aren't yers, tha' right?" Simon spits. "Like to punish and intimidate and fuckin' take, even if ya aren't owed."
"Please—please just get out, take her, fuckin' please!"
"Oi, wot's all this?" Simon snorts. "Now yer pissin' where you stand cause it got too real, eh? Got wot was comin' ta you? Reckon it's not like you thought. Reckon you thought she'd come hat in hand, beggin' for wot she deserves, but you wouldn't know good cunt even if it sat on yer face, yeah?"
"Please…"
"Simon—" You try, but he tsks, shaking his head.
"Nah, love, he's gonna learn," Simon murmurs. "Have you learned?"
"Yes," Michael squeaks, and you're not longer staring at the blood dripping on the hardwood, you're oogling at the giant man standing in what once was your kitchen that's starting to look more delicious by the second.
"Good," Simon breathes. "I know where ya lay yer head, mate. Know where ta come back if things aren't quiet on her end. You'd do well to remember tha'."
He releases Michael with a shove; Michael sinks to the floor, hands trembling, and Simon makes his way towards you to put a hand to your back and turn you around towards the front door.
"Need anythin' else?" Simon asks. You're too speechless to say anything, so all you do is shake your head. You clutch the carrier closer; she meows from inside the bag, and Simon nods his head towards outside so that you start moving. The door shuts behind you both, and then you're being led to his truck, ushered into the passenger seat, precious cargo on your lap as you breathe a huge sigh of relief.
The drive is quiet, but a comfortable quiet. You don't realize until a few streets over that you're smiling; a big, sparkling grin that's taking over your face, and when Simon rolls his truck to a stop at a red light, you lean over the center console and give his masked cheek a big, wet kiss of gratitude.
"Got a death wish or somethin'?" Simon turns to look at you, glaring from under the mask. It's so hard to be scared of him. He just put the fear of God into your terrible ex-boyfriend so you could get your precious cat back; he scared him shitless—literally—and he did it looking this good.
"Is that what a kiss gets me?" You ask. You slide your hand down his bicep, swallowing the drool when you feel just how solid and beefy he is under that hoodie. He fills it out too well. He must be so fucking handsome under that mask; there's no way he wears it for anonymity, he must be so hot, he wears it so he doesn't have to swat away all the boys and girls when they usually buzz around him like moths to light—
Maybe death is really this sweet. This good. Your cat is snoozing, safe and sound, in your bedroom with a full belly. The lights are on low; soft orange glows from well-placed lamps, giving the entire living room a warm feeling. There's a man on your couch with his belt unbuckled, mask halfway up his face as he pants because his cock is in your mouth, and he tastes like sweet, sweet victory.
"Ahh—fuck."
You nuzzle your nose up the length. He's so hard; you don't think a man has ever been this hard for you. He's leaking so pretty, dribbles down the length that you catch with the tip of your tongue, forcing him to hiss and spit and bite his knuckles. He keeps his hips still, but his hand around your hip squeezes the flesh there nice and tight, borderline bruising when you suck his tip a little too softly. You lick a stripe around the head before leaning back up towards him, and his hand around your hip curls against the back of your neck as you share a messy, wet kiss.
You twist your wrist, pumping his cock with a gentle glide of your palm, and he grits his teeth between kisses, touching his forehead to yours.
"Oll tha' for a cat, yeah?"
It is true. You did do it for her. But you did it for you, too.
"Not just the cat," you whisper, smoothing your thumb along the tip. He kisses you again, slower this time, and you groan into his mouth as you squeeze your thighs together. "Look at you…"
"Fuck—" Simon grunts, and his other hand finds the base of his cock, squeezing hard, and you giggle as he scrunches his nose. "Don't say shit like tha'."
You can't with his mouth on your cunt. He's laying flat on his back on the couch, legs too long to fit. Boots against your blanket, you'll whine to him about it later, but now both thighs are on either side of his head, and he's slurping with a hot tongue. You cup both sides of his head, dragging your hips, and while normally you'd think twice about dropping your weight on someone like this, the ease at which he hoisted you up his chest tells you Simon's a big, big boy—and he can handle whatever you give him.
"Gonna let me handle things from now on," Simon murmurs. He kisses the inside of your thigh, and you yelp when he smacks one side of your ass. He's waiting for an answer, and you took too long to give one.
"Y-Yeah," you breathe, leaning your head back. You feel yourself dripping between the legs, flooding his mouth, but he curls his tongue all the same. Uses two thumbs now as he hooks his arms around your thighs to pull the wet, sensitive skin back so he can drink what he's owed. He said he takes payment like this, getting his fill; he says he's never really satisfied until there's cum in his mouth and some in your cunt, and he's not gonna leave your flat before becoming familiar with those two, mutually non-exclusive events.
"Yeah, y'r pretty, olright," Simon laughs, but there's no more humor when he bounces you on his cock. Oh, he hurts a little. He told you he might, but then you're really there, knees on either side of him as you clutch onto the meat of his shoulders and hope to God he doesn't let you go. "Told you tha' you'd feel it, didn't I?"
"Yeah," you whisper, cupping that face of his, half-revealed to you, and you rub your thumbs down his scarred cheeks. Gorgeous, even with eyes that dead inside. "'s big."
"Don't—" He snarls, holding down your hips, shaking his head. "Wot did I say about sayin' shit like tha', eh?"
Life has spoiled you. Life is too good. Life is your pet curled up between your pillows and warm beneath the blankets, and life is fucking the sanity out of big, pudgy military men with blood under their fingernails and their breath stuck in their throat. You've rendered Simon to nothing but grunts and sputters. He's focused on keep the rhythm, arms clasped around your middle as he fucks up into you and pants into your neck. You reach for the back of the couch, digging your nails in, and all you can do is cry and take it as he keeps bringing you back down again and again and again.
The kiss you share is starved. You're so hungry, your hand slipping under the mask to cup the back of his head, and he draws your hips down and holds you there as he licks into your mouth and relishes in the pulsing of your cunt. This is what he fights for, maybe.
Not the glory. Not for the good of others. Not for Price and his self-guided moral compass, not for Laswell and her targets, not for revenge, not for blood, not to save the world. It's so he can come back here onto home soil and fuck a gorgeous girl without ever being interrupted by the sound of anything but her.
Her. You. Whatever she is, what you are, what you will eventually be—it manifests itself in the very room he's in, and he's got it between his teeth, and he won't be letting go for anything.
Nothing at all.
He's smoking a cigarette by the open window as she makes tea. He smiles, just barely, with teeth a little yellow when he sees you burn your hand a little as you pour the water into a misshapen mug.
"Olright?" He asks. The mugs shake a little as you bring them back into the room, precarious as you overfilled the mugs. He takes one from you and takes a long sip, flicking the cigarette out as he watches you get settled. You set your mug down on the coffee table, leaning forward to give him that same sweet, wet kiss on his cheek.
"Never better."
Belly full. Eyes bright. You are nothing like the woman that propositioned him just a few hours ago. A monotone, piss-drink evening, and then a scared, desperate girl asking him if he was willing to do something a little off the books.
Fucking finally. The world was just starting to get a little too dull.
It's the middle of the night when he hears the creak of a door. The sound of a little bell. You're laid out on your side, having just fallen asleep. The movie on the telly still plays, but Simon has turned the volume down. The light flickering from the screen is enough that he sees the cat trot into the room, eyes searching for you and seeing the two of you settled there.
She comes over slowly, sniffing the toes of Simon's boots, and then she closes her eyes as she rubs her face against his leg. Low purring, headbutts, and then she's putting a paw to his boot and looking up at him with the same big, wet eyes her mother has. Simon reaches down, scratching under her chin, and then she's curling up on his lap, little head next to yours as he leans back and takes it in. The sight for sore eyes. The thing that makes his medals and his stripes and all the money in the world look worthless—cheap.
"Yeah," Simon takes another sip of his tea. "This'll do."
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