haunted

🍅 (age: 18+)

[maryawrites]

Simon has a maddening domesticity kink.

“Stop teasin’ me.”

You look from your place in bed, glasses almost sliding off of your nose. You glance around the room once before pointing at yourself. Simon gives you a dead-serious nod of his head, drilling holes into you with his eyes.

“Huh, what’d I do, Si?”

“All that. I’m tellin’ you t’ stop bein’ a tease.”

You take yourself into account. You are sitting in bed in your ugly, mismatched pajamas, reading a book with everything about you totally undone. You were just nodding off when he walked in. What’s Simon on about?

“I’m-… Are we playing around? Joking? I don’t get it.” You’re about as un-sexy as you can be.

He huffs and walks up to the edge of the bed, reaching under the covers to wrap a large hand around your ankle and pull you to the edge, locked under his gaze as blankets crowd around you. “Look at ya, love. Quit playing games.”

You finally find it in you to laugh at his ambiguity, watching the corners of his mouth quirk. He shifts on his feet uncomfortably, tightening his grip around your ankle. “I don’t understand. I’m very unattractive right now. Startlingly so.”

“Don’t say tha’.” He mutters, leaning over to shove his face into the crook of your neck, humming in relief as he presses into you. You wrestle your arms free to throw around him, curling into his heavy body. The moment goes on sweetly until his hips roll lazily against you, exhaling shakily.

“Simon!”

[sheepispink]

PT2 to my neglected beta!reader x toxic 141 (excluding simon), gn!reader

WC: 7.7k part 1 here

Simon thought Johnny was bad enough getting into his head and convincing him to indulge in an actual friendship for once. It didn't help either that getting along with Kyle was as easy as making a remark and laughing together over it. The team created a perfect dynamic, almost unstoppable. 

Then came you.

You were always hanging around them, fitting in easily, practically always smiling at his jokes even on missions. Maybe a snide remark back here or there, but it was never more— always balanced. He supposed it was in your nature, as a beta and all, to be perfectly in between like that. Not that Simon was the one to pay much mind to societal matters like that anyway— the battlefield was very different to social gatherings, and the only language he knew was that of violence. It wasn't like he couldn't get by either; it felt like everyone grew up with that small talk ingrained in them from the start. The weather, the latest mission, annoying recruits, the bloody royal family if he really had to. 

So, when he started to notice the change around you, he decided to stay out of it. It was plain obvious you felt disappointed when Johnny got an omega, Simon felt a little pang even if he didn't want to. But he didn't know what that feeling meant, and he sure as hell wasn't going to call you out on it. So, he didn't.

Then it was Kyle, and your scent only grew even more sour. Still, you didn't show it on the outside, so he chose not to comment on it again. He probably never would’ve really— after all, who wants to be ‘comforted’ by someone who can't even fix himself?

When the Sergeants hung out, you were no longer in their little circle, always off somewhere else. He asked Johnny once, why you hadn't gone to watch a movie with them, only for him to just blink at Simon. “Oh— them? Guess we kinda just forgot to invite them. We’re not that close, an’ we got an omega ‘n all now.”

Is that what happens? When an alpha gets an omega? They forget everything they ever knew and just.. lock in on that? Still, Johnnys relationship with him never changed, not like he did with you. Something was wrong about all of this but what was he supposed to do, force the Scot to hang out with you again? This wasnt bloody nursery, besides, matters like this meant nothing with the weight of the nation placed on the team. Well, rather on the four alphas, since he soon learnt you were being taken off their shared missions too. For the first time, he faltered during the briefing with Price.

“You’re not bringing them for this one?” He heard about you being taken off of Johnny’s but this was a whole team mission with your file not in it.

“We have to spread resources efficiently. Technically we dont need them anymore, with two mated alphas. They’ll be placed with the extraction team.”

Ghost wasn't stupid, he knew that part of the reason for you being on the team was because of the regulation effects of having a beta on an all alpha team– it’s the same bias that got him into the SAS anyway. Omega’s never got this high in ranks either. But that’s exactly it, it’s meant to be a part of the reason not enough to throw you off an op.

“When we need to go solo, they’ll be on that op. It’s not that bad, Ghost.” Price reassures him, and all he can do is sigh and nod along. He already anticipated how your scent would tighten upon the news, a hint of sadness seeping in. This time he couldn't help himself– this was something he knew. So, he immediately secured your place the second he received orders of his mission, stationed beside him like you belonged. He’d always been able to recognise the change in scent, from the smallest degree, something that was forced into him at a young age. This time, it was clear you were much happier like this, beside one of the 141, on a mission, doing something.

That he could definitely relate to. He’s no stranger to feeling out of control when he can't contribute to an objective.

Having you beside him had a much better effect than he perceived anyway. Not only were you skilled and efficient, but he felt he just worked better beside you. And so he decided to set up a trip to the pub— give you a chance to hang out with Kyle and Johnny too. He was convinced that they had just gotten to in their heads with their new omegas– a honeymoon phase he supposes.

He kicked himself for not saying more at that fiasco, not forcing Johnny to regret those cruel comments in the moment. But you had already retreated back to your barracks at the end of the night, and he was left staring at your closed door with a chest aching with regret he hasnt felt since he was far smaller. The next day he hounded Johnny until he went to apologise to you, listening from the other side of the door in hopes that’d be enough. Still, he had figured you might’ve still been annoyed after yesterday, wouldn't even blame you really, but instead the acceptance was one of a prey who stopped fighting.  It didn't satisfy the wound in his heart even for a second.

“Why have you denied my team for the next mission?” He stands before Price’s desk, an anger boiling in his chest that he hasn't felt for years. He swore to himself he wouldnt let his happen again.

“You know I'm mated, Simon–”

“But i’m not.” His palms press on the desk as he stares at his Captain, the man who gave him a reason to keep going ever since this force had started. But he cant defend this, not when he’s taking away your purpose. “Price..” 

“If i dont do it now, they’ll force my hand later. It’s a better opportunity for them to work with other teams too–”

“Bullshit.” He knows there’s no more arguing when Price gives him that look. It’s not like you’d be happy in your new omega team– he wouldn't be surprised if you grew envious of them from how their existence had thrown you out of the entire team. He knows something violent would burst if it happened to him. 

————-

There’s a heavy haze on your mind when you try to blink your eyes open, like it’s muddling all your thoughts into one. You’re extremely hungry. 

A small groan escapes you and when you finally open your eyes, it’s like they’re forced to droop. You can feel dried stains on your cheeks which explains why your eyes feel tired themselves. What happened?

There’s a small rumble behind you, startling you but you hardly have control of your body right now so there’s not much you can do but blink in confusion. The last thing you remember is training for the mission with the team, and by the pain rippling across your body, something must’ve happened during it. Still, your chest doesnt pump with fear, in fact you feel calm, like your body is well aware that you’re safe wherever you are.

Again, you try to move, inhaling a sharp breath as you force yourself onto your back. The pain is instant and you have to breathe out slowly as if you dont feel like there’s tears across your arms. When you finally sober up, you stop scrunching your eyes so tight and finally notice the weight next to you. Or rather.. around you.

“W-what the—?”

———

He had woken up to the feeling of you shuffling beneath his arm, but the muffled pained sound is what made his eyes snap open. It takes him a few moments to realise the predicament he had found— or rather put himself— in last night. One arm draped across your stomach protectively with his nose pressed as close to you as he could manage.

“You’re up early.” He glances at the clock behind you, sat on the dresser, the early time of eight am flashing beside ‘Saturday’. Even though he knows he should be questioning why he’s even doing this, his body feels strangely at ease. It’s even better than the day after a successful op.

“Lieutenant.. why are we in bed?” You croak out, trying to sit up from the embarrassment of it all but his arm tightens to keep you from going too far. It startles you, against his intentions, leaving you even more confused than before. “Wasnt i on a mission..? And— and there was a hostage.. is she alright? Did anyone else get seriously hurt—”

“Mission went sideways ‘cause of a bomb strapped to a hostage, everyone’s out alright. You got the brunt of the damage saving them, the rest of them are already going home safe.” 

His alpha isnt as fiery as he remembers it the night prior, the ache in his chest now a warm thrum with you so close. Still, you look uncomfortable, and that hurts his alpha more than being away from you. So he pulls away, letting you sit yourself upright against the headboard.

You take a long breath of relief at his words of reassurance, and he can only assume it’s your own instinctive need to keep others safe. “And how I ended up here..?”

“You had surgery to remove shrapnel and a stray bullet that skimmed you. When you woke, the anaesthesia had you terrified, flailing about like a fish outta water.” He murmurs, gesturing towards the bandages peeking out from the hospital gown you still wore. It had ridden up in the night and now showed the gauze and bandages wrapped around your middle. There were some on your calves as well and the way you wince he supposes you realised about the one on your back.

“They called me in to help stabilise you— figured you’d recognise me. You did, calmed down a bit and then..” He trails off for a moment and you look up at him curiously, watching as he leans back against the headboard. He pauses, unsure whether to tell you about what you had confessed to him in your drugged state. “Jus’ started crying… not sure what about.” He swallows and then glances back down to you. “And well, y’know how we’d get, when another got injured”

They’ve always had their fair share of injuries, usually due to their own brashness as alphas. He remembers when Gaz got shot like it was yesterday, the three of them wouldn't leave his side. It took you all the strength you could muster to force John to let you treat him, even if Ghost had been glued to his side anxiously throughout the entire thing too.

“I took you away from there, brought you here. Stayed till you fell asleep, and then I must’ve passed out myself.”

It’s obvious you’re extremely confused right now, and to be honest, even he is. He’s never felt a pack instinct so strong in his life, not even towards the rest of the 141– it’s still shocking him, and yet, he still cant feel anything but calm.

“Sorry.. for the trouble i caused.” You mumble out but he shakes his head immediately.

“You didn't cause any. Just glad you’re okay.” He gets off the bed, mattress creaking from the relieved weight and springing immediately after he stands. “I’ll go grab breakfast. You shouldn't move too much.”

—————

It took everything in him to force himself to leave you to head towards the mess hall. Doing so also cleared his mind from the tranquility forced upon it, letting him finally go over the events of last night to just five minutes ago.

He had forgone all professionalism, and snatched you from the infirmary like it was what he was meant to do. 

When he got back, you practically shovelled the food in your mouth whilst he restrained himself from telling you to eat slower. Still, he offered to help you clean up, since seeing all those wraps didn't make his chest any lighter regardless of instinct. Though,that was enough for you to adamantly shake your head and accidentally shut the door straight in his face.

“Thanks for making sure I was okay.” You say gratefully, dressed in some spare clothes and picking up your phone in your bag to see for any messages about reports or briefings. “ I should head back to my room though.”

He freezes, you weren't supposed to just leave straight away. Well, technically you didn't have a reason to stay, but a burn in his chest makes it physically impossible to watch you step away now.

“Stop.”

You listen to his command, turning to meet his eyes as you wonder what else he could really want. The chair creaks as he stands, making his way over to you until he’s just standing there, scrutinising you.

“You smell.. off.”

“Well.. I'm not using my usual shampoo obviously.” You give him a meek smile, and even though it’s not enough to settle the craving he just nods— accepting it.

“Should probably check by the infirmary just in case.” He mumbles, fighting every urge to scent you before he lets you go.

“I will.”

———

Three days.

That’s all that’s passed since that night, and still his mind is a turmoil he can't unravel. As much as his brain insisted you needed some space, he found himself insistent on making sure you’re okay. 

That’s exactly why the second he saw you alone in the mess hall today, he was beside you in seconds. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Your shoulders jump in a way that makes him wince, but you relax just as quickly when you realise and smile at him.

“What, better than yesterday when you asked me in the hallway?” He likes seeing you tease him like this, as if the pain wasn't eating you from the inside. You hadn't got the opportunity to talk more than in passing, so you answer more when he looks at you attentively. “The nurses gave me ointment for the burns, and I'll be back on regular training soon. Just taking it easier with lighter gym sets, and running instead to keep my body moving.”

Right, he remembers the significantly less damage on your lower half; running must be a bit easier than any other activity for you.

“Good to know, I’ll keep an eye on you too.” 

You look embarrassed by his words, quickly turning your head away as you hurriedly step forward in the queue. “I’m not going to exert myself, you don't need to do that.”

All he can do is shrug, trying to push down the feeling that bubbles with your reaction. Instead he steps in front of you to dish out your portions of food for you. Not too much, or too little, just the way you’ve always liked it. He even skips the sides you don't like. 

“I do, actually. As a lieutenant, you’re under my care. And as my beta, I need to make sure you’re well.”

It slips out so easily before he can stop it and he pauses, waiting for you to narrow your eyes in disgust. Who is he to claim you like that? Although.. you don't even seem to catch it, but he does notice the small quirk of your brow when you finally process a few moments later. “Wait–”

“Im on grocery run on tomorrow— havin’ a team movie night on Saturday. You should come too, get some steps in instead of being in this stuffy base for so long” Before you can even answer he places your utensils on your plate and then locks onto the exit. “Meet me by our usual car, alright? Eight amsharp.” And then he’s already weaving through the crowds, leaving you standing on your own. 

————————-

For the first time in his life, Simon Riley was excited to see you. He hadn't really had time to question it, between the brand new load of paperwork dumped on him today alone and a million other problems in his mind. And yet, every time he glanced at the time ticking towards tomorrow, his instincts roared.

Would you allow him any closer than before? Although, sleeping beside him was already past many boundaries he had only considered he’d need to ease through now. He’s sure you’d flash him that exact smile when he saw you waiting by the car, positive you’d be embarrassed when he no doubt did something for your sake. 

Or you’d back up in fear, your eyes flashing with the same hurt you directed towards Soap that day. You’d realise he’s no different than the rest, infact probably just as cruel as they are. 

“Bit late to still be working, Lieutenant, even for you.”

“John.” He murmurs, voice on the quieter end as he watches from his seat on the Captain’s couch. There was a small wad of paperwork clutched in his hands like he needed reason to be here, and not solely for the true purpose.

“Simon.” Price returns, walking over to his desk to light a cigar before returning to sit infront of him. “Got a feeling I know why you’re here.”

It’s silent for a few moments and John is convinced he’ll have to lure the question out himself. But it never really is that simple with Simon Riley. Straightforward as ever, he can't help but jump right to the point “How did you.. know? Your omega.” 

Price raises a brow this time, having not entirely expected that, but nods regardless as he breathes out smoke. “Feel it in your chest first. Like your instincts are controlling you really… pulling you towards them. It’s not like you can even try to stop it either.”

“And then what..?”

“The mating bite. The feeling will come soon after, fast even— you’ll get violent. But it’s what’s expected, nearly every alpha goes through it. Just advise your omega to not fight back and there won't be much to clean up.” 

He pauses when the air in the room suddenly becomes tense, taking another inhale of the cigar.

“The sooner you do it, the easier it’ll be. You don't know when you’ll see them again with our schedules. I don't want to see you actin’ feral on a mission desperate for their scent.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Soon enough, it was the next day, and he had driven you to the nearest Tesco Extra. Luckily you had come just in time for a sale.. although that meant there were a lot more people than usual. Despite offering to hold it, the basket dangles in his right hand while you glue yourself to his left side. The explosion had left your senses much more sensitive, so sticking to him was the best option. 

“Anything else you want?” 

“Maybe another biscuit?” You tease since he’s been filling up the basket with them so far, making you snort a little. When you did hang around the team, him and you were the only ones who’d eat them but you didn't know he liked it this much.

He rolls his eyes at your teasing, and leads you to the next aisle. “Grab what you want and meet me over there.” It’s emptier here, so you nod and watch him go towards the tinned food, now facing the shelves of crisps he left you with.

Well you know Soap and Gaz’s favourites already, and Simon loves kettle chips. You’re not sure if the Captain would also be there, so you grab a mixed bag for him. Would it be weird after not seeing them for so long? Strangely enough, you really can't bring yourself to resent them for what happened. 

Was it really their fault? No one ever seemed to have the same problems as you. There was only one time you confessed it to a fellow beta on base, although he had quickly become defensive, shaking his head at you. ‘We’re colleagues at the end of the day. As long as it doesn't affect work, it’s totally fine.’

“Didn't get the crisps you like.” You jump as he appears, grabbing your favourite and tossing it in the basket. “Come on, we’ll get some drinks and go.” 

You trail behind him as he carries on, noticing an obvious hunch in his shoulders. He’s tense, which for some reason you find entirely out of place despite you not even knowing him that well. It’s just that, ever since that morning in bed with him, he felt soft, and warm, like everything you’d find comfort in. Surely those same clenched muscles aren't the ones that laid beside you?

You’re about to spiral further into analysing his behaviour when you realise you’re at the checkout with him.  “O-oh, do you mind if I run to the beta section quickly? I just need to grab—“

“Already got you one.” He picks up the scent refresher from the basket, scanning it through, as well as other medication he’s also seen you use before. You can only blink at him in surprise—the prices had hiked even higher recently, and you had to debate over buying one or being able to afford morning coffees anymore

It brought a sense of relief to your heart though, that comforting feeling settling in your gut once more. He’s alright, probably just a tough mission coming up.

———————

The past few days it’s like a switch had flipped inside him, too similar to how the others reacted after their new omega. You’re at a loss really, it’s not like he’s being rude, but he’s being distant. Like he’s cautious of you. To be honest, you were half expecting him to tell you not to come to the movie night anymore. 

Though maybe you were judging him too quickly— it’s not all alphas, right? It was almost sickening every time the small bit of hope bubbled up though, like it was stupid to think he’d actually be the one to stay longer than the rest. You just hope the reason for this wasn't because of something they told him about you.

You were.. surprised to say the least when you entered the rec room alongside Ghost. The both of you had retrieved the bags from his car after he surprisingly called to make sure you were still coming. 

Soap and Gaz weren't lazily sprawled across the couch like they usually would—if anything they seemed antsy. They were both sitting there, shoulders tense, Gaz’s leg even bouncing slightly. You did hear they all came back from a mission recently but they were never this agitated, all pent up like this, back when you were with them.  

“Oh, hi.” Gaz looks upon hearing two sets of footsteps and smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You just nod, awkwardly fiddling with the plastic bags you grabbed from Ghost’s car. “What’re you here for?”

“Ghost and I went to grab the snacks the other day” 

“Y’can call me Simon, y’know.” He takes the plastic bags from your hands and you nod sheepishly, not even realising you had been using his codename. 

“Oops, sorry.”  He shakes his head at your apology and you quickly help him unpack all the snacks onto the coffee table for tonight.

“Completely blew a mission and now ye come ‘ere for a movie night?” Soap must’ve gotten up at some point, now brushing past you. His arms are like rocks when they hit into yours, and his tone is heavy— almost accusing.

It catches you off guard, and you freeze, watching as he walks around the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water to swallow in one gulp. “Well.. we did always have the best ones, no?”  Surely he didn't mean to be that harsh, clearly something had been holding their bodies in a tight limbo. It must be a poor joke, even if it dug deep.

He doesn't take your words in the tone you intended though, brows narrowing down at you in contempt. “Don’t see why we ‘ave to entertain the fuck ups. My omega was in tha’ mission, she could’ve died ‘cause of you.” 

“Johnny—“ Simon cuts in, voice low as he steps in front of you, his scent wrapping around you, weak enough to not fill your head too much. He’s being careful for you.

Though before Simon can say anything more, you let out a soft huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “That’s the risk of every mission, Soap. I thought as a demolition expert you would know that. Or are you forgetting the time you almost killed me?”

“That was a calculated risk. And yer still standing, aren’t ya?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your supposed argument. “You were being reckless and stupid out there.”

“That’s not what you said when I was on the team.” You snap back, anger starting to simmer inside of you too now. After all, they had constantly sung your praises when you were here. It’s their own fault for throwing you into an omega mission when you weren’t prepared enough.

“You left the team.”

“Because I was forced off!”

That pisses him off, because your words feel like an attack against him, and he walks right up to you, inches away. “We never needed you anyway— just a beta to balance us alpha out. Clearly you’re useless otherwise.” Though suddenly his nose scrunches, stepping back a moment before his eyes narrow into a glare.  “Ye fucking bastard. Coming in here, stinkin’ omegas, stinking of her?!”

Your jaw clenches as you watch his body language, something you picked upon living around alphas. They get explosive, very strong quickly. First his fists start to clench, the veins in his forearms starting to show. Then his scent starts getting thicker with anger, pumping into the air like a burning building. It’s bad enough that it makes your own anger start to fizzle, hitting your head in waves of pain and you almost stumble backwards. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion, his hand rising upwards, the touch of skin against your cheek and the implosion of pain that spreads across your head.

Simon grabs you before you end up dropping altogether and pulls you away from him immediately, shielding you with his body. “I dont know what the fuck has gotten into you Johnny but you need to sort it out— now.” His scent is thicker than you’ve ever smelt it, in fact this is the most you’ve ever been able to make of it. It smells like gasoline, sharp and lingering, and ready to destroy something completely. So toxic, it forces you to gasp for a breath.

“Both of you, stand down, now.”

Price’s voice echoes across the room and you instantly shudder, leaning against the counter weakly as you grasp your face. The bruise will darken tomorrow but you can already feel your cheek starting to swell. What really has you is the mix of scents all around, filling your head so strongly.

“Captain—“ 

“No.” Price doesn't hesitate to march over, standing in between them as Ghost thrums with anger. You look over to the doorway, hearing the small creak as it closes Gaz standing there with his arms crossed. “You are soldiers, not fucking children.” He argues, pointing an accusing finger towards the Scot before turning to give Ghost an equally sharp glare. 

Then his eyes find you. All you can do is stare back, wondering how he’ll react. Would he blame you for all this? Would you be the scapegoat to keep his perfect little pack intact?

Would you let him humiliate you once more?

You’re a soldier, a beta one, but a fighter nevertheless. Missions you’ve fought through, almost died on, saved lives during. For this? To end up like this? You push yourself to stand despite the heavy scents weighing you down, regardless of the stare his alpha is directing to your beta. Everything tells you to submit, the haze in your head and the throb across your cheek. 

“You should go, I'll talk to you about this later.” Price commands, nodding his head towards the door. Surprisingly, his words weren't as harsh, in fact more exasperated than anything. 

“Enjoy your movie night.” You murmur, grabbing your jacket where it was on the chair and throwing it over your arm. 

“Wait—“ Simon starts, backing away from his offensive on Soap instantly to follow you. “Don’t” You hear Price stop him, his hand wrapped around his forearm to stop him chasing after you. 

————————-

If that wasn't enough of a reason for you to give up on all of them, you don't know what is anymore. They’ve treated you so horribly, it was hardly arguable anymore that you shouldn’t have even tried with them again. This was all so stupid—you’re so stupid for even thinking this time it could end differently. You could never coexist. 

As for Simon, all you feel is a deep regret in your stomach. It was obvious really, of course he must’ve just been smelling omega on you this entire time. It was just a biological confusion, not a genuine interest in you. He didn't care about who you were, his alpha smelt an omega, and that’s all that really matters. It makes you feel sick to your stomach, knowing that you had in some way probably tricked him.  His alpha probably had him strung up all week, no wonder he looked so uncomfortable in that shop and every day past. 

The chat with Price never happened. They had been briefed almost immediately after you left for an op, and you heard the chatters of their departure the next day. So with them all gone,it was time to get back to work. You had briefings to attend, reports to fill and to forget about everything that happened. Or what didn't happen between you two.

Except you can't.

Everytime you get a second alone with your thoughts, they drift back to him, to that morning and waking up beside him. The last time you’ve woken to someone’s scent around you was when you were very little, your family huddling together in the nest. That stopped as soon as you presented.

Now you’re stuck with this emptiness in your chest. At first you thought his scent had been too strong, and you even tried two pumps of the scent refresher to try and clear your senses. Not even that worked, if anything making it worse now that you longed for his scent even more. 

There’s a small balcony you used to see him smoke at, when you first joined the team. He came up here once or twice, and then over the two years you spent with them, never again. In fact, you overheard the sergeants say he quit it altogether. You pause by it today, staring out at the worn railing, the remnants of ash sitting upon it, the mark of his shoe making an outline on the unused floor. 

For some reason it makes your eyes water, mourning a connection you could’ve had but seems impossible now. 

—-

It’s late at night a few days later. You had taken the opportunity while they were gone to take all of your things out of the rec room. Sure, you should’ve done it before, but a small part of you was still clinging on to possibility. Your blankets that you and the sergeants would swaddle yourselves in on colder nights, the tea strainer you bought to show Price how to use leaves instead of the bought bags, even the few mugs in the cupboard you bought to match them. You left behind the one Soap bought for your birthday— perhaps it belonged there more than it ever did to you. Can't forget the CD player you let Gaz borrow a million times either.

They don't suit your room, the colour clashes with the boring greys in here, and they look like a pile of junk from where you’re beneath the duvets, staring at them. It’s almost midnight, and you know you should be sleeping, but it's a Friday night so to hell with that. You could afford late night wallowing; it’s not like you had anywhere to be tomorrow.

They were supposed to come back today. You heard it from Laswell when discussing something else; she must not know what happened between you. Either they chose not to tell her..or forgot, since you were never that important anyways. The clock blinks one am, maybe you really should sleep.

———

The knock on the door breaks your sleep, and you can only assume it wasn't the first as it continues, each one seeming to become.. slower. You crawl out of bed, mind trying to run a million possibilities through your awakening brain. An emergency mission? Bad news? A sudden attack? An intruder?

“Please..” You hear the groan on the other side of the door, convincing you enough to open it instantly and reveal the other side. 

Ghost— or rather Simon, with his mask now fallen at your feet— leans against your door frame, blood dripping onto the floor from a wound near his middle and his eyes glazed over. “Beta..” He breathes through a pained wince, chest sinking quickly. 

“Simon?! You should be in the infirmary, not here- ” You scoff, gaze flicking between the blood staining the floor, his hand clenched over the wound and the grime clinging onto his hair and neck.

“No— no- can’t think..” He steps forward, every movement heavy with pain and hurt and yet his eyes stay locked on you. His words are desperate as his hand clenches the handle, sucking in a strained breath. 

“A-alright, fine. I’ve got some stuff somewhere—“ Opening the door fully now, you reach for his hand, letting him lean the brunt of his weight as you haul him towards your bathroom. It’s only when you manage to get him to sit on the toilet seat do you free yourself from him, rummaging through your cupboards desperately. “Here- okay, lift your shirt we need to fix that quickly.”

Luckily the wound had just been leaking into the bandages so all you had to do was repack and replace, although you had to deal with his incoherent groans the entire time. Tucking the clean edge into the wrap, he’s finally alright again and you sigh in relief, stepping back.

“Stop—“ He grasps your wrist as you try to put the box back, forcing you to stay in place as you raise a brow at him.

“I need to put it back.“ You sigh, unable to fathom what was up with him right now.

“Stay.” 

“Simon, I’m just going to the cabinet..” You sigh as he shakes his head adamantly, pulling you closer even as you try and resist. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“Simon.” You say firmly, a fresh wave of your scent rolling through the air. Never have you used it on any of them before, in fact it only ever worked on inconsolable civilians you’ve saved. Beta scent’s only had the purpose of calming down people anyway, not like an Alpha’s commanding force or an Omega’s lure. “Let me go.”

So when he immediately goes lax, fingers grazing  your palm as he gently lets go, you step back in surprise. What? 

You keep one eye on him as you place the things away, but he just stays, unmoving. As you close the cabinet, you take a step towards him again, gently pulling down his shirt only to feel the soaked blood on it, as well as the gunpowder and grime. Definitely not a good mission then.

“Why.. don't you wash up, alright? I’ll get you some clothes.”

For a moment you’re convinced you’ll have to drag him yourself, but he takes a small inhale and nods quietly, standing the best he can before he kicks off his shoes and socks. Listening like a loyal dog.

—

You make your way to his room with your own mind full of questions from his strange behaviour. Why did your scent have that effect on him? Why did he come to you? Why did he always call you his beta?

The door unlocks easily with the card you nicked from his gear, and his room is in disarray. It wasn’t uncommon for a pack to have scented items from each other, or very close friends; it usually helped with sleeping or just getting comfortable. You remember Gaz and Soap often had items in each other's rooms for that exact reason, though they never traded with you, even if you never asked yourself.

You immediately noticed Price’s sweater on the floor, kicked to the door. Beside the dresser was Gaz’s spare shirt, crumpled and half shoved beneath the base. Soap’s jacket was behind the bathroom door, hidden away from sight like something that couldn't bear to be seen. In the midst of it was a pair of gloves you lent him during a mission when he was damaged badly. Like a pillar in chaos, it was neatly placed beside a brand new scent refresher and a pack of your favourite snacks. Surely, just a piece of repayment, right?

——————

The shower is quiet when you re-enter your room, and you hesitantly step towards the bathroom door, turning the handle. “Brought some clothes.” You murmur, watching the door handle turn. 

“Thank you.” He says, the same gruff tone but quieter, and takes the clothes you pass through the gap.

Surprisingly, he doesn't close it after, letting you hear his quiet shuffling as he changes. It feels weird standing on the otherside, knowing you can just walk in and see him bare like this— an alpha left vulnerable. Though, can an alpha truly be vulnerable before a beta? If anything, you’d always be vulnerable alone with him, and he’d always be the strongest in the room.

“I saw my gloves on your table.” You mumble out, stepping back to take a seat on the edge of your bed.  His silence doesn't help your inability to keep in the thoughts running wild in your head. 

His breath hitches behind the door, something you’ve learnt to notice since you can't read his facial expressions. “I meant to return it to you. But.. I hadn't washed them yet.”

Just as you thought.

The door opens, and he steps forward, the grime washed off and bandages covered by the thin cotton shirt. He looks exhausted like this, like everything weighing down on him has finally caused him to crumble. Just like the others, his shoulders stay taut.

“You left their things on the floor.”

Your beta is desperate to soothe, to understand the problems within his pack, and help him through them. No sane alpha would push away his pack’s items, it has your beta ringing alarm bells across your mind.

“Didn’t need them.” He murmurs, one hand tugging at the end of his shirt as it clings to his damp body. You’ve never seen him fiddle with things like this, running his tongue over his lips. 

“You didn't need your pack’s items?” You huff out crossing your arms over your chest. “At least make the lie believable.” Maybe this was his own strange way of pushing you away like they had, because you just wouldn’t understand, would you? 

“It’s not a lie.” He grunts, eyes flickering over you and then towards the door— like he’s about to bolt. Not now, not after everything.

You stand, blocking his path as you look at him. “Why did you come here, Simon? It’s not because you feel guilty about the other day, and you shouldn't anyway— Soap’s right. I’m not needed.”

“You are.”

“I’m not—“ You shake your head adamantly, turning towards the door. There’s no way you were going to sit around and be humiliated again, intentionally or not.

“We need you.” He says firmly, hand grasping your wrist as his strong ash suddenly washes over you and thickens in the air. It’s all you can smell, echoed by the weight of his words. Though, you feel his grip immediately falter afterwards, like instant regret. The scent calms quickly, back to the dull linger it usually is as his fingers fall to gently holding your palm. “I.. need you.”

For a moment you’re stunned, scent sprawling anywhere for something solid to grip onto as you try and weave through the possible meanings of his words. Him, Ghost, the soldier feared across foreign countries’ soil and by his mask alone, needs you? A beta? 

“I dont…” understand. The word falls silent on your tongue, glancing down at his hand on yours in the low light. “I thought.. the omega’s I work with– their scent rub off on me. That’s the reason for all of this, isn't it?”

“No, no.” His grasp tightens when you try to pull back, feet following you as you step back, until you take a seat against the edge of the bed. “Your scent, it’s been driving me insane. It’s like I can't function without it.”

“But that’s not possible, Simon. I’m not an omega— I can't lure you like that- even the sweetest scent is nothing more than cheap perfume.” You argue, because it’s the truth and there isn’t anything more to it. It’s facts, written and studied extensively in biological research that forms the foundations of society. There could be no other explanation because it just didn't exist, it never will.

His grip tightens again and this time his lip curls back, almost like he’s snarling.. except he seems to be more frustrated with his own actions than at you. “Lust isn't going to save us soldiers.” 

You see it now as you look at him properly since patching him up. His eyes are half lidded but you can see how his pupils have expanded in the short time you’ve had him here. Sorting out the blood spilling out of him might’ve helped, but he was crashing fast now that the pain-induced adrenaline was wearing off.

Now he just looked exhausted out of his mind, frantically holding onto his self control as his eyes locked onto the scent glands on your wrist. You could almost read his thoughts now, how he was slipping off the edge, fingers beginning to tremble. Wounded, exhausted and desperate for a moment of solace.

“Simon..” You whisper again, it’s been more than a few times tonight, but this time it’s different.

He drops to his knees before you, hitting the soft rug beside your bed as his hand holds onto yours. His mask had been off the entire time and yet only in this moment do you truly acknowledge the vulnerability before you. “Please, scent me.” He murmurs, low and soft though not gentle with the rasp of greed that bubbles from his throat. Like he told you, he needs this. He needed you. “Let me be.. your alpha.”

The silence rings loud between you, even from the slow drops from the bath’s faucet and the whir of the bathroom fan fading into nothing. “Okay..I will.” You nod, breaking the dam holding him together and he doesn't even let out a breath until he presses his nose against your wrist. The inhale he takes is greedy, like he wants every last scent coating the air, and then the exhale comes, his body dropping like a bomb.

“Thank you.” He breathes and you watch as he lifts your hand as he rises himself, and you realise now he doesn't have his gloves on from the feeling of his bare skin warm against you.

It’s like he doesn't even hesitate, gently rubbing his wrist against the scent glands on yours. You knew what was coming, read about it a million times between alphas and omegas— hell even heard a million more from them in your youth years.

Scenting, when the alpha’s scent envelopes your body, like a shot straight to your brain. 

Except, this isn't like anything they described.

You can feel your scents starting to mix, intertwining together before separating once more. They’re tied in the middle like a promise and yet sprouting at completely different ends and filling the room. His scent changes, shifting from the harsh burnt tinges of ash and smoke like they’ve been washed up by yours. It’s petrichor, the damp aroma whenever rain ingrains itself into the soil and washes over rocks. The smell is fresh, earthy and it feels like the relief of rain when it finally comes crashing down, washing over the ground and letting the dying flora renew.

But yours? Yours blossoms in magnitude, like a bubble that has grown and grown until it suddenly bursts. You’ve never smelt it so strong before, used to the quietness of it all, but it’s finally loud. Sweet honeycomb and chocolate, an appetising combination so rarely put together it makes his entire body melt. It’s comforting like a warm drink on a cold day and refreshing like a breeze on a summer night. 

You barely get a chance to shuffle backwards before he’s crashing into you, nose forcing it’s way towards your neck as his limbs one by one fall slack, muscles turned to the mere meat they’re made from. A low purr rumbles through him, up his arms where they wrapped around your middle and his chest which is pressed against yours. His eyes have fallen shut, content to be pressed against your nose gland as he lets everything go.

“My beta..” He murmurs, squeezing you tighter to the point you’re forced to exhale yourself and appreciate the warmth and comfort in the room. This was the first time you’ve truly been able to appreciate a friend’s scent without feeling your head start to spin, and it felt amazing. Like everything in the world was set in place, nothing could even shift the balance in this room. 

You squeeze him back, a small huff of laughter bubbling in your throat when he groans in contentment. His scent starts to settle once more, now the faint smell of smoke returning though with the gentleness of a campfire, easing your senses. 

“Alpha..” You breathe out, letting your own body relax under his, eyes slipping shut in his grasp. Your beta was satiated, curling up for the first time in weeks, and you were more than happy to lay your heart beneath him.

----------------------------------

part one Buy me a coffee!

one more part and then this will be done!! thank you for reading alonga nd im so shocked at how many people loved the first one sm! please leave ur thoughts in the comments <3333 ALSO THANK YOU FOR 5000 FOLLOWERS!!!!!!

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taglist (thank you SO much to @lexloon for putting this tgt for me):

@grimtruthes @bingbongsupremacy @xncasi @failing-to-write-again @listen-to-navi @ohcmonsblog @notsoinnocentkaty @certainpeachsweets @nikolowlow @vitalliver @hellishbimbo @muraaaaaa @soapghosteyes @ @md2317 @wowtheuniverse @sulfurflames @rxi-pop @sg-11 @thecraziestcrayon @mysticmaidenxoxo @faggotsmaggots @strangeby-nature @punkrockcakepops @kaeyasfuturewife @idkwhattodosooo @misakik28 @pickles-the-jackalope @katherine-2007 @fndngtmrw @purplefluffgirl @atlasbatman05 @krowsfoot @alternativefalastini

[hauntedtomatoo]

GOT ON HIS KNEES 😭😭😭😭😭

[temeyes]

acts like him too mii thinks

[softaestluv]

And you really thought Simon would be a little mean during sex. He had to be a sadist after everything he’s been through.

So, when he’s between your parted thighs, you’re shocked when he speaks to you so softly. Quietly begging in your ear, cock pressed to the hilt, for you to be good for him.

And everytime you let out a whine, fingers tightening at his shoulders because he’s massive and you feel like you’re splitting in two with every thrust; he shushes you. ‘You can take it. Yes—yes you can.’

And when you clench tighter around him because the cadence of his voice licks warmth in your core, he smiles. ‘There you go, baby. Just like that.’

[sheepispink]

umm not sure if i like this but omegaverse kinda-neglected reader! x tf141 (ghost focus at the end), 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. 

“I’ve got you, i promise.”

———————-

taglist: @heyitsniki18 @insanityall @twoandahalfdimes @ririerm @alexinarcadia @sgt-artemis-owl-riley @mxxnechos

Buy me a coffee!

[6eons]

Star-crossed → Simon Riley [2]

Lieutenant Riley has always prided himself in the way he could read people. It was partially why he only had few words to spare, just observing people in the room, their nervous tics and what they did when they weren't aware. So what made you exempt from his observations?

tags: GN!reader. two idiots who are in love but are idiots, second chance :p mentions of drinking. a splash of cutie, clingy soap (platonic). fluff!

w/c: 4,0k

a/n: sorry it took so long to get this up, i rewrote it 4 times bc i hate rereading my stuff and almost went bald pulling my hair out (i have trichotillomania teehee) im still not really happy with it but i hope u are🩷

<< previously on star-crossed

Wishing upon a star did not make your lieutenant the most graceful. He struggled quite a bit with sweet interactions with you; it didn't help that you treated him like how everyone else treated him. No longer were your eyes beady and warm, you were wide-eyed and on alert because you were a little bit scared of him.

He'd caught you running late for training with the door propped open, on the look out for you. Like a deer in the headlights, he found you wide-eyed with a cuppa, for you and not him. He yelled at you to get to practice. He made sure to stop you right as you were in passing of him, swiping your piping hot tea, scolding you about punctuality and if you wanted to dilly dally for some tea, you should have done so twenty minutes ago.

Of course, you didn't know he kept your tea for himself, fed up with how shitty his once favorite black tea was tasting rather bland.

The spot next to him in the cafeteria that normally be filled with you was empty. As he expected, since that’s how the rest of the week was. And seeing that he was finally getting the hang of paperwork again, he wanted to reward himself with eating anywhere that wasn’t his office. Sooner or later, he was scoping you out, finding you laughing and chattering with Gaz. He doesn't stop himself from planting himself next to you. He certainly doesn't care when the joy seems to die down either.

Ghost silently eats, listening as you and Gaz slowly regain the courage to speak. He listens closely at your gossip, noticing how your voice flicks upward in pitch when it comes to the bakery off base or how you pout at how Soap kicks your ass without fail, never taking it easy on you because the enemy would never. He doesn’t miss how Gaz will compliment you and though it makes you blush, Simon can’t help but notice how much Gaz is blushing even more than you are.

How ironic is it that Simon can’t help but notice that you don’t reciprocate Kyle Garrick’s feelings?

The sound of metal clattering breaks Simon from his thoughts and he looks over to see you hunched over your knees, under the table to reach for your fork. Before he realizes he’s doing it, he’s reaching over, folding his fingers at the edge of the table, covering the point so you don’t hit your head on it. Your hand aimlessly flies up to do exactly what your lieutenant’s done and your bare fingers brush against his as you flip yourself back up. Your eyes trail from Simon’s hand, who’s reeling it back in, to his eyes and Simon is realizing this is the first time you’ve held eye contact with him since wishing on that damn star.

“T-thank you sir, you didn’t have to do that.” you breathe out, plopping your fork beside your tray. Simon says nothing, gathering his tray before leaving your table. He dumps his rubbish in the bin, placing his tray in its return and he looks back hoping to find your eyes. And he does. You’re already looking at him from across the mess hall.

He pauses for a moment to revel in the attention he’d been lacking. You don’t find yourself shying away from his eyes this time. His dark eyes are looking at you like they’re trying to solve a puzzle, but some of the pieces are missing. He’s first to break eye contact because of course duty calls. He misses the way your eyes glance toward the empty space beside you, a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

Gaz doesn’t though.

He sits curtly, spooning a mouthful of rice into his mouth as his eyes mirror yours. Looking at the spot Ghost once remained. He took note of how the little interaction between you two was soft… gentle. The look on your face told him you’d probably be thinking about it all day — your big, scary lieutenant covering the edge of the table so you didn’t poke your eye out. But Simon was always doing stuff like this. Wait-

Simon was always doing stuff like this.

How could he be so stupid? How could you be so stupid?

It was in your face all along.

The way Simon was always fastening your tac vest before missions. Hands gripped at the front, tugging as had as he could until there was no slack. To Simon, the pull took little to no effort — for someone smaller than him, it seemed harsh.

In the rec room, Simon was always pulling down an extra mug from the top shelf. Leaving it on the counter so when you came to inevitably make your nightly hot cocoa, you wouldn’t have to climb the counter.

When he did notice you seated next to him in the helo (you always rushed to sit next to him, it was just a matter of if he noticed you), he’d make sure your seatbelt was safely secure. He always found himself reaching over to pull it over you, you were always so insistent on sleeping without it. But your lieutenant didn’t play about your safety.

Gaz was rapidly coming to the harsh realization that what you felt for Simon… it was different than what he’d felt for you. A small school boy crush while you were in love with the big bastard. And he was part of the reason the lieutenant’s week had been up in shambles. As quickly as his crush had formed on you, was how quickly it disappeared. Not because of anything that you did, but because of how selfish he would feel over.

Idiots, we all are, Gaz thinks to himself.

Your affections towards Simon were profound. Nothing short of half-hearted or disingenuous. It was loud and glaringly obvious the way you doted on him. For a lieutenant whose eyes were trained to quickly catch onto things, new threats or lying tells during interrogations, his senses were deeply misguided when it came to you and your adoration for him.

Well that was before Gaz had convinced you to wish upon a star.

Guilt churns in Gaz’s stomach and suddenly, he’s no longer hungry. He drops his cutlery on his tray, wiping his mouth before tossing the napkin beside his fork. He doesn’t even realize you’d been chatting away this whole time, he catches the tail end of what you’re saying, something about your sweet tooth needing to be satiated.

He's gonna fix this. He doesn't know how, but he's going to make this right.

The next time Ghost sees you, you're running laps with Johnny. He tries not to notice the way your mouth is moving, tries not to make out the way your lips curl the way you annunciate certain consonants. He definitely tries not to think about what words could possibly be forming and he's absolutely not trying to catch wind of the few words he can hear when you pass him. You wave to him when you notice him and Soap's eyes light up when he sees the lieutenant, sending him a salute accompanied with a grin.

"I dunno mate, I've just been feeling off. Like I'm forgetting something." you answer to Soap who's been wondering why you've been avoiding going out at night with him and Gaz. Much to Soap's dismay, he can't help but feel amused. He's been teetering on the fence on if this whole 'wish upon a star' was still some weird joke you and Gaz had managed to pull off. But Soap also knows that you cannot commit to a bit for the life of you; maybe a day or two, but a week? "My brain just feels a bit foggy. I don't know if going out for drinks is going to help me out with that."

"Well, you don't have to drink if you don't want to." Soap begins. His eyes scan your features, trying to read your emotions before pressing on. "Maybe you're just getting a bit stir crazy and need a new scenery. Plus, I know pub food is not something you'd ever say no to."

"Johnny, we all know that you love shoving drinks in everyone's faces. It's exactly why this year's Christmas party is going to be nowhere near the casinos," you laugh at the memory. Johnny had managed to convince a group of yous to to slip away from the company Christmas party; drunk and none the wiser, half of the group that did manage to go, gambled more than they could bargain. Ghost found out where you were, unfortunately your downfall was not turning off your phone; Simon had your location when you were on base, for safety reasons (he had Gaz's and Soap's as well). Soap was stuck on paperwork for a month and also had to suffer the consequences of glares from the folks that had spent too much money gambling.

"We'll find another way to make trouble, don't you worry."

True to Johnny's word, all it took was for him to dangle a baked spinach and artichoke dip in your face for him to convince you to go out with the rest of the boys. Simon included, which took much convincing since he was still figuring out his paperwork situation. Kyle egged him on with a well-deserved break and with the promise that you'd be there.

The two shared a silent moment together. The admission with your name quietly told Simon that whatever mess Gaz had involved you in, he would going to aid him through. While Simon would normally be too prideful to accept help in something like this, he (much like you) couldn't shake the feeling that his brain felt quiet muddled, paperwork aside.

That's how you end up at the pool tables, your group tucked somewhere between your booth and the table, which wasn't very far all things considered. While the booth didn't have '141' etched into it, it was the booth you all frequented even if some of you were missing. It was close to the pool tables and had the perfect view of the overhead telly that would play the rugby games Soap and Ghost were always so interested in.

Simon sits close as you position yourself to break in the triangle. He sees you struggling to line up a shot and without really thinking about it, he extends his arm to gently grab your bicep. Light pressure is applied to halt your slight tremor while you draw back your arm and the shot is made. The sound of Gaz and Soap laughing on the way back to your table drowns out the clicks of the colored balls moving about. You're able to sink at least one of each, solids and stripes, a satisfied smile spreading across your lips, reassurance that you didn't mind the assist.

As competitive as he can be, Simon doesn't care about pool, not really at least. Just needed an excuse to add his presence and touch you. The warmth of him disappears as quickly as it emerged, the only evidence of his touch on you was the searing skin on your bicep that were Simon's-hand-shaped. You didn't mind the burn though.

"Think we should go for stripes or solids LT?" your voice comes out softer than you intend, but it's nothing that your lieutenant's not used to. His eyes scan the perimeter of the billiard at play.

"All's fairs." Simon responds, eyes still looking over any possible openings. The back of your pool stick meets the ground and you lightly lean against it, following his gaze. "Might have an easier go with the stripes from the cue ball though."

You walk around the table, testing a few angles before settling on the ball perpendicular from Simon. You lean over to line your shot up once more. Your eyes scale up. Simon's not looking at your hands or where the ball might go, no he doesn't care about winning this game. He's staring directly at you. His dark eyes push beyond the barrier of simply being a gaze; he was projecting his presence, letting you know that even if he wasn’t right there with you, he certainly was with you. If you weren’t already looking at him, you’d have assumed he was right beside you, at the ready to help guide you through your next shot.

As luck would have it be, or Simon, you miss your shot entirely. You're completely sure the loud, deafening thumping in your chest has everything to do with it.

Why the hell was he looking at you like that?

As Gaz and Soap bicker about who'll be starting off their turn as you excuse yourself to the restroom. Once in the restroom, you're looking at yourself in the mirror. Your skin seems to have developed a little bit of sweat from how hot your face was. A light splash of cold water would remedy that. You allow yourself to catch your breath in the pub bathroom that smells lightly of cigarette butts.

Were the hairs standing up on the back of your neck finally down?

When you return to your group, you find Gaz still going at it for his turn. Soap is at the corner of the pool table, cheering on his teammate and Ghost’s where you left him, only his hand seems to be actively covering a cup. Palm stretched over the rim of a clear glass, your Shirley Temple you'd left irresponsibly at your unattended booth.

“Shouldn’t leave your drinks unattended,” Simon tells you softly. “S’not safe.” your fingers brush against his as you lift your cup.

“Thanks.” your voice comes out barely above a whisper, like it was only for him to hear.

“I mean it,” his gravel comes out sharper this time. “Every time we come here, you’re always leavin’ your drinks all about.”

“S-sorry,” you don’t even know what else to say to that. Was he trying to scold you for your forgetfulness? Trying to remind you to be more careful? Bit of both, maybe.

"Don't have to be sorry," Simon mutters, like he's caught himself with his tone. He didn't mean to come off harsh, the world being an unsafe place wasn't something you needed to apologize for. He just wanted you to be more careful and aware. "Just don't leave your drinks around for me to find... if you need me to babysit your drinks, just remember to leave 'em with me."

A silent confirmation that he's always keeping your drinks safe when Kyle would whisk you away for a smoke outside or when Soap would pull you for shots. Whether he's gone out of his way to look for your drinks is left unknown, but you know well enough that your lieutenant's just looking out for his sergeant.

Simon brushes by you to approach the white cue ball, since it was your guys’ turn after all. You silently sip at your bubbly drink, sparing a glance to Soap and Gaz who are none the wiser to the little moments that are happening between you and Simon. If they do notice it, they’re certainly not bringing much attention to it. You approach them, squeezing yourself in between the pair while trying to shake the lingering feeling.

“Fellas,” you greet, using the silence between them as a moment to insert yourself.

“Hey bon,” Johnny’s quick to sling an arm over your shoulder. His cheeks are already flushed from the alcohol. “M’really glad you came out tonight.”

“Alright Soap, how much have you had to drink already?” you huff as he curls into your side. Johnny was exceedingly affectionate when he was under the influence; he once tried to bargain the bartender cuddles in exchange for another drink after last calls had been announced.

"Too much too fast." Soap answers honestly with a groan, resting the side of his head on your shoulder.

"Thanks for taking over my shift." Gaz is snorting, sauntering away before you can stifle out a protest. He even ignores your attempt to reach out to him as he approaches Ghost.

"This your water Johnny?" you question as you pluck the cup of water threatening to fall from his grasps with how slumped he was. You raise the straw to his lips and he takes a few sips, tucking his arm under yours. "Johnny, did you forget to eat before you started drinking?"

"Oh! I knew I was forgettin' something," Soap slurs while leaning into you. A hiccup follows making him giggle. You stand, letting Soap lean onto you for support.

"Johnny, I feel like we've been through this before." you grunt rhetorically, carrying the lad towards the booth that wasn't too far off.

You help Soap sit at the edge of the booth, his other arm resting on the table; he doesn't free you from his grasp, instead settling with you standing in between his legs. You indulge in Soap's clinginess by feeding him the sausage rolls that are still left from your round of appetizers while his arm is still wrapped around you. You switch back and forth from feeding him to forcing him to drink water. If you were at the pool table like Simon and Kyle were, you'd see Johnny smiling like a kid in a candy store. Soap's used to Simon tolerating his affections and Gaz casually shrugging him off, but you were always willing to hold his hand if he needed it or comfort him when the room was spinning too much. It’s why you were his favorite.

"You're too sweet on me bonnie," Soap preens after gulping down the rest of his water. He reaches across the table and snatches up Simon's water.

"Ah, is that why you wanted me out tonight?" you tease lightly. Soap lets out a grunt of disapproval, shaking his head.

"Right, love, we're getting ready to head back to base." Gaz appears behind you, touching the small of your back. A whine comes from the Scot under your arm as Gaz hoists him up effortlessly. Soap’s protesting the end of the night as he tries to reach out to grasp the table for leverage. “Mate, you’re the one who’s forgotten to eat before drinking. You’ve no one to blame but yourself.” Gaz says but there’s no heat behind his words.

Simon's taking care of the tab as you gather everyone's belongings, Soap’s jacket tucked under your arm as you stuff his wallet and Ghost's gloves in the pocket. When you turn to meet Gaz and Soap at the front door, you come face first to a hard chest and Ghost tugging Soap’s jacket from your grasps.

“Oh, hi,” you find yourself blushing once more. Especially when he’s tearing open a hand sanitizer towelette, grabbing your hand to wipe away the grease from your fingertips. This was the most forward he’d ever been with affections, considering most times a lot of it went under the radar. Simon tosses the moist towelette on the pile of dishes you’d stack so neatly for your waitress before tugging you along.

You hadn’t realized how packed the pub was tonight, some sports event probably. The deck with the booths and pool tables was tucked away from the hoards of folks mingling and drinking. Luckily, your big lieutenant wasn’t against bulldozing through people with his hand tightly clasped around yours. Once the cool air from the outside meets your skin, Simon lets go of your hand.

“Got you something.” Simon mumbles, holding out a plastic sphere almost the size of his palm. And accompanied with the dome, a plastic spoon.

Sticky toffee pudding in a to-go container.

He enjoys seeing the glint of excitement that prickled in your eyes, a hum of satisfaction as you lift your shoulders in content. Simon walks beside you as you rip open the lid and dip the spoon in the sponge cake, making sure you collect some of the toffee sauce pooling at the bottom of the container.

“Thank you so much sir, you’ve no idea how badly I needed to curb this craving for sugar.”

Except he did. He notices how often you’re sneaking a sweet treat in your meal plans, not Captain Price approved by the way, but he keeps your secret. He even goes out of his way to ‘accidentally’ purchase the wrong protein bars every once and a while, making sure you always have a stash of white chocolate bars.

Simon's too concerned with his other sergeants, his head peeled forward, keeping watch of Soap and Gaz a fair distance ahead. He's not close enough to hear what they're talking about, except when Soap begins shouting and Gaz howls in laughter. He only turns his head he hears you clear your throat; he sees you with your arm extended, spoon nearing his jaw. He raises an eyebrow.

"What? Don't you also like sweets?" you chirp from beside him. A secret guilty pleasure that you'd pick up on, which was why you'd sneak honey in his teas - though, that was a part you didn't remember.

"How do you know that?" Simon questions, lifting the bottom of his balaclava up to swipe a bite from your spoon. An indirect kiss, he can't help but think. Though, the question stills the blood flow in your veins. How did you know that?

You can't help but turn forward, continuing your walking as your eyebrows furrow within deep thought. It brought light to the itch you'd been feeling lately, the muddled thoughts that could only be described as murky water - it only surrounded your lieutenant. Everything was was clear as day. How did you know that he also loves spicy food? You're half convinced that the things you do know about Simon Riley, you made up. Must have. Read some romance book and took some of the traits of the characters and plugged them into your recollection of Ghost - wait, why are you thinking of Simon Riley when reading your romance novels?

You've come to a sudden halt, fingertips at the nape of your neck as the figure beside you also stops. A traffic light flickering red. Simon doesn't have to look at you to know you're in deep thought, he can feel the back of your neck heating up - which he hasn't released.

The nighttime sky is clear, pulsing stars are bright and hard to miss. And then... A star glides across the sky. Déjà vu, you've been here before. With Gaz. The same Gaz across the street, hustling a babbling Soap. Head still the in clouds, you were.

"Fuck, I wish my brain didn't feel so foggy." you murmur under your breath absentmindedly. From besides you, Simon's raising an eyebrow at you, completely unaware of what you'd just done.

By whatever laws of nature about 'takesies backsies' and wishing on stars, who knew the universe had any room for loopholes? While no, it didn't make you see how your commanding offer reciprocated your affections or anything. Whatever you had done made you remember the wish you'd made before and then suddenly feeling empty afterwards.

"Ah," the noise that comes from Simon is sharp. You look over to realize his mouth his still exposed, parted for what you assume is another bite of the dessert he'd bought for you. Hastily, you're scooping another piece of the sponge cake, feeding it to him as he walks you across the street when the light turns green.

Simon's all too pleased with how the night went, despite it being shorter than he wanted it to be. He got to look and touch you without you freaking out, that he knew of at least. While he got his fix of you, what he'd been missing all week, he was quietly planning on how he was going to respark these forgotten feelings you had for him.

Though, the next morning when he approaches his office and spots a familiar thermos sitting by his front door, filling the air with hot tea (with oat milk and honey), he's sure he doesn't have to try very hard to get you fawning over him again.

a/n: me 🤝🏽 a pub scene. i think there's always a time and place to portray what the boy-o's do in their down time. i luvvv it

[girl-lostconnection]

Went to the beach today, because no electricity+sweltering heat means we gotta cool down somehow, so we are getting Simon Riley beach snippet

Simon doesn’t usually stare at people like that, he knows better than bother anyone on his own leave. No need to look for trouble when he’s trying to enjoy some bloody peace and quiet.

But you take him to the beach because you don’t wanna go alone, because ‘watch my bag while I swim, please’ because Simon Riley and his scarred mug are enough to deter anyone from bothering you when you too want to enjoy some peace and quiet.

Peace, Simon thinks, eyes trailing over your wet hair sticking to your nape, there is none for him given the swimsuit you are wearing.

Perfectly fitting and very much wet, it leaves just a bit to imagination when you walk out of the water back to the towel he’s sitting on in the shade — eyes dark and hazy.

“Are you bored? I’m hoping it isn’t too uneventful for you here, l.t.” You start, taking a deep breath in and Simon would love to say that his eyes did not dip to your chest when it expanded. Only that would be a lie and he isn’t good at it.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry ‘bout that.” Simon just tilts his head from side to side, stretching out, sweat shimmering on his shoulders and Lord knows he did not lie when he said that he can get an impeccable bronze when tanning.

“You sure? Cause we can leave in a few.” You offer just in case, but he shakes his head, glancing up at you from under the heavy hover of his brows. Enjoys the view maybe more than he should.

Definitely more than he should.

“No need. I like it here.” And that was as honest as he can get without going into detail because by God he does really like it here. “You up for another swim?” Is a little bit of a goading but you like swimming, right? And Simon likes watching the stretchy fabric of your swimsuit sticking to your skin — his throat working when you nod and turn back to the sea. His eyes dipping down your back and Lord, have mercy.

You are flushed with heat of the sun and grinning from ear to ear when give him a big wave, already waist deep in the water, stretching out a hand above your head so he doesn’t miss you and Simon simply raises his to give you one back. He ain’t missing you for the world, definitely not today.

Simon doesn’t have as much discipline as people usually assume, mostly because he has bigger appetite than most expect. Because you plop down next to him and he has to swallow the urge to lean down and lick a stripe up your neck. Ignores the impulse to burrow his nose between your tits, cooling his burning face with the perfectly wet skin there.

He isn’t much of a poet, but maybe that’s exactly how it would feel to kiss the sea itself when he can taste your heartbeat and salt on his tongue, soft flesh inviting to bite.

Simon doesn’t think much when he offers to help you with the sunscreen, because at this point his head is so empty that you could ring a church bell inside of it and the sound would echo. It’s just a small favour, nothing…inappropriate, he’d say if he was a fucking liar because you sit between his thighs, back to him and when he rubs the sunscreen on your shoulders, his fingers slip under the strings holding the upper part of your swimsuit.

Strokes the skin under, massages the imprint left on your shoulders because heavy is the weight or whatever the fuck they say. Simon’s fingers squeeze and knead your shoulder till you are soft and pliant. A little too quiet compared to usual routine, but that’s okay. Been hot out here today, yeah?

You are tired, he gets it. That’s why Simon even offered help, you know? he hums above your ear, thumb rubbing you nape so you’d hang your head lower — pulse thudding in your ears. Lieutenant is good with his hands, knows exactly where to press down or rub, learning what you like better as he goes.

Catches your shuddering intake of breath when his fingers catch onto the bow on your back and tug on it. Just getting everything covered, he’ll tie it back later, he promises. No one’s looking anyway.

There is something incredibly thrilling about massaging your bare back just like that, your heart just below his palm when he feels it thumping. You cross your hands over the chest, trying to keep your upper part of bikini in place while he does his work on your back.

You do your best not thinking about his fingers slipping to your lower back to massage all around it, about his wide palms stroking your love handles and belly so close to where he can’t touch that it feels embarrassing getting that excited.

He’s just being helpful. You can’t know if he’s even interested. He’s not like that.

Simon is exactly like that when he leans closer and presses his chest to your back — sticky with sunscreen and divine to the touch when he softly squeezes your belly. Rubs the sunscreen in, humming to himself as he goes.

“Arms down.” Simon says and doesn’t ask, knowing that the habit of obeying runs deeper than surface level embarrassment about the possibility of your top fucking slipping off of your tits. “Gotta be diligent about it, yeah? Don’t want you to get sunburned.”

You feel like you already has been with the way he just works his way from your shoulders down your hands — massages the softer flesh around your bicep, slides down to the forearm and then counts bones in your wrist and palm with his fingers. Leaves you slippery and smelling like coconut, breath fanning over your ear with “quit twitchin’.” when you try to look at him over your shoulder.

Simon’s palms finish each hand before he returns to your neck, curls a palm around it casually while covering it with sunscreen too. Taps your chin to tilt your head up when his other hand slides under the untied bikini and gives your left tit a thorough squeeze, massaging the sunscreen in.

Makes a disapproving sound when you open your mouth to say something and pinches your nipple. Tugs on it a little, rubs in the sunscreen at the tip of it too, clearly teasing.

Has the gall to murmur ‘Feels good?’ right in your ear, smile audible, because you are an open book, because you do exactly as he asks, because you let your lieutenant touch you out in the open. “Good.” Ghost breathes out, his other hand leaving your chin and sliding down to get a hold of your right breast too.

He rubs and massages, pulls out the smallest sounds out of your throat — rubs his stubbled cheek against it, enjoying himself more than he perhaps should.

Simon shameless with his hunger, he toys with your nipples and takes a hand away only to return with more sunscreen, his smile almost unnerving when you hiccup at the cool feel of it.

Sensitive.

“Got the lower half to do too.” He shares conversationally in your ear, voice almost giddy when your throat works audibly, but you make no move to stop him. “Could get it later.” Simon offers, tugging on your right nipple now. Rolls it between fingers, almost absentmindedly.

Big and scorching hot, he wraps his whole body around your back, thick thighs bracketing you between his legs.

“Heard that beach’s emptier in the evening.” He adds and you are not proud of a shiver that runs through you, because you know he absolutely did feel it too. “Could also come back tomorrow early in the morning, get a head start.”

You are even less proud of yourself when you tilt your head back to look at him and your eyes almost close at his hands playing with your tits.

“Could do both.” You say, voice hoarse and barely above whisper, but his eyes crinkle and you can feel that the bottom of your bikini is sticky right between your legs. “If your schedule’s open, sir.”

Simon smiles, every inch of a Ghost and squeezes your tits one more time before withdrawing his hands from under your top entirely. Ties a neat little bow on your back, coarse-padded thumb stroking the line of your spine to get himself another shiver.

“I’m all yours. Got schedule open till we have to return back for another op.” He says, your stomach drawing hot and tight.

That’s two more weeks until you two have return to duty.

“Sounds good to me.” You say, voice cracking and turn your head to nose under his jaw. Mouth at the stubble there, lightheaded with hunger he stoked from ember to full blown bone fire. “My schedule’s all open too, sir.” You add, teeth grazing his jugular.

Getting the absolute satisfaction of feeling his own throat work under your lips. There we fucking go.

“Was thinking, sir.” You start and Simon makes a low questioning sound, tilts his head to give you more access. “Can’t be the only one covered in sunscreen. We wouldn’t want you to get sunburned, yeah?” You paraphrase his own words to him and when you look up in his eyes again, Ghost is heavy-lidded and starved, lips wet from when he licked them.

“Yeah.” He says, voice sending a shiver down your spine because he squeezes you with his thighs, pressing you closer to his back and you can feel the thick outline of him against your lower back. Oh God. “We definitely wouldn’t want that, luv.”

[cruxhing]

Thinking about Simon trying Tinder for the first time but it’s not what he expected. He signed up without telling anyone because if he had uttered a word about it, you already know Johnny or Kyle is going to snoop through his phone to look at his profile.

But Simon being Simon, he doesn’t know how to present himself in a good light. His photos were bad; he took two selfies as he created his profile and they were not good to say the least. One was a mirror photo of him holding his tiny phone with both of his hands as he stoically stared into the mirror. The other was just a selfie of him except it wasn’t angled high or even remotely attractive. It was angled down as if he was taking some sort of quick snap.

The only thing saving his profile was a photo of Riley wearing a vest and goggles.

His bio was the worst of them all.

“I like working out. I have a busy job.”

That was it.

No personality, no indication that he wanted more than just a quickie.

Simon wasn’t expecting much out of the app and he was right because the next day, he opened up the app to find no matches.

Got the man thinking that he really was ugly.

It ruined his self esteem a little if he said so himself. Simon didn’t care about what other people thought but gosh, not even one person wanted to match with him?

…. And then he learned that he also had to swipe to get matches.

So on Simon’s off day, he practically spent half of the day swiping through people. He was picky, believe it or not.

Boring bio? Bye.

Too much filters or AI? Bye.

Too corny? Bye.

Clearly only looking for a one night stand? Bye.

Kind of hypocritical considering his profile looks like he only spent five minutes creating (which he did).

Just when Simon was about to give up on his love life for good, the last profile he stopped on was yours. Simple, nice photos, interesting bio and funny prompts. He hesitated— not because he wanted to skip, but in fear of rejection. Because if he swiped right and there was no “it’s a match!”, he’d probably wonder if he’ll ever find the love of his life.

His thumb hovered over the middle of his phone before he pressed down and swiped right.

It’s a match!

His phone lit up with the two profiles and underneath was his chance to send a message first.

Fuck. He didn’t know what to say. Should he try to be funny? Or start it off with a simple hey?

Simon began typing, deleting, typing and deleting the same message for the next two minutes before finally settling with a: “Hi. How are y”

He typed too fast that he didn’t even finish his sentence before he pressed sent.

Maybe Tinder wasn’t for him after all.

[sandwhitched]

Uh, part two??? of immortal reader, should I make this a small series? Idk, might

Immortal!reader who now has a teny tiny, small dilemma. The dilemma being that your captain now knew about your “ability”.

This has happened before, people saying they feel like they’ve seen you before- they have you just say your someone else. Had people see you do something dangerous and said that should have killed you.

That’s why you move, that’s why you never stay in one place. Cut and dyed and bleached your hair numerous times, going by several new names and backgrounds.

This? You couldn’t run from this. Couldn’t lie your way out of it, so you did what you did best. Avoid. You avoided Price at all costs. People noticed- of course people noticed, though they knew so little about you they just assumed you were just being you.

Price hasn’t said anything- at least to your knowledge. You hopped he thought it was all a dream, or he saw wrong. It was dark in your room at the time.

Either way, you still knew one thing: you had to leave. Maybe live in the forest for the next century or two just to make sure.

You’d fake your death, you’ve done it before so it wouldn’t be hard. Next mission you’d mangle an enemy’s face, place your gear on them and light the building up. Simple, effective.

You tried to stick to the plan, tried to keep your distance until the next op- you didn’t mind. You give this life a try, it just didn’t turn out the way you wanted to.

The plane was almost successful, you had purposely separated from the team, made it so your comms were damaged. Now all you had to do was find some poor bloke to take your place and light this bitch up.

The place was already going down, some rogue explosives or something like that. It should have been easy, should have been the last thing. Somehow you ended up here.

Coughing up blood, packing whatever cloth you had into the bullet hole in your stomach. You head was killing you, blood seeping from the wound going through your skull and brain.

One thing you learned a long time ago was that even though you can’t die, that doesn’t mean you still can’t feel pain.

Ghost saw everything, he had found you a while ago- yet stood where he was as he watched you take a bullet to the head and getting impaled in the stomach, killing the guy a moment later like nothing was wrong with you.

He came back in, trying to take you back to the pick up spot since things had gone sideways. He didn’t bring it up- yet You knew, you were sloppy and impatient even.

Now you were trying not to bleed everywhere, keeping your helmet on the whole way through to keep whatever secrets under wraps. Now you had two witnesses.

Shit.

[fairycosmos]

you have GOT to get over god abandoning you when you were 2 like its not even uncommon

[twolegsandbleeds]

"lovie, we're too fuckin' old for this." simon groans against your ear, ducking his head to press a trail of soft kisses against your jaw. "it's price's weddin'. we can't just-" his words are cut off with a low groan as you reach down to palm the bulge already forming in his suit trousers despite his quiet protests.

"it's his third wedding." you remind him, pulling him by the belt loops deeper into the cloakroom, tucking yourself between layers of hanging coats. "his third. since we've been together. i don't think he'll miss us."

"love, we're not in our twenties anymore. can't just shag in bloody cloakrooms like idiots." he grumbles, but his hands are pushing your dress up to your waist, thigh slotting between yours and pressing up against your cunt through your panties even as he speaks. "yer a bad influence. always 'ave been."

"stop complaining." you gasp out, grinding yourself down against his thigh; feeling the slick fabric of your panties clinging to your core. "and just fuck me quickly - if you're so worried about us getting caught."

he rolls his eyes - but he obliges; his zipper dragged down, your panties hooked to the side, legs wrapped around his waist as he guides you down onto the length of his cock; forehead dropping to your shoulder with a hiss of breath through his teeth as your pussy clenches down around him. "christ, love." he manages to mutter, voice wrecked already, not giving you any time to adjust before he's pulling back and driving back into you; the wet sound of your bodies meeting almost obscenely loud in the quiet of the cloakroom. the coats sway around you with every thrust, hangers clinking softly.

his hands grip your ass, hold you open for him while his cock drags perfectly against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl in your heels.

"fuck - simon -" you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders through his jacket.

"yeah? gonna come already, are you?" he teases against your ear, one hand slipping between you, thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight little circles. "c'mon then love, you're the one who said quick."

your orgasm crashes over you hard, cunt fluttering and squeezing around him as you bite into his shoulder to muffle your moans.

simon curses under his breath, hips stuttering. "that's it - fuck - love -" he buries himself deep inside you as his own release hits him, pulsing hot inside you as he clenches his jaw so hard you're sure his teeth crack. his knees buckle just slightly from the intensity, and he stumbles, back hitting the coat rail behind him.

the entire rail comes crashing down.

coats fall like an avalanche around you both, hangers clatter loudly - the rail itself snapping clean in two when it hits the floor.

"shit." simon mutters, still buried inside you, trying to steady you both as fabric swamps your shoulders.

the cloakroom door flies open.

johnny's head pokes in, eyes wide, scanning for threats like he's been trained to do.

simon is still holding you up, your legs locked around his waist, his cock softening inside you. your dress is rucked up, his trousers open, and a dozen coats are puddled at your feet.

johnny blinks once. twice. then his face splits into a shit-eating grin.

"oi, Lt. glad it's you and the missus in here. worried you were shaggin' one o' the bridesmaids."

you snort out a laugh despite your compromising position. simon just sighs - like the idea of him having it off with one of the bridesmaids behind his wife's back is simply ridiculous.

"out, johnny." simon snaps, but there's no real heat in it. just pure exasperation.

johnny winks and ducks back out, pulling the door shut behind him with a quiet click.

simon drops his gaze back to yours, breathing hard. "told you we're too old for this shite."

you laugh again, properly, kissing the corner of his mouth. "worth it."

he rolls his eyes again, but his arms tighten around you. "yeah... suppose it was, lovie."

[whorefordean]

thinking about simon with restless!reader who can never get comfy first try so she always ends up in crazy positions… she is me, i am her.

you’re twisting and turning in bed while simon patiently waits for you to find a resting position. by the end of it, you end up laying across him with your head resting on his thigh, arms wrapping around the thick muscle.

“settled?” he’ll ask, eyes half-lidded as he fights sleep long enough for you to answer. you hum, nuzzling your face against his outer thigh and squeezing tighter.

maybe his hand is planted firmly on your own thigh that is currently sprawled across his waist, rubbing soothing circles into your flesh.

the next morning, he wakes to you laying on your back with an arm and a leg hanging overboard. through bleary eyes, he’ll pull you back and trap you against his chest for a few hours since he didn’t get to last night.

a/n: i can’t get comfy in my own bed and i think a big beefy man that i could climb all over would help

[clinquantribbons]

kyle’s always been the pretty boy. the one birds fawn over at the pub, and in the cereal aisle at the shop, and on the midnight train after the captain bullies him into going home and getting some well-deserved rest. old ladies coo at him, waitresses draw hearts on his cheques, his own teammates tease him, for fuck’s sake.

“maybe if kyle bats his eyelashes at ‘em, we can slip past before they notice us.”

“the only way you’re comin’ out with us tonight is if you were a fuckin’ bag over your head. i never get laid when you’re around.”

“price might fall for those eyes, but i won’t. paperwork on my desk by noon, garrick.”

even when he was young, his ma’s girlfriends would laugh about how much trouble he’d cause, all the hearts he was bound to break, when he grew up. he still remembers how his sisters made fun of him come prom season, when he couldn’t decide which of the dozen invitations he received to accept.

kyle’s always been the pretty boy — until an untimely explosion melts the entire right side of his face into something unrecognizable and, in his eyes, horrific. gone is that heart-stopping grin, his silken skin, and quarter-deep dimples. no more of the cheesy winks he loved to throw around, what with his lack of an eyelid.

no-one’s swooning over him anymore. rather than the blood rushing to a handsome someone’s cheeks when he says hello, it drains from their face completely. no-one will look him in the eye nowadays. the pretty single mum down the street who he once had lunch with now goes out of her way to cross the road when she spots him, shielding her children’s’ eyes like the mere sight of him might traumatize them. the grandmas who used to compliment his warm eyes and soft curls stare at him blatantly, piteously, whisper behind their hands when he passes but won’t dare to address him directly. his favorite bartender turns his flirtations to johnny, who, uncharacteristically, doesn’t even have the heart to poke fun at him for it.

but he should be grateful, right? he could’ve died. he’s lucky to even be here. to be walking, talking, his limbs in tact, heart still beating. it could be worse.

that’s what he tells himself every time a toddler wails at the sight of him standing behind them in line at the coffee shop. whenever price gives him that look, full of worry and self-loathing. it could be worse, he tells himself, the first time he sees his mother after the explosion, and she gasps like she can’t recognize her own goddamned son. but he should be grateful.

he damn near throttles laswell when she suggests that he check out a local support group, saying that he needs to talk to someone since he clearly isn’t going to talk to them. talk about what, he wonders. it isn’t as though there’s anything that can be done about it. it’s beyond fixing, the doctors said so themselves. talking about it will only make him out to be some shallow, self-obsessed little prick, who obviously cares more for his vanity than his life.

he knows what he is. he certainly doesn’t need anyone to point it out.

the flier collects dust on his kitchen counter, gets lost in all of his junk mail and get-well-soon cards, damned to oblivion. he forgets about it — for a while at least, until his oldest sister forces her way into his flat and starts cleaning, claiming that their mother would have his head if she saw what a mess he’s made. she tacks it to the fridge, where kyle has no choice but to see it.

“what harm could it do, ky? you’ve been hiding from us for months — we’re worried about you.”

that’s what finally convinces him. not because he thinks he needs it, or believes it’ll do him any good, or even because he wants to soothe their spirits. simply because he wants them off his back, wants to be allowed to wallow in his misery, in peace, just for a little while longer.

so, he goes. he surrounds himself with a bunch of war-torn veterans, with stories so gruesome that even his stomach churns, he sits alone and speaks to no-one, doesn’t look anyone in the eye, and he listens.

he listens to them talk about their dead friends, their battles won, and their loves lost, about their journeys back to health, and their wisdom hard-earned.

one man — pushing eighty and missing both legs — says something that sticks with him.

“you can be mad, you can curse god, you can spend the rest of your life thinkin’ ‘what if’, but it ain’t gonna change shit. you either grow a pair and get over it, or you don’t — if you can’t make peace with that, you’re better off dead.”

yeah, maybe.

he goes again the following tuesday, and the next, until it’s become a regular part of his routine. he sits alone, still, he doesn’t talk much, to anyone, but they come to expect him. they recognize him. they smile when he walks in. no one flinches at the sight of him, no one’s pitying him, no one’s demanding answers he’s not ready to give. they accept him without expecting anything tangible in return, sans his company.

it doesn’t necessarily make him feel better, it doesn’t make him hate the man in the mirror any less, but it gets him out of his flat. it gives him something to tell the team about when they check up on him on sunday nights.

then, about two months into his newfound routine, he spots you, sat on the opposite end of the room, holding space like it’s been yours all along.

the last time your paths crossed was in boot-camp. a lifetime ago, it feels like. before the 141, before the incident. he was somebody else back then. and so, it seems, were you.

he remembers you as an over-eager, overly-confident recruit, like he, himself, was. you’re older now, battle-weary, weathered by war, grief, and the world itself. you sip your coffee through a straw because your hands tremble too fiercely to hold a mug. an angry, red scar cuts your face in two.

you aren’t new around here, that much is made clear by the way they greet you, with hugs and well-wishes. how long’s it been, he wonders, since you got out?

sammy, who runs the group, goes down the line one-by-one, like she always does, asking all the right questions. elijah saw his grandbabies this weekend. cody’s been cleared for active duty — he’ll return to the front lines next month, for better or for worse. olivia’s met somebody, she thinks she’s found the one. kyle listens, but pays especially close attention when it gets to be your turn.

“how was your trip?” sammy asks, and you laugh, albeit nervously.

“weird.” you admit, profoundly. “first vacation i’ve ever taken in my whole fuckin’ life, y’know? i tried to enjoy it, but— my friends wanna go swimming with dolphins, and tan on the beach, and, whole time, i’m thinkin’ that i’ve got no goddamn business flouncing around in a bathing suit, looking the way i do. i just couldn’t wait for it to be over, honestly.”

and, fuck, he gets it. he knows. it’s the very thing he’s been grappling with for the past year. nobody likes to talk about that part, the doubt, the insecurity. but you do, honest and unapologetic, and he wonders if this is what making peace with it looks like.

and then, sammy looks to him. “anything you’d like to share with us today, kyle?”

usually, he’d wave her off. offer her a tight-lipped smile and shake his head. he almost does, if only out of sheer habit. but he catches your gaze from across the circle. your eyes brighten with recognition, and the hard set of your brow softens. you smile at him, a little crookedly, as if you’re eighteen again, unburdened, naive as to what awaits you.

you might as well have grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him around, the way that smile knocks loose all of the things he’s allowed to fester in his heart. for the first time since he started attending the meetings, kyle’s honest. not only with this motley community he has infiltrated, but with himself.

“i had to take all the mirrors outta my flat. couldn’t stand the sight of myself.”

“i always wanted kids, but now— now, i’m scared they’d think me the fuckin’ boogeyman.”

“i dunno who i am anymore.”

his lungs feel tight, his palms slick with sweat, cheeks warm with an awful, feverish sort’ve heat, but he feels lighter than he has since his brothers dragged him from the wreckage. the old man from that first meeting, colby, lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

no one scoffs at him, or calls him petty, or reminds him of how lucky he is. sammy smiles, soft and empathetic. “sometimes, the man who comes back from the war isn’t the same man that left for it. it’s okay to mourn him, kyle.”

you’re waiting for him, standing on the sidewalk outside, stiff with an indefinite, inescapable ache, but smiling still, when it’s time to leave. he hesitates only momentarily when you open your arms for a hug — he’s careful, weary of whatever injuries you might’ve sustained on the field, but you grab him tight, like you know how desperately he needs it.

“s’good to see you, garrick. s’been a long time.”

“fuck, has it.” he laughs, and it sounds foreign in his own ears, before sobering. “it’s good to see you too. really. i didn’t know you were …”

“yeah,” you help him out before he can start floundering. he isn’t the smooth-talker he once was. “a couple years ago, now. s’a long story. one i’m much too sober to tell today.”

“another time then,” he offers, wryly. he understands. he doesn’t like to talk about it either. talking about requires thinking about it, which isn’t good for anyone involved.

you soften, and he watches the scar on your face stretch as your lips pull down. it’s been years, but he still thinks you lovely. “you haven’t been out long, have you?”

“not long enough, no.”

“hm.” you nod, like you understand, but you don’t say you’re sorry, or tell him that it’ll get better. he appreciates that more than you know. “fate’s a funny thing, ain’t it? what’re the odds,”

“it’s a small fuckin’ world,” he murmurs, and your laugh thaws the ice in his chest. “you live close by?”

“just a couple o’ blocks, not too bad.”

“i could walk with you, if you want. or we could—” he stops, swallows hard, trying valiantly to find his nerve. it used to be so easy for him to ask a sweet someone out, he hardly even had to work for it. hell, he’d flirted with you plenty, back in the day. “we could go get that drink,”

it’s soft, uncertain, timid in a way that kyle garrick is not. you simply stare at him for a moment, as if considering him, your gaze painfully soft, before, finally, “i’d like that.”

“yeah?” he murmurs, hopeful.

you laugh, but it isn’t mocking, or cruel. it’s mirthful, almost flattered.

“lead the way, pretty boy.”

[alexkeller]

Please let me play as Gaz and have Price do something irredeemably bad-but for the greater good and make me pick a side like a divorced child.

[c1nnam0roll-08]

˙⟡FANTASY✧˖

Your man has been begging to try something new...and who are you to deny him?

˙⟡ FEATURING: Satoru Gojo, Choso Kamo, Toji Fushiguro, Suguru Geto, Ryomen Sukuna

˙⟡ CONTENT WARNINGS: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, anal sex, squirting, overstimulation, bondage, bdsm elements, somnophilia, oral (m rec), creampies, double penetration, praise, degradation, vibrators, dubious consent at times, crying, pet names, swearing, brief murder, non-curse choso

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SATORU GOJO ~ TOYS

It’s no secret that Satoru loves watching you squirm—hips writhing, tears glistening, legs twitching. He adores those high pitched sounds you make when you’re overwhelmed, delicate hands trying to push him away when he fucks you a little too deep. 

So now he wonders…

How loud would you scream if he added some toys to the mix? 

“No, no, no-“ you’re begging, tummy tensing and hips bucking as Satoru brings the wand back up to your already overstimulated clit. “I can’t, Toru!” 

“Oh, come on, angel-“ he rolls his hips, smooching your cervix with his leaky tip to make you squeal. “You’re not tapping out already, are you?” he mocks you, turning the vibrations back on- 

“Fuck!” you’re crying, legs kicking and hands smacking Satoru’s abs in an attempt to save yourself from another tortuous orgasm. “Too much- I c-can’tttt-“ 

“I don’t care, baby.” his voice is sickeningly sweet, sapphire eyes crazed as he watches you with a twisted satisfaction. “Gimme another one-“ he grunts, hips settling back into a slow rhythm—he hits that pleasurable spot deep inside you with cruel precision every time. 

“Feels- ngh- different!” the pleasure-pain that courses through your veins is intoxicating—you can feel every painful buzz on your overly sensitive clit, your tummy contracting every time he hits the very back of your abused cunt. 

“You can do it, princess-“ Satoru chuckles, leaning over you to plant wet kisses on your tear-stained cheeks. “Just relaxxx and let it happen, hun.” 

“Please-!” you squeal, not sure if you're asking for more or for it to end—your entire body jerks, once, twice-

“Fuckkk, baby.” Satoru groans, hips stuttering as you squeeze him so tight. Clear liquid comes out in spurts, soaking his pelvis and the bedsheets as your cunt visibly pulses. 

You let out broken moans as Satoru fucks you through your orgasm—pathetic gushes of your squirt slowly decreasing in amount. 

“No more- can’t-“ the bliss of your orgasm dulls into a full body ache—your hands pull at the forearm holding the wand, trying to pry it off. “Toru- it hurtsss-“ you sob, feet kicking as his body weight remains pinning you down. 

“Shhh- s’okay, angel-“ he coos, finally pulling the nightmare of a device off your swollen nub and turning it off. “Did sooo good-“ he pecks your quivering lips, holding you close as your body  tremors. 

“How many times was that?” Satoru laughs, still balls deep inside of you. “Felt like a new record for you, babe.” he gives the side of your hips a few smacks, urging you to speak. 

“Dunno.” you whisper, falling limp against the messy sheets. 

“Hey-“ he smacks your hip again. “I’m proud of you, princess.” 

CHOSO KAMO ~ SOMNOPHILIA

Choso and yourself had a conversation not too long ago—about your boyfriend’s tendency to need sex all the time, that is. Before the two of you got together, your previous partners had a hard time keeping up with your libido. But ever since you met Choso, your sex drive has been put to shame. 

To solve this…issue, you had given Choso the green light to use you when you’re asleep—in the event that you’re too tired, at least. 

You’re softly snoring when Choso enters the room, his dick straining against his jeans as he stalks towards the bed. He had a hard day, but he was even harder—he couldn’t stop thinking about your voice, your silky hair, the dip of your waist, your hips-

Your pussy. 

He gently pulls the covers from your form, only to find you naked—nipples peaked, legs spread, cunt glistening just for him.  “God damn, sweetheart.” he mumbles, unbuckling his studded belt and taking his sweat scented shirt off (yum). 

His fingers explore you tentatively, soft brushes across your nipples all the way down to your bare mound. You don’t stir, breaths remaining stable as he collects your slick—bringing it up to his gaping mouth for a greedy taste.  

Choso climbs on top of you, making a place for himself between your legs. He crowds you, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent like a dog. “Mfmm- missed you, love.” he gets a sleepy snore in response, a giggle escapes his throat before his hands return to groping you. 

He frees his cock from the confines of his boxers and starts grinding in the wetness of your pussy lips—his leaky tip painting your clit with glossy pre. “Been waiting to fuck you all day, pretty-“ he licks a hot stripe up the side of your neck, lining himself up and pushing in-

“Cho?” you whimper, blinking the sleep from your eyes as you’re fucked open.

“Shh- just me, sweetheart-“ he bottoms out with a sigh of relief, planting a wet smooch on your lips and squeezing your plump tits. “Go back to sleep-“ he murmurs, his deep voice soothing you. 

“M’kay-“ you’re far too tired to be bothered by the fullness of your cunt—you’ve grown accustomed to the feeling, so much so that it lulls you back to sleep. 

“Sooo good for me.” Choso chokes back a whimper, gently thrusting in and out of your warmth. It doesn’t take him long to paint your insides with his sticky cum—with the tension of the day, the simple wet, heat of your pussy is enough for him to drown in pleasure. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” he whispers fondly as he pulls out, covering your relaxed body with kisses while he waits for his release to leak out of you. 

Choso makes sure to snap a picture of that precious creampie before cleaning you up and snuggling next to his beloved girlfriend. 

He’ll probably fuck you in the morning too.

TOJI FUSHIGURO ~ ANAL

“How does that feel, doll?” Toji grunts, your little pucker is squeezing him unbelievably tight—your body weight resting on his chest and legs pulled up, up, up in a full nelson-

After about a week of working you up with his fingers, Toji came to the conclusion that you were ready for his dick. Although, given how big he is, your smallest hole still wasn't fully prepared for the intense stretch. 

“Feels weird-“ you’ve never felt so full yet so empty in your life—the sensation is similar…but like it’s happening next door, making your cunt clench around nothing. You let out a choked gasp when he shifts just a little bit- “Fuck- ngh- too deep-“ 

“Gotta let loose, doll-“ he snakes a large hand down your front, nibbling and licking your ear before making contact with your glistening pussy. “Can’t- mfm- tense like that.” he rubs your clit in slow circles, occasionally dipping down to your hole and collecting more slick. 

“Haaa-“ you let out a breathy moan, trying your best not to close your legs around the stimulation—not that you really could, given that they’re being forced open by Toji’s arms. “Feels good-“ 

“Yeahh it does, doll-“ Toji thrusts his hips justtt a tad, experimenting with your limits. You yelp, head falling limp on his shoulder—your back arches off of his abs, inadvertently taking his cock even further into your ass. “Told you it’d feel nice, heh-“

“Want more-“ you whine, the pressure feels amazing, the heavy weight of him seated deep inside of you makes you wish you had agreed to this sooner. 

“More?” Toji huffs a laugh. “You’re just perfect, aren’t ya?” the hand on your clit sneaks lower, two girthy fingers slide inside of your neglected cunt and curl- 

“Ohhh my god-“ Toji’s hips settle in a slow, shallow pace, keeping you nice and stuffed while he fingers you with fervor—audible squelches and loud cries fill your once quiet bedroom. 

“Yeahh- you like getting your pretty little holes stuffed, huh?” the heel of his palm grinds against your clit with every single prod of his fingers to that spongy spot inside your pussy—you swear you can feel his dick rubbing against his digits through the separating wall with every thrust- 

“Gonna cum!” you squeal, body thrashing in Toji’s hold as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt builds to a peak- 

“Good fuckin’ girl-“ 

Toji had never expected his girlfriend—the one who wouldn’t even let him eat her ass a few weeks ago—would turn into such an anal slut. As of recently, that’s all you’ll ever ask him for: to be fucked in the ass while he plays with your pretty pussy. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it.

SUGURU GETO ~ SHIBARI

Suguru loves being in control—he adores seeing you on your knees, eyes wide, as you wait for him to give you a command. So safe to say you weren’t surprised when he started tying you up during sex. 

It started with just him holding your wrists, keeping you where he wanted you. Then he upgraded to handcuffs, some simple knots with silk, maybe a belt-

But nothing compares to how he has you right now. 

“Too tight, gorgeous?” he asks, tying the last of many delicately woven knots. You watch his veined hands tug at the rope intently, your slick dripping down the crevice of your ass no doubt. 

“A little.” you admit, unable to move your limbs—your legs are spread wide, knees forcibly bent from the rope that binds your calves to your thighs, heels flush to your ass. Your hands are tied to your sides, breasts framed tightly with the same rope that circles your spine and shoulders. 

It’s an art form, no denying that, but it is a little uncomfortable. You know it shouldn’t be, but Suguru enjoys leaving marks on you. 

“Good.” he purrs, walking around the bed until he’s standing next to your head. “Open up, baby.” he taps your cheek, thick cock hanging over your face with a fox-like grin plastered across his features. 

Suguru slides into your willing mouth with a groan, hungry eyes wandering over his handiwork. “You’re so beautiful like this-“ one of his hands buries in your hair while the other caresses your tied body. “Pliant and unable to squirm-“ he pinches your nipple, hard- 

“Mfmm!” you whine around his dick—Suguru is fucking your throat, holding your head still by your scalp. Electricity shoots straight down to your clit every time a groan slips past his lips, your cheeks are hollowed, desperate to please. 

“You’re so wet, gorgeous.” his hand snakes down to your cunt, collecting the obscene amount of slick and bringing it up to your clit. “I’d almost think you could- ngh- cum from me fucking your mouth alone.” Suguru laughs, grip in your hair tightening.

“Mhmm!” you try to nod but he keeps you still, hitting the back of your throat to make you gag—there’s a mix of your spit and Suguru’s pre dripping down your chin, but you can’t bring yourself to care when he finally starts rubbing your neglected clit. 

“Such a dirty girl-“ he pulls his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, using the concoction of fluids to gloss your lips. “You like being tied up, huh?” 

“Yes.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA ~ EXHIBITIONISM

The King of Curses is an avid enjoyer of your humiliation—he loves watching the embarrassed flush rise to his favorite whore’s face when he tells you to kneel in a room full of people. 

It started with you being forced to feed him fruit while he’s sat on his throne, then he made you do it naked, and now-

“Tsk- eyes on them, brat.” he tuts, one of many hands grabbing your face and forcing it forward. 

It was about that time of the year that Sukuna had people from each of the villages bring him offerings to save themselves from an inevitable slaughter—only today, he yearned to put on a show it seems. 

“Look at those scum while I take you-“ he pulls you back down on his cocks, forced so deep in your holes you swear you’ll burst. “Show them how generous I am.” an evil cackle radiates throughout the main room of the shrine, a wide crowd of eyes trained on the obscene display in front of them. 

If it weren’t for Sukuna’s prior threat of decapitation, you’re sure they all would’ve scrambled out the ornate doors over an hour ago. 

“So generous- nghh- Kuna!” your whines bounce off the walls, along with the squelching of your slick. Your legs are spread wide, draping across the armrests with your stuffed cunt and ass on full display for the unwilling audience. 

“Such a good cocksleeve aren’t you, my dear?” he croons into your ear from behind, huge arms maneuvering you up and down, down, down his monstrous dicks. It’s brutal—you’ve cum multiple times already, the evidence dripping down your ass and onto the ground beneath you. 

“Mhmm!” you nod profusely, another orgasm already worming its way into your belly. You unfortunately lock eyes with a frightened woman as your body starts to convulse—a torturous stream of squirt sprays with every pound- 

“That’s right, brat-“ Sukuna grunts, his grip on your face bruising. “Show them how good I make whores like you feel, heh-“ his many eyes roam the crowd, making sure they’re all still watching until-

Screaming.

Blood splatters across your face as someone close loses their head—an almost equally disgusting display as to what’s happening on the throne. 

“I warned them.”

(c1nnam0roll-08 / 2026)

[clinquantribbons]

“maybe i’m just destined to die alone,” if not for the alcohol, he would never say such a thing. it’s pathetic, really. his mother might’ve called it unbecoming. john mactavish, the picture of confidence, arrogance in its most potent form, with charm by the fucking boatload, sniffling over a bottle of red moscato on a saturday night—oh, how the mighty have fallen.

he licks at the bitter wine dribbling down his chin like an open wound, his head thrown back against your chest, eyes painfully dry. you don’t laugh at him, though he wouldn’t blame you if you did. no, you’re kind to him, indulgent, letting him carp about his petty heartache until you could write a soliloquy about it, gentle fingers stroking his disheveled mohawk.

“you won’t die alone, johnny.” you promise. he isn’t sure he believes it this time.

this is just one tragedy in a long, grueling string of them. first was the girl from the coffee shop, who he went on exactly four dates with last summer, before she stopped taking his calls. then there was the older woman from the bar—a cougar, kyle called her, but a lovely one—who told him he reminded her of her first husband, whatever the fuck that meant. and the paramedic from london, whom he met on leave, a real handsome man who fell into bed with his ex whilst johnny was saving the world. there were more, more than he cares to admit, but nothing ever stuck. he was too much, or not enough, or they couldn’t keep up with him, or they couldn’t bear to wait for him. always something, but never him.

“i really fuckin’ liked him, too.” he laments, as if there’s a damn thing you could do about it. there isn’t, and he knows that. still, it is nice to be heard, listened to. you always listen, even when all his tales of woe get repetitive.

this one lasted longer than most of the others did. three months, and some change. he gave johnny hope, led him to believe things were on the right track, and then broke up with him over dessert merely hours ago, just when he was rearing up to make it official. the one thing that hurt worse than the rejection was the humiliation.

“what am i doin’ wrong?”

“it’s not you,” he scoffs, and you pinch his ear in retaliation, insistent. “it’s not. you’re great, and he knew it, he’s just—he’s not like us.”

he frowns, craning his neck to stare at you, unsure if it’s his tipsiness making you so hard to understand or if you’re talking in riddles again. “huh?” he demands, somewhat dumbly, though you only smile back.

“you keep chasing civilians, suds. they don’t understand you because they’ve never seen what you have, don’t know what you do. there has to be some even ground, and you won’t find it out there, with them.”

he thinks about that for a long moment, mulling over your words as if you’ve just handed him the secret to life. he ponders all the late night scares, waking up in a cold sweat to find his partner gawking in sheer horror, all the desperate explanations of no, he wasn’t ignoring them, he was busy being shot at on the other side of the globe. all of those arguments he thought to be so juvenile, all of the judgmental friends, the buts.

you’re a good guy, johnny, but…

it’s been fun, johnny, but…

it isn’t that i don’t want this, but…

i don’t mind waiting, but…

he loves too hard, too fast, because he knows how precious, and how fragile, life is. he expects too much because he gives too much. while they seek stability, johnny’s searching for something epic. where they want permanence, he’s playing russian roulette, one foot in the grave already.

he doesn’t know how to take things slow. he isn’t made for marriage, or children, or a white picket fence, never learned how to play house. and that’s the problem—not his problem, but theirs.

“you’ve gotta look closer to home, s’all.” you soothe, pressing a light kiss to his forehead.

that, he muses, poses some problems within itself. high risk, but the reward, too, is great. theoretically.

“you offering?” he teases, to which you smack on the chest, and the knot in his belly loosens a bit, a genuine laugh spilling from his teeth for the first time all night.

“you’re better off trying your luck with the captain, pretty boy.”

“oh, so you do think i’m pretty?”

you both spend the next hour scrubbing red wine out of the common room’s couch’s cushions after you shove him to the floor, bottle still in hand, but he reckons it was worth it. his knees are aching by the time he crawls into bed, and he’ll be regretting everything by morning, but the pain in his heart is considerably less.

[cod-indulgences]

König is used to his incredible size being something that doesn't really belong to him- it's a tool to be used on military ops, it's a number on his medical chart to prompt new staff to come peer around the door at him. It's a source of stares and comments and requests to show off, to lift items and people like a wind up toy.

He's not used to it being- to him being- soft.

You curl up on his lap, in the low pile of cushions and pillows on the floor that you built when he couldn't comfortably relax on your little couch, and nuzzle into his chest, all but purring.

"You're the best pillow," you sigh, pleased, stretching out your legs. "So warm. So soft."

König basks in it, your weight on his body, a sweet armful that fits so perfectly against him, tucked into safety within his cradling limbs. He doesn't have to show off or do something spectacular, just lay here and relax, listen to the music you picked out on your phone and the rain spilling down the windows. He's not on edge or ready for impact or checking if he can fit into a vehicle, can fly on a plane, he's just- here. Present.

He ducks his chin down against your head, kisses you, twines his fingers into yours. His massive paws spread your hand out, cradle it into his palm, catch the light off the wedding ring on your finger. He has a matching one on his tags, safe from the machines and guns and violence his hands bring.

"I love you," he whispers, soft soft soft, and gets a kiss right over his heartbeat with your answer, as sweet and warm as sunshine.