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Ich, ohne Ausbildung, ohne Auto, ohne Festanstellung, ohne eigene Praxis, mit Löchern in der Hose und Nase, mit lauter Musik und mit Freunden, die alle Drogen nehmen: 😶
Ghost with demons!
TF 141 with dogs🐶
It's been a while painting full rendered pieces, enjoyed a lot!
Inspired from awesome @yourfaithfulauthor's request.
the only outlier, the lonely archetype || Simon "Ghost" Riley
pairing → Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader
summary → When Ghost wakes up, his heat already having taken hold of his body, he knows there is only one person he feels safe enough to be with during it—you. You, who isn't even aware, like the rest of the base, that he's an Omega. You, whom Simon doesn't know how to ask to stay by his side during his heat.
warnings → omegaverse, Alpha!reader, Omega!Ghost, implied SA (Ghost), heats, misunderstandings, Simon’s poor attempts at communicating his needs, soft and absolutely fluffy (hurt/) comfort, reader is a big sweetheart, no use of y/n
author's note → This was supposed to only be a short list of some random headcanons I had about Omega!Ghost, but as you can see, I got carried away a teeny tiny bit and now it's a full fic. Welp! It took me a while to finish it, but I had a lot of fun writing and really like how it turned out. I hope you also enjoy this little trip into some omegaverse and the twist in dynamics. Let me know what you think about this, every like, reblog or comment is hugely appreciated!💕 Title is from Halsey's "Darwinism".
word count → 4.3k
(I took the liberty to tag some people who were intersted in the idea: @motzglorp, @imsolotrash, @lev-reads 💖)
masterlist
No one ever suspects Simon Riley, Ghost, of having an unmistakable “O” plastered under Designation in his medical file.
Granted, just below it, there is a reference to a novel-length stack of documents at the end of his file, detailing what exactly is wrong with his body and all the things he’s missing and can’t do that are considered normal and healthy for people with his secondary gender.
He doesn’t care for it, never has, he’s glad for it actually, saved him a lot of trouble in his already messed up life. One less thing to worry about, easy to shove to the back of his mind to be forgotten there because his designation never really affected him.
Except when it does. Like it does right now.
He wakes up already feeling like absolute shit. His body arches feverishly, his head hurts like a bitch, and his vision swims when he gets up.
But the cramps that tear through his abdomen are without a doubt the worst thing. He can just resist the urge to curl up into a ball and hide under the covers when another wave hits him. Instead, he grits his teeth, reaches into his bedside table, slaps on the thick scent patches which his swollen and sore scent glands do not appreciate at all and has half a mind to swallow all of his remaining suppressants just to delay the inevitable for another few days—a week if he’s really lucky.
But he knows from experience that it would only make it worse for him later on when his biology eventually catches up with him—like it always does.
He may be what doctors describe as an atypical Omega, lacking almost all of the characteristics of a normal Omega, but the one thing he still has in common with people of he shares his designation with are the heats. For him, they are not nearly as bad as they are for the common Omega, manifesting irregularly and with weakened symptoms that he’s glad for, but they are still a nuisance, serving no biological purpose for him and his—what one doctor liked to call defective—body. He doesn’t need any kind of help during them either, not from toys and certainly not from other people.
(The thought of having another person near him during his heats, of being at their mercy in such a vulnerable and defenseless state, their hands on his body, touching and stroking his skin, is almost enough to make him physically sick, bringing back the dark memories from before. Before he became Ghost, before the mask, before—)
When he was younger, he fought his heats relentlessly, pushing his body to its limits, ignoring what his Omega, what he really needed, but coming to the same realization again and again.
In the end, his body will force the heats on him no matter what he does. He can’t escape this part of his nature—a fate, he eventually accepted, that he shares with his fellow Omegas.
So Simon takes the reasonable, not self-destructive approach to his little problem, pulls the balaclava from his bedside table over his head and marches out of his room to find Price and inform him that he won’t be of any use for the next day or two.
Leaving the Captain’s office just a few minutes later he’s on his way to the common area and mess hall to hoard enough food and drinks to get him through his heat when he sees you. You casually lean against the wall in the hallway, a smile on your lips, surrounded, like always, by people from all over the base. Medical and administrative personnel as well as soldiers stand near you, different ranks and positions, different designations, but they feel drawn to you all the same.
You just have that effect on people, making them feel welcome and comfortable around you, making friends wherever you go. From the first day you joined the base, and with that the 141, the whole base seemed to naturally gravitate towards you. Not that Simon can blame anyone for that, even someone like him—maybe especially him—can feel the magnetic pull coming from you.
You’re an Alpha, and a good one at that. You’re friendly and respectful in an environment that historically produced and rewarded the most stereotypically negative behaviors in those of your designation—many of the young Alphas that become soldiers are ruthless, aggressive, possessive and entitled without ever having to face any consequences.
You’re the opposite of that. You’re still a soldier, a scary good one at that if Simon can be the judge of that, but you’re not in the military to appease some sort of power fantasy or god complex like it’s the case with so many other people of your secondary gender. Outside of the battlefield—and more than once on it—you’re kind and compassionate, helping wherever you can, calm and considerate but always up for playful banter or a friendly competition. You seamlessly fit into their team and easily became the most popular person on base which made Simon wary as all hell about you. He knows he doesn’t trust easily, a bitter mix of his, albeit weakened, instincts as an Omega and a life’s worth of traumatic experiences will do that to someone.
But after being on the same task force with you for over a year now, experiencing your loyalty, your integrity, your kindness firsthand and directed at him too, you had him wrapped around your little finger in no time. Not that he will ever admit that to anyone—or show it.
But then he hears your voice, bright and cheerful in the bleak hallway of the base, and he just knows that with you by his side his heat would be so much more bearable. Your presence alone would soothe his restless mind and arching body (quieting his thoughts and keeping the horrible memories at bay), but with you holding him in your arms, your scent and touch the only thing on his mind, he would finally know what it feels like to be safe again.
You catch his eye from where you’re standing and wave at him, your smile seemingly brighter than just moments before and you excuse yourself from your entourage just to come over to him. He registers that you’re saying something to him—asking him why he’s missed breakfast, genuine concern for your teammate and friend, for him, tangible in your voice—but all he can think about is that you should be by his side right now, that he needs to be close to you right now, be alone with you.
Without giving you any kind of reply, he simply grabs you by the arm and starts marching back to his room with you in tow, ignoring the little noise of surprise coming from you and the jealous, angry eyes burning holes in the back of his head.
But you follow him without protest, and your little groupies know better than to cross the ghost haunting their base’s hallways.
—
When you got up this morning, you didn’t expect that this day would eventually lead to you being dragged through the hallways by Simon, one of his large hands wrapped around your upper arm while the other is balled tightly into a fist by his side. His grip on you is firm but not painful, and you don’t mind following him wherever he wants you to come with him, not bothering with questions although you can think of a few to ask him.
You ignore the wary and concerned glances from people along the way in favor of silently studying the man beside you. Trying to read Simon is a nearly impossible feat, he’s perfected the art of being an enigma, refusing to be solved, not giving away more than he intends to and rarely letting his guard down. However, over time you learned to look for the little things, subtle tells that reveal how he’s feeling, what he’s thinking, his metaphorical and quite literal mask having cracks and gaps in it from time to time that let you catch just a glimpse of the man behind it.
But right now it’s different. Right now, you can clearly see that something isn’t right, that he’s in pain and barely able to hide it from the rest of the base, much less from you. The alarmed sirens in your mind are getting louder and louder by the second and you have to fight your inherent urge to protect and care for the people closest to you, no matter their designation, because you're very aware that Simon would bite your head off if you were to stop and confront him in the middle of the hallway. So you have no choice but to endure your internal battle of instinct versus good sense, endure the Alpha part of yourself clawing anxiously at the bars of the cage you have it currently locked behind, restless concern making your fingers itch to reach out, but you resist.
That is until Simon all but drags you into his room, kicks the door shut behind him and wordlessly turns to you. You don’t resist the urge to soften your scent then, hoping to offer him some kind of comfort, and the effect it has on him is immediate. There is no disdain about it in what little you can discern of his expression, no aggression or insult, just… relief. Appreciation. And even in their weariness his brown eyes are softer than you've ever seen them before as he watches you without offering any kind of explanation about this spontaneous kidnapping of yours.
You're just about to ask him about it, a soft questioning noise rising in your throat when it happens.
It's nothing more than a little shift in his posture, a barely perceivable wince, a fluttering of his fair eyelashes, but something about it makes the little hairs at the back of your neck stand up, the instinct to protect, to care for, to provide for so sudden and powerful that you almost forget yourself and step right into his personal space, maybe even do something stupid like reach out and gently hold his face in your hands before guiding him down to your level so you so you can softly purr at him and scent him thoroughly.
You have to physically snap yourself out of your daze, quickly shaking your head, so you don't actually give in to this overbearing urge of yours. You're usually not the type of Alpha to just force your designation and the instincts that go hand to hand with it onto other people just like that, too considerate of these little things called personal space and boundaries (unlike some other specimen who share your secondary gender…), but somehow Simon has always been the only outlier, the one person triggering your Alpha more than anyone else you've ever met before, for reasons completely incomprehensible to you.
Only now that instinct is multiplied tenfold.
"What is going on, Simon?" you ask gently without moving from your spot by his door, your voice barely hiding the concern you feel for him, the restlessness of the Alpha part of yourself.
Simon's eyes close for a moment, his strong chest heaving with a heavy exhale as if bracing for something, before he explains, his usually unwavering voice now quieter than you've ever heard it before,
"My heat started today."
His… heat?
His heat?
His heat?
Your mouth twists into the shape of a disbelieving laugh before you can stop yourself, but no sound comes out. Because you don't actually want to laugh, you really don't, Simon sounding so heartbreakingly genuine that laughing at him feels like the greatest betrayal. But you simply can't reconcile the implications of his statement with what you believed to be true about Simon Riley, Ghost, since meeting him a little over a year ago just yet.
Because this would mean he's not an Alpha as you and the rest of the 141—like you had assumed without questioning it even once—but an Omega.
Simon seems to sense the spiraling existential crisis his words have thrown you into, probably even having anticipated your reaction, because he doesn't waste any breath on some long-winded clarifications or appeals for you to believe him.
Instead, he simply lifts his hands to the juncture where his wide shoulders meet his neck and removes his scent patches without ceremony, the white plasters half-hidden underneath the balaclava. You blink in bewilderment as Simon balls the patches up in one strong fist, his brown eyes flitting away from yours to fix some arbitrary point to his right, the moment hanging between the two of you in suspense.
And then your senses are invaded by it—his scent.
It's so unexpected and overwhelming that you physically stumble a step back, your back meeting the closed door of his room with a soft thud as you try—and fail—to regain your composure. His pheromones clearly communicate Omega in heat to the baser parts of your brain that are immediately intrigued, but his scent itself is unlike anything you have ever smelled before. Not the sticky-sweet smell that is stereotypically associated with Omegas, especially during their heat, nor the softer notes of flowers or fruit or the ground after a rainstorm that many of his secondary gender carry underneath their own unique scents.
It's just so completely Simon, strong and heady, carrying notes of smoke and how you remember the forest you used to explore as a kid smelled like, potent enough that you can practically taste him on your tongue.
You're dimly aware of your own pulse roaring in your ears and your heart pounding almost painfully against your ribs, aware of how ridiculously wide your pupils must be blown and the familiar heat pooling low in your stomach.
But you're not in the habit of letting the simpleminded and primitive Alpha part of your brain decide your actions for you—even though its idea of dealing with the situation at hand is as obvious as it is appealing, if you're being completely honest—having prided yourself with being better, more sophisticated than that your whole life, so you harshly force these instincts down and try to clear your head as best as you can given the circumstances.
When you eventually find your voice again it's scratchy, a little breathless even, but you force the words out nonetheless, your lingering confusion clear in them.
"Then—I don't—What am I doing here, Simon?"
His eyes return to yours, and now you can see the haze of his heat in them, notice the quick rise and fall of his chest, the slight hunch in his posture, and suddenly all of it makes perfect sense—except for the answer to the question you just posed.
Because surely Simon isn't actually thinking about what your inner Alpha is obviously itching for, right?
You're teammates after all, and while you have gotten the impression that Simon has warmed up to you over the last few months, that's all there is to it, right?
Simon Riley isn't actually propositioning that you to help him through his heat at this very moment, right?
"Stay with me during my heat."
The words register in your mind with the subtle ferocity of an airstrike. But before the shock of his request can even fully fade, you decisively, but not unkindly, reply, "Simon, I can't do that."
Your voice is firm, much firmer than you currently feel like on the inside, his demand having completely blindsided you, its implications too confusing for you to untangle at this very moment. And while you can't deny that you're deeply flattered by the fact that Simon has specifically sought you out for something as intimate and private as sharing his heat with him—especially since you're certain the rest of the base simply assumed he's an Alpha, like you have until a few moments ago—you simply can't comply with his request.
"Simon, I feel incredibly honored you feel comfortable enough to ask me for help with something like this, I really do," you begin gently as you push yourself away from the door, your expression open and your eyes regarding him with nothing but kindness as you continue speaking, "but I really don't feel comfortable with that. Not only because we're on the same team, but I don't want to spend someone's heat or rut with them unless I'm already in a relationship with them. I'm sorry, but I hope you can understand that."
You smile softly at Simon even as the look in his eyes remains unreadable to you. The last thing you want is to insult the man in front of you or hurt his feelings in any way, but what he's asking of you is a boundary of yours you're simply unwilling to adjust for anyone.
"I really think I should go now, Simon. But if you want me to, I can bring food and drinks to your door for the next few days, maybe even scent a shirt or something for you if that would make your heat a little easier."
You wait for any kind of reaction from your teammate for a few moments longer, acutely aware of the sudden shift in his scent your words have caused, turning almost unbearably unpleasant. It has every primal instinct you possess screaming at you to comfort the distressed Omega in front of you and to take care of him exactly like he asked you to, but you ignore them resolutely.
You give Simon a final nod, a placating smile still on your face as you turn towards the door of his room, telling him he's more than welcome to text you if he needs anything during these next few days—blankets, medicine, you name it—and you'll do your best to get it to him as fast as possible.
But just as your hand wraps around the door handle, a growl of frustration and irritation sounds behind you, and before you can even fully grasp what is happening, a large hand wraps around your upper arm and lugs you away from the door and further into the room, before all but forcing you down on his bed, Simon's strength outmatching your own considerably. The soldier as well as the Alpha in you decidedly don't appreciate being ambushed and handled like this, and an angry noise rises in your throat, ready to give Simon a piece of your mind about personal space and respecting others' boundaries especially when in heat.
But you never make it this far, the air leaving your lungs in a wheezing exhale as Simon traps you in a desperate embrace, the force of it crushing your ribs almost painfully, pressing your front to his so your face smushes against his solid chest, even going as far as throwing a meaty leg over yours to pull every part of yours flush against his body.
For a moment, you're too stunned to do anything but lie there in your teammate's clutch, feeling the feverish heat of his skin seeping into your own even through the layers of fabric separating the two of you, the frantic rhythm of his heart where your cheek is pressed into his chest, the tremor seizing his whole body in endless waves as his heat mercilessly burns in his system.
You take a breath as deep as his forceful hold on you allows, forcing yourself to relax, but his already strong scent is even richer and much more dangerous this close to him, all but short-circuiting your entire higher brain functions for a few seconds. And then his voice, breathy and trembling, and right by your ear, registers in your mind, sounding more vulnerable and broken than you've ever heard him before, even the time when you were hit by an enemy explosion and the rest of your team thought they had lost you.
"Stay with me, please."
He has to swallow around a low whine as a cramp tears through his body, the sound piercing right through your chest and splitting your heart cleanly in two, prompting a soothing little purr from you despite yourself.
Simon relaxes his hold on you just slightly, absentmindedly nuzzling his face into your hair before continuing, "Don't want anything more than this, I promise. Just need you to stay close to me."
He sounds as desperate as he sounds sincere, which eases your displeasure about how he handled this situation, handled you, somewhat, and with a considerate hum you turn his words over in your head, unsure if you really should be—and want to be—with Simon during his heat, even if it really means simply staying by his side without anything physically intimate happening between the two of you.
Ultimately, the answer is completely uncomplicated for you—maybe even instinctual.
You gently wiggle out of Simon's tight embrace, eliciting a heart-wrenching whimper from him in the process, which hits you like a physical blow, releasing his hold on you with his arms falling limply away from your body, immediately curling into himself.
But you don't give him a chance to retreat too far into himself, quickly rearranging your position next to Simon until you're the one holding him securely in your arms, tucking his head under your chin where your own scent is strongest, one hand resting on his back between his shoulder blades while the other is at the back of his neck, your fingers carefully slipping underneath his balaclava to caress his burning skin and the soft hairs you find there.
Simon's whole body tenses against yours for a moment before he all but melts in your hold, a relieved sigh escaping him as he presses impossibly closer to you, his covered nose bumping against your neck. Only for an unsatisfied growl startling you not even a minute after the two of you started to settle in this new position and dynamic.
Before you can ask what is bothering him, Simon wordlessly lifts one of his large hands to his head and pulls off his mask, throwing it carelessly into a corner of his room while resuming his previous spot tucked against you. Like this, his breath is fanning against the sensitive skin of your neck, tickling you with every exhale and you fight a little squeak at the sensation. But you're immediately distracted when you feel his nose softly brushing against your scent glands, your body reacting with pleasant goosebumps rolling down your arms, and you tighten your hold on him without thinking.
Simon foregoing his mask in your presence is not a novelty anymore, so you don't feel the urge to crane your neck just to get a good glimpse of his bare face because you know what he looks like. Know that the bridge of his nose is crooked and bumpy like it has been broken multiple times in the past and never healed probably, know the cut in his upper lip where a little piece of it is missing and the other bigger or smaller scars decorating his pale skin. But it's rare enough that you still feel honored to see him this unguarded, to be trusted like this by him, especially now during his heat, to be sought out specifically when he's at his most vulnerable which makes this feel even more intimate and profound.
The hand caressing his neck slides to the back of his head, fingers threading through the soft strands of hair to gently scratch his scalp, holding him closely against you without being restrictive, simply encouraging him to stay exactly where he is.
Not that Simon shows any inclination to move away from you anytime soon, his scent, now mingling with yours and creating something new and unique, something only belonging to the two of you, communicates clearly how content he is at the moment, even despite his heat.
Still, you need to confirm that this is really what he wants, that you're not making him uncomfortable in any way, so you quietly speak up, not wanting to disturb this intimate calm just settling around the two of you too much, your lips brushing against his temple with every word, "Is this okay, Simon?"
You feel Simon nod against you, and before you can tell him you need to hear him say it, he does so, his voice subdued by exhaustion and emotion, but no less sincere, "It is."
He pauses, his next words even quieter, apprehension and regret clear in his tone, "If it's okay for you too. 'm sorry for just grabbing you like that, didn't know how to say it otherwise."
You chuckle in sympathy and, without thinking, press a feather-light kiss to his temple in reassurance.
"It's alright, really. If that's all you need right now, I'm happy to stay with you, Simon."
"It is," he mumbles again, his voice sounding as if he's only moments away from falling asleep, right in your embrace, and you can't stop the rush of pride surging through you, your inner Alpha preening itself on being trusted enough by this reserved Omega to be his safe place during his heat, to be the one person he turned to and wanted to be close to.
You feel your own body relax more and more into Simon's mattress, absentmindedly nuzzling against him, scenting him thoroughly which elicits a purr of appreciation from him, a deep and rumbling sound that resonates in your own chest with how closely he's pressed against you.
"I'm not going anywhere until your heat is over, I promise you, Omega. Gonna take care of you the whole time, yeah?" you hear yourself mumble, a little drunk on Simon's scent now, your own eyelids heavy and dangerously close to falling shut.
"You're safe with me."
And Simon, held in your embrace, believes you.
Thank you so much for reading <3 Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!
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