“I Was Good, I Was Really Good”

Mostly mw stuff, aka Soap stuff +18

[dragon-in-a-fez]

if I see one more "why age verification is bad" post that doesn't even bother to mention that locking young people out of huge sections of the public sphere - literally the stated goal and primary impact of this shit - is wrong in and of itself I will simply start hitting people with bricks

[rars]

saying this as a lesbian who loves women's boobs--sexually, even! but i don't think that we as a society should consider breasts inherently female or inherently sexual. a flat chest should not be seen as the "default" for gender neutrality but instead just one way a person can present. boobs should be normal. anyone of any gender can have boobs

[pondsloki]

@/warhorse, please be so kind and add a quest where you just simply have to spend time with sir radzig in the kcd3.

I honestly don’t care what it’s about as long as I get some new interaction with him, like radzig is normally always sending him away to do some errands and even henry said he isn’t sure if he still has a family or not (his dad isn’t talking family matters to him, that poor lad)

(I can’t remember if he said smt about still haven’t a family but after completely finishing kcd2 there’s something in the final quest log that says that he isn’t sure where he stands with him or smt like that)

[harbours-lighthouse]

KEEPING VIGIL

Jason Todd, who sleeps with his face pressed to the curve of your spine, who listens to the quiet sounds coming from your phone.

Jason Todd, who can't stop the love that cinches his chest tight when your back shakes with a stifled giggle.

What's makin' you laugh, baby?

Jason Todd, who rubs his thumb across your stomach when you sniffle, the muted light of your phone trickling into his hazy vision.

What's makin' you sad, with that big heart of yours?

Jason Todd, who falls asleep knowing that you keep vigil, that your heartbeat sits in front of his.

[gayvampyr]

it really pisses me off when adults sit there and drill it into kids’ heads that their youth is fleeting and tell them things like “enjoy your childhood while it lasts because this is the best it’s gonna get”. why are you telling children that adulthood is the worst thing they can experience? seriously what the fuck is wrong with you, why are you trying to make them feel like growing up is a fate worse than death? trying to convince them their life is over before it even begins? i’m tired of that shit. because tell my why my 12 year old cousin told me when she turns 30 she’ll be so depressed she’s just gonna cry all the time. what the fuck. kids don’t need to hear that their already stressful and overwhelming lives are never going to get better, that the abuse and lack of autonomy they face is apparently the highlight of their lives. they need to hear about adults who are happy to be alive and happy to have made it to their age. they need to know that growing up rules, it’s a gift and life does not have to suck for them, that they have a future that’s worth sticking around for. this rhetoric is so damaging mentally and i’m about to start hitting the adults who parrot it. i’m sorry you hate your life but you don’t get to dump your issues on these kids. don’t piss me off and leave these babies alone!

[probablydeadbynowdotcom]

sry for adding to this but when I was a teenager everyone told me how cool highschool is and how its the best days of your life and shit like that. now i’m an adult and see so many oder people acknowledge that highschool fucking sucks. like the fuck??

[what-even-is-thiss]

Whole wheat toast with butter and honey is where inner peace is stored I think

[unadulteratedvoidtragedy]

Simon Riley is very much like a stray dog

cw: yandere Ghost towards the end

The first time you meet him after moving in the apartment next to him he barely acknowledges your existence, only stopping for a moment, looking you up and down and then moving on, apparently having decided that you weren't a threat.

Bringing him a tray of homemade muffins has him looking at you suspiciously and only after sniffing them does he finally eat one. The only thanks you get is a half-pleasant sounding grunt between mouthfulls of muffins, he even picks up the crumbs.

After that you bring him cookies and a caraf of lemonade because last time he was almost choking with how fast he inhaled the food. It happens the same with the cookies, shoving handfulls of them into his mouth and then washing it down with lemonade, downing the entire thing in a few gulps.

Maybe it's your soft side acting up, but you get it into your head that poor Simon must be starving so you decide to keep feeding him. You learned his name after the fourth time bringing him food and sometimes when you're cooking something and hear his door open, you just pop your head out in the hallway and call him to taste test.

The first few times he entered your apartment he was a little apprehensive, refusing to sit down and keeping an eye on the door. Now he comes and goes during all the hours of the day, murmuring about having smelt something good. Sitting on your couch with a plate on his lap and eating contentedly while watching one of your favourite shows, staying longer and closer to you with each visit.

It's unfortunate that you left on vacation a day before he returned from a long deployment. Imagine your surprise when you come back late at night, exhausted after the long flight and plop onto your bed without turning on the lights. It's only after your eyes get used to the dark that you finally notice a dark shape at the end of the bed, his face obstructed, but the hunger in his eyes unmistakeable.

It's your fault really. Don't you know not to feed strays? They always come back for more.

[troublepunk-ldn]

me as a teenager: man it sucks to have no privacy or autonomy but i guess its for a good reason. when i turn 18 i will realise how young i was and understand why they did all that.

me as an adult: teenagers are an oppressed class, their abuse is normalised and systemic and they need to start killing people

[whitelacedribbons]

I just want you to write more about ghost and the reader he makes laugh. Those were funny and good.

I’m glad you found them funny ❣️ here’s some more !!

cw: none, English it’s my first language !

—————

It’s a mission abroad when he cracks yet another stupid joke.

You don’t remember if it was in Russia or Greenland, but what you do remember is the freezing cold.

It gnaws at you through each layer of fabric, settling deep into bone, Fingers turn pale purple around the sniper.

You flex your fingers one at a time, trying to regain a peck of heat back but they only twitch and ache in protest. muscle spams underneath the weather as you settle behind the scope, shifting your weight every now and then before the numbness locks into your joints, and wins.

Nothing helps, not the clothes, not the thermals. Not even the calculated breathing.

Seeking warmth.. you press on the comms.

“Lt..” breath condenses into a cloud of tiny crystals.

“speak to me” shameless.

Silence follows.

“A joke” you plead, voice barely above a whisper.

Like a moth to a flame, he obliges.

“What do you call a sleeping bull..?” Static hisses through the cold as he awaits your voice again.

“..hmmm..”

“I don’t know Lt.” despite yourself, a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. Cheeks flush pink beneath the cold weather, and for the first time in days, the bitter bite of the wind doesn’t seem to relentless now.

“Bulldozer.” The punchline is followed by silence, then shortly the unmistakable sound of your breathless giggles.

“Want another luv?” Hopeful and pleased with himself.

“Got nowhere else to be Lt..”

The mission was never what made him feel accomplished. It was the rare notes of your laughter carried by the wind and static. Proving once again he managed to steal a smile, he can make you laugh. That little by little, he can get you addicted just like he is to you.

"That wisnae funny." the Scot breaths back to life through his comms.

“Bitter cold, Sergeant”

[whitelacedribbons]

Taffy & Glue. part 2

A big kiss to @sheepispink for making me write a continuation for this fic , I had fun !! it was rushed ofc so forgive me for any mistakes.

part 3

cw: none just Simon being utterly adorable w reader. English isn’t my first language :)

———

It’s cute.

His presence, a shadow of demise, commands respect followed with genuine looks of fear. Everyone is terrified to fall short of any order he barks, the requests he makes, the questions he asks.

Yet somehow that’s all out the window when the sweet sound of your giggles turns the Skull Wearer into putty. Your voice taffy stuck to his teeth, stubbornly sweet, impossible to shake. he rolls the sound around, tasting it, salivating at its notes, craving it.

It intoxicates him, it thrills him, he seeks it like seeking god after tragedy, water for thirst, forgiveness for sin.

Greedy, he finds himself praying for another day to come- another joke to crack.

The sound of your voice.

———

“Lieutenant.. you’re so silly” cheeks aching, teeth on display flashing him between cackles.

The result of another dark joy. May god save him.

“Tha’ right?” the mask fails to hide his grin.

“Mhm… so silly” breathless.

silly would get a recruit pushing hundred underneath the torching sun, a terrorist tortured for the fun of it. But when it comes out of your mouth, it’s truth in scripture, sun after dark, he’s the silliest man alive.

“what can I say luv, It’s a gift.”

“Tell me another..” voice low, shyly looking up at your lieutenant, eager for more of his attention, courage ignite within, you take a step closer.

His jokes never made sense, they’re hardly funny— borderline scary but you don’t care. It’s the gravel in his voice, the lazy flutter of his lashes, the warm rumble of his chuckle that makes you flush despite effort.

Pondering, his eyes stare at the bright moon deep in thought, he taps the rifle underneath his gloved carpals, in search of another-

“are ya made out’ of glue?”

“no.. why?”

“Cause I'm stuck on you”

That earns another laugh.

“So silly..”

“whatever you say luv”

stuck to you like an ant in honey, a fly tangled in webs, he knows rescue is impossible when he frantically ravages the corners of his mind, desperate to find yet another joke.

Stuck to the sound of your voice.

[unadulteratedvoidtragedy]

Ghost accidentally becoming your boyfriend

It happened only one time and now here you are. Having gotten tired of your sweet, yet very nosy and persistent neighbor that kept trying to pair you up with one of her sons, trying to stage "accidental" meetings and always inviting you for dinner, one day you just had enough. So when she stops you again outside, gushing about her lawyer son and how cute the two of you would look together, you politely tell her you have a boyfriend. At first she doesn't believe it and asks to see a picture of him so you pull out the photo you secretly took of a slightly drunk Ghost, head slumped over your shoulder and his mask halfway off.

The picture has the desired effect, the image of that behemoth of a man whose biceps don't even fit into frame and mean look on his face are enough to make anyone back off. The problem is that news travel fast in small towns and now somehow everybody and their mother knows about your military boyfriend and can't wait to see him around.

Because fate has a twisted kind of humour, your lieutenant ends up temporarily living in your home after his apartment gets flooded. You only made the offer because he saved your ass during the last mission, not expecting him to actually accept it. And it's just your luck that the same neighbor happens to see him was spying through the blinds and decides to say hello and how good is to finally meet him.

It's just your luck that Ghost's taciturn demeanour cuts the conversation short, but the look he gives you is not encouraging. You try explaining the situation to him, apologizing every three seconds until he finally stops you and tells you that he's willing to pretend to be your boyfriend until his apartment gets fixed. You're so happy and thankful that don't even notice when he steps out on the balcony to make a call and break the lease for his old apartment, already planning to move the rest of his meager possessions here.

Ghost that gets very comfortable into his role as your fake boyfriend and maybe leans a bit too much into it under the pretense of "having to sell the picture". Suddenly he calls you "luvie", getting a special kind of satisfaction from seeing your embarassed expression when he does it that around other people. He pulls you into his lap while on a picnic, a hand on the small of your back when walking down the stree, even stealing a kiss or two after asking for permission of course.

You're not safe even inside your own home, finding Ghost only in a pair of boxers with a beer in his hand while watching a game on TV. The little patting motion he does on the spot next to him having your body moving on its own. It's him getting out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around him, watching that one drop of water falling down his neck, over his Adam's apple and then down his chest. He watches you back with a smirk curling on his lips. He sits too close behind you while looking for something in the upper cupboard, his body pressing flatly against yours, staying there for a moment too long to be accidental. It's only when the contact is over that you finally remember how to breath properly.

Ghost that enjoys teasing you so much, had his eyes on you for a while now and couldn't believe his luck when the opportunity to insert himself into your life came from you. He wonders just how much he can get away with and how much longer will it be until you'll let him be your boyfriend for real.

[x-blue-belle-x]

Not my original idea, but I’ve had this brain worm wriggling in my head for days and I need to get it out.

An AU where reader has magic healing hands. The one drawback is: for everything you heal, you yourself take on the bodily damage and have to take time to recover. Self inflicted damage and recovery time is dependent upon how severe the subjects injury is. (Doesn’t have to be a 1:1 injury transfer, was thinking more along the lines of temporary body deterioration due to the amount of energy it takes for you to heal someone.)

One can only imagine how you handle serving alongside the TF141: the most injury prone group of men out there. From broken bones to burn wounds to shrapnel tearing through flesh- you’re there with your healing hands to patch them back up better than new.

The boys take good care of you too, of course- they practically owe their lives to the person who takes their pain and willingly endures it themselves. They take turns watching over you when you need time to recover. Late nights of sitting in one or the others lap as they cradle you close against their warm chest in whatever filthy, freezing safe house you’ve landed in - hand feeding you water and rations when you’re too weak and pained to move.

Then, on a mission gone wrong, Soap goes and gets himself shot in the head.

It was fast, so quick it almost didn’t seem real. Not until Soap slumped inertly onto the concrete under him. Until you caught sight of the pool of scarlet around his head and the acrid tang of copper hit your nose. Until you dropped to your knees on the ground beside him, the warm viscous liquid splattering against your tactical gear, soaking into the fabric of your pants, staining the skin of your quivering hands.

You’ve never healed an injury this severe before, never brought anyone back from the dead. Hell, you don’t even know if you can. But god damn it, you’re not going to sit here and not at least try.

So you press your gore drenched hands on either side of Soaps temples and let his pain tear through you, each of your nerve endings burning under your skin as you use all your energy to try reversing and absorbing death itself. Kneeling on the cold dirty floor, you grip Soaps skull till your knuckles blanch. A blood curdling scream rips through you, echoing loudly off the metal ceiling, as your body writhes above him in agony. Tears flow down your face, off your chin, splattering in wet patches on the cooling skin of Soaps lifeless visage.

The others surround you, frozen in place and unable to do anything other than watch in abject horror as your body contorts and you let out inhumanly guttural noises. Your knees dig into the ground on either side of Soaps head, losing purchase against the wet floor and widening your stance as you curl inwards, nearly in the fetal position above him. You press down as hard as you’re physically able to, making sure to keep your hands on him even as your vision starts to blacken around the edges.

You’ve never felt a pain like this before -this intense, this all encompassing- but you can’t let go. Won’t let go. Not even after you hear the bullet fall with a metallic clink on the concrete next to his bloodied scalp. Not even after you feel the skin around the wound close under your fingertips as if it was never even there.

Not until Soap wraps his warm calloused fingers around your unyielding wrists and rips them off of his head himself, finally coming to to the sounds of your hauntingly agonized cries above him.

As soon as the connection is broken, you collapse -lifeless and no longer breathing- onto the floor next to him.

The others quickly spring into action. Gaz goes to examine Soap -his trembling body swallowing deep, frantic gasps of air into aching lungs where he lies on the floor- as Price and Ghost huddle around you. Ghost reaches down, pressing the rough pads of his fingertips to your throat to search for a pulse, and immediately starts to perform CPR when he finds there isn’t one.

Even now, none of the men who were present that day are able to explain what happened. Each simply thank god for the gift -the absolute miracle- they were given.

After fifteen minutes- fifteen excruciating minutes of you lying cold and dead on the floor, of your heart refusing to beat, of Ghost relentlessly -desperately- pushing against your lifeless body, of the other men watching helplessly, slowly starting to lose hope- you sputter in a loud stuttering breath and grab Ghosts wrists in an attempt to stop him.

Your vision is blurred when you wake up, a hazy filter over your senses as you try to make out your surroundings. All you see are two dark indistinguishable figures against a bright, nearly blinding backdrop. A loud ringing in your ears drowns out Ghosts words as he lifts you into his arms and tries to get you to focus on him. The dull tingle under your skin numbs the feeling of his hand smacking your cheek, a futile attempt to keep your drooping eyelids open. Your vision fades to black once more as you pass out, your body limply falling into Ghosts, but this time when his fingers search frantically for a pulse it’s there. Weak and faint, but there.

Price carries you back to the heli, your unconscious body flaccid as his strong arms hold you protectively against himself. Ghost and Gaz follow close behind, each under one of Soaps arms to help carry him back to the extraction point

Doctors are on you as soon as you make it back to base. They hook you up to machines, to IV lines, pumping things into your bloodstream and monitoring you closely to make sure you don’t crash and die a second time.

When you finally wake up you find yourself lying on a cot in a dimly lit hospital room, hooked up to machines that beep gently in the quiet space. The sky behind the window is dark, the moon shining full and bright above you. You can’t be sure what it is - maybe it’s the fact that you died, that Soap died, that you looked up at an identical expanse of stars not 24 hours prior to this moment and thought nothing of it, completely taking the peace and serenity of what was almost your final night alive for granted- but the sight is so beautiful that oncoming tears sting your weary eyes.

Soap is there, hunched over in a plastic chair that’s much too small for his large frame, at the side of your bed. Your hand is gripped between his, has been for hours now, and he presses it against his balmy forehead as he mumbles prayers to some god he had lost hope in a long time ago. You hear the sound of his breath catching before his head snaps to look at you, the feeling of you moving in his tender grasp startling him. The knee that had been bouncing erratically stills. When your eyes meet his, you notice they’re red rimmed, bloodshot, and glassy with tears. Mohawk mussed from him gripping tightly at the strands.

Wordlessly, he stands up, letting go of your hand in favor of taking your face in both of his. His usually bright blue eyes are now muted, glittering with lingering tears as the moonlight filters in through the window, and he leans in to kiss you. The softness of it belies the deep desperation within him. There’s so much emotion behind the gentle press of his lips against yours. It’s gratitude, reverence. Despair, an apology. It’s searching, seeking, questioning whether you’re really here, whether he’s really here, whether the two of you are really alive after everything.

His fingers slide across your neck, down your arms, one finding the small of your back and the other nestling between your shoulder blades. Your body still tingles with static numbness, his caress unfelt by blunted nerve endings, but the heat of his hands bleeds deeply beneath your skin - warming wherever he touches down to the bone. He pulls you up and against him, squeezing as tightly as his weakened muscles will allow.

Your trembling fingers find themselves twisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, closer. A deep seated need to feel his heartbeat against your own, to feel the warmth of his body, to feel the life within him. To try and absorb his life into yourself and prove to your broken spent body that you’re still alive too.

You tangle leaden fingers through his hair as the kiss deepens, force your loose jaw to move in tandem with his. It’s all a frenzy of wet tongues, clashing teeth and hands that grasp onto one another as if the other could disappear at any moment.

And maybe either of you could.

It was so sudden the first time. Finished before the surprised shriek that exploded in your chest could escape past your lips. The firing of the gun, the drop of his body onto the hard floor in front of you, his blood that spread from the hole in his head to the soles of your boots and stained your hands in sticky crimson.

Your eyes sting with tears as you start to bawl against him. You break away from the kiss and let your head fall into the crook of his neck, pressing your ear against his pulse point just to hear the blood rushing through his veins. Alive. He moves his hand to cradle the back of your neck and clutches you impossibly closer, breathing life back into your body with his touch. Alive. His sobs wrack against you as you cling to him -the world dwindling down to just the two of you as you grasp onto one another tightly, letting the tremors of each other’s bodies prove to each of you that you’re both still here. Alive.

“You died.” The words come out as a breathless sob, coarse and gravelly from emotion and the strain caused by your earlier cries. “you were dead.”

“Aye, I ken.”

It takes a great effort for him to speak, his voice watery and fractured as he mutters each syllable into the quiet of the room. He crushes his wobbling lips to the skin of your temple in an attempt to ground himself, his tears dampening your skin as he burrows his head into you.

“I ken. Ye died bringin’ me back tae life”

Soap slides into the cot next to you, carefully maneuvering himself around the cords and tubes, and you two hold each other for the rest of the night. Your bodies meld together, your head resting on his solid chest, arms and legs tangled under the flimsy hospital blanket. There’s no use in trying to fall asleep, both of you too terrified that the other might fade away if you shut your eyes for more than a moment. Instead you lay there, listening to one another’s steady heart beats, focusing on the feeling of the other’s chest moving as you breathe -as if doing so is the only thing keeping either of you from slipping away again.

You lie together in silence, staring into nothingness, anchoring one another to your fragile reality.

[gonzills]

Johnny MacTavish Oneshot

Was doing my laundry when "The Alchemy" by TS came on and this stupid little scene played out in my head and I'm sorry its probably shite but oh well I had to write it down. It's only been proof read once and I probably wont be going back over it but idk...enjoy if you'd like to!

We need more Johnny content in this fandom please I'm starved for it <3

No warnings just fluff :))))

Masterlist

-

Being Laswell’s secretary had its perks. The pay was great, you got to travel all the damn time, you met the most interesting people on a day-to-day basis, your pension was stacking like crazy, and the blue-eyed, charismatic Scotsman you so often encountered was definitely a highlight.

Laswell had recruited you straight from college as her lead data analyst, who also assisted her with all the paperwork that came with the CIA and the other important task forces she was set to oversee. Task Force 141 was a… special unit. A lot of the time, when their mission reports fell on your desk, she would give you that look. The one that meant make this disappear.

You never questioned her. You knew deep down that Kate was a good person, and this task force only served to make the world a safer place. Just from the looks of them, which thankfully you got to see often, they were all clearly very specialized. It was enough to make anyone a little nervous around them. 

The first time you met them was after what they called a “basic hostage grab.” Hearing the story on the helicopter ride back to base, you realized there was nothing “basic” about the mission. Shots were fired, the one called “Gaz” was injured, and apparently bombs were going off… the handiwork of none other than Johnny.

Johnny took an interest in you immediately after Kate introduced you to the task force. He wasn't shy about the way his eyes tracked over your figure, making you subtly self-conscious about the outfit you had decided to wear that day. It wasn't your fault Kate didn't tell you they were hopping on a helicopter at 0700 hours. Thank God you packed a longer jacket.

After the brief introduction, Kate had sidestepped over to board the helicopter with Price, and the rest of the men followed suit. Johnny took up the rear, waiting for you with an outstretched hand to help you onto the chopper.

“Easy there, bonnie.”

You took his hand, looking down at the little step before he helped hoist you up. You were capable of doing so yourself, but you couldn't hide the small blush that crept up your face and lingered over your cheeks. Johnny definitely didn't miss it either as he sat right in front of you.

That first flight with 141 lived rent-free in your memory. Those blue eyes tracking over your legs, the way his hand felt in yours. You were done for the minute you laid eyes on him.

Now, here he was leaning over your desk months later, shamelessly flirting with you.

“I’m just saying, lass, the pubs are way better than the shite they have here. Just let me take you out one time, aye?”

You hated that you couldn't hide your smile from him, the flush and heat that always bloomed across your cheeks whenever he talked to you.

“Johnny, I don’t know… we technically work together. I'm sure there’s rules against that.”

“Bonnie, we don't follow the rules. You should ken that by now.”

His advances and compliments toward you never ceased. Every time he was on base, he would bring you things. Coffee in the morning after he'd asked for your order the second he saw one sitting on your desk, small compliments in sticky-note form left behind for you, he was a sucker for making you blush.

And don't even get him started when he spotted another lad trying to play his cards with you. Oh, the poor thing never stood a chance.

Johnny would make himself known in those moments, sometimes what felt like appearing out of thin air, all broad shoulders and pretty blue eyes and that charming grin that made every sensible thought fall straight out of your head. He'd come up beside you like he had every right to be there, arm brushing yours, voice low and teasing as he cut into whatever conversation you were having. Then, conveniently, that same lad would find himself shipped off to some other part of the world twenty-four hours later.

You didn't want to admit it, but Johnny had definitely wrangled his way into your heart.

The realization came sudden and sharp when he told you it was his turn for a solo op. The dread that curled into your stomach was so unexpected because… well, because this was his job. He'd done this countless times before. Fuck, you would know. You were the one filing away his reports and turning a blind eye to the others. So why was it that this time you were so… worried?

“You'll miss me, right, bonnie?” he had asked, leaning against your desk like he wasn't about to walk out the door and leave you sick with nerves for the next two weeks. “I'll make it back in one piece, just for you, lass.”

He'd said it with a wink and a quick, strong arm thrown around your shoulders, earning many… many confused and cheeky stares from the other lads.

And those two weeks felt like two years.

The others tried to help. Kyle was the most reassuring, always catching the panic before it spilled completely across your face.

“Don't worry,” he told you one afternoon, his voice steady in a way yours couldn't seem to be. “Soap knows what he's doing.”

“But he's alone out there,” you said, unable to stop the worry from slipping through your words. Real professional. Why couldn't you get a grip? “What if something happens?”

“Johnny's good at taking care of himself,” Kyle said gently. “One of the best. That's why he's with us, remember?”

Yeah. You knew that. Of course you knew that. But it didn't help the sleepless nights you spent worrying over him.

It wasn't until you were standing next to Laswell, waiting for the helicopter to land in the open field, that you realized just how bad it had gotten. Her reassurance that everything went fine meant nothing to you. It carried no weight. Not until you saw him again.

Finally, you heard the chopper blades. Then you felt the wind pick up around you, whipping at your jacket and pulling loose strands of hair across your face, and finally… finally, the helicopter came into view and touched down in front of you.

Laswell and the rest of the 141 stood near you, waiting for Johnny to exit the chopper. You don't know what came over you. The second the door slid open and Johnny jumped out, your feet had a mind of their own. Walking turned into jogging, then jogging turned into running, and Johnny must have seen you because suddenly he was moving too, matching your pace with that stupid, beautiful grin already spreading across his face.

You couldn't help yourself.

You ran straight into him, jumping slightly as your arms wrapped around his neck, squeezing him tightly and not caring how dirty or sweaty or smoke-stained he was. He was here. He was in one piece again, and Goddamn it, fucking Johnny MacTavish had done this to you, and there was no going back now.

“I told you you'd miss me, bonnie,” he murmured, one arm locking around your waist as the other hand came up to cradle the back of your neck. His voice was rough, warm, and so stupidly pleased that you wanted to smack him and kiss him all at once. “I'm here, aye? I'm right here.”

Then he kissed you. His hands tangled in your hair, bringing you to him and not letting go. 

Right there in the open field, with the chopper blades still spinning behind him and whipping your hair every which way, with Laswell watching from somewhere behind you and the rest of the 141 no doubt losing their collective minds. Johnny kissed you like he had been waiting for this moment in agony, like the second his boots hit the ground, there had only been one place he wanted to be.

And the worst part was, you kissed him back just as desperately.

Taglist: @lunadi1una @joyfulllittlething @my-halo-is-a-little-broken @sukunasleftdih @anonymouse1807 @ghostlyemsstuff

P.S. - if my taglist friends wouldn't mind answering a question for me...when you ask to be on a taglist does it mean for every piece of writing I put out or just on that specific fic? Please help a girl out, I've never done this before lol I'll take no offense if you tell me "Christ Gonzills I don't want every fic you write in my notifications, give me a break" PROMISE..scouts honor...I just gotta know pls!

-

[absolutelybattyforyou]

My rendition of the Twins at the Carousel trend

inspired by @jiwalker’s version

I barely do any animation at all so this came out so much better than I was expecting

best experienced with headphones 🎧

Can also be viewed on YT here (worse quality though bc it’s stinky like that):

[shiiwriteswee]

Johnny and his bubble bath routine.

You don't even know why he's fond of it. What you do know is that everytime you get dragged in to bath with him, the tub is already full and brimming with bubbles. He always has you bathing with him everytime he brings out the bubbles.

You're not complaining though.

It's a nice way to spend time and relax with him. You'd be sitting between his legs, back leaning on his chest. He doesn't even let you do any of the washing. When you do try, he tuts at you.

"Ah, ah. My job, Sweetheart. All ye gotta do is look pretty and relax."

So you let him do the work.

You appreciate it, really. He's gentle with the way he handles you. He washes your hair properly, lathers your body nice and easy (though sometimes you'd have to scold him to not let his hands wander). Then when he's done, he'd place kisses all over your neck and shoulders.

He doesn't forget to tell you how much he loves you the whole time, be it with words or actions.

[feastofsnakes]

this is actually literally how every day felt in high school

[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!!!!!!

general cod: @heyitsniki18 @insanityall @twoandahalfdimes @ririerm @alexinarcadia @sgt-artemis-owl-riley @fries-pls @tikitsune

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