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Yours/Mine

Captain John "Soap" Mactavish x Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley

aka 09ghostsoap

Summary: Mactavish helps an injured omega on the field, Riley has thoughts about it.

CW/TW: omegaverse

WC: 1.5k

A/n: This is inspired by and for @jonarart Specifcally this art but their entire 09 omegaverse ghostsoap is an absolute treat!

Read below or on ao3

There’s still blood drying under his nails when Mactavish makes it back to base. He needs a shower. Fifteen minutes under water as hot as it’ll go will hopefully get the crick out of his shoulder. Thankfully, the mission hadn’t been complicated — get in, retrieve whatever intel they’d been sent for, fight some light resistance, get out.

The only setback had been a downed private. A bullet had ripped through their thigh; painful but not lethal. Flesh wound. He hadn’t thought much of it when he’d pulled the young omega private up over his shoulder. He’d been more concerned about getting to the evac before it left.

He’s felt Riley’s eyes on him since they touched down. It’s funny — a gaze shouldn’t have weight. It’s just light hitting receptors in the eye, bouncing through the brain, all science and nothing tangible. But Riley pulls it off. His gaze lands heavy, and Mactavish feels it sear into him like a brand.

He ignores it as he makes his way to the armory. He has gear to hand in, a report to write up and a shower to take. Preferably, hopefully not in that order.

He feels Riley’s gaze drop before he makes it to the armory and thinks nothing of it. Riley’s never been shy, never been anything but a brat. Always pushing and prodding. He’ll come to Mactavish when he’s good and ready. Besides, he thinks as he signs in his gear, it’s not like he can hunt down a ghost.

Mactavish chuckles to himself as he walks to his room. Ghost hunting. He should make the rookies try and hunt down Ghost sometime, pass it off as a training exercise. Counter-infiltration training or some shite.

He’s barely got his door open before he’s being slammed into the wall next to it. The hands yanking him are familiar and it’s only that familiarity that stops him from fighting back. The impact against the wall makes his shoulder throb but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just lets Riley press his weight against him, hands balled in the front of his shirt, forehead resting against his collarbone.

“Evenin’,” Mactavish says mildly. “Take it you skipped medical?”

The only answer Riley deigns to give is to tilt his head up and bury it in Mactavish’s neck. He can feel Riley’s chest bumping into his own, rising and falling like he sprinted the length of the base.

“You carried that rookie.”

It’s muffled. By the mask and Mactavish’s neck. There’s a thread through his voice, one that stirs a deep, primal part of him. Makes all his instincts turn to high alert. Your omega is hurt. You hurt your omega.

Never mind that his claim on Riley is unofficial. A single night where he snapped after Riley, with purposeful button-pushing and snarky comments pushed him over the edge. His alpha has decided. Or rather, had decided. Mactavish can admit to himself it happened long before that night.

Mactavish wraps an arm around Riley’s waist, rubbing his thumb in little circles. Riley’s shoulders don’t loosen but he does rub his nose over Mactavish’s scent gland.

“Smell like him.”

“Aye, had to carry him over my shoulder. Wouldn’t stop bleating like a wee lamb the whole time.”

The snort Riley lets out is strangled, smothered against his neck. Despite Riley’s amusement, his scent is still muddy with a sharp bitter tinge.

Can’t have his omega smelling like that now, can he? Mactavish fits his unoccupied hand around Riley’s jaw, cradling his cheek and tugging him out into the open. The little sound Riley lets out at being dislodged is disgruntled and his eyes, blue like the loch Mactavish grew up visiting, are shuttered.

Riley stares at him a long moment, jaw ticking like he’s grinding the words down to powder. Then, quietly, with the same lethal calm he uses when a target’s in sight—

“If you even so much as look at another omega,” Ghost says, “I will end them.”

And it’s Ghost speaking, not Riley. Cold steel and deadly precision. The same tone of voice used to threaten targets and hardware that refuses to cooperate. Eyes glacial, jaw tight.

“I mean it,” Ghost says, close enough now that his breath curls under Mactavish’s jaw. “I don’t care if they’re bleeding out. I don’t care if they’re on fire. Don’t touch them.”

“Tryna get me court-martialed?” Mactavish asks.

Riley scowls. “Not joking.”

“I know yer not,” Mactavish reassures, soft and sure as his thumb strokes just under Riley’s right eye. The dark circles are back, he’ll have to make sure Riley gets some proper sleep.

Riley’s hand fists in the front of Mactavish’s shirt like he’s trying to hold him in place — like he’s afraid Mactavish might vanish if he doesn’t. His gaze has dropped down to Mactavish’s neck and if he were to draw a dotted line from Riley’s eyes to it, he’s pretty sure he’d end up at his scent gland.

“Saw me carry him off the field, didn’t ye?”

Riley doesn’t respond.

“I was doing my job,” Mactavish says, wrapping his other arm around Riley’s waist. “Getting a kid out of danger. That’s all.”

Riley stays silent. But his grip doesn’t loosen, fingers clenched so tightly in Mactavish’s shirt the knuckles are white.

“Simon,” Mactavish says, finally. “You know I’m not looking at anyone else.”

Riley makes a small, sharp noise and shoves away from him.

“Don’t patronize me,” Riley says as he stalks over to the bed and drops down to sit on it. Mactavish’s heart clenches as he watches Simon curl into himself, hands cradling his face.

Mactavish lets him go. Lets Simon retreat and have a moment.

“‘M not patronizing,” he says after a minute. “I’m telling you the truth.”

Simon’s quiet for a long time. Mactavish watches his alarm clock tick over to 22:45, to 22:46, to 22:47 before Riley drops his hands with a sigh.

“Shouldn’t smell like him. Smells wrong,” Riley mutters.

Mactavish should have addressed this earlier, should have made it clear to Riley. Clearly, he’s dropped the ball if Riley doesn’t realize he’s wanted, been claimed. Riley’s a brat, sure, and he drives Mactavish up the fucking wall half the time — but that’s just the surface. Underneath, he’s never been good at taking what’s his, let alone believing he deserves to keep it. Not when so little in his life was ever his.

Mactavish takes the few steps over to the bed. He may be a Captain and have quarters to match, but that doesn’t mean they’re big. He sits on the bed, thigh pressed up against Riley. Leaning in with one hand bracing on the bed behind Riley, the other he uses to tilt Riley’s chin up. Locks their gazes, so Riley can see the sincerity. Because talk has always been cheap to Simon. Actions are what matter.

“Then fix it,” he says quietly.

He can feel how Riley’s muscles tense, how his breath hitches.

Mactavish presses closer, ducking his head down to nuzzle into Riley’s neck. To scent him. “Go on. Make me smell like you again, sweetheart.”

Riley shoves him back into the bed. Jostling him up the bed so that Mactavish is propped up against the pillows near its head.

“You’re such a bastard,” Riley grits out, nuzzling furiously against his neck, trying to bury his scent there like it’s a claim and a punishment all at once.

Mactavish wraps him in a hug, pulling him in tight and hums, content. Rubs his neck against any part of Simon that he can reach with it and the scent glands in his wrists over the rest.

“Told you before,” he murmurs, “I’m yours, Simon.”

Riley slumps at that, resting his forehead against Mactavish’s collarbone. He’s trembling a little but his scent is clearing, bitterness receding under his usual metallic-petrichor scent.

“You’re mine, John,” he says, and it’s not a threat this time, but a need and a want and a truth all wrapped into one.

Mactavish strokes a hand down his back. “Yours, sweetheart.”

They lie in the quiet for a long while, Riley sprawled half on top of him, breathing heavy against Mactavish’s neck, still gripping at his shirt like someone might come and pry them apart.

Mactavish keeps his hands moving, petting lazily up and down his back, just touching. Soothing.

Then, calm and low so as to not disturb this little bit of peace they’ve carved out for themselves:

“Could make it official, y’know,” Mactavish offers.

That gets a reaction.

Riley stiffens—not much, but enough for Mactavish to feel it. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t speak, but his scent flares, filling the room with the scent of an omega staking a claim.

Mactavish doesn’t push it. Just keeps petting him.

“You’d like that,” Ghost mutters eventually, voice muffled and sulky.

Mactavish snorts. “You’re the one actin’ like we’re bonded already.”

Ghost huffs but doesn’t deny it.

Mactavish shifts, just enough to press a long kiss to the side of his head.

“You’re mine, too, y’know. Have been for a long time.”

Ghost makes a small, pleased noise.

“No looking at other alphas?” Mactavish teases, voice warm with laughter.

Ghost grumbles something unintelligible, face burrowed deeper into Mactavish’s chest.

Mactavish grins, all teeth and affection.

“That’s what I thought.”