#alpha!roach

[hatsbuckets]

i have no fucking idea what possessed me but uh... i just uh wanted to throw Roach into the '22 timeline... idk where this came from... it also got too long oop

cw: 18+ smut. omegaverse, omega!Ghost, Alpha!Soap, Alpha!Roach, but the alphas are pathetic (eg. mean-ish dom Ghost?) and jfc did i just write this

No one expects Roach to be an Alpha. He’s quiet and self-contained. He doesn’t throw his weight around, and slips through a room without raising his voice. People take one look at the way he yields space, the way he nods instead of snarls, and they assume beta. He’s never cared enough to correct them.

Then Soap MacTavish shows up.

Soap doesn’t know the meaning of restraint. He’s all smiles and swagger, a storm front of dominance crashing into every room he walks into. Roach feels it before Soap even turns his head: that brazen, uncoiled energy. And worse, the direction it leans: toward Ghost.

Ghost has never asked for a bond. Ghost has said plainly that he wanted the space, and didn't want an Alpha's attention. Roach respected it, and has always respected it.

However, in his mind, back in his hindbrain that does not care for reason, his instincts curl their claws around Ghost and whisper "mine."

Soap must sense it, because every single day he pushes harder. He laughs too close to Ghost’s shoulder. He drops into a seat that isn’t his. He looks sideways at Roach with that challenge in his eye, waiting, daring Roach to twitch.

But Roach doesn't react, hardly spares him a glance at first. He forces calm into his breathing. Keeps his scent locked up tight, if not for Ghost then solely for the peace of every other soul on base.

But of course, one day Ghost leans back just slightly at one of Soap’s louder jokes. And Roach knows there’s the barest smirk underneath. Barely hidden amusement that Roach has come to know and love.

Roach doesn’t even remember deciding to move, but his tray clatters to the floor, food spattering across the tiles. Soap is in his face in an instant, teeth bared.

“Thought so,” Soap growls. “Knew ye had it in ye.”

The air shifts. Other soldiers push back from tables. The tang of Alpha fills the room, hot and thick and a warning that this is no small scuffle.

Roach drives his shoulder into Soap’s chest, and suddenly they’re a snarl of fists and elbows. Soap swings wild, grinning through the blood that splits his lip. Roach answers with a punch that rattles Soap’s jaw.

Ghost is on his feet. He doesn't bother stopping them, in fact he's happy to let them tear each other apart a bit. They’re too far gone, hindbrains gnawing at each other like wolves over a carcass.

Gaz swears under his breath and moves in quick, catching Roach around the arms from behind, boots digging for purchase as the man thrashes against him. “Roach, stand down! bloody hell, mate!”

Roach heaves against the hold, teeth bared, trying to lunge at Soap again. Soap looks about ready to return the favor, chest heaving, a crooked grin still splitting his face through the mess of blood.

Then Price is there, his hand snapping to the back of Soap’s collar, dragging him back with all the force of a scruffed pup. Soap snarls, but Price just hauls him back.

The room goes silent, save for Roach’s labored breaths and Soap's frantic thrash.

“Walk,” Price says, voice flat as stone.

They're dragged like guilty schoolboys, Soap wiping blood from his mouth and Roach still straining against Gaz’s hands.

The whole mess hall watches them go, the stink of Alpha tension following them.

...

Price doesn’t waste his breath once they’re in his office. He shoves Soap down into one chair, jerks his chin for Gaz to dump Roach into the other, then steps back to the door.

“Sort it,” Price says. Then he’s gone, leaving only the sharp slam of the door behind.

Silence fills the room. Roach stares at the floor like he’d rather chew through steel.

Ghost stands between them. The Omega in him keens hot and loud, every nerve lit from watching two Alphas bare their teeth for his sake. He wants to pace, to curl, to lash out, anything to bleed off the storm buzzing under his skin.

“Pathetic.” He finally growls.

Both men’s heads snap up. Soap’s grin falters, Roach’s jaw locks. Ghost steps closer, looming, voice grinding through clenched teeth.

“You think you’re Alphas? Brawling like dogs in the bloody mess hall?" His mask tips toward them, dangerous, unreadable. “You want to fight for me, fine. Prove you can keep yourselves in check first. Otherwise, you don’t deserve a fucking inch.”

Soap swallows hard, for once without something cocky to throw back. Roach finally lifts his gaze,but he doesn’t speak.

Ghost prowls a slow line between them. His hindbrain hums, almost purrs, at the way their eyes track him. At the restraint it takes for them not to lunge.

“Good,” Ghost says, then he leans in near Roach's ear, close enough he feels the heat of his breath through his mask. “You want me? Control yourselves.”

Roach's hair stands on end, chest heaving. The moment he lays a gloved hand against Roach’s jaw, the fight bleeds out of him. Just like that.

“Bloody hell,” Ghost mutters, almost fond. “You’re a wreck.”

Roach’s lips part to answer, but Ghost doesn’t give him the chance. He pulls Roach up out of the chair, tugs his mask up, and presses his mouth to Roach’s. Roach melts forward, desperate for it.

The sound that rips out of Soap is a feral snarl. His chair skids back as he surges up, every inch of him screaming challenge.

Ghost doesn’t even stop kissing Roach. One hand cups Roach’s face, while the other shoots out quick, catching Soap by the collar and yanking him forward.

“Down,” Ghost growls against Roach’s mouth.

Against every snarling objection inside the Alpha, Soap obeys. He drops to his knees. His hands flex against Ghost’s thighs, his head bowing.

Ghost finally pulls back from Roach, breathing rough. He shoves his boot forward, pressing it firm between Soap’s legs. The Alpha jerks, hips rutting hard against the leather, a broken sound spilling from his throat.

“That’s it,” Ghost says, commanding behind a satisfied purr. "Good boy."

Roach trembles under Ghost’s touch, lips swollen from the kiss, eyes wide at the sight of Soap practically grinding against Ghost’s boot.

Ghost tips Roach’s chin up again, mouth curving against his in another kiss, while Soap’s breath hitches, desperate and needy against the press of Ghost’s boot at his cock.

Soap’s nails dig into Ghost’s thighs as he ruts slowly against the boot, his breath gone ragged. Ghost pulls at his hair, forcing his head back, until Soap’s eyes meet his.

“You want me that bad, Johnny?” Ghost’s voice is a gravelly rasp. “Then use that mouth. Make yourself useful.”

Soap doesn’t hesitate. His hands push Ghost’s thighs wider, his face burying against the heat of Ghost’s groin. Ghost braces himself on Price's desk. Even with the fabric between his heat and Soap's mouth, Ghost's instincts keen at being worshipped this way. When Ghost finally tugs his sweats down, Soap dives in with tongue and teeth desperate and sloppy with need.

Ghost groans, one gloved hand threading in Soap’s mohawk and holding him there. “Good boy, Johnny,” he grits out, hips twitching.

Roach inhales long, wide-eyed and body trembling. Ghost releases Soap's hair and strokes his hand down Roach’s chest. The touch is almost tender compared to how he handles Soap.

“C’mere,” Ghost murmurs. Roach leans forward instantly. Ghost palms him through his trousers, slow and deliberate, watching Roach’s breath stutter.

“See?” Ghost says, loud enough for Soap to hear around the slick sounds of his mouth. “You hold yourself together, you might get what you want.”

Roach groans, head falling forward onto Ghost's shoulder, his hips rocking into Ghost’s fist as Ghost works him in steady, ruthless strokes.

Soap whines into Ghost’s heat at the words, rutting harder against the boot, his tongue pushing deep, desperate to please. Ghost grinds against Soap’s face while his other hand keeps pumping Roach.

“Pathetic,” Ghost growls again, breath sharp, caught between the slick heat of Soap’s mouth and the weight of Roach’s cock heavy in his hand. “Both of you, so fucking pathetic for me.”

And they are, Soap shaking against his boot, mouth hungry against Ghost's slick, Roach grinding into Ghost’s hand with a broken sound, nose buried in Ghost's neck, inhaling every hint of the Omega's so often locked up scent. My omega's scent, Roach's hindbrain growls.

Ghost's own instincts thrum with savage satisfaction, shuddering under Soap’s tongue, the slick wet heat dragging moans out of him he can’t quite bite back.

Then Roach shifts, crying out as he spills into Ghost's hand.

Ghost hums, grabs his wrist, and drags his hand down.

“Go on,” Ghost rasps, hips jerking against Soap’s mouth. “Show me.”

Roach’s pupils are blown wide, and he nods, and slips his fingers down between Ghost’s thighs. The first push makes Ghost choke on his own breath, his whole body jolting forward, his instincts keening so loud he can hardly think.

Soap groans at the change in angle, at how Ghost’s hips grind down harder onto his mouth. He’s rutting shamelessly against Ghost’s boot now, cock straining in his trousers, dampening the fabric. Every muffled moan he makes vibrates through Ghost, a hot ache that tightens and tightens.

Roach works Ghost open with steady fingers. He presses deep until Ghost’s thighs quake, until Ghost’s growl breaks into a desperate groan.

“Fuck—Roach—” Ghost’s hand shoots up to cover his mouth, but the sound still rips out of him, his body flooding with heat. Scent spilling freely from him now.

It’s enough to undo them both.

Roach jerks hard against Ghost's side, gasping, spilling again, from the scent, the heat, from the feel of Ghost clenching around his fingers, finally getting a taste of what he's wanted. Soap cums with a strangled noise, rutting helplessly against Ghost’s boot, hips shoving forward as he soaks his own trousers.

Ghost cums last, head tipped back, voice hoarse as he finishes on Soap’s tongue, every tremor wringing through him while he clenches around Roach’s fingers and rides Soap’s mouth raw.

When it’s done, Ghost stumbles back a step, chest heaving, gloved hands braced on the desk. Soap's panting on his knees, lips wet, trousers ruined. Roach stumbles back a step, leaning against the chair, eyes glazed over and locked on Ghost.

And Ghost, haloed by the light coming through the window, pulls his mask off to reveal flushed cheeks,

“Now. Are we sorted?” He growls.

Soap and Roach glance at each other, an entire conversation passing before Soap smirks. Then their still starving eyes glance at the Omega glowing before them. They both nod.

"Aye sir, sorted." Soap grins.

*runs away*