Ghost is the type of person to wait for you to tie your shoes.
Not because the rest of the team is neglectful, but Simon just lives life a little slower than the others.
When you fall back to kneel down and fix the untied laces, everyone else is still chattering excitedly about the time off and end up getting a bit ahead. But when you look up from your shoe, Simon is right there, body tilted toward you and waiting.
“Ready?”
Kyle is the guy who will bring the conversation back to your point after you’ve been interrupted.
Some bar fight breaks out and everyone gets drawn away from the conversation, and you don’t expect to be able to continue where you left off until,
“What were you saying, love?”
Price will make physical space for you. Hanging out with some of the buffest guys the UK has to offer sometimes means they get a little pushy. Especially at the pub with alcohol in their system. So, John will shove his broad shoulders around to broaden the circle for you, making sure you don’t get pushed out.
“There ya are, sweetheart.”
Soap will make sure you are explicitly invited to plans. When everyone is talking about going out after work and you’re just kind of…also at the table, you might be inclined to think you’re just an eavesdropper of the conversation. That is, until Soap turns to you with his excited eyes.
“Yer comin’, aren’t ya? We want ya there!”
It’s these little habits that you don’t think they even realize they do. The ones that heal that bit of your soul from when you were a kid and felt invisible. You never thought you would find a home in a place like this, but they keep making space for you.
Kyle never understood why you got so bitchy after sex.
It was perfect to him. Sweaty and slow and he made it so you couldn't hide from him. How could you hide your face with his big bicept flexing around your pretty little neck?
He thrust in and out to the tune of your favorite song off this album coming form your cd player. You guys couldn't even hear the music anymore.
He figured that your red face was a good thing, he knew when someone would pass out, that face was purple. No, this pretty shade of red was overstimulation, you were fine. Right?
Well after the fact, when your hips are still lazily jerking the shortest little aftershocks humps, when you breath into your pillow when he lets go.
He'd fucked you stupid, so of course you enjoyed it, right?
Well of course you did, it was incredible, he was incredible. You could've cum from one of his kisses. So why were you in a mood now?
"Get the fuck off me Kyle. I'm sticky."
Damn. What's he ever do to you?
And it was like this everytime. He's done everything to ease you back into his sweet bubbly girl. A nice warm rag, a movie, a water, a snack. Space! No, nothing.
So of course this got brought up with the team.
"You tried water?"
Soap offered unhelpfully.
"Course I've tried water!"
"Needs a breath of air."
The L.t. breathed out.
"Huh?"
"Well you're choking her out, fucking her for an hour, rubbing her pearl I assume? Don't you think she might be a little lightheaded after Seargant?"
Ohhhhh. Come to think if it this was the same behavior from when you get a headache.
Water+snack+ibuprofen was the secret recipe for his sweet lovey girl again after sex.
alright, we all know the trend when the woman goes behind the camera while recording her man's reaction to her flashing her breasts?
Well, just imagine doing that with JOHN PRICE. He'll be out there in the garden (in the process of making one, actually, on his backyard, because you always wanted one, and he moved you in with him for a reason), with a shovel in hand, looking at what he had already digged out for your plants to grow nice and pretty when he sees something flashing from the sliding glass doors. And when he snaps his head and really looks, there's you. In just your panties, and lifting your t-shirt to show him you titties. The reason? Well, you were bored. And now you had your boyfriend all grumpy and possessive of just thinking that the neighbors could have seen you.
And when you do the same for KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK, you don't really do that for him in the first place. You daughter, who was entirely breastfed for a whole nine months, was acting cranky and sleepy, wining and sobbing, clearly tired and ready for sleep. You saw some trends of a breastfed babies reacting to titties, and decided to participated (without documenting it). Kyle licking his lips, and, scooping the immediately calmed down baby girl, murmured "Make sure to have 'em on display after I tuck the lil' one in."
You thought nothing could stant JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH anymore. You two tried a lot of stuff in bed, and, being together for years, you genuinely had no idea he would react the way he did. But when oversleeping and being in a hurry, you burst into the bathroom to hop into the shower real quick. Johnny was just brushing his hair out of his face, already in cargo pants and tight t-shirt, when you dropped your nightgown and stepped out the piece of silk, as if it was a routine at this point. "Bonnie, really?" He sighed heavily, and, quickly undressing, joined you in the shower. "Since ta girls are invitin'". They were not. But in was worth being a bit late to work that day.
SIMON "GHOST" RILEY doesn't react immediately. He just sits on the couch, beer in one hand, and staring at your titties as you flashed them out, jumping out of the corner. For a second you begin to feel a slight embarrassment creeping through your spine. But then he sets the beer bottle on the floor, gets up, and with two long steps, lifts you up and throws you over his shoulder. You're buffled, trying to straighten up, when he brings you to your bedroom. He wasn't indifferent. He was just thinking about the things he would do to those things of yours.
PT2 to my neglected beta!reader x toxic 141 (excluding simon), gn!reader
WC: 7.7k part 1 here
Simon thought Johnny was bad enough getting into his head and convincing him to indulge in an actual friendship for once. It didn't help either that getting along with Kyle was as easy as making a remark and laughing together over it. The team created a perfect dynamic, almost unstoppable.
Then came you.
You were always hanging around them, fitting in easily, practically always smiling at his jokes even on missions. Maybe a snide remark back here or there, but it was never more— always balanced. He supposed it was in your nature, as a beta and all, to be perfectly in between like that. Not that Simon was the one to pay much mind to societal matters like that anyway— the battlefield was very different to social gatherings, and the only language he knew was that of violence. It wasn't like he couldn't get by either; it felt like everyone grew up with that small talk ingrained in them from the start. The weather, the latest mission, annoying recruits, the bloody royal family if he really had to.
So, when he started to notice the change around you, he decided to stay out of it. It was plain obvious you felt disappointed when Johnny got an omega, Simon felt a little pang even if he didn't want to. But he didn't know what that feeling meant, and he sure as hell wasn't going to call you out on it. So, he didn't.
Then it was Kyle, and your scent only grew even more sour. Still, you didn't show it on the outside, so he chose not to comment on it again. He probably never would’ve really— after all, who wants to be ‘comforted’ by someone who can't even fix himself?
When the Sergeants hung out, you were no longer in their little circle, always off somewhere else. He asked Johnny once, why you hadn't gone to watch a movie with them, only for him to just blink at Simon. “Oh— them? Guess we kinda just forgot to invite them. We’re not that close, an’ we got an omega ‘n all now.”
Is that what happens? When an alpha gets an omega? They forget everything they ever knew and just.. lock in on that? Still, Johnnys relationship with him never changed, not like he did with you. Something was wrong about all of this but what was he supposed to do, force the Scot to hang out with you again? This wasnt bloody nursery, besides, matters like this meant nothing with the weight of the nation placed on the team. Well, rather on the four alphas, since he soon learnt you were being taken off their shared missions too. For the first time, he faltered during the briefing with Price.
“You’re not bringing them for this one?” He heard about you being taken off of Johnny’s but this was a whole team mission with your file not in it.
“We have to spread resources efficiently. Technically we dont need them anymore, with two mated alphas. They’ll be placed with the extraction team.”
Ghost wasn't stupid, he knew that part of the reason for you being on the team was because of the regulation effects of having a beta on an all alpha team– it’s the same bias that got him into the SAS anyway. Omega’s never got this high in ranks either. But that’s exactly it, it’s meant to be a part of the reason not enough to throw you off an op.
“When we need to go solo, they’ll be on that op. It’s not that bad, Ghost.” Price reassures him, and all he can do is sigh and nod along. He already anticipated how your scent would tighten upon the news, a hint of sadness seeping in. This time he couldn't help himself– this was something he knew. So, he immediately secured your place the second he received orders of his mission, stationed beside him like you belonged. He’d always been able to recognise the change in scent, from the smallest degree, something that was forced into him at a young age. This time, it was clear you were much happier like this, beside one of the 141, on a mission, doing something.
That he could definitely relate to. He’s no stranger to feeling out of control when he can't contribute to an objective.
Having you beside him had a much better effect than he perceived anyway. Not only were you skilled and efficient, but he felt he just worked better beside you. And so he decided to set up a trip to the pub— give you a chance to hang out with Kyle and Johnny too. He was convinced that they had just gotten to in their heads with their new omegas– a honeymoon phase he supposes.
He kicked himself for not saying more at that fiasco, not forcing Johnny to regret those cruel comments in the moment. But you had already retreated back to your barracks at the end of the night, and he was left staring at your closed door with a chest aching with regret he hasnt felt since he was far smaller. The next day he hounded Johnny until he went to apologise to you, listening from the other side of the door in hopes that’d be enough. Still, he had figured you might’ve still been annoyed after yesterday, wouldn't even blame you really, but instead the acceptance was one of a prey who stopped fighting. It didn't satisfy the wound in his heart even for a second.
“Why have you denied my team for the next mission?” He stands before Price’s desk, an anger boiling in his chest that he hasn't felt for years. He swore to himself he wouldnt let his happen again.
“You know I'm mated, Simon–”
“But i’m not.” His palms press on the desk as he stares at his Captain, the man who gave him a reason to keep going ever since this force had started. But he cant defend this, not when he’s taking away your purpose. “Price..”
“If i dont do it now, they’ll force my hand later. It’s a better opportunity for them to work with other teams too–”
“Bullshit.” He knows there’s no more arguing when Price gives him that look. It’s not like you’d be happy in your new omega team– he wouldn't be surprised if you grew envious of them from how their existence had thrown you out of the entire team. He knows something violent would burst if it happened to him.
————-
There’s a heavy haze on your mind when you try to blink your eyes open, like it’s muddling all your thoughts into one. You’re extremely hungry.
A small groan escapes you and when you finally open your eyes, it’s like they’re forced to droop. You can feel dried stains on your cheeks which explains why your eyes feel tired themselves. What happened?
There’s a small rumble behind you, startling you but you hardly have control of your body right now so there’s not much you can do but blink in confusion. The last thing you remember is training for the mission with the team, and by the pain rippling across your body, something must’ve happened during it. Still, your chest doesnt pump with fear, in fact you feel calm, like your body is well aware that you’re safe wherever you are.
Again, you try to move, inhaling a sharp breath as you force yourself onto your back. The pain is instant and you have to breathe out slowly as if you dont feel like there’s tears across your arms. When you finally sober up, you stop scrunching your eyes so tight and finally notice the weight next to you. Or rather.. around you.
“W-what the—?”
———
He had woken up to the feeling of you shuffling beneath his arm, but the muffled pained sound is what made his eyes snap open. It takes him a few moments to realise the predicament he had found— or rather put himself— in last night. One arm draped across your stomach protectively with his nose pressed as close to you as he could manage.
“You’re up early.” He glances at the clock behind you, sat on the dresser, the early time of eight am flashing beside ‘Saturday’. Even though he knows he should be questioning why he’s even doing this, his body feels strangely at ease. It’s even better than the day after a successful op.
“Lieutenant.. why are we in bed?” You croak out, trying to sit up from the embarrassment of it all but his arm tightens to keep you from going too far. It startles you, against his intentions, leaving you even more confused than before. “Wasnt i on a mission..? And— and there was a hostage.. is she alright? Did anyone else get seriously hurt—”
“Mission went sideways ‘cause of a bomb strapped to a hostage, everyone’s out alright. You got the brunt of the damage saving them, the rest of them are already going home safe.”
His alpha isnt as fiery as he remembers it the night prior, the ache in his chest now a warm thrum with you so close. Still, you look uncomfortable, and that hurts his alpha more than being away from you. So he pulls away, letting you sit yourself upright against the headboard.
You take a long breath of relief at his words of reassurance, and he can only assume it’s your own instinctive need to keep others safe. “And how I ended up here..?”
“You had surgery to remove shrapnel and a stray bullet that skimmed you. When you woke, the anaesthesia had you terrified, flailing about like a fish outta water.” He murmurs, gesturing towards the bandages peeking out from the hospital gown you still wore. It had ridden up in the night and now showed the gauze and bandages wrapped around your middle. There were some on your calves as well and the way you wince he supposes you realised about the one on your back.
“They called me in to help stabilise you— figured you’d recognise me. You did, calmed down a bit and then..” He trails off for a moment and you look up at him curiously, watching as he leans back against the headboard. He pauses, unsure whether to tell you about what you had confessed to him in your drugged state. “Jus’ started crying… not sure what about.” He swallows and then glances back down to you. “And well, y’know how we’d get, when another got injured”
They’ve always had their fair share of injuries, usually due to their own brashness as alphas. He remembers when Gaz got shot like it was yesterday, the three of them wouldn't leave his side. It took you all the strength you could muster to force John to let you treat him, even if Ghost had been glued to his side anxiously throughout the entire thing too.
“I took you away from there, brought you here. Stayed till you fell asleep, and then I must’ve passed out myself.”
It’s obvious you’re extremely confused right now, and to be honest, even he is. He’s never felt a pack instinct so strong in his life, not even towards the rest of the 141– it’s still shocking him, and yet, he still cant feel anything but calm.
“Sorry.. for the trouble i caused.” You mumble out but he shakes his head immediately.
“You didn't cause any. Just glad you’re okay.” He gets off the bed, mattress creaking from the relieved weight and springing immediately after he stands. “I’ll go grab breakfast. You shouldn't move too much.”
—————
It took everything in him to force himself to leave you to head towards the mess hall. Doing so also cleared his mind from the tranquility forced upon it, letting him finally go over the events of last night to just five minutes ago.
He had forgone all professionalism, and snatched you from the infirmary like it was what he was meant to do.
When he got back, you practically shovelled the food in your mouth whilst he restrained himself from telling you to eat slower. Still, he offered to help you clean up, since seeing all those wraps didn't make his chest any lighter regardless of instinct. Though,that was enough for you to adamantly shake your head and accidentally shut the door straight in his face.
“Thanks for making sure I was okay.” You say gratefully, dressed in some spare clothes and picking up your phone in your bag to see for any messages about reports or briefings. “ I should head back to my room though.”
He freezes, you weren't supposed to just leave straight away. Well, technically you didn't have a reason to stay, but a burn in his chest makes it physically impossible to watch you step away now.
“Stop.”
You listen to his command, turning to meet his eyes as you wonder what else he could really want. The chair creaks as he stands, making his way over to you until he’s just standing there, scrutinising you.
“You smell.. off.”
“Well.. I'm not using my usual shampoo obviously.” You give him a meek smile, and even though it’s not enough to settle the craving he just nods— accepting it.
“Should probably check by the infirmary just in case.” He mumbles, fighting every urge to scent you before he lets you go.
“I will.”
———
Three days.
That’s all that’s passed since that night, and still his mind is a turmoil he can't unravel. As much as his brain insisted you needed some space, he found himself insistent on making sure you’re okay.
That’s exactly why the second he saw you alone in the mess hall today, he was beside you in seconds.
“Are you feeling any better?” Your shoulders jump in a way that makes him wince, but you relax just as quickly when you realise and smile at him.
“What, better than yesterday when you asked me in the hallway?” He likes seeing you tease him like this, as if the pain wasn't eating you from the inside. You hadn't got the opportunity to talk more than in passing, so you answer more when he looks at you attentively. “The nurses gave me ointment for the burns, and I'll be back on regular training soon. Just taking it easier with lighter gym sets, and running instead to keep my body moving.”
Right, he remembers the significantly less damage on your lower half; running must be a bit easier than any other activity for you.
“Good to know, I’ll keep an eye on you too.”
You look embarrassed by his words, quickly turning your head away as you hurriedly step forward in the queue. “I’m not going to exert myself, you don't need to do that.”
All he can do is shrug, trying to push down the feeling that bubbles with your reaction. Instead he steps in front of you to dish out your portions of food for you. Not too much, or too little, just the way you’ve always liked it. He even skips the sides you don't like.
“I do, actually. As a lieutenant, you’re under my care. And as my beta, I need to make sure you’re well.”
It slips out so easily before he can stop it and he pauses, waiting for you to narrow your eyes in disgust. Who is he to claim you like that? Although.. you don't even seem to catch it, but he does notice the small quirk of your brow when you finally process a few moments later. “Wait–”
“Im on grocery run on tomorrow— havin’ a team movie night on Saturday. You should come too, get some steps in instead of being in this stuffy base for so long” Before you can even answer he places your utensils on your plate and then locks onto the exit. “Meet me by our usual car, alright? Eight amsharp.” And then he’s already weaving through the crowds, leaving you standing on your own.
————————-
For the first time in his life, Simon Riley was excited to see you. He hadn't really had time to question it, between the brand new load of paperwork dumped on him today alone and a million other problems in his mind. And yet, every time he glanced at the time ticking towards tomorrow, his instincts roared.
Would you allow him any closer than before? Although, sleeping beside him was already past many boundaries he had only considered he’d need to ease through now. He’s sure you’d flash him that exact smile when he saw you waiting by the car, positive you’d be embarrassed when he no doubt did something for your sake.
Or you’d back up in fear, your eyes flashing with the same hurt you directed towards Soap that day. You’d realise he’s no different than the rest, infact probably just as cruel as they are.
“Bit late to still be working, Lieutenant, even for you.”
“John.” He murmurs, voice on the quieter end as he watches from his seat on the Captain’s couch. There was a small wad of paperwork clutched in his hands like he needed reason to be here, and not solely for the true purpose.
“Simon.” Price returns, walking over to his desk to light a cigar before returning to sit infront of him. “Got a feeling I know why you’re here.”
It’s silent for a few moments and John is convinced he’ll have to lure the question out himself. But it never really is that simple with Simon Riley. Straightforward as ever, he can't help but jump right to the point “How did you.. know? Your omega.”
Price raises a brow this time, having not entirely expected that, but nods regardless as he breathes out smoke. “Feel it in your chest first. Like your instincts are controlling you really… pulling you towards them. It’s not like you can even try to stop it either.”
“And then what..?”
“The mating bite. The feeling will come soon after, fast even— you’ll get violent. But it’s what’s expected, nearly every alpha goes through it. Just advise your omega to not fight back and there won't be much to clean up.”
He pauses when the air in the room suddenly becomes tense, taking another inhale of the cigar.
“The sooner you do it, the easier it’ll be. You don't know when you’ll see them again with our schedules. I don't want to see you actin’ feral on a mission desperate for their scent.”
Soon enough, it was the next day, and he had driven you to the nearest Tesco Extra. Luckily you had come just in time for a sale.. although that meant there were a lot more people than usual. Despite offering to hold it, the basket dangles in his right hand while you glue yourself to his left side. The explosion had left your senses much more sensitive, so sticking to him was the best option.
“Anything else you want?”
“Maybe another biscuit?” You tease since he’s been filling up the basket with them so far, making you snort a little. When you did hang around the team, him and you were the only ones who’d eat them but you didn't know he liked it this much.
He rolls his eyes at your teasing, and leads you to the next aisle. “Grab what you want and meet me over there.” It’s emptier here, so you nod and watch him go towards the tinned food, now facing the shelves of crisps he left you with.
Well you know Soap and Gaz’s favourites already, and Simon loves kettle chips. You’re not sure if the Captain would also be there, so you grab a mixed bag for him. Would it be weird after not seeing them for so long? Strangely enough, you really can't bring yourself to resent them for what happened.
Was it really their fault? No one ever seemed to have the same problems as you. There was only one time you confessed it to a fellow beta on base, although he had quickly become defensive, shaking his head at you. ‘We’re colleagues at the end of the day. As long as it doesn't affect work, it’s totally fine.’
“Didn't get the crisps you like.” You jump as he appears, grabbing your favourite and tossing it in the basket. “Come on, we’ll get some drinks and go.”
You trail behind him as he carries on, noticing an obvious hunch in his shoulders. He’s tense, which for some reason you find entirely out of place despite you not even knowing him that well. It’s just that, ever since that morning in bed with him, he felt soft, and warm, like everything you’d find comfort in. Surely those same clenched muscles aren't the ones that laid beside you?
You’re about to spiral further into analysing his behaviour when you realise you’re at the checkout with him. “O-oh, do you mind if I run to the beta section quickly? I just need to grab—“
“Already got you one.” He picks up the scent refresher from the basket, scanning it through, as well as other medication he’s also seen you use before. You can only blink at him in surprise—the prices had hiked even higher recently, and you had to debate over buying one or being able to afford morning coffees anymore
It brought a sense of relief to your heart though, that comforting feeling settling in your gut once more. He’s alright, probably just a tough mission coming up.
———————
The past few days it’s like a switch had flipped inside him, too similar to how the others reacted after their new omega. You’re at a loss really, it’s not like he’s being rude, but he’s being distant. Like he’s cautious of you. To be honest, you were half expecting him to tell you not to come to the movie night anymore.
Though maybe you were judging him too quickly— it’s not all alphas, right? It was almost sickening every time the small bit of hope bubbled up though, like it was stupid to think he’d actually be the one to stay longer than the rest. You just hope the reason for this wasn't because of something they told him about you.
You were.. surprised to say the least when you entered the rec room alongside Ghost. The both of you had retrieved the bags from his car after he surprisingly called to make sure you were still coming.
Soap and Gaz weren't lazily sprawled across the couch like they usually would—if anything they seemed antsy. They were both sitting there, shoulders tense, Gaz’s leg even bouncing slightly. You did hear they all came back from a mission recently but they were never this agitated, all pent up like this, back when you were with them.
“Oh, hi.” Gaz looks upon hearing two sets of footsteps and smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You just nod, awkwardly fiddling with the plastic bags you grabbed from Ghost’s car. “What’re you here for?”
“Ghost and I went to grab the snacks the other day”
“Y’can call me Simon, y’know.” He takes the plastic bags from your hands and you nod sheepishly, not even realising you had been using his codename.
“Oops, sorry.” He shakes his head at your apology and you quickly help him unpack all the snacks onto the coffee table for tonight.
“Completely blew a mission and now ye come ‘ere for a movie night?” Soap must’ve gotten up at some point, now brushing past you. His arms are like rocks when they hit into yours, and his tone is heavy— almost accusing.
It catches you off guard, and you freeze, watching as he walks around the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water to swallow in one gulp. “Well.. we did always have the best ones, no?” Surely he didn't mean to be that harsh, clearly something had been holding their bodies in a tight limbo. It must be a poor joke, even if it dug deep.
He doesn't take your words in the tone you intended though, brows narrowing down at you in contempt. “Don’t see why we ‘ave to entertain the fuck ups. My omega was in tha’ mission, she could’ve died ‘cause of you.”
“Johnny—“ Simon cuts in, voice low as he steps in front of you, his scent wrapping around you, weak enough to not fill your head too much. He’s being careful for you.
Though before Simon can say anything more, you let out a soft huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “That’s the risk of every mission, Soap. I thought as a demolition expert you would know that. Or are you forgetting the time you almost killed me?”
“That was a calculated risk. And yer still standing, aren’t ya?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your supposed argument. “You were being reckless and stupid out there.”
“That’s not what you said when I was on the team.” You snap back, anger starting to simmer inside of you too now. After all, they had constantly sung your praises when you were here. It’s their own fault for throwing you into an omega mission when you weren’t prepared enough.
“You left the team.”
“Because I was forced off!”
That pisses him off, because your words feel like an attack against him, and he walks right up to you, inches away. “We never needed you anyway— just a beta to balance us alpha out. Clearly you’re useless otherwise.” Though suddenly his nose scrunches, stepping back a moment before his eyes narrow into a glare. “Ye fucking bastard. Coming in here, stinkin’ omegas, stinking of her?!”
Your jaw clenches as you watch his body language, something you picked upon living around alphas. They get explosive, very strong quickly. First his fists start to clench, the veins in his forearms starting to show. Then his scent starts getting thicker with anger, pumping into the air like a burning building. It’s bad enough that it makes your own anger start to fizzle, hitting your head in waves of pain and you almost stumble backwards. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion, his hand rising upwards, the touch of skin against your cheek and the implosion of pain that spreads across your head.
Simon grabs you before you end up dropping altogether and pulls you away from him immediately, shielding you with his body. “I dont know what the fuck has gotten into you Johnny but you need to sort it out— now.” His scent is thicker than you’ve ever smelt it, in fact this is the most you’ve ever been able to make of it. It smells like gasoline, sharp and lingering, and ready to destroy something completely. So toxic, it forces you to gasp for a breath.
“Both of you, stand down, now.”
Price’s voice echoes across the room and you instantly shudder, leaning against the counter weakly as you grasp your face. The bruise will darken tomorrow but you can already feel your cheek starting to swell. What really has you is the mix of scents all around, filling your head so strongly.
“Captain—“
“No.” Price doesn't hesitate to march over, standing in between them as Ghost thrums with anger. You look over to the doorway, hearing the small creak as it closes Gaz standing there with his arms crossed. “You are soldiers, not fucking children.” He argues, pointing an accusing finger towards the Scot before turning to give Ghost an equally sharp glare.
Then his eyes find you. All you can do is stare back, wondering how he’ll react. Would he blame you for all this? Would you be the scapegoat to keep his perfect little pack intact?
Would you let him humiliate you once more?
You’re a soldier, a beta one, but a fighter nevertheless. Missions you’ve fought through, almost died on, saved lives during. For this? To end up like this? You push yourself to stand despite the heavy scents weighing you down, regardless of the stare his alpha is directing to your beta. Everything tells you to submit, the haze in your head and the throb across your cheek.
“You should go, I'll talk to you about this later.” Price commands, nodding his head towards the door. Surprisingly, his words weren't as harsh, in fact more exasperated than anything.
“Enjoy your movie night.” You murmur, grabbing your jacket where it was on the chair and throwing it over your arm.
“Wait—“ Simon starts, backing away from his offensive on Soap instantly to follow you. “Don’t” You hear Price stop him, his hand wrapped around his forearm to stop him chasing after you.
————————-
If that wasn't enough of a reason for you to give up on all of them, you don't know what is anymore. They’ve treated you so horribly, it was hardly arguable anymore that you shouldn’t have even tried with them again. This was all so stupid—you’re so stupid for even thinking this time it could end differently. You could never coexist.
As for Simon, all you feel is a deep regret in your stomach. It was obvious really, of course he must’ve just been smelling omega on you this entire time. It was just a biological confusion, not a genuine interest in you. He didn't care about who you were, his alpha smelt an omega, and that’s all that really matters. It makes you feel sick to your stomach, knowing that you had in some way probably tricked him. His alpha probably had him strung up all week, no wonder he looked so uncomfortable in that shop and every day past.
The chat with Price never happened. They had been briefed almost immediately after you left for an op, and you heard the chatters of their departure the next day. So with them all gone,it was time to get back to work. You had briefings to attend, reports to fill and to forget about everything that happened. Or what didn't happen between you two.
Except you can't.
Everytime you get a second alone with your thoughts, they drift back to him, to that morning and waking up beside him. The last time you’ve woken to someone’s scent around you was when you were very little, your family huddling together in the nest. That stopped as soon as you presented.
Now you’re stuck with this emptiness in your chest. At first you thought his scent had been too strong, and you even tried two pumps of the scent refresher to try and clear your senses. Not even that worked, if anything making it worse now that you longed for his scent even more.
There’s a small balcony you used to see him smoke at, when you first joined the team. He came up here once or twice, and then over the two years you spent with them, never again. In fact, you overheard the sergeants say he quit it altogether. You pause by it today, staring out at the worn railing, the remnants of ash sitting upon it, the mark of his shoe making an outline on the unused floor.
For some reason it makes your eyes water, mourning a connection you could’ve had but seems impossible now.
—-
It’s late at night a few days later. You had taken the opportunity while they were gone to take all of your things out of the rec room. Sure, you should’ve done it before, but a small part of you was still clinging on to possibility. Your blankets that you and the sergeants would swaddle yourselves in on colder nights, the tea strainer you bought to show Price how to use leaves instead of the bought bags, even the few mugs in the cupboard you bought to match them. You left behind the one Soap bought for your birthday— perhaps it belonged there more than it ever did to you. Can't forget the CD player you let Gaz borrow a million times either.
They don't suit your room, the colour clashes with the boring greys in here, and they look like a pile of junk from where you’re beneath the duvets, staring at them. It’s almost midnight, and you know you should be sleeping, but it's a Friday night so to hell with that. You could afford late night wallowing; it’s not like you had anywhere to be tomorrow.
They were supposed to come back today. You heard it from Laswell when discussing something else; she must not know what happened between you. Either they chose not to tell her..or forgot, since you were never that important anyways. The clock blinks one am, maybe you really should sleep.
———
The knock on the door breaks your sleep, and you can only assume it wasn't the first as it continues, each one seeming to become.. slower. You crawl out of bed, mind trying to run a million possibilities through your awakening brain. An emergency mission? Bad news? A sudden attack? An intruder?
“Please..” You hear the groan on the other side of the door, convincing you enough to open it instantly and reveal the other side.
Ghost— or rather Simon, with his mask now fallen at your feet— leans against your door frame, blood dripping onto the floor from a wound near his middle and his eyes glazed over. “Beta..” He breathes through a pained wince, chest sinking quickly.
“Simon?! You should be in the infirmary, not here- ” You scoff, gaze flicking between the blood staining the floor, his hand clenched over the wound and the grime clinging onto his hair and neck.
“No— no- can’t think..” He steps forward, every movement heavy with pain and hurt and yet his eyes stay locked on you. His words are desperate as his hand clenches the handle, sucking in a strained breath.
“A-alright, fine. I’ve got some stuff somewhere—“ Opening the door fully now, you reach for his hand, letting him lean the brunt of his weight as you haul him towards your bathroom. It’s only when you manage to get him to sit on the toilet seat do you free yourself from him, rummaging through your cupboards desperately. “Here- okay, lift your shirt we need to fix that quickly.”
Luckily the wound had just been leaking into the bandages so all you had to do was repack and replace, although you had to deal with his incoherent groans the entire time. Tucking the clean edge into the wrap, he’s finally alright again and you sigh in relief, stepping back.
“Stop—“ He grasps your wrist as you try to put the box back, forcing you to stay in place as you raise a brow at him.
“I need to put it back.“ You sigh, unable to fathom what was up with him right now.
“Stay.”
“Simon, I’m just going to the cabinet..” You sigh as he shakes his head adamantly, pulling you closer even as you try and resist. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“Simon.” You say firmly, a fresh wave of your scent rolling through the air. Never have you used it on any of them before, in fact it only ever worked on inconsolable civilians you’ve saved. Beta scent’s only had the purpose of calming down people anyway, not like an Alpha’s commanding force or an Omega’s lure. “Let me go.”
So when he immediately goes lax, fingers grazing your palm as he gently lets go, you step back in surprise. What?
You keep one eye on him as you place the things away, but he just stays, unmoving. As you close the cabinet, you take a step towards him again, gently pulling down his shirt only to feel the soaked blood on it, as well as the gunpowder and grime. Definitely not a good mission then.
“Why.. don't you wash up, alright? I’ll get you some clothes.”
For a moment you’re convinced you’ll have to drag him yourself, but he takes a small inhale and nods quietly, standing the best he can before he kicks off his shoes and socks. Listening like a loyal dog.
—
You make your way to his room with your own mind full of questions from his strange behaviour. Why did your scent have that effect on him? Why did he come to you? Why did he always call you his beta?
The door unlocks easily with the card you nicked from his gear, and his room is in disarray. It wasn’t uncommon for a pack to have scented items from each other, or very close friends; it usually helped with sleeping or just getting comfortable. You remember Gaz and Soap often had items in each other's rooms for that exact reason, though they never traded with you, even if you never asked yourself.
You immediately noticed Price’s sweater on the floor, kicked to the door. Beside the dresser was Gaz’s spare shirt, crumpled and half shoved beneath the base. Soap’s jacket was behind the bathroom door, hidden away from sight like something that couldn't bear to be seen. In the midst of it was a pair of gloves you lent him during a mission when he was damaged badly. Like a pillar in chaos, it was neatly placed beside a brand new scent refresher and a pack of your favourite snacks. Surely, just a piece of repayment, right?
——————
The shower is quiet when you re-enter your room, and you hesitantly step towards the bathroom door, turning the handle. “Brought some clothes.” You murmur, watching the door handle turn.
“Thank you.” He says, the same gruff tone but quieter, and takes the clothes you pass through the gap.
Surprisingly, he doesn't close it after, letting you hear his quiet shuffling as he changes. It feels weird standing on the otherside, knowing you can just walk in and see him bare like this— an alpha left vulnerable. Though, can an alpha truly be vulnerable before a beta? If anything, you’d always be vulnerable alone with him, and he’d always be the strongest in the room.
“I saw my gloves on your table.” You mumble out, stepping back to take a seat on the edge of your bed. His silence doesn't help your inability to keep in the thoughts running wild in your head.
His breath hitches behind the door, something you’ve learnt to notice since you can't read his facial expressions. “I meant to return it to you. But.. I hadn't washed them yet.”
Just as you thought.
The door opens, and he steps forward, the grime washed off and bandages covered by the thin cotton shirt. He looks exhausted like this, like everything weighing down on him has finally caused him to crumble. Just like the others, his shoulders stay taut.
“You left their things on the floor.”
Your beta is desperate to soothe, to understand the problems within his pack, and help him through them. No sane alpha would push away his pack’s items, it has your beta ringing alarm bells across your mind.
“Didn’t need them.” He murmurs, one hand tugging at the end of his shirt as it clings to his damp body. You’ve never seen him fiddle with things like this, running his tongue over his lips.
“You didn't need your pack’s items?” You huff out crossing your arms over your chest. “At least make the lie believable.” Maybe this was his own strange way of pushing you away like they had, because you just wouldn’t understand, would you?
“It’s not a lie.” He grunts, eyes flickering over you and then towards the door— like he’s about to bolt. Not now, not after everything.
You stand, blocking his path as you look at him. “Why did you come here, Simon? It’s not because you feel guilty about the other day, and you shouldn't anyway— Soap’s right. I’m not needed.”
“You are.”
“I’m not—“ You shake your head adamantly, turning towards the door. There’s no way you were going to sit around and be humiliated again, intentionally or not.
“We need you.” He says firmly, hand grasping your wrist as his strong ash suddenly washes over you and thickens in the air. It’s all you can smell, echoed by the weight of his words. Though, you feel his grip immediately falter afterwards, like instant regret. The scent calms quickly, back to the dull linger it usually is as his fingers fall to gently holding your palm. “I.. need you.”
For a moment you’re stunned, scent sprawling anywhere for something solid to grip onto as you try and weave through the possible meanings of his words. Him, Ghost, the soldier feared across foreign countries’ soil and by his mask alone, needs you? A beta?
“I dont…” understand. The word falls silent on your tongue, glancing down at his hand on yours in the low light. “I thought.. the omega’s I work with– their scent rub off on me. That’s the reason for all of this, isn't it?”
“No, no.” His grasp tightens when you try to pull back, feet following you as you step back, until you take a seat against the edge of the bed. “Your scent, it’s been driving me insane. It’s like I can't function without it.”
“But that’s not possible, Simon. I’m not an omega— I can't lure you like that- even the sweetest scent is nothing more than cheap perfume.” You argue, because it’s the truth and there isn’t anything more to it. It’s facts, written and studied extensively in biological research that forms the foundations of society. There could be no other explanation because it just didn't exist, it never will.
His grip tightens again and this time his lip curls back, almost like he’s snarling.. except he seems to be more frustrated with his own actions than at you. “Lust isn't going to save us soldiers.”
You see it now as you look at him properly since patching him up. His eyes are half lidded but you can see how his pupils have expanded in the short time you’ve had him here. Sorting out the blood spilling out of him might’ve helped, but he was crashing fast now that the pain-induced adrenaline was wearing off.
Now he just looked exhausted out of his mind, frantically holding onto his self control as his eyes locked onto the scent glands on your wrist. You could almost read his thoughts now, how he was slipping off the edge, fingers beginning to tremble. Wounded, exhausted and desperate for a moment of solace.
“Simon..” You whisper again, it’s been more than a few times tonight, but this time it’s different.
He drops to his knees before you, hitting the soft rug beside your bed as his hand holds onto yours. His mask had been off the entire time and yet only in this moment do you truly acknowledge the vulnerability before you. “Please, scent me.” He murmurs, low and soft though not gentle with the rasp of greed that bubbles from his throat. Like he told you, he needs this. He needed you. “Let me be.. your alpha.”
The silence rings loud between you, even from the slow drops from the bath’s faucet and the whir of the bathroom fan fading into nothing. “Okay..I will.” You nod, breaking the dam holding him together and he doesn't even let out a breath until he presses his nose against your wrist. The inhale he takes is greedy, like he wants every last scent coating the air, and then the exhale comes, his body dropping like a bomb.
“Thank you.” He breathes and you watch as he lifts your hand as he rises himself, and you realise now he doesn't have his gloves on from the feeling of his bare skin warm against you.
It’s like he doesn't even hesitate, gently rubbing his wrist against the scent glands on yours. You knew what was coming, read about it a million times between alphas and omegas— hell even heard a million more from them in your youth years.
Scenting, when the alpha’s scent envelopes your body, like a shot straight to your brain.
Except, this isn't like anything they described.
You can feel your scents starting to mix, intertwining together before separating once more. They’re tied in the middle like a promise and yet sprouting at completely different ends and filling the room. His scent changes, shifting from the harsh burnt tinges of ash and smoke like they’ve been washed up by yours. It’s petrichor, the damp aroma whenever rain ingrains itself into the soil and washes over rocks. The smell is fresh, earthy and it feels like the relief of rain when it finally comes crashing down, washing over the ground and letting the dying flora renew.
But yours? Yours blossoms in magnitude, like a bubble that has grown and grown until it suddenly bursts. You’ve never smelt it so strong before, used to the quietness of it all, but it’s finally loud. Sweet honeycomb and chocolate, an appetising combination so rarely put together it makes his entire body melt. It’s comforting like a warm drink on a cold day and refreshing like a breeze on a summer night.
You barely get a chance to shuffle backwards before he’s crashing into you, nose forcing it’s way towards your neck as his limbs one by one fall slack, muscles turned to the mere meat they’re made from. A low purr rumbles through him, up his arms where they wrapped around your middle and his chest which is pressed against yours. His eyes have fallen shut, content to be pressed against your nose gland as he lets everything go.
“My beta..” He murmurs, squeezing you tighter to the point you’re forced to exhale yourself and appreciate the warmth and comfort in the room. This was the first time you’ve truly been able to appreciate a friend’s scent without feeling your head start to spin, and it felt amazing. Like everything in the world was set in place, nothing could even shift the balance in this room.
You squeeze him back, a small huff of laughter bubbling in your throat when he groans in contentment. His scent starts to settle once more, now the faint smell of smoke returning though with the gentleness of a campfire, easing your senses.
“Alpha..” You breathe out, letting your own body relax under his, eyes slipping shut in his grasp. Your beta was satiated, curling up for the first time in weeks, and you were more than happy to lay your heart beneath him.
----------------------------------
part one Buy me a coffee!
one more part and then this will be done!! thank you for reading alonga nd im so shocked at how many people loved the first one sm! please leave ur thoughts in the comments <3333 ALSO THANK YOU FOR 5000 FOLLOWERS!!!!!!
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taglist (thank you SO much to @lexloon for putting this tgt for me):
Price inviting the team over to his house to meet his lovely wife and his sweetheart daughter.
His daughter only living there at the moment after a nasty break up and not being able to find a new apartment immediately.
Prices wife welcoming the guys at the door and letting them into the warm house.
The boys take off their shoes after misses Price tells them to. Then they look at the stairs seeing a sweet and beautiful woman descending them.
Soap’s mouth falls open, Gaz’s eyes widen while he is actively trying to keep his mouth closed and Ghost drops his jacket when he tried to just put it on the hook.
“Hey, I’m …” you beam at the men that collectively think:
We’re fucked and not the good kind.
_______________________________________________
Price is over 50 in this and his daughter is like 23.
That's not my name, silly.
You call them by their government name, instead of the pet name you have for them
TF141 x reader headcannons//Imagines
a/n: thank you, anon, for the request. Hope y'all enjoy <3
Checkout my masterlist!
Captain Johnathan Price
“Old man”
You and Price had been happily married for some time now, and with that shared history came small, deeply ingrained forms of intimacy. Specifically, you almost exclusively referred to him as ‘old man.’ Because he was, in fact, your old man.
Price absolutely adored it. To him, the nickname solidified his position in the relationship, but more importantly, he was a traditional man at heart. The weight of that title felt like more of an ‘I do’ than any gold ring ever could. Because it had become your ultimate default, you almost never used his actual name. Ever.
Well, that was until very specific situations forced you to do otherwise.
You had been happily married for as long as you could remember, yet here you were on the evening of your anniversary, dressed beautifully with a temper hot enough to match. Your poor old man had completely forgotten what today was. In his defense, work had been incredibly tense recently, but having finally secured some rare, precious time at home to relax and enjoy with you, the date had slipped clean through his fingers.
You marched into the sitting room where he was currently strewn lazily across the couch, watching the footy. Your heels clicked sharply against the floor, each step carrying the full, crushing weight of your fury. You stood purposely right in front of the television, blocking his view, your foot tapping as your patience wore incredibly thin at the sight of your far-too-relaxed husband.
“You look stunning, pet. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he teased, his dark eyes far too happy and clueless for your liking.
“Johnathan Price. Get up.”
The words came out cold, clipped, and squeezed through tight lips.
You could visibly see the color drain from the poor man’s face. He nearly hit the roof he sat up so fast, his military reflexes kicking in as his spine went completely rigid. If you weren't so profoundly pissed off, the sight of the legendary Captain Price scrambling like a recruit would have made you laugh.
A violent shiver ran straight down his spine. He knew he was in trouble. Big, catastrophic trouble.
In that exact moment, Johnathan's life flashed before his eyes. He scrambled to use every single ounce of brainpower he possessed to try and figure out what the fuck he had done for you to not only wear a expression of pure, unadulterated fury, but to use his full government name. It was a name he was certain you had only used twice in the entire history of your relationship—the first time being your official wedding vows.
He let out a weak, nervous chuckle, clearing his throat. “…Did I mention you look absolutely stunning, love?” he tried, saying anything in a desperate attempt to buy himself a few more seconds of survival.
But as he took a closer, frantic look at your elegant outfit, his eyes naturally darted past you to the small calendar hanging on the far wall. The date seemed to jump out at him. It hit him like a roaring freight train. Johnathan wanted nothing more in this exact moment than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
Before he could even utter a syllable of an apology, you silenced him instantly, thrusting a perfectly manicured finger directly in his face.
“You have exactly one hour to fix this,” you pointed, staring him square in the eye with zero room for negotiation. “And I swear, if you don't, you will regret the day you were born, Johnathan Price. Do I make myself clear?”
Price swallowed hard, looking exactly like a schoolboy who had just been chewed out by his headmistress. “Y-yes, ma’am,” he stammered, the fearsome Captain reduced to pure obedience.
“Good.”
With a sharp flick of your hair and a mean, deliberate sway of your hips, you turned on your heel and walked out of the room.
Never in his life had he seen you this angry, but as he stared at the empty doorway, his heart hammering against his ribs, he realised with a sudden, dark rush of heat that—by God—he desperately wanted to see it happen again.
-
Simon Riley
“Bear”
Being one of the very few people permitted into Simon’s carefully guarded life meant a great deal to you—and secretly, it meant everything to him. Although he had never been the type to be overly or publicly affectionate, ever since your very first date, you had jokingly referred to him as a 'Bear' due to his mammoth, intimidating height. From that night on, the nickname had simply stuck.
It was a lazy Saturday morning, and you and Simon were currently tucked up beneath a mountain of blankets, completely tangled together. Unfortunately for your plans of productivity, Simon possessed zero intention of releasing you from his embrace. He had you completely caged beneath his heavy, solid arms, his massive frame acting like an inescapable anchor as he fully intended to hibernate for just a little longer.
“Bearrr, come on. Time to get up,” you chirped playfully. You kept your voice light, airy, and sweet in a desperate attempt to coax your sleeping giant of a boyfriend back to the waking world.
Simon only let out a low, gravelly grunt in response. Instead of shifting, his grip tightened automatically. One of his massive forearms locked like a steel vice around your waist, while his other thick arm hooked directly over your shoulder, burying your face right into his chest and effectively pulling you into a heavy, affectionate headlock.
“Simon! Simon! Baby, I can't breathe—” you dramatically cried out, your voice muffled against his skin as you feigned succumbing to death by a pair of elite-soldier biceps.
The moment his government name left your lips, he shot wide awake.
In a fraction of a second, the heavy drowsiness vanished. Simon effortlessly loosened his hold only to flip you onto your back against the mattress, pinning your arms to either side of your head. He loomed over you, his massive chest shadowing your frame, his dark, sleepy eyes filled with a mixture of sheer hurt and profound disgust.
“What did you just call me?” he demanded, his voice a low, rough rumble as he sought to confirm his ears had actually heard what they did.
You lay beneath him, utterly trapped, but you couldn't help the bright laugh that bubbled up at his sheer, unadulterated dramatics. “Oh, so that’s what it takes to get you moving, huh, Simon?” you teased, deliberately leaning into the provocation.
He didn't offer a verbal reply. Instead, a dangerous, wicked glint flashed in his eyes. His large hands slid slowly down your sides, finding your waist, and he launched a relentless, targeted tickle attack.
Completely unable to breathe through the sudden onslaught of laughter, your body writhed beneath his hands as you begged for mercy. “Please, Simon! I’m sorry!” you choked out between breathless, echoing laughs.
“Who’s that, dove? Never heard of a Simon,” he murmured evilly, his thick fingers continuing their torturous, playful assault without a single ounce of pity.
“BEAR! BEAR! I’M SORRY, BEAR!” you squealed loudly, your body twisting as you tried in vain to wriggle free from his iron grip.
Only when he finally heard his proper title did the giant relent. He let out a low chuckle, collapsing down onto the mattress right beside you. In an instant, he reeled you right back into his chest, pulling your back against him before raining a heavy trail of open kisses all over your hair, your temple, and the sharp line of your jaw.
“That’s more like it,” Simon grumbled, his voice vibrating deeply against your skin as he buried his face in your neck. “No more of that Simon bullshit from you, miss.”
You couldn't help but roll your eyes at your incredibly dramatic boyfriend, but a soft, helpless smile spread across your face nonetheless. You loved every single unmasked, ridiculous piece of him. And, just as he wanted, you ended up spending the entire remainder of your Saturday tucked safely away from the world, being perfectly lazy and cozy in bed.
-
Soap “John Mactavish”
“Love”
You were heavily pregnant with your first child, and for the most part, the experience had been a complete dream come true. Johnny had miraculously managed to secure extended leave for these last few months, and he had been a constant, unwavering presence.
He was right there beside you for every prenatal class, eagerly sprinted out for midnight snack runs to satisfy your weirdest cravings, and would readily stand behind you to lift the heavy weight of your belly just to relieve the pressure on your aching spine. He was, without a doubt, the perfect partner.
On this particular evening, you were sitting on a stool at the kitchen breakfast bar. Johnny had insisted on cooking dinner from scratch, promising a hot, relaxing bath afterward to soothe your exhausted body.
“Nearly ready, lass. Hope you and the wee bump are hungry,” he teased playfully, glancing over his shoulder with a bright grin. He was a sight to behold, wearing a kitchen apron over his broad shoulders as he busied himself prepping the plates.
“Thanks, love. I’d be completely lost without you,” you beamed, smiling dotingly at him as he put the final touches on his culinary creation. You absentmindedly rubbed your stomach, noting that the baby was kicking quite a bit today. You didn't think much of it, given how incredibly close you were to your official due date.
But it was in that exact, unsuspecting moment that you felt it.
Your water had broken.
You could barely see your toes past the massive curve of your belly as it was, but as you looked down, a sudden, violent surge of panic shot through your entire body. The once-dry kitchen tile beneath your stool was completely soaked.
“U-uh… Johnny?” you called out shakily, your voice tight.
Johnny, who was still fully animated and yapping away as he plated up the food, let out a distracted chuckle. He didn't even turn around, completely misreading your panicked tone for a bit of banter. “Johnny? Aye, what’s with the formalities all of a sudden, lass? Usually I get a 'love' or a 'darling' when there's food on the line.”
“Johnny, listen to me—” you tried again, your breath catching as a sharp wave of adrenaline hit you.
“Who you calling Johnny, lass?” he teased, playfully shaking the spatula in the air, his back still turned. “You only use my proper name when I’m in the doghouse, and I know for a fact I’ve been an absolute angel today—”
“For fuck's sake, John!” you screeched.
The full government name cut through the kitchen like a flashbang.
The spatula fell silent. Johnny whipped around instantly, his blue eyes wide with a mixture of total bewilderment and sudden concern. He had never heard that specific, lethal tone leave your mouth before, and the sheer gravity of John completely shattered his playful mood.
“My water broke,” you said, staring right at him.
The legendary, highly decorated SAS sergeant stood completely frozen. He had a spatula gripped in one hand and a dinner plate in the other, utterly paralyzed like a deer in the headlights. In this exact moment, he did not look like an elite soldier trained to think critically under high-pressure, life-or-death scenarios. He looked like a man whose brain had just completely short-circuited.
“Johnny!” you screeched again, snapping him out of his trance as you began taking heavy, rhythmic breaths to regulate your racing heart. “I am about to have your child right here on our kitchen floor! I highly suggest you get us to the car or call an ambulance—whichever one is faster!”
“Y-yes! Right! Okay!”
With his military reflexes finally overriding his sheer panic, Johnny dropped the spatula into the sink, his training kicking into overdrive. He shifted into pure logistics mode, scrambling to grab the pre-packed hospital bag, your coat, and the car keys, his movements a blur of chaotic efficiency as he helped you stand and guided you toward the door.
Just as you reached the hallway, preparing to brace yourself for the drive, you reached out and grabbed his hand tightly, pulling his knuckles to your lips to give them a soft kiss. “Thanks, love.”
The familiar, gentle pet name acted like a tether, instantly dragging him back to reality. A massive wave of relief washed over his face, a bright, fiercely protective grin breaking through his nerves as he squeezed your hand back. He was ready.
-
Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick
“Handsome”
Gaz came home from what you could only imagine was a brutal, exhausting deployment. He hadn't been himself since the moment he walked through the front door, clamming up every single time you tried to reach out to him. You knew it was part of the territory; being a military wife—especially to an SAS soldier—was never going to be a walk in the park.
Still, he had barely muttered more than five words to you over these last few days. He ate in silence, went to bed in silence, and ran off to God-knows-where during the day in a desperate attempt to clear his mind. You had tried your absolute best to give him space, but you were rapidly reaching your limit. You couldn't watch him drown in his own head anymore.
You woke up in the dead of night yet again to the sight of him sitting rigidly on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor, totally stuck in his own skull.
Sitting up, you clicked your bedside lamp on, the soft golden glow cutting through the dark room. You shifted over and instinctively wrapped your arms around his broad, tense shoulders, placing a soft, lingering kiss against his skin.
“You okay, handsome?” you softly asked.
He brushed off your concern exactly as he had been doing all week, pulling away from your touch with a tired sigh. “I’m fine, love. Just tired. Don't worry about it,” he muttered. It was his usual defense mechanism—his way of telling you to go back to sleep because he didn't want to talk.
But you were completely fed up. Fed up with being pushed aside, and fed up with being kept in the dark when all you wanted was to remind him that he didn't have to carry the weight of the world alone. Not anymore.
Rejecting the dismissal, you climbed out of bed, marched all the way over to his side, and plopped down on your knees directly in front of him on the floor. You took his rough, calloused hands in yours, forcing him to look down.
“Look at me, Kyle. It’s me.”
Hearing his actual name—not his callsign, and not a soft distraction—caused his tired, shadowed eyes to meet yours. It was only for a brief, fleeting moment, but it was all the confirmation you needed to know that your husband was still in there.
“Kyle, look at me,” you whispered again.
As you spoke, warm tears began to well up in your eyes. When his gaze finally locked onto yours this time, it was filled with so much raw, unspoken pain that you couldn't help but let those tears fall, weeping silently right in front of him.
The sight of your tears seemed to shatter whatever walls he had left.
Slowly, his broad shoulders completely relaxed, the rigid military tension finally bleeding out of his body. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead down against yours in a silent, powerful gesture that let you know he was finally ready to let his guard down.
“God, I missed you,” he whispered, his voice cracking from the overwhelming release of pure emotion.
Before you could reply, he hooked his arms under you, effortlessly pulling you up off the cold floor and onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around you in a fierce, crushing grip, burying his face into the crook of your neck.
“I missed you too, handsome. More than you could ever know,” you sweetly cooed back through your tears, wrapping your own arms securely around his neck and pressing a gentle, reassuring kiss to the side of his head.
You didn't know exactly what had happened to him over there, but in this moment, the details didn't matter. All that mattered was that your husband was finally safe in your arms, letting his walls crumble so you could help him heal.
“Old dog’s can’t learn new tricks, price” Soap would grin across the table. Ghost’s low chuckle followed like smoke. “Bet the missus is bored stiff, Captain.”
Price never rose to the clear ragebait in front of the boys, but the words..stuck. You were younger, gorgeous, and God— always eager for him… yet a small, ugly part of him wondered if they were right. He’d never exactly been the adventurous type in bed—solid, thorough, but not… inventive.
So he cornered Gaz one night after drills.
“Need a favor, Sergeant.”
Gaz raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”
Price rubbed the back of his neck, face already red with what he could only pin as embarrassment. “You’re good with the ladies. I want lessons. Real ones.”
Gaz blinked, then a slow, wicked grin spread. “You want a demonstration, Captain?”
Price’s jaw flexed. “Please..”
That’s how you ended up here—naked on the bed, thighs spread over Price’s lap while Gaz knelt between your legs like he’d been invited to dinner.
Price’s big hands were firm on your waist, keeping you pinned back against his chest. “She’s sensitive.” he muttered, almost clinical, but you could feel how hard he was against your lower back. “On with it, sergeant.”
Gaz’s eyes flicked up to yours, dark and hungry. “You ready for this, love?”
You nodded, already wet and aching just from the sheer thrill of the situation.
Gaz didn’t waste time. Two thick fingers slid through your folds, spreading you open. “First thing—don’t rush. Get her nice and wet.” He rubbed slow circles over your clit until your hips jerked, then pushed two fingers inside, curling just right.
Price watched every movement like it was a briefing.
“There’s a spongy spot here…” Gaz pressed upward deliberately causing your whole body to jolt. “Right there. That’s your target.”
He started pumping—steady, focused strokes that dragged over that spot again and again while his thumb kept pressure on your clit.
Price’s voice was rough in your ear. “Breathe, sweetheart. Let him work.”
Your orgasm built fast—embarrassingly so.
“That’s it..” Gaz praised, voice low. “She’s swelling up. See how she’s pulsing?” He added a third finger and the pressure inside became unbearable. “When she starts trying to close her legs, don’t let her. Keep going.”
Price’s hands moved to your thighs, holding them open. You came with a broken cry, but Gaz didn’t stop. He kept fingering you through it, rough and relentless, and suddenly everything felt tighter, hotter, like something was about to—
“There..” Gaz growled. “Let it go, lovely...”
With a whine, a gush of wetness flooded out around his fingers, soaking the sheets and his wrist. Price made a low, filthy sound behind you as he watched you squirt for the first time in your life.
Gaz eased his fingers out slowly, letting you ride the aftershocks, then lifted his soaked hand to show Price. “That’s the spot. Consistent pressure, curved fingers, and you don’t stop when she comes.. you keep going until she gives it to you.”
Price’s breathing was ragged. His cock was nearly throbbing against your back.
Gaz wiped his fingers on your inner thigh, then met Price’s eyes. “Your turn, Captain.”
Price shifted you forward, laying you down properly. He kissed the inside of your knee, voice low with promise.
t141 + könig and their reaction to sleeping on the couch after an argument
—price
when you banish him to the couch, he could be one of two ways—mature and forces you to talk it out nicely or toxic, flat out refuses, and fucks you back to your senses.
the first way, when the words spill from your mouth, his shoulders slumped with dejection as he steps from the room. no point in arguing when you're worked up. after stewing in your anger for thirty or so minutes, he returns—armed with food—and talks it out with you.
the other way, he flat out refuses to sleep on the couch. i could see him manipulating you with the "I paid for that bed, and I'll sleep in it." you're stubborn, muttering something about you sleeping on the couch then, which is how you end up getting your brains fucked out.
—soap
I imagine soap just pushed your buttons way too much that day. you know how he is sometimes—over the top, hyper, and an all-around instigator. he was looking for a reaction, and he found it—just not the one he wanted.
immediately pouts, acting like a dejected child before he goes on to try and convince you to change your mind. real annoying about it too, doesn't give up until you're at your breaking point.
—kyle
the only one that I see actually accept his banishment with stride. he knows he made you upset, respects the boundary you placed with him and doesn't take it to heart. there's also a big possibility that, by the end of the night, you end up talking it out anyways like mature adults.
he knows you needed to get it out of your system, and you serving punishment to him did just that.
—simon
the second the words leave your mouth, he shuts down. you see the moment he deflates, doesn't try to reconcile, and just accepts it. he doesn't want to upset you further or make you more mad than you already are. simon doesn't respond well to domestic conflict.
the second his back hits the cushions? he's tossing and turning. he barely fits the couch to begin with, and you both learn you need each other to sleep—bonded like a pair of cats.
—könig
he's not fitting on the couch, and that's what makes it more satisfying. maybe he was being too persistent about his horniness, hands wandering too far until you snapped and threw your finger to the couch you know he can't fit.
he whines about it for sure, trying to whip you with puppy eyes and convince you to change your mind. he apologizes until you're sick of hearing it, allowing him back in bed just to get him to shut up.
