Heyo! Wanted to give an intro and have the masterlist for the series here.
Setting: Modern Times. Urban London and/or vaguely "on a military base"
I mix and match some general omegaverse stuff to fit my preferences and I rarely research anything so I can't guarantee anything to be correct.
The story follows the main 141 plus others - there is a through-line plot happening in the background, but the story overall is smut-with-plot. I write the characters based mostly on the vibe I get from their wikis and from listening to their voicelines on Youtube. Pretty much everyone is an Alpha and reader is an Omega because that's my kink. I play fast and loose with the canon and no one can stop me.
I don't have a set uploading schedule, as I have never done a writing project like this before, but I will try to post a few times a week. I'm fairly new to Tumblr so I'm still figuring out formatting and stuff but I'll try to keep things neat.
Chapter One: Friday
The Blanket - Ghost: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five
The Hook-Up - Soap: {In Progress} Part One, Part Two
Speed Dating - Gaz:
Office Work - Price:
Chapter Two: Monday
Long Day - Ghost:
Date Night - Gaz:
Honeymoon Phase - Soap:
A Little Chat - Price:
Chapter Three: Homecoming
Alpha 0-1
Baby Daddy - Graves:
Shower Sex - Ghost:
Dom - Gaz:
Ride Me - Soap:
The Interrogation - Alpha 0-2:
Mile High - Keegan P. Russ:
A Lady's Rut - Kate Laswell:
Home - Price:
Snacks and Orders - Graves:
Mile High Club - Graves:
Chapter Four: Shit Gets Real
The Aftercare - Makarov:
The Rescue - Konig:
Betrayal - Graves:
Chapter X: Extra Blips that don't go with the story
I'm gonna get back into writing this fanfic. I want to find the joy in this silly smutty fandom again. It's just really hard to support a first-person-shooter videogame franchise that glorifies war and a kink-genre centered around dubious consent, dubious age, and a breeder fetish. What with everything going on, and all. *waves hand vaguely*
Omegaverse | Alpha Soap | Omega Reader | Any Gender but Reader is referred to as a Wife | Bringing the man to your flat, but getting distracted
Hope you took your suppressants (unless?) ~
CW: NSFW - Omegaverse Dynamics - Scenting, Male Flirting, Pushy but it's Consensual, Slightly Problematic Chauvinistic Views(?), Alcohol and Hook-Up Culture..... Piss mentioned... A brain worm but it is metaphorical.. Fingering and Unsanitary Conditions
Setting: Modern Day, evening somewhere around London: Omegas are allowed to live normally, heat blockers/suppressants are common
< Part One
Part Three >
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You're not one to make risky decisions, usually. You take your suppressants, tend your nest, and stay home when you need to. When you do decide to take a chance on a date, you always stay in control. You're an Omega, and you never want to get yourself in a position where they ask, 'well what were you wearing?'
That's why tonight feels so weird, and yet so right. You're drunk off your ass, clinging to the well muscled arms of an equally drunk Alpha. Somewhere between the drinks and the debate, his scent curled into your brain like a worm and wouldn't let you leave it alone. The clamor of the pub around you, with the sweat and humidity of bodies and drinks flowing freely, had turned into something of a cocoon, leaving the two of you to flirt and lean closer while the rest of the din faded into the background.
He has gorgeous blue eyes, and his scent is lighter than you'd expect for a man of his size. His dark hair, shaved into a mohawk, is echoed on his wide jaw and down his neck and arms. More than once, you found your eyes lingering at his collar, wanting to follow that trail of hair to see what it looks like under the shirt. It makes you want to press your nose into the warm crook of his neck, to inhale that soft scent, like wool musk and sun warmed linen. He smells clean, and you wonder for the first but not the last time, if that's where his supposed call-sign came from.
The horny little worm in your brain is hooked, but you don't really care to question it as you find yourself stumbling out of the pub, teasing at his insistence on wishing to be a house-husband.
"Nae, Ah mean et," His Scottish brogue slurring harder from the amount of alcohol in his system. "Ahm good et followin orders. Whatever mah wife wants, she'd get. Eas'eh." He smiles almost wistfully, looking down at you. His eyes are half-lidded as you make your way down the sidewalk. Your teasing about how he'd look good in an apron only spurs him on. He is one to commit to a bit.
"Aye, and I'd wear 'n apron an no else if yeh wanted." He smiles wider, cheeks making his eyes squint with easy laughter. Your heart flutters and you're not quite sure if it is because of how pretty he is, or how easily he assumes you'd be his wife.
With a little grunt, he pauses and pulls his arm from yours, using both hands to steady your shoulders before he leaves you on the sidewalk. "Just a mom'nt, hen. If ah don't piss now, i's going down meh breeks."
You giggle (like, a proper schoolgirl giggle. Fuck, you're in it now, aren't you?) as he struts into the alley, unzipping to piss on the wall. It is nasty, isn't it? And yet your eyes are drawn to where his fingers have a light hold. You can only really see the tip but... "If yeh wan' a proper look, lass, you just gotta ask." He sees your gaze. At your scoff, he laughs. "Ah come on, are yeh so offend? Gonna get me for 'mpoper exposure? Have em come lock me up? Was yer idea anaewae."
You insist something along the lines of how you couldn't bear to let your husband be locked away, so you'll cover for him just this once. And yes, you might want to see more of him. You hope you're being flirtatious and coy. but in all likelihood, you're just as raunchy as him in this moment.
He shakes and tucks it away, his face lighting up as you continue the banter. He saunters back to you with the grace of a puppy who hasn't grown into it's paws yet, as he takes you into his arms. Once large hand tucks behind your back as the other catches the side of your head, protecting you as he pushes you against the brick wall.
"Aye. Yeh can see any part of meh yeh like." He smiles, but his voice is lower, as his face leans close to yours. His scent is heavier now, wrapping around you, and you feel your groin spark with interest. The heat of it coils between your legs. Maybe you've become nose-blind to your own scent, but the worm in your brain is certainly at the wheel now, letting your true intentions bleed out. You watch him inhale deeply, eyes locked on his as his pupils seem to widen. He presses his body on to yours, the wider bulk of him feeling warm as he holds you there. "If you don't want this, you better say it now, otherwise I might not be able to stop mehself from doin somethin stupid." He seems to whine at those last words, leaning close enough that his lips, warm and soft, brush against yours.
"I do want it." You find yourself answering, grinding your hips forward slightly. That makes him stutter, the hard outline of him tucked down his leg twitching low on your thigh. He lets out a soft, gasping laugh as he leans back only enough to look you in the eyes properly. "How far 'way is it to yer flat?" He asks, already moving his hand from your back to his mouth, sucking on two fingers.
You mumble something about only being a few blocks away, but his hand is already moving into your waistband, fingers making easy work of your buttons. "Couple o' blocks, but tha seems too far," He moans softly into your neck as his hand presses into the skin of your lower belly and pushes lower. He lingers for a moment, brushing into your pubic hairs with another low moan. Those soft lips press against your neck, in that spot just under your jaw. If you had the brain space, you might have been embarrassed at how just that simple contact causes a gush of slick between your thighs, but as it is, the worm is pleased.
"Ah, yeh like tha?" His voice is warm. Your hands are clung to his waist, not letting him pull back. "Don' yeh worry, I got yeh."
You're usually so careful, but in this moment, the basic Omega instinct in you has won. You go soft in his arms, spreading your legs a little wider has his strong fingers begin to rub at the junction of your thighs. His touch is too little and too much at once. You want more. The little whine that leaves your throat makes him purr, low in his chest, in response. "I know, I got yeh." He grinds against you again, keeping you pinned against the wall at his spit-slicked fingers find your entrance wet and willing. He runs his fingertips along your edges, gently opening you to his exploration. "Ah... fuck." He groans slightly. You feel his cock twitch more insistently from where it is imprisoned in his jeans.
"Do we need to ge' rubbers?" He asks, as he slips one finger inside. You whine and grab the back of his elbow, wordlessly pushing him not to stop and not to get distracted from his current mission. To his credit, he is as gone as you are. "Fuck." He seems to agree, and then his mouth is on yours, lips barely covering hungry teeth as he kisses you. There is beer on his breath and it mixes with his already commanding and nearly smothering presence. He adds another finger, gently pressing in and rubbing, then pulling out, with a maddeningly perfect pace. His fingers fuck you the same way he kisses you: hot, heavy, and with a changing rhythm that shows he either knows exactly what he is doing or that he has a perfect instinct for these things. He alternates between pressing in as far as he can, to curling his fingers to find that spot inside, to pulling out and circling his fingers around that spot of pleasure, it's a slowly building pleasure and you let yourself enjoy it for what it is. For what is probably several minutes, the pair of you are lost in a hazy of drunken lust, in a shadowy alleyway.
"Are yeh gonna come for meh?" He asks with a low rumble, momentarily breaking the kiss. You answer honestly, no with a little sigh. As nice as this is, you're not going to find the right headspace here in this alley.
"Not here. I need to be more comfortable." You start to explain but he is already pulling his hand away, leaving a trail of slick up your belly. The horny worm part of your brain misses the contact, but your Alpha is already buttoning your pants and tugging you to stand upright again.
"Let's get to yer flat then, aye?" He smiles, bringing his fingers to his lips again to savor your taste. His other arm holds you against his chest for a moment as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "Lead the way, love. I wanna see yer nest." That makes you start to purr again, as you find renewed vigor and take his hand, dragging him down the street.
You're not sure if it's you or the worm in control right now, but you are going to get this Alpha with his fuck-ass mohawk into your nest, and you're going to make him yours, goddammit.
Several AI services (chatbots ) are purposely addictive, the same way people can become addicted to gambling or shopping. We’ve literally seen in real time how ChatGPT has caused psychosis and delusions in people; it can have a huge affect on someones’s mental stability. Just because it isn’t substance-based doesn’t mean that doesn’t count as an addiction, and shaming people who are trying to move on and improve themselves is counterproductive. Im proud of that dude and his 4 month mark!
Omegaverse | Alpha Soap | Omega Reader | It's Friday night, you're at the pub near your flat. You've caught the eye of some Alpha with a fuck-ass mohawk. He's making his interest very clear.
Hope you took your suppressants (unless?) ~
CW: NSFW themes - Omegaverse Dynamics - Scenting, Male Flirting, Pushy but it's Consensual, Slightly Problematic Chauvinistic Views(?), Alcohol and Hook-Up Culture….. Piss? mentioned
Setting: Omegas are allowed to live normally, heat blockers are common
(Listen - I have never played the games, I have only enjoyed the fandom. You aren’t here for biblically accurate Soap and neither am I. Character crafted mostly from the wiki and vibes)
Part 2 >
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The barracks are dead quiet at this hour, save for the echo of his trainers squeaking against the polished floor. He and the team had only just dragged themselves in from another bloody mission. Nerves frayed and faces caked with dust, their eyes had been empty from hours without sleep. But, of course, it's Friday night, innit? An' there's nothin a cold shower and a couple of Red Bulls can't fix. This Alpha is ready to get out and enjoy the evening like a proper lad his age outta be (ignoring the internal voice that sounds like his mother telling him that he should be married and settled down with a nice Omega by now.)
His mind runs over the last few things he needs to consider before going off base. The post-mission debrief isn't even worth making notes for, whatever Price writes in will be fine. The laptop was sittin in an abandoned warehouse and we recovered it with no contact. It's like they wanted us to find it, and it means that the paperwork for the mission will be easy... From there, Soap thinks, as he makes his way to the exit, fresh and ready party, "We can't plan for anything until we know what that laptop holds. Might not even be related to Ares at all. Either way, estimate we got atleast the weekend on base before we ship out, if not longer. He grins and double checks for his wallet and keys.
He had left the captain and Gaz back in the office after their short debrief. Even after the tired dismissal from Price, Gaz seemed to be in the mood to discuss strategy even though there's nothing more to say! To his credit (and Soap's to bafflement,) Price seemed in the mood to smoke a cigar and humor his protégé. Teacher's Pet.
As Price waved them off, the 141 could suddenly breathe again, and that meant minds turn to other things. It's the quiet part not said out loud: The mission is over. Go decompress however you need to.
While Gaz suddenly had a lot more to say, Ghost, that cheeky fucking Brit, fucked off almost immediately to go pick up his alleged mate, that he apparently has and yet's never brought up before.
"Cunt," Soap sighs to himself as he pushes through the door, "He's got a sneaky link back 'ome and he never told us?" He pops the collar of his jacket and clicks his teeth, puffing his cheek to continue the sarcastic monologue to himself. "Tha's just rude, to be honest."
As he inhales, the cool evening air hits his nose. Sharp and fresh, laced with the gritty scent of gasoline, the wet pavement shares the open promise of the weekend. He lets out a long breath, tension rolling off his shoulders in waves. Nothin' else matters at this point. It's Friday night, he's had a shit week, and he's got some cash to burn.
John MacTavish (Soap if you know him, Johnny if you like him) has the kind of easy, confident swagger that makes people move out of his way. He looks like he'll run right into you and then act surprised because he didn't even see you. And that fear isn't entirely unwarranted. MacTavish is a trained special forces soldier, capable of maintaining high focus and accuracy, while pushed to the physical brink for days and weeks on end. That means, unfortunately, he likes to turn his brain off when he's not on duty. It’s the first time in weeks, he’s not pinned down with mission details or tactical plans. He's had the chance to start to breathe, and now there’s that familiar, lighter itch in his chest. He wants to let off some steam: drink a little, dance a little, eat some greasy food and lose some money playing pool. He barely lets his mind wander to the chance of finding an Omega tonight, or a Beta or… fuck, really, anyone. But I'm not even sure I've got the energy to give em a proper rutting. He chides himself, laughing slightly and shaking his head as he tries to focus on the external instead of the internal until there's only one destination on his radar: the local pub near the railroad tracks, where the lights are low, the drinks are strong, and the company, god willin', is warm, wet, and welcomin.
In minutes, the squat, boxy building is looming ahead, with neon lights flickering over the doorway. The pulsing glow reflects in the rain-soaked cobblestones, giving color to the scent of damp cigarette smoke. The narrow windows are fogged, but he can hear the steady beat of the music, loud and heavy, mixed with muffled laughter and the clatter of billiards.
The cocky Alpha pushes through the door, letting the noise and warmth hit him all at once. He relaxes into the crowd, letting his senses take in the sweaty pub. Inhaling deeply (because he really is a gremlin at heart), the horndog takes stock of the various scents: the sweat of alphas, omegas, and betas, beer, fish, AND chips. He takes in the party and likes what he sees. He's about to be a menace.
Fuck I've missed the pub.
First pint in hand, he locates a spot to lean on the bar and settles in. Somewhere around his fourth pint, he finds himself in a debate about the violence in the Congo. (It was too easy to ragebait the bigot on bullshit he didn't know anything about). Somewhere around his eigth pint, he slips away from the conversation, both to take a piss and avoid a fist fight. The warm hazy feeling of being blitzed on Tennent's is abruptly interrupted when he spots a pretty little thing in the corner.
Now that dog in him finds itself focused on you.
Just beyond the edge of the crowd, you look bored. The noise and the people aren't entertaining you and your cocktail is undrinkable in your glass. Completely unapproachable. Hot. The rest of the pub falls away as his gaze locks on to you (read: bro is staring hard). That subtle, instinctive pull flickers behind his navel, causing his cock to twitch in his jeans before his brain fully registers what he's smelling. Soft but unmistakable, an Omega very in control of their scent, trying to attract a very specific sort of mate. Lingering in the air like a whisper meant just for him, his instinct is not so dulled as to ignore someone as delectable as you. You're not here to flirt brazenly, but you are here and you are fishing. Game recognizes game.
“Mah lucky night, then,” he mutters with a grin, abandoning his initial mission to sidle his way through the packed room toward you, running a quick hand through the longer hair on the top of his head.
When he slips in beside you, that grin morphs into something roguish and warm, wrapping around you in tandem with his arm on the back of your chair. His scent is strong and recently showered, promising a good time if nothing else. He looks military, buff, with a curl of dark hair poking out of his collar and leading to the evidence of a recently, but poorly, shaved jaw. When he raises his hand to fix his hair, fixing the short tuft of his mohawk, you note not-so-faded scars and a continued trail of dark hairs up his muscled, tatted arm.
“How ’bout a dance, m’eudail?" He starts, leaning into his Scottish charm with a devilish sparkle in his eye. "Or maybe a drink? If yer lookin’ tae start on somethin wee bit more exciting than just standin 'ere alone?" He holds out his hand, brows arched. He's charming for sure. And you've got a thing for military dudes biting off more than they can chew with you. Let's see if he can keep up.
Hook "I was planning on drinking hard tonight. Think you can keep pace with me?" You grin, lying through your teeth with that easy Omega charm. His eyes widen slightly and he grins a little wider in return, not expecting a challenge.
Line "You want to drink with me, lass?" He laughs, playing along. "Ah'm not sure it'd be a fair fight, love. I got a fair history of drinkin too much."
Sinker You wave your hand at him, swatting at his shoulder. "I'm drinking gin and tonic, the expensive blue one." He perks up at the order, taking the plain and obvious signal to continue flirting for what it is.
He returns with your drink and a pair of lagers for himself and then, perhaps a bit unexpectedly, the conversation blossoms between you. You start easy, asking the same old questions that get military guys to brag about themselves, letting you fawn just a little bit to inflate his ego. To his credit, he matches stride for stride. He seems a bit dodgy about answering what exactly he does for a living, but you don't pry. Besides being a bit of a nerd, he seemed well informed about a lot of the issues going on in the world and it turns into a fascinating discussion.
"Naw I agree though!" He nods, finishing his third or forth pint. "If the Matriarchy wants to control the world, Ah'd be the first lad in line to be a house-husband, swear to god." You're both too deep in the conversation to even be flirting anymore, this is just a debate now.
"Well you better explain yourself on that one," you scoff, his earlier exposition about chemical explosives lingering in your mind. "A househusband has no place doin explosives in the house, with, like, children around and all that."
He nods seriously. "No. Listen. I'll plead my case, but I gotta take a piss." He's already standing, moving to go to the bathrooms.
"Nooo," you whine softly. You've had at least two drinks too many and you weren't even planning on it. "If you go now, I'm going to forget what we were talking about."
He pauses, giving a sincere thought to fixing the problem.
"Well you can't come in the privy with me, love." He looks at your drunk, sleepy eyes. Somewhere in these hours spent drinking, your scent went from sharp, interested flirting to a sense of calm and fluffy comfortability. His instincts scream at him not to ruin that.
"You wanna come back to my place?" You offer, also standing, albeit a bit shakily. "You can piss in the alley."
He breaks into a lazy grin. "Tryna get me to commit crimes now? You're a risky one. Gon' be the death of me I'd wager" He nods a head, chuckling, as he helps you out of your seat. "You sure? I'm fine just walking you home and leaving. We don't have to go any farther than tha'" He seems sweet, and genuine, in a nerdy sort of way. It feels like if you don't take advantage of this opportunity, you might not see him again: and that gives you a tiny sense of panic.
What's the worse that could happen? He's already let you inspect his military id (and send a picture of it to your best friend) and he's shared both a photo of himself in a swimming suit, and of the barn cat he had as a kid. He's got good energy.
"Yea I'm serious, come on. You paid the tab, right?" You don't double-guess yourself as you fumble through getting out of the pub and standing on the curb. It's colder out here now that the sun has been down, and a breeze runs chilly up the roadway. You slide your hand into his larger, warmer hand and tug him towards your flat. "If you don't fumble this, I'll let you sleep on the couch."
Alpha Ghost | Omega Reader | You were so sweet, donating your scent to Military Alphas in Need™
CW: NSFW - Omegaverse Dynamics - Nothing too crazy but the usual scenting, marking, knotting, vaguely non-con - THIS IS ACTUALLY SMUT THIS TIME. - I did my best to write Reader as AnyPOV (let me know what you think - I could maybe write FemPOV and MalePOV if people want???)
< Part Four
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It's not that Ghost has a hard time waiting.
He's waited his whole life to meet you. He's not about to ruin it with clumsy behavior and a quick fuck. He wants to give you the world, or, at the very least, make you his world. He's never had a reason to want to come home, but if you'd be willing to be his home, he'll do everything in his power to give you the best life possible. When you opened the door to your flat, a quaint little place near the airport, he could tell how much effort you put into making it your own. The garden is a bit run down, the walk is cracked, and the roof probably needs to be replaced sooner rather than later, but it's home, it's yours, and it makes him feel a sense of belonging and comfort he's not sure he's ever felt. Your scent fills the place, and as you turn to look at him with those big eyes, saying something about the mess, he's at a loss for words beyond, "It's perfect, luv. Don't apologize."
He wants to give you his mark. As you showed him around the place, he did his best to pay attention, taking in the pictures and plants and furniture. You're not rich but the flat is yours and that's impressive. His eyes kept flicking back to your neck, to the smooth expanse of skin under your ear that calls to him more and more. When you took his hand, shyly bringing him into your bedroom, he was 95% sure you were just being coy. The sparkle in your eye and the scent of your pheromones betrayed your interest, but he's nothing if not the sort to be completely sure. "This yer nest, then?" He asked with a gentle reverence, a sort of awe that comes with lack of experience. He's no virgin, but he's never been with an Omega interested enough to bring him to their sanctuary. Looking over the pillows and blankets arranged just so on the bed, he had felt his heart thump harder, as the bulge in his pants (which had not, at any point in the evening, gone down) swelled to the point of discomfort. It would be embarrassing if he weren't so completely enthralled.
"Mm hm," you had smiled, cocking your head to the side. It was somewhat disorienting to be so strongly attracted to a man without any pheromones whatsoever, but you had already decided to make him yours. You could also swear you got the faintest whiff of the most delicious scent, as he looked at your nest. Maybe you imagined it, but it emboldened you to step a little closer, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his jeans. "Lay with me, for awhile?" You had asked so sweetly. "These will have to come off though. No hard fabric in the nest."
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It's not that he has a hard time waiting.
His breath is heavy, warm, as his nose presses into your neck. Your clothes are scattered over the room while you are on your back, firmly in the center of your bed. He seems even more massive now, as he presses down on you. "Anythin' you want, is yers, yea?" He seems almost breathless. The scars on his face are echoed across his body, and he's hairier than you'd expect, in a blond sort of way. "I'll treat you good. Promise." His voice is low and warm and tinged with a whine that almost seems out of place for a man so large. "You'll never want for nothin. I'll take care of you." He worships against your neck, licking a long, slow stripe from collarbone to earlobe. Every motion is accompanied by the throb of his cock, which rests hard and heavy and already dripping pre on your navel. The entire experience makes you shiver, your body becoming more and more relaxed as your instincts let you become soft and submissive.
"Yea?" You moan softly, your hands wrapping around his torso to gently scratch his back. The motion makes his cock twitch again as he lets out a shaking whisper.
"Yea."
Slowly, he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, letting his mouth open and his teeth graze against your delicate skin. It's might be unfair how much it makes you throb, your core becoming wet and your pheromones coming on so heavy you might worry the neighbors will smell you (if you were in the headspace to care). But he doesn't break skin, as he continues kissing lower.
"Don't tease me," you whine, your neck missing the warmth of his breath as he kisses down your torso, pausing to rub his large, calloused hands on your chest. He squishes the flesh in his fingers as his mouth leans down to slowly lick one nipple, letting it perk in the cool air before gently biting. Then he moves to the other, letting out a chuckle at your whine.
"'M not teasin, luv." He glances up at you, eyes darker and somehow hungrier than before. "'M bein polite." He reaches down, taking his massive cock in hand. Far too slowly, he rubs it against your core, letting your slick essence coat the pink, throbbing head as he mixes he pre-cum with your natural excitement. Rather unceremoniously, he gives a firm, squelching pap pap, slapping his member against your entrance. "'M big. And yer small. I don't wanna hurt you."
He leans back down, putting his face near your neck as as he rocks his hips, grinding into your cleft.
"You won't hurt me." You try to insist, your Omega brain being fully in-charge and not processing how he is thicker than your wrist. "Not too big. Won't hurt. Promise."
That makes him laugh, a low throaty chuckle that makes you clench. "I am. And it will."
His lips, scarred and somewhat dry, meet yours as he kisses you slowly. His tongue slowly slides in as he finds your rhythm. When you stop arguing, he slides a rough hand down your body, gathering the wetness on your stomach before moving between your legs. Finding no resistance, he rubs around your entrance firmly, smearing you with more of his pre-cum, before slowly pushing in one finger, and then two. He pumps slowly, feeling how wet and ready you are. A smirk comes to his face when he hooks his fingers just so and finds the spot inside that makes you twitch. He rubs it slowly, kissing you in time with the slow, circular motion of his fingers.
"You alright?" He asks after a couple minutes, pulling away from the kiss the watch your face. You nod, biting your lip to not seem too gone. "You want me to put it in?"
He chuckles when you whine. "Right." His voice lowers as he moves, pulling his fingers out and giving them a slow lick before adjusting, putting his elbows by your head and angling his hips so his fat length nudges at your entrance. "Want me to mark you?" He asks in an even lower voice, his eyes half lidded but focused as he studies your face. When you nod, he chuckles and lowers his face back to your neck, running his teeth along the sensitive skin that covers your glands. "Words, luv, please. You want my mark?" You whine again in confirmation, trying to roll your hips to get him inside. Unfortunately, he's got you pinned under his bulk. "Once it's done, ya ain't gettin' rid o me. You want that?"
"Simon Riley please!" You huff, breathless and needy.
He wants to give you his mother's ring. Next chance he gets, he's going to Manchester to get it and it's going on your finger. But you certainly aren't going to let him leave anytime soon, so he'll give you the second and third best things: his mark on your neck and -
"'M gonna knot you, then." He chuckles, slowly pushing forward. You are wet and slick and perfect to the point that he has to pause just after he's able to get the head of his cock inside. "Bloody hell." The words leave his mouth like a prayer. "You alright?" He asks again, barely holding back. You dig your nails into his back in response and that's all he needs.
He moves an arm and hooks it under your thigh, holding you open as he rolls his hips, sinking deeper into you. The noise you make has his knot already beginning to swell at the base of his cock. One arm braced by your head, the other holding your leg, he begins to move with strong, solid thrusts. Each time he pulls out so just the head stays inside, and then he pushes deeper. It takes a few rounds before he is entirely seated, the knot pushing against your entrance.
"Fuck," he groans, his face burying into the skin of your neck. He breathes deeply, inhaling your scent as he keeps a steady rhythm, fucking you slow and deep. "'m not gonna last -" he gasps, clenching his teeth.
He is so big, holding you in place. You are as close to heaven as you've ever been, getting fucked by this massive Alpha. You don't have to do anything, and you couldn't if you tried. He is equally zoned out, lost in the movement and in your scent. You dig your nails into his back, catching on old scars as you scratch him.
And that seems to be enough.
"Fuck," his voice cracks as he opens his mouth and then bites down on your gland. He locks his jaw, keeping himself from biting too deep, as he breaks skin and feels your gland bruise from it. You cry out, your orgasm crashing over you all at once. Your pheromones flood his mouth as his, as faint as they are, enter your bloodstream. His hips stutter forward, causing the hard mass of his knot to pop past your entrance and swell larger, locking inside. With a long, slow exhale, his hips spasm as he cums. Thick waves of warmth gush from his cockhead as he rocks gently against you, prolonging the experience. The pulse of his release matches the beat of his heart, for awhile, before slowing down. It's heavy, and warm, and you're suddenly aware of how large and sweaty he is. It's not the scent of an Alpha, but the regular body odor of a man, and it is enough to make you want to bury your face in his chest.
He gently releases your leg and opens his mouth, releasing your neck from his bite. His tongue slowly runs over the fresh mark, soothing it and covering it with his weak scent on instinct.
"Yea?" He asks against you neck, not using any other words as his weight rests on top of you, cock still firmly locked inside.
You smile lazily and blink up at him. "Yea." After a few moments, you nuzzle against his shoulder.
He lets out a low, happy rumble as your teeth run over old scars and bite down to leave a new, fresh mark.
"You ain't getting rid of me." You add, letting your tongue soothe the mark you've left on his neck. A low sound rumbles in his chest as he starts to purr, surprising even himself. He adjusts, gently rolling and pulling you on to his chest.
"Might be awhile," he whispers over his purring. "Knot's still rock hard."
You laugh, getting comfortable by pulling the blankets from your nest around your conjoined bodies. "That sounds like the opposite of a problem." Your own soft purrs mix with his as the smell of sex seeps into your nest, making it even more comfortable and intimate. This is what home feels like.
It's not that Simon Riley has a hard time waiting, but god damn, he's glad he didn't this time.
Alpha Ghost | Omega Reader | You were so sweet, donating your scent to Military Alphas in Need™
It was safe, confidential, and hey, fifty bucks is fifty bucks. It’s going great, until a certain Alpha decides you’re going to be his
CW: NSFW - Omegaverse Dynamics - Nothing too crazy but the usual scenting, marking, knotting, vaguely non-con. The yearning.
(1.8 m is something like 6ft. He's 6'2")
< Part Three
Part Five >
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
His dark eyes drag slowly down your face and form before looking up. He has to bend some to look into your eyes, almost suffocating the space. It's… kinda hot. You have the chance to really get a look at tonight's bad decision.
He's a massive alpha, you can see now, at least 1.8 meters and double your width and weight. A tight shirt hugging his broad chest peaks out from under a zip up hoodie. From the look of his wrist, he has tattoos; lower, dark jeans and a belt that looks suspiciously like a weapon holster; higher, a beat up face with scruff on the chin and dark blonde hair just long enough to start to curl, poking out from under a cap. All things considered, he was a handsome fucker.
"You fancy a bite?" His low voice, dripping with Alpha energy, pulls your eyes back to meet his. Brown and focused. Hungry in a way that food cannot sate. Even without his scent, he has the look and confidence of a predator, zeroing in on salvation. He already knows exactly how he's going to devour you and he wants you to know it. But he's going to be so polite about it, taking you for food, maybe offering his hoodie later without the intention of trying to scent you. When was the last time you had an Alpha who wasn't handsy and pushy, jumping straight to crude remarks and anger at the slightest rejection?
Fuck. Not answering. They just saw my knob, affirmative. That's hot. Why didn't I shave? He berates himself, holding your gaze. "So fucking cute. What did I do to deserve this. Hell. They're still not saying anything.. I'm not going to just grab 'em and walk. I'm pretty sure that's only in the films-"
"I could eat," You give him a few slow blinks, leaning into his dominant energy.
"…Right," He smiles and tugs his mask back up over his slightly crooked nose. He nudges you out ahead of him, then tucks his hands in his pockets. "There's a deli bout two blocks up. Nice place." He would know, it's where he stopped for a piss a few hours ago. The place was a sight better than the shabbier pubs and kebab joints closer to the base, and hopefully good enough for this omega because he is NOT familiar with this part of the city.
"I need to, ah, drop this package off still." You look up at him, and gesture to your bag. Every week, you sleep with a small fleece blanket, letting it absorb the smell of your skin and your bed. Then you donate it to Military Alphas in Need™ (MAN - a great acronym) and fifty bucks get deposited into your account. Easy money, really.
"...Right." He answers and nods, stepping back to let you go to the dropbox he had unceremoniously guided you away from. He doesn't touch you, but his gaze is heavy, like he is watching and absorbing every detail about you. "You make good money fer it, then?" He asks, a hint of Alpha jealousy seeping into his tone. "No other Alphas bother you, do they?" He asks, voice lowering.
"Not any more than the usual harassment." You laugh, sliding the package into the slot. "This is supposed to be confidential, you know? I'm happy to sell a bit of my scent to help those in need."
"Mm." He agrees and then gives a small hand motion, guiding you to the sidewalk. He doesn't offer any more information on how he found you, and you let it slide. For now. He walks at your pace, standing as a tall presence just behind you. He doesn't say much more. When you stop at the corner, his elbow nudges you slightly, sending a delicious shiver down your back. When was the last time you felt so excited by a man?
Simon, for his part, is barely holding it together. His instincts are torn between growling at anyone that looks at you, burying his nose in your neck and inhaling until he's had his fill, and aborting the mission entirely and going to Plan B (which was going to your home and stealing a stash of your underwear.)(To be swapped out at a later date. He's not that inconsiderate.) You're so perfect. I'm really in this now. Wouldn't trade it for anything. He can feel the affection in his gaze and in the way he relaxes just by looking at you. He's going to make this work, goddamnit, even if he has to make it up as he goes.
"So you're army?" You ask, glancing up at him as you near the deli. He looks down and gives you a short nod.
"Special Forces. Can't say much more'n that." He looks ahead, and pulls open the door. The spot is nice, if not a bit old fashioned. There's a glass meat case, checkered linoleum, and the smell of toasting bread. Since it is about that time when people get off work, it's starting to get a bit busy. "Wha' do you like to eat? They got sandwiches. Soup." He pauses to look up at the menu. "…salad?"
He seems unsure. How can someone be so dominant and yet insecure? It pulls a smile to your lips. "Probably a combo." You offer, pretending to look at the menu while sneaking glances at him.
"Right. Yea. Get whatever you want. My treat." He says with that same low intensity.
That makes you chuckle softly. "Your treat, huh? Really pulling out all the stops to wine and dine me, eh?" You tease him, you can't help it.
His gaze flick back to yours, and even from under the mask, you can see his eyes crinkle with the humor. "Yea. Anything for you. It's the best deli in the city."
"Yea?" You play along, letting him wrap an arm around you and put his chin on your head. He's breathing you in, and even for him being mostly a stranger, it somehow feels right. "I didn't realize you were a connoisseur."
God you're so cute. He can hardly contain himself. Teasing me like this? When you don't pull away, he let's himself breathe your scent, holding you tight against his chest. It gives him a calm he's not sure he's ever felt. " 'M not. Actually never ate here before."
"Huh." You smile wider and laugh at his easy admittance, tipping your head up to look at him. "Then let's get a couple different things and share?"
"Tha's perfect, love. Yea. Whatever you want." He looks down at you with the deepest, most sincere eyes.
Your heart stutters and you realize… this might be it.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
As far as first dates go, it may be one of the best you've ever been on. You order several sandwiches, soups, and salads to share between you, and you watch him inhale 75% of it all, after making sure you got to taste everything and keep your favorites for yourself.
You learn a bit about him. He's from Manchester and has got a flat there still. He hasn't got any family left, but his brother Tommy was very important to him. He doesn't go into the details, but you get the sense that maybe his home life wasn't great.
"Joined the forces to get away from it, make a living for meself." He shrugs, "Been at it ever since."
He asks about you more than he talks about himself. He seems content to listen, and he listens intently. As you ramble about your work and where you went to school and what you do for fun, you get the sense that he is tucking away every detail.
"I'm in a volleyball league too. That's my attempt to get out more and interact with people." You grin at one point. "I'm not the most athletic, but it's not super competitive."
"Yea?" His eyebrows raise. Do NOT admit you already knew that, Riley. Do NOT blow this by lookin like a creep. "How often you doin tha'?" You tell him that it is every week, but you're just a sub, so you go every other week. Makes sense. "Yea? And you like it? That's good."
"You could join if you wanted." You offer, testing his interest. "Massive guy like you? You could just put your arms up like a wall." You tease, nudging his leg under the table with your own.
"Mebbe." He shrugs, ducking his head to take another bite of his sandwich, hoping you don't notice his blush. "I travel a lot for work though. Can't really promise any set schedule." It's not like he hasn't heard comments like that before, but there's something about how easily you seem to see him, and the way you offer to bring him into your life that is so easy.
When you finish your meal, he pays and you go outside. He stands there for a moment, awkwardly, with his hands in his pockets, while you fiddle with your hat. He's been an Alpha since he was about 18, but that doesn't mean he just HAS the charisma that comes so naturally to some Alphas. He's honed for combat and leadership, not wooing and charming an Omega. Plus, his glands have been fucked for so long now that he's not even sure how he's supposed to be feeling, or how he's supposed to go about properly claiming a mate. "It'll come naturally." Gaz's voice comes to mind. "You're an Alpha. You don't gotta second guess it." Yea. Right. Bollocks.
"Can I take you home?" He finally asks, his voice cutting though the din of the roadway and landing straight between your legs.
"To Manchester?" You tease, feeling the familiar flush of desire rising inside you.
"I've got a hotel room booked. It's nearby if ye like…" He answers, his eyes trained on you again, looking hungry. God I hope you don't think that's weird. He pauses. "Or, I mean, I'll bring ye back to yers. I've got a car parked around the block. Don't wanna assume nothin, but, fook," He gives the little chuckle you've come to recognize as nerves, "I'd take you to Manchester if you asked."
You smile, and with the type of audacity that comes with knowing you've got this man wrapped around your fingers, you put a hand on his chest and look up with gentle (read: seductive) eyes. "I want to show you my place."
Alpha Ghost | Omega Reader | You were so sweet, donating your scent to Military Alphas in Need™
It was safe, confidential, and hey, fifty bucks is fifty bucks. It’s going great, until a certain Alpha decides you’re going to be his
CW: NSFW - Omegaverse Dynamics - Nothing too crazy but the usual scenting, marking, knotting, vaguely non-con
(I'm combining both versions of Ghost for this. Shh.)
(I'm still figuring out formatting and such. Your patience is appreciated)
< Part Two
Part Four >
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
It’s not that Ghost has a hard time waiting.
He's been through worse. Seen worse. Dug himself from the grave and crawled back out to get revenge. He's a silent killer, a mass of muscle, blood, and controlled rage on the battlefield. But even a weapon will have it's weakness.
Which is why he’s here now.
Your scent has been slowly fading from the little blanket, which has only made him more determined to find you. The trained predator inside him would never let him lose his quarry.
It hadn’t been hard to hack into the donation center’s database, really. It was embarrassingly easy to trace that label back to you. The charity's database was barely encrypted, and he has connections who will draw files without asking questions.
You weren't terribly hard to find. An Omega in London. Been donating blankets for about a year now.
Searching your name showed where you worked, what you do for fun, even some past boyfriends… and, most importantly, you are unmarried and unmated. Unclaimed.
For now.
He shifts in the shadows of the alley, mind reviewing the details over and over.
"Come on luv," he murmurs to himself, letting a small smirk come to his lips before he fixes his mask. The bus he’s been waiting for finally pulls up. His pulse quickens to a heavy thud when the door hisses open and the passengers step off. His eyes narrow, taking in each figure, assessing for threats and more importantly….
You. Even bundled in your coat and hat, you’re unmistakable. He's scoured and scanned enough of your photos to recognize your form, even at a distance. I'd know you anywhere. His heart flutters, but then the wind shifts, and your scent hits him like a punch to the gut. Fuck. He feels himself practically whimper, as he is brought back to the first time he ever got your scent, in the locker rooms, months ago.
But he forces himself to focus. Now is not the time.
The special forces operative moves with deadly precision, closing the distance between you in seconds. His boots make barely a sound on the wet pavement as he steps up behind you.
“Pardon, love,” he says your name gruffly, his thick Mancunian accent making the words warm like velvet. You glance back, startled, and he gently guides you off to the side, away from prying eyes. With a few steps, he leads you into a narrow alley, caging you against the cold brick wall with his large, gloved hands. His tall, broad frame looms over you, casting a shadow as his eyes lock onto yours.
His voice drops low, almost a growl, “Got a minute for me, love?” As his eyes take in your confusion and fear, his heart races. He’s not a man that feels fear but as your perfect scent hits his nose and he gets the chance to look at you for real….
Shit… Didn’t think I’d get this far.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
"What. The. Fuck?!" You gasp and shove his chest. Your smaller hands don't do much to his large frame but the message is received loud and clear.
Shit, shit shit shit. "Oi, calm down love, yea?" He easily grabs your wrists, stopping your attacks. "… Please?" He adds as an afterthought. Even as the logical part of his mind knows that you're probably about to scream, the romantic (horny bastard) part of him is entranced by the spark in your eye and the warmth of your wrists in his gloved palms. His tone shifts, lower, slower, but firm. “Easy, love,” he mutters, his accent softening slightly. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Far from it. You don't know me but I'm in love with ye." The words fall from his mouth, and you can see a sort of intense sincerity in his gaze, which is fixed on yours.
He has… lovely brown eyes and dirty brown hair, although it's mostly hidden under a cap. Perhaps it's against your best interest, but you let yourself sniff the air. He has no scent, so he must be a beta but he's certainly not acting like one. It's enough to give you pause, but not enough to distract you from what he just said.
"You… love me?" You ask, eyebrows crinkling with judgement and, admittedly, a bit of curiosity. When you try to tug your hands away, he seems reluctant to let go.
"Yea." He speaks with a voice that doesn't sound like it is used to being soft as he slowly releases your hands. "Sorry for scarin' ya."
You raise one eyebrow and wait for him to continue.
"I got… the blanket. Yer blanket. In the care package." He manages to explain, internally cursing himself for not thinking this part over. The Alpha in him was all-in on this plan but conveniently forgot the wooing and courting it takes to get a mate. You can't just go straight to claiming. "Erm…" He sniffs once, buying time. You look as good as you smell. Better than I imagined. Fook. Focus!
He straightens slightly and continues. "I got your blanket in one of them care packages and I appreciate it more'n you know. You got me through some of the worst times, when I've been deployed." He chokes slightly, both on the words he just admitted (far more vulnerable than he's been with anyone, ever) and on the desperate hope that you won't glance down to see the other part of him, which is delightedly NOT feeling awkward about this interaction at all. "And, ah… it's been fading. Your scent. It only lasts so long, it's got me stink on it now." Smooth. Just admit it all at once, you knob, he winces. "I couldn't… couldn't lose you. So I came to find you instead." Don't ask how.
"You're an Alpha?" You ask, curiosity overriding your fight or flight instinct.
"Yea." He answers, relieved you aren't screaming. "Got me glands injured. I don't have a real scent, makes my ruts even harder to get through, among other things." He says it plainly, his Alpha demeanor more obvious now. Even without his pheromones, he manages to hold you captive. He has a raw magnetism about him.
"So.." You always had a thing for big men and bigger bad decisions. What's the worse that could happen? Your scent gives away your intention before your words do, and you see his eyelashes flutter. It's intoxicating, in a way, to see the effect you can have on an Alpha, without his scent overriding it all. "So I'm assuming you're here to court me, proper?" You rock your shoulders slightly and see his pupils widen.
"Yea." He nods, and then leans closer, not even hiding how he is inhaling your scent. "Yea, I'll court you proper, if you let me." He pulls down his mask now, letting you see the stubble and the scars on his lip.
Alpha Ghost | Omega Reader | You were so sweet, donating your scent to Military Alphas in Need™
It was safe, confidential, and hey, fifty bucks is fifty bucks. It’s going great, until a certain Alpha decides you’re going to be his
CW: NSFW - Omegaverse Dynamics - Nothing too crazy but the usual scenting, marking, knotting, vaguely non-con - Solo Male Jacking
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
It’s not that Ghost has a hard time waiting.
But the longer he sits in this alley, surrounded by the grime and graffiti of the city, the more that familiar tension coils in his gut. Every car that passes by, every set of footsteps that echoes from the street, even the stupid cooing of the errant pigeons, has him on edge. It was bad enough that the mission almost got delayed (throwing off the timing for his plan), but now, you're so close he can almost taste it. It makes his teeth ache and the scars on his neck throb.
He knows you’ll be here, and it's the knowing that keeps him calm, collected. He’s tracked your routine down to the minute. Work during the week, some sort of admin job in the city, plus volleyball league every other Tuesday. He'll have to ask more about that. But right now is the most important time of the week. It's Friday, and that's when you trek across the city, by bus, to make your donation: A little blanket you slept with for the week, covering it with your perfect omega scent. It’s a small charity, nothing terribly special. They pay you a little bit for your effort, for your kindness in offering your scent to poor bastards in the military who have go through rut without a mate's scent.
Bastards like him.
The thought of other Alphas getting your scent makes his teeth clench. Fucking cunts. None of them deserve you. None of them can have you.
He does his best to relax his jaw as his hand rises to rub the old scars on his neck, the rough patches that didn't quite heal right, after Mexico. He tries not to think about it, but the thoughts come anyway: The way his pheromones barely function, how his body doesn’t quite act the way it should. The rough scar tissue is a constant reminder of what he’s lost. He's an Alpha without any meaningful scent- no bonding, no way to release his pheromones, no way to attract a mate.
His brow furrows as he remembers of the flyer Price had given him after a particularly rough rut. “It’s a free service. Just sign up. You’re no good to anyone with your head all twisted up, son.”
That’s how he ended up with your scent- that perfect little blue blanket- included in a 'rut care package'. He’d shoved it to the back of his locker at first, ashamed of the weakness it represented. But when that next rut hit hard, he’d ripped open that plastic bag like a man starved.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
"Fuckin hell," he mutters again, leaning against the cool tile wall of the shower. He's been alternating between hot and cold water for at least half an hour, as his body shifts between boiling alive and bone-shaking chills. Even without his heavy, rutting Alpha pheromones filling the locker room, the space had cleared out fairly quickly. Nobody wants to cross Ghost on a good day, and today is definitely not a good day. He'd been extra growly all week, and taking it out on the recruits. "I probably pushed too far, to be honest."
With a slow, shaky sigh, he looks down at his hands, looking at the familiar faded scars and taking stock of the new ones, doing his best to blink away the fog in his mind. "I can't… I can't keep this up." He admits to himself, inhaling slowly as the water sprays on his back. There's a heavy heat coiled in his belly, like a dense weight that is getting heavier, radiating outward, pushing on his joints and demanding something. His cock, thick and heavy as ever, maintains a half-chub. The more adolescent part of his brain feels the draw. Maybe a quick wank wouldn't hurt? But the older, wiser part of him knows it will be useless. Doesn't matter if he gets off, doesn't matter if he rubs himself raw - cumming will bring no release without that missing piece…
His eyes dart to the lockers, suddenly remembering that stupid package. A tiny spark lights up in the back of his brain. Omega. Scent. Mine. Scent. Omega. "Bloody fookin hell." He groans, and his cock comes to full attention, just from that little thought.
Before he can think twice, he's already turning off the water and grabbing a towel, drying his dark blond curls with a quick flip of his wrist before tying the towel low on his hips. He sucks air through his teeth, reacting to the friction the towel provides as it drapes obscenely, hanging off his erection. "Fuck. Fuck. This is mad." He laughs, feeling some barrier in his mind break as he opens his locker and rips open that stupid package.
Then…. oh.
It could just be the rut. It could be that his mind is gone and he is lost in the sauce. Maybe, in another scenario, he wouldn't be so affected… but right now, in this moment, that soft little blanket falls into his hands and your scent explodes in the air around him.
It's dizzying. Maddening. Omegas always have a nice smell to them, Ghost can admit, but he's never been in one's nest before. He's never been exposed to the raw, potent scent of skin and sweat and musk and pure Omega like this. It makes his knees weak. It knocks him back to sit on the bench (he'd be on the floor otherwise.)
Without a second thought, his broad, rough hand is on his cock. It's a familiar feeling, any man knows, but in this moment, it is ecstasy beyond any high he's ever had. His fingers wrap around the thick, solid length and begin to pump, as his other hand holds the blanket to his face. He can imagine you, ethereally, straddling his thighs and bouncing on his cock. Swear to God, it's more real than any shag he's had.
His first release comes quickly, spurting from the tip of his cock in thick globs that coat his hand, his legs, the floor, mixing with his sweat and the water from the shower… but he does not stop anytime soon.
(It is one of the best ruts he'd ever had, gagging on the blanket, drowning in your scent, as he palmed his cock like a man possessed. Somewhere in the haze, the animal part of his brain decided that is it. He never wants to stop chasing that high.)
Alpha Ghost | Omega Reader | You were so sweet, donating your scent to Military Alphas in Need™
It was safe, confidential, and hey, fifty bucks is fifty bucks. It’s going great, until a certain Alpha decides you’re going to be his
CW: NSFW - Omegaverse Dynamics - Nothing too crazy but the usual scenting, marking, knotting, vaguely non-con
(Listen - I have never played the games, I have only enjoyed the fandom. You aren’t here for biblically accurate Ghost and neither am I. Character crafted mostly from the wiki and vibes)
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
It’s not that Ghost has a hard time waiting.
He’s sat in places worse than this—filthy, blood-soaked, war-torn hell holes, usually with the added ambiance of some recently dead insurgent slumped against a wall nearby.
This quiet, if not a bit rundown, corner of London feels tame by comparison. The dull hum of traffic and the distant, tinny sound of someone’s radio provide a backdrop that could almost be comforting, if you ignore the faint smell of piss and the ever present exhaust fumes. As if on cue, a bus rattles by, belching fumes into the damp air as Ghost watches from his post: the shadows of an alley between two brick buildings.
His brown eyes sweep the road once more, sharp and methodical. Civilians shuffle past in heavy coats, hoods up, heads down. Easy targets for his sharp eyes. No one stands out. No one gives him a second glance.
It's not like he’s worried about being spotted, really—hell, the only person who knows he’s out in the city is Soap. "Nosy-ass cunt," Ghost thinks, smirking slightly beneath his mask as he adjusts it. The fabric feels too light compared to the balaclava, but he can't risk being that conspicuous. This is the same as any other mission—stay in control, keep it tight, blend in. Even in civvies, the task and target always comes first.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Just hours ago, Simon had packed his bag quickly, his movements precise and disciplined. The deployment had been fruitful at best. Routine. They managed to retrieve a laptop. That was something, yea, but he was ready to leave this shit - the drills, the recruits, the secret unending war - for a few days. There's been an itch growing under his skin, making him more and more restless. He just wants to get to you. But, as usual, Soap couldn’t help but stick his nose where it didn’t belong.
“Dinnae take yeh for a man who sleeps with a blankie, LT. Wha's this?” The voice of his sergeant grated on his nerves, which caused Ghost to look up from the bag he was packing. The slightly younger alpha, with his fuck-ass mohawk, had appeared (unannounced and uninvited, mind you) in the doorway. Before Ghost could even respond, Soap reached for the small, neatly folded blue blanket sitting beside Ghost’s backpack.
Simon’s hand shot out like lightning and grabbed the other Alpha's wrist before he could touch it.
“Fuck off, Soap. None o’ yer business.” Ghost’s voice was low, dangerous, as his eyes narrowed behind the skull mask. His grip was tight, punishing, with the instinct of protecting what's his overriding his logic for a moment. “An’ if you touch my mate’s things again, you’ll be scrubbin’ floors with your fuckin’ toothbrush, copy?”
Soap blinked, then snorted, his blue eyes full of mischief. “Eh? Ye’ve got a sweet lil Omega waitin’ for ye at home? Damn, Ghost, ye’ve been keepin’ that a secret, aye? When do I get tae meet 'em?” His scent stayed light, playful and unaware of how close the other Alpha is to snapping.
Simon grunted, his grip loosening as he shoved Soap’s arm away. “Mebbe later. Now shove off. I’ve got to go pick 'em up”
“Fine, fine,” Soap said with a laugh, raising his hands in surrender as he backed off. “I’m headin' tae the pub then, gonna find a wet cunt to rut meself into. See ye efter, LT!”
