Wowtheuniverse

20s-just existing- she/her-cod fan

[wowtheuniverse]

Static Between you

ok so this is my first time writing instead of reposting like i always do, english is not my first language so sorry if it has grammar errors.

I do NOT use AI, my writing might be shitty but it's mine.

Do not copy or use my work as your own.

ok so I decided to write something angsty with Simon and his partner, I wrote it as fem, sorry but I'm still inexpirienced, tell me what you think about it!

Count word: 600

Static Between You

You learn Simon in fragments.

At first, it’s the easy things,the way he stands too straight even when he’s tired, the way his eyes flick to every exit when you walk into a room together. You think it’s admirable. Discipline. Awareness. Strength.

You tell yourself you feel safe with him.

And maybe, in the beginning, you do.

He doesn’t talk much about his work.

“Just routine,” he says, pulling off his gloves, placing them dow with precise care. “Nothing you’d want to hear about.”

You laugh it off. You don’t push. You tell yourself that love doesn’t mean knowing everything,it means respecting silence too.

So you build a relationship around what he doesn’t say.

It starts small.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Simon tells you one night.

You had cooked. Nothing fancy just something warm, something you thought he’d like. You smile anyway, “Okay, and eat alone while the food goes cold on his side of the table.

It’s fine. It’s just one night.

Then………

“Why do you always ask so many questions?”

He doesn’t raise his voice. That’s the thing. Simon rarely does. His words are controlled, measured. Sharp in a way that doesn’t leave marks, only impressions.

You blink at him. “I was just wondering what time you’d be back.”

“I told you, it depends.”

You nod quickly. “Right. Sorry.”

You don’t remember deciding to apologize. It just… happens.

You start adjusting.

You stop asking about his day. You stop mentioning when he forgets things like the dinner you planned, or the message you sent that he never answered. You learn the rhythm of his moods the way you once learned your favorite songs.

Quiet Simon is safe Simon. Distant Simon is better than irritated Simon. Cold Simon is still better than the moments where something in his eyes goes sharp and unfamiliar.

You tell yourself this often, like it’s something solid you can stand on.

He never yells. He never calls you names. He never means to hurt you.

And yet

You feel yourself thinning out.

Like you’re being slowly erased in the spaces between his silences.

One evening, you catch your reflection in the window.

Simon is behind you, moving through the apartment, taking off his jacket, setting things down in that careful, controlled way.

You’re in the glass too.

But you look… dimmer.

Not physically. Not something anyone else would notice.

Just

Less.

“Simon,” you say.

The word feels heavy. Like lifting something you’re not sure you’re strong enough to carry.

He glances at you. “Yeah?”

You hesitate.

You could ask him to talk. You could tell him you’re tired. You could say that loving him feels like trying to hold onto something that keeps slipping through your hands.

Instead, you say, “Do you want dinner?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

And that’s it.

Later, lying beside him, you listen to his breathing.

Steady. Controlled. Even in sleep.

You wonder what he dreams about.

You wonder if there’s a version of him somewhere before all of thiswho would have held you a little softer. Listened a little longer. Seen you without looking past you.

Your chest tightens.

Because you realize something quietly, without drama, without a breaking point.

There’s no single moment where this went wrong.

No clear line you can point to and say, there.

Just a slow, steady fading.

In the dark, you turn slightly, just enough to look at him.

“Simon,” you whisper.

He doesn’t wake.

Of course he doesn’t.

And for the first time, you don’t feel safe.

Not because you think he’ll hurt you.

But because you’re not sure how much of you will be left if you stay.

[gazsdiary]

BY ANY OTHER NAME

Chapter 7: Old Friends

Summary: After Gaz confronts you about your husband, the mysterious figure inside your home is finally revealed. Meanwhile, the Pack discovers that the cameras in your house have been moved—and starts looking for answers of their own.

Parings: Poly!Task Force 141 x omega!Reader

Words: 7k

Warnings: none

Author’s note: thank you so much for the feedback!! Love you!! Something huge is near hehe, be prepared

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Disclamer: (I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating, imitating this work )

Don’t forever to comment, like and reblog !!!

The front door clicked shut behind you with a muted sound.

For several long seconds, you didn't move.

Your fingers remained wrapped tightly around the handle even after you slid the deadbolt into place, your knuckles slowly whitening beneath the pressure as you stood perfectly still, your forehead resting against the cold wood. 

The apartment had fallen silent again. Outside, the military housing block had already sunk into the uneasy stillness that always settled over the residential sector after midnight. Somewhere in the distance, an engine hummed briefly before disappearing again beneath the constant, almost comforting drone of the base generators. Every now and then, the headlights of a patrol vehicle swept briefly across the edges of the curtains before vanishing around the next row of military housing.

Your heartbeat refused to slow. It hammered violently against your ribs, each pulse still echoing inside your ears, even though Gaz was no longer standing outside your door. 

God, that had been far too close.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to inhale slowly.

One breath. Then another.

Your lungs obeyed but the rest of your body didn't.

The suppressants had buried every trace of your scent beneath layers of synthetic inhibitors years ago, leaving your apartment devoid of anything that could betray what you truly were, but they couldn't silence instinct. Your muscles remained painfully tight beneath your skin. Every nerve still screamed at you to move. To leave. To disappear before someone else knocked on the door.

You had lived like this for years, always carrying the fear that one day they would finally find you, and today, for the first time in years, they had come so close. So close to uncovering the truth.

At least it had been Gaz. The situation could have been so much worse. It could have been Johnny. You were certain Gaz wouldn't say anything; after all, you barely knew him. What was so strange about your husband being home?

You sighed again and let your head fall back against the door, pressing your forehead against the cold wood. Why did Gaz have to show up at this exact moment? Couldn't he have come tomorrow morning, asking about God knew what? The truth was, you hadn't even properly understood what the sergeant had been saying to you. At this hour of the morning, with your nerves already stretched to their limit, your mind was beginning to fail you.

You had almost forgotten who was inside your home when a calm voice drifted through the apartment behind you.

"I have to admit..." The words carried the unmistakable calm of someone who had spent a lifetime remaining composed under impossible circumstances. "I wasn't expecting your welcoming committee to arrive quite so quickly."

You exhaled slowly through your nose.

Of course.

Without saying a word, you finally pushed yourself away from the door. When you turned around, your apartment looked exactly as it always had: restrained, cold and basic. Temporary almost.

But now, Kate Laswell stood beside the dining table. 

She had already removed her coat, folding it neatly over the back of one of the chairs, the sleeves aligned with the same precision she seemed to apply to everything she touched. One hand rested lightly against the tabletop while the other held a ceramic mug you'd forgotten to put away before leaving for your shift earlier that morning.

She was simply looking at it, studying the faint ring of dried coffee left at the bottom. A slight grimace of disgust decorated her face, perhaps at the thought of how sloppy and disorganized you've become over the years.

Kate was the first one to break the silence.

"Why did you call me?"

The question was deceptively simple, delivered in the same controlled tone she used whenever she wanted an answer without giving away what she was already thinking. She remained beside the table, one hand resting lightly against its edge while the other hung loosely by her side, her posture relaxed enough to suggest patience rather than urgency. But you knew Kate too well to mistake stillness for calm. Her eyes were fixed on you with that quiet, analytical attention that had always made you feel as though she could strip away every excuse you had prepared before you had even finished speaking.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry your throat had become.

"I..."

The word caught somewhere between your chest and your mouth. You looked away, fingers immediately finding the skin around your thumbnail and worrying at the ragged edge until you felt the sting of your own nail against it. You barely noticed the movement anymore. It was something your hands did whenever your thoughts moved faster than your ability to control them.

"I think he found me."

Kate didn't react.

Not visibly, anyway.

You forced yourself to look at her again, but the moment your eyes met hers, the pressure inside your chest became unbearable. You turned away almost immediately and started walking across the living room, your steps quick and uneven against the wooden floor. You crossed from the sofa to the narrow kitchen counter, stopped, turned around, and walked back again without having any idea where you were going.

"They've been watching me." Your voice came faster now. "I think someone has been getting into the house."

Kate's gaze followed you.

"For how long?"

"I don't know." You dragged a hand through your hair, catching several strands between your fingers before releasing them again. "Days. Maybe weeks. Months. I don't know anymore."

"You haven't seen anyone?"

"No."

"Then what makes you think someone has been inside?"

You stopped beside the sofa and turned towards her.

"The photograph."

That finally made something change in Kate's expression, although it was so subtle that another person might not have noticed it.

You did.

"They left it on my table."

"What photograph?"

"One from the security cameras from outside the clinic" Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeve. "It was me, you know, leaving work."

Kate remained silent.

You began pacing again.

"Someone took a photograph of me from a security camera, Kate. They printed it and left it inside my house." Your voice shook as the words came spilling out. "How else am I supposed to interpret that? Someone had access to the footage. Someone was watching me. Someone wanted me to know they were watching me."

Kate's expression remained carefully neutral.

"And you assumed it was connected to him."

"I didn't assume anything."

"You did."

"I know what I'm looking at."

"You've been under pressure for a long time."

Your head snapped towards her. "I'm not imagining this."

"I didn't say you were."

"Yes, but you were thinking it." You clenched your teeth as you spoke.

Kate sighed quietly, not with frustration but with the patience of someone trying not to push a frightened person further into a corner.

"The photograph wasn't the only thing." Your voice dropped. "When I got home, I checked the safe."

Kate's eyes narrowed slightly.

"The one behind the wardrobe."

You saw the recognition in her face this time.

"The hidden one, yes" You continued as sarcasm escaped your throat. "The one nobody knows about."

"Nobody?"

"Nobody should." You swallowed. "The ring was gone."

"What ring?" For the first time, Kate's composure seemed to fracture by the smallest degree.

You stared at her.

"You know which one." Kate said nothing so you continued speaking "His ring, Kate. His own ring."

The words felt poisonous in your mouth.

"Didn't know you still had that" Kate crossed her arms and leaned backwards againt the wall.

You stopped pacing.

"I kept it there because nobody was supposed to find it. I didn't wear it. I didn't carry it. I didn't even look at it unless I had to. It was hidden behind a false panel. And- And they found it, Kate. They've found me ." Your voice cracked.

"They knew where it was." You tried to fight the stutters that escaped your throat. "And then someone attacked me."

Kate's eyes remained on you, but she didn't interrupt. The room seemed to contract around the words and you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to contain the tremors that had begun spreading through your hands and shoulders.

"I heard someone behind me." You swallowed hard. "I remember hearing the footsteps. And then, everything turned black and I fell. They hit me in the head"

Your fingers found the skin around your thumbnail again, scratching at it until the sting gave you something concrete to focus on.

"You don't remember the person?" Kate's voice remained quiet.

"No."

"Anything about them?"

You shook your head.

"Voice?"

You shook your head again.

"Face?"

"Nothing." You signed.

Kate studied you for several seconds before speaking again.

"Then you don't actually know that you were attacked."

Your head lifted sharply. "I know."

"You were unconscious."

"I know what happened."

"You were found with a head injury."

"I know someone attacked me."

"You'd been working long shifts."

"I know."

"And you've barely been sleeping."

"Kate."

"And you've been under an enormous amount of stress."

"No." You shook your head.

"Listen I'm just saying--"

"No." Your voice was louder now. "I heard someone."

"You may have."

"I felt the impact."

"You fell."

"I didn't fall."

"In the medical report you said you had fell." Kate's expression remained infuriatingly calm.

"Because I had to!” You exclaimed.

"Or because that was what happened."

The words stopped you. For a moment, you simply stared at her. Something cold moved through your stomach.  You looked towards the floor, suddenly remembering the exact sensation of waking beneath the fluorescent lights of the infirmary, the dull ache in your skull, the confusion, the voices around you.

Could you have been wrong?

No.

You remembered the footsteps, you remembered the presence behind you, you remembered the blow.

You remembered—

Your thoughts stumbled.

The memory refused to become a complete picture. There was only darkness, pain, and the sensation of falling.

Kate watched your expression change and seemed to notice the doubt before you could hide it.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," she said quietly. "You're exhausted. You're frightened. You've been waiting for this moment for years, and now every unexplained thing is starting to look like confirmation."

You shook your head slowly, but the certainty that had filled you moments ago had begun to fracture around the edges.

"He took the ring."

"Maybe you misplaced it."

"No."

"You've been distracted."

"I checked the safe."

"Then check it again."

"I know what I saw."

"Do you?"

Your breathing caught and Kate's voice remained gentle, almost deliberately so.

"You've been carrying this fear for years. You've built your entire life around the possibility that one day someone will find you. That kind of fear doesn't simply disappear because you've reached a safe place."

"I'm not paranoid, Kate."

"I think you're behaving like someone who is frightened enough to see danger everywhere."

You moved again, walking towards the window before stopping beside it. You moved slighty the close curtain to see what was happening outside your walls.

Outside, the military housing block remained dark and silent, the regular glow of security lighting illuminating the paved paths between the buildings. Somewhere beyond the residential sector, a distant radio transmission crackled and disappeared.

You pressed your fingertips against the edge of the curtain.

"I can't stay here. I'm not safe here."

Kate didn't answer immediately. "You're inside a military base."

"That doesn't matter."

"It matters."

"No, it doesn't." You turned around, your voice breaking beneath the panic you could no longer completely contain. "If he found me here, then this place isn't safe anymore. I need to leave."

"Are you still taking your suppressants?" She asked suddenly.

You stopped pacing so abruptly that your heel caught against the edge of the rug beneath your feet. For a second, you simply stared at her, your chest rising and falling too quickly, irritation flashing across your face as though the question itself were an insult.

"Of course I am."

"The new dosage?" Kate didn't move

"Yes." You clenched your jaw.

"The one we put you on five months ago?"

"Yes, Kate." Your voice sharpened immediately. "I'm taking it exactly as prescribed."

Kate held your gaze for another second, apparently satisfied with the answer, and you felt your frustration boiling over again before she could say anything else.

"What do you think this is?" you demanded, throwing one hand towards yourself. "You think I'm having some kind of withdrawal? You think I stopped taking them and now I'm imagining things? I'm not stupid, Kate. I know what the suppressants do. I know what happens when my levels aren't controlled properly. This isn't that."

Your fingers curled into the sleeves of your shirt as you took another unsteady step backwards.

"Someone is hunting me."

Kate's expression didn't change.

"He found me." Your voice cracked slightly on the last word, but you forced yourself to continue. "I know he did."

Kate was silent for a moment before she finally answered.

"We killed him."

The words were so calm that they almost sounded detached from the conversation. You could only stared at her.

"We buried him."

"No." Your head began shaking before you could stop it. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, we did."

"You didn't see the body."

"We saw enough." Kate's jaw tightened faintly.

"No." You backed away another step, your hands rising instinctively towards your hair as your fingers tangled themselves into it. "No, you didn't. You buried what you thought was him. You never had confirmation."

"We—"

"You never saw his body."

"We did."

"You didn't."

Kate stepped closer, but there was no aggression in the movement. If anything, it was deliberately slow, measured, designed not to startle you further. She placed both hands against the edge of the dining table and leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice until every word carried with deliberate clarity.

"Listen to me." She said slowly "He's dead." Your breathing hitched as she continued speaking  "He's buried. He cannot come back."

"He can." You shook your head.

"He cannot."

"He can, Kate." Your hands trembled violently now.

"You need to hear me." She looked into your eyes and she raised her eyebrows. "We saw the body. We identified him. We buried him. Whatever you think you're seeing, whatever you think you've remembered, whatever you believe happened in this house, it is not him."

"Then someone is working for him." You swallowed painfully.

Kate closed her eyes for half a second.

"Someone is working for him," you repeated, more desperately this time. "Someone knows where I am. Someone knows who I am. Someone knew where I kept the ring. Someone has been watching me, and now they've attacked me. If it isn't him, then it's someone who works for him."

"No." Kate's answer was immediate "There is no one left. We dealt with everyone connected to him."

"No, Kate."

"There is nobody looking for you."

"Please listen to me."

"There is nobody chasing you."

You shook your head so hard that the movement made the dull pain beneath the bandage on your head flare again. Your hand immediately went to the side of your skull, fingertips pressing against the tender skin as you winced.

"I can't stay here. It's not safe" You pleaded.

Kate waited just a moment and let out a quiet hum before she spoke "I do think you're in danger."

The words made you stop. Your breathing slowed for a fraction of a second. Finally, she believed you.

"But not for the reason you think." Kate straightened her back and stepped further away from the wall.

"What?" You stared at her.

Her gaze remained fixed on yours.

"I think you're in danger because you've become careless."

"I don't know what you're talking about." You frowned.

"I think you do." Kate folded her arms and studied you with an expression that had lost the last traces of gentleness. "Do you really think I don't know what's happening on this base?"

"Kate—" Your stomach tightened.

"Do you think I don't know why your little friend came pounding on your door in the middle of the night?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." You tried again, but for just a second, you couldn't even breathe.

Kate gave you a look that made the lie feel pathetic before you'd even finished saying it.

"Don't. Please. We know each other. We’re old friends, remember?” Kate answered almost with disdain.

"Kate..." Your gaze dropped.

"You are becoming careless."

"I'm not."

"You are." She stepped away from the nearby table, her movements controlled but her voice becoming noticeably sharper. "Do you have any idea what you've been doing?"

You remained silent.

"Do you have any idea how close you've allowed them to get?" She asked again.

"They cannot be involved." Kate's expression hardened.

"I know." Your fingers curled against your palms.

"Do you?" Kate barked "We've spent years building this. Everything we've done to keep you hidden depends on people not asking the right questions."

Your eyes remained fixed on the floor trying to minimise the damage but Kate continued attacking.

"Do you know who called me this week?" Kate asked, her tone almost deceptively calm. 

"No." Your eyes lifted slowly.

"John Price. Captain of Task Force 141"

Your stomach twisted.

"He wanted information. He wanted to know who Sebastian was."

The room seemed to tilt beneath your feet, the edges of your vision blurring as though the air itself had thickened, your hearing narrowing until all you could register was the violent, deafening pulse of your own heartbeat echoing inside your ears.

"What?" You stared at her.

"That's right." Kate's expression remained cold. "Said one of his packmates is getting close to a new Omega. A nurse, married to a man named Sebastian. And apparently, Price has decided that the name is worth investigating."

You felt every ounce of colour drain from your face.

"They..." Your voice barely existed. "They're looking for him?"

"Yes."

You took a step backwards as if burned and closed your eyes. You rubbed your temples trying to ease away the drumming noise behind your skull.

"This is what I've been trying to tell you." Kate's voice grew louder and angrier as she spoke "You've become so obsessed with the idea that he's coming back that you've stopped paying attention to what is actually happening around you."

"I'm paying attention."

"No, you're not."

"I am." Your answer came too quickly, almost defensively, and you hated the tremor that slipped into your voice despite your attempt to keep it steady.

Kate's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied you from across the room. She didn't answer immediately, and that silence somehow felt worse than another reprimand.

You could feel your pulse beating hard beneath your skin as you stood there with your hands clenched loosely at your sides, your shoulders tense and your breathing still uneven from everything she had just told you.

Price knew about Sebastian. Price was asking questions. The Task Force was already looking into the name. Johnny and Ghost were already too close to you, too close to the carefully constructed identity you had spent years protecting, and now you were supposed to believe that you had somehow remained careful enough to keep them from discovering anything.

Kate finally exhaled through her nose, slowly shaking her head.

"Then why are there fucking cameras in your house?"

The question made you hesitate.

Kate's tone had changed again, becoming quieter rather than louder, and somehow that was more unsettling. She glanced around the room with deliberate calm, her eyes moving over the familiar furniture, the shelves, the framed photographs and the ordinary objects that had become so familiar to you that you barely registered them anymore. Nothing appeared out of place. Nothing looked unusual. The house looked exactly as it always did, quiet and orderly beneath the warm light of the lamps.

"What?"

And for the first time since she had entered your home, you could see how Kate's face crumbled with disbelief.

"Oh, God. You didn't even notice.” Then she gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh, although there was no humour behind it this time. "Five of them."

You turned your head instinctively, your eyes immediately beginning to sweep across the room. The shelves. The lamps. The framed picture hanging near the hallway. The narrow decorative object sitting beside the television. The corner where the ceiling met the wall. The small kitchen area beyond the living room. Everything suddenly looked different, every ordinary object becoming a potential hiding place.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

You took a step backwards, your hand rising instinctively towards your mouth as your thoughts began racing faster than you could organise them. You had walked through this room every single day. You had sat on that sofa. You had eaten at that table. You had changed clothes, read reports, checked your phone, cleaned your weapons, slept, woken up and gone to work, all while never once considering that someone might have been watching from somewhere you couldn't see.

And Kate had found them.

"They are not useful anymore, if that's what you are wondering."

"What does that mean?"

"I moved them."

"When?"

"Before you came home."

Your mouth opened slightly. You stared at her, suddenly understanding why you'd found her sitting so calmly at the dining table when you'd returned from work, why she hadn't looked surprised when you entered, why she'd seemed entirely too comfortable in a house that wasn't hers.

"You moved all five?"

"Every one I found." She cocked her head to the side "I didn't particularly feel like appearing on somebody else's surveillance footage while sitting in your living room."

You stared at her for another second before your eyes immediately began searching the room again, this time with a growing sense of unease. The familiar shelves, the framed picture near the hallway, the objects arranged along the furniture and the small kitchen beyond the living room suddenly seemed completely different now that you knew what you were looking for.

"Are they his?" Kate blinked and you continued speaking "Did he put them there?"

For a moment, she simply stared at you. Then she laughed. It was a short, incredulous laugh, almost disbelieving, and she shook her head as though she couldn't believe that was the conclusion you'd reached.

"No." She smiled "I only know one person who would hide a camera inside a fucking kettle and angle it three degrees off-centre so the reflection from the kitchen window wouldn't expose the lens."

You stared at her, your brows furrowing.

"That's the kind of thing Ghost does." She gave you a knowing look.

"Ghost?"

"Or someone trained by people like him." Kate shrugged slightly. "Either way, no. This isn't him coming back."

You looked around the room again, but this time you weren't looking for your ex-husband. You were looking for evidence that the man Kate had just named had been inside your home, that the cameras belonged to the same people who had spent the last few days hovering around you, watching you, asking questions you couldn't answer.

"That's why you need to stay away from them."

You turned back towards her.

"Completely."

Kate's voice was cold enough to leave no room for negotiation. "No more contact. No more conversations. No more letting them into your home, no more allowing them to get close enough to ask questions you can't answer. You cut every connection you have with them. Immediately."

Your expression faltered.

"Kate..."

"To them, your husband is home. That's the story. Your husband came back, your marriage is intact, and whatever happened to you was nothing more than an accident. You go back to being that woman and you stay there."

Your throat tightened.

"But Johnny..."

The name escaped you before you could stop it, and something in your voice made Kate's expression harden.

You swallowed, your eyes already beginning to sting as you shook your head. "I can't just stop talking to him. I can't just pretend that none of it happened." Your voice trembled despite your efforts to control it, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as though physically holding yourself together might stop everything inside you from breaking apart. "He hasn't done anything wrong. He doesn't know anything. He doesn't even know who I really am, and he still—"

You stopped, pressing your lips together as your eyes filled.

"He cares about me." You looked away, blinking rapidly, but the tears had already gathered along your lashes. “He makes me feel safe. When he's near me, I don't feel like I'm waiting for something to happen. I don't feel like I'm constantly looking over my shoulder. I don't feel like I'm pretending." You swallowed, another tear escaping despite your efforts. "I know it's stupid. I know he's a beta. I know he's not supposed to mean anything to me but–" 

Then Kate gave a short, humourless laugh.

"Listen to yourself. Do you really want to throw all of this away?"

Your brow furrowed.

"All those years. Every identity we've built. Every document we've buried. Every person who had to disappear so you could become someone else. Every operation, every safeguard, every fucking risk we took to make sure nobody could ever connect you to the woman you were before. For what?" She barked filled with anger.

You stared at her.

"So you can run away with Johnny?" She almost laughed "So you can build a little life with him?" Her voice sharpened. "Move into some house somewhere, wake up beside your precious beta every morning and pretend the last few years never happened?"

You shook your head, but she didn't give you time to answer.

"And then what? When he eventually asks about that scar?"

Your hand flew instinctively to your neck.

The movement was immediate, almost defensive, and your fingers closed around the fabric covering the old mark as though you could hide it from her simply by holding it tighter.

Kate watched you.

"Are you going to tell him?"

Your breathing became shallow.

"Are you going to tell him why you have it?"

You couldn't answer even if you tried.

"Are you going to tell him what had to be done to you before you were given this new life?"

Your eyes dropped.

Kate's voice lowered, but somehow that made every word hurt more.

"Because you don't get to have both. You don't get to keep the life we built to keep you alive and then decide that you want the life you were never supposed to have."

A tear finally slipped down your cheek, you wiped it away almost angrily.

"And now you're crying because you don't want to walk away from a man who doesn't even know what he's asking you to risk."

You closed your eyes.

"You know what? We're increasing the dose."

"What?" Your head lifted immediately.

"The suppressants."

"No."

"Yes."

"I've been taking them."

"I know."

"Then why—"

"Because they're clearly not doing enough."

Your expression tightened and Kate's voice became colder.

"I don't know why you're suddenly falling for Johnny, and I don't care how intense it feels. You are not going to allow your instincts to undo years of work."

"Kate..." You shook your head, tears still shining in your eyes.

"The dose goes up." She held your gaze. "And you stay away from them."

You looked down again, your hand still pressed protectively against the scar at your neck.

"I'll deal with the cameras." Kate said as she moved to pick up her coat before going towards the front door. She paused for a moment and looked back at you.

"You stay away from them. Completely."

You didn't answer.

You couldn't.

By the time Kyle returned to the Pack House, the adrenaline that had carried him all the way from Reader's door had long since faded, leaving behind nothing but a restless knot of exhaustion and unease that refused to settle.

He had changed nothing about himself since leaving her house. He was still wearing the same clothes he'd gone out in, his jacket hanging open over his shirt, his boots planted heavily against the floor as he sat hunched forward on one of the sofas in the common room.

His elbows rested against his knees, his hands were clasped tightly together between them, and one leg moved continuously beneath him, the heel of his boot tapping against the floor in an uneven rhythm that he seemed completely incapable of stopping. Every few seconds his fingers tightened against one another before loosening again, as though his body had not yet received the message that there was nowhere left for him to run.

It had been several hours since he'd stood outside your front door and heard those words from your mouth. Your husband was home. The sentence had followed him all the way back to the Pack House, had sat beside him in the silence of the common room and had somehow become louder with every passing minute. 

It was nearly three in the morning now, and despite having been inside the house for hours, Kyle had not even attempted to go to bed. He had tried once, standing at the bottom of the stairs and staring towards the darkened hallway, but the thought of lying down had immediately felt unbearable. 

His wolf had been restless ever since he'd returned, pacing somewhere beneath his skin with a constant agitation that made sleep feel impossible.

He didn't understand it.

He should have been relieved.

If your husband really had returned, then surely that meant everything would finally go back to normal. Johnny would stop hovering around you. Ghost would stop watching you. The rest of the pack would eventually lose interest, and the strange tension that had settled over the house since the nurse had arrived would finally disappear. Kyle would get his pack back without having to share their attention with a woman who had never seemed entirely right to him in the first place.

That should have satisfied him.

Instead, every time he closed his eyes, his wolf became more unsettled.

Kyle dragged one hand over his face and stared down at the floor between his boots, his jaw tightening as irritation slowly replaced exhaustion. What the hell was wrong with him?

He didn't care about you. He had never cared about you. If anything, you had spent the last few weeks getting under his skin, pulling his packmates away from him and making him feel like some unwanted fifth wheel in his own home. He should have been celebrating the fact that your husband had apparently come back.

So why couldn't he sleep?

Why had he stayed awake waiting for the others to return?

And why did the thought of what might be happening behind your closed front door make his wolf pace harder instead of settling down?

He had no answers and eventually, he'd stopped trying to find them.

He had simply remained where he was, sitting in the dim common room with only the low glow of the lamps and the muted hum of the heating system filling the silence around him. The rest of the Pack House was dark, the bedrooms upstairs quiet, and the digital clock on the wall continued to crawl towards three in the morning. They weren't supposed to return until the following morning. The overnight movement had been planned to last through the night, which meant Kyle should have had several more hours before he had to explain what had happened.

He had been counting on those hours.

Then he heard the front door open.

Kyle's head lifted immediately.

The sound of boots crossing the entrance hall followed, accompanied by low voices and the unmistakable movement of several people arriving at once. For a moment he simply stared towards the doorway, too tired to understand what he was hearing. They weren't supposed to be back yet.

Then Johnny appeared.

He had barely crossed the threshold before he stopped.

Something in his expression changed almost immediately.

His eyes found Kyle across the room, and whatever tiredness had been sitting in his features disappeared beneath sudden concern. Johnny didn't need an explanation. He didn't need to ask anyone what was wrong. Kyle's scent had already reached him, thick with anxiety, frustration and the bitter edge of a mind that had been turning the same thoughts over for hours without finding an answer.

Johnny's entire posture changed.

"Kyle?"

His boots struck the floor with hurried, uneven steps before he stopped directly in front of him. His brow had furrowed, his breathing was slightly heavier, and his eyes searched Kyle's face with growing concern. 

"What happened?"

Kyle looked up at him. "I think you should sit down."

"Kyle, what the fuck happened?" Johnny's expression hardened.

The sharpness in Johnny's voice brought Ghost and Price fully into the room behind him. Ghost had already removed the gloves he'd been wearing for the movement, while Price was still wearing his jacket, the fatigue of the unexpected return visible in the heaviness of his movements. Both men immediately understood from Johnny's posture and Kyle's scent that something was wrong. 

Johnny didn't take his eyes off him. "What happened?"

Kyle swallowed.

There was no good way to say it.

He could explain the cameras first. He could explain the blind spots. He could explain that he'd gone to your house because he'd been unable to sleep and that you'd opened the door only far enough for him to see your face.

But none of those details would make the sentence waiting behind his teeth any easier.

So he simply said it.

"Her husband is back."

Johnny stopped breathing.

For several seconds, he didn't move at all.

The words seemed to reach him in pieces rather than all at once, and Kyle watched the exact moment their meaning finally settled. Johnny's eyes widened until there was almost no expression left. The colour drained from his face so quickly that  his skin looked almost grey beneath the harsh overhead lighting, his lips parting slightly as though his body had forgotten how to form words.

His scent changed with him.

The warm, familiar traces that usually surrounded Johnny disappeared beneath a sudden, sharp absence, followed by the cold edge of shock that rolled off him in waves. His wolf had gone completely still.

His gaze remained fixed somewhere past Kyle's shoulder, as if he were staring at something that wasn't actually there.

"Her... husband?" A whisper escaped Johnny's throat.

Kyle nodded and Johnny's throat moved as he swallowed. He didn't answer. He couldn't.

Behind him, Ghost's scent changed too. Kyle couldn't see his expression beneath the mask, but he could smell the shift immediately: the controlled, restrained Alpha scent that normally sat beneath Ghost's skin became heavier and darker, edged with a sudden tension that made the atmosphere in the room feel tighter.

"I checked the cameras." Kyle rubbed his palms against his trousers before forcing himself to continue. “Every feed I checked was pointing somewhere different. There were blind spots where there weren't supposed to be any." 

"You checked them?" Price raised an eyebrow.

"I had a bad feeling. I just logged in and looked at the feeds." Kyle immediately held up both hands.

Johnny's voice suddenly broke through the silence like thunder.

"Kyle, how the fuck do ye know her husband’s home?"

Johnny stepped closer, the tension in his shoulders becoming increasingly obvious as his scent began to change. What had initially been nothing more than sharp concern was turning acidic beneath the surface, something sour and unpleasant beginning to cut through the room as his instincts struggled to process the information.

"How the fuck do you know her husband’s home if the cameras were moved?"

Kyle's mouth opened, then closed. He looked towards Price.

"I went to see her." He spat.

"You what?" Johnny froze again.

"I went to her house."

Ghost's head turned slightly towards him.

Kyle exhaled heavily.

"I checked the cameras and every one of them was moved. They were pointed away from the rooms instead of towards them, like someone had deliberately created blind spots. So I thought… I thought that she was hiding something. And I went there"

“You went there alone?" Price asked seeing that Johnny's face had gone even paler. 

"Yes."

"What did she say?" Ghost asked.

Kyle's fingers tightened together again. “Exactly what I just told you. She said her husband was home.”

"Her husband is in that house and you just left her there?" Johnny's expression hardened almost instantly.

Gaz stared at him. "What exactly did you want me to do?"

"I don't know, Gaz, maybe find out who the bloody bastard is?" Johnny's voice rose as the panic beneath it finally broke through. His scent had turned sharp and sour, the familiar warmth of him almost completely swallowed by the acrid edge of anger and fear. "You went all the way there and didn't even look?"

"I couldn't exactly kick the door in, mate."

"You could've fucking tried."

"She's a civilian, Johnny."

"She's an Omega who's apparently got some bloke turning up at her house in the middle of the night after we've spent days trying to figure out who the hell he is." Johnny took a step towards him, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "And you expect me to sit here and do nothing?"

"Yes," Price cut in.

Johnny turned towards him sharply.

Price had barely moved since entering the room, but there was nothing passive about the way he was standing now. His shoulders had squared, his expression had settled into the hard, controlled look that usually meant he had already made up his mind, and the scent of his wolf had shifted into something heavier and more authoritative. Protective instinct radiated from him almost as strongly as the anger coming off Johnny.

"We don't have grounds to enter her house," Price said evenly. "She's a civilian. She says her husband is there. That doesn't give us the right to force our way inside and start investigating her private property."

Johnny's jaw worked as he fought against the answer.

"So we're just supposed to sit here?"

"No." Price's gaze moved briefly towards Gaz. "We're going to find out how he got there."

That brought the room back to silence.

Gaz straightened slightly.

Price continued, his voice calm and deliberate as he laid out the plan. "Gaz, first thing in the morning, I want the last forty-eight hours pulled. Gate logs. Vehicle access. Visitor records. Temporary credentials. Security checkpoints. And who had permission to be anywhere near her house. Anything connected to the residential sector."

"And if there's nothing?" Ghost asked.

Price's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Then we find out what we missed."

Ghost gave a single, restrained nod.

Kyle was still staring at Price, his breathing uneven.

"And what about her?" He asked "I mean, there's still a possibility that she was the one who moved the cameras.”

Price looked at him.

"I'm taking another route."

"What does that mean?" Ghost asked.

"We need to find information about her life." Johnny's expression changed immediately.

"No." The answer came so quickly that it almost overlapped Price's words. Johnny stepped forward, his entire posture tightening. "Don't."

"At this point, Johnny, we're already well past protecting her privacy." Price's eyebrows lifted slightly.

"She hasn't done anything." Johnny's scent flared again, the sourness of panic sharpening into something almost metallic beneath his skin.

"We don't know that." Kyle shook his head, unable to believe how blind Johnny was. 

"She's been nothing but good to us. To me”

"But something is happening to her," Price replied, his voice remaining maddeningly calm. "We've got cameras moving inside her home, a husband who supposedly doesn't exist turning up without warning, and a woman who's already been attacked once. You want us to ignore that because you're worried about her privacy?"

The words landed heavily. Johnny looked away for a second, jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle jumped beneath his skin.

Ghost remained silent, but his attention had shifted towards Johnny. There was no judgement in his posture, only the same guarded protectiveness that had settled over the entire room since Gaz had delivered the news. 

Price's expression softened by the smallest fraction when he looked back at Johnny.

"You keep talking to her."

"But—" Johnny looked up.

"You keep talking to her," Price repeated. "You don't pressure her. You don't interrogate her. You don't ask her about the cameras, and you don't start demanding answers about her husband. If something is happening to her, I want someone close enough to notice."

Johnny swallowed and rubbed his forehead. Oh how he wanted to just run outside and grab you, to hug you tightly and to run away with you in his arms. Back into the safety of his Pack house, back into the safety of a nest.

Johnny breathed heavily, trying to clear the fog that suddenly covered his mind and that screamed about taking you away from your husband.

"Right." He nodded once, reluctantly.

As Price gave the finishing instructions of the plan, Johnny remained standing in the middle of the room, still pale beneath the lingering anger, his thoughts clearly somewhere else entirely.

With her.

With the unknown man supposedly standing on the other side of it.

And with the uncomfortable certainty settling deeper into his instincts that whatever was happening around you had just become much bigger than any of them had expected.

Price turned towards the hallway.

"Get some sleep. We start at first light."

No one moved immediately.

For a few seconds, the Pack simply stood there in the dim living room, the mixture of their scents had turned the room thick with sour tension, sharp enough to linger in the back of their throats, and each man carried a different version of the same unease. 

Because now they had a plan.

And none of them knew yet that by morning, you would already be following a very different one.

Thank you so much for the feedback!! Thank you for the amount of love this story is receiving, I love reading your reblogs and comments about what may happen next !! Materlist Taglist OPEN: @suicidarsi @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @danielle143 @annoyingnonamesa @littlelovebug98 @hypertail @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @rainbowangel @forgetmenotsilly @mirimirionthewall @armycaratlover @rafaelacallinybbay @supernova2205 @bookies16 @pinkslaystation @chaoticgoodandi @ilovesituationships @boo-123456 @leahnicole1219 @silentlyswimming @coconskdkdk @pickles-the-jackalope @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @brineoffire @lykllkk @fadocahiii @boo-123456 @noonespecial2347 @supersonicoxo @leahnicole1219 @rainbowangel @armycaratlover @savagemickey03 @buckysjuicyplums @carnation-tha @happy-capy-bee @buckysjuicyplums @brianochka @yn-reincarnate @celestialzdiviner @trippiehippieashley @shortfellow @extrathiccpancakes66 @iamasuperstarrr @unifaceta15 @mrwagster @ppnuggie111 @apodyopsisphilia @supermilktoast @certainlygay

[gazsdiary]

BY ANY OTHER NAME

Chapter 6: Welcome Home

Summary: Some secrets refuse to stay buried. As unanswered questions begin to pile up and instincts grow harder to ignore, Task Force 141 finds itself chasing a mystery that seems determined to stay hidden. And someone in the shadows is always one step ahead.

Pairing: Poly!Tf141 x Reader [A/B/O]

Words: 12k

Warnings: mentions of attack, surveillence system installed without permission.

Previous // Next

Authors note: got carried away with the length sorry, and don't get mad about the ending hehehe

(I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating,- imitating this work )

Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!!

The next morning, the training grounds buzzed with the familiar rhythm of controlled chaos. Boots struck the packed dirt in uneven cadence as squads of recruits cycled through drills beneath the pale grey sky, the crisp autumn air carrying the sharp scent of damp earth, gun oil and fresh-cut grass across the range. Sweat mingled with the metallic tang of spent brass, while distant bursts of rifle fire echoed from neighboring firing lanes, punctuated every so often by barked orders from instructors keeping dozens of inexperienced soldiers in line.

Around the obstacle course, nervous excitement seeped from the younger recruits in subtle waves, their pheromones betraying anxieties they tried desperately to hide behind determined expressions.

Soap stood near the edge of the training field with his arms folded across his chest, watching another group struggle through the obstacle course. His Beta scent carried its familiar warm cedar, black tea and baked apples, though impatience had sharpened its edges every time another recruit repeated the same mistake.

"For the last time, use yer legs! Ye're climbin' a wall, no askin' it politely tae move."

A chorus of exhausted groans answered him before another recruit finally reached the top.

Only then did Soap notice a familiar face jogging back toward the formation.

The young private who had sliced his forearm on one of the metal obstacles nearly twenty minutes earlier slipped back into line, a fresh white bandage wrapped neatly beneath the rolled sleeve of his combat shirt.

The recruit beside him nudged his shoulder. "Took you long enough."

"Tell me about it." The bandaged soldier let out a tired laugh.

"What happened?"

"I went to Medical A first." He adjusted the dressing with an irritated grimace. "Complete waste of time."

"The nurse wasn't there?"

"Nah." He shrugged. "They told me she wasn't on duty today."

Soap's attention shifted almost immediately.

The recruit continued without noticing. "Apparently she's over in Medical Wing C. Got admitted this morning or something, so they sent me all the way across base instead."

The words barely left his mouth before the atmosphere around him changed.

Soap stopped moving and several metres away, Ghost slowly turned his head.

The training field continued around them exactly as before. Recruits climbed ropes, instructors shouted corrections and boots pounded against packed earth, but for Ghost and Soap every other sound seemed to disappear beneath those few simple sentences.

Ghost's voice sounded like a growl, low enough that the nearby recruits instinctively straightened. "What did you just say?"

The private swallowed. "I... I Wing A nurse was absent, sir. She was admitted in Medical Wing C, sir." He said in a trembling voice.

"Why?" Soap asked immediately.

"I don't know, Sergeant." The recruit shook his head. "One of the nurses just said she'd been brought in this morning."

Ghost stared at him for another heartbeat.

There was no visible emotion behind the skull mask, yet something about the stillness surrounding him caused the smell of cold rain settling over stone  to deepen almost imperceptibly. His Alpha pheromones remained tightly controlled, but enough escaped to make several nearby recruits instinctively lower their gazes.

Without another word, Ghost turned. He was already walking away before Soap reacted.

Johnny glanced toward the obstacle course before pointing at one of the older recruits.

"Campbell."

"Sir." The corporal snapped to attention.

"You're in charge until we get back. Keep them on the obstacle course, then endurance laps. Anybody gets clever, make 'em run another five."

"Yes, Sergeant."

Soap didn't wait for another response, he jogged after Ghost, quickly falling into step beside him as they crossed the training grounds.

The further they moved from the exercise fields, the quieter the base became. The smell of damp soil and spent ammunition gradually disappeared beneath antiseptic, floor polish and freshly laundered uniforms drifting through the medical sector. White corridors stretched ahead beneath harsh fluorescent lights, their polished floors reflecting the silhouettes of passing nurses and orderlies.

Neither man spoke. They didn't need to.

Neither of them could smell you, they couldn't hear your heartbeat.Your suppressants erased every instinct an Alpha normally relied upon. And yet, something pulled at them. 

Every step toward Medical Wing C tightened that feeling until it settled heavily beneath his ribs. Soap felt it too. His wolf paced restlessly beneath the surface, unable to explain why his pulse had quickened or why every instinct urged him to move faster. 

The moment they stepped inside Wing C, the atmosphere changed.

Gone were the echoes of the training grounds and shouted orders carried across the parade square. Here, the corridors were quieter, lined with identical wooden doors bearing neat brass plaques that marked offices, storage rooms and treatment areas. The faint scent of disinfectant lingered in the air, mixing with freshly brewed coffee from somewhere farther down the hall, while fluorescent lights cast a soft white glow over the polished floor beneath their boots.

Ghost didn't slow and neither did Johnny.

They moved quickly through one corridor, then another, turning a corner before Ghost stopped without quite knowing why.

A single wooden door stood halfway down the hall.

Frosted glass filled its upper half, blurring everything beyond it into little more than shifting silhouettes, while a small plaque fixed beside the frame read:

Nurse Office.

There.

Someone moved behind the distorted glass.

Ghost reached the door first, pushing it open without knocking.

The room beyond was little more than a standard treatment office. A pair of examination beds stood against one wall, cabinets filled with neatly labelled medical supplies lined another, and the sharp scent of antiseptic hung heavily in the warm air.

Beneath the bright overhead lights, a young medic was carefully stitching the wound hidden beneath your hairline as you lay unconscious on the examination bed.

A small section of hair had been carefully parted and clipped back just behind your ear, revealing the wound along the side of your head where dried blood had already begun to darken against her skin.

The injury itself was being gently cleaned rather than stitched, antiseptic solution catching the light as it was applied with slow, precise movements. A young Beta nurse leaned over you with practiced concentration, steady hands working methodically as he wiped away the last traces of blood and debris, his focus entirely on ensuring the area was properly disinfected before dressing it.

Ghost froze, then Soap followed his gaze and everything inside him snapped.

Johnny reached the room first, the door slammed against the wall as he pushed inside with enough force to make the instruments on the nearby tray rattle.

"What the hell are ye doin'?"

The young nurse jerked violently, nearly dropping the gauzes he had in his hands. "I—"

Soap had already crossed half the room. "Step away from her." The order came out as a growl rather than words.

"I—I'm stitching her head." Ben instinctively recoiled.

"Move. Now." Johnny growled as he took another step.

His shoulders squared instinctively between the hospital bed and the young Beta, placing himself like a barrier between you and anyone who wasn't his pack. The comforting scent of cedar and black tea had vanished entirely beneath raw adrenaline, becoming sharper and heavier until it filled the small treatment room. 

Though Betas couldn't produce the overwhelming dominance of an Alpha, they still reacted to their instincts, and every protective impulse Johnny possessed was screaming that you were injured, unconscious... and another male had his hands on her.

"I promise I'm not hurting her,” Ben's breathing quickened “I just need to clean her wound." His eyes darted from Soap to Ghost, clearly searching for whichever one looked marginally less likely to throw him through the wall.

Unfortunately, neither of them did.

Ghost entered the room without saying a word. Unlike Johnny, his movements were slow, measured, and controlled; which, somehow, made him infinitely more intimidating.

The room seemed to shrink around him. His Alpha pheromones bled into the air despite every obvious effort to restrain them,the smell of sage and rain-soaked stone settling over the room with crushing weight. 

Ben instinctively lowered his head to hide his gaze, he stood completely still and avoided challenging the Alpha standing only a few feet away.

Ghost stopped beside the bed, right in front of poor Ben. His eyes travelled over you first, the dried blood at your temple. Then his gaze moved towards the antiseptic, the surgical tray, and the gloves covered with dried blood.

Only then did he slowly look at Ben again. His cold gaze fell upon him, examining him from head to toe, and with chilling determination, he took a step closer. He stopped once he was mere centimeters from the young Beta, who now trembled like a leaf beneath the Alpha's intense gaze and proximity.

"What are you doing?"

Ben swallowed. "...Treating her."

"What treatment?"

"I cleaned the wound and I'm closing the laceration."

"Why is she unconscious?"

"The concussion."

"How long?"

"She was unconscious when they brought her in."

Ghost didn't move, didn't blink, and didn't answer. He simply continued looking at him, His large body practically covered Ben entirely; Johnny could barely glimpse the trembling silhouette of Beta behind Lieutenant.

The silence stretched long enough for Ben's hands to begin trembling. "I can show you her chart if you'd like." He murmured loud enough to be heard.

Ghost's gaze flicked briefly towards the tray once more. Sterile instruments, fresh suture material, no restraints, no unnecessary medication, no signs of panic, and no evidence that you had been harmed after arriving.

Only someone receiving treatment.

However, Johnny hadn't relaxed, not even slightly. His body was practically buzzing with anger and his jaw remained clenched as he stood beside the bed, almost unconsciously placing himself between Ben and you. Every time the young nurse shifted his weight, Johnny's eyes followed the movement immediately and a dangerous growl escaped his throat.

Ghost exhaled deeply, letting out a gush of air through his balaclava, and poor Ben could have sworn he saw smoke billowing from underneath, almost like a demon, and only a small whimper of fear. Of course, this was all part of his paranoid mind, but neither Ghost nor Johnny were in any condition to reassure the terrified Beta.

Ghost finally spoke,  "Take one step back."

Ben obeyed instantly.

"Further."

Another step.

Ghost moved closer to the bed himself, placing his body between Reader and the nurse without even seeming to think about it. His broad frame blocked almost the entire side of the mattress, forcing Ben to remain several feet away.

The Beta hesitated. "...Sir..."

Ghost hummed before he looked at the half-finished dressing. "You said you weren't done."

"No."

"Then finish." He grumbled.

Ben blinked. "...Excuse me?"

“Ghost” Johnny murmured between his teeth at the same time.

"You'll finish treating her." His voice remained calm and he didn't move."But you'll do it where I can see every movement you make."

Ben nodded so quickly it was almost comical. "Yes, sir. Of course, I wouldn’t do anything bad to her, I swear."

Johnny wasn’t so sure about it. Ghost shifted only half a step to the side, just enough. Not enough to stop shielding you completely, but enough for Ben to reach the wound again. However, Johnny didn’t move one bit while standing by your side, now holding your hand.

The young nurse approached with obvious caution, moving as though any sudden gesture might provoke another growl. His hands remained steady only because years of clinical training overrode the instinct telling him to flee the room entirely.

As Ben resumed cleaning the edges of the wound and securing the final dressing, Ghost never looked away, and neither did Soap. Every movement of the gauze, every touch of the forceps, every adjustment of the bandage. Both of them watched in complete silence.

Only once the dressing had been secured did Ghost reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. He selected a single contact and The call connected almost immediately: 

"Medical Wing C." A brief pause. "Get here."He ended the call without another word.

The room fell silent once again and Ghost's eyes never left your laying body.

The steady rhythm of the cardiac monitor became the only constant sound beneath the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

Ben quietly removed his gloves, disposing of them in the clinical waste bin before instinctively taking another step back. Even though Ghost had allowed him to finish dressing the wound, he had no intention of approaching the bed again unless he was explicitly asked to do so. The Alpha's scent still lingered beneath the antiseptic, cold and oppressive enough to keep every survival instinct in the young Beta firmly on edge.

Soap's own pheromones remained equally restless, less overwhelming but no less protective, filling the room with the unmistakable feeling that Reader now stood at the centre of territory neither of them intended to surrender.

Neither Ghost nor Soap moved away from the bed.

Without speaking, they had instinctively positioned themselves on either side of you, unconsciously shielding you from the rest of the room. Every few seconds Ghost's gaze drifted back to the bandage wrapped around your head, while Soap watched the slow rise and fall of your chest as though reassuring himself she was still breathing.

Only a few minutes later, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

The door opened and Price stepped inside. He had barely crossed the threshold before he stopped.

Years of command had taught him to assess a situation in seconds, but this room required even less than that. Ghost and Soap stood rigid beside the bed, their attention fixed entirely on the trembling Beta. If looks could kill, Johnny would have buried Ben long ago.

 The sterile scent of disinfectant struggled against the protective pheromones saturating the room, and the young Beta nurse standing near the counter looked as though he would rather be anywhere else. Price had to suppress a gag reflex at the unpleasant smell coming from his two packmates, he wouldn’t be surprised if Ben had to go to therapy after this.

Price's blue eyes settled on you. The bandage, the dried blood near your temple, and the monitor beside the bed. Only then did they move to Ben.

"What happened?"

Ben straightened instinctively aAnd a look of astonishment appeared in her eyes. As if she didn't have enough to deal with now, not only did he have a Lieutenant and a Sergeant from Task Force 141, but now he also had to contend with Captain Price, who wasn't exactly known for his friendly nature.

"I... I'm afraid I don't know, Captain." He tried to keep his voice steady and stand tall. He was in charge of this infirmary, for God's sake, he had to have some authority.

"You treated her." Price frowned ever so slightly.

"Yes, sir."

"And?"

"I can only tell you the injuries."

Price gave a small nod, silently inviting him to continue.

"She was brought in unconscious approximately forty-five minutes ago. She has a scalp laceration, a mild concussion and several superficial abrasions to her hands and forearms." Ben glanced briefly toward the observation chart before continuing. "Her pupils have remained reactive, her neurological observations are stable, and there are no signs of intracranial bleeding at this time."

"What caused the injuries?"

Ben hesitated. "I don't know, sir."

"You weren't informed?"

"No, Captain."

Price studied him for a long moment.

Ben held the Captain's gaze despite the obvious nerves twisting in his stomach.

"When she arrived, she was already unconscious. Nobody who brought her in witnessed what happened, and she hasn't regained consciousness yet."

Silence settled over the room.

Price looked back toward Reader before looking back at Ben. 

“Who brought her in?” Price asked with a dangerous tone in his voice.

Ben’s eyes widened as if he wasn't expecting that question. He opened and closed his mouth several times:

“I– I don’t know, sir. I was given the task to attend to her, but– but she was already here when I arrived.” He swallowed nervously “My superior told me about it, he said I was needed here. But– But he didn’t tell me anything about… About that.” As he spoke, his voice grew smaller and smaller.

Ghost hadn't taken his eyes off him once while Soap's jaw remained clenched tightly enough for the muscle to jump beneath the stubble along his cheek. His hands were still cradling yours, delicately caressing your soft skin.

Neither of them had relaxed since arriving.

Price understood why. Without knowing what had happened, every possibility remained on the table. An accident, an assault, or even something else entirely.

He breathed deeply before speaking again:

"When she wakes up..." His voice remained calm, but there was no mistaking the authority behind it. "I want the truth."

No one answered.

There was nothing else to say.

Across the room, the cardiac monitor continued its steady rhythm, each electronic pulse marking the slow passage of time while the four men waited for the only person who could explain what had happened to finally open her eyes.

"I've already told you four times." You let out a slow breath, closing your eyes for a moment as another dull ache spread beneath the bandage wrapped around her head. "I don't remember what happened. The last thing I remember is going upstairs. I started feeling light-headed, everything went blurry, and then..."

You paused, rubbing tiredly at your forehead before letting your hand fall back onto the blanket. "I must've fallen. I remember hitting my head, and after that... nothing."

You opened your eyes again, finding the same three faces watching you from exactly where they'd been since you’d regained consciousness.

"I don't know what else you want me to say." You commented, trying not to sound annoyed, but the truth was you didn't know how much longer you could keep saying the same thing over and over again.

You had been awake for barely thirty minutes. In those thirty minutes, the treatment room had remained almost unchanged. The steady pulse of the cardiac monitor filled every pause in the conversation, blending with the muted bustle beyond the closed door.

The sterile smell of disinfectant lingered thickly in the air, mixed with latex gloves, clean linen and the faint scent of fresh coffee drifting in each time someone opened the ward doors farther down the corridor.

The only thing that had changed was the atmosphere.

Ghost's Alpha pheromones no longer carried the crushing intensity they'd held when he'd first found you unconscious, but they hadn't disappeared either. They lingered beneath the antiseptic like cold rain settling over stone, restrained through sheer discipline yet impossible to ignore completely.

Soap's scent remained noticeably sharper than usual, warm cedar, black tea v  and baked apples edged with persistent concern that refused to settle no matter how many times he reminded himself you were awake now.

You could feel all three of them watching your every move, every breath you take, every time you blink, trying to find the tiniest crack through which they could glimpse a hint of a lie.

Please.

Just believe me.

Please stop asking questions.

You hated lying, which was a paradox considering the lies that plagued your life specially to them. But you hated lying to Johnny the most. Every word tasted wrong.

You could still remember the figure behind you, the impact, the floor rushing towards you. You remembered everything right up until the moment darkness swallowed her whole.

Price rested one hand against the metal rail of the hospital bed, studying you quietly.

"You've had dizzy spells before?"

You nodded without hesitation. "A couple." 

"When?"

You didn't even need to think: 

"Sometimes after long shifts. If I skip meals or drink less water" The lie escaped your lips with surgical precision.

Price gave a slow nod.

"And yesterday?"

"I'd been working." You murmured looking around the white walls that surrounded you.

"For how long?" Price barked back almost immediately, leaving no time for extra explanations.

"I don't know... twelve hours, maybe a little more." You tried to wipe the sweat from your hands under the sheets; the whole situation was starting to get on your nerves.

Soap frowned, a worried look appeared on his face "Ye skipped dinner?" He whispered leaning slightly towards you and resting his big hand above your covered thigh “You should take care of yourself bonnie”

You looked towards him.

"I wasn't hungry." The lied slipped right through your lips. Of course you had had dinner, you could still remember how good the stew had tasted, but it was easier to lie.

As it always had been.

Johnny's expression tightened. "That's not like ye."

You managed a faint smile that never quite reached your eyes . "I know” Your voice softened almost apologetically.  “ But I didn't have my lunch partner with me" 

For a brief moment, the tension hanging over the room seemed to loosen.

Johnny blinked.

It took him a second to realise what you'd meant.

Then, despite everything, the hospital room, the dried blood still visible beneath the edge of the dressing, the questions that refused to leave the air, a helpless smile spread across his face. It wasn't forced. It wasn't polite. It simply happened, as naturally as breathing. 

His shoulders relaxed without him noticing, the knot that had been tightening inside his chest ever since he'd found you unconscious easing ever so slightly.

His eyes never left yours.

There it was again.

That quiet warmth that somehow managed to survive every impossible situation the two of you found yourselves in.

For just a heartbeat, it almost felt normal.

Like the countless evenings you'd spent sharing hurried meals between shifts, teasing one another over terrible coffee and stolen desserts in the mess hall, pretending neither of you had anywhere else to be.

God...

You were smiling at him.

His wolf practically wagged its tail beneath his ribs, basking shamelessly in the tiny scrap of affection you'd thrown his way. It was ridiculous. Embarrassing, even. One simple sentence was enough to make his entire evening feel lighter, and he knew Ghost would probably never let him live it down if he could somehow hear the thoughts running through his head.

He couldn't help it.

Seeing you smile, even one that didn't quite reach your eyes, still felt infinitely better than seeing you unconscious.

Silence settled over the room again.

Ghost hadn't spoken once. He simply continued watching you. It wasn't what you were saying that bothered him, it was how you were saying it.

For almost anyone else, your answers would have sounded entirely believable, little more than an unfortunate accident explained by an exhausted medic who had spent too many hours looking after everyone except herself. 

Ghost wasn't almost anyone else.

He had spent years sitting across interrogation tables, learning to recognise the tiny fractures that appeared long before a story actually broke apart. He'd questioned prisoners who could lie without blinking, undercover operatives trained to build convincing cover identities and seasoned soldiers who believed they could outlast an interrogation simply by repeating the same version often enough.

The words rarely betrayed them.

Their timing did.

Every answer you gave arrived a fraction too quickly.

Not rushed.

Prepared.

As though the conversation had already happened dozens of times inside your own head before anyone had entered the room.

There was no hesitation while you searched your memory.

No uncertainty.

No natural pauses.

Only immediate, carefully measured responses that fit together almost too neatly.

Even your smile, it came at exactly the right moment. Enough to soften the atmosphere, enough to make Johnny relax, enough to steer the conversation somewhere safer.

It was good. Very good.

Price noticed it too, Ghost was sure about it. The way his Pack Alpha had a permaenet frown on his forehead and the way he licked his moustache with the tip of his tongue, was enough for Ghost to know that he wasn’t convinced.

"You don't remember falling?" Price asked meticulously.

"No." You slowly shook your head.

"You only remember feeling dizzy." Price stated.

"Yes."

"And waking up here."

"Yes."

Price remained silent and you knew that silence. He wasn't satisfied, nor was he convinced. He was waiting. He was waiting for you to change your story, to add information. Liars usually fold under pressure, they try to make their story seem believable and they usually start adding unnecessary details.

You knew that.

You let out another tired sigh before turning towards Soap. "Johnny..."

His eyes met yours immediately.

"I'm exhausted." You swallowed against the dryness in her throat. "My head hurts." The words came out quieter this time. "I've answered everything I can."

You offered him a tired smile as you continued speaking "Please... can we leave it for today?"

Johnny's entire posture changed before he even realised it.

His shoulders straightened instinctively, placing himself half a step closer to the bed as though his body had decided, entirely on its own, to stand between you and any more questions. Every protective instinct he possessed surged to the surface at once, quiet but unmistakable. His wolf, restless ever since finding you unconscious, settled around a single, overwhelming certainty.

You were exhausted, you were injured, and the interrogation was over.

His expression softened as he looked down at you, concerned replacing every lingering doubt that had occupied his mind only moments before.

He gave the smallest nod, almost imperceptible. A silent promise. I've got you.

Only then did he lift his gaze towards Price. "I think she needs tae rest, sir." He said seriously, there was no hesitation in his voice.

No uncertainty. It wasn't a suggestion, but a plea wrapped carefully enough in military discipline to sound like a recommendation.

Price's gaze remained on you for several long seconds.He studied you with the same patient composure that had carried him through decades of command, saying nothing while his mind quietly revisited every answer you had given since regaining consciousness. 

Together, everything you said formed a story that was almost too complete.

His gaze lingered on your face. You looked exhausted, that much was unquestionably real. The dark circles beneath your eyes weren't fabricated, nor the slight tremor in your breathing wasn't performed, not even was the pain you tried unsuccessfully to hide every time your head shifted against the pillow.

But exhaustion and honesty weren't the same thing. Something sat beneath your carefully rehearsed explanation, something you had chosen not to tell them.

Price knew it, he could feel it.

Unfortunately, instinct wasn't evidence. And without evidence, there was nowhere left to push.

At least not today.

You forced yourself not to look away, not to fidget, not to let the guilt creeping beneath your ribs reach your face.

Just breathe, slowly.

Eventually, Price gave a slow nod.

"Get some rest." He said before turning around and leaving the room.

Nothing more. Just three quiet words before he stepped away from the bedside.

Ghost didn't move, he was still watching you .

The silence surrounding him felt almost heavier than Price's questions.

You could feel him watching, as though he were searching for something hidden beneath your skin.

His wolf had gone unnaturally still. Not calm, still. Like a predator freezing the instant it noticed movement somewhere beyond the trees, waiting to pound on its prey.

Every instinct sharpened through years of combat, surveillance and interrogation pressed insistently against the inside of his mind.

Something was wrong, he couldn't explain why and he couldn't prove it. But every fibre of his being rejected the story you'd given them.

It wasn't the words, it wasn't even the timing anymore. It was you. The way your heartbeat subtly shifted whenever Price asked the wrong question, the almost invisible tension in your shoulders before every answer.

His Alpha instincts clawed restlessly beneath his control.

Protect.

The impulse came suddenly, raw, and violent.

Not only because you were injured but because something had frightened you enough to lie while lying in a hospital bed with stitches in your head.

Someone had done this. Someone. And until he knew who, his wolf wasn't going to rest.

You could almost feel the weight of his stare against your skin.

Don't ask anything else.

Please...

Ghost finally looked away.

"C'mon."

Johnny lingered beside the bed for another moment after Ghost and Price had already turned towards the door.

His eyes softened the instant they settled on you again.

Without saying a word, he reached out almost hesitantly, giving you every opportunity to pull away.

When you didn't, his fingers gently brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face, carefully tucking it behind your ear so it wouldn't catch against the fresh bandage.

His hand moved to the blanket next, pulling it a little higher over your shoulders before smoothing the fabric with slow, absent-minded movements.

Then he adjusted your pillow ever so slightly, lifting your head just enough to settle it more comfortably before lowering it again with a tenderness that almost surprised even him.

Every movement was instinctive, gentle, and protective. As though looking after you had become the most natural thing in the world.

Only when he was certain you were comfortable did he finally smile. It was small and warm. The kind of smile someone reserved for a person they cared about far more than they intended to admit.

"Ye get some sleep." He murmured softly..

You returned it automatically. "I will."

For reasons you couldn't quite explain, the simple warmth of his touch lingered long after his hand had left your hair.

Your chest tightened strangely. Not painfully but in a comfortable way. 

A slow warmth spread through you, soft and unfamiliar, easing some invisible tension you hadn't even realised you'd been carrying since waking up. The pounding ache behind your eyes remained, yet somehow it felt farther away now, muffled beneath the quiet reassurance of being looked after so gently.

Your vision blurred for the briefest moment.

Not from the concussion or at least you didn't think so.

Your thoughts suddenly felt strangely light, wrapped in a soft haze that made it difficult to focus on anything except the lingering feeling of safety surrounding you. It was almost embarrassingly easy to imagine simply closing your eyes again, letting yourself sink back into the pillows while somebody else took care of everything for a little while.

Your lashes fluttered.

The corners of your eyes stung unexpectedly, leaving them bright with unshed tears you couldn't explain.

You weren't scared anymore.

You weren't even thinking.

You just felt safe.

The sensation frightened you far more than the interrogation ever had.

No.

Your heartbeat stumbled.

No.

You forced yourself to blink several times, giving the smallest shake of your head as though trying to clear away whatever strange fog had settled over your mind. It had to be the concussion. The dizziness. The medication. Anything else would have been absurd.

By the time Johnny finally stepped away from the bed, you had managed to steady your breathing again.

Almost.

Johnny held your gaze for one heartbeat longer before reluctantly following the others outside of the room.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

The steady rhythm of the cardiac monitor filled the room once again.

Only when you were certain they had gone did you allow the smile to disappear.

You stared at the ceiling for several silent seconds before closing her eyes.

I'm sorry.

The words never left your lips.

Outside the treatment room, the automatic door slid shut behind them with a muted mechanical hiss, sealing you away beneath the steady rhythm of cardiac monitors and fluorescent lights. For several long seconds, none of the three men spoke.

Their boots echoed softly across the polished hospital floor as they walked without any clear destination, the sterile smell of disinfectant, floor polish and freshly laundered linen hanging heavily in the air around them. Nurses moved past carrying observation charts and medication trays, offering polite nods that went almost entirely unnoticed.

The silence surrounding the three soldiers felt strangely detached from the ordinary routine of the medical wing, as though they had stepped into a world moving at a different pace from everyone else.

Price finally stopped beside one of the large observation windows overlooking the courtyard outside the infirmary.

Rain had begun falling sometime during your examination, leaving the concrete paths slick beneath the grey Scottish sky while droplets crawled lazily down the glass between him and the outside world.

He rested both hands inside the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders remaining relaxed despite the growing tension settling beneath his skin.

Behind him, Ghost came to a halt without a word, while Johnny remained standing a few steps farther back, his eyes lingering on the closed treatment-room door as though part of him still expected you to call them back. 

It was Ghost who finally broke the silence.

"She lied."

His voice remained as flat and controlled as ever, carrying no anger and no frustration, only quiet certainty. It wasn't an accusation anymore, it was a conclusion.

Price didn't turn around, he just kept walking "I know."

Johnny lowered his head, rubbing slowly at the back of his neck before letting out a weary sigh.

Another silence settled over them.

Ghost's pale eyes drifted briefly towards the rain beyond the window before returning to Price's back:

"First we find out Sebastian exists." No one interrupted him. "Then Personnel tells us nothing." His voice remained steady. "Then a full Colonel steps in personally. And then Gaz can't even get close to the file."

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly beneath the mask as he continued speaking:

"And now she turns up unconscious with a concussion."

The words lingered heavily between them.

Johnny felt the same uncomfortable weight settle in his chest that had refused to leave him since they'd walked into the treatment room and found you unconscious beneath dried blood and antiseptic.

"...Ye think they're connected?"

Ghost didn't answer immediately.

"I don't know." Another pause. "But I don't believe in that many coincidences."

Price finally turned to face them. The lines around his eyes looked deeper than usual, carved there by years of command, impossible decisions and too many operations that had gone wrong because someone had acted before understanding the battlefield in front of them.

"I agree."

Neither Ghost nor Johnny had expected that answer.

Price drew a slow breath before continuing. "Something's happening." His gaze moved briefly between both men as he continued speaking:

 "And whatever it is..."He hesitated only for a fraction of a second. "...it's operating above our clearance."

Neither of them spoke.

"We don't know who Sebastian is." Prince kept going on.

"No."

"We don't know why his records are protected."

"No."

"We don't know why that database behaves the way it does."

"No."

"We don't know who attacked her."

Johnny frowned slightly. "If she was attacked." he replied automatically rejecting the idea that you would have been capable of lying to him

Price looked directly at him. "Right, If." He deliberately emphasised the word. "Because right now we don't even have proof of that."

"So what do we do?" Ghost folded his arms across his chest.

Price remained silent long enough for both men to wonder whether he intended to answer at all. Finally, he spoke:

"Nothing."

Johnny blinked.

"...Sir?"

"Not yet."

Ghost's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Price saw it.

"I know exactly what both of you are thinking." His voice remained calm, though the quiet authority beneath it left no room for argument. "You think someone attacked one of your own." Neither denied it. "You think somebody's hiding information from us and you think if you push hard enough..." He looked directly at Ghost."...you'll eventually find the truth."

Another silence as Price slowly shook his head.

"I've buried enough soldiers to know where that kind of thinking leads."

The sentence hung in the air with far more weight than either of the other two men had expected.

"If this reaches as high as I think it might..." His jaw tightened. "...charging in blind won't solve anything."

His blue eyes settled first on Johnny. " It'll get people killed." Then on Ghost. "And I won't allow that."

The corridor fell silent once again. Beyond the window, the rain continued falling steadily across the empty courtyard. After almost a full minute, Price finally spoke again.

"I'll make a call."

Ghost lifted his head. "To who?"

"Laswell."

Neither of them looked surprised.

Price continued before either could ask another question.

"If someone inside the intelligence community knows why a military personnel file is being guarded like a classified operation..." His eyes drifted briefly towards the closed treatment-room door behind them. "...it's Kate."

Johnny slowly nodded. "And until then?"

Price looked at both of them one final time.

"Leave her alone." His tone remained firm. "No more questions, no more investigations, no more guessing." He made a small pause rubbing his beard.  "If she's hiding something, we’ll find out."

Without another word, Price adjusted the brim of his cap and walked away down the corridor, his footsteps gradually disappearing beneath the distant sounds of the hospital.

Ghost watched him leave until the Captain disappeared around the corner. Only then did the corridor become truly silent again.

The antiseptic scent seemed stronger now, mingling with the faint smell of rain drifting in each time the automatic doors at the far end of the ward opened and closed.

Johnny remained staring after Price for several long seconds.

"He's right."

Ghost didn't answer and Johnny rubbed tiredly at his face.

"We dinnae know enough." Still nothing, no reaction from Ghost "If this goes higher than the Colonel..." He let out another slow breath. "...maybe we should leave it until Kate gives us more intel."

Ghost remained motionless. His eyes rested on the rain sliding slowly down the window. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady.

"We've already left it."

Johnny frowned. "What?"

"We asked around." Ghost counted quietly. "We went to Personnel, we went through Price, we asked Gaz… And we waited." Ghost slowly turned his head. "And while we were waiting..." His voice lowered almost to a whisper. "...She  ended up unconscious."

Johnny looked away, he couldn't argue with that.

Ghost's eyes settled once more on the closed treatment-room door. “We need to prepare” He mumbled through the mask, now looking at Johnny “Something's coming and we have no clue of when or who is behind this”. 

Johnny lowered his eyes because he knew Simon wasn't wrong.

For days they had done exactly what Price had expected of experienced soldiers. They had followed the chain of command. They had respected classified boundaries. They had trusted that someone higher up the ladder would either explain what was happening or deal with it before the situation escalated.

Instead, you had ended up unconscious.

Johnny’s wolf shifted uneasily beneath his ribs.

"...Simon." He grumbled knowing that disturbing look that had now appeared behind his Alpha’s eyes.

Ghost interrupted him before he could continue. "Five days."

"What?" Johnny blinked.

"Five days." Ghost repeated it with exactly the same measured calmness. "We watch her for five days."

Johnny stared at him as Ghost continued speaking:

"If nothing happens..." Ghost's gaze never wavered. "...we remove everything."

The words hung between them but  Johnny immediately understood what Simon was proposing. His stomach tightened and a wave of dizziness invaded him.

"No." He barked.

Ghost remained silent.

“No.” He barked again "We're no' puttin' cameras inside her house."

"We're not spying on her."

Johnny let out a humourless laugh. "It bloody sounds like spying tae me."

“No” Ghost answered came immediately "We're trying to find out whether she's in danger."

Johnny took a step closer before he even realised he'd moved. His shoulders had become rigid and his breathing had shortened. His wolf surged forward with enough force that a low, instinctive sound escaped somewhere deep in his throat before he consciously stopped it.

It wasn't loud, barely more than the beginning of a growl. Even so, it echoed unmistakably through the empty corridor.

Ghost remained completely still.

"...Easy."

Johnny froze. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. He hadn't meant to do that, he hadn't meant to react as though Ghost had threatened someone under his protection. Embarrassment spread across his face and his shoulders slowly lowered.

"...Sorry."

"Captain  told us not to move until we knew more." His pale eyes were still on Johnny.

"Aye."

"He told us to be ready." Johnny remained silent and Ghost continued speaking, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm getting ready."

The simplicity of the statement somehow made it even harder to argue against. Johnny looked away, ashamed of even considering it. His mind immediately filled with everything that made the idea feel wrong.

An invasion of privacy, that's what it is. They were going to be watching you without your knowledge. A wave of vomit threatened to invade his throat, 

You had invaded him home, to your home, your safe space. And now he was entering uninvited, he was entering an Omega’s house uninvited, and without her knowledge. Yes, he was about to vomit.

"We'd be spying on her." He repeated again, now walking in circles as he passed his hand though his hair trying to calm down.

Ghost answered almost before Johnny finished speaking. "No."

"We would."

"No." Simon's voice remained calm. "We'd be watching the entrances."

Johnny sighed heavily. "That's still spying, Simon. You know this. We’ve done this before, we know how spying works" He said, pointing between them.

Ghost accepted the criticism with a small inclination of his head. "Maybe."

The admission surprised Johnny enough to make him hesitate. Ghost wasn't trying to pretend otherwise. He knew exactly how morally grey the decision was.

"I'm not interested in what she does inside that house." His voice softened almost imperceptibly. "I'm interested in whether somebody else does."

Johnny looked back towards him.

Ghost continued. "If someone's following her, if someone's watching her, if somebody comes back..." His jaw tightened beneath the mask. "...we'll know."

Silence stretched between them once more.

Johnny hated how much sense it made.

Because every argument against it collided with the image of you lying unconscious beneath white hospital sheets only a few metres away.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Johnny dragged one hand across his face.

"This feels wrong."

"So does finding her unconscious in her own house."

The words settled heavily between them.

"What if she's telling the truth?"

"Then we take them down."

Johnny remained silent. Every instinct screamed that crossing into your private life would betray whatever trust still existed between them.

Another instinct, older and infinitely more difficult to ignore, whispered something else entirely. If someone really was hunting you, doing nothing would be worse.

He slowly opened his eyes again.

"...Only five days."

Ghost nodded once.

"No bedrooms." Johnny commanded.

"No bedrooms." Ghost repeated.

"No bathroom."

"No bathroom."

Johnny swallowed. "And the entrance, we watch the entrance"

Ghost nodded. "We watch the entrances."

"Living room and kitchen."

Another nod from Ghost.

"And hallway." Johnny concluded "And if nothing happens..."

Ghost finished the sentence for him. “...we take them down."

For the first time since leaving the nursery office you were in, Johnny gave the smallest nod. It wasn't agreement born from conviction, but more of resignation.

Because somewhere beneath every moral objection, his instincts kept returning to the same thought.

If Simon was wrong and you were safe, you would never know about the cameras.

But if Simon was right… Five days might be the only warning they ever got.

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. Every instinct screamed that crossing into your private life like this was wrong. Every other instinct screamed even louder that leaving you alone and possibly finding you dead with marks around your neck would be worse.

He hated both possibilities.

"...Only a few days."

Ghost gave a single nod.

"Only a few days."

Five days.

Five days had passed.

Five days of absolute normality.

At least, nothing they could see.

Every evening, the cameras came to life the moment you stepped through your front door.

Every night unfolded almost exactly the same. You kicked off your shoes in the hallway before disappearing briefly into your bedroom to change into comfortable clothes. The kettle almost always went on within minutes, the quiet sound of cupboards opening and closing echoing softly through the otherwise silent house while you prepared yourself something warm to drink. Sometimes it was tea. Sometimes coffee, despite the late hour.

Then… Nothing.

You curled up on the sofa with a blanket draped lazily across your legs, reading a book, watching television or simply sitting in comfortable silence until sleep finally began pulling at your eyelids.

Some nights you fell asleep there. Other nights you disappeared upstairs after switching off the lights one by one.

No unexpected visitors, no mysterious phone calls, no movement outside the windows, no doors opening in the middle of the night, no footsteps that didn't belong to you.

Every morning looked equally ordinary. You padded downstairs still wearing your slippers, your hair slightly tousled from sleep, rubbing absent-mindedly at one eye while waiting for the kettle to boil. Sometimes you stood in the kitchen staring blankly out of the window, still too sleepy to fully wake up. Other mornings you wandered from room to room wrapped in an oversized jumper, moving with the slow, unhurried rhythm of someone enjoying the quiet before another long shift.

Nothing about your routine suggested fear, nothing suggested you were hiding someone inside the house, and nothing suggested anyone else had entered it.

Johnny watched every recording with growing relief.

By the third day, he found himself smiling despite his best efforts whenever the cameras caught those first sleepy minutes of your morning routine. There was something quietly endearing about watching you shuffle into the kitchen with barely opened eyes, still waking up while waiting for your coffee to brew. His wolf responded every single time with the same quiet warmth settling comfortably beneath his ribs, soothed by the simple reassurance that you were safe.

Ghost never commented on it, but he noticed it too. He noticed how your shoulders visibly relaxed the moment your front door closed behind you each evening, how you unconsciously curled your feet beneath yourself whenever you settled on the sofa, how you wandered through the house without caution, completely unaware that anyone was watching.

His wolf, stubbornly restless ever since the hospital, grew unexpectedly quiet during those moments. Not because his suspicions had disappeared.

Because seeing you safe, warm and alive beneath your own roof satisfied an instinct he still refused to examine too closely.

Five days.

Five days during which nothing happened.

Johnny watched another uneventful recording come to an end before leaning back heavily in his chair inside the communications room. The screen showed an empty hallway. Another ordinary evening. Another hour of absolutely nothing.

Johnny’s stomach twisted.

"...Simon." He mumbled.

Ghost looked up from another monitor. 

"We should take them down." Johnny murmured.

Ghost remained silent.

"I'm serious." Johnny rested both elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. "We've seen enough."

Still nothing.

"If she was hiding something..." His voice grew quieter. "...we would've seen it."

Ghost watched him carefully. Johnny looked exhausted, not physically but morally.

"This doesnae feel right anymore. I– I don’t feel right with this anymore."

Ghost's expression softened almost imperceptibly before nodding "We'll take them down."

Johnny nodded. "Tonight." He left no room for discussion.

But before Ghost had the chance to answer, the communications room door opened.

Price stepped inside carrying a folder beneath one arm.

Gaz followed behind him, halfway through complaining about the following day's deployment schedule before his words died abruptly.

Price had stopped walking.

His eyes rested on the monitors.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four. 

Five separate camera feeds.

Inside your house.

Silence swallowed the room.

Price looked from the screens to Ghost, then to Johnny. His jaw tightened so slowly that the movement was almost imperceptible.

The muscles beneath his beard hardened. His fingers curled around the edge of the folder until the cardboard bent beneath the pressure.

And the scent surrounding him changed. Normally it carried light notes of dark coffee, fresh cologne and fresh grass . Now another note slowly emerged beneath it. A strong cigar smoke, the bitter smell of something burning paper and the strong smell of clove.

Both Ghost and Johnny recognised it instantly.

Their Alpha was furious.

Price spoke so quietly that the room somehow became even more tense.

"...Tell me..." Nobody moved. "...why..." His gaze shifted back towards the monitors. "...there are surveillance feeds..." Another pause. "...inside one of the nurses home."

Johnny opened his mouth but Price interrupted him just by lifting one finger.

"Don't." The single word stopped him immediately.

Ghost answered instead. "We installed them."

"I can see that."

"We believed she was lying."

Price looked at him for several seconds. "Your suppositions were the ones that gave you authority to place surveillance equipment inside military accommodation?" He almost screamed.

"No."

"Then explain why you did it." He growled.

Ghost didn't lower his eyes. "We ran out of options."

Gaz stared at both of them as though they'd suddenly started speaking another language. "...Oh God… You’ve completely lost it. You two have completely lost it." He muttered astonished. “You two need an intervention, like, psychiatrist help.”

Neither answered.

Gaz laughed once. Not because he found any of this funny but because he genuinely couldn't believe what he was hearing.

 "You actually installed cameras." Silence. "Inside her house."

Silence again.

Johnny finally spoke. "There are no cameras in the bathroom."

Gaz blinked several times and looked at him like he had grown a second head.

"Or her bedroom." Johnny continued quickly. "We only covered the entrance, the living room and the hallway. We just wanted—"

Price's voice cut across the room. "You wanted what?"

Johnny looked down. "To make sure she was safe."

Price closed his eyes for one brief second. When he opened them again, the frustration inside them had not disappeared. It had simply been forced back beneath discipline.

"If anyone above our pay grade discovers this..." His voice remained dangerously calm. "...the investigation won't begin with you."

Both men looked at him.

"It'll begin with me."

Neither Ghost nor Johnny answered.

Price drew a slow breath again. "We are removing those cameras."

"Aye." Johnny nodded immediately.

"Tonight." He stated moving his hands around, pointing at the floor to highlight the urgency of the moment.

Before anyone moved, another officer appeared at the doorway.

"The convoy's ready, Captain."

Price glanced towards the clock mounted high on the wall, the red digits reflecting the late hour with an almost accusatory stillness, and for a brief moment it was as if the entire room remembered at once that they were still soldiers bound to schedules, orders and movements that did not pause simply because something personal had gone wrong inside their own ranks. 

The overnight deployment had been scheduled days in advance, a routine convoy exercise meant to test rapid mobilisation between two remote training sites on the northern perimeter, the kind of operation that normally required minimal thought and even less emotional investment, yet in that moment it felt like an intrusion, like the military world insisting on continuing to function while something far more unstable was unfolding beneath it.

He'd forgotten how late it had become, and the realisation only seemed to tighten the tension in his jaw rather than relieve it. The convoy would be leaving within ten minutes, engines already warming outside, personnel already assembling in the motor pool for a night movement designed to simulate low-visibility coordination under restricted communication protocols, a simple enough exercise on paper but one that now felt absurdly distant from the situation unfolding in front of him.

Price looked back towards the monitors, the glow of the surveillance feeds still casting pale light across the room, and for a moment his attention lingered on the image of your empty living space as if trying to reconcile the normality of it with the breach of trust that had just been exposed.

The contrast between operational discipline and personal violation sitting heavily behind his eyes as he made the decision to step away from one crisis only to walk directly into another.

Price looked back towards the surveillance feeds one final time before making his decision. 

Then he turned towards Gaz. "You stay." He ordered.

"Excuse me?" Gaz frowned.

"You'll monitor the feeds until we get back." 

For a second, Gaz genuinely thought he'd misheard him. Then he laughed, not because it was funny but because it was completely ridiculous.

"The hell I will."

“Kyle…” Price almost growled.

"No, Captain. I'm not doing that." He pointed openly at Ghost before swinging the same finger towards Johnny. "They're the ones who've completely lost the plot." His voice rose another octave. "They broke into a nurse’s house, they installed hidden cameras, they've been watching her for who knows how long!"

He looked back at Price in complete disbelief before he continued speaking: 

"And somehow this is becoming my problem?"

Price sighed. "Gaz—"

"No." Gaz cut him off immediately. "I'm serious. This” He moved his hands around  “is mental. And I don't care what either of them says." He pointed at Johnny "This is obsessive." Then he pointed at Ghost "And he's just encouraging it."

Gaz’s arms flew out to either side completely done with the conversation "I'm not sitting in my room spying on a woman because these two have suddenly forgotten what privacy is. I refuse."

Price didn't react. "You know this system better than anyone."

"I don't care."

"You built the recording system."

"I still don't care."

"You're the only signals specialist available."

Gaz folded his arms. "Find another one."

"You strained your shoulder during CQB last week." Price's expression didn't change as he answered.

"...What?" Gaz blinked, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

"The medic restricted you from prolonged vehicle rotations."

"You cannot seriously be using my own medical report against me." Gaz stared at him, anger was starting to cloud his mind.

"I am."

"Captain..."

"You weren't assigned to tonight's convoy for exactly that reason."

Gaz looked utterly betrayed.

"...That was supposed to be a good thing."

"It still is."

"It doesn't feel like it!"

Price was already walking towards the workstation.

"I don't believe this..." Gaz muttered, completely shocked  "I genuinely don't believe this." He looked at his three packmates with wild eyes “You’ve seriously gone crazy, you all need a medical check-up, your brains have been damaged after all these years… Maybe we can find a solution before you start talking to the coffee machine.”

Price reached behind the centre monitor before disconnecting a small encrypted USB device from one of the secure terminals.

Without a word, he crossed the room and pressed it firmly into Gaz's hand.

Gaz looked down at it, then back at Price, then back at the USB stick again.

"What's this?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Before Price could answer, Johnny spoke.

"The surveillance client." Answered Johnny, quite excitedly for Gaz’s taste.

“I know what it is, I’m just wondering why is it in my hand?” Sarcasm dripped through his voice.

Gaz looked at him blankly.

"Plug it into your laptop." Johnny nodded towards the USB. “It'll launch the encrypted viewer automatically. The authentication certificates are already stored on the drive, you'll connect directly to the live camera relay."

"The feeds are encrypted end-to-end." Ghost added "No recordings stay on your machine. The footage streams through the secure relay before wiping the local cache once you disconnect."

No one dared to speak.

Gaz slowly looked from Ghost, to Johnny, to the USB stick still sitting in his hand.

"You’ve planned all this? To be able to watch her from any device?" Neither of them answered and his mouth fell open. "Oh, you've completely lost your bloody minds."

He held the USB between two fingers as though it had suddenly become radioactive.

"No." He stated “I’m not doing this. I'm not taking this home. I'm not watching those cameras." He continued” I don't care what she's doing. I don't care who she's talking to. And I don't care if she spends the evening playing bloody Cluedo or whatever"

Gaz sent them a freezing glance before speaking again:

"She's not my responsibility." He pointed emphatically towards Johnny. "She's yours, apparently."

Price stepped forward once more and he closed Gaz's fingers firmly around the USB drive.

"No more discussion." He barked.

Gaz immediately tried handing it back but Price didn't even look at it. 

"This is a direct order." His tone was calm, it was final. "You will take the drive, you will monitor the feeds and iIf anything changes… You call me, immediately."

Gaz opened his mouth again but Price spoke over him.

"If you ignore that order..." A brief pause. "...you'll answer to me for insubordination."

The room fell silent. Gaz looked down at the USB trapped inside his own fist. Then at Ghost. Then Johnny, he had the decency to look slightly embarrassed.

"We'll remove the cameras the moment we get back." Ghost simply reached for the door.

"Aye." Johnny followed him out.

Price adjusted the brim of his cap one last time before leaving the room without another word.

A second later, the communications room door clicked shut. Gaz remained standing exactly where they had left him. Still holding the USB drive and still staring at it as though it might explode.

I don’t like this, he thought.

And oh how right he was.

Gaz spent the entire walk back to his room muttering under his breath.

Every second sentence was directed at Ghost.

Every third at Johnny.

By the time he reached the Pack House, irritation had settled so deeply beneath his skin that even the familiar warmth of the building failed to soften it. 

The corridor lights glowed with their usual amber hue, casting long shadows across polished wooden floors that had become as familiar as his own bedroom over the years, yet tonight everything felt strangely smaller, quieter, suffocating in a way he couldn't quite explain.

By the time he pushed open his bedroom door, he had already talked himself into a state of simmering irritation that had nothing to do with fatigue and everything to do with the sheer absurdity of the last few days. 

The whole situation felt like something that should have been shut down immediately, buried under a formal report and never spoken of again, and yet here he was, the one left behind to babysit a set of surveillance feeds like some kind of glorified night watchman.

He walked down the hallway before pushing open his bedroom door with considerably more force than necessary.

The latch struck the wall with a dull thud behind him, the sound echoing in the small room.

"...Absolute bloody idiots."

The words escaped before he even realised he'd spoken aloud.

He stood motionless for a moment, breathing through his nose as the silence settled around him once again. His room looked exactly as he'd left it that morning. Bed made. His pyjamas folded neatly across the chair. Laptop resting closed on the desk beneath the window.

Everything was perfectly ordinary.

Unlike the last hour.

With a tired exhale, he reached for the collar of his duty shirt, unbuttoning it slowly before shrugging it off and hanging it over the back of the chair. His utility belt followed, unclipped with the same automatic precision drilled into him over years of service, the weight of it suddenly absent from his hips. 

Then came his boots, kicked off and left neatly by the wall, and finally his trousers were swapped for loose sleepwear, each movement more absent-minded than the last until he was left in a plain undershirt and comfortable joggers, the standard off-duty uniform of the base. 

He rubbed one hand slowly across the back of his neck before walking into the small adjoining bathroom.

The fluorescent light flickered briefly before settling as he took the rest of his clothes off.

As he pulled a clean pyjama T-shirt over his head, he caught his reflection in the darkened window and barely recognised the expression staring back at him. It wasn’t exhaustion, not really. It was something tighter, more irritated, like his own skin didn’t quite fit right anymore. He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose, and muttered under his breath as he moved into the bathroom.

Cold water ran over his fingers as he reached automatically for his toothbrush, squeezing a strip of toothpaste across the bristles without really looking. The familiar routine required almost no thought at all, allowing his mind to drift somewhere else entirely while he stared absently into the mirror.

Stupid.

All of it.

Ghost and his bloody certainty, Johnny and his guilt-ridden obsession, Price and his moral outrage like he hadn’t just spent half his career bending rules when it suited him.

And you.

He frowned at his own reflection. "How the hell did we get here?" He signed.

The toothbrush moved mechanically as his thoughts continued.

You and Sebastian. 

The name settled heavily in the front of his mind and It made his jaw tighten around the toothbrush.

He spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth, staring at himself in the mirror for a moment longer than necessary.

During the four nights following the conversation in the Pack House, he'd continued trying to reach Sebastian's file long after everyone else had gone to sleep.

Not because Ghost had asked him to but because he hated unfinished systems.

At first he'd simply repeated the original access route, assuming he'd overlooked something obvious.

When that failed, he'd changed methodology entirely. Mirror servers, legacy authentication protocols, archived credentials retained from joint NATO exercises, internal routing tables that should no longer have existed, and even abandoned administrative pathways that had been quietly left behind after old infrastructure migrations years earlier.

One by one, he'd tested every possibility he could think of. Every trick, every shortcut, and every exploit he'd spent years quietly learning. None of them worked.

The strange part wasn't being denied access. He'd expected that military databases rejected people every day. 

What unsettled him was how they rejected him. The response never came from the same server twice. The authentication requests didn't terminate naturally, they were intercepted and redirected. 

Sometimes the connection disappeared before the request even reached its destination. Other times the session simply ceased to exist, as though somebody had reached into the network itself and erased the last few seconds before they could ever become a permanent record.

No warning, no error, no trace, like he'd never been there at all. 

The pattern repeated itself so cleanly it was almost impossible to ignore. Every path they followed ended exactly the same way: a locked door.

Gaz slowly lowered both hands onto the edge of the sink.

"...Someone's watching us."

The conclusion had been sitting quietly at the back of his mind for days, he'd simply refused to say it aloud.

He stared at himself in the mirror for several long seconds.

You should have just told the truth. Whatever it was. Whatever you were hiding. It would have been easier.

Instead, they were all standing in the middle of a mess that didn’t even feel like theirs, and somehow he was the one stuck watching cameras in a house that wasn’t his, pretending it was normal.

He turned off the light in the bathroom and stepped back into the bedroom, the sudden shift into dim warmth almost disorienting. The bedside lamp cast a soft amber glow across the walls, making everything feel quieter than it should have been, too contained, too still.

He changed into loose sleep trousers without really thinking about it, movements slow now, less angry and more automatic, like his body was following instructions his mind had already stopped agreeing with. When he finally sat on the edge of the bed, he let out a long breath and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

This is ridiculous.

He had already decided earlier. He wasn’t going to look at the cameras.

He wasn’t going to sit there like some paranoid idiot watching a woman’s private life unfold on a screen just because Ghost and Johnny couldn’t let go of a suspicion.

He wasn’t that person.

He wasn’t going to be that person.

He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

His elbows rested against his knees while both hands clasped together loosely between them. His wolf shifted restlessly somewhere beneath the surface, not aggressive, not anxious, simply awake.

He looked towards the dark monitor sitting silently on the desk across the room and closed his eyes briefly.

This is ridiculous.

He had already made his decision. He wasn't going to spend the evening staring at surveillance feeds inside a colleague's home simply because Ghost refused to let go of a theory.

He stood up again, pacing once across the room, then back, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration.

And yet—

And yet the thought wouldn’t leave him alone.

Because underneath all the irritation,there was something else. Something quieter. Something that had been building since the moment you had smiled at him the first day in the infirmary like nothing in the world was wrong.

You were too calm, too controlled, too untouched by any of this, and it didn’t sit right.

He stopped walking to stare at the darkened corner of the room. His wolf shifted beneath his skin, restless, circling, listening to something he couldn’t quite hear yet.

He took one step towards the bed, then stopped. He let out a slow breath before turning around once more.

"Just one look."

His wolf shifted again. Gaz exhaled slowly, dragging both hands down his face.

“Bloody hell…”

He had already told himself he wouldn’t do it, he had already decided, and still, his feet carried him back to the desk.

The monitor was still there, almost like it was waiting for him.

"Just one look." 

The chair creaked beneath him as he sat back down in front of the monitor, and stared at the black screen for a long moment before finally reaching for the USB inside his trousers.

Just a quick check. Just to confirm nothing had changed. That was all. Nothing more.

The first feed loaded slowly, the familiar grainy image of the entrance appearing in soft blue tones. Empty, still, and unremarkable.

Gaz leaned back slightly, tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.

Of course, nothing.

The second camera followed: the Back door. Silent, dark, and empty.

He exhaled through his nose, almost annoyed at himself for even sitting down. He clicked his tongue softly, already reaching to shut the program down.

What a waste of time.

Ghost was wrong and Johnny was obsessed with you. Price was going to lose his mind over nothing.

And you—

His thoughts stopped mid-sentence.

He leaned forward again, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

The third camera, the angle was wrong. Not slightly, but completely. The camera wasn’t pointing where it had been before now showing only a plain wall.

“What the hell?” Gaz frowned, fingers hovering over the controls.

He opened the next camera recording. Then the one after that. Then another. Each one confirmed the same thing: The feed had been physically altered.

The cameras had been moved, redirected, or covered.

Gaz didn't touch the keyboard for several long seconds.

His fingers remained suspended above the controls while his eyes moved from one recording to the next, replaying the same handful of seconds over and over again as if repetition alone might produce a different answer.

It didn't. The camera hadn't drifted, iIt hadn't loosened, it hadn't been knocked accidentally. Someone had repositioned it, deliberately.

A cold pressure settled slowly beneath his ribs. He replayed the sequence again, slower this time, watching the subtle shifts frame by frame, the way the perspective changed not gradually but deliberately, as if someone had known exactly where the blind spots were and had used them with precision.

His chair creaked as he leaned closer.

“…No.” He whispered “No, it can’t be…”

His mind tried to reject it first, then he tried to rationalise it. He failed.

Someone had seen them, someone knew about the cameras.

Gaz swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His wolf surged forward, no longer restless but fully alert now, every instinct snapping into place at once like a warning system finally recognising a threat.

“She knows.” His hands tightened on the edge of the desk.

The words came out before he could stop them. The certainty struck him with almost physical force.

What unsettled him was not only because you had recognised the cameras, but how you had responded.

You hadn't reported them, you hadn't told Johnny or Ghost.

You had simply...

Adapted.

Exactly the same way the network had adapted every time he had tried reaching Sebastian's file. No confrontation or visible reaction, only quiet and deliberate countermeasures that left everyone else believing nothing had happened at all.

His pulse quickened.

Every event from the past weeks flashed through his mind. 

The same invisible hand seemed to reach into every one of them, removing just enough information to keep the truth permanently one step out of reach.

His wolf surged forward beneath his skin, every instinct suddenly aligning around the same terrifying conclusion.

This wasn't a coincidence anymore.

This was a pattern.

“She knows…”

All of it, and you hadn’t said a single word.

A cold, sharp clarity cut through him.

He pushed back from the desk so fast the chair nearly toppled, the sound of it scraping violently against the floor breaking the silence of the room. For a second he just stood there, staring at the screen like it might change if he looked long enough.

It didn’t.

His breathing was heavier now, controlled but urgent, the kind of focus that replaced anger entirely.

Because whatever this was, you were at the centre of it. And God, you had been just so close to Johnny. He knew it, he knew you were not trustworthy but Johnny had always lacked brains in love related matters.

Within seconds he was pulling yesterday's clothes back on, barely bothering to zip his jacket before sprinting out of the Pack House into the cool night air. His boots pounded across the pavement separating the accommodation blocks from the row of military houses, his lungs burning as he cut between pools of yellow security lighting without slowing once.

By the time he reached your front door, he was breathing hard.

He knocked once, the sound sharp and impatient against the wood, but there was no answer from inside, only the muffled silence of a house that should not have felt so controlled at this hour. 

He knocked again, harder this time, the impact echoing through his knuckles and up his arm, frustration already tightening in his chest as the seconds stretched without movement, without acknowledgement, until finally the sound of footsteps approached from within, slow and deliberate, as if whoever was walking had already decided what this conversation would be before it even began.

The door did not open fully.

It only cracked enough for a face to appear in the narrow gap, your features partially framed by the dim interior light, your expression carefully composed in a way that immediately made Gaz’s instincts sharpen rather than settle. Only your face was visible, nothing more, as if you had positioned yourself deliberately to control exactly what he could and couldn’t see inside your home, and that alone made something cold settle in his stomach.

Gaz did not wait for politeness. His voice came out low, tight, edged with something between disbelief and accusation.

"You knew about the cameras."

Your eyes flickered for the briefest fraction of a second, so small it would have been invisible to anyone else, but Gaz caught it immediately, the smallest fracture in an otherwise perfect mask.

"Now isn't a good time." You hissed through gritted teeth.

Gaz stepped closer, the tension in his shoulders rising, his wolf pacing violently beneath his skin as the pieces finally began to align in a way he did not like.

He clenched his jaw, feeling his wolf stir restlessly beneath his skin, not out of aggression, but from that uncomfortable sensation that something important was slipping through his fingers.

He swallowed, trying to keep control, trying not to sound as if he were accusing you, although it was already too late for that.

“Answer me,” he insisted, his voice harsher than he intended, “what are you planning—”

“Gaz, now isn’t a good time…” You didn’t let him finish, your voice sliced through the air with a sharp calmness.

And before he could insist again, you interrupted him once more, this time with absolute clarity that left no room for misunderstanding:

“My husband is home.”

A longer episode as an apology for being away, tell me what you think!!

Materlist Taglist OPEN: @suicidarsi @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @danielle143 @annoyingnonamesa @littlelovebug98 @hypertail @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @rainbowangel @forgetmenotsilly @mirimirionthewall @armycaratlover @rafaelacallinybbay @supernova2205 @bookies16 @pinkslaystation @chaoticgoodandi @ilovesituationships @boo-123456 @leahnicole1219 @silentlyswimming @coconskdkdk @pickles-the-jackalope @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @brineoffire @lykllkk @fadocahiii @boo-123456 @noonespecial2347 @supersonicoxo @leahnicole1219 @rainbowangel @armycaratlover @savagemickey03 @buckysjuicyplums @carnation-tha @happy-capy-bee @buckysjuicyplums @brianochka @yn-reincarnate @celestialzdiviner @trippiehippieashley @shortfellow @extrathiccpancakes66 @iamasuperstarrr @unifaceta15 @mrwagster @ppnuggie111 @apodyopsisphilia @supermilktoast @certainlygay

[gazsdiary]

BY ANY OTHER NAME

Chapter 5: Access denied

Summary: After weeks of distance, old bonds begin to mend, but the deeper Task Force 141 digs into your life, the more impossible it becomes to separate truth from secrets.

Pairings: Poly!Tf141 x Reader

Words: 6.5k

Previous / Next / Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of home invasion, slight mention of smut btw Gaz and Johnny

Author’s note: I’m going on vacation so next chapter will be up the 31th!! Ps finally showing Gaz love!!

Disclaimer: (I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating,- imitating this work )

Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!!

Footsteps.

Yes. 

Footsteps.

Your fingers tightened around the pistol until your knuckles turned white.

Footsteps.

The sound was unmistakable.

Not the old pipes groaning beneath the floorboards. Not your cat padding lazily across the apartment. Not the settling creaks every building made after sunset.

Footsteps, slow and measured.

Somewhere beyond your bedroom door.

Every instinct screamed at you to move, yet your body refused. You remained rooted to the spot, every muscle drawn painfully tight as your breathing caught somewhere behind your ribs. The ringing inside your ears was so loud that, for one terrifying second, you wondered whether you had imagined them.

Then they came again.

One.

Two.

Three.

The sound drifted down the narrow hallway before stopping altogether.

Silence. The apartment fell deathly still. You stayed where you were.

Five seconds, ten, twenty…

Nothing.

Your pulse continued hammering against your throat, but your breathing gradually steadied, each inhale a fraction deeper than the last as years of training slowly forced their way through the panic clouding your thoughts.

You adjusted your grip around the pistol and raised it properly, your support hand sliding into place beneath the frame with mechanical familiarity. The weapon no longer trembled.

Keeping your shoulders square, you edged towards the bedroom door.

The hallway beyond lay empty beneath the warm amber glow of the wall lamps. Their soft light stretched long shadows across the wooden floor, turning familiar corners into strange shapes that seemed to shift every time your eyes lingered on them for too long.

You waited and listened.

Nothing.

One careful step carried you into the corridor. And then another one. You had memorized that the boards made less noise, so you could make as little noise as possible.

The gun’s muzzle followed your gaze as you checked every doorway exactly the way countless hours of training had taught you to. Bathroom. Empty. The dresser. Empty.

You reached the staircase and descended one step at a time, your back brushing lightly against the wall to minimize your silhouette and you stepped carefully close to the wall where, due to the pressure, your steps made less noise.

The living room greeted you exactly as you had left it.

The lamp you had knocked over during your sprint upstairs still rested on its side, its warm light spilling across the rug in a crooked pool of gold. Your cat’s favourite toy mouse lay abandoned beneath the coffee table, and the untouched mug of tea you'd made some hours earlier sat cooling on the kitchen counter, a thin skin forming across its surface.

Everything looked normal.

You continued clearing the apartment. The kitchen, the utility room, the small bathroom for guests. You checked every corner, every blind spot.

Nothing.

Finally, you approached the front door. The deadbolt remained locked and the chain was still fastened.

Your fingers hovered over the handle before checking it anyway.

It didn't move. You sign, trying to rationalised it. No broken lock, no forced entry and no sign that anyone had ever been there.

You stood motionless in the centre of the apartment, the pistol still raised as your eyes travelled slowly from one familiar object to the next.

The kitchen remained untouched and the living room was exactly as you had left it. Nothing was missing, nor had anything been disturbed.

Your breathing finally slowed.

Perhaps the footsteps were just a squirrel running on your rooftop, or maybe a sparrow, maybe? Perhaps your nerves had woven every creak of the building into something far more sinister after everything that had happened that evening.

That had to be it. No one was here.

Keeping the pistol in your right hand, now lowered, you reached up with your left and rubbed the back of your neck, trying to ease the ache that had settled there from holding yourself so rigidly for so long. Every muscle in your body protested as the adrenaline slowly began to ebb away, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that threatened to buckle your knees.

You turned towards the staircase. One step. Then another.

The silence inside the apartment no longer felt threatening.

Your shoulders loosened for the first time since you heard the footsteps when you reached the upper floor. What you wanted most at that moment was to take a hot shower that would finally relax your back muscles.

You stood in the doorway of your room and exhaled deeply as you closed your eyes.

That was your mistake.

The impact came without warning.

Something struck the back of your head with crushing force.

White-hot pain exploded through your skull, so sudden and violent that your vision fractured into flashes of light. Your fingers convulsed instinctively around the pistol before it slipped from your grasp, clattering loudly across the wooden floor.

You stumbled forward, one hand shooting out to catch yourself against the wardrobe, but your arm refused to obey. The bedroom twisted unnaturally around you, the floor pitching beneath your feet as though the entire apartment had begun to tilt.

You forced yourself to breathe, you tried to get up again, you tried to identify the threat, to recover your weapon, to fight. You tried to turn but your body barely moved, the blinding pain echoed behind your eyes and even your gums hurt.

The world had already begun dissolving into a blur of amber light and indistinct shadows. A shape shifted somewhere at the very edge of your vision, impossible to focus on before darkness swallowed it again.

And finally, you lost consciousness.

The last thing you heard was the drumming of your pulse of your head against the wooden floor.

Then...

Nothing.

The Pack House was unusually quiet.

The low murmur of the television drifted lazily through the living room, accompanied only by the rhythmic ticking of the old clock mounted above the fireplace. The evening’s light filtered through the windows overlooking, painting long golden rectangles across the worn wooden floor. His boots rested neatly beside the entrance, and his weapons had already been cleaned and locked away after the training exercise they had been sent to, and somewhere on the other end of the hallway Ghost was taking the world's longest shower, judging by the constant rush of water echoing through the pipes.

Kyle sat alone on the sofa.

A mug of tea had gone cold on the table beside him, untouched except for the faint ring it had left on the wood. Every few minutes he would scroll absentmindedly through another report before stopping again, staring at nothing in particular while pretending to read.

He hadn't slept much either.

The front door opened with the familiar scrape of old hinges.

Johnny stepped inside, quietly enough that he hoped nobody would notice him. He shrugged off his jacket, hung it on the rack beside the entrance and paused for a second when he spotted Kyle in the living room. For a moment he considered walking towards his room without saying anything.

However, we decided otherwise.

He sighed almost imperceptibly and his boots crossed the wooden floor with slow, measured steps until he stopped beside the sofa.

Kyle didn't look up "You back already?" His voice was calm.

"Aye."

Another silence settled between them.

Johnny shifted awkwardly on his feet before lowering himself onto the opposite end of the sofa. The familiar cushions dipped beneath his weight, but neither of them spoke. The television continued playing to an audience that wasn't watching, filling the room with meaningless background noise while the distance between them felt infinitely larger than the few feet separating their shoulders.

"I've missed ye." Johnny rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

"That's funny." Kyle gave a humourless smile.

Johnny frowned "It is?"

Johnny lowered his gaze to his hands. Calloused knuckles with healing cuts and fresh bruises earned somewhere halfway across the world only days before. He knew how to dismantle explosives in complete darkness, how to clear buildings room by room and how to keep calm while bullets flew inches from his head but none of it had ever taught him how to fix this.

"I've been an arse." Began Johnny slowly.

Kyle let out a quiet breath through his nose. "You have."

"I know." Johnny nodded slowly and silence settled over them once again before he finally found the courage to continue. "I dinnae know what's happening tae me, Kyle."

Gaz didn't answer.

Johnny wasn't even sure he expected him to.

"Every time I'm around her, it's like something in me keeps pulling me closer. I cannae explain it. I dinnae know why. I dinnae even know if it's me or if it's just..." He let out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. "Hell, I dinnae know what it is." 

Kyle's eyes remained fixed on the dark television screen and Johnny shifted slightly on the sofa, his forearms resting loosely against his knees as he stared down at his hands for a moment, as if trying to piece together something that refused to settle into words.

"It's no' like I just... forget everything else when I'm around her," he continued more quietly, his voice lacking the certainty it had carried before. "It's just... loud, I guess. Hard tae ignore." 

He let out a small breath, almost a laugh, though there was no humour in it.

"And then I come back here and it's..." He trailed off, glancing briefly around the room before his eyes flickered back tae Kyle. "Different." 

Kyle finally looked at him.

Johnny didn't hold his gaze this time. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, shoulders tightening slightly as if bracing himself.

"I've been trying tae make sense o' it," he admitted, softer now. "Havenae managed yet."

There was a pause, not quite silence, but close enough that the ticking clock seemed louder than before.

"But none o' that changes..." He hesitated, choosing his words more carefully this time. "What this is. What we've got."

Kyle's expression shifted, subtle but noticeable and Johnny gave a small, uncertain smile.

"I'm no’ going anywhere." Johnny reached up, rubbing a tired hand across his face before letting out a long breath."I dinnae want her instead o' ye."  His voice was quiet now. "I want... all o' this." 

He gestured vaguely around the room, though it was obvious he wasn't talking about the furniture.

"Our pack. You. Simon. The Captain." Another pause. "And... somehow... her too." 

Kyle studied him for a long moment, watching every tiny movement in Johnny's face. There was no guilt hidden there. No deception, only confusion, exhaustion, and the desperate hope that the man sitting beside him would still believe him.

"I've never doubted that you love me," Kyle admitted quietly as his fingers curled together in his lap. "I just started wondering whether you still saw me."

The words landed like a knife and Johnny's shoulders dropped.

"I've always seen ye." He murmured.

"No." Kyle shook his head. "You looked through me."

The honesty hurt far more than shouting ever could. Johnny turned towards him completely and without thinking too much about it, he reached across the sofa and carefully intertwined their fingers.

Kyle's hand tensed instinctively and, for a heartbeat, Johnny thought he was going to pull away. But he didn't.

His fingers remained exactly where they were, warm against Johnny's palm despite the stiffness still lingering in his wrist.

Johnny smiled faintly. "There ye are."

Kyle finally looked at him.

The silence stretched again, though it no longer felt quite as hostile as before. It carried something softer now, something familiar. Like a bridge that had begun to rebuild itself plank by plank.

Johnny leaned forward until only a breath separated them, giving Kyle every opportunity to pull away if he wanted to. He didn't.

Their lips met in a slow, hesitant kiss that carried weeks of distance between them. It was gentle at first, almost cautious, as though both of them were afraid that moving too quickly might shatter the fragile peace they had only just begun to rebuild.

Johnny's hand rose instinctively to cup Kyle's cheek. His thumb brushed softly across the warm skin beneath his eye, and he felt Kyle lean into the touch before he even realised he was doing it.

"There ye are..." Johnny whispered and Kyle smiled faintly, a light red blushing his cheeks.

The next kiss lasted longer. There was still nothing hurried about it, but the uncertainty that had lingered between them began to melt away with every passing second. Johnny smiled against Kyle's lips, earning a quiet laugh that he could feel more than hear.

The familiar scent that always surrounded Kyle, sweet raspberries, fresh linen and a hint of cinnamon began to intensify as the tension drained from his shoulders. Betas rarely released enough pheromones for anyone outside their pack to notice, but Johnny had spent years learning every subtle shift. Relief had its own scent.

Without meaning to, Johnny answered. Warm cedar, black tea and baked apples settled quietly around them, replacing the sharper edge of guilt that had clung to him ever since they had returned from deployment.

Kyle breathed him in with a contented sigh. "I've missed that."

"Ma smell?"

"You."

Johnny laughed softly. "That's better."

Kyle reached up, threading his fingers through the hair at the back of Johnny's neck before drawing him into another kiss. This one lingered, slower and deeper than the last, until they were both smiling for no reason other than the simple comfort of having found one another again.

Johnny rested his forehead against Kyle's and for a moment neither of them spoke.

Their breathing gradually settled into the same rhythm, and Johnny could hear the steady beat of Kyle's heart from where they sat, close enough that every quiet breath seemed shared between them.

Some instinct buried deep beneath conscious thought finally relaxed.

Home.

Kyle's fingers drifted lazily down from Johnny's neck, smoothing the collar of his shirt before coming to rest against his chest. Johnny caught his hand before it could fall away and pressed a brief kiss into his palm.

Kyle's smile grew warmer without taking his eyes off Johnny, he reached for the hem of his T-shirt. He lifted his arms with an exaggerated sigh, letting Kyle pull the shirt free before it landed somewhere forgotten on the floor beside the sofa.

"Better?"

Kyle's gaze lingered on the bruises scattered across Johnny's shoulders and ribs. His fingertips traced carefully around one already turning yellow at the edges, taking care not to press against the healing skin. Kyle answered by leaning in to press a lingering kiss against his shoulder before finding his lips again.

Johnny's arm slipped naturally around Kyle's waist, drawing him closer until there was hardly any space left between them. Kyle shifted without a word, one knee settling comfortably on the cushion beside Johnny before he slowly curled against him, his forehead brushing Johnny's once more.

Neither of them seemed interested in counting how many kisses followed after that.

They simply happened. Slowly. Naturally.

Each one carrying away another little piece of the distance that had separated them.

At some point Johnny leaned back against the arm of the sofa, laughing quietly as Kyle followed without protest, settling comfortably against him. The blanket draped across the backrest slipped loose as Johnny pulled it absent-mindedly over them both.

The television continued murmuring to an audience that wasn't listening.

The sunset stretched a little further across the wooden floor.

Down the hallway, the shower still hadn't stopped running.

Hidden beneath the blanket, Kyle's hand found Johnny's once more, their bodies intertwining as another quiet kiss stole the words and gasps from between them.

Whatever remained of the conversation could wait until later. For now, the rest of the house was content to leave them in peace.

Steam still clung faintly to the upstairs landing by the time Simon finally emerged from the bathroom, a dark towel hanging loosely around the back of his neck as he rubbed absentmindedly at his damp hair.

He hadn't spent nearly that long beneath the hot water because he needed the shower.

He'd needed the distance.

The moment Johnny had sat down beside Kyle downstairs, Simon had caught the subtle shift in the air. Betas never filled a room with pheromones the way an Alpha could, yet to someone with senses as keen as his, the changes were unmistakable. Weeks of frustration had slowly dissolved into something warmer, softer. The familiar scents that had always defined the two men, Johnny's cedar and Kyle's rain-soaked linen touched with cinnamon had begun to settle together once more.

From upstairs, Simon hadn't heard a single sentence they exchanged. He hadn't needed to, his mind and his senses were occupied by other things.

Occasionally the quiet murmurs and gasps of their voices drifted through the floorboards, followed by long stretches of comfortable moans that somehow spoke louder than conversation ever could. Once or twice he'd heard a muffled laugh, so unfamiliar after the past few weeks that it had almost made him smile despite himself.

Later, there had been no voices at all, only the occasional creak of the old sofa downstairs, the faint rustle of a blanket, the quiet rhythm of two heartbeats settling into the same peaceful cadence and the quiet moans that escaped between their lips.

His instincts had stirred almost immediately.

Every Alpha possessed an innate drive to gather the members of their pack close, especially after conflict had been resolved. Some irrational part of him had wanted to walk downstairs, make sure they were both alright, settle beside them and let the familiar comfort of shared scents wash through the house.

He hadn't, this wasn't his moment. Johnny and Kyle needed one another far more than they needed him.

So Simon had stayed exactly where he was, letting the hot water drum steadily against his shoulders until the restless pain beneath his legs gradually eased into something quieter. By the time he finally switched off the shower, the house itself seemed calmer.

The scents drifting up from the living room carried none of the uncertainty that had haunted the Pack House since returning from deployment.

Home, their home.

The familiar scent of cedar lingered in the air behind him as he made his way down the staircase, disappearing into the warmth of the living room.

He had expected to find the television abandoned; instead, he stopped halfway down the stairs.

Johnny lay stretched comfortably along one end of the sofa, one arm tucked behind his head while the other rested securely around Kyle's waist. His T-shirt had long since disappeared somewhere onto the living-room floor, leaving the fading bruises scattered across his shoulders plainly visible beneath the morning light.

Kyle had surrendered completely to exhaustion.

He lay curled against Johnny's bare chest, one hand resting loosely over his ribs while his cheek rose and fell with every slow, steady breath. A blanket had slipped carelessly over the pair of them sometime during the evening, doing little to hide just how naturally they had settled together.

Johnny looked up as Simon appeared from the hallway. Their eyes met but neither of them spoke immediately.

There was no embarrassment in Johnny's expression, only the quiet, contented look of someone whose world had finally clicked back into place.

Simon's gaze drifted briefly towards the sleeping beta nestled against Johnny before returning to him again.

"Everything alright?"

"Aye." Johnny's smile was small and tired.

His fingers absentmindedly brushed a few curls away from Kyle's forehead before lingering there, tracing lightly along his temple. After another moment he bent just enough to press a featherlight kiss into Kyle's hair, careful not to wake him.

"I think we both needed it."

Something softened almost imperceptibly in Simon's expression. He gave a single nod before continuing towards the kitchen. The room smelled faintly of coffee and toasted bread from earlier thatday. Simon filled the kettle, waited in silence as the water began to boil and prepared himself another mug before returning to the living room. He settled into the armchair opposite the sofa, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic as the rising steam briefly fogged his vision.

Johnny hadn't moved and Kyle was still asleep against him.

The only sounds filling the room were the quiet murmur of the television and the occasional whistle of the kettle cooling on the kitchen counter.

Simon took a slow sip before speaking. "I asked around."

Johnny looked over and Simon shrugged lightly.

"Thought maybe there was a Sebastian transferred into the building while we were deployed." Johnny straightened ever so slightly as Simon continued speaking "There isn't."

"The other accommodation blocks?"

"Checked those too."

"Nothing?" Johnny frowned. 

Simon shook his head. "Nobody called Sebastian assigned to this sector. Not here. Not Building B. Not the adjacent barracks."

Silence settled between them.

"Maybe he's deployed." Johnny glanced down unconsciously at Kyle sleeping against his chest before lifting his eyes back towards Simon.

"I thought that." Simon rested his mug on one knee. "But if he's stationed somewhere else, why isn't there any trace of him?"

Johnny didn't answer immediately. His thumb continued absentmindedly tracing slow circles against Kyle's shoulder, more focused on comforting the sleeping beta than on the movement itself.

Simon watched him for another moment before quietly adding, "I keep thinking about what I told you."

Johnny already knew what he meant. "The pistol." He nodded.

Simon nodded once. "I've seen people sleep armed before." His voice remained as calm and matter-of-fact as ever. "Usually because they expect to need it."

"I know." Johnny let out a slow breath.

Neither of them spoke for several seconds.

Outside, a pair of recruits jogged past the front windows, their muffled voices disappearing almost as quickly as they'd arrived. Somewhere deeper inside the house, an old pipe creaked softly before falling silent again.

Johnny lowered his eyes. "I can't shake the feeling we're missing something."

Simon stared quietly into his coffee. "So can't I."

Another silence stretched comfortably between them before Simon finally looked back towards Johnny.

"I think it's time we stopped asking questions around the barracks." Johnny's brow lifted but Simon held his gaze. "And started asking questions somewhere people can actually tell us no." 

Johnny understood immediately. Military records, personnel files, official databases…

For the first time since Reader had walked into their lives, the uneasy feeling in both their stomachs began to settle into something far more dangerous.

Suspicion.

Price's office was exactly what anyone would expect from a man who had spent more of his life on deployment than behind a desk.

Maps covered one wall from floor to ceiling, each one crowded with coloured pins, handwritten notes and circles drawn in permanent marker from operations long since completed. A kettle steamed quietly on a cabinet beneath the window, filling the room with the comforting scent of black tea, while stacks of neatly organised mission reports occupied almost every spare inch of the battered wooden desk at the centre of the room.

John Price sat behind it, reading through the latest debrief from their deployment with a pencil tucked behind one ear.

Three sharp knocks interrupted his concentration.

"Come in." He answered and the door opened almost immediately.

Soap stepped inside first, Ghost following a pace behind before quietly closing the door.

Price looked up over the top of the report and he didn't miss the brief glance they exchanged, nor the fact that neither of them had come in making jokes. That alone was enough to tell him this wasn't a social visit.

He placed the paperwork aside. "What's happened?"

Neither of them answered straight away. Soap rubbed the back of his neck and Ghost remained standing with his arms folded, watching the room in the same silent way he watched everything else.

Finally, Johnny spoke:

"We need a favour."

"Depends what kind." Price leaned back slightly in his chair.

"We've been trying to find someone."

Price's brow lifted. "Who?"

"Sebastian."

The name meant nothing to him.

"The husband?" Price frowned.

Johnny nodded once. "We've asked around."

"No one knows him." Ghost answered.

"We've checked the accommodation blocks." Johnny continued.

"Nothing."

"The deployment lists."

"Nothing."

Price's expression remained unreadable. "So… let it go."

Ghost shook his head. "We can't."

Price's eyes shifted towards him. "And why's that?" He said, leaning back and resting his elbows on the table.

Ghost hesitated. For perhaps the first time since Price had met him, Simon Riley looked as though he were carefully weighing how much he could say.

"There are things that don't add up."

Price waited and Ghost continued.

"She's scared."

The word lingered between them.

Soap looked down briefly before meeting Price's gaze again.

"I know how this sounds."

"Do you?"

"Aye." He sighed. "But something's wrong."

Price remained silent.

Johnny took another step closer to the desk.

"We're not asking you to investigate her. We're just asking you to help us make sure we're wrong."

That sentence finally caught Price's attention. He studied both men for several long seconds. They looked worried, genuinely worried.

Price let out a slow breath through his nose before reaching for the cap resting on the corner of his desk.

"If we're doing this..." He stood. "...we're doing it properly."

He pulled the cap onto his head, straightened the brim almost absentmindedly and reached for the identification wallet tucked inside one of the desk drawers.

Ghost uncrossed his arms and Soap's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. Price locked the office door behind him before looking briefly at both of them.

"Let's go see Personnel."

"The administrative wing occupied one of the oldest buildings on the base.

Unlike the training grounds, where shouted orders and the sharp crack of rifle fire never truly ceased, these corridors lived beneath a different kind of discipline. Fluorescent lights hummed quietly overhead, reflecting against polished linoleum floors that smelled faintly of disinfectant and old paper. Metal filing cabinets lined the walls outside several offices, their drawers labelled with decades of military bureaucracy, while officers moved quietly between departments carrying folders thick enough to disappear beneath their arms.

John Price hated this building.

He would rather spend three days crawling through freezing mud than spend ten minutes arguing with administration.

Yet here he was.

His boots echoed steadily down the corridor as Ghost and Soap followed half a pace behind, neither of them speaking. Task Force 141 rarely wandered into the administrative offices unless something had gone spectacularly wrong, and more than one clerk looked up from their paperwork as the three men passed.

Price stopped at the reception desk.

A young woman sat behind it, her dark hair pinned neatly into a bun while she typed steadily away at a keyboard, barely glancing up from the monitor.

"Morning, love."

She looked up briefly.

"Captain." She greeted him politely.

Price smiled beneath his moustache, resting one forearm casually against the counter.

“I need a favor, love.”

A sarcastic smile escaped her lips.

“Right, tell me about it.”

“Come on, love. Just a small little favor.” Price said, smiling as he leaned across the desk just enough to lower his voice. His easy smile had talked more than one stubborn officer into signing paperwork they had sworn they never would.

“I can’t help you with any more favours, Captain.” An annoyed smile escaped her lips.

“You got your nails done. Gorgeous, this is definitely your color." He said, gently taking her hand and turning it slightly to admire the fresh burgundy polish.

She looked down at the fresh coat of deep burgundy polish before slowly raising an eyebrow.

"...What’s my name again?"

Price's smile widened, the faintest wink accompanying it.

"Margaret."

There was a pause, then the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Bastard."

"I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have." She sighed before turning back towards her keyboard. "What are you looking for?"

Behind Price, Soap slowly raised an eyebrow.

Ghost's eyes flickered briefly towards him before meeting Soap's.

The two exchanged a quick glance that landed somewhere between amused and mildly impressed.

Neither of them looked particularly worried. They trusted Price completely. If the Captain was laying the charm on thick, it wasn't because he had any interest in the woman behind the desk.

It was because he wanted information.

Even so, Soap couldn't help wondering exactly how many administrative favours the Captain had managed to sweet-talk out of her over the years.

"A service record."

"Name?"

"Sebastian."

Her fingers paused over the keys.

"Surname?"

"Don't have one."

She looked up again.

"Rank?"

"No."

"Unit?"

"No."

Margaret stared at him for several silent seconds.

"You've given me absolutely nothing."

"I've given you a first name."

"You've given me one of the most common first names in England."

Soap quietly cleared his throat behind him.

Price simply smiled again.

"Work your magic, love."

As Margaret rolled her eyes and finally began typing, Price caught Ghost and Soap watching him from the corner of his eye.

Without saying a word, he gave the smallest shake of his head and silently mouthed, Behave.

Soap bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

Ghost merely looked away, though the faintest twitch beneath his mask suggested he wasn't entirely unimpressed by the performance either.

The computer responded almost instantly as databases opened one after another across the screen. Personnel records. Current deployments. Reserve forces. NATO assignments.

Nothing.

She narrowed her eyes.

"Hm."

Another search.

Different spelling.

Nothing.

Another.

Still nothing.

"This is odd..."

She reached for the mouse and clicked a different database. The loading symbol spun for a few seconds before a small notification window appeared across the centre of the monitor.

ACCESS RESTRICTED

Her fingers stopped moving and Price noticed immediately.

"What was that?" He asked.

Margaret frowned.

"Nothing."

"You've got that face."

"What face?"

"The one that says you've just found something."

She hesitated.

"I've found... something."

While Soap leaned forward instinctively, Ghost remained perfectly still.

Price rested both hands against the edge of the reception desk.

"And?" He murmured.

Margaret looked back towards the screen.

"I can't open it."

"Why not?"

"It requires clearance above mine."

Price reached calmly into the inside pocket of his jacket before producing his identification wallet and placing it on the desk.

"Use mine."

She looked from the credentials to Price and then back to the screen.

But before she could answer, a calm voice echoed from somewhere deeper inside the office.

"That won't be necessary."

All four of them turned.

An older man wearing the insignia of a full colonel stepped through the doorway leading into the secure records office. His uniform was immaculate, silver hair combed neatly back, every movement carrying the effortless confidence of someone who had spent decades expecting to be obeyed.

His eyes settled first on Price, then Ghost, and then Soap. Finally, he looked towards Margaret.

"Leave us."

She didn't hesitate before answering "Yes, sir."

She stood, offered the three members of the Task Force an apologetic glance and quietly disappeared through the adjoining office, closing the door behind her.

The room suddenly felt much smaller.

The colonel approached the reception desk with slow, measured steps before resting one hand lightly against its polished wooden surface.

"Captain Price."

“Colonel." Price inclined his head politely. 

"I understand you're making enquiries regarding a classified individual."

"I'm trying to identify a serviceman." Price neither confirmed nor denied it. 

"You are trying to access information beyond your level of authorisation."

The statement was delivered without hostility, without accusation, merely as a fact.

Price held the colonel's gaze.

"My clearance is sufficient for most things."

"It is." The colonel nodded once. "This isn't most things."

A long silence settled between them and Soap shifted his weight from one side to another.

"So there is a file." Johnny said in an accusatory tone.

 "I didn't say that." The colonel's expression didn't change.

Ghost folded his arms. "But you didn't deny it either."

For the first time, the colonel looked directly at him. "No." He paused. "I denied your access."

Price's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I don't like being told to walk away from something that could concern one of my people." He murmured between his teeths.

The colonel regarded him for several long seconds before answering. 

"If it concerns one of your people..." His voice remained perfectly even. "...then someone above both of us is already dealing with it."

Neither Ghost nor Soap liked that answer. Neither did Price.

"This conversation is over." The colonel stepped back from the desk, his eyes moved briefly between the three men.

No one spoke.

After another moment, Price picked up his identification wallet and slipped it back inside his jacket.

"Understood."

"Good day, Captain." The colonel inclined his head.

The three men left the office without another word. Only once the heavy door clicked shut behind them did Soap finally exhale.

"What the hell was that?"

Price stared down the length of the empty hallway, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

"That..." he said quietly, "...was someone telling us to stop asking questions."

Ghost exchanged a brief glance with Soap.

For some reason neither of them could yet explain, that answer worried them far more than any personnel file ever could have.

The Pack House had settled into its usual night rhythm by the time the three men returned.

The evening sun had given way to a sky of heavy grey clouds that cast a muted light through the living room windows, leaving the house wrapped in a comfortable half-shadow. Somewhere near the kitchen, the washing machine hummed steadily through another cycle while the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee still lingered in the air, mixing with the familiar scent of gun oil and old wood that seemed permanently woven into the walls.

Kyle sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, several cables snaking between two open laptops while lines of code streamed endlessly across both screens. A portable hard drive rested beside him, connected to one machine by an assortment of adapters that looked incomprehensible to anyone who hadn't spent years working in signals intelligence.

He barely acknowledged the front door opening or the three pairs of heavy footsteps told him exactly who had arrived.

He continued typing. "So," he said without looking up, "either someone declared war..." His fingers never stopped moving. "...or you've all come to ruin my night."

Nobody answered immediately.

Kyle smiled faintly to himself. "I'll take that as the second one."

Johnny exchanged a quick glance with Ghost before stepping further into the room. "Kyle..."

That alone was enough, Gaz stopped typing. Slowly, he lifted his head as his eyes moved from Johnny to Ghost.

Then to Price. The Captain stood with both hands tucked comfortably into the pockets of his jacket, saying nothing, allowing Johnny to lead the conversation.

Kyle sighed. "What is it?"

Johnny scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "We need a favour."

Kyle stared at him for several long seconds. Then, he let out a quiet laugh. Not because anything was funny, but because he'd seen it coming.

"I knew it." Gaz scoffed.

"Knew what?" Johnny frowned.

Kyle closed the lid of one laptop with a soft click before leaning back on one hand. "I spent two weeks wondering whether I'd imagined having a mate." His tone remained calm. "You ignored me." Another silence. "But then you finally kissed me this morning."

Another pause before Gaz spoke again "And now all three of you turn up asking for a favour." 

His gaze settled squarely on Johnny. "I've got to admit..." A humourless smile crossed his face. "...the timing's spectacular."

"It isn't like that." Johnny's shoulders visibly dropped. 

"No?" Kyle tilted his head slightly. "Convince me."

Johnny opened his mouth, but nothing came out, because there wasn't a convincing answer. Not one that didn't sound exactly like what Kyle had just accused him of. The silence stretched uncomfortably until Price finally stepped forward.

"Gaz." Kyle looked towards him. The Captain's voice remained as steady as ever. "This is bigger than us."

Kyle's expression didn't change so Price continued. "We've exhausted every avenue available to us."

Ghost spoke for the first time since they'd entered the room. "We need someone better than Personnel."

"Better?" Kyle's eyes narrowed slightly.

Ghost gave the smallest nod. "You."

The compliment landed awkwardly enough to draw the faintest twitch at the corner of Kyle's mouth. He looked between the three men, studying each of their faces in turn. Soap looked worried, Ghost looked unconvinced, and Price looked deadly serious.

Kyle let out a slow breath before pushing himself up from the floor. "You owe me."

Johnny smiled faintly. "I know."

"No." Kyle pointed a finger towards him. "You owe me properly."

Johnny nodded without hesitation. "I do."

Only then did Kyle sit back down in front of the laptops.

His fingers flew across the keyboard almost immediately, opening terminals Johnny had never seen before. Windows filled with encrypted command lines appeared one after another, followed by strings of authentication requests, network maps and military databases that seemed to connect systems from half a dozen different agencies.

Price watched quietly over his shoulder, Ghost folded his arms leaning against the nearest wall, and Johnny paced slowly behind the sofa, too restless to stand still.

Kyle barely blinked. "Personnel database." His fingers continued moving. "Nothing." Another terminal. "Joint Operations."

Gaz continued typing.

"Nothing." Another. "NATO." He frowned. "Hm."

Ghost leaned slightly closer. "What?"

Kyle didn't answer. Instead, he entered a longer command. Several authentication windows flashed across the screen before disappearing almost instantly.

His brow furrowed. "...That's odd."

"What is?" Johnny asked, pacing from one side to another.

Kyle leaned closer to the monitor. "I've just been redirected."

"Redirected where?"

"I don't know." he murmured as he typed faster.

The command prompt returned an error almost immediately.

ACCESS DENIED

Kyle tried a different route. Then another. Every path ended exactly the same way.

Price watched the monitor in silence and Soap was now standing right behind Kyle.

Kyle's expression slowly shifted from concentration to genuine confusion. "This isn't military."

Ghost looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Kyle tapped the side of the monitor with one finger. "Military databases tell you you've hit a clearance wall." Another command and another rejection. "This isn't doing that."

He opened a network trace. For the first time since they'd entered the room, genuine surprise crossed his face.

"It's kicking the request somewhere else."

"Where?"

"I can't tell." Kyle stared at the routing table scrolling rapidly across the screen.

More commands and more failed connections.

Then—

Every window on both monitors disappeared simultaneously.

The screens flashed black.

A single white notification appeared in the centre.

SESSION TERMINATED

For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Kyle reached instinctively for the keyboard.

Nothing.

The terminal had closed itself.

Slowly, he leaned back in his chair.

"I've never seen that before." He murmured very slowly.

Silence settled over the room.

Price was the first to speak. "So?"

Kyle looked at the blank monitor for another few seconds before turning towards the others. "If someone wanted to hide a file..." He swallowed quietly. "...they wouldn't build a system like this."

Johnny frowned "Then who would?"

Kyle met his eyes:

"Someone who expected people like us to come looking."

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[gazsdiary]

BY ANY OTHER NAME

Chapter 4: The Photograph

Summary: As the bond between Reader and the pack grows stronger, cracks begin to appear where no one is looking. A single envelope waiting at home is enough to unravel everything Reader has fought to leave behind.

Pairing: Poly!Tf141 x Reader

Words: 6.5k

Warning: simplified version of 5-4-3-2-1 method.

Previous chapter - Next Chapter - Masterlist

Authors note: I was on vacation and couldn’t upload a chapter this big. Anyway, my darling Gaz will appear more and more from now on!

Disclamer: (I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating or imitating this work)

Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!!

The truth was, that afternoon was colder than usual. The last warm days of September had long since passed, giving way to the crisp, chilly evenings that marked the beginning of autumn.

Two weeks had passed since the night Ghost stayed over, and ever since then, your entire routine had changed.

You had spent years teaching yourself not to get attached to places, routines, or people. Everything in your life had been carefully designed to be temporary, easy to erase, easy to leave behind if the moment ever came. Everything was temporary, and at any moment you could receive relocation orders and be forced to pack up all your belongings in a hurry. That was why it was easier—more efficient—to own as little as possible. The fewer things you had, the easier it was to gather them and leave.

Your apartment had always reflected that. It was clean, organized, and comfortable enough, but it had never truly felt lived in. Nothing was ever out of place. There were no pointless little trinkets or sentimental decorations. No cheap souvenir magnet bought during a beach holiday. No wedding photograph or picture of a niece or nephew. No small hand-carved wooden figurine picked up from a local market in some distant country. Not even a forgotten hair tie abandoned on a random shelf. Nothing stayed long enough to matter because you had learned a long time ago that the more pieces of yourself you left behind, the harder it was when you had to disappear again.

The problem was that Ghost and Soap were apparently very good at making themselves impossible to remove from your life.

It happened slowly enough that you didn’t notice it at first. There was never a conversation about it. No moment where anyone admitted that something between you and the two soldiers was shifting into something much more complicated than friendship. Everything happened quietly, hidden behind simple excuses that sounded reasonable enough if nobody questioned them too deeply.

Soap started walking you home after your shifts because, according to him, he was already heading that way. It was a terrible lie considering the packhouse was on the opposite side of the base, but he said it with such confidence and such a bright smile that you never had the heart to challenge him. Ghost did the same on the nights Johnny couldn’t, appearing outside the medical office after training and claiming that your building was on his route, even though both of you knew perfectly well that Simon Riley never took unnecessary routes anywhere.

Soap was the first one to make a move.

A jacket he forgot on your couch after staying too late gradually became something that simply never left, as if it had always been another decorative object in your living room. There was a pair of Soap’s shoes by your front door because he complained about walking around your apartment in military boots, a box of tea in your kitchen that definitely wasn’t yours, and an extra mug that you had bought without even thinking because you were tired of the two of them arguing over who got the bigger one.

Ghost’s presence appeared more slowly.

Ghost’s black hoodie, the one you had accidentally stolen that first morning, somehow found a permanent place folded neatly over the back of your chair. Neither of the two men had the heart to tell you the truth, that the hoodie belonged to Ghost, because they both knew that if you found out, you would never wear it again. There was a spare pair of gloves by the entrance. A book left on your coffee table because he was "still reading it," even though you had never once seen him pick it up. And two extra toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet that had appeared one morning, neither of you ever acknowledging where they had come from.

Neither Ghost nor Soap wanted to admit it out loud, and they probably never would, but somewhere deep down, almost unconsciously, they had already begun preparing for the day your husband came back.

If someone had told you two weeks ago that two members of Task Force 141 would slowly invade your apartment, you would have laughed.

And yet, there you were.

Standing barefoot in your kitchen, wearing red-and-green tartan pajama bottoms, stirring a new recipe you were experimenting with in a saucepan while two mugs that didn't belong to you sat drying beside the sink.

It should have bothered you. It should have made that old survival instinct buried in the back of your mind scream that you were getting careless, that you were letting people leave traces behind, that you were making it harder for yourself when the day inevitably came when you had to disappear again.

But for once, the apartment didn't feel like somewhere you were hiding.

It just felt like home.

Ghost and Soap spent most afternoons and evenings with you now. They would pick you up after your shift ended and spend the rest of the day at your apartment. They never stayed the night. It had become a sort of unspoken agreement between the three of you, one that nobody had ever voiced aloud and that you had accepted without ever questioning it.

They always waited until you had fallen asleep before quietly leaving for home in the early hours of the morning. Going to bed late and waking up early, they spent only the bare minimum number of hours sleeping at the packhouse.

And that was exactly what they had done that night. Once the dinner dishes had been washed, the pajamas and blankets folded away, and you were fast asleep in your bed, they could finally leave.

The packhouse was quiet when they arrived.

Too quiet.

That should have been their first warning.

The second warning was the light still on in the kitchen.

Their captain was sitting at the table, one hand wrapped around a mug of steaming tea, looking far too awake for someone who should have been asleep hours ago. A frown creased his forehead as he rubbed at his brows and tired eyes with one hand. A half-smoked cigar rested in the glass ashtray on the table, right beside a half-finished glass of whisky.

Soap stopped in the doorway.

Ghost stopped behind him.

Because somehow, they both immediately felt like recruits who had just been caught doing something they shouldn't have.

Price didn't look angry. He looked tired instead, slouched back in his chair, wearing a T-shirt he should have changed out of hours ago, his hair thoroughly disheveled. A familiar look lingered in his eyes, glinting with quiet acknowledgement, as though he had already figured everything out before they had even walked through the door.

"Good night?"

Soap cleared his throat.

"Aye."

Price hummed, absentmindedly toying with the cigar still resting in the ashtray, his fingers gently brushing over it.

His eyes remained fixed on the alpha and the beta standing in front of him, moving slowly from one to the other again and again.

"How long are we going to pretend this isn't happening?" he murmured, almost smugly, in a single quiet breath.

That simple sentence, like a punch to the gut, seemed to knock the air from the other two members of the pack. Neither of them answered, because they knew exactly what he meant.

Soap tried to deflect anyway.

"What?"

Price gave him a look. His tired eyes traveled across Johnny's face, and a faint, almost sorrowful smile touched his lips.

"Don't."

One word. That was all it took.

Price ran a hand through his hair and straightened up in his chair.

"How many nights have you slept here this week?"

The room fell completely silent.

"Johnny?"

Silence.

"Simon?"

Ghost's jaw tightened.

"Thought so."

Ghost remained silent, which was answer enough.

Price sighed, scratching at his overgrown beard. He wasn't necessarily angry, nor disappointed. It was concern more than anything else.

Because he was their captain.

And because he was their alpha.

That meant noticing things before they became a problem and, usually, eliminating them.

Price took another sip of his tea. He had abandoned the whisky hours ago, its taste growing more bitter with every minute he spent waiting. The golden liquid burned his lips each time he looked toward the oppressive darkness embracing the hallway and the ominous closed door that had haunted him both in life and in his dreams.

It had been closed since eight in the evening, and its owner had refused to come out or even crack it open. What reason would he have to do either? Who was waiting for him on the other side? For the past couple of weeks, two empty bedrooms had haunted both the house and those who lived in it. Their occupants had left behind everything that wasn't essential, taking only what truly mattered with them to a better place, beginning a new life without ever letting go of the old one.

Price tried to remind himself that they still shared the mark that bound them together, a bite of eternity and loyalty decorating each of their bodies. More often than not, he found himself reaching up to touch it, trying to chase away the fears and doubts that tormented him in the middle of the night.

He knew Gaz did the same.

A couple of nights ago, Price had climbed into bed beside him. Gaz had spent days moping around like a sad pup. But his pup nonetheless. How long had it been since they had been together? Since they had shared a bed? God, he couldn't even remember. Soap had always been the one who gave Gaz the most attention. It wasn't unusual to stumble across the two of them in some compromising corner with their trousers halfway down.

Between kisses and gentle touches, Price had noticed just how red Gaz's mark had become. It had taken nothing more than the slightest brush of his fingertips for the young sergeant to break down, crying like a child. Between desperate sobs and broken breaths, Gaz confessed the grief of losing not only his alpha, but his soulmate, his other half.

"My Johnny," he had cried.

Price had held him for the entire night, Gaz's body completely flushed against his. He could still feel him trembling with quiet sobs he desperately tried to hide, even hours later when he thought Price had finally fallen asleep. He hadn't. He hadn't slept that night. Nor the next. Nor the one after that.

Instead, he had waited at the kitchen table like a loyal guard dog waiting for his owners to come home, even though they never did.

Price glanced once more toward Gaz's bedroom door. It remained closed, and who knew how much longer it would stay that way if he didn't put an end to this.

"You two even realize how obvious you're being?" Price clenched his fists beneath the table, trying to release some of the tension building inside him. When neither of them answered, he barked, "That's what I thought."

Soap shifted slightly, already looking like he wanted to defend himself, but Price pointed at him before he even had the chance to open his mouth.

"Don't start, MacTavish." Soap shut his mouth again. "I don't want to hear a single comment. Not one."

An oppressive silence settled over the kitchen.

"You walk her home after every shift. You spend more nights at her flat than here. Half your things are already there, for God's sake."

His furious eyes shifted to Ghost.

"And you're not any better," he said, his voice carrying a trace of contempt.

Ghost didn't react, at least not visibly. Price knew him well enough to understand that didn't mean anything. Out of all of them, Ghost had always been the hardest to read, trained to reveal nothing, even under the worst kinds of torture. Sometimes Ghost remained a mystery even to him, and, painful as it was to admit, there were moments when Price wondered if he truly knew him at all.

"You're leaving your scent all over her place."

That made Soap look away.

Not out of guilt because he knew Price was right, they were doing it on purpose.

"You're not pups. You know what that means."

The kitchen remained silent because they did.

In their world, scent mattered. Presence mattered. Leaving pieces of yourself behind in someone else's space wasn't something casual, especially not with an omega.

Price tapped his fingers once against the table.

"You know exactly what it means," he said, pausing just long enough for the silence to become suffocating, "and you're still doing it anyway."

That was the part neither of them could argue with. Price picked up what remained of the whisky and emptied the glass in one swallow. Maybe, by the end of this conversation, he really was going to need the courage it offered.

"You already have a pack."

Price's voice remained calm, but there was a firmness beneath it that reminded both of them exactly why he was their captain.

"Me. Gaz. You two." His gaze moved slowly between them. "We built this. We chose this." Price's eyes were as cold as ice, his expression so severe it would have unsettled the Devil himself.

Soap swallowed.

"We're not replacing anyone."

The answer came so quickly that it stole whatever argument had been forming in Price's throat.

Price sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his beard before leaning back in his chair once more. He looked exhausted in a way neither of them had seen in a very long time. Dark circles shadowed his tired blue eyes, his hair was still damp from the shower he had probably taken hours earlier, and the tea sitting on the table had long since gone cold.

The weary disappointment of a man who had spent years holding four people together and could suddenly feel the seams beginning to stretch settled like a crushing pressure beneath his ribs, almost making it difficult to breathe.

Price held Soap's gaze for a long moment before finally answering.

"The problem," Price muttered, clenching his jaw, "is that neither of you has stopped to think about what happens after." He tried to relax, but he had no doubt that, with the adrenaline coursing through him, his pheromones were already flooding the kitchen with the sharp, acrid scent of something burning.

"You're not two unattached soldiers courting a woman." He deliberately tried to project a calmer, steadier scent into the room, noticing that both Soap and Ghost had begun pushing out unpleasant, increasingly putrid pheromones of their own. "You're members of an established pack."

Another silence settled over the kitchen.

“A pack doesn't change because just two people decide it does.”

The words hung heavily between them.

Ghost finally spoke.

“What are you saying?”

Price didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked down the dark hallway. Both men followed his gaze instinctively. Only one bedroom door stood closed. Gaz's room. It hadn't opened all evening.

“How long has it been,” Price asked quietly, “since either of you actually spent an evening with Kyle?”

Neither of them answered.

Price nodded once. “Thought so.” He looked back at them, exhaustion replacing whatever frustration had briefly crossed his features. “He's struggling.”

Soap shifted uncomfortably, clenched his jaw, and crossed his arms, trying to look away. “He'll be fine.”

“No.”

Price's reply came immediately.

“He won't.” His fingers absentmindedly tapped against the table before he spoke again.

“The television's been on every night this week.”

“What?” Johnny frowned.

“He doesn't watch it.” Price's eyes drifted toward the hallway again, giving a small nod in the direction of the living room. “He just leaves it running.” Another pause. “He sits on that sofa until he hears the front door.”

Soap's stomach tightened.

“He hears the two of you come home,” Price said, swallowing hard. “He pretends he's already asleep until you close your bedroom doors. Then he goes back to bed.”

Neither Ghost nor Soap moved. The image settled over the room like lead.

Price continued quietly. “I know he wasn't asleep.” His voice had dropped so low they almost had to lean forward to hear him. “Because I've been sitting right here.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Price had watched it happen.

“Because I sit at this fucking table, night after night.”

He had watched Kyle glance at the clock every fifteen minutes. Watched him make another cup of tea that always went cold. Watched him curl up in the corner of the sofa, the television providing nothing more than meaningless background noise while he waited for footsteps that came later and later every evening.

“You think he doesn't notice?” Price looked directly at Soap. “He notices every time you walk past him because you're in a hurry to get to her.”

Then his eyes shifted to Ghost. “He notices every night you come home smelling like her fucking antiseptic-smelling flat instead of this one.”

Neither of them had anything to say.

Because every word was true.

“He's trying very hard not to resent her.” Price tried to sound reasonable. He tried not to let any more frustration show. He knew he needed them to understand, because getting angry at Soap and Ghost would accomplish nothing. “And every evening you spend somewhere else...” Price sighed wearily. “...you're making that harder.”

“What's that supposed tae mean?”

Price sighed.

“Johnny.”

“No, go on.”

Soap crossed his arms.

“What exactly do you mean?”

Ghost remained silent beside him, but his attention shifted carefully between the two of them.

“So what the fuck am I supposed tae do, huh? Just stop fuckin' seein' her?”

“You barely know her.”

Soap's jaw tightened. “That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“Johnny, it’s been weeks.”

“And?”

Price stared at him. “And you're acting like she's already part of your pack.” Price let the silence linger for several long seconds before speaking again.

“You've spent years in a pack made only of alphas,” he began slowly. “No omegas. No women. Nobody outside the four of us. Just deployments, missions... and each other.”

He wasn't accusing them. He was stating a fact.

“And now there's an omega who trusts you. One who lets you get close.” His eyes settled briefly on Ghost before moving back to Soap. “And now you have someone to take care of, someone with a status below yours.” He paused, carefully choosing his next words.

“Careful.” Soap's jaw clenched.

“I'm not insulting you, Johnny.”

“Sounds like ye are.”

“No.” Price shook his head slowly. “I'm saying I understand.” That made both of them look at him. “I understand you're men, after all.” His voice had softened when he spoke those words. “I understand you've spent years pushing parts of yourselves aside because the job and the pack always came first. I understand what it does to a wolf when, after years of nothing but muscle, someone suddenly opens the door to warmth and... softness.”

Only a brief moment passed before Price spoke again.

“And you don't even know what she smells like.”

The kitchen fell completely silent, even Ghost looked at him then.

But Price didn't back down.

“She’s on blockers constantly. Suppressants. You said it yourselves. You can't read her properly. It's impossible for you to feel a bond with her. You can't even tell what's instinct and what isn't.”

Soap looked genuinely offended.

“You think this is about wantin' tae sleep with her?”

“I think you're soldiers who have been isolated for years, and suddenly there's a woman in your life who makes things feel normal.” Price's expression hardened slightly.

Soap let out a short laugh, but there wasn't a trace of humor in it. “Unbelievable.”

“You were the one who brought Gaz in.” Price's expression remained firm.

That made Soap freeze.

Price's voice softened again. “You remember that?”

Of course he did.

Everyone did.

Soap had been the first one to accept Kyle completely. The first one to pull him into their routines. The first one to make room for him until Gaz stopped feeling like the new addition and started feeling like family.

“You fought harder than anyone to make sure he knew he belonged here.”

Soap looked away.

“And now?” Price pressed further. “Now you're barely here.”

Soap's expression tightened as he looked back at him.

“So that's the problem.”

“Johnny,” Ghost warned.

Soap let out another humorless laugh and nodded slowly, looking away as though he needed a second to stop himself from saying something he couldn't take back.

“Right.”

“Johnny,” Ghost tried again.

“No, I get it now.”

Price frowned immediately, noticing the shift.

“You don't.”

“Aye, I do.” Soap took a step back, shaking his head slightly as the frustration he usually buried beneath jokes and easy smiles finally cracked through. “So what? That's what ye want from me?”

Price's expression tightened. “What?”

Soap gestured between them, then around the walls of the packhouse, toward everything they had built together. “You want me tae just do what ye want.”

“That's not true.”

“Isn't it?”

“No.”

Soap laughed again, sharp and bitter. “Because it bloody feels like it.”

Price's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay quiet. He knew Johnny wasn't finished.

“Ye want me when ye need somebody who listens. Somebody who follows orders. Somebody who keeps everybody smilin' after a bad mission, 'cause God forbid anybody else has tae deal wi' the fuckin' silence.”

“Johnny—”

“No, let me finish.”

Price stopped himself completely, Soap rarely interrupted him. That alone was enough to tell him how serious this was.

“I'm good when I'm useful, aye? Good when I'm the one makin' jokes, keepin' morale up, followin' behind ye 'cause ye ken I'll always be there, followin' every order ye gie.” He laughed bitterly. “Like a good pup, aye? Like ye always say when good ol' Johnny's suckin' yer cock—”

“MacTavish.” Ghost's warning echoed through the walls, and he was certain that if Gaz hadn't already been awake, he certainly would be now.

However, Johnny was far too gone to care about warnings. He kept going, his fists clenched so tightly with rage that his knuckles had gone white. “But the second I choose somethin' fer myself, suddenly everybody needs tae remind me tae think. The moment I find my person, ye've aw got somethin' tae say. I never once said anythin' about whit you an' Simon have.”

“We are your people, Johnny.”

“Doesn't seem like it.” Soap shook his head. “Doesn't seem like it.” Soap shook his head. “Whit? Am I just supposed tae sit here like some well-trained dog?”

Price's expression changed immediately. “Don't.”

But Soap continued anyway. “Is that it? Keep me close, pat me on the head, throw me a bone every now and then so I stay happy?”

“Johnny, enough.”

“Why?”

“Because you know that's not true.”

“Do I?”

After a few long seconds, Johnny's expression changed completely. His eyelids narrowed, his brow furrowed, and his eyes became glassy. Ghost could have sworn he even saw his lower lip tremble ever so slightly. He looked genuinely hurt.

“Ye all trust me with your lives.” Soap pointed toward the door, toward the base outside. “Ye trust me with explosives. With missions. With decisions that decide whether people come home or not.” His hand slowly dropped to his side. “So why cannae ye trust me with this?”

“Johnny...”

But Soap was already moving toward the door.

“Good talk, Captain.”

Not Alpha, not Price, not even John. For Soap, the conversation was already over. And before Price could say another word, Soap reached the doorway, turned, and walked out.

Ghost stayed for only another second, just long enough to look directly at Price, long enough for Price to realize that Simon wasn't angry.

“I'll talk to Kyle tomorrow,” he said simply. “I'm still his Alpha, and I've failed in my responsibilities as his Alpha.”

Ghost gave a single nod before turning to head toward his room.

“Ghost.” Price spoke before Ghost could leave. “I'm just trying to protect the pack.”

Ghost remained quiet for a moment.

Then he answered.

“I know.”

And then Ghost followed Johnny into the dark hallway.

Price remained alone in the kitchen. For several minutes, he reflected on everything that had just happened. He believed what he had said. He truly did. He had to think about the pack. About Gaz. About the family they had already built long before you ever appeared. But the look on Johnny's face...

Eventually, Price turned off the kitchen light and walked down the hallway. He stopped outside Gaz's bedroom. For a moment, he considered going to his own room before deciding against it.

He quietly opened the door. Darkness filled the room. The half-unmade bed, its headboard pressed against the left wall, occupied the center of the room.

Kyle was asleep. Or at least, Price thought he was.

The atmosphere was peaceful, and Price moved carefully, quietly taking off his clothes until he was wearing nothing but his boxers.

Then he carefully climbed into bed behind him and wrapped an arm around Gaz's waist, pulling him close and allowing himself to breathe properly for the first time all night. Absentmindedly, he buried his face deeper into Gaz's neck, breathing in the scent of jasmine while his fingers idly played with the fine hair of Gaz's happy trail that decorated his abdomen.

He tried pushing out happy pheromones, trying to blend his own scent with Gaz's. This was his pack, his responsibility. And he was terrified of losing it.

A few minutes passed in silence before Gaz spoke softly, barely above a whisper.

“Talked to them?”

Price closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Of course he was awake.

“You were supposed to be sleeping.”

Gaz hummed. “You're terrible at sneaking in when you're upset. You smell like burnt rubber.”

Price sighed again. Neither of them spoke for a while. Price simply continued stroking Gaz's happy trail and holding him a little tighter. He thought that maybe, if he stayed quiet, the subject would simply disappear. He didn't want to worry Gaz any more than he already had.

Suddenly, Gaz's hand came to rest over Price's arm before he turned around to look into Price's eyes.

“How bad was it?”

Price didn't answer immediately. “Johnny left.”

Gaz was quiet, too quiet. His gaze drifted somewhere beyond Price, fixed on a distant point in the darkness of the room.

“Kyle?”

Gaz took a slow breath, blinking as he gave a faint shake of his head, pulling himself out of whatever distant thought he'd fallen into. Then he said something Price wasn't prepared for.

“It's okay.”

Price tried to meet his eyes.

“What is, love?”

Gaz rolled onto his back, moving only a few inches away from Price, and stared into the darkness for several seconds in thoughtful silence before finally turning over and presenting his back to his Alpha.

“I already knew they'd choose her.”

The words settled heavily between them, hebay and painfully.

Price didn't know what to say, because he wanted to deny it. He wanted to tell Gaz he was wrong. That everything was still the same as before, that nothing was changing, that no one was being replaced.

But after everything he had just said in the kitchen, after everything he had watched unfold over the past few weeks...

For the first time in a very long time, John Price didn't have an answer.

So he simply held Gaz a little tighter and let the shadows of the night envelop them completely.

By the time you left the medical building, the last traces of daylight had already begun bleeding into a deep indigo autumn sky. The base felt different at that hour. Quieter. The morning rush of soldiers marching between briefings had long disappeared, replaced by the occasional patrol crossing the streets or the distant rumble of military vehicles returning to their garages. The cold evening air bit pleasantly against your cheeks as you tucked your hands into the pockets of your jacket and started the familiar walk back to your apartment.

It had been forty-eight hours since you'd last seen either Johnny or Ghost. For the first time in weeks, neither Ghost nor Soap had appeared outside the medical office waiting to walk you home. They had left before dawn with the rest of Task Force 141 for a training exercise several hours away, and although you kept telling yourself that you appreciated finally having your routine back, the silence beside you during the walk home felt unnaturally loud.

You caught yourself glancing over your shoulder more than once, almost expecting to find Johnny jogging to catch up with you, or Simon already waiting farther down the road with his arms crossed over his chest.

Neither of them appeared. The realization settled somewhere uncomfortable beneath your ribs. You didn't like how quickly you had grown accustomed to them. That thought annoyed you enough to force your attention elsewhere.

Instead, you mentally reviewed tomorrow's patient list, trying to remember whether Sergeant Mills needed his stitches removed or whether that appointment was scheduled for Friday. It was easier to think about paperwork than to admit that, after only two weeks, your apartment somehow felt emptier simply because two infuriating soldiers weren't waiting inside it.

By the time your building came into view, the evening had fully settled over the base. Warm yellow lights glowed behind curtained windows while televisions murmured faintly through the thin apartment walls. It looked peaceful, ordinary, safe.

Exactly the kind of normality you had spent years trying to build.

You unlocked your front door with practiced movements, balancing your work bag against your hip while fishing your keys from your pocket. The familiar click of the lock echoed softly through the small hallway before you nudged the door open with your shoulder.

Warmth greeted you first. The central heating must have been running for several hours already, and the air inside felt much heavier compared to the cold, windy evening outside.

You kicked the door shut behind you, dropped your keys into the ceramic bowl beside the entrance, left your work bag on the floor at the foot of the wooden dresser beside the door, and shrugged your jacket off your shoulders, hanging it on the coat rack mounted on the opposite wall.

For a brief moment, you simply stood there.

The silence was overwhelming.

It filled every space, every corner of your home.

After several weeks of pretending to be one happy little family with Johnny and Ghost, the desolate silence had settled between your walls once again, and there wasn't even a trace left of the cheerful chaos Johnny always brought with him.

For a moment, you thought about how much your life had changed over the past few weeks, and a feeling of dread settled deep in your stomach. You'd let your guard down.

And that always came with disastrous consequences.

Over the years, you had learned how to disappear into the background, how to avoid drawing attention to yourself. The quieter your life was and the fewer people who knew you, the safer you were. Keep your head down. Don't speak too loudly. Don't attract attention.

It seemed those three simple rules had been completely forgotten the moment a certain Scotsman smiled at you.

Once again, it was just you.

Exactly as it had always been meant to be.

Shaking your head, you pushed those thoughts aside and started walking toward the kitchen, your sock-covered feet padding softly across the warm wooden floor as you wondered what you could make for a quick dinner.

That was when you noticed it, as you walked past the living room on your way to the kitchen, a white envelope caught your eye.

It rested perfectly in the center of your dining table. Not tossed there carelessly, but placed exactly in the middle.

Deliberately.

Your footsteps stopped, and every muscle in your body tensed at once.

The apartment hadn't looked disturbed when you'd walked in. Nothing appeared broken. Nothing seemed to be missing. Even now, the room around you remained exactly as you had left it that morning.

Except for the envelope.

You stared at it for several long seconds without moving. A slow, familiar unease crept beneath your skin. Again. The same thing all over again. That same familiar pressure settled over your chest, your mouth suddenly dry as your hands and knees began trembling, threatening to give out beneath you.

That crippling anxiety slowly crept through your body every time it appeared: Fear.

You tried to reason with yourself. It wasn't the first time you'd thought you'd seen things that weren't there. Your constant nerves and paranoia often made you see shadows of the past where there were none.

It wasn't the first time you'd thought someone had entered your apartment, nor was it the first time you'd found something out of place. You had read somewhere that prolonged stress damaged memory. That had to be the explanation. That was why you couldn't remember moving things around yourself. Your memory was failing you. Surely that was it. Things didn't move unless someone moved them.

Maybe it was something Johnny or Soap had left on the table, you tried to convince yourself as you slowly approached the envelope.

Without consciously realizing it, your breathing slowed, and your eyes stopped focusing on the envelope itself. Instead, they swept methodically around the room, cataloguing exits, windows, reflections in the dark television screen—anything that looked even slightly out of place.

Nothing.

Calm down, no one's here. No one could have gotten inside. Slowly, you stepped closer. Think. Reason.

Breathe.

Your fingers carefully lifted the envelope, almost expecting something to happen the moment you touched it. Instead, it felt as though your apartment had sunk even deeper into the overwhelming silence of the very depths of Hades.

You held the envelope in your trembling hands and turned it over to look for a sender. Once again, you were met by that devastating white emptiness.

No address, no stamp, no name, only a blank white envelope sealed with meticulous precision. Whoever had left it there knew you lived here. They knew you would be the one to find it, whether or not it was a coincidence that the soldiers had been sent away on a training exercise.

You slipped a finger beneath the flap and opened it and a single photograph slid into your hand.

Your stomach dropped.

It was grainy, black and white, taken from a security camera. The date in the corner showed three days earlier.

There you were.

Walking alone through the eastern gate of the base, your medical bag hanging from one shoulder, completely unaware that someone had been watching you.

Your throat tightened as you slowly turned the photograph over. Only four words had been scrawled across the back in thick, uneven, familiar red handwriting.

We'll meet again.

Without wasting another second, you hurried toward your bedroom. You didn't care about bumping into the corner of the couch or knocking over the small table lamp resting on a side table near the stairs. You rushed upstairs and shoved your bedroom door open without caring whether it stayed open behind you or not. Only one thing mattered.

You dropped to your knees in front of your wardrobe and pulled open the third drawer. You reached behind the lowest shelf until your fingers found the concealed latch hidden inside the wood. A soft metallic click answered your pull before a narrow false panel slid sideways, revealing a compact electronic safe concealed within the wall.

You entered the code from memory with trembling fingers.

Breathe, remember to breathe.

Inside rested a small black storage case, its contents arranged with almost obsessive precision. Several passports lay stacked one atop another, each bearing a different name, a different nationality, a different face that had once belonged to you. Beside them sat bundles of neatly banded cash in four different currencies, old military identification cards, police badges from countries you hadn't set foot in for years, encrypted USB drives, folded maps covered in handwritten coordinates, burner phones with their batteries removed, and sealed envelopes marked only with dates that meant nothing to anyone but you.

Everything necessary to disappear.

Your eyes swept over the familiar contents, searching instinctively, until they stopped on the small square of black velvet nestled between the passports and the bundles of cash.

It was empty.

With shaking hands, you slipped the photograph and the white envelope into the case before snapping it shut harder than necessary. The safe disappeared behind the false panel once more, every secret sealed back into the wall as though none of it had ever existed.

It wasn't enough.

The feeling refused to leave.

Instead, it settled somewhere between your shoulder blades, prickling across your skin with the unmistakable certainty that someone had been inside your home again.

You lunged toward the drawer beside your bed, yanking open the top drawer and digging through several pairs of thick winter socks until your fingers wrapped around the familiar grip of the pistol hidden beneath a folded blanket.

Cold steel, solid. Real.

Your thumb checked the safety out of pure habit.

The apartment suddenly felt much smaller. It was as though the walls were drawing in and stretching back out again, like something out of an Edgar Allan Poe story. The floor seemed to rise and tilt beneath your feet in a slow, relentless sway that made your knees rock forward and back as if you were standing on the deck of a ship.

The colors around you blurred together, bleeding into the outlines of every piece of furniture in the bedroom, while hazy white clouds began to gather around you, wrapping everything in a pale fog.

A dull ringing filled your ears, and the silence that had consumed the apartment only moments before was drowned out by the thunder of war drums pounding from your heart all the way to your teeth.

A terrible feeling settled inside your increasingly disoriented mind. You were forgetting something.

Breathe, you need to breathe.

How did it go again? Right.

Three things you can see: The nightstand, The wardrobe, The closed safe.

Two things you can touch: The wooden floor beneath your bare feet, The gun.

One thing you can hear:

Footsteps coming down your hallway.

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[gazsdiary]

BY ANY OTHER NAME

Chapter 3: Covered by your scent

Summary: After asking Ghost to stay the night, Johnny feels jealous and can not accept loosing you.

Pairings: poly!tf141 x reader [A/B/O Universe]

Warnings: description of male genitalia, slight mentions of adult themes.

Words: 4k (decided to post a shoter chapter and another one on Saturday, the juicy one)

Previous - Next // Masterlist

Disclamer: (I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating or imitating this work)

Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!!

The sun rays entered through your window and pressed unpleasantly against your closed eyelids. With a slight groan, and after trying to hide your head further into the pillow, you sat up in bed, your feet resting lightly on the sea-green rug you had at the foot of the bed.

You rubbed your eyes somewhat harshly with your hands and tried to open them, attempting to let in the smallest amount of light possible, since it was still bothering you.

You tried to remember the events that had led you to this morning; however, your still-sleeping brain was incapable of remembering what had happened.

If that much light was coming in during the morning, it was because you must have overslept, which meant you were late for work.

“Shit” 

After that realization, the first thing you felt was panic. Not the slow confusion of waking up after a deep sleep, but the sudden kind of panic that made your entire body react before your brain even understood what was happening. The sunlight slipping through the curtains was too bright, the room too warm, and when your hand reached blindly for your phone on the nightstand and you saw the hour, your stomach dropped immediately. You were late. Very late. The thought was enough to make you throw the blankets aside and rush out of bed without giving yourself even a second to remember the night before.

Your mind was still trapped somewhere between asleep and awake as you moved around the bedroom, getting dressed in the first clothes you could find and trying to mentally organize the list of things you needed to do once you arrived at the medical office.

You didn’t think about how strange it was that you remembered falling asleep on the couch but had woken up tucked into your bed. You didn’t think about the fact that, for the first time in months, you hadn’t woken up multiple times during the night to check the door. And you definitely didn’t think about the reason why you had slept so peacefully, because thinking about Ghost staying after you had asked him not to leave was something your exhausted mind wasn’t prepared to deal with right after waking up. Forming those thoughts required far too much effort for someone who was still moving around the room with their eyes half closed.

That was why, when your fingers found the black hoodie resting on the chair near your desk, you grabbed it without hesitation. You didn’t inspect it, didn’t question it, didn’t even properly look at it before pulling it over your head and walking toward the door. It was only when the fabric fell over your frame that a confused frown appeared on your face. The sleeves covered most of your hands, the shoulders sat too low, and the hoodie was much heavier than you remembered any of yours being. You stared down at yourself for a few seconds, your sleep-clouded brain trying to solve a problem it didn’t have enough energy for.

So you left your bedroom and rushed down the stairs toward the kitchen, half hopping as you tried to put on your mismatched socks without wasting a single second. Your hair was messy, your eyes still tired, and what was actually Ghost’s hoodie covered you almost completely, while you remained entirely unaware of what you had just done.

Ghost, however, noticed immediately.

He had been awake for hours already, because sleeping inside your house had been almost impossible. Not because he was uncomfortable; strangely enough, it was the opposite, and that was exactly the problem. The quiet of your home, the knowledge that you were asleep only a few meters away, the memory of your sleepy voice asking him to stay because you didn’t want to be alone — all of it had kept his mind painfully awake. So eventually, he had stopped pretending, gotten out of bed carefully without waking you, and ended up in your kitchen with a cup of tea in his hand.

He was leaning against the counter when you walked in, one forearm resting against the surface and his back mostly turned toward the doorway. He heard you before he saw you. Your sleepy, careless footsteps. The small annoyed sigh you let out under your breath when you couldn’t manage to put your sock on properly while hopping on one foot across the living room. The way you moved around the kitchen without hesitation because this was your space and you were too tired to remember you weren’t alone in it.

For some reason, that alone made something inside his chest tighten.

Then he turned around.

And every thought he had disappeared.

You walked past him without even noticing he was there, heading straight for the coffee machine like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Your hair was messy from sleep, your eyes barely open, your movements slower and softer than the careful version of yourself you showed everyone else on base. But none of that was what made him freeze.

It was the hoodie.

His hoodie.

The same black hoodie he had taken off the night before and forgotten on the chair in your bedroom. The one that carried his scent more than anything else he owned. The one you had accidentally pulled over yourself without realizing.

Ghost's fingers tightened so much around his mug that he was almost certain it would crack as his eyes followed you. The hoodie was way too big for you, hanging off your shoulders, covering your hands, wrapping around you in a way that made the difference between you almost painfully obvious.

The rational part of his brain knew it was an accident. He knew you didn't understand what you were doing. He knew that without your ability to scent properly because of the suppressants, you had no idea what smell was emanating from you at this moment.

But his alpha didn’t care about logic.

His alpha saw you, sleepy and comfortable and wrapped in him, and reacted.

Contentment. That’s what his alpha felt.

A deep, warm satisfaction settled somewhere inside him, something embarrassingly close to happiness. The constant restlessness that had been following him since he met you, the frustration of not being able to scent you or understand you or place you, finally quieted for the first time. Because even if he couldn’t smell you, even if your scent was hidden away from him, you smelled like him now.

And he hated how much he liked that.

Because it wasn’t real. You weren’t his omega. You weren’t part of his pack.

You had a husband. Have, as in present tense.

That thought should have been enough to snap him out of it, but it didn’t. Not when you were standing there, making coffee in his clothes, looking more relaxed than he had ever seen you. Not when his instincts were telling him that this looked right. Not when his alpha was almost chirping with content, so happy that he was actively fighting against the purr trying to come out of his chest.

You finally grabbed your coffee and walked to the table, sitting down with a tired sigh before rubbing your eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. The gesture almost broke him. Such a small, meaningless thing, and yet his alpha reacted like you had done it on purpose. Like you had chosen him.

Only then did you finally look up and notice him staring.

You blinked, still half-asleep. “Oh. You’re still here.”

Ghost forced himself to look away before you could read too much into his expression. Even though he was still, as always, wearing his mask, he somehow felt like you could see right through it. Clenching his jaw, keeping his expression completely blank and trying to make sure his eyes revealed as little as possible, he answered with:

"Yeah."

Your eyebrows pulled together slightly as you studied him over the edge of your mug. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

You didn’t look convinced. “You’ve been standing there staring at me.”

Ghost cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Wasn’t staring.”

“You definitely were.”

For a moment neither of you said anything. You watched him with sleepy confusion, trying to understand what was wrong, while he stood there fully aware that the answer was literally covering your body.

He should have told you.

He knew he should have.

All it would take was one sentence. That’s my hoodie. You would probably apologize, maybe laugh awkwardly, and probably take it off and give it back.

And that was exactly why he didn’t say anything.

Because some selfish, quiet part of him wasn’t ready to lose this yet. Just for one morning, just for a few minutes, he wanted to pretend that the omega sitting in front of him wearing his scent belonged there.

So Ghost said nothing. And for once, he let himself have something he knew he shouldn’t.

By the time the caffeine finally started doing its job and your brain properly registered the numbers on the clock, every bit of calm left on your body disappeared. Ghost saw the exact moment it happened, the way your eyes widened slightly over the edge of the mug before you almost jumped out of your chair, muttering a string of complaints about being late, about the inventory you still needed to finish, about how the medical room was supposed to have been opened fifteen minutes ago. He barely had time to put his own cup down before you were moving through the house like a hurricane, grabbing your things, checking pockets and rushing toward the door while still wearing the same oversized black hoodie that very much did not belong to you.

Ghost followed without saying anything, even though he knew he should. He knew perfectly well that letting you walk through base covered in his scent was going to cause problems. Any alpha within a reasonable distance would notice it immediately, and even some betas with sharper senses would probably understand what had happened. The responsible thing would have been to stop you, tell you the truth and let you change before leaving. But every time he looked at you, at how naturally you wore something of his, at how comfortable you looked wrapped in a scent you couldn’t even recognize because of the suppressants dulling your senses, the words disappeared before reaching his mouth.

The walk through base was chaotic, at least on your side. You rushed through the corridors with a speed that almost made Ghost amused, apologizing whenever you passed too close to someone, your focus entirely on reaching the medical room before anyone noticed you were late. Behind you, however, Ghost followed with the complete opposite energy. Calm, silent, controlled. A few steps behind at all times, close enough to intervene if necessary but never close enough to crowd you. The contrast was almost ridiculous. You were all frantic energy and he was the shadow behind you, moving like a guard dog following its owner.

Everyone noticed.

Of course they did.

At first they looked because of the commotion. An omega practically running through the corridors was enough to catch attention, especially one who most people knew avoided crowded areas whenever possible. Then confusion followed when they tried to catch your scent and found nothing there, the same strange emptiness that always surrounded you. But the confusion never lasted long, because a second later they noticed what surrounded that emptiness instead.

Alpha.

Ghost.

Heavy and unmistakable.

Their eyes dropped to the hoodie, then slowly moved toward the man walking behind you.

That was where their curiosity ended and where Thor's eyes departed, summarizing the tasks they had been doing previously.

Ghost didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The second someone stared for too long, his eyes moved toward them, cold and sharp beneath the mask, and suddenly everyone remembered they had somewhere else to look. It satisfied something embarrassingly primal inside him, watching people step back without you even realizing why. You just kept moving forward, completely oblivious to the silent message everyone else was receiving.

Soap had been waiting outside the medical room for longer than he wanted to admit.

He was leaning against the wall, back pressed against the concrete, one boot resting behind him while his arms stayed crossed over his chest. Anyone walking past would probably assume he was there casually, maybe waiting for a check-up or killing time before training. Nobody needed to know he had been there for almost twenty minutes trying to decide what to say when he saw you.

He heard you before he saw you. Fast footsteps turning the corner.

He smiled automatically.

Until you appeared. The smile disappeared instantly.

Soap genuinely forgot what he was about to say because his brain stopped processing information correctly the second you rounded the corner. At first all he registered was you. Your slightly rushed expression, your messy hair, the way you looked exactly like someone who had woken up late and had been fighting against the clock all morning.

Then he noticed the hoodie.

Ghost’s hoodie.

The reaction inside him was immediate and confusing enough that he almost hated himself for it. Because one part of him, the instinctive part that had attached itself to you before he even understood what was happening, was ridiculously happy. His wolf saw you covered in pack scent, comfortable and safe, and reacted like it was the best thing that had happened all week. But then the rest of him caught up.

It wasn’t his scent.

It was Ghost’s.

The jealousy hit fast and sharp. Because how dare he? How dare Ghost have something Soap had been trying so carefully not to take, nor to mess up.

You didn’t notice the internal war happening inside him. You simply smiled like everything was normal, opened the medical room door, flipped the sign to open and walked inside.

“Morning, Johnny,” you greeted casually.

Soap barely managed to answer.

Ghost entered behind you like the good trained mutt he was, Johnny thought, and moved toward the corner of the room, silent as always, taking his usual position where he could watch everything without being in the way.

And Soap just stood there.

Watching you.

You started preparing the room, checking supplies and organizing the counter, but the sleeves of the hoodie kept falling over your hands. Without thinking, you pushed them up your arms, rolling the fabric until your forearms were free, revealing the delicate skin of your arms.

Soap’s jaw tightened. Because it was such a normal movement, such a small thing. And somehow it made everything worse.

The hoodie looked like it belonged there. Like you had stolen it on purpose. Like you had woken up surrounded by Ghost’s scent and chosen to keep it.

He looked at the way your skin disappeared under the hoodie, your soft and delicate skin. So tempting to bite into, to sink his teeth into. His mouth started watering at the thought of being able to touch you, of getting to taste even that small patch of exposed skin. The idea affected him so much that he could feel his pants tightening just from the mere sight of your bare, soft skin surrounded by Ghost’s scent.

God, he could come undone just at the thought of it. You, completely bare before him, completely surrounded by Ghost’s musk. The things you must have done to end up smelling like that. You, lying there, so trusting and relaxed, with Soap biting at your skin, soaking your skin with his saliva until you smelled only like him, until every trace of Ghost was erased.

God, Ghost.

He didn’t know what affected him more: the idea of making you only his, or the idea of you being completely scented by his mate. He could even imagine how good Ghost would look, all flushed, like he always got when they were together, with your bare body flushed beside him, giving him small kitten licks on his neck, right where their mating mark was. Your hand moving delicately down his body, tracing his abs, until it finally moved lower to his most aching part. So hard and pink against his stomach. How your delicate fingers would caress his hot, red tip—

“Johnny?”

You finally noticed him staring. You stopped what you were doing and turned around with a small frown, looking him up and down.

He blinked.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Aye.”

“You don’t look okay.”

“I’m fine.”

You stepped closer, immediately switching into nurse mode. “Are you sure? You look weird. Do you have a fever or something?”

That almost broke him.

Because there you were, standing in another alpha’s clothes, worrying about him.

His eyes dropped again.

“Nice hoodie.”

You looked down at yourself.

“Oh, this?” You grabbed the fabric with a small laugh. “Yeah, I actually don’t remember buying this one. It’s weird because I don’t usually get them this big, but it’s really comfortable.”

Soap went completely still.

His eyes moved to Ghost.

Ghost looked away.

That told him everything.

“Ye don’t remember buyin’ it?” Soap repeated slowly.

“No?” You frowned. “Why are you saying it like that?”

Soap opened his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Because you smell—”

Your reaction was immediate.

Your eyes widened in horror and you quickly grabbed the hoodie, lifting the fabric toward your nose.

“Oh my God, does it smell bad?” you asked, genuinely concerned. “Did I forget to wash it? Wait, maybe I put too much detergent. I bought a new one and I wasn’t sure about the amount.”

Soap stared at you.

Then looked at Ghost.

Then back at you.

Then Ghost again.

And suddenly he understood.

You didn’t know. You really didn’t know.

Ghost knew. But you didn’t.

Something hot and possessive twisted inside Soap’s chest, and he forced himself to smile even though it felt painfully tight.

“No,” he said carefully, voice controlled. “No, lass. You smell good. Really good.”

Your shoulders relaxed immediately but Soap’s didn’t.

He slowly turned toward Ghost, the smile disappearing from his face.

“Ghost.”

The lieutenant already knew.

“Need tae talk tae ye outside for a second,” Soap said, his voice strangely calm. “Something about the new recruits’ training.”

Soap waited until Ghost followed him outside. He waited until the door closed, until they walked far enough down the corridor that you wouldn’t hear them.

Then he snapped.

His hand grabbed the front of Ghost’s shirt and shoved him back against the wall, holding him there as every bit of control he had been forcing finally cracked. Ghost could have stopped him easily. They both knew that. But he didn’t move.

“What the fuck did ye do?”

His voice was low.

Dangerously low.

“Johnny—”

“No.” Soap’s grip tightened. “I trusted ye.”

Ghost stayed silent.

“I trusted ye with her because I knew I couldn’t trust myself last night. I knew if I walked her home after that dinner, after seein’ her smile like that again, I’d do somethin’ stupid.”

His breathing was uneven now.

“I asked ye tae protect her.”

Ghost’s jaw tightened beneath the mask.

“And now she just walks in wearin’ yer clothes? Covered in yer scent? Lookin’ like she spent the bloody night with ye? Even her hair smells like ye.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah? Then tell me what I’m supposed tae think, Simon.”

The use of his name made the silence heavier.

Because Soap wasn’t angry anymore.

Not just angry.

He was hurt.

And that was much worse.

Ghost didn’t answer immediately, and the silence that followed only made the anger inside Soap grow stronger. 

The problem was that Johnny knew him too well. Simon Riley wasn’t someone who hesitated when he had a good explanation. He wasn’t someone who wasted words trying to make a situation sound prettier than it actually was. 

If Soap was wrong, if he was overreacting, Ghost would have pushed him away already, called him an idiot, told him exactly what happened and walked back inside the medical room without wasting another second. 

But he wasn’t doing any of that. He was just standing there, letting Soap hold him against the wall, and that alone was enough to tell Johnny that something was different.

“Simon,” Soap growled, a last warning, and even though his voice was quieter now, it carried more anger than when he had been shouting. His fingers were still gripping the front of Ghost’s shirt, his breathing still uneven, his entire body fighting between the jealousy burning through his chest and the trust he had always placed in the man in front of him. 

Because that was what hurt him the most. Not the hoodie. Not even your scent being completely buried beneath Ghost’s. It was the fact that he had sent Ghost with you because he trusted him more than he trusted himself. He had stepped back because he was scared of crossing a line, and now it looked like Ghost had crossed it instead.

Ghost looked at him for a long moment before finally letting out a slow breath. “Something happened last night.” The words were enough to change the entire feeling of the conversation. Soap didn’t let him go immediately, but the pressure of his grip weakened as his expression shifted. The anger was still there, the jealousy still twisting painfully inside him, but both of those things were pushed aside by something stronger. Something much more instinctive when it came to you. Worry.

“What do ye mean something happened?” Soap asked, studying Ghost’s face carefully. He knew Simon well enough to recognize when he was being serious, and whatever he saw in his eyes made the last pieces of anger start fading. Because Ghost didn’t look guilty in the way Johnny expected. He didn’t look like a man who had stolen something from him. He looked concerned.

Ghost glanced back toward the hallway, toward the medical room where you were still working, completely unaware of the conversation happening outside. He lowered his voice before continuing:

“When we got to her place, she froze. The second she opened the door, something changed. She saw a light on inside and tried to pretend everything was fine, said she probably forgot it, but she was lying.” He still remembered the way your entire body had reacted. The sudden tension in your shoulders, the change in your breathing, the way your eyes had fixed on the bedroom door like you were waiting for something terrible to happen. You had tried to hide it quickly, but Ghost had spent his entire life reading people who didn’t want to be read.

Soap’s expression slowly changed as he listened. The jealousy disappeared piece by piece until there was nothing left except concern. Because he could picture it too easily. You standing outside your own home pretending not to be afraid. You forcing yourself to smile because that was what you always did. You hiding whatever was wrong because, for some reason, you thought you had to handle everything alone.

“She thought someone was inside,” Soap said quietly, but it wasn’t really a question anymore. He could see the answer in Ghost's eyes before the lieutenant even said anything.

Ghost nodded slightly. “I think so. She asked me to come in, made some excuse about tea, but she barely looked away from the bedroom door the whole time.” He saw the brief flicker in Soap’s eyes at the mention of you inviting him inside, that automatic possessive reaction he couldn’t fully control, so Ghost continued before his mind could go somewhere else. “Not like that, Johnny. She was scared.”

Soap could handle the thought of you wanting Ghost. It would hurt, but Ghost was his pack, and somewhere deep down he knew that whatever was happening between all of you was already more complicated than simple jealousy. But the thought that you had invited someone inside because you were afraid to enter your own home alone made something protective and furious rise inside his chest.

“Why didn’t she say anythin’?” Soap asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“There’s something else,” Ghost added after a moment, and the seriousness in his tone made Soap look back at him. “She keeps a gun under her pillow.”

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything.

Soap just stared at him.

Because that didn’t fit with the image everyone had of you. The sweet omega who spent her days patching up soldiers, who remembered how everyone liked their coffee, who laughed at his stupid jokes and worried whenever someone skipped a meal. That omega slept with a weapon within reach?

People didn’t do that without a reason.

“Why the hell does a nurse need a gun under her pillow?” Soap finally asked, his jaw tightening as he looked back toward the medical room.

Ghost didn’t answer because he couldn’t. That was the same question that had been bothering him since the night before. The same question that had kept him awake while you slept only a few feet away. The more he thought about it, the less everything made sense. Your lack of scent. Your fear. Your empty apartment. Your supposed alpha who somehow had no presence in your life at all.

After a long silence, Ghost finally spoke again. “You were right about something being wrong.” 

Soap looked back at him, waiting, and Ghost hated how easily the next thought came to him. He hated how natural it felt to blame a man he had never met. “Something’s wrong with him.”

They didn’t need to say your husband's name. Both of them knew exactly who they were talking about. Your supposed mate. The alpha who should have been keeping you safe, who should have been the reason your home felt protected instead of the reason you looked relieved every time someone walked you back there.

Soap looked away, his expression hardening. “An alpha shouldnae make his omega afraid tae go home,” he muttered, and this time Ghost didn’t correct him. 

He didn’t remind him that you weren’t theirs, that you belonged to someone else, that whatever they were feeling was crossing a line they shouldn’t even be approaching.

Because the problem was that he was starting to believe it too.

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[gazsdiary]

BY ANY OTHER NAME

Chapter 1: The ring

Summary: The sudden appearence of certain pack on your life makes you question whether you're being watched. After meeting them, questions start to arise about who you really are and how the task force members feel about you.

Pairing: poly!141 x Reader [A/B/O Universe]

Warnings: mentions is marriage, gaz not being happy.

Words: 6K (ups...)

Previous chapter // Next Chapter // Masterlist

Author's note: pls tell me this long or shorter chapters?

(I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating or imitating this work)

Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!

“You mean to tell me, that you had been disappearing to see a girl?”

“Ye donae get' it! I'm tellin' ye, it’s no' just any lass!”

Price leaned against his desk chair as he looked at the scene in front of him. A loved one faced Johnny and a fuming Gaz, who had been walking from one side of the room to another. Gaz huffed when he hear Johnny’s reply. Yes, he was fuming.

“Huh! Do you hear him?” He asked Price walking closer to his desk motioning to Johnny “Looks like that much gunpowder has gotten him”

Soap’s face hardened. He steps forward, closing the gap between them, frustration bubbling over. “Agh, shut it, Gaz! This isn’t some daft wee fling! I’m no’ sneakin’ around like a bloody idiot. I love her.”

Gaz scoffs, shaking his head as if he has heard a madman, but Soap kept going. And then, his voice softens, almost like he can’t help it when he speaks about you. “When I’m wi’ her… it’s different. She makes me feel, safe? Like I can finally bloody breathe without wonderin’ when it’s all gonna fall apart.” Price could see how his eyes soften, although he kept his fists clenched.

“Johnny If I see that smile on your face one more time, Ghost is going to have to take me off you with hot water” He growled “You don’t even know her!”

"I do know her! She eats in the meds office 'cause the Mess Hall’s got too many smells an’ it overwhelms her! She likes my jokes, an’ her nose twitches when she laughs! I ken everythin’ aboot her! I-“ He signed, his shoulders slumping a bit "Listen, I’m just sayin’ ye should meet her. She’s an absolute sweetheart, an’ I know ye’ll like her. Maybe even feel the way I do. I’m tellin’ ye, she’s what we’ve been lookin’ for, our  missin’ piece."

Price analysed the atmosphere in the room. While Gaz looked heartbroken, his brows furrowed and his eyes dripping with sadness, his mouth slightly opened as if he wanted to say something, Missing? You felt like you were missing something? Aren't we enough? Aren’t I enough? But the words were too painful to fall out of his mouth. Johnny, however, was the living image of love stroked. Price had to be honest, he hadn’t seen him like that since he started meeting up with Gaz. Back in the day, he had been almost too shy to join their pack.

He was the youngest, the newest, and maybe that’s why he was so reluctant about the idea of adding someone else. Maybe it was the idea of not being the “missing piece” anymore, maybe it was the idea of not being enough. Maybe that was it. Pack 141 was incomplete until Gaz arrival, they all had said it, so why did they need another packmate? He was enough to complete the pack, they were a pack and they were happy. But the hole in his chest only grew wider each second Price stood in silence, listening to Soap talk.

Gaz looked at his Pack Alpha, while he leaned into the table, his elbows on top of it “You know that there is a possibility this doesn’t work, right? That it’s only you who feel  that connection with her” Price watched with steady eyes how Johnny nodded his head muttering a small aye. 

After a beat, Price continued, his voice unwavering.“I won’t risk the pack's stability for her… However” Johnny lit up when he pronounced that word “We’ll organize a meeting to get to know her”

Gaz felt his world turning upside down, shadows and flashing lights dancing around him as the distanced voice of Soap celebrating and laughing drilled his ears.

A forced cough caught everyone's attention.

Simon. Yess, Simon. Only Simon could stop this nonsense.

“What?”

Simon pushed himself off the wall he was leaning in, walking slowly towards the middle of the room “There's a problem in your plan” Simon spoke with a deep voice as he looked, with cold eyes, as Johnny turned towards him:

“She has a ring on her finger”

Since the day you had bump into them they had started showing up everywhere. 

You tried ignoring them, you really did. Your routine with Johnny was still the same, sometimes he would pop up randomly in the same place you were. He’ll say with his characteristic smirk and shrugging casually Oh, I was just passin’ by, an’ I saw ye… Right… Then the other two started to appear. The one you had bumped into usually watched you from afar. It didn't matter where you were, he was already there. You could feel his eyes watching you, only for you to turn around and see some aviator glasses covering his face. 

It was starting to get on your nerves, the idea of being followed everywhere. You had no idea if Johnny had talked about you or if this was some special agent protecting their pack kinda bullshit. 

You knew it was intended to be subtle, but the large hulking man in a Baklava wasn't as unnoticed as he thought. While the other one followed you like a shadow, this man stomped his way through and every soldier around slipped away as fast as they could.

You were inside one of the med offices wondering if you should speak to Johnny about what had been happening. You knew he was coming to have lunch with you, he always did. It was a really good moment to talk about this. Hey, Johnny your pack has been hmm a bit intruding? Could you tell them to back off? Sigh. Maybe it was you who was overstepping, I mean, having lunch everyday with one of their packmates was probably considered intruding.

Before you could rumble your thoughts around anymore, a loud knock stopped your frantic thinking. With big strides you reached the door in only a few steps, the blurry shadow though the textured glass only seemed to grow bigger and bigger. You took only one moment to try to make your hair look decent before yanking the door open: 

“Johnny I want to talk about- I- You…”

The words died on your tongue.

Instead of Johnny’s usual bright grin, the sudden appearance of the hulking body of the skull-balaclava man had you stuttering with wide eyes. You were met with Simon “Ghost” Riley, standing tall in your doorway, clad in his gear, his presence filled the small space, your face near his chest. 

Your fingers tightened around the door handle, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were—face near to his chest. You tried taking a deep breath trying to calm your heartbeat, he wasn't supposed to be here. 

Your mouth suddenly felt dry, “I- What are you doing here?” 

“Aren't you a nurse?”

“I- I mean, yes?” 

He hummed before bumping into you slightly as he made his way into the office, broad-shouldered, wearing his uniform, every inch of him radiating authority as sat on one of the examination tables, the metal structure screeching under his weight. His presence was overwhelming, filling the room like a storm rolling in. 

“I’m hurt” He grumbled in a deep voice “Fix me”.

Your eyes betrayed you as they run over how his legs spread when he sat, his wide thighs pressed against the mattress, the fabric of his jeans stretching, his hands flat on the mattress, his forearms stretched backwards supporting his weight, his chest silhouette under his shirt, the sharp cut of his jaw beneath the mask. He was watching you too, gaze heavy, unwavering, dark eyes locked onto yours, piercing and unreadable, but there was something in them, something that made heat rush to your cheeks.

You felt hot under his gaze. 

Turning sharply, heart hammering as you reached for the door, you caught a glimpse of him, just the barest shift behind his mask, but you were almost sure he was smiling.

Breathing deeply you walked towards him, stopping in front of him, almost between his legs. You tried figuring out if this was some kind of test; however, none of the way his eyes stayed motionless and his eyebrows furrowed indicated it.

“So, what happened… Lieutenant Riley?” You had to read his name tag sewn into his shirt.

“Ghost. Call me Ghost” His name rolled out of his mouth as he looked at you.

After clearing his throat he continued “Shoulder’s been acting up,” he muttered, rolling it back like the movement alone would emphasize his point. “Figured I’d get it checked.”

You nodded, steadying yourself, pushing away all hesitation “Right, let me take a look-”

The moment you reached for his arm, he caught your hand instead. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting your movements. Not roughly, but firm enough to make you pause and stay gripped. 

 You looked up at him, confused, but he wasn’t watching your face anymore.

He was looking at your hand.

At your ring.

His thumb dragged lightly over the small and smooth metal, a barely-there touch, but it sent a jolt through your spine anyway.

His grip didn’t falter, but something in his eyes shifted.

“Didn’t know you were married,” he said, voice quieter now, deeper.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. A sharp panic started swirling inside your chest, your ribs suddenly felt too tight for your lungs, and your throat tightened making your mouth go dry. The weight of his stare pinned you in place, knowing there was no easy way out of this.

“I-...” The word barely made it past your lips, weak, uncertain, halting. You forced yourself to swallow, to steady your breath, but the heat of his fingers against your skin made it impossible to think straight.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. He still didn’t let go. And for a moment, just for a brief moment, you wondered if he even wanted to.

Then—

The door burst open.

“Bonnie! Ye ready to-?”

Johnny’s voice, loud and full of its usual warmth, disappeared the moment he took in the scene before him.

Your wrist, still in Ghost’s grasp.

You, standing between his legs, close, almost too close.

You whipped your head towards him, startled, frozen in place. Ghost, however, was slower, his head turning with measured precision, a deliberate movement. His gaze was unreadable as he met Johnny’s shocked expression.

Johnny’s usual nice eyes had vanished. However, it wasn’t just because both of you in front of him. It was Ghost’s eyes. Dark. Sharp. Fixated. Like he was found doing something he wasn’t supposed to, something he wasn’t willing to step away from. Like a predator standing over its kill, possessive, unwavering, ready to strike at anyone who dared step nearer.

Johnny’s usual easy song smile faltered, his eyes darting between the two of you. His expression darkened, you could see the confusion flickering beneath the surface, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly  “What’s going on here?”

Ghost released your hand instantly, pushing himself off the examination table with a calculated slowness. “Nothin’,” he said, voice level. “Shoulder’s fine now.”

“Wait, what about-”

He didn't even share a glance to you as he brushed past Johnny, exiting the room without uttering another word. The moment you heard the door close you released a breath you didn't even know you were holding. The skin he had touched tingled with the invisible promise of being touched again.

Johnny waited until he heard the door close to move. He walked fastly towards you, his hands grabbing your arms carefully, almost cuddling you in his warm embrace. His eyes search your face for any sign of harm. “Ye alright, lass?”

You hesitated for a moment. Were you? If you were, why did you feel like your heart was going to break through your ribs? “Yes, I think so…”

Although he nodded, the crease in his eyebrow only deepened. He tried keeping his voice soft, but there was something sharper behind, an edge of concern, maybe even jealousy. “Bonnie… what did Ghost want?” 

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. 

You wished you had an answer, you really did.

Because truthfully, you didn’t know either.

You were jolted out of your flashback when Johnny grabbed your shoulders, slightly shaking you. He was looking at you with worried eyes, again. “Ye good?”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea, Johnny. What could he possibly want to talk about?”

You stare back at him as you play with your hands. You had the bad habit of picking your hangnail skin when you were nervous, a habit that hadn't taken Johnny long to realise. He is good at reading people, especially people he cares about.

He grabbed your sweating hands, slowly running his thumb over your skin. He smiled at you, letting out a small chuckle “Lass, yer gonna wreck yer hands 'fore we’ve even stepped in".

His grip was steady, not tight but grounding. His thumb traced soothing circles over your knuckles. You tried focusing on the callouses of his warm hands, you reflected on how that roughness came from years of training. It was comforting. Too comforting. 

You tried swallowing, but your mouth felt like sand. Calm down.

“Listen, it’s just Price wantin’ a chat, aye? Nothin’ to worry about.” Johnny reassured you, lowering his gaze to try catch your eyes “Unless there’s somethin’ yer no’ tellin’ me, hmm?”

Your breath caught, your heart stopping for a second, but you forced out a small dismissive laugh “No, nothing like that. It’s just… I don’t know why a captain is summoning me.”

Johnny hummed, clearly seeing that you were still trembling, but he did not push anymore. Instead he squeezed your hand before offering you his charming lopsided smirk.

“Don’t worry, lass. Ye got this”

Before you could answer, the door to the office opened: 

“You can come in now”

It was almost funny. How they could see your nervous shadow through the texture glass of the office door. They had been watching how your nervous figure kept moving from one side to another as Johnny tried to keep you calm and still. Your blurred silhouette shifted, the distorted outline of your movements casting faint shadows against the dim light outside. It was funny, Ghost had to admit it. How even if you tried so hard to whisper, they could still hear your nervous rambles. Johnny knew they were hearing it, they knew it.

The room was silent, save for the ticking of Price's watches, and the air was light. Price had ordered a deep clean and for the windows to be open all morning, so the room smelt nice and clean, not deep alpha scent in sight.

Ghost stood near the window, farther away from the sofas. It wasn't a command, it was more of a suggestion so he would not intimidate you. He obeyed as he growled something about not even dreaming about being close to you. Which wasn't really true because now, with his arms crossed against his chest, as he observed yours and Johnny’s movements through the glass, he wanted nothing else to pull you inside the room. 

Price sat behind his desk, tapping a pen against his fingers. He could see how tense Ghost’s frame was. He had been studying the room for a while. Gaz leaned against the wall next to the door, one foot propped up, his hands resting on his belt, his fingest casually hooked into the loops. His posture was relaxed, effortless, with an easy confidence. At least someone is relaxed.

“Well. Johnny has been outside for quite some time now” Gaz spoke breaking the silence “Doesn’t look like she’s interested in our little meeting”

“See that?” Ghost muttered from the other side of the room “She’s nervous”

Gaz scoffed as he pulled himself off the wall “Looks like she doesn’t want to be here.” He tilted his head as the shadows shifted again “I’ve seen better acting” He let out a short, humourless laugh.

“She’s scared, she’s shaking like a leaf” Ghost barked back.

With a shrug of his shoulder Gaz replied “Doesn’t matter to me” His tone was dismissive, his gaze never stayed too long on the door.

Price's eyes narrowed slightly when he saw your form stiffed when Johnny moved closer, his shadow nearly overlapping yours through the glass. 

“She’s keeping her distance” Price said “Not too much. She doesn’t want to be rude about it”.

Ghost’s jaw tightened, though he said nothing. He wasn't particularly fond of small talk, especially when it involved things that did not concern him. However. His eyes never left you moving through the glass, his expression unreadable. He had to admit, you were an enigma and he was fascinated by you. He already knew about your little secret meetings even before Johnny's secret was revealed. You had caught his attention. 

Despite his outward nonchalance, something inside him was on edge. There was something about you, something hidden that captivated him, something that made his chest rise with anxiety. And that bothered him more than he cared to admit. He wasn’t used to feeling this unsettled, not over someone he barely knew.

Ghost’s attention moved back to Price and, for a moment, their eyes met. He could almost hear the growl starting to grow inside Simon’s chest. Ghost was protective. He couldn’t help but feel the tug of something deeper than curiosity when it came to you. Price understood it just by looking at him. Something was off, but not in the way Gaz assumed.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Ghost muttered, his voice gravelly as he moved away from the window, still not breaking his gaze from the door. “She’s… interesting.”

Gaz gave him a side-eyed glance, clearly unimpressed with Ghost’s cryptic words. “Interesting? That’s one word for it. You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

Before Ghost could bite a response back, Price hushed them, the room suddenly silent. The faint sound of hurried whispers echoed in the hallway, the blurry shadow outside the door shifting once again. 

Price’s expression softened, seeing how tense Ghost figure was. He spoke with authority in his voice. “We don’t know her yet, Gaz. Give her a chance. If she’s what Johnny needs, then she deserves that much.”

Gaz held Simon’s gaze for a bit, his eyebrows frown and his jaw tight. 

“Yeah, well…” He muttered as he strode lezley “just because Johnny’s smitten doesn’t mean we all have to play along.”

He turned around, shrugging lazily. “I don’t like her. Don’t trust her either. All this ‘she’s nervous’ and ‘she’s interesting’ talk? Doesn’t mean a thing to me. I’ve seen people act sweet before screwing everything up.”

His hand closed around the door handle as he threw a glance over his shoulder, towards Simon, tone flat.

“But fine. Let’s get this over with.”

And with that, Gaz opened the door, the light from the hallway spilling into the room as he met Johnny’s waiting stare. Yours, just behind him.

“You can come in now.”

The teacup was warm in your hands, the delicate porcelain did not help calming your nerves but the soft smell of the tea reached a conforming place inside your head.

You sat straight on the armchair, trying to appear as relaxed as possible. Johnny had dragged his chair closer to yours, his knee nearly brushing your own. You had never seen him smile like this, his face was lit up like a child in front of a birthday cake. The soft clink of ceramic came from the desk as Price returned with a small milk pitcher, you saw how it had different flowers painted all over it while Price offered it to you gently. He had a soft smile on his face, it made his cheeks chubby in an adorable way you thought.

“Here you go, love” he said, with a small, reassuring smile. “How d’you take it? Sugar? Milk?”

A blush started to creep at your cheeks, for some reason the nickname made you feel fussy and with a small nod you said “Just a bit of milk, please.”

“Of course.” He poured it for you, precise and calm, like this was just another pleasant afternoon. “No need to be nervous. There’s nothing wrong, just a friendly chat.”

But it didn't feel like that. Not with the way the man with the skull baklava was looking at you, arms braced on his knees, his eyes fixed on you without blinking once. His baklava hid most of his face, the only visible thing being his eyes, they were dark, his pupils dilated. It felt like he was trying to burn you into his memory. He hadn't said anything since you entered, just murmuring a soft greeting… But now, with his gaze fixed on you, you were pretty sure he wanted to say something more.

“Ghost” Price barked with a tight smile “Ease up, mate.” 

You watched how Ghost didn’t reply, but blinked slowly as if coming out of a trance and looked away, jaw clenched tight.

“See? Told ye, they’re a decent bunch. Don’t even bite.” Johnny whispered almost in your ear, never stopping smiling as he looked at you with such a shine in his eyes. They were so pretty. You had always thought it, since the first moment you met, you could spend hours looking at him.

You could only hum taking a sip of your tea, trying to banish the heat of your cheeks with Johnny looking at you. “Nice is a way to put it…” You murmured, unable to stop yourself. Ghost’s eyes flicked back to you when you said that, head tilting the slightest bit and, even if you couldn’t see it, a small smile appeared under his mask. 

However, not everyone was happy. Across the room, Gaz cleared his throat loudly, arms still folded tightly.

Price turned sharply to look back at him, his cold eyes sent his sergeant a cold look before looking back at you. He closed his eyes for just a moment, breathing deeply before opening them again and smiling back at you. “Don’t mind him, love. Tell me, how’s the medical wing treating you?”

He was so nice. He was the nicest one, well, after Johnny. He was your Johnny after all. However, Price’s smile was so nice. The way he looked at you with such a softnest, he look so nice, so warm made your tummy flutter, a warm feeling inside your chest that made you want to roll onto his scent- 

No.  Nothing like that.

“Bonnie?” 

You snapped back into the room, you looked to your right, Johnny was looking at you with a worried face. Right. Price had asked you a question. 

“Hmm… It’s good, sometimes it gets a bit too much, but I like it” You tried giving him a smile, something to hide how nervous you were. However, it didn’t take long for it to disappear from your face. 

A small smile appeared on Price’s face “That’s nice”

His gaze dropped to your hands very subtly, but you saw the flicker of confusion before it was buried under his usual warm and nice persona.

“Married and still making time for the military wounded. Must be a hell of a man you’ve got,” he said lightly, nodding toward your left hand.

Your blood turned to ice.

Your hand instinctively curled into your lap, but it was too late. The ring, your ring, had already drawn attention. You heard Johnny shift beside you. Not a word. Just movement. Stiff and controlled.

Gaz scoffed, sharp and low. “Figures.”

You looked up sharply, but he wasn’t even looking at you anymore. Just stared hard at the opposite wall like he couldn’t be bothered to hide the sour taste in his mouth.

“I didnae think-” Johnny began, but his voice faltered.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly felt like if you were being choked. “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always,” Gaz muttered under his breath.

The air thickened around you. Ghost, still as stone in his chair, had been watching you. Not your hands. Not your face. You.

Then he spoke.

“You don’t smell like him”

Silence invaded the room as Ghost's deep voice made that statement. All of them were thinking the same thing, however Ghost was the one to say it. Price didn't separate his eyes from you even after Ghost's statement, and you could feel how Johhny’s figure tensed up, his fist balled up and his shoulders tense. 

You looked back at Price, because you refuse to even share a gaze with Johnny. You knew that this topic would come up sooner and later, but as long as Johnny could ignore it, you would play along. Fantasizing about your little relationship, about your secret meetings, about how warm your hand felt inside his own, about how peaceful you were inside his arms, about the butterflies you felt when he smiled at you. 

Yes, you could play along. 

However, your little bubble had now popped, revealing the sad truth about your situation.

You tried smiling but failed when a sudden trembling breath left your body “He… He’s not usually here” You could feel Johnny's eyes burning a hole into you, his usually nice smile now gone, a slight frown on his forehead. 

Price hummed leaning backwards, a casual manspread as he got comfortable, his arms crossed against his chest “Hmm that’s quite dangerous for you”

“We are literally on a military base” You tried laughing it off, however the masked man didn’t share your sense of humour.

“That’s exactly why he’s saying it” He almost growls, a dangerous vibration coming from his throat “Lot’s of men here and you don’t even smell like your mate.”

There it was. The elephant in the room. 

You kept your eyes on Price, refusing to meet Ghost’s stare even though you could feel the weight of it pressing down on you.

“I told you,” you said quietly, trying to steady your voice. “He’s always deployed. Sometimes even for months”

Silence.

Price blinked slowly, clearly trying to read between your lines. He didn’t push, not yet, but the thoughtful frown now tugging at his lips told you he didn’t buy it completely.

Ghost leaned forward just slightly, arms still crossed but his eyes narrowed, sharp like a blade. “And the suppressant?”

Your blood ran cold.

“I—what?”

“You don’t smell like an omega at all,” he said, quiet but firm. “Not masked. Not faded. It’s muted. Synthetic.” He tilted his head. “Not like your mate, not like an omega. It's like someone’s trying real hard not to be noticed.”

The air felt thick again, but this time it was colder, heavier.

“I take them when he’s gone,” you murmured, not quite looking at anyone. “It’s safer that way. I don’t like drawing attention.”

It was half the truth. You weren’t sure if that made it better or worse.

Price let out a slow, long breath. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice low and steady—but not unkind. “You know that’s not how a pack works, love. If your mate cared—really cared—he’d be making sure you’re safe. You wouldn’t have to cover your scent. Wouldn’t need suppressants.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Your chest was too tight.

“A bond like that should be felt,” Price continued, softer now. “We should know you’re his. But you walk in here smelling like no one. That’s not only negligence. That’s abandonment.”

Your eyes stung. You fought the tears threatening to climb up your throat. You looked down at your hands. “I am with someone,” you whispered.

Simon let out a short breath, almost like a laugh. “If that’s true, then he’s already forgotten you.”

Silence. A beat too long. No one moved.

“Lieutenant” Price barks as he turns around to look at him.

You stood up, stumbling a bit as you got dizzy from the sudden movement, your chair scraped back harshly against the floor. Johnny followed your movements, trying to stabilise you “I- I think I should leave” You eyes looked around trying to find a scape, your form frigid, like a deer in headlights “I don’t feel comfortable anymore. I’m sorry,” You whispered before running outside of the office.

Johnny followed you, only stopping for a moment at the door, to turn around towards his pack, a ting of sadness and rage behind his eyes “Well done, lads. Bloody brilliant. Just fuckin’ perfect.” He fumed befores sprinting outside of the door. 

Price massaged his forehead and rubbed his face trying to keep his cool. He could only hope that in the process of losing you, they hadn’t lost Johnny.

You and Johnny walked in a comfortable silence. His hands brushed yours every step you took. His walk tried to seem relaxed, but the way his tense shoulders sway told you everything you needed to know about how he felt. 

Your tears had now dried on your cheeks, Johnny had hugged you after he chased you down, kissing your head and whispering sweet nothing into your ears to calm you down.

He even offered to walk you back to your house, and after a sincere apology and a small nod, you decided to walk in silence. You didn’t really know what to say after what had happened, you had too many things to explain. But you stayed silent. Johnny had too many things to say, his mind full of different thoughts. But he stayed silent too.

The base was quiet at this hour. Only a couple of people walking around, moving from one place to another, probably returning back to rest for the night. The path was somewhat dark, a few street lamps illuminated enough to have a “clear” visibility if someone was to enter.

You live in another compound, away from the other medical staff, from all the staff. Johnny did not question it, they had done enough digging for today. However, it was usually higher ranks or special units that had their own building. Johnny’s blood boiled thinking of you kissing with, or married to one of the higher ranks. The image of you arm in arm with one of those assholes, with Macmillan, or worse, with someone like Shepherd. Yes, it made him furious.

Johnny could’t allowed that. You were so nice, so soft, so undoubtedly uncorrupted, that the mere thought of you being laying at night with someone with blood on their hands. You have blood on your hands too, Johnny. He could almost hear Price's voice. And yes, it still made his blood boil.

Before he could realise it, you were already standing in front of your door. You were looking at him with remorse, he grabbed your hands and he gave you his usual smile; however, this time it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t gimme that look, lass. Yer eyes are far too bonnie for that.” A small laugh escaped through his sincere smile. 

“Johnny, I-”

With a shake of his head he stopped you, Not even looking at your eyes anymore, his gaze fixed to your ring, as his thumbs caressed over it.

"He’s a lucky bastard, innit…" He whispered and it sounded like a curse, like a cruel joke life was playing on him. He tried rubbing the small metal band a bit, only a bit, harder, like he wanted to erase it, but it only turned around. A cruel joke, the ring felt like a curse and your doorway made him feel like the Gods were punishing him, pulling him back to hell, like those old Greek poets stories, dragging him away from his muse.

He raised his eyes back to yours, You had never seen him so serious befores, his eyes were so blue, so many things twirling behind them, you could see it, if you could only read them. 

He pulled you slightly closer to him, your chest barely touching with every breath. His lips trembled when he tried speaking “You know, If ye ever need anythin', anythin' at all, ye call me, alright?.” He rummage through his left back pocket, taking out a small folded ripped piece of paper, putting it inside your hand "I dunno what this is, don’t care either. Somethin’ feels off, somethin’ weird happens—you call. Aye?".

Johnny shook your hands slightly before you could rebate this order “Got it?”

You nodded and Johnny signed, closing his eyes “Can I at least ask his name?” 

After a moment of doubt you answer with a meek: “Sebastian” 

He nodded, still with his eyes closed. Sebastian he thought. He had never heard that name around base, and that was for the best, because if he did, he would probably be already trying to find him. Accidents happen all the time in the army… Sign. One second later he smiled again, that warm smile you loved. 

He let the name sit on his tongue like it burned, then gave you a crooked smile, too tired and too bitter at the edges to be real.

“Sebastian, aye?” he said, nodding slowly. "Bet he drinks fancy fizz water on purpose and probably knows how to say bourgeoisie".

You snorted—barely—but it made him smile for real, even if it was small and sad.

"Let me guess—one o’ them that gels his hair for PT. What a prick."

He paused, just a second too long, before glancing back down at your hand. His voice dropped.

"Still. He’s a lucky bastard."

Johnny nodded, slowly, as if talking himself through something no one else could hear. Then, with that familiar gentleness, he reached forward and tucked a small piece of hair away from your forehead before pressing a kiss to your forehead. It lingered just a second longer than it should’ve. Just long enough to mean something.

When he stepped back, he kept your gaze for a breath, and then another, before forcing the corners of his mouth up into a smile. Tired. Lopsided. Cracked with quiet heartbreak.

He took a few steps backward, his hand brushing through his hair before he stuffed his hands inside his pockets. He tilted his head with a lopsided grin. "So… see ye tomorra? Same time at the meds office? I’ll bring lunch, you bring… no Sebastian?"He said, mock-hopeful, with a crooked smirk.

He let the silence breathe, and then he shrugged: 

"Kiddin’… unless ye aren’t."

A wink. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then he turned and walked away.

And you stood in the doorway, already missing him.

The soft click of the door behind you sounded louder than usual. You leaned your back against it and let out a long, slow breath, eyes fluttering shut as the last pieces of Johnny’s presence slipped from your skin.

The house was dark. Still. The kind of stillness that pressed against your ears.

You stepped forward and kicked off your boots, the floor creaking under your weight. The silence wrapped around you tightly, until-

CRASH

Something clattered in the kitchen.

You froze.

Heart lurching, breath caught in your throat, you turned your head toward the sound. The darkness stretched before you like a threat.

Another noise — softer this time. A thump. Your mind raced.

Had someone followed you? No, impossible. You’d have known.You’d have noticed. Unless— No. No, it couldn’t be.

Slowly, your hand headed straight for the wooden small chest of drawers by the entrance. Your fingers moved without hesitation, sliding open the right drawer without making any noise and wrapping around cold steel.

The pistol was exactly where you'd left it.

You checked the magazine, thumbed off the safety, and held it low but ready as you padded across the wooden floor, every step silent and deliberate.

“…Sebastian?” you called out softly, every syllable trembling.

You stepped further inside. Still nothing. Another cautious step.

Heart hammering. Breath locked. The darkness stretched before you like a threat.

“…Sebastian?” you tried again, louder now, heart beating against your ribs like a warning drum.

You turned the corner sharply.

And there it was, the caused of that noise.

Not your husband. Not a soldier. Not a stranger. Just your cat.

He looked up from where he had just knocked over an empty mug, his tail flicking lazily like nothing at all had happened.

“Oh! You scared me…” you hissed, voice caught between exasperation and relief dropping the muzzle of the gun. You clicked the safety back on, slid the weapon into the waistband of your trousers, and exhaled a tight, bitter breath.

He meowed, as if answering your earlier call with a well-earned sense of entitlement, then padded off to his food bowl like royalty expecting a feast.

You exhaled a shaky laugh, the tension didn’t drain all at once as you poured his wet food in his little plate. “You're lucky I love you, you little menace.”

You shuffled into your room, peeling off your uniform piece by piece like shedding someone else’s skin. The ring came off last — cold and hollow in your palm.

A perfect circle, forged for a lie. Not a promise. A cover. A fraud. You didn’t look at it when you set it on the dresser. You couldn’t.

The gun followed, placed carefully beside the ring, like two parts of a story no one knew. One you weren’t ready to tell.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at your bare hand. The absence of the ring left a slight indentation. You pressed your fingers there. Then slowly, your hand drifted to your neck.

No mark. No claim. Nothing to hide. Noone to give explanations. And yet — so much to explain.

You crawled into bed, muscles aching, heart heavier than before. The sheets felt colder tonight. Or maybe you just noticed it more. The lack of warmth, of scent, of presence. You pulled the blanket tighter, but it didn’t help.

Your cat jumped onto your bed with a soft thud, laying down near your stomach, settling in for the night like nothing had happened. 

You remembered Johnny’s voice when he said your name — soft, warm, like the sun through your window after a nightmare. He made everything feel easier, even now, even after everything. Like maybe you weren’t entirely alone.

And then there was Ghost. You didn’t understand it. The way your skin tightened under his gaze. Like your body recognized something your mind didn’t. Something dangerous and old and… inevitable. A strange, quiet pull.

And Price… His presence had weight. Not crushing — anchoring. Just being near him slowed everything down. Your breath. Your thoughts. A calm feeling ivaded you, your heart beating slower and your mind feeling fuzzy.

This wasn’t about comfort. It wasn’t even about truth. It was about the fact that for a few moments today — just a few — you’d forgotten to lie.

And it had felt… good.

Stupid.

But good.

You shut your eyes tight and curled your knees up, facing the wall, blinking slowly into the dark.

This couldn’t happen. Not really. Not with them. Not like this. Not while you were still someone else entirely.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting it.

Even if it couldn’t be. At least… not yet.

TAGLIST: @suicidarsi @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @danielle143 @annoyingnonamesan @littlelovebug98 @hypertail @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @rainbowangel @forgetmenotsilly @mirimirionthewall

[anneofgreengabagool]

18+. minors + ageless blogs dni.

thinking about valeria coming home, pissed off at stupid fucking idiots at work, bullying you over the back of the armchair and ripping your yoga pants to band around your knees so you can't widen your legs much.

her tongue hot and furious against your asshole. she pulls off and you whine a little, and then she spits harsh against you, rubbing the glob of spit around the muscle before latching back onto you, eating at you with a fervour she hasn't had in a few weeks.

"baby," you breathe out, tits scraping against the armchair fabric as her face ruts you forward.

"shut up," she scolds wetly. "touch yourself. reach down and show me how good i make you feel."

as she works your muscle with her talented tongue, your hand hovers up and circles around her head. holds her there between your spread ass cheeks, your fingers carding through her dark silky hair and clutching her. she lets out a little grunt when you grip tighter.

you keep your back arched and reach your other arm down between the back of the chair and your body, rubbing at your clit that's throbbing. "fuck, baby." you're not a good listener and she knows it.

her hands come up and cup your cheeks, slapping the fat hard and painful. the slobbery slurps of her mouth make you cry out.

your fingers fast over your clit. "i'm close. i'm gonna-"

she suctions over your asshole and your fingertips delve in circles and you start to buck forward over the chair, toes coming off the floor. "oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, don't stop-"

she makes a noise you barely hear, muffled as it is, telling you she's offended that you'd suggest such a thing.

the orgasm splits off out of your body, and you desperately try to slam your hips away from her, your fingers tight on your clit, crying out weakly, but she's like a latched machine until she's milked the orgasm completely out of you, until you have to use your hand in her hair to pull her off you.

"jesus christ," you heave.

she stands up and nuzzles briefly in your neck, smearing yourself on your skin. "came home just wanting one asshole."

[laterkiss]

fuck it im gonna talk about this

Keep reading

[dvg-tvgs]

Somewhere Good To Be

simon can see that johnny is struggling. demons feasting on the darkness in his mind. so simon invites johnny somewhere good (now johnny wants to fuck simon's pregnant wife)

ghoap x reader

warnings: johnny is depressed, vague talk of suicide, smut, handjob, p in v, threesome

prev

johnny mactavish has been in your house for a week.

it's been a pleasant week, you must admit. johnny, bless him, was so afraid of being a burden, he helped wherever he could. standing beside you as you make lunch for the kids, telling you stories of his childhood. you let him speak, let him get whatever he needs to off his chest.

your kids are infatuated with him. completely and utterly smitten. they follow him around the house, asking him whatever questions they can think of. fascinated by his tattoos (as if their father didn't have full sleeves of them).

it's a nice break, you have to admit. for the first time in years, you and your husband have time to yourselves. just to sit, just to be with each other. not doing all that much of anything.

honestly, you're mostly watching johnny with the kids. watching as he lays in the grass like he's died in the intense game of cops and robbers. your kids join him, pointing at the different clouds, at the shape they're making.

"i think this is good for him," simon says as he sits on the garden furniture (it's the perfect summer day again. you're making the most of it, before it get's too hot and your feet get too swollen and it gets too uncomfortable).

you're tucked against his side, head on his shoulder. humming, you shuffle as close to him as you possibly can. "maybe we could keep him around," you suggest, only halfway joking. (because your kids really do love him. and he is good company. and you know simon likes having him here).

simon chuckles. "sure he'd love that," he say, fingers coming to rest on your chin. with two fingers, he gets you to look at him. "i think he likes you, too," he whispers and kisses you once. it's quick, so quick you're not even sure it really happened. but your husband would never torture you like that.

your arms wind around his neck. "yeah?"

he kisses you again, humming against your lips. "can't say i blame him. my wife is fucking sexy when she's pregnant."

you scratch at his scalp and scratch. "wanna go up stairs while the kids are entertained?"

you could have. you so easily could have let him take you upstairs, let him pump his cock into you and fondle your tits until your legs are spasming on either side of him. but you don't. you can't. you can't leave johnny down here, an unwilling babysitter for your kids.

reluctantly, you push your husband away. "later," you promise and press one last quick kiss to his lips.

simon grunts before he lets you go. you stand, hand on your swollen belly, and waddle over to your children and your guest.

all three of them look up at you. the kids squint and johnny puts his hand over his eyes, shielding them from the sun. "having fun?" you ask the three of them.

"yes, ma'am," johnny answers and trinity giggles. "the weans an' i thought we could handle lunch today," he says and sits up.

you breathe out, unable to hide your smile. "thank you, johnny," you say, grinning down at him. "that's really sweet of you."

johnny looks at your kids, still laying on the floor, staring up at the clouds. "what's a we-ain?" trinity asks, her brows furrowed. but she's still looking at the clouds, like she's still trying to figure out all the shakes the clouds can show her.

the laugh johnny releases isn't malicious; he's not making fun of your daughter as he gets to his feet. "you are, bub," he says and helps her up. he does the same with noah, getting him up.

they lead johnny to the kitchen, pulling him after them. you're calling after them, like every mother does. telling them to be careful, to wash their hands and let johnny do the chopping up.

as they head inside, you head back to your husband. "i like him," you say as simon uncrosses his legs and reaches for you. he pulls you onto his lap, not caring for the extra weight you're carrying. "but i thin trinity and noah already having him wrapped around their pinkies."

"wouldn't surprise me." he squeezes your hips. his fingers toy with your dress, with the material of your skirt. "we could be really quick," he whispers. "come on, love. let me fuck my pregnant wife."

you breathe out like he's being ridiculous. "fine," you say anyway and raise yourself up.

simon pulls your underwear down your legs as you fiddle with his belt buckle. he touches you, touches your thighs as you manage to get his belt off and free his cock.

as badly as he wants to take his time with you, as he normally does when you're in the privacy of your bedroom, simon doesn't. he can't, not when johnny and the kids are whipping up sandwiches. it's bound to be chaos that the two of you have to clean up after.

you sink down onto him, a hiss leaving your lips. you've much rather be lying back, his strong muscles keeping him above you. but this'll do for now.

thank god your husband is strong, built like a beast. he raises the both of you up and thrusts into you. over and over again, his pace already rapid. he just has to get you there, just have to have you spilling over the edge and squeezing his cock until he's following closely behind you.

your head falls onto his shoulder, making the sweetest noises. he grunts, squeezing whatever he can grab.

it's such a relief when you finally finish, when he finally manages to take you over the edge. simon gives a few shallow thrusts before he finishes, spilling inside of you. "wanna get you pregnant again after these two," he whispers.

"fucking hell, riley," you reply as he slips out of you. "gonna have a small army on our hands."

and johnny watches from the kitchen window. eyes transfixed as your kids fill the sandwiches with the toppings he'd prepared before he caught sight of you and your husband.

he watches now as simon meets his eye. his scarred lips tip up and he whispers something in your ear.

you turn around and smile at johnny. it so warm, it doesn't feel right. but then you stand, still covered up. but he can see your underwear, near your knees. you pull it the rest of the way down, putting on a little show for johnny, and drop it into simon's lap.

"johnny." trinity tugs his hand for his attention. "can you cut the sandwiches into triangles? they taste better that way."

"of course we can," he says and comes over to cut up the sandwiches. he tries one and hums, nodding his head. "you're right, trin! delicious."

***

bed time has been and gone. johnny can't help but feel bad as he sits on the sofa. you and Simon had to deal with reluctant vegetable consumption and bath time while he got to read the bed time story (noahs request. he loves johnny's accent.)

simon sit beside him, a wide space between them. there's something playing on the TV, but he doesn't know what it is.

he's too busy thinking about you.

you, pulling your underwear down your legs. you, dropping your underwear into your husband's lap before you headed inside to help with lunch.

you're upstairs, getting ready for bed, and he's thinking about you. it's not fair; you're married.

he hears you come down the stairs. a sigh leaves your lips as you walk into the room. both men turn their head when you pause, looking at whatever crappie is playing on the television.

"those kids love you," you say as you walk in front of simon and sit down between them. "noah wanna a mohawk now."

Simon chuckles as you ease yourself down beside them. "no way," he says, shaking his head.

but you look at johnny, hand on your bump. "how you doing?" you asked, your free hand reaching for his.

johnny breathes out, his body sinking into the cushions. "great," he says honestly. "seriously. thanks for having me."

your shoulder touches his. you're warm where you touch him, leaning against him. "you can stay as long as you need to, you know that?" your hand leaves his, touching his thighs instead.

he should be between you and your husband, caged in by you. but you work with what you've got.

"johnny," you whisper, dragging your nails up his thigh. "I know you were watching us earlier."

he swallows thickly and looks past you, looking at simon. but he's just touching your back, letting you do what you need to do.

"can I touch you, johnny?"

he doesn't know. but simon makes no move to stop him. he doesn't pull you away and kick johnny out.

so, he nods.

you're still smiling when you free him from his shorts. no underwear, he's already ready for bed. "wow," you say, moving closer. "it's so pretty, johnny."

you pump your hand twice. johnny's breath in is sharp, but he let's you move, hands by his sides.

and then, you spit on it. its not violet, more of a dribble. just something to make this hand job easier.

a noise is pulled from johnny's throat. a moan, a whimper, you're not sure which. but you keep going, swiping your thumb over his tip.

his body shudders. "you're doing so good," simon whispers. johnny isn't sure who he's talking to as he grabs the bottom of your shirt and lifts. "good boy."

his eyes are shut, head thrown back when you whimper. he shudders, the sound getting stuck in his head like a song on a loop. you do it again as johnny hisses, his eyes opening.

"fuck." it's the first thing he's said since you started touching him. but it's not because of you touching him, not from the pleasure you're bringing him, but from the sight of your husband, his hand in your underwear to touch you.

and simon just chuckles. "she's fucking soaked," he says, other hand coming to fondle your tits.

you don't kiss his lips. but your lips find his shoulder, his neck. it's almost sweet as he's bucking his hips up to meet your hand.

he feels like a kid again, an intense orasgm he can't control, making a mess and spilling onto your hand. he's panting, your fingers still wrapped around him, hips still moving as he comes down.

and you? you're shaking, coming apart of your husband's fingers. he'd picked you apart, pressing all the right buttons to have you finishing, breathing heavily against johnny's neck.

he's still, stiller than he has been with any other woman. but this is an experience like no other. he breathes in a deep, shuddering breath as you bring your hand to your mouth. fuck, he thinks when you lick it clean.

but simon stands. "come on, love," he says and helps you to your feet. "let's get you to bed."

you accept your husbands help and stand. johnny watches you, both of you. the way simon holds you, as if that's the only thing keeping you standing. he hands you your shirt and you pull it over your body.

"goodnight, johnny," you whisper and lean in to press a kiss to his lips.

he doesn't know if he can kiss back. he's still, letting your lips move against his. and, just when he works up the courage to kiss you back with your beast of a husband standing behind you, smiling like an apex predator, you pull away.

he watches the two of you, your retreating forms. "night," he calls because he doesn't know what else to say. he tucks himself into his shorts and sits there for a moment, willing his heart to stop beating so damn fast.

taglist: @spookyplasms

@dayyysinterlude

@silveredschemecurator

@simp-of-the-day

@to-touch-an-angel

@lord-kermit

@annoyinglyloudcomputer

@gwenparker8121

@laughsandlivia

[whimsyunicornxd]

𝗦𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗥𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. 𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪 𝟭𝟴+

Simon had learned over the years to keep his voice down during sex—finding it embarrassing that a hulking man like him would whine like a bitch during sex.

Foolishly, he didn't change his habit when he got with you. Believing the quiet grunts he would allow to be enough for you. Like the other women he'd been with.

God, it was pissing you off.

He didn't account for the fact you'd lost most of your hearing. You never wore your hearing aids during sex because the itch of them wouldn't allow you to concentrate.

Simon was a fantastic lover—gave you exactly what you needed, had you coming until you couldn't fucking think anymore. But he just wouldn't make any sound. You know you should've been used to guys not making sounds by now at your big grown age, though you got your hopes up with Simon.

Simon was holding back his moans as he fucked into your perfect pussy, thrusting at that perfect angle that made you keen—Only allowing quiet masculine sounds to rumble from his chest.

But you finally had enough of seeing his mouth part, while being unable to hear anything.

"Simon," you pant, grabbing his jaw roughly "fucking moan, goddammit. I can't fucking hear you."

Simon stilled, looking down at you with flushed cheeks. "Y'sure? Didn't think women liked I' when a man makes noise."

"Need to hear you." you whispered, grinding your hips upwards impatiently.

Simon finally broke down that wall in his mind, leaning down to your good ear and letting out a loud groan, thrusting frantically. His big meaty paws clawing at you.

"Fuck!" Simon babbled "Feels so good, so tight. So so so tight."

You gasp at how loud he was being—getting what you always wanted from a lover.

"y'don't get it. Wanna be inside you all the time. Just wanna fill you over and over and over." He groaned, his hips becoming erratic and needy as he brings a hand to your clit—desperate to get you off before he came himself.

Your nails clawed down his muscular back, leaving red streaks in their wake. But the unrestrained whimper Simon let out in response?

You were coming with a squeal, locking your legs around his hips as he fucked his come inside you.

"Don't" you pant "You ever hold those sounds back again."

Simon huffed, wrapping his arms around you. "'s embarrassing, love."

"I just came harder than I ever have in my life, you can handle some embarrassment."

You stash the fact Simons softening cock twitched inside you at the thought of being embarrassed for later. Fucking pathetic thing, your boyfriend.

[summergirlxx]

.˳˳✧.⋅ॱ needy!reader x sleepy!price

18+ only. fem!reader. grinding. angry, unprotected p in v. cream pie. dirty talk. mw4 price with a beard. daddy kink. ignoring pleas. drooling. holding down. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. implied somnophilia.

.˳˳✧.⋅ॱ word count: 1.8k

Price who’s really beat after a long day at work. Just wants to relax in bed and let the stress of the day melt off him. Until you look up at him, your eyes wide with eagerness, legs rubbing against his under the comforter, hands caressing his arms. All frowns and pouts when he scratches at his beard and lets you down with a pet at your hair and kiss to your forehead.

You say it’s okay with a huff and roll over but when Price clicks the light off and turns to his side, after a few minutes you shift, scoot back a little. Again and again until you’re pressed to his front, head on his arm, and Price figures you just want to cuddle, pouting too much to admit it, so he wraps a heavy arm around your waist, nose nuzzling into your neck. Shiver with the scrape of his beard along your shoulder.

Sleep slowly building behind Prices eyes when your hips shift slightly, grind into his. Doesn’t think anything of it other than you’re getting comfortable. Until the movement of your hips becomes constant, knocking and rubbing against his cock. Can feel your back arch into him and he grunts into your ear, huffs a breath onto your neck that makes your need so much worse.

“Stop that.” He grumbles into your ear, knows that you’re trying to rile him up, so he tightens his arm around you in hopes it keeps you still. A little annoyed now because he’s all chubbed up in his boxers and knows it’ll take a minute before he’s calmed down enough to fall asleep.

You stop, thankfully. Until you don’t. Hips moving just subtly, slowly enough the need clogs your throat and it takes everything in you not to move faster. But Price can feel you moving even though you think you’re being sneaky, sucks in a deep breath before slapping at your thigh with the hand securing your waist.

“Cut it out. Don’t make me tell you again.” You shudder, eyes fluttering shut at the hoarseness in his throat. It only eggs you on, makes you throb at the threat behind his words.

You smash your hips back into his cock, grind without subtleness because he’s all worked up now even though he wouldn’t want to admit it. Angry and so hard against you that his arm under your head curls around your front, forearm under your jaw and hand clenching at your shoulder to keep you secure against his chest.

“Want it? Here it comes, baby.” He croaks in your ear. Annoyance and anger rolling off of him in waves as his other hand shoots down to lift your leg, yanks your soaked panties to the side. Makes you whine because he doesn’t bother touching your achy clit just huffs in your ear, rough with his grip that has tingles running over your body shuddering with anticipation.

Your breaths get heavier, body drumming when his hand darts back to wrestle his cock out. Feel it hot and heavy against your ass that you whine, need so heavy in your mind that just the feel of it against your pussy has you gushing.

Price grins when he lines himself up, soaks in the loud cry you let out when he thrusts in because you’re going to regret riling him up.

The airs punched from your lungs when he bottoms out. Pussy stinging at the quick stretch around him, whimper at the pleasure it shoots up your spine. Moan at the throb of him stretching you wide and filling you to the brim.

Bitterness in the way he handles you exactly what you were throbbing for when he pet your head and said maybe another night.

Price grunts and groans into your neck, hooks his arm under your knee and pins it to your chest so you can feel him deep inside you. Starts his thrust all of a sudden, pace so quick and harsh the air is knocked from your lungs. Have to gasp and huff to force air in from the grip he has around your front and pressure from his thrusts.

Makes sure he stuffs you to the hilt as he pounds away at your cervix, has you clawing at his arms, loud keens and moans drowning out the squelching of your pussy.

“What you wanted, huh? Desperate slut. Always needs Daddy’s cock fillin’ you up.” He spits into your ear, jerks when you flutter around him. Mind feasting at how pliable you are. How he can bully his cock into you and all you do is swallow him up and moan. How if he goes at it long enough you’ll blabber thank yous until Price has to fill your mouth so you shut up.

Price groans at the thought, cock slamming into you roughly as the imagine flashes in his mind. You mewl, words clogged in your throat, forced down by the pleasureful cries you can’t hold back. His beard scratches at your neck and shoulder, has tingles shooting down your back and making you push your ass into him.

The bed squeaks and rocks, Prices hips pounding forward and slapping into your ass. You bounce off his hips with each thrust, eyes fluttering closed because you can feel the head of his cock dragging against your walls and knocking at your cervix.

When you clench around him he shifts his hips, pummels his cock into your sweet spot so he can really feel you convulse around him. Has you squealing and toes curling, mind going fuzzy and soft with the pleasure coursing through you. Nails digging into the thick forearm around your throat, mouth falling open in silent cries when the feeling makes your body burn, heat blazing in your stomach.

Can feel drool dribble down your chin onto his forearm. Hand flying back when it feels like you might pass out, mind humming so violently you can’t think straight. “Slow, Daddy.” You whimper. “Too fast.”

Price tuts, grunting as he growls into your neck. “Take what I fuckin’ give you, baby. Wouldn’t let Daddy sleep because of your greedy cunt. Gonna pump ‘er full of cum so she sleeps real good tonight.” He purrs, drops his arm from your shoulder to hold your knee up so he can squeeze at your tits.

You squeal and grip at his arm when he pinches at your nipple through your shirt, rough material making lightening shoot through you.

“‘M sorry, Daddy.” You pant when his hand darts under your shirt. “I’ll be good. Just- slow down!”

Price palms at your chest, squeezing and tugging as his hips pummel into you, dips his mouth to nip at your neck when he sees you swallow thickly. Beard scraping your shoulder raw as he kisses and sucks harshly to leave purple marks for later.

“Too late for sorrys, baby. This is what you were begging me for. Can’t back out now.”

Tears spring to your eyes at the overwhelming amount of pleasure coursing through you. Think you’re getting a break when Price takes his plucking fingers away from your chest but lurch when you feel them at your clit.

Cry out when his rough fingers rub quickly at you, spasm and clench so hard you hear his low moans muffled against your neck, covered in sweat which he licks up, sends shivers down your spine and zips to your cunt.

His groans get lower, thrusts turning sloppy and short, feel every inch of him pull out and thrust back in more clearly. You can feel the veins of his cock grind against your walls, not a blur of feeling anymore, but they drag and tease you, have tingles shooting up your neck.

The pace of his fingers stay the same though, quick and sharp that an orgasm is quick to form. Have you squirming and whimpering, digging your nails into his arm as your ears ring.

Price curses, clench’s his jaw at the tight convulses around his cock, draws his balls tighter until the need to cum is clawing at his brain. Fingers still working against your clit for a second orgasm so he can have you cumming with him.

“Too much, Daddy.” You squeal with overstimulation, claw and tug at his hand until he coos, drops your leg and snatches your jaw in his paw to smash your lips together, beard nuzzling into your face so he can swallow your soft whimpers until you can’t breathe. Legs clenching and kicking around his hand, but never stopping his movements until another orgasm claws its way though your overstimulation.

Snatches his lips away, hand tight on your jaw to watch your face contort as you cum, picks up the pace of his hips when he gets closer. His groans and your soft mewls mixing together until you squeal and Price grunts lowly, your toes curling as you come together. Fingers and cock moving so quick your whole body tenses as your orgasm runs through you. Flutter so tightly around his cock you can feel the pulses that shoot his cum deep in your cunt. Ears ringing as you tremble until the waves of pleasure are soft throbs.

Price curses into your lips, groans when he gives a lazy thrust to make sure the last bits of his cum make it inside you. Pulls out slowly and watches you whimper at the noise and feel. Tugs your panties back over your spent pussy, before cupping your cunt with his palm.

Satisfaction coiling in his chest when you squeal, head slumped against his arm, jerk your hips away from the pressure at your clit, but you’re attempts are futile when there’s no where to run, and he follows you until his palm is nestled against you.

“Settle down, whiny girl.” He rasps, shakes his palm against you until you clutch at his wrist to stop the vibrations from moving your clit. “Ain’t nothing to cry over now you’re nice and full. Or does she want more?” He squeezes.

You gasp and hold his wrist down as much as you could. “No more, Daddy. She’s too full.” You whine, squirm at the feel of him leaking onto your panties. Too impossibly tired to care about how dirty you are.

“You sure, baby? I could stop now or be greedy and keep going like you did.” He taunts.

You suck in a deep breath, eyes heavy with sleep. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I won’t do it again, I’ll be good.”

Prices pecks your temple with a soft chuckle. “I’ll let you sleep for now, baby. Fuck your little cunt through the night. Daddy’s gonna teach you a thing or two about messing with him while he’s trying to sleep.”

You shudder at the thought, promise lingering at the back of your mind as he tucks you both back into bed, until he wakes you up later, mind so drowsy you barely notice how you’re pinned underneath him, hips grinding another round of cum into your cunt.

[maybe-not-this]

Bitter Secrets | Part 9 Poor Foresight

tf141 x jack russel shifter reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: discrimination, violence, descriptions of illness and injuries, death and violence on the basis of discrimination, implied suicidal thoughts, brief mentions of torture

Summary: you never planned to reveal your identity to your team, however being trapped in a safe house with them for over a week may not allow you to keep your secrets hidden for much longer

A/N: this chapter was originally going to be a lot longer but i decided to split it in two which in theory means the next part will be out very soon... no promises though lol

Series Masterlist | main masterlist

Part 1 | Previous Part | Next Part coming soon...

The feeling of the humvee coming to a stop should bring some feeling of relief. You have been curled in the same position for what feels like the better part of a day and your limbs have been cramping for at least half of that time. However when you hear the rear doors swing open and then shut as both Gaz and Soap make a hasty disembark all you feel is the deep brewing a dread begin to coil in your gut. Back on base, at the mercy of your comrades. Exposed.

The door beside you swings open and Gaz is reaching toward you in an instant, but you don’t see Gaz, all you see is the hoard. Once again you are twenty two, desperate for your rifle, not a form of protection but instead a security that you can control the outcome before others have the chance. But you don’t have your rifle today. 

In truth it’s not your fault, they all should know better. A cornered dog always bites. 

This time when you lunge toward the fingers you don’t miss, teeth in flesh, blood in mouth and a sharp yell echoing from the startled man. The metallic taste is bitter upon your tongue, acidic, and it should make you draw away but instead you just sink your teeth in harder. Screaming. The sound of tearing flesh. A swarm of people. 

A hand pulls at your scruff, tugging you backward, lifting your front paws off the floor. Your bite on the palm releases immediately, focus shifting to ridding yourself of the hold on your neck. A high pitched yowl rips from your throat, ricocheting within the vehicle. The grip on you falters, and that’s all the opportunity you need to wrench free and launch yourself outside, slipping between the two figures by the door. Yelling follows as you sprint across the dirt, pounding footsteps in pursuit that only spur you to run faster. But you know you can’t run forever. You need somewhere to hide, someplace they can’t get to you, and when your eyes land on the broken paneling spanning the base of a nearby building you decide that is your best option. 

It’s a tight squeeze, the splintered wood scratching at your pelt as you force yourself through the small opening, but you do not slow even as it bites into your skin. The space beneath the building is dark, the ground covered with dirt and rock. Pipe work and beams span the area, making for a difficult maze of obstacles for any person to navigate through, but in this form it offers little trouble. The further you scramble, deeper into the abyss, the more the light diminishes until it is almost impossible to see. 

The sounds that had been following you are long gone now, unable to pursue you any further which allows you enough reassurance to finally still. It is only then that you notice the shakiness to your limbs, the tremble that travels across your body. Your lungs burn, chest heaving with each shallow breath you draw in. As the adrenaline withers and your heart slows all you are left with is exhaustion, unable to go on even if you wanted to. You fall heavily to the rough ground, legs extended as you lay on your side. Just a small rest, enough to recover, then you can think clearly. Sleep comes for you fast and unforgiving. 

You wake to the cool press of dirt against your cheek, dust filling your nose when you inhale sharply causing you to cough and wretch. Your head collides sharply with the wooden beam above you as you push yourself upright, vision spotting as your hand moves to cradle your now pounding skull. It takes a few moments to realise where you are, for the memories of hours prior to come flooding in all at once. Your throat is dry and scratchy, mouth parched after breathing in the dust for however long you have been down here. There’s a sharp pain in your back that flares each time you twist your torso and the taste of old blood in your mouth. 

It’s hard to move, limbs knocking with pipes and stones as you try to navigate toward the sliver of light you can see in the distance. The process is slow and tedious, often finding yourself coming to spaces too narrow to squeeze through and having to backtrack to find an alternate route. Getting in seemed like such an easy feat, you don’t understand why getting out suddenly poses such a problem. 

You find yourself breathing a small sigh of relief when the way out finally becomes clear in your line of sight, the same broken paneling you had slipped through earlier. However something seems wrong, the hole looks entirely too small to get through now. Your fingers trace along the gap, pulling at the wood to try and widen the opening, hoping the wood is loose enough to pry off. A sharp his leaves your mouth as a splinter lodges its way into your palm, and as you press the stinging skin against your teeth to try and pull the piece loose you finally realise why getting out is suddenly such a difficulty. Fingers. You have fingers. A quick glance down at your own body affirms the situation, you shifted back in your sleep. 

Your skin is covered with dirt, small scrapes covering your knees and shins from crawling over the rough ground and worst of all is your distinct lack of clothes. Two weeks ago if you had been told you would wake up cold, dirty and naked in a small dark space you would assume you had been taken captive, instead you just lay in the hole of your own making. With a growl of frustration you punch at the wood, dislodging a few planks. Not that it does you any good, even with space to crawl out you have no intention of stepping out into the open with your current appearance. 

You sink backward, leaning against one of the upright support beams with a sigh, tucking your knees to your chest. If the team wasn’t angry with you before you have no doubt they would be now, how the hell are you supposed to go back to them in this state. The sound of footsteps approaching pulls you from your thoughts, a shadow passing over the hole blocking the light from entering. Instinctively you curl in on yourself, drawing your legs closer in an attempt to stay hidden but the effort proves futile.

“Tha’ you sergeant?” Soap’s voice echoes toward you. 

There’s no use denying it, the man only needs to crouch down to be able to confirm his suspicion. You clear your throat lightly, voice coming out in a croak, “I’m here.”

The man is squatting down to get a better look at you in an instant, shifting to the side to allow some light through in order to make out your figure better in the dark. His eyes sweep over what you can only assume is a very rough view, a flutter of discomfort growing in your stomach at his scrutinisation.

 “Ya’ shifted back,” he says, tone laced with surprise.

“Yeah,” you tighten your arms around your legs, trying to shield yourself the best you can. After a few quiet moments you murmur out a soft request, voice cracking as you do, “could you get me some clothes please.”

Soap stares at you for a tense second, the churning in your gut only increasing until finally he offers a stiff nod. He stands quickly, disappearing from sight. You can hear his brisk footsteps fade away until finally they disappear completely and you are left hoping that he does indeed come back with only the clothes and not the entity of the 141 on his heels. 

Taglist: @yrdax1s @mrwagster @bemeochii @f0rtunej @pinkkyangel @brebob @jason-vs-crowbar @sgt-artemis-owl-riley @whitetiger846 @probablydeadbynowdotcom @rinkashirikitateku @kaoyamamegami @drmuy @lunar-atlantis @bean-mom420 @ilovecatss10 @woahzerzzz @spacelia @weird-brain666-reblog @motzglorp @entr4p3 @masterocelot58 @pickles-the-jackalope @wowtheuniverse @morbiddog @astreaaries @lurn05 @celleryxo @fairly-feral @xxeiraxx @jessigurl-design  @naruka9015

Dividers by @pixopix

[crashingcryptid]

Simon doesn't slip into baby space often. Ever really. It's the most vulnerable he's ever felt in his life, and that terrified him until he met you.

"Hi baby." You whisper as you lean over his crib bars. Simon was way too big for you to lift, but Kyle was always willing to help out. He was the only other person Simon trusted because you trusted him. "Have you been awake long? Hmm? You didn't fuss for me at all."

Simon lets out a little grunt, popping his wet fingers out of his mouth to reach up for you. "Oooh, what a silly boy." You coo softly as Kyle steps beside you and lowers the crib bars. Simon kept them in big space, too. Soft bars, sturdy, and kept him safe when he had nightmares or tossed around at night.

"Up we go, big guy." Kyle coos as he scoops him up onto his hip, laying him down on the change table. "You stink, buddy. We have to clean you up." You change the sheets of Simon's bed since he never did it when he was aged up, getting him a new onesie to wear.

Simon starts fussing the moment he's dressed again, hungry for a bottle and a cuddle from you. "Oh, I know, I know hungry boy." Kyle chuckles as he carries Simon to the living room. You settle into the recliner, taking all of Simon's weight onto your lap. "I'll go get your bottle."

Simon settles down when he's in your arms, his eyes tracing your face with soft little coos. "Hi, sweetheart. I'm here." He gives you a small smile, patting your face clumsily with his still wet hand. "I'll take care of you, okay? Just like you take care if me."

[machveil]

couldn’t sleep, was plagued by a König vision✍🏼🫩

[theorist-fox]

when you move, i move

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!reader

18+

CWs: smut! medications & side effects, low libido, subtly touches themes of depression. porn is being watched during sex. this is like two smut fics into one lmao

CoD Masterlist | Main Masterlist

"Do you want to watch porn together?"

Never a dull moment with you, he thinks. Always full of surprises. The way you sprinkle excitement and spice in his slow, boring life is the only thing that keeps him afloat.

And Simon can confidently say that this is the least bored he’s ever been with you.

He's learned to school his expression into place; however, not even years of duty can mask the curious quirk of his brow. He shifts on the sofa, propping one ankle over the opposite knee. One arm rests on the backrest of the couch, fingers thrumming against the leather.

Your eyes fall onto his other hand, sitting atop his thigh. 

He nods with his chin. "Run tha' by me again?"

You stand barefoot on the carpet. Loose shorts and an old tank top that has stretched out from one too many washes. The nibble of your lip tells him that you're ready to eat your words as soon as he questions them. The same goes for the way you're tormenting the cuticle on your thumb.

But he's interested. Fucking hell, this is the most intrigued he's been in ages.

"Porn?" He inquires the moment you open your mouth to most likely take everything back.

You close your lips with a pop and look at the ceiling, trying to force the heat collected on your cheeks to dissipate—flow southward perhaps, where it's not a bother but a welcome feeling instead.

But then you clear your throat. Straighten your spine. "Yes, porn."

Simon echoes you, enunciating the word. "Porn."

"Porn."

He nods, the corners of his lips curving in a smirk.

"With me?"

You tongue your cheek, eyes sharp. "Did I stutter?"

He pinches the air in front of his face. "A little."

But he must have taken it a step too far, because you're suddenly rolling your eyes and huffing. 

"Right. I shouldn't have asked—" You mutter, turning on your heels.

Simon's got quick hands. One of them reaches forward and grabs your wrist, pulling you in. You stumble between his legs, big thighs now parted for you to stand comfortably before him. 

His eyes soften, then, only because he can tell you've taken pains to summon the courage to ask him such a curious thing.

Simon rests the back of his head against the couch to look up at you. Instead of finding your eyes, however, he sees your profile—stubbornly, you're forcing yourself to look at everything but him.

"M'sorry, alrigh'?" He rumbles. The tip of his finger finds your jaw, and he gently steers you to face him. "Took me off guard is all."

The line between your brows deepens, sudden worry branching through your features. Though when his finger on your jawline turns into a palm cradling your cheek, you sigh, leaning into his hand.

And as your body softens, your tongue loosens, too.

"I just—" You bite your lip, nibbling at the flecks of dry skin. Once again, your eyes dart around, as if the firmness you need is stuck somewhere in the furniture of the house.

He grounds you again, this time with a light tap of his fingers. 

You rub your forehead in frustration. "Ever since they upped the dosage of my meds, I—we—"

You don't need to finish the sentence for him to understand where you're getting at. 

Yes, you haven't fucked in months. He’d wager it’s been at least two, maybe three, and the last thoroughly satisfying fuck he’s had with you goes back to a couple of days prior to that fated doctor’s appointment. It’s not the longest break, and he’s aware. Fucking hell, before he met you, he could’ve gone years without getting his dick wet. He has gone through years of solitude, in fact.

Though it’s you that he misses. Fucking you senseless. Eating you out. It’s the taste of your skin, not the taste of skin itself. It’s the scent that nestles in the creases of your neck, not the smell of sex.

Most people would say that, in such cases, they don’t remember the last time they had sex. Simon, however, does. He remembers it quite vividly, actually. Nothing can erase from his mind the picture you paint when you’re feeling good—when he’s making you feel good.

He misses it. Misses you. He’s human, after all.

But he likes you with that smile. Likes you proper happy. Likes you healthy, hungry, and then sated. Likes you laughing at jokes, at life. Likes the fight that’s suddenly surged within you. The need for control in a life that left you without it. 

He misses it, true, but he likes you alive.

And nothing will ever change his stance on that.

His other hand brushes your thigh with the back of his knuckles.

“Go on,” he murmurs.

“Well, I—I can’t stop this—” You gesture vaguely at your stomach, as if it’s there where it all festers. “—Sense of guilt. I feel guilty, alright? I—I know you’ll say I shouldn’t—”

“Aye, you shouldn’t.”

“—But,” you interject, pointing a finger at him. “I still do.”

“Love,” he insists, but not unkindly. “Won’t fuck you outta guilt, yeah? You gotta want it.”

“I do!” You whine, lightly stomping your foot against the carpet in frustration. “I swear I do! I just—"

You rip your cheek out of his touch. His hand falls to your other thigh, then, no matter how reluctantly, just to give you space.

“I—I don’t think I remember how to feel like I do anymore,” your voice cracks. “I hate it. I hate how I can’t control it anymore.”

Simon falls still. Stays silent, waiting for you to get to the point of your reasoning. No sense in stopping you when, clearly, you’ve been trying so hard to tell him what feelings have been festering inside you.

You take in a steadying breath, smoothing your hands down your shirt. 

“And I thought, you know, maybe porn can help me. Maybe it can make me horny.”

He nods, urging you to go on. His hands on you, slow and grounding, draw mindless shapes.

“But it’s weird to… get ready for it.” You cinch your shoulders. “I don’t want to watch some porn in the bathroom waiting to get wet only to find you after, because—because it literally takes a walk from the loo to the bedroom that it’s just… gone.”

Simon thinks about it. 

It would be odd, he doesn’t deny that. Doesn’t know what you like to watch when he’s deployed. Then, it feels wrong to look at another person while he’s fucking you. Doesn’t care much about other people and those fake moans, or selfish ones and their plastic performances. 

You’ve got a few videos you both took when drunk or when trying to spice it up a little. Perhaps those? 

He knows he’s got one of you that he can’t get tired of. 

You’re lying on your front as he pounds into you, pretty ass wiggling against his crotch whenever he stops. The phone is propped up on the pillow, its back leaning against the headboard. The shot shows your face first, then the curve of your spine. Your ass pressed to the V of his stomach, bouncing round and soft.

He put the phone there, even as you insisted it’d be better if both of you were in the frame. But he was stubborn, asked to have something to look at when he’s away, and he joked about how he’s not a fan of his ugly mug.

“Can’t have a wank an’ look at this mug now, can I.”

Your face, mainly. That’s what he likes to watch. Brows pulled tight, eyes hooded, mouth agape. White paints the knuckle of his hand as it fists your hair, forcing your head back. Then, there’s you. The uncomfortable and jagged curve of your neck, your tendons bulging at the sides, the veins that branch out from your collarbones and find root at your jawline.

Fuck, the sounds you make. Those strained breaths that stroke your vocal cords like you’re an instrument—moans clipped and sharp, rhythmic with the pistoning of his hips. 

Oh, the groan of your first orgasm. The whites of your eyes eating up your pupils. The curve of your mouth, a pained smile that trembles, unsure whether to cry out or laugh blissfully. 

It’s your voice that brings him back. His eyes focus on you once again, redefining the lines of your shape.

He must have stayed quiet for a bit too long, because the worried look on your face starts withering into something even worse, something like rejection.

“We could watch anything,” you provide nervously, rubbing your palms against your thighs. “Your favourites, maybe? Do you have any? I don’t know, you can take the lead on that—on everything, actually. I—I need to—”

With a frustrated sigh, you run a hand down the back of your neck. “I need to feel like you want to fuck me. I—I want to feel like I want to have sex again. I want to be in control of it.”

Your chest heaves. “Please tell me I’m making sense.”

Fucking hell. It would be odd, true, but fuck odd.

Your brows pinch. “It’s okay if you don’t wa—"

“I got an idea.”

“This isn’t what I had in mind,” you blabber breathlessly.

Simon’s fingers are buried inside you. The video is muted because you asked. 

“Met you halfway, didn’t I?”

His phone sits propped against the headboard, the lower margin hidden beneath the hills and curls of the pillowcase. The light is dim in the bedroom, similarly to how it looks on his phone. He’s got you with your stomach pressed against the mattress, just like in that video. The only thing keeping your head from slipping against the bed is his fist, holding firmly onto your locks.

“But I—” You choke when his knuckles brush your clit. “—I don’t like to look at myself.”

Simon cracks his neck, tilting it side to side. 

“S’porn, innit?” 

You groan. “God, Simon—”

“You asked for my favourite,” he rumbles. “There y’go.”

There’s a slow, accommodating fashion in the movements of his hand. Languid strokes given with two fingers, sometimes slipping out to smear your wetness down your slit, brushing featherlight on your clit. 

“But this won’t make me horny,” you whine, though there’s a telltale weakness in your statement that doesn’t manage to mask the lie.

Greedy eyes eat what his mouth still can’t. The sweat collecting on your temples, the slope of your nose and the curve of your mouth—lips pouting, teeth sinking into the flesh to silence yourself. Shy thing. You’ve never been one, but he reckons there’s nothing wrong with a change of pace, every once in a while.

He parts your folds with his fingers and gulps harshly when the thick sound of your wetness reaches his ears. Proved yourself wrong, there.

“Won’t it?”

He’s kneeling on top of you, knees digging into the mattress on either side of your thighs. The video is not what he focuses on, though. He’s got better things to admire. The angles of your shoulder blades, the indents of your muscles as they tense, and the sweet dip of your spine. Where it hollows and where it ends—two tiny dimples crowning the plump of your ass. 

Fuck you’re a painting, aren’t you?

“Look at yourself,” he drawls, forcing your eyes to the screen with a tug of your hair. “Look at how good you were feelin’, mh?”

The little whine that escapes you matches the clench of your pussy around his fingers. Gladly, he realises that you’re not cutting off the blood flow of his hand, but instead you’re opening up to him, feeling much softer than when he first entered you.

For a brief second, his eyes flicker to the screen.

There’s the pretty curl of your lips as you look up at him, subjecting your neck to bend in an uncomfortable arch, though his face is out of frame. You go a little cross-eyed, right there, as your smirk turns into a beautiful smile—all teeth and wrinkled nose. 

The video keeps rolling, and after a heartbeat, you offer your tongue. From the top of the screen, a rope of spit falls and lands directly on it, and he watches as you drink it down. 

The soft bob of your throat, the delighted grin it follows, the mouthed “thank you”.

Simon’s cock sits above your ass. It hangs heavy with blood and gleaming at the tip, aching to be touched. His balls feel painfully tight, and if he ventures and grinds down between your cheeks, he might finish before this thing even starts.

His fingers switch, moving from inside you to lightly tap at your clit. Deliberately slow, circling around your clit to unsheathe it and leave the most sensitive part to his mercy whenever he glides down.

You suck in a breath.

Gentle touches wake up your body, skin rushing with waves of shivers that tiptoe up your spine. 

“Can—can you do that?”

Simon’s pads slide forward, from your clit to the curls on your pelvis, slipping easily with the wetness collected on his pads. Back and forth, until the tautness in your thighs melts away into the sheets underneath.

“Do what, swee’heart?” 

Shyly, you look up. Your neck cranes backwards in a mimicry of that same painful curve he’s witnessed time and time again.

Your lashes flutter up to him. “Can you spit in my mouth like that?”

And it goes straight to his cock.

Don’t need to tell him twice.

The hand in your hair slowly releases its grip, and by the way your moan comes, breathless and aching, he can tell the sting it left must have added to your pleasure. His fingers grasp your jaw, digging into your cheeks. 

Shifting forward, Simon aligns his mouth with yours from above.

“Open up.”

You blink, doe-eyed and bashful. Lick your lips and nibble at the flakes of dry skin, pondering for a moment, before you heed his order and part your mouth for him, letting your tongue loll down your chin.

Simon’s eyes roll back. 

His throat is parched, and he wonders how the fuck he will spit in your mouth when you managed to dry out his tongue with just a look.

Nevertheless, he summons the strength and purses his lips, letting a rope of spit fall slowly onto your tongue.

He watches your nostrils flare in anticipation. Your brows as they flutter when it lands. How you seem to savour it when you swallow. How you find his face again in your stupor, with your eyes smothered under the dark veil of lust.

His cock grows tighter when you smile.

“Thank you,” you mouth, licking your lips as if you might taste more of him again.

Simon’s left breathless as you repeat your own words, and he has to summon all his strength not to spear you with his cock right then and there. He genuinely wants to pace himself, but you look so fucking appetising that he just craves to have a taste. He should give you time to adjust, space to settle—he shouldn’t devour you with his mouth.

He should, should, should. Should be better. Should be softer. Should be—

I need to feel like you want to fuck me.

Simon’s heart comes to an abrupt stop.

He should, should, should—

—give you more. 

Show you how he wants to fuck you, like you asked, instead of going at a slow, far-fetched pace. He was never one to sit down and have a feast patiently. Simon’s hungry, he’s always been. To merely nibble on supper would feel artificial, plainly wrong.

And above everything, Simon wants you. 

He leans down and smashes his lips to yours. 

The sound of clacking teeth almost swallows your gasp, but the surprise is short-lived—promptly replaced with the same kind of hunger, only delivered more tentatively.

His kiss is hungry and unrestrained. His teeth sink into your lip before launching again, smearing spit down your chin. You taste like you. Of mint and sugar. Herbs from the tea you shared, sweet because of the biscuits you dipped in yours, even as he grimaced at the sight. 

It’s the taste of you. The feel of your skin.

The growing warmth of your cheeks as his stubble irritates them, the slick of your tongue as it dances with his.

Your palm lands harshly at the nape of his neck, grasping blindly until it clutches around a handful of hair. Your fingers wander and grab, nails scratching his scalp and sending shivers down his spine. Now that your hand isn’t supporting your weight anymore, you’re using him as leverage—pulling down his head and further smashing his mouth against yours.

Simon’s hand around your throat tightens just slightly.

“Remember tha’?” He purrs, lips to lips. Then, he steers your face to look ahead, where the video keeps rolling.

And you’re so diligent, following his lead. “Yes.” 

“Mh,” he rumbles. “Felt good, didn’t it?”

The swell of your ass grinds against his cock. Simon kisses his teeth, jaw tight in the effort to keep himself sane.

“Yes.”

His offhand reaches down to the base of his cock. Slaps the head against the curve of your ass once, twice.

“Wanna cum on my cock like that?” He murmurs, reaching down to lick the shell of your ear. You shiver. “Wanna feel like tha’ again?”

You wiggle underneath him, letting out the smallest whine. Shy thing, you. That’s one of the things that has changed. He’s always loved the bite of your teeth, the cut of your tongue. Loved the leash you put on him, how it revealed his need for control for what it truly was—mere, unfettered fear. Shackles he thought were keeping him safe, when they were only locking him up in a cage of his own making.

He recognises that same trait within you, now. Recognises, also, how you’re trying to be rid of it. 

It’s why he’s more than delighted to understand that you're fighting against those chains—forever his clever, clever girl.

He narrowly misses your hand reaching forward to press the buttons on the side of his phone.

Your voice fills the room.

“Oh fuck,” you groan.

Simon’s hand has your hair in a brutal grip, pulling you back until all the phone can record are the angles of your jaw and the sharpness of your collarbones. His chest peeks from above, glistening with sweat and ruddy in blotches.

Your ragged moans are punched out of your lips by the rhythmic snap of his hips. Thrust after thrust framed by the slap of skin and his voice—some raucous, crackling thing that rips from his chest, claws and all.

“Like tha’, pet,” he snarls. “Fuckin’ take it.”

And you nod, sweet thing. You nod dumbly as you smile up at him. Your tits hang and bounce as the raw force of his hold lifts your chest from the bed. One last pull, tight and strong, turns those moans into one sharp yell. 

His grin is unseen but clearly plastered in his tone. “Y’liked that, uh?”

Another tug, another helpless moan. 

“Ah fuck, yer close,” he chuckles. The wet squelches of your pussy ratchet up in volume as he thrusts in, over and over, picking up the pace. “Listen to tha’. Yer gonna cum, love?”

The lower half of his face pops into frame from above, only to land a kiss on the crown of your head.

“Can feel ya getting’ tight.” His lips brush your skin. “Go on, sweet girl.”

Before leaving the grip in your hair. 

“Cum on my fuckin’ cock—"

Your face hits the pillow with a groan that drowns in linen. The phone falls, now recording the ceiling. No one bothers to pick it up again.

“Fuck me,” you heave. “Fuck me like that again, baby.”

Simon has to close his eyes and inhale to get himself back in line.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He kisses his teeth. “C’mere.”

He pulls your head back once again. Kisses you until his lips feel numb. Right beneath him, you keep chanting your plea like he isn’t about to give in already.

“Fuck me, baby,” you mumble to his mouth, on and on without rest. “Please fuck me. I—I want to feel you inside me, please. Please.”

I want to feel like I want to have sex again.

“I want it,” you whimper. “I want you.”

Blood pulses from the base of his cock all the way to the tip. He can feel the shockwaves seizing his limbs when he presses it to your cunt, sliding it up and down your slick until he’s drenched in it.

He kisses your temple. Moves upwards to the back of your head, safely cradling your jaw in his palm.

“Missed it, haven’t ya,” he purrs by your ear. His cock enters an inch. “Feel tha’?”

He’s never been this hard in his life—never been this turned on either. 

You must realise it too. Words fail you, but your voice doesn’t. It crackles through your lips with a moan that shatters on his palm.

“Missed you too, pet.”

He’s barely been inside you, and if he doesn’t truly, really, focus, he’ll ram his cock and come so fucking deep you’ll drip for days.

Suddenly, the thought feels more tempting than wrong. 

“Yer gonna take it, yeah?” He grunts, moving forward with his hips. “Gonna take it like a good fuckin’ girl.”

A pleasing sob. “Please.”

With a groan, Simon gives in.

Not a sound leaves your lips. He can feel them open up against his hand, choking on air, and that is all you yield as he pushes in. The rest tightens into one euphoric knot at the base of his throat, cutting off each intake of air. 

In a swift motion, Simon buries his cock to the hilt, hips flush to your ass. His head collapses against you, mouth to your shoulder, and peppers kisses all over its curve. When he pulls back, the first stroke after months sends his brain into a frenzy. His teeth sink into your neck, growling like the famished beast that he is—

One you tame with your hand in his hair, tightening the grip to settle him.

“Oh my fucking—" Words tumble out of your mouth in a strained whimper. “Fuck it feels so good. Move. Move, please move—”

Simon’s mouth opens against your neck. His tongue licks a path from your thundering heart to the shell of your ear, where he tries to focus. 

It’s the smell of you. The floral of your shampoo and the sourness of sweat. The butter of your face cream and the ginger of perfume.

“I got you, pet,” he croaks, as his heart suddenly ties itself in a knot. “I got you.”

You’re incomparable. Fit like a glove, you do. Adjusting to him in the blink of an eye, already heaving like he stole the air from your lungs—though he’s just started, and considering the desperation of your hands, he reckons you’re far from done, too.

He’s deliberately slow, savouring each second that passes—but sometimes he slips, and thrusts in a little harder. Apologises with his lips down your neck, turning your hiss into the softest sigh. Thumbs your waist with the hand fisting the sheets, also the only thing preventing him from collapsing on top of you. 

You find his fingers and twine them with yours. 

The only sound he hears is the one coming from the video, the screen now flush to the pillow. It fell at some point. He never bothered to check when.

His groans, the slap of skin, your pleas as you come—

“Fuck,” you pant, hissing through your teeth. “Ngh—keep going. God, plea—keep going—”

“Yeah?” His voice purrs. “Fuckin’ feel that—Christ yer dripping.”

Your breath picks up, ricochets in the bedroom as another orgasm stalks closer.

“M’gonna come again—”

“Go on then,” he rumbles. “Do it, love. Cum all over me.”

Abruptly, your fingers reach for his phone and lock it. The echo of your moans is cut short, and so are his grunts. For a second, his tinnitus manages to shroud the lack of sounds.  

But then, there’s the quiet stagger of your breathing that breaches past, poking a hole through the cotton stuffing his ears. The creaking of the bedframe follows. How his movements make the springs moan under his weight. 

The wet of your nose nuzzles his cheek. “I missed you.” 

Your fingers relent the grip in his hair, hand falling down to cup his cheek instead. 

“I missed you.”

It’s said so wistfully that Simon, for a moment, feels entirely out of his depth.

He kisses the shell of your ear before guiding your gaze to point his way. Glossy eyes find him, thinly veiled with gratitude. He almost melts then and there. You got him wrapped around your finger, bow and all.

“I love you,” you say, placing your lips on his. “I love you so much.”

Simon’s chest grows tight.

He can feel those words take hold of his heart. Squeeze it bloody, only to travel southward and tighten around the base of his cock, too. In a stutter, his hips falter, and he has to come to a standstill if he doesn’t want this to end so abruptly.

“Christ,” he mutters, “Yer killing me, pet.”

The smoothness of your teeth brushes his lips as you smile. “Mh. And we don’t want that.”

He buries his nose in the crook of your neck and inhales the flowers, the butter and the herbs. The ginger, the sweat and the biscuits.

“Aye, we don’t,” he sighs.

Your tongue licks a stripe across his mouth. “But I love you.”

Simon groans. “Yer a cheeky fuckin’—”

He pulls back and slams in again, as if to chastise you, but it isn’t received as punishment at all. In fact, it spurs you on—you moan into his mouth and put him under your spell. A chant, continuous, of endless I love yous that peel off the layers that make him.

Simon finally gives in. He’s missed you, too.

He collapses on top of you, punching a gasp from your mouth as your whole body is enveloped by his. His arm snakes under your belly, and you favour him by lifting your hips. The angle has him hit somewhere deeper, and you shatter beneath him. Your throat cracks a groan, soaked by the pillow, and finally, you let go when his fingers find your clit.

“Missed you,” he croaks in your ear. 

His pace picks up. 

“Missed this voice ‘ere.” His mouth latches onto your neck. “Missed yer fuckin’ taste. Missed this fuckin’ cunt.”

Doesn’t care about the strain in his spine and the burn of his calves, not when your moans start growing louder and wetter.

“Fuckin’—” He stutters. “Love ya. Wanna fuck you every day—”

Your slick rolls out of you thick as liquor for each thrust, coating his fingers. Two, at first. Then three, gliding smoothly from side to side over the tight knot of your clit. 

“When yer knackered, when yer cooking, when yer in the fucking shop an’ bend over to pick up some shite—”

“Oh fuck, Simon—keep going—”

“—Fuck, yer made f’me. Naked or not. I always want you. I do.”

“I’m—oh fuck—I’m gonna come—”

And he can fucking feel it. 

“That’s it, pet. Give it to me.”

Your body seizes at first, taut as a bowstring. And then, you bloom. 

Wave after wave, rippling against him with your whole being. Even as cramped as you are, crowded under the weight of him, you fuck him through your ecstasy. Push your ass backwards to ride him for all his worth. 

And Simon is entirely helpless, so entranced by the pulsing of your cunt around his cock that he barely realises how he’s coming, too. It’s all it took, really. To feel you clutch at his hair with your fingers, to have you fight for control—steal it from the tight grip of his hands. 

His teeth sink into the soft flesh of your neck, groaning when his release wrecks him from within. Feels your pulse ratchet up under his tongue, your stutters as they bubble up your throat as you wordlessly beg for him to want you, to love you.

As he silently gives it all to you. All you ask, and more.

Eventually, you fall still. The tightness of your muscles melts. All the effort of your movement turns into mere, occasional twitching as adrenaline leaves your bloodstream.

You’re soft again. Turning your head on the pillow to find him, resting with his cheek right by your side. 

“I missed you,” you say wetly. “I’m sorry.”

Simon brushes his nose against yours. 

He knows how that type of guilt feels—the misplaced one, the one with no reason to be there at all. It festers within your stomach and doesn’t care about the damage it yields, because it’s not how it operates. 

It’s unfounded. Still, he knows words won’t be able to quell the heartache.

But Simon sees what you still can’t. It takes balls to survive a life you don’t want anymore. He knows a thing or two about that. Swam in his own ocean of shit. 

Still, he watched you take control back in your hands. You asked for help and crafted a new life that fits you better and patched the wounds left by the one you once led. You witnessed yourself burst at the seams and decided that it was time to pick up the needle.

That requires an incomparable amount of courage.

Simon knows it well. Still bears the scars to prove it.

“Don’t gotta be,” he whispers. “Proud of ya.”

Your eyes widen. Open the faucet, too. The glittering rim left by your orgasm turns into a river. Tears cascade from the corners of your eyes and branch above the bridge of your nose, down your temple, into your hair.

“For what?” You chuckle dismissively. “Having sex?”

But Simon kisses your nose instead. Offers a lovely smile he hasn’t granted in a while. 

“Yeah,” he concedes, because you need time. “Tha’ too.”

Your giggle is refreshing and genuine, though a bit strangled. He realises only then that you’ve been crushed underneath his weight all this time, so he props himself on his elbows. You sigh, wiggling to turn around in the cramped space between his chest and the bedsheets, until your eyes are aligned with his.

Your lashes are clumped, sticking to one another with dewdrops of happiness. They flutter when you look up at his face.

“Thank you,” you say. “For being here. For being proud of me.”

Always. 

Simon leans down and breathes a kiss on your forehead.

“There ain’t a day that goes by that I’m not.”

[ilylovelyz]

no person on earth could degrade you more than what you've already been doing yourself for the past two hours you've been fixating on the orange pill bottle in front of you. your leg seemingly has a mind of it's own, bouncing up and down anxiously as your mind ruminates through all the possibilities, solutions, ideas—whatever you could think of, even extreme hypotheticals, like throwing yourself down the stairs, and borderline wishes, like waking up from this terrible dream—anything that could possibly save you from this nauseating dilemma.

the shame is never ending, beginning when the two pink lines appeared on the test and intensifying tenfold when you called a clinic for a consultation, and when you went to that clinic, the shame morphed into self-loathing. you'd never thought you'd be one of those girls. you swore up and down to mama, when you told her you wanted to join the military, that you'd be safe, and careful. not indulge with men, focus on your duty and get the hell out of there. for the benefits.

chewing on your brittle fingernail, you cringe at the judging looks the nurses at the clinic gave you when you ultimately decided to end it by pills. so much for a judge-free environment. luckily, you noticed the symptoms early enough, only seven weeks, and was able to avoid the more... painful solution. you know that it's childish, to not want to say that word. but you can't help it, not when everytime you think of popping the cap, instantly he flashes across your mind.

he, as in simon. the man who you mistakenly let cum inside of you on multiple different occasions. someone you can't even call your lover, not even a friend. teammates, he called it—but what teammates fancy in regular intense, intimate sex? you're both infamous for making out a lot and not talking about what's supposed to be at the very heart of things.

he's more than that to you, always has been, but you can't indulge in that fairy tale like a little girl anymore. someones dna combined with yours and created an entirely new living cell, right underneath your fingertips, underneath the soft fat of your tummy. it's here. inside of you. no running away could make it go away, and you're a grown woman. you can't call mama to help you, tracie your best friend, or your big sister lucy.

you were dead-set on an abortion to save your future, until a nurse at the clinic reviewed the substitutions to you before you left. "does the father know?" the question pissed you off, why would simon know? he doesn't care. he's had you on delivered since last tuesday and it's wednesday a whole week after. until the question began to repeat to you like a haunting chorus in the days you waited for the prescription to be available.

when you first asked yourself, should i tell him? you immediately slapped yourself. fuck no you don't tell him, you're an independent, strong woman. you're sure he doesn't want kids. he'd probably tell you to abort it too. you remember once, while sharing a cigarette with him after sex, you tried asking him if he wanted children, to get married. what his plans were after the military. what he wished for in life—but he only refused to look at you, scoffed, shook his head and snatched the cigarette from your fingers. "focus on the present, not the future," he said it so professionally, so distantly. it almost broke your heart, a pro-dreamer like you couldn't imagine not having a plan, but you figured it made sense for a guy like simon to think that way.

you wish this concern comes out of mere courtesy but it pulls on your heartstrings, brings you to tears whenever it pops into your head. what if this thing was meant to be? what if this is a sign? will you ever have a chance to do this again? do you tell simon? what if this could bring you two together, forever?

at that, bittersweet pepto bismol bubbles up your throat, and you're only given mere seconds to react and dash towards the kitchen trashcan, emptying out your earlier dinner into it. when you manage to sit back up, tears are already running down your cheeks.

you remind yourself, you're only teammates.

the ache in your belly doesn't help the pain in your head, so into fetal position on the kitchen floor you go. you sob, and ask yourself the same question over and over again. if simon can make out with you, contemplate where he's come from with you, talk about nothing while doing it all with you, then maybe.. he'd raise a child with you.