cw/tw: reader is tenakth, reader has body and pubic hair, reader is implied to be mid/late twenties, reader eats meat and drinks alcohol, reader swims, size difference, (barely mentioned childhood) friends to lovers, semi slow burn, unprotected sex, brief mentions of kotallo’s injuries and resulting physical scars, slightly follows canon, horizon forbidden west spoilers
Snow begins to fall heavier, you’ve got to be careful with your steps now. There’s no way you’re going to let Kotallo win another spar because of a slip.
Dodge, duck and roll away from the training spear flying towards you, try to stab at his side then try not to feel frustrated when you don’t manage to hit your mark. As good as he is, you’re familiar enough with his moves to anticipate the feint to the right and ignore it. Both your chests rise and fall heavily as you circle each other, adjusting the weight of your spears in almost identical ways.
“C’mon,” you whisper under your breath.
A small smile tugs at your lips when you see him shift his weight right before he pounces. You manage to block the real strike but the minor victory doesn’t last— Kotallo dips and swings his leg under you. Your breath is knocked out of you when your back slams onto the ground, snow seems to purposefully crawl under your armor and shock you with cold. Kotallo seizes the opportunity without hesitation and kicks away your spear before he places the tip of his own beneath your chin, his knee on your stomach holding you down. The blunt training wood digs into your throat when you try to wiggle out from under him but you don’t move much, he keeps you pinned with a grunt.
“Yield,” he commands, voice even and firm.
Your heartbeat rushes in your ears as you growl, reluctant to accept defeat. A few scenarios flit through your mind but each one still ends with him winning. Even knowing that, you kick your legs up and out in a last ditch attempt to throw him off. He doesn’t budge beyond pressing more weight onto you.
A frustrated half scream bubbles up from your throat, “I yield.”
A few whooping cheers ring out from around the edge of the training pit as Kotallo relents. One of your squadmates playfully jeers from the sidelines, you just roll your eyes and brush snow off yourself as you sit up, grateful to have Kotallo’s weight off your stomach. You look up at him and find his arm outstretched for you to take. He lifts an eyebrow and patiently waits, both of you pointedly ignoring the calls from around the pit when you reach up for him. You grab each other's forearm then he pulls you up into his space, suddenly chest to chest as you try to catch your breath.
“Well fought,” he’s close enough for you to count the snowflakes on his lashes, “You’re getting better.”
You tilt your chin up and squeeze his arm, “Next time I’ll beat you.”
Kotallo lets you go with a firm pat on the shoulder, “I look forward to it.”
— — —
You spend more of your time than you’d like to admit thinking about his eyelashes, snow covered or otherwise.
There’s little time for romance, especially during the throes of the Red Raids of days past, but you can’t deny you’ve carried a torch for him for years. You’re not sure when it began, maybe as far back as when you’d been assigned the same squad as children. He took up training a year before you and now you’ve spent over a decade later fighting side by side, you suppose it’s only natural for one of you to feel like this. Pining, your brain supplies. You wrinkle your nose at yourself, but it’s exactly what you’re doing. Daydreaming and reminiscing and pining, and you’ve been doing it for years.
An owl suddenly bursting from the trees pulls you out of your head and you continue with your patrol. You’ll have to make your way back to the Bulwark for the party soon, but you’re in no mood to celebrate. Soon you’ll have to say goodbye to the very man you wish to hold close.
— — —
The Sky Clan’s celebrations may be considered modest by Tenakth standards but the festivities are always enjoyable, just enough beer passed around to make anyone have a decent time. Not that you can let yourself get wrapped up in the festivities, too much going through your head.
Tekotteh makes some pompous speech, cheers and whoops ring out as the warriors selected to go to the Kulrut are called out, Kotallo’s name among them. You have reason to suspect Tekotteh’s true intentions for sending Kotallo to the Kulrut aren’t exactly savory but you’ve decided to hold your tongue on the matter. You would not ruin this honor for him, even if it is most likely a farce the Sky Clan’s cowardly leader is using to get rid of a possible dissident. You can pretend for one more night even if it pains you greatly to be forced, for the first time in your life, to be separated from your best friend.
It’s easy to find him, even if he isn’t among the crowd. Kotallo always runs off to the same place, and you find him where you always do.
“You shouldn’t be leaving your own party.”
Kotallo doesn’t startle but that’s to be expected, “It is not my party.”
Undeterred, you join him in leaning over the stone overlooking everything and everyone. It’s far enough to make everyone a little out of focus, especially with the snow, but still close enough to hear the music and people’s voices.
“I brought you something,” you offer, touching the stein to his knuckles, “To celebrate.”
After a brief moment of deliberation, he accepts it with a nod. He takes a long, deep sip then sighs, satisfied, “Thank you.”
The silence that falls over you is comfortable, lived in and easy. You scooch a little closer to drop your head on his shoulder. There’s a bit of paint around his wrist that’s lifting, baring the smallest bit of skin to you, something that feels painfully intimate. To distract yourself, you drink.
The beer in your cup disappears quickly and leaves you tipsy and warm beneath the collar. Something foolish lingers on your mind, slowly making its way down to settle heavy on your tongue. You stand up straight and move slightly away from Kotallo, leaving a breadth of space for the cold to creep in and sober you up.
“It’s getting late,” you say.
Kotallo nods once but doesn’t offer any more. You decide to leave, to allow him the space he needs to prepare, but he grasps your arm when you turn away, pulling you back towards him as his fingers smudge the paint in the crease of your elbow. You ignore your heart’s heavy thumping in your chest when you spot the bare patch of skin on his bottom lip, feeling absurd to focus on something so small. You’re sure he’s about to kiss you, for a heartbeat you think he’s moving forward, leaning in— someone below shrieks and both your heads whip toward the sound.
“You'll do well by the Chief,” you tell him to break the tension when you face each other again. The words fly out of your mouth in a hurry but it’s honest, at least.
Kotallo huffs and lets your arm go, “I am not yet a Marshal.”
“You will be,” and you mean it. All the sadness you feel is only for the distance about to separate you two, you have no doubt in his skills, you have no doubt he’ll survive the Kulrut.
Kotallo gestures vaguely with his cup before he takes another long sip, silent agreement as to not seem cocky.
“We will meet again soon,” you assure him and press the back of your knuckles against his arm where it rests on the stone, “Make no mistake about that.”
The corner of his lips tick up and you count it as a victory.
— — —
For all your confidence in him, you can't seem to fully relax until you know he’s survived the Kulrut, you feel his absence like a wound in your ribs. And of course, he succeeds at the Kulrut, an honor that tastes bitter in your mouth. You ache to follow him into the marsh, the Bulwark feels colder without him beside you, but you aren't given permission to leave, no one is. Tekotteh’s paranoia and cowardice has finally barred everyone but the scouts from leaving his sight.
But one day some clever soldiers escape the leader's tightly clenched fist, spirited away into the night to join the other clans after news of an Embassy. You’ve dreamed of joining them ever since they departed, of seeing Kotallo bathed in warm sunlight. Tonight’s familiar dream does not last long. Someone on your squad shakes you awake with an urgency you haven’t felt since the Red Raids. You can see it in their eyes, something’s not right.
The sun has barely begun to rise but the Bulwark is buzzing and awake, conflicting news being shouted and whispered— something about the Embassy gone wrong, blood spilled at Barren Light. Your heart is in your throat at the first news of the Marshals, all slain by Regalla and her rebels. All except one. As soon as you hear his name, you’ve made your choice. You have to see him, Tekotteh’s orders be damned.
You bide your time until nightfall, using the confusion and unrest Tekotteh has sown to your advantage. Quickly packed provisions, weapons, and the determination of a thunderjaw are what you take on your way to the Memorial Grove. A scout and friend mans the lift for you, wishing you luck before you steal into the night.
There’s no time to waste engaging machines or rebels, you sneak past through the tall grass and isolated mountain passes barely allowing yourself sleep and food, there’ll be time for that when you’re with Kotallo.
It only takes three days for you to reach the Grove. Your journey has made your paint peel and smudge away, your bare skin peeks out in broad strokes and wide patches, rain bogs your clothes down, but you can’t find it in yourself to stop until a familiar face steps into view, a weary smile on her face. Slowing down makes the exhaustion of travel all the more obvious but you have no choice but to stop and give Dekka a proper salute.
She responds in kind before she speaks, her voice soothing after hearing nothing but machines and animals for days, “Hekkaro wants to see you.”
“I’m here for—”
“I know, child,” she sets a firm hand on your shoulder and squeezes, “Speak to the chief first, get cleaned up. Your marshal can wait a few minutes more.”
Your lip twitches in annoyance but you just nod mechanically and follow the path to the war room. For the first time, you don’t meander down, don't linger to observe the Visions or pay them respect. The voices of the Ten follow your quick footsteps down the empty halls.
You take a knee before the steps leading to the throne, bowing your head out of respect, “Chief, I wish to see—”
Hekarro interrupts you, his voice is as commanding as you remember, “A message arrived yesterday from the Sky Clan. Tekotteh says one of his warriors has left the Bulwark, going against strict orders not to.”
You internally admonish yourself for not thinking of Tekotteh sending a messenger bird, but beyond that you ignore his words, “I am here to see Marshal Kotallo.”
Hekkaro’s eyes bore into yours when you lift your head, you can’t begin to guess what he’s thinking. He steps down from his throne and you move your gaze to the floor again, clenching your jaw as you wait for judgement.
“Kotallo will be glad to see you.”
Your head whips up, incredulous, and a familiar warmth fills your chest. Kotallo is notoriously laconic but he saw fit to mention you?
Hekarro laughs and gestures for you to stand, “Go on,” he motions for someone behind you to come forward, “Away with you.”
“Thank you,” you give him a quick salute before you turn and find a runner waiting at the far end of the throne room.
It’s been a long time since you’ve been to the Lowlands, the lush green seems almost unnaturally vivid after spending years amid the monochromatic mountains. Dappled light pours in from the canopy of trees and makes you feel as if you’re hurrying from sunspot to sunspot in your haste. It doesn’t take long to come upon a lone building, just far away enough from the settlement to grant privacy among the brush. The runner salutes you before they depart, leaving you to take the final steps toward the guard standing at the entrance.
“Let me in.”
The guard eyes your paint, patchy and fading but still clearly Sky Clan’s, and curls their fingers around their spear a little tighter, “He's resting.”
Impatience bubbles up under your skin viciously, “I am here to see Marshal Kotallo and I come with Chief Hekkaro’s blessing.”
The guard opens their mouth to speak but a hand parts the fabric to interrupt. Kotallo’s familiar voice makes you jolt, “Let her in and go, leave us be.”
You can’t help sticking your nose in the air a little as you pass the guard, but the smug feeling passes as soon as it comes on when you see the state Kotallo is in.
It’s striking to see him stripped down like this, somehow more bare to you than if he were naked. Tanned skin clean and free of paint, his typically braided hair now falls in dark waves over his shoulders— you don’t think you can remember the last time you saw him like this. Even in the throes of sickness he’d never looked so defeated.
There’s nothing you can say to make the situation better, no wisdom or advice you can give to soothe him. Your lip wobbles and your nose begins to sting, but you hold back your tears until your armor and weapons are stripped and tossed in a corner and you’re sat beside him, thigh to thigh. Silence drapes over your shoulders like an invisible shroud and Kotallo doesn't shed a tear, but you can see the anger and pain darkening his eyes.
You fight the urge to cry a while longer as you put your hand on his thigh, your thumb idly rubs the curve of one of his tattoos but the dam breaks, you feel tears begin to slip down your cheeks. You try to say his name but the word dies in your mouth, you only manage the first consonant before you choke on a sob.
Kotallo breathes out your name with such softness it makes your heart ache, “Peace.”
His arm wraps around you and pulls you toward him, guiding your face into the crook of his neck. You press yourself against his body and all the longing for him comes rushing back, even stronger than you remember, crashing over you like a thunderstorm.
“Peace,” he repeats, murmuring it into your hair.
What remains of your face paint transfers and smudges onto his clean skin but he does not move or complain, he just holds you steady as your tears run their course. Every inch of him touching you is warm, you’d sorely missed the way he feels, the way you feel when he holds you.
“Forgive me,” you wipe tears off your face with the back of your hand as you sit up.
“There is nothing to forgive.”
Kotallo softly bats your hand away and cups your cheek with a hum, a fresh wave of tears almost starts up when you see his other arm move like he means to hold your face in both hands. You stifle a hiccup, “Oh, how I have missed you.”
This manages to make his expression break, the curve of a sad smile on his lips as he gently knocks his forehead to yours. He holds you there until your breaths steady and you manage to crack a shaky smile.
“I should be comforting you but… I’m just so grateful you’re alive.”
Kotallo pulls back, his hand falls from your face and onto your lap as his dark, world-weary eyes flit down and suddenly you know he doesn't feel the same, “It is good to see you.”
He’s always felt shame bone deep, you see it in the clench of his jaw, the way his shoulders hold such tension. And you know he isn’t a man to be easily consoled, or to be consoled at all. You don’t give him pity, don’t offer up sympathetic words or condolences, he would not accept them anyway, you can only give him your company now.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze him into a hug, pressing your nose into his neck and breathing deep, “I missed you,” you repeat, unable to help yourself, saying I love you in the only way you know how.
“And I, you,” his voice a comforting rumble in your ear as he hugs you back, his arm curling around your waist.
— — —
Even if Kotallo had managed to escape the Embassy unscathed, you would have stayed with him in the Grove for a long while. The space he’d left in your heart grew and grew and grew in his absence but it has not yet filled again, even when you see him and touch him daily. You can’t even begin to think about leaving, no matter what orders you receive but the orders never come. Only a stormbird could pull you from his side now.
Kotallo doesn’t ask for your help. Sometimes it feels like he might outright reject it, but he never does. Instead, he stubbornly continues to do whatever he can on his own until you step in. You never tease, never admonish or scold, you simply and quietly assist with whatever he might need. Your days are spent with him, mundane tasks suddenly new again simply because you’re doing them by his side. You ride the waves of his anger and hate, his pain. His grief. You let him rage at circumstances, at himself, but remind him not to steep in it too long. He doesn’t admit it, but you know him well enough to know he appreciates not being alone.
Sometimes, you forget other people even exist. There are hardly any visitors, Dekka’s check-ins are few and far between while Hekkaro’s messages are sent by runners and scouts. There are few reasons to stray away from his hut after all. Yes, you hunt, you trade at the Grove, you have your own lodgings but you don’t stay there for more than sleep, if you go there at all.
You’re not sure exactly when you’d started living with him. It was a gradual process, you think, one you’d hardly noticed until you’d found all your clothes and gear placed neatly beside Kotallo’s in his home. One night you’d stayed late changing the cloth bandages on his arm and ended up sleeping on an extra bedroll and the next day neither of you packed it back up.
It’s another late night now, you’d dozed off just as the sun was setting but now yellow candlelight and the gentle splash of water wakes you. You rub your eyes as you roll over, curious to see what Kotallo is up to. It takes a moment for you to piece together the scene before you.
Kotallo dips his hand into the bowl, cupping his hand to bring water up above his head, letting it wash over his head and soak his hair. You watch him repeat this again and again, occasionally stopping to undo a braid and comb his fingers through his hair. You can’t help noticing how slowly he moves, careful in a way you can’t quite figure out.
Then it hits you. He’s trying to do this in secret, you realize, and you feel as if someone is making a tight fist around your heart. You debate with yourself, trying to wrestle with your desire to help and the knowledge of how he’s feeling.
“Kotallo,” you hear yourself whisper before you come to a conclusion, your body acting before your brain.
He looks up. His dark eyes are almost black in the dim light. He looks tired, exhausted in the way one can only be after a bout of intense anger, shoulders sagging after a moment of tense eye contact.
Kotallo lets his hand rest in the bowl, fingers dipping into the water, “Hard to do with one hand.”
You clench your jaw and sit up, “Then three will have to do.”
Kotallo blinks at you as you move to sit beside him, crossing your legs with your knees pressed against his hips. He doesn’t protest as you start to part his hair, dividing it up into manageable sections so you can both work easily.
You drape one of his braids over his shoulder, “Here, undo this one.”
He does as you say while you work on undoing the rest of his braids, alternating between finger combing and massaging his scalp after each one, “I know you, Kotallo, soon you’ll be doing things with one arm most couldn’t do with two.”
He grunts, “It will always be a weakness.”
“One you will overcome,” you assure him with a gentle murmur, “In time.”
Kotallo clenches his jaw but doesn’t argue any more, and both of you settle into silence, working in tandem.
With all braids undone, you drag your fingertips along the back of his head. The hair that’s normally shaved to the skin is growing in, prickly stubble that tickles. Kotallo will want to shave soon, you’ll offer to do it another time but for now you’ll focus on washing.
When prompted, he passes you the water bowl. You tilt his head back and use one hand to shield his eyes as you pour water onto his hair. Kotallo’s chin wrinkles and, for a moment, you’re sure you’re both about to cry. But the moment passes. You curl forward and press a kiss to his forehead before you continue your work.
— — —
Your bubble of privacy doesn’t last long. News of an outlander approaching spreads quickly, the flame haired Nora famously making waves among all the clans. The girl— Aloy, Kotallo tells you— makes a deal with Hekkarro. You don’t care to know much besides the fact that Kotallo has been appointed to help, and to do that he must leave.
You idle around as he prepares for his mission, his first since the Embassy, “When will you be leaving?”
“Today, if I am to make it to Cliffwatch before the outlander,” he says before pressing his lips together the way he always does when trying to find the right words. You wait patiently through his pause until he speaks again, “Will you… I would like to see you here. When I return.”
You smile, amused at how much work it takes for him to admit things like that. You look around the house, the home just as much yours as his now, and know you would only leave the place behind if Kotallo would be there. Kotallo’s expression softens when you cup his cheek and assure him, “I'll be staying here a while longer.”
— — —
Kotallo’s absence doesn’t ache as much as you thought it would, knowing he’ll eventually come home to you makes each day easier. There are plenty of things to do around the Grove, much of the same tasks that you were used to doing at the Bulwark. Hunting, cooking, training, everything in preparation for the upcoming Kulrut.
Hekkaro and Dekka have been encouraging you, in the way only well-meaning but slightly overbearing authority figures can, to join the growing hopeful group that will participate in the event. It’s a tempting idea, one you often come back to when you’re shoulder to shoulder with the other soldiers around the dinner fire, and after hearing Hekarro’s prediction of Regalla’s rebels and machines' incoming attack, you throw your hat in the ring.
— — —
The Kulrut devolves into chaos. The Nora girl helps more than you’d like to admit, you find yourself impressed, if not slightly jealous, of her strength and influence. She’s gained the clan’s respect tenfold and you’re no exception. Regalla falls back, Hekarro’s life is saved, the Visions are cleared— and suddenly you’ve become a Marshal. That, at least, the Nora had nothing to do with.
It feels like ages pass before the commotion dies down and Kotallo is allowed to leave Hekarro’s side, but he eventually comes to find you.
“Marshal,” he greets.
You tilt your head forward with a laugh, suddenly feeling more connected to him than ever, “Marshal.”
You both know he must go soon, but neither of you can resist catching up after so long apart. When Kotallo gets around to telling you of what Aloy did to the Bulwark, you can’t help the spirited laugh that bubbles out of you
“Serves that bastard right!” you cheer, wiping your eyes as your laugh fades into a chuckle, “Oh, I wish I could have seen his face.”
Kotallo huffs, amused, “It was… quite satisfying,” he admits.
“A hidden base in the mountains,” you give a low whistle, “That sounds like quite an asset.”
He nods, then something flickers across his face, “You should visit.”
“Alright,” you nod, “I will.”
With a Marshal’s responsibilities also comes a Marshal’s freedom. It takes a few weeks of rebuilding at the Grove with the new Marshals, but Hekarro eventually grants you permission to leave, giving you a knowing smile.
Kotallo’s instructions are easy to follow, the mountains are familiar to you. Before long, you find it. You place your hand on the cold metal door before it slides open, revealing a long hallway that curves into somewhere you can’t see. There’s light, voices, a distant mechanical hum of power as you make your way down and emerge into what must be the main hub. There are people there, none of them Tenakth, and you come to a halt, unsure what to do next. It’s an odd mix of people, like the beginning of some joke— an Oseram, an Utaru, a Tenakth, and a Nora walk into a snapmaw den…
“Hello,” you greet the strangers, wondering if they’d been expecting you.
“He’s in there,” the pretty Utaru woman says, gesturing towards a particular door, “He’s been waiting.”
You thank her and smile, giving the small group a wave before you go to his room. There’s no point in lingering, they must all know you’re here for Kotallo. As you approach, you hear Kotallo talking to Aloy in hushed tones. You knock your knuckles on the metal door to get their attention and try to tamp down the poison of jealousy beginning to take root.
Aloy turns, blinks at you, then turns back to Kotallo, “I’d better be going.”
“Hi,” she says as she passes, half a smile pulling at her lips.
You greet her in kind, polite, but you can’t pretend you aren’t happy to be alone with Kotallo after not seeing him since the Kulrut. When the metal door automatically slides shut behind you, you bound forward and throw your arms around him, his arm curls around your waist and you both sigh deeply.
“Well-met,” he greets, his characteristic small smile is a great comfort to see.
“Are you well?”
He nods, eyeing you curiously for a moment before he reaches into a pocket, “I have something for you.”
“Oh?”
He finds what he needs then holds out a closed fist to you, “A gift.”
You eye him warily before you hold out your hand, palm up. He presses a tiny triangle into your palm, his fingertips drag along your hand as he pulls away.
“A focus,” he says simply.
You turn it in your fingers and find yourself surprised at how sturdy a flimsy looking bit of metal can feel, “Your new friends all have this, yes?”
“Yes. Now you will have one, and you will learn.”
“With your help?”
He makes a noise of agreement, “Yes, but not just mine. Come.”
Kotallo guides you through the base and back outside, pointing to some footholds before he jumps up and begins to climb. You follow, pride swelling in your chest at the way he carries himself up the mountainside. The climb is brisk, wind whips at you and snow threatens to make your feet slip on the rock, but you’re sure Kotallo must have a good reason for making you do this. When you hoist yourself over the cliff, you see him gesturing for you to be quiet then motioning towards sunwings perched at the edge of the cliff.
You follow him into the patch of tall grass and ask, “What does this have to do with the focus?”
“Put it on,” Kotallo encourages.
You turn the focus over again before you bring it up to the high point of your cheekbone, mimicking the placement of his. It stays where you put it, surprising you even though you’ve seen the device holding steady on the side of Kotallo’s face for an entire climb.
“And now?”
He taps his focus once with two fingers then gestures to the area before you. You wait a moment, then do the same, turning to look at the clearing as the focus makes a noise beside your ear. You gasp, blinking quickly like that will make what you’re seeing go away. Kotallo moves to take your hand as you observe the world through this new lens. There are animals hidden in the trees, in the snow, their outlines now visible to you, illuminated in orange. Every individual part of the sunwing is lit up, the focus highlighting the weak spots and all of the machine’s usable parts with enough words and data to leave your head spinning. All this new information makes you laugh, delighted and overwhelmed in equal measure.
You turn back to Kotallo as the sun starts to fall in the sky and you’re met by his smile. A full one, one you so rarely see, rarer still since the Embassy, and a wave of bone deep love for him washes over you.
You find yourself grinning when you ask, “What else can this do?”
Kotallo squeezes your hand, “I will show you everything I know back at base. The others have much to teach you as well, Gaia most of all.”
“Gaia?”
“She… it will be easier for her to explain.”
He shows you how to power off the focus’ scanner before you follow him back down the mountain, the golden sunlight covering the slopes makes the snow glitter.
“If you're going to learn, you must stay a while,” he says as you hop back onto solid ground.
You both linger by the door into the base, watching the last traces of sun sinking into the trees.
You reach up and trace the edges of your focus with one finger, considering his offer, “Well, I'm sure a stronghold this large has a spare room or two for me.”
Kotallo turns to you, looking confused at such a suggestion, “You’ll stay with me.”
“Yes,” you suppress a smile as best you can, “Alright, I will.”
Kotallo tours you around the base, showing you the various rooms and amenities— you take particular interest in the showers that boast constant warm water. Learning of Aloy’s mission, of Gaia, of what the focus can do, it's a staggering amount of information. You do not pretend to understand the breadth of everything revealed to you but everyone at the base helps you find your place, you even manage to teach Kotallo a trick or two. But all good things come to an end, or at least a pause. You’re still a Marshal after all, and you have responsibilities beyond Aloy’s quest.
“Hekkaro would see me back soon, I’m afraid.”
Kotallo nods, but you can see the almost imperceptible purse of his lips, “A Marshal’s duties are never done, I know better than most.”
You click your tongue at his solemn tone as you reach up to tap his focus, “Call on me if you need me.”
— — —
Hekarro’s duties for you are unsurprisingly connected to Aloy. Her efforts have made farming possible for the Utaru again, a great victory for the Tenakth as well. One that must be repaid with Veterans, Veterans you’re tasked with recruiting. This keeps you busy traveling between settlements while avoiding Regalla’s rebels and machines, but you find comfort in Kotallo being mere taps away.
The two of you talk occasionally, the sensation of hearing his voice right against your ear while he’s so far away is strange, one you’re not sure you’ll ever be used to. He dutifully updates you on his studies, new allies joining the base, Aloy’s countless quests, usually you fill him in with more mundane news, but today you’re happy to have an excuse to invite him back home.
The way he says your name may be one of your favorite sounds, “Hello.”
His voice in your ear makes you smile, “Kotallo, I have good news.”
“I am eager to hear it.”
“With all the progress Aloy has made, it seems the Utaru need Veterans again. There’s going to be a celebration soon, a proper send off.”
“I see, that is good news.”
“The people would like to see all the Marshals together for this,” you pause for a moment, “I… I would like to see you here.”
“Then I will be there.”
— — —
It’s bound to be a boisterous night, Tenakth celebrations are nothing if not rowdy. The arena isn’t filled with machines tonight, just bonfires and wide tables piled with food and drink surrounded by plenty of people enjoying both. To celebrate being among Tenakth before they’re sent off to the Utaru. An event like this is one of the few times the three clans can come together without some kind of big battle, but you’re sure bouts of sparring will crop up with all the drink flowing freely.
After an appropriate amount of mingling and dancing you find him amongst the crowd, slightly obscured by the shadows cast around the arena, and you go to him. You tilt your wooden cup in his direction and approach him with a smile, “Marshal.”
“Marshal,” he greets you in kind, a smile of his own small but noticeable enough on his lips as you stand beside him, pressed arm to arm.
He sips his drink as he scans the crowd, swirling his cup and studying its contents as he says, “I no longer have the temperament to withstand these events.”
You chuckle, “As if you ever have.”
The two of you seem to be enveloped in your own little bubble, somehow isolated in a crowd of dozens, but you still would rather be back in your den. So why shouldn’t you be? The ceremony is over, your duties are done, and an unopened canteen fat with wine sits at the end of the table, tempting. It’s meant for more than two people but that doesn’t stop you from grabbing it, intending to share it privately with Kotallo.
“I’ll meet you back home,” you tell him as you press the neck of the leather bottle into his hand, “And I’ll make sure to bring your favorite.”
He glances at one of the dishes filled with an aromatic stew he rarely has a chance to indulge in, then back to you, “Agreed.”
— — —
The clay dish you carry back is heavy with food, the warm smell of spices fills your home pleasantly when you take the top off and set it between you two. Kotallo reveals a loaf of bread and sets it beside the stew, giving you a smile when you thank him.
“Eat,” you tell him.
“Thank you,” he says, voice achingly sincere.
Kotallo not so subtly nudges the thicker, prettier cuts of vegetables and meat to your side of the dish, something you note with barely contained amusement, and he watches you eat with a fondness in his eyes so strong it’s almost palpable. You can’t help but smile around each bite.
Talk flows easily between you two. It’s gossip, plain and simple, not that Kotallo would never admit it. You discuss the new Marshals, briefly about what Tekotteh might be up to now, and how strange it is to find that the Lowlands feel more like home than the Bulwark.
“I’ve heard rumors that Jekkah and Erayyo might be wed soon,” you keep your tone light, nonchalant, trying to gauge whether Kotallo has any interest in relationship gossip.
Marriage among the Tenakth are few and far between, but since the end of the Red Raids more and more seem to be cropping up. You’re struck with the mental image of Kotallo in matrimonial paint and your heart aches, you ignore it by drinking more wine.
Kotallo nods and motions for the bottle once you gulp down a bit, “They've been dancing around each other since they took their first steps.”
Your eyes meet as you pass him the skin and you both hold each other’s gaze like it has all the weight in the world, then the moment is over. You both look away laughing, breathy and nervous, but maybe the nervousness might just be you.
“I'm happy for them. We could always use a little more joy, especially now,” you’re surprised that your voice doesn’t shake. Funny how one look from him can leave you feeling so… naked.
You take the last of the bread and drag it across the dish, soaking it in the remains of the stew before you hold it out, offering. Unsurprisingly, he shakes his head and gestures for you to have it. Shrugging, you concede and let him watch you eat as he takes a deep pull of wine.
The now empty dish is set aside to be washed later, but the wine skin still has plenty to go around. Under the pretense of making the passing of the bottle back and forth easier, you move to sit by his side, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder.
“It's late,” you muse after a long sip, “Yet I'm not tired enough to sleep.”
“A game of Strike?”
“Hm, not exactly in the mood for defeat.”
Kotallo chuckles at your honesty and takes the wine from you.
A brilliant idea strikes you, “Let’s visit the spring!”
He swipes his thumb over his mouth, chasing an errant drop of wine, and you feel yourself mimic him by swiping your tongue across your lip. He follows the movement with his eyes before he looks up and repeats your words, “It’s late.”
You hold his gaze and smile, “I know,” and that’s all it takes to convince him.
Neither of you seem to be able to stay more than an inch apart as you walk, nearly on top of each other as the rapidly emptying canteen is passed back and forth. In the quiet of the night everything feels amplified; each machine sound in the distance, the hoot of an owl, the warmth of Kotallo’s arm as it brushes against yours. By the time you reach the spring, there’s no wine left and you’re warm, pleasantly fuzzy around the edges and veering on giddy.
Kotallo takes the towels and empty skin from your hands and sets them all down on a semi flat boulder. You shimmy out of your pants before tossing them on top of the little pile he’s made, you’re about to take off your shirt but Kotallo’s hand on your arm stops you. It may be a trick of the dim lighting but it looks like he’s flushed beneath his face paint.
“What are you doing?” the words fly out of his mouth like he’s been struck.
You shrug blithely, “I don’t want my clothes to get wet.”
He replies with a mechanical, stilted nod and turns away as you continue to undress. You toss your clothes down, not bothering to fold them with your excitement to swim. The moonlight makes the warm water look almost black as you walk in, wading until there’s enough depth to comfortably swim. You dive below the surface, scrubbing at your face paint off as best you can while the warm water envelops you.
“Well?” you call out to him when you come up for air, “Are you going to join me?”
You can’t tear your eyes from him when you realize his top half is bare, unabashedly staring as you tread water. He looks over his shoulder, watching you watching him, but he does not stop you as he continues to undress.
You greedily catalogue the stockiness of his thighs and the darkness of the tattoos twisting and winding along his body, the maddeningly alluring curves of his shoulders and muscles of his back. He pauses when he reaches the cloth around his left arm. It takes a moment for him to make a decision but he slowly begins to unfurl it, delicately placing it atop his pile of clothes.
“Hello,” you greet as he wades in, the warmth in your body no longer just the wine.
“Hello,” his voice is surprisingly light, almost amused.
A drunken, happy giggle bubbles up and you don’t bother to stifle it, tilting to float on your back and laugh into the clear sky. You hear a splash as Kotallo joins you in the deeper part of the spring, the sound of his voice muffled by water in your ears but still understandable.
“What’s so funny?”
You reach out to him and find his hand already reaching for yours, your smile grows larger when you take it, “We drank a lot of wine.”
He laces his fingers with yours, squeezing once before letting out a laugh of his own, “That we did.”
You tilt your head up to look at him, struck with how right he looks holding your hand, feeling like the world stands still and it's just you two. Floating loses its appeal quickly when the night air begins to chill you, a sudden gust of wind makes you slip beneath the water again. Kotallo helps you steady yourself on the sand, water keeping you warm up to your chest. Your fingers untangle but Kotallo keeps his hand on you, it finds its place on your hip as a comfortable weight.
Without thinking, you gently cup what remains of his left arm, frowning in sympathy when he pulls in a deep breath. You whisper an apology as you begin to massage the scar there, hoping that warm water and a gentle touch can help soothe the pain he doesn’t speak of.
When Kotallo grunts, you shush him reflexively, affectionately, and that makes him exhale sharply with amusement. Around you both, paint begins to wash off your bodies and bloom in the spring. You acknowledge it with a hum and trail your other hand through the water, following the color until you find Kotallo’s other arm.
Beneath the pinwheel stars, you begin to wash him clean. The pigment stubbornly clings to the hair on his body but the warm water and your nails gently scratching eventually starts getting the job done. Kotallo makes a huff when you curl your hands over his bicep and squeeze, you look up to catch him rolling his eyes and you laugh quietly. You move on, taking the time to really feel him as you press your fingertips over his shoulders and neck. His eyes shut when you reach his jaw and follow the curve of it, only removing your hands to gather more warm water to wash his face. From there the work is mostly easy, he makes you laugh when he flexes his chest, even when he grumbles that it wasn’t on purpose.
You can’t ignore the heartbeat between your legs, you can’t help that the quiet intimacy between you makes you imagine other kinds of intimacy. The possibilities in your thoughts only spurred on and intensified by the wine.
Your hands creep down beneath the water, blindly rubbing paint away along his abdomen until his stomach twitches and he sucks in a harsh breath. You can’t see much below the surface, your hands are already mostly obscured by the dark water, but you have a sudden suspicion he's hard. It takes a moment for your brain to restart, but you keep working, slower now. Trailing your hands down past his navel, testing how low you have the courage to go once, twice before you drag them up, noticing the way a small shiver runs through him.
You glance up and find Kotallo watching your face intently, your breaths synced with something heavy you’d venture to call anticipation. When he licks his lip you can feel your clit throb, once again imagining what his tongue would feel like against you.
“Turn around,” your voice is hoarse but steady, “Let me wash your back.”
Kotallo nods and does as you say, the paint in the water swirling. You make quick work of the rest of his paint, but you still linger, your hands passing over clean skin more than once just to feel him.
“All done,” you murmur.
He faces you, clean and bare and handsome.
“My turn now, no?” you ask as you take his hand and put it on your shoulder.
“Yes,” he whispers after a moment, his hand curling around on the side of your neck, thumb pushing against the column of your neck until it's beneath your jaw.
You close your eyes and wait until he starts to wash your paint away. His touch is hot on your skin as he rubs circles, fingers tracing down your chest until he reaches your sternum, the back of his hand brushes against your breast for the briefest of moments before he moves on.
It takes longer to wash you but you do not mind, reveling in his touch as your paint disappears in the water. Kotallo’s hand rubs up your stomach until his knuckles press against the underside of your breast, right where the weight droops, yet he doesn’t linger. Part of you is disappointed but his hand is on you again before you can think twice.
You shiver when he moves, circling until he stands behind you. His hand pets down your spine with a speed that lacks purpose beyond just… feeling. You’re glad he can’t see your smile.
Eventually Kotallo’s hand stills and he walks around to stand face to face with you. His hand comes to rest on your hip, heavy even underwater, “Finished.”
You blink your eyes open and notice a small swatch of paint you missed, high on his cheekbone and almost begging to be kissed away, but you compromise with yourself by using your thumb to wash it away. Kotallo surprises you by tilting his head to press his cheek into your palm. He must have recently shaved, his face is smooth, soft. You feel your body move before you can stop it— you’re going to kiss him— but the sand beneath your feet shifts, threatening to let you slip under the water.
Kotallo’s arm quickly curls around you and steadies you, water splashes around you both as you let yourself be pulled in close, gladly taking the excuse to be manhandled into more stable footing.
“Kotallo,” you chuckle, a touch breathless when you look up and find him smiling down at you, “I’m dizzy.”
Kotallo hums thoughtfully, “The heat and the drink, no doubt. Perhaps we should retire.”
Seeing his face bare is a treasure you’d like to indulge in for a little more but you nod anyway, “Yes.”
But his hand stays still on your hip and neither of you move for what feels like a long while.
“What is it?” he asks, bringing his hand up to tap under your chin, “I can feel you have something to say. Stuck, here, under your tongue.”
Your laugh comes out as little more than an exhale when he holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “It’s nothing.”
Kotallo makes a noise of acknowledgement but keeps you there a minute longer, dark eyes studying your face with his usual intensity. Your heart starts to thump in your chest but the moment passes. Kotallo gestures towards the shore with a tilt of his head and you two start to move away from each other.
Leaving the water makes the night air feel even colder, you both hurriedly towel off and wrap yourself up before you make the walk back home with a spring in your step, neither of you eager to be caught half naked and still slightly tipsy.
In your haste, both of you stumble inside, tripping over each other and falling onto the bed rolls laid out on the floor. He actually laughs with you, both of you tangled and still wet leaning into each other, drunkenly trying and failing to quiet down for what feels like minutes. Kotallo sits up once the worst of the humor has passed, adjusting his towel to cover his lap while you lay beside him.
“We should rest,” he muses, still smiling.
You hum noncommittally, more interested in the way the wine has left his mouth stained ever so slightly darker, the shade of plum on the swell of his lower lip is maddeningly attractive, and you wonder if the taste still lingers on his tongue. It’s a tempting idea, one that’s run through your head countless times. You sit up, holding your towel to your chest as you crawl onto him, your heart beginning to patter quickly.
Kotallo jolts but doesn’t move, a curious, hesitant expression on his face, “What are you…?”
You find your place on his lap, legs on either side of his torso. You place your hands on his shoulders delicately, lingering there for a moment before you drag your touch up, pressing your fingers into his skin until your nails are scratching his scalp. Something warm blooms in your chest at the way Kotallo’s breath becomes uneven, shuddering.
You shut your eyes and find the courage to kiss him, a gentle press of lips that grows hungry when Kotallo surges up to meet you. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his fingers splay and push into your neck and ear, something desperate in the way of his touch. When you part your lips, he slips his tongue against yours with a low moan and you’re already thinking of other ways to hear that sound again.
Kotallo pulls away first, panting, but you’re not discouraged in the slightest. You redirect your kisses to his cheek, trailing down to his jaw kiss by kiss. He says your name gruffly, his hand coming down to hold your neck. Your name falls from his mouth again, again, only after the third time do you pull back. You wonder if he has any idea how annoyingly handsome he is, glassy eyes and lips bitten until they’re flushed.
Kotallo swallows harshly but his voice doesn’t come out any less hoarse, “You could have anyone, you deserve—“
He quiets with the press of your fingertips against his lips, “Kotallo.”
You sink down onto his lap and settle your weight on his thighs, smiling when Kotallo’s hand squeezes your hip. You can feel his hardness pressed up insistently against you but you ignore it for now, even as you feel your body responding in kind.
“I want you,” you say simply, a thrill zips up your spine when you see his eyes dilate.
There’s so much more you could say, so much you want to say— you’re still whole, you’re still strong and beyond worthy of me, I love you— but you don’t want to risk Kotallo shrinking away from any more sudden confessions. Not now, not when you’re on the precipice of something wonderful.
You trace the scar near the corner of his mouth, following the curve of his lips until he kisses your fingertips, “Please,” you whisper, “Kiss me again.”
Kotallo kisses you like he couldn’t possibly have done anything else. Eventually your towel falls away, your chest bare only for a moment before he cups your breast and thumbs at your nipple. You moan when he pinches it, just enough pressure to make you want to retaliate. You duck your head to the side and press a kiss to his neck, nipping him after he pinches your nipple again.
“Tease me no longer,” Kotallo grunts as you suck a dark mark onto the column of his neck.
You can't help the little smile that tugs at your lips, “Patience.”
But you can’t pretend you’re not as eager as he is, the kisses down his body grow quicker. You move off his lap and pet your hands over his chest and stomach, dark body hair making a trail for you as you move closer to his cock. His cock is leaking, a perfect pearl of precum on the tip presented to you like a prize, begging to be licked away.
Kotallo’s groan is surprisingly loud when you press your lips to his cock, enough to make you laugh goodnaturedly as his hand flies to the back of your head. You lift your head to meet his dark eyes as he looks down at you. His face is unreadable but he’s not stopping you, you try to think of any reservations he might have. A few things come to mind— you can’t deny there’s a thrill at the possibility of being his first, but you don’t care enough to ask.
You close your eyes and sink your mouth onto his cock, pressing your tongue onto the underside as it brushes the back of your throat. His thighs tense under your hands but another enthusiastic sound punched out of him is enough for you to continue. You pull back then back down, bobbing your head nice and slow and breathing through your nose. Distantly, you hear him moan your name as his hips start to buck in short little thrusts, almost involuntary. You pull off when your jaw begins to ache, giving his tip one last kiss before Kotallo guides you back up to him.
“Come here,” he commands, his voice thick with something you can’t put your finger on.
Kotallo kisses you like he means to devour you, your legs part for him when you feel his hand on your thigh. He pets the hair between your legs for a moment before he cups you, dragging two fingers along your slit just lightly enough to make you impatient.
“Here,” you whisper, “Touch me here.”
Kotallo takes the hint when you angle your hips down, his fingers drag up to find your clit. Your eyes flutter shut at the contact and you let out a pleased moan. He doesn’t need more direction after that, slipping his tongue into your mouth again as he slides two fingers into you, pumping them with confidence.
“You should have kissed me ages ago,” you tell him, more a whine than a moan when he curls his fingers, pressing against the tender spot with precision that makes your thighs tremble.
“Yes, I should have, Let me make it up to you,” he sighs into your mouth, “Let me taste you,” his two fingers still steadily circling your clit let you do nothing more than nod stupidly.
Kotallo kisses you fiercely before he pulls back, bringing his hand to his waiting tongue and licking. The moan he makes at the taste of you makes you dizzy. You prop yourself up on your elbows as he moves to settle between your thighs, focusing just in time to see his nose scrunch and his eyes flutter shut as he presses his face against your cunt.
You moan in unison as he starts to lick you, broad, flat strokes of his tongue, tasting you with a thoroughness purely Kotallo. When he purses his lips over your clit and hums, you know you’re done for, something hot and wicked curls in your core. His mouth is warm and wet, unrelenting in a way that has you trembling, already close to tipping over the edge.
Your eyes shut tight when you feel yourself start to cum, molten hot pleasure radiating out from your core until Kotallo’s mouth drags your orgasm out and begins to veer into overstimulation. He’s undeterred by your thighs squeezing his head, even when you flex hard, he follows your hips as you roll them away, you think you’re going to pass out with how hard you’re panting.
“Kotallo,” you groan, hands blindly reaching for him, “Kotallo, I can’t—”
He finally pulls away, your pussy all of a sudden cold without his mouth. He’s panting too, soaked from the tip of his nose to his chin with your arousal, and he looks like he could die happy. Kotallo licks his lips before wiping his face with the back of his hand, adjusting to sit back on his heels between your legs.
“Do you want this?” he asks as he takes his cock in hand, stroking it before he taps the head against your clit, dragging it lower until it presses against your entrance, teasing.
You whine something close to yes, he gives you what you need. Kotallo bowls forward, holding himself up with his forearm by your head as your wetness helps him slide all of himself in, hips slapping against yours with a groan. It feels endless, his thickness stretches you out in a way you’ve never felt and suddenly you’re certain he was made for you. You mumble something incoherent as he starts to fuck you, breathing each other’s air as your noses brush with how close your faces are. Your hands grab at his waist, his hips, his ass— you need to be closer, closer, you want to put your heart right next to his.
Kotallo all but growls your name as he clutches at you, pulling you against him and lifting you, “Hold onto me,” he commands.
You’d do whatever he says, your own pleasure just a sweet undercurrent. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and let him move you, his arm around you keeps your chest pressed to his as he sits back and sets you on his lap. The new angle makes you gasp against his temple, he feels impossibly deep, filling you in the way you’d desperately needed. The whine that escapes you is obscene, it makes your face hot with embarrassment but you can’t help looking down at Kotallo.
“You’re beautiful,” he groans, his eyes are bright, half-lidded with pleasure and he looks at you like you’ve hung the moon. Your name falls from his lips as a moan and it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard.
You roll your hips down into him and something close to a whimper escapes you at the stimulation of his stomach on your clit, something Kotallo notes with a soft sound. He moves his hand on your hip, encouraging you to do that again.
Kotallo presses his lips to every bit of skin he can reach as you move, barely lifting up and down, more using his cock for pleasure by humping him than riding him. It feels maddeningly good, a steady building of pleasure with your clit rubbing against him with each motion as his cock rubs that spot inside you. Kotallo keeps murmuring encouragement as his hand comes up to cup your chest, tweaking your nipples in an unpredictable way that makes your head spin.
It’s quickly becoming too much, you can feel your cunt tightening as you start to reach your peak, beginning to repeat his name like he’s possessed you, your body and soul nothing but him in this moment as your orgasm suddenly crashes over you in a wave that leaves your thighs trembling. Kotallo begins to rut into you as you cum, slow and deep and steady and driving every coherent thought out of your head.
You mewl when he adjusts you both again, keeping you full of his cock as he stretches his legs out, laying back and settling your legs around his hips. Kotallo plants his feet and starts to thrust, knocking a surprised cry of his name out of you.
He’s animalistic, grunting and moaning as he chases his release with your fluttering cunt, his hand gripping your hips and ass with a force that almost hurts. You’re not sure how long you lay atop him, letting him take what he needs. Your pussy gives way to his cock again and again until he’s cumming, his face pressed against your throat as you both make wordless, pleasured sounds. Opening his mouth, his hot breath and sharp teeth graze against your pulse until he bites down, a bright spot of pleasurable pain that makes you keen. He holds you down, pressing as close as physically possible and he fills you, groaning with a desperation that has you weak. His hips give a few more stuttered rolls as his cock throbs a few more times, cum begins to leak out of you, hot stickiness pooling against your inner thighs.
Your legs feel limp and useless when you try to get up so you quickly abandon the attempt, staying sprawled along him while he’s still buried inside you. Kotallo seems pleased to have your weight settle down on him, he gently bites your jaw as he follows the curve of your body with a reverent, affectionate hand. He moves to kiss you as his fingers map your knee, trailing his hand over the hair on your thigh until it settles on your lower back and you pull back to breathe. You stay like that for a long while, pressed against each other as you catch your breath and enjoy each other's nearness.
“I missed you,” Kotallo whispers against you, your name sounds dreamy the way he all but moans it, “I missed you,” he says again, the same words but you hear the change. I love you.
You shut your eyes and feel your chests rising and falling together, “I missed you too.” I love you.
Soo I was replaying hfw and got to the part where aloy meets up with kotallo annddddd found out I'm still very much down bad for him.
Anywaysss, this is an amazing fic and loved kotallos character and even the readers as well. Loved they writing on how they navigated the recovery and adjustment to losing his arm.
umm not sure if i like this but omegaverse kinda-neglected reader! x tf141 (ghost focus at the end), angst, good ending, gn!reader, SFW
You’re a beta. That should come as a relief, many tell you every day they wish they were your designation instead. No heats, no ruts, not even stinking up a room when you got a bit too overwhelmed by an emotion.
Just in the middle: a nice calming scent, a decent paying job— never too high, a beta CEO wouldn't be able to control anything— and the lack of any crazy season that would get you all flustered. Your sense of smell was incredibly different to theirs, but you werent given much chances to complain considering all they went through in heats.
So naturally you were taught your life revolved around alphas and omegas, all the way from secondary school when you were sat next to the reactive Alpha’s to “try and make them behave better”. In biology class your designation was skimmed over very quickly in favour of understanding how to react to their emotional changes and the like, and anything else you had to figure out for yourself.
It’s not like getting out of school into the workforce was much better. Omega’s rights had changed greatly in the past century, and no one would bat an eye at them being in most jobs— so applying was even more impossible. Even when you did get into the workplace, it was like alpha’s would immediately stop listening when there was an omega in the room, or vice versa. Truthfully you were jealous of their natural pull to each other, like the relationships you’d read in books or see in swoon worthy movies.
“There’s all sorts of jobs— chefs, mechanics, cyber analysts, engineers, dont just have to be a soldier.” The army recruiter outside your local supermarket rambles, clearly trying to get at least one recruit today at the minimum. Otherwise he’d definitely get in big trouble. “And you’re a beta, so you can do both work with Omega and Alpha jobs! You’ll be fine!”
“What?” You look at him, that mention perking you up and he looks at you with glee. You were only listening in hopes he’d get you off his back, but that was certainly news to you.
“I bet you’re sick of fighting with even more people for jobs now, huh? In the military omega’s and alphas are kept very seperate, even so, they’re required to be on suppressants so everything’s very easy.”
—————
So, that’s how you ended up here, bullied and forced into the shape of a soldier, something you still feel fake about even after countless deployments. It’s quickly forgotten though when you have the thrill of finally finding your place in society.
Your first team was mostly alphas, a beta here and there, but it felt great to have them treat you equally, slapping a hand on your back and grinning at a job well done. The omega team wouldnt even bat an eye when you were assigned to them, just as welcoming. Truly the best of both worlds, you could be anything you wanted in this system— it was like it was built for you to thrive.
Then the taskforce got established, and by a stroke of luck, you got transferred on. “You always run this early?” A hand lands on your shoulder, and you jump just to meet Sergeant Mactavish’ grin. After completing your demolitions course with flying colours, you soon got assigned under him. His hair is wet, mohawk flat for once, and you can only assume he just washed off. Still, his scent washes over you, easing your momentary shock and you nod, smiling. “Yeah, isn't the water too cold this early?”
“It’s alright. C’mon, let’s go meet the others for breakfast.”
You follow him, the faintest happy scent trailing off of you as you do so, and spiking just the miniscule amount when you sit down at the table.
“Please please give me your bread roll, i love the jam they use for it.” Gaz pleads, clasping his hands together and you can't help but roll your eyes, letting him trade it for his fried egg. “I love you so much-“ He mumbles, already taking a bite out of it that Price rolls his eyes as he takes a seat.
“Almost thirty years old...” He mutters and you giggle, eyes moving to where Ghost comes with his tray, sitting next to Price.
“I saw you on the track, you looked tired.” He says, giving you a pointed look, and making your cheeks flush. Oh, right. The night prior you’d been suddenly awaken to help deal with a feral omega, forced to give up hours of sleep to soothe them to submission..
“Just didn’t get the best sleep. I’ll feel alright after a coffee.” You give him a small shrug, eating more of your food. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer before nodding and carrying on.
The sergeants were more than happy to include you in all their plans, barely batting an eye when your scent wasn't as strong as theirs or in combat training you couldn't hold as much of an intimidating presence. Nor did the Captain and the Lieutenant care either, always praising the fact you could slip by unnoticed, with no chance of wavering from the other two designations and such.
It felt almost like a pack.. and it was perfect. So perfect.
“Johnny, just spill it!” Gaz groans as the Scot dances around the subject for the tenth time that morning, making you all roll your eyes at the breakfast table.
“I got an omega!” The whole table falls silent, and then Gaz lets out a low whistle patting him on the back whilst the Captain nods approvingly.
“And you wont show us a photo?” Ghost chimes in, making Soap stumble to get his phone out, excited as he passes the phone around. A sweet, soft omega. Round cheeks, a bright smile, hanging off his arm like it was the key to her heart. A perfect match to him.
“She looks perfect with you, good on you, son.” The Captain says, giving him a gruff smile and Gaz snickers at his father-like praise. Then they turn to you, as you sit in shock, fork gently clattering on the plate.
Your jaw hurts from how you physically have to force a wide enough smile, standing up and coming around to congratulate him properly. It’s even worse when Kyle insists he should show more pictures and so you stand there between them, making fake ooo’s and aaah’s in hopes it would hide the slightest change in your scent.
It changes everything.
“Soap, me and Gaz are going to the pub later—“
“Ah… cant, omega wants me to watch a movie with her. What about friday?”
“Oh— do you mind if we do some sparring today?”
“Uh.. okay, sure. Just gotta finish up this text to my omega. Ye know she’s getting stronger by the day! I’ve been helping her keep fit, yknow, to stay safe and all.”
“Do you want to go grab lunch?”
“Oh— sure. Feels like i havent seen you in forever.”
You smile wide when he finally agrees to hang out with you again— after all, it’s not like he was acting like this with Kyle. So you both enter the mess, going to grab your plate.
“Ahh.. the ‘mega loves chicken like this, makes hers a bit more seasoned though. Bloody good.” You smile weakly, trying to start your own conversation about work, and the mission you’ll be going with him on.
“Oh ye havent heard yet.” He falls quiet and you tilt your head in confusion, about to place the dish on your tray.
“Havent heard what? Was there a new brief?”
“You should talk to the Captain.”
Confused, you do stop by his office later that evening, gently tapping on the door with your knuckles and announcing yourself. With a weaker scent, he couldn’t tell you apart from the alpha’s across base with their scent blockers on, unlike the rest of the taskforce.
“Come in.”
“Soap said i havent heard something about the mission im going with him on soon? Did something change?”
“Ah, right. You dont need to go anymore.”
You blink in surprise, suddenly really confused by all of this and you step forward a bit more, scent souring. Not that he’d pick up on it.
“He’s a claimed alpha now, there’s no need for a beta to mediate.”
You stand there, the contents of your stomach in your throat as you process his words. Mediate. You werent there because of skills.. the CO who encouraged you to take a demolition course didn't even think you were good at it either. They just needed a beta to mediate in a field lacking them.
“Oh. Right.”
A month passes by of you watching Soap slip away from you, barely talking to you if not about his omega, never joining you on a morning run until you’re sure he’s forgotten about you altogether. At first you had chalked it up to him just being busier with mated life. After all, you’ve witnessed the pull of an omega first hand many times, how it makes them change. Though, his relationship with the alphas didn't change in the slightest.
With his protective instincts he was drawn to the alphas more now, always hanging around Gaz and and Ghost when they weren't busy, beelining straight past you unintentionally. You cant really blame him either, no one remembers the beta’s faint scent.
It was Gaz next. One evening you were leaning against him on the couch, unable to hide your despair and luckily he’d been nice enough to let you sit there without explanation. It was nice, you thought that if you had no Soap, at least you had your other best friend. He always made you smile, and he was the reason you even got a slice of attention from Soap these days.
And then it came.
It started small, just hanging around Soap more often than not. Really you hadnt thought much of it, but it did feel rough when you sat also on the rec room couch just to watch them fully invested in something you could never join in on. You figured it was about Soap’s omega again, not something you particularly wanted to hear about.
Then it turned into turning down bar nights altogether. They would both cancel, Gaz excusing it with ‘plans’ whilst Soap was always honest. Sure you had the whole team, but being in the vicinity of four alphas in an alpha only bar was enough of a scent overload to give any beta a headache.
Then you saw his lockscreen on accident, just wanted to check the time really. It was unmistakably obvious though, the smiles, calmer than Johnny’s one, but just as gorgeous and adorable. A real treat for the eyes.
“Congratulations.” You mumbled when he came back to the couch with his can, raising a brow at you.
“What..?” He knew, of course he did. You knew his lying look.
“Got yourself an omega, when are you gonna tell the others?”
He seems embarrassed, quickly grabbing the phone off of you, cheeks burning. “How did you see that?!”
The next morning he announces it to the team and you join in with congratulating again, only too aware of the cycle that was soon to repeat. Only, it wasn't too bad with Gaz. You were grateful, so grateful when he still would spend a lunch or two with you, or even just talk to you.
“Hey, we going on our usual grocery run this week?” You two were put together on the rota for stocking the rec room and so you both head out, riding shotgun in Gaz’s car.
You both had a copy of the list, walking around the store together, until you eventually got them all. “Oh! Just a second, need to grab some scent stuff.” In the small beta section they allowed, there were really good products to clear out scents from others that’d stick to betas and linger around. After all, you had a keener sense of smell, so being around the taskforce meant it racked up pretty fast on your clothes and on your room.
Kyle was the first you confided in after you suddenly fainted once, at a bar, the scents too much for you to handle. Though you managed to quell it pretty quickly with these. Some you could just spray in your nose and go— perfect for getting rid of the oncoming dizziness.
“You know you dont have to get the fanciest things, just get the base ones. It’s at the back of the store and they’re expensive.”
You pause, he never questioned this before, not even the first time you had nervously told him— afraid to be undermined.
“There’s no base ones..” You say with a raised brow, but you cant bring yourself to be too rude to him. Even if his tone was almost sharp, scolding, as if you were being selfish. Right now it feels like you’re reduced to your designations, and that’s it. Not humans, not friends, not even teammates. Alpha and beta. “There’s only one brand that ever does it.”
“Really? And what about the cheap scent clearers? The ones you used to use before.” He gives you a firm look, challenging, and you swallow, unsure where this hostility came from.
“..They got pulled off the shelf, Kyle. Thousands of beta’s got chemical burns— i couldnt smell properly for a week.”
He pauses for a split second, like he’ll acknowledging the truth in your words and his wrongs, then just huffs, turning to scan where the empty checkout is. “Fine. Get what you want then, but I'm going to pay. I’ll meet you at the car.”
When you return with the small plastic bag, he puts his hand out for the receipt so it can be handed to you at a price for expenses on the card. “I paid for it myself.” You mutter back, your scent tinging sour and in the close proximity it might be noticeable this time. He pauses, and then puts his hands on the wheel, choosing not to comment further.
———————————
The sergeants are on a mission, one you were supposed to be on, but now you’ve been shoved into another with unclaimed alpha’s who need a bit of extra settling. Or rather someone lesser than them they can secretly believe they’re higher than. It doesn't feel much different to secondary school now, and you find yourself with less will to argue about it.
Thankfully, Lieutenant Ghost is here with you. He’s always been alright— not exactly friendly but not rude either. You were quite intimidated by his rank at first, convinced he’d be strict and unforgiving but he’s content if you get the work done.
“Handled that bomb in record time.” He comments beside you on the way back to base. There was another demolitions expert on the team but when news came up that there was another bomb they had not suspected, he immediately put his trust in you to disarm it.
“Thanks for the chance, Lt.” You smile up at him and he nods, acknowledging your hard work. After all, you really did always put in more than your best. Even so, he cant help but notice you sink as soon as he shifts his attention to someone elsewhere, the conversation falling quiet. He’d be blind to notice the gap between you and the sergeants, even if you were a beta and them having omega’s shouldnt even bother you. Him and Price had to regularly reminds them to not walk around in clothes stinking of their partner.
“The sergeants are back from their mission, could hit the pub tonight. Whole team can come”
You feel too bad to decline now, so you just nod. “Okay. Yeah.”
—————
The Alpha only pub is bustling and you offer to grab the third round just so you can escape the thick scents building around you. It doesnt help that you’re basically rationing your scent-refresher as of right now.
“Omega’s doing good.” Soap responds to Price’s questions.. At least you’ll miss this mandatory conversation while you go. The bartender already knows you, greeting you with a welcoming smile as you start your order. It’s all going on Price’s card, so you take the opportunity to get a sundae instead of alcohol. He did owe you one after an explosive you caught right by his position. Besides, it was less than a tenner, and you’d savour it for life.
“Heat’s coming up though. It’s only three days long usually, but should go smoothly. The store almost ran out of supplies too.” Soap sighs loudly, shaking his head and Kyle nods along, also probably having similar issues.
You’re not exactly listening, carefully holding the plate of drinks so you don't accidentally spill it with the countless bodies in this crowd.
“If they got rid of the beta section, they’d have more to spend stocking on the omega stuff.” A soldier hanging around elbows Soap, but he doesnt disagree. If anything the buzz of alcohol just makes him want to finally speak his truth now.
“Right? I mean really? Beta period products? Beta scent enhancers? Like those would actually even work to attract an alpha let alone an omega. Those scent refreshers cannot be real either, i mean, you’d think they’d want to smell us, ya know? Not like they get anything else— ”
The table goes silent, Gaz obviously kicking Soap in the leg until he looks up and meets eyes with you. The other soldier doesnt bat an eye, raising a brow at you. “Oh, your drinks are here. Can you order me two aswell?”
“I’m not a waiter” You snap back, and the Captain stands quickly, taking the tray from your hands and placing it down on the table.
“Think your team wants you back over there.” He motions for the soldier to go with his eyes, and he quickly leaves. “Thanks for grabbing them, i’ll get yours. Come, sit.” He turns to you but you freeze, shaking your head, and turning back into the crowd. “I’ll get it myself.”
“You idiot!” Gaz puts his head in his hands at the very obvious tension from Soap’s words.
“I didn't know they was there!” He retorts, though also slumps into his seat a little more. “It’s true. What do you want me to say?”
“Enough.” Price sighs, pinching his brow, he should’ve stopped the sergeants earlier but he hadnt known he’d be stupid enough to say that. Even if it was something that they were all thinking.
They take their drinks from the tray you brought, Gaz and Soap downing theirs immediately as if that’ll get rid of the dread hanging on their head. Price begins to sip his light chatter starting up again until Ghost suddenly speaks up.
“They still haven't come back.”
It’s been five whole minutes, and there’s no sight of you to be seen anywhere.
—
You’re sitting at the back entrance of the pub, empty at this time with the game roaring inside the pub. The alleyway it leads into is dirty, a few football decorations here and there, but mostly just black bin bags spilling out the large bins. There were two guys who had been staring you down for a while, like you were something that needed saving. The second one of them approached and caught your lack of omega scent, they immediately groaned and just turned away.
You just stick your spoon back in your sundae, not even lifting your head the entire time, just letting the cold sweetness try and keep you together.
There’s a small noise as someone sits down beside you, a rustle of clothing, and then the soft click of a lighter. You turn your head, slightly surprised to find Ghost there instead of a random drunk bloke hoping to score a sweet thing. He meets your eyes but neither of you say anything as you go back to eating your sundae.
“Should’ve got the other one.”
“What?”
“The bigger one.” He shrugs, the cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. “Price told us to order whatever.”
“This is the only one that can come in a takeaway cup.” You mumble and he doesn't say anything further, not even when you lick the spoon clean.
“Why are you here?” You ask, unable to keep silent anymore. It’s not like he actually came to see how you were, and you’re suddenly glad he didn't come ten minutes earlier when you were on the verge of bawling your eyes out.
“S’posed to be a team night.”
“Maybe for the Alphas.” You grumble and he cant help but hum alongside you, not arguing with you on that fact.
“Cant stand the smell, can ya? Got the takeaway cup cause you knew you’d need to go regardless.” Of course he figured it out immediately, though you’d think it’s impossible to read you given how some people treat you.
“You mad i’m not fawning over your scent?” You scoff and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, making sure no chocolate sauce lingers— especially with how he’s watching you right now.
“Johnny is a stupid drunk, ‘lright?.” He mutters, a bit of bitterness in his tone that always lingers, but it’s not directly at you. “Price’ll convince you it’s just his instincts and all, looking after the omega.”
You look over at him and give him a deadpan look, the most honest you’ve ever been with the man. Usually you’re pretty agreeable, in fact the only time you’ve had a conflicts was when they got injured. Turns out you’re the only voice of reason whenever that happened, as the smell of the blood sent the rest of them into a spiral of worry.
And well, after that, he can't really blame you for being like this.
“I’m going.” You mutter, standing up and throwing the plastic cup in the bin before wiping your hands on your jeans.
To your surprise, he doesnt hesitate to follow you as you round to the front, heading to the little bus stop. It’s not the first time you’ve left early, but it is the first time someone’s made sure you’re alright by the end of the night.
————————
Soap only makes a quick apology which you’re forced to just accept,, because what else can you really do? Mess up a whole team because of one thing he said which wasnt that far from the truth?
As predicted, Price did try and tell you it was due to protective instincts, wanting the best for his omega. Right, the same instincts that made him leave you like you were dirt on his shoe.
Besides, life was getting busier for you as you now got passed between two teams. Either working with Ghost and Price or a different group of alphas. Passed around like a damn stress toy in your opinion.
“So we’re going to the one in the highstreet?” Gaz and Soap are chatting on the couch, not that you’re listening, just getting your things out the cupboard to make yourself a hot drink.
“My ‘mega loves it, craves the food there all the time. She’s gonna love meeting yours.”
Whatever, it wasnt the first time they’ve discussed plans in front of others. Wouldn't be the last.
“I’ll text the Captain and Ghost.” Soap adds, humming as he starts tapping away at his phone, opening their group chat you assume. One that you’re clearly not on, given that they dont invite you.
“You think he’ll even come?”
“He’s not that antisocial.”
“Yeah but he’s only one without an omega dumbass.”
The container you're holding clatters against the table and they both back to stare at you with the exact same wide eyed look you’re giving them. If he’s the only one then Price..
You walk out like nothing happened, even if you can feel the tears start to burn your eyes. It was all going so well, you were all happy together— werent you? So why?
The cycle repeats for the third time. You’re taken off another team, not deemed useful enough anymore. You congratulate Price when you next see him, and he doesn't say more than a thank you. Somehow it hurts more that he didn't purposefully tell you— he just forgot, like everyone else did.
You stopped coming by the rec room the last time the sergeants had a movie night without you. The texts between them and you ran dry, and after skipping one breakfast, you just never came back again. That’s just how it was now, and they didn't even reach out once. In fact, all of the last messages were from you. An unanswered question, a conversation cut short, or a text that just never even got opened.
Except for Ghost. He still spoke to you— well, as much as he’s known to anyway. A hello in passing, a chat between sets in the gym, maybe when you’re queuing for food. As much as you wanted to take the opening, you just couldnt, too terrified to. After all, it was only a matter of time until Ghost left you aswell. You should know that you should savour every last moment, cling onto it tight, but you just can't. It’s not like you two were ever the closest anyway.
——————-
You’ve been moved to an omega team this time. It’s not the first time you’ve worked with one, but usually they can balance each other out easier since they aren't as explosive as Alphas. It also means this is a mission you can't slip up on from the months of work they’ve put into this.
They welcome you immediately, and you grasp the ropes of it all fairly quickly, until it’s finally the day. The prisoners are right where you expected them, and just as told, the one in the middle has explosives strapped all over.
They evacuate the rest out whilst you kneel down before the explosives, watching the wires and where they turn and twist intently whilst the person tries their best not to squirm too hard. Even with your best efforts, nothing seems to match what you know but you frown as you notice the wire reaching towards the chair they’re bound to. Down to the floor.. a weak floorboard. The weight of the chair.. essentially a mine.
One hostage on that chair— you move her off and everyone dies. What do you even do?
“Do not stand up at any point, okay? I’m going to get you out, but you have to trust me.” Shrugging all the gear off, you cut the straps that locks the person to the chair.
You hand her your gear carefully and step back, just enough to reach the doorway. There’s no telling how large this bomb is, but you can assume it cant be enough to seriously damage the ship you’re on.
“Okay, you need to shuffle forward just slightly and place the gear behind you, okay? Then, when you’re ready, cover your head with your hands and run towards me.” The woman trembles, doing as you told and the weight of the gear seems to be a good enough trade off for the mine to not set off.
After that, she bolts, and you pull her through the doorway and as far away as possible, shielding her as the shockwaves rattles through the ship.
———————
Ghost hadnt expected to see his phone buzz at this time, by the infirmary no less. But when they relayed what happened, he had made his way there immediately. You had just come out of surgery, a high enough dose of anaesthesia in you that you just werent acting right. He intended to wait outside until you stabilised, that is until the nurse rushes out suddenly.
“Would you mind coming in, sir? We need someone to restrain them.”
He steps inside to see you squirming against another nurse, slurring and trying to escape your bed, clearly panicked.
“Stop that, you’re going to hurt yourself more.” He reaches for your flailing wrists, forcing the nurses out the way as they stand at the back and watch you get manhandled by the alpha.
Something in his gut feels uncomfortable with the stains of red across the bandages across your body, burns peeking out of some. So he carefully restrains your wrists against each other, holding them firmly.
“L-lieutenant?” You stammer out, dazed eyes searching for him intently until you manage to focus on his mask. Finally you stop freaking out for a moment. He turns but the nurses are already gone, probably called to another patient— the operation you were on had quite a few injuries for different reasons.
“Yeah, it’s me. Y’just came out of surgery, you’re okay now, alright?” He carefully lets go of your hands, helping you reposition yourself after you had tried to squirm off the bed. “I’ll grab the nurse, then we can see when we can get y’outta here.”
The nurse?
You blink at him, looking around at your surroundings, the sterile smell of the place attacking your nose. Simon was an alpha.. and the nurses, well specifically in this wing.. your eyes glance to the sign outside the door, the familiar writing.
“No- no you cant!” You barely manage to grasp his arm as he pulls away and he looks at you in confusion. The beeping in the room starts getting even louder than before, almost incessant and you feel like your chest is going to explode.
“Your heart rate is rising, sarge. You need help—“
“Lieutenant— no, please-“ You whine pathetically as he pulls away from you, leaving him stunned until he reluctantly steps closer again before you throw yourself entirely out of the bed to reach him.
“I wont let ‘em hurt you, promise.” He can only assume you must be scared of needles or something, a fear of medical care surely. He never knew that about you, and it spikes something in his chest, a cog in his head. The fear radiating off of you is palpable, and he can smell the faintest change of your scent in the air.
“No- no! The nurse— she’s an o-omega, you cant—“ You choke out, head getting dizzy from all the sudden movement as you desperately clutch his sleeve. It forces him to stay right there, not the grip on his sleeve but the desperation in your eyes.
“Sarge— i’m not gonna act like a wimp in rut from talking to an omega.” He huffs but he knows you’re out of it. It must be the anaesthetic getting to your head, making you say all these silly things.
“You’re going to leave me- you’re going to—“ A sob escapes you as grip loosens on him and he freezes, watching you curl into yourself. Your forehead gently hits his arm, tears wetting his sleeve.
“I’m right here.” He says, voice quieter and it makes him breathe relief when the beeping settles down to a steadier rate, even if it is still high and you look even worse like this— so lost and terrified.
“You are..” You sniffle, pressing your nose further against his arm. “t-the omega nurse- she- she’ll come and you’ll leave with her. You’ll leave me- a-and never speak to me again, please- lieutenant please.” Your hands tighten and he swallows sharply, letting your words sink in.
It was never about envy, not even the way you stared at them whenever they spoke about omegas. It was pure fear. And this feeling in his chest, it was tightening with each soft sniffle from you, instincts flaring. He’s never felt like this in his life, infact he was convinced he never would. But he just cant stand the sight of you like this— the bloodstained clothes, the fear in every small movement, your vulnerability.
He steps forward without thinking about it, his free arm gently prying you off of him until you fall back against the pillows. “Not leaving you for some random omega, you silly beta.” He scolds, picking you up off the bed until your head rests on his shoulder, sniffling into his shirt.
“Gonna take you where you belong. Gotta tell me if i hurt you, though.” Warmth spreads through him now that he has you against him like this. It clicks something in his brain he didn't know was waiting for a stimulant.
All that leaves your lips are the sobs that keep coming, staining his shirt, but finally settling now the dizziness has settled. “Dont go.. don’t, please, you cant..”
You’re right, he cant keep you around these omegas and all of this. No, he needs you to be healing properly around things you like— you want. He needs to look after his beta.
He grabs your duffel off the chair where it’s left, checking the corridor twice before marching through the quiet corridors towards the barracks.
it never occurred to me that the moon has no reason to come up only at night. it doesnt do that at all. its not exclusively a night thing its up during the day a lot too. why dont we talk about this. the moon watches over us more often than we really consider as a culture
PT2 to my neglected beta!reader x toxic 141 (excluding simon), gn!reader
WC: 7.7k part 1 here
Simon thought Johnny was bad enough getting into his head and convincing him to indulge in an actual friendship for once. It didn't help either that getting along with Kyle was as easy as making a remark and laughing together over it. The team created a perfect dynamic, almost unstoppable.
Then came you.
You were always hanging around them, fitting in easily, practically always smiling at his jokes even on missions. Maybe a snide remark back here or there, but it was never more— always balanced. He supposed it was in your nature, as a beta and all, to be perfectly in between like that. Not that Simon was the one to pay much mind to societal matters like that anyway— the battlefield was very different to social gatherings, and the only language he knew was that of violence. It wasn't like he couldn't get by either; it felt like everyone grew up with that small talk ingrained in them from the start. The weather, the latest mission, annoying recruits, the bloody royal family if he really had to.
So, when he started to notice the change around you, he decided to stay out of it. It was plain obvious you felt disappointed when Johnny got an omega, Simon felt a little pang even if he didn't want to. But he didn't know what that feeling meant, and he sure as hell wasn't going to call you out on it. So, he didn't.
Then it was Kyle, and your scent only grew even more sour. Still, you didn't show it on the outside, so he chose not to comment on it again. He probably never would’ve really— after all, who wants to be ‘comforted’ by someone who can't even fix himself?
When the Sergeants hung out, you were no longer in their little circle, always off somewhere else. He asked Johnny once, why you hadn't gone to watch a movie with them, only for him to just blink at Simon. “Oh— them? Guess we kinda just forgot to invite them. We’re not that close, an’ we got an omega ‘n all now.”
Is that what happens? When an alpha gets an omega? They forget everything they ever knew and just.. lock in on that? Still, Johnnys relationship with him never changed, not like he did with you. Something was wrong about all of this but what was he supposed to do, force the Scot to hang out with you again? This wasnt bloody nursery, besides, matters like this meant nothing with the weight of the nation placed on the team. Well, rather on the four alphas, since he soon learnt you were being taken off their shared missions too. For the first time, he faltered during the briefing with Price.
“You’re not bringing them for this one?” He heard about you being taken off of Johnny’s but this was a whole team mission with your file not in it.
“We have to spread resources efficiently. Technically we dont need them anymore, with two mated alphas. They’ll be placed with the extraction team.”
Ghost wasn't stupid, he knew that part of the reason for you being on the team was because of the regulation effects of having a beta on an all alpha team– it’s the same bias that got him into the SAS anyway. Omega’s never got this high in ranks either. But that’s exactly it, it’s meant to be a part of the reason not enough to throw you off an op.
“When we need to go solo, they’ll be on that op. It’s not that bad, Ghost.” Price reassures him, and all he can do is sigh and nod along. He already anticipated how your scent would tighten upon the news, a hint of sadness seeping in. This time he couldn't help himself– this was something he knew. So, he immediately secured your place the second he received orders of his mission, stationed beside him like you belonged. He’d always been able to recognise the change in scent, from the smallest degree, something that was forced into him at a young age. This time, it was clear you were much happier like this, beside one of the 141, on a mission, doing something.
That he could definitely relate to. He’s no stranger to feeling out of control when he can't contribute to an objective.
Having you beside him had a much better effect than he perceived anyway. Not only were you skilled and efficient, but he felt he just worked better beside you. And so he decided to set up a trip to the pub— give you a chance to hang out with Kyle and Johnny too. He was convinced that they had just gotten to in their heads with their new omegas– a honeymoon phase he supposes.
He kicked himself for not saying more at that fiasco, not forcing Johnny to regret those cruel comments in the moment. But you had already retreated back to your barracks at the end of the night, and he was left staring at your closed door with a chest aching with regret he hasnt felt since he was far smaller. The next day he hounded Johnny until he went to apologise to you, listening from the other side of the door in hopes that’d be enough. Still, he had figured you might’ve still been annoyed after yesterday, wouldn't even blame you really, but instead the acceptance was one of a prey who stopped fighting. It didn't satisfy the wound in his heart even for a second.
“Why have you denied my team for the next mission?” He stands before Price’s desk, an anger boiling in his chest that he hasn't felt for years. He swore to himself he wouldnt let his happen again.
“You know I'm mated, Simon–”
“But i’m not.” His palms press on the desk as he stares at his Captain, the man who gave him a reason to keep going ever since this force had started. But he cant defend this, not when he’s taking away your purpose. “Price..”
“If i dont do it now, they’ll force my hand later. It’s a better opportunity for them to work with other teams too–”
“Bullshit.” He knows there’s no more arguing when Price gives him that look. It’s not like you’d be happy in your new omega team– he wouldn't be surprised if you grew envious of them from how their existence had thrown you out of the entire team. He knows something violent would burst if it happened to him.
————-
There’s a heavy haze on your mind when you try to blink your eyes open, like it’s muddling all your thoughts into one. You’re extremely hungry.
A small groan escapes you and when you finally open your eyes, it’s like they’re forced to droop. You can feel dried stains on your cheeks which explains why your eyes feel tired themselves. What happened?
There’s a small rumble behind you, startling you but you hardly have control of your body right now so there’s not much you can do but blink in confusion. The last thing you remember is training for the mission with the team, and by the pain rippling across your body, something must’ve happened during it. Still, your chest doesnt pump with fear, in fact you feel calm, like your body is well aware that you’re safe wherever you are.
Again, you try to move, inhaling a sharp breath as you force yourself onto your back. The pain is instant and you have to breathe out slowly as if you dont feel like there’s tears across your arms. When you finally sober up, you stop scrunching your eyes so tight and finally notice the weight next to you. Or rather.. around you.
“W-what the—?”
———
He had woken up to the feeling of you shuffling beneath his arm, but the muffled pained sound is what made his eyes snap open. It takes him a few moments to realise the predicament he had found— or rather put himself— in last night. One arm draped across your stomach protectively with his nose pressed as close to you as he could manage.
“You’re up early.” He glances at the clock behind you, sat on the dresser, the early time of eight am flashing beside ‘Saturday’. Even though he knows he should be questioning why he’s even doing this, his body feels strangely at ease. It’s even better than the day after a successful op.
“Lieutenant.. why are we in bed?” You croak out, trying to sit up from the embarrassment of it all but his arm tightens to keep you from going too far. It startles you, against his intentions, leaving you even more confused than before. “Wasnt i on a mission..? And— and there was a hostage.. is she alright? Did anyone else get seriously hurt—”
“Mission went sideways ‘cause of a bomb strapped to a hostage, everyone’s out alright. You got the brunt of the damage saving them, the rest of them are already going home safe.”
His alpha isnt as fiery as he remembers it the night prior, the ache in his chest now a warm thrum with you so close. Still, you look uncomfortable, and that hurts his alpha more than being away from you. So he pulls away, letting you sit yourself upright against the headboard.
You take a long breath of relief at his words of reassurance, and he can only assume it’s your own instinctive need to keep others safe. “And how I ended up here..?”
“You had surgery to remove shrapnel and a stray bullet that skimmed you. When you woke, the anaesthesia had you terrified, flailing about like a fish outta water.” He murmurs, gesturing towards the bandages peeking out from the hospital gown you still wore. It had ridden up in the night and now showed the gauze and bandages wrapped around your middle. There were some on your calves as well and the way you wince he supposes you realised about the one on your back.
“They called me in to help stabilise you— figured you’d recognise me. You did, calmed down a bit and then..” He trails off for a moment and you look up at him curiously, watching as he leans back against the headboard. He pauses, unsure whether to tell you about what you had confessed to him in your drugged state. “Jus’ started crying… not sure what about.” He swallows and then glances back down to you. “And well, y’know how we’d get, when another got injured”
They’ve always had their fair share of injuries, usually due to their own brashness as alphas. He remembers when Gaz got shot like it was yesterday, the three of them wouldn't leave his side. It took you all the strength you could muster to force John to let you treat him, even if Ghost had been glued to his side anxiously throughout the entire thing too.
“I took you away from there, brought you here. Stayed till you fell asleep, and then I must’ve passed out myself.”
It’s obvious you’re extremely confused right now, and to be honest, even he is. He’s never felt a pack instinct so strong in his life, not even towards the rest of the 141– it’s still shocking him, and yet, he still cant feel anything but calm.
“Sorry.. for the trouble i caused.” You mumble out but he shakes his head immediately.
“You didn't cause any. Just glad you’re okay.” He gets off the bed, mattress creaking from the relieved weight and springing immediately after he stands. “I’ll go grab breakfast. You shouldn't move too much.”
—————
It took everything in him to force himself to leave you to head towards the mess hall. Doing so also cleared his mind from the tranquility forced upon it, letting him finally go over the events of last night to just five minutes ago.
He had forgone all professionalism, and snatched you from the infirmary like it was what he was meant to do.
When he got back, you practically shovelled the food in your mouth whilst he restrained himself from telling you to eat slower. Still, he offered to help you clean up, since seeing all those wraps didn't make his chest any lighter regardless of instinct. Though,that was enough for you to adamantly shake your head and accidentally shut the door straight in his face.
“Thanks for making sure I was okay.” You say gratefully, dressed in some spare clothes and picking up your phone in your bag to see for any messages about reports or briefings. “ I should head back to my room though.”
He freezes, you weren't supposed to just leave straight away. Well, technically you didn't have a reason to stay, but a burn in his chest makes it physically impossible to watch you step away now.
“Stop.”
You listen to his command, turning to meet his eyes as you wonder what else he could really want. The chair creaks as he stands, making his way over to you until he’s just standing there, scrutinising you.
“You smell.. off.”
“Well.. I'm not using my usual shampoo obviously.” You give him a meek smile, and even though it’s not enough to settle the craving he just nods— accepting it.
“Should probably check by the infirmary just in case.” He mumbles, fighting every urge to scent you before he lets you go.
“I will.”
———
Three days.
That’s all that’s passed since that night, and still his mind is a turmoil he can't unravel. As much as his brain insisted you needed some space, he found himself insistent on making sure you’re okay.
That’s exactly why the second he saw you alone in the mess hall today, he was beside you in seconds.
“Are you feeling any better?” Your shoulders jump in a way that makes him wince, but you relax just as quickly when you realise and smile at him.
“What, better than yesterday when you asked me in the hallway?” He likes seeing you tease him like this, as if the pain wasn't eating you from the inside. You hadn't got the opportunity to talk more than in passing, so you answer more when he looks at you attentively. “The nurses gave me ointment for the burns, and I'll be back on regular training soon. Just taking it easier with lighter gym sets, and running instead to keep my body moving.”
Right, he remembers the significantly less damage on your lower half; running must be a bit easier than any other activity for you.
“Good to know, I’ll keep an eye on you too.”
You look embarrassed by his words, quickly turning your head away as you hurriedly step forward in the queue. “I’m not going to exert myself, you don't need to do that.”
All he can do is shrug, trying to push down the feeling that bubbles with your reaction. Instead he steps in front of you to dish out your portions of food for you. Not too much, or too little, just the way you’ve always liked it. He even skips the sides you don't like.
“I do, actually. As a lieutenant, you’re under my care. And as my beta, I need to make sure you’re well.”
It slips out so easily before he can stop it and he pauses, waiting for you to narrow your eyes in disgust. Who is he to claim you like that? Although.. you don't even seem to catch it, but he does notice the small quirk of your brow when you finally process a few moments later. “Wait–”
“Im on grocery run on tomorrow— havin’ a team movie night on Saturday. You should come too, get some steps in instead of being in this stuffy base for so long” Before you can even answer he places your utensils on your plate and then locks onto the exit. “Meet me by our usual car, alright? Eight amsharp.” And then he’s already weaving through the crowds, leaving you standing on your own.
————————-
For the first time in his life, Simon Riley was excited to see you. He hadn't really had time to question it, between the brand new load of paperwork dumped on him today alone and a million other problems in his mind. And yet, every time he glanced at the time ticking towards tomorrow, his instincts roared.
Would you allow him any closer than before? Although, sleeping beside him was already past many boundaries he had only considered he’d need to ease through now. He’s sure you’d flash him that exact smile when he saw you waiting by the car, positive you’d be embarrassed when he no doubt did something for your sake.
Or you’d back up in fear, your eyes flashing with the same hurt you directed towards Soap that day. You’d realise he’s no different than the rest, infact probably just as cruel as they are.
“Bit late to still be working, Lieutenant, even for you.”
“John.” He murmurs, voice on the quieter end as he watches from his seat on the Captain’s couch. There was a small wad of paperwork clutched in his hands like he needed reason to be here, and not solely for the true purpose.
“Simon.” Price returns, walking over to his desk to light a cigar before returning to sit infront of him. “Got a feeling I know why you’re here.”
It’s silent for a few moments and John is convinced he’ll have to lure the question out himself. But it never really is that simple with Simon Riley. Straightforward as ever, he can't help but jump right to the point “How did you.. know? Your omega.”
Price raises a brow this time, having not entirely expected that, but nods regardless as he breathes out smoke. “Feel it in your chest first. Like your instincts are controlling you really… pulling you towards them. It’s not like you can even try to stop it either.”
“And then what..?”
“The mating bite. The feeling will come soon after, fast even— you’ll get violent. But it’s what’s expected, nearly every alpha goes through it. Just advise your omega to not fight back and there won't be much to clean up.”
He pauses when the air in the room suddenly becomes tense, taking another inhale of the cigar.
“The sooner you do it, the easier it’ll be. You don't know when you’ll see them again with our schedules. I don't want to see you actin’ feral on a mission desperate for their scent.”
Soon enough, it was the next day, and he had driven you to the nearest Tesco Extra. Luckily you had come just in time for a sale.. although that meant there were a lot more people than usual. Despite offering to hold it, the basket dangles in his right hand while you glue yourself to his left side. The explosion had left your senses much more sensitive, so sticking to him was the best option.
“Anything else you want?”
“Maybe another biscuit?” You tease since he’s been filling up the basket with them so far, making you snort a little. When you did hang around the team, him and you were the only ones who’d eat them but you didn't know he liked it this much.
He rolls his eyes at your teasing, and leads you to the next aisle. “Grab what you want and meet me over there.” It’s emptier here, so you nod and watch him go towards the tinned food, now facing the shelves of crisps he left you with.
Well you know Soap and Gaz’s favourites already, and Simon loves kettle chips. You’re not sure if the Captain would also be there, so you grab a mixed bag for him. Would it be weird after not seeing them for so long? Strangely enough, you really can't bring yourself to resent them for what happened.
Was it really their fault? No one ever seemed to have the same problems as you. There was only one time you confessed it to a fellow beta on base, although he had quickly become defensive, shaking his head at you. ‘We’re colleagues at the end of the day. As long as it doesn't affect work, it’s totally fine.’
“Didn't get the crisps you like.” You jump as he appears, grabbing your favourite and tossing it in the basket. “Come on, we’ll get some drinks and go.”
You trail behind him as he carries on, noticing an obvious hunch in his shoulders. He’s tense, which for some reason you find entirely out of place despite you not even knowing him that well. It’s just that, ever since that morning in bed with him, he felt soft, and warm, like everything you’d find comfort in. Surely those same clenched muscles aren't the ones that laid beside you?
You’re about to spiral further into analysing his behaviour when you realise you’re at the checkout with him. “O-oh, do you mind if I run to the beta section quickly? I just need to grab—“
“Already got you one.” He picks up the scent refresher from the basket, scanning it through, as well as other medication he’s also seen you use before. You can only blink at him in surprise—the prices had hiked even higher recently, and you had to debate over buying one or being able to afford morning coffees anymore
It brought a sense of relief to your heart though, that comforting feeling settling in your gut once more. He’s alright, probably just a tough mission coming up.
———————
The past few days it’s like a switch had flipped inside him, too similar to how the others reacted after their new omega. You’re at a loss really, it’s not like he’s being rude, but he’s being distant. Like he’s cautious of you. To be honest, you were half expecting him to tell you not to come to the movie night anymore.
Though maybe you were judging him too quickly— it’s not all alphas, right? It was almost sickening every time the small bit of hope bubbled up though, like it was stupid to think he’d actually be the one to stay longer than the rest. You just hope the reason for this wasn't because of something they told him about you.
You were.. surprised to say the least when you entered the rec room alongside Ghost. The both of you had retrieved the bags from his car after he surprisingly called to make sure you were still coming.
Soap and Gaz weren't lazily sprawled across the couch like they usually would—if anything they seemed antsy. They were both sitting there, shoulders tense, Gaz’s leg even bouncing slightly. You did hear they all came back from a mission recently but they were never this agitated, all pent up like this, back when you were with them.
“Oh, hi.” Gaz looks upon hearing two sets of footsteps and smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You just nod, awkwardly fiddling with the plastic bags you grabbed from Ghost’s car. “What’re you here for?”
“Ghost and I went to grab the snacks the other day”
“Y’can call me Simon, y’know.” He takes the plastic bags from your hands and you nod sheepishly, not even realising you had been using his codename.
“Oops, sorry.” He shakes his head at your apology and you quickly help him unpack all the snacks onto the coffee table for tonight.
“Completely blew a mission and now ye come ‘ere for a movie night?” Soap must’ve gotten up at some point, now brushing past you. His arms are like rocks when they hit into yours, and his tone is heavy— almost accusing.
It catches you off guard, and you freeze, watching as he walks around the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water to swallow in one gulp. “Well.. we did always have the best ones, no?” Surely he didn't mean to be that harsh, clearly something had been holding their bodies in a tight limbo. It must be a poor joke, even if it dug deep.
He doesn't take your words in the tone you intended though, brows narrowing down at you in contempt. “Don’t see why we ‘ave to entertain the fuck ups. My omega was in tha’ mission, she could’ve died ‘cause of you.”
“Johnny—“ Simon cuts in, voice low as he steps in front of you, his scent wrapping around you, weak enough to not fill your head too much. He’s being careful for you.
Though before Simon can say anything more, you let out a soft huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “That’s the risk of every mission, Soap. I thought as a demolition expert you would know that. Or are you forgetting the time you almost killed me?”
“That was a calculated risk. And yer still standing, aren’t ya?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your supposed argument. “You were being reckless and stupid out there.”
“That’s not what you said when I was on the team.” You snap back, anger starting to simmer inside of you too now. After all, they had constantly sung your praises when you were here. It’s their own fault for throwing you into an omega mission when you weren’t prepared enough.
“You left the team.”
“Because I was forced off!”
That pisses him off, because your words feel like an attack against him, and he walks right up to you, inches away. “We never needed you anyway— just a beta to balance us alpha out. Clearly you’re useless otherwise.” Though suddenly his nose scrunches, stepping back a moment before his eyes narrow into a glare. “Ye fucking bastard. Coming in here, stinkin’ omegas, stinking of her?!”
Your jaw clenches as you watch his body language, something you picked upon living around alphas. They get explosive, very strong quickly. First his fists start to clench, the veins in his forearms starting to show. Then his scent starts getting thicker with anger, pumping into the air like a burning building. It’s bad enough that it makes your own anger start to fizzle, hitting your head in waves of pain and you almost stumble backwards. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion, his hand rising upwards, the touch of skin against your cheek and the implosion of pain that spreads across your head.
Simon grabs you before you end up dropping altogether and pulls you away from him immediately, shielding you with his body. “I dont know what the fuck has gotten into you Johnny but you need to sort it out— now.” His scent is thicker than you’ve ever smelt it, in fact this is the most you’ve ever been able to make of it. It smells like gasoline, sharp and lingering, and ready to destroy something completely. So toxic, it forces you to gasp for a breath.
“Both of you, stand down, now.”
Price’s voice echoes across the room and you instantly shudder, leaning against the counter weakly as you grasp your face. The bruise will darken tomorrow but you can already feel your cheek starting to swell. What really has you is the mix of scents all around, filling your head so strongly.
“Captain—“
“No.” Price doesn't hesitate to march over, standing in between them as Ghost thrums with anger. You look over to the doorway, hearing the small creak as it closes Gaz standing there with his arms crossed. “You are soldiers, not fucking children.” He argues, pointing an accusing finger towards the Scot before turning to give Ghost an equally sharp glare.
Then his eyes find you. All you can do is stare back, wondering how he’ll react. Would he blame you for all this? Would you be the scapegoat to keep his perfect little pack intact?
Would you let him humiliate you once more?
You’re a soldier, a beta one, but a fighter nevertheless. Missions you’ve fought through, almost died on, saved lives during. For this? To end up like this? You push yourself to stand despite the heavy scents weighing you down, regardless of the stare his alpha is directing to your beta. Everything tells you to submit, the haze in your head and the throb across your cheek.
“You should go, I'll talk to you about this later.” Price commands, nodding his head towards the door. Surprisingly, his words weren't as harsh, in fact more exasperated than anything.
“Enjoy your movie night.” You murmur, grabbing your jacket where it was on the chair and throwing it over your arm.
“Wait—“ Simon starts, backing away from his offensive on Soap instantly to follow you. “Don’t” You hear Price stop him, his hand wrapped around his forearm to stop him chasing after you.
————————-
If that wasn't enough of a reason for you to give up on all of them, you don't know what is anymore. They’ve treated you so horribly, it was hardly arguable anymore that you shouldn’t have even tried with them again. This was all so stupid—you’re so stupid for even thinking this time it could end differently. You could never coexist.
As for Simon, all you feel is a deep regret in your stomach. It was obvious really, of course he must’ve just been smelling omega on you this entire time. It was just a biological confusion, not a genuine interest in you. He didn't care about who you were, his alpha smelt an omega, and that’s all that really matters. It makes you feel sick to your stomach, knowing that you had in some way probably tricked him. His alpha probably had him strung up all week, no wonder he looked so uncomfortable in that shop and every day past.
The chat with Price never happened. They had been briefed almost immediately after you left for an op, and you heard the chatters of their departure the next day. So with them all gone,it was time to get back to work. You had briefings to attend, reports to fill and to forget about everything that happened. Or what didn't happen between you two.
Except you can't.
Everytime you get a second alone with your thoughts, they drift back to him, to that morning and waking up beside him. The last time you’ve woken to someone’s scent around you was when you were very little, your family huddling together in the nest. That stopped as soon as you presented.
Now you’re stuck with this emptiness in your chest. At first you thought his scent had been too strong, and you even tried two pumps of the scent refresher to try and clear your senses. Not even that worked, if anything making it worse now that you longed for his scent even more.
There’s a small balcony you used to see him smoke at, when you first joined the team. He came up here once or twice, and then over the two years you spent with them, never again. In fact, you overheard the sergeants say he quit it altogether. You pause by it today, staring out at the worn railing, the remnants of ash sitting upon it, the mark of his shoe making an outline on the unused floor.
For some reason it makes your eyes water, mourning a connection you could’ve had but seems impossible now.
—-
It’s late at night a few days later. You had taken the opportunity while they were gone to take all of your things out of the rec room. Sure, you should’ve done it before, but a small part of you was still clinging on to possibility. Your blankets that you and the sergeants would swaddle yourselves in on colder nights, the tea strainer you bought to show Price how to use leaves instead of the bought bags, even the few mugs in the cupboard you bought to match them. You left behind the one Soap bought for your birthday— perhaps it belonged there more than it ever did to you. Can't forget the CD player you let Gaz borrow a million times either.
They don't suit your room, the colour clashes with the boring greys in here, and they look like a pile of junk from where you’re beneath the duvets, staring at them. It’s almost midnight, and you know you should be sleeping, but it's a Friday night so to hell with that. You could afford late night wallowing; it’s not like you had anywhere to be tomorrow.
They were supposed to come back today. You heard it from Laswell when discussing something else; she must not know what happened between you. Either they chose not to tell her..or forgot, since you were never that important anyways. The clock blinks one am, maybe you really should sleep.
———
The knock on the door breaks your sleep, and you can only assume it wasn't the first as it continues, each one seeming to become.. slower. You crawl out of bed, mind trying to run a million possibilities through your awakening brain. An emergency mission? Bad news? A sudden attack? An intruder?
“Please..” You hear the groan on the other side of the door, convincing you enough to open it instantly and reveal the other side.
Ghost— or rather Simon, with his mask now fallen at your feet— leans against your door frame, blood dripping onto the floor from a wound near his middle and his eyes glazed over. “Beta..” He breathes through a pained wince, chest sinking quickly.
“Simon?! You should be in the infirmary, not here- ” You scoff, gaze flicking between the blood staining the floor, his hand clenched over the wound and the grime clinging onto his hair and neck.
“No— no- can’t think..” He steps forward, every movement heavy with pain and hurt and yet his eyes stay locked on you. His words are desperate as his hand clenches the handle, sucking in a strained breath.
“A-alright, fine. I’ve got some stuff somewhere—“ Opening the door fully now, you reach for his hand, letting him lean the brunt of his weight as you haul him towards your bathroom. It’s only when you manage to get him to sit on the toilet seat do you free yourself from him, rummaging through your cupboards desperately. “Here- okay, lift your shirt we need to fix that quickly.”
Luckily the wound had just been leaking into the bandages so all you had to do was repack and replace, although you had to deal with his incoherent groans the entire time. Tucking the clean edge into the wrap, he’s finally alright again and you sigh in relief, stepping back.
“Stop—“ He grasps your wrist as you try to put the box back, forcing you to stay in place as you raise a brow at him.
“I need to put it back.“ You sigh, unable to fathom what was up with him right now.
“Stay.”
“Simon, I’m just going to the cabinet..” You sigh as he shakes his head adamantly, pulling you closer even as you try and resist. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“Simon.” You say firmly, a fresh wave of your scent rolling through the air. Never have you used it on any of them before, in fact it only ever worked on inconsolable civilians you’ve saved. Beta scent’s only had the purpose of calming down people anyway, not like an Alpha’s commanding force or an Omega’s lure. “Let me go.”
So when he immediately goes lax, fingers grazing your palm as he gently lets go, you step back in surprise. What?
You keep one eye on him as you place the things away, but he just stays, unmoving. As you close the cabinet, you take a step towards him again, gently pulling down his shirt only to feel the soaked blood on it, as well as the gunpowder and grime. Definitely not a good mission then.
“Why.. don't you wash up, alright? I’ll get you some clothes.”
For a moment you’re convinced you’ll have to drag him yourself, but he takes a small inhale and nods quietly, standing the best he can before he kicks off his shoes and socks. Listening like a loyal dog.
—
You make your way to his room with your own mind full of questions from his strange behaviour. Why did your scent have that effect on him? Why did he come to you? Why did he always call you his beta?
The door unlocks easily with the card you nicked from his gear, and his room is in disarray. It wasn’t uncommon for a pack to have scented items from each other, or very close friends; it usually helped with sleeping or just getting comfortable. You remember Gaz and Soap often had items in each other's rooms for that exact reason, though they never traded with you, even if you never asked yourself.
You immediately noticed Price’s sweater on the floor, kicked to the door. Beside the dresser was Gaz’s spare shirt, crumpled and half shoved beneath the base. Soap’s jacket was behind the bathroom door, hidden away from sight like something that couldn't bear to be seen. In the midst of it was a pair of gloves you lent him during a mission when he was damaged badly. Like a pillar in chaos, it was neatly placed beside a brand new scent refresher and a pack of your favourite snacks. Surely, just a piece of repayment, right?
——————
The shower is quiet when you re-enter your room, and you hesitantly step towards the bathroom door, turning the handle. “Brought some clothes.” You murmur, watching the door handle turn.
“Thank you.” He says, the same gruff tone but quieter, and takes the clothes you pass through the gap.
Surprisingly, he doesn't close it after, letting you hear his quiet shuffling as he changes. It feels weird standing on the otherside, knowing you can just walk in and see him bare like this— an alpha left vulnerable. Though, can an alpha truly be vulnerable before a beta? If anything, you’d always be vulnerable alone with him, and he’d always be the strongest in the room.
“I saw my gloves on your table.” You mumble out, stepping back to take a seat on the edge of your bed. His silence doesn't help your inability to keep in the thoughts running wild in your head.
His breath hitches behind the door, something you’ve learnt to notice since you can't read his facial expressions. “I meant to return it to you. But.. I hadn't washed them yet.”
Just as you thought.
The door opens, and he steps forward, the grime washed off and bandages covered by the thin cotton shirt. He looks exhausted like this, like everything weighing down on him has finally caused him to crumble. Just like the others, his shoulders stay taut.
“You left their things on the floor.”
Your beta is desperate to soothe, to understand the problems within his pack, and help him through them. No sane alpha would push away his pack’s items, it has your beta ringing alarm bells across your mind.
“Didn’t need them.” He murmurs, one hand tugging at the end of his shirt as it clings to his damp body. You’ve never seen him fiddle with things like this, running his tongue over his lips.
“You didn't need your pack’s items?” You huff out crossing your arms over your chest. “At least make the lie believable.” Maybe this was his own strange way of pushing you away like they had, because you just wouldn’t understand, would you?
“It’s not a lie.” He grunts, eyes flickering over you and then towards the door— like he’s about to bolt. Not now, not after everything.
You stand, blocking his path as you look at him. “Why did you come here, Simon? It’s not because you feel guilty about the other day, and you shouldn't anyway— Soap’s right. I’m not needed.”
“You are.”
“I’m not—“ You shake your head adamantly, turning towards the door. There’s no way you were going to sit around and be humiliated again, intentionally or not.
“We need you.” He says firmly, hand grasping your wrist as his strong ash suddenly washes over you and thickens in the air. It’s all you can smell, echoed by the weight of his words. Though, you feel his grip immediately falter afterwards, like instant regret. The scent calms quickly, back to the dull linger it usually is as his fingers fall to gently holding your palm. “I.. need you.”
For a moment you’re stunned, scent sprawling anywhere for something solid to grip onto as you try and weave through the possible meanings of his words. Him, Ghost, the soldier feared across foreign countries’ soil and by his mask alone, needs you? A beta?
“I dont…” understand. The word falls silent on your tongue, glancing down at his hand on yours in the low light. “I thought.. the omega’s I work with– their scent rub off on me. That’s the reason for all of this, isn't it?”
“No, no.” His grasp tightens when you try to pull back, feet following you as you step back, until you take a seat against the edge of the bed. “Your scent, it’s been driving me insane. It’s like I can't function without it.”
“But that’s not possible, Simon. I’m not an omega— I can't lure you like that- even the sweetest scent is nothing more than cheap perfume.” You argue, because it’s the truth and there isn’t anything more to it. It’s facts, written and studied extensively in biological research that forms the foundations of society. There could be no other explanation because it just didn't exist, it never will.
His grip tightens again and this time his lip curls back, almost like he’s snarling.. except he seems to be more frustrated with his own actions than at you. “Lust isn't going to save us soldiers.”
You see it now as you look at him properly since patching him up. His eyes are half lidded but you can see how his pupils have expanded in the short time you’ve had him here. Sorting out the blood spilling out of him might’ve helped, but he was crashing fast now that the pain-induced adrenaline was wearing off.
Now he just looked exhausted out of his mind, frantically holding onto his self control as his eyes locked onto the scent glands on your wrist. You could almost read his thoughts now, how he was slipping off the edge, fingers beginning to tremble. Wounded, exhausted and desperate for a moment of solace.
“Simon..” You whisper again, it’s been more than a few times tonight, but this time it’s different.
He drops to his knees before you, hitting the soft rug beside your bed as his hand holds onto yours. His mask had been off the entire time and yet only in this moment do you truly acknowledge the vulnerability before you. “Please, scent me.” He murmurs, low and soft though not gentle with the rasp of greed that bubbles from his throat. Like he told you, he needs this. He needed you. “Let me be.. your alpha.”
The silence rings loud between you, even from the slow drops from the bath’s faucet and the whir of the bathroom fan fading into nothing. “Okay..I will.” You nod, breaking the dam holding him together and he doesn't even let out a breath until he presses his nose against your wrist. The inhale he takes is greedy, like he wants every last scent coating the air, and then the exhale comes, his body dropping like a bomb.
“Thank you.” He breathes and you watch as he lifts your hand as he rises himself, and you realise now he doesn't have his gloves on from the feeling of his bare skin warm against you.
It’s like he doesn't even hesitate, gently rubbing his wrist against the scent glands on yours. You knew what was coming, read about it a million times between alphas and omegas— hell even heard a million more from them in your youth years.
Scenting, when the alpha’s scent envelopes your body, like a shot straight to your brain.
Except, this isn't like anything they described.
You can feel your scents starting to mix, intertwining together before separating once more. They’re tied in the middle like a promise and yet sprouting at completely different ends and filling the room. His scent changes, shifting from the harsh burnt tinges of ash and smoke like they’ve been washed up by yours. It’s petrichor, the damp aroma whenever rain ingrains itself into the soil and washes over rocks. The smell is fresh, earthy and it feels like the relief of rain when it finally comes crashing down, washing over the ground and letting the dying flora renew.
But yours? Yours blossoms in magnitude, like a bubble that has grown and grown until it suddenly bursts. You’ve never smelt it so strong before, used to the quietness of it all, but it’s finally loud. Sweet honeycomb and chocolate, an appetising combination so rarely put together it makes his entire body melt. It’s comforting like a warm drink on a cold day and refreshing like a breeze on a summer night.
You barely get a chance to shuffle backwards before he’s crashing into you, nose forcing it’s way towards your neck as his limbs one by one fall slack, muscles turned to the mere meat they’re made from. A low purr rumbles through him, up his arms where they wrapped around your middle and his chest which is pressed against yours. His eyes have fallen shut, content to be pressed against your nose gland as he lets everything go.
“My beta..” He murmurs, squeezing you tighter to the point you’re forced to exhale yourself and appreciate the warmth and comfort in the room. This was the first time you’ve truly been able to appreciate a friend’s scent without feeling your head start to spin, and it felt amazing. Like everything in the world was set in place, nothing could even shift the balance in this room.
You squeeze him back, a small huff of laughter bubbling in your throat when he groans in contentment. His scent starts to settle once more, now the faint smell of smoke returning though with the gentleness of a campfire, easing your senses.
“Alpha..” You breathe out, letting your own body relax under his, eyes slipping shut in his grasp. Your beta was satiated, curling up for the first time in weeks, and you were more than happy to lay your heart beneath him.
----------------------------------
part one Buy me a coffee!
one more part and then this will be done!! thank you for reading alonga nd im so shocked at how many people loved the first one sm! please leave ur thoughts in the comments <3333 ALSO THANK YOU FOR 5000 FOLLOWERS!!!!!!
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taglist (thank you SO much to @lexloon for putting this tgt for me):
It had been about a week since the nightmare incident. Despite that, Ghost was no more likely to speak to you in the light of day. It was fine, though, the others were friendly enough. Luckily you’d been able to confirm your suspicion that they were military—something called SAS at one point, then converted to a special task force called the 141.
You wanted to get them to expand on what they did, seeing as the SAS wasn’t a thing in the U.S., but it seemed it was just a whole lot of ‘CLASSIFIED.’ You’d assumed that maybe that would’ve ended—given the whole apocalypse thing—but they were still pretty tight-lipped. Some more than others.
Despite the midnight bonding, you’d barely been able to get a full conversation out of Ghost. When he did talk to you, it was mostly pragmatic. Open that door, flank over here, grab this. He wasn’t…unfriendly. Once you overheard him spewing some stupid joke to Soap, you knew he probably just didn’t trust you. Which, all things considered, is fair. You don’t really trust them either. But…you think you’d like to. The peek you got that night into who Ghost might actually be under that mask only motivated you further.
From what you’ve seen, from how they’ve treated you, you’d like to think they’re good people. But you’ve been wrong before. And that wasn’t a mistake you could make again. Even if they had been decent pre-apocalypse, something about all the rules going out the window turned people nasty. Most people revealed this quickly, only a few had the foresight to be deceptive, and you’d gotten close and personal with one of those. You weren’t interested in doing it again.
So…arms length for now. At least that’s what you told yourself you’d do, but the sergeants were actively putting holes in that plan. Either way, it was nice to not be alone anymore. You got to sleep more now that there were more ways to split watch (big bonus), and the conversation (with those who would humor you) wasn’t half bad. Soap was a funny guy and Kyle was warm. You trusted the captain’s judgement. So far he hadn’t made any decisions that led to terrible outcomes, and it seemed his team trusted him implicitly. Like you said, Ghost was a harder nut to crack, but even he wasn’t treating you poorly.
Like that one day you had needed to do a longer trek to not get stuck in bad weather and you’d barely been able to rest or drink or eat. He must’ve seen you swaying, and honestly he probably just hadn’t wanted to deal with you passing out, but he threw you a granola bar from his stash before you could ever complain of hunger. He didn’t acknowledge it and neither did you…you’re not sure he’d like being thanked. It reminded you of the way he was after taking your watch. He seems more like the ‘silent caretaker’ type. You hope in the future you could prove your usefulness and come to some sort of agreement with him. Only time would tell.
You’d made good progress. Almost out of the mountains. They’d told you that they were trying to get east, but not where exactly. Spewing the same ‘classified’ B.S., but you weren’t exactly in a position to press, so you just guided them to the best of your abilities.
You’d just hit the last town before the final stretch of highway out of the mountains, so you were stocking up before it was only wilderness.
The captain had commanded you split up to cover more ground, but close enough that you could all bail together if need be. You were starting to gather that he was a paranoid man, but given the state of the world, who wasn’t?
You and Soap were going around the back of an old grocery store to the docking stations. Price’s theory was maybe some of the trucks still had product. The rest of them were scattered checking the store itself.
You turn the corner to the back of the building to see a couple of semi-trucks, sides colored with food advertisements.
“Hm, guess he was right.” You say more to yourself than anything.
“He often is,” Soap smiles at you, taking the first steps to approach the trucks.
After the first week, you’d apparently proven you weren’t trying to kill them in their sleep, and they had graciously given you one of their handguns. You pulled it out now…just in case.
You both stopped in front of the first truck, angled and parked with the driver’s door open, like the driver had been attempting a deliver right when shit hit the fan and immediately got the hell out of dodge.
You jerk your head in the general direction of the tail end of the truck, “I’ll check the back. Check the glove compartment?”
“Aye.” He agrees, climbing into the front.
You make your way to the back, giving a quick glance under the truck just in case. You take in the big expanse of the cargo door, dirty from many trips with some smudges in the shape of hands, presumably from the driver closing the door. You put your ear to the metal…you hear nothing.
So, you grab the lever and turn the lock on the large door, grabbing the cloth strap to jerk it up and open. As soon as you do, you know it was a mistake.
The tell-tale grumble of the undead fills your ears as the door slams into its open position, revealing the trunk filled to the brim with hibernating undead—hibernating no more. Now they’re awake.
“Shit!” You can’t help the exclamation. Perhaps you’d gotten soft in the many months that had gone by without seeing one, but this sight was gnarly even by normal standards.
There were so many of them. You don’t even want to fathom how they all got in there, and how they stayed so quiet. Did someone figure out how to trap them all in here…or were they alive when they were shut in?
The mangled limbs overlap each other, getting tangled. You can’t help but think of a Rat King, some disturbing phenomenon you’d learned about pre-outbreak. The group certainly looked irreversibly entangled, and yet they were each snarling and grasping out, trying to reach you. And the smell…
One somehow breaks free from the mass of bodies, lunging out of the truck and for you.
It hasn’t even been a second since you made the mistake of opening the door, but Soap must’ve heard the snarls was in action with no hesitation. From seemingly nowhere, he appears and grabs you, pulling you away from the straggler, jamming his knife into its skull, and starts to run with his hand in yours. You know you shouldn’t, but you glance back. More are falling out of the truck, snarling and climbing over each other at the prospect of food. There’s way too many.
That gets you into gear. You start running with more fervor on your own, but Soap doesn’t drop your hand.
“Shit!” You think the fear has reduced your vocabulary.
“Keep running!” Soap offers.
“No shit!”
Soap reaches for his vest where his radio sits, a good find from a previous town. You only had two, but it worked for splitting up like this.
“Cap! Contact, we gotta go!” He doesn’t try to hide the urgency in his tone.
“How many?” Price’s voice crackles back over the radio.
“Too many—too fuckin’ many, cap. Haul ass, now!”
“Copy.”
You manage to scoff despite your desperate panting. You’re never not shocked at how he manages himself in crisis. He doesn’t even sound concerned…but that may just be because he hasn’t seen what you’re dealing with yet.
You and Soap are still sprinting wildly next to each other, the squelching foot falls of rotting flesh gaining close behind. In your peaceful winter you had maybe forced yourself to forget both how fast these fuckers are, and how the feeling of fear and adrenaline clouds your judgement. Because the moment a cop car comes into view, a very, very stupid thought fills your head.
You shake your head just a little, telling yourself the impulsive thought is resoundingly not the best solution to the problem. But then you and Soap round the corner to the front of the store, finding the others anxiously waiting, and their faces drop as they realize how utterly fucked you all are.
You’ve been moving on foot until now, and there’s so many behind you, and the undead don’t get tired.
You take a stuttered breath, glancing one last time behind you and back to the men who had helped you when they didn’t even know you…and you break off, ripping your hand from Soap’s and sprinting toward the stupid cop car.
You can’t even pinpoint who yells what because they are all yelling, various shouts and stops and declarations of idiocy. One stands out, definitely Ghost’s voice, “told ya at the first sign of danger—“
You’re going to choose to ignore that. Hopefully when everything goes according to plan, he’ll be proven wrong.
From the corner of your eye, you see Soap try to run after you, only to be pulled back by Ghost. They start to run in the correct direction, but there’s no way they’re outrunning the hoard.
This is so stupid. So stupid. What if the car doesn’t start? What if it’s out of gas? Your brain is going a million miles per hour thinking of all the things that could go wrong, but your legs are still moving. One thought prevailing: making sure everyone gets out of this alive.
Similarly to the truck, the driver’s door was left open, presumably mid-outbreak the cop left the car in a hurry and wasn’t lucky enough to return. You slide into the seat, stragglers who broke off from the main hoard hot on your heels. You have to stick a leg out and slam it into the chest of one to stop it from catching a ride, roughly closing the door behind you.
If there’s one thing Graves taught you, it’s that they’re attracted to sound. He’d performed something incredibly reckless like this before, and as much as you loathe to admit it, you’re trying to channel him right now.
If there was another thing Graves taught you, it was how to hot-wire a car.
You pull out your knife from the holster on your thigh, prying the steering column off. You spare a quick glance up to check on the others, who are successfully outpacing the hoard. For now.
You look back down, you need to do this fast. Identifying the right wires, you use the knife to strip them, twisting them together. You jump as the radio abruptly crackles to life, loud white noise filling the cab. You refocus, grabbing another wire and touching it to the twisted ones. The rumble of the engine trying to start fills the air for just a second before it stops.
Fuck, please.
You try again, sliding the wires against each other and hoping it’ll spark the engine to life. You spare a glance through the windshield, they’re getting further away, but they’re only barely managing to outpace the hoard.
The engine roars to life.
“Yes!” You can’t help the exclamation.
Your foot finds the break, hand ripping the gear into drive, and then you’re off like a bat out of hell, running over the stragglers that decided clawing at the hood of the car was their best bet for a meal.
You take off toward the main body of the herd, wanting to get close before you continue your stupidity.
When you make it to around the middle, you flick the sirens to life.
They drone weirdly at first, like the battery has gotten used to not powering anything, before the familiar whine of the cop siren is blaring fully.
You can see the shock on the team’s faces as they register your thought, but just as quickly they realize you’re doing this for them, and they’re back to sprinting full speed.
The hoard registers the noise and starts to stumble toward the car, arms outstretched like they can stop it. You push the pedal further, rolling down the window as much as you can without letting anything in, and yell out to them.
God you hope they can hear over the sounds. “Mile 14!”
It’s not a lot for them to go off of, but you had been looking at the map that morning and had noted that around mile marker 14 would be a good stopping point for the night. You just had to hope that they understood your meaning—and god—that they’d actually wait for you.
What if they don’t wait for you?
The thought suddenly slams into your mind as you send the car careening away, taking most of the hoard off onto a wild goose chase.
You look out the rear view and see that some had stuck with the guys, but it was few enough that they could deal with it. It had to be.
What if they never show up? What if they don’t make it to Mile 14 and you end up all alone again. You have the map, what if they can’t find their way? What if you just killed them?
You can’t think like that right now. Right now, you have a hoard of undead on your ass, a quarter tank of gas, and no plan. Right now you needed to worry about yourself and think of your next steps.
Synopsis: Enjin is an infamous flirt, and you are confident that any time his auburn gaze lingers on you with a lazy smirk pressing in his dimples, that sultry voice of his addressing you by every pet name but your own, he is merely teasing. And while Enjin loves to tease you, he isn't exactly sure how to admit he is serious about the way he is obsessed with you.
to sum it up: jeez... how can a man prove he wants you when he struggles to accept it himself?
WC: 7,036
Warning(s): noneeee
"Shut up, Enjin."
Those three little words are like music falling gracefully upon the said man's ears, as his cheeks wrinkle with a satisfied grin that you are all too well-accustomed too. Your brows dig deeper into the crease between them as you glower up at the dirty blonde in all of his six something glory, your hands crossed firmly over your chest as a frown drags your pretty lips downward.
(E/c) eyes rolling, lips kissing teeth, the wrinkle of annoyance plaguing your beautiful face, the very curse of his name to top it all off. Like he's a plague to your existence, and you just love that he is. Sinking into the routine of denying his little flirtations, swatting a hand at his chest or arm when the wrong words tumble from his lips at the wrong time, landing rather poorly in taste.
And with skin buzzing from your previous, stinging point of contact, Enjin revels in the bliss that is watching you get all riled up on his behalf. You tell him to shut up at least twenty times a day like it's your mantra, and you would think that Enjin would have grown tired with your aggravation toward him by now, whether feigned or authentic, but he doesn't think he ever will.
Enjin knows he's a cheeky bastard.
He laughs obnoxiously with his whole body, large palms flat to his abdomen as tears spring to his eyes through unrestrained guffaws - and he always laughs like that at someone else's expense. You can't even count the number of times you've approached Enjin with something embarrassing and he's snorted in your face, cheeks puffing, air spewing through scrunched lips, and hand slapping over his mouth to conceal his entertainment as you bark obscenities at him with flushed cheeks.
He's loud, from the music he blasts through that company jeep to the very manner in which he wrangles it around like it's some kind of cattle rather than a vehicle under his own manipulation. His voice carries across halls, thuds through darkness and early mornings, blabbers the stupidest jokes and slang that you've ever heard in your life coming from a twenty eight year old’s lips.
He eats like a pig, with no manners except for the appreciation he shows toward the person who prepared his meal. He smokes at the drop of a hat, making his presence to a room known with the familiar flick of a lighter and the sound of singing tobacco.
He cheats during card games, roughly nougies the top of Rudo's head in a light headlock just because he knows that it pisses the fifteen year old off, and he flirts like he's flaunting his body around to sell to the entire world.
Oh, he knows he gets on everyone's nerves. In fact, he's proud to. He decided long ago that ragebaiting the people he cares about is his love language, for he's not too good at words or any of the other crap.
And, yeah, it's funny when he's got Semiu threatening to strip him of his choker privileges when he consistently abuses them, calling her in the middle of completing important paperwork to bother her about absolutely nothing, or when he manages to get Gnomulas to flip a table over in the middle of a poorly executed game of Spades.
But nothing compares to when it's you grinding your teeth in vexation as Enjin pushes every single button you could possibly have. And of course, it's different with you. He picks at everyone, but with you, his sincerest form of pestering is by flirting with you.
"You really sure you want me to shut up?" he tilts his head down at you, grin stretching over his face. He's got the doorway blocked as he stands before your room with his elbow pressed above his head to the frame and his other hand planted on his hip. Soft tendrils of his wild hair sway with his movement, and his brow lifts playfully. "You tell me to every day, and yet you always let me come in here and talk your ear off."
"How could anyone ever possibly get you to stop talking?" you mirror the lift of his brow, shifting your weight onto one foot as you glare up at him with weary eyes. "And I don't let you talk. You just don't listen. And you barge in here yourself, by the way."
His brows pinch with his grin, as if to pretend that he is a offended. "I listen to ya plenty! All the time."
"No you don't," you scoff.
"Sure I do. I listened when you told me all about how much you hate super sweet stuff-"
"That's the most useless piece of information you've ever chosen to remember about me."
"No way. It's especially important 'cause you would think someone as sweet as you would prefer otherwise."
You give him a deadpan stare. "You're being gross."
He laughs out, head tossing back. "Didn't like that one either, huh," his voice dips at the edge of his laughter, and you fight the instinct your body has developed to shiver when his words land so seductively. You aren't sure whether it is on purpose or not sometimes, but there is something incredibly lethal about the delicious scratch of Enjin's voice each time he speaks lowly.
And that's what truly bothers you about your coworker and rather close friend of the Cleaners. You've heard that tone time and time again, over and over.
There are times when it's innocent. When he’s simply ruminating in agitation or grumbling incoherently to himself, mulling over something quietly with skepticism and focus. But then there are the times when it's not, when you’ve caught wind of him talking all sweet to some woman in the next town over, loitering outside of a grocery store with heavy lids and telling grins.
You can't stand the way it makes your stomach twist, the way your eye twitches at the very sight any time you happen to intrude. Yet even so, you observe how he keeps every woman he flirts with at a distance - never bothering to offer up means of communication or otherwise, and even far less willing to indulge anyone physically or sexually. He's made the mistake of going home with women before, only to be bombarded with the neediness he so adamantly claims to find unattractive in women.
Enjin avoids the intimate, evading anything that could possibly lead to emotional connection outside of the family he's already built within his occupation. When Enjin flirts, he flirts for fun, for that little thrill of being wanted, of established mutual attraction. He never goes beyond that. Not anymore, and somehow, that only makes it all worse.
Enjin is never serious about anything when it comes to matters outside of what he ordinarily has the capacity to handle. When emotions swarm around, he takes a step back, letting those better equipped to tackle such things take the lead. And it's not as though he's horrible with such things. He's observant, and he gives rather valuable advice to those younger than him. Despite your previous argument, he does listen when it counts. When the kids are struggling with mental ailments. When you demand to be heard, and his playfulness dissapates under the severity of your countenance.
God, he's obsessed with that about you. How hot you get when you're actually serious about something. When you emphasize that you are no longer playing around, and that Enjin will shut up and hear you out as you lecture him about being careless.
Hell yeah, he listens when you have important things to say, but when it comes to anything further than that, like comfort, words of affirmation, and commitment, he's toast. A lost cause. An empty noggin.
So when he does flirt with you, you don't take him seriously. How could you, when he has never taken a single woman seriously himself? Enjin lives to pester, and he has discovered that the easiest way to do so to you is to persistently bombard you with stupid little looks, and that stupid sexy smile, and the stupid twitch of his fingers against your back or your arm or your cheek that you always push away with haste.
You fight against his charms aggressively. You really do, but it becomes harder and harder to do so each day as your true feelings for him blossom under all those disgusted and angry looks you send his way on a daily. Because it's not that Enjin is a bad person, he's just a horrible person to have developed feelings for.
Nevertheless, he's reliable. He's consoling in a silent, effortless way that is far more effective than when he is actively trying to step into a role unsuited for him emotionally. He's thoughtful and encouraging. And while the way he laughs shamelessly into your ear grinds your gears, laughter loud enough to burst an ear drum, he always raps silently at your door at the end of the night to check in on you and make sure you're doing okay.
While his presence is big, he knows when to shrink himself into the warmth of moments where the two of you sit quietly next to each other after a long mission, your head knocking against his broad shoulder as his voice lowly rumbles against you as he speaks to Gris, cigarette hanging from his lips, leg pressing into yours, large arm tucked around your frame like it's nothing.
He tosses your favorite drink to you with a wordless grin when you trudge tiredly into a room. He lets you sit shotgun during every mission the two of you are assigned on together. He lets you braid beads into his hair when his inhibitions have lowered, his body almost numb from alcohol consumption.
He's a good friend. A good guy. Stupid, and unserious, and annoying, but a good man nonetheless. Someone you put your trust in wholeheartedly. Someone you are proud to work alongside at the best of times, and to like him is to doom yourself to an existence of misery and shame.
For your emotions can not seem to get the memo that Enjin is not a contender for your heart. He can't be. That's just not the kind of person he is, and you know it better than anyone.
"Enjin, will you move? Come on, I'm hungry," you groan, moving to push past him, but his ass doesn't budge. He simply shifts his weight to block each direction you attempt to head into, and you grip your hair with a loud sigh. "Oh my god, get out of the way. I'm gonna kill you."
"And I'd be honored," he grins. "You still haven't answered my question, though. I'll let you go once you answer."
"I thought I already told you to shut up."
"You did, and it was nice and all. Really," his golden eyes trail to the ceiling as he pretends to think. "But that still wasn't an answer."
"Why would I give an answer to such a stupid question?"
Enjin pauses, blinking hard and locking eyes with you as his smile diminishes. "Ouch," he drawls. "You think my question was stupid? Just kill a man where he stands, why don't you."
You huff. "Don't play that. We both know you didn't mean anything by it. I'm not feeding your ego with hypotheticals. Your head is already big enough as it is."
You lean up to flick your fingers in the middle of his forehead, and his head jerks slightly, sandy lashes batting at the sensation of your fingers plucking against his skin. Though his ego has been slightly wounded, the corners of his lips curl deviously as he rubs the spot with his tattooed fingers. "Ow... again..."
You smile softly with the shake of your head, turning over your shoulder to move further into your room. Enjin lowers his arm from the door frame, moving to follow you inside.
"Come on, girl," he coaxes through gritted teeth. "It's a simple question. I won't hold any response you have against you."
"That sounds exactly like something you'd do."
"Well, I won't. This time."
You give him a look as you stand beside your bed. "This time?"
He shrugs with a smile, and you click your tongue again.
Watching you turn back around, your back facing him, Enjin deflates slightly. Something nags at him in the back of his mind, tugging heavily and uncomfortably at his chest as he tries to find a way to hide how desperate he is to actually have this conversation with you. But by God, the man doesn't know how or where to even begin with you. Especially when you're so mistrustful of his intentions that you don't even bother to take his questions or words seriously anymore.
He sighs softly, scratching the nape of his buzzed neck. He supposes you have every right not to take him seriously, for Enjin has never once presented himself as a serious guy to you. Or anyone. A wall of ease guards him, and blocks women out from getting too close. He distracts them with false promises, sly looks, and kisses to the cheek, and then he runs. Dangling a carrot from a stick that sways ten kilometers into the sky. Out of reach. Untouched.
The dirty blonde truly isn't as bad as he used to be. Hell, his early twenties were monstrous. He woke up nearly every morning in someone else's bed, smelling of someone else's life, and each time he slipped away in the silence of the early morning, he'd have to watch his back for those of his flings who were insane enough to track him down in public, hounding him about why he never reached back out.
Enjin shudders at the memory. He was so stupid back then, and all those women didn't deserve his horrible lack of communication development and emotional maturity. At least now, pushing thirty, he's sharpened the former a tad, but unfortunately, the latter still needs some tweaking. And it always will. Enjin is man enough to admit that.
But what he is painfully not man enough to do is look you in the eye with no trace of silliness and bear himself raw to you, for the years of pining have finally snapped something in his brain, which he starts to think was the remarkable restraint he has shown in your presence thus far. Only now, he can't take it anymore. He doesn’t want to hold back.
Enjin can't necessarily pinpoint the exact moment he knew you had him screwed, but it certainly began around the time the two of you first met. Your looks, of course, had been the first thing to catch his attention, as Enjin can recognize a beautiful woman from a mile away.
But it wasn't just that you were a beautiful woman. Oh, you proved to be so much more than that not even ten minutes into your introduction to one another. Enjin can envision the way your nose wrinkled and your eyes slimmed when he first greeted you with that flirtatious musicality in his subconsciously sensual tone. The second he called you gorgeous, you were souring, striking him swiftly with a rejection so vile that Enjin can feel the way the color drained from his face to this day.
Then after you humbled him, you clasped his outstretched hand, snapping him out of his stupor as you shook it genially.
At first, teasing you was all it was. Seeking a reaction for entertainment. Giving the newbie a hard time.
But then he saw your strength honed into the effortless manipulation of your jinki, the way your eyes sharpened as you soared through the air and slashed your anima powered weapon through the thick hide of a trash beast, hair whipping about your head as your body twirled, landing perfectly and solidly upon two firm feet.
He saw the maternal instinct you developed toward the children in the Cleaners' care, always eager to pop a squat and sketch out pictures with Remlin or take Rudo shopping for snacks.
He saw, beneath the irritation you've felt toward him from the very start, the underlying passion and care that swam in your eyes each time he came back from a mission that almost cost him his life.
He saw your honest, selfless spirit in the way you muttered angrily to yourself as you dabbed alcohol soaked cotton to a thin gash on Enjin's forehead, standing between his outstretched thighs as your warmth and scent, clean and safe and spiced, washed through his senses. Your other palm pressed to his skin, shielding his hair from his forehead with a long exhale.
And in moments like those, when the silence was stagnant after giving Enjin an earfull on responsibility and safety, he would move his eyes to glance at you mid-pout, studying your face with quiet consideration. His hand would twitch from where it dangled over his knee, itching to touch your thigh. He’d tense, shoulders eventually slumping. You'd mutter something about keeping still, and he'd crack a joke to hide the way his skin burned in your wake.
The twenty eight year old thought that he just might have been in love with you this entire time when he saw you limp into the compound a few months back after a particularly rough mission that he had not been assigned on with you.
Ever a man of dramatics, Enjin flipped, demanding to know what happened and why you were refusing assistance when you were actively holding a hand out to Rudo and Delmon to prevent them from alarmingly moving closer to you. They'd learned not to argue with you when you got like that, stubbornly stewing in your pride, refusing treatment that might have stripped you of your dignity, but Enjin had none of it, as he was hot on your tail.
The two of you got in an argument that day. Enjin had kept moving in to support your side, and you kept pushing away, your bickering traveling down the halls as it escalated into a rather rare, loud disagreement. The only way Enjin thought to find a solution was to carefully swoop in and lift you into his arms bridal style, minding the blood seeping through the gauze wrapped tightly around your shin and the curses you spewed at him. He redirected the two of you to the infirmary, gaze stern as he looked ahead and ignored your protests.
And when he set you down on that hospital bed, arms caging either side of your legs as you both barked in each other's face, he wondered in that very moment why he'd grown so angry with you. Especially when he knew why you so consistently refused help. That nasty habit of independence of yours that he usually found so alluring was both your curse and his, for you'd long convinced yourself that relying on others meant submitting to inferiority.
He just had to have a thing for women who weren't needy. This was where his preference led him, fighting with the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen in his life until your hand struck him smack across the face.
The slap echoed throughout the hospital room, and as soon as your hand made contact with his cheek, his head snapping into the opposite direction, you both froze. Your hands rose to your mouth as the reality of your actions weighed down on you, and you watched terrified as Enjin remained still.
And he really should have been mad in that moment. He felt the white hot sting of your palm buzzing over his cheekbone. His eyes were shrunken and his posture thrown off kilter, and neither of you said anything as you watched in horror, waiting for the worst to come.
But stupid Enjin couldn't even bring himself to be upset anymore, for that slap of yours did nothing but make his heart burst and his skin tingle.
'Cause damn girl, you've got one hell of an arm.
And that tenacity, that fire, that unbridled, unapologetic determination - the kind that drives you to blindly smack the shit out of one of your best friend's face - is what got Enjin malfunctioning with the realization that you could do anything to him and he would bask in it.
The severity of this revelation crushed down on him without mercy. He lay awake that night with wide eyes and sprawled limbs, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as his mind plagued with thoughts of you. In the silence of nightfall, nothing could buffer the fears that lay dormant within his core. Fears that you could have died. That the sight of your blood is a reminder of your mortality, and Enjin wasn't there that day to back you up, to push you out of the way, to keep you from crossing the line and fucking up your pretty leg.
He doesn't know who made you feel like you need to perform as an unfeeling soldier all the time. He doesn't know who shamed you in the past for needing basic human connections and support, berating you to the point where any gesture of kindness or concern sends you reeling with discomfort and shame. Enjin's talked to you about it. You've gotten better over the years, but the thought alone wrecks him during the times he can't outrun it.
Times like now, when his feelings for you swallow up his dignity in the worst way possible and actually start to make him unsure of what to say next, how to continue, how to keep the conversation between you alive.
"What is your deal, today?" you eye him in the middle of straightening up your sheets, watching as he stands before you with a sudden silence that catches you off guard.
"Well for one, you still won't answer my question," he manages to say coolly.
"Seriously?" you scoff. "I don't understand why you're so pressed about me answering a dumb question that you don't really want the real answer to."
Enjin's brow curls, eyes roaming over you as if to visually check your attitude toward the issue. What a weird thing to say. "Oy vey. Care to explain what that means?'
"Do I really need to?"
"I think so," he tucks his hands into the pockets of his baggy pants, red shirt hanging loosely over his tall frame, fluttering softly around the length of his inked arms, black and red swirls tracing the curve of skin. You side eye him as your hands busy themselves with folding your little blanket, your side profile to him. He steps closer, lingering by the foot of your bed. "You think I'd ask a question I don't care to hear the answer to?"
"You know what I mean, Enjin. You don't mean any of that stuff you say," you exhale.
You don't even have to further explain yourself, for Enjin receptively catches wind of what you're saying. His heart pangs, but his eyes close calmly. "If it bothers ya so much then you can tell me to stop."
"I tell you to stop all the time, jackass. You don't."
"Well, duh, because I know you don't actually want me to stop," he complains, eyes opening and darting to the sky with softly angled brows. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be so close."
"That doesn't even-" you toss your folded blanket atop your sheets, and stop yourself with another loud exhale. "The point is, Enjin, we're friends. The question is stupid. Doesn't even make sense."
"How is asking you if you'd ever kiss me stupid?"
Silence hangs in the air after the words leave his mouth, and against his best wishes, he feels the tips of his ears burn with the attention.
"Really? How is it stupid?" you prop a hand on your hip.
"I wonder if you think the idea of kissing me is stupid and not the actual question."
"Why does it matter?! We would never kiss, so who cares!"
He puckers his mouth as humor catches his golden eyes. "Never?"
"Shut the ever loving fuck up, Enjin. GOD almighty."
He can't help but chuckle, moving in toward you with a hand reaching out. "(Y/n), listen. Friends kiss all the time. I doubt y're actin' like this because you're not attracted to me."
"What if I'm not?" you bite back. "What if I think you're ugly?"
"Then, I'd have to offer myself up to a trash beast as a sacrifice, wouldn’t I?"
He stops directly beside you, and you look up at him with cynical eyes. "Better get to it, then."
Enjin groans. "You're the coldest woman I've ever met."
"Funny, a few minutes ago you were calling me sweet. So which is it?"
"Both. Your ass gives me whiplash all the time, girl. Quit playing around with me," his voice drops lightly. You take the time to still yourself as Enjin enters your personal bubble a few inches away from you. This is not anything new, for the two of you are rather invasive of one another's space on any given day. But you don't exactly know how to fare with the way he's looking at you now, like he does not know how to communicate all the reasons behind his ridiculous ass hypothetical questions. And Enjin thinks that he is officially losing his touch, for he realizes that he is going back and forth with you about the idea of a kiss. It is stupid, like you said, but once the thought formulated in his mind, he needed to know what you'd say.
It's partially because he enjoys your reaction, enjoys seeing the way you get all flustered and annoyed when his words hit your ears. It's also partially (well more so mainly) the fact that he has no other ideas on how to express that he needs you verbally. The two of you have been dancing around each other for years, and now that Enjin has finally reached his limit for all the tension that he can tolerate in your presence, he is truly struggling to find ways to break the barrier, to get closer, and to mask this genuine desire with something flimsy, fun, and unserious.
Because that is how you regard him. As unserious.
But when he thinks about it… maybe Enjin does not want to be unserious in your eyes anymore. He does not want you to look at him and see someone who is incapable of fulfilling your needs as a man. He does not want you to roll your eyes at any true prospect of the two of you being something more than friends, for you always do when Gris or Semiu approach you with smug skepticism regarding your relationship to Enjin.
The golden eyed man really thought he hated neediness, that he despised the notion of commitment and would never be ready for it, but he thinks now that he's only thought that way because he didn't know you. Now he does, and Enjin doesn't even bother to sleep with anyone else under the guise of not wanting to complicate things, when it is really just because he has no interest in doing so anymore. Not with anyone who isn't you.
He blinks those long, blonde lashes down at you as his smile returns, lighter this time. You can smell the faded air of ash that captures his scent, intertwined with something safe and comforting that you always associate with the image of your blonde friend. He tilts his head slightly as he looks down at you with a softness, a heaviness you don't like, and your head spins while you try to remain vigilant.
"Yes or no. That's all I'm askin'," he says gently, voice rumbling with warmth. You're all the more confused, for you don't understand why Enjin is so hellbent on getting an answer from you that he would surely hold over your head for as long as he possibly could.
His flirting means nothing. You know that. But it's hard to focus on that fact when he's looking at you all soft and mischievously, crowding your air, filling it with himself. When the vision of his bare chest is so close to you, as it peaks out from the loose drag of his shirt, swirls of tattoos curling over his bare collarbones and up his neck. Your heart hammers, and you resent yourself for it. Because this means nothing to him. It always has, so what is the point of mocking you with such a question?
You exhale, for the only way you're going to get out of this is by playing along.
"No," you say bluntly, and Enjin shortcircuits. "I'd never kiss you."
He mulls over your answer with a blank face. You wait expectantly, feigning indifference as you tap your foot. "...So you do think I'm ugly," he concludes.
You snort, laughing loudly in his face, and Enjin gets a taste of what you have been putting up with for as long as you can possibly remember. His shoulders slump and his expression falls flat.
"Just because I wouldn't kiss you doesn't mean I think you're ugly,” you chuckle.
"Well, what is it then? What's the reason?" he probes.
"You're not my type."
You smile innocently and Enjin gapes at you. Low blow.
You giggle softly, brushing your hand over his arm as you move around him to head toward your door. Once Enjin snaps out of it, he's on your heel. "Not your type? What the hell is your type? Friggin' bums?"
"If that were the case, I'd rethink kissing you."
"Oh ha ha," Enjin walks close behind you as you venture out into the hall and toward the kitchen. "You got jokes, missy."
"Yes, Enjin, because this is a stupid ass conversation."
"You ain't takin' me seriously," he states.
"'Course not. I know you're joking too."
"What if I'm not?"
You freeze, stopping dead in your tracks before turning slowly over your shouler. Enjin is already watching you with a neutral face, eyes unreadable. Your heart pangs. "What are you on about?" you eventually ask, slowly.
"Does that change your answer?" he asks, sincerely. "If I wasn't messin' around. If I was bein' for real for just a second. Would you still say no?"
Your brows draw together as your skin warms, and you hesitate, struggling to find the next words. "This is a trick, right? You're messing with me by saying you're not messing with me."
Enjin takes a moment to observe you and he notes your sudden stiffness, the staggering of your once smooth and steady speech, the widening of your eyes, and his manner eases slightly. You're just as anxious as he is.
He smiles. "I'm askin' a question. No tricks. No messin'."
You scrunch your face. "Why?"
"I can't ask my friend a question?"
"But why - why that of all things? Do you want me to kiss you, or what?"
He pretends to ponder it. "It wouldn't hurt," he shrugs. What he really means to say is that kissing you may be the final thing that makes his resolve snap and push him over the edge, tossing aside restraint to finally, finally get his hands on you.
But hell, Enjin's out of practice when it comes to you. You flip everything he thought he knew on its head.
You frown, turning fully to face him with both hands on your hips. "Seriously, Enjin," you exhale. "What's this about."
"You're reading way too into this, sweetheart. I'm just lookin' to iron out the possibilities in case we ever get to that point one day."
"In what world would we ever find ourselves in a situation where I'd kiss you?"
Enjin hums a nonverbal 'I don't know,' and your eye twitches. "Anyway. Thoughts?"
"I would never kiss you, Enjin. Joking or not."
"What if we're drunk?"
"That's different."
"You think?" he asks and you scoff.
"If I'm drunk and I kiss you, it's because I'm drunk. Not for any other reason. And it would only ever happen if I'm fucked up."
"It's a kiss either way. I'll take it."
"Enjin, be serious," you start.
"I am being serious."
You squint at him as if you want to believe him, but you just can't. "I'm gonna go make a sandwich," you shift the subject.
You go to continue walking, but Enjin's next words keep you grounded. "If it's not 'cause you think I'm hideous, then why don't you consider it?"
You throw your arms out to the side. "Because you're my friend? Because you flirt with everyone all the time? Because I know at the end of the day, you wouldn't actually kiss me, so it doesn't matter."
"I never said I wouldn't kiss ya. You just assumed that."
"I-" you flush, clamping your lips shut. Enjin regards you and a soft smirk graces his features, for he's never seen you so exasperated before. "I'm going... to eat." You try to go again. You try to end this before you act stupidly.
"What if I wanna kiss right now?"
Your neck cricks. "Enjin," you warn.
"What? What? Relax. C’mere, pretty thing," he grins deviously, moving into you with open arms as you catch him with a palm to his firm chest. He looks down at your hand pressing to his frame, then back up at you with a wider beam, dimples poking. "Just one kiss."
"Stop being such a freak. Go kiss one of your other girls or something," you screech as Enjin chuckles darkly, enjoying every bit of this.
"I don't have any girls, (Y/n). Just you."
You fume, lifting your other hand to slap at him. "Shut up-" his large hand clasps around your wrist mid air, catching you before you can inflict any further damage on his body and soul.
And while you are accustomed to fighting back, your body does not seem to react in such a way this time around. Instead, you go completely still, allowing Enjin's touch to sway you.
"All this beatin' on me and tellin' me to shut up," he tsks lowly. "You know I love it, but sometimes a man just wants a little reassurance. That's all."
Your eyes flicker over his face, bouncing between alluring golden hues and his lips, and you know he notices by the way his smile continues to spread. Hell, Enjin seems to notice everything about you these days.
"You get me?" he hums. "I'm not too good with words, but askin' for a little kiss should be enough to put me out there, yeah?"
You swallow hard, twitching when you feel the familiar thrum of his thick fingers reaching to brush your waist experimentally. Your hand has yet to leave his chest, and he's still clutching your wrist tight. The proximity between you has shrunken significantly, and you aren't sure why you've allowed this to happen.
Of course, you've noticed the tension bubbling between the two of you for as long as you've known one another. You feel it in his stare, in his passing touches, in the way he knows you so well.
But you've pushed it away time and time again out for fear of vulnerability, of rejection, of the hell that it is to admit that you've been in love with the idiot for god knows how long.
Still, he manages to stun you when you least expect it. He manages to unveil you, strip you down to the simplest, pathetic mess of sap and yearning for him when he dares to treat you like he could ever focus his attention into you as a potential partner.
And you've thought, for so long, that the notion was impossible, but here Enjin stands before you with softness and heat in his eyes that only he knows has been reserved for you and you only.
It makes your knees weak. And the very fact that he's fine as all fuck is not helping. It never does.
And part of you still isn't convinced that he isn't joking, until his hand releases your wrist and traces up the curve of you inner arm, to your palm, then swiping away to reach for the other side of your waist.
"Enjin, what are you trying to say...?" you question, watching him carefully with a knit between your brows. "...You actually want to...?"
"Don't worry. I won't make you do anything you don't wanna do," he murmurs, orbs dancing over your face. His fingers dip further into your sides, testing, inching you a little closer. He's more surprised that you aren't pulling away, and he edges closer and closer toward your limit, searching for if you even have one right now. "But... hell, if you wanna. I ain't gonna stop you."
You narrow your eyes, your other hand subconsciously pressing to his chest next to your other one. Enjin feels his skin burst where your hands settle over the thin fabric of his shirt. "Enjin, if you want to kiss me, you need to say it and maybe I'll think about giving one to you."
You know you've got him when you feel his hands tense against your middle, and you can not help the smile that breaks onto your face from the sheer joy of finally getting his ass to shut the fuck up.
All that talk, and the thought of actually putting his desires into words forces a lump into his throat.
You tilt your head, mimicking the way he so often does, with the drag of your finger teasingly under his chin. Enjin gulps, grip slacking on your waist subconsciously. "Cat got your tongue now, mouthy?"
He opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. You smile, patting his cheek softly before pushing lightly against him.
"That's what I thought. Now let me go so I can-"
You're cut off when you feel warm fingers clasp around your chin as you turn your head, bringing your face forward to face him. Your words die in your throat when the fan of Enjin's breath wafts against your skin, for that is how close he's got you to his face. Auburn hues capture your (e/c) ones with intensity, and for the first time in your life, you see no trace of amusement on his features.
Your eyes shoot wide, your mouth runs dry, your heart damn near stops. And Enjin sighs.
"All I gotta do is say it, then, right?"
You blink. "Wh-"
"Then you'll give me a kiss?" you don't answer, and he frowns, hand sliding over your cheek, thumb slipping over your hairline. "Huh? C'mon, help me out. That a yes?"
You gulp. "You won't do it," you test.
"No?" he dips in further, nose brushing yours. You suck in a sharp breath, pressing closer to his chest, allowing his inked arms to snake all the way around you.
Your lashes flutter with an exhale. "You still haven't."
"I don't have to tell ya somethin' you already know."
The air grows thick around you as his forehead bumps against yours, weighted eyes following the curve of your soft lips, flickering back to your pretty (e/c) eyes every now and then. His body is firm against yours, his mass towering over you, shadowing you, pulling you in like some mystical force.
And you almost let him get to you, as the drag of his fingers along the curve of your spine sends chills running down your back. His lips carefully, slowly chase yours, seeking them out like they are meant to be connected, and your skin jolts with an electricity you can't name when you feel the bow of his lips graze yours.
A gentle hum rumbles through Enjin's chest, against your hands. You almost forget where you are and let him take you, as the hover of his warmth brings you enticingly into him. Your mind is fuzzy, your nerves alive.
He's almost got you. He's centimeters away from having you.
But then, you snap out of it. Because you realize that, despite what you now see as something blatantly mutual, he still has not grown the balls to actually tell you what he wants.
And if Enjin thinks he has feelings for you, you're not going to reward him for skittering around your demands.
So you lean your head back and slide your palm against your mouth, blocking Enjin's lips from yours as they meet the back of your hand. He pulls back, blinking hard as he adjusts to the sudden barrier between you. He looks down, then incredulously up at you with angled brows.
You giggle, moving to hold either side of the man's head. "If you really want to kiss me, It’s not gonna be that easy. Talk to me when you learn how to use your words."
You lean up on your toes to press a chaste to the center of his forehead, where you flicker him earlier. Enjin's tan skin pinches with heat as he watches you lean back, baffled, his hold on you going slack so that you may step out of his arms.
"Now I'm going to go eat, and until you can lock in, don't ask me any more stupid ass questions."
With that, you turn on your heel and hum a tune as you strut down the hallway, leaving Enjin, once more, to pale in the humility of your absence.
His skin is still tingling where you kissed and touched him.
He growls to himself when he manages to recover, sliding a hand over his hair as he looks to the ceiling as if it could grant him the strength to deal with you.
Because now that he knows that you know how he feels, in true fashion, you're going to make him work hard to be better, to give you the honesty and transparency and dedication you deserve if he's really serious about it.
And with a smirk, and the swipe of his hand down his face, his chest broadens with the excitement of you putting him in his place. Again.
Summary: A masked knight stumbles into your village. You offer your help and a place to stay, which slowly blossoms into something more.
A/N: Thank you again for all of the continued support on this fic! Likes, reblogs, and comments are very appreciated :)
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Also on AO3!
“Sir Ghost, may I ask you for a favor?”
Ghost said nothing. You glanced up from your work to find him staring at you with no more hostility than usual. You were still honing your ability to interpret his silences, but his general lack of animosity or irritation was a clear sign that you were allowed to push forward with your request.
Gingerly, you withdrew the letter from where you’d tucked it beneath your supplies. It didn’t quite resemble a letter as much as it did a discarded wad of parchment—the messenger had delivered it to you with an apologetic smile, citing his arduous journey from the coast as the reason it had arrived so crumpled. You didn’t entirely believe him, as none of your previous letters had received such mistreatment, but what was done was done. You’d accept your brother’s words in any condition as long as they were legible.
“Can you read this to me?”
You pressed the letter against the tabletop and attempted to smoothen it out with the heel of your palm before sliding it over to Ghost. He eyed the paper suspiciously before lifting it gently with his fingertips. You’d seen him handle delicate objects several times over, but it never failed to amaze you, as unusual as a brown bear picking wildflowers or a wolf dabbing its mouth clean after a meal.
“Can’t you read it yourself?” he grumbled, squinting at the ink.
You gestured to your cluttered workstation, pestle in hand. “I’m busy.”
It technically wasn’t a lie. As summer flew on by, your services were being called upon with rapidly increasing frequency. You were currently processing the raspberry leaves you’d plucked and dried last week, grinding them in your mortar to use in remedies you’d prepare tomorrow. They were easier on the stomach in powdered form, a necessary consideration for pregnant women. You weren’t entirely sure why Ghost had decided to provide you with his company, but you didn’t mind it. He was too quiet to be distracting.
“Only doin’ this once,” he said, pausing to clear his throat. “So be quiet and listen.”
Despite claiming that you were busy, you let your hands still as he began to read. The first word Ghost spoke aloud was your name, which he announced haltingly, as if it were a question. He didn’t use your name often, preferring to either address you as girl or nothing at all. You rarely spent time with him in the company of others, making it so that he never had to specifically identify who he was speaking to. It was always just you.
“I hope you’ve been well. You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve been advancing with my studies. I recently learned how to set a fractured leg. The bone was broken in two places, isn’t that awful? The patient recovered enough to walk again, though he now has a limp that won’t ever go away. What intrigued me was that all we had to do was adjust the bones; his body healed the break all on its own. I’m sure that mother would draw some sort of wisdom from the situation, but I haven’t quite figured it out yet.
“The coast is beautiful in the summertime. I’m getting better at swimming. The neighbor’s son has been helping me learn. His grandfather owns a sailboat and promised he’ll take us out one of these days. Can you imagine sailing on our river? The current would carry us all the way to the King’s castle. Aunt dislikes when I visit the beach because the sand sticks to my clothes and tracks all over the house. Otherwise, she and Uncle are both healthy and send you their best wishes. All my love.”
Ghost finished off with your brother’s name, which sounded absolutely bizarre coming from his mouth. This entire experience was unsettling: hearing Ghost speak so much at once, hearing him relay words he hadn’t written, hearing him use the word love. You began to set down your pestle, but it slipped from your grasp and clattered onto the table, threatening to roll over the edge until Ghost stopped it with his hand. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.
“Thank you,” you said, as sincerely as you could manage.
After steadying yourself, you took the letter back from him and rose to deposit it in the chest by your bed, joining the collection you’d maintained and steadily been adding to for the better part of a decade. You lingered there, brushing your fingers along the stack of parchment, well aware that Ghost was watching you, probably scrutinizing your odd behavior.
“Your brother’s a doctor?”
Ghost’s return to speaking in clipped sentences brought you more relief than expected. You hadn’t told him the letter was from your brother, but him figuring it out wasn’t much of a testament to his observational skills; your brother was the only person you’d mentioned that was still alive and cared for you enough to write to you.
“He’s an apprentice,” you said mildly. You shut the chest and took excessive care in securing the latches. “He won’t be a physician for a few more years.”
“Physician and midwife,” Ghost mused, somehow entertained by the notion. “S’your family trade, then? Healing?”
“I suppose so.”
That was one way to see it. If your skills were compared side by side, your brother’s carried greater value and recognition. He could work in the castle, work in the King’s army, work virtually anywhere in the Kingdom. You could only work where there were women, or where there weren’t enough doctors. You could very well teach yourself to fix a fracture, but you didn’t have access to the resources your brother did, patients and textbooks and experienced masters of the profession. You didn’t mind it, though. That had been the whole point in sending him away—for him to live a better life than the one he would’ve had with you.
***
The following morning, you were watering your garden when Ghost stepped out of the forest. He’d slipped away sometime before dawn, and while his absence had been the first thing you noticed when you woke, his missing sword had been a close second. Now, he approached you with the massive blade in hand, gleaming just as it had the night before. Had he missed out on the opportunity to use it, or had he simply wiped it clean before returning? And why hadn’t he worn his armor? Was he truly so skilled that he didn't need the protection?
Ghost’s exposed skin was flushed, shining with sweat. You weren’t faring much better, with the entire bodice of your dress clinging to you like a second skin. You pushed your questions aside and tipped the bucket to let water spill over your herbs, watching it vanish instantly into the dry, thirsty soil. You wouldn’t complain if someone subjected you to the same treatment.
“You should do this later,” Ghost said as he settled beside you. He angled himself so the hand holding the sword stayed furthest from you—whether it was intentional or not, you were unsure.
You frowned. “Why’s that?”
“Too hot outside,” he groused, as if he hadn’t also been out all morning in this weather.
He had to be suffocating beneath that mask, especially in this humidity. You wouldn’t ever dare to ask, but you were quite curious as to why he wore the garish thing. Maybe he was concealing an injury, a scar more twisted and gruesome than the one on his lip. Maybe it was some kind of royal custom, an indication of how high he’d risen in the ranks. Or maybe it was simply another one of his inexplicable habits, as peculiar as his proclivity for silence and tendency to reject any and all romantic advances sent his way.
You stuck your hand out to him. “Give me your hand.”
Ghost agreed without hesitation, placing his rough palm atop yours. He’d finally accepted that you weren’t a threat, you thought, which had pride blooming in your chest as if it was an enviable accomplishment. You loosely grasped his hand and guided it into the bucket of water, still blissfully cold from the well. He let out a short exhale at the chill, his fingers fluttering against yours.
“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” you asked, unable to hold back your grin. “It’s a trick my mother taught me. If you cool your hands down, the rest of your body will follow.”
He just looked at you. You were standing awfully close to each other, close enough for you to make out the pale blond of his eyelashes, the creased skin beneath his eyes, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his damp shirt. A small metal chip was coming loose on his mask, one of his silver skull-teeth.
You fought back a shiver, though it had nothing to do with the water. He was still holding your submerged hand, making no effort to release you, disregarding any and all notions of propriety. Not that either of you had much to begin with, but still.
“Is the midwife here?”
You whirled around, separating yourself from Ghost so frantically that water splashed onto you both. Standing before you was a little boy, chest heaving and face streaked with tears. You stepped forward, discarding all thoughts of Ghost and your garden and the unrelenting summer heat to focus on the matter at hand. While his body was trembling and his breathing was labored, he didn’t appear to be greatly injured, but you couldn’t draw assumptions without gathering more information first.
“That’s me,” you said gently, crouching down to meet his gaze. “What’s the matter?”
The boy took a deep, shuddering breath. “My mother needs your help.”
***
You hadn’t attended to such a grueling delivery in years. A premature birth, made worse by poorly-healed complications from the mother’s first pregnancy. You weren’t one to wish ill on others, but the gnarled mess of scar tissue on the woman’s abdomen had you seething. Someone else’s incompetence had cost this woman her good health, caused her pain that not a single soul in this world deserved to experience.
After stitching the mother up, instructing her husband to watch over her until your return, and ensuring their newborn daughter was healthy enough to survive the night, you began the long walk back home, all alone in the dark. Your legs were sore by the time you approached the cottage, your anger dulled into solemn fatigue, but you still attempted to tread lightly to avoid waking Ghost. He afforded you the same courtesy, after all.
The door swung open right as you were reaching for the handle. You were too tired to startle at the sight of Ghost in the entryway, clearly about to leave. You squinted at him, struggling to make sense of his sudden appearance. He stared back with equal confusion, inspecting you from head to toe as if he’d never seen you before in his life.
“Why on earth are you awake?”
“You look terrible,” he said, tactlessly dodging your question.
“I know,” you glumly replied. There were patches of dried blood all over your dress, as well as a large stain on your sleeve from when you’d used it to wipe the tears off the little boy’s face. But you felt more disappointed than embarrassed, overcome by the needlessness of today’s suffering. When you blinked, your eyes shut for a moment too long, sending you careening forward before you abruptly caught your balance on the doorframe.
“What happened?”
Ghost’s voice was harsh, urgent. He was concerned, you realized—a notion so absurd you would’ve burst out laughing if you had the mental capacity to do so. You clumsily pushed past him to set your haphazardly-packed baskets on the floor, flinching when you bumped into him along the way.
“It was a stressful delivery.” You drifted over to the corner of the room, where you stored your bedroll during the day. “They’re both fine for now, but I’ll have to visit again in the morning. I’m going to sleep for a bit—just wake me if you need anything, Sir Ghost—”
He followed you, hovering just a fraction too close. “Take the bed.”
You gawped at him. “But then where will you—”
“Not sleeping tonight.”
“Are you going somewhere?”
This time, Ghost avoided your question by reaching out and taking your hand.
It wasn’t how you’d done in the day, flimsy enough to give him an out if he changed his mind, but instead so firm that you had no choice but to relent. You attempted to pull back anyway, resisting out of bewildered instinct, but Ghost merely pulled harder, dragging you over to your own bed. The ridges of his callused palm scratched against your skin, sending a wave of goosebumps coursing up your arm. His touch felt good, your sleep-addled brain surmised, but you strictly forbade yourself from dwelling on that thought.
Then both of his hands were clasping yours, guiding you down onto the mattress. You awkwardly laid down while he watched, turning to face the wall to spare yourself from his gaze. As you drifted off into sleep, you heard the telltale creak of the door opening again, except it was fainter than usual, significantly more drawn-out, as if someone was taking great care to minimize the sound.
***
You woke to someone jostling your shoulder. Blearily, you cracked one eye open to find Ghost peering down at you, awash in morning light.
“Go away,” you mumbled, curling further into yourself. Even after a full night’s rest, the residual dregs of exhaustion remained in your limbs, urging you to stay in bed.
He shook you harder. “Haven’t you got work to do?”
The reminder was pressing enough to cut through your drowsiness, but his hand was warm and heavy on your shoulder, threatening to lull you back asleep. You forced yourself to push through, blinking unsteadily until the world came into focus. Ghost looked the same as he always did, tall and broad and dangerous, but he wasn’t alone.
There was another man at his side, a stranger dressed in half-armor. You helped, jolting upright with such poor coordination that you would’ve toppled onto the floor had Ghost not steadied you.
“Who are you?”
“Sorry, lass,” said the stranger, speaking with an accent you couldn’t place. He smiled at you, equal parts charming and mischievous, as if he was preparing to share an inappropriate joke. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“This is Soap,” Ghost said curtly. “He’s with the Guard.”
Soap nodded, evidently pleased by the fact. His frame was packed with almost as much muscle as Ghost, his forearms littered with a similar smattering of scars. The sides of his head were shaved, with a thick stripe of brown hair running down the middle. How unique, you thought, tugging at the strings of an old story you’d heard at the market.
So the Guard had finally arrived to fetch their missing knight. They’ll find me when they need me, Ghost had previously told you, but neither man seemed to be in much of a hurry. Their nonchalance was even more unsettling than the prospect of them marching off into battle—had they really just been standing there, watching you sleep?
You shrugged Ghost’s hand away and kicked off your threadbare blanket, momentarily befuddled by its presence; you had no memory of drawing it upon yourself. Clambering out of bed, you offered Soap your own name—utterly forgettable in comparison to his—and straightened out your wrinkled dress, wincing as you realized you were still in your dirty clothes from yesterday. With all the time you’d spent together in such close proximity, you couldn’t care less about what you looked like in front of Ghost, but you weren’t sure how a different man of high status might react to the sight of such an unkempt woman.
“I apologize for my—my appearance,” you stammered, swiping a hand across your mouth in case you’d drooled in your sleep. “I wasn’t aware you were coming. Would you like something to drink, Sir—”
“Don’t worry your pretty head about all that.” Soap waved you off, then sharply elbowed Ghost in the ribs. “Didn’t realize you two were so cozied up in here.”
Ghost elbowed him back. “S’not like that.”
Maybe you should’ve been offended by the insinuation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The villagefolk had been running wild with the same rumors, if not worse. At least Soap had the courage to say it to your face.
Soap laughed, unfazed as he swept a glance over the cottage. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
It really wasn’t. Your baskets still sat abandoned by the door, the table cluttered with half-finished projects and drying herbs, the sheets on your bed in rumpled disarray. Ghost’s sword was propped up near your bedside, so close that you could’ve grabbed right then and there, though you couldn’t conceive of an idea of what to actually do with it. Take it outside to prune your plants, maybe.
“Thank you,” you said graciously, deciding against correcting Soap about it not technically being yours. “You’re welcome to stay for as long as you’d like, but I—I need to go now.”
Soap fixed you with a hard look, every last trace of charisma disappearing at once. You reflexively took a step back, pulse quickening in alarm.
“Go where?”
“I’ve got work to do,” you said, helplessly parroting Ghost's earlier words.
Soap ignored you in favor of turning to Ghost, clearly waiting for him to vouch for you. Ghost narrowed his eyes and Soap narrowed them back; Ghost nodded curtly and Soap immediately relaxed. The exchange was strangely domestic in its efficiency, reminiscent of an old married couple so familiar with each other that their communication had eclipsed the need for speech. Perhaps Soap was only behaving this way to intimidate you further, but the ease with which both men regarded one another convinced you that it was genuine.
“I can take you,” Ghost said, once he’d finished with his wordless conversation. “You’ll reach quicker on horseback.”
You blinked in surprise. “But you don’t have a horse.”
“I’ll borrow Johnny’s.”
“Who’s Johnny?”
“I’m Johnny,” Soap cut in, lauding you with an exaggerated wink. “Soap’s just a nickname. We’ve all got ‘em.”
Despite all of Ghost’s secrets and strange habits, it’d never once occurred to you that Ghost might not actually be his real name. You pinched your arm to make sure you weren’t still dreaming.
***
Soap owned a restless grey stallion, sleek with muscle and radiating unadulterated power with each stride. While seeing you off, he’d proudly informed you that this was a horse bred and raised specifically for battle, a destrier. You now understood why Ghost had been so unimpressed by the selection at the market.
And so you wound up on a borrowed stallion, trying your absolute hardest to avoid pressing your chest against Ghost’s back as he rode. You tensed your abdomen to keep your balance, riding astride rather than sidesaddle—now you’d made acquaintance with a second unmarried man, you reasoned that any further descent into indecency was negligible.
“You’re quite good at this,” you told him, raising your voice to be heard over the thunder of hooves. Wind rushed past you, a reprieve from the heat.
“Wouldn’t be much of a knight if I wasn’t,” he brusquely replied.
You knew Ghost was strong. You’d known it the moment you met him, when he managed to fight against you even while incapacitated. But this was your first time witnessing him exert himself so naturally, effortlessly managing a stallion that wasn’t even his. Maybe he was relieved to finally be doing something befitting of his title, rather than lowly household chores or mysterious expeditions in the forest.
“How old were you when you learned to ride?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Eighteen.”
“A century ago, then.”
Ghost looked over his shoulder to level a sharp glare your way. You smiled back at him. He scoffed under his breath and turned forward again.
The mother lived in a cottage similar to yours, small but relatively well-maintained. At her bedside, you changed her dressings while her husband pensively watched, cradling their newborn daughter with one hand carefully supporting her head. His wife had no female relatives, he told you, so he’d be the one looking after her. You taught him how to inspect her skin for infection and how to keep the baby warm until she reached a healthier weight, then gave him a jar of salve to use on the mother’s scars. His willingness to learn alleviated some of the indignation you’d felt yesterday, replacing it with an exhausted sort of relief—at least she wouldn’t be recovering alone.
When you stepped back outside, you found Ghost and the stallion right where you’d left them, waiting beneath the shade of a hefty oak tree. Ghost was crouched beside the little boy who had run to fetch you the morning before. You froze, waiting for the child to panic at the sight of Ghost’s mask, for Ghost to send him crying back to his parents.
Then, to your utter astonishment, he lifted the child onto the horse.
Ghost kept one loose hand on the reins and guided the stallion into a slow circle around the tree. You couldn’t hear what either of them were saying from this distance, but the boy’s laughter carried easily through the air. It continued until Ghost finally helped him back down, sending him sprinting off toward the house, clumsy with excitement.
You wondered if reuniting with Soap had put him in an unusually good mood, or if he would’ve treated the boy like this regardless. Ghost had a younger sibling, you remembered. He knew how to draw water from a well and harvest firewood from the forest. He hadn’t seen the sea until a few years ago, and he’d only learned to ride horses once he’d come of age, likely after joining the army. The details were sparse, little more than scraps, but combined with his demeanor and unwillingness to speak about himself, you could piece together that he hadn’t had a particularly easy life.
You approached Ghost without mentioning what you’d seen. His shoulders were still relaxed as you settled on the stallion behind him, but instead of turning toward home, he guided the stallion down an entirely different path.
“Where are we going?” you asked, leaning in as much as your confidence allowed. Ghost talked straight into your ear sometimes, like when the market was noisy and he wanted to pass a comment in private; it was only fair that you were allowed to do the same.
“Tavern,” he said. “Rest of the Guard’s there.”
You frowned. “Why do I have to come?”
“Figured you’d want to meet them.” He leisurely steered the horse around a bend in the road, simple to him but a remarkable feat to you. “See if your little stories are true.”
“They aren’t my stories,” you protested, but the realization that he’d even remembered such a frivolous conversation made your stomach flutter.
***
There was only one open seat at the table, but before you could move to fetch another chair for yourself, Ghost dragged one over and sat down beside it. You nervously settled into the remaining seat, crowded tightly between him and Soap, swallowing down your apprehension as you listened as the remaining two members of the Guard introduced themselves.
Captain Price looked exactly how you imagined a captain should: gruff and weathered with age, bits of grey threaded throughout his bushy mustache. Sir Garrick—who insisted you call him Gaz, though you still didn’t quite understand this nickname business—was the youngest of the four and by far the kindest-looking. When he smiled at you, bright and sunny, a thousand girlish fantasies suddenly made perfect sense. This, you thought, was where the market girls should have been directing their attention, instead of wasting their affections on a churlish Ghost.
You offered your own name for the second time that day, ignoring the stares drifting over from the barmaid and other tavern patrons. One woman seated beside four large men was bound to attract scrutiny.
Soap clapped a hand onto your shoulder once you were finished, his touch lighter and more amicable than Ghost’s had been this morning.
“Isn’t she bonnie?”
You blanched. “What did you just call me?”
“Don’t mind him,” Gaz sighed, offering you an apologetic smile. “It’s very nice to meet you. Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve managed to tolerate Ghost all these weeks.”
“He isn’t that bad,” you said carefully. Ghost flashed you an unimpressed glare while Gaz just laughed.
Price ordered ale for the table. He ordered one for you as well, but you didn’t care much for the taste, so after politely suffering through a few sips, you pawned the drink off to Soap after he’d finished his own. Ghost drank more carefully than the others, angling his head just so as he worked around the mask, the same way you’d seen him do a hundred times over.
Rather than any discussion of violence or politics or other knightly affairs, the men traded meaningless jokes and vague observations about their journey. The tavern wasn’t particularly busy, but there were enough prying eyes and wandering ears around to discourage any worthwhile conversation. Nearby, a serving girl cleaned the same table with all the urgency of a snail, stealing glances at them whenever she thought no one was looking.
You listened quietly, watching their dynamic unfold. Price was unmistakably the leader, commanding the flow of conversation without having to force it outright. Soap was loudest of them all, restless like his horse, while Gaz balanced him out with his composure. After weeks spent deciphering Ghost through little more than his eyes and posture, having full access to the other three men’s expressions was jarring. It felt strangely invasive to view them so openly, like stumbling across a creature stripped of its natural armor—a beetle without its shell, a snake without its scales.
Eventually, Price withdrew a folded map and spread it flat across the table. You curiously leaned forward to get a good look at it. Maps were rare enough that you’d only ever glimpsed a few in passing. The parchment was yellowed, the ink beginning to fade, but the details had been meticulously drawn and labeled.
“Could you show me exactly where we are?” Price asked you.
Your heart leapt straight into your throat. You were undeniably the least qualified person at the table to answer that question—even Ghost knew the local geography better than you did. But you had the uneasy suspicion that they already knew where they were, that this wasn’t really a genuine question so much as an assessment of your ignorance. Maybe they wanted confirmation that you truly were just a clueless village woman who had stumbled into a good deed, not someone deliberately watching for a particular knight.
You bent over the map, searching for familiar landmarks first. The dense patch of green was forest, and the broad wash of blue could only be the sea. Your brother existed there, somewhere unreachable beyond the ink and parchment. Even though the representation of distance had been shrunken down a thousand times over to fit within the paper, the gap between you and him seemed impossibly vast when laid out so plainly before you. You forced yourself to reexamine the forest, finding a thin blue vein between the trees.
You turned to Ghost, pointing without daring to touch the map itself. “Is that the river in the forest?”
“There’s only one river in the forest,” he grumbled. His knee knocked into yours beneath the table; you pressed against him to ground yourself, traitorously pleased when he didn’t pull away.
“I’d guess that we’re somewhere around…here?”
You drew a circle in the air over the edge of the map, between where the forest markings thinned out and the Kingdom ended. Even the map itself was worn thinner there, a tiny tear in the parchment carefully mended with adhesive.
“I haven’t seen many maps before,” you admitted sheepishly, withdrawing your hand to wipe your clammy palm on your skirt. Gaz gave you a sympathetic look that should’ve helped but didn’t. “Are you planning your return?”
Price refolded the map and tucked it in his pocket. “We’ll be staying here for a bit first.”
All of them seemed to implicitly understand how much time that constituted, leaving you alone in the dark. You didn’t bother to ask another question, simply relieved that this strange trial was over, though something unpleasant still prickled beneath your skin, the pathetic awareness of how little you knew and how little they didn’t.
You cast a discreet glance toward Ghost, feeling very much like the serving girl still creeping nearby. As you’d predicted, he was already looking at you. For one single shameful moment, you found yourself wishing it was only the two of you here, respectably seated across from each other rather than side-to-side. It never felt this uncomfortable when Ghost poked at you, maybe because you knew you were allowed to poke back.
“Our village’s harvest festival is soon,” you said, shoving the wish aside. Though he wasn’t your captain, something about Price compelled you to defer to him, to put on your best behavior. “I’m sure everyone would be honored to have you all in attendance.”
“We'll see,” Price replied noncommittally, shifting his focus back to the men.
***
Taglist (comment if you'd like to be added!): @xncasi @nbdblogger @alyenna @delta98-idk
Can you do Enjin x reader and reader almost dies or gets kidnapped or both, and Enjin freaks out and I guess it would be hurt/comfort. Please just don’t let it end with angst, I’ll cry. Lol
only if you want to of course. I’ve loved your other Enjin works. ❤️
IF I DIE TODAY I'LL FIND YOU IN ANOTHER WAY
☂︎ ENJIN X READER
☂︎ SYNPOSIS: ENJIN WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR THE ONES HE LOVES. EVEN IF NO ONE ELSE AGREES WITH HIM. AND HE'LL ALWAYS PUT YOU FIRST
☂︎ WORD COUNT: 2.1K
☂︎ CONTENT WARNING: KIDNAPPING, SOME SPOILERS FOR CH 165 IF YOU SQUINT (MAINLY REGARDING ENJINS BACKSTORY), SLAVE TRADE MENTIONS, BLOOD AND INJURY MENTION
☂︎ THIS BLOG IS 18+!!! MANS SURE YOU HAVE AN AGE INDICATOR ON YOUR BLOG OR YOU'LL BE BLOCKED.
If Enjin was concerned, it didn’t show. He kept the calm face as Semiu was hurriedly trying to contact Y/n. Nothing getting through to her collar and the supporters she went to clean up a trash beasts with also knew nothing. They had been knocked out and came to to find the cleaner gone.
“Was it Raiders?” Rudo had asked the group huddled in the common area
“There’s more on the Ground than just Raiders,” Zanka answered. “It’s more likely it could have been traffickers.”
“Not like that’s the better option,” Enjin sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. “If it is, we got a real problem with them hiding in polluted zones.”
“Y/n’s strong. I’m sure she can handle traffickers.” Riyo tried to be reassuring.
“Yeah,” Gris agreed, “We’ll find her.”
"I keep trying but nothing is getting through,” Semiu stated as she walked into the room. “It’s possible she’s still wearing her collar, but can’t answer it. The supporters can’t remember much at the moment. They never saw who or what knocked them out.”
“Great,” Enjin sighed, “We’re running on nothing.”
“Could there be clues in the polluted zone? Something that got left behind or a trail of something?” Riyo asked
“Maybe. Possible the towns people might know something,” Semiu agreed. “Enjin, take Akuta and —”
“On it,” Enjin agreed before she even finished her sentence. Grabbing Umbreaker and his team. Gris, Follo, and Tomme joining them.
He stayed quiet the ride out, which threw everyone off but they understood why. Y/n was his girlfriend, of course he was concerned. Internally he was freaking the hell out. But really trying not to let it show for the team. He knew Gris could sense it, the guy was sitting right next to him the whole ride out. Riyo also has a sense but she’d been around Enjin for so long know she knew his tells. Plus the older one knew she had an odd sixth sense.
“Oh, Cleaners. We already had the Trash —” one of the older people started as the crew approached the city on the outskirts of the polluted zone, half faces on as the met up the the old man
“We're not here for cleaning. We're looking for the Cleaner that took care of the Trash Beasts earlier,” Enjin interrupted
“The young lady? We thought she had left with the Supporters,” the old man said
“Unfortunately no," Enjin asked
“Did anyone in the town happen to see anyone suspicious that approached the Cleaners? Possibly a group?” Tomme asked
“Mmm not to my knowledge but i can't see or hear too well these days. There's a chance some of the younger folk may have seen something.”
“Tomme, Follo and I will ask around town. You guys head in and look fit her,” Gris said to the leader, “We’ll call if we finds out anything.”
“All right,” Enjin agreed and took the kids with him while the Supporters went to talk to the towns folk.
What pissed off Enjin was the debris going everywhere. It was impossible to see foot prints going in one direction.
“Enjin!” Riyo called and waved him over
“You find something?” he asked
“Unfortunately,” Riyo held up her Vital Instrument.
“They left her instrument here?” Zanka asked
Enjin took the item, keeping it safe for now. “Look around here. I’m gonna update Semiu.”
The three teens took to looking around the area, seeing if they could find anything else.
“Find anything?” Semiu asked after picking up the call
“Yeah. Her Vital Instrument,” Enjin told her
“They left it out in the polluted zone?!”
“Yeah. and if they have her restrained she can't fight back.”
He heard a sigh from the other line “I was able to get through to her.”
“You did?!”
“It's traffickers, Enjin. Think they made her pick just to tell us to fuck off and they would be selling her soon. I tried calling back but she's unreachable now.” Semiu said
“Fuck,” Enjin sighed
“We might need to call in the Hell Guard. This is out of our jurisdiction.”
“I’m not—”
“I know it's not ideal but we don't know much about the trafficker ring. They do.”
“We’ll keep looking. If we can't find her we'll use them as a back up.” That was all Enjin said before he hung up. Just to get a call from Gris. “Find anything?”
“Couple parents said they saw a couple guys hanging around the area over the last week. Been closer to some of the teenagers and talking to them. Last time they saw them was this morning before the trash beasts,” Gris informed him
“Alright. See if you can dig up anything else then head out here.”
“Got it.”
Enjin turned back to the teens who were huddled over the sand. “What is it?” he asked as he joined them
“Tracks. Haven't been blown away yet. Lead to the other side of the pollution zone,” Zanka said.
Enjin looked down. One set of foot prints and then dragged marks, possibly covered a second set of prints. Enjin called Gris again and had him come out the Follo and Tomme in the car. He sent Zanka and Rudo ahead on foot to track the prints. Waiting for the supporters with Riyo
"We’re gonna find her,” Riyo said
“I know.”
He had no doubt they'd find her. It was a matter of when. They had a time lead on them. Were they waiting for an auction? Did they have buyers lined up? He had a sick feeling she want the only person these pieces of shit we're holding onto either.
Once the supporters got there, the red head and him hopped in the car, Enjin taking the wheel from Gris and heading towards Zanka and Enjin. The two hadn't made it that far yet anyway.
They got to the otherwise just to find a mountain. On the other side, but there was still drag marks. Until it turned into tire marks. “These guys are real idiots,” Riyo said as Enjin followed the tracks.
If she was in the cities, it would be hard to track her down, but out here, anyone in a car was suspicious. I'd they saw any cars that is. No one was out and his worst fear was coming true as they got closer to city walls.
“Damn,” Enjin said
Everyone in the car felt it. They all knew it was going to be hard to find her here. Gris called Semiu, updating her on they're new discovery.
“Get back to HQ. I’ll contact the Hell Guard.” The receptionist said
“I'm not —”
“Enjin, I understand you're concerned but this isn't what we do. We handle trash. The Hell Guard handles the humans.” Semiu cut him off.
Enjin pulled the car to the side of the road and got out. “You guys head back, I’ll stay here and look for Y/n on my own.”
“Alright.” Gris agreed before anyone else could argue. Taking the drivers seat and taking the tram back to HQ.
The blonde knew Semiu was gonna chew his as out later but that wasn't important. Right now he had to find his girlfriend and kick someone ass.
The cleaner asked around town. Seeing if anyone had seen anything or heard anything. Then he saw the moving truck. Parked on the side by an abandoned building. “Totally not suspicious,” Enjin muttered to himself as he approached it. The back was unlocked which probably meant nothing was back there but he still looked.
No one was in the back but chains and done blood were. A lot of it dry, some of it recent.
“Freeze!” Enjin heard the guns draw.
“You guys actually moved fast for once,” Enjin turned around finding a few members of the Hell Guard.
“Thought the cleaners left?” one of them asked
“The others did. I stayed back to look for my girl. Didn't think you guys would make it till it was too late.”
The hell guard officers scoffed before taking over his little investigation. He let them muck around the truck. He was interested on the inside of the building.
He slipped away from them and found the locked door in the back of the warehouse. Could he have just found another way in? Yeah. But kicking down the door seemed like more fun. Of course it did alert the Hell Guard who just scolded him and ran past him into the building with their weapons.
Enjin lit up a cigarette and followed in after them. Watching them look around the empty place. Complaining there was nothing here and that he needed to stay out of the way. But Enjin was known among his peers for his intuition.
“If you’re not gonna help, best leave,” Enjin told them as he tapped the tip of Umbreaker on the floor. Hollow. “Bingo.”
He heard some shuffling underneath seconds ahead of someone opening the door on the floor. Looking around as weapons pointed at him.
“Shit,” the guy said, probably about to shit his pants.
“Times up buddy,” Enjin said as he exhaled some smoke. “You and your friends kidnap a Cleaner earlier?”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He yelled before the Hell Guard soldiers arrested him. Enjin slipped underneath and took in what was happening. One of the old underground bunkers. There was cells that were empty but the further in he got he noticed bodies in the cells. Cowering in the corner. Women and children mostly. Very few men.
“Hey! How’d you get here?!” He heard someone yell. Enjin looked up, seeing about five traffickers standing at the end of the hallway, guns pointed
“Followed your tracks out of the polluted zone. Thought you could take a Cleaner and we wouldn’t come after you’re ass?” Enjin asked them, eyes glowing. “You’re buddies already been taken by the Hell Guard. Better to just surrender now.”
“Like hell we will!”
Enjin managed to open Umbreaker just before the first bullet opened fire.
“Shit! He's a Giver!” One yelled
“I’m not a big fan of closed quarter’s combat but, gotta do what you gotta do!” Enjin propelled forward and took out the group, all of them hitting the wall with extreme force. Throwing his cigarette bud on the ground next to them and stomping the light out
“Help us!” One of the women in the cell yelled. “Please get us out of here!”
Enjin looked back, seeing the prisoner’s at the front of the cells. He looked back at the bodies on the floor and noticed each had some keys. He grabbed a couple pairs and unlocked one of the cells. “Take these and get everyone out. Hell Guard should be down here soon.”
“Thank you!”
“Are you here for the cleaner lady?” A kid asked
“Yeah, you see where she went?” Enjin asked as he came out of the cell
“The mean men dragged her that way. She was screaming a lot.”
“Thanks kid.”
Enjin ran down the way the kid pointed. Looking in each cell till he saw her. He couldn’t see her face as she was face down on the ground but he knew it was his girlfriend. And he could hear her crying, that made him get his ass in gear.
“Y/n!” Enjin yelled for her. Seeing her slowly turn her head as he got the the cell door.
“En..” Her voice barely above a whisper
The blond practically tore open the cell door to get to her. Pulling her into his arms, feeling her cry into his shoulder. “I got you, baby.” Enjin let out a sigh of relief. She was alive.
“Thank you,” Y/n cried as she squeezed him as tight as she could.
Enjin pulled back and looked her over. Busted lip, gash on the side of her head that looked like it was actively bleeding. Some of he clothes had been ripped and she she cuts along her skin.
Enjin shrugged off his jacket and wrapped in around her. “Come on, Let’s head home.” Enjin picked her up, calling Semiu on the collar too update her. He talked to the receptionist as the Hell Guard cleared out the building and gave first aid to everyone, especially Y/n— who Enjin refused to let go of.
He even sat in the back with her while Gris drove back. Y/n laid against, clutching his jacket against her. He stayed with her over night in the infirmary after Eishia healed her.
“You can go sleep in our bed, Enjin,” Y/n told him as he ran his thumb over her knuckles.
“You’re real cute for thinking I’m leaving your side ever again after today,” Enjin told her
“Thank you, for coming to save me,” Y/n smiled
“Always,” Enjin leaned over her body and kissed her forehead. “I’ll always find you. No matter what. As long as I'm around, you're not dying either.”
“My hero,” Y/n said before pulling him into the bed. “Let's get some sleep.”
saying wanderer is "not the type to fall in love" goes against the laws of his existence.
wanderer's whole story revolves around how he has too much emotion, and how he feels too much.
he is doomed to fall in love.
he will deny it, over and over and over again. but he will be plagued by the feeling no matter what. Its like his very own curse. he will forever ache until he fully accepts that he's in love and has to go about his round about way of confessing it or just simply acknowledging it within himself.
but he is definitely be the type to fall in love.
It doesnt even have to be someone important or special, it could literally be a random in the akademiya that caught his eye one day bc they were being gentle with the birds outside - but i definitely see him falling for someone.
he wont say it or show it, but trust, it will kill him inside if he doesn't.
wanderer feels love just as hes felt heartbreak after each of his betrayals. though he doesnt want to fall in love in spite of his past, he will.
At least, as safe as you could get in a zombie apocalypse. The undead didn’t do well in the cold, limbs with no blood froze, fell off, slowed them to an essentially inert state.
But when you didn’t need to worry about horrifying, rotting, infectious dead people, you had to worry about starving.
When the news broke that the cold slowed them down, just about everyone migrated north. What that meant, though, was basically all of the stores were totally raided.
So here you were, in your fingerless gloves (that used to have fingers) digging through the wreckage of a 7-11 you’d been to before trying to find anything edible enough. You’d take something even technically edible at this point. The gloves catch on a broken shelf, sending your frustrations over the edge. You rip them off and throw them on the ground.
It was the fifth store you had tried today. You were getting desperate enough to start trying the same places again. In the summer, you could forage in the forest, maybe even catch something in a snare if you were lucky. But right now? The forest was deader than the zombies. You’d have to rely on something canned pre-apocalypse. Or you could die. That was looking pretty appealing right now.
Your doom-and-gloom thoughts were interrupted by a loud rattle by the door. On instinct, you ducked and pulled your knife from your belt, making yourself small behind a shelf. Sure, winter slowed them down, but that didn’t mean a persistent straggler wasn’t possible. You couldn’t let your guard down.
You were tense, ready for any scenario…until you heard voices. Accented voices—at least to you in mountain-town USA.
“Bloody hell, this place is a ghost town…”
They were human, but you still didn’t dare poke out. The apocalypse did nasty things to people. Made them compromise their morals for survival. Some people leaned into that more than others and there was no way to know.
“Just see if there’s anything salvageable, sergeant. Map says this is the last town for a while.”
Sergeant? Military? Last you heard, they were all wiped out in the initial push-back. Not to mention they were passersby, which was incredibly rare. People in general were getting rarer by the day, but most people clung to the safety of the cold, and towns they knew. Unknowns were dangerous. Trained ones, even more so.
As far as you knew, this place didn’t have a back door. But, if you could get to the front undetected, you could get the hell out of dodge, belly no less empty, but still very much alive. You’d take that trade-off.
As they rounded the shelves, you paralleled their movements, snaking around them to stay out of sight. Curiosity was a beast of its own, though, so you risked a peek.
There were three of them, all large men. One was older with mutton chops and a bucket hat, holding a gun—a large one—and looking around while the others dug through the mess. The other two were younger. One shorter, but no less built, with a Mohawk of all things. The other, very pretty with a Union Jack on his cap.
They all had guns (another rarity these days) and tac vests, clearly military and clearly not American. Definitely wanted to avoid them.
They seemed occupied with their search, which benefited you. They didn’t seem overtly concerned with their noise levels either, so it was easier to sneak away. By the time you made it to the front door, you almost felt like it was too easy. Still looking back to make sure they hadn’t seen you, you didn’t notice the hulking figure in front of you. But boy did he see you.
He grabbed you by the straps of your backpack before slamming you against the brick wall of the building. Oh…they left a scout. You realized a little too late. He was the scariest of them all, face fully covered by a skull mask. He had to have been well over 6 feet, and struck an intimidatingly muscular figure. You were so so so incredibly fucked.
“Captain!” His low voice cut through the silence of the outdoors, making you flinch. You can’t remember the last time someone had yelled in your presence. Frankly, it’s been a while since you’d seen anyone at all.
His comrades responded rapidly, flying outside with their guns up ready to defend him. They deflated at the sight of you, which…was sort of offensive. Sure, you probably didn’t look as intimidating as them, what with no gun, and you were clearly outnumbered, but still. They didn’t know what you could do.
“Well, what do we have ‘ere, Ghost?” Mutton chops—the captain?—asks.
Your brows furrow, “ghost…?” You can’t help but whispering inquisitively.
His gaze turns back on you, “got a problem?”
“No!” You speak louder, head shaking, “no problem…just…ghost?”
The one with a Mohawk snorts before Pretty Boy stomps on his foot.
You’re confused at the dynamic here. Are you in danger? You can’t tell. Ghost still has you pinned, but they all seem very relaxed and Mohawk even seems to find humor in the situation.
“Are…you gonna kill me?” You were always told that speaking your mind is best.
The captain lowers his weapon fully, hands coming to wrap around the front straps of his vest before rocking on his heels and smirking a little. You try to ignore the way it crinkles his eyes and how that makes you feel. “No, sweet’eart, we’re not that type of folk. Just needed to make certain you weren’t a threat.”
There’s silence for a moment. Your gaze sweeps from the captain to Ghosts hands, still wrapped around your backpack straps and pinning you to the wall, before back to the captain in a silent plea.
“Alrigh’, Ghost, release.” He lets you go, dropping you the inch he had you raised back to the ground, before backing up.
You fix your jacket and bag and clear your throat, wiping your hands down the front of your shirt. “Well…gentlemen…if that’s all…” you move to leave before the captain jerks you back by the hook on the back of your bag.
“Not so fast.”
This is getting old quick.
“What!” You flip to face him, exasperated and no longer caring, “what could I possibly do—“ you stop at the sight of a granola bar in his outstretched hand. You look down at it and then back at him. Was he really offering this to you? Food was so scarce and kind people even scarcer. What did he want in return?
Before you could ask or just grab it and run, the sound of a motorcycle revving in the distance interrupted your thoughts.
You flinch hard, looking the direction it came before backtracking rapidly. “Shit. Shit, shit—“
They’re confused but you’d be damned if you had another run in with him. You’re about to take off when you think about them. Clearly unfamiliar with the territory and kind enough to offer you food (…and not kill you). The least you could do is save them from this fate.
So, you grab Pretty Boy’s bicep and tug him along with a “come with me!”
“Hey, wait a second—“ Ghost is gripping his gun and taking a defensive step forward, but you don’t have time for his suspicion.
You’re still holding Pretty’s bicep when you swoop past Mohawk and grab him too, “if you want to die that’s fine by me!” The two in your hold are sharing a glance over your head but seem inclined to listen. You don’t spare a look to see if the other two are following, if not, it’s their funeral.
You’re pretty sure the gas station has a secondary building around back for overstock and snow supplies. Last you checked all the food was gone, but hopefully the door was still in tact. You had to be out of sight before they got here.
The sounds of motorcycles were getting closer, and your window was closing. Luckily, you could see the shed still standing with a door. You abandon the hold on the boys in favor of tugging the latch and opening the door to the shed. Looking behind you, the other two ended up following, both seeming more suspicious of you than they had when you were pressed to a wall. There wasn’t time to explain, though, so you just ushered them in before following and closing the door.
It was about a quarter of the size of the actual station, with some closets and nooks and crannies, but they stayed huddled by the entryway, reluctant to venture further into the dark unknown.
You turn to face them, feeling claustrophobic at the way they are towering around you. You take off your backpack, shoving it into the chest in front of you. “Hold this.”
You start to rummage through before Ghost interrupts, “are you going to explain anything?”
Your head whips up in the dark, “shh!” You pull out a flashlight and flick it on, zipping your bag up and flinging it onto your back.
You break out of the circle, giving the room a glance over to make sure no zombies had made this their hibernation home. When you’re certain it’s clear, you turn back around to answer.
“Listen, there’s only one group in town that have motorcycles and you don’t want to cross their path.”
They share a dubious look with one another before shouldering their guns higher. “I think we’d be set, love.”
You scoff, “you’re not the only ones with guns. And from the looks of it, you’re a lot nicer than they are.”
“We’re only nice to people who look on the verge of starving. It’s not like you pose much of a threat.” Ghost again.
They’re not getting it. “Just!—trust me. You’re passing through, right? Not from around here?” You’re looking at each of them in the eye, trying to impress upon them how serious you are. “These guys rolled up at the very start. People were making a community here. With walls and laws, trying to make something of this mess. They tore it all to shreds. Pretended to join the community and then opened the gates to a bunch of undead. The things that they did—“ you take a breath and look away before continuing, “they’re not good, okay? If they saw the gear y’all’re sporting, they’d never let you walk away.”
You can only hope you got through to them because the motorcycles are here. You turn off the flashlight and punch through their group again to peek out a gap in the door. Please don’t stop here, please don’t stop here, please—
They park the bikes in front of the 7-11.
“Alright! Split up, see if this fine establishment has what we’re lookin’ for!” His southern drawl makes you shudder, thinking back to how callous he was in the wake of the destruction he caused.
“His name is Graves.” You whisper, not taking your eyes off of him. “Was U.S. military before all of this…deserted when the shit hit the fan.”
They don’t ask how you know so much about him.
Suddenly you jerk back with a hissed “shit!”
Suddenly you’re turning around and pushing on their chests to get them to move. “Go, go, go! Someone is coming.”
You had seen plenty of hiding places when you were checking for undead, you just had to hope they wouldn’t check too thoroughly.
You all scrambled for a place to hide, silently directing them to places you had spotted. Everyone squeezed into gaps or took closets, and then it was just you, standing in the middle of the room, spinning helplessly. Footsteps approached from outside, about to reach the door, when someone stuck their hand out and jerked you into their spot.
Ghost squeezed you into the cabinet he was in, chest pressing to yours, before shutting the door and plunging you into darkness.
“I—“ you try to whisper, but he just brings his hand up to cover your mouth as the door to the shed creaks open.
Your breathing picks up as someone enters to room, sweeping a flashlight back and forth, momentarily illuminating the crack in the cabinet. You can hear his boots scrape the floor and the click of a gun as he leisurely makes his way deeper into the room.
Eventually he stops in front of your cabinet. Your eye flickers from the crack to Ghost’s eyes. His gun is nuzzled between the two of you. He brings his finger up to his lips before reaching down to your thigh holster for your knife, not yet pulling it out, just hovering with his hand pressed against your thigh and waiting for the door to open.
“Walkowski!” You hear Graves yell from the main building. The man retracts his hand from the handle of the cabinet and runs back to his master.
Ghost drops both of his hands from you and you finally feel like you can breathe again.
You all give it a moment before emerging from your hiding spots. You approach the door that is still ajar, looking out to find no one in sight.
You look over your shoulder and gesture for them to follow before shooting out and jogging for the back of the gas station.
As you all take refuge behind the back wall, Graves finally re-emerges with his crew.
“Any clues on our little deflector?” He asks his goons as they flood back to him.
“Not sure, sir, but we did find this.” One of them holds up two gloves—your gloves.
Graves chuckles and takes them from his hands. “Well I’ll be!” He holds them up and waves them at his other comrades, “looks like we’re on the right track, boys!”
Your head drops, eyes squeezing shut at your stupidity. A barely audible fuck leaves you. The boys share a look, starting to put some dots together.
You all stay silent as they all get back on their bikes and start up the road. The tension only minimally leaves your shoulders, you honestly look on the verge of tears as you stand.
“Well…it was nice meeting you. Thanks for the granola bar. If you’re trying to get out of town you’re going to want to follow the highway so you don’t get stuck in a snowed-out overpass.” You point in the direction of a large road, not turning around to face them before staring the opposite direction Graves went.
“Come with us.” Ghost stops you before even fully considering what he’s saying. He spares a look at John, forgetting chain of command for a moment. All he’s thinking about is that he knows what it’s like to be running from something. To be scared. But John doesn’t protest, in fact they all look to be in agreement.
That does get you to turn back. “What?” You say incredulously.
“We could use a guide.” He offers.
“I’m—“ you look around like you’d find someone to protest, “I’m not just dropping everything I have here for…for some strangers I met 30 minutes ago…” despite your arguments, you look contemplative.
“Everything you have here? Like what? The lack of food and a sociopath on your ass?” Tough love it is.
You scoff and shake your head. Of course they caught that. Your brain tells you that there’s no argument, that obviously you can’t go with them. But…but…
To tell the truth, you had nothing here. Just the memory of what was before Graves took everything. He was right. You were starving and terrified Graves would find you everyday. You were sick of watching your own back, sick of having no one to talk to, and sick of Graves looming over you.
You open and close your mouth a couple of times. “…okay.”
You’re not sure how, but you felt like you had just irreparably changed something.
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