excusemyrandomramblings - Tumblr blog

excusemyrandomramblings · 2 days ago

Text

˳೫˚ | 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

in which you wake up in the very world you dream about, but there’s a second biological nature that changes life as you know it. will you ever get back home? or will you learn to live as task force 141’s omega…

pairing: alpha!price, beta!gaz, alpha!ghost, beta!soap x omega!reader (afab)

𝐂𝐖: A/B/O dynamics, scent-induced pleasure, early-stage heat symptoms, non-graphic trauma references (including past SA), bonding bites, mild dominance/submission themes, kissing/makeout scenes, internalised fear around intimacy, implied PTSD (Ghost), kidnapping — 18+ ONLY | series masterlist

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: A Taste of Belonging

“Why now? Why did she appear now? I don’t believe in coincidences, Kate.”

The American sighs in agreement, “Neither do I, John.”

“Who else knows about those documents?”

“It’s very classified, John–”

“Shepherd?”

Price’s office falls quiet. Kate gives him a loaded look. The Brit sighs.

“She… she’s told us what we went through. In her world. In the games. Shepherd betrayed us multiple times. Sold valuable intel or assets to better his position on the world chessboard. What if he’s got something to do with this? Apparently one of my quotes is asking Shepherd if there’s a single shit-show that he hasn’t been a part of. This is a pretty big shit-show, Kate.”

“Your omega finally showing up is a shit-show?” She says back, but sighs again from John’s look.

“I’ll look into it. Keep this within your pack.”

“Of course,” John nods, watching as Kate leaves. He sighs, rubbing his weathered forehead. Something was going on, and he was going to figure out what. His pack was at stake–he could feel it in the way his stomach hadn’t uncoiled since you had appeared in their perimeter. But he was starting to believe this was bigger than you now…

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

You’re not chatty this morning, and Soap doesn’t push it. He just eats with you, making sure you finish your breakfast. You both glance up in surprise when Price sits down across from you. He says your name softly with a nod of greeting. You stare back.

“Did you like the tea?” His gravelly voice is quiet, trying to create a pack bubble inside the busy mess hall. You’re reminded of the orange flask of warmth left outside your room two nights ago. It was chamomile. You nod. Price sighs softly. He knows he has a lot of grovelling to do. Just as he opens his mouth to speak more, another small clang of a metal tray signals someone else has joined the bubble. The three of you glance up–Johnny brightening–to see Ghost.

“Simon,” Price nods softly in greeting, and you watch as Johnny’s body automatically becomes attuned to his alpha in every sense. You feel your skin prickling again with an uptick of heat, your body thrumming with restless energy. You suddenly stand.

They all glance at you, Soap standing up, but his hand still lingers softly by Ghost’s tray.

“Yer alrigh’, bon?”

You shake your head, the overwhelm teetering on terrible – it felt as though you were getting claustrophobic of your own body.

“Let’s take her to the med-bay–” Gaz’s voice sounded from behind as he suddenly joined, and you whirl around to snap.

“I don’t need medical attention! I just need attention! From you!” You direct your teary glare at Price in particular, your body and heart fed up with his cold cautiousness. You don’t care that the mess hall has grown quieter, and just stomp out of there, your vision blurred from tears anyways.

You have no idea where you’re going, but jump when you feel a hand on your back.

It’s Ghost.

Your confusion softens you, and allows him to manoeuvre you outside into a private pocket of fresh air, shielded from prying eyes.

“Please,” you whimper up at him, all sense of dignity gone as your unfamiliar second biology changes your behaviour, “please, take it off.” Your eyes point to his scent blocker jutting out from under his balaclava, before they close as more tears silently trickle out.

You smell nothing but the faint breeze bringing in the nearby forest, and your shoulders wobble as you stand there pathetically, crying.

Each sniffle brings in a stronger scent of vetiver, and you think the wind must’ve picked up, pushing the woody scent closer to base.

But your hair remains still.

You open your eyes.

In his gloved hands is the scent blocker. Your eyes immediately dart up. Ghost’s balaclava is lifted just on the side of his neck, only to reveal his gland. Unlike everyone else, Ghost’s was covered in delicate, purpley-pink flesh. The whole chunk of skin that he was currently baring to you was.

He had been burnt.

Your lips are softly parted as you stare at the disfigured skin, a cold steel mixing in with the woody vetiver of his scent. The longer you stare, the more you smell frost on stone–danger wrapped in silence. You glance up to his brown eyes, realising your staring was negatively affecting him.

“Sorry,” you whisper. He doesn’t respond. You wipe your eyes and sniffle your nose.

“I– Thanks for bringing me here,” you mumble, glancing around the nearby surroundings. The pair of you were behind a building, sandwiched between it and the woods. You plop down with a sigh, the cool English breeze doing wonders for your feverish skin. His hulking form sits silently beside you – not touching, but close enough to feel his warmth.

You feel the sticky blocker being peeled off your neck, and you flinch in surprise. A subtle saltiness fills the air, but it’s mixed in with a vague sweetness of uncertainty. You relax your shoulders and stare back at him with a small nod, and he returns his gloved fingers to your neck, taking off the blocker.

It’s a faint concoction of chilly ozone, cold milk, and wilting jasmine – you were tired. Emotionally. Ghost wanted to coax back your soft scent from the corridor he’d first seen you in. It had been so dreamy, like skin after a warm bath. And yet, you hadn’t had the pleasure of smelling it yet. Johnny had told him all about the conversation, the way your body was stuck in survival mode. Ghost couldn’t blame you. He barely ever smelt his true scent anymore. If he was lucky, he’d get whiffs of vetiver and a salty-air, but that was nothing compared to his initial presenting scent.

Perhaps he’d never smell it again. Either way, he’d made peace with the fact.

The two of you sit there, watching the distant tree-line, listening to the birds and the vague shouts from the base’s training courts.

“Do you know abou’ me?”

Ghost’s low, cockney accent fills your ears, and you glance over. His chocolate eyes stare back at you – deep, penetrating, and… fragile?

Oh.

“Like… your past?”

He nods once. Stiffly.

You sigh softly, before nodding in confirmation.

“It’s… it’s bits and pieces. Most of it is left a mystery. They like you that way, I guess…” You regret your words as you speak them.

“It’s a bit horrific, really. It’s your life. Your trauma. But somewhere else it’s just a backstory. Lore.” You stare at him, watching as he watches the trees with a glazed look.

“Sorry,” you whisper softly again, and a soft amber begins to envelop the both of you. You sit up straighter and glance around, trying to see who’s coming. You didn’t recognise that scent–

“It’s you.”

You glance back at Ghost.

“It’s me?”

He nods, and you soften. Your first nice smell. You soften further in realisation. Did this mean…

Soap’s earlier words sounded in your head.

“You’re still braced fer danger, bon.”

“Some omegas don’ smell their true scent til’ they’ve been properly claimed. Not in tha bite way, in the heart way.”

You glance softly at Ghost.

“May I call you Simon?”

His beautiful eyes are back on you, and he gives a small nod. You smile.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

Simon had dropped you back off to your room after another hour of peace by his side in nature, and you had been milling around the space aimlessly, looking for something to do.

A knock at your door made you perk up. It wouldn’t be Simon because he’d left for some training duties, but perhaps it was Johnny?

You hear your name in the unmistakable Price gravel.

Your scent flickers nervously, but you open the door.

“Hi?” You hold onto the side of the door, slightly hiding your body behind it, unsure of if he was dragging you off somewhere for more tests.

John sighs when he sees your body language, gently brushing his forehead.

“Look, I wanted to apologise for my initial behaviour. I know you understand probably more than anyone why I was so cautious, but that still doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re–” he swallows softly, “--my omega. And I’ve been neglecting you.”

You stare up at him, biting the inside of your cheek, the message making you more weepy than you’d care to admit. You grip the door tighter as he says your name,

“I’m sorry.”

You sigh and blink a few times as you gather yourself, before giving him a nod.

“I do understand, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. I’ve been developing a second gender at a rapid pace, with basically no help. Soap’s been helping me a lot, but it’s not quite the same. Doctor Kellen said an omega’s alpha will help them the most.”

“I know, honey,” the older man sighs, gently gesturing to the door knob, “May I?”

You nod and open your door to let him in. He sits on the edge of your bed and you join him. Your heart thumps a little bit harder in your chest as he peels off his scent blocker for the first time.

An audible noise leaves your lips when it hits you.

There’s pipe tobacco–no surprise–but what you notice most is the delectable swirl of aged cedarwood with clove. Paired together, it was warm and smokey, and suddenly you’re transported to snuggling around a fireplace during the winter time. You suppose that’s what the pack did to him anyways - always leaning on him when times got tough.

You gaze up at him, his blue eyes already on you. His brown hair looked warm, soft, despite the occasional flick of grey. His scent made sense–like control, warmth, and leadership honed through fire. You sniff again. A slight bitterness lingers in his scent, like scar tissue from old regrets. But yet, still protective and grounding, like a hearth in the cold.

“Can you smell mine?” You blink up at him, and he nods softly.

“You can’t?” He tilts his head.

You shake yours in response.

“Well, actually–” You explain to him how you had been able to smell amber with Simon, and you see him smile softly.

“You two had a nice chat, huh?”

You smile softly, eyes glancing away wistfully to a moment already in the past.

“It’s good, y’know,” John speaks, “Simon, he… he struggles. Doesn’t ever want to let his scent out. S’pose it’s much like me. Just don’t want people to know what we’re feelin’, y’know?”

You smile softly as you hear John speak, always seeming to end on “y’know?”. He was nervous, and it was adorable. That means he cares.

And that meant the world to your omega.

“I think you’ll be good for us, love. I really do.”

Your eyes dart back to him, a jolt of amber piercing into your bedroom as your cheeks warm. Your heart was feeling safer.

“Cap?!”

A breathless Gaz pushes into the room, dark eyes wide. Price is on his feet immediately, already moving to the door, slapping his blocker back on.

“What is it?” He gruffly barks.

“It’s Laswell, she’s calling an urgent meeting–” Gaz’s eyes fall onto you, then back to Price– “Classified.”

You frown, knowing that meant you’d be excluded.

“Sorry, honey,” Price makes his way back over, gently but quickly tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. With his big palm cradling the side of your head, he leans in for a chaste kiss to your forehead. Your frown softens a bit.

Gaz looks at you, his gaze filled with a lingering jealousy, need, and overwhelming guilt. He doesn’t even say goodbye, just leaving as Price follows in tow, telling you to lock your door as he shuts it. You sigh, rubbing your eyes.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

“What do you mean, ‘others have tried to manipulate this gateway process?’” Price asks, blue eyes narrowed in concern.

“It means exactly that, John,” Kate sighs back with equal worry. “There are whispers of PMC’s attempting to weaponise astral projection, scent manipulation, or even ‘omega retrieval’.”

Price growls, and Gaz speaks up in a flush of anger.

“‘Omega retrieval’? What the hell does that mean?”

But they all knew what it meant.

Soap begins to pace the small, secure meeting room.

Ghost was still. Steady. Arms crossed as he speaks up, “How can astral projection be weaponised?”

Kate sighs.

It wasn’t good.

“The two strongest theories are for remote espionage and dimensional breach tech. Soldiers could be trained to leave their bodies and spy in enemy zones without ever setting foot there. Your omega has proved it’s possible. And if someone like her slipped into a new world–our world– then others could be sent intentionally. Weapons, assassins, spies…” Kate shakes her head as she goes on, “All could be projected into other planes of existence — alternate realities.”

“Steamin’ Jesus…” Soap curses, glancing at the others.

“How do we stop this, Kate?” Price stares at her intently.

“I don’t have a name–” the pack visibly agitates, “--but I have a location.” They all perk back up, stepping closer.

“It’s a lab with their supposed research. We can find it, destroy it–”

“And them.”

Kate nods at Ghost, “And them. But boys?”

They all glance at her.

“This is off the books. I don’t know what other intelligence agencies have similar research and theories as the CIA, but this could be leaked. An inside job. Someone within the CIA, in the American government, wants this to work. To avoid trouble they dish it off to PMC’s with vague rules of engagement. We could be dealing with someone we know here.”

She shares a pointed look with Price.

Shepherd.

Ghost catches the look, and files it away for later.

For now, they had some coordinates to follow and a lab to destroy.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

You were struggling. Deeply.

It was already two days since they’d left.

Two days since Price had given you a soft forehead kiss, lingering this time.

Two days since Soap had squeezed you so tight in a hug you thought you’d pop.

Two days since Ghost had removed his scent blocker, letting you nuzzle into his gland.

Two days since you had seen Gaz’s guilty, forlorn gazes when he thought you weren’t looking.

You hadn’t slept, and you barely ate. You spent most of your time in Soap’s room, desperately snuggling up in his bed and clothes, trying to keep the scent of him alive.

The reality of your situation had really sunk in.

You were in a foreign world. Who else could say that?

And you had no apparent way of ever getting home.

The only reasons worth staying here were gone, and you didn’t know when they’d come back. If they came back. You had no idea what their fate held since you had meddled with canon.

You were just as much a part of the story as them now.

The struggles weren’t just mental – they were physiological too. Doctor Kellen–whom you’d been seeing daily since they left– explained that it wasn’t wise for a pack to leave their omega completely alone, even if they hadn’t formed the full bond yet. Yet here you were, completely unbonded. And completely alone.

Doctor Kellen explained it probably hurt more because you had just started opening up to each other. The most delicate phase. And they had all left.

You tried not to be upset about it – they were Task Force 141 first, your pack second. But it still didn’t ease the sickness in your stomach that crawled up your throat daily.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

You were in Soap’s bed again, hair still damp from your shower. You were sniffling tearfully into his pillow, his scent beginning to fade. It was day five and his room was now a concoction of icy ozone, cold milk, and wilted jasmine. The smell of utter misery.

You didn’t know how much longer you could last–

“‘Mega?”

You almost shriek at the sweet Scottish accent, and fly out of his bed and barrel into his chest. You burst into tears, gripping onto his slightly sweaty shirt.

He instantly squeezes you back just as tightly, murmuring your name over and over again into your hair, pressing kiss after kiss to the damp strands.

“I’m back. We’re back,” he soothes, his cheek smushed down on top of your head as he cradles you close.

“Soap.”

The gravelly voice makes you peel your cheek back from his chest, and an involuntary whine sounds in the back of your throat when you see your head alpha.

“Come here, honey,” Price opens his arms, and you melt into them, a fresh wave of sobs taking over you.

Your cries automatically lessen when you’re suddenly enveloped in a beautiful musk with english oak, rain on stone, and a fresh green vetiver. You sniffle and shift your head slightly, coming eye to eye with Gaz. He had taken off his blocker first, reading your needs like second nature. Your eyes shine appreciatively, and your interlocked eyes share an understanding. You give him a soft nod, and see him swallow thickly, his eyes briefly glancing away to blink back emotion.

Kyle was loyal to a fault, and he had stuck by his superior, even when it killed him. And now he was dealing with the guilt of your pain. But in that moment, you two had seen each other. Had that silent exchange.

You get it.

And now it would all be okay.

The others follow Kyle’s actions, and the room is filled with a beautiful symphony of their scents – Johnny’s crushed spices and fresh citruses, John’s warm, smokey cedarwood and clove, and–

Simon was standing by the closed door.

Mask off.

You gasp softly, and John loosens his grip on you. They follow your gaze, and the captain smiles softly. Your eyes well up with a new set of tears.

There he is.

Simon Riley.

Not Ghost. Not the soldier.

Just Simon.

Your alpha.

His face was quite similar to that of his voice actor, with the soft burn scars climbing up one side of his face. You could easily smell his woodier vetiver, worn leather, and frost on stone. Similar to Kyle’s but different in its own way. The longer you all stared, the more his frost on stone swirled into cold steel.

Johnny gently brushes his hand on his arm, and Kyle glances away with John. Your eyes linger on Simon for a moment longer, blinking at him softly. He swallows subtly back in return, before you look away, allowing him and Johnny a moment.

Your omega preens happily being surrounded by her pack and their delectable scents that you barely register John and Kyle guiding you to sit on Johnny’s bed.

“Have you been eating, love?” John asks in his gruff, soft voice, looking at you with such delicacy it makes your heart ache. You nod in response, and suddenly the whole point of their disappearance comes rushing back. You need answers.

“What happened?”

John sighs, brushing a hand through his hair, sharing a glance with Kyle on his other side.

“Perhaps let’s clean up first–”

“Tell her.” Kyle’s voice cuts off John, and you glance over in quiet surprise, softening when you see Kyle’s determined look. You give him a soft smile of appreciation. His scent swirls around you stronger, warmer. Happier.

Your heart jolts and with it comes your amber again. You could smell it. You smile happily.

You were feeling safer around them.

Clearly noticing your change, John sits up a bit straighter, wanting to further prove that he–they–could keep you safe.

And so he dives into the general mission points, sharing what Laswell had briefed them with. 141 had raided and destroyed the lab and all the personnel inside – “can’t just destroy the research on paper. Need to destroy the research in their heads too” Ghost had quietly explained, and you swallow softly at the insinuation. You just kept telling yourself it was justifiable. That it was protection. That it was survival. But still, it was one thing to witness mass killing in a video game… and another entirely to realise the men you were being bonded to–yearning for–were capable of it so easily.

You blink away the thought, your body already beginning to soften into safety now that your pack is back. You didn’t realise how tight your skin had felt until their presence began to melt it. Muscles loosened, your shoulders sagged, and your scent shifted–amber cutting through the pitiful prior scent like sunlight through a fog.

Johnny nuzzles your hair from where he had sat beside you, mumbling something sweet in your ear about how your pretty scent was back. Simon lingered by the end of the bed, still half watching the door and his pack all now sitting on Johnny’s bed.

“Ya smell like a soft li’le dream,” he smiles, his nose continuing to scent your hair with quiet hums. You blush and can’t look anyone else in the eye, but they see your smile.

The moment is peaceful.

Until your body begins to twitch.

At first it’s subtle. A squirm. A quiet whimper in the back of your throat. Then comes that familiar prickle of your skin–the heat.

Suddenly their scents are too intoxicating.

Your thighs press together, the seams of your pants feeling too tight. Your skin feels feverish and achy and sweet all at once. You whine again without meaning to, and they all freeze–heads turning your way.

“I-I’m fine,” you stammer, wanting the ground to swallow you whole. “It’s just–I missed you all, that’s all…”

John’s eyes narrow slightly, but he tilts his head to show he’s not angry. “You’re not just being clingy, are ya, love?”

You look up at the eldest man, lips parted as a tremble runs through your body–God, it felt like you were ovulating tenfold–

John stands up immediately.

“Right, that’s not clinginess. That’s your heat starting.”

Your mouth falls open. “W-what?”

“It’s early,” Johnny murmurs, “but it makes sense. Yer body was holdin’ it back. Now we’re back… it’s lettin’ go.”

Price is already beside you again, helping you up gently.

“Come here, honey. Let’s get you out of those stiff clothes. You need comfort.”

It was all happening so fast, your face flushes even more. Your eyes dart around the room in self-consciousness, lingering on Kyle in particular. His eyes flash with hurt, but he can’t blame you – you guys had barely begun to repair your connection. John catches this.

“Alright, you lot. Out.”

Johnny splutters immediately, “Wha–?! But this is my room–”

“True,” John hums, and gently guides you to the exit. If you weren’t so hot and bothered you would’ve laughed at Johnny's whines and the way Simon had to hold the back of his neck to stop him from following you and John.

Kyle follows quietly behind you two, watching as John enters his room with you further down the hall.

“I’ll go get the electrolytes,” he says quietly to his alpha, before leaving you two. You barely register John locking his door before he’s gently easing your arms up. You whine, trying to lower your arms.

“Shh, it’s okay, lovie – just want to get you into something more comfy.” He lets go and moves to his dresser, and you see him offer a cozy cotton shirt and sweatpants. You reach for them tentatively before eying him.

“Want me to turn around?” He cocks a soft brow. You nod, and he turns. Your shoulders ease slightly and you peel off your stiff layers, sighing softly in relief at the loose fabric. John turns on his room’s AC while you get changed, the air circulating coolness throughout.

“C’mon,” his head tilts to his bed. “Mind if I have a quick shower?”

You sit on the edge of his bed, still tense. You hesitantly nod, before asking him to keep the door open. His lip tilts up slightly but he nods, heading into his small bathroom to shower the grime off from the mission.

You can’t see him, but hearing the act of him washing in the shower nearby is soothing enough, and you relax further onto his bed, curling your feet up. There’s a soft knock on the door – gentle. Only two taps, like whoever was on the other side didn’t want to spook you.

“‘S just me.”

Kyle.

You get up and unlock the door, coming face to face with him. He swallows softly, holding some electrolyte drinks in his hands. You two stare at each other for a moment before he says your name.

“I’m sorry.”

You would’ve smiled had your body not been thrumming with discomforting heat. Seemed like they all were apologising to you.

You just blink up at him softly. He sighs, before continuing.

“I’m sorry for the other week. For not believing you. For not stepping in sooner.” His words are heavy with guilt, and you gently take the drinks from his hands. He softens slightly, licking his lips before continuing more earnestly.

“I was following Cap’s lead, but that’s not an excuse. I should’ve followed my instincts. I’m your beta… And then suddenly everyone seemed to be connecting with you but me,” he sighs again, “I wanted to. But I didn’t know if I would be making it worse.”

You blink, “What do you mean?”

“I was so thrown off by your whole story, part of me was always scared you weren’t who you said you were. I couldn’t push that aside, even when the others were letting you in. So I didn’t want to get involved when I couldn’t commit to you fully. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Your shoulders soften at his openness, his hand brushing through his short hair as he continues, his big brown eyes big and on yours.

“But I don’t think those things now. Especially after seeing that lab…”

He takes a deep breath, “What I’m trying to say is that I want to try now. Connecting. If you’ll let me.”

“I kinda thought you hated me,” you murmur, and you watch his brows immediately scrunch in pain.

“I didn’t hate you. I hated myself for freezing. For not being better sooner.”

He steps into Price’s room and gently takes the drinks out of your hands, setting them down on the dresser. You sit softly on the edge of John’s bed.

“I should’ve been there, baby,” Kyle’s voice is delicate as he crouches in front of you, grasping your hands to dwarf with his. “A beta’s job is to help the omega feel safe. Held. I failed that.”

You swallow thickly, lip slightly pouting with emotion from your heightened sensitivity. “You’re not failing now,” you whisper.

He smiles, just a twitch of his plump lips, and stands back up. The water turns off in the bathroom, and he leans in to place a lingering kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll be back. Price’ll take good care of you.”

And with that, he leaves you in a cloudy scent of green vetiver, musk, and English oak.

John re-enters the room with a towel wrapped around his waist and a knowing smile on his lips. He gets dressed silently, your mouth salivating at the sight of his beefy body. Jesus.

Your legs shiver as more warmth tingles through your body, and you smell John’s smokey scent grow more intense.

“C’mere,” he gets on top of his bed, opening his arms. You hesitate only for a moment before your instincts win, and you crawl into his arms. You opt to close your eyes instead, body softly wracking at the proximity of John fucking Price. God, it was embarrassing. But you couldn’t help it. You hoped this was a normal heat thing, otherwise you’d have to jump off a cliff.

Closing your eyes heightened your instincts, blurring your reality with desire. You nuzzle into his scent gland, letting the smokiness consume you. You swallowed every few seconds, and soon they turned into soft hums and lip smacks. When his hand started carding through your hair, you could help but let out small noises into his neck as your legs constantly shifted and readjusted, not quite touching him yet.

“It’s alright, ‘Mega,” he mumbles into your hair, and you brush your lips against his scent gland. A deep noise escapes his throat, and your legs shift again – Jesus, to tangle with his. Your flushed core was now pressed against his thigh, and God did it feel good.

Any sense of decency was out the window now as you let the thrumming heat consume you, lost in your whines and gentle rubbing against his thigh. Your tongue flicks out to lick the slits of his gland, and his whole body shivers.

He curses your name softly, his big hand tightening its grip in your hair. You’re completely lost in the fireplace of his alpha aura, licking and trying to stifle needy moans as your rutting grows stronger.

You don’t know if it’s the heat, the tightening of the coil in your lower belly, or a combination of both – but your tongue disappears back in your mouth only for your teeth to bare, and bite on his gland.

John gasps – not from pain, but from instinct.

The bond surges. You both freeze.

A coolness washes over you as you pull back with panic.

“I’m sorry!” You cry, eyes wide and teary with horror, but John just smiles. Grins. Like an idiot. His palms instantly cup your cheeks, shaking his head.

“Don’t be. That was your omega choosing.”

Your thudding heart steadies slightly, and you catch his eyes flickering down to your lips. You instinctively lick them, and that familiar heat in your lower belly returns. He glances up briefly and you nod, chest fluttering at what was about to happen.

And then he leans in, his lips connecting with yours.

You make a soft noise into his mouth, your eyes shut and brows scrunching in overwhelm. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue intertwining with yours. You kiss back eagerly, your leg pushing between his thighs to slot your front against his even more. The fluttering in your tummy settles and you realise you’re trying too hard, and let go. The kiss changes instantly, your tongue no longer battling with his, but being guided. John makes a hum of approval at your submission, and you continue to make out – wetly.

“Please,” you gasp, pulling back to breathe and bare your neck. He hums, pupils dilated at the sight of your naked gland.

“You sure, dovie?”

You flush a smile at the new nickname, and nod. He hums and grins with a bite to his lips, before leaning in again. His hand gently cups your neck, steadying it. Your breathing shallows as he grows closer, bracing yourself.

He doesn’t bite straight away, but laps and kisses at it - much like you did. His mouth is warm, reverent, worshipping. Your eyes flutter shut as he suckles the tender skin, lips dragging against the hyper-sensitive ridge. A soft gasp slips from your throat, turning into a moan as his teeth graze you slowly. A sweet vanilla pours from you like a broken dam, the room thick with it – honeyed and heady and his.

“So good, dovie,” he mumbles against your neck, “Smell how sweet you get for me?”

Your reply is nothing but a shiver, too lost in him.

Then, he bites.

A sharp cry bursts from your swollen lips as your body locks. Nails dig into his forearm, your back arching violently as the bond ignites.

It doesn’t just hurt. It burns. Beautifully. Like starlight shooting down your spine.

The black behind your eyelids explodes into a supernova of gold and red–light, heat, home. It feels like the whole world slips sideways and then rights itself all at once. You’re not just in a body – you’re inside him, with him, of him.

A pulse echoes between you like a second heartbeat. The bond stitching itself through your ribs, your spine, your scent. His name branded into the marrow of your bones.

You let out a sob, shaking, overwhelmed by the depth of it.

John doesn’t move.

He just holds you. His mouth still sealed over the mark, grounding you with his hands, with his weight, with the molten warmth of his voice as his whispers your name like a prayer.

“Mine,” he breathes, “My omega.”

And the bond settles with a satisfied hum beneath your skin, like your body had just remembered what it was always made for.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

The next morning, after John had dropped you back to your room, leaving you with many sweet kisses to your skin, you had showered. You were now standing in front of your bathroom mirror, grinning dumbly at your reflection, the claimed gland now staring back at you.

Your tummy grumbling forces you to get into your civilian greys, and make your way to the mess hall. Despite wearing the clear, jelly-like blocker, your fresh bite mark was still extremely obvious. But you didn’t care – your omega was smug as hell. Now you didn’t have to worry about those other alphas staring at you like you were a piece of meat.

Your neck still aches slightly, but it’s the good kind – the kind that comes from being claimed. You make yourself a breakfast tray before looking around for someone to sit with.

“Oi!” You immediately recognise the Scottish lilt, grinning as you head towards him.

“You’re just gonna walk in ‘ere like tha’?” Johnny’s jaw was dropped dramatically, but it didn’t last for long as his lips automatically tilted up into an amused grin.

“What?” You grin as you shrug with faux-innocence, popping a grape into your mouth.

“Ye li’le minx, showin’ off yer love bite, are ye?” He grins devilishly, pointing straight at your neck.

You flush and shrink down into your seat slightly, but your proud grin remains.

“Bet ye were makin’ sounds last nigh’, huh? Poor Ghost probably heard everythin’ through the walls–”

“Johnny!” You squeak at his crudity, but your smile grows. You go to swat him but he easily dodges it with a bark of laughter.

You spend the whole breakfast trading playful jabs and teasing remarks, barely able to eat between your giggles. Johnny is so animated, so safe to be around. Despite his jokes he doesn’t once make you feel small for being overwhelmed. He gets it. He went through the same thing with Ghost.

After breakfast, you help him carry mugs back to the kitchen, still chatting. The hallway’s quiet – the SAS wing always was. The kitchen is empty. You bump hips, laughing over some dumb joke he made – and then he stills, turning to you.

“Yer real easy to be around, bonnie.”

You tilt your head with a sweet grin, riding a high, “So are you.”

His crystal blue eyes melt into something more serious, and you see him wet his lips. He leans in, slowly, hands resting on your waist lightly.

You don’t pull away. His hands grow more firm. More confident with your wordless consent.

His head is slightly dipped as he closes the gap, your breaths briefly mingling before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is bright and citrus-sweet, like biting into a slice of orange on a hot summer’s day. You gasp softly as his other hand cups your cheek, and his tongue darts out to gently brush against yours. It’s cheeky and flirty, but not rushed. He nips playfully at your bottom lip and smiles when you make a soft sound in the back of your throat.

“Tell me te stop an’ I will,” he murmurs against your lips.

You don’t.

He deepens the kiss, just for a moment – enough to leave you breathless – then pulls away with a wink. His watch was beeping, a reminder of a drill practice he had to attend.

“We’ll save the rest for la’er.”

And with that, he leaves you toying with a strand of your hair like a school girl, grinning to yourself as you relish in the sweet smell of vanilla with citrus.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

You find Kyle later that afternoon out in the courtyard, sharpening one of his knives as he soaks up some of the rare British sun. His brow lifts as you approach, but it’s not cold anymore. It’s soft. Warm. Curious.

“Didn’t think you’d want to see me,” he says, but there’s a slight joke to it.

“Don’t be stupid,” you roll your eyes playfully, bumping your shoulder into his as you sit beside him.

A small chuckle escapes from him, and you both sit in the quiet for a beat. It’s not awkward. Not with the gentle breeze and distant birdsong. It’s easy. Fond. Like old friends remembering they’d always been good together.

Conversation sparks up naturally. You rib him over his haircut (he’d attempted to do it himself). He teases your (Soap’s) hoodie. You both end up laughing about your shared taste in music–and then movies–and then conspiracy theories. It’s seamless. So seamless it almost makes your chest ache.

“I think we get along too well,” you say playfully, bumping your knee against his.

Kyle grins, eyes warm. “Yeah. Dangerous chemistry.”

You hum in agreement, mind flitting back to your first encounter with him – how you had immediately fallen into each other’s scents and arms.

He shifts, and you glance at him with a soft smile that hadn’t left since you’d sat beside him.

His eyes are lingering on your bond mark, the teeth ridges matching his healed one over his gland.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?”

You tilt your head softly, and he elaborates, “Being claimed. Being included.”

You hum in quiet acknowledgment, “Yeah. I am an outsider, no doubt, but now… I feel less like an imposter. Like I actually am deserving of being in your pack. Being your… girl.” You cheeks tinge slightly, and Kyle smiles softly.

“Hey,” his hand gently tucks some hair behind your ear to stop you from hiding your blush. You glance up, and his eyes are searching yours tenderly, his thumb beginning to rub against your cheekbone.

“May I…?” He asks quietly.

Your breath hitches subtly.

“I’ve wanted to for a while, but I didn’t want to rush you. I also didn’t want Cap to bite my head off for doing it before he could.” He grins, making you laugh. He effortlessly eased your nerves – God, he was the perfect beta.

“Go on then,” you reply shyly, but grin teasingly all the same. He chuckles softly before leaning in.

With practiced ease, your eyes flutter shut as his plump lips find yours. The kiss is soft, steady, intentional. Like he’s trying to tell you something without the words. Like he’s holding back everything he could pour into it, just to prove you’re safe with him.

You press closer, the soft chirp of birdsong and rustling leaves fading as your mouth moves with his, warm and sure.

When you part, your lips are tingling, and your heart is beating just a little too fast.

“That was…” You whisper.

He smiles, “Yeah.”

And for a moment, it feels like everything might actually be okay.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

Later that evening, you’re curled up on your bed with a journal John had given you, when there’s a knock at your door.

You pad over and open it quietly – and there he is.

Simon.

He’s freshly showered, dressed in soft black sweats and a hoodie up to shield his bare face from the prying corridor cameras. God, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing his face. He looks… calm.

“Can I come in?”

You nod, stepping aside. He enters silently, like always, but his shoulders are loose. Unlocked. He sits on the edge of your bed before pushing his hood down, revealing his still-wet hair. You sit beside him.

The weight of the day seems to catch up to you in this moment – bonding with John last night, and kissing both your betas today. Is Simon expecting something?

No, a voice chimes in your head. He would never push.

You sigh softly, suddenly overwhelmed by the prospect of it all. Of going from a mundane life filled with fantasised romance to suddenly four men that are ‘made’ for you. You were way out of your depth. You’d never gone further than kissing with anyone, always too scared to break that initial barrier – of the pain every woman seemed to talk about when losing their virginity. You didn’t want to be in pain.

But glancing at Simon, he was huge. They all were. You open your mouth to confess your fear, but soften as you stare at him–really stare at him.

There was something about the way he was sitting there, bare faced. Not as a soldier, not even as an alpha – but as a man. Just a man. Tired, and full of quiet things he doesn’t know how to say.

You readjust to pull your legs up underneath you. He shifts too, just close enough that your knees brush.

You don’t know how to start.

“I…” You begin, voice small, “I’ve been thinking about… things. Expectations,” you swallow nervously as you fiddle with a loose thread on Johnny’s jumper.

He glances at you, but doesn’t interrupt.

“I’m not ready,” you finally say. “For sex. I don’t know when I will be. And I just– I need to say it before someone thinks I’m holding something back. I’m not. I just… can’t.”

A heavy pause.

But not a tense one.

Simon looks down, hands clasped loosely between his knees. He nods – once, slow – and then breathes out.

“I know.”

That’s all he says.

You blink at him, eyes softening as you’re received. His fingers twitch now in his lap.

“I’ve never had this before,” he says lowly. “A pack. An omega. Not really. Thought that part of life just… skipped me.”

You watch him closely as his scent begins to greet you– cool vetiver and something steadier tonight, like brushed steel warmed by fire.

“I figured brotherhood would be it. Guns and grit and the lads,” he shrugs, like it’s the most he could ever ask for. “Didn’t plan for tenderness. Didn’t think it was mine to have.”

You reach out–just gently– your hand hovering over his. When he doesn’t flinch away, you settle it on top.

His throat bobs with a swallow.

“Touch still feels…” He trails off. “Not bad, just… loud. Sometimes.”

You don’t need him to say more. You feel it.

Your thumb brushes over his hand, slow. Steady.

“I’m scared too,” you admit. “This whole second gender, heat thing… Just because I’m turned on or craving closeness, doesn’t mean I’m ready. Sometimes it just feels like… my body is moving without me.”

Simon’s hand flips under yours, palm to palm now. A subtle grounding. A silent thank you.

“I’ve had things taken from me,” he says after a pause. “In ways that made me think I’d never want this. Never be… safe enough to.”

Your chest tightens as he struggled to say the word ‘safe’.

“Simon…”

His eyes lift. And for once, there’s nothing but soft truth in them.

“This thing with you–” he says softly, “It’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to try. Slow. Gentle. Real.”

Tears prick at your eyes. You shift closer, tentatively searching his soft brown eyes. You gently rest your forehead against his.

He closes his eyes immediately, exhaling softly like it’s instinct. Like your touch doesn’t startle him–it anchors him.

And something sacred happens.

The warmth in his scent grows, snuffing out the coolness. It swirls in a sweet smokiness, and suddenly your mind is painted with images of a young Simon roasting marshmallows by a fire. Perhaps with his brother. Perhaps a moment where things weren’t ugly.

The burnt sugar envelops you, and your own scent pools out – the amber melting with his.

“I don’t want anything from you you’re not ready to give,” he whispers. “Ever.”

A small sound catches in your throat, and you swallow the thickness down. But he knows. He understands, without you needing to say words.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

It’s sometime after 3 a.m. when you stir.

You don’t know what wakes you at first. There’s no sound. No scent. No movement.

Just that feeling.

Your eyes blink open slowly, lashes sticking slightly to the corners. Your room is dimly lit by the moonlight bleeding through the window. Briefly, you wonder if it’s the itchiness from your bite beginning to scab, creating a hard to see mark on your neck.

But it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

No low hum of footsteps in the hallway. No murmured banter from night patrols. No coffee machines whirring from the break room. Nothing but the sound of your own breathing.

You sit up slowly.

The air feels… off.

Not cold. Not hot. But still. Like something’s waiting.

A slow prickle spreads across your skin, and you sniff the air cautiously. Your pack’s scents linger faintly, but nothing new.

Your heart thuds once.

Twice.

Something isn’t right.

You pad barefoot across the room, pressing your ear against the door.

Silence.

Your omega shifts nervously inside you, unsettled. You should feel safe. They’re all back. The danger should be over. So why do you feel like prey again?

You slowly unlock your door, intent on beelining straight for Simon’s room. The soft click echos louder than it should. You poke your head into the hallway.

Still no one.

You step out, your heart already calming slightly at the idea of him just two doors down.

And that’s when you feel it.

A rush of wind. A shape. A shift.

Behind you.

A gloved hand clamps over your mouth before you can react. Something cold jams into your neck.

You try to scream.

Try to fight.

Try to run to him.

But your body betrays you.

You collapse silently into thick arms, vision blurring, your limbs turning to lead as your body fades to pins and needles, and then… nothing.

You’re screaming in your head, Simon’s name on the tip of your tongue as your eyelids close heavily.

You never get to say it.

Everything goes black.

mwahahhaha. sorry guys. not sorry.

i love this chapter so much, especially the Simon bonding moments ☹️☹️

also this is legit reader when she bonded w price LOLL

anyways, as usual i’d love to hear your thoughts! in my inbox, (spam me, I love it <3 any pics/memes, videos, anything that makes you think of the baby came home universe🙂‍↕️✨), in reblogs, or in the comments!

until next timeeeee 🫡

—warmly,

carina🩷

#141 x reader

259 notes · View notes

excusemyrandomramblings · 3 days ago

Text

𝓕𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 - 𝓑𝓻𝓾𝓬𝓮 𝓦𝓪𝔂𝓷𝓮

A family night shouldn't be so hard to happen, right? At least it was what you believed. You were dating Bruce for six months, and still, his kids were avoiding you in the manor. Till one night when Bruce needed to go on patrol, and Dick saw you all alone in the living room, looking... sad.

warnings: kinda angst with a fluffy ending, Bruce having a lot of ex-girlfriends, insecurity.

pairing: Bruce Wayne x Batmom! Reader

W.C: 1.016

⭐️ Their ages are not right, okay? I just wanted the "batkids" to be... well, kids, then they are teens/kids, Dick being the oldest and Damian the youngest.

I had this idea randomly, and I didn't plan something too deep.

“But it's Friday night.” You said, quietly, when Bruce started to wear his Batman suit.

“I know, sweetheart, but it's urgent” He kissed your cheek in a featherly touch, caressing your skin right after. “I promise, you won't even miss me.”

“But…"

“I promise everything will be okay. Alfred is reading a book in his bedroom, but you can call him if you need help, and the kids are in their rooms.”

“Today was supposed to be a family night!” The plea in your voice wasn't subtle, and Bruce knew why.

You were trying to win his kids over since the first month you two began to date. You tried, a lot, actually. You went to the school presentations, helped doing homework, made cookies and even tried to buy gifts.

Three months ago, you made a plan. Every Friday night should be a Family Night, and you would make popcorn and everyone would sit on the couch together to watch a funny movie, maybe you could even play some jigsaw puzzle or board games with them.

First Friday? No one appeared.

Second one? No one as well.

The third.

Fourth.

Fifth…

Just Bruce kept you company during all those nights where you made five bowls of popcorn and waited for them to appear.

And today you wouldn't have him apparently.

“I am really sorry, love.” A gentle squeeze on your arm was the last thing he gave you before he headed to the door, passing by it and disappearing.

You sighed, looking at the window, seeing soft raindrops tapping against the glass. Even the weather was mocking you.

The clock was the only audible sound in that damn manor. You walked all the way towards the kitchen, knocking on the kids' doors to ask if they would watch a movie with you.

Dick was practicing gymnastics.

Jason was reading.

Tim and Duke were doing homework.

Cass didn't answer.

Stephanie said she was busy.

Damian just huffed.

Alone, as always.

You didn't want to bother Alfred, then headed to the kitchen. Maybe you could still make some popcorn and watch something, right? Maybe the board games that you bought months ago could be useful even with just one person. Maybe if you made some popcorn, they would still appear.

Maybe…

“Dad said that you don't need to wait for him.” The childish voice startled you, but your eyes softened when you saw Dick, still wearing gym clothes, behind you.

“Thanks, Dick…” You tried to smile, a soft action that made him smile as well.

He looked at the counter, three bowls filled with popcorn just waiting there.

“Will you… eat everything?” He looked surprised, curious even, as his gaze switched from the popcorn to you.

“No, I just…” You sighed, again, looking at him. “Am I a bad mom?”

Dick widened his eyes. “What?”

“I mean… I am trying, I am really trying, Dick. But I don't feel like I am enough here.” You said out loud what your mind was saying to yourself these last days. That you aren't enough.

And you would never be.

“Forget it.” You turned your back to him, reaching to grab some popcorn. “I will just watch something till I fall asleep.” You mumbled, grabbing the bowls.

But Dick frowned slightly, seeing you so depressed.

***

“She is not even our mom.” Dick pinched Damian's cheek when the words came out from the little boy's mouth. “Ouch! But it is true!”

“Honestly, Dick, Dad had enough girlfriends for a lifetime.” Jason rolled his eyes, looking at his oldest brother. “Who will guarantee that she's not like the others? Maybe in two weeks she won't be here anymore.”

“What if you're wrong?” Dick asked. “What if now she is the definitive mom that we will have?"

“What if she is not?” Tim sighed, looking discouraged. “You can't promise me this.”

Everyone was silent after this, looking at each other. Stephanie hugged her own small legs, the blonde hair falling over her shoulders.

“The last mom just wanted money…”

“And the one before called us a nuisance.” Cass added, quietly, leaning her head on Steph's shoulder.

Damian looked away, almost looking sad.

“But she is not a bad person” Duke muttered, looking at his own hands, playing with his own fingers.

Dick made a surprised sound, walking next to Duke. “Say it again?”

The younger looked up, nervous. “She is not a bad person. She went to my science fair last month.”

“Exactly!” Dick looked around, his voice louder than before. “Remember how many times she tried to make us happy!”

“She bought me new headphones.” Cass whispered.

“She took me to the movie theater.” Tim did as well.

“She helped me with homework.” Jason said, closing his book.

“Remember every time when she was good to us” Dick said, now looking at Damian. “We could, at least, give her a chance to prove herself.”

The boy sighed, nodding. “Whatever. What do you want? That we go to the living room to have a Family Night with her?”

***

The TV was showing a random movie that you chose some minutes ago, but it was already forgotten once you were now in the kitchen, eating popcorn alone and scrolling through your cell phone.

That was, until you heard a loud sound of something falling on the ground.

You stood up and walked to the living room, looking for the source of the sound when you saw seven kids sitting on the cushions, wearing cute pajamas and holding pillows and blankets.

You froze, confused and impressed, but a warm feeling on your chest almost made you cry when Dick questioned, smiling big: “What movie are we going to watch?”

“I want action!” Jason announced, raising his hand.

“Romance!” Stephanie continued.

“Mystery!” Tim rambled.

“What about comedy?” You commented, almost shy when all the eyes were on you, and for a moment you thought they were going to leave you alone again. But everyone nodded and looked at you again.

It was the first time that you didn't feel alone.

And you hoped it wasn't the last.

#batman

765 notes · View notes

excusemyrandomramblings · 3 days ago

Text

Johnny wakes up at 7 o'clock sharp. It's his day off, so he has time to run his errands. He has a little list on a sticky note so he doesn't forget anything.

Get the mail

Get gas for the car

Pick up my prescription

Grocery store!! Need bread and eggs!

Getting the mail is easy. His mailbox is just at the end of his driveway. He has the paper, junk mail, a bill, a letter from his sister, and... a light blue envelope. The envelope has a dark blue wax skull stamp on it. Johnny tucks the rest of his mail under his arm, cracking the wax and pulling the card out.

"You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. Simon Riley and..." he mutters. "No fuckin' way!! I told those bloody arseholes! She's real!"

Johnny turns the card over in his hand, a picture of you kissing Simon's cheek, both of you dressed in black. Johnny's surprised Simon let his face be on this. Even though your eyes are closed, he can tell that you love him more than anything in the world.

"Good for him." Johnny grins. "I better be the best man."

He hangs the card on his fridge, marking the date down in his calendar on his phone. The rest of the day seems mundane now.

Kyle has been putting off getting the mail for about two weeks now. His little P.O. box is flooding with papers of all shapes and sizes. This morning, he finally picked it up. When he gets back to his apartment, he flops onto the sofa and sorts through it.

"Junk, junk, junk, bill, magazine, coupon, coupon..." he mumbles, tossing each item into its respective pile. "What's this?"

In his hands - the last thing in his absolutely monstrous pile of mail - is a baby blue envelope. Sealing the envelope is almost a TARDIS blue wax seal. The seal depicts a small skull with its mouth open. He gently opens the envelope, brows furrowed. Inside is a black card with gold lettering

"You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. Simon Riley..." Kyle reads aloud. "Holy shit. Soap wasn't lying!"

He flips the card over, only to see a picture of a beautiful woman kissing the bloody Ghost! Kyle can tell by the light in Simon's eyes that he has found someone who truly loves him. And she's just as pretty as Soap said!

"Good for them," he chuckles, pinning the card to his corkboard. Kyle scrawls the date down on his calendar, smiling the whole time.

Price needs to go through the mail. It's been sitting on his kitchen counter for three days, accumulating more and more shit. He doesn't know why he even gets half this shit. It's all ads, ads, ads. Ocassionally, he'll get a useful coupon here and there. He likes Go Outdoors coupons the most. He needs a new hat, he thinks.

While he's idly looking through his mail, he spots a blue envelope. It has a wax seal on it. Price narrows his eyes at the envelope. He doesn't recognize the address, but it has Simon's name on it. With little ceremony, he opens the envelope. He pulls out a gold-on-black card. "You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. Simon Riley," he grunts. "Well, shit. I owe Soap an apology."

On the back of the card is a gorgeous lady kissing Simon's cheek. Simon's brown eyes are shining with pride, and he can see the woman is hiding a smile. Price rarely sees Simon without his mask on, but he seems to do it so freely with this girl. "Good for the bloke," he chuckles, putting the invitation on his office desk.

Simon deserves something good in his life, Price thinks, a hint of sadness behind the thought. He's had the hardest life out of any man Price has ever met. It's about damn time something happy happens to him.

"Simon, I cannot believe you didn't tell them about me until we sent out those invitations!" you exclaim, swatting his thigh.

Simon shrugs. "I was protecting you. Didn't want the bad guys to find my lady, now did I?"

"Well, I think you should have still told them!" you huff, crossing your arms. "It's a lot to drop on someone, you asshole. If one of my friends suddenly sent me a wedding invitation when I thought they were single, I'd have a bloody cow!"

"It's different for men, love," he replies softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your crown. "I didn't even know Johnny had sisters until a couple of weeks ago."

"That's ridiculous," you scoff. Simon pulls you into his lap, smoothing his hand over the curve of your spine. You melt immediately, resting your chin on his shoulder. He kisses the side of your head, which makes you go even softer.

"I think I would've kept you all to myself forever, if I could have," he says against your hair. "But I think being able to call you my wife outweighs that."

You sigh softly. "I still think you should've told them."

He chuckles, a low rumble deep in his chest. "I think it's more fun this way."

"Maybe," you giggle. "I hope they liked the invitations."

"They were perfect, baby," he promises, kissing the corner of your mouth. "You did a good job."

Part I

Part II

Tags: @ax-alienated, @despairinglakepasta, @tessakate, @yourfavgaygaijingal, @btsgangleader, @adalia-lovelace, @kodokunarisu-blog, @dreamienebula , @cece2608, @hangingmooncloud, @cantfindmelol, @annnnnnnnnac, @trashaccount19, @harringtonsbowgirl, @yuki2129, @julys-mistake-the-second, @arabellatreaty, @herefor-tojis-tits, @h0lydrag0ns, @xylov, @just-lilita

#simon ghost riley

1K notes · View notes

excusemyrandomramblings · 3 days ago

Text

˳೫˚ | 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

pairing: alpha!price, beta!gaz, alpha!ghost, beta!soap x omega!reader (afab)

𝐂𝐖: A/B/O dynamics, polyamorous relationship, four men x one woman, eventual smut, angst, misogyny/degradation (from random soldiers) — 18+ ONLY | series masterlist

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎: Instinct

Simon. Ghost. Riley.

You just saw the Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley.

Holy shit.

He was so huge he had made the wide hallway look small—

“Bon?”

You glance to your left to see Soap.

“Let’s go ge’ some food, yea’?”

You glance back at Price and Gaz who had been listening to Doctor Kellen, and see them finishing up. You glance back at Johnny and nod softly as you follow him to stand.

“Soap.”

Johnny and you swivel to see Price coming over with something jelly-like in his hands. You notice Johnny’s scent become subtly smokier – a telltale sign he was annoyed. A quick but stern look from Price settles the beta, and Johnny takes his blocker. You watch as he places the strip over his scent glands, frowning softly when you can no longer smell him. A coolness is plastered over your neck too, and you flinch softly. Price was gently covering your scent gland too.

“Don’t fiddle with it,” his gruff voice speaks to you, before he begins walking away.

You glance at Johnny and he nods his head, gesturing to follow Price with him.

The journey to the base’s mess hall doesn’t take long, and before you know it you’re in a huge, echoey hall filled with four long tables–much like Hogwarts. A soft smile flickers on your face.

“Hey Johnny?” You ask him, glancing up. His blue eyes are immediately on you.

“Yes, bon’?”

“Do you have Harry Potter in your universe?”

A grin breaks out on his face, “Aye, that we do.”

“Which Hogwarts house would you be in?” You grin back, copying him in picking up a tray for food. You don’t comment as Soap starts loading yours up for you, chatting about the dynamics of the different houses. The pair of you find a secluded spot down the end of the far-left table, and the curious looks of other soldiers don’t escape you. As you continue to glance around and eat your stacked tray, you catch sight of Price and Gaz, purposefully sitting away from you. Price is talking lowly, intensely to the younger man as he sips on a tea from an orange flask. Your shoulders instantly droop, and you pause mid-chew.

The echoes in the hall seemed to grow louder, the lights feeling too bright. Your skin prickled with warmth as an uncomfortable ache panged your chest.

Soap’s hawk-like gaze picked up on your demeanour instantly. He says your name softly, like a prayer in his beautiful Scottish lilt.

“They’re probably just discussing things you don’t have clearance for,” he tries to lighten your mood, offering you his drink. You’re not stupid, though.

“They think I’m dodgy,” you mumble.

Johnny sighs softly, shifting his body to face you more.

“Look, I’m sure you alrea’y know this, but they’re very cautious. Especially Price. And Gaz is his beta, so he’ll follow his lead.”

You glance up, frown subsiding a bit in favour of curiosity.

“Gaz is Price’s beta? What does that mean?”

Soap pushes your tray closer first, and you get the message. You begin to eat again, and he talks.

“When our task force was formed, it had ta be balanced. Price knew he wanted Ghost, so naturally he needed two betas to balance the dynamic. One for each alpha. Keeps them from buttin’ heads.”

“So are you… mates with Ghost, then?” You ask in soft confusion. Johnny chuckles, and your cheeks flush.

“We’re teammates. Packmates, yes, bu’ no’ in tha way yer thinkin’, swee’ girl,” he tilts his head with a grin, the scar on his chin catching the light. “We only seal the mate bond with an omega–our omega. You.”

The innuendo makes your cheeks go warm again, and you glance down at your emptier plate. The fluorescent lights overhead catch on the cool metal, making it shine in your eyes. The more you focus on it, the louder the buzzing of the lights become, making your shoulders creep up to your ears. The uncomfortable heat begins to prickle up your spine again, making you feel suffocated despite the fact no one is crowding you. Yet, your annoyance and discomfort grows.

Soap says your name, his cool fingers gently brushing against your knuckles to bring you back.

“It’s alrigh’, bon. I think yer body’s adjustin’. It can happen–early signs of heat. D’you wan’ to go somewhere quie’?”

The Scotsman doesn’t miss a thing.

You nod softly, your appetite gone anyways. You both stand up and he puts your trays away, guiding you out. You shoot Gaz and Price a pathetic look as you walk past where they’re sitting, but they don’t make any moves to follow.

In an attempt to comfort yourself, you cross your arms over your bleeding heart, feeling more melancholic than when you were a moody teenager. What was going on?

“Wait, did you say heat?” You suddenly realise and speak to Johnny. He nods.

“Yer scent blocker doesn’t stop symptoms–just prevents others from smellin’ it.”

You sigh heavily and he tentatively places a hand on your shoulder. When you don't shrug it off, he wraps his strong arm around your shoulder.

“C’mon, we can go ta my room–I’ve go’ a fan and we can take our blockers off.”

Johnny’s quarters are tucked away in a quieter wing reserved for SAS—more space, more privacy, no communal showers. He shuts the door behind you both with a soft click, locking it before slipping off his boots and stretching with a sigh. You follow his lead, exhaling shakily as you press your fingers to the blocker still adhered to your neck.

You peel it off with a soft wince. The cool air hits your exposed gland, but instead of relief, you’re left… unsettled. The warmth in your chest doesn’t ease. If anything, it worsens.

Johnny hums low in his throat, nose twitching as he tests the air—instinctively checking for danger, imbalance, or bloom. He seems to settle when he’s met with just presumably your scent. Not that you could tell.

You furrow your brows. “Johnny?”

“Mhm?” He’s tugging off his own blocker, flicking it onto the dresser without ceremony.

“…Why can I only smell my fear?”

He pauses mid-motion, then turns his head toward you. A flicker of understanding passes through his expression. He sinks down to the edge of the bed and pats the space beside him. You take it, feeling oddly like a student beside a very kind teacher.

“It’s instinct,” he murmurs, voice low. “Old omega biology.”

You blink at him.

“Back before all this—back when omegas were hunted—being able ta smell yer fear was the one way you knew somethin’ was off. Alphas could mimic comfort. Trick omegas with scent. Calm them down, make them stay put.”

He turns his head, looking at you softly.

“But you can’t fake fear. If you smell that sharp tang in yer own scent? It means you don’t feel safe. Means yer body’s still on alert.”

Your throat tightens. “Then why can’t I smell my normal scent?”

“Because you haven’t let it come through yet,” he says gently. “Not fully. Your body’s holdin’ back. You’re still braced for danger, bon.”

You swallow thickly, and Johnny offers a comforting smile.

“Some omegas don’ smell their true scent til’ they’ve been properly claimed. Not in tha bite way–” he gently nudges his shoulder to yours– “in tha heart way.”

You sit with that for a while, letting Soap’s calming spice and citrus do wonders for your nervous system – you suppose that’s the beta’s purpose.

Eventually your thoughts drift someplace lighter, the sun peeking through the clouds. A small smile twitches on your lips before you glance at Soap.

“I still think you’re a Hufflepuff.”

“Am not! I’m a bloody Gryffindor–”

Your laughter and Soap’s comically indignant cries could be heard drifting down the hallway as your heavy heart eased with the soothing balm that is Johnny Mactavish.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

You hadn’t slept well last night. Your first night away from home, away from your universe as you know it. As the sky had gotten darker and the halls had grown quieter, you found yourself unable to stop the weepiness that rose in your chest when Price hadn’t allowed you to stay with Johnny.

“That’s base rules,” he had gruffly spoken with (unbeknownst to you) a held breath. The captain couldn’t bear to smell you. Depression had a smell, and yours was horribly thin and suffocating. Milk left out too long in the cold, wilting jasmine, a raw mineral tang that wasn’t quite like blood, just… off.

Johnny had scented his jumper before giving it to you as Price showed you to your own personal room. It was in their hallway, so they could smell the unsettling scent crawling under your doorway and into the shared hall, causing an ache in their bones. Their omega was dysregulated, miserable, and yet, Price was still determined to protect the men he knew over the woman who’d fallen into their lives.

Your only indication that Price didn’t hate your guts was the fact that he had made you lock your door.

“You don’t open this for no one, you hear me? No one but Soap, Gaz, Ghost, or myself.”

Price had woken you up early the next morning with knocks to your door.

“Get up, we’re going to Doctor Kellen.”

You rub your bleary eyes, gently rubbing your knotted tummy. You drag yourself out of bed, using the bathroom to freshen up before putting on Johnny’s jumper, his comforting scent enveloping you.

You unlock and open your door, being met with Price’s icy blue eyes. He lifts his hand and you can’t help but flinch back. He hesitates, a flicker of something flashing through his eyes. His shoulders soften ever-so-slightly.

“It’s just a scent blocker,” he speaks the softest you’d ever heard, and you let him press the cool jelly patch across your glands.

Doctor Kellen’s office is warm, and it’s making your skin prickle again in discomfort. It’s too warm. The air is quiet, but at least it’s not as awkward as the walk to the med-bay was with Price.

“I heard you’ve been having some sensitivities? Sensory, emotional?”

You shrink slightly in your chair.

“Did Johnny tell you that?” You mumble back like a pouting kid, and Price prickles subtly in defensiveness, speaking up.

“I asked him. He reported to me because I’m the pack alpha.”

Doctor Kellen swiftly cuts through the rising tension in the room, turning her gaze to you. “You’re reacting as expected for an omega dropped into a pack and alpha-heavy base. The blocker can be a bit of a pain, but it helps everyone else.”

You fiddle with it softly, but stop when you catch the piercing blue of Price’s eyes, and remember his earlier statement to not mess with it.

Doctor Kellen continues, “but it doesn’t mute what your body feels. It’s only part of the preheat process for omegas to get heightened sensitivity.”

You sigh softly to yourself as you continue to listen to Doctor Kellen, watching the second hand tick on the wall clock. You just wanted to get back to the one comfort you had here — Johnny.

You’re back in the mess hall for lunch, sitting with just Johnny again, mind running with the thoughts from the check-in with Doctor Kellen. Shouldn’t heightened sensitivity mean your alphas are more attuned to you? Warmer? Instead of ignoring you, or treating you like something on the bottom of their shoe?

After your fifth fork stab to your food, Johnny speaks up, “What do ya wan’ ta do, bon? Come train with me? Go for a walk in the woods?”

You mumble something under your breath as you stab your potato. Soap’s lips tilt up in amusement.

“What was that?” He asks, despite hearing what you’d said.

“Stab Price’s face,” you grumble louder, and his chest rumbles in amusement.

“Johnny!” You softly cry out, mindful of the other soldiers eating, “it’s not funny! I feel like shit and they just make me feel worse. I thought they were supposed to be my pack. What if my heat comes and they still act like this? I’m not from here! I don't understand how any of this works, and I–”

Soap sighs softly and takes the fork out of your hand to hold you hot flesh instead, cutting off your overwhelmed speech.

“I’m gonna talk to them, alrigh’, swee’ girl? Until then, let's come back to my room. I think I know what will help.”

As usual, Johnny was right and you now felt much better, utterly consumed by his warm scent as you lay on his bed, enveloped in his arms. His big palm gently rubbed up and down your back, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, your prickling subsided, almost quenched by the attention from Johnny. Your beta.

But it still wasn’t quite enough.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

“Soap!” A loud, gruff bark wakes you up with a jolt, and your eyes fly open.

Soap’s door is open, and Price and Gaz are standing in the hallway – Gaz with a conflicted look in his brown eyes, Price’s heavily guarded, as usual.

“What did I say about keeping our private quarters private?” His eyes narrow at the Scotsman.

Johnny’s scent grows thicker, smokier, and they all smell the cold milk and wilting jasmine pouring off you. Johnny retracts what he was going to say, and goes on the offensive, finally snapping.

“No, Cap. Respec’fully, no. She doesn’ unnerstan’ how this all works! She needs support, affection. She needs her pack. Her alphas,” he delivers a steely glare to Price and Gaz. You stay still beside him, seeing Gaz’s eyes flash with guilt before he glances away. Price stares at Soap for a long time before leaving. Gaz heads off in the other direction. Soap releases a shaky exhale and turns to you, melting when he sees your teary eyes.

“Oh, bon–” His arms wrap around you like second nature, and you let go in his chest, finding comfort. Your smokey, citrus-y blanket in a world of covered scents, glares and chemicals.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

Gaz felt awful. He had been so caught up in supporting his alpha that he had forgotten he technically has an omega, too. His role as a beta was to support the pack, help the dynamic between omega and alpha flourish, and he’d failed. Johnny was the only one helping you.

He sighs softly, rubbing his face before entering the classified meeting room.

“Gaz.” Price nods in acknowledgement, and the beta greets him back as he sits.

Johnny is sat across from them, blue eyes icy as he gently swivels in his chair, impatient. Gaz could smell your warmth on his clothes, and he realises the Scotsman was probably restless to get back to you.

Ghost was the last to enter, standing quietly by the table.

“You might want to sit for this.”

A female American voice fills the room, and they all glance to see Kate Laswell holding up a manilla file.

“No projector?” Johnny speaks up, and the woman shakes her head.

“Not for this one. This is extremely classified. I was barely allowed to bring it out here. I had to plead special circumstances.”

“What have you got for us, Kate?” Price’s gruff voice fills the room, and she sighs.

“‘Analysis and Assessment of Gateway Process’.” She drops the manilla file on the metal table, and they all crowd around to get a look. She opens it to reveal highly classified CIA documents, and they all eagerly soak it up.

As they progress, the room grows uneasy, and Price speaks up, “Kate… what is this?”

“It’s astral projection, boys. Expanded consciousness. You wanted an answer on if your omega is telling the truth? Here’s the truth. And she’s living proof that this theory exists.”

141 struggles to wrap their military heads around the document, the theories–it all seemed… impossible. Yet here you were, with information about them and their world that no one could possibly know. Appearing in their radar like a glitch in the system.

Because you were.

“Bring her in,” Price’s gruff voice sounds, and Johnny leaves to fetch you.

You enter the room five minutes later behind Johnny, glancing at Laswell for the first time in real life. Of course she would be the one to prove your story. You give her a soft nod. She pushes the document over to you wordlessly. You read the familiar piece, gently clearing your throat.

“We have this in my universe, too. The CIA published it. Or leaked it. It’s debated.”

Laswell nods, “This isn’t just a theory anymore. You’re living proof.”

You glance around to see the other’s reactions. Gaz and Price look visibly uncomfortable, and Ghost is unreadable with his balaclava. Soap looks at you like he already knew.

“I didn’t do this on purpose, by the way. I just… fell asleep one night thinking of you guys…” you trail off meekly. Soap speaks up.

“That’s fate. You were drawn ta us. Meant fer us.”

Everyone except for you gives Soap a long, loaded look. If the room wasn’t so tense, it would’ve been comical.

That evening, Price sits closer to you and Johnny. Not quite within earshot, but still closer than before. Gaz is with him, but he’s more quiet tonight. Ghost is eating by himself, as usual.

You and Johnny chat softly, and your gaze occasionally flickers to Price as you watch him drink his tea from his orange flask.

The captain had talked to Laswell after everyone had left.

“You think this is fate?”

“I think this is beyond us now, John.”

And that night, you had found a softly steaming tea out the front of your bedroom door.

In an orange flask.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

You’d had another check-in with Doctor Kellen, learning more about what to expect during a heat. It was embarrassing and daunting to think about, but she had reassured you your body wouldn’t let it kick in until it felt safe in it’s pack–safe with it’s alphas.

The med-bay was relatively quiet, most of the base presumably heading to lunch. You walk down the quiet corridor, the air cool as the soft humming of the tech fills your sensitive ears. You round the corner–and thump.

A big, gloved hand is quick to steady you, before just as quickly retracting away.

You bite back a gasp when you see it’s Ghost. You don’t move. He doesn’t move.

His dark eyes sweep your being, seemingly analysing every inch of you in a heartbeat.

“Your scent’s changin’.”

His low, cockney accent fills the quiet corridor, the air no longer cool, but suffocatingly hot.

“You’re overheating,” he states again. You sputter back like a fish out of water.

He doesn’t press, just glancing at your trembling hands that you weren’t even aware of.

He exhales, and it’s soft, barely there, but you heard it in the quiet corridor.

“Drink water. Stay close to Soap.”

And that’s it. He walks past you, not looking back.

But you could smell the faintest flicker of something in the air behind him.

His scent.

Strong enough in that moment to push through the medical-grade scent blockers.

Just a trace. Like steel after rain.

You close your eyes and try to memorise the scent, standing in the fading moment like it might anchor you—your omega tingling in desperation for something from either of your alphas.

But instead you're left in the corridor.

Alone.

main masterlist | baby came home masterlist

chapter two here we goooo! As usual, I’d love to hear your thoughts in my inbox or the comments/reblogs :) warmly, carina 💝

#poly 141 x reader

438 notes · View notes

excusemyrandomramblings · 3 days ago

Text

˳೫˚ | 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

pairing: alpha!price, beta!gaz, alpha!ghost, beta!soap x omega!reader (afab)

𝐂𝐖: A/B/O dynamics, polyamorous relationship, four men x one woman, eventual smut, angst, misogyny/degradation (from random soldiers) — 18+ ONLY | series masterlist

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: Between the Fifth and Sixth

Finally, finally, you were in bed. Soft smoke swirling from the vanilla candle you’d just blown out, your legs softly rubbing together under your cozy sheets after being moisturised in perfumed lotions. A small red light switched on your headboard to induce melatonin for sleep - you were ready to relax after a long week. Contrary to the calming red light, you were staring at your yellow-tinted phone screen, a grin gracing your lips as you scroll through edit after edit of the task force men. You tried to trick yourself into saying you scrolled before bed in the hopes of dreaming about them, not because you had a doom scrolling addiction. Nevertheless, you kept scrolling until the pauses between your blinks grew longer - your phone eventually slipping out of your hand, gently thumping onto the carpet beside your bed.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

You felt relaxed – too relaxed. Too well-rested. Your eyes jolt open in a panic as you fear you’d slept through your alarm, or it had failed to go off.

“What?” You couldn’t help the audible exclamation of utter confusion as you realised you weren't in bed. You weren’t in your room – hell, you weren’t even inside. You were in a forest.

You sit up with a dumb expression, looking around as you lethargically rub your eyes. The warmth of the early sun flickering through the trees on your skin, the sound of the birds chirping good mornings… it all felt so real. You glance down at your hands, stretching your fingers to count them. Ten. You were conscious.

The panic kicks in.

You immediately glance down and frantically pat down your body, making sure you hadn’t been hurt in your unconsciousness. There were no unusual pains, no marks. Your skin was clean, save for a few smudges of dirt from the forest floor.

A distant voice makes your head snap up. You quickly stand, cursing softly when the foliage beneath you crackles loudly. You don’t hear any more sounds.

Heart thumping so loud it almost blocks your ability to hear, you place your palm on the trunk beside you, eyes wide as you try to stay still and hear for that voice again.

Nothing.

Just the sound of your heart, breathing, the gentle whoosh of wind through the trees that tickles your hair. The soft scent of birch and beech woods surrounding you like a mist.

And then—

A gun cocking.

A gasp flies out of your mouth as you whirl around to be met with the barrel of a gun staring you down. You hold your hands up in surrender, stiff with fear yet somehow shaking at the same time.

The man behind the gun was dressed in army camouflage, and you realised there were now four of them around you, all poised and regarding you with suspicion.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to avoid being shot, when suddenly a searing pain hits the left side of your neck. You cry out in pain, hand slapping over your hot skin as your knees buckle to the forest floor. Vague sounds of men barking orders and concerns barely pierce through the shrill ringing of pain in your ears.

It felt as though something was inside your neck, clawing its way out. Tears stream down your cheeks as you gasp for breath, the pain unbearable as sharp slits cut you from the inside out.

It stops moving, and you feel tender flesh and ridges on your neck under your hand. A shaky whine leaves your lips as the ringing in your ears slowly fades. You let go of your neck to grip the leaves beneath your hands, catching your breath, still reeling from the pain. As your hand leaves, an unsettling coolness whisks through the open wound on your neck, causing another sound of discomfort to leave you.

“Rog. Bringing her to medical now.”

You remember the men, blinking your wet eyes open, the tear-covered eyelashes sticking together. Before you can register what’s happening, two men are hauling you up by your underarms and half-dragging you through the birch trees as you stumble for footing.

Medical. Medical…

Okay, so they weren’t trying to kill you. That’s good news.

The trees begin to thin and you’re met with the sight of a large base nestled into what looks like English countryside. A soft, vague scent of chemicals and what almost smells like that new car aroma, hits your nose. It seems to be coming from all around you, despite clearly being out in the open, fresh air.

The base is massive and open, with not many spaces to hide. Just blocks of steel buildings, not many windows, a neat set of grey basketball courts, and lots of very fit people walking around in structured groups of army green. You see many curious glances your way, and fear prickles the back of your neck. Many seemed to linger, and you become painfully aware of the fact that you’re still in your pyjamas. An icy, ozone-like chill smell stings the back of your nose, as if you’ve just opened a freezer and the cold has hit your face.

A soft exhale of amusement from the soldier on your left side makes you frown softly in confusion.

What was so funny?

You couldn’t help but feel grateful when you finally arrive in what you assume to be the medical centre. The chemical smell was stronger here, and you’re immediately ushered into a private room by a female nurse. Her quick guidance makes you frown softly in confusion, and you follow her flickering gaze over your shoulder. Just before you’re shut into the room, you see other army men sitting in the waiting room, eyes blazing with hunger that makes your skin crawl. You’re immediately grateful when the door clicks shut.

“Come sit here, please,” the woman gestures to a sterile blue medical bed, with a parchment hygiene sheet on top. Her accent was British.

“My name is Doctor Kellen, can you tell me your name, sweetheart?”

She moves with practiced ease as you softly say your name, attaching a blood pressure monitor to your arm, the warm squeezing reminding you of your current reality.

You had gone to bed, and woken up in the woods, presumably in England somewhere. How on Earth does that happen?

“You got picked up in the woods, huh? How’d you get there?” She continues to chat calmly, as if discussing the weather.

“I—“ You pause, unsure of how to answer.

“I’m not sure,” your throat clears softly as you shift in discomfort.

“Mhm, can you tell me the last thing you remember then? Before the woods?”

You nod, replying, “I went to bed in my home. I don’t live anywhere nearby, so I don’t understand how I got here.”

She just simply hums again in response as she moves through the vitals checks. She nods softly to herself before removing the blood pressure strap off your arm, the velcro ripping off filling the small room.

You watch as she snaps on some latex gloves, moving closer.

“I’m just going to check your neck, alright?” Her voice remains calm and soothing, so you nod softly, baring the wound to her. Again, she hums softly, gently touching the tender flesh.

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

You reply with your age, and her brows furrow ever so slightly.

“That’s a bit of an unusual age to present.”

Now it was your turn to furrow your brows in confusion.

“Present?”

She blinks back at you, her brown eyes blank for a moment. She nods softly.

“Present.”

You stare dumbly back at her, utterly confused.

“Your scent glands have come through. You’re an omega.”

Your eyes bulge momentarily at the ridiculousness of her statement, before bursting out in a shocked laugh.

“I’m sorry, what?” You tilt your head, eyes shining in amusement at the absurdity.

Doctor Kellen doesn’t seem to find it funny though, and instead stares back at you with increasingly concerned eyes. She says your name slowly, as if talking to a child.

“Do you know what an omega is?”

“Of course I do,” you roll your eyes, thinking to all the fanfiction you’ve read, “I—“

You cut yourself off when you realise you do in fact have something on the side of your neck. That’s what came through in the woods.

You fly off the bed, the parchment almost ripping as you dart to a mirror, craning your neck to get a look. Your messy reflection stares back at you, your own wide eyes fixed on the sore-looking gills on your neck.

You don’t even realise Doctor Kellen is calling in someone, clearly concerned. What type of civilian doesn’t know about presenting? How did you get past the border undetected? This seemed like a greater security concern rather than a medical concern, and it was out of her hands.

You stay in front of the mirror, your nose practically pressed to it as you fiddle with the weird, flappy flesh, until the door opens again. You whirl around and are met with a new man.

“Jesus,” his nostrils flare and he glances at Doctor Keller.

“I know,” she nods in concern, “Would you like me to prescribe blockers?”

The man shakes his head, clearly someone of higher authority, “No. Maybe it’ll be helpful in identifying who she is and where she came from. Our system came up with nothing.”

You shrink slightly under their suspicious gazes, feeling like a kid in trouble.

“Come with me.”

The man’s voice leaves no room for argument. You follow after him, arms crossed in front of your chest for some semblance of decency. They could’ve given you something in there, surely.

As you walk outside, you notice the waiting room is more quiet, but you still receive those hungry stares. That familiar icy ozone-like scent hits your nostrils, and you’re hit with the realisation. Presenting. Scent glands. Omega. That guard huffing in amusement when you were scared before — he smelt it. Your fear is literally scentable. The stares of hunger… this man entering the room with his soft exclamation and nostrils flaring as he smelt it… the scent of you. The scent of an omega.

Your fear increased, clawing up your chest and gripping your throat. You fought the urge to run.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask, trying to get some control over your wellbeing.

“To talk to a Sergeant.”

You gulp softly, and you’re sure he heard it. He never introduced himself like Doctor Kellen did.

The now mid-morning sun disappears from your skin as you step into another metal building, your bare feet padding along the cool floors. It was undignified. You were being treated as if you had done something wrong — you just woke up here!

But who was going to believe that?

You almost bump into the man when he stops, twisting to you.

“You don’t speak unless spoken to.”

Again, the way he spoke — he wasn’t asking. You swallow your annoyance and give a stiff nod.

With that, he knocks on a door.

“Come in,” a muffled voice calls from the other side, and the man opens the door.

“The lurker, sir.”

You hear a sigh from your place in the hall, and assume the man inside is nodding in annoyance and gesturing with his fingers for you to come in. The soldier grabs your arm and tugs you into frame.

You tug your arm out in agitation, giving him a heated glare as a hot scent of cinnamon and ginger fills the room. That must be your angry scent.

Giving the man one last glare, you turn to look at the higher ranking “Sergeant”, and almost shit your pants. A loud gasp jumps out of your throat as you stare at one of the men you had watched for many hours in game walkthroughs and edits.

Deep brown eyes stare back at you, slightly widened in shock.

It was none other than Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.

His skin looked even smoother in real life, the soft blend of cocoa skin pairing well with his dark hair.

“Adams, you’re dismissed.”

God, even his voice sounds exactly the same—

The man who’d brought you here—Adams—leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

You stare at Gaz in shock still, and he is regarding you with soft wonder.

“Fuck… you’re real. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you.” He softly stands up, moving around the desk.

His brown eyes seemed enchanted, and you couldn’t help but fall into their chocolate puddles. Kyle, freakin’, Garrick. Gaz was right in front of you!

You couldn’t stop your fangirling thoughts as you stare up at him now in front of you. You watch as he scratches his neck — no, pulls something off. A patch of fabric molded to his skin colour.

You’re almost knocked back by the delicious smell that washes over you. It smelt much like the forest outside, but more crisp. The scent of English oaks that had been rained on, swirled together with a delectable musk that made you want to bury into him.

“May I?” His long fingers gently gesture to your neck, and you nod — God, you would do anything for this man.

“Oh my god,” you whimper when you feel his nose gently brush against your scent glands, knees buckling. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Wave after wave of honey-warm pleasure fills your limbs, rendering you into a quivering mess in his arms.

“Omega,” he murmurs again, just as scent-drunk as you are. If it were visible, his office would be cloudy with the smoke of your pulsating aromas, the divinely unified scents dancing together at last.

You nuzzle into his neck, his own scent becoming stronger and you quite literally feel dumb from pleasure — something you barely even experienced from orgasms. This was just other-worldly.

A knock brings you both back to reality, and you notice a twinge of sharpness in Gaz’s scent — he was annoyed.

“What?” He barks, not caring if it’s unprofessional.

“The Captain wants an update on the omega, sir.”

Gaz sighs softly, the warmth hitting your hair. He responds back to the subordinate before gently brushing back your hair with his big palms.

“What’s your name, love?” His brown eyes stare back at you like honey, golden flecks swimming around in them.

You respond with your name, and he hums, gently tucking some loose strands behind your ears.

“Let’s get you some proper clothes, mhm?”

You just nod in agreement, and let him continue stroking your hair as he requests for his subordinate to go get some spare clothes in your size.

“How did you get into our base?” He continues to gently coax words out of you. You tell him the story, and can’t tell if he believes you or not. You’re not sure you would in his shoes.

A knock on the door brings you out of your thoughts, and your clothes are delivered. It’s a military-standard olive shirt, with some cargo trousers that look a bit too big. They also managed to find some boots and socks for you.

“Arms up,” Gaz gestures, eyes watching you like a hawk.

“What? Aren’t you gonna turn around?” You flush, looking back at him in surprise.

“You’re my omega,” his brows furrow slightly in confusion.

“I— look. I wasn’t… raised with those customs.” You manage to get out an answer that doesn’t paint you as some insane multi-dimensional traveller, and Gaz reluctantly nods in understanding.

“Alright then,” he turns, and you let out a breath of relief, quickly getting out of your pyjamas and into the more appropriate attire.

“Done,” your voice softly calls out, and Gaz turns with a grin. Arms cross, feet planted in a wide stance, he slowly drinks in your form.

“You look like a proper soldier, love,” his eyes glimmer with tease, and you can’t help the grin that graces your lips. Here you are, getting to experience this character in real life — his jokes, quips, everything.

“C’mon, there’s someone you’ve got to meet,” he places his large palm on your back to guide you out of his office, locking the door behind him before the two of you walk the long halls.

It’s cold, echoey, and the steady thrum of fans pushes air through the ventilation system — presumably to stop scents from lingering.

“Gaz? Are there any other omegas on base?” You ask, glancing up at him. You feel his step falter ever so slightly, and you wonder what you did wrong.

“No.” He answers curtly, and you wonder why the air suddenly feels colder.

“Just wait in here,” he says your name, not ‘love’, but still guides you gently into a small room. There’s a single lightbulb, chair, and small metal table. It looks like some type of interrogation room. You whirl around in confusion, but he shuts the door in your face and you hear it lock. What did you do?

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

“Sensor arrays sweep every six seconds, Kyle. Every six. So explain how she appeared miles inside the perimeter between the fifth and sixth—undetected.”

Kyle pinches his nose as he sighs.

“I don’t know, Cap. But she knew my name. Not just Kyle, but Gaz. Only people in the military know that. I didn’t tell her.”

“I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit,” Captain Price gruffs, staring back at his beta.

“And you’re sure she’s our omega?”

“Positive, sir. Just wait ‘til you smell her.”

“And she’s locked up safely?”

“Yes, sir. She asked if other omegas are on base. Reckon some of the other soldiers spooked her a bit—“

Price cuts him off with an involuntary growl in the back of his throat, not liking the idea of anyone else near his omega — even if she was suspicious.

“Bring her in.”

Gaz nods and leaves quickly to go fetch her.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ ••୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

You glance up when the door unlocks, standing up from the cold metal chair.

“Am I in trouble?” You immediately frown at him, but Kyle ignores you. He gently grabs your upper arm before guiding you out and into another room. An office. Holy shit.

Sitting before you, behind a desk, is Captain John Price in all his glory. Boonie hat gone, he was looking quite sharp and clean, given they were on base and not on a mission. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks as you get to see this delicious older man in person, but your heart drops cold when he speaks.

“You’ve got exactly five seconds to explain who you are and how you got past the perimeter—before I start pulling apart every lie you’ve rehearsed.”

You stare back at him for a second, astounded.

“What?” Your eyes had to be comically bulging at this point.

He doesn’t respond, his own blue eyes staring icily back at you, clearly guarded. You glance at Gaz for some support, but he offers none. In fact, he has his own questions.

“Why did you call me Gaz?”

You tilt your head in confusion, “That’s your name. Well, your nickname—“

You cut yourself off when you realise you’ve just told on yourself. You close your eyes and curse internally.

“Don’t stop now,” Price’s low voice interjects, and you can’t help but frown at the meanness. This is not the side of Price you wanted to be on the receiving end of.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,” you open your eyes with a soft, real pout.

“Try me.”

You sigh, glancing at Gaz before taking a step closer to Price’s desk.

“I went to bed last night and woke up in this forest. Before I could really gather my surroundings, I was picked up by soldiers. But then these came through—“ You gesture to your scent glands, “—and I collapsed from the pain. I don’t know how I got here, but I do know that I’m not from this universe. Because, well… first of all, there’s no such thing as omegas, or betas, or alphas where I’m from, but second of all… you guys aren’t real. You’re just characters in a video game.”

The room is deathly quiet. Your scent is truthful, Gaz’s is pulsating with raw shock — Price’s is still smothered by a blocker.

Nothing, but then Price shakes his head with an unamused chuckle, and you’re reminded of Modern Warfare III, where he makes that exact expression with General Shepherd. It gets louder and he stands up, storming around his desk and up to you before you can barely stumble back.

“You don’t get to stroll in here, call me fake, and then smell like you were made for me.”

He doesn’t touch you, but he’s close, chest heaving with anger—and a bit of fear. It’s almost unbearable, staring up at him with such small proximity. You can see each individual freckle—

“Cap,” Gaz interrupts, breaking the tension. That single word is enough to snap Price out of his rage, and he storms out of his office without another word.

Gaz sighs, running a hand through his short curls before turning to you, “Can you prove it?”

“Well… I guess I could tell you what each of the games are about.”

Gaz nods and gestures to the couch in Price’s office. You both sit, and you begin to explain the games to the best of your knowledge. As you reach the third game, your scent starts to grow a bit more sour and tense, but before you could tell Gaz about the death of a certain man, that very man bursts in.

“Why di’ no one bloody tell me our ‘mega was ‘ere?”

You jump up with a gasp of relief, barrelling into the Scotsman with a hug before you could stop yourself.

“Soap,” you say his name like a prayer into his skin, and shiver softly when you can smell his beautiful, uncovered scent. He smelt like someone had just lit a match near crushed black pepper and cardamom, the smoked spices blending seamlessly with cold citrus.

“Hello ta you too, bon,” you can hear the grin in his voice as his nose brushes against your sensitive glands, his warm hand stroking your head.

“Soap—“ Gaz gives him a warning look, but it’s more tired. Like he’s coming around to your truth. You realise you have a story to finish. You gently hold Soap’s hand and bring him to sit with you on the couch, giving him a quick run through of everything leading up to this moment. Soap watches utterly entranced, the speed at which you talk and the way your hands gesture reminding him of the intricate explosions he’s seen. His lips slowly tug into a frown when you finally reach the part where he gets killed by Makarov, and now he understands why you’re so clingy with him.

Soap and Gaz share a look over your shoulder, silently asking each other if they believe it.

Just then, the door to Price’s office bursts open again, with none other than the owner.

“C’mon, you’re being taken for a psych-eval,” the Captain tugs on your arm to bring you to standing, and the smokiness in Soap’s scent grows. Price growls and chucks a glare at the beta, and Soap instantly backs off.

You’re being basically dragged down the hall by the older man, his two betas in tow behind you. Before long, you’re back in the medical centre, back with Doctor Kellen, going through an extraneous interview. You have no idea who’s watching on the other side of the glass — could Ghost possibly be there? He was the only one you hadn’t seen yet. Would he even care?

An hour passes before you’re let out of the room, sitting with a soft pout of annoyance next to Soap, who gently dotes on you. Meanwhile Price was listening to Doctor Kellen with his usual grumpy brows, arms crossed, stance wide.

Your stomach grumbles.

Price’s gaze flickers, Gaz glances over with a softening look, and Soap shifts closer to speak.

“We’ll ge’ some food soon, lass.”

You just nod, sighing softly as you lean your head back against the wall. Honestly, this was not how you expected this to go at all. Countless nights of daydreaming being with these men, the affection, the protectiveness, the love… and instead you’re being treated like a criminal. You’re just a girl, for crying out loud.

You shoulders hunch in surprise when you feel the warm tickle of Soap’s breath in your ear,

“We searched yer face in our databases—nothin’. For wha it’s worth, bon, I believe ya.”

You turn to glance at the Scotsman, eyes glimmering with soft tears.

“Thank you,” you swallow thickly, and Soap smiles softly with a head tilt, bringing his hand up to gently tuck some hair behind your ear.

Your lashes are still damp when you sense it.

Not a sound.

Not a word.

But something… shifts.

The medical centre felt as if it had warped into a forest, and all of the creatures had suddenly gone quiet.

The scent hits you first—cool, clean, gunmetal sharp, like frost bitten air over engine oil. Something that makes your skin prickle and your instincts press against the inside of your chest, despite it being dulled by the characteristic chemicals of scent blockers.

You turn.

Ghost.

Standing at the end of the hallway, eyes already on you next to his beta. Skull balaclava, gloves, vest. One hand resting lightly against his sidearm—not threatening, just always ready.

But his eyes—

They’re fixed on you. No blinking. No shift.

Reading you. Scouring you. Like he already knows what you are.

Soap doesn’t say a word, but you feel him lean forward slightly, a line of warmth on your side as he smells that tinge of anxiety pulsating through your sweet scent.

Ghost doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. But you see his balaclava twitch slightly on his face, as if he were moving his nose underneath.

And you know.

He’s scented you.

Not just any omega. Not just a stranger.

But his pack’s omega.

He stares a moment longer, then he nods—small, almost imperceptible—and turns on his heel.

You feel your lungs unlock only when he’s gone.