#Soap Mactavish | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

st3rlace · 2 days ago

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˳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…

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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.

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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.

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“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.

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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.

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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🩷

240 notes · View notes

lostintransist · 19 hours ago

Text

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 8

-.. . … .. —. -. . -.. / - —- / -.. .. .

Part 1 found here | AO3

CW: 18+ MDNI, sexual interactions

Panting, chest crunching on panic, you roll over in your bed.

No coherent thoughts can be found, only the need scorching through you. Maybe you could work through this alone? Your hands tremble as you struggle with the buttons of your sleep shirt. They slip and shift in your grasp. A pained cry escapes from you as your body clenches in need.

“Shh. Shh,” you hush yourself.

The light knock at your door sends the tears rushing to your eyes.

“Sprinkles? You okay in there?”

Johnny’s voice, deep and accented, sends your eyes rolling back in your head.

The beta portion of you had never used your voice before; it did now. You work your fingers still toward removing your shirt.

“Help,” the rasp was one you had never heard before come from your mouth. “Johnny, help.”

He burst through the door then. The gasp he sucks in ratchets your temperature higher—it shifted into a groan as he appeared in your view. Pupils blown wide and chest heaving as he pulled in deeper and deeper breaths.

“Sprinkles, what do you need?” The door creaks under the weight of his hand.

Your voice comes out both as a rasp and as a cry. Neither part of you can formulate words past the other.

“We have an old round of suppressants in the bathroom.” Johnny’s shoulders are caving forward, likely under the weight of his omega, tearing at his throat to enter the room and settle between your legs.

A cry, that at once sounded of ecstasy and extreme pain, rips from you. Wrenching the wretched shirt over your head, you force back your beta to reply.

“I can’t take suppressants.” You’re fully crying now, weeping as your fingers start on removing your pants. “Help me, Johnny. Please help.”

Closing your eyes to focus on removing your pants, and avoiding seeing his face of rejection, in all honesty, you cry harder at the brush of your own fingers. Then he is there. Johnny, with his scent so clear this close to your nose, smelled of salty mists, damp decay, and the bite of something explosive. The coarse hair of his thighs brushes against the inside of yours—your back arches.

“Fuck. Yes. Johnny, just like that, please!” Your hands find him, fingers digging into the muscles around his ribs. “I’m so sorry about this.”

Lips find your neck as he mutters his own apologies.

“Sprinkles, you taste so sweet.” Johnny settled his weight over you, his hard member pressed into the flesh of your hip.

Opening your eyes, you look down and watch as Johnny kisses down from your neck to your nipples, lavishing each with nips.

“Oh! Ye—”

Your pleasure spiked into a panting yelp as one hand slipped to your core. Vision is gone. Hearing is overtaken by a keening volume.

When you blink, you are surprised by a feeling of fullness, and the ease of breathing with Johnny atop you. Confused, you glance around. Still in your room, the scents of sex and slick are heavy in the air, and Johnny’s muttering in your ear. It sounds almost like a prayer.

“Johnny?” You brush a hand against his body, his side from the feel of it.

His head snaps up, ice shard eyes digging hard into yours.

“You back?”

“Did I leave?” Your brows quirk.

The hip thrust he gave sparkled along every nerve ending you have. Gasping, your fingers find purchase in his flesh.

“Obviously not. But your beta stepped to the front of the class and bullied me until we joined, and then I don’t know what the hell happened, but I’m now as stuck as when Simon or Kyle gets a hold of me.” His eyes are categorizing every minute motion and expression as he talks.

“Oh.” Deflating with the word, you slide one hand under his arm to press your fingers into your eyes. When the colors disappear into static under the pressure, you force more words out. “I thought since I could choose a partner now that would stop happening.”

Johnny stiffened, muscles going rigid as his breath sounds disappeared.

A light shaking starts across your body as your teeth dig into your lip.

“If I beg for you to forget what I said, would you?”

A nose pushes into the scent gland at your neck pleasure spikes again.

“No, I wouldn’t. But we can work up to it,” he growled. “Why are you so clear? Simon and Kyle never seem to surface until their rut breaks.”

Humming, you try to decide the right amount of information to share. Lifting the hand from your face, eyes screaming in agony of the release, you settle it on the back of his neck. He shudders as your thumb brushes the small gland behind his ear.

“Do you know how betas came to be?” You shift to trailing your fingers through his hair and across the scalp that prickles with his shorn locks.

Johnny shifts his weight to one elbow, propping himself on it to stare down at you. The light from the window catches his face nicely. He’s fucking beautiful.

“Haven’t betas always been around?” His brow pinched together.

Shaking your head, you launch into an abbreviated history of the oral traditions passed between betas.

“No. The stories passed from parent to child tell us that betas only came into existence about twenty-five hundred years ago. There was some kind of sickness, or war, that decimated the omega population.” Johnny twitched as you ran your nails over the same spot too many times. You shift to tracing lines from his shoulders to his ass, “Archaeological records indicate a war more than a sickness, but there is evidence supporting both, so who knows. Personally, I think a sickness started taking out omegas more heavily, and the war started after there were too few of them to support a population.”

A kiss to your cheek pulled you back from the facts and tales spinning through your mind. Glancing shyly from Johnny’s soft smile and away, you start again.

“Anyway,” dragging the word out feels right for the moment. “Omegas were less and less an option to help through ruts and to create new pups. So alphas turned to other alphas. It makes sense that, given enough exposure, some alphas would be found to have the ability to carry pregnancies to term. Genetics is funny that way. Much as the purists hate to admit, people are not and never have been only one thing—alpha or omega.

That brings us to our first generation of betas. They were heralded as the future, the safety of continuation. For a few generations, they were. And then, like always, someone decided they didn’t like how things were functioning for themselves and damned an entire population to squalor. They didn’t like the steady growth of betas, worried they would outnumber alphas and omegas.”

Neither of you comments on Johnny’s thumb, oh so gently, brushing away the tears as they started.

“Betas were rounded up and murdered. Small groups are how they worked on whittling away lives until they could get governments to deny our rights and strip us of autonomy. It took them nearly a century. Now? Now, only in seventeen countries, betas have full legal status.” Your chest heaves up under him, sucking in air that doesn’t satisfy.

“The laws you mentioned,” he puts the words in order as if they are occurring to him in the moment.

Nodding, you wipe your tears from your face.

“But to answer your question as to why I’m so clear, beta hormones are basically a combination of alpha and omega, but supercharged. We can pair with an alpha or omega as long as they have some parts that will fill the role our anatomy needs. In regard to primary sex organs, we don’t have to worry about me growing pups.”

Johnny shifts over you, resting on his other elbow. His shoulder pops. He nods to you to keep going. Fuck. You wish he would say something, but you are also terrified of what questions he might ask, and you can already feel your knot starting to release. Knowing you would be getting pulled under again made your chest tight.

“Well, part of what seems to scare people is our ability to affect others. You’re an omega, you shouldn’t be able to make a knot.” You rush ahead as his mouth opens to voice his questions, “And you haven’t made a knot, not a true one. What happened, and mind you, this might not be 100% accurate, but from everything I was able to piece together, it seems like betas can force minor changes on their rut/heat partners. Like right now, you are probably experiencing some extra pressure about midway up your penis, right?”

His eyes narrow, but he nods. This time, he keeps his silence, letting you ramble.

“So what I think happened is my hormones triggered some extra growth in you so that my body could lock down on you and ‘knot’. That’s one of the reasons that medical groups helped push so hard to get our rights rescinded. We have ruts and heats, but the knotting lets out, I guess I would call it a dump. The hormone dump leads to clear minds as well as a muscle relaxant and a bunch of other things that I don’t really remember. They would tell us sometimes, in Scorpio, all of the hormones they were able to make now because of us.” A wave of emotion, as wide as tall, sweeps through you, catapulting you into a spinning, mental mess.

The sour smell you associate with your beta rising fills your nose.

No! You scream inside your head. I can’t disappear again!

Snapping your eyes to Johnny, whose puckered brows are shrinking the space between them, you press your lips to his.

“Sprinkles wha—?”

Murmuring against his lips, you focus on the drag of his lips against yours.

“Kiss me, please. The knot is releasing, and I’m going to disappear again.” You’ve never heard your voice so small and scared, even in all the years of evil done against you. There had always been someone to stay strong for. You didn’t warrant that.

He does as you ask—putting his whole self into the act. It keeps up, the heady pressure, until your body relaxes enough and Johnny slips from your body.

When you gasp, pulling away slightly, he pounces with a question.

“Why do you disappear?” His eyes scrape across you like you imagine they do along the makeup of a bomb.

“For…” Your beta speaks through you then, the last thing you remember until you are knotted again, “Safety.”

Johnny has no supplies on hand for your…rut? You called it a rut, so he would, too. He had no fluids within reach, no snacks, and absolutely no fucking idea how to deal with you disappearing and your beta presenting. It wasn’t normal. He had only ever heard of that happening in cases of extreme abuse. Doctors labeled it a self-defense mechanism. Once, and only once, had he seen it in real life.

A mission that started as a ‘take out the target’ turned into a rescue of the hostages when Gaz stumbled into a room that reeked of fear and old urine. Soap and Ghost finished clearing the building, and Price called in Kate for expedited ex-fil with medical on board. Three people, two omegas and an alpha, all emaciated and trembling with fear, had stared at them from the dark corner of the windowless room.

The alpha, a man nearly as tall as Gaz, had snapped and snarled as Ghost entered the room. He had the most medical training. Kyle stepped in when the traumatized alpha had tried to bite his packmate. A single touch, Kyle’s hand on the man’s jaw, and he had settled. The omega woman shifted from behind him, the omega man wrapped in her arms.

“Something in him is broken. He used to be normal, but he kept taking all the hits meant for us. His alpha would come out more and more each time they came. He hasn’t resurfaced.” The scent of her fear ratcheted up the tension in the alpha man.

“Mine,” he growled. “Mine, mine, mine.”

Gaz cooed down at him, pushing his own scent out. They all watched as the man slumped forward onto Kyle’s legs as the smell of fast-moving waters and something nearing eucalyptus settled over them all.

“Might be more dominant than you are, Ghost,” Kyle teased.

Simon grunted once. “Doubt it’s dominance, bet you’re safer smelling than I am though.”

Kyle laughed lightly. Turning to look over his shoulder, he directed Johnny forward to help the omegas out of the room.

“Come with me. We have medical coming and will do our best to get you home safe.” He offered them both a hand up before directing them out the door. The quiet, broken chant of ‘mine, mine, mine’ followed him all the way to the helicopter. Haunted his nightmares if he were honest.

Looking down at you now, the spark of you missing from the shine in your eyes, the memory surfaces. All the tension slides from your body. Fingers begin to explore, and a sultry smile overtakes your lips. You have become sex incarnate. The scent of slick slicing through his nose as it leaks from you, and the chuffs and purrs as you lick up his neck.

“Fuck. What am I to do with you now, Sprinkles?” He whispered the words to the room. Your beta answered.

“Keep us. Love us.” The words were punctuated with bites to his collar bones as periods.

The sadness in his soul swept over his face. Beta caught sight of it and flipped them over in the small bed. She rained kisses down on him. Hands pressed on his chest, beta wiggled hips down his body until they sat on his.

Lifting a hand to your face, Johnny cups your cheek. Beta nuzzles in, pressing a kiss to his palm.

“I don’t think it will be hard to love either of you.”

John stretched his neck as Kyle worked the truck up the path. Winter starting to break always led to mud. He hated mud. The effort to clean it from the tread of his boots and from the hem of his pants always left him annoyed and weary. The unfurling of the greenery didn’t offset the annoyance of the earth trying to swallow him.

The hand he settled high on Kyle’s thigh is his only tether to the moment. It helps.

These thoughts sucked at him as the truck came to rest next to their other one, resting below the deck. They stained his fingers as he grabbed his pack from the bed of the truck and followed Simon up the stairs. What pulled him from the sour scent of dirt and water was laughter—Johnny’s laugh. His bright, loud one. The one John now realizes he hasn’t heard in months. When had Johnny stopped laughing?

Simon, three stairs up and one ahead of him, glanced back over his shoulder before taking them two at a time. John and Kyle’s boots hit the steps in tandem until they were all shouldering through the door. Simon takes point as he and Kyle cover each shoulder, eyes scanning for their missing mate.

A bright and unfamiliar laughter sparked Johnny’s. Your appearance from the hall leading to your bedroom drew all their eyes. You still smell off, broken, but now it is smothered under the smell of Johnny. You tore out toward the living room. Seeing Simon’s glower—the stiff set of his shoulders told John exactly what face he was making at you—caused you to backpedal and trip as your socks lost grip.

John glanced at your feet as they flailed up. Were you wearing his socks?

Johnny appeared. His smiling, as exuberant as the sun, dimming into dusk on the horizon, sliced at John’s heart. Why didn’t his joy extend to them? When had that changed?

“You’re home.” Johnny’s voice, softer than expected, dusted salt in John’s bleeding heart.

A flutter of movement caused John to blink. When his lids parted, he found Simon and Johnny locked in a violent kiss. The bigger man pressed in, hard, nearly stepping on you as you squeaked and scooted out of the way. Your back hit the wall. The small sound flipped something in Johnny. John watched his sergeant and companion omega switch into a soldier.

He bit Simon.

Johnny walked him back, bleeding lip trapped between his teeth.

“Kyle, get the door,” John tracked his men, his lovers, carefully heading for the porch.

“John…” The question is clear in Kyle’s voice, but he does as he is told.

Once the fight is carefully sequestered beyond the reach of their eyes, John steps forward. Settling a boot on either side of your outstretched foot, he squats. Head tipping to the side, he takes in the minor changes since he had seen you last. Seems he should have paid more attention to their wife before he left.

“Now, what to do about you…”

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