Omega!Assistant who is sick of being hit on by all the horny alphas and lonely betas on the base. So she comes up with a solution. She sleeps in Prices bed.
She requires her own extra blanket, and her stuffy to keep her safe and cozy, but otherwise Prices room is not much different then hers. Very minimal decoration, a picture of him and am older man, she guessed his father, was the most sentimental thing in the room.
It wasn't like Price was here. She wasn't doing anything majorly wrong, right? She was just borrowing his bed, so his scent stuck onto her, and it worked! God, it worked so well. She probably would've stopped doing it a while ago if it hadn't worked as well as it did.
She got some wairy looks, some knowing, I mean, rumors of her being more then prices assistant had floated around often, so this wasnt too shocking to people. (They weren't true, but that didn't matter)
It all came to a head when she went to bed one fateful evening. It was a long day. She didn't even think, just did her nighttime routine, and went to bed in Prices room. She was cuddled up, without a care in the world when the light flashed on.
A harsh growl as he got closer to her, and as she slowly woke up she felt like a prey animal being hunted into a corner. He pinned her into the bed.
"Now what would a quaint bird like you being doing in a lions den?"
She had forgotten he was back today. Meant to have her stuff cleared out, and it slipped her head. God, how could she, as his assistant, forget when he'd be back on base?
"Sir-, Captain Im so sorry I was-" he cut her off, snapping his teeth at her.
"What excuse could you have for being in your Alphas bed little omega? Hmm? Except that you were waiting all pretty for me to come home?"
Real quick not edited just yeah. Inspo from this by Rawme Price yall know the deal
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alpha!price who gets tired of hearing his omega talk down on herself all the time. clearly his gentle words and fading bite behind your ear isn’t enough to convince you that you’re worthy of being his
so he’ll try another method
and if that means driving you up to his fishing cabin in before his rut hits, setting you loose in the forest so he can hunt you down before the sun rises, then so be it. and if he has to refresh that mark, drawing blood and yowls from your throat, then so be it.
and he’s not above keeping you locked up in the bedroom when his rut finally hits, might as well cut out all that silly talk about how you should leave him so he can ‘find someone better’ because you aren’t leaving!
summary: despite having a pack of his own, soap finds himself wanting more. he's grown tired of being the only Omega with 2 unruly Alphas. good thing you showed up, now he can flush those pesky little suppressants and make you theirs.
⚠︎ suggestive themes, soap being a little obsessed, invasions of privacy
a/n: series??? idk where this came from but enjoy
Soap wasn’t an unhappy man. He was talented, knew just how dangerous he was in the field, how many brushes with death he’d skillfully skirted with a big “fuck you” and a bloody smile. He had the respect of his peers and fear of the new recruits. Most importantly, he had a pack he loved. Never went to bed wanting or alone. His inner Omega should be satisfied, all things considering, and yet, he still yearns.
He feels guilty sometimes. When he’s laid out on one of his mate’s beds, sweaty and thrumming with release. He rolls over, pressing wet kisses to damp skin and trying to focus on fingers that ghost over his head. Tries to push out the gnawing subconscious thought of more. He wants to scoff at himself. 3 mates and somehow he still couldn’t help but be greedy.
It’s like Price says in the field (and in the bedroom, funnily enough): “You're a goddamn restless dog ain’t ‘ya? Restless and a dog, indeed.
His words run through Soap’s mind as he stares at you. His dirty little one-sided secret. He’s watched you for months. Smelled you immediately when his eyes first landed on you, an unforgettable mix of vanilla licorice, fruit, and a tang of something earthy, like grass or rain. So unbelievably feminine and soft, he was intoxicated. Couldn’t help but watch as you walked down the hall. You had glanced at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly; he remembered the chill that ran through him when you locked eyes.
° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °
He had immediately sweet talked the Beta receptionist into handing over your file. He had tucked it under his arm and taken it to his room, locking the door and glancing around like he was a teen with a raunchy magazine. Read it front to back. You were smart, specialized in cybersecurity before you joined the military. Now you drifted from team to team, going where you were needed. Helping run covert hops here, a little hacking there. He felt a grin take over his face when he saw that in your last assignment, you acted as a demolition expert. An impressive resume, he faintly wondered why you hadn’t been pinned down by a team yet. Clearly, you were an asset.
He got to your current contract papers, seeing you were brought on to be a floater. You’d help with missions in the unit how they saw fit. He could only pray that he’d be working with you eventually. He closes the file, thumbing the small file photo of you. You were beautiful no doubt, not smiling but still holding a hint of softness.
He pauses when he realizes he didn’t see a presentation in your file. He flips through the pages again, skimming through your medical report. The boxes next to ‘Omega’, ‘Alpha’, and ‘Beta’ are all unmarked. It clicks then, your sweet smell and the lack of presentation in your files. You were an Omega.
Soap wasn’t really supposed to be where he was as an Omega. While there were no rules against it, there were hardly any Omegas here for a reason. It was hard, both physically and mentally. Soap had taken twice the recommended amount of suppressants and nearly went broke buying scent blockers. Put his body through hell and back to prove he was worthy. It was only when he became Lieutenant and had the protection of a pack that he felt comfortable enough to stop hiding his presentation . By then, no one could really say anything about it.
His heart raced. You were an Omega. He had no proof other than being one himself, but he was almost sure of it. It did nothing to curb his growing curiosity.
He should have pushed you out of his mind, but he’s Soap. He’s insistent and can be downright stubborn when it comes down to it. It was just his nature. He formulated a whole plan, get close to you, slowly ease you into meeting his pack, then make you theirs. Plain and simple.
It was not plain and simple.
First of all, the guilt started eating at him. He had everything he’d ever hoped for, a family, a successful career, and here he was. The worst part is that Soap couldn’t help it, he loved his mates, their masculine presence and smell that filled a room. But he secretly can’t help but wish there was another Omega around, someone who could help him ground his Alphas. Gaz did a great job, but he was a beta, and Soap often received the brunt end of Ghost and Prices’ more baser instincts. Not just an Omega, but a woman. Someone with that femininity and power that balances and soothes an entire pack into submission.
Second of all, you didn’t want to give him the time of day.
The first time he approaches you is in the dining hall, your face stoic and focused as you grab an apple and place it on your tray. He takes a few breaths, your muted and yet somehow still overwhelming scent filling his senses.
“New around here bonnie?” He finally gets the courage up to speak. “Names Johnny, but people call me Soap.” He reaches a hand out.
You take it hesitantly, and he revels in the softness. He tries not to get distracted by the way his hand almost completely covers your own.
“Y/n.” you respond curtly, releasing his hand and grabbing your tray. “Transferred a week ago.” You don’t wait for his response, making your way over to one of the many tables littered with people chatting. Soap hastily grabs a banana and his tray, taking long strides to catch up with you.
“So uh, how you likin’ it so far?” He flinches at his own stutter. God, he’s out of practice.
You give him a pointed look.
“S’fine.” You sit, hastily picking up your spoon and taking a bite of oatmeal. It doesn’t deter Soap.
He spends the next 30 minutes talking your ear off, receiving the occasional nod or “mhm” from you. You give up very little about yourself, answering shortly and precisely. It drives him mad.
You cut off his rant on the latest recruits, standing abruptly. “It was nice talking with you Lieutenant MacTavish, but I have to get going.”
He watches as you leave, stunned and frankly a little turned on at how easily you brushed him off. Soap was a sucker for a chase.
He faintly realizes that you knew his rank and last name, and has a feeling that you’re a careful and intelligent woman. It only fuels his growing suspicion of your presentation.
° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °
Soap keeps trying after that, despite the gnawing feeling of guilt and greediness. The less you give him, the more enraptured he becomes. With every eye roll and silent stretch you give him, he falls deeper and deeper into the need to make you his.
It only takes a couple months for it all to come to a head. Soap finds you in a hallway late at night, most people tucked away in their quarters. Your scent is slightly off, soured and citrusy. He loves it.
“Where are you stormin’ off to?”
You don’t answer, which is not unusual, but the way you push past him without so much of a glance, is. “Aye, c’mon love, what’s got you so worked up?”
You turn on your heel, almost crashing into Soap. You didn’t hate him, sometimes you even welcomed the company, even though his jokes were shit. Not that you’d let him know you even remotely liked his presence. You stare him down for a second, teeth gritted.
You had just overheard some particularly nasty and sexist comments about you, not the first time- hell not even the fiftieth time. But it never stung less, that people refused to see your experience and rank simply because you had the misfortune of being born a woman. You regret the words almost as soon as you say them.
“Leave me the fuck alone, MacTavish. I’m not interested in your company, and I sure as shit didn’t ask for it. Go bother your pack, and leave me alone.” You spit the word at him, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s a reflection of your own loneliness deep down. You can’t stand the shock on his face, so you turn around and sulk to the kitchen to find a sweet treat to placate you.
Soap watches as you leave, and he’s hurt. How can you not see how perfect you’d be for the pack? Granted, he’s the only one that knows, he still has no idea how to broach the topic with his pack. Would they hate him? Call him selfish, wonder why they weren’t enough for him? His fists clench at his sides as your scent completely fades.
Then it clicks. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. He smiles to himself, no longer upset at your blatant rejection. He almost skips back to his room.
He has it all figured out.
° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °
The next morning he flirts with some nurses, brings them donuts from the place off base. While they’re all distracted and giggling amongst each other, he quietly slips into the record room and grabs your files. His heart beats out of his chest at the little checkmark next to “Omega”.
He knew it. He flips through the files quickly, finding a detailed page tracking your heat cycles. You haven’t had a heat in years, seeing a note that says you denied a doctor's request to go into heat at least once every 3 years. He knew that pain, he couldn’t imagine you putting yourself through that. You shouldn't be putting yourself through that. He’ll make sure that you don’t have to anymore.
He flips a few more pages, going back to when you did have your heats. He finds an entry that notes that you had unusually long and painful heats, along with a prescription of sedatives. The next line states that you usually have them every 3 months, February, May, August and sometimes December. He hears his heartbeat in his ears when he realizes his luck of it being the beginning of December. It was meant to be.
He closes the file quietly, closing his eyes in relief. You’d be his, and his pack’s, soon.
That night, while you’re showering in the gym, Soap is breaking into your room. It doesn’t take much effort, he’s in within minutes, stepping into your sacred space. There’s a half assed nest in the corner of your room, your instincts must be strong if you’re still nesting while taking suppressants. He wants to go over and fluff it for you, add his scent covered shirt to the pitiful pile. He shakes his head. He needs to focus on why he’s here.
He rifles through your cabinets, desperately searching. He knows you like long showers, but he’s still on edge. If he gets caught, it’s all over. He tries to be quick without disturbing the placement of your items, but he begins to panic when he can’t find those familiar little pills. He rushes to your bed, looking underneath. He’s about to lose hope when he moves from underneath your bed, cursing when he knocks his head on the frame.
He almost doesn’t hear it. The soft thud of something falling. He looks back under the bed, eyes falling on a tiny box meant for jewelry. He grabs it, slowly opening it and removing the piece of foam on top.
Bingo.
He stares at the tiny pills, the familiar pale blue a contrast against the black of the box. He spills a few in his hand. There were enough for months. You were like he was, handing your health over in exchange for surviving here. His fist closes over pills as he makes his way out of your room. He locks your door behind him, trying not to run to his room. When he makes it there, he’s buzzing with excitement. He goes to his bathroom, opening the toilet lid and fishing the box from his pocket. He doesn’t hesitate in throwing them all into the bowl, and watching as the water swirls when he flushes. The water settles, and your pills are gone.
Omega’s are the most sensitive of the three presentations. Senses more in tune than even the best Alpha. It was in their very biology to be strong in ways Alpha’s were not, to hold a pack together. Your biology would work quickly, work through the artificial hormones you’d been poisoning yourself with in haste. It happened to him, after so long of suppressing his Omega, it came back with a vengeance. You would be no different.
And with Price’s rut- and Ghost’s, coming up soon, they won’t stand a chance against the strong smell of an Omega in heat. He’ll make sure that they find you, that they take care of you.
something, something, omega!reader who knew at a young age they wanted to be SAS.
but the SAS doesn't take omegas -- policy. safety measures, something about 'unit cohesion' and 'biological variables' and a hundred other clinical terms that all end up conveying the same thing: you are barred.
so you make yourself into someone else -- beta on paper, beta through school, beta in every room you walk into. the blockers have done their job so well for so long that you've stopped thinking of it as a lie. it's second nature, just a part of you now -- the alarm goes off, you take your pill, and you never miss a dose.
it's held for nearly ten years. it held through selection, through training, through the intakes forms you filled out without flinching. you even managed to pass the med checks. they never bother to take blood.
a year in you're hand-selected by captain price to fill an opening in a task force that doesn't officially exist -- which is essentially your fuckin' dream.
and just as price is about to put you through the training wringer with his alphas, the pharmacy subs your prescription.
they tell you it's the same formula, the same compound, just a different supplier. production issue. nothing to fret. but you should have fretted!
within a week the edges of what you've grown to know as your normal life begin to blur into something that you don't recognize. you mistake it for a cold, then a few days later it's more like the flu, but not quite. your brain keeps reminding you of when you were a teenager, you don't know why. you continue to mistake the feelings for everything but what it really it: your first real heat emerging after being suppressed for a decade.
and the 141 boys figure it out before you do.
you're mid-drill, going hand-to-hand with soap when he gets your back to his chest, his chin to your temple, a knife hovering over your throat when he inhales to let out a belt of a laugh. but the laugh never escapes, he chokes on it instead, and immediately releases you to step back.
that's when you feel it, the slick seeping into your underwear. you look around and all of them are staring.
price is the only one that doesn't appear confused or surprised, and he orders the rest of the men to clear the yard.
Pairing: Johnny Soap Mactavish x Reader (Later Poly!tf141 x reader)
ABO Universe
Prologue of By Any name Series but can be read as oneshot.
Next chapter:
Summary: Johnny has a secret and Gaz is determined to find out what is he is hiding that makes him smile like a fool. Or rather: who.
Warnings: none
Authors note: Let me know if you want this to become a series!
Disclaimer: (I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating or imitating this work)
xoxo
Something was going on with Johnny. He had been disappearing at random hours for the last couple of days, nobody knew where he went. At first, none of them cared, maybe he was just getting some air or going to the bathroom. Who knows. He was always a bit weird if they were honest. However, Gaz had started noticing some slight changes in his new behaviour, or his new routine. For example, how he always disappeared at the same time, sometimes even leaving in the middle of lunch without giving any explanations. And always came back smiling. A stupid smile as Simon had named it, but a smile nonetheless.
When Gaz had asked them about this, Simon shrugged his shoulders and Price only frowned his lips, saying that he’ll keep an eye on him. So he had made it his mission to find where his same-rank friend was when he disappeared.
They had always been glued to the hip. Well, since he came around. It had been weird at the beginning. The connection they had, almost instantly, was electrifying. He was the one that introduced him to the rest of the pack, he would be forever thankful for that. However.
There was no space for secrets in their relationship, and Johnny was hiding a big one. And it was Gaz’s responsibility to find out what it was, mostly for the pack stability he said. Mostly. Because, would he sound needy if he said he felt left out by his partner in crime?
That’s why he was there right now. Waiting for Johnny to come out of the medical hallway, leaning against the wall, waiting patiently looking at the door. Medical office 1. 263. First floor. Soap was there. He knew it. He had followed him all the way from the Mess, from a cautious distance.
Is this where he had been disappearing all this time? Was he sick? Was it something so serious to hide it from the Pack? Worried fill him for a second before he heard the door open, Soap exiting with that fucking dumb smile. It fell rapidly from his face when he saw his packmate leaning against the wall, a frown adorning his forehead.
“What’re ye doing here?” He asked in a huss, closing the door and walking fastly towards him. There was not an ounce of that smile anymore.
“What am I doing here? Now you’re taking the piss”
Soap growled grabbing him by the arm and dragging him around the corner, hiding away from the clinic, Gaz’s back was towards that direction.
“Listen, ye can’t be here. Ye donae get it. Just, trust me”
“You’ve been disappearing, no one knows where you are going and you tell me to go away? Me ? What the fuck is happening Johnny? Are you sick or som’?You can trust me, you know-”
He almost fell forward, a weight crashing into him, hitting him on his back.
“Ow! I’m so sorry about that, sir!” You apologised, never stopping your pace as you snuck around them “Oh, bye Johnny! See you tomorrow!” You didn’t stop walking down the hallway, slightly tripping over when you tried to catch your speed after that bump.
Gaz’s gaze followed your retreating form. You had bump into him and looked him in the eye as you apologised, you even smiled at him. He felt a warm feeling spreading inside his chest, his fingertips tingling. He had to stop the happy grumbles growing in his chest
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*whispers very quietly* alpha!price with an adorable little omega who he maaaaaay have forced mated with. you were the little barista he saw every morning before he headed to work. while he doesn't see you, but follows a lovely scent to the car park behind the shop. he finds you pitifully trying to control your heat enough to drive home. his scent pulls you in and with big, glassy eyes, you near beg him to do something about all this heat in your body.
and well, price wasn't going to let you suffer.
now as you ride him on the couch during a match, his rough, calloused hand grasps your throat and he can feel the uneven scarred skin over your scenting gland. a mark he gave you <3
A/n: heyyyyy okay heres part 6 i hope you enjoy MWAH
~*~
It wasn't anything they hadn't done dozens of times before.
Simple. To the point.
Get in, get out, get rid of all hostiles.
The scent of Omega had been used before in this way, almost like a biological warfare.
But never had they succumbed to it the way they did that day.
A single split second hesitation that allowed the little thing to get the jump on them.
Though she didn't do much physical damage, the limp fall of her body shook the men to their core.
One, more than most.
Because in that moment, she wasn't a hostile. Wasn't an enemy.
For a split second, she was a woman. An Omega.
For a quick but impactful moment, he could feel you in her.
And then Soap put a bullet in her.
The memory of everything that happened and the idea of all that could've gone wrong stirs unease deep within his primal mind. A feeling that, for once, he doesn't fight.
Instead, he lets it wash through his body, mirroring the water raining down on him.
Finally, once he's cleaned the day off, he follows his nose in an attempt at finding you. You who can calm him, soothe the ache he feels in his chest, in his bond.
Simon starts at your room, following the aging scent of you down the halls, his brows drawing together when he walks through the kitchen, and then his heart rate spikes when he pushes through the exit at the very back.
The edges of his vision cloud and all that consumes him is the thick viscous sound of blood pumping behind his ears.
The wind carries a fresher version of your scent to his nose and he snaps back to attention, grabbing his phone as he takes off running.
Soap answers on the first ring, brows immediately pulling together when he hears the wind on the other end.
And then he's sitting up stiff as a board, smacking his hand into Gaz's thigh to grab his attention.
"We're on our way."
~*~
Your training exercise evading your pack mates taught you a lot.
Far more than you're sure they'd want you to know.
Because now it's been three days and they still haven't found you.
You can feel Simon's anger through the bond, feel his worry, and something else that you refuse to name.
Instead, you focus on anything else. Everything else.
Creating shelter, masking your scent, protecting yourself from the elements and the animals alike.
You're not sure how far you are from the base, but if the sounds of the wolves at night are anything to go off of, you're pretty far.
A wave of fear suddenly washes over you, followed immediately by chills as sweat begins to bead on your body.
The sound of the fire crackling nearby does little to drown out your moan of dread as you drop your head back against the little cave wall.
You don't have long. A few hours, at most, until your heat hits full throttle.
So you spring into action.
Stoking the fire to keep it alive, you venture outside to gather more wood.
You took enough rations and water to -hopefully- last your heat, now all you need is enough wood and mud to mask your scent throughout the worst of it.
The worst of it hits faster than usual, and you find yourself stumbling back to the cave, trying to hold on to your bounty while also pressing a firm hand to your cramping abdomen.
You drop the wood as soon as you're back inside the safety of your cave, hunching over with your hands on your thighs and trying to take deep breaths.
Sweat beads down your back, sticking your shirt to your skin until you tear it off in a heat-induced rage.
Cool rock is suddenly pressed against your flushed skin and you groan softly, fingers digging into the ground as you seek out the sweet relief you know you won't find.
Because the one thing that can truly cure the desperate longing ache in your belly is the one you want to see least in the world.
But just because you don't want to see him, doesn't mean he isn't tearing the world apart in his search for you.
Unfortunately for him, he's not the first one to track you.
You hardly notice the new presence. You don't hear him approach, only really registering his presence a moment before his clammy rough hands find your soft, tingling skin.
A sound that's half whine half gasp leaves your lips, and you crane your head back to look at the man.
Fear ices your veins when you're met with a face you don't recognize.
"Didn't think it was true," the man murmurs, a heavy hand grabbing the back of your neck and forcing your face into the ground.
You try to fight, to flee, to escape with your dignity intact, but you're a slave to your instincgs.
As if there wasn't enough salt in the wound, this only proves your Alpha right. Omegas are useless. Weak. Fragile.
The rough hand holding your neck forces you to submit against your will, and not but a whimper leaves your lips.
Silent tears trek down your cheeks and for a brief but profound moment you find yourself wishing you'd never been cursed with your presentation.
A harsh knee forces its way between yours, shoving your thighs apart.
The scent of your heat is already heavy in the cave, but with nothing but your panties covering you, the spreading of your legs only further taints the air.
The brute on top of you is suddenly gone, and it takes you a few moments to realize why.
There, in the mouth of the cave beyond the flicker of the flames is a familiar skull face, murderous eyes focused on the man on the ground in front of him.
You watch through the fire as he towers over the stranger, head cocking to the side with an eery calmness.
And then he's sinking to his knees, strong hand squeezing the mans throat.
"Touch her again," he whispers, his eyes unblinking, unwavering.
"I-I'm sorry, Lieutenant," the man pleads hoarsely, voice lacking the confidence it held mere moments earlier.
"Touch her again!" He snarls, cracking the man's head against the ground.
Your inner Omega forces you to move, eyes on the two threats standing between you and safety.
"Do it," Simon says, "go on. Make your death worthwhile, at least."
The cave stinks of smoke, pheromones, and fear. You can't tear your eyes from the two men, even when a crunch rings out and the man stops struggling.
Simon's eyes meet yours, finally, for one breath, and then another, and then he's hauling the dying man out of the cave without a word.
You move quickly, grabbing only what you absolutely need and then running out of the cave in the opposite direction.
You stumble more than you sprint, but you don't care. Your Omega doesn't care.
All that matters is putting as much space between you and the Alpha as possible.
But if you think you're getting away that easy, you've got another thing coming.
It takes him no time at all to catch up to you. Your heat hinders you more than you're ready to admit.
But that's what gives you the upper hand.
It's your heat, your feral Omega, that forces him to stay several paces away when he catches you.
He holds his hands up in surrender, inching forward slowly.
With every step he takes, you take one back, growling warningly.
He doesn't want to hurt you. More than anything he just wants to take you back to base and lock you in his room where nothing and no one can ever hurt you.
But he knows you're not going anywhere without a fight.
"Omega," he tries, ducking down when you huck a rock at him.
"No," you snarl. Though it's your voice, it doesn't sound like you at all.
Because you, the you he's used to, are hidden somewhere behind the teeth and claws of your inner Omega.
She's at the reins, she's holdin the steering wheel.
And he has no idea how to talk to her.
"I won't hurt you."
"Get away."
"No."
"Get away!" Another rock.
"Stop!" Now his voice rivals yours, heavy authority weighing down the words.
"Why are you even out here? I thought I was a waste of fucking oxygen. Why waste your time coming after me?"
This makes him pause and then he's swallowing down his regret and forcing out whatever he can think of to break the tense silence.
"Wasn't talking about you." Is his pathetic lie.
You glare at him.
"Let me leave."
"No."
"Please."
"Never."
A sob bubbles out of your chest and you feel anger burn through your being.
How dare he witness your pain.
He does more than just witness it. He completely disregards it. Takes advantage of it and uses it to gain the upper hand.
He tosses you over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, strong arms pinning your writhing body to his to stop you from escaping. With you hauled over his shoulder, he marches back to the cave to -hopefully- find some peace for the rest of the night.
The moment his grip loosens, you slip away and scramble as far back as you can, burrowing as deeply in the cave as possible while keeping your wild eyes on him.
You don't let him touch you.
Or maybe, your Omega doesn't let him touch you.
Either way, Simon Riley sits at the mouth of the cave, dark eyes tick tocking between you and the dangerous world outside like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.
You, you in the corner of the cave, writhing in heat induced agony while refusing the cure. You with one hand shoved between your legs and the other groping a heaving breast.
Your scent is heavy and thick, but with a protector now you don't feel the need to mask it. Nor can you really focus on somethings so trivial when it feels like someone's taking a chainsaw to your insides.
Your pain is tangeible, palpible. Simon can taste it on the air and it kills him that you wont fucking let him help you.
So instead, he called-
"Jesus, isn't that a sight."
Captain John Price shuffles his feet loudly just outside the cave, weary eyes trained on you as you snap your head up, growling in warning at the intruder.
"S'just me," he tries, holding his hands up in surrender.
You glance between him and Simon for a few long seconds before eventually dropping your head back and letting out another mewl of pain as your fingers continue working between your legs.
"How long she been like this?" He asks, shrugging off his jacket then kneeling to untie his boots.
"Hours at least. Maybe longer."
"Fuckin' hell."
The older Alpha takes a deep, rumbling breath, then huffs one out just as heavily.
He does this a few times, works hard to break through the barrier of your scent that's gushing from you almost as profusely as the slick between your thighs.
When the first hints of that musky, woodsy scent finally tickle your nose you whine, eyes flashing open.
"Alpha."
A shiver ripples down Simon's spine, and he needs to take slow, careful breaths to keep his composure.
"M'here, little one. Can I touch you?" Price asks quietly, always the gentleman.
You reach for him, a shuddering cry hiccuping out of your chest when his fingers brush against yours.
Simon's heart cracks in his chest a bit at the noise and he wishes he could drown in the waves of regret that poison him. They storm over him, hurricanes of envy and self-loathing that do everything but take him away.
So he sits, like the bad mutt he is, and watches as his Captain slides two thick fingers through your dripping folds while your hands flutter pathetically against his chest.
Simon can practically feel the ghost of you as he watches his Captain handle you.
Price does it with such ease, such tenderness, it almost makes the Ghost sick.
The older Alpha tugs off his shirt and rolls you onto your stomach, a happy growl rumbling in his chest when you immediately arch your back and present your pussy for him.
"There she is, good Omega. Had us worried sick," he murmurs, pants shoved down to his ankles as he makes his way behind you.
He blankets himself over you, thick hairy chest warming your sensitive back while his fingers slip into your sopping little hole.
The mewl that leaves your lips is finer than any music, and Price suddenly feels a decade younger.
He nudges his nose against the back of your neck and scents you deeply, huffs and puffs hot breaths of air onto the sensitive skin there and relishes in the way the rest of your body responds.
Your cunt clenches around three of his thick fingers, a shiver ripples down your spine, and finally, finally, your scent starts to settle and a soft sigh leaves your lips.
Price's scent is so homey, so warm and so safe that tears spring to your eyes and shuffle down your cheeks in silent little streams.
You whine in protest when he pulls his fingers out of you, but he's quick to shush you with a soft nip at your neck.
His heavy cock is there suddenly, warm and throbbing between your legs, and then he slides through your folds, rubbing your wet clit on each pass.
The sound that leaves your mouth has Simon's hands twitching.
"Easy, little one," Price rumbles in your ear, hot breath fanning down your neck and dusting over your mark.
Your breath hitches on a moan, and your hips jerk back just as he rolls his forward. Instead of sliding through your folds again and further tormenting you, he's swiftly half-sheathed inside of your fluttering walls.
A shuddering groan leaves the man behind you, and then he's pulling back only to slide right back in.
You gush around him as he works his way inside of you, mouth and eyes wide as you finally, finally get that relief you've been gnawing at for hours.
Drool pools under your chin and your eyes become glassy as he fucks every inch of his thick cock into your wet hole.
Your Alpha watches on in silent despair.
When Simon was in his rut, he fucked you like a dog, hot and hungry and desperate.
Price, on the other hand, ruts into you hard and heavy like a bear. Big grizzly body caging you against the floor of your den as he fucks his cubs into your waiting womb while your Alpha sits like a cuck at the mouth of the cave.
Eventually, after the darkness has started to fade and your belly is almost swollen with cum, you fall asleep in Price's arms.
"We need to bring her back."
Simon only snorts and shakes his head.
"She's satiated right now. We need to take advantage of it," Price presses, huffing more of his scent onto you to keep you lost in the fog of your bliss.
Silence falls over the cave for a long moment before Simon is up and moving, packing up what little belongings you have.
you’re pretty used to feeling a pit in your stomach, sometimes you don’t even notice it right away anymore.
the boys realize how you’re feeling before you do, looking at you with worry when they smell the distressed pheromones radiating off you. their instincts begging them to comfort you, to ease your anxiety any way they can.
you look up at them with confusion when they slowly approach you, acting like you’re a wounded animal and telling you you’re okay. you ask them what the hell they’re doing and tell them you’re fine. now it’s the boys turn to be confused.
kyle says it’s obvious you’re not fine, he could smell your discomfort from the other room. you sigh and tell him its just your anxiety, it’s normal and you’re mostly used to it by now.
the boys however, definitely do not get used to it. whenever one of them smells even the slightest bit of distress in your scent, he’s coming to find you immediately. he’ll hold you and release calming pheromones, letting his instincts guide him on calming you down.
you were fine before you met the boys. you learned how to cope with most of your anxiety and are okay dealing with it. but you can’t lie, the way your boys hold you when you’re anxious does help, and it’s much better than dealing with it all alone.
