Sadieurlady - F1s Worst Nightmare - Tumblr Blog

[Chapter 75] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

The air burns in your lungs, and every bounding step sends shockwaves of tension through your knees and hips, a consequence of a sedentary work week- not to mention a rowdy previous night. Sweet spit pools under your tongue, but this impromptu jog was a necessary response to electric muscles. You'd be a fool to think your paradoxically exhausted and alert mind could get any sleep, and some fresh air would probably do you some good. Puffs of misty breath were illuminated by passing streetlights, your muscles screamed for relief that your racing mind couldn't afford. The sun hadn't even risen yet, and it won't for a while. It's hard to say if you got any rest last night, but you'd memorized the wallpaper pattern well enough to see it when you blink. 

Going for a jog with everything you own on your back is oddly freeing in a way. Like you could slip into the woods without a word and live like a nomad in the Germanic birches and pines. Escape duty, shed discipline. Responsibility would slide off you like rain off a wing. It makes you wonder if you could do it. Slink away from it all, dye your hair, and find a small Swedish commune that might take you in, rural enough to be free from CIA surveillance. Settle down with some Scandinavian man who warms your back at night and spend your days selling goat's milk soaps at farmer's markets. 

No, that's not you. 

You're too loyal—Loyal and stubborn. A slave to what's familiar, as counterintuitive as this career may be to that ideal. Loyalty is a flaw and a blessing in equal measure, a double-edged sword. But what are you loyal to if you're not even loyal to yourself?

A glance at the stony plaza that'd been the bane of your existence for the last few days was now almost entirely stripped of all military presence. Pop-up tents and armoured vans that hosted chin-scratching commanders now sit as they once were; jagged cobblestone sidewalks with orange leaves peppering every other stone. It's like you were never there. But that's the goal in the end: To sweep high-strung military situations out of the public consciousness as soon as possible, and carry on being the invisible, omnipresent, but lethal phantom guarding the streets against a greater evil. Maybe Ghost was onto something when he got that callsign. 

This state is always the most unsettling in every mission. The bad guys are gone, the good guys are gone, and you sit in this odd liminal space where life has paused for an indeterminate amount of time. It makes you wonder about the first line cook or waitress to step into that restaurant after you'd occupied it. Would they be able to sense the tension and panic you felt while sitting at those tables where they'd served thousands of guests? Would the line chefs be aware of how many hundreds of times you'd paced through their workspace, raking your mind for a glimmer of insight? No, no they wouldn't. You're just a pawn, transitory and unfamiliar. Leaving behind no impact save for the ones your higher-ups choose to acknowledge you for. 

Laswell didn't have you on some private jet like last time, it looked like a much larger plane, the kind you'd been on dozens of times before. It's not quite a 747, but maybe a bit smaller. Either way, you seemed to be the first on the plane out of your colleagues, but the flight attendant didn't blink twice when you crossed paths to find your seat well before the scheduled takeoff time. You didn't even care to change your clothes after your jog, only slung on a hoodie and settled in by the window for a long flight. That half-eaten chocolate cake and a mess of sheets, a puddle of water in the bathroom, and that dumb fucking yellow box were all left behind. Whatever the contents of that box were would be left to the cleaning staff to interpret; you could only hope it's not a gun, knife or, maybe a skinned cat, or some other macabre item you'd expect from someone that wears a skull mask every day. 

Baritone voices caught the peripheral of your hearing, and Price and Gaz came down the aisle with the rest of them, carrying on their conversation as they stopped beside you. A few other people were on the flight by now, tinkering overhead lighting illuminated about a dozen other patrons in suits and hoodies. Time stood still when Price stopped to sniff the air, honing his attention on Ghost, who sat, ever the tempered one, eyes straight and alert like a good little soldier while Price inspected. You'd snapped out of your trance when he grumbled something about Ghost smelling like his 'nan,' your blood ran cold. On top of that, you only connected the odd look Soap gave you after about thirty seconds of staring into oblivion, probably noticing how oddly you flickered to attention at that moment. Ghost looked grumpy and sunken, but it's hard to say. The fucker is always grumpy and sunken. You'd only caught a glimpse of white on black when he slung his pack into the overhead compartment. For now, you sat in silence as your other coworkers filed in, dodging eye contact as you both waited to have all your personal space sapped by Gaz or Soap or Price or whoever. 

Only when the pilot chimed in on the intercom did you get a grasp of where you were even going. Seol, Korea. What is she bringing you to Korea for? You haven't a clue. Hopefully, she knows you don't know a word of the language, and you could only pray that she won't give you a week to master it. Especially with the knowledge of how poorly that went last time. The plane accelerating glued you to your seat, and you got to watch this humming German cityscape spark to life in the early morning hours. It didn't take long for you to sleep, eventually drifting off as Gaz sat with folded arms beside you, snoring. 

Eventually, the familiar falling sensation made you jolt awake, and time passed in a ritualistic haze. A mechanical walkway invited you to leave the plane, and you hurried to follow along with your colleagues' broad strides. However, they disappeared in a hurry, taking a route that looked more like an employee corridor, leaving Price to nod in the direction of the rest of the passengers. You obediently followed his gesture, not that you had much of a say. Laswell greeted you at the airport, or rather, she sat at one of those airport cafes, blonde bangs bowed down to a manilla folder next to her coffee. The cast she'd worn for the past few weeks was off, now free from the reminder of your little stay in Al Mazrah.

"What's the sitrep? " You pulled out the chair across from her.

She didn't seem startled or surprised by your presence, only lightly flipped the folder shut, stray paperclips poking out from a series of cluttered pages. Bony fingers knit together, and she seemed just as calm and casual as ever. 

"There is no sitrep," she shrugged, and your heart sank for a moment. 

A million and more thoughts surged through your system, immediately defaulting back to something you'd done. Just as you began to suspect that CIA technology had read your mind, and she caught on to your fantasy about fleeing to Sweden, she spoke again.

"The boys are off to another mission. You'll be on standby," she took a long drag from her paper cup. 

"Am I being benched?" The question lept from your chest before you could even process the words. 

"What?" an odd amusement lit up her cheeks. "No- like I said, just on standby. We're just not currently in need of a linguistic specialist, that's all."

The words soothed your mind, and the humour of your assertion caught up to you. A guilty mind made you eager to get defensive. What the hell is wrong with you?

"Don't look so glum, I'm here too," she cooed, reclining in her seat as crowds of people with trailing suitcases flurried past. "We're keeping you at a hotel in Seol, it's an award-winning highrise in the downtown district. I know how you like to keep up with your studies, and there's a library just across the street."

The sentiment would be relaxing, soothing even, if it weren't for a single phrase snagged in your mind.'Keeping you.' Maybe it's as simple what she described, and perhaps she just chose a poor choice of words. You've seen constant action for so long that you've developed velocitation from moving from mission to mission so rapidly that sitting on standby feels odd. It's about time, really, as building tension doesn't recede with this new environment like it usually would. 

These streets seem so alive compared to the uneasy situation you were retreating from, bustling civilians seemed like a foreign sight; it's like you're used to worried eyes and mothers shielding their children as you pass. No Humvees or helicopters in sight, just neat grey suits and kind-eyed women sweeping their storefronts. You can't help but expect the other shoe to drop, and a sense of skepticism of their nonchalant posture muddies your darting gaze. You both walked past a precious little billiards bar sat on the corner that caught your eye, its neon pink sign reading 'Sakura' in flickering letters. You'll have to check that place out if you get the chance, but it's hard to say how long you'll be on 'standby.'

"Have you been here before?" you asked idly, unable to resist glancing at every flashing sign you pass. 

"Twice, but not for leisure," she turned you down another street of neon signs and high-rises. Low dark clouds suggested you were about to get some weather, and the thick smell of rain hung in the air, "there's a CIA base nearby."

"It seems like the kind of place best explored after working hours," you sigh. 

You filled the space with idle small talk to diffuse the unsettling suspicion that something was off. It crept on your nerves like a horror movie or that feeling in a thunderstorm where the air is thick and ready to ignite. Here you are, now particularly isolated from people you only hardly knew to begin with, slinking through unfamiliar and lively streets toward a destination you'd have no hope of finding without Laswell's guidance. 

But as your little outing came to a halt, a wall of glass and steel opened its doors to welcome you. It was just like she said. Beautiful. A glass hotel with stylized hexagonal windows jutted out over an affluent cultural district, blue ceramic tiles slid down the side of rooftops, meeting vivid paper lanterns of red and pink, like an effortless blend of historical and contemporary architecture. Something old and new, borrowed and blue. You couldn't help but be thankful for the shelter and cool air conditioning as warm autumn rain started to patter on the sidewalk behind you. 

This new hotel room was a significant upgrade from the last, though that's not a hard metric to beat. It nearly took your breath away when you stepped out of the elevator and past a cold metal door. The surge of rich colours, dim, sultry lighting, and fuscia and neon hues on dark, luxurious textures mingled with your senses. Even the air smelled expensive, like roses and cashmere. A glass chandelier hung like bubbles over a dining set, and stylized chartreuse sculptures only vaguely resembled chairs gathered around a glass dining set. Rich cyan floors squeaked under your boots, echoing through a hotel room that looks more like a modern art museum.

"You'll be in the penthouse, but don't be too flattered- it's the only room we could get on short notice," she snorted, turning to face you as you gaped. "Here - let me see your phone."

You blinked, almost unsure of what she'd just requested. It'd be easy to forget you even have a phone, not just the dinky burner she uses to summon you to work. From the bottom of your pack you hunched over, you wrenched out the sleek cellphone she'd given you as a replacement for your previous one. Essentially a brick, it held no familiar phone numbers or passwords, leaving you locked out of your lifeline to your personal life. She took it in her pale palm and tapped at the screen, watching her enter a new contact into the device. 

"Text me if you need anything, I'll be right around the corner," she flicked the phone back into your fingers, now with a single contact named 'Kate.'

"Yes, ma'am," you spoke through a tight smile.

"Anything," she spoke sternly, nodding and disappearing past the glossy steel door with a click. 

And just like that, you're alone again. A different flavour of alone-ness than usual. They can sweeten the pot with fineries, but an underlying rage poisons what should be relaxation. It was hardly dinnertime, but you couldn't stomach the food that sat in a tray with condensation dripping from the lid. Frustration made you apathetic. You walked like a mindless zombie toward what must be the bedroom after the initial door you opened proved to be a grand bathroom. Maybe it's the change in climate that's giving you a headache.

Impossibly soft crushed cotton sheets were left with trails from your wandering hands, and cyan sheets on a sleek yellow bedframe looked like something worth more than your yearly salary. Whatever your salary even is. Tall concrete walls and slick floors would otherwise be contemporary and soothing if it didn't feel like a stone box. Suddenly, the air was tight in your lungs, and claustrophobia began to make your chest thunder. A grand window wasn't any relief, only reminding you how long the fall was down to those slanted tiled roofs. From poverty to luxury, from frenzy to tranquillity. It's not hard to understand why you feel like an impostor in this satin undersheet. 

You're being punished for getting involved with an unavailable man and separated from him as it would be in any workplace relationship in the military. The only proof that any of that happened is a manifesting bruise on your upper arm and a consistent low ache in your abdomen, painful reminders in a metaphorical sense of a heavy heart. No matter how much you might argue that you're not interested anymore, you've crossed that line, and you can kiss this task force goodbye. 

You'll miss Soap and Gaz, and Price is a sweetheart once you get over his gruff outer shell, but in the end, you can't help but feel your passion fade. It doesn't have to be permanent, and maybe your emotions are getting the better of you. It's been a year of constant service; it's no wonder you're being stretched thin. What's worst of all is you can't properly place your discontentment, making any diagnosis useless. You just need a reset to get away from these perfumed sheets along your shoulders. Laswell gave you her contact, but it's not easy to communicate your complex emotions, especially in this career where you're expected to be stoic and unyielding. What have you gotten yourself into.

Are they knowingly stationing you in places where they know you don't know the native language so you can't travel far? Maybe, maybe not. Is a weak sleep schedule and weeks of physical and mental exhaustion making you feel a heightened sense of paranoia? Maybe, maybe not. Are they putting strips of tape over your hotel doors to track if you leave, thinking you didn't notice it as Laswell stepped out? That much is for sure. 

<< Prev Chapter           Next Chapter>>

Apologies for the late chapter, we’ve got more chapters coming soon. I didn’t want to publish an (in my opinion) uninspired chapter, I couldn’t settle with what I’d written originally, deadline be damned. If you’re wondering where I’ve been for the past few weeks: Here

Master List

Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses Masterlist

Summary You’ve been a linguist in the military for years, chugging along on non-consequential missions. An anonymous letter with the CIA emblem begs you to meet up with an agent, urgently. Will your skills in your specialized field be enough to keep your head above water, or will you be crushed under the pressure?

#F/M, #2nd Person AFAB POV, #Slow Burn, #Plot, #Eventual Smut, #Call of Duty, #Simon Riley, #Ghost X Reader

Please let me know if you have any notes, comments, or concerns about my work. I’m just having a gay ol’ time, but also, I don’t want to misrepresent things I failed to understand because I have black mould in my brain. You're welcome to use my works however you want with a citation ("title + author on Ao3/Tumblr" is fine.) 

🦗Here’s a link to the Ao3 work [Click Me!]

Please read: *The author is not in the military and has no idea what she's doing.* I did a decent amount of research, but if you see any inaccuracies, close your eyes pls :)

🚨BIG MDNI WARNING!! THIS IS AN 18+ FANFIC!!!! 🚨

Will tag trigger warnings in the notes before chapters.

Author HAS played the games; 09 & 22 (I’m trying to keep the characters in character, for the most part.)

Main character (Lua) is designed to be an AFAB reader insert, but she does have a backstory for the plot.

Boinking war criminals.

See yours and 141’s documents: https://imgur.com/a/jqia2sO

Anyways, buckle up sluts. More chapters are incoming.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61

Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 nice Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74

Chapter 75

reblog the money pigeon for a financially stable future

#i am literally scraggle

Lost and Found

Prev | Next

iv. creekwater eggshells

Six hours. You have six whole hours to put together a meal for Simon, and who you think is his best friend, along with said best friend's....wife? You weren't sure. You hoped that was the case.

Six hours. You can do this, right? You've made pasta, at least some variation of it, at least a few times a week since you've made yourself a little space here.

Slowly, Simon noticed, you were acclimating. Your room was still bare, but he could fix that. He just needed to make sure that you knew that it was, well, safe here. He wouldn't force you to stay, that's not what he's trying to do. He's seen that, and swore he'd never bring that upon somebody else. His house would be safe.

You had a small bag, shoved in between the blankets in your closet, of your personal belongings. The clothing that Simon had gotten you sat in a very empty dresser, made of old stained wood. He bought it off the woman up the street who wanted to paint it like.... grey or something. He couldn't bear to see that happen, so he knicked it off of them for a tenner to her husband.

Maybe this weekend he'll take you to a furniture shop. Help you decorate.

You're covered in flour the next time he spots you, as he was walking in to figure out how he could help. You've noticed he never asks, just silently assumes the nearest task, and finishes it just as fast.

You look like a doe caught in headlights when you spot him. Nothing that lives in this house was spared by the wrath of this now open bag of flour. Sweet Barrow was a different color completely, and not at all phased by this change, as she sleeps right through it.

Scraggle, however, does not take this transgression lightly. No no no, this is deepest insult to Scraggle, you try and give Scraggle color? You try and give Scraggle fur? No, this is an attack, Scraggle does not take lying down. Scraggle is-

Simon pats off the yowling cat who was weaving in between his feet and clawing at the hems of his pants, brushing it free of flour.

Scraggle rolls around on the ground, before seemingly getting over itself, and wandering back into your room.

He hears you giggle, and looks up. The sound makes his chest ache in a way he doesn't know how to describe. "Wot is it?"

"You an' that cat." You say, still laughing minutely to yourself, before turning back to the mess on the counter. You crack in egg in the center of the flour ring, and begin mixing it in slowly, before kneading the dough as it forms. You've printed out a little sheet of instructions that you have taped to the cabinet in front of you.

He watches you from the archway, crossing his arms as he leans against it, taking you in, breathing the scene like the flour that puffs up as you move your hands. Your tongue peeks out from your lips as you focus in concentration. There's flour smeared on your cheek, egg caked on your hands.

He's getting used to this, he realizes, as almost a month had passed. Used to the domesticity of it all. There's peace in his chest, the ugly thing, taken root deep inside. He's not sure what would happen if it fizzled, burned out.

You had gone out to the back garden. There were a couple wild herbs you had spotted out here.

You liked how they had bundled in your small hands, of only a few years. These ones didn't sting your palms like the ones with the pokey leaves, or did they itch like the softer flowers. Your momma liked these ones. Said they made good tea. Spiced up what needed to be spiced, and sweetened what needed to be sweet. Just like you.

"You can find it anywhere," she had told you, calling your name across the hills. It's abundant as water, flows as common as grass. The air is smoky, you wonder if someone is cooking.

You shocked to the present the second you stepped into the creek, the cold water soaking up your long socks.

The basket trembles in your hands, and you swallow, just out of view from the house, just inside of the trees. This is Simon's land.

You're safe, you tell yourself, you're safe, you're safe–

There's a soft piddle against the soft of your lower leg, a little peep. You almost hop out of the way in surprise before you see it.

There's a little duckling brushing up against your inner ankle, newly hatched by its size. It peeps and *wecks* and you swear right then that you may not be it's mother but you are now, no other bird in sight. It's a fuzzy little creature with dark eyes that possess no thoughts whatsoever, and it is yours.

"Don't take what does not belong to you. Greed is unbecoming of you. You aren't behaving poorly now, are you?" His accent wafts through the air, stifling like a too humid day. The grip at the base of your hip tightens.

There's a soft *weck* as you pick up the tiny bird, cradling it into your hands. It's shivering, trembling, looking for warmth.

You'd found enough herbs today, you decided. Needed to get out of the woods, like Little Red should never have gone down the path, lest the Wolf catches her scent.

You pick up your basket and hurry back to the cottage, calling for Simon to find a lamp.

You miss the tall grass, disturbed by boot prints much too big for you, planted in the center of a squashed nest. The yellows of the inner egg have dried into the earth, parents nowhere to be found.

"Simon! Get me a lamp!" You shout, slamming the back door open, your hands bundled around the small creature.

It was in no life threatening danger, in fact, it looked quite content to just stay curled in your palm, but you were determined to get it better warmth.

Simon shoots out of his bedroom, concerned— a familiar expression of his, whenever you reenter your home– before spotting the little wriggling mass in your hands. He blinks once, twice, before closing the door on Scraggle, who wanted to see who dared disturb it's slumber.

"That's a duck." Simon says shortly, and you stop, slowly turning around and looking at him.

Said duck peeps in response.

Apparently, your look said whatever Simon needed to hear because he disappeared down the hall and returned with an old shoe box, and a reptile lamp you recognized from the old tank in your room.

Duck in hand, you leave to the kitchen to find a spare hand towel, tossing it at Simon who puts it into the box, and he plugs the lamp in.

The buzz fills the working silence.

"So... where'd ya find the lil lad?" He asks after a moment.

"By the creek. Couldn't find his parents. Didn't wanna leave him alone out there, he looks too small-" You stop yourself short as sweet Barrow lumbers in through the dog door, sniffing the air curiously, before deciding to lay down right there. "You're- You're provably gonna make me put him back- I'll- I'll, uh-"

Simon hushes you, brows furrowed at the sight of your watery eyes. "I ain't say that, honey."

"B- but-" You don't mean for it, but tears well up in your eyes anyways, your lower lip trembling. "You can't take in any more animals-"

"Says who? Y' challengin' me or somethin'?" He huffs, and you panic, shaking your head as a tear slides down your cheek, frantic. The duck deeps again.

"I got 'nough stuff, honey. A duck ain't gonna send us over the edge. Here, can I-" He reaches for the peeping mass of feathers, but you surprise yourself by jerking back, holding it out of his reach.

"Don't-!"

He blinks, before you burst into tears, tugging the duck to your chest, apologizing profusely. "I- I'm sorry, I just- I trust you- I- I don't wanna give up on him-"

"Honey, nobody's givin' up on him-"

"Cus he's so small, an' he doesn't deserve it, I don't want anyone to hurt him, Si, he doesn't deserve it-" You sob to him, or to the duck, who isn't comprehending anything that's really going on right now, because the lights are on and everyone moved out.

Simon tugs at the carpet, for once unsure what to do. He chews his lip, thinking. He doesn't fault you at all, he's not upset, the duck is yours. You're protective of it,that's nothing to be ashamed of. There's a pain in his chest when you cry, and he's not sure it's completely uncoincidental. "Honey...? How 'bout you put him in the box, then we'll set him up on the counter so he can watch us cook, okay? Promise I won't touch him."

You sniffle, nodding, feeling horrible that you snapped at Simon in the first place, though he doesn't think you even did at all.

"Are you still up for dinner, do you wanna have a night in? We can reschedule, I'm sure they won't mind." Simon asks, his voice softer than you've heard in a while. You feel embarrassed.

"W- we can keep cooking, it's- I'm sorry, I just...." You hiccup, bowing your head.

"The duck'll be safe, hon. Ain't nobody else I'd trust more with somethin' that fuckin' small than you. Ain't nobody's gonna hurt it, and if they do, then I'll sic Barrow on em."

You're both pretty sure Barrow is snoring with her eyes open, bless her sweet little heart.

"N- no, you'll have to send Scraggle, we'll n- never see the poor bastard again, that's for sure, it'll slice em to ribbons..." You giggle slightly, the sudden pressure in your chest lightening as you gently set the duck into the box on the counter.

The cat yowls behind the door, it's paws peeking out from beneath it, trying to grab at one of Simon's socks in the hallway. This is an ATTACK on Scraggle, attack of the greatest degree, curse to Father and curse to Mother-

You sniffle again, and Simon offers you a tissue. You hesitate, before wrapping your arms around him instead, burying your stuffy nose in his shirt.

He tenses at first, before slowly relaxing into it, and he puts an arm around you too.

He was warm, warmer than usual, a little soft around his middle, but built enough like a country man. He vaguely reminded you of a warrior, well fed and strong. The warrior of this little farm. He smelled of cedar and campfire smoke, with something else richer underneath.

You let out a shaky breath you didn't know you had been holding, and Simon's arms tighten. When was the last time you'd hugged someone?

The duck is safe, and so are you.

Nothing can take that away, not if Simon has anything to say about it.

And he has many, many things to say.

masterlist

Franco is gonna get his social media rights revoked by the FIA

Training for Two

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Summary: Simon's desperate to find Riley a pet sitter after she suffers an injury in the field and can no longer work alongside him. Despite being desperate, he's also picky. He wants someone professional, organized, and perfect for the position. You show up for an interview - and while you may not be his idea of the perfect candidate, you're the perfect fit for what Riley needs. Unfortunately for Simon, you flip his world upside-down and melt his icy walls of stubbornness and anger, making him crave you like the heat of the sun. The worst part? You don't even know it.

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, brief mentions of animal injury (not detailed), pining, angst, possessiveness, jealousy, slow burn (?), cheating, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex

Chapter 1. Interview

Chapter 2. Rules

Chapter 3. New Trails

Chapter 4. New Tricks

Chapter 5. Back to Square One

Chapter 6. Pup Cup

Chapter 7. Motivated, Sir!

Taglist is CLOSED - thank you to everyone who requested to be tagged in this story!

is the sun bothering you, my king?

{overview} Your heat doesn't quite go as planned. Kate provides your pack with a predicament

{warnings} fem reader, poly141, a/b/o dynamics, heat cycles, MDNI, heat cycles, p in v sex, knotting, cursing

Chapter 22 <- Chapter 23 -> Chapter 24

There was a soft knock at the door making John stir.

“Come in,” he groaned, sitting up with you still against his chest. You mumbled something incoherent, drifting right back to sleep. Johnny came in with two takeout containers. John stood up, keeping a firm grip on you as he tossed a few pillows onto the floor, knowing you would throw a fit if your nest got dirtied by food. Johnny set the containers on the ground, grabbing Simon's hoodie off the bed and tugging it over your head.

You were out of it. Just a few hours ago Kyle had come in to make sure the two of you had water and said you were up and chatting, now you were like one of the pillows on the ground. There had been no moans or groans since last night, your first time, making everyone a bit nervous. You should be working through your heat. John threw on a pair of sweats, as Johnny had you propped up against some pillows. You smiled at him softly, wrapping your arms around his bicep. He pressed a kiss against your heated forehead, wanting nothing more than to stay with you.

“You can stay, ‘Tav,” John assured. He didn't seem too out of it. If it wasn't for his dark eyes and flushed appearance he would seem exactly the same. Johnny smiled, pulling you into his lap, and grabbing your lunch to feed you. You purred against him, happy to smell something other than John’s campfire and fog scent.

“Simon wants to call a doctor,” Johnny spoke slowly. John hummed, already knowing what he was speaking about. You should be deep into your heat by now, especially after being sexually active. He should be deep into his rut as well.

“Is a bit concerning isn't it?” John sighed, between bites. “Give her the rest of today. Her body is experiencing a lot of things it hasn't before. Our girl just needs some time to work through it, right pretty?” he questioned looking over at you. Your eyes were nearly closed, staring up at Johnny like you hadn't seen him in months.

“That’s fair,” Johnny agreed, working a spoonful of corn into your mouth. It was quiet for a moment.

“You gonna mark her?” Johnny asked- bordering on a request. It was the thing he hated most about being a beta. He would never be able to see his mark against your skin. At least he would be able to wear yours when the time was right.

“Didn’t quite discuss that too much before. We got a bit heated making out one time and she asked me to do it then. But I want her to have a clear head when she makes that decision,” John explained. His hand reached out, running up and down your leg.

“Would you let her mark you?”

“Absolutely,” John replied without missing a beat.

Kate groaned, trying to balance her coffee and tablet in one hand to fish her phone out of her pocket.

“Laswell,” She spoke, using her elbow to push a pile of papers off the edge of her desk.

“Kyle found something,” She immediately recognized Simon’s voice.

“That’s one of the things he’s good at,” Kate shot back, plopping down on the couch in her office.

“It's about our girl.”

Laswell froze.

“What’s wrong? She alright?” She had just talked to you a few days ago. You were nervous about the situation with your heat but were happy otherwise.

“Kyle was looking at her tracking app a couple of days ago when he noticed another chip under her name popping up under the ‘connect’ list. He clicked it and it knew her location and everything,” Simon explained.

“Did it have another name registered to it? Like how you and John are on hers,” Kate asked.

“Negative,” Simon sighed. “Kyle thinks it disconnected from the owner, that's how we were able to find it.”

“You think the owner is going to want to pursue it?” Kate questioned, her stomach beginning to turn.

“Hope they do,” Simon grunted. “It says it’s located in her leg- the chip.”

“The leg?” Kate mumbled. “It couldn't be a chip then. She would’ve felt it. It would have to be a small wire of some kind. Can you put her on the phone?”

“She’s in lockdown with the old man,” it was vague, but Kate knew what he meant. It also explained why John wasn't blowing up her phone right now. They couldn't discuss it with the two of you in such a vulnerable state. “Me and Kyle were thinking about flying back to base,” Simon added.

“You think it's that serious? Maybe she got it when she was little?”

“She would've known about it by now. They aren't meant to be in more than five years. Besides, we can't take any chances. If we don't pursue this and something happens”- Simon cut himself off.

“Look at L.T. Ghost taking care of his pack,” Kate smiled. She couldn't quite tell if the sound on the other end was a purr or static. “Let me dig through some medical files. If there is danger, you all should be there, especially when they are this vulnerable,” Kate reminded. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thank you, Laswell. For everything,” He clicked the red button before she could respond.

She had a feeling you were included in that ‘everything.’

It felt like you were watching yourself from behind a glass screen. You could see everything, hear everything, yet you couldn't take control. Forced to watch from the sidelines. John had eased the ache in your body last night, and the feeling had yet to return. Why hadn't it? What was wrong with you? Why couldn't you just be a normal omega? You couldn't even perform in your heat, or help your alpha with his still lingering rut. What good were you?

A loud whine woke him up, his head quickly shooting up from its resting place against your stomach.

“What pretty girl?” John soothed you, wrapping you tightly in his arms. How could he be so nice- so understanding? He should be out looking for a better omega.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, as he swept the tears away.

“Nothin' for you to be sorry about, love,” he assured instantly. He paused for a moment. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked softly. You hadn't done anything but be a perfect little omega for him, despite the fuzziness in your brain.

“I can’t,” was all you were able to get out, sobs wracking your body.

“Bloody hell, sweetheart,” he cursed softly. “No reason for that,” he used the hem of his shirt to wipe away your tears.

“I’m not a good omega,” you gasped through your sobs. A warning growl rumbled in his chest, making you jump. It was a natural instinct to bare your teeth at someone who talked b about your omega- even if it was the omega themselves.

“There’s definitely no reason for that,” he snarled, pressing a rough kiss against your cheek. He slowly put the pieces together as to what you were getting at. He didn't even think the toll of not completing your heat would have on your self-esteem. That was bullshit though. You were much more than how well you could fuck him in a delirious state and he was a bit surprised you even entertained the idea. His sensitive girl.

“If I can't get into a heat how am I supposed to take a knot, or be marked?” you grumbled sadly, finding the energy to paw at your face.

“You can get into a heat, pretty. Your body is still adjusting to the pack and to me. By this time next year we’ll be laughing about this.”

Next year? He wanted to keep you?

“You still want me?” It was the lowest sentence you had ever uttered, yet it was a blow to him.

His first feeling was that of insult. Did you think that lowly of him? That he would toss you to the curb just because you were having a bit of trouble? Then he saw the look in your eyes. You were so small- beat down and defeated over something he had hardly thought twice about. You weren't the you he was used to, you were the raw, unfiltered, scared version of yourself. The version that had jumped from omega holding house to omega holding house. The version of you that had been let down by so many people in your life. The version of you that had been overlooked and disregarded due to your status.

Now that version of you was his.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

“More than anything,” was all he could manage.

You were relieved when the fire returned in your veins. Your hands patting your alpha’s chest to wake him. He gasped awake, his trained eyes scanning around the room for a threat, relaxing when he just saw your happy face. He smiled softly until your scent hit him.

“There you are, pretty girl. Just needed some time,” He chuckled, rolling over so you were on your back. You nipped at his neck, your hands wandering under his shirt. He lets you do as you please, without rushing or urging you along. The soft pads of your fingers running over scars he had long forgotten about.

“You’re so handsome,” you mumbled, tugging his shirt off the rest of the way. He smiled softly, his beard tickling your cheek as he kissed along your clothed shoulder. The bare skin of your legs against his wasn't enough for him. He tugged Simon’s hoodie off of you, purring as he was finally able to feel you fully.

This time he went slow- as slow as he should've gone for your first time. He was drawing it out, with every drag of his hips you were pushed near the end only to be yanked back. You were a desperate little thing under him. So needy and scratchy that he had to put you on your stomach.

“Only patient girls get kisses,” is what he had told you. You whined, leaning your head back, hoping he was just being a tease. His hand gripped the base of your neck, gently pushing it back into the pillows. He chuckled- a bit cruelly- from behind you, a particularly deep thrust making you cry out.

“Please?” you whined, your bottom lifting off the bed so prettily for him. He hummed, running a hand all the way up your arched back. He leaned over you, his lips pressing against your wet cheek.

“I think the betas spoil you too much,” he mumbled, his hips returning to the slow speed. “Think all you have to do is say please with those pretty eyes and you get whatever you want hmmm?” he half-asked, keeping himself sheathed inside you.

“Yeah,” you agreed softly, making him chuckle. He kissed the small ring on your finger Kyle had bought you. The beta was just supposed to run to the store to get popcorn for movie night and ended up coming back with a ring that cost half a paycheck.

You wiggled your hips, taking it upon yourself to start pushing yourself back on him. He watched as you slowly found your own rhythm. He cursed softly, watching as your cunt swallowed him whole. He gave you soft encouragement, the grit in his voice making the tightness in your stomach swell.

“Can I?” you asked through a strangle moan. Even after all his teasing, you were still his obedient omega. His chest rumbled, causing the vibration to shoot straight through you.

“Course, sweetheart. You earned it,” he praised. That was all you needed, shaking around his cock with a breathy moan. He held your hips in place to keep you from running away, your spasming walls causing his eyes to roll back.

He had hardly a minute to catch his breath before you were pushing yourself back against him again.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled, immediately meeting your thrusts. He wrapped an arm around your waist, rolling over onto his back taking you with him. He forced your legs apart, your back against his chest as he drove his hips up into you. The new position hit something inside you that turned you into a purring ragdoll. “Purring from my cock?” he questioned through a groan like he couldn't quite believe it. His hands had a bruising grip on your thighs, the force of his thrusts nothing but mean.

There was swelling between his thighs, and even in his dazed state he could figure out what it was. You seemed to know too- at least instinctually, judging by the way you tried to push yourself down on it. “Think you can take my knot, pretty girl?” he asked softly, his pace beginning to slow so you could talk. You nodded your head eagerly, your face pressing against the side of this neck.

He resumed, his knot slamming against you with every thrust. You came unexpectedly, your cunt gushing around him and over the sheets. You were shaking in his grasp and he began rolling his knot into you, your slick making it a bit easier. Your hips tried to pull away, but he knew it was just from overstimulation. He matched your purrs, the action causing your body to relax enough for him to ease the rest of himself in. Your body stilled as the two of you locked together, John groaning breathlessly.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, a warm buzz filtering throughout your body.

Your world slowly turned black.

Two days had come and gone. Today marks the fourth day of your heat.

Judging by your smell. Today is the last day. You were in the bathtub, the water too scalding for John’s enjoyment, but your sore body needed it. The alpha taking great pride in scrubbing and massaging you clean.

You hadn't been marked. John had come close numerous times, but was able to hold back. He couldn't do something that drastic without discussing it with you in length. Despite that, you had a large spot on your neck- where he planned to mark you. He couldn't stop running his thumb over it.

“Gonna be ready to see the boys?” He hummed, his fingers scratching against your scalp. You knew he was referring to Simon. Johnny and Kyle snuck in during the pockets of peace between rounds. Johnny to give you food and Kyle just to hold you.

You had missed Simon. When you were feeling extra sensitive just knowing he was outside the door made you feel a hundred times better. You nodded, as he washed the shampoo out of your hair.

“I miss him,” You smiled.

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder - especially with Simon,” he teased, making you giggle.

You put on fresh clothes, grabbing Vernie off the bed. The bed was in rough shape. John came up behind you.

“Don’t worry about that,” he insisted, pressing a kiss against the side of your head. The sheets had been shredded, the headboard practically crushed to bits and you could only imagine what it would look like under a black light. While you were only half of the reason it was in the condition it was, you still felt responsible.

“Go say hello to your boys. They miss you,” John smiled, throwing on a shirt. You beamed, practically bouncing down the hallway. They were still asleep sprawled out on the pull out couch in the living room to keep Simon company. You put Vernie down and she quickly stumbled her way over to Simon. You crawled over Kyle, curling yourself under his chin. He gasped awake, causing the others to jump.

“Still in one piece?” He mumbled, still playful even in his groggy state. He rolled over so you were under him- a position you had grown quite familiar with the past few days- resting his body on top of yours. You could hear Johnny mumble something, scrambling across Simon so he could get his paws on you. He growled as Kyle refused to move, worming his arm between the two of you and pulling you so you were smushed between them. “Can’t even get a minute?” Kyle huffed, burying his face in your hair.

“Her fault for being so pretty,” Johnny grumbled, placing the blame on you. His teeth nipping at the spots covering your neck from John. He swallowed back his disappointment at none of them being a claiming bite. The comfort of being between the betas again made it easy for you to start drifting back off to sleep. You had about five minutes of sleep when Kyle’s phone blared through the living room. You half expected him to deny it, like he usually did. Instead, he peaked at the Caller ID quickly making his way to the backyard, Simon following. You could sense Johnny’s uneasiness.

“Everything alright?” you hummed. The worst thing in your mind is that you would all have to leave and go back to base. You were due to go back in a few days, hopefully things could wait until then.

“Yeah, Bon,” Johnny assured, forcing himself to purr to relax you. “Nothin’ for you to worry about.”

Regardless you watched as John made his way down the hall about to turn into the living room, until he was ushered outside by Simon. You had the sinking feeling it wasn’t about work. Was it because of your heat? Because of how hot and cold it was? Because it didn’t last as long as it should’ve? Because you weren’t marked? Why didn’t he mark you? What if they were calling someone to come pick you up now? What if-

“None of that,” Johnny spoke, making you jump. He ran a hand over your stomach. You whined, rolling over so you could hide in his chest. “What happened?” he hummed, wrapping you up in the blankets. It smelled like your pack. Cinnamon and leather- with a gust of fresh breeze to cut the heaviness.

“It’s about me isn’t it?” You whispered. Johnny tensing was enough to confirm your suspicions. He should’ve known your omega intuition would uncover the truth before any of them were ready to share it.

“It's about work, peaches,” he stood his ground. He couldn't give up any information yet, till they knew the full story.

-outside-

“Hey, Laswell,” Kyle greeted with a sigh. To say he was nervous would be an understatement. He had always been a man of action- so being told to let someone else take the reigns was causing him distress.

“Well, I figured out who it belongs to,” She sighed, equally hard. Kyle and Simon looked at each other. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John moving towards the living room.

“We need you out here,” he whispered. The alpha furrowed his brows, changing his course to the backyard.

“Her mother,” Laswell said finally. Kyle sucked in a breath through his teeth. John was confused but remained tight-lipped.

“She’s looking for her?” Kyle pressed.

“I don't see any signs of wanting to have contact with her,” Kate said sadly. “Just seems like she was trying to keep an eye out for her,” Kate suggested.

“Do you have her location?” Kyle questioned.

“Her last known location is Palm Springs, California. That was over two years ago and she's not living at that address anymore,” Kate continued. “She isn't registered anywhere else in the U.S. There's no death certificate either. Another thing is the type of chip she used. It lasts about 7-10 years before it gets broken down and absorbed into the bloodstream. It’s nearing the end of its life, that's why it disconnected,” Kate explained.

They felt relieved. You weren't being tracked by some psycho who had it out for you. It was just a last-ditch effort by your mom to be a part of your life.

“Thank you, Laswell,” Kyle breathed.

“Of course. Enjoy the rest of your vacation- oh and John make sure to ice your back. I know it’s sore,” She teased, the call ending. They chuckled dryly, waiting for someone to speak.

“Her mother chipped her before she left?” John clarified, causing them to nod their heads.

“How do we tell her?” Kyle asked.

“We don't,” John said quickly. The two men stared at their alpha. “What are we supposed to say? Your mother chipped you, but doesn't want to reconnect with you? She knows about how you've been thrown around from omega-holding house to omega-holding house, yet she has done nothing to stop it. She's our omega, it's our job to protect her from information like that. Besides, I'm not sure I want her mother around her anyway. Who’s to say she won’t break her heart again?”

No one could oppose. 

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!! See you in three days for Chapter 24🧡