Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s cold. Baltic, even, is what Soap first realizes. 

On a second, more harrowing note he quickly comes to the conclusion that he’s not in his home. Well, his parents’ home, not that it makes a difference in his current situation. It’s dark, his saving grace is some flickering light source a couple of feet away, giving him just enough visibility to try and put things together. 

He tries his best not to panic, but seeing bars between him and the rest of the world freaks him out before he can assess the situation properly. 

Soap pushes himself up, leaning into the damp stone wall for support as the world turns with him. Fuck, his head hurts. He tries to blink away the nausea and dizziness that overcomes him, taking deep, calming breaths. 

Don’t fucking panic. 

It’s different from the last time he did panic, though. Only weeks ago, when he came down with a mild fever and the sudden need to be close to his pack. The only one he’s ever had, his family. How urgent it was to get out of the cramped garage he’d been helping out on his father’s request and get home. 

He hadn’t thought much of it, Soap was always happy to stay with his parents, enjoyed being pampered just a bit, even well into his adulthood– graces of being an only child, the heir to the MacTavish name. It wasn’t suspicious, not before his mother opened the door for him and scrunched her nose in disgust, without a trace of her usual, warm welcome. His mother, Soap’s closest confidant, was disgusted with his own son. ‘You smell like an Omega,’ she scowled, confusing him even more. He hadn’t been around one, hadn’t travelled publicly, he hadn’t- 

Then he panicked because it all made sense suddenly. He smelled like an Omega because, despite what he and his parents had hoped for, he was one. The first in his family since God knows how long. ‘MacTavishes are no damn Omegas’, his father roared the moment he broke the news to him over dinner, putting all that Alpha voice behind his speech, something Soap had never quite mustered. 

And it was the truth, Soap couldn’t deny it. Alphas and Betas, priding themselves on the fact that the bloodline was long and strong, not one weak link and no needy, useless Omegas on the family tree. 

We wasted years on you, his da told him, all twenty-nine. Soap remembers his mam’s face, the reluctance to say anything, to defend his son. She never really had to, not before the great revelation. The MacTavishes have been excellent at pretending that Soap simply needed more time, even if they all knew that late presenters rarely turn out to be Alphas. Still, they hoped, because being Alphas and Betas was all they knew, and their pride would have never let them think otherwise. 

Soap has always been– hopeful. Hadn’t paid too much attention to the glaring issue, had too much fun for any of that. He’d swaggered through life with the promise that one day he would finally present as an Alpha and make his family proud, maybe even his da. He had flirted like one, had the confidence of someone sure about his designation.

Until he didn’t. The news broke Soap just as much as it broke his parents. He didn’t know how to be an Omega, had never prepared for the possibility. And just like that, he was useless.

A bad fucking apple, that’s what Soap was. 

An Omega. 

But he couldn’t have truly understood the full extent of his father’s need to keep the MacTavish name clean of the shame it meant. He hadn't known something so out of his control would lead him to this place, wherever he is now. 

Because one thing Soap is sure about is that this here is not a coincidence. 

So, this panic feels slightly different, feeling his senses dull and the edges of his vision blur whenever he tries to move his head too fast. 

Was he drugged? He wouldn’t put it past whoever took him, and Soap tries really hard to dismiss the notion that he was at his parents’ house, last he can remember anyway. And they wouldn’t, right? 

No, his mam was still shaken, sure. His father angry, disappointed. But they wouldn’t drug him. They wouldn’t send him away and kick him out of the only pack he’s ever known. 

Soap is almost sure. 

Almost. 

As he’s trying to calm himself and assess his situation, testing the give of the iron bars (non-existent, as expected), he hears something. Someone is talking not far away, no more than hushed words, and for the life of him Soap can’t make it out. It’s too damn dark, and he writes it up to it and the fact that he’s still not fully lucid that he jumps when a huge form apparates in front of him, out of damn nowhere. 

His face is shrouded in shadows, dark eyes almost black, but Soap can still make out the stark features and light-coloured, fuzzy hair. He towers over Soap who’s forced to stagger back a few steps by the ominous figure alone. 

The man stands there, on the other side of the bars, and stares Soap down in a way that makes him shudder more than the cold climate would warrant. Soap instinctually sniffs, anticipating the rich, musky scent of an Alpha, but much to his surprise, the man doesn’t really smell like anything. 

Must be a Beta then, he decides reluctantly, because this one is built larger than any other Alpha he’s ever met and has multiple inches on an average Beta. He doesn’t miss the irony of it, Soap has been told countless times that with his build he sure is one, too. ‘Too damn big for an Omega’, his father sneered not long ago, ‘Who would be willing to mate someone like you?’ 

Fuck you too, da. 

“Who’s this one?” the Beta asks, his voice a deep baritone with a strange lilt to it, accent reminding Soap of a fling of his from around Manchester. 

The question is clearly not for Soap, and someone must answer him because the Beta nods, keeping his eyes on him all the while. “MacTavish,” he hums, as if he’s tasting the name on his tongue, and Soap kind of wishes he would choke on it. “Scottish?” 

This question is directed to him, not that Soap has the intention to give away information to anyone, especially not to this mountain of a man. So he keeps quiet, channels all the confusion and fear into something deadlier, and hopes that his stare will be enough of an answer. Maybe he will drop dead if Soap wishes it hard enough. 

“Not talking? That’s a new one,” the man chuckles, dark and dangerous. His eyes flick down at Soap’s throat, and he could swear that the cool expression turns into something less hostile for a second. 

Soap’s hand moves on its own, and he has to force himself to remain relatively calm and collected when his fingers graze the underside of a collar. He grabs the heavy, offending piece snug around his throat, and by instinct, he gives it a tug. It doesn’t move, doesn’t give, and Soap suddenly feels like he’s robbed of air, trying his hardest to keep his breathing slow and measured. 

He can’t help the pathetic glance up at the man, as if he could expect help or sympathy from someone who looks very much like the man responsible for his abduction. And sure as hell, that momentary, confusing look is gone, and without saying anything else the Beta steps away, leaving Soap alone once again. 

He waits until he’s surely alone to grab the collar again, with both hands this time, ten fingers trying to pry it away uselessly until the soft skin on his neck is chafed, until his scent glands throb in pain. 

It’s insulting, it’s horrifying, the implications of it push Soap close to a real panic attack. He’s fucking collared against his wishes and consent, and that makes him feel dirtier than being a late-presenting Omega ever did. 

He didn’t ask to be one. Didn’t ask for any of this. 

He steps back from the bar, forces himself to look around some more. Soap has no doubt he’s to stay here for a long time, and knows how much of a difference small details and information can make if used wisely. 

So he concentrates on mapping out his holding cell, for the lack of better words. It’s small, no more than twelve feet long and half as wide, barely enough room for a cot, and honestly not much else. It doesn’t smell filthy at least, small joys in life never get past him. There is no cover or pillow, though, Soap notices with a frown, eyeing the folded-up blanket in the middle of the mattress. 

And that’s all he can find out for now, Soap isn’t above admitting defeat. He opts for walking up and down, without a word until his legs give out, until he accepts that he’s not going anywhere.

Only then does he choose to sit in the corner of his cell, the concrete floor cold under him. It’s not giving up, far from it.

His captors have no idea about the resilience John MacTavish is capable of.

**

Soap wakes with a startle, an incessant noise making him shoot up and scramble to pull himself together, his subconscious preparing him for a fight. 

There’s a man standing in front of the bars, a different one than last night. Stocky, dressed in black, must be a requirement, Soap thinks with a scoff under his breath. This one is nowhere near as tall as the Beta from the night before. Or scary, for that matter.

What he is, Soap quickly decides, is mean, hitting the bars with an O-ring full of keys. 

“Come on, mutt,” he orders, snapping his fingers when Soap doesn’t move quickly enough. 

“Wh–” 

“Didn’t say you could ask questions,” the Beta interrupts, harsh enough that it keeps Soap silent. He’s been getting used to keeping it shut anyway, even if he has so many things to ask, so much he wants to know. 

But he doesn’t dare to say more, not even as the cell door opens and he is walked down the corridor. Soap gets to have a look at his surroundings, a priceless opportunity to learn more about where he is and how he could try and get out. 

It’s not a shock but still jarring to see that he’s not the only one imprisoned. Other Omegas are kept in similar cells, all of them much younger than Soap. He knows he’s a truly late presenter with his twenty-nine years, well past the average, and one of the reasons his father was beside himself when Soap’s traitorous body finally decided to throw him into a mild heat. Almost thirty years down the drain, he said. Nurturing and teaching Soap to become the Alpha he never got to be. 

Maybe he would have taken it better if Soap’s body chose to do things right and on time. Maybe his father could have forgiven him for this ultimate betrayal if he could produce heirs. Soap was told his chances are low like this, a late-presenting Omega’s body is usually not fit enough to carry pups anymore.

Still, his da might have forgiven him. But then again, Soap reminds himself as they pass the others, his father has never taken kindly to Omegas. It makes Soap wonder if his old man approved of a place like this. If he thought this was where Omegas belonged. 

“Here,” the Beta nods at an open door, and Soap peaks inside. It’s a common bathroom with several stalls, no privacy curtains, only tiled walls separating each. “Go on now, don’t have all day.” 

Soap frowns as he steps in, the place somehow even colder than the cells, damp and smelling like mold. He doubts getting clean in a place like this is even in the cards. Not that he has a choice, the Beta is pretty clear on that. 

Soap is told to strip so he does, but not without pulling a face, his captor sighing annoyedly, pushing him under the showerhead and turning it on. Soap curses as ice-cold water hits him, and he’d move out of its reach but the guard crowds him, filthy boots on slick, slimy tiles. 

“‘s cold,” he dares to complain, already shivering. 

“Make it quick then. Can’t help that filthy Omega stench anyway.” 

Soap has no idea what comes over him. He’d normally tell the fucker that at least he smells like something apart from day-old sweat, would mouth off the Beta for being entirely too cocky for someone his stature. But under the cold spray, standing barefoot on that disgusting floor, his eyes sting with tears he wants to shed. 

It’s humiliating, being naked in front of the man, stripped of his dignity as much as his clothes. Soap has never been one to boast, not an ounce of real Alpha pride in him. He was always good at pretending, content with what he had and who he was. It was enough to get by, to take home whoever he wanted and indulge in his little secret of being fucked rather than be the one that does the fucking.

In hindsight, he should have known it’s not normal Alpha behaviour. And the Beta bullying him around awakes that small part again, the Omega in him that demands a different kind of respect. After all, without the lesser gender as his da called them so affectionately, the order of nature would be fucked. Omegas are the ones giving birth to Betas and Alphas, they are the ones raising them. That has to count, right?

So why has him being one only brought pain? Why is he locked into a cage and forced to bare his arse for someone as cruel as his guard? 

“Don’t embarrass yourself,” he hears the Beta’s voice over the water, realising that he could not keep the tears at bay. “You’ll have a hard time if a cold shower is all it takes to make you cry.” 

Soap should probably throttle the man but is too busy not thinking about what that means. The one question he needs an answer to. What is he doing here? He looks at the Beta, forcing his wobbling lips to still, waiting for more, for guidance. But the Beta smiles, a vicious, cruel sight, no sympathy behind those eyes. 

Soap resigns to his fate for now, giving himself a perfunctory scrub, face aflame as he feels the Beta staring him down the whole time. He doesn’t get a towel to dry off, having to put his worn clothes back on is just another form of humiliation, Soap guesses, cringing at the feeling of the once dry shirt and pair of tracksuit sticking to his skin. 

Still dripping, he’s walked back down where they came from, Soap’s breathing quickening as they get closer to the cells, an overwhelming need to flee while he can. An idiotic notion, he knows that, but it doesn’t stop Soap from stopping in his tracks, the Beta crashing into him from behind. 

“Don’t take me back,” he pleads uselessly, a mean squeeze on his shoulder telling him all he needs to know. He’s going back into that small, cold cage, and the idea of it makes cold sweat break out on the back of his neck, right under the heavy collar. 

“Move it,” the Beta growls, an impotent sound if Soap ever heard one but he knows better than to comment on it, especially not when another guard joins them. The big one from earlier, dressed in black head to toe, of course, and Soap could swear he’s not the only one tucking his metaphoric tail behind his legs at the sight. 

“Got an issue, Masters?” he asks, that heavy northern lilt in his voice that now reminds Soap of home for a fleeting second instead of stupid trysts. He looks at Soap, dark eyes boring into his, leaving him flustered. He really shouldn’t test this one’s patience– Soap might be large for an Omega but has absolutely nothing on the man. 

“All yours to deal with, the whining bitch,” the Beta snarls, leaving Soap with the other. He flinches on instinct when the man moves, but there’s no impatient touch, no painful grabbing and pushing. 

The man’s fingers barely brush against Soap’s back, turning him in the right direction. Neither of them talk, Soap afraid to speak again, the Beta clearly not interested enough to listen, anyway. 

At least he’s not making it worse, Soap thinks as the lock is turned behind him and he’s left alone again. He doesn’t speak when the same guard brings him food after a while, leaving it untouched. Soap might be an Omega but he isn't a fool. The Beta can stare all he likes, he does, but Soap isn’t eating any of that questionable stuff.

They took away his freedom but Soap will make sure that anything that comes after that will happen on his own terms.

**

Soap’s own terms don’t work out as well as he hoped.

A day or two goes by just like his first one. He doesn’t accept food, only water when it comes bottled. He gets his daily showers, cold water and disgusting tiles under his feet, then goes back to his cell without a complaint.

The truth is, he’s not speaking at all, using whatever energy he has to observe how things work. He’s woken by the shorter Beta, Masters, who escorts him to the showers and back before he goes around and hands out breakfast. Soap leaves it, scowling when his stomach grumbles in hunger, thinking about his mam’s stews and puddings.

Afternoons and nights seem to be the other Beta’s territory, he comes in just in time for the second meal of the day. Soap notices how the Omegas are livelier when it’s him who hands out food, the man himself even saying a word or two to each.

Not to Soap, and the fact doesn’t go unnoticed. Soap assumes it’s to accommodate his own silence, a routine quickly forming between the two of them. The Beta places food on the small ledge of the slot in the door, watches as Soap ignores it, and moves on after a few moments.

It’s getting harder, refusing everything he’s given. Soap knows he should eat, preserve his energy, but he’s too caught up on his idea of getting out before hunger wins over. So he watches, intently, as the two guards walk up and down with a set of keys attached to their hips. And Soap starts to think he could take it, snatch it off their belt if he managed to get close enough. If he could just find a way and cause some commotion, he could do it.

He decides to try his luck on the third evening of his stay. Stands when the Beta walks up to his cell, a change apparently so striking that it earns a surprised hum. He steps forward then, playing his part, an agreeable prisoner. He focuses on the Beta’s every movement, the way he plants his feet in front of the bars, his hands occupied with the tray he holds. 

“Fuckin’ finally,” he sighs, looking equally unbothered and delighted by Soap’s apparent cooperation. “Thought your plan was to starve yourself.” 

Would be better than whatever that’s waiting for me here, Soap thinks, taking another tentative step closer to the bars, to that damn hoop on the Beta’s hip. He tries not to look at the food much, however loud his stomach grumbles in protest. The Omega in him keens for nutrition and warmth, but Soap pushes down both needs with sheer willpower. He will eat once he’s out of here. He’ll find a warm bed to crash into when he’s a free man again. 

Another step and the Beta lifts the tray in his hands. It’s not much, a bottle of water and a cold sandwich, and Soap could wolf it down in a minute, and just the thought of it makes him groan in desperation. He takes a calming breath, fixing the keys, and before he could think it over and change his mind, he leaps forward. 

He goes right for the hoop, his biggest mistake in hindsight. Too bad he doesn’t have that when he needs it, because the second he moves, so does the Beta. The tray gets dropped, right in front of Soap, and an arm, much stronger than anticipated, pulls him into the cold bars. 

Soap is stuck, face mushed against iron, fingers digging into his forearm as he’s being held effortlessly, his struggling useless. The Beta growls at him, a sound that doesn’t match his stature, but stills Soap all the same. 

The man leans in, eyes dark and dangerous, looking borderline disappointed. “Just what the hell were you thinking, pup?” 

Soap swallows hard, but can’t keep his mouth shut, “Not a fucking pup.” 

The first words he’s spoken since his capture and Soap sounds like he’s swallowed gravel, his poor vocal cords ache as he tries hard not to sound like a pouting child. 

The Beta seems just as surprised by his sudden talkativeness, if only for a second, raising an eyebrow. Then it’s gone, just like that first time they met, as if the damn brute had a second set of personality with a trace of kindness. Too bad Soap gets to see the bad one more. 

“Then don’t act like one,” he snarls, tugging on Soap’s arms for good measure. “Lucky it’s me you tried to play, would be a shame if your pretty face got all beaten up.” 

Soap frowns, he’s been pretty sure the man in front of him was the brave choice. And the Beta seems to read his mind, maybe he does, because he lets out a condescending laugh, “There are a lot of worse things here than me, Johnny.” 

The name is like a slap on the face, reminding him of his gran, that sweet old woman, the last who dared to call him that. It always sounded sweet and like home. Coming from the Beta– it tastes like acid, a desecration of memories kept hidden and deep beneath his chest. 

Soap can’t help the way he shows his teeth in defiance, lips pulling up to reveal tiny, sharp canines. Another bad habit he’s picked up during his life in an Alpha-dominated household. Bad for an Omega, he supposes, and his captor seems to agree; he tsks, all dark eyes and mean smile. 

“Bad puppy.” 

“Get tae fuck,” he barks, pulling on his arms with a greater force this time, and promptly landing on his arse as he is released from the hold. 

Soap is prepared for more ridicule, but it never comes. Instead, the Beta stares him down without a word, eyes flicking back and forth between his defeated body and the pieces of a once surely stale sandwich scattered on the floor. 

The man takes the hoop of keys off his side, and for a moment Soap is sure he’s about to get cornered in his cell and beaten for his stupid decision. It would serve him well, in all honesty. The Beta was right, what was he thinking, taking on the biggest, most terrifying guard? And for what, a slim chance of escape at best? 

But beating comes, the ring is secured in a breast pocket, the Beta staring at him for a long minute before he simply leaves. 

Soap is alone, once again. He could cry, he’s so damn tired and hungry and constantly on edge. And he feels stupid for ever thinking he’d be able to pull it off. For being stuck in this hellhole, nobody giving him an explanation or a good word. 

Fuck, he misses his family. The warmth of a home, his mother’s calming scent, even his father’s, that full-on Alpha musk that always meant safety. He yearns for them and that makes him reckless when he’s supposed to be calm and calculating, forming a new plan that would work and give his freedom back. 

But Soap can’t even do that right. And now a single nickname makes him miss his gran, too, who he hasn’t thought of for too long, and the shame of it is what finally pushes him over the edge. 

Soap cries on the floor where he was left, tears rolling down his face burn as he pulls his knees to his chest, burying his head so he can forget where he is just for a minute. He tries so hard not to give in to the fear gnawing at him, or to the hunger that slowly eats his stomach away along with his strength, knowing that his sanity will be next. 

Maybe he deserves it all. Maybe this is where he belongs. A useless, good-for-nothing Omega. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when something knocks against his shin. He looks up, dragging a hand over his face to wipe away the pathetic tears, and growls in annoyance when he sees the Beta return. 

The man juts his chin towards him, a clear order to look. Soap does, hesitantly, and startles some when he sees a protein bar by his feet. He looks back at the Beta, can’t help the cautious surprise that must show in his eyes. 

Soap’s been raised a polite man, but he’d rather bite his tongue off than thank his captor for anything. So they stare at each other for what feels like minutes, and he remains silent. 

“Don’t fucking do this to yourself,” the Beta shakes his head in displeasure. “Just eat the damn thing.” 

It doesn’t sound like a command, still, Soap finds himself reaching out for the wrapped bar. He’s not doing it to please the man. It’s purely the right decision in his current circumstances. He needs to eat and gain back some of his energy, or else he’ll make more stupid decisions. 

So he takes it, curling his fingers around the plastic, deep down afraid that he’s getting tricked. The Beta watches him intently, a small nod of approval that doesn’t look half as reassuring as Soap would like it. But there’s that something again, a proof of conscience perhaps, as he raises his pointer finger and presses it against his lips. 

Keep it secret, the Beta mimes and Soap is helpless against his body’s subconscious answer, a nod of his own. 

He waits until he’s alone once again to open the protein bar. It tastes good, too sweet maybe, but Soap is at a point where he’d eat anything. That sandwich must have been even better, he thinks, mildly annoyed at himself for ruining food that is scarce enough as it is, but he couldn’t shake the fear that it wouldn’t be safe. 

It doesn’t make sense, killing him would go against the reason he is kept locked away, but hunger and fear make him paranoid. The protein bar is securely packaged at least, and Soap doesn’t think the Beta would go out of his way to feed him if it wasn’t in his best interest. 

The man is right, as much as it pains Soap to admit it, he can’t go on like this. Whatever happens, if he miraculously manages to escape or gets taken away, he should be in top shape. 

Just eat the damn thing, the Beta’s words ring in Soap’s ears. He could do that, done worse for less. Won’t admit it, though, he’s not about to give the satisfaction to any of those fuckers playing with his life and freedom. 

But maybe, just maybe, a single bar couldn’t hurt. 

***

Ghost wakes to the sound of his alarm, an hour earlier than he should. He groans as springs in the old mattress dig into his side uncomfortably, and he seriously starts to think it will be a broken back that takes him out and not a bullet. 

He’s getting too old for ops like this. It’s tiring on more than one front, the physical toll is only one part of it, as much as it pains him to admit. 

Ghost never really cared about what he was sent to do, who to kill, or, more likely than people would think, save. This current stint is just about that; Ghost reminds himself as he stands to start his morning routine in the small room he was assigned to more than a month ago. 

It’s a live-in job," Price had explained in his office, wincing, waiting for Ghost’s dismissal he was sure to come. “Undercover, to be more precise,” his captain said then, “we’re going after a group of Omega smugglers. Buying them off their families’ hands, selling the poor fuckers to whoever pays the price. You’ll be posing as a guard.” 

“In a place full of Omegas?” Ghost frowned, and he should have known that Price had it covered. 

“Shouldn’t be an issue for a Beta,” his captain smirked knowingly. 

“Not wearing those fuckin’ patches again,” he growled, Alpha command strong as ever yet completely useless against his CO, they both knew it. Ghost was not the kind of soldier to defy a direct order, definitely not when it came to someone like Price. Ghost had always trusted his captain, if he said this is what needs to be done, then Ghost would do it. But not without a carefully chosen word or two. 

“Don’t have much choice,” Price pointed out, “neither do those Omegas, being sold off to the worst of us.” 

Ghost couldn’t argue with that. Everyone knew there was a niche in the market for unbounded Omegas, and Alphas unable or unfit to mate tended to turn to illegal resources and force a bond on unwilling Omegas. And where there’s a need, there’s underground resources.  

It made something deep in Ghost growl in distaste. He was too old, never found his person, and gave up more than a few years back, resorting to one-night stands, mostly with himself. But his misfortune didn’t put a dent into his respect for Omegas that ran deep and hidden behind the strong Alpha role he’d assumed early in his adulthood. 

They were an important part of their society; their very existence depended on them. Everything good and pleasant in the world stemmed from Omegas and their innate need for peace and safety. How could anyone treat them like stock, Ghost didn’t even attempt to understand.  

So, it didn’t take much to figure out why Price chose him for their operation. 

“I know you will be kind to them in a place where nobody else is, Simon,” Price watched Ghost intently. “A few weeks tops, and we will extract you along with however many Omegas there are.” 

Ghost nodded, knowing a losing battle when he saw one. And knowing the magnitude of his role in the upcoming op, he wasn’t so keen on arguing anymore. He’d spent enough of his life locked up, if he could help even a single Omega escape, he wouldn’t say no. 

** 

A ‘few weeks’ turned into six, now that Ghost counts. He’s in front of a small, filthy mirror, spiderweb cracks on it, courtesy of someone occupying the place before him. He goes through his routine as he does each day. Putting on the patches, changing them every few days in fear of someone sniffing him out. Ghost truly hates them, he wasn’t lying about that. Those things itch, he often wakes to scratched wrists and neck. He hates how it dulls his own scent, making him feel weaker somehow, turning him into an eerily believable Beta. 

And he despises the fact that he can’t wear his mask. That was one thing his employers didn’t agree to, the thing that nearly made him back out for good, hadn’t it been for Price’s words in his ear about helpless Omegas. It was a relief when they didn’t question his sheer size at least, growing taller and bulkier than any other Beta, but as it turned out the number of willing participants in such an unsavoury line of work were low as it is, making Ghost a needed asset. 

Blending in was easy after that, and even though Ghost hates every minute of it, he delivers the role well enough. Collecting data, names, and schedules, reporting it back to Price whenever it’s safe. Trying to memorize anything and everything he learns about the Omegas kept under lock, in the hope of locating them once they are auctioned off. 

It’s futile, he knows that, tracking down everyone complicit is neither the role nor jurisdiction of the 141 here. They will never go after each piece of shite Alpha who thought it decent to steal away another person, keeping them for their own enjoyment. Fuck, Price was right, sending him in for the job. The sheer hate he feels about the whole thing is what has kept him aware and careful. 

He’s well-tolerated among their prisoners too, and Ghost writes it up to the fact that however good an actor he is, he simply can’t be cruel to them. Strict, yes, when it is needed. Keeping those young things in line when they decide to be loud enough. But despite that, they seem to accept him and the orders he must give out. They are agreeable, scared enough to just follow whatever Ghost tells them to do. 

Except for that one. 

Only a few days ago a new Omega arrived during the night. Ghost was standing in the damp, cold corridor when they brought him in, still knocked out and limp as they threw him in his cell, locking the door to his new home. 

It started just like it usually does with them all. Soft cries in the night, confused sniffles, and helpless little growls. But something, something was different with this one. John MacTavish was bigger and older than any other Omega under Ghost’s hands, he noted as he shamelessly stared at the strange addition to their collection. Muscled, tall for an Omega but still far from Ghost’s height. A mohawk of all things is the only reason he doesn’t look his age, dark brown and unstyled as he lay unconscious on the bed he was thrown on.  

A pretty face sealed the deal, Ghost had to admit. No stark lines, but no Omega-soft features either. John is truly an interesting one, bound to be sold quickly to any Alpha loving something– extraordinary. 

A late presenter, he was told, sold by his own parents. It became clear soon enough that John has no idea, and Ghost has no intention of telling him anytime soon. He’s stubborn, has the unmistakable traits of an Omega raised without one, so sure of his pack’s integrity, not even questioning their loyalty to one of their own.  

But Ghost knows better, the reality of his situation, even if the Omega doesn’t accept it yet. He knows better than most that family isn’t a guarantee to safety, how little kindness and tenderness do to convince a disappointed father not to abandon their child. 

It quickly turns out that John is neither of those things. It takes two days for him to utter a word, all bark and then some bite to it, too. And just as many days to gather enough courage to try and steal Ghost’s keys off his person. 

That, or stupidity. So fucking obstinate, risking his life over a very slim chance of successful escape. He didn’t lie to the reckless pup, were it anyone else, he’d have been severely punished. Lowering his value and the chance to be matched with a half-decent Alpha, leaving him for someone who can’t even pay a good amount, horrible as it sounds. God knows Ghost has seen enough of that, brave little Omegas beaten half-dead for trying to escape, or simply on a whim during a boring shift. 

Ghost really shouldn’t care about what the Omega does, how he starves himself into wasting away. He shouldn’t. But there is something about him he can’t place that piques his curiosity. Giving him that protein bar was nothing more, Ghost tells himself, than protecting said value.  

He’s good at that, telling half-truths until he inevitably believes it too. 

Maybe it’s the ferocity that’s intended to be terrifying. Small, sharp canines peeking out whenever John snarls. Maybe the fact that with such a build and personality he would be an outstanding Beta, maybe even an Alpha. What a waste, Ghost wonders despite knowing better, thoughts etched deep after decades spent in an Alpha-dominated field. 

What a potential, he corrects himself, finishing up with his routine soon enough to have time for a quick cup of tea and a cheap cigarette. He gives himself one more minute to shed his distaste and put on a mask he has to wear.  

Riley, an unassuming Beta who knows his place, does as he’s told, watching over silly, helpless Omegas ready for slaughter. 

** 

The cells are cold. Ghost feels it in his bones whenever he’s stationed there for too long, hates how his joints go stiff and achy by the end of those days. He often finds himself wondering, in his own bed, how their captives hold on. 

The answer is, that he’s come to learn during his relatively short stay, they don’t. They give in, sooner or later, fight leaving their bodies. If it’s the prospect of their lives, the fact that they are to be sold, or the cold, he’s not sure. Probably the sick combination of it all. 

What’s worse than the iciness of their space is the silence. It’s usually livelier, Omegas trying to bond with each other in search of meaningful connection, whispered jokes shared, giving their names and stories freely, careless if anyone listens. 

It must be a bad batch, Ghost assumes, walking down the cells, giving out dinner that looks worse than the MREs he’s so used to. They are all silent, not a word leaving their mouths as they greedily take what they are given. 

He walks down to the last one where John is kept, not the least surprised to find him where he always is, the farthest corner of the cell, curled up to preserve body heat. Ruins of last night’s dinner scattered on the floor, untouched, just like the bed. 

John is not eating or sleeping enough, Ghost notes with a heavy sigh. 

“Something wrong with the bed?” he asks, offering up the tray and the food on it, knowing full well what to expect. 

“Not my own,” the Omega growls, surprising Ghost that he does speak again. He wasn’t counting on it after their little incident the other day. 

He shoves the tray through the small opening instead of an answer, looking expectantly at John, already used to his antics. And just like Ghost anticipated, they stare at each other in frustrating silence, John’s eyes are piercing blue, shining even in the poorly lit space. 

Has he been crying? Fuck, he really hates when they do that. 

“Eat,” Ghost offers, reigning in the foreign need to comfort the Omega, something he only reluctantly admitted to right on the first day of John’s arrival. This one does something to him, a strange sense of duty urging him to be more patient, more eager to care for the annoying brat he is. 

“Fuck off.” 

There it is. This must be the reason Ghost has taken a shine to him.  

Ghost cracks his neck in annoyance, wiggling the tray a bit to sell the stale sandwich. “What did I tell you about starving yourself, Johnny–” 

“Soap,” the Omega snaps, stomping even to make a point. 

What? 

“Soap,” Ghost repeats, stunned into confusion. Does he need– 

“‘s my fucking name. Not Johnny.” 

Soap is his name. Ghost doesn’t laugh, even if he should, because frankly, it’s as pathetic as nicknames come. “Duly noted,” he nods easily instead, giving it to John. “What did I tell you about starving yourself, Soap?” 

Ghost doesn’t expect the Omega to stand and walk up to him, quick on his feet even after days of captivity. This time the tray is snatched out of his hands, thrown against the wall and he barely has time to tear his hands out of reach before Soap could snatch him too. 

Fast, even like this. 

“Just tell me,” Soap begs, voice broken behind the mask of fierceness, and yes, he’s definitely been crying, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. “Why the fuck am I here?” 

Ghost doesn’t tell him, not sure how. Should he say, blunt as he’s expected, that he’ll be sold to someone he doesn’t even know? That if Soap is lucky, the Alpha may even be kind to him? It won’t spare him from any of it. 

Soap kicks the steel bars, curses Ghost out until he loses his voice, demanding an answer that he can’t give and knows Soap wouldn’t accept. So he stays with him, silent and useless as Soap collapses onto the cold floor, leaving him to it only when it gets too loud in fear of getting unwanted attention.  

He could have done a bit more for Johnny. Ghost keeps telling himself that he’s doing exactly what he was sent here to do. Keeping those poor Omegas safe, whatever it takes. And he does, not telling Soap yet is the best course of action here. The boy is too quick to anger, too unpredictable for Ghost’s taste. 

Still, as he leaves, there’s an uncomfortable pang of guilt. Ghost isn’t sure why it isn’t enough. Why he feels like he let down this Omega, this thorn-in-his side mutt who’s done nothing but give him a headache so far.  

A small voice in Ghost’s head tries to speak, something about turning back and making sure Johnny is fine. 

Ghost tells it to shut up.  

It’s not his job. Johnny is not his responsibility, no more than the other Omegas. 

** 

It’s late in the night when he finds himself by the cells again, silent steps echo between thick stone walls as he hands out trays. He feels the gaze of the few Omegas still awake on himself, the eerie silence following him like a bad omen. But he doesn’t stop until he reaches Soap, fuck if he knows why he’s even there again.  

Ghost wants to tease him maybe, reprimand Soap again that this little hunger strike will not get him anywhere. But when he sees the Omega, exactly where he left him earlier, on the floor by the bars, Ghost chooses silence. 

There is nothing to tease him for, nothing even remotely amusing about Soap’s wild expression. Anger, so much anger directed at Ghost, and he has the fleeting thought of gentling Soap, wishes for a second that he could use his Alpha voice to make him fucking listen. 

But Ghost can’t afford to out himself, certainly not for a misbehaving pup who can’t seem to comprehend the need to stay strong. What he can do though, following Price’s orders to take care of the Omegas any way he’s able to, is harmless enough. 

When he drops a chocolate bar at Soap’s feet the boy takes it without a word, fisting it so hard that it’s sure to be squished flat. It’s worth it though, Soap looks up at him with confusion in his eyes, finally something other than hatred, and Ghost isn’t sure why he is so relieved about it. 

“Thank you,” the Omega whispers, a quiet and broken sound. 

Ghost only nods, walking away with a strange sense of accomplishment, no bad feeling this time. 

** 

It becomes an unfortunate routine, much to Ghost’s dismay. Johnny, Soap, keeps refusing the meals he’s given by anyone else but takes Ghost’s weaning stash of sweets gladly. Mostly he keeps quiet about it, but sometimes he’s showing off what a hard case he can be, mouthing off at the man that feeds him. 

Like now. 

“Do you have more of those salted caramel ones?” he asks, mouth full of the apparently not-good-enough cranberry-flavoured bar. 

He’s become more talkative in Ghost’s presence, either as a form of gratitude for not letting him starve, or a supposedly clever way to learn what he wants. Whatever it is, Ghost feels his resolve crumbling, his promise to keep his mouth shut and himself away from the Omega weaker by the hour. 

So he’s there again, standing by Soap’s cell in the darkness, morning hours closing in on them. Ghost did his rounds earlier, he has no real reason to be anywhere near the cells. But if he’s being completely honest, he enjoys Soap’s presence. It’s a refreshing change from those guards he has to work with, cruel or simply fine with all of it. Joking around at the Omegas’ expense, awfully cocky for Betas. Ghost kind of wants to bash their pig faces in until they learn their fucking place. 

Soap, on the other hand, challenges him. His patience, among other things; Ghost quickly realised that the Omega tries to play him every time they interact, despite the predicament he’s in. He’s pushy, doesn’t know what’s good for him, but Ghost feels that there’s something more to the man, and it makes him come back again and again. 

“What, ‘s not tasty enough for you, m’lord?” he grumbles, nowhere near as stern as he’d like to be. Ghost has come to enjoy this side of the Omega too, needy and demanding without realizing it. 

“Liked it better,” Soap shrugs, taking small bites so he can enjoy it longer, licking over his fangs when he’s done. “Do I bother asking today?” 

“Asking what?” Ghost cocks a brow, knowing full well what. 

Soap doesn’t grace him with an answer, only a frustrated growl as shows his fangs again, the feral thing. 

“Don’t know what I could say,” he says, wishing Soap could believe him. 

It also wouldn’t hurt to believe himself too. If he could honestly say he’s keeping quiet about it because he has nothing to say. The truth is he doesn’t want to tell Soap, doesn’t want to risk the Omega turning right back into himself, into a shell of who he must truly be.  

Ghost likes this version better. 

“Just tell me, you giant fuck,” the Omega snaps, dragging a hand over his matted mohawk. “Give me something.” 

Ghost remains silent. Maybe Soap will give him something in return. More than his name, something useful he can file away for when they’ll have a chance to inform authorities about the abducted Omegas. Maybe this one can go home. 

It’s a bad fucking idea, Ghost knows that, but Soap deserves this much. So he doesn’t leave, even if he should, crouching by the bars to be at eye level. 

“What do you know?” he asks, voice low and inquisitive. 

Soap looks at him, surprised that wearing down Ghost seems to finally have come to fruition. He perks up a bit, looking awfully hopeful for someone in his position, and Ghost hates that he’ll only bring him down. 

“Not much,” the Omega says, deep in his thoughts as he keeps fixing the floor. “I remember being with my mam and da. We had– we argued.” 

“About what?” Ghost frowns even if it should be pretty easy to guess. Intel, he admonishes himself for asking irrelevant questions, but he can’t help it, wants to know the unimportant parts too. 

Soap points at himself, a sour laugh escaping his chapped lips. “My prospects. Failures,” he scowls, “how I stained our blood.” 

Ghost listens as Soap recounts his family’s reaction, and he just doesn’t get it, that Alpha pride that is blind to Omegas. How could they cast him aside, sell him to heavens know who? Soap gets on his nerves, sure, but he doesn’t deserve this. 

“Did they ever talk to you about how things go? After presenting?” Ghost finds himself asking against his better judgment, cringing as words tumble right out of his mouth. “Courting? Mating bonds?” 

“I’m not a pup, you fuck,” Soap snaps, “I know all that. Why the fuck does it matter?” 

Not a pup, still behaving like one. 

“Your parents,” Ghost continues, not feeding into Soap’s curiosity just yet, “were they home that night?” 

“I…yeah,” the Omega nods. “Stayed up late, left them in front of the telly.” 

He still doesn’t put two and two together. It’s loyalty, Ghost knows that, idly wondering just how much hurt and betrayal it can take. He shouldn't be the one to pop that bubble, it’s not his place. But Soap is quicker on the uptake than Ghost anticipated, that frown deepens as his head whips up, eyes a cloudless sky widening at the implications. 

“They wouldn’t,” he shakes his head, but it must sound weak even for Soap, averting his eyes as he defends his people despite the glaring evidence. It sounds very much like he has been thinking about just that. Like a desperate need to deny the undeniable. 

“Maybe they wouldn’t. But then again,” Ghost cocks his head to the side, “why didn’t they stop it? Why didn’t they defend you?” 

It’s not to agonize Soap, really, Ghost has no gain in that. But maybe if he pushes the Omega hard enough he will snap out of this nonsensical hunger strike and grow some balls to fight for himself. 

“I…” Soap stutters, visibly lost, “why?” 

Ghost wishes he knew, but he will never understand, so he offers what he can, another shrug as he sits on the cold floor, knees cracking ominously. He’s getting too old for this, the cold, the inability to help, playing his part in this nauseating scheme that brings so much pain to so many. 

Maybe that’s why he’s entertaining Soap’s little games, to ease the guilt that he can’t do more. 

“Fuck if I know, Johnny,” he drawls, the name slipping out unconsciously, the Omega tensing up once again but that’s all he gets. 

Good, he likes that one better anyway, Soap’s a stupid name. 

Fresh tears roll down his face that he tries to hide, turning his face away from Ghost as he tugs on the heavy iron collar. 

“Does it bother you?” he asks uselessly. Of course it bothers him, the Omega’s skin has been rubbed raw and bloody days ago, another thing to worry about. “Soap–” 

“Have you ever been collared?” 

“No,” Ghost answers, just the thought of it makes his oppressed Alpha growl in distaste.  

“Well, it’s no’ exactly fun if they do it without asking you.” 

If only he knew what else they wouldn’t ask him about, Ghost thinks, and the thought leaves a horrible taste in his mouth. His displeasure must show on his face, the Omega latches on it instantly. 

“You don’t like this either,” he states rather than asks, and Ghost feels like he’s been made. 

He really, really shouldn’t have given in to his inexplicable need to comfort Soap. 

“Doesn’t matter what I like, Johnny,” he offers, a simple truth that cannot be turned against him. 

This time he doesn’t even react to the nickname. 

“Aye, you still work for them, keeping us here,” the Omega scoffs. “Would it hurt to just tell me what’s next?” 

It could, technically. There is a reason why they don’t talk about it so soon after their arrival. Omegas tend to– lose themselves once they find out, so they are kept in the dark for as long as possible. Ghost had rather not watch this one give up already. 

Johnny rolls his eyes when he’s met with silence and tries again, throwing the balled-up wrapper Ghost’s way. Another bad habit he’s picked up, repaying leniency with childish games. “Alright…who are you, then? ‘s not fair that you know my name, but I don’t.” 

“That’s because you don’t need to know,” Ghost points out, throwing the Omega’s litter right back, aware of where this questioning goes. Johnny wants intel, too. He’s smart like that, Ghost will give it to him. That only, but not his name. 

He shakes his head, a barely-there movement that says watch it, and Ghost thanks his luck that his hearing abilities aren’t affected by the patches he keeps wearing. There are footsteps coming closer, giving him only enough time to stand, wiggling his fingers so the Omega can slip the wrapper into his waiting hand. No trace left behind. 

“The fuck are you doing here, Riley?” comes the unpleasant voice from down the corridor, another guard who spends too much time playing boss, in Ghost’s humble opinion. That, and making sure everyone knows his name. 

Fuck. Him. 

He makes the mistake of looking back at Soap who’s smirking victoriously, whispering ‘Riley’ under his breath before Ghost kicks the bar he’s holding onto. 

“What does it look like?” he shakes himself a bit, feeling his persona slip back right in place as he faces the guard. “Making sure they don’t die on your watch.” 

The smug bastard walks up right to them, Soap scrambling to stand and take a few steps back for good measure. Ghost has seen them interact before, and it’s clear that the Omega is afraid of Masters. And while Ghost knows how little it’d take to swipe that ravenous snarl off his face, he can’t deny it– the man is a risk for any locked-up Omega.  

“Found yourself a favourite, have you?” the Beta snorts, sizing up Soap in a way that Ghost doesn’t like in the slightest. Dangerous and hungry. 

The Omega feels it too, he’s pressing himself into the farthest corner, his preferred place, and opens his mouth. Ghost shoots him a glare before Soap can say something bratty, keeping him silent. 

Masters looks around the cell, humming as he notes the wasted food on the floor. “Still not hungry, are we? Not long now, little Omega.” 

“Until what?” Soap growls and charges forward, desperate for an answer. 

Ghost didn’t expect the guard to have it ready. 

“Why don’t you come with me and find out?” 

“What?” Ghost jumps in, physically barring the Beta from opening the door to the cell, frustrated, having no idea what’s going on and he has no one else to blame. He’s spent too much time down with the Omegas– with the one, admittedly–, putting his position and the whole operation at risk. If he stops being in the loop, if he loses track of what happens and why, he might as well go home. 

Fuckin’ hell. 

“Due for a check-up,” the Beta frowns, “what do you think I’m here for?” 

He’s sniffed out something, Ghost realizes, a pit forming in his stomach as he stares down the guard, dragging out the inevitable as long as possible. To give time to Soap or himself, Ghost isn’t so sure. But he has a job to do, a role to play here, and a single Omega can’t be his reason to fail, however much he’s come to enjoy their banter. 

So he steps aside, lets Masters bully in and grab Soap. He fights, of course he does. Curses them out as he’s dragged away, too weak to do real harm even if he’s just as big as the Beta. And Ghost feels those blue eyes on himself, shooting daggers probably, and he forces himself to look. 

It’s so much worse than that. It’s not hate, the way he keeps staring over his shoulder as he’s pushed down the narrow corridor. It’s a cry for help. 

And Ghost can’t give it to him. 

Chapter Text

“How are you feeling, John?” The woman in a white, medical robe asks him. Not unkind, but that doesn’t mean a thing here, Soap knows that. She too smells like nothing, no scent following her as she circles Soap with mild interest. 

He’s been better. Even a few minutes ago, before he was pushed into a cold wall head-first on the way to what seems like a doctor’s office, splitting open the skin just below his hairline. A punishment for being too loud and uncooperative, the Beta told him. ‘Know your fucking place,’ he said, delivering a bruising punch into his ribs that now burn in a way Soap’s sure at least a few are broken. 

So no, he’s not great, telling the doctor just that, wincing as his frown, perpetual at this point, agitates the cut on his forehead. He wonders if Riley would have treated him the same once he was out of his cell. He doesn’t think so. This one here, Masters, is nothing like Riley, he hasn’t heard a good word from him. It’s the same one that takes Soap for his daily showers, the one that stares at Soap’s naked body and laughs when Soap tries to cover himself. 

“That seems fresh,” she points to the gash that still oozes blood right into Soap’s eye. “Care to tell me about it?” 

Soap sees in the periphery of his blurred vision how the Beta moves closer, and sure, he knows his place here. 

“Tripped,” he answers, deadpan delivery useless against expertise. 

Her gaze flicks from Soap to the guard before she nods. “Should be more careful then.” 

Just another accomplice, Soap notes, making his choice about how acquiescent he’s going to be. Not very, that is. 

“Other complaints apart from being…clumsy? How’s your appetite?” 

“Just fine. Love those sandwiches,” he lies easily, wiping his blood away. “Good stuff.” 

The guard behind him huffs an annoyed laugh. They both know Soap hasn’t touched a thing they served him since he’s arrived and honestly, Masters should have already figured out that things don’t add up. Soap reminds himself of the look that the two Betas shared by his cell, and fears that the others are not as oblivious as he hoped.  

He doesn’t want to lose those moments with Riley, his only saving grace. 

“Very good, John. We need you healthy and ready.” 

He doesn’t ask, tired of not getting an answer. But the woman surprises him with being more straightforward than Soap expected. 

“Let’s talk about what’s next, shall we?” the doctor says, walking back to her desk, sitting in her office chair. “If you would,” she adds, jerking her head towards Masters. 

The man stays right where he is, what a surprise. Soap fixes the floor, shivering in the cold air that he will never get used to. She doesn’t wait long, shrugging her shoulders as she looks back at Soap. 

“Preferences?” 

He stares at her, a scandalised look on his face. “My what?” 

“Your preferences, John. What are you looking for in a mate?” 

“Not looking for anyone,” he seethes. He truly doesn’t, and frankly, Soap isn’t sure how it is relevant. 

“You are here to be matched up with a suitable Alpha, John,” she explains slowly, watching as Soap’s face morphs into a mortified look. “And we are here to make sure that your future mate is at least somewhat compatible with you.” 

This doesn’t make any sense, Soap’s mind reels. Then again, what was he thinking? Why else would they lock him up and keep him behind bars? Why else would his parents give up on him? Too old to be desirable, is what his da roared, demanding Soap to stay in the family home until they figured out what to do with him. 

Well, this is certainly a choice. 

“I don’t want to be matched,” he shakes his head, and he knows he sounds pathetic.  

“I’m afraid that is not up to you,” comes the answer, her voice clinical and to-the-point. “Keep that in mind when you answer my questions here, John.” 

Not up to him. It breaks him a little, cold dread seeping through his veins as he finally gets the answer he was looking for, wishing he never asked in the first place. Because all he feels now is pain and despair and the knowledge that it was his parents who sent him here. 

To get rid of him. The inconvenience of an Omega too old to find someone on his own. They sold him, sparing themselves from the annoyance of having to deal with it all. Soap’s mind fills with pictures of his future. Living with someone who paid for him, sleeping next to someone, getting fucked by someone who thinks of him as property.

His heart rate picks up along with his breathing, and before he knows he’s standing, looking around for an exit, for a way to escape. He could take the doctor, she’s a small woman, maybe he could snatch a scalpel and wound the Beta too, to buy himself time to find a way out. 

Soap doesn’t hear Masters move but feels a hand curling around his nape, a warning to stand down. And he must be deep in his panic because he does as he’s instructed, sitting back on the chair, silent tears rolling down his face as he turns his head towards the doctor. There’s no use in fighting, a submissive part, that damned Omega in him suggests. Just let it happen. 

“John–” the woman over the desk starts, but Soap’s had enough. He will play along for now, had more than enough pain and heartbreak for the day. 

“Men,” he whispers, waiting for the same spit of hatred, that slap across his face he got from his father many years ago. The lesser one of his many mistakes. 

It never comes, only a nod with an encouraging smile. “That’s good. Continue.” 

“Tall,” Soap complies, mostly just to say something in fear of punishment. Fuck if he knows what he really likes, never been one for really looking beyond finding the tallest, strongest one that was happy to cater to Soap’s uncomely tastes. That being said, he does have a type. “Dark eyes.” 

A flash of Riley invades his mind. Brown eyes always lingering on him, somehow different from the other guards. Something exciting in the way he stays around and makes sure he eats at least something. Almost looking out for him. 

“Kind,” he adds quietly, wishful fucking thinking. He misses kindness, good words. Anything that could remind him of home, even if the betrayal of his own pack slowly burns a hole in his heart like acid burns through flesh and sinew. 

The doctor nods along, jutting down every word dutifully. “Here’s hoping, John. Now…your file says you haven’t had your first heat yet, is that correct?” 

Soap’s head sways, left to right, getting more detached by the minute. 

“I’d like you to keep an eye on yourself. Any fever, loss of appetite, or heightened need for nesting should be your first signs to watch out for. It’s desirable to have you meet our clients at the beginning of your heat cycle, should you have one, so if it comes to that, it’s important that we act in time. Do watch out for him, will you?” she asks, not from Soap this time. 

He goes through the rest of the exam on autopilot, answers every question, and doesn’t ask any in return. Knowing his place. The procedure is harmless, perfunctory mostly, but it still makes Soap’s skin crawl. He’s measured and weighed, asked more about his family history and past relationships, and when they are finally done, he can’t wait to be led back to his cell so he can close his eyes and sleep. 

As the guard pushes him forward when they walk down dark, unlit hallways he has time to think about what’s to come. If what the doctor said is true– and why would she lie about something like that– things are less than ideal. 

Soap doesn’t know how he imagined his life as an Omega, his presentation still too fresh, but being sold was never in the cards. He didn’t assume, at least. But he also never thought that his parents, his mam, would let it happen.  

His mother who was always the kinder one, telling Soap to be patient when years kept passing. ‘You’ll get there, darling,’ she’d say when Soap got restless. He’d wanted so badly to be like them, strong and imposing, worked out relentlessly to at least look like his father. A strong Alpha, not an unnecessarily pumped-up Omega. 

“Will you behave yourself?” Masters asks him as he pushes Soap through the cell door, going in after him. 

“Aye,” he nods, still not fully present, legs weak and unsteady. 

“Speak fuckin’ English when you talk to me, mutt,” the Beta snarls, digging mean fingers into Soap’s side as he’s shoved against the wall once again. He can’t help but cry out as pain flares up, robbing him of air. 

“Yes,” he hisses through gritted teeth, trying his best to stay calm. Maybe the Beta will leave quicker if he just does as he’s told. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” comes a dark chuckle, “keep being good and we’ll get along just fine.” 

Soap seriously doubts it. 

“And eat your fucking food or I will force it down your pretty throat,” Masters adds, and that he can believe. 

Soap gets another friendly pat on his poor ribs before he’s left the fuck alone, allowed to finally crumple onto the concrete floor and break. He doesn’t want to cry, but he can’t hold back that painful wail that he’s been keeping in for so long. 

Soap hurts in more than one way, his head throbs as he claws at the dressing of his head wound the doctor applied, tearing it off in the hope of an infection. Maybe if he falls sick, they won’t make him– if he is not presentable, they might let him go, right? 

And he knows it’s useless, but Soap rubs his dirty hand into the cut anyway, forcing it to reopen and bleed, uncaring of the pain it brings on. He doesn’t hear the footsteps approach and doesn’t see the man appear in front of his cell until he speaks. 

“Johnny?” 

He looks up, eyes locking into Riley’s and for a fleeting moment Soap can see the horrified look on the Beta’s face, almost as if his beaten-up state was too much for him to bear. Then it turns into anger, and Soap should have known. 

Riley told him countless times to look after himself, to feed and sleep enough, and maybe he should have listened to the man. If he had, maybe he wouldn’t have provoked that punch. If he’d done better, been better, Riley shouldn’t have to look so angry now. 

Above everything, that is what hurts Soap the most, that he disappointed the only person here that gave a shit about him. Because he knows Riley doesn’t have to smuggle him food or keep him company as often as he does. Soap has been watching and listening long enough to see that the Beta only does it for him. Not sure why, but he does. 

And now he’ll lose it, too. That last flicker of kindness lost to Soap’s stupidity. 

“The fuck happened to you?” Riley asks him, ice cold, but his gloved fingers curl around the bars with such a force Soap swears they are about to snap in half. 

He doesn’t know how to answer. What can he say that won’t bring more pain? What is he allowed to say without being punished? 

He has to play it safe. “I fell,” he croaks, voice breaking on that single word when he sees that Riley doesn’t believe him. “Tripped over my feet.” 

“Come here.” 

There is something in Riley’s voice that makes Soap comply, he stumbles over to the man, guarding his side with his hand, something the Beta hones in on straight away. 

“Show me,” he’s telling Soap more than asking, and Soap doesn’t have it in him to argue or talk back. 

He lifts his shirt gingerly, showing the bruise that’s already forming, averting Riley’s eyes in fear of that anger directed at him. 

“You fell?” The Beta asks, voice low and hushed. “Looks like you were kicked in the side.” 

“I– I swear,” Soap shakes his head, staring into those brown eyes to make him believe, to not take it out on him. “I did this to myself–” 

Soap hears himself losing it, breaths coming too quickly and he tugs down his shirt, eyes darting all over the place. He can’t react as Riley reaches out and grabs his jaw, turning his head to look at the wound. Soap whimpers under the scrutiny, readying himself for more pain but it doesn’t come. Fingers hold him still as Riley, seemingly deep in his thoughts, keeps staring at him. 

“Let me help you.” 

Soap blinks his eyes open, sucking in an unbelieving breath. The Beta isn’t better off, looking like he’s even more surprised to hear himself. “That cut needs to be cleaned,” he adds, more reserved but still holding Soap, surprisingly gentle. Then the hand retreats, and so does Riley, walking out of Soap’s sight. 

He stands there, confused and cold, wishing himself away from it all, still unable to move. Soap doesn’t want to go back to the doctor’s office, he doesn’t want Riley to call Masters again. But he can't do a damned thing, waiting until Riley is back with a small first aid pack in one hand, keys to the cells in the other. 

Maybe he doesn’t have to go anywhere, he thinks, shooting an admittedly fearful look to the Beta when he moves to open the door, stopping the man halfway through. 

“You prefer doing it yourself?” he asks, offering the pack for Soap to take. 

Soap considers his chances here. While Riley doesn’t seem like he wants to punish him, he’s been in a fight or flight mode for days, maybe weeks now, seeing danger in the smallest movements. Riley hasn’t done much to ease his apprehension either, apart from giving him scraps to survive. 

He hasn’t beaten you bloody, a hopeful voice supplies, and Soap lets it lead, just for a while. He steps out of Riley’s way, head low, watching from under his lashes as the Beta steps in, closing the cell door behind him. 

“Brought you an ice pack, too,” Riley says as he directs Soap to sit on his cot. “For your ribs.” 

Soap takes it and pushes the gel pouch to his aching side, the cold feels downright icy on his heated skin. Riley stays on his feet, leaning down to tend to Soap’s wound. 

Soap uses those few seconds to silently study the Beta’s features. He’s handsome, if a bit rough, frowning as he focuses on the task. He’s older than Soap, by at least a couple of years, and being this close to him Soap can’t help but calm down a bit. Riley isn’t there to hurt him. 

First comes a wet wipe, removing the dirt Soap rubbed in, perhaps a bit rougher than he’d like but he doesn’t complain. Then Riley pulls off his black glove, replacing it with a white medical one, and Soap flinches as the man rubs some kind of ointment into the cut. 

“Steamin’ fuck, you wanks–” 

“Careful now,” Riley pulls back, raising an eyebrow, but his face lacks any kind of hostility. 

“Sorry,” Soap tries to defuse the bomb that his big fucking mouth set off, biting his tongue for not being more careful. 

“Hurts?” The Beta asks instead of teaching him a lesson, shaking his head as he gets back to the task. He looks mildly annoyed at most, but Soap doesn’t miss how his movements turn even more attentive. 

“Stings a bit, ‘m sorry,” he repeats, wincing as it earns an exasperated groan from Riley. 

“Stop saying that, ‘s not your fault.” 

“How do you know? Could have talked back,” Soap squirms in his cot, the fingers on his jaw tightening a bit. 

“To the wall,” comes the dry answer, not convinced in the slightest. 

“Aye, annoying wanker.” 

Riley groans, a voice awfully close to a stifled laugh. But he doesn’t say a word so neither does Soap, not even as the Beta finishes up, patting on his head to make sure the medical tape sticks. 

Soap, God knows why, leans into the touch, just for a fleeting second. He just needs to bask in this– this something resembling care and softness he’s been deprived of. And Riley doesn’t move either, letting Soap take it, the false sense of safety that brings no relief, only more pain when he eventually pulls away. 

It’s even worse that the Beta seems to avert his eyes as he packs up, rushing through it all, making it clear that he’s done. Soap wonders if he crossed a line, if that momentary show of weakness made Riley despise him. 

“If I bring you some food, would you please fuckin’ eat it?” 

Alright, maybe he doesn’t.  

Soap is hungry, more than he’s ever been, and just the thought of another one of those protein bars makes his stomach growl in anticipation. He nods, watching Riley walk away then come back not long after, a packet in his hand. It’s some kind of ration, still sealed shut. 

It takes some talking-to before Soap accepts it, his hunger overriding the probably baseless fear of being poisoned, and once Riley prepares it, he scarfs down the whole thing greedily. Some kind of bland curry, still tasting divine, a much-needed change from the scraps he’s been surviving on so far. 

Once he’s done and Riley takes back the now empty package and the funny-looking spork, he feels a bit lighter. The Beta doesn’t grill him about what happened or what the doctor said. They both know, there’s no use in pretending otherwise. 

They talk a bit more, Riley keeping him company for a while. It’s nice, considering the alternative, and the Beta doesn’t seem to mind, either. Soap knows he should be just as careful around this one, hate him more for keeping him in the dark about the ploy that is being played against him. 

But the fact is, Riley is genuinely kind to him, in his own, brutish way. He doesn’t get off on Soap’s vulnerability and evidently doesn’t like being there much more than he does.  

Soap wonders if Riley likes him. 

Because, to his own horror, he starts to. 

** 

Riley comes back more after that night. 

Stays longer too, telling Soap something about them being one guard down, having to pick up more shifts in their stead. Soap doesn’t believe it, not with the Beta spending most of his extra time exclusively around his cell, a detail that Soap is confused by but unwilling to mention. 

It feels nice, having company. Riley doesn’t talk much but he asks; routine questions when he comes around to bring food, the personal ones saved for when he seemingly sneaks back after his evening rounds. 

Soap has learnt the sound of his boots by now, deceivingly silent on concrete floors as Riley walks up to him after the lights are turned off. He’s not excited when the Beta appears, he really isn’t. But Soap– he doesn’t want it to end. He enjoys Riley’s attention, craves it more and more. 

He snaps less when the Beta calls him Johnny. Likes it even, if he’s being honest. Soap plays into it, gets more agreeable because a part of him always fears that Riley won’t show up again. That he’ll have enough of Soap’s constant nagging and his impudence. Soap doesn’t know why he’s being like that, not when it comes to Riley, anyway, so he tries to be better. Be good, for Riley, so the Beta doesn’t realise he’s not worth it. 

Soap suspects the shift in their relationship isn’t as one-sided as he first thought. He notices small details, the way the man looks at him when he doesn’t know Soap is watching. First, he plays it off to his mind doing tricks. He dismisses the smiles Riley tries to hide more often too, ducking his head whenever Soap says something purposefully outlandish just to get a reaction out of him. 

So, just to test he’s not going crazy, Soap lowers his walls, carefully, one brick at a time. One night he finds himself sitting by the cell door, Riley mirroring him, and Soap isn’t sure he’s ever felt closer to anyone than the Beta when he gave in and simply sat with his prisoner. 

They talked that night, not for long and not too deep, both afraid that someone would see them. Soap isn’t dumb, he knows that Riley shouldn’t be there. Understands the risk the Beta is taking and isn’t sure that he deserves the potential sacrifice. 

He needs to know why Riley seems to be glued to his cell, why he spends time getting to know him when there is just no use to it. Whatever they have here– however much this lie feels like a lifeline, it’s just that. 

A lie. 

One that he still holds onto, tooth and nail. 

** 

“Ever been outside Scotland?” Riley asks the next night, breaking the silence that Soap welcomed him with. 

He’s not in a good mood, conflicted and confused, mad at the whole damn world. But the second the door down the corridor opened Soap was on his feet, that small part of him reeling that Riley is there again. For him, and no one else.  

“Why would anyone be anywhere else?” Soap perks up a bit, walking up to the cell door, looking at the Beta. “Have you seen all those lochs? The hills? Those handsome cows?” 

“Can’t say I have,” Riley shakes his head, lowering himself to the now-usual position, back to the wall, looking at Soap expectantly. “That pretty, huh?” 

“Aye,” he nods, his accent slipping a bit, earning a raised eyebrow. “What, haven’t met a Scot either?” 

Riley hums, now eye-to-eye with Soap who’s taken his regular spot on his side of the cell, head knocking into the bars. Pretending once more, a poor imitation of a normal conversation under normal circumstances. 

“Not one like you, that’s for sure,” the Beta grumbles, and Soap hates how the admission makes him shiver. Every time Riley says something like that Soap dares to trust he’s not making things up. 

And it makes him a bit pissed at the man too, playing with his feelings like that. He can’t possibly know the chokehold his words have on Soap. 

“Well, you’re missing out,” he teases carefully, a bittersweet smile on his face. Riley seems to want to say something too, and Soap can’t help but dread the response to his pathetic attempt at banter, so he adds quickly, “So, are we still in Scotland? 

Riley stares at him for a long second, tired eyes meeting Soap’s, almost black in the low light. “No,” he says after a beat of silence, looking awfully close to remorseful. 

Soap nods, not that surprised by the answer. “Ah,” he tries to play it off, but the way his voice wavers gives him away. “There’s a first time for everything.” 

He means it as a joke, to take away from the edge and the hurt he feels. Hurt and fear that he’s somewhere far from home, and if he ever gets out, he’ll be alone and stranded on unknown grounds. 

Riley must sense his dismay, turning a bit to face Soap fully, a deep frown on his face. 

“My da always said I need to see more of the world, anyway–” 

“Fuck the world,” Riley spits, voice suddenly full of poorly concealed resentment. “And I don’t think your father wanted you in a place like this either.” 

“Well, if only I were an Alpha,” Soap wonders idly, shrugging in defeat. “Or a Beta, at least,” he adds, eyes flicking up and down Riley’s massive body. 

“That’s not how your worth should be measured, Johnny.” 

Soap rolls his eyes at the nickname Riley keeps calling him, a bit irritated with how the Beta seems to be completely oblivious to what it’s like to be him. To be completely at the mercy of others, of Riley too who does nothing but send mixed fucking signals. 

It’s too much, knowing that he’ll never get enough. Soap will never have someone like Riley who seems to at least try and understand him. 

Soap will never have Riley, and knowing that makes him want to cry. But because he has at least a bit of pride left, he does the next best thing and tries to prevent getting even more hurt. 

He chooses to challenge and let go of his stupid, naive idea that someone like Riley would want anything to do with him. 

“Why are you here?” Soap asks, voice low and trembling with anger and pain that he tries to hide, failing miserably. 

Riley’s eyes dart to his, seemingly unprepared for the question. Soap sees his jaw working in the darkness, probably trying to come up with another one of his half-assed excuses. 

“Got nowt better to do,” is what he lands on, and it somehow stings even more. 

Soap knows it’s not the full truth. The Beta doesn’t seem like the kind who’d waste time on an Omega unless it wasn’t truly wasting his time. And Soap wants to believe that Riley does it for him, that there is more to these secret midnight visits, words spoken softly into the darkness. 

“I don’t believe you,” Soap whispers, a flicker of anger behind the words. 

Riley huffs, exasperated, and Soap wishes he could see that face properly. It’s too dark to make out the Beta’s features in detail, but Soap dares to think he’s got Riley figured out. He knows how the man furrows his brows, how he grimaces when he doesn’t like something. 

“Don’t push your luck, pup,” Riley admonishes with a shake of his head, sounding tired, more than anything. 

“Not a pup,” Soap tells him, for the hundredth time since they first met. But unlike that first time, he finds himself smiling at the demeaning title. And really, the answer slips out without him thinking much about it. “Gon’ scruff me?” 

He expects a laugh, maybe a groan, but Soap isn’t prepared for the low growl that Riley lets out. Frustrated and dark, the sound only pulling Soap’s grin wider and something in his chest tighter. 

“Give me a reason and I just might, you little shite,” comes the answer after a beat of silence, that low, rumbling voice is laced with a stifled laugh. 

Soap huffs, searching Riley’s face on the other side of the bars, what he can see of it anyway. 

“I don’t like it when you’re mean,” he admits quietly, feeling very much like the pup the Beta keeps telling him he is. 

Riley turns to him fully at that, something very close to real concern in his eyes. 

“Johnny, I…you know I’d never do that, right?” Riley presses, “I wouldn’t.” 

He wants to say he knows. He does, Soap thinks, he knows that Riley isn’t like the others. He’s kind, has a sense of humour that makes Soap want to stick a knife in his ears half the time and laugh the other half. He wants to laugh so bad, to feel good about something in this horrid place, but every time he tries, every time Riley tells him something ridiculous, that careless sound gets stuck in his throat. 

Soap doesn’t dare feel good, not giving himself a moment of false safety. Because if he does, if he lets himself forget, even for a second, that his days as a free man are numbered, he’ll never survive it. 

But with Riley– it’s easy to be in the present. Soap knows it’s just his desperation speaking, playing dirty tricks with his mind but God, the Beta’s presence might be the only thing keeping him sane. If only he could tell Riley how much it means to him. How much he likes it when Riley shows up again and again, just for him. 

“Why?” Soap asks instead of spilling his heart, too afraid to allow himself honesty, but he needs to know. 

“Hm?” Riley hums, playing that game again where he pretends to be fucking oblivious, and Soap hates him for it a bit. 

“You come here every night,” he groans, some of that hopeless anger clear in his words. “Did they tell you to watch me or am I just that special?” 

I want to be special to you, Soap’s subconscious supplies, something he’s not ready to say out loud. But Riley must sense it somehow, breaking eye contact and dropping his head. 

“I don’t like the idea of them taking you again.” 

It’s an admission of his own, spoken so softly that Soap can’t be sure he’s heard it right. 

“So you stand guard?” 

“That’s what I’m here for, aren’t I?” 

No. That’s not all there is to this, he can’t be that fucking wrong about whatever they have between them. 

“Bullshit. Why do you care?” Soap snaps, standing from the ground, his palm slapping on the bars. It’s loud in the silence that surrounds them, and it makes Riley rise too, a frown evident on his face. “Why do you care what happens to me?” 

The Beta doesn’t answer and it only grates on Soap’s nerves. Every time Soap tries to ask what really matters the fucker goes mute, only the heavy gaze remains. 

“Johnny,” he warns, “quiet down.” 

“Fuck that,” Soap growls, “and fuck you, calling me Johnny like you give a damn about me!” 

Riley leans closer, chest heaving in unison with Soap’s as he stares him down. And still, he doesn’t say a thing, not what Soap wants to hear so desperately. He just– Soap needs to count, to be someone’s priority. It’s stupid of him to put that on Riley, Soap knows, but something in him latches onto those good words and twisted kindness. 

That’s why he tries one last time, reaching out for Riley through the bars that stand strong between them. He touches the Beta, just a brush of his chilled fingertips on that strong forearm. For a long second Riley seems to allow it, entertaining the thought of Soap being right. He turns his arm, skin smooth under Soap’s touch until their fingers slide against each other. And then he pulls away, taking a step back, breaking Soap’s heart with it. 

“I can’t afford that, and you know it.” 

It’s a slap in the face and Soap reels back, letting go of the bars before Riley has a chance to snatch his hand, the movement aborted as Soap staggers backwards. 

“Johnny–” 

“You should go,” Soap interrupts him, shaking his head. Riley’s dark eyes bore into him, face almost pained. The Beta works his jaws like he’s about to say something it clicks shut, another proof that Soap has been nothing. Whatever he wanted to tell Soap dies in his chest, of course it does. Whatever Soap wished to be true crumbles around them in the heavy silence as Riley nods with something awfully close to dreadful finality. 

“Good night, Soap.” 

The Beta leaving him has never felt more jarring, the void he leaves trying to suck in Soap as he walks back to his cot, defeated. He feels betrayed, lied to, even if Riley did neither. Maybe he’s right. It is his job to look out for the Omegas, for Soap, and anything else he might have imagined was nothing more than a pathetic attempt to belong to someone, to mean more than what he’s been reduced to. 

But Riley can’t give him that. Or won’t, it doesn’t make a difference. Soap is alone, left to his own devices in a world that’s out for him. Fucking stupid, he mumbles under his breath as he sits on the flimsy bed, a shiver working up to a steady tremble so strong his whole body shakes with it. 

He’s tired to the bone, and a splitting headache is the final straw that breaks him, silent tears submitting to gravity, his body to the bed he’s been avoiding. 

Fucking stupid, Soap growls, scratching bloody lines around the collar, his whole body itching to have someone, anyone close. A familiar scent to dull the constant ache that’s been building in his chest. He curses Riley for feeding into his delusion and himself for ever believing he could be more than a ward to that big bastard. 

That big, surprisingly handsome Beta with infuriatingly bad jokes and dark, dangerous eyes. Soap sees them when he finally keels over in the cot, still shivering. He sees them when he closes his tired eyes, red and swollen from the tears he’s spilt for someone who doesn’t care enough to admit that there is something more. 

And Riley’s gaze stays with him even in his restless sleep, watchful as ever, the Beta in his dream telling Soap sweet little lies while holding him close, swearing to never let him be taken. 

*** 

This thing with Johnny got out of hand. 

Ghost should have known, from the moment he laid eyes on the Omega, that he could be his undoing. And sure, it started off innocent enough with those damn sweets he’s been giving away. The talks he didn’t mind either, telling himself it’s nothing more than a way to keep Soap afloat. 

But Ghost didn’t anticipate the boiling rage he felt when Johnny came back bruised and beaten. The way his chest tightened when he saw the Omega. Johnny was so afraid of the Beta who sure as hell beat him, of Ghost too who would never put a hand on him.  

He had never felt a need to comfort anyone, never cared about a soul enough to want to be there. But Ghost definitely wanted to go back to that cell that night, to check and see if the bruises were getting worse, if the ice pack needed changing. If the cut on Johnny’s forehead had bled through the bandages. 

He tried to keep himself away, as much as he could. As long as he could. 

Which, in all honesty, wasn’t that long. 

There was that strange feeling, so foreign and unlike anything Ghost had ever felt. An itch under his skin that pushed him again and again to check on Johnny more, pretending to do an extra round at the end of the day. He took every chance, played it off as being dutiful. Tried to convince himself, more than anyone else, that he was doing it for the Omegas’ sake. 

Johnny turned out to be too clever for that bullshit, of course he did. He knew Ghost took a liking to him, maybe even before Ghost himself realised it. And the Omega took full advantage of the fact, he was sure about it. 

Those playful remarks on better days, annoying silence on worse. The only constant has been those mesmerizingly blue eyes, wide with fear or creasing with the ghost of a smile, but blue all the same. Ghost found he liked it the most about Johnny. He found himself wondering if that cold shade would change in the sunshine, if Johnny’s pretty face would light up, were he ever to walk away a free man. Ghost isn’t sure when he first started to imagine the Omega far from his cell, somewhere he would be free.  

Ghost wants to pay no mind to that voice in the back of his head that whispers about things he shouldn’t want. Things he can’t have. 

But the voice is relentless, goading him to return to Johnny day after day, just to see the Omega like it’s the last time he gets to lay eyes on him. Knowing each time may very well be the last moves something in Ghost, a protective streak he hasn’t known before. 

It is what brought him back to the cells last night too. Another chance to get to know Johnny a bit more, to learn anything that can help locate him once he’s taken. And learn everything else that he didn’t need to know, Ghost wanting to indulge in it a bit more. 

Johnny saw right through him, called him out on his bullshit when they ran out of reasons to spend the nights sitting by each other's side. And Ghost, in his infinite idiocy, couldn’t utter what he really wanted. To tell Johnny that he cared for him, God knows why but he did.  

He was too much of a coward, hiding behind duty, leaving Johnny broken and scared, the progress they made gone. The moment he pulled away from Johnny’s touch, the Omega turned into the same confused little thing he was when they first met, and fuck, Ghost hates to know that it is his fault. 

He also hates that Price seems to sense that something’s up. 

“How long until we’re done here?” he asks over the sat phone, tucked away from prying eyes in the safety of his room. Cold, missing that warmth his little talks with Johnny gave him, painfully aware of the damage he’s done. 

The most he can do now is try to bully Price into making the move. 

“Any minute now,” the captain tells him, just like he has multiple times in the past month. “Getting stir-crazy?” 

“Getting fed-up with being useless here, more like.” 

“You are anything but useless, Ghost. You are there to gather valuable intel and take care of Omegas.” 

Ghost huffs, his words bordering on insubordination. “Fuck that, Price, I can’t do shit here. I watch them getting taken, I watch them starve out of defiance, fucking beaten. And I can’t. Do. Shit.” 

“They got more violent?” Price asks, and it’s not the fucking point, Ghost wants to shout, he’s just so damn frustrated. 

“Just with the one,” he admits instead, lowering and levelling his voice in the hope it won’t betray him. “There’s this Omega, one of the newest. Gets on my nerves, I guess he couldn’t keep his mouth shut around others, either.” 

He cringes at how little it covers, how little justice it does to what Johnny has been through. Price only hums, and there’s something all-knowing in that gritty sound that makes Ghost itch for the mask he’s not allowed to wear. 

“Then make him, Ghost,” Price orders, “We’re getting close, practically waiting for HQ’s say so.” 

“Bull–” 

“Lieutenant,” he warns, audibly getting frustrated, too. How hard it must be for him, away from this shitshow, Ghost laments. “Don’t let them lose hope. We’re coming.” 

He tries to believe. But if it’s so hard on him, who knows that help is coming, how difficult could it be for those Omegas? Ghost wishes he could tell them. It would be easier, the promise of freedom would make them more cooperative. They could prepare. 

But Ghost can’t. Of course he can’t, that would jeopardize the outcome, could easily destroy everything he’s been working for. And he’s not about to risk their lives for sentimentality’s sake, no matter what. He just needs to pull himself together, forget about that one Omega, even if that’s the last thing he wants to do. 

** 

Just as he expected, Soap is quiet the next day. More reserved, barely acknowledging Ghost’s presence. He tries to act normal, like he didn’t break something in Johnny only the night before. But the Omega can’t be lured out of his corner with promises of food or light-hearted jabs, and Ghost is at his wit’s end about it. 

“Come on now,” he finds himself at Soap’s cell again in the evening, pockets stuffed with the very last of his protein bars. “Brought your favourite.” 

Silence. 

“Salted caramel,” he adds, hoping to earn at least a dismissive grunt. 

Still nothing. 

“Jesus, Johnny, what do you want?” 

That of course coaxes a reaction out of the Omega finally, a small sound in the back of his throat. Ghost takes it gladly, his fingers drum on the bars to keep his attention, and soon enough Soap raises his head. The bruise on his forehead is prominent even in the subdued lighting, and Ghost can see the slightest tremble that shakes the man. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, not liking the view one bit. 

“Cold. Think I caught something,” Soap mumbles, swaying even as he sits. 

He doesn’t look like someone with the cold. No, it must be something else, Ghost frowns, reaching for his keys before he can think better of it. He doesn’t care about last night and that Johnny sent him away, not when the Omega is in obvious distress. Soap doesn’t move when the door opens, not even as Ghost kneels before him. 

He reaches for the Omega, a careful touch, to feel his sweaty skin burning up, but that clouded look still doesn’t quite make sense. Something’s not right. Something that Ghost is missing. 

Soap leans into the touch, just so, a soft whine leaving his mouth as Ghost’s hand cups his face. “What’s wrong with me?” Soap croaks, his fingers curl around Ghost’s wrist before he can pull away. He feels the warmth of his feverish touch seep through his own skin, dangerously close to the patch he has to wear. 

He doesn’t make a move to sever the connection but holds Soap’s face, watching him intently, his slightly dilated pupils, glassy blue eyes. And this close, he catches the whiff of something different. 

Soap’s smell has changed. Ever so slightly, but this close to him it’s unmistakable. The sour taste of fear and stress is mostly gone, giving space to something much closer to what his real scent must be. It’s pleasant, a unique mixture of spices, maybe vanilla and caramel, of course. And an undertone of unmistakable sweetness that makes Ghost curse under his breath. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

“You’re going into heat,” he says, watching as it dawns on Soap, too. Blue eyes go wide with confusion then fear, a high-pitched whine slipping past trembling lips. 

“No,” the Omega shakes his head, “no, that’s not…I can’t do it here–” 

“Soap–” 

“Please make it stop,” he begs, clinging to Ghost even stronger, nails biting into his flesh. 

And Ghost would do it, spare him from going through his first heat alone. It’s not how things are supposed to happen. He should be in a safe place, surrounded by familiar people, his people. Their scents should keep him calm and sated, he should have the opportunity to nest and bathe in the attention of someone worthy. 

Ghost will forever blame the fact that he’s been on blockers for too long, but for a second he wishes he could help the Omega. Keep him close and safe, and make sure he’s getting whatever he needs. 

If Johnny had held on a bit longer, God, maybe he could have ridden it out far from this hellhole. 

“Calm down,” Ghost hisses, shaking Soap a bit to get his attention, “you have time.” 

They have time, Ghost keeps telling himself too, thoughts racing in his head. He just needs to think clearly for a moment, and Soap’s scent isn’t helping. His suppressed Alpha instincts stir somewhere deep, telling him to protect the Omega. 

His Omega. 

Fuck, that’s not right. 

“What are you feeling?” Ghost asks, voice clipped as he tries to keep calm and collected. One of them needs to stay on top of things, and it’s not going to be Soap. 

“‘M just cold,” the Omega mumbles, swallowing around his quickening breathing. “Nothing else I promise. Just need…” 

“Need what?” Ghost pats his sweaty nape just above the collar, “Johnny–” 

“Can you…get me one more blanket?” he shivers, tears running down his cheeks. “‘m sorry, please don’t let them take me–” 

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Ghost shakes his head, not even entertaining the thought of letting anyone else find out about this, standing to make the trip to his room and back as quickly as he can, but Soap still holds onto him. 

“‘s not how it’s supposed to happen,” he mumbles, head hanging low, “can’t do a damn thing right…” 

“What are you on about?” Ghost frowns, checking his back every few seconds, paranoid that they’ll be made. If anyone sees them like this, sees him comforting an Omega– but Ghost can’t leave Soap like this.  

“I shouldn’t be here.” 

Fuck, he really shouldn’t. 

“Please stay,” Johnny’s request comes as a surprise, through gritted teeth, and Ghost can’t seem to say no to it. To him. 

“Here, take this,” he says, kneeling back, hand still around Soap’s neck, breaking the connection between them only to pull the black jumper off and help Johnny put it on. It’s too large, almost ridiculously so, the hood covering half his face. Ghost pulls it back with a chuckle softer than their situation warrants, Soap chasing the drag over his head, leaning in relentlessly and smothering his face into the soft material of the well-worn, washed-out jumper. 

“Smells good,” the Omega drawls, Ghost glad that the blush on his face remains hidden in the dark. “Like you,” he adds, shivering still as he practically makes home for himself in Ghost’s embrace who simply lets him, pulling him closer and into a careful hug. 

He stays silent, cursing everyone responsible for Johnny’s confinement, for his suffering. Wishing he could help him more, make sure the perseverance with which the Omega has been holding it together wasn’t in vain. 

And he could, is the thing. Ghost knows what he could, should do, now that it’s becoming clear how little he wouldn’t do for Johnny. He swallows hard, it’s loud in the strange tranquillity that has fallen between them, a mutual understanding that this here is something they can’t have. Shouldn’t. 

But having Johnny hold onto him, his head tucked under Ghost’s chin and mohawk brushing against his face– he’s less and less sure about the reasons. 

Why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t Ghost, for once in his life, give in and accept that he too wants? God, he does. And maybe it’s that god’s intervention that he feels his watch buzz, again and again with a rhythm that he knows well, the one he’s been waiting for. There’s nowt to be gained here, no more information than Ghost has already acquired, and Price knows it too. Fucking acting on it, finally. 

The 141 is coming. 

Ghost takes a deep breath, blowing it out with a relieved sigh. They’ll make it. He pulls Johnny closer a bit, a final moment of peace before things are put into motion. Now that reinforcement is coming, Ghost can’t keep down the promise he’s been wanting to tell the Omega, spoken into the air between them. 

“I’ll get you out of here,” Ghost says, so silent that for a second he thinks not even Johnny heard it. But then, the grip that holds him close tightens even more, Soap’s breath hitching as he looks up from where his head is buried. 

“You’re not with them, are you?” he asks, confused and so, so scared. 

Ghost doesn’t care if Johnny knows. All he wants is to have the Omega safe, op be damned. He’ll take the blame, fuck, he’ll deal with being fucking discharged, but he can’t sit idle anymore. 

“No,” Ghost shakes his head, voice barely more than a whisper as he tries his best not to drown in Soap’s sweet scent. 

It’s getting harder by the minute, Johnny’s heat is fast approaching in his panicked state, pheromones fill the air around them. Ghost’s Alpha, a beast forcefully tamed for too long, stirs awake, sniffing out the smell of an Omega. One that clings to him, practically climbing into his lap, and it makes Ghost growl with suppressed need. 

And it shouldn’t be surprising, how strong the reaction is. Ghost has never taken an Omega, made sure to avoid them if they were in heat. It’s the first time in a decade that he has one so close, one that he knows and, in all honesty, likes. His Alpha, along with Ghost, dares to mourn that he may never get a chance to see Johnny after this. 

It’s not the point, Ghost tells himself. If his undeniable attraction, this newfound need only helps him focus on a sure way of getting Johnny out of here, so be it. That’s what will happen after all, Johnny will be free and they– well, they will go their own ways. He can only hope the Omega won’t hate him for being another reason for his suffering. 

“Knew it,” Johnny purrs, a smile in his voice that finally reaches his eyes too before his brows pull together into a frown. “Then who–” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Ghost shakes his head, cupping Johnny’s as he pulls away just to make him focus. “Listen to me. I’ll need you to follow everything I say. Exactly how I say, you get it?” 

Johnny averts his gaze, biting his lower lip. Ghost shakes him a bit, there’s no time to waste and he needs to make sure Johnny will be able to follow his orders once things get ugly. They will, that’s just how these jobs always are, and the Omega is only a civilian, with no combat experience. 

“Stay right here until I come for you,” Ghost huffs, already half-regretting the plan he’s forming. “Don’t make a sound, don’t tell anyone anything unless I’m with them. And use this if things go sideways,” he adds, pulling one of his smaller knives out under the leg of his fatigues, handing it over. 

“I–,” Johnny mumbles, looking at Ghost with those big blue eyes, fingers digging into his forearm, “you’re leaving?” 

“I’ll be quick,” he nods, rising from the floor where they ended up, freeing his arm from the iron hold of the Omega. 

“Promise me,” Johnny demands, staying where he is, pulling the too-big jumper tight around himself, eyes begging for Ghost to stay too. 

Ghost nods, letting Johnny keep him for a minute longer, his intense gaze gluing him to the spot. But he needs to go. “Promise. I’ll get you out of here. And this,” he lowers himself and tugs gently on the iron collar, “will come off soon. Just stay low and hold on a bit more, alright?” 

The Omega whispers something, too low for Ghost to catch, but he doesn’t turn back, there’s no time for that, and he doesn’t like how leaving Johnny alone feels like abandoning him yet again. Slipping out of the cell he forgoes locking it, itching to get back to his room and dig out the only handgun he was allowed to bring along. There will be more, reinforcement will bring the rest of his gear, but until then he needs to be careful. 

He doesn’t spare a glance at the two guards walking past him, rowdy and talking shit about their prisoners, Ghost making sure they will pay the price for what they did. Not yet though, Ghost tells himself as he finally makes it to his room, shutting the door the second he’s truly alone. 

Only now does he send back an acknowledging signal, holding his breath and waiting for instructions, for an ETA. It takes three long minutes to receive another coded message. 

Fifteen minutes.  

It seems strange, seeing the end to a months-long covert operation, and Ghost allows himself a minute to ruminate. Lets himself think about how fucked-up these past weeks have been, the days since Soap got here. That defiant pup, still so young and too loyal to people who don’t deserve it. To his family, his parents– to Ghost. 

No, he hasn’t been blind to Johnny’s looks, his teasing words. And definitely not to his reaction as his heat hit. How he seemingly wanted to drown in Ghost’s clothes, his scent. And Ghost knows he doesn’t deserve any of that ill-formed attraction, liking it doesn’t make a difference. Wanting to have Johnny close to him, wanting to wipe those snarky remarks off his mug won’t, either. 

Johnny knows him as Riley, as a Beta, neither of those Ghost’s true identities. The Omega likes someone who doesn’t even exist, and Ghost silently wishes he could be that man. Just for a while, just to spare Johnny from another heartache. In a different life, maybe. The next one, if they ever get the chance. 

For now, Ghost needs to be Ghost. Needs to be the Alpha who’s come to tear down this hellhole with brute force. 

He removes the scent patches he’s been wearing, from the inside of his wrists and the ones on his neck, just below the collar of his shirt. His glands are a bit irritated as he rubs his fingers over them, happy that he doesn’t need to put on a new set, there’s no use to it anymore. Ghost needs to be in top shape, senses sharp and clear, and his Alpha set free is the best way to ensure he can see this through. 

Then comes the eyeblack, the familiar motions grounding Ghost a bit already. The mask is the last he puts on. Not a simple balaclava, but the one on the bottom of his bag, hard plastic skull sewn onto the fabric. Pulling it over his head, Ghost feels like he’s gained back a part of himself he knows most intimately. No more Riley, no more lies. 

Only Ghost remains, ready to fight for those Omegas. 

For Johnny.  

** 

The moment he turns the corner, Ghost knows something has happened. The door to Johnny’s cell is wide open, ominous silence thick in the air as he rushes down to it, heart beating in his throat. 

The cell is empty, Johnny is gone. There are obvious signs of struggle, bedding thrown to the floor, the Omega’s scent still fresh, the sweet nectar of heat soured by the stench of fear. Whatever happened here, Johnny was scared. 

Ghost knows it’s his fault. The moment he left the Omega, in the throes of his first fucking heat, Ghost has put him in danger. If one of those Betas came and sniffed him out– Johnny would be lost. 

Ghost turns on his heel, bile rising in his throat as he pulls his gun and bangs it on the closest cage. 

“Where is he?” Ghost’s voice is deadly and impatient, the Omega taking a few steps back in fear upon seeing the skull mask. If Ghost wasn’t so caught up in getting to Johnny, he’d hope the young man knows that the fury isn’t directed at him. Ghost never hurt the Omegas, and he won’t be staring now. 

“They took him,” the boy stutters, eyes comically large in his panic, pushing himself into the wall as much as possible, “to the guests.” 

Fuck. 

Ghost leaves without another word, running now, so he can catch up with Masters or whoever it was that dared to take Johnny. 

His Johnny, the beast within growls, Ghost trying to shake off the fear of losing him. Tries hard not to think of the Omega, weakened by heat and shown around like a piece of meat. But he can’t, just the idea of someone, anyone having Johnny makes him want to blow the whole place to pieces. 

So he runs in the hope of finding him in time, corner after corner in the labyrinth-like building. He barely stops when he hears the unmistakable sound of an assault rifle, only coming to a halt when he slips on an obscene amount of blood. 

Looking down he finds Masters dying on the floor, propped against the wall, breathing shallow and pained. The scene is gruesome, to say the least, but it fills Ghost with much-needed satisfaction. There are several stab wounds on the man, blood oozing from his mouth and severely broken nose; whoever did it, did a damn good job. Dying as he is, the Beta manages to look up with an agitated groan. 

“The fuck,” he heaves as his vision fills with the ominous skull, trying and failing to move away, Ghost crowding him. He kneels in the pool of blood, pulling up the mask, a mean snarl splitting his face. 

“Where is the Omega?” Ghost asks, a hand around Masters’ throat, uncaring of the pained yelp. God, he’s going to hurt the Beta so much worse if he put a single finger on Johnny. 

“Gone,” the Beta gurgles, “they took him–” 

Ghost shakes the man, pushing the barrel of the gun into one of the chest wounds, annoyed by the pathetic whining. “Who?”  

“Fuck you, I’m not telling you any–” 

The bullet Ghost puts into his dumb fucking head tears through the Beta’s skull with ease. It’s almost beautiful if it weren’t for the blood and probable grey matter that now covers Ghost too. He should have kept him alive, maybe question him while he was lucid enough, but the Beta was a stubborn one, he wasn’t going to help Ghost any more, they both knew that. 

“Lieutenant,” a voice calls for him, and Ghost hates how it makes him jump a bit, too damn preoccupied with his task at hand. 

It’s one of the 141, all geared up as he jogs up to Ghost, handing him a radio earpiece and a rifle. And as Ghost stands, Price’s voice cracking alive in his ear, he understands it’s too late. Orders fly around, the captain commanding him to round up anyone he can find, giving Ghost the go-ahead to do as he sees best. 

He has a job to do here, and it doesn’t include finding Johnny. Ghost tries to calm himself, to trust his fellow men to find every single Omega in the building. Hopes that the only one he truly cares about isn’t gone yet. 

Because if he is, Ghost isn’t sure anyone will survive the night. 

Chapter Text

It’s not happening. 

I can’t fucking happen here, in this place. Not when Soap has nowhere to go, no nest to build, no pack to help him through the first real heat of his life. He doesn’t even know how to do all that, has never been told how to be an Omega. 

Should this be so painful? Is it normal to feel his insides turn to molten lava, his skin too tight? To want someone he can’t have so bad he’d rather lie down and die? 

He feels like shit, shivering in the exact same position Riley has left him. The only solace is the piece of clothing he was gifted, well, lent, carrying the faintest smell of the Beta, something Soap finds himself clinging to desperately. 

It’s fucked up beyond measure. Maybe his da was right, Soap wonders. Bad enough that he is an Omega, old enough that his chances are slim to produce heirs, a litter of pups to carry on the MacTavish name, Soap messes up the one thing he should be good for. Finding a suitable Alpha as nature intended, following his instincts. 

Why is it that he finds himself clinging to a Beta? To Riley, who is caring enough to fool that base need, the part of Soap who yearns for safety and soft touches. The Beta has given it to him, in his own way, as much as he could in their situation. And Soap wants to believe with everything he has that Riley will get him out.  

He doesn’t know what will happen after, a fearful voice telling him that he’ll never see Riley again. It scares Soap, knowing that whoever Riley truly is he probably won’t waste a minute thinking about a useless Omega once they part ways. Soap knows he wouldn’t. 

But until then he lets himself hope, foolishly in his heat-addled mind, that by the end of the night he won’t be alone anymore. That maybe, just maybe a Beta would choose an Omega. 

Soap turns the knife in his hand, the metal cold and heavy in his grasp before he decides to hide it in the pocket of Riley’s jumper, praying that he’ll get to give it back soon. He rubs a shaking hand over his face, smearing tears that keep falling without an end in sight.  

A few more minutes pass in silence, Soap doing his best to calm down, and maybe his mind clears up a bit, his supposed heat coming over him in waves. Riley’s lingering scent helps, Soap notes with a defeated groan, those dark eyes not leaving his thoughts. It’s confusing, this attraction he feels. It’s unexplainable, unnatural, but still, the most truthful he’s ever been. 

God, he still hopes that those fleeting touches the Beta granted him, the kindness he’s shown since they met weren’t just means to an end. That the strange connection between them might be more, something real.

Footsteps pull Soap out of his head and right to his feet so fast he goes dizzy for a second before he can make his way to the cell door, a pathetic part of him relieved to have Riley back. Soap may be the farthest from being a dainty little thing in need of protection, but fuck, he wants Riley’s strong hands around his back again. 

It’s not Riley who steps up to his cell, of course it’s not. Masters, the one that bashed in his face not too long ago smiles at him, unkind and predatory as Soap takes a step back. 

“Waiting for someone else, were you?” He asks, tsking and shaking his head. “Don’t think I’m blind, pup. Saw you two talk, saw you practically throw yourself at that big fucker.” 

“I–,” Soap stutters, but the Beta shushes him. 

“Don’t go and deny it now, barking up the wrong tree. They will break you in soon enough, show you what an Alpha can do that your friend can’t.” 

Soap feels himself blanch, fear and anger boil beneath his chest and bubble up his throat with a growl and a “Fuck you.” 

Soap knows he shouldn’t talk back, that he should just stay silent as Riley told him, but the vile picture the guard paints to torture him he can’t keep it in. The Beta’s eyes darken, and he punches the cell door that creaks open to both their surprise, silence falling between them. 

For a long moment they stare at each other, Soap frozen in place even as Masters steps through the now-open door with a dangerous glint in his eyes. 

“And how did that happen?” He drawls, cornering Soap until there’s no space to go. “Made Riley do it? Did you offer up yourself like a good bitch in heat? Or did he promise to get you out, snatch you for himself? I’m sorry to disappoint, but neither of you will go anywhere. He surely won’t, anyway.” 

The implications make Soap whimper, Masters clearly enjoying his torture, raising a hand to tug on the iron collar. Then he scrunches his nose, distaste evident on his face. 

“Ah, I see,” he scoffs, “someone is in heat. You just don’t know what’s good for you, pup.” 

“Not a fuckin–,” Soap bites out, the rest of his remark silenced by a fist to his face. A hand curls into his mohawk, a perfect handle, and before he could get his bearings he’s being dragged out of his cell. He contemplates screaming, but the possible backlash is something Soap doesn’t want to bring on himself. He can see the other Omegas standing by their respective cell doors, watching the scene in silent horror, keeping quiet still. Knowing their place. 

“Might be your lucky day,” the Beta informs him, slightly winded as he keeps Soap close in a mean hold while walking down barely-lit corridors. “We have a few visitors tonight, why don’t we show you around, huh?” 

God, he’s in trouble. He prays Riley isn’t about to walk down the same route, because fuck, he’s probably in an even deeper shit than Soap. If they know about them talking for hours, if they know Riley wanted to help him get out– he’ll get hurt. 

He’ll probably die, and it’s going to be Soap’s fault. He’s been so difficult, uncooperative, making Riley do things for him. Making Riley care for him in a way nobody is cared for here. Soap’s been feeling special, secretly loving the attention he was given. Enjoyed that the Beta, despite everything, obviously had an eye out for him. 

“Don’t hurt him,” Soap finds himself begging, a cruel laugh piercing his ear, the hold around his neck tightens. 

“Not me,” Masters whispers, “but I will greatly enjoy watching that fucker go dow–” 

In the next moment, several things happen at the same time. A low, powerful explosion shakes the walls and the concrete floor under their feet. After that, a series of pop-pop-pop from the distance, the unmistakable sound of someone firing a gun. Soap freezes and his guard makes no move to drag him further. 

Masters looks scared, Soap notes with a strange kind of satisfaction. It means that whatever is going on, the Beta hasn’t expected it. That could mean– 

That could be Riley. 

Soap lets out a squeak as the Beta puts him in a headlock, dragging him down the corridor quicker. All he can do is claw at the forearm that robs him of air, scratching bloody lines all over skin. Masters curses him, squeezing so hard that it makes Soap lightheaded and afraid that he’ll soon pass out. He’s not a weak man, but the time he’s spent here, not getting much to eat and refusing what he’s been offered, left him feeble. 

The apparent heat that’s about to overtake him doesn’t help either, Soap can feel it under his skin, a constant buzz that’s just on this side of unbearable. It’s not painful, no, but it makes him restless, on the lookout for something, someone. 

They turn another corner and Soap loses his footing, groaning as the Beta growls at him to stand the fuck back up. Dark spots flood his vision as he tries to obey, but he’s too weak. 

He’s weak and useless and a nobody; the sudden feeling of dread turns his blood to icy sludge, his will to go nonexistent. Soap doesn’t care when Masters attempts to pull him up by the collar around his neck, the metal biting into his skin. He’s treated like a stray dog, tossed around, primed to be sold for a new owner. 

Tears join the spots in his vision, blurring his view, but Soap can still make out the silhouette of a person down the corridor, and for a split second he dares to hope it’s Riley. But the voice that calls for them doesn’t match, the tone and the accent are too different. Soap can’t hear what the man says, blood rushing through his ears as he struggles against the constant pull, his arms weakly flailing. 

Someone fires a gun again, much closer and louder now, the bullet whizzing through the air too close to them. It distracts Soap enough to allow the Beta to finally pull him up from the ground and use him as a shield, hiding behind him like the coward he is. 

Soap knows if they choose to shoot again and aim for them, the bullet will take him out. And fuck, he can’t let that happen. Riley made sure to get him through the worst days of his life, and he’s not about to throw it away now. He has to try, has to fight. 

Soap can’t even follow his own chain of thoughts, all he knows is that his fingers curl around the cold weight of the knife in the pocket of the black jumper, giving him the barest surge of strength. And then– he strikes. 

Turning in the Beta’s hold he swings the knife and plunges the sharp blade into the man’s stomach, and it cuts through clothing and skin like butter. A small voice in the back of his mind sounds surprised to see so much blood, but that wilder, desperate part watches with delight as warm crimson pools around them. Masters on the receiving end of his knife shrieks, trying to push Soap away who finds the strength to snake his free arm around his neck and pull him in closer. 

It’s not enough, Soap strikes again, aiming for the chest now before the Beta could knock the knife out of his hand. It’s not the same, the blade struggles with bones, but Soap is too far gone to care. He opts for quick, unforgiving stabs, enthralled by the change in the Beta’s cries as he’s robbed of air.  

He pushes the man to the nearest wall, the bastard slippery with blood, dying in Soap’s grasp. The Beta coughs, splattering red flecks all over his face, eyes blown wide with fear. Soap screams, cursing him for taking away his freedom, for beating him up, delivering a few punches in retaliation even if it doesn’t ease the hurt he feels. 

All Soap can hear is his own breathing as bones break under his fist and the body slumps to the ground. The Beta doesn’t fight back, his lifeless form a gruesome mess, and Soap still can’t stop. He’s suddenly being pulled away, and in his panic Soap swings the knife again, but it’s wrenched out of his grasp and thrown to a safe distance. 

He sees a face through his tear-blurred eyes, dark skinned and definitely not one of the guards Soap has seen around here. The man wears a helmet and a vest, something a soldier would, and looks positively shocked. 

“You need to come with me,” he says, offering a hand that Soap eyes, unconvinced and with a healthy amount of distrust. 

“I can’t.” 

He really can’t, Soap won’t be taken once again if he can help it. Not without Riley, the only one he has trust in. And he tries to say that much, “I need to–” 

“Are you an Omega?” the man asks, that rifle pointing at Soap, but his free hand is still in the air, wary but expectant. 

Soap nods, his fingers find the heavy collar instinctually, even as he wants to say ‘no’, to not be reduced to what he never wanted to be. The man nods, in understanding maybe, an encouraging smile on his face. 

“Good. We’re here for you mate, come on now,” he pushes, prying Soap’s bloody fingers off the collar. “We’ll get rid of that thing soon.” 

“I can’t,” Soap mumbles with wobbling lips, “I need to see him, he’s here somewhere–” 

“Don’t have time for that,” the soldier shakes his head, “your friends will be fine.” 

“What’s the bloody hold-up here, Garrick?” 

Another soldier turns the corner, an older one with just as much gear as the one that keeps tugging on his arm with weaning patience. Soap still doesn’t move, frozen in place with fear, his actions slowly dawning on him as he eyes the Beta’s unmoving body.  

He killed a man. There’s a witness to it, and they will lock him down again, changing one cage for another– 

“Alright, lad?” Soap hears a voice through the thick fog of panic, but he can’t take his eyes off the body, a horrible testament to his sin. Soap curls in on himself, bile rising in his throat as he keeps repeating, ‘don’t take me back’ and ‘I need to see him’ over and over again. Riley’s name is like a prayer on his numb tongue, but nobody seems to listen, two men heaving him up and dragging him away from the gruesome scene. 

A low baritone lies to him that it’s fine, that Soap only did what he had to. The voice tells him that he’s safe now and nobody would hurt him anymore. Soap wishes it was Riley, wondering if the Beta ever returned to his cage, looking for him. He promised, Soap pleads with himself. 

Still, he never came. 

** 

It’s a blur after that. 

Soap is taken to a van that does little to convince him that he’s not being transported to yet another prison. There are others around him, some geared up, some in simple clothes just like him. Another Omegas, probably, not that he’s seen any of them during his stay. The earlier panic still has a hold on him, but now he’s confused more than anything as the van roars to life around him. 

Are they truly out? 

After some time, he couldn’t say how long, the van comes to a halt. Then he’s walking, with help, but he’s definitely going somewhere. A house, maybe, it’s too dark to see properly. Soap hears someone talking next to him– to him? He turns his head to say something but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper, the man shushing him as he’s ushered forward. 

Then they are inside, and Soap feels warm after being cold for so long. He wishes he could take a moment to enjoy it, but they don’t stop, he’s being walked down a hallway and stopped at a door. 

“Go on, you’ll be fine in there. Nobody will disturb you.” 

Soap blinks a couple of times, the room is dark and small with a bed and not much more. He looks back, the two men discussing something between themselves, side-eyeing Soap from time to time. He hears Riley’s name and tries to clear his thoughts enough to ask for the Beta again. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” the older man nods, his face miles more friendly now that he’s changed the helmet for a funny-looking hat. “Come on now, son.” 

Soap nods, taking a tentative step in, choosing to trust the man for now. And regrets it right away when he hears the soldier follow and close the door behind them. He turns, ready to fight but so tired, but the man has both arms raised, not a threat, the pose offers. 

“Not here to hurt you.” 

“What then?” Soap asks, voice so small and void of any energy. If the man wanted to take him, he couldn’t do a thing. 

“I was told you are not too keen on leaving. Son, there are places that can help you through the heat.” 

Did he say that? Well, it’s not wrong, he has absolutely no intention of going to another strange place. He knows enough about those facilities to know that it’s barely above a glorified prison for stray Omegas in heat.  

So, Soap shakes his head, because he’s not going anywhere until he knows what happened to Riley. “No,” he says, that, and nothing else.  

The man doesn’t seem annoyed or angry, he barely huffs at Soap’s defiance. “Won’t force you,” he shrugs, “but you can’t stay here either. It’s not safe for an Omega. We have Alphas on the team, unmated, if you have anything you need scented until we figure out what to do.” 

It’s a kind offer, a surprising one in his situation, Soap knows that. But the thought of having anyone’s scent on him that is not Riley– it has his Omega snapping, a feral growl as he instinctually pulls the borrowed jumper tight around his trembling body. 

“Alright, message received,’ the man laughs, offering his hand in a change of tactics. “Let’s start from the beginning then. I’m Captain John Price, and those lot outside are my team. Good men, no need to be afraid of them.” 

Soap has to believe that this man, John, knows how to find Riley. If the Beta is one of them, he has to show up soon enough. If he made it out. If they’ll let them meet.

Soap will find it out, but for now, he must give his own answers. 

“John– John MacTavish,” he mumbles, playing along to buy some time. If he cooperates, Price may let him stay long enough. “I’m not going anywhere,” he repeats, just to make a point. 

“You made that clear enough, son,” Price nods, still no malice in his words. “I’d like to help you out of that collar though, if you let me.” 

That offer Soap latches on, nodding furiously. Price doesn’t waste time, orders him to turn around and takes a bolt cutter from the back of his gear. He’s careful, turning Soap a bit more, asking him to look the other way as he works on the padlock. 

Soap’s heart is beating out of his chest, so close to freedom he can practically taste it. And when he hears the lock snap under the cutter and feels the heavy weight of the collar finally removed, he can’t help the way he collapses with a relieved cry. 

Price catches him and softens the landing, going down with Soap, the collar thrown out of sight. Soap– he weeps. For his freedom, for his captivity, for Riley, who may not even be alive anymore. For that annoyingly considerate Beta who, for some reason, always felt safe to talk to, even on those first days. 

He cries for himself because he’s aching everywhere, the skin on his neck irritated and clawed raw, a right mess. Soap was never meant to be an Omega. It’s not what he or his family wanted. He’s a disappointment, so falling for a Beta shouldn’t cause more damage than what there already is. It’s not like he’s going back home anytime soon. Riley was right, Soap has always been too loyal for his own good, but there is only so much his loyalty and love for his family can take. His da would send him away again. And his mum– well, she mustn’t have fought on the issue that hard. 

Here he is now, without a pack, without a mate, alone in the world that tried to beat him into submission. Soap got away, fought for it, killed for his freedom, but he isn’t sure he can do this alone. The fire under his skin, the need for a comforting touch, for Riley– God, he’d do anything to see the Beta once more. 

“It’s alright,” Price tries, patting his shoulder in sympathy, heaving him up and on the bed. Soap goes willingly, limbs too weak to hold him up anymore, pulling away when Price scrunches his nose as they get too close. 

“‘m sorry,” he mumbles, covering his glands, as if it did anything to dampen the stress signals and heat pheromones his body is emitting. “I don’t mean to–” 

“No need for any of that, these things are out of our control,” Price placates, but he takes a step back anyway, Soap is glad for it because honestly, the man stinks of Alpha scent. Powerful, strong, but not right. “That Riley you mentioned,” he continues, and if Soap had wolf ears, they would twitch in attention at the mention of the Beta, “one of the Omegas?” 

Soap shakes his head, trying to bury his face into the thick material of the jumper. “One of the guards. I thought so, at least,” he frowns, still not sure who Riley is. 

“Close to you, hm?” 

“I– he’s a Beta. It’s wrong,” he adds, more of a question than anything else. 

Soap isn’t sure why he’s interested in Price’s opinion on the matter. It’s unlikely that Riley would want anything to do with him now that he’s out, right? But there is something in the Alpha’s eyes that tells Soap otherwise. An all-knowing look, an almost smile that breathes life into the dying embers of Soap’s belief. 

“Wouldn’t be so sure about that. I’ll find the lad for you if,” the Alpha raises a finger, “if you stay here and give me some time. You– we can figure out the rest later.” 

Soap nods, eyes heavy with exhaustion, flinching as Price rises from the edge of the bed. Take it easy, son, he hears, along with something about snatching his lieutenant, but the minute the captain leaves him alone, Soap finally goes under. 

***

Ghost reeks of blood. 

A little of his own, mostly of the men he’s been forced to work with. Men who took Johnny to be fucking sold to some undeserving Alpha. 

He hopes Johnny will claw their greedy eyes out. 

Wiping away some of the grime on his mask he feels his hand shake, his usual technique of repeatedly curling his fingers into a fist and releasing doesn’t help. Ghost writes it up to the adrenaline, the fight he’s been waiting for skyrocketed his levels. 

That’s what he tells himself, turning on his radio to inform Price of his status.  

“Price,” Ghost starts, surprising himself with how shaky his voice is. “How copy?” 

It takes a couple of seconds for Price to answer his call, and Ghost spends that time to look around the carnage the 141 left. They detained those who Ghost had reported to have information, and those who didn’t– well, they paid with their blood. Only because the 141 had no men or time to spare did Ghost make sure their death was quick and efficient. 

“Bravo-6 here,” Price’s voice cracks through the comms, “on the way to our RV point, ETA in a few.” 

“We are done here,” Ghost gives a quick report while sweeping the area one more time, more like a nervous habit than a necessity in this case. He made sure there were none left.

“Cleanup will be there shortly, ‘sume they’ll be busy.” 

Price doesn’t sound annoyed, he knows Ghost and his techniques too well when a job becomes personal. 

Which it didn’t, of course. 

No point to it, Johnny is gone either way. Convincing Price to find the Omega will be personal, though, Ghost realised the moment it became clear that Johnny wasn’t in the building. What his captain will say about it— well, Ghost doesn’t really care.   

He really shouldn’t have talked about Johnny, Ghost thinks while booting some of the men on the ground, just a friendly check to see if they are dead enough. The one that talked shit about him the other night might get an extra kick for good measure. 

It isn’t personal. 

An Omega out of the dozen the 141 managed to free tonight. 

His eyes may have been bluer than a morning winter sky, his feral smile, the defiant streak more exciting than anything Ghost has ever known. His scent– God, that sweetness will never leave Ghost’s nose. Yeah, he may have taken a shine to the annoying pup, sue him then. 

Doesn’t matter now. 

“Got the Omegas?” he asks, needing to know the status of the rest of the party. Obviously. 

“Affirmative,” Price hums, the constant static of their frequency distorts it into a growl. “Being ID’d as we speak.” 

“Copy. Roundin’ up Alpha team and heading to your location,” he responds dutifully instead of telling Price to check for a Scottish man with a mohawk. 

“Solid copy, Lieutenant. Bravo-6 out.” 

Ghost does just that, giving his men a minute to rest while they wait for the team that will take over the scene. It’s a nasty business anytime, but Price was right, he might have gone a bit overboard here. 

Ghost is relieved when they finally move, relishing that he’ll never return to that godforsaken site. He can’t quite shake the unease that lingers, and that unease soon turns into brewing rage. They were too late. Price, the 141, they waited too long, and that cost Johnny’s freedom. Ghost betrayed him, broke his promise to keep him safe. 

No one bats an eye when he punches a dent into the back door of the van. They don’t know what Ghost has seen but know him enough not to ask questions. 

He wonders if he hadn’t panicked smelling Johnny’s sweet pheromones, if he hadn’t bolted when the Omega needed him most, would things have gone down differently. He could have killed Masters sooner, along with all the rest before they had the chance to put a finger on him. 

It wasn’t the 141 that failed Johnny. Ghost had already done that himself. 

** 

The moment the truck comes to a stop Ghost jumps out, on the lookout for Price. He finds the captain in the middle of a tumultuous crowd of soldiers and local law enforcement, and before he could flag him down, Price beckons him with a single finger, excusing himself and moving to a quiet corner. 

“Nicely done out there,” the captain nods, clapping Ghost’s shoulder. “Good to have you back, Riley.” 

Ghost nods curtly, eyes roaming all over the place, not picking up on the fact that Price never calls him Riley. He’s too busy not looking for anyone. 

He’s not. 

“Looking for anyone?” Price asks, the fucker, a concerned look on his face and something more that tells Ghost how obvious he’s being. 

“How many did you get?” He tries instead, voice gruff as he moves to find a quiet, secluded room to shed his gear and wash away the blood. Price follows, of course he does, keeping up with Ghost’s long strides easily. 

“Nine have been transported to medical,” his captain reports, “looking for two more per your headcount.” 

There were twelve, Ghost is sure. He should know, he walked down twelve cells each day, not sparing a second glance, eyes and his focus fixed only on that last one. Searching for those blue eyes, preparing for bratty remarks and guessing just how much he would share that day. 

Fuck, Ghost wanted to know so much more about Johnny. 

“Then there’s that last one,” Price stops in his tracks, a hand on his chest makes Ghost halt too. “Couldn’t convince him to go with the rest. Couldn’t do a damn thing with him, the feral lad.” 

Ghost looks up at that, and it takes one glance to know that Price knows.  

“Said he wouldn’t leave until a certain Riley is safe. Wanted to go back to find him, if you can believe.” 

Ghost wills his breathing to slow down, to not show those strange emotions that threaten to overwhelm him. He’s failing, Ghost knows it, Price’s stern look leaves no room for hoping otherwise. 

“Where is he?” 

“Locked away safely,” the captain supplies, eyes wandering over to one of the closed doors. 

It sets Ghost on edge. “Why? He just got free and you lock him up again?” 

“An Omega in heat, surrounded by Alphas,” Price levels him with a look that probably questions Ghost’s sanity. “Best to keep the boy safe until he’s transported to a secure place.” 

The thought of Johnny taken somewhere he can’t keep an eye on him doesn’t sit right with Ghost. He knows Johnny has to be checked out by medical, they have to make sure his injuries aren’t too bad– Ghost knows they aren’t. But then– then what? 

“Ghost,” Price calls, but he keeps shaking his head, “Simon.” 

They stare at each other, Ghost still hoping to get away with minimal damage to his pride. 

“What do I need to know?” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Lieutenant,” Price warns, voice stern, “are you compromised?” 

“No,” he lies. “Let me talk to him.” 

Silence stretches between them, the captain dragging a hand over his face in exasperation. “I’d prefer you stayed that way,” comes a dark chuckle, no glee behind it, sounding very much like he already knows Ghost will not stay that way. “Third door to the right.” 

It’s a permission, all that Ghost needs to move along, his need to barge through the door overcoming him with each step he takes. He has no idea what will greet him on the other side, so when he enters, slowly, he can’t help the way his breath hitches. 

The room is dark, the only source of light is the one Ghost just let in, and when he closes the door behind him the place is almost pitch-black again. But Ghost doesn’t need light, not when the first thing that slaps him in the face is Johnny’s scent. 

It engulfs the whole room, that sweet, dizzying smell of an Omega in heat. Ghost sucks in a sharp breath, against his instincts – or maybe because of them –, and the newly freed Alpha growls low in his throat. 

For a moment all he feels is the need to get closer, to protect and make sure that Johnny is fine and cared for. It’s new and horrifying, how strong he feels, how much of an effect Soap has on him. 

Ghost stills when he hears movement from the bed in the corner, Johnny stirring with a groan. Then the realization that he’s not alone hits him, sending him scrambling to his feet. 

“Who–” 

“You’re safe,” Ghost steps forward, carefully, not wanting to scare the Omega any more than he already is. “You’re–” 

“Riley?” Soap stutters, stumbling forward in the darkness that they both seem to get used to, Ghost can already make out the silhouette of Johnny, meeting him halfway against his better judgement. 

The Omega practically crashes into him, feeble legs barely holding him up, but just as Ghost snakes a hand around him Johnny moves to touch his face. Well, the skull mask, cold and hard, and the foreign piece makes him reel back with a hiss, and before Ghost could react, the bedside lamp in on, flooding the room with warm, yellow light. 

Ghost thought he’d seen Johnny scared before. Still, it’s nothing compared to the horror that contorts his features when he sees the mask, and Ghost has never hated the thing more. 

“I’m not going back there, you can’t make me,” the Omega cries out, trying to barge past Ghost. 

He doesn’t recognize me, it dawns on him, and Ghost can’t fucking have that, not now that Johnny is safe and here. He grabs the Omega, pulling him closer, a hand over his mouth as he tries to scream for help. Ghost won’t let Price come in and send him away. He won’t let Johnny think he’s not safe anymore. 

Ghost tears off his mask, balaclava along the hard-shell skull, baring his face in a desperate attempt to show who he is. Soap’s panic-blown eyes trace his features, the scars he never got to touch before, the smudged eyeblack running down Ghost’s face with how much he’s been sweating under all the layers. 

“Johnny,” he rumbles, “you’re alright. Nobody’s taking you anywhere.” 

The Omega blinks up at him, big blue eyes filling with tears, jaw working under Ghost’s gloved hand. 

“It’s just me,” Ghost whispers, and Soap finally seems to put things together, slowly nodding, a single teardrop giving in to gravity, rolling down his feverish cheeks. “I’ll let you go, but you gotta keep quiet, you hear?” 

Another nod, another tear falling as Ghost pulls his hand away, Johnny snatching it right away and nuzzling into it. He’s so confused and sweet like that, Ghost can’t help the way he lets his fingers curl around the Omega’s head, thumb swiping away wetness. 

It takes too much time for Ghost to realise that Johnny isn’t wearing that heavy collar anymore. His neck looks almost naked without it, but what it truly means— Ghost can’t help the victorious smile that splits his face.  

Johnny is free. 

“It’s really you,” Soap croaks, his hand covering Ghost’s, and his expression finally changes, the panic and fear giving way to something close to relief. “You…are you with them?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I made it out, they came for us before…,” Soap rambles, squeezing Ghost’s arm, struggling to find the words neither of them wants to think about. “That guard took me after you were gone, I couldn’t fight back, I didn’t want to go with him, I’m sorry—” 

“It’s fine,” Ghost tries to calm him, another soft swipe under the Omega’s eyes, “you did what I told you, right? You held on a bit more.” 

“I did,” Soap agrees, looking for reassurance, holding on tighter, and Ghost is too weak not to give it to him. 

“That’s right,” he chuckles, “and now you’re out.” 

Johnny levels him with a look that’s entirely too collected for someone so close to a full-blown heat. A moment of lucidity, a shock to his systems probably. He keeps staring, keeps rubbing his face against Ghost’s gloved palm. 

Scenting him. 

Fuck, that’s dangerous. 

“Johnny–” 

“Riley,” he purrs, voice rough and enticing as he takes a step closer, well into Ghost’s space. 

He has no idea what comes over him, but that name sounds wrong. A lie on his tongue that tastes like ashes, a version of him reserved for dark cells and lost Omegas. Johnny deserves to know the truth.

“It’s Simon.” 

“Simon,” Soap smiles, and Ghost doesn’t want another soul to say his name again. On Johnny’s lips it’s sweet, it’s something like absolution for all that he’s done in these past couple of weeks. And for everything he hasn’t. 

“Full of surprises,” Johnny continues, a playful smile tugging at his lips, “your name is different, and your smell…you smell like an Alpha.” 

It’s not a question, Ghost can see the hopeful glint in the Omega’s eyes. That longing for safety and touch that doesn’t do harm. And Ghost would never hurt him, no more than he was forced to, playing a role he will never truly forget. 

“I am,” he nods, afraid to look into Johnny’s eyes. There are so many things he wants to explain, to say sorry for deceiving the Omega even if it was for his own good. Ghost fears it’s too late for that, too late for Johnny to forgive him for making him believe that he could ever take part in that sick scheme. For not getting him out sooner. 

“Thank fuck,” Johnny huffs, unexpected relief in his voice. “There’s one thing I can do right, after all.” 

Ghost frowns, equally confused and distracted by the Omega’s continued proximity. “Wh–” 

“Thought I was reacting to a Beta,” Soap takes another step, practically plastering himself to Ghost, his breathing picking up a bit, “thought I liked one.” 

Fuck. 

Ghost could say so many things. If he were brave enough he could say he likes Johnny too. Or that he’d do anything to be the Alpha he deserves.

“You have to go,” is what he chooses, the coward he is. He doesn’t even know what he means by that, because there’s no way in hell he’d let Johnny’s parents take him again, and he’s not any more keen on sending the Omega to one of those specialised centres.

Johnny takes it as Ghost feared he would. He looks like he got slapped in the face, hurt and confused and angry. 

“No,” he growls, pushing Ghost away, “no, I’m not going back. They sold me, Simon! My own family, please don’t send me back–” 

“Johnny–” 

“Please,” the Omega begs him, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks as he snatches Ghost’s hand again, a desperate attempt. “I can’t, I want to…” 

“What do you want?” Ghost asks, knowing full well he won’t like the answer one bit. 

Still, he’d give up anything to hear Johnny say it. 

“Can’t do it alone,” Johnny mumbles, Ghost’s resolve crumbling with every second he spends so close to the Omega whose body keeps emitting the most delicious, irresistible pheromones. Ghost can taste them on his tongue, heavy and thick like honey. 

He doesn’t want Johnny to do it alone, either. 

“What do you want, Johnny?” he demands again, giving in just a bit, just a step closer, tugging on the Omega’s hand until he has it exactly how he wants, that damned jumper pooling around his wrist, muting his scent. 

Ghost can’t have that, he slowly bunches up the thick material, mind already reeling that it will smell like Johnny– if he ever gets it back. Not that he’s too eager to reclaim it, liking the view far too much, how it’s too large on Johnny’s smaller frame. Freeing his forearm, Ghost swipes his fingers over the gland there, the urge to drown in the Omega’s scent overcoming him. 

Johnny watches with darkening eyes as Ghost raises his hand to his mouth, placing a fleeting kiss on his wrist, right over the gland before dragging it over the stubbled line of his jaw, marking himself. Johnny’s lips part, breath coming raggedly as he plays along, taking Ghost’s hand and mirroring him, rubbing himself against the sliver of skin Ghost has uncovered.  

It doesn’t seem enough, Johnny frowning as he struggles to get through his layers, Ghost tearing off his glove to give the Omega what he needs. And Johnny dives in, rubbing his cheek against naked skin, damp and so hot compared to Ghost who’s always too cold somehow, each drag burning, fanning that kindling fire into an inferno. 

He doesn’t even remember what he asked when Johnny replies with a soft “you”, not when their act is unmistakable for what it is. Mutual scenting, a clear signal of affection and interest, and fuck, Price may as well kill him because Ghost is fully, irreparably compromised. He feels drunk on Johnny’s scent, his proximity, on simply seeing him out of that damned cell that tried to break him. 

And here he is now, free, willing, and eager. Showing what he wants, telling Ghost in not so many words. And Ghost is ready, for the first time in forever, he’s ready to follow his base instincts, to give in to the all-consuming need to care for an Omega exactly how he deserves. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he cups Johnny’s face, relishes how Johnny leans into the touch, eyes clouding over with another rush of heat, dizzying them both. God, Ghost never witnessed an Omega going through heat, definitely not the very first, and it’s so much more intense than anything he’s ever experienced. 

His Alpha growing restless Ghost has to force himself to think, to come up with a plan that doesn’t involve a dressing-down or worse from Price. One that hopefully ends with Johnny with him, under him, sweet and smelling like heaven. 

Ghost can’t deny it anymore, he wants Johnny. More than he’s ever wanted anything in his goddamn life. Wants him so much it hurts, fangs itching to mark and claim.  

Ghost tells himself this is not where it started. Maybe only to ease his guilt, the lingering feeling of wrong, but he thinks of all those moments he spent by Johnny’s cell. Those times when leaving for the night felt more like leaving Johnny for good, in the claws of undeserving Betas, a prey to be exploited. 

Ghost tells himself that it didn’t start here, that it’s not the heat that makes Johnny want him, not completely at least. He remembers those looks, lingering in those forbidden minutes shared in silence, remembers the aborted touches that Johnny wanted to give, too much, too dangerous. 

This was there before, a silent hope that if they’d met in a different life, at a different time, they could have been something. Johnny could have been a brat to Ghost, and he could have reined in the Omega, see what he’d respond to best, what makes him good and sweet and pliant. 

Ghost wants to believe that Johnny had been wanting him since before his heat kicked in. Ghost has too, and by the mischievous look Johnny shoots him, there’s no use denying it any longer.  

So when he finally gives in and slots their mouths together, it’s not much of a surprise that Johnny whimpers into it. A small, delighted sound, closer to a purr than Ghost has ever heard him, the Omega’s hands busy discovering every inch of Ghost he can reach. Pulling him closer, slotting against him, frantic and eager. 

Ghost licks into his mouth, Johnny’s lips plump and slick as their spit mixes with their reunion. The Omega tastes like pure sin, sweet and so willing, his heat overruling logical thinking. And Ghost isn’t much better off, Johnny’s scent a potent drug, and he’s ready to get a real fill and drown himself in it.  

The Omega is all bite and no finesse, drawing blood as his fangs graze Ghost’s tongue, Simon hissing with the sharp pain, Johnny groaning as he gets a taste. He only pulls back when they are both out of breath and the sight makes Ghost’s beast growl with pleasure. Johnny’s mouth and chin are tinted red, has his blood smeared all over, his teeth stained pink too.  

“Such a feral mutt,” Ghost shakes his head but he can’t stop licking his own blood away from those lips, Johnny grinning up at him. 

“For you,” the Omega whispers, his hands finding Ghost’s belt, whining in dismay when Ghost stops him. 

He wants Johnny, more than anything, but he’d never take him here, in a dirty out-of-commission base swarming with operatives. He’ll have to talk to Price, convince the captain to let them go, to let Ghost take Johnny with himself. 

He leaves the Omega in the room, but not before shucking off the thin coat he’s wearing and giving it to Johnny. He clings to it, whiffing the material and falling back to bed with a low, delighted sound, only agreeing to let Ghost go when he promises to make it quick. Ghost forces himself to look away, but the enticing picture of Johnny surrounded by his clothes doesn’t leave him as he looks for the captain. 

** 

“Price, I–” 

Ghost steels himself, not dropping eye contact as he prepares for his captain to tear him a new one. He’s done and heard worse, if not from Price, he can take it. But the Alpha doesn’t look shocked, barely annoyed as Ghost presents him what he needs. 

“How did this happen?” 

“Fuck if I know, Captain,” he shrugs, long given up on trying to make sense of it. Of this feeling he has for Johnny, foreign and familiar all at once.  

“Does he want this?” 

The question is like a punch in his gut, Ghost has to fight the snarl that threatens to escape, but he can’t hide the offended, almost hurt expression, not even with the mask back on. 

“Are you taking me for one of them?” Ghost accuses, keeping his voice down as much as the burning anger allows him. Fuck Price for even insinuating something like that. That Ghost would be able to do what he was sent to prevent in the first place. “Do you really think I’d force myself on him?” 

“Ghost–” 

“Do you think of me as a fucking rapist? Because if you do, you’ve done a piss-poor job choosing me to do this op, Captain.” 

Price’s features harden at the blatant insubordination, a callout on his authority Ghost has never allowed himself. But he doesn’t say a thing, only levels Ghost with a look that would send men greater than him running with their tails tucked between their legs. They both know that Price’s unfortunately crafted words are a testament that the captain cares about Ghost, more than anyone. Their history is lengthy and bloody enough to allow Price a comment, and Ghost a response like this. 

“I wasn’t planning on any of this. ‘S just happened,” he huffs after another moment of useless staring. There’s no point in arguing with Price, Ghost knows the captain means well, even if he’s unable to voice it like a normal fucking person. 

“That’s how it goes, isn’t it?” Price hums, not unkindly, that moment of tension already dissipating between them. “You never know how you find your mate, that’s the beauty in it.” 

“Mate? I–” 

Johnny isn’t his mate, Ghost wants to say. He doesn’t do that, he’s not cut out for taking care of anyone, not in a way an Omega would deserve. That’s the reason Price sent him in the first place, his utter inability to form meaningful connections. Johnny can’t be his mate, he can’t risk such a profound bond with someone outside the force when his very existence hangs by a thread with all the shit he does. Johnny– he deserves someone steady and present, someone who can be there for him. 

“Do you take me for a fool?” Price interrupts, shaking his head in disapproval. “Or are you really that fucking clueless? You reek of an Omega in heat. You let him scent you and I’d bet my pension on him currently smelling like you, Lieutenant.” 

Ghost frowns, and if it wasn’t his superior officer talking to him, he’d have already fled. He doesn’t want this conversation. What he wants, needs, is to go back to that room and make sure Johnny is fine. Fuck, he’s fucked. 

“We don’t get to choose, Simon,” Price continues, his voice lower than before as he pulls Ghost into a corner. “I heard you talk about him and we both know damn well you care about the boy. If your mate crosses your path, and by the looks of it he did, you don’t want to say no. Not to that.” 

Ghost swears under his breath, cursing Price for ever sending him on this mission. And he’d never admit to that small part of himself that feels grateful. For finding Johnny in such a horrid place, for getting the chance to know him. And if what Price says is true, if Johnny is to be his mate, turning his whole life upside-down, he’ll need to step up. 

Ghost never gave a damn about family, even the concept of mating an Omega was so far-fetched he never really spared a thought to it. Ghost has never cared about conventions or pups, no. But he cares about Johnny, so unlike any Omega he’s seen. Headstrong with a mouth too big to spare him from trouble. Bright blue eyes that haven’t dulled a bit despite what he’s been through. A sweet pup, a feral little thing that somehow trusted Ghost in a place where he shouldn’t have.  

Maybe they are fated, destined to find the other. Maybe Price is right and Ghost has been blinded by his own rules, his need to be alone. But with Johnny– it’s not a burden. It feels natural and right to be by his side, to protect him even though the Omega is perfectly capable of doing it himself. 

“I have no idea how to go about this, Price,” Ghost admits, cringing at his own incompetence, but Price seems to understand. 

“Take care of your boy,” the captain says, “be there for him and provide like an Alpha should. And for god’s sake, get him out of here before he stinks up the whole place.” 

“Getting jealous, old man?” Ghost teases, a sense of pride blooming in his chest. That could be his Omega Price is talking about. His scent, his presence that causes trouble. Ghost’s, irrevocably so, if Johnny wants it. 

“Getting tired of having an idiot for a Lieutenant.” 

Ghost would argue with that, he really would, but Price dismisses him with another gruff gesture and the order to disappear while they still can and report for debrief once ‘he’s got things settled’. 

Ghost doesn’t have time to dwell on Price’s obvious leniency as he walks up to Johnny’s room and hears his whines even through the door as he stands in front of it, hands shaking slightly with a new kind of excitement. 

He’s never done this before, and Price was right, maybe Ghost is truly that fucking dumb. Johnny wants him, and Ghost has exactly what the Omega needs. He could– Johnny could be his, Ghost only has to put his fears aside and walk through that damn door.  

He could help Johnny, be the comforting weight behind his back. He could drape himself all over the Omega, making sure no one can hurt him anymore. Protect him from ever feeling like he’s not good enough, that he doesn’t deserve care and a loving pack to take care of him. 

But Ghost doesn’t know how to be all that for Johnny, a good Alpha that protects what’s his. ‘Go and figure it out,’ is all the great advice he got from Price, the man several years his senior with no bonded mate in sight. It’s not enough for Ghost, an Alpha who’s spent most of his ruts alone, barricading himself from anyone willing to help.  

He got used to it even if it’s been tough, and he wouldn’t wish that loneliness on Johnny. That itch for more he could never quite scratch, days of almost-agonizing pain to find a body that opens up for him and lets nature run its course. Ghost got away with it so far, but he finds, stepping through the door and meeting Johnny’s hungry gaze, that he’s run out of luck. 

Or maybe, he realises with a hungry smile as he walks up to the Omega, good luck is exactly what found him this time. 

Chapter Text

Soap hasn’t had a proper shower in weeks, apart from the minute-long ones he was allowed in his captivity. So now, standing under the hot spray, the surprisingly good water pressure feels divine on his heated skin. It aggravates the contusion on his side, but he needs this. Just a moment to try and cool down, to think clearly. 

And he’s failing miserably.

Riley, Simon, is just outside the bathroom, a steady presence as Soap continues to lose his mind. His heat struck hard the moment Simon found him, with a punishing force that had him barely stand on his own feet, the Alpha practically carrying him to a pick-up and to the cabin where they are now. 

A safe place, Simon told him, somewhere he can ride out the next few days. Simon’s place, the one he likes to go to while on leave, he explained. And he brought Soap there with him. 

Soap doesn’t think about the after, about having to find a new place to call home far from the people he once thought to be his family. He can’t think about anything but Simon, his deceivingly stark eyes that soften whenever he looks at Soap. His strong arm around him, making sure Soap’s fine. The way he carried Soap into the house, offering warm food and a comfortable bed to lie in. 

His scent, so potent and overwhelming Soap swears he can smell the man through the door. His need for someone narrows down to Simon, Soap’s legs bucking under him every time he thinks of those big hands on his face. Those lips caressing his own, hungry kisses shared not long ago. 

He mourns Simon’s scent as he scrubs himself clean, hoping to replace it as soon as he gets out of the shower. Hoping that Simon will take care of him like he promised, show him what to do, how to be a good Omega. 

Fuck, just thinking about the Alpha makes Soap hard already, aching for a touch; his own hand doesn’t even scratch the surface of that burning need building and building, and if Soap didn’t know he was going through his first heat he’d think he lost it. And maybe he did, falling for a soldier who played the role of another tormentor. 

But Simon tried to tell him, without words, that he was not one of them. From the very first day, when Soap arrived and was scared like never before, Simon was there for him. What Soap first thought to be an annoying attempt to have him talk was his way to keep him alive. Simon cared about him enough to be there when no one else was. Armed Soap so he could defend himself. And he didn’t forget him once it was all done. No, Simon is still here, waiting for him on the other side of the door.  

His brown eyes haunt Soap as he fists himself, it’s not even a conscious move, a desperate moan slipping out and he slumps against the cold tiles, a striking contrast to his heated skin. Soap needs– he just needs to take the edge off, and he hears a voice calling for him, but it feels too good to stop, too good and not nearly enough. 

Soap feels himself slick up, and that is a first. It’s strange, a tingling sensation accompanying the small amount oozing from between his cheeks. He reaches behind, shuddering as his fingers prod at his rim, already pulsing, waiting to be filled. 

But it’s wrong, he wants a different hand, one that can teach him and guide him, wants Simon’s fingers on every inch of his body. Soap’s burning up, his cock hard and weeping as he tries to chase that ecstasy so far away. And he can’t, such a useless fucking Omega, unable to help himself. Soap could cry, frustration building as he works on himself with ruthless strokes, hips bucking up futilely, but all that comes out his trembling lips is a pathetic ‘Simon, Simon’, before he crumbles to the shower floor. 

He doesn’t hear the door open or Simon walk up to him but when they touch, Soap feels like he’s been electrocuted. Every single hair on him stands on end as the Alpha’s scent floods his nose, his mind, and he has just enough brain capacity left to reach out and grab that strong, inked arm. 

If Simon is confused or repulsed by his animalistic need he doesn’t show as he climbs into the bathtub without a word, pulling Soap into a hug, chest to back, tucking his head under his chin. 

“You’re alright,” Simon murmurs, water spraying down on them as Soap whimpers, feeling horrible that he still has his hand wrapped around himself, that he still keeps stroking, unable to stop now that he has Simon close. “Doing great, Johnny, just let go.” 

The Alpha’s rumble soothes the pain some, and a moment of calm washes through Soap, dragging him over the edge. He spills over his hand with a cry, working his cock until it’s too much, Simon prying away his hand, his thumb drawing soothing circles over his scent gland. 

Soap trembles through his release, drowning in Simon’s musky, potent scent, clawing at naked skin as he gets a moment of relief, no more. He feels empty and pathetic as he comes down, holding onto Simon who doesn’t pull away.  

“Alright, Johnny?” The Alpha asks, a light teasing in his voice that makes Soap blush even more if it’s possible, heaving as his head knocks against Simon’s chest. 

Fuck, he’s not alright. Soap is fucking hard, again, what he’s only heard of before is his reality now, a burning desire for more, for everything. For Simon. He needs Simon, wants him so bad he could cry. And he is, Soap realises but he can’t feel self-conscious about it anymore. 

“No,” Soap shakes his head, groaning as Simon moves him a bit, under the spray to wash away the mess he’s made. Then that brute of a man lifts Soap like it’s nothing, and he can only hold on as Simon walks back to the bedroom and eases him down on the mattress. 

Soap shivers as his wet skin meets cool air, and he’s grateful that Simon doesn’t go far, hovering over Soap who all but curls up into a needy, pent-up ball. He still reaches out, tugging on the Alpha to come closer. Simon goes willingly, sitting on the bed next to him, fingers carding through Soap’s wet hair and he nuzzles into the touch. 

Those brown eyes never leave him, watching every reaction; a small, anxious smile starting to tug on his lips. Maybe, Soap thinks, Simon is just as inexperienced as he is. It certainly looks like it, behaviour too soft and careful for an Alpha. Which is– Simon surely has a great history, such a handsome and imposing man must have Omegas fainting anywhere he goes. 

But the way he touches Soap tells a different story. There’s no dominance, none of that selfish lust that he knows many Alphas have. And it only makes Soap want him more, knowing that whatever happens here is going to be so much better than what he was sold for.  

Because Simon won’t ever hurt him. 

“What do you want, hm?” Simon asks then, sweeping a thumb under Soap’s eyes, so sweet and attentive it tugs at his heartstrings. Soap craves kindness, the Omega in him yearning for the safety that is Simon, but his heat is restless and wants an Alpha to take good care of him. 

“Simon please,” Soap groans, an impatient sound as he tugs on Simon’s arm again. “It hurts…” 

“Tell me then, sweet pup,” he goads, gathering Johnny into his arms, and he goes easily, anything to be closer, sitting into Ghost’s lap, snaking both arms around his neck. 

God, it feels good to have Simon like that, a protective hand on the small of his back, the other still on Soap’s face, fingers massaging his neck. He’s pretty, Soap realizes as he clings to Simon, pawing at the man’s neck and face, entranced by the chance to finally have a proper look. The scars are old and tell a story of a strong, fierce Alpha. Someone capable of protecting what belongs to him. Soap wants to be his too, needs Simon to want him, to claim him, body and soul. 

Strong and beautiful, Soap thinks. He can’t help but gnaw on his lower lip and he knows there’s a dreamy smile on his face as he shuffles even closer, slotting his hips against Simon’s.  

And then he grinds down, so subtle he could play it off as an accident. But Simon doesn’t look like he minds, a growl escaping his scarred lips. 

“Johnny,” he whispers, voice dangerously low, not a warning but a tone only an Alpha can produce. “Tell me what you need so I can help you.”  

“Need you,” Soap whines, his nose dragging over Simon’s sensitive glands on his neck, and the bodily shudder in response makes him bold, spurs him on enough to nip at the soft skin there, Alpha scent strong and heavy on his tongue, leaving him dizzy. “Hurts so much, I need you, please–” 

Simon doesn’t answer but when Soap grinds his hips again the Alpha’s hands fly to his sides and aid the move, pulling them flush against the other. Soap hums in delight as Simon hisses, feels him grow hard under too many layers of clothes. 

I did that, the Omega in Soap purrs, he made Simon feel good, and if he does a job good enough maybe he’ll get exactly what he needs. 

“That what you want? To give yourself to me?” Simon asks, nipping at Soap’s stubbled jaw, the Omega nodding vehemently. God, he wants to. He’d sell his soul if it meant to be with Simon. 

“God yes,” he croaks, his hands tugging on Simon’s soaked shirt, impatient and desperate. 

“Would you do it for me? Take my knot, let me pump you full and round, hm?” 

Simon’s sinful words make Soap’s breath hitch, the picture the Alpha paints, full of promises. But the intention behind them, to have Soap carry his pups– it breaks his heart. He can’t do that, not cut out for it. And if that’s what Simon wants–  

Soap whines in distress, the prospect of being a disappointment, to not be good enough for Simon cuts deep. It makes him hold on tighter so maybe Simon won’t make him go, that he won’t throw him away like his parents did. 

“I can’t give that to you,” Johny shakes his head, the expression on his face turning from pleasured to something close to sorrowful, tears welling in his eyes. “Can’t give you pups, if I could I– I’m sorry–” 

Simon must sense his panic, cradling his face with those big, strong hands. “Don’t care about any of that,” the Alpha tells him, and Soap tries so hard to believe him. Wants Simon to fuck him full even if it doesn’t take, even if it means nothing. For Soap, it would mean everything. “Don’t need any of that, you hear? Only you, Johnny.” 

When Simon kisses him it’s much more gentle than before, Soap whimpering with it, Simon’s lips soft but insistent, and he opens up at the first swipe of tongue, letting Simon lick into him. He feels those strong fingers travel down his chest, digging into the fat around his hips before moving to his flank, and Soap can’t help the low hiss he lets out when Simon touches his ribs. 

The Alpha breaks the kiss, worry on his face as he pulls away just enough to look at the bruises there. Soap shakes his head, half-annoyed with himself that he made Simon stop. He doesn’t need the man careful, but as Simon cups his face all Soap can see is guilt. 

“I’m fine,” he promises, scooting even closer if possible, trying to goad Simon into kissing him again, but the man looks almost angry. It scares Soap, makes him think that Simon won’t want him like this, damaged and broken a bit. 

But all he gets is, “I’m sorry,” as Simon’s fingers ghost over purple skin before gathering Soap into his arms again, placing a soft kiss just under his ear, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out sooner.” 

“It’s–,” Soap hums, looking for the right words that would make Simon see, landing on the only thing that he can pronounce, “I killed him.” 

Simon’s breath hitches, the hand on the back of Soap’s neck tightens, then the most rewarding sound, a deep rumble escapes his throat. “Did you?” Simon asks, placing kiss after kiss on the column of his throat, so close to Soap’s mating gland, clearly avoiding it. “Tell me about it.” 

Soap shivers under the barely concealed praise, rubbing his face into Simon’s mushed hair. “I stabbed him here,” he whispers, fingers snaking under the wet shirt, touching the Alpha’s abdomen and he rocks his hips again. Simon grows harder under him, a hand over Soap’s own, a stronger bite at the junction of Soap’s neck and shoulder showing the effect those words have on him. 

“And here,” he growls as he moves on to Simon’s chest, the memory of blood flooding his mind. He pushes the shirt out of the way, Simon helping him and finally pulling it off and throwing it away, Soap’s mouth watering at the sight. Scars over scars, just like his face; beautifully maimed. “I bled him out with the knife you gave me. I killed him for you.” 

Simon bites hard at that, fangs big and sharp enough that he draws blood, and Soap couldn’t be happier. The first mark of the many he wants to see on his own skin, a testament to Simon’s want. That he wants Soap and is ready to make it a permanent claim. God, he hopes they will all leave a scar. 

“For me, huh?” Simon asks, his hand traveling along Soap’s spine and further down still, making Soap shudder when the Alpha kneads his cheek, pulling them apart just a bit. 

He’s way past the point of being embarrassed about the fact that he’s leaking, but when the tip of Simon’s finger taps against his rim Soap is awfully aware that he’s practically gushing. 

“Fuck, you’re wet,” Simon mumbles into his ear, his breath hot and damp, and there is something in his voice that tells Soap all he needs to know. He’ll be Simon’s. Simon will be his. “Are you always like this, Johnny?” 

“For you,” he purrs, keening as the Alpha slips in a single finger with ease, but it doesn’t make it any less electric. “Only for you,” Soap repeats, because this here is for Simon, just as much as it is for him. 

“Mine,” the Alpha nods, licking a fat strip along Soap’s throat, “making me fucking crazy.” 

“Aye?” Soap stutters, rolling his hips with that finger that soon turns into two, Simon gently opening him up despite Soap telling him he doesn’t need the prep. That he’s fucking ready, he’s been ready all night and maybe longer. “Do something about it then.” 

And oh, Simon does. His fingers retreat, only to grab Soap and lean back on the bed, pressed chest to chest. 

“You are a brat, fuckin’ hell,” Simon’s groan doesn’t have much heat to it, in fact, he seems to enjoy Soap’s neediness and the way he can’t seem to stop grinding against the Alpha. “Want to teach you a lesson, Johnny. Want to fucking take you apart–” 

“Please,” Soap heaves, blindly tugging at Simon’s jeans, the Alpha coming to his aid, raising his hips. Together they free Simon of his remaining clothes, Soap pulling them off impatiently, and the moment he can he’s back on the man. He can’t help draping himself over the Alpha, legs thrown over hips, hole dripping. Soap’s fucking gone, he wants those fingers in him again, showing Simon just how much, pulling his hand towards his arse. 

“Alight, alright,” Simon laughs, indulging Soap as he continues exactly where he left off, fingers slipping right back in. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Promise me,” Soap begs him, choking on the breath he tries to take when Simon finds his prostate, fingertips brushing against it accidentally first. “Please, Simon, pl– fuck–” 

“Not going anywhere, Johnny,” he swears, massaging that sweet spot inside that makes Soap’s toes curl. “Not getting rid of me now, gonna make you come like this, and after,” he smirks, his free hand an iron band around Soap’s waist, holding him down, “gonna fuck you so good, sweet thing.” 

Soap has just enough room to get some friction, their lengths sliding against each other, slick with precome. A delicious glide, and yes, Soap could get off like this. Simon could make him come on his fingers, but it’s not what he wants. 

“Show me, please,” he drawls, please, please, like a prayer on his lips as the final vestiges of his sanity crumble under the all-consuming fire of his heat. His hands in Simon’s blonde hair, breaths coming out in sharp staccatos as a third finger pushes in, Simon’s hand twisting in search for the best angle. Soap’s hips move, rocking back on those big fingers that stretch him so carefully, so thoroughly.  

His Alpha taking care of him. 

His. 

He keeps telling he’s ready, three fingers more than enough, and even if they weren’t, Soap couldn’t care less. He’d work for it, endure the pain if it meant Simon was finally taking him. There’s not a single defiant bone left in his body when Simon deems him ready, dragging his body up his torso, Soap’s leaking cock sliding over muscled abdomen. A maddening sensation that has him almost coming, Simon laughing in his ears as he clenches around his digits. 

And then, he’s empty. Simon withdraws; hand slippery with Soap’s slick. Soap stifles the distressed whine as much as he can, but he’s unable to stop a roll of his hips, just to feel something, rutting against Simon’s stomach. He hears a wet sound and a hiss from Simon, pleasured and indulgent, the Alpha clearly working on himself. 

It’s a sight that eases Soap’s agitation. He’d do anything for his Alpha. He’d lie there, be pretty for him, be the reason Simon feels good. But now he really, really needs Simon to fuck him. 

“I’ll be better,” Soap purrs, nipping at Simon’s ear, twisting his arm to the back, pawing at Simon’s, “so much better.” 

“Oh I know,” the Alpha hums, canines peaking out as he smiles at Soap, deceivingly sweet. “You’ll take me, right? Whatever I give you.” 

Yes, the promise true and honest on Soap’s spit-slick lips, mind reeling as the blunt head of Simon’s cock catches on his rim, the Alpha teasing him, rolling his hips with the rhythm Soap sets. Once, twice, just to give him an idea of what to expect. Thick, painfully hard length sliding between his cheeks, hot with need. Simon must be huge, and Soap can’t wait to be split open on it. 

He lets Simon take his time just for a little bit more, an Alpha playing with his prize, and what is there for an Omega to do beyond trusting that he’ll be rewarded? Even if it hurts to be denied that pleasure he’s been craving. Soap can’t help himself, wiggling his back just so, enough that on the next languid sweep over his hole Simon’s cockhead buries itself in him. It’s barely the tip but it makes Soap hold his breath, eyes locking with the Alpha’s for a long second. 

Then, finally, Simon gives in. With a deep, husky sound he grabs Soap’s hips and pushes in, inch by inch. It’s suddenly too much, Soap feels every vein of that silky length carving a way in his body. Relentless, all-consuming, the best fucking thing that has ever happened to him. He cries out as Simon brushes against his prostate, still not fully seated, spilling between their stomachs, coming from the barest of stimulation, hyper-aware of the fact that all it took was an accidental kiss against his insides. Soap would feel pathetic if he wasn’t too gone for this man who has just coaxed the most effortless orgasm out of him. 

“Johnny, fuck–,” Simon laughs, not stopping for a minute as Soap trembles in his pleasure, body indecisive if it wants to move away or submit to the burning stretch. “Fuck, I won’t stop, sweet pup, I can’t…” 

He doesn’t. Simon keeps going, forcing Soap all the way down, and only once he’s fully seated does he let out the smallest huff, palming Soap’s trembling thighs, giving them both a minute. 

“God, Johnny, gripping me like a damn vice.” Soap keeps panting into Simon’s neck, trying to move things forward, but the Alpha stills him, a hand tangled in his hair, tugging gently. “Be good, don’t want to hurt you.” 

You would never hurt me, Soap thinks, moving again, raising his hips and dropping down on Simon’s length. This time the Alpha doesn’t tell him to stop, cool fingers digging into his flesh as he works up to a comfortable rhythm, uncaring of the way his body shudders from waves of overstimulation. 

Normally he’d need a breather at least, but now, now he needs more. It’s not enough, Simon is not close enough. His Alpha, good and strong and perfect for him. Soap needs them to melt into each other, wants to be one with him so much it physically hurts. He mewls into Simon’s ear, a devastated sound that the Alpha reacts to, instinctually wrapping both arms around Soap’s back, the hold just on this side of too strong. 

But Soaps revels in it, the way he can’t move an inch, completely at Simon’s mercy who pulls up his legs, feet planted on the bed, and thrusts up, reaching deeper than before. It knocks the air out of Soap, the feeling so intense like this, and he swears he can feel the bulbous knot starting to form where the base of Simon’s cock keeps sawing in and out of him. 

It moves something, a base need he never knew before. It scares him a bit too, makes him tense up around Simon who hisses in pleasure, his mouth closing in on Soap’s shoulder with a warning bite. 

“Stay,” he growls, as if Soap wanted to leave. It’s just– he knows Alphas are supposed to knot Omegas. That’s just how things are, but Soap has never been in the position before. He’s seen it in those films he watched alone in the dark, thought about it enough times, only to feel guilty about it.  

He was supposed to be an Alpha. But with Simon– he suddenly can’t imagine being anything but a good Omega. One that will take that knot and be happy for it, because if Soap’s being honest, that’s all he can think about now. 

He strains his arm until he can feel where they are connected, where he’s leaking slick like a faucet to accommodate Simon better, shuddering when his fingertips brush over Simon’s cock as the man draws back. And there it is, the half-formed knot slipping in and out with the ferocity Simon is moving his hips, driving Soap feral. He wants to be everything Simon needs him to be, an inviting hole to fuck into, a body to conquer, a soul to take. Soap wants the Alpha to not need anyone else, to be good, to be enough. 

So he works for it, moves how Simon leads him, lets himself be fucked deep and thoroughly, utterly stuck, enjoying every second of it. His own cock, hard again, gets wonderful friction as Simon’s unforgiving pace keeps jerking his whole body, rubbing it between their stomachs, surely leaving a mess. 

“Simon, please,” Soap heaves, that please breaking into a cry as Simon finds his prostate again, honing in on it with delicious drags. He slows down a bit, thrusts long and deep now, reaching deeper than anyone before. It’s a struggle to raise his head, but he wants to have a look, to witness what this does to Simon. 

It’s worth the stain on his neck, Soap is met with blown-out pupils, honey brown giving way to black. The Alpha is hungry, possessive, and still, in the throes of passion he’s almost vulnerable. Soap’s fixated on the view, the way Simon’s eyes flutter shut only to open again and find his own. 

“Please,” he whines again, gnawing on Simon’s neck, nosing his mating gland that he’s too afraid to touch properly. “I need it, need you…” 

“This not enough?” The Alpha croons, making a point with a particularly harsh trust that knocks the air right out of Soap, then an almost apologetic lick over his overheated ears. “Am I not good enough for you, sweet Omega?” 

It’s Alpha-talk, self-assured and cocksure to soothe Soap, and coming from this Alpha it works. No, no, Soap repeats deliriously, melting into fleeting kisses, each point of contact between them setting his skin on fire. 

He somehow finds the strength to move, propping himself on his forearms, Simon allowing him to sit up. Looking down at the Alpha, this beautiful man who scrambles whatever is left of his functioning brain, the confession slipping out, “Need your knot.” 

It’s blunt, demanding, being the right Omega to Simon's Alpha. Another part of himself that Soap isn’t so familiar with, but the look he gets tells him that he’s on the right track. Simon sits up, letting Soap stay where he is. In his lap, impaled on his cock. They fit perfectly, Soap thinks as he rolls his hips in small circles, unable to stop for a second. It feels like he’d die, weren’t he so perfectly filled. 

“Johnny,” Simon growls, fingers skating all over Soap’s body, one hand finding rest on the inside of his thigh, the other on his face. “I’ve never–” 

“Don’t care,” Soap shakes his head. He doesn’t care about any of that, whatever the Alpha has to say. “I want you, Simon. Want you to have me like you’re supposed to.” 

It’s not to goad the Alpha, still, Soap’s words do the trick. With a deep, resonating sound tearing from his chest, Simon grabs Soap and before he knows it he’s dropped on the mattress. Face first, crying his displeasure into the pillows, so empty and cold all of a sudden.  

Simon moves him, hitching his hips up, a strong hand between his shoulder blades pushing him down until Soap’s chest meets the bed and his ass is in the air. 

“This is how it’s done, Johnny,” the Alpha hums, palming Soap’s back, squeezing his cheeks appreciatively. “This is how you present for your Alpha.” 

Soap whimpers as Simon’s cock slides over his hole, slick and hot, catching on his rim over and over again. Then he feels the Alpha’s cockhead breach him again, feels every inch that Simon works into him, draping himself all over Soap’s back. Hot breath against the shell of his ear, words just a bit broken by lust, “And this is how an Alpha fucks you.” 

Soap’s breath hitches as Simon draws back only to thrust in again, driving Soap up the bed with each brutal snap of his hips. The angle is otherworldly like this, Soap can fully submit to all the things he’s feeling. Simon’s ragged breathing, the sweaty palm caressing his flank, hips slapping against his ass. The bed creaks under their combined weight and the ferocity with which Simon mounts him.

“My Alpha,” he keens, and Simon’s rhythm staggers at the words, fingers traveling higher, finding and massaging Soap’s throbbing glands. He kisses over them, open-mouthed, canines teasing feverish skin. 

“That’s right, Johnny,” Simon nods into his neck, hips still pistoning, forcing painful pleasure on Soap. “You’re mine, my Omega. My mate.” 

Soap sobs into the pillow, nodding furiously, craning his neck so Simon can bite him where he most needs it, but it doesn’t happen. No, Simon sucks marks into his skin, all the way from under his jawline to the back of his neck, Soap shuddering with each one he receives. 

His cock hangs uselessly, still dripping and so fucking hard he could cry, and he does, leaving it to Simon to lick away the tears. His mate. Soap’s head reels with the possibility and what it could mean. 

He’d have someone again. He’d have a mate, a pack that he could count on. An Alpha who would protect him, because even though he hasn’t known Simon for a long time Soap knows that he’d always put his comfort first. He’d take care of him, keep him safe, Simon would always give him the last protein bar if it meant that Soap got to eat something. 

An arm around his waist pulls him out of the delirious thoughts, right into the present and the burning, all-consuming pleasure Simon submits him to. Soap hears himself distantly, every ragged breath and high whine that the Alpha’s punishing thrusts force out of him. 

He hears Simon’s grunts, feels his knot slowly inflating, stretching his rim more and more, stretching Soap past his limits. But he takes it, wants more, it’s not enough, it’s not enough. And then, because he must read Soap’s mind, Simon finally touches him, jerking him off in long, luxurious strokes, making Soap choke on his breath. 

“Fuck, please Simon, please,” he keens, thrashing under the Alpha, back bowing obscenely. 

“Come on, Johnny, that’s it,” Simon goads, not stopping, never stopping, driving Soap mad with how close he is getting. “Be a good Omega and come for me again, come on my knot.” 

Soap squeezes his eyes shut, seeing stars, tongue too heavy to utter words. A lick over his mating gland, teasing and thrilling, a flick on Simon’s wrist on an upstroke, and he’s coming with a heaving cry. Muscles locking in, body shuddering with his orgasm, wave after wave, soiling the bed and Simon’s hand. 

He’d collapse if it wasn’t for Simon, the Alpha holding him up, still working on him with no reprieve in sight. Soap mumbles unintelligibly; it’s something close to ‘too much, too much’, but he’s trapped, cock still in Simon’s hand, body still prone and filled over and over again. 

Through the static noise in his ears Soap feels, more than hears Simon’s groan, a dragged-out sound as his hips slap against Soap’s ass, rutting against him, spilling filth as he goes. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny, gripping me like that,” the Alpha heaves, palming Soap’s balls, “so good for me, so damn good. Say it pup, please, please–” 

Soap isn’t sure what he’s asked, too fucked out of his right mind, but says the first thing he can think of, “Give it to me. Wan’ t’ be yours, your mate, your–” 

The scream that leaves him is devastating as Simon’s knot locks them together on the next thrust, making him completely unravel. Wailing in ecstasy as the Alpha pumps him full, marking his insides too with small circles of his hips, hot breath fanning over Soap’s sweaty back, a stifled groan and a tightening grip on the meat of Soap’s waist announcing Simon’s ecstasy.

In the back of his mind Soap reels that he can give Simon what every Omega should. Giving him pups, nurturing them, making his Alpha proud of him. If he can do it, Simon will let him stay. 

But the Alpha doesn’t look like he wants to get rid of Soap anytime soon, his knot keeps rubbing against that spot inside him that makes Soap whine with overstimulation, cock dribbling whatever he has left to give. He reaches back, nails scratching along Simon’s flank to keep him close and seated deep inside, the Alpha growling low above him. Soap doesn’t let up, urging him to go on, shuddering as Simon places soft kisses over his spine, moving further up. 

Soap collapses when Simon reaches his neck, so damn oversensitive and wrung-out. The Alpha goes with him with a hiss, draping himself over Soap’s body. And for the first time since his heat struck, since he got kidnapped, Soap’s mind goes quiet. 

He lets himself come down slowly, uncaring about lying in his own mess. Nothing really matters when he’s blanketed with Simon’s whole body, hot and heavy. The world around them is insignificant, all Soap feels is the Alpha against his back, his own body trembling minutely with aftershocks. 

He paws around, twisting his arm to reach Simon again, needing that additional point of contact, fingers raking through sweaty strands of blond. Soap is sated for now, completely spent. He lets out a delighted sound, something very close to purr as he rubs his face against the cool pillow. 

“Simon,” he mumbles, scratching his scalp, reveling in the low murmur of the Alpha. 

“No,” Simon growls, biting down gently on Soap’s nape, “stay where you are.” 

He wants to say something clever, something like how he couldn’t even if he wanted to, but Soap is still too floaty to move his tongue, so in lieu of any of that he simply melts into the bed even more. 

He lets Simon nose into his hair, lets hot kisses be placed on the column of his neck. He’s doing it, Soap thinks, doing his best to turn his focus on the way Simon keeps nipping on his skin, his shoulder, the back of his neck. 

“Please,” Soap breathes, baring himself even more, clenching around the knot still inside him. Begging for a bite.

“I need you lucid for that, pup,” the Alpha rumbles, soothing the answering whine with another kiss. “You are mine, Johnny, and I am yours if you want,” he hums, and Soap tries to believe it so much, but that little voice can’t help but understand it as rejection. Doesn’t his Alpha want him? Isn’t he good enough? “But I won’t mark you for now.” 

For now. 

“Tomorrow?” Soap whispers, his voice hopeful and tired, and Simon kisses the pout he sports off his lips with a laugh, grabbing him to turn on their sides. 

Every move is careful and caring as Simon settles behind him, pulling Soap close to his chest. He shivers when a big hand splays over his chest, his abdomen where the skin is tacky. Soap tries to wiggle out of the hold, but Simon doesn’t let him, rubbing his come into Soap’s feverish skin even more. 

“Impatient, aren’t you?” Simon asks, moving his hips just so, making Soap keen as the knot inside him rubs against all the right places, still too big to allow Simon to go anywhere, the bastard making the most of it.

Soap doesn’t really mind. 

“Promised me,” he smiles, grabbing that arm and pulling it so he can have a whiff of those Alpha pheromones. 

“That I did,” Simon rumbles, letting Soap indulge in his scent for a while as they calm down, Soap’s heat breaking.  

It’s not the end, far from it, but for now, it’s– peaceful. It’s just them, far from those cells and the constant cold. It’s warm here, in Simon’s embrace, in his bed. His Alpha, mark be damned. 

“And I want it,” Soap slurs still, making sure there’s no mistaking. 

He wants to be Simons in every way possible, wants to be an Omega for his Alpha, a good mate. Wants to have all of it, despite everything he’s been through. 

He thinks about all those times Simon was there for him, those secret conversations in the safety of the night. Soap isn’t sure how or when it happened, but he knows he finally found something good here. 

Someone who could love him for who he is. Someone who doesn’t care what he is, Alpha or Omega. No, the way Simon breathes him in and holds him close, how he was so attentive even when he was deep inside him Soap could feel it in his lungs– it tells Soap all he needs to know. 

They were meant to be. From the start, from that first touch when he was the most vulnerable. Soap was meant to be Simon’s, all he had to do was hold on and fight. And Soap got his prize in the form of a huge Alpha with very bad humour who was willing to kill for him. 

His mam and da would have never done it. No, they were happy to get rid of Soap the moment they found out. And that’s the difference, isn’t it? Because Simon was ready to take care of him when no one else would. He offered company and kindness in a place that was meant to break Soap and reduce him to the property of anyone willing to pay the price. 

Soap wants to thank Simon. He’s not sure how, there are so many things they have yet to figure out. He’s still not fully convinced that he can stay with the Alpha, but being here, in his bed, well– it’s a good start. 

Soap revels in their closeness, how Simon is just as reluctant to let him go, nosing his hair, cupping his face oh so gently. He’s free to touch too, free to trace the black ink on strong forearm, that scarred hand that has brought nothing but relief into his life. 

The hand that would never hurt him. 

His Simon, his Alpha. 

“You’re mine, Johnny,” he hears distantly, well on his way to falling asleep in that embrace, Simon pulling him even closer. 

“Yours,” Soap breathes with the last of his consciousness, Simon a warm presence behind his back. 

Delighted, safe. Finding a place for himself in the world after all. 

He might be Simon’s, the Omega to his Alpha, but Soap, after everything he’s been through, is free. 

Whatever happens next will be his choice and his only. And if that choice means chaining himself to Simon willingly– well, the Alpha doesn’t seem to be that reluctant to the idea. 

(art by @Shroomdle)

***

Ghost wakes after an indefinite amount of time. The low light of early dawn is enough to help him reorient when all he sees first is almost-black hair. 

His first thought is Johnny, just like it’s been for a longer time he’d like to admit. Taking a deep breath he’s all Ghost can smell, heat-sweetened, spiced caramel. Pure Johnny. 

The Omega is properly knocked out, doesn’t rouse when Ghost leaves for the bathroom and comes back to bed, only snuggling closer in his sleep when Ghost returns. He can’t help but skate careful fingers wherever he can reach, along Johnny’s arm, the curve of his ass. Up and down, feather-light, just to feel the warmth he emits. 

Last night was– intense. Pictures of them flood Ghost’s mind, Johnny in his lap, under him, singing beautifully as he let Ghost fill him. How he begged to be knotted, to be marked up. How good it felt to dive into that tight heat, to fill that strong, willing body bend to his all-consuming need. 

God, Ghost is gone for this Omega. It’s been such a long time since he let anyone close enough, it was never an option to say no to Johnny. Not when he gave Ghost such a hard fucking time, when he teased him with those little smirks and bright blue eyes. 

No, Price was right. Johnny belongs to him, has been from the very beginning. Ghost was just too caught up with his tasks to see why he felt the need to protect that scared little thing. To be there and feed him, keep him afloat. His Alpha sniffed it out much sooner, that Omega who needed someone to tell him that he’s not a faulty product of genetics. Who is not lesser because he isn’t an Alpha. 

He’s more, he’s everything. Ghost doesn’t believe in Fate, but maybe Fate is kind to even someone like him. It led him to Johnny, after all. To the darkest of places, only to find the Omega who was, by all means, made for him. 

Ghost thinks of the first time he laid eyes on Johnny. Behind bars, barely conscious but growling in fear. Fuck, he was so lost, a heavy collar around his neck, marked for purchase. 

Ghost’s eyes find the bruises and scratch marks on Johnny’s skin where he should be perfect and unharmed. The sight makes him nauseous, misplaced guilt threatening to drown him. He’s not the one that put Johnny in it, but he sure as hell let the Omega wear it for too long. 

And now Johnny wears the marks, different than Ghost would like to see on that flushed skin. He doesn’t know if Johnny really meant what he said in the throes of his passion, if he’d let Ghost bite him, make him his mate. 

Ghost likes to delude himself that he earned that trust. After all, Johnny is here with him, sweet and slack in his arms, prone body recovering just enough so that his heat can strike again. It will soon, he muses, rubbing fingers into Johnny’s mating gland.  

Ghost didn’t lie, as soon as the Omega’s heat breaks and Johnny says the words, he will make it official. 

Irrevocable. 

The softest ‘Simon’ he ever heard pulls him back to the present, focus solely on the Omega. Johnny turns in his arms, outgrown mohawk sweeping his forehead, squinting up sleepily. 

“Did I wake you?” Ghost asks, so mellow he barely recognises his own voice. But he can’t deny the soft spot he has for Johnny, would never want to. 

This is his Omega, he’ll do anything to keep Johnny comfortable. 

“No,” he mumbles, a sleep-rough and deep sound Ghost hasn’t heard before. Is this how Johnny wakes each morning when he’s not kept against his will? “You’re still here.” 

“Of course,” Ghost nods, letting the Omega scoot closer. 

“And I’m here too,” he continues, voice smaller somehow, as if he doubted his place in Ghost’s life. 

“Right where you belong, Johnny,” Ghost is quick to calm him, kissing the Omega softly. He tastes the other with each languid pass of lips and tongue, rejoicing when Johnny opens up for him so easily. “Told you, pup, I’m yours if you want.” 

“I want,” Johnny answers dumbly, breathing the words right over Ghost’s mouth, kiss-swollen and slick. “Want to be yours. Want you to want me.” 

Johnny is a menace, climbing over Ghost, only to lay down on him. He’s heavy and warm, and there’s an unmistakable hardness rubbing against Ghost’s own, the first sparkle of pleasure igniting the flame that barely went out for a few hours. Their naked bodies fit like pieces of a puzzle, so perfect and right it makes Ghost quickly lose it. 

“Oh, I do,” Ghost rumbles, hands traveling down to grab Johnny’s ass, just to get a feel of all those muscles under soft skin. “Turned my world upside down, you did.” 

“Aye?” Johnny smirks into another kiss, his hips moving subtly, but it’s enough to drive Ghost insane. He has this boy, this perfect little Omega just for him. It might have freaked him out, to have so much faith and responsibility weigh down his shoulders, but with Johnny– it makes sense.  

Caring for him is the easiest thing Ghost has done. 

“That’s right,” he nods, aiding the not-so-subtle rolls of Johnny’s hips, his own cock filling out rapidly. “You, Johnny, are the one for me,” Ghost confesses, baring his heart for the Omega to see, to hold. And to destroy if he chooses, God, Ghost would let him. “So fucking good, so brave, so–fuck, Johnny, the perfect mate for me.” 

The Omega whines into their kisses that grow sloppier, gently grabbing Ghost’s hair, Ghost’s hand wandering lower to feel slick pour down Johnny’s legs onto his own. Pulling those cheeks apart, Ghost finds him dripping and still open from last night and can’t help but hook two of his fingers into Johnny’s inviting hole. 

Ghost admittedly lacks experience with Omegas, but he knows that this one here will be his undoing. He has never taken anyone so responsive, so beautifully submissive. Johnny gave himself, all of him, and asked for more. 

Asked for everything Ghost has to give, his freedom, his independence. And were it anyone else, Ghost would be quick to say no. He wasn’t planning on finding anyone, let alone a mate. He’s not cut out for that, never been. But for Johnny– he’d try to be a good Alpha. 

And a good one does exactly what Ghost is doing now, pulling the sweetest noises out of his intended, making sure that Johnny’s first heat is memorable for all the good reasons. Ghost digs his fingers into the bruises he left not so long ago, biting down on Johnny’s shoulder only to kiss it better. He lets Johnny rut against him, lets him moan into his ear. 

“Take what you need,” he urges, throwing his head back as Johnny snakes a hand between their bodies, fisting their cocks with desperate, luxurious strokes. “Take everything, pup.” 

And fuck, is his Omega a brave one; Johnny doesn’t have to be told twice, he sinks his fangs into Ghost’s neck right into his gland, biting down so hard he draws blood. For a split second there’s shock, because Ghost wasn’t quite expecting that, but then– all Ghost feels is a surge of relief flooding his senses, so fucking glad Johnny made his choice. It’s homecoming, it’s the rest at the end of a long road he never expected to take. 

It’s all Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. 

He can’t think of anything or anyone else, can’t stop himself from grabbing the Omega and turning him. Can’t help but sink into that heat again, barely giving Johnny time to settle before he fucks into him deep and hard, Johnny’s waist a perfect handle to pull him in for each thrust. 

And the Omega cries out in pleasure, legs shooting up to hook around Ghost’s body, holding on for dear life. There’s nothing sweet about it, no gentle touches anymore, just that bare, animalistic need to claim and conquer a willing body. 

“Simon,” Johnny begs for him, voice shaky, those pretty blue eyes filling with tears, “‘m yours, fuck–” 

Ghost can only nod, mesmerized by the sight of his blood on Johnny’s tongue, teeth stained red, drool more pink than anything else. All for him. 

“Mine, Johnny,” he growls, zeroing in on the Omega’s prostate once he finds it, submitting him to a painfully fast orgasm and not letting up even when Johnny scratches his back bloody. “Tell me you want this.” 

Johnny does his best to focus, eyes clouded with pleasure, and Ghost wants to keep him like that forever. Clinging to him, so trusting, such a perfect match. Ghost hates to think about the what if, where his Johnny would be now if they hadn’t managed to free him. If he’d be in a different bed with an impotent Alpha trying to rut into him against his will. 

Unkind, undeserving. 

Ghost shakes the thought, doubling down on his efforts, leaning over Johnny, licking his way up that flushed chest, collecting come on his tongue in his need to have every single part of the Omega. He lets Johnny taste himself when their mouths connect in a fervent kiss, telling him between each lick and bite how good he is, how well he takes Ghost. 

What a perfect mate he will be. 

And when Ghost feels his balls draw up, that tight coil snapping low in his belly, he stakes his own claim. Bites down on Johnny’s perfectly untouched mating gland, bites hard until he tastes blood. His hips stutter, and with one last thrust he stills, tumbling over the edge with a ferocious growl.  

Johnny wails and cries until his voice gives out, hole fluttering around Ghost, milking him dry, babbling promises that Ghost easily returns. He promises Johnny to keep him safe, to make him happy. Promises to be a good Alpha, to be strong and fierce when Johnny needs it and loyal until he dies. It’s a mating vow, one that Ghost swears to hold up. 

Sealing his fate, giving up anything he thought important, only to gain everything in return. A mate, a home for his heart, a place where he can put all that newfound affection he has to give. 

Ghost can’t help but stare, feasting his eyes on his Omega who is still clinging to him with limbs shaking. Head thrown back, mouth slack, a completely fucked-out expression on his pretty face. Ghost licks up the sweat that adorns Johnny’s sun-kissed cheeks, leaving bloody traces instead. He kisses along the heavily stubbled jawline, nipping his way down again, to the flushed, heaving chest. 

He kisses Johnny everywhere he can reach, up and down, helping him come down from his most recent high, soothing his small, needy whimpers. Pawing at his feverish face, he tells the Omega to rest while he can, knowing well that the heat is still not fully broken. 

And Ghost lets his own mind calm down a bit, lets himself think of the future. Their future. Of all the things he’ll have to do to adjust to a life with a mate so he can give Johnny the best life possible. 

It takes long for the Omega to open his eyes, teary blues finding Ghost’s warm browns. His look is so tender, so sweet, it makes Ghost want to preserve it forever. He’s– he doesn’t know how to do it. How not to corrupt his boy, how to shield him from the life Ghost leads. 

“S’mon,” Johnny slurs, nuzzling into Ghost’s neck, “it’s alright.” 

He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t need to, looking at the Omega Ghost dares to simply play along and believe. It will be alright. 

“Wherever you go, I go,” he says, fingers languidly tracing invisible lines over Ghost’s shoulder. 

“There will be lots of places you can’t,” Ghost shakes his head, frowning a bit just having to think about leaving his mate behind. 

“I’ll wait, then,” Johnny purrs, leaning in for a kiss, Ghost more than happy to meet him halfway, lips slanting over lips, his hands skating down Johnny’s body. 

“Good mate,” Ghost rumbles, huffing a carefree laugh when he feels Johnny clench around him at the praise, hips twitching. “Insatiable, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t mind, not one bit. Ghost might have his work cut out for him, satisfying the Omega seems downright impossible, but as he lets Johnny turn them, crawling down the bed right between Ghost’s thighs, he feels a different kind of excitement starting to take over. 

Deep within, low in his belly, Ghost’s rut stirs to life.  

A beast that revels in the proximity of his mate, that needs to keep that warm body close, away from prying eyes and worthless contestants. And fuck, fuck, Ghost can’t wait to claim Johnny again on every surface of the house. He can’t wait to take him home once they are done here, to give Johnny the life and freedom he deserves. 

“For you,” Johnny growls, licking and biting, mouthing at Ghost’s tired muscles, at the soft skin on the inside of his thigh, his heavy balls, all drenched in Omega-slick. 

“Only for me,” Ghost breathes, a possessive hand fisting Johnny’s hair as his pup swallows him whole, sinful sounds of his struggle filling the early morning silence of the room. 

Ghost will eventually have to call Price, telling him that a few days of leave won’t cut it, and he’ll have to do it before his rut truly hits. He’ll have to ask for certain adjustments to be made so Johnny can be as close to him as military rules allow. 

For now, he chooses to ignore all of that in favour of trying not to rut up to that warm heat around his cock, sparing Johnny’s throat. God knows the Omega needs to spare his energy if he means to be there for Ghost when he loses his mind to base instincts.  

Not that he has a choice, neither of them does anymore. They belong together, Alpha to Omega, Ghost to Soap. Simon to Johnny. Destined to find each other against all odds, against the will of the worst of them. 

Ghost might have never intended to look for a mate, but his fate seems to care little about details like that. He didn’t have to look, only allow himself to see that he found one anyway. 

His Omega. 

His mate. 

His Johnny.