You know when a cat is gonna do something bad and their owner tells them to think about it? The cat pauses and then they do it anyway to spite their owner?
That’s the ask theme for today—reader getting into trouble or causing trouble because they can
for Simon and Johnny Wednesday: wish you the best omega telling ghoap they’re gonna be dads please
You feel nervous as you wait for the two alphas to come home, knowing that within minutes of them arriving there will be a life altering change. You wait by the kitchen table, knowing full well that under their plates is an ultrasound of your pregnancy, and a pair of tiny baby shoes—ones that almost match their own military boots.
The pregnancy was just confirmed and you hadn’t wanted to spoil the surprise while they were gone. You needed, wanted, to tell them in person and tonight was the night.
Everything was set and ready.
You heard the key in the lock turn, and the subtle scrape of the door against the rug on the entrance floor. You wait with bated breath as Johnny and Simon enter the house, and then slowly make their way into the kitchen. You’re standing there, waiting for them, when they finally turn the corner.
“Sunshine,” Johnny grins when he sees you, wearing one of his favourite dresses of yours, “special occasion?”
“You’re home,” you can barely hold onto your excitement, your fingers twitch behind your back as you wait for them to sit, “I wanted to surprise you with your favourite food.”
Simon sits first, his tactical and well trained eyes noticing a few things that seem out of place with this setting. He doesn’t say anything, no he never would, however he does give you a look.
“You smell damn good, bon.” Johnny doesn’t sit yet, instead he cups your hips and squeezes gently. His nose is pressed against your neck as he inhales your scent, invigoratingly filling his senses with you. He missed you, they both did, that was clearly evident.
“Okay, sit!” You bat your hands at him, motioning him to sit and once he does you stand near the head of the table. “I have a surprise first before dinner-”
Johnny, ever impatient, lifts the covers of the plates and immediately sets his eyes upon the ultrasound. And the boots that match theirs, almost perfectly, is on Simon’s plate—the two symbols of your recent news.
“No fuckin’ way!” Johnny drops the cover to the floor with a sharp clatter, and then his eyes lift to meet yours. “Are ya serious, bon?”
“You’re pregnant?” Simon hooks the booties in his fingers and raises them, looking them over with a hidden or guarded look in his eyes. “This real?”
“I’m pregnant,” you rest a hand on your belly, smoothing your hand down the front of your dress, “I didn’t want to tell you because you were gone. I wanted to wait until you were home-”
You expect Johnny to react physically, but it’s Simon. The man who seemed so cold hearted and closed off, had approached you first. He had drawn you to his chest, his hands sliding down to your stomach where they sat protectively. He rubbed your belly, softly and tenderly, as his eyes searched your face.
“Our omega’s taken to seed-”
“Don’t say it like that!” You scoff and smack Simon’s chest, rolling your eyes. “It’s a baby, not a crop-”
“The MacTavish clan continues.” Johnny lifted the ultrasound to his eye-line, grinning madly at the image caught on the paper. “Look at this beauty, Si. What a perfect babe-”
“Takes after it’s dad.” Simon finally draws his hands off your belly, but only to instead to rest his hands on the sides of your neck. He brushes his thumb against your scent gland as he leans down and kisses you, softly and tenderly. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m gonna be a good dad for our baby, nothing like my own-”
“I know.” You finish for him, resting your hands on top of his. “You’ll be perfect, Simon. You both will be.”
Hi, i hate myself rn 🥺 i sent the ask meant for you to another person idk HOW MANY TIMES 🥺. Im glad i was in anon, but still 😭 they don't take requests which is fine, but yeah its embarrassing
Aww don’t worry too much about it 🫂 I can’t tell you how many times I’ve embarrassed myself online and in real life
If I had a live reel of my life, it’d mostly be me making an ass of myself (social anxiety, shyness, always saying the wrong thing feeling like an idiot etc.)
For simon & Johnny’s day, can I ask for Simon in a relationship with angst and fluff?
In The Orange
The earth beneath his boots isn't hard enough yet to prevent the heels of his boots from sinking into partially soft ground. He grips his hand tightly around the handle beside him, fingernails digging into the leather before he takes that initial step.
The air cuts through his lungs with every step he takes down a worn path that's committed to his memory. With every step it feels as if his chest is being crushed, as if there's an insurmountable weight that is being pressed to his body.
The thick limbs of trees that encompass this path like Guardians watching him make this Trek toward the end goal, cast shadows upon the ground. Simon feels the cutting edge to his lungs and his chest, the ache makes him hesitate as he wonders if this is even worth it.
But he knows who waits for him at the end of this long trek, the door that obstructs him. If he can make it to the front steps, if he can cross that divide and complete this journey, then he will be able to breathe. It cuts deep, however, with every step that makes his heels dig in. It's ever present there, the ache that rattled the sturdy soldier who was returning home with invisible wounds.
Simon Riley was a damned man who tried to catch something and someone good in his hands. The blood that stained his hands, that afflicted his body and soul with a darkening haze, was pressing. It was a reminder that he was a monster, a phantom that terrorised his enemies.
There was less than ten feet between him and the house at the end of that long drive. There was less than ten feet when he stopped where he was and dropped the bag in his hand. The leather handle that weighed him down had nail marks permanently altering the composure. The edges were rough and the zipper was at the end of it's lifespan, threatening to spill the contents inside like they were his deeply guarded secrets.
Simon stood there, at the end of the long drive, with his blue eyes settled upon the front door. There was a plume of smoke coming from the chimney, promising warmth inside. The front door was closed and shut tight, with only the scribbled markings of Sharpie staining the door as decoration. Through the front window Simon could see the car lounging on the shelf, a small Ragdoll kitten with a beastly attitude that reminded Simon of himself.
He stood there until the chill of the turning weather had begun to eat at his hands, and only then had he stopped low to pick up that bag. The weight that returned to his hand was inductive of his guilt, of the pain that are away at him internally like slow acting poison. Still he moved, he closed the ten foot distance until he had walked up the steps.
He raised his hand to knock on the door, once and then twice. The footsteps behind the door had given Simon hope, the cold soldier had felt the frozen state of his heart thawing. He held his breath as the door opened and a familiar face stood on the other side, the beauty of that face drawing Simon forward.
"Hello love." He spoke instinctively, his voice hoarse and rough from years of abuse via cigarettes and alcohol. He stood on the other side of that door, his blue eyes sweeping over the form of his beautiful wife, the woman that he left behind to pursue duty.
This place was so untouched by the hands of war and strife, by the duty that plagued him at night and drove him mad some days. This place, far from the UK, was settled in the United States and surrounded by woods and nature. It was the perfect place for a young boy to grow up, to feel bark beneath his fingers and explore the world around him without the threat of urban conflict.
"Simon," you breathed his name as you stared at your husband, those rings around your finger still representing a promise, "you're in one piece."
His wife stood on the front porch of their home wearing one of his old shirts that he should have thrown out ages ago. You stood barefooted on the mat set before the door, not a welcome mat but one that was more crass and to Simon's liking. There, behind you, was a curious face with eyes that were a carbon copy of Simon's, and a smile that was yours.
"Were you a good lad for your mama?" Simon had crouched to meet his son who peeked around your legs, his head tilted slightly to the side.
"Daddy," your son, eager and excited to see his father again, had darted around your legs to crash into Simon's body, and his arms enveloped his boy. Simon held his son tightly to his body as he lifted him from the porch. Simon stood, his boy's arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist as best he could.
"There's my boy," Simon hugged his son tightly, feeling the cutting ache and coldness to his heart melting once more, "I missed you."
Simon watched you as his son hugged him, he watched you and gauged your reaction. Your eyebrows were furrowed as you stared at Simon, as you watched him with those eyes that he loved so much. You were mindful of the time he was spending with his son, and had waited until Simon set his son down again before you inches forward. The cutting breathlessness that afflicted him when he first arrived, was settling now that you were within reach.
"I missed you, sweetheart." He touches you before you say anything, before you even had a chance to. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing a stray tear that rolls down your cheek. Simon knows he's been gone far too long, he knows that there's an uncertainty in this marriage that hurts you as much as it hurts him.
"You're home." You finally speak, breaking the silence that hangs heavy between you both. "Simon, you're home."
He raises his other hand to your cheek, his palms warming under your flesh. Behind you he can see the baby, his girl that he has yet to meet, nestled in a baby rocker, sleeping soundly. She is the second of your children, and yet another reason why Simon had to make the decision he had.
"I love you," you speak the words he dies to hear and you press yourself against him, hugging him the same way you did when he had left, "don't leave again, Simon."
He rests one of his large and heavy hands against the small of your back to keep you pressed against him, while the other rests against the back of your head. He smooths down your hair, comforting you while your tears stain his shirt, the relief you feel now that he's home is matched with his own.
"I have to tell you something," Simon shifts his foot as he stands, the edge of his heels touching that worn bag with the leather handle, "sweetheart-"
"Please don't leave again." You pull away from him, your eyes searching his as he looks down at you, vulnerability making his chest ache again. "Simon-"
"I'm done," Simon spoke over you, his chest heaving with the painful twist of a heart that beats for his wife and his children, "I'm coming home. For good."
He couldn't leave you again; he couldn't leave his children. Not again.
He was a soldier, he was a Lieutenant who had taken blood and eliminated targets. His body, mind and soul were tired, and he was ready to retire. He was a tired soul who craved the love and devotion of his wife and kids, who had felt the last mission nearly breaking him.
"You mean that?" You ask him with hesitancy and Simon knows why. He has said he'd retire before but he always went back, he was drawn to the fight that never seemed to end within him. But not now, not this time.
"I'm done." He cups your cheek and tilts your head back in order to kiss you softly, sweetly and intimately. "I'm tired, sweetheart. I'm home for good."
Almost in every post about soft!dark!König and his best friend turned wife reader is uncertain and doesn’t take könig’s feelings seriously. can I get a one-shot where reader returns affection (and König losing his mind because of it)?
A single text message and phone call changes your entire outlook on König. It brings a rise of panic to you that you’d never experienced before, completely obliterating your nerves.
König got shot, headed to the hospital
The phone call was the message only communicated through the blaring siren of an ambulance. The voice was unrecognized but it didn’t matter, the context is what you listened to.
König, your faux husband who was your best friend, was shot. The man who had saved you from being deported and forced to go back to your family, was shot.
König is shot, he’s in surgery getting the bullet removed — 👻
It took longer than you expected to get to the hospital since you had to drive a few hours from your shared apartment,and when you arrived König was already out of surgery. You hadn’t wasted time finding out where he was or getting to the room he was going to recover in. There were guards that worked for Simon outside the private room, that had mugged out if your way when you arrived.
Simon is there with his wife-to-be, talking on the phone away from the bed to give him privacy. Simon’s ex-ballerina fiancée smiles small toward you and stands to give you a hug. You hug her in response, though you feel partially numb as you watch König, the giant and brutish man, knocked out from anesthesia.
She offers you her seat, after informing you that they were waiting until you got here to leave. She gathers her things, gives you another hug from behind, and slips her number into your pocket with the instance to call anytime.
You sit where she sat as people begin filtering out. You watch, you wait, and you give the nurses room to come and go. When the overhead announcement is made that visiting hours are over, a new nurse after shift change comes to the room to kindly ask you to leave.
Your hand rests on König’s, you squeeze gently and exhale with a languid sigh. “He’s my husband, I’m not leaving.”
It’s the first time you acknowledge the marriage, truly and deep accept it. All the fighting you’d done internally all seemed like stupid time wasted when you could have just accepted this; accepted him. The nurse doesn’t argue with you, despite her being unsure and leaves the room giving you privacy.
You sit for hours until you fall asleep, sitting on that uncomfortable chair while your head rests on his bed. You only wake to feel a hand smoothing down your hair and when you come to, the room is dark. König is still lying in bed, an IV in his arm, the monitor beeping steadily, and he’s staring at you.
“Thought you wouldn’t come.” König’s voice is hoarse, maybe even weak compared to his normalcy. His hand moves from the back of your head to your neck and then down, to the zipper of his sweater you’re wearing.
“You’re my husband,” you acknowledge the marriage again, and you drag your chair closer to the bed, “I took vows-”
“You take them seriously?” It’s not a harsh question but König asks it with absolute honesty. “I thought this was convenient-”
“You’re my husband,” you repeat yourself and lean over the bed, your gaze faltering to the stitches in his skin, “through richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health-”
König grins like a madman, shamelessly preening under your words. He rests a hand behind his head as he looks at you with heavy hooded eyes, desire and affection flowing his blue irises.
“You love me, Schatzchen.” He’s like a boy who got the toy he’s always wanted for Christmas, his eyes are bright and vivid, and his smile is infectious. “My wife loves me.”
You swallow your words, you want to argue. You want to contest his claims with the rebuttal that you’d always stuck to but you know you can’t. Because what he says is inherently true. You inch closer to the bed, tracing the nicks and scars on his hands with your fingertips.
“I was scared when I heard you got shot, I didn’t want the last thing you heard me say was me calling you an ass.” You murmured quietly under your breath, your eyes meeting his from the short distance between you two.
König didn’t fault you for what you said, he knew it was true. He liked to push you, trying to get you to accept what was true and deep love, even if he was a bastard who manipulated circumstances to get you to stay. König was madly in love with you.
“I am an Arschloch, schatz.” König rest his hand against your cheek, thumb brushing your skin gently. His eyes are soft, his touch is even softer and despite having a seen hole in his body, he’s in a good mood. “I’m glad to know my wife loves me.”
“I do love you.” You respond with vulnerability to your tone, and König responds with a croon.
He taps the bed next to him and shifts over onto the mattress, inviting you on. You don’t wait, you crawl onto the bed next to him and rest your head against his chest, mindful of his wound. With an IV still attached, König wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you closer, holding your body against his own.
“I love you too, Frau.” König kisses into your hair and tugs the blanket up both of your bodies, tucking you into his side. “Even if it took me being shot for you to tell me how you really feel.”
“Tut mir leid.” You mumble in German, and turn into him, nuzzling your face into his warm and solid chest. “I promise I’ll say it once a month.”
“You say I love you twice a day,” König counters, squeezing your side, “and I’ll let you rescue that kitten from the shelter.”
“The one with the missing eye?” You look up at him, your eyes roaming his face as he looks down at you with a small smirk.
“Ja, liebling. The one with the missing eye that you cried about for a week.” He leans in, pressing his lips against yours. “But you have to say I love you twice a day.”
“Deal.” You don’t even hesitate, you don’t even have to think about it.
I am such a sucker for pregnancy tropes, could you please write something with a friends with benefits discovering their pregnant? With anyone you chose
That’s stupid plastic stick that sits on your bathroom counter, curses you. The plastic screen with the little lines that mock you, makes you want to hurl yourself into the sun. There is nothing that can make you feel less pathetic than knowing that your friends with benefits relationship had made you feel as vulnerable as it did.
Just beyond the bathroom and down the hall is the man you’ve been sleeping with. The arrogant playboy with a long list of women he’s slept with, including you. But you’re the latest, and you’re his friend. You’d been his friend for a long time, watching him as he slept with random women.
It was fun, all just fun and games, friends who occasionally shared a bed. Johnny was noncommittal, and you had been as careful as you could be while using protection. There should have been no accidents, even when you had taken the placebo pills during your week off.
Johnny always packed, he never missed using rubbers. He was careful, he was always careful.
But now—
“Got the call, bon. Gotta leave ya behind. Dinnae forget to lock the door.” Johnny knocked on the bathroom door while you were inside, trying to deal with that stupid plastic stick.
“Johnny we should talk-” you tucked the pregnancy test into your sleeve, drawing in a shaky breath as your free hand reached for the doorknob.
“I’know I’m a prat for leaving, after I just go’ back.” The door opens and he stands on the other side with a charming grin. “Sex’s good b’tween us, eh?”
It’s all friends with benefits and no commitment, like he is with everyone. He likes sex, he enjoys sex but he doesn’t do relationships. He doesn’t date, he doesn’t want a girlfriend.
“Look bon, you’re a real good woman, better friend.” Johnny rests a hand on your shoulder, his fingers squeezing lightly as you stare at him with building contempt growing in your chest. Why won’t he just listen to you? “Call you when I’m’back, we’ll do something.”
He hands you his key to take, to lock up after him, and then he’s gone. He’s leaving you behind as he grabs his rucksack and slings it over his shoulder. You follow him mindlessly to the door, watching him as he grabs his things and prepares to leave, prepares to leave you standing there alone.
“Johnny I really need to talk to you-”
“It’s gotta wait, bonbon.” He slips on his boots, denying the opportunity to talk here and now, and then he opens the door and holds it open with his foot. “Team’s waiting, and i gotta be the hero.”
He grins and winks at you, his eyes sweeping over you once more before he steps out of his apartment. As the door closes you know exactly what will happen—you’ll gather your things and leave his place.
You’ll lock the doors and leave Johnny’s place behind, left regretting your inability to speak to him. To tell him the truth. And once again you’ll be drawn into his stupid and charming net, this web that traps you so easily.
You should hate Johnny for it, but realistically you know you can’t. You’ll forgive him, you’ll fall into his bed again. You’ll sleep with him and then you’ll watch him sleep around with other women, each one breaking your heart more than the last.
Only this time, you wonder what would happen if you just left. If you left and didn’t return to his place or take his calls.
Princess reader having a date with a diplomat until mafia König shuts down the restaurant, ending the date
König knows reader won’t force her hand and demand the place stay open
The bottle of wine in front of you holds your interest more than the diplomat in front of you. The Royal, from an ally country, couldn't avoid speaking about anything but himself for the past hour and all his remarkable feats. The arrogance of this diplomat that you were meant to have a dinner date with, was unwavering.
You had arrived almost an hour ago and had immediately been thrown into a conversation over his best assets. Particularly why he was the most eligible bachelors in social circles like your own. You had ordered your favourite wine, asking for the waitress to leave the whole bottle, and hadn't spared yourself with a glass.
Your tortured night was going to drag on and while you would have given anything for it to end quickly, you hadn't expected or wanted that intervention to be in the form of König. The beast was there at the restaurant you were having your diplomacy date at, an impossible figure to miss when he entered the building with two of his goons behind him.
The beast was there at the restaurant you were having your diplomacy date at, an impossible figure to miss when he entered the building with two of his goons behind him.
Your eyes met his from across the room, your heart running wild when that man, the beast you were trying to avoid, had smirked at you. That smirk told you everything you needed to know, within moments patrons being were closed out and the waitresses were ushering people out.
"Who the hell does he think he is?" That arrogant Royal you were meeting with hadn't taken the news of the date ending sooner than he expected. Although any protests he might have aired beyond the initial, were swiftly shut down with the appearance of König at the table.
"You have one minute to leave before I start breaking bones." That shadow appeared being the princely figure, though his arrogance was fleeting when König held up a pocket watch, counting down for him.
The diplomatic date was over, the restaurant was being cleared out and your date looked like he was going to piss himself. Once he had mumbled about his father being displeased and ultimately leaving, it was you and König alone.
"You look beautiful, Schatz." König had taken your date's place across from you sitting like a proud Peacock, with one arm draped across the back of the chair and the other resting on the table. "I thought you would have better things to do than entertain weak men."
"I thought you'd have better things to do than ruin neutral dates." Your quip was met with a hearty and husky chuckle, his blue eyes rolling at your comment. Momentarily ignoring your comment, he had turned his head and motioned for one of the skeleton waitresses to come over.
"Another bottle of wine, one that hasn't been touched by the vermin," König looked back at you, his eyes drawing over you with intense interest, "and tagliatelle alla bolognese, for the Princess."
"I can speak for myself, König." Your ire is met with another smirk and a brief silence as he reaches for the bottle you had that, by his words had been touched by vermin.
He holds it out behind him and it's taken by one of his men, to be disposed of somehow. While you waited for another bottle, you looked him over with a scowl that was reminiscent of your mood and irritation over his actions.
How dare he show up here with that stupid ego and smirk? And who did he think he was interrupting your date?
And what gave him the right to look so good in a button down shirt with the top two buttons undone? How dare he...
"You're staring, Princess. I'm beginning to think you like me." He crooned, attention flitting from you when a waitress brings another bottle; a new bottle.
"I'm wondering how you can possibly manage to breathe with such a big ego. I mean between your height and your arrogance, you're flying a little close to the sun." You're biting comment does nothing but make him smile, not smirk but a genuine smile.
He reaches for your hand and grips it, his fingers interlacing with your own, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. A scowl or any series of curses that you could possible use as a method of pissing him off, has failed. It's clear that almost nothing you do can piss König enough off to warrant distaste of disinterest.
"Your father tried keeping you from me." König had continued holding one of your hands while the other started pouring you a glass, the favoured red filling the glass. "I don't like it when people try and keep my Princess from me-"
"What do you want? Power? Money? The ego boost of bagging a Royal?" You finally pull your hand away from his but only because the food he ordered on your behalf arrives.
"I have power and money, and bagging you sounds so cheap. You hurt me with your words, Princess." König watches you as you pick up a fork and begins eating the dish that you both know is one of your favourites. "No, I don't need any ego boost from taking what rightfully should be mine."
"Then why?" You ask, and for a moment that mask of his slips and beneath it is the vulnerability of a boy you hadn't seen since you were a child.
"When I was a boy I fell in love with an Engel who treated me as if we were always friends. That girl, beautiful as the sun and just as warm, had treated me like I was worth something." König spoke with unrestricted nostalgia, his eyes unguarded and soft even if it was temporary.
"That was a long time ago, we were children-"
"Ja, and I promised myself that I would become someone who deserved you.” König drew out an exhale, the last of what was softened with his gaze and tone. “And then your fucking father tried to marry you off-”
“König-”
“I’m sorry schatz,” König evened out his breathing, his hand resting against yours again, “this is a date, I shouldn’t get so pissed off. Not with you.”
König squeezed your hand, his attention focused solely on you. Exactly where he thought it should be.
Want to combine Price and Gaz themes of today a bit.
From one of your post LMF!Reader seemed to be a little intimidated by Price. Gaz on the other hand imo is chilling - he likes Price, respects the older alpha. Can get a piece where Gaz kinda ships them together? Like Gaz teases her about how she obviously attracted to him (our princess drools whenever Price let himself dress more casually and shows more skin and muscles) but tries to deny that, but also sees Price struggling with keeping himself in line and not touching princess every second of the day.
In short, what I probably want is cute one-shot from pov of a person who loves to see a bond blossom.
💕
“You’re staring again.” Gaz speaks to you from across the desk, a pile of forms and papers in front of him, but all he can look at is you. “You like him?”
“Shut up.” You hiss at Gaz under your breath, despite knowing that he’s right and you’re watching your father’s advisor, now your advisor and future mate.
Gaz knows it’s the first time you’ve seen him in jeans and a plain, ordinary shirt. The casualness of Price, an alpha that Gaz naturally really likes, is distracting for you. He knows it, and every time you see Price as he enters the library to gather something, Gaz sees your eyes follow him.
“You’re staring, Princess.” Gaz grins and leans back against his chair before he raises his voice. “Hey Cap, can you help me with something?”
“Cap?” You mumble under your breath, asking Gaz what the hell he means.
“Price used to be a captain in the military before he left and became your father’s advisor. We all have nicknames for each other, didn’t you know?” Kyle teases you, and he knows exactly what to do to make you squirm.
Including calling the "pack leader" over for some unforeseen reason.
“Gaz, Princess.” He greets you both, arms crossed over his chest as he stands beside the table you’re at. The sleeves of his shirt ride up his muscles as he stands and Gaz sees your eyes are drawn to the peeking lines of tattoos.
“Little Princess omega and I were trying to settle a debate,” Kyle’s lying through his teeth but he wants you to squirm, he knows you’re still intimated by John, but what omega wouldn’t be?
“A debate?” When John questions Kyle in return, Gaz’s smile only brightens and widens.
You were attracted to John, again who the hell wouldn’t be, practically drooling at this point.
And John was itching to touch you, your scent drew all the alpha’s in, though his composure was almost legendary.
“A debate over whether it’s better to go on suppressants or naturally let your best run its course. What do you think, Princess? Wanna let your heat-” Gaz was stirring it up, his mischievousness was almost as natural as your own when you let it slip out.
“Suppressants are terrible for omega’s long term.” John speaks so fluidly, so clearly, that it makes both you and Gaz stare. “Short term suppressants are fine, long term they can have mental, emotional and physical damage.”
Kyle feels like a bystander, as you stare at John with eyes that are conducive of your attraction to him. While John studies you and he drops his hand to find his fingers over the edge of your sweater. Gaz is watching it all as he pulls it up your shoulder to keep you warm, a caring act from an imposing alpha.
“Are you on suppressants?” John’s husky voice lingers between the three of you but his focus is only on you, a fact that Kyle likes—you are, naturally, at the center of the pack. And you have four alpha’s who care for you.
“Wanna sit, Cap? I’m on my way out.” Kyle pushes the chair back and stands, catching your eyes as he announces his departure.
“What? Where are you going? I thought you were gonna help me with this diplomacy thing-” Kyle hears your whine, your pleading voice not to be left alone with John—because there won’t be a buffer and you won’t be able to stop staring at him.
“I’m your confidante, Princess.” Gaz walks around the table to kiss your cheek, lips lingering against your skin. “Better ask the advisor for diplomacy help.”
He rights himself and rests his hands on your shoulders, looking across the table to where John’s now taken Gaz’s place. Gaz’s fingers tighten around your shoulders, squeezing affectionately before he announces his departure again.
He walks away, leaving you two alone to talk and grow your bond, knowing full well that all it’ll take is one look for John to crack—and for you to be fully endeared to the intimidating alpha.
As Gaz exits the library he pauses, a groan falling from his soft lips, coming to a sudden realization. “Fuck, Ghost is next.”
Can i kindly ask for a part 2 but simon and his person pov??? Like the prank? 👀 Pretty pls
“Do you like my nails?” You sit on the edge of the counter while Simon throws some mixed vegetables into the frying pan, the spices making your stomach growl.
He stands shirtless at the stove with a pair of grey sweats hanging low on his hips. His brown hair is tousled and slightly messy, though your attention falls to the tattoos on his skin when he turns to look your way.
“You got a different colour,” his attention drops to your nails, the colour and shape rather vibrant instead of neutral, a passionate red, “and a different length.”
“I like them, the colour is bright and the shape is nice. And they’re free.” You try not to give anything away, knowing that you and König’s fiancée had this whole ruse to screw with your men.
“Free?” Simon crosses his arms over his chest, your attention naturally drawn to the thick muscles that make you melt instinctively. “Explain, sweetheart.”
“König paid for them.” You expect him to react, you’re waiting for it. But all you get is his firm stare boring into your eyes, his jaw tensing slightly.
“Okay.” The single word hangs in the air and your eyebrows furrow, lips pressed together. Of all the reactions you could have gotten from someone like Simon Riley, a simple okay was not one of them.
“I’m serious, König paid for them-” you try to double down on this prank, crossing one leg over the other as you lean back against the cupboards.
“What the fuck did he pay for your nails for?” Simon turned away, to stir the vegetables in the pan so they wouldn’t burn, his fingers flexing around the handle.
“He was being nice-” you are confused, a little miffed because König had a very different reaction and Simon seems to be so nonchalant.
“And what his motive?” Simon raises his head again, lazy stare sweeping over you while his natural frown tells you nothing about his mood.
“He was being nice-”
“Okay.” Again he repeated the word and then he moved away from the stove to the wine cooler, stooping low to grab your favourite. Once he sets the wine on the counter, now it’s your turn to act sour and moody, as you huff at him. “What, love?”
“Your friend paid for my nails and all you can say is-” Simon reaches you, grabbing hold of your chin and pulling you forward, his possessive kiss silencing you before you can finish your comment.
His tongue slides across your bottom lip before he slips it into your mouth and the kiss shifts from possessive to passionate. His hand slides around your back and under you, fingers digging into your ass as he lifts you from the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist and he moves you from one countertop to another, away from the stove.
“Don’t try that shit with me,” Simon pulls away, his voice husky and hoarse, “I know exactly what you’re trying to pull, sweetheart. You and that Austrian wanker’s fiancée-”
“He’s not a wanker-” you try to protest, only for Simon to cover your mouth with his hand so he can finish talking.
“-I’m not a fucking idiot. You’re a little princess but you won’t even let me pay for your nails, let alone another man. You want wine, nod your head.” He leans in, hand still covering your mouth, and you nod in response.
Once he pulls his hand away he leans in again to kiss you, keeping you momentarily silent.
“I was born at night but not last fucking night.” He turns around and you lean forward, using as much power as you can to smack his ass, grinning when he stops and looks over his shoulder.
“I like you in sweats.” You shrug, that explanation enough.
“You and that mouth are being put to use.” Simon mumbles and turns back to the stove, multitasking by cooking and uncorking your wine. “Those nails are gonna look real good tonight.”
for matchmaking Monday, Gaz or Simon or Johnny think John needs to start dating again, they set him up with one of their girlfriends/wives friends —can you make reader have some kind of disability like you did with Unburdened?
People You Meet
A/N: Reader has mutism and speaks in sign language/writing on a board if I use these with reader " " they are meant to be taken as sign language and not spoken word
The no smoking sign at the back of the reception venue had stacked on another irritant that got under the captain’s skin. If it weren’t for Kate Laswell and his men, he wouldn’t be here putting up with the inability to smoke cigars on the venue grounds.
“A wedding is a celebration, Cap. Even you must like weddings, the free booze, the food-” Kyle began speaking and was swiftly cut off by Johnny’s eager horniness
“Scamming on single bridesmaids.” Johnny cut Gaz off, speaking over him as a few of those bridesmaids walked past the 141. The sight of them made Johnny turn his head, trying to get a crack at the pretty women walking by.
“I’m divorced, Gaz. I’ve made enough mistakes-” John reached for his pocket, the cigars that should be in there were missing, and his mood dampened again.
“Got room for another wedding in you, Cap? Another attempt at marriage maybe?” Gaz grinned at the leader of the 141 before he looked around the venue, as if to find someone specific. Gaz’s date, and his fiancée, hadn’t paid any mind to his staring, if anything she had almost aided him.
“Who the fuck are you looking for sergeant?” Simon asked gruffly, drawing the youngest soldier in their unit’s attention back to him.
“A friend-” Gaz ignored Simon, largely, and his grin widened when he caught sight of who he was looking for. The small group of soldiers had been puzzled by Sergeant Garrick’s distracted state, until a woman slipped through the crowds and joined him.
“Thought you’d show up late again,” Gaz pulled her into a side hug, his fiancée doing much of the same, “Cap, Soap, Ghost this is Y/N.”
John watched as you waved, smiling cordially but you hadn’t spoken. You were studying them just as they were studying you, though your attention was divided between Gaz and his fiancée, and them. Gaz had looped an arm around your shoulders to secure you to his side as he made the introductions.
But what had really drawn their curiosity was the way your fingers moved as you communicated in sign language. You hadn’t spoken, you hadn’t made any kind of noise that would be taken as verbal welcoming. Rather you communicated through the standard ASL.
“Y/N is mute, she’s been mute since she was 5. She communicates through sign language,” Kyle explained, signing like you had, though slower, “and she has a board to write on.”
You finished signing and rest your hands by your sides again, silence between the men and you was tampering on the lines of awkward. There was no real clues given by Gaz as to why he wanted you to meet them, not really until he had furthered his explanation.
“Y/N is related to the bride,” Gaz had been practicing his British Sign Language, trying to master the communication, “and is my fiancée’s sister. We met a few years ago, and she is part of my family.”
“It’s really nice to meet you all,” your fingers moved quickly, forming the letters and words you were trying to communicate, “Gaz has told me a lot about you.”
“Aye, had he mentioned how devilishly handsome some of us are?” Johnny cocked a grin, charming and flirtatious as he naturally was.
“Johnny,” you signed his name, your head tilted slightly to the side, “flirts with anything that has legs and a heartbeat.”
“-flirts with anything that has legs and a heartbeat.” Kyle delivered the message as you signed, even though both John and Ghost knew sign language.
“I dinnae-” he protested, crossing his arms over his chest, taking offence to the very idea regardless of it being true. “Gaz’been spreading lies.”
“Ghost,” you looked at the silent and masked man, only giving him a quick look over, “deadly and mysterious.”
“Oi! I get manwhore and ghost gets mysterious?” Johnny harrumphed, rolling his eyes at the implications that Ghost was somehow on a higher scale than him.
“Captain Price,” when you looked over at him, John felt alike a battering ram had slammed right into his gut, rattling any kind of protective guard that kept him emotionally isolated, “brave, daring, capable-”
“-smart.” Gaz finished for you, relaying everything you signed as you signed it, until you were done.
“What the fuck, Kyle? That’s all I get?” Johnny was still mildly miffed about the designation he had gotten, irritated that Kyle had seemingly ruined any chance to flirt with you before he had it.
“Johnny likes to make things explode,” you signed the words, emphasizing the explosion aspect of your speech, much to the amusement of Gaz and John.
“Gaz we should take our seats,” his fiancée addresses him a tap on the shoulder, drawing his attention back to her.
“You’re seated with Y/N, Cap. Over here.” Gaz states before he starts moving toward the table you’re assigned to sit at, with Ghost and Johnny following behind.
You find your seat in between Gaz and John, your name scrawled across the placard—with the addition of honorary bridesmaid added beside it. You reach for your chair and find that John has already started pulling it out for you. You smile at him and raise your hand to your chin, keeping your fingers and hand flat before you move it forward and slightly downward.
Once you take your seat you reach for the already filled glasses of water and pull it before you. You don’t get to take a sip, not before Johnny breaks the silence at the table.
“You know the bride?” His question draws your attention and you raise your head to look at him from across the table.
“The bride and I have been friends since we’ve been ten.” You communicate in sign language, and as you do Ghost translates instead of Gaz. “The groom is a soldier of yours?”
“Good soldier,” John answers you now, stealing any opportunity from Johnny who tries to flag down one of the waiters for a drink, despite there being a bar, “smart and tactical.”
You don’t think to ask more than that, and they don’t give any more on the soldier marrying your friend. But your connections to the lot of them are indelible, through Gaz’s relationship with your sister, his fiancée, and through the bride that’s marrying one of their soldiers.
As the night progresses, you feel more comfortable around the soldiers that Gaz wanted you to meet. Their sense of humour makes you laugh, and you hang onto every word they say when they tell you about some of the things they get up to on base. But it’s John that you can’t stop looking at, can’t stop drawing your attention toward the pretty captain with heart stopping blue eyes.
By the time the dancing arrives, Johnny asks you to one or two because he has to show the rest of them up. You like being around him, he seems easy to be around with a boyish charm that’ll never leave. One dance turns into two, and potentially three, if John hadn’t interrupted.
“Gaz set this up.” The whispered admission draws a silent laugh from you, as John seems annoyed but not surprised.
“I know.” You mouth the words, silently confirming what he initially thought. “Gaz likes to meddle.”
The hand on your back tightens as John dances with you, his eyes moving across the room before they settle back on you. His blue eyes search your face before the corner of his lips twitch but he remains quiet. He is a good dancing partner, he takes the lead and whisks you around the dance floor to the music, before he escorts you back to the table when it’s over.
After you take your seats again, the table is suspiciously empty, another ploy by Gaz no doubt. Regardless of the emptiness at the table, there’s no lingering awkwardness between you and John. It feels oddly comfortable, and any silence there could be is filled as he begins telling you some unclassified stories about the three soldiers that had been here minutes ago.
By the end of the night, his hand is on your thigh with a promise to take you for coffee for a proper date.
The expectation that you would be in the agency for weeks without finding a match had left you with the understanding that you could enjoy your time in the facility. While other omega’s were regularly getting matches or gifts from potential alpha’s who were interested, you were waiting in the wings. So, to speak.
There was an omega who had applied for the program, only a week after 18, and had already been given a series of meetings and gifts with alpha’s who wanted her attention. She had been showered with applications to meet, with alpha’s from across the United States who wanted an omega through the agency. You had come to hear that she was only here for a week before she had accepted the offer and courtship of an alpha, and then she was gone.
You had relented to enjoy the time you had in the house, getting to know other omega’s who wanted to seek a more institutional route of mating. There was an ongoing epidemic of violence against omega’s, both male and female, at the hands of alpha’s that had started this international joint effort. The same international effort to make omega’s safe with alpha’s who would treat them right, would be the same international matchmaking service that would give you the best chance.
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