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skele-ghost · 22 days

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Baby, it’s Hot Outside: Part 4

Welcome to: (Y/N) doesn’t know anything!

MDNI, 18+, Warnings: Omegaverse, dangerous situation, crowds, allusion to r*pe/sexual harassment/assault, heats, stranger danger

Masterlist

It doesn’t take them long to figure out that (Y/N) (L/N) has no idea what courting is.

She’s a beta, sure, and betas haven’t always been courted in the same fashion as omegas or even alphas. But that had changed in the modern age—even Gaz was courted by Price, and König made it a point to give just as much attention to Gaz as Soap while he was courting into the pack.

To be completely fair, they hadn’t yet asked to court her officially. Normally there’s this sort of pre-courting process, flirting and dates and smaller gifts, almost like a hint or a heads up before the formal ask.

Even so, the flirting went right over her head. She would laugh along, joke, tease back—but when someone compliemented her, really called her beautiful—she would blush, say ‘thank you,’ clear her throat and pick up the conversation where it had left of.

They would have thought she was turning them down, if not for her genuine confusion over the courting gifts.

Soap, the good omega he is, offered her a blanket from his nest. An awfully profound gift that spoke volumes, an item from an omega’s safe and private space, doused with the scent from each pack member.

“Oh, but this is one for your favorites,” she frowns, holding the ball of fabric in her arms.

“I ken. It’s the warmest one, too,” Johnny beams at her.

“You don’t want it?” She asks, tilting her head to the side.

“I want you to have it, angel,” he insists.

“Are you sure?” She asks as if he’s a child picking out a flavor of ice cream she knows he doesn’t like. “Because you know I have that big quilt my mama made me—“

“(Y/N), come on,” he laughs nervously, tamping down his growing fear of rejection. “It’s a gift. From me to you.”

She eyes him skeptically, looking at the blanket for a moment. “Alright. But no take-backs,” she jokes. “Thanks, MacTavish!”

And then she just leaves him standing there, a slight hop in her step as she walks down the hall towards the barracks.

Ghost, who had been listening the whole time from an adjourning room, takes to Soap’s side.

“The fuck was that?”

“I ‘ave no fuckin’ clue.”

Maybe it was a bad first gift, in retrospect. Betas didn’t have the same noses as the other designations. She might not be able to smell their scents on it at all. Maybe she just didn’t understand.

They keep trying. König takes her out to lunch, only to come back disappointed because she took the opportunity to talk about her favorite TV show and he couldn’t get a single word in. Not that he had the desire to stop her when her eyes were alight with excitement.

Ghost left her one of his hoodies, draping it over her duffel—and she gave it back to him the next day, thinking he’d put it with her things by mistake.

Gaz gets her a hat with the task force’s insignia…and she looses it the next day to a windstorm. She apologizes profusely, of course, but even with his arm slung over her shoulders, even when he presses a kiss to her temple, telling her it’s no big deal—she just doesn’t get it.

The last time they tried was a month prior, two weeks before the Mexico mission. They invited her out to the pub, adamant that they’d really lay on the flirting, sure that they’d finally get her to understand.

To say it was a disaster would be an understatement.

—

You and Soap head out early, something about getting a table before the pub’s too crowded. The sun periodically casts a golden glow on the buildings when it peeks out from behind the clouds, signaling sunset as the shadows get longer.

You two hold idle conversation, talking about work, mostly. It had been a busy, hectic week, hacking into cartel servers and pinpointing locations.

Every once in a while you bump shoulders to avoid other pedestrians. It makes you realize that some people are staring. Your brow furrows as you follow their gazes, mostly focused on Soap. He does seem a little less energetic than usual. A little less talkative, considering that you were carrying the entire conversation. His cheeks are flushed, but it’s been a hot summer.

“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, head tilted up to look at him properly.

“Yeah. ‘S just hot,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“It’s just 80,” you reply, not completely convinced.

“Fahrenheit. How hot does it get back home?”

“We always get a couple of 100° days in the middle of summer—“

Someone bumps into him lightly, but it sends Soap stumbling. You catch onto his arm and stabilize him, finally noting how hot his skin is.

“Jesus! I think you’re getting heat stroke or somethin,’” you gasp, and he leans on you for support.

“I jus’ needta siddown. Pub’s there,” he points and you have no choice but to go. You try your best to ignore the stares from onlookers as you drag him along with you. They look concerned and it doesn’t help your hammering heart.

You decide that just sitting down won’t be helpful, considering that the sweltering pub isn’t even air conditioned. So you shove past strangers, muttering excuses and apologies, and take him into the women’s bathroom with you. It’s empty and there’s a lock on the inside of the door that you bolt.

“Just lean here for a sec,” you instruct him, leaning him against the wall instead of on your shoulder. You quickly take off your shirt, thankful for the tank top underneath, and soak it with cold water from the sink.

A groan of discomfort has your attention turning back to Soap, just to see him slide down the wall and onto the floor, sitting and plastering himself against the tiled wall.

“MacTavish! You have any idea how many diseases are probably on this floor?!” You curse, guiding his cheek from the wall, wiping his face with the cool cloth.

He chuckles, “yer so cute when you get that furrow in your brow.”

You just purse your lips, keeping the cloth against his jugular while you pull your phone out with your free hand, navigating to the dial pad.

He grabs your wrist. “Call Ghost.”

“I’m calling the police, you need to go to the hospital—“

“Call Simon. That’s an order,” he says, his tone serious although his eyes are half-lidded, cerulean focused on you.

You frown. Technically, he doesn’t have the authority to order you around. On the other hand, if Soap MacTavish was telling you to not call the police, then you weren’t going to.

“Fine.”

You dial the number and return to the sink, soaking it with cool water while the phone rings. It picks up on the second chime.

“What?” Ghost answers gruffly.

“Something’s wrong with Johnny,” you say, wringing out your shirt of excess water.

“What d’you mean? He alright?”

You set the phone on the edge of the sink and put it on speaker phone, kneeling next to your teammate once more.

“I-I don’t know— He all sweaty, his skin’s on fire. I think he’s got heatstroke, I should take him to the hospital—“

“Calm down. Where are you?”

“The bar, the lady’s room,” you say quickly, watching as Soap’s face contorts into anguish, tears spilling past his waterline.

“Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone, understand?”

“It’s locked—“

“Simon,” Soap whines, a whimper following a moment later. You gently shush him, wiping the tears from his face as they come.

“‘S alright, Johnny. Gonna be there soon, you’re gonna be fine,” Ghost soothes on the other end, his voice not losing its softness as he continues. “(Y/N), we’re almost there, darlin. You have somethin’ to defend yourself with?”

“I-I got mace, why?” You stammer, mind reeling with what the hell he could be talking about.

“Almost there. You use it if you need it, okay?”

“I—okay,” you agree, letting Soap pull you closer, his arm snaked around your waist.

You nearly jump out of your skin at the pounds on the door. “Hey! You can’t have him in here like that!” A man shouts on the other side.

“Don’t talk to ‘im,” Ghost instructs just as you open your mouth to speak.

The door shakes with the force of the pounding. “Hey! You hear me, you little—“

You don’t even hear the call hang up as there’s a muted thud from outside. You reach for your mace.

There’s a curt rap of knuckles on the door. “(Y/N)?” You feel your fear dissipate at the sound of Ghost’s voice, “you can open the door now, lovie.”

You have to wrench Soap’s arm off of you to get up and unlock the door. Ghost enters as soon as there’s enough room, no hesitation as he rushes past you and kneels by Soap’s side.

“He just got sick all of the sudden, I don’t know why—one minute he was fine and the next he was all hot. He was fine on the subway, I don’t understand—“ you ramble, only stopping when a hand on your shoulder startles you.

“It’s alright, (Y/N), he’ll be okay,” Gaz reassures you, his presence a comfort of its own. “You did everything right.”

You just nod, watching as Ghost lifts Soap (who seems to have calmed down quite a bit) into his arms and carries him out of the room. The back hallway of the bar is just barely large enough to fit your entire team.

König stands guard at one end but immediately abandons his post when Ghost calls for him, his eyes something dark like you’ve never seen—not that he even seems to see you. They exit the back door where a car’s already waiting in the alley.

The only thing stopping you from following is the captain, his hold on your upper arm keeping you back.

“We’re not going?” You ask, brow furrowed as you watch the door close.

“No, we’ll catch up with them later,” Price says, ushering you and Gaz out of the same back door; the car’s already gone.

“Where—they’re taking him to the hospital, right? I think he’s hyperthermic.”

“It’s just a fever, (Y/N), Johnny’ll be right as rain in a day or two,” Gaz soothes, maneuvering you to walk between him and the captain as you start down the alley.

“It’s happened before?” You ask, shocked.

“Happens four times a year,” Price informs you, a knit in his brow.

“Four tim—what, like every season? That’s so bizarre! What is it?”

“(Y/N)…He’s an omega. It’s a heat,” Price says.

“Ohhhhhh,” you say intelligently, your eyes widening. It certainly silences you, makes all of the pieces click into place—most of them.

You thought heats were only once a year. That’s what your cousin had said, at least. But it doesn’t explain why that guy at the door was so angry, or why Soap didn’t want you to call the police.

It confuses the hell out of you, but in the silence on the walk back and in the metro system, you decide it’s probably better that you don’t know.

You’ve heard some of the horror stories: how omegas used to be treated. How some of them are still treated. A knot forms in your stomach at the thought that someone would want to do that kind of harm to Johnny—at the realization that you were the only thing standing between him and cruelty.

What if the team hadn’t been there in time?

A/N: Hello! I hope this chapter gives more insight into the 141 + (Y/N)’s relationship before she presented. It should also explain why the boys were so angry at first when she presented—they thought that she had been lying this whole time, pretending not to know about designations and such. Furthermore, in my humble version of the Omegaverse, suppressants can take away scents and the ability to detect scents. Let me know if you have any questions!

#cod x reader #task force 141 #cod mw2 #cod omegaverse #cod ghost #cod gaz #cod price #cod soap #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #konig cod #cod konig #poly 141 #141 x reader #tf 141 #baby it’s hot outside

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skele-ghost · 25 days

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AITA for Leaving Our Transformed Captain's Offspring Stranded?

I know it sounds bad but please hear me out. I'm seeking your thoughts on whether I made the right call. I'm Charles (M43), the first officer of a starship. Now, this situation involves our pilot, Taylor (M27), and the captain herself (F37). Fake names for anonymity.

Taylor pitched this bold idea to break the warp 10 barrier, and against my better judgment, we went for it. Long story short, he ended up transforming into some amphibian-human hybrid. The twist? Turns out, during this warp 10 ordeal, Taylor kidnapped the captain they unknowingly conceived offspring.

Now, here's where I might've made a questionable call. After this transformation fiasco, we found ourselves on an apparently uninhabited planet, and the offspring were left behind. Yeah, I made the executive decision to leave them there. I know, it sounds heartless, but hear me out. I made the tough call to leave them there. Now, I can't shake the feeling that I might have messed up, especially knowing how much I care about the captain.

As the first officer, my primary concern is the safety and well-being of the crew. Bringing back the offspring seemed risky, and the area of space we are now is full of unknowns. My captain is someone I deeply care about, and she seemed to supported the decision, and I didn't want to undermine her authority.

But now, I'm grappling with whether I should've fought harder for a different solution. Leaving her offspring on that alien planet weighs heavy on my conscience. Did I prioritize the crew's safety at the expense of a moral obligation to someone I care about?

So, am I the asshole for leaving our transformed captain's offspring stranded on that planet? Or should I give myself some understanding given the complexities of navigating through uncharted territories?

Edit: In the spirit of Threshold this poll is all kinds of broken so I'm editing to try it again... Please vote :) (again)

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skele-ghost · 25 days

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Reblog to give the person you reblogged from the ability to finish their WIPs

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skele-ghost · 25 days

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@sleepyconfusedpotato

Spotted this Ghost & Jade coded image on Reddit. Opinion in the comments is that she is 163cm (5'5") and he is 210 cm (6'10").

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skele-ghost · 25 days

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skele-ghost · 25 days

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this is kind of changing my life as we speak

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skele-ghost · 25 days

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Alright, here’s my take:

Graves is teaching history, specifically US history of course. Idk where the college is but he makes America his whole personality. American flags everywhere, bald eagles, don’t tread on me bullshit

Price could also be a history prof but for the interest of diversity, English (specifically classic literature) and is known for putting students to sleep with his voice. Is also known for slamming shut books for the same reason.

Ghost teaches anatomy and physiology. He keeps the lecture parts of his classes short and sweet, and most people sit in the front rows since it’s a little hard to understand him with that accent. When he goes over the charts and models, pointing out specific parts, you get the feeling that his knowledge comes from experience, not education.

Gaz is health and wellness/physical ed/sports medicine. Some of his classes are for the required PE credit and he’s got people jogging around campus, others he’s in the classroom going over musculature (which he can proudly demonstrate). Takes the required drug and alcohol safety parts very seriously.

Soap is a chemistry teacher that makes chemistry actually fun in between all the math and formulas. I feel like he is ex-military and tells the wildest stories from his deployment (totally not based off of my high school chemistry teacher lol)

König (because I love him): Guys guess what? The German speaking character is teaching German. But I feel like he emphasizes that other countries speak German, too, and definitely has an Austrian flag hung prominently in the classroom. Gives extra credit if you make German/Austrian cuisine or sweets for the class.

This is just my take, please read @vellichor-of-the-solivagant’s one shot of theirs!

Not me imagining Professor! 141 + Phillip Graves fucking me in school (I'm a college student y'all) instead of studying Statics

I will fucking write this later

edit:

A question:

What Majors do you guys think the 141 and Graves would be teaching?

#cod mw2 #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #john price #phillip graves #kyle gaz garrick #cod konig #college au

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skele-ghost · 25 days

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If they somehow want her now that she's an omega, I'm gonna punch all of them with brass knuckles...in the balls. 😈☠️

Lmao I promise part 4 goes into this

#141 x reader #baby it’s hot outside

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skele-ghost · 26 days

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Baby, it’s Hot Outside: Part 3

Ruh-roh Raggy

MDNI, 18+, Warnings: Omegaverse, near-death experience (NDE), hospitals, hugs lol

Masterlist

“Ghost!”

The desperation in Johnny’s voice has Ghost scrambling out of their cabin, gun unholstered and ready for anything. He steps out onto their rickety porch and sees Soap standing on Seraph’s porch, frantically waving him over.

“Ghost, hurry!” He shouts, and Simon doesn’t hesitate. He crosses the clearing quickly and nearly slams open the door to the cabin.

The smell that hits him almost causes him to stumble back. It’s sour, almost rotten, and everything inside him screams that something is terribly wrong.

It’s Seraph. She’s limp in Soap’s arms, completely unconscious, and for a moment Ghost thinks she’s dead. Her chest rises and falls in short, shallow breaths.

“She’s hardly breathing,” Soap says, tears brimming in his eyes. “Just—just hold her, I don’t know if your scent will do anything but—“

Ghost strides over and falls to his knees, quickly taking her limp form from him and cradling her into his lap, tucking her head against his neck. He checks her pulse and it’s weak, too weak.

“Gaz is calling for a medevac,” Soap says, rising to his feet, “I’ll go get the captain and König—just please…”

“Go, Johnny,” Ghost commands, “I’ve got her.”

Soap runs off, leaving Ghost with a nearly-dead omega in his arms. He pulls off his baklava, exposing his scent gland and keeping it as close to her nose as he can.

His chest tightens, her sour scent making his stomach toss. If he’d known she was this bad—

But he did know she was bad. Soap had returned to him day after day smelling of her, worse each time.

It was only a few hours ago that he had gathered everyone together and told them that they would need to call a medevac tomorrow if she didn’t get any better.

How had she deteriorated so fast? Three days was all it took for their happy little hacker to turn into this husk?

Ghost growls, holding her tighter against him. “No,” he says to her, “we’re not going to lose you, (Y/N).”

—

It’s like waking up from a nightmare. You feel content, and comfortable, and as recent memories flit back to you, they almost seem like conjurations of a fever dream.

But you open your eyes and you’re in a private hospital room, an IV hooked up to your wrist. You’re tucked neatly into the hospital bed, in a hospital gown.

A snore catches your attention. Soap MacTavish is asleep on a tiny couch next to your bed, in casual clothes with a blanket draped across him. The position he’s in looks so incredibly uncomfortable that you decide it’s best to wake him.

“Soap?” You’re a little taken aback at how soft your voice is. How could you have lost your voice? You have to call his name a few more times before he wakes up.

“Oh, thank god,” he sighs, any semblance of sleep lost as he stands up and engulfs you in a hug. You swear you can see the sparkle of a tear in his eye as he pulls away, but you don’t get a good look before he turns and pulls up a chair.

“Uh, hey,” you manage, surprised at his actions.

He sighs deeply, leaning forwards in his chair, squeezing your hand briefly. “We thought we’d lost ya.”

“Sorry,” you say automatically, before you shake your head. “What happened? Where are we?”

“Mexico City. We had to have you medevac’d…it got pretty bad, hen,” he says, sounding sad.

“I really did go into a heat, then?”

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “The doctor said it’s rare, to present so late, but it’s not impossible. So…welcome to the omega club, I guess.”

You chuckle, “thanks, MacTavish. What about the others, are they okay?”

“The others are fine, bonnie,” Soap says, shaking his head with a smirk. “You’re the one who went hyperthermic and nearly had your brain fried.”

“Shit,” you grimace. “That bad, huh?”

There’s a quiet knock on the door before it opens, revealing a woman in a lab coat. She smiles warmly at the sight of you both.

“I thought it heard conversation. How are you feeling, Miss (Y/N)?”

“Um, fine, thank you,” you say.

Soap rises from his seat, giving your hand another squeeze. “I’ll let you talk to the doctor, love. Team’ll want to know how you’re doing.”

With that, he leaves you at the mercy of the doctor. Not that she’s a bad doctor; she’s very sweet.

She gently explains to you how, in very rare cases, omegas can present later in life. Heats in those cases, however, can be quite severe if not taken care of. That’s what happened to you.

Unfortunately, those ‘late bloomers’ also have trickier heats, sometimes lasting longer or becoming more intense.

As for your heritage…you aren’t adopted. Your genes just decided to mutate and make you an omega instead of a beta.

And that leaves you, an unclaimed omega at 26, with absolutely no clue as to how to proceed. You call your parents and then Laswell, and by the time you’re discharged you’ve decided.

You’re pulling up Soap’s number in your phone, walking down to the main lobby when you literally run into him.

He squeezes you into a hug again, and your eyes widen at the sight of your entire fucking team behind him.

“You look right as rain, angel,” Soap says, patting your shoulders.

“You guys didn’t have to…all show up,” you say quietly. Your mind races with questions—had they stayed here? Gotten hotels? You’d been out for two days, they better have gotten a hotel—

“We’re so glad you’re alright, Seraph,” the captain steps forwards, giving you a gentle, warm hug. He’s the one that smells like cigars, duh.

“Oh, thanks,” you say, still bewildered at all this attention.

You catch König’s eye next, and the expression of concern and worry on his face almost makes you melt. He bends down to hug you, too (are you a flashing ‘hug me’ sign?), squeezing you a little too tight. His scent is new—like conifers and a crisp, autumn morning.

“Are you alright, meine liebe?” He asks, looking you over at arm’s length like you might be sporting some secret injuries.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Kö,” you promise him, smiling at his gentleness and concern.

Gaz doesn’t miss out on the chance for a hug, either. “You really had us worried there, mate,” he whispers to you.

You look to Ghost, but not expectantly. He’s not huge on physical affection, you know.

“Don’t do that again,” he says, and you can tell that he’s being playful and not serious.

You smile and nod, “not planning on it.”

They really do look happy to see you again, which is why breaking the news to them makes you more nervous than usual.

“Uh, listen, guys,” you say, readjusting the straps of the backpack on your shoulders. “I talked to Laswell and I’m going to take a couple weeks off. I just—the doctor said I should take it easy, and my parents want to see me, since I almost died…” you trail off.

“(Y/N),” Price says, and you look up at him, “we completely understand. If you need some time to yourself, then by all means, take it.”

The generosity and kindness in his voice makes you feel guilty, but you nod and thank him. And on your flight back home, while you should be thinking about yourself, you can’t help but think about the team you’re leaving behind.

Because how are you supposed to tell them that you’re not planning on coming back?

—

You didn’t realize how homesick you were until you got home. Go figure. And even though you’re a grown adult, it’s nice to be doted on by your parents again.

But it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. They were worried about you, and they had been worried about you before you were an omega.

You’re still undecided. That’s what you told Laswell—that you’d think about it. Your parents want you to take a desk job at the Pentagon, the one you’d had before you joined the team. Remote, no field work.

The fact that three of your teammates were alphas had always concerned them. Now that you’re an omega, they think you shouldn’t be anywhere near alphas.

You explain it to them over and over—the team is already a pack, they have an omega, and they sure as hell aren’t interested in you. It still stung a little in your heart to say it, and after the hospital, a part of you wondered if it was still true.

But the part of yourself that knows better, the part of yourself that keeps you from disappointing yourself—it won’t let you even dream of it.

You didn’t really care to understand what the doctors said—you still don’t really know what it means to be an unclaimed omega. Claiming, scenting; she threw all those terms at you and expected you to know what she was talking about.

Well, you didn’t, and you still don’t. You just want to be normal again. You want to return to your old, comfortable life like nothing had ever happened.

But you don’t know if you should, and you didn’t even know if you’d be able.

Someone else has to decide for you.

You’re at a local bar with your parents, enjoying some live music. Your cousins all have a band together and it’s good enough that you wish the music they make was on Spotify.

Your phone buzzes a few times in your pocket before you notice it over the feel of the music running through you.

Unknown Caller.

You answer it immediately, rushing outside so you can actually hear her.

“(Y/N), are you there?” Laswell asks calmly, and you nod before you remember that you’re on a phone.

“Yeah, I’m here—sorry, live music,” you stutter.

“Well, I’m sorry to pull you away from leave; I know you asked not to be contacted, but I need you.”

“Ma’am?”

“I have a problem, and I think you’re the only one who knows how to fix it. Have you decided yet?”

That dreaded question. You’d snapped at your mother the other day for asking it and felt so bad afterwards. Three weeks was long enough to decide, wasn’t it?

Because if you’re being honest with yourself, you knew the answer from day one. You knew the answer when you felt that pit in your gut as your plane taxied out of Mexico City. You knew the answer when you layed awake at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering what your team was doing, and if they were okay, if they were hurt.

You knew the answer. It wasn’t the safe option, or the convenient one—and you were at least 60% sure it was probably going to be a challenge.

But you knew.

“When and where?”

A/N: ngl Ghost’s ‘not gonna lose you’ line is so cheesy but I kind of like it that way. Next part will take longer to come out, I’m still working on it. Stay cringe, folks.

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skele-ghost · 26 days

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Baby, it’s Hot Outside: Part 2 (electric bugaloo)

MDNI, 18+, Warnings: Omegaverse, illness, being sick, near-death experience (NDE)

Masterlist

You’re quite adamant that you’re not in heat. It’s impossible. But you are sick with something, so you let Soap put you on bed rest. He gives you extra blankets, which you find odd since you’re hotter than hell, but they do make the floor a little more comfortable underneath your sleeping bag.

When you wake up it’s the evening, and you feel like you’ve taken the worst nap of your life. The sunset shines orange and gold rays into the little cabin, illuminating enough to still see what’s inside. And what’s missing.

Soap is a few feet away, reading a book with one of those silly headlamps.

“Where’s my equipment?”

He startles, quickly turning to you. “Ah, you’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Where’s my equipment?” You repeat as scoots over to you, opening and offering a bottle of water.

“Gaz took it to he and Price’s cabin,” Soap explains while you gulp down the water, quenching your thirst. “Just for convenience.”

“I’m not going into heat,” you grumble, sitting up and wincing at the ache in your skull.

“Yeah? How do you feel?”

You whimper, “like shit. Like the flu, but not the flu.”

“Lay back down,” Soap urges you, a hand on your shoulder. You do as he says, eyes shut in discomfort. “Just sleep it off, angel.”

You hope that you can.

—

You can’t. You get the distinct feeling that this isn’t something you can sleep off as you wake next. You don’t know what time it is, but daylight has already broken.

Something else is different, and it takes a moment to register that it’s you. Your cheeks are flushed but not because you’re hot—well, it is because you’re hot, but not in the temperature way.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so horny in your entire life. You squirm to get some friction between your legs, and it’s like your body has produced a whole bottle of lube in your pants. You buck your hips but the sensation makes your stomach roll and you grimace.

Footsteps sound on the porch and the screen door opens, revealing Soap once more. You look up at him through half lidded eyes, frowning.

“Heya, bonnie,” he greets, crouching down next to you with a plate in his hands. “Do ya think you could eat for me?”

The smell makes your stomach curdle. Vienna sausages, fresh out of the can. You’d all been subsisting on it for a week, and you normally have no qualms about them. The barbecue ones were great.

But the smell of meat right now is torture. You shake your head.

“Please? Just a little bit, you need to get some food in you,” Soap pleads.

Thinking about eating it is worse, so much worse. “I’ll throw up on you if you don’t take that away,” you manage, your voice raspy.

Soap’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Alright, alright! Rice, then?”

You eat maybe a cup of rice before your stomach insists it’s had enough—sipping on water calms it a little, and you fall asleep once more.

—

You wake up crying. That’s never happened to you before, and you’re not sure why you’re crying until someone’s hands are on you.

Your bones ache. It’s like having your own personal migraine in every one of your extremities, and you sob at the sensation.

“Go! Get a couple of Ghost’s shirts, and a blanket, just make sure it has his scent on it!” Soap orders from above you.

You can hardly see him through your tears or hear him through your sobs and pleas. His hands are on either side of your face, trying to wipe the tears away as they come.

“Shh, (Y/N), I know it hurts, darlin,” he mutters to you. “Gaz’ll be right back and we’ll make you feel better, alright? Take some deep breaths for me, you ain’t breathing right.”

You try but it’s moot. All you can manage is to beg him to make it stop and tell him how much it hurts, which doesn’t improve anything.

Footsteps pound on the floor and then someone presses something up under your nose. It smells woodsy and musky and also a little minty; somehow, it makes the aching dull down.

But it causes a new kind of problem as you calm down, tears drying up and your breathing evening out: it makes you horny again, but also lonely?

It’s something you’ve never felt before, a painful aching in the chest, like missing someone, longing for them in a way that has you almost in tears. It makes you whine.

You hardly even register Soap laying down beside you and pulling you into his arms. He smells like it, too, and you snuggle into him, laying your head against his chest.

A stone of guilt is sitting heavy in your gut, however.

“Soap?” You ask, your voice sounding pitiful and whiny to your ears.

“I’m here, hen,” he says, a hand smoothing down your sweat-soaked back.

“Is Ghost gonna kill me for this?”

He freezes for a moment, “what’re you talking about, angel?”

“We’re having an affair.”

Soap laughs and your brow furrows.

“Ghost isn’t gonna get jealous of you, bonnie. He knows you need someone right now—and he don’t mind sharing, either.”

“Oh,” you say in reply, mind too boggled to really wrap itself around that.

“Close your eyes, darlin, get some sleep. You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”

—

Soap’s a fucking liar.

It feels like you’re baking in a hot car—it’s the hottest, most humid day in history, and you’re sitting in a black car in a blacktop parking lot, and you’re dying.

It’s suffocating, and you can’t will yourself to move or open your eyes. It’s dark but you feel like the sun is beaming down on you full blast. You skin feels like fire and your blood is hot, too, pumping like magma down the side of a volcano.

You’re dying, you’re certain of that—but you don’t have any time to think about it as you feel yourself slipping deeper into the darkness.

—

A/N: I remember spending days writing this. And it’s so short, what the hell. Also, I think it’s only called magma when it’s inside the volcano and it’s lava when it’s outside, but ‘magma’ sounds better.

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #task force 141 #cod omegaverse #omegaverse au #omegaverse #cod x fem!reader #cod x you #cod gaz #cod price #cod soap #cod ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #141 x reader #baby it’s hot outside

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skele-ghost · 26 days

Text

Baby, it’s Hot Outside: Part 1

I wrote this like 8 months ago as a smut fic…and never got to the smut part. Rest assured, there will be smut eventually.

MDNI, 18+, Warnings: Omegaverse AU, being sick, mentions of illicit drug use, people yelling?

See prologue for summary and masterlist

You’ve been with the 141 for about six months. A decent amount of time, plenty of missions—but you still feel like you’re the outsider, somehow.

It’s because they’re a pack, the five of them, and you’re the tag-along coworker, the specialist. You’re all good friends, sure, but they’re all mates. You don’t stand half a chance against a bond like that.

You keep your sorrows to yourself, though—your envy. They’re all happy together, and you’re happy for them, even if part of your heart aches for that kind of love and affection you’ve never known.

You’re a beta, we’re raised by betas, in a beta-dominant community. Your health class in school didn’t even cover the other dynamics, and even in college all of your irl friends had been betas.

You’re a loner, anyways. You’re most comfortable behind a computer screen, getting into files you shouldn’t, pulling the strings from the shadows.

That’s how you’d been recruited, anyways (don’t hack into the Pentagon drunk), Laswell taking an interest in your effortless talent and skill for computers and machinery.

After working on a few missions with the 141, you were given a formal invite with a nice pay upgrade that you didn’t want to turn down.

They guys are a little intimidating at times. Ghost is…Ghost. He, Price, and König all being alphas. König worried you at first—he’s something called an Apex Alpha, and while you’re not completely sure what that means, you know that the term comes from ‘apex predator’ and connected the dots from there.

But it turns out he’s just a big sweetheart. Yeah, he’s the team’s human battering ram, and yeah, he gets a little scary on the field; but none of them, not even König, had made you feel threatened or unsafe.

Maybe that’s why you stay even if you sometimes feel a little left out. You keep yourself occupied with your tasks: hacking, repairing, making little electronics. You’ve all fallen into a comfortable routine with each other, falling into your roles like good little soldiers.

Which is why you’re confused to all hell as to why they seem pissed at you. You keep going over and over it in your mind, each interaction picked over and analyzed, but you come up on a blank.

Ghost had outright shoulder-checked you this morning. You told him to watch it and he glared at you. He hadn’t glared at you since the early days when you were new.

It was worse with Soap. You were closest with him. He always comes in and checks on you since you have a pension for locking yourself away while working which causes you to forget to eat or sleep. Now he’s glaring at you, too.

It didn’t help that you’re all on a mission. Recon, roughing it in sleeping bags, camped out at an old abandoned cluster of cabins. You’re all monitoring a base down below the ridge of the mountain, intent to find intel on El Sin Nombre.

You decide to brush it all off. Maybe they’re just in sour moods? Maybe you really did do something wrong, but until either of them confronted you about it, there was no point in worrying about it.

So you kept busy monitoring the local radio frequencies in your cabin. It’s damn boring, though, and the summer heat of Mexico isn’t helping.

You’d die for an air conditioner right now. Well, you’d die to not be on this mission anymore, to be back on base and have more space away from your colleagues. And you’d die to not have this guilty, worried pit in your stomach. You always get it when something bad is going to happen, the dread getting worse and worse over time. It’s stressing you out, making you sweat even more. You probably stink.

It’s almost a relief when Gaz shows up, creaking the old screen door open, but he looks pissed at you, too, and you want to cry from sheer frustration.

“God, not you, too,” you groan, smoothing your sweaty hair away from your face.

“Captain wants to see you,” Gaz says, sounding angry, confusing her just as much.

“Seriously? This about Ghost and Soap? What did I do?”

Gaz scowls, “don’t play coy, Seraph, he’s not going to like that.”

“What are you—“ you sigh, “you know what? Fine. Maybe he’ll explain why you’re all so pissed at me.”

Being outside in the sunshine, even briefly, makes you feel worse and hotter. You wonder if maybe you’re getting heat exhaustion or something—you aren’t used to being in the field and you’re sure as hell not used to being in the summer heat for so long.

Shit, maybe you’re coming down with something. As you and Gaz march over to the Captain’s cabin, you notice that everything smells different. Off. It’s making you nauseous.

When you step into the cabin, you know you’re in for it. Captain Price is standing at his desk, glowering down at you. Soap is standing a little ways behind him, his arms crossed, and Ghost is sitting in the back corner like the spook he’s named after, arms crossed.

It takes a hell of a lot of restraint not to curse under your breath, but you manage.

“Take a seat, Private,” the captain gestures at the chair in front of the desk and you have no room to argue.

You hate when they call you that—Private. It’s not even your rank. Technically you have none, you’re a specialist, and you never enlisted. You were a CIA Special Agent before all of this. Why they picked ‘private’ out for you, you have no idea, but you do feel like it undermines your hard work. You’re not some E-1, after all.

Everyone’s eyes on you makes you want to squirm, but you hold fast. It smells overwhelmingly like several different things: cigars, whiskey, cinnamon, wood smoke, the wild flowers that are outside.

Your guts keep screaming that something is wrong, wrong, wrong.

“You’ve put this mission in jeopardy, Seraph. I have half a mind to relieve you of duty and send you home,” Price says, his voice terse.

“Sir?” You ask, wanting him to elaborate, to tell you what you did wrong so that you can fix it.

“You set König off, he’s up at the deer blind refusing to come down,” he adds, voice rising in volume.

You frown, now noticing his missing figure. “König? What’s wrong with him,” you ask, concerned.

Your Captain lets out a disingenuous chuckle, which probably would’ve made your blood run cold if you weren’t so hot.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he says, practically growling. “We can tell. There’s no hiding it.”

“Wh—“

“Why did you do it?” Soap interrupts, fuming. “You’ve been part of the team for nearly two years, you don’t think you can trust us?”

The CIA training kicks in and you keep your mouth shut for the moment. This is starting to sound like a set up—like you’re being pinned for something you didn’t do. Or like they think you’re lying about something and are waiting for you to spill first.

But the other part of you, the part that knows your team, doesn’t think so. Maybe that part of you just doesn’t want to imagine them betraying you.

Price sighs, stepping away from the table, running his hands down his face. A sour smell begins to stack in the room and you crinkle your nose.

You hate confrontation. It was your biggest downfall, considering that you now work in special forces. You’d just barely passed your interrogation training after four attempts—yelling people upset you, which is why you never thought you’d be working alongside the military.

“I don’t…know what this is about,” you say, your voice small and meek.

“Yes, you do,” Price insists, crossing his arms, and before you can open your mouth the screen door opens again.

Gaz comes in holding your medicine, the ziplock bag stuffed with your prescribed medications and supplements.

“What the fuck,” you whisper as he puts it on the table, and then raise your voice, “that’s a HIPAA violation, you can’t just take those!”

Gaz’s hand on your shoulder is the only thing stopping you from taking your bag back. Price points at the bag, “which ones are the heat suppressants? I’m giving you a chance to come clean, (L/N).”

“Come cle—“ you stop yourself, frowning as you try to pull the new piece of evidence into the mix. “You…think I’m abusing prescription drugs?”

Soap huffs, “let me see, I know what they look like.”

Price hands him the bag, and everyone’s still just glaring at you while you try and think.

“What are you looking for, opiates? I’ve never been prescribed—“

“The heat suppressants, (L/N), where are they?!” Soap shouts, tossing the bag back onto the table. “Do you ‘ave any idea what that shite does to your body? They can kill you!”

You take in a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Your head is starting to pound with all this shouting. “What the fuck are you guys talking about? What are heat suppressants?”

“Oh, come on,” Ghost growls, rising from his chair in the corner and stalking over. “Quit acting daft and tell us the truth!”

Soap’s hand on his chest holds him back from coming any closer. You’re about ready to cry, now, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You have to stay calm, that’s what your training taught you.

“You can be discharged for this,” Price continues, still angry. “Hiding any medical history can get you booted, especially your designation!”

“My designation?” You furrow your brow, “I never lied about my designation, I’m a beta.”

“You fucking—“ But Soap holds Ghost back, walking him to sit back down in the chair in the corner. He’s livid. You’ve never seen any of them so mad.

“No, you’re not,” Price says, and you can tell how hard it is to keep himself calm and at an even tone of voice. “Heat suppressants might’ve tricked your body into thinking that, but that’s not the truth, is it, (Y/N)?”

This is beyond frustrating. Fuck being calm, you’re on your last nerve, “what the hell are heat suppressants, and why the fuck do you think I’m taking them? And for the love of god, will one of you motherfuckers tell me what I’m being accused of here?!”

Your voice echos in the old cabin for a minute. Somehow, that managed to shut them up and get them thinking. Less angry now, they look at you with confusion, apprehension.

“You really don’t know what’s going on?” Gaz asks next to you, and you glance up at him briefly.

“No! How many times do I have to tell you fuckers?” You wince at the ache in your skull that’s becoming worse, “and will someone pass me a Tylenol? Y’all are making my head hurt.”

You rest your face in your hands, trying to get your erratic breathing to calm down along with your skipping heart.

“(Y/N), when was your last heat?” Soap asks, his voice much, much more gentle.

You look up at him, squinting, “huh? I never had heat exhaustion before. My mama did, when I was little…”

“I think she’s serious,” Gaz says, as if you’re not right next to him.

“Shit,” someone says, and you can’t really tell who. You look up when you hear the sound of your medicine bag again, Soap fishing out two Tylenols and handing them to you along with a nearby water bottle.

“Thanks,” you mutter, quickly downing the pills and the rest of the water. Looking around the room at everyone again, you almost wish they were angry again. The anxious looks of worry on their faces is much worse, because they’re worried about you, and you don’t know what for.

Price sighs, sitting down at his desk chair. “You’ve never had a heat before?”

“That’s what I just said,” you quip, snippier than usual.

Price glances up at Soap, who nods, and then he looks back at you. “That’s not what this is, Seraph. You’re going into heat. You’re an omega.”

—

You scrunch your face up, frowning. “No, I’m a beta,” you insist, voice soft.

“No, (Y/N), you’re not.” Your captain pinches the bridge of his nose, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him at a total loss for words.

“You’re going inta heat, bonnie,” Soap says. “Even Gaz can smell you.”

You freeze, picking up the collar of your shirt and taking an experimental whiff of yourself. No, it just smells like sweat and laundry detergent.

“Am I the one that smells weird?” You ask, “because it does smell weird.”

“No, that’s us,” Soap explains. “Your nose is sharper now that you’re going into heat.”

“Mm-hmm,” you say, not believing a word of it. “But there’s no way I’m an omega. Both sides of my parents lineage goes back six generations—all betas. It’s literally impossible.”

“You never had the genetic testing done?” Soap asks. Testing can be done when you’re born to best guess what you’ll present as by looking at your dominant genes.

“There was no reason to, seeing as there’s a 0% chance of me being anything other than a beta,” you argue, wiping the sweat from your chin. “I mean, if I’m an omega, then Soap’s King of Scotland.”

“And it’s damn good to be king,” Soap says, crossing his arms.

Price shakes his head, “it’s not a debate, sweetheart, you are an omega. Is it possible you’re adopted?”

“What?! No!” Your head snaps up to glare at him, “my mom would’ve told me.”

“Have you seen your birth certificate?”

You roll your eyes, “have you seen yours?”

“I have mine,” he raises his eyebrows at you and you sigh.

“My ma lost the original copy—house fire,” you explain, but you know you’re not wrong. “Even if I was, that wouldn’t change anything, right? You present your designation in puberty, and I never presented, therefore…beta.”

You cross your arms.

“Then explain the smell,” Ghost says, speaking up from his quiet corner. You had almost forgotten about him.

“Obviously I’m sick,” you say, “maybe I ate something bad.”

“We all ate the same thing,” Ghost sighs, unsatisfied with your answer.

“Allergic reaction. I’ve never been to Mexico; we touch plants all the time.” That one’s more feasible, you think.

“That’s not—“

“Alright, enough,” Price says, stopping yours and Ghost’s banter. “Arguing about this isn’t going to change anything.”

“Right,” Soap agrees, walking over to you. “Whether you’re sick, or in heat, or having an allergic reaction, you need rest.”

“But who’s gonna monitor the radio?” You’re a little wobbly as Soap hauls you to your feet, but you shake it off.

“Gaz knows how to use the equipment,” Soap says and you begin walking out of the cabin and back to yours.

“Who’s gonna do Gaz’s job?”

“Me, probably.”

“Then who’s gonna do your job?”

“Quit it, (L/N).”

—

A/N: If you made it this far, thanks! I’ve recently been inspired by the fic authors I follow to post my own content. I write a lot, mostly for my own enjoyment, but I’ve never really shared anything except this and the Graves fic I posted forever ago. I think I’m gonna post fic like this that I’m comfortable with and see where it goes. I’m not taking requests and I can’t guarantee I’ll reply to messages or asks, but I will look at them lol

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