#Captain John Price x Reader

[ghostedbunnie]

thinking about how 141 men would take advantage of christmas or just a cold weather in general.

fem! reader, 18+ minors do not interact!!

johnny definitely takes some mistletoe and waits for the perfect opportunity to be like "oi look a' that bonnie, a tradition is a tradition." and he just swoops in on you to literally maul you. slobbers all over you like a dog, pants into your mouth and grabs handfuls of your ass unapologetically. honestly half of his brain shuts down as soon as he has his hands and mouth on you. also doesn't care about timing or privacy, he'd do this in front of a room full of people.

simon is a meanie. he loves coming back inside to your home, catching you unawares while you're singing some christmas songs and baking. it doesn't help that he can only be heard when he wants to so you really stand no chance. he walks up to you and shoves his cold ass hands under your sweater and holds on to you so you can't even move away. he would start by grabbing your hips and quickly moving forward to cup your boobs while you whine about the goosebumps. he definitely ends up grinding onto your ass and whispering into your ear about how he can warm you right up.

kyle lets you talk him into matching ugly sweaters mostly because he is too hot to look bad in anything. he loves seeing you happy so he will do anything. if you are celebrating with your family or friends he is literally the picture perfect boyfriend that gets everyone oohing and aahing. he helps you with the tree decorating when something is out of your reach (but he lets you try to do it yourself just to see the sweater ride up and show of your skin, he is still cheeky) and he always tastes your cooking telling you exactly what it is that you're missing and have been trying to figure out for the past 10 mins. but his mind is playing out scenarios in which he's gonna get to the lacy lingerie he saw you wearing underneath the sweater.

now john is more lowkey about christmas, if he was on his own he wouldn't even bother with a tree. he does end up getting one for you ofc (after mean mugging few part-timers that tried to flirt with you but every time you looked at him he didn't let anything show but the guys there started giving you a wide berth). he will bring you to a work christmas party that he was forced to go by laswell and when he sees people bring their kids and you interacting with them, his mind starts racing with some wild thoughts about how your christmas could look next year. when he corners you in the bathroom and locks the door the only response to your wide-eyed stare is that he is "gettin' into the christmas spirit, love. jus' like you wanted."

[pricegouge]

price x pregnant!f!reader meetcute drabble i whipped up on my lunch dedicated entirely to the girl at work who's too heavily pregnant to fit her scrubs rn. john price would love you, girl, keep your chin up

The worst part wasn't actually the discomfort of the papery material, nor the cheap elastic waistline which dug into your plush sides and itched like a sonofabitch. It wasn't even the embarrassment of having to track down your lead at the start of your shift and shamefacedly admit that you could no longer fit into your designated scrub pants and ask if he could maybe please find some spares somewhere? (He couldn't, because apparently no one on the team before you had ever fallen ill with a baby in the belly or even just gained a little weight.)

No, the worst part was the noise.

It hadn't been something you'd even considered until you were already barging into your first patient's room, swishing away with each step. Mr. Jeffreys had grumbled in his sleep, eye peeking open just as you'd leaned over him to start your morning check. Enough ruckus, woman. You'd thought he was just being irritable, a common enough occurrence, but then it happened again and again, each new room bringing another grumpy occupant, displeased about being woken up so far ahead of breakfast. Still, you almost preferred that to the early risers, the old biddies who would turn to greet you, already alert, take one look at you with your swollen belly overhanging the thin paper pants they'd made you wear over your reliable leggings, and start cackling loud enough to draw attention from the other orderlies. 

You weren't the first pregnant woman to outgrow her pants, but you were perhaps among the first to have done so in a professional setting. 

At least it got easier the more the day dragged on, quippy remarks coming more naturally to you the more you had them levelled at you in kind. You'd even let a little boy doodle on your shin, an attempt to keep his mind of his mother groaning in pain, attempting to work through a kidney stone. You're fairly sure you're rocking an Incredible Hulk there now, but it was a bit hard to tell with the way the magic markers had bled across the tyvek weave. 

"Missed your calling." 

You frown down at the man before you, thick brows only slightly pinched despite the way you knew his shoulder must be killing him. GSW. Didn't get many of them 'round here, but you'd seen enough hunting accidents to figure out the good stuff didn't always cut it. And this didn't seem like your average misfire, or pulled-shot graze. He'd been the talk of the nurses station when the call had come through to prep for him, bullet taken straight on, center mass. He wasn't from here, didn't seem to know anyone from here. No one believed it was a simple hunting accident, but the authorities had come and gone, sent skittering by a rather severe woman yielding a badge no one had gotten a good look at. No arrests, minimal testimonies. Rumors had sprouted roots, grew too tall too quickly to be believable. You'd heard everything from a jilted lover to some sort of military coup, but you hadn't placed much stock in anything other than the three letters which had remained unchanged on his chart since the moment he'd been admitted, and then later the surgeon's notes.

GSW. Successful operation.

That had only been two days ago. You'd been in his room once before, set about the same task. He'd been fast asleep, the handsome man who's been visiting offering charming but ultimately short conversation. It hadn't bothered you as you'd been in a rush, and you'd known full well the stress loved ones usually felt, trying to ensure the best possible rest for their injured loved ones. 

He had no guard dog today, no one to send you packing when your putzing made too much noise. And now you've woken him, poor man.

"Pardon?" 

Blue eyes blink open, cloudy with pain and the influence of strong meds but surprisingly alert. They flick down to your leg, shoulders tensing a bit as he lifts his head to see properly. "Pretty tree you've made there." 

You can't help but laugh. "Seems I'm right where I should be, then, seeing as that's supposed to be the Hulk. I think," you add once you've earned a smirk.

"Can't even remember what it is you've drawn? You the reason I can't find a comfortable position? Been stealing my morphine?"

"I wish," you sigh, pat your belly dramatically. "But they say it's bad for baby."

His brows lift into his hairline, pain momentarily forgotten as he looks you over again, as if seeing you for the first time. You realize pretty quickly that he's one of those people, the crinkling around his eyes revealing him as the type. It's one of the weirdest parts of being pregnant, the strangers who look at you with awe, as if you've hung the moon. You try not to think too much of it, don't like imagining couples who've tried for years when all you've managed to do was slip up your birth control one time, like a fool. This man isn't wearing a ring, but that doesn't mean much. Most women who carry on after you are single, too. At least he's not trying to touch your belly.

"Is that why you're half way to a paper gown? Come wandering from maternity?"

"Har, har," you deadpan, waving your stethoscope at him although you know full well he's seen it - hard to miss, resting atop your swollen tits. "No, I've simply grown too fat for my scrubs. And I think my lead's having too much fun embarrassing me about it."

He frowns, somehow vaguely patronizing even while heavily medicated. "No spares for someone in your condition?"

"Nope! Apparently I'm lucky enough to be the only fertile little heifer ever on the team," you snark, and then squint at his monitor when his pulse spikes unexpectedly. 

"Sorry," he mumbles - odd - and when you check, you notice some color to his ears. He clears his throat to distract you from fretting, though the softness is gone from his eyes again, replaced by an implacable type of tension. "Perhaps they're simply not used to expectant mothers working so late into their term?" 

Ah. At last, the well-meaning concern. It grates at you worse than usual, the ease and simplicity (albeit annoyance) of your silly morning falling apart in seconds. Perhaps it's that, the whiplash, that has you huffing irritably, mood plummeting. "Well. Someone's got a pay my bills," you gripe, snapping the claw of his clipboard just to work out some aggression. Maybe it's the hormones.

There's a huff of breath, almost as animated as yours. When you look to make sure he's not aspirating or something, your new friend's absurd mustache is twitching. "Well. That's what Mr. Pretty Nurse is for, no?" 

The phrasing makes you smile, hands gentling as you busy yourself with his monitor. This is familiar ground, at least, a path well-tread which you'd like navigating with a conversational partner who would call you Ms. Pretty Nurse. "Sure," you concede, tapping away at his station to check the trend of his vitals. Steady, even. All night. Like he was practiced at taking bullets. "You ever see him, you tell him he owes me a back log of bills, alright?" In truth, your 'mister' never was a mister, just some guy you'd been trying to blow off steam with. He'd cut and run the second you'd brought up the pregnancy, but you'd decided to keep it after some thought and had never followed up with him, deciding it ultimately was no longer his concern. You harbored no ill will, really, but the dead beat dad was a common schtick, an easy conversational piece when simply shooting the shit with talkative patients. If the worst part about pregnancy was the noisy pants (and the morning sickness, and the belly hair, and the leaky nipples and the -) then the best part was surely the built-in small talk.

"Be sure to let him know," chops murmurs, voice tight. You check his file again, correct your mental dub with his real name, John Price. Traditional, like the neat beard hiding the growing color in his cheeks. When he speaks again, his voice is slightly rougher. "Who did that, then?" 

You think he's pointing to your belly, far too forward, but when you check you see his finger aims lower, towards the art that started this conversation. "Kid over in pre-op. Was upset watching his mom writhing around. Passing a stone," you supply with an exaggerated whisper, as if telling him some scandalous secret.

John grins, soft again. "You'll be good at it, then."

"Pardon?" you ask absently, watching as his heartbeat seems to flutter weakly. 

"Said 'too round for scrubs,'" he chuckles. "Good job, mama."

You scoff, scandalized, but when you turn to him you find he's got that far off look in his eye, a sharp contrast to the lucidity of his speech. That does it. You tut, leaning over him to check his forehead with the back of your hand. And outdated practice, sure, but still useful in a pinch. He doesn't feel overly warm, but his focus has slipped back into that slight haziness, blissed out and vaguely absent, staring a good half a foot below your eyes.

"Mr. Price -," you start but he interjects.

"Just John, love."

"Sure. John. Are you feeling okay?" 

Eyes crinkling again, he gives you an unbearably soft smile, at odds with everything you've managed to glean from his chart. "Never better, doll."

banner by @/cafekitsune

[ang3lc]

cowboy!neighbor!price

[dumbbitchgalore]

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“How did you know mum was in love with you?”

John contemplated his son’s words, mulling over his question for a few moments.

His son was old enough, 21 years old with a girlfriend. Studying at university on a military scholarship following in the footsteps of both of his parents.

The birds and bees talk was already given. Hell, John knew that his kid wasn’t a virgin. He was an idiot in school trying to bag as many girls as he could which would earn him an earful from his father about respecting women’s bodies and what not.

But for some reason, answering this question seemed impossible. Putting the response into words seemed unattainable.

John mind wonders back to when you and him were younger. When his bones weren’t creaky and he could pick you up without groaning in pain from his military injuries catching up to him in his middle age.

Your relationship with John did not have a conventional start. You were broken looking to mend yourself through and good distraction and John was simply bored.

Hook ups between the two of you began your situationship. Whenever John was in town back from deployment, he’d send you a text and you’d two would spend the night together. No strings attached but both your and John’s hearts ached for more than you both could utter.

Nights after sex didn’t end in aftercare. It was neglected most nights, as you hastily put in your clothes to go back home.

That speediness and need to get out of John’s flat dissipates after a few months. Idle caresses, offers for refreshments and thoughtless conversations rooted its presence after a mindless fuck.

The rush to go home was unfounded as you find homely comfort in one another. You and John never voice it, but the change was welcomed.

Foreplay lengthens. John on longer has the gnawing need to stuff you full and cum instantly. Now, his motives are to see you wither in blissful pleasure. His tongue a fingers taking its time to open you up, making you come more times that your fucked-out brain could count.

John, John, John

A holy chant that never leaves the tip of your tongue.

Mindless fucking turns into lovemaking with the end result of you laying your head on his chest,eyes dazed glistening with unsaid words of adoration and longing. Your eyes mimicking the mirror to John’s future. White picket fence and a nuclear family with 2.5 kids and a dog named Max.

John is brought back from his reminiscing by his son’s impatient huffing, waiting for his father to stop daydreaming.

“Look at her eyes. It’ll tell you all you need to know.”.

[pricesprincess]

smut mdni

john talking you through your orgasm the first time you two fuck which is something you only thought that happened in erotica books.

you met him from a mutual friend at a pub for a late night dinner. kate, who had to schedule time to fit you both in, and then she needed to leave because her wife called her home.

"i hope to find a husband someday that wants me home because he misses me." you teased.

something john never forgot.

the chemistry was undeniable, pulsing around you both like electricity that you could feel in your bones, it didn't take him to get you home.

he had you on bed spread out, his mouth kissing each inch as the coarse hair of his beard left strokes of possession like a paintbrush.

his tongue brought you to the highest you've ever been, he ate your pussy like it was the most delicate candy on the world taking his time in kissing up and down your cunt.

teasing and thrilling, he kept you on edge, turning your blood into honey as you humped his mouth desperately chanting his name.

when his fingers easily slid inside your wet heat curling, you swore your body took a screenshot as he made sure to bully your sweet spot.

"c'mon on now love. you can take it." john encouraged you to fall over into the pool of pleasure, tingles shot up your spine like a zap.

when john pulled away, he had freed himself to tap the fat head of his cock against your gushing pussy with a wet splat making your face all heated and belly all twisted.

he chuckled and slowly thrust in, letting you feel each throbbing inch, each one widening your eyes. "doing good for me sweetheart."

john dropped down and fucked you nice and slow until you were sobbing in his arms kissing away your tears he caressed you gently.

"no need for tears. i'm right here." he cooed.

that's how you ended up with a husband who called you to come home because he misses you.

[lorilane33]

🥺🥺

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Summary: You're struggling a bit in your adjustment to your new life, and you're finding some of them are easier to get along with than others. Luckily you're not in it alone.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I'm so just overwhelmed with the attention this fic has gotten, but not in a bad way I promise! I'm just surprised is all. Thank you everyone that has read and reblogged and commented. I love all of you and so, since I have no self control, here is Chapter 2. Lots more world building and dialogue in this part, but I promise good stuff is coming.

Also I promise Soap will get his time soon. He's just the hardest for me to write, and you'll see why in this chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“She was lying.” 

Price doesn’t bother looking up as a dark figure leans against the wall next to him. He stares out at the empty space between the barracks and the mess hall, not much traffic between the buildings during this time of day. 

“About how she got to the institute.” 

“Or at least not telling the whole truth.” Price says, turning to look at Simon. “Something tells me she’d talk if we asked.” 

“She’s soft.” Simon says, letting his gaze drift off into the distance. 

“She’s a civilian.” Price counters. “The CIA did a little training, but she’ll need some work. We can’t leave her completely defenseless...” 

Simon turns to face him again. “There’s something else.” 

Price pushes himself off the wall, heading back inside. Simon follows, the two of them making their way down the hall to his office. “There’s hundreds of American military bases across the world, thousands of regiments they could have chosen from, and yet, they sent her to us.” 

Simon closes the door behind him as Price sinks into his desk chair. “You think it was deliberate?” 

Price pulls open one of the drawers, pulling out the file Kate had given him. “Laswell said the CIA has had eyes on her for years.” He slides it across his desk to Simon. “There’s a lot of why's in this situation, and a lot of how’s. Like, if what she’s saying is true, how did a Staff Sergeant get his daughter into FIOT practically overnight?” 

Simon glances up at him over the top of the file. “You think there’s something else going on with this Initiative.” 

Price nods. “I do. I think there’s more than one experiment being run, and we’re the guinea pigs.” 

You stare at your reflection in the mirror as you run a comb through your damp hair. You look tired, the dark circles that have plagued your face for the last few weeks looking even darker now. It’s been a long day, so long it’s hard to believe it’s only been a matter of hours since you boarded the helicopter in London. 

Your new pack had made themselves scarce after dinner, leaving you to your own devices. You had been left alone after lunch too, and you had spent that time laying in bed, resting after the overwhelming scenting. 

You’d played back the last few hours in your mind. Leaving London in the helicopter, meeting your new Pack Alpha, Laswell leaving, meeting your new pack, the scenting. You had plenty to think about, to stress over, and you had been surprised when the knock came at your door for dinner. You were equally surprised to see Gaz and Soap waiting for you. 

You’d been sandwiched between them again as you walked to the mess. It was busier for dinner, and the eyes weren’t quite so quick to look away with the alphas missing. You know they have to be curious, with an omega on base following around two members of a SpecOps team, smelling like them. You know what they were probably thinking of you, what they were thinking your presence means. 

You’ve begun to understand Price’s rules a bit more. 

Price and Ghost had joined you as Soap said they would, coming in late from whatever they had been busy doing. You had been seated next to Soap, Ghost taking his other side while Price sat next to Gaz. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you how close Soap and Ghost sat, and you remembered the look in Ghost’s eyes when Soap had approached to scent you. How his defensive stare had turned icy, threatening even, when he’d gotten close to you as if you were capable of hurting Soap. It had been a silent warning. If you tried anything, you’d have him to contend with. 

Ghost is territorial, more so than most alphas. You had seen it just a bit in Price, but only because you had been watching for it. Ghost was silent in his claim, but his gaze spoke of his territorialism. As you sat at the table with them, you slowly felt the stares lessen, the curious alphas and betas around you slowly turning away from your table until you were left in peace. You knew it was all thanks to a well-pointed glare from the second alpha at the table. 

They’d escorted you back to the barracks before disappearing again, leaving you alone. You’d opted for a shower to try and clear your head, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs but your mind was racing too much to really get any rest. You haven’t been told what their normal schedules entail or even what they look like, but you expect an early morning tomorrow. Since Price had said at least one of them needed to escort you around base, that likely meant you were going to be constrained to their schedules. 

You know even when they’re not away, their days are probably full of training and briefings, much like yours had been for three months. They’re probably up early, earlier than you’d like to be, and then they go non-stop all day. 

You wonder if they ever get a break. 

Maybe this is a break for them. 

You sit on the edge of the bed after you finish your routine, eyeing the pillows and blankets stacked at the end. They’re military issue, not as soft or as plush as you might have preferred. This is your new normal, though. Comfort isn’t exactly going to be a high priority. 

Tears prick your eyes as you run your hand over the comforter. You know it’s the exhaustion, the stress of the day beginning to weigh on you. You’re worn out, and that’s causing a slip in the tight reins you keep on your mood. Omegas and alphas were both prone to being moody, and those who were unrestrained could lose control quickly. Alphas were quick to anger, while omegas could get depressed very easily. Exhaustion drives both to being grumpy, though alphas will descend into irritability and anger, while omegas will get whiny and weepy. 

You hate it, how easily you can be driven to cry. How easily you can lose control. It makes you feel weak and helpless, but that’s partially by design. It was supposed to be your pack’s job to fix that, to give you that support and take care of you. 

Except you don’t know your pack. 

What would they do if you approached them like this, all teary and needy? Would instinct take over and snap them into their roles? Or would they give you an awkward pat on the back and leave you to take care of yourself? Gaz would help you, you think. He had slipped into that role so easily during the scenting. Your fingers twitch on the bedspread, your mind telling you to seek him out, track him down, even if it’s only to catch a whiff of his scent again.  

Your phone screen lights up where it’s sitting on the nightstand, drawing your attention from the door. Kate had given you the phone just this morning before you left the hotel. It had her number on it, as well as your pack’s. You’d half expected to find messages already from them when you’d turned it on, but there had been none. They had kept that boundary of meeting in person first. 

You pick up the phone, checking the message. It’s from Price. 

Breakfast is at 0700. I’ll take you to see the Omega Specialist after. 

Seven o’clock. It’s not terribly early. You’d eaten around the same time at the institute. You’ll get to meet the Omega Specialist as well tomorrow. You’ve met plenty of them in your time as an omega, but something about the idea of having someone there who knows, who understands is comforting to you. 

You send a reply in acknowledgement for tomorrow’s plan before setting an alarm for tomorrow morning. There’s an uneasy feeling under your skin, a tickling in the back of your mind that you can’t seem to relax. Your eyes are drawn to the desk where the shirts still sit, and before you know it you’re moving to the desk, letting your fingers trail over each one. 

You grab Price’s shirt, taking it back to your bed. You curl up with your back facing the door, holding the shirt against your chest, letting the scent of tobacco smoke and whiskey fill your nose. Silent tears slide down your cheeks, your face pressing into the pillow to muffle your sobs. 

As you try to muffle your tears, you miss the sound of boots pausing in front of your door, the person on the other side standing there for a moment before continuing down the hall. 

You let out a groan as your alarm pulls you from sleep. You had drifted in and out for a few hours before finally managing to get a couple precious hours of sleep. You’d woken when the others got up. You knew they were trying to be quiet but you had heard them shuffling around, talking quietly amongst each other. You’re normally a fairly deep sleeper, but in a new place you always struggle. 

A new place surrounded by almost complete strangers. 

You turn off your alarm, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. They’re burning a bit, the exhaustion still weighing heavy on your shoulders. You pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face to try and make yourself at least look more alive than you feel. The last thing you need is them getting worried about you. That’s attention you’re not sure you want right now. 

You blink sleepily at your closet, trying to decide what to wear. Were you allowed to wear anything? You didn’t have much besides the basics, since the only thing you had been allowed to wear at the institute was its uniform and the clothes they provided. Then when you were with the CIA, they had provided clothes for you to wear as well. The things you have now had been bought by Kate before you left D.C. 

Everyone on base wore similar variants of the same uniform. You’re not military, though, so you don’t think those rules apply to you. No one had said anything about your state of dress yesterday. You opt for comfort, knowing you’d likely find out soon if you were going to be forced to dress differently too. 

You’re tying your shoes when the knock sounds on your door. You had heard the others moving around, footsteps in the hallway, opening and closing doors, quiet voices talking and Soap laughing at something. You know it’s one of them, yet the nervous tickle at the back of your head is back. 

Soap is leaning casually against your doorframe when you open the door. His face lights up in a smile as he sees you. “Morning, bonny. Sleep alright?” 

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Tossed and turned for a while.” 

“We didne keep ye up did we?” He asks, his smile faltering just a bit. 

You shake your head. “No, I never sleep well the first few nights in a new place.” 

“Well, our beds are always open if ye need something more comfortable.” He winks at you playfully. 

Your face warms at his words, the double meaning not lost on you. You were right, Soap was going to be the one to push your boundaries the most. 

Gaz elbows him in the ribs as he passes. “She’s been here a day, mate, don’t go scaring her off now.” He leans on the other side of your doorframe, giving you a smile. “Morning.” 

“Morning.” You say, your face still warm from Soap’s teasing. 

“You hungry?” Gaz asks. 

You nod. You do feel hungry this morning, likely a side effect from your emotional night last night. You step out of your room, the two betas stepping back to give you space as you close the door behind you. Ghost is leaning against the wall next to his door, his eyes watching with the typical cautious disinterest that seemed to be his default setting. 

Gaz and Soap sandwich you between them again, close enough their arms brush yours as you walk. It was almost as if they could sense your inner turmoil, the neediness still tugging at the back of your mind. If Ghost hadn’t been trailing the three of you, you might have been tempted to give in and grip their sleeves, or slip your hands into theirs. How would Ghost respond to such a bold move? The mental image of your body flying through the air as he punted you into next week almost makes you laugh. 

Price is already seated at a table frowning at his phone over a cup of coffee. Gaz and Soap load up your tray for you, something you’re getting used to rather quickly. It was expected from the alphas, or at least Price, to coddle you a bit, but it seemed the betas were more than happy to get in on it as well. 

The thought makes something flutter in your chest. 

You’re seated between Gaz and Price again once you reach the table, Price greeting you with a tired smile. “Morning. Sleep alright?” 

“Not really.” You say honestly. “New place and all. I’ll settle in eventually.” 

“Maybe the Omega Specialist can give you some ideas to help.” He glances at his watch before looking at you as you spoon a heaping spoonful of porridge into your mouth. “Take your time. We have until 8.” 

You listen to the conversation at the table as you eat, Gaz and Soap talking about a football game that’s on tonight. You feel eyes on you, your skin prickling a bit. You glance up, half expecting Ghost to be glowering at you again, but his gaze is focused on his eggs. You cast a quick glance around the mess, turning slightly to look behind you. 

Three tables over, you find the gaze of some soldier focused on you. You haven’t paid much attention to anyone else on the base, but then again you haven’t had much time or reason to yet. You can’t read the expression on his face as he stares at you, but you feel a shiver run down your spine as your eyes meet his. 

He stares at you for a few seconds before his gaze moves slightly past you, quickly dropping back to his plate. You turn around, finding Ghost staring just past your head. His eyes are narrowed, his scent coming off stronger than it had been. You can practically see his hackles raised, the warning clear in the air. You feel the urge to curl in on yourself, the threatening aura radiating from him makes you want to cower. 

It doesn't go unnoticed by those at the table either. 

“Easy, Ghost.” Price says calmly, Gaz turning to follow his line of sight. 

“Bloody wanker.” Ghost grumbles before rising from the table. 

You turn back around, but the soldier that had been staring at you is gone. 

You nervously pick at your sweatshirt sleeves as you sit in the plastic chair next to Price. You’re still on edge a bit from what happened at breakfast. It wasn’t so much being stared at that bothered you. After now three meals in the mess, you’ve almost come to expect it. It’s Ghost’s reaction that has your mind still reeling. 

“I’ve always hated the medical center.” Price says with a sigh as he leans his head back against the wall. “It smells too sterile. Makes my nose burn. Reminds me of too many close calls.” 

His words jar you a bit. You hadn’t even thought about that aspect of his job. He’s used to getting shot at, to getting into fights, running head first into danger that would send most running the other way. You wonder how many times he’s been the one with the close call, and how many others he’s had to watch have their own. 

You wonder how many times he’s had to make that trip to tell someone’s family. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts as the door across from you opens. Price pushes himself to his feet, and you follow as a kind looking woman steps out. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. You don’t have anything against male Omega Specialists, but you were already surrounded by men. Sure you have Kate, but she’s half a world away. 

She’s tall, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Despite being a doctor she’s dressed casually, no white coat or gloves to be seen. Her eyes are light green and crease in the corners when she smiles. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Keller.” She introduces herself, shaking Price’s hand. 

American. You think, silently breathing another sigh of relief. Kate really had pulled some strings with this one. 

“Captain John Price.” He says. 

You introduce yourself when she turns to you, shaking your hand. Her voice is soft and gentle, the scent of beta coming off her in waves. 

“Come on in,” She says, leading you into the office. “Sit anywhere you like. Make yourselves comfortable.” 

Her office isn’t what you expected either. Instead of the harsh fluorescents, the lighting is softer, warmer. There’s paintings and posters all over the walls, along with several plants. There’s a desk covered in books and paperwork in one corner and a bookshelf with several books packed into it in the other. There’s a couch on one wall, and a couple plush looking chairs on the other. 

You move to one of the chairs, sinking down onto it. It envelops you in softness, and you feel as if you might sink into it and never be able to get out. After a day of hard plastic and stiff blankets, it nearly makes you weep. 

Price takes the chair next to you, Dr. Keller sitting on the couch across from you. The office smells good, a light, neutral scent in the air aside from the pure almondy scent of beta. 

“Alright,” She says, holding a tablet and a stack of files in her lap. “I always like to start by introducing myself and telling you a bit about me, then we’ll get into the important stuff.” 

She jumps into telling you about herself. Where she grew up: California. Where she studied: UC Berkeley. What institute she did her residency at: West Coast Training Academy. Where she worked last before Kate called her in: some poor inner city institute in LA. 

“Now, on to the more important stuff.” She says, turning on the tablet. “I got your medical records yesterday. You’re quite the healthy girl.” 

“Yes ma'am. I have good genes. That’s what my mom used to say.” You respond. 

Dr. Keller smiles. “Hardly even been sick. Your heats are all normal, too, correct?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You say. “Except for a three month stretch two years ago.” 

“Yes, the heat sickness epidemic that hit America.” She says. 

You nod. “FIOT locked down completely and everyone was supposed to quarantine, but I heard a rumor that it was one of the beta food workers. She snuck out to see her alpha boyfriend and brought it in with her. We only think it was her because she disappeared not long after the first omega got sick.” 

Dr. Keller hums. “I know not everyone was so willing to take it seriously. You made a full recovery, though. No lasting side effects, I’m sure thanks to the state of the art medical facilities that FIOT keeps.” 

“Yes, ma’am. We were lucky it was just a mild case.” 

“That is lucky.” She flips through something on the tablet. “Your lab results all look phenomenal. I like to do checkups monthly, just to ensure everything is working as it should. I know the CIA gave you quite the cocktail of vaccines while you were with them.” She turns her gaze to Price. “Captain Price, I’ve sent in a request for your team’s vaccination records as well. I’m sure you’ve had everything under the sun, but I’d like to ensure there’s no risk of any accidental exposures.” 

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Price says. “If RAMC gives you any trouble, just let me know. I’ll get them for you myself.” 

“Thank you, Captain.” She says. “One last bit in this part and then we can move on. I see FIOT issued an implant before you left, as is standard practice.” 

You nod. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good. You’ve had more than enough time for it to take effect so we won’t have to worry about any accidental slip ups during your next heat.” 

Your cheeks warm at her words a bit. You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about that inevitable side of things. 

“And your next heat is roughly six weeks away.” She says, looking at the calendar. “Don't be surprised if it comes a little earlier now that you’re being exposed to alphas again.” 

Your stomach twists nervously at that thought. It was common for heats to be triggered early after exposure to alphas, especially after such a prolonged period without exposure to them. It wasn’t likely to start tomorrow, but you knew it could jump a week or two due to the natural pheromones alphas put off, and the instinctual call for the alpha/omega bond. 

“You’re planning for the claiming to take place during the heat?” Dr. Keller asks. 

“Yes, that’s the plan.” Price says. 

“That is the most natural time for it.” Dr. Keller says. “Of course, it is always up to omega preference in the end.” 

You don’t miss the way her eyes dart to you for a second. 

“Now that that’s over with,” She says, putting the tablet to the side. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to do this next part with just the two of us.” 

A beat of silence passes before you realize she’s asking you. Her eyes are on you, and so are Price’s. She’s asking you. She’s asking you what you want. 

“I-I guess...yeah.” You stutter over your words, not quite sure how to answer. Is there a wrong answer? Would Price be upset if you said yes? Would Dr. Keller be upset if you said no? Your eyes turn to Price, trying to gauge his reaction. 

“It’s up to you.” He says softly. “We’re here for you.” 

You sit up a little straighter at his words, nodding your head. “Y-Yes. That’s okay.” 

Price pushes himself to stand up. “I’ll be right outside.” 

The air inside the room seems to lighten as he leaves, Dr. Keller reclining back on the couch as the door clicks shut. She pulls out a stack of papers and a pen before she looks at you. Your palms are sweating, and you’re starting to think you’d like the chair to swallow you whole. 

“This next part can feel a bit personal, but I just want you to know that everything you say in here is as confidential as you’d like it to be. Captain Price is right. I am an Omega Specialist, I’m here for you. I’m not just a doctor, I’m here to help you in all aspects of being an omega. I know FIOT teaches a lot, mainly obedience and compliance. I want to make it clear that you can be honest with me.” She holds up the stack of papers. “No one is going to see these papers but me, alright?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod. 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me.” She smiles. “You can call me Dr. Keller, or Doc. You could even call me an evil bitch if you want, it won’t phase me any.” 

You can’t help the small smile that forms on your face. 

“I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you. They’re a sort of tracker to measure how well you’re settling in and bonding with your new pack. I’d like to meet once a week until your next heat just to see how well you’re settling in. After that we can meet as often as you’d like. Sound good?” 

You nod in approval. It sounds like a lot, but you also know you’re going to have a lot of downtime, even with your pack on base. 

“Alright, let’s get started. How are you settling in? I know it’s barely been a day, but I want to know how you feel here.” 

Your heart begins to pound in your chest. How do you feel here? How do you feel after being pulled from the institute and taken to a training facility where you found out you’d be moving halfway across the world to be a military pack’s omega. 

This wasn’t what you had expected when you reached the age where you became an available omega. Most omegas at FIOT came from rich, powerful, important families and your purpose there was to be groomed into the perfect omega to return right back to that world. 

You thought you would be chosen quickly. You had expected it. With your scores and your high ratings and your status, you were what most alphas dreamed of. Yet, the years had passed and though there was some interest, nothing had ever come of it. You weren’t alone in it. There were others like you, those who excelled at being an omega, but then seemed to stall in the selection once they came of age. 

Of course, now that you look back on it, you can’t help but think it might have been done on purpose. The Omega Initiative was new, you had been told during your first briefing explaining why you were taken to a remote building somewhere outside of D.C. and greeted not by your new pack, but swathes of CIA agents. Military packs were nothing new, but they wanted to utilize the naturally formed packs and make them stronger and more stable by adding in omegas. 

Only highly skilled omegas were considered for the program, but of course you had no say in whether you were going to partake or not. They chose the omegas and they decided where you would end up. 

It wasn’t that dissimilar from being chosen from an Institute. At FIOT there was a screening process packs had to go through to be determined eligible to have access to omega files. Then the pack would have to send a neutral emissary, usually a beta, to meet the omegas in person and choose on behalf of the alpha. Most institutes don’t have that strenuous of a process, and some don’t have a process at all. In some, alphas themselves could walk in and choose an omega without even so much as a background check. 

Omegas never got a say. As soon as you were handed over to an institute, the ability to choose was taken from you. Whoever your caretakers were as a pup signed over their rights to you and the institute became your legal guardian. They dictated your life up until you joined a new pack. 

You had hoped it would be someone rich. If nothing else, you’d get to live a cushy life and you’d never have to worry about anything. When they told you what was really going to happen to you, you had almost cried. You did cry, late at night curled up in your bunk after hours of training and briefings. 

Kate picked you for this pack specifically because she knew them and she knew you could handle them and their world. 

Maybe if you had been worse at being an omega, things would have been better for you. 

Or maybe they would have been worse. 

“It’s...different.” You finally say, picking at your sleeves again. “But in a lot of ways, it’s similar to The Institute. It always takes me time to settle somewhere new.” 

“Me too.” Dr. Keller says, writing some things down. “And with the time change, it’s just so much harder. I feel like I should be in bed right now, but it’s 8 AM. Have you started nesting?” 

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even feel the urge to.” 

“That’s fine.” She says, writing something else down. “In truth, I’d be more concerned if you were.” 

Your eyebrows raise a bit. “Why?” 

“During an adjustment period for an omega, especially in a new pack, there can be something that happens called false instincts. The sudden urge to nest, a drive to bond with pack members too soon, false heats. It’s usually brought on by a sudden change in environment, like when omegas are taken from a place where they’ve spent sometimes years with no exposure to alphas and are suddenly thrown into a space with a lot of alphas. It’s more common in larger packs where you have alphas, betas, and other omegas.” 

“Could it happen in smaller packs?” You ask. 

“It’s possible, though rare. It can cause some serious issues down the line when those instincts are actually supposed to begin to show up, like adjustment sickness. I’d say if you’re starting to feel the urge to nest or bond before the first week is up, then come talk to me, alright?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod. 

She smiles, turning the page. “How far have you gotten with the bonding process?” 

“Just the scenting yesterday.” You answer. 

“And how did that go?” 

You pick at the loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Fine. It was...overwhelming.” 

“They can be.” Dr. Keller says. “The new members of your pack, how are you getting along with them?” 

“Fine, I guess.” You shrug. “I like Soap and Gaz. Price, he’s...he’s nice, and Ghost...” You trail off, not sure how to answer. If she’d asked before breakfast you might have said he doesn't like you. He doesn’t want you to be part of his pack, but after what happened at breakfast...

You can’t be sure he did it for you. He could have thought that soldier was staring at Soap or Gaz or even Price. He could have thought the soldier was staring at him and was annoyed with it. He had scared off the stares at every meal you’d eaten together, but how often did they get stared at? You couldn’t know if that was a daily occurrence and he was just growing sick of it. 

He could be annoyed with you because you’re drawing in the stares. 

“I don’t know what to think about him yet.” You answer. 

She writes something else down, going through a few more questions with you. How is your appetite? How are you sleeping? Are you taking care of your needs? Do you have any concerns? 

Before you know it the hour has passed and you’re walking out the door into the fluorescent, sterile hallway of the medical center. 

“Remember, you have my number. If you need anything, I’m here for you.” Dr. Keller says as you part ways. 

You walk with Price out of the medical center, glad to be out in the fresh air. It’s not particularly warm, and the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds, but it’s better than the medical center. 

“What do you think?” Price asks as you follow him back to the barracks. 

“I think it went well.” You say, mind still reeling from an eventful morning. You’re beginning to feel your restless night. 

“Do you like Dr. Keller?” He asks, probing a bit. 

You nod. “Yes, sir. She’s nice.” 

“Good.” He says, opening the door to the barracks for you. “I have to leave to oversee training for the next few hours.” He glances at his watch. “One of us will come get you for lunch.” 

You nod. Of course you’d find yourself alone again between meals. You’re beginning to notice a pattern. “Yes, sir.” 

His hand is warm as it settles on your shoulder, squeezing gently. You’re surprised by the touch, as small as it is. Were they too fighting the urge to get close to you, like you had this morning? 

You can still feel the warmth of his hand even after it’s disappeared and he’s gone. You head for the rec room, deciding to avoid the constricting feeling of being shut in your room for the time being. 

The TV is on when you enter, but the room is empty, playing some morning talk show. You move to the bookshelf against the wall, letting your eyes scan the titles. There's a surprising lack of military-based books shoved into the packed shelf. Of course there's a handful of old manuals and handbooks, nothing that you're particularly concerned about needing to read. You let out a sigh, standing on your toes to reach a Brandon Sanderson novel. 

You look around the room but the remote for the TV seems to be missing, and it’s too high on the wall for you to reach the power button, so you leave it on, curling up on one corner of the couch as you begin to read. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed when something moves in your peripheral. The sun has come out briefly, shining in through the windows. You look up from the book, suddenly feeling very small under Ghost’s gaze. His eyes are narrowed as he stares down at you, a thousand things flashing through your mind. Are you in his spot? Is this his book? Had he come to the rec room hoping to be alone and here you are infringing in his space? 

“Come on.” He says, his voice rougher than it had been this morning. “Lunch.” 

He’s already turned and heading out the door as you scramble up, leaving the book on the coffee table as you hurry to catch up to him. His steps are quick and wide, and you find yourself having to almost speedwalk to keep up with him. 

Your thoughts are jumbled as you follow him out of the barracks and off towards the mess. Why would they send him to get you? Was he the only one available? Yesterday they had time before lunch to return to the barracks, or had that only been because of you? Or were they perhaps hoping this might offer a chance for the two of you to bond a bit? 

Or were they entirely blind to Ghost’s disinterest in your existence? 

Perhaps they were used to it. After so long together, perhaps they just thought it was normal. If you were brave enough to bring it up, would you get a “oh that’s just how he is” in response? 

You can’t see the others as you enter the mess, Ghost leading you to the line. He stands behind you like a hulking shadow, his scent covered by the smell of gunpowder and sweat. You fill your own tray for the first time, grabbing things that look appetizing. You’ll have to get used to it eventually, even though the others insisted on doing it for the time being. When they’re not here, you’ll have to do it yourself. 

Ghost leads you to an empty table, and you opt to sit across from him. You begin to eat, taking big bites to avoid the need for conversation, not that you really thought Ghost would strike up a conversation with you. Your eyes flicker around the room nervously, glancing over the entrances time and time again, waiting for the others to arrive. 

“Stop twitching. They’re on their way.” 

The words cut straight through you and you snap your head around to face Ghost. He’s got his mask pulled up to his nose, your eyes immediately drawn to the exposed pale skin. There’s light stubble on his chin. You remember how that had felt on your own skin when he’d scented you. He’s blonde, you think, or at least has light hair judging by the color of the stubble. There’s a scar on his chin, almost hidden by the stubble. 

Your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught in your nervous fretting. Of course, you should have known he would take notice. There’s not a lot they don’t notice, you think. Though, when your survival depends on noticing even the smallest detail of anything or anyone...

You jump as a tray is set down next to yours, your eyes snapping up to see Gaz with a smile on his face. You turn back to look at Ghost, his mask pulled back down but you see a slight shake to his shoulders for a second.

Was he...laughing at you? 

Your attention is drawn from him as Gaz takes a seat next to you, sitting close enough his arm is almost brushing yours. Price and Soap taking their usual spots as well. You’re beginning to pick up on the patterns that existed around them, and their own patterns. Perhaps that will make it easier for you to fit yourself into their lives. You knew from the start they weren’t going to change to fit you into their lives. They couldn’t. You were going to have to find a way to fit into their lives. 

Gaz walks you back to the barracks after lunch, abnormally quiet as he watches you warily. He walks you to your door, leaning on the doorframe as you step inside. 

“You alright?” He asks, big brown eyes shining with worry as he looks you over. 

“Yeah.” You nod, shifting on your feet. “Just tired. I think I might take a nap.” 

He nods, and you’re sure he doesn't quite believe you, but he doesn’t press any. “Alright. Happy napping.” 

You close the door as he leaves, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. It’s been a long day and it’s only lunch. Between the probing questions from Dr. Keller and the few minutes you had spent alone with Ghost you feel exhausted. It was good to know you weren’t entirely broken in your lack of nesting instincts, and perhaps your turmoil with belonging in this place wasn’t quite as abnormal as you thought. 

What to do about Ghost.

He’s said more words to you today than he did in the entirety of the previous day. In fact, you think today might be the first time he’s spoken to you at all. You know he doesn’t approve of you, and you’d go so far as to say he doesn’t like you. You can imagine he fought the hardest against you being added to the pack. They were fine without you. It didn’t take a genius to see that. 

You’re an outsider. A civilian. A risk. 

An unneeded disruption to their lives. 

You pull your phone out of your pocket, staring at the dark screen. You know Ghost might never accept you. He won’t want to claim you, he won’t mate you, but...perhaps you might just get him to tolerate you. 

You unlock your phone, sending a quick text to Kate. 

“Can you get a book for me?”

You regret your decision momentarily as you step into the rec room. Gaz and Soap are lounged on the couch, beer bottles open on the coffee table. The TV is playing ads, their attention on each other. You almost feel as if you’re infringing upon a private moment as they laugh, half tempted to race back to your room and hide until your hunger draws you out or someone breaks down the door to get to you. 

“Hey!” Gaz’s face lights up when he sees you, Soap turning to look at you.

“Hey, bonny!” His face lights up with a smile. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” You ask, shifting nervously on your feet. 

“Not at all.” Gaz says, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. “You want a beer?” 

You shake your head. “No thank you. Never could get past the taste.” 

Soap throws his head back as he laughs, slapping Gaz’s shoulder. “I keep tellin’ ye!” 

“Yet you keep drinking it!” Gaz attempts to defend himself. 

“Cause it’s th’ only thing we got!” Soap argues, leaning around Gaz to stare at you. “So, ye a football fan, bonny?” 

“Well, I watched the World Cup a couple times as a kid.” You say. “My household was more of an American football and baseball household. Two of my older brothers played soccer, though they never were very serious about it. Mostly just did it to fulfill my dad’s physical activity extracurricular requirement.” 

“What did you do to fulfill that requirement?” Gaz asks as he takes a sip of his beer. 

“Softball. I was...not good at it.” You laugh. “I could catch and throw, but I don’t think I hit the ball a single time I was at bat.” 

Both of them chuckle, turning back to the TV as the ad ends. “Don’t worry, we’ll turn you into a proper football fan yet.” Gaz says. 

You watch the game with them, and it doesn’t take you long to realize they’re rooting for opposing teams. They explain things to you here and there in between yelling at the TV and each other. Despite how loud they are, you find yourself relaxing further and further, the tension from the last two days easing away, even as the two betas yell at each other over a soccer game. 

Gaz tenses for a second as he feels a sudden weight on his shoulder. He turns his head slightly, noticing you’ve fallen asleep, your head drooping onto his shoulder. His lips quirk up in a smile as he gently nudges Soap. 

“Wha?” Soap asks, turning to look at him. 

He jerks his head to the side, leaning back just slightly so Soap can see. A grin breaks out on the younger man’s face and he pulls out his phone. “Aww, look a’ that. Think we should wake ‘er and get ‘er tae bed?” 

“Nah.” Gaz says. “Let her sleep for now. She probably needs it.” 

You sleep soundly through overtime, Gaz not moving until the post game is over, letting you sleep as long as possible. He knows you have to be tired, after the last few days and the time difference. You looked tired today, with dark circles and droopy eyes. He hates to wake you, but he knows you can’t sleep on the couch. 

He nudges you gently, trying to rouse you. “Hey.” He nudges you again, your head finally lifting off his shoulder. 

You blink sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. You make a quiet sound in protest of being awake, eyes drooping closed again. 

“Come on, love.” He says, keeping you upright. “It’s time for bed.” 

You cover your yawn with your hand, blinking at him sleepily. “Bed?” You murmur sleepily, Gaz smiling softly at how adorable you are in this state. 

“Yeah, you’ll be more comfortable in bed.” He pushes himself to stand, hands on your arms to pull you up. 

You make another sound in protest, nearly falling against his chest when he gets you on your feet. He wraps an arm around you, letting you lean on him as he guides you back to bed, Soap cleaning up the mess they had made. 

You’re more awake once you get to your door, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. “‘S fun.” You murmur, rubbing your eyes. “Should do that more often.” 

“You’re always welcome to join us.” He says. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long week.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Night, love.” 

He waits until your door is closed before heading back down the hallway towards the rec room, a small smile on his face. 

NEXT ->

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[fireya-x]

skin on skin

This one is for @the-californicationist's writing challenge! ❤️

AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

John Price x Reader

A surprise waits for John when he returns home earlier than you expected…

[1.4k words]

cw: smut, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, creampie

It just felt too fucking good, thinking about your husband’s cock, stretching you, nudging against your walls in all the right places – it had been too long; he had been gone for a week, seven excruciatingly long days without his touch – and your hand rubbing and pinching your swollen clit barely did anything to clench the need you had for him.

The explicit whispers spilling from your earbuds only fueled the fire, painting a scenario of what you so desperately craved.

The sight before him was something else. Almost divine.

You were lost in a haze of self-pleasure, sweating, your face distorted, lost in concentration as the blanket moved frantically where your hand worked against your cunt. It took maybe seconds before his pants felt too tight, his dick responding to the frantic breaths and whimpers that left your lips. 

You hadn’t noticed you were being watched, at least not for a while.

His gaze burned into you, dark and hungry, and as if suddenly very aware of a presence at the door, your eyes shot open. The sudden movement ripped the earbuds out of your ears, and your heart hammered against your chest as your eyes met his.

A wave of heat flooded your cheeks, but before any flicker of embarrassment could form, you saw the raw lust in his eyes. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” he murmured, dark and velvety, gently cupping his hardening length through the cargo pants he was wearing. The one thing you craved so severely, hidden only behind a thin layer of fabric.

He slowly stalked towards you, and with one swift motion, the blanket was gone, exposing your naked body and your hand, now frozen between your folds. A predatory smile spread on his lips as his eyes devoured every inch of you, lingering on the glistening wetness between your thighs. He couldn’t resist, and one large calloused hand closed around your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, while the other worked at his belt buckle with practised ease.

“What’s gotten you so worked up, hm?”

“Been thinking about you,” you confessed, breathing heavily, your eyes not leaving his.

His smile widened. He captured the wrist that had been attending to your needs and brought it to his lips. He kissed your knuckles, then took your fingers into his mouth, sucking gently, swirling his tongue around each digit as if savouring the world’s most delicious meal.

Your whole body shivered, and the emptiness between your legs was a painful void, reminding you of what he could be giving you. “Fuck, John, I need you,” you whimpered, the words torn from your throat.

“I can see that.” He released your hand and placed it back between your thighs.

“Please.”

“You were doing just fine on your own.”

“Please.”

He tilted his head as if thinking about it. “No.” With both hands placed on your knees, he pulled your legs apart even wider. He walked around and stood where he got the best view. “Go on. Keep going.”

You were too lost in him now that he was finally there; you didn’t even remember the words to protest. Like a puppet on a string, controlled by his presence alone, your finger parted your folds for him to see, and with one finger, you began drawing little circles on your clit.

“Yes, like that. Just let me watch.”

His voice was the kindling you had needed before; without it, you were unable to get lost in the sensation. No story or audio could do what he did, pulling and pushing the strings that drove your body to pure euphoria, and he didn’t even have to touch you.

He stood before you, a towering figure consumed by lust. He began to stroke himself, the slow, deliberate rhythm mimicking your movements. Your eyes darted between the intensity of his gaze and the mesmerising movement of his hand on himself. His thumb brushed over the tip, drawing a groan from deep within his chest. “Yes, just like that,” he groaned, his eyes fixed on your hand working between your legs. “Fuck, you’re driving me insane.”

You increased the rhythm; your fingers moved faster, mirroring the frantic pace of his hand on his cock, your gaze holding his. “I was imagining your fingers here,” you confessed, your voice breathless, “imagining your mouth, your tongue…”

A guttural groan ripped from his throat. “Tell me,” he begged, “tell me what you were thinking about before...”

“You were…mmm,” you sucked in a breath as the pleasure built. “You had me bent over – fucking me so hard and deep I saw stars –”

“Fuck,” he hissed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

He suddenly moved, his body crushing yours, skin on skin, pressing you into the mattress. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, a brand against your sensitised flesh. His face was buried in your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You hadn’t even noticed his shirt was gone; your senses were overwhelmed by him. The hard planes of his chest, slick with sweat, seared into you, his muscles flexing and shifting against your body. Your breasts were crushed against him, and your nipples tightened against the rasp of his chest hair.

You could feel everything - the strength of his arms on your sides, the wiry hair of his forearms tickling your skin, the frantic drumbeat of his heart echoing your own.

He ground his hips against you, once, twice; as if to test whether he could still move while keeping your body flush against his. “Come on, you can do it. Keep going. Faster.”

Your body was writhing, shaking; you could have sworn your clit must have been screaming at the abuse – the peak was right there, so painstakingly close –

“You can do it. Hm? You don’t need my cock.”

You felt his hips move against you; he was fucking his hand beneath him, pressing you both into the mattress. With each thrust, the tip of his hot length moved against the skin of your thigh like a burning brand, creating friction that had him panting into your ear. Your overstimulated nerves were crying for release, but you couldn’t reach it.

“I do!” You almost screamed, frustrated.

“No, you don’t.” 

The heat between your legs was unbearable, your entire being focused on the pleasure building within you. He leaned even closer, pressing a kiss against your temple. “You were so desperate, you would have fucked yourself without me here. So come on, do it.”

“Pleasepleaseplease…” you begged, your voice barely coherent.

“Yes, that’s it, dirty little thing. Mmm.”

You focused on nothing else but the moans in your ear, the touch of his cock against your thigh, his hips stuttering against yours, and the finger you had managed to somehow push into your aching hole.

“Come for me, love.” His lips brushed against your ear, and his teeth nipped at your lobe. A ragged moan ripped from his throat as he thrust hard, his body pressing against yours. The friction was unbearable, exquisite, pushing you over the precipice. “Be a good girl and come –”

Your world shattered. A searing wave of pleasure ripped through you, your body arching involuntarily, your stomach pressing hard against his. He groaned, a primal sound torn from his chest, as he felt the ripple of your orgasm against him. The involuntary clench of your muscles, the frantic thrum of your pulse against his skin, the moans caught in your lungs as your chest crashed against him.

He wasted no time sheathing himself inside you; the feeling of him filling you, stretching you, was almost too much to bear. He rode out your climax, the involuntary clenching of your walls around him a sweet torment that sent him spiralling over the edge. He spilled deep inside you, so hard he thought he might faint, a shuddering sigh escaping his lips as he finally came home.

“Hi,” you whispered after coming down from your high and as your hand threaded through his sweat-dampened hair. He pressed a kiss to your belly, then to your breasts, before finally meeting your gaze.

“Hey.”

“You’re home earlier than I thought.” You smiled, a soft, content smile that reached your eyes.

He shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Got myself a nice surprise.”

“Next time,” you teased, your fingers tightening in his hair, “just fuck me when I’m already begging for it?”

He chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. He leaned down, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “Where’s the fun in that?” 

[readwritealldayallnight]

On the Nice List

Captain John Price x Reader

wc: 1.5k words

warnings/tags: fluff, sprinklings of mature content but nothing explicit

He was distracted

Or rather you were distracting him

Already feeling disconcerted, he’d gone and done something he swore he’d never do, something he didn’t want to have to do, he’d brought his work home with him

Well, his paperwork at least

He’d promised you he’d make every possible effort to be home with you on Christmas Eve, and as the 23rd rolled around and he’d glanced at the stacks upon stacks of files waiting for him atop his desk, he knew the only way he’d be making it through the front door in time was with his work tucked snugly into his bag

He knew you would have understood either way, having grown used to the ever changing schedule that the Captain lived by, but all you had asked for was for your lover to be home for the holidays, and how could he deny you such a simple request without at least trying

Now however, sat in his home office with papers scattered haphazardly across the desk along with a pounding headache threatening to form behind his tired ocean eyes, he realizes he should have known it wouldn’t be so easy to get through his work unbothered

He’s got the door more than slightly ajar, the sounds of soft Christmas music carrying throughout the house towards his quiet space, and every few minutes or so, there’s you, strolling past the crack in the door to steal glances at your husband and pretend you’re doing no such thing

It’s been nearly two hours since he had told you he’d be nearly finished, but you both knew that was a but of a generous timeframe

That’s why you had no issue skipping about the house in the meanwhile, humming carols to yourself, wrapping last minute gifts, you’d even been able to get a head start on the cookie dough mix that had to chill in the fridge overnight, secretly hoping that each time you walked past John’s office would be the time he finally pushed himself out of his chair and came to join you

As the minutes ticked by however, you decided that rather than growing impatient, you’d become creative

And so each time you strolled past his door, your pace was slower and slower, and maybe you were wearing less and less clothing, who could really know?

John chuckled to himself, knowing you were up to no good out there, but any remark he might have wanted to make was caught in his throat when you pulled out the next trick up your sleeve

In nothing more than a short silky robe, you’d plopped yourself down in the reading chair perfectly angled for your husband to see you from his office and began reading a book

Innocent enough

Apart from the fact that in your other hand, you were holding an unwrapped candy cane

The seasoned soldier nearly did a double take as he watched you not to subtly bring the candy to your over extended tongue before wrapping your plump wet lips around it, letting out a satisfied hum in the process

To his credit, John did at least try to glance back down to his paperwork a handful of times after that, but seeing you suck on the candy cane in a way that sure to knock you off the nice list, he couldn’t help but drop his pen to adjust himself through his pants

You had your eyes closed for a moment as you really tried to oversell it, lips still wrapped around the sweet treat, when your ears picked up on the creaking of John’s office chair along with the small grunt of effort he made any time he stood

Feigning innocence you opened your eyes, letting the candy slip out with a ‘plop’ as you looked up to find the Captain slowly approaching you, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes and a growing tent in his briefs

“Ye know love,” he said, not so subtly reaching to palm himself and grinning wider when he caught your eyes follow his movements. “Think ye might end up on the big man’s naughty list with this kind o’ behaviour.”

You smiled coyly up at him, reaching a leg out to poke his muscular thigh with your toes when he stepped close enough. “I have no idea what you mean, Captain.” You added the title, knowing how it stirred something deeper within him to hear it fall from your lips.

“Careful sweetheart,” he warned you, something far more than mischievous flashing through his eyes this time as she smiled down at you. “If we didn’t have company comin’ soon I’d be havin’ you show me whether you’re naughty or nice.” His large, warm hand caught your ankle and began massaging every inch of skin he could reach.

“Uh oh,” You said with a small giggle, leaning further back in your seat to allow him a better grasp on your leg, never one to turn down his affectionate touch. “Think we might have to adjust your list and ask him to get you a pair of reading glasses, my darling. Company doesn’t come until tomorrow.”

“That so?” He asked, the smirk on his face telling you everything you needed to know; he’d just gained the upper hand again. He glanced down towards his wrist watch before looking back to you with a slight raised brow. He gave you a firm pat on the thigh before reaching for your book, plucking it out of your grasp. “Might want to go put some clothes on my darling. Just in case I’m right for once.” He teased you with a wink of his eye, helping pull you up to your feet.

“Think that might be the first time you ask me to put my clothes back on, John.” You tease him back, slowly making your way towards the stairs.

“Don’t need anyone else knowing how good my wife looks. Specially my Sergeant.” He mumbled the last part, but even as you made your way up the stairs, you’d caught the end of his sentence.

“Sergeant?” You questioned, now truly confused. You didn’t have much more of a chance to question him however, when there was a prompt knock at the front door.

“Go on, love. I’ve got it.” Your husband replied before he disappeared out of sight headed to answer the door. You made your way to your shared bedroom and changed as fast as you could, curious if not slightly bewildered as to who John would have invited over on Christmas Eve Eve, of all days.

Making your way back down the stairs towards the front entry way, you could hear a familiar booming voice echoing through your home.

“Oh! Hi Kyle.” You greet the handsome Sergeant with a warm smile. Even though you’re confused as to why he’s here, you’re always happy to see him.

“Hey Mrs Price.” He responds with a wave, still standing in the open doorway.

“Why don’t you come inside? I know it’s cold out there.” You offer, going to take his coat from him, but John reaches out to you instead and wraps an arm around your waist.

“Afraid he can’t stay very long tonight, love.” John answers, his deep voice rumbling through to you where you’re pressed against him.

“Just dropped by to wish you happy holidays.” Kyle informs you with a smile on his face, which stretches further when you raise a questioning brow at him, knowing he didn’t drive all the way out here just to say hello. “Might have something in the truck for ye, as well. Give me a minute.” He says before retreating back down the front steps and towards the parked truck.

You turn to face your husband, a chuckle rising through him at the confusion painted across your expression, his other arm coming around to hold you even tighter against his chest.

“What have you roped him into now, huh?”

“Oh, you’ll see, love.”

Actually, you hear it before you see it.

A small yapping sound growing closer and closer, until the noise is too insistent to ignore, turning away from John’s hold on you to face the door again, where you spot Garrick strolling towards you with a surprise in tow.

“You didn’t-”

“Oh, but he did.” Kyle says with an all too proud smirk, letting go of the dog’s leash as he steps into your home, sure to shut the door behind him this time. You’re crouching down to your knees before you know it, coming down to eye level with the furry creature that’s just strolled into your home.

“John how did- when did- what?!” You struggle to form a logical sentence as your eyes dart from your husband, to his accomplice, back down to the ‘surprise’ you certainly had not been expecting.

“He’s a rescue.” John explains, coming down to his own knees next to you, reaching a hand out to run over the dog’s head. “He’d been gifted as a puppy a few Christmases ago. Got given up when his owners discovered they don’t stay small forever.”

You shake your head in bewilderment, looking into this little guy’s big deep eyes, your own hands coming out to lovingly pet him as well. You and John had toyed with the idea of getting a pet for a while now, but had never been able to commit to the idea, mainly because of John’s work, knowing that most of the responsibility for caring for an animal would be falling to you, something you’d promised you had no qualms about.

“Old mate o’ mine works at the pound.” Kyle goes on to add, arms crossed across his chest as he watches his Captain and his wife greet their newest family member. “Said this guy’s been waitin’ on a home for a while now.”

“I thought we could give him one, love. A home.” John whispers to you, your eyes meeting in a hushed, intimate moment, both your hands still running across the dog’s fur, an unspoken conversation happening between the two of you. Your eyes are starting to well with tears, and John’s own eyes are as soft as you’ve seen them in a long time, any ideas of paperwork left far behind.

You offer John an enthusiastic nod, worried that your voice will betray the emotions seeping through you should you try to answer him otherwise. You can’t help the overjoyed laugh that erupts from you though, when the dog starts licking at your fingers, picking up on the emotions in the room.

“Well what do we name you, huh?” You ask, leaning into John’s side when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to press a kiss to your hairline.

“I mean, I’m quite fond of Gaz, if I get to have any say in this.”

Certainly not my best work but really wanted to write something for Price and a little something for the upcoming holidays

Almost officially on holiday break! I work the 23rd and 24th, but then I’m off until the New Year so there should be more consistent uploads coming soon!!! Really hoping to wrap up the ‘Wife at First Sight’ series and post part 3 of ‘A Stranger is a Friend You Haven’t Met Yet’

Thanks for the read as always

- M 🫶🏻

[blues-of-neptune]

Oh yes please I want to be his personal lil doll

sugardaddy!price x gn!reader

(slight nsfw)

₊˚.༄:፣ 𓏲࿐࿔ ˚˖°☾☽ °˖˚𓏲࿐࿔ ₊˚.༄:፣₊˚.༄:፣ 𓏲࿐࿔ ˚˖°☾☽

sugardaddy!price can’t keep his eyes off of you when you’re all dolled up in the finest pieces he can afford.

extravagant pieces adorning your neck, ears, fingers and wrists, all thoughtfully planned out to suit your style and preferences. they gleam softly in the light, accentuating all your defining features.

he never holds back, showering you in anything and everything you could ask for, even when your desires never leave your lips.

he keeps a keen eye on you, watching the way your eyes linger on a specific item of clothing, perhaps a pair of shoes or a pretty necklace.

if you’re shy about his materialistic gestures, price takes pride the way your eyes widen when he hands you each gift, your brows furrowing in concern - his little pet always so worried about the amount he’s spending. he simply shakes his head, gently pulling you closer to clasp a new shiny bracelet around your wrist.

he fails to hide his pleased smirk each time he glances at you, finding any possible chance he can get to compliment you in your new accessories.

it’s no secret his favourite purchases are the plethora of jewellery pieces adorning your body. seeing you sprawled beneath him, clothes discarded carelessly on his bedroom floor, left in nothing but glittering diamonds and delicate, precious metals.

his own little doll to dress up and care for.

he prefers to buy his gifts in person, rather than online. it’s better that way though. seeing the quality in person, nodding in approval at the sales assistant who hastily wraps the expensive pieces in sleek designer brand bags.

he’s about to leave the store, keen to decorate you with his new purchases when a display of glittering diamonds catches his eye.

at this point, he’s bought you enough rings to decorate each of your perfectly manicured fingers. all except one.

he turns around, pulling out his wallet and flagging down the poor sales assistant once more, lips curling upwards as he nods in the direction of the glass case, not a crumb of doubt in his mind.

₊˚.༄:፣ 𓏲࿐࿔ ˚˖°☾☽ °˖˚𓏲࿐࿔ ₊˚.༄:፣₊˚.༄:፣ 𓏲࿐࿔ ˚˖°☾☽

[homeofthelonelywriter]

who in COD would know how to spatchcock a chicken?

Full transparency, I had to google what a spatchcock chicken even is, but now I'm hungry...but THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST YAYYY

John Price: I feel like John would be fully convinced that he could do it, even though he has never tried it before. And if you even try to help him, he’d shoo you out the kitchen, assuring you that everything was under control. It wasn’t. He realized rather soon that he had no clue what he was doing, and how to even start. He even looked up tutorial videos online, but they were too fast and he couldn’t figure out how to pause them at the right time. Soon, he realized that he was completely lost and begrudgingly asked you for help. But he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed seeing you in that cute little apron, bending over to glance into the oven.

Johnny MacTavish: Surprisingly, he knew exactly what he was doing. Growing up with a kind and nurturing mother and a bunch of siblings, most of them girls, he knew his way around the kitchen. He confidently banned you from entering the room while he was working and you couldn’t help but worry a bit. After all, he didn’t seem like the guy that knew how to cook, or even hold a kitchen knife correctly. During your relationship, you had done most of the cooking, since he enjoyed your food way too much, and you wanted to spoil him whenever he was home. But the chicken turned out amazing and he enjoyed hearing your praises aaaaall night. ;)

Simon Riley: No. Explanation.

Kyle Garrick: He would do okay, but he wouldn’t do it alone. No, he would insist that you would do it together, make it into a cute couple’s activity, flirting and kissing while you were dancing around each other. And after some begging from you, he would even wear the pink, frilly apron that was matching yours. By the end of the day, you had an amazing spatchcock chicken, and lovely memories to look back on.

[paige1722]

So Much For A Safe House-END

Summary: You go on a mission with 141 and end up taking shelter in an abandoned building. The place is haunted, and you are all trapped inside; creepy things are happening. (Ghost of War-inspired)

Warnings: scares, violence, weapons, monsters, first-aid stuff, lots of gore

Chapter 1: Shelter Chapter 2: Hunter's Moon Chapter 3: Pinnacle to the Pit

Ah, I can't believe this is the final part. I hope you all like it! Also, since it took me so long to finish this part, there's a small bonus at the end.

Chapter 4: See the Light

Deciding that you should all move back into the living room before anything else happens, you pack up the first aid kit and grab the discarded weapons, tactical vests, and flashlights to move them back into the living room next to the fireplace and sleep bags to be dealt with later. Heading back into the kitchen for what feels like the 100th time that night, you go to help Price carry Gaz. 

Price was holding Gaz up on one side, supporting all of his body weight, waiting for your return. Moving to the other side, you place an arm around his back, allowing him to put his arm over your shoulders, effectively distributing the body weight between all of you and allowing Gaz to walk somewhat easier. Ghost was in a similar position with Soap, who could not put any pressure on his now broken ankle, hopping out of the room using Ghost as a crunch, they make their way into the living room. You, Price, and Gaz are following closely behind.

The fire was still going; however, it had dwindled a bit. Walking slowly to accommodate Gaz, you and Price set him down, helping him settle in, and the sleeping bags were set up in front of the fire. Soap is sitting on his sleeping bag, his injured ankle propped up on a makeshift cushion of a pillow and blanket, pulling out his small diary, which he always carries with him, and begins writing. Having caught a glimpse of his notebook before you figure he is probably adding notes about what has been happening here and some sketches. 

Price and Ghost are busy tending to the fire, talking in hushed voices, you can barely make out bits and pieces of their conversation, something about our chances not looking good with two injured. Not wanting to stress yourself out by eavesdropping on their conversation, you busy yourself with finding a new shirt for Gaz to wear. Rummaging through the bags, you managed to find a black long-sleeve thermal shirt that belonged to either Ghost or Price judging by the size, but you figured they wouldn’t mind letting Gaz borrow it for the time being. Walking over to where Gaz was lying, staring at the ceiling, a far-off look on his face. You sit criss-cross beside him, gently taping his shoulder to gain his attention, “here, I found you a shirt.” 

He turns his head to you, a small smile on his face at the gesture, “Thanks, Spark.” Reaching to grab the shirt, he pauses, “I think you will have to help me get dressed.” 

Giggling, you help him slowly sit up, bunching up the shirt; you pull it over his head and slowly pull his arms one at a time through each sleeve. Once both of his arms are in the shirt, you pull it the rest of the way down to cover his stomach, being mindful of his injuries. He leans back on his elbows, careful not to pull any of his stitches, and closes his eyes before slowly sliding back down in his sleeping bag. 

Static breaks the silence, causing you to jump at the sudden noise breaking the silence that had shrouded the room. The crackling coming from the long-forgotten radio gains the attention of everyone in the room. Price and Ghost are no longer talking, Gaz's head is turned towards the radio, and Soap has stopped writing in his notebook; everyone’s holding their breath, hoping that maybe it is just Laswell and that you are all about to be rescued.  

“.....re……it……fire…d..” 

You can barely make out the word fire from the static, causing you to instinctively glance towards the fire still burning bright. Price grabs the radio, hitting a few of the buttons, his forehead creasing in concentration. “It’s not even turned on…” You hear him mutter under his breath. 

 A voice from the radio cuts Price off. “It doesn’t like fire.” 

Static still echoed from the radio but more quietly once the message had been spoken. 

“Keep the bloody fire going then; I’ll burn this whole place to the ground if it comes to it,” exclaimed Gaz, pointing at the fireplace. 

Even though the fire was still burning and did not seem as if it would be dying any time soon, Ghost still placed more of the broken chair pieces into the heart of the fire. He looks at the few remaining pieces of the chair. You realize there are not enough pieces left of the chair to keep the fire going for the remainder of the night.

 You stand to your feet, announcing, “I’ll go back in the dining room and grab a couple more of the chairs for us to use.” 

Receiving a nod in return, you quickly jog out of the room and back into the dining room. Moving quickly, you grab two of the small wooden chairs that were strewn around the room. Not wanting to be alone for any longer than you have to be once you have a good hold on both chairs, you go back into the living room, where it sounds like an argument was taking place in your absence. 

Soap throws his hands up in the arm, his accent thick. “How do we know that it doesn’t like fire? Is that even true? What if it is just trying to trick us, we already know whatever the fuck it is can mimic voices!” His heavy breathing was all that could be heard as everyone thought about his words.

While listening to Soap’s exclamation, you placed the two chairs with the other pieces of wood, giving you a grunt of appreciation. Ghost then starts to break the chairs into more manageable pieces for the fire, creating a pile of wooden stakes. 

Sitting back down next to Gaz and thinking about what Soap had said, you thought about the voice; it sounded vaguely familiar. Furrowing your eyebrows, trying to think of where you heard it before you realize it was the same voice from the beginning of the night that said, ‘It is here now.’ Now that you have time to comprehend things a little more clearly, maybe the voice wasn’t the cause of the terror, but perhaps it was actually trying to warn you about the wendigo. Still sitting next to Gaz, you turn and look at him. Making eye contact, he gives a concerned look, like he can see that you have thought of something, and he gives you a subtle nod.  

Taking a deep breath, you share your thoughts, “I don’t think the voice we have been hearing on the radio is the wendigo or some sort of trick. I mean, it kind of seems like whatever it is has been warning us. Like it warned us when the creature first arrived.” 

You glance around the room at everyone’s faces before continuing, “The writing in the room was probably meant to scare us from any more exploration, but that obviously didn’t work, and now, since two of us are injured and we are trapped here until the storm is over, now it tells us a way to properly defend ourselves against the wendigo.” 

Once you finish, you shyly begin rubbing your shoulders, scared that others will not agree with your thoughts. Having said that, everyone seems to be in deep thought over the new information presented.

Soap gains your attention by clearing his throat, “Perhaps we should check the notebook you found again, Spark. Maybe if the voice was actually warning us, then something in the notebook could help, too.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the rest of the team send you both a questioning look. Price mouths ‘notebook?’ to Ghost, who just shrugs his shoulders in return.

Nodding your head, reaching into your pocket, and retrieving the once-forgotten small red notebook, Gaz peering up to see what you’re looking at. You run your hands over the raised leather of the strange symbol on the cover. Signing, you wished that you knew what the strange symbol meant since it was the same symbol that was on the key to the cellar door. 

Flipping to the first page, but just like last time, you are unable to understand the scribbling on the pages; it is almost like it was written in a different language. The only things you are able to make out are the same phrases about not letting it in and someone needing help. 

Realizing that the notebook is not going to be of any help if you can’t read it properly, you grow frustrated and scared with the entire situation you have all found yourselves in, and you throw the book across the room in anger. 

“I’m sorry, guys, I can’t read any of this. But the pictures are for certain drawings of the wendigo, so if I knew all the words written in there, then it would be more of a help. All I can make out are the few phrases not in that weird language.” you say, pulling your knees up to your chest, resting your head on your knees, trying to seek some comfort within yourself. Gaz slowly reaches up and puts a comforting hand on your back, giving you a sympathetic pat.

The small notebook hit the wall next to the fireplace and landed next to Ghost, who had still been tending to the fire every so often. Eyeing the notebook suspiciously, he picks it up, flips it open to the middle, and lets out a small grunt. 

“Of course, you can’t read it, Spark. Most of it is in Latin.” 

Your head shoots up, and your gaze lands on Ghost in surprise, “Latin! What the fuck? I thought that was a dead language.” 

Still looking through the notebook, Ghost replies, “Technically, but they still teach it in schools.” 

Price moves over next to Ghost, looking over his shoulder, “Well, does that mean you can read it then?”

He grunts in return, “I am not an expert or anything, but I think I can probably figure out the gist of things.” 

Ghost then spends the next few moments going through the notebook, trying to determine if there is any useful information in it, while the rest of you wait with bated breath for him to share his findings. 

After what feels like hours, Ghost sits up straight, pointing to one of the pages in the book, looking around at everyone, “According to the notebook, the wendigo is mainly active at night, but it will still come out during the day if it knows there's prey around. It cannot be killed by regular means. So, no bullets or anything; it heals too fast. Apparently, the only way to actually kill it is by burning it with fire, like that voice said. It also mentions they have a hard time seeing still prey.” 

Taking in the new information, Price slaps his hands on his thighs, “Well, now we know a way to protect ourselves: fire and no sudden movements. This new information can help us come up with a plan of attack.”

“Wait, there is something else.” Ghost speaks up, trying to decipher the small text that was written under one of the drawings of the creature feasting on something. 

“it says here don't become one of them.” 

What!” Soap yells, moving to stand but is stopped by his ankle, grimacing in pain, wrapping one hand around his hurt leg, slowly moving back to his previous sitting position, “What the fuck, does that mean?” 

 Turning the page, a similar picture can be seen, but instead, it is clearer what it is eating. The drawing is of a corpse being feasted upon by the Wendigo, with small text that could be seen at the bottom of the page. 

Pointing at the picture and turning the book around so everyone can see it, Ghost says. “eating the flesh of another.”

A sinking feeling forms in the bottom of your stomach, realizing how desperate someone would have to be for food, starving on the brink of death, feeling as if you have no other choice but to resort to cannibalism, eating someone that was once a friend or family member. Shaking your thoughts away, not wanting to think about that, you refuse to believe that it will even come close to that because in a few more hours, when it is finally daylight, this storm will be over, and you can finally make contact with Head-Quarters and get the hell out of this place once and for all. 

As if sensing your dark thoughts, Price speaks up, “Still, like this doesn’t change anything, we will stay here and keep the fire going.” He stands up and grabs one of the legs of the broken chairs from the pile and wraps a piece of torn cloth that was lying on the ground around one end of the stick, “if the wendigo somehow comes in, we will light a few of these on fire and kill the bastard. And once it's daylight and the storm is gone, we can call Laswell and get the hell out of here.” 

Gaz leans up the best he can on one elbow, “Yes, Sir. Though honestly, she has probably already worked out where we are, and as soon as the weather clears, we will already have a helicopter ready and waiting.” 

Gaz’s optimism rubs off on you as you smile in return to his wishful thinking, though knowing how meticulous Laswell is, he is more than likely correct in his assumption. The atmosphere in the room shifts to more calm at Price and Gaz’s words. Soap and Gaz both move to lie back down, shutting their eyes and finally feeling as if they can relax after their attack and constant worrying. All of the exhaustion catching up to your two teammates, the adrenaline from their near-death experience causing them to become tired quickly, and soft snores leaving them. Smiling slightly, you move Gaz’s blanket to cover him more, quietly grab your weapon, and sit next to the hastily boarded-up window to keep watch just in case.

 After a while, your body becomes stiff from sitting for so long, stretching your arms and legs out and hearing the satisfying pop. Glancing out of the window, you see the moon that was once high in the sky is now at the horizon, almost disappearing completely behind the trees of the forest, letting out a sigh of relief that this nightmare is almost a horrible distant memory. Then, all of a sudden, the wendigo jumps down from above, landing right in front of you on the other side of the window. Its breath fogs up the window as it stares down at you. Gasping at the sudden encounter, you jump back, aiming your weapon at the Wendigo. Your sudden outburst and movement catch the attention of Ghost and Price, who grab a piece of burning wood and stand on either side of you in front of the window. The tension in the room was thick; sweat was forming on your brow. Everyone was watching and waiting to see who would make the first move: your team or the creature.

“What’s the bloody thing doing?” you hear one of your teammates ask, you could barely make it out of the sound of your heart pounding in your chest, feeling like you were staring death right in the face. You weren’t sure why, but it felt as if it was smiling at you. 

Swallowing nervously, you whisper, “I think it is taunting us like it is trying to wait us out.” 

As soon as the words leave your mouth, the creature lets out a laugh. It was your laugh. The creature was using your own voice to torment you. You all watch as it raises its gnarled, bony finger and taps on the glass, pointing to where your two injured teammates lay blissfully unaware of the impending danger. Its yellow eyes move back, staring directly at you like it can see right into your soul. Its mouth opens once again, using your voice, “Two of us are injured. We are trapped here.” 

Feeling as if you can no longer breathe, you drop to your knees, resting one hand on the ground, keeping you from face-planting, your other hand placed on your chest, feeling the rapid beating of your heart and the quick rising and falling of your chest and you struggle to catch your breath. Tears flowed freely from your eyes, the burning in your throat causing you to let out pained gasps for breath. Feeling someone kneeling at your side, pulling you into them, your face pressed against their chest, feeling the slow and deep breaths they were taking, the rumbling of their chest as they speak slowly to you. 

“Come on, Spark. That’s it, nice and slow, match my breathing.” 

When you are no longer fighting to breathe, and it doesn’t feel like your lungs are about to explode, do you slowly move away from the person holding you. Wiping the tears that were still present on your face away, you look up to see Price’s comforting face beside you, one arm still on your back. 

“All better now, Spark?” his voice soft and comforting. 

Nodding your head in response, “Yes, Sir. I..I am sorry. It just was using my voice….The Wendigo?!!?” realizing that in the chaos of your panic attack, you forgot all about the reason for it. Quickly looking back to the window, you no longer see the wendigo glowering in the window frame, just the snowy forest. 

“It disappeared as soon as you fell on your knees. I think you were right about it wanting to taunt us.” said Ghost

You glance towards Ghost, who is still standing at your side. He was now holding Price’s fire stick from when he handed it off to Ghost to comfort you. Not wanting to burn the whole house down and force you all to take your chances outside, Ghost turns back to place the two burning sticks back into the fire. Patting your back twice, Price motions for you to follow. Grabbing your discarded weapon, you join them, standing in front of the fire. Ghost stands with his arms crossed, waiting for Price to share the next course of action. Price’s hands are holding on to the straps of his tactical vest, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, something you noticed he only does when he is really stressed. 

He glances at your two injured teammates and lets out a heavy sigh. “I am going to be honest with both of you; it is not looking good for us. I know that daylight is a mere two hours away at this point, but we have to keep in mind even when the storm is behind us, it is going to be near impossible to get everybody to the evac point if we have this creature to worry about. We will be sitting ducks out there in the open, and I think it knows that.” 

Rubbing his temples, trying to come up with a way somehow to carry Soap and Gaz through the thick snow, keep a constant lookout, and make it to the evac point in one piece, looking more and more impossible by the passing seconds.

 Ghost, who had remained silent pretty much this whole time, speaks up. “Well, then, we just need to kill the damn thing.” You turned and stared at him like he just grew three heads because if it was that simple, then surely whoever was here before all of you would have done it, especially since they figured out that fire could kill it. 

Unsurprisingly, in all the commotion, Soap had woken up; deciding that now would be a good time to share his thoughts, he spoke up, “I think that sorry bastard lives down there in that cellar. That is probably why it went berserk when we went down there in the first place. Maybe if we go down there and catch it by surprise, we can kill it once and for all.”

You finally register that Soap is talking about someone going back down into that thing's hideout and just hoping for the best while they try and light the stupid thing on fire. Looking around at the group, expecting Price, at the very least, to oppose the idea of sending someone to their death, but instead, you see him actively contemplating the idea. 

Throwing your hands up in the air in defeat, “Ah fuck it! What’s the plan? How would I even kill the fucker, once I am down there?”

“Well, Spark, I am glad to see you so willing to help, but don’t worry, it won’t be just you going down there. Ghost will be going, too.” 

Price grabs his backpack lying on the ground, rummaging around in it until he finds what he is looking for. He pulls out a small can of lighter fluid and tosses it at Ghost, who immediately catches it with ease. 

“Always carry that with me after my lighter ran out one time on a mission; I thought I was going through withdrawals without my cigars. It was not a fun time for me.” Price reaches his pocket and pulls out a lighter, sighing and handing it to Ghost as well. “Alright, when you both go down there, find the thing, cover him in lighter fluid, and light that son of a bitch up.” 

“Simple but an effective plan, Captain. I hope it works,” you mumble.

“Of course it will. Spark got my two best soldiers on the mission.” “HEY,” Soap yells, ignoring his outburst. Price continues, “While you and Ghost are down there, I will be up here watching after these two, making sure nothing happens, just in case.” 

Rolling your shoulders and popping your neck, you and Ghost remove your tactical vests to go down into the pit. Ghost then squats down and uses the materials Price gave to him to create some kind of Molotov-like device. Once complete, he stands back up and places it into a pocket on the side of his pants for safekeeping.

When he sees you staring at the contraption he put together, Ghost just simply grunts in reply, “Guerrilla warfare.”

While you both prepare yourselves for this risky mission, Soap speaks up, “Even though things went to shite down there earlier, I think we managed to learn where it stays, so just go straight out from the ladder when you get down there, keep going for about a click and then you should find it. Good luck, guys.” 

Listening to Soap’s advice, you both continue preparing, riding yourself off all the bulky padding of your uniform that might interfere with entering the small opening of the cellar door. Though you make sure to keep your knife and handgun strapped around your thigh, knowing that even if it won’t kill the wendigo, it could still be used to help subdue the creature. You unclip the tactical flashlights off your gun while Ghost grabs one of the hand-made torches from the broken chair. Once everything is secure, you both nod your heads in farewell towards Soap and Price and make your way back into the kitchen towards the creature's hideout.  

Entering the kitchen, you walk towards where the key sits on the floor after being thrown around the room in a panic when you were trying to save your teammates from the creature's clutches. Picking up the key, the cold metal feels heavy in your grasp. You walk to where Ghost is waiting for you next to the entrance to the cellar door, kneeling down you slide the key into the lock and pause, a million thoughts racing through your mind: what if once you turn the key and open the door, it is waiting for you and grabs you, what if the creature knows of your plan and is waiting for you and Ghost to go down into the cellar and then he attacks your injured teammates upstairs then goes back down to finish the job, what if- 

Ghost's voice breaks through your panicked thoughts, “It is going to be ok. We can do this.” Even though his face is covered by his mask, you see his eyes crinkle, indicating that he is smiling at you and trying to make you feel better about the whole situation. 

“Right.” you move the key, hearing the quiet click of it, unlocking the heavy cellar doors. You and Ghost both grab opposite sides of the door and, with a grunt, opening the door and leaving it to rest against the wall once again. Immediately, shining your flashlight down into the pit for any signs of the creature at the bottom. Not seeing anything, Ghost moves to squeeze through the narrow opening, the torch held carefully in one hand as he slowly made his way down. Once he is a few steps down, you follow suit, positioning yourself on the ladder, and slowly make your way through the opening, feeling claustrophobic as you descend into the cold, metallic darkness. 

The only thing that can be heard is the sound of the ladder groaning in protest at the added weight of people going down. The closer you got to the bottom, the more it felt like all the heat was leaving your body, the freezing air piercing your body, making all the hair on your body stand on end, putting you even more on edge. Ghost feet hitting the pavement of the cellar echo throughout the darkness; he steps over, giving you room to hop off the ladder. Stepping off the ladder, you remove the flashlight from where you held it in your mouth and unhook the handgun from the holster on your thigh. Holding the gun in front of you with one hand while supporting it with your other hand, holding the flashlight underneath, your arms outstretched in front of you, ready for whatever might be awaiting down here for you. 

Ghost was in a similar position; the strange contraption he made earlier could be seen in one of the many pockets on his pants. Silently, he motions for you to follow him, clicking off your flashlight using only the light from the torch as a guide and falling into step behind him. You snap into your mission mindset, not allowing for any other thoughts to distract you. Ghost kept walking straight out from the ladder as per Soap’s instruction. After you had been walking for about five minutes, a horrible smell filled your nostrils, like rotting flesh and blood. He moves the torch a little more forward around to try and find the source of the terrible stench; you see a trail of dried blood stained on the ground. Ghost slowly follows the trial. Gagging, you cover your nose at the sight of a huge pile of rotting animal carcasses, flies, maggots, and other insects swarming over the pile of viscera. 

Regaining your senses, you choked down the bile that rose in your throat and kept moving forward with Ghost, hoping to find the source of all this carnage. Amongst the sound of the swarming insects, you hear the sounds of flesh tearing and eating. Ghost jerked his head towards the source of the sound; the Wendigo was hunched over, ripping into the corpse of what used to be an elk. It was holding the creature in the air, using its razor-sharp teeth to tear into the dead animal's flesh, causing blood and who knows what else to go everywhere onto the floor. 

Slowly putting his handgun back into the holster on his hip but leaving it unbuttoned for easy access, he reaches into his pocket. Ghost retrieves the Molotov-like device carefully so as not to make any noise while the creature is distracted enjoying his breakfast. Keeping your gun aimed at the creature, Ghost rears his arm back and throws the Molotov. Time seems to move in slow motion as you watch it fly through the air; holding your breath, it hits the creature on its head, causing the can to burst, spewing the liquid all over it and setting fire to its body. 

The creature throws the elk corpse and begins screeching in pain, and the flames consume its body. It starts flailing its arms frantically, trying to put out the fire to no avail. Amongst its pain, it catches sight of you moving backward, lunging for you; it grabs ahold of you, knocking the gun and flashlight out of your hands and lifting you into the air. You scream for help. The flames from the creature are spreading, making its way towards you. Your arms are pinned to your sides because of the grasp the creature has on you; you’re unable to move them. Trying to use your legs to kick yourself free but it is no use. It is too strong; feeling the creature begin to use its strength to squeeze you, you let out another antagonizing scream, trying to look for Ghost but being unable to spot him; the only thing you can see is the Wendigo’s burning flesh. 

Fearing for the worst, ready to give up, the torch Ghost was carrying is stabbed into the Wendigo’s face right into its eye socket. The wendigo throws you down, screeching, bringing both hands to try and claw out the burning torch embedded in its face. Expecting to land on the hard, cold ground, you brace yourself for the impact only to land in the midst of the pile of rotting flesh, effectively breaking your fall but also covering you in the entrails of the dead animals. You can feel the blood seep into your clothes, sticking to your skin, trying to climb your way out of the pile of gore. A hand emerges from the darkness, pulling you to your feet. “Let’s go now!” Ghost yells at you over the horrible sounds the Wendigo is making. Wiping the blood from your eyes the best you could, you see Ghost pick up your flashlight and gun; you don’t think you have ever been so happy to see him in your life. 

You both run back towards the ladder, not wanting to spend any longer down here with the burning Wendigo than needed. Once you reach the ladder, Ghost pushes you to go first; climbing up the ladder as fast as you can was made a little difficult due to the blood covering you from head to toe, causing you to slip every once in a while, though Ghost was there to catch you every step of the way. Finally, you reach the opening, letting out a breath of relief. You squeeze back out of the cellar door, moving to help pull Ghost out, grabbing under his armpit and dragging him out. Once you were both out of the hellhole, you grab the door and slam it shut, locking the door for the final time and falling back onto the floor. Ghost was sprawled out beside you, breathing heavily. 

Being back upstairs, you see the sunlight peeking in from outside through the busted windows and cracks in the house; you feel the pain, fear, and anxiety leave your body at the sight you all made it to morning. After catching your breath, Ghost stands up and extends his arm out to help you up, “damn, Spark. You should just probably plan on burning your clothes.” 

Looking down at your outfits, covered in blood and god knows what else, you laugh, “yea, I think that is for the best. Thank you for saving me.” you reply, looking back into Ghost eyes that have a fondness in them. Instead of replying, he just jerks his head towards the living room, where the others are waiting. 

Slowly trudging back into the room, hearing the others converse quietly amongst themselves, realizing that you can hear Laswell's voices, knowing that means they were able to get into contact with her while you and Ghost were down in the cellar. Once you step into the room, all eyes snap towards your form, and all conversations stop. “Bloody hell, what happened to you!?” exclaimed Gaz, his eyes wide looking at your bloody form. 

Shrugging your shoulder, grinning wildly, you reply, “Oh, nothing much. Just killing a fucking Wendigo!” 

Gaz and Soap cheer in response while you hear Price chuckling. Walking back to where you left your tactical vest and other gear, you begin to put them back on and where they go amongst your armor, seeing Ghost do the same out of the corner of your eye. 

Price, who was holding the radio, shakes it in the air, “Well, I am glad you are both back up here safe. While you were both down there, we were able to get through to Laswell, and Nikolai was on his way to pick us up. The rendezvous point is about half a mile from here, so if we leave now, we will be able to make it in time.”Price is now standing in front of you and Ghost, hands on his hips, staring at you both like a proud dad. 

Gaz slowly moves to sit up, his left hand holding onto his stomach where the stitches are, trying to be as careful as possible not to pop any of them. “Thank God! I can’t wait till this is all a horrible nightmare.” 

Nodding in agreement, you help Ghost pack up all the equipment quickly, putting the sleeping mats, blankets, and small pillows back in their appropriate bags. Looking around at how quickly you all managed to get everything packed up and ready to go, you think this might honestly be a new personal best for your team. Picking up and handing everyone their prospective weapons, you move to help Gaz walk, but before you can wrap your arms around him, he stops you, “Um...Spark. No offense, but you really stink. I think it would be best if you just let Price help me.” 

Price, who had already had one arm wrapped around Gaz’s middle, handed you the radio, “Here, you can be in charge of this and keep watch then until we get back to base and can hose you down.” 

Grabbing the radio from Price, you nod your head in agreement, smiling at them both, “Haha, fair enough.” 

Ghost has Soap in the fireman’s carry, much to Soap’s dismay; laughing as you make your way to the front door, leading the way for everyone, you call out over your shoulder, “Isn’t he too heavy to hold like that Ghost?” 

“No” 

You all make your way out of the dilapidated house and out into the forest; looking down into the bright snow on the ground, you pause in your steps, kneeling down and collecting a handful of snow and rubbing it over your face to try and clean some of the blood off. Standing back up, you step over the now blood-red snow. After walking in silence most of the way, you hear the familiar sound of Nikolai’s helicopter blades; stepping into the clearing, you see him waiting, leaning up against the helicopter, smoking a cigarette. 

“Finally, I was beginning to think I would have to leave your asses here.” He states, and he pushes himself off the helicopter, walking towards Price, shaking each other's hands while Nikolia claps him on the back in familiarity. Ghost slides Soap off his shoulder and onto the closest seat in the helicopter; Soap's face is pale, and he looks a little motion sickness from the long trek here. 

Nikolia walks back up to the front of the helicopter and opens the door, moving into the pilot sea,t waiting for everyone to get situated before taking off. Price helps Gaz step up into a seat, carefully buckling him in the seat and placing a pair of headphones over his ears. Seeing everyone else has found a seat, you grab ahold of the bar to pull yourself inside when a noise from behind you makes you pause; turning around, you glance at your surroundings; not seeing anything, you shrug your shoulders and continue climbing on board. Horrific screeching makes your blood run cold, whipping around, you see the badly burned Wendigo running awkwardly towards you, a terrifying look in its yellow eyes. 

Screaming, you fall back onto the floor of the helicopter, everyone yelling different things. Ghost beings shooting at the creature, trying to hit its legs to stop its ascent upon you all, but all it does is cause it to stumble and beings clawing its way forward. Frozen in fear, all you could think about was how close you all were to escaping from the Wendigo, when the front door of the helicopter opened. Nikolai throws a Molotov at the Wendigo, effectively killing it, its burning body collapsing onto the snowy ground, the screeching stopping. 

Sitting back in his seat, Nikolai mutters under his breath, “I fucking hate Wendigos, they are such a pain.” 

Still in shock at what just happened, everyone silently moves back into their seats, buckles in, and places the headphones over their ears as Ghost shuts the door and Nikolai takes off. 

Leaning back in your seat, you look around at all your teammates' faces. You are just glad that everyone is still alive, with just some minor injuries, after everything that you all just went through. Smiling wickedly, you let out a cackle, causing everyone to turn and look at you. “Well, So Much for a Safe House, huh.” 

----------

Bonus: 

Laswell stands at the front of the hospital room, looking angry and awaiting an explanation from someone, anyone. Soap, you, and Gaz all lay in beds in front of her, listening to the constant beeping of the machines you are all hooked up to. Soap ended up having to have surgery on his ankle to fix the damage done to the bones. He had to have several screws and plates placed in his ankle, which now is wrapped in a cast, propped up on a mountain of pillows. Luckily, Gaz did not have to have any surgery, though they did redo his stitches across his chest, and they properly cleaned his wounds before rewrapping them in gauze. Though they did find out that he did have a minor concussion, which makes you a little nervous since he did take quite a few naps between getting the concussion and now, but the doctors say he will be just fine. It turns out you had gotten pretty injured, too, from your scuffle with the creature in the cellar. Both your arms had suspicious-looking bruises, and your ribs ended up being broken and close to puncturing your lungs. The doctors were shocked that you were even still standing in the state you were in. They fixed the damage the best they could with surgery and now have you under strict rules about moving too much, not that you could anyway, with the amount of bandages they have you wrapped in and machines hooked up to you.

Price and Ghost, although they were not hurt, were still in the room as well, coming to visit you all at least once throughout the day. They were sitting in hospital chairs next to your beds, looking anywhere but Laswell, who now stands with her arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“So, you all mean to tell me. You don’t know what happened to cause three of you to end up in the hospital with varying injuries.” 

Price looks at Laswell and leans back in his chair, “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.” 

[brokenpieces-72]

Christmas Visit

CoD Gangster AU | Navigation

TW: Some sad stuff

The holidays are often rough for you. Not getting to spend them with your dad isn’t fun, but you use the days as a chance to visit him. Usually that involves some cookies and a thermos brought to his grave. It was a tradition you’d had with Graves as well, so it was a little awkward to go with him now.

“Could always go Christmas Eve.” Laswell suggested.

“Was thinking of doing that instead. Could take Alex with me.” You suggested.

“What about Price?” She asked. That couldn’t hurt. Maybe it could be a nice gesture. Then again, Price didn’t strike you as the most sentimental person. Doesn’t stop you from asking him.

“Hey boss?” You asked poking your head into his room.

“Yes?” He replied.

“Could I ask a sort of favour or rather I had an offer I guess, you don’t have to say yes-“

“What would you like?” Price asked, stopping your ramble before it started.

“Would you come with me to visit my dad? On Christmas Eve?” You asked. Price doesn’t answer right away and you start to panic a little again. “You don’t have to, it’s just-“

“I was planning on going.” Price answered. “I’ve gone every other year. Hoped to see you there, but Graves made sure to take you Christmas Day. Said it was for privacy.”

“Okay.” You nodded. Okay why did that feel so awkward?

Christmas Eve came and you told the rest of the guys that the visit was more personal, and they understood you wanted it to just be you and Price. They wouldn’t bother you, and had plans made of their own. You walked with Price, carrying a thermos of cocoa and a bundle of cookies in your pocket. Price noticed you were wearing darker colours, with the only contrast being your red scarf. Still kept in good condition despite everything that had happened. You were still limping, which wasn’t great when it came to icy patches. Price offered you his arm, which was certainly helpful.

“Should’ve taken a car.” You muttered as you kept walking.

“Cars have more risk when they’re not driven by someone you trust.” Price told you. “After what’s been happening, it’s safer to walk, and lay low.”

“Hence the awkward route.” You said, Price nodding.

“Precisely.”

You make it to the graveyard by the afternoon, but the gate is locked. You can’t easily hoist yourself over it like you usually would if Graves forgot the key. You do make the effort, giving Price your thermos to hold on to.

“What are y- Y/N, stop.” Price took hold of your wrist as soon as it took hold of one of the design pieces on the gate. You flinched and pulled away immediately. You didn’t look at him, but he looked at you. “Shouldn’t have grabbed at you.” Price said.

“S’fine.” You said. Price did a quick look around, before stepping closer. You were facing the gate, almost pressed right against it. Price just places a hand on your back, trying to gauge your state. If you shrugged him off or flinched it meant you need more time. You just take a deep breath, welcoming his presence. Price then backed up, inspecting the gate, and then the stone walls. Price removed his jacket and asked you to hold it for him. You took it, and stepped back at his request.

Price tried your original idea. He's able to scale the gate pretty well, despite his age and the fact he too had been shot recently. By now he was probably used to getting shot, so the after effects probably didn't bother him anymore. He gets to the other side dropping down with hardly any issue, making a thud against the frozen ground. Thankfully, the gate could be unlocked from the other side, letting you in. Price out his jacket back on, before you continued on.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked.

“Go on.” Price said.

“Why didn’t you come to the wake?” You asked. Price sighed, knowing it was a heavy question.

“Your father was a good friend, but he insisted on maintaining the cover. He still had me in the will, but it was kept private from you. I also knew if I went to the wake Graves would be there and the last thing I wanted was for you to see him get into a fight with me.” He explained.

“You weren’t mentioned in the will.” You pointed out.

“Not to you.” Price said. “I was in the will but it was kept in the form of a letter, there was one for each of us, including Laswell. It was another way your father tried to keep you safe.”

“So…” you slowed your pace letting Price walk ahead of you, before you both stopped. “Why wait?”

“Hm?”

“Why didn’t you ever to me? You waited until I was on a case to track you down and arrest you, why not say something sooner?” You asked. You weren’t upset or offended. It was genuine curiosity. Price closed the distance between the two of you.

“When I saw you the day of the funeral… I blamed myself. I dragged your father out there, I wasn’t as careful as I should have been. He died. I let it happen, knowing his child was waiting for their dad to come home.” Price explained. “Imagine your father’s killer coming to his funeral and introducing himself to you.”

You started walking again, taking a sip of the thermos. “You didn’t kill him.”

“I know.” Price said walking beside you again, hands in his pockets. “I didn’t at the time, and I didn’t know if you did.”

“I didn’t know until I sat down at the pub.” You admitted. “He’s still out there.”

“Sitting where your father should be.” Price said.

“And vice versa.” You added.

You found your father’s grave stone. Every step closer after that last turn in the path had you feeling waves of emotion. There was plenty you wanted to say, plenty you had to tell him. You take a sip from the thermos, half wishing you’d put some Bailey’s in it or something.

You stood in front of the stone with Price not sure what to say. Where should you start? You sniffled and felt the tears coming. Just the cold, you tell yourself.

“Hi dad.” You started. “Merry Christmas. I brought someone different this time. A lot has happened lately.”

Deep breathes, you’re doing great so far. Take it in steps. You’ve painted the base layer, now paint the shapes. You can add details as you go. You sat down on the cold snowy ground, removing your coat to use as a cushion. Good thing you had layers. Price followed your lead, taking off his jacket to do the same.

“I’ve met the others as well. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. They’re keeping me safe. Trying to at least.” You said, keeping your voice steady. “Graves um… he told me some of what happened to you, and Price told me the rest. That’s kind of why he isn’t here, I… I don’t want to see him right now.”

You took breaks in between, trying to think of what to say next. Your jaw clenched, before speaking. “I know about Makarov. I know about the 141 and what you used to do. I know how you died. I know… I know why you didn’t tell me but…”

You couldn’t finish the sentence, your emotions getting the better of you. Price sat there watching you, as you pawed at your eyes. He put an arm around you, wanting to remind you he was there.

“I’ll take over for a bit.” He said softly. Price turned his attention to silent grave stone.

“L/N. Sorry I haven’t been around, been busy and all that.” Price started. “Plenty to tell you about. Pub is going well, the rest of the men are getting along fine. And of course we have a new one.”

A moment of silence, as if he was letting your father have a chance to respond. Then he said, “You raised a good one. Maybe a little naive, but we all were once. Still learning to be their own person. Graves is being his usual stubborn self, I think he passed it on to them.”

You chuckled. “Got it from my dad.”

“That’s for sure.” Price said. The rest of your question still hung in the air. You already had your answer.

“…I know why you didn’t tell me dad. Safety reasons. I… I wish you had told me sooner. Might’ve made life a bit easier…get beat up less.” You said.

“They did very well.” Price told your father.

There was silence again. Both you and Price stared at the stone. Price snuck a glance at you, thinking. Should he tell you? No. It was Christmas Eve, you were visiting your dad, and already trying to just talk without bursting into tears. There wouldn’t be an easy time to tell you that story. If you ever asked him, he would tell you, but you hadn’t so he wouldn’t. Instead Price took the cookies out of his pocket, unwrapping them for you.

“Was waiting for those.” You admitted. Price smiled. You took one and he took the other. You both tapped cookies, in a sort of toast. Another swig from the thermos, and deep breaths. The sweetness helped with the comfort.

“Should tell him the good stuff.” Price told you.

“I’m a glorified tagger dad.” You said giggling, trying to laugh through the emotions. Price shook his head, smiling at your silliness. “I’ve been doing art again. People like the murals I’ve been making. The one for Los Vacqueros is my favourite. Been sketching in my book still. Oh! And I got a cat, or rather Simon picked up a stray and I’ve been helping with the kittens. I’ve started hanging out with Alex more, I mentioned him to you before.”

Price sat with you and continued to listen to your stories, and recounts of everything that had happened in the past year or so. He told his own tales as well that you got to hear for the first time. You probably sat there with him for hours. It didn’t take long for the night to come around. The cold setting into your bones.

You knelt down and gave your father a final good bye, pressing your forehead to the stone. “I love you dad… Say hi to mom for me.”

You got back up, as Price placed a hand on the stone. “Who dares, wins.”

Price offered his arm and you took it, as he led you out of the grave yard.

Price takes you to the pub afterward, and you’re met with a familiar face opening the door. Nikolai smiles and wishes you a Merry Christmas. As you step inside, the stop a surprise you realize it’s more than a stop. You see the 141 at a pool table, with some drinks, and not just them. Farah and Alex were talking to Alejandro, and Rudy was on a team with Soap against Gaz and Ghost. Laswell sat and watched the game play out. Price joined her at the bar, as you walked in.

The black outfit felt a little out of place now. As you looked on at the people who had taken you in you quietly thank your dad. Your father had protected them. Now they protected you.

"Aye, ya gonna stand there or join us?" Soap asked. You smiled and came over getting yourself a drink from behind the bar. As soon as you took a swig and set your drink down, Gaz placed an empty bottle on the pool table.

"Testing my aim still?" You asked, getting offered a pool cue.

"We'll see how they are after a few too many." Kyle commented. You gave him a side look. Rudy put the balls in the rack, while you got the cue ball set up.

"Bet." You said, taking the cue and setting up your shot. You bounced the ball of the bottle, getting a decent break.

Kate and John sat at the bar, watching the game. Both of them kept their voices low, to keep the conversation to themselves.

"You didn't tell them about the scarf." Kate commented.

"Nope." John said, taking a sip of his drink. Kate turned her head to him, while he watched on.

"You have to tell them eventually." Kate said, sighing. "There won't be a right time."

"Not tonight... not tomorrow either." Price said. Kate didn't often see this side of John, the sentimental side. You deserved to know after everything, but John was right. It was Christmas Eve, and tomorrow was Christmas. There was no telling how you would react. Kate would continue to keep John's secret until he came froward with it himself.

For now it was Christmas. You had good drinks, good aim and, a good family. You weren't always going to have that. Now was the time to relax and enjoy what you had.

"Boss, you're being challenged." Simon called over.

"Am I now?" Price asked, seeing you look over to him. He set down his drink and got up from the bar. Farah came over to Laswell, to offer another cue.

"That's playing with fire." She told Farah. Farah shrugged, willing to take that risk. Kate accepted the challenge. As snow fell outside, there was no time for worries, no issues to worry about. Simply good food, good drinks and a good family.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving @cutiecusp @shikigami-the-paper-spirit

[dumbbitchgalore]

Toxic!Price clips your wings the moment he gets his hands on you.

His main goal: to break and remould you into his perfect partner with the illusion of free will and freedom all while you’re trapped in his world of abuse and hurt.

[lunarmothim]

hey writers!

i work in surgery and i was an emt for a hot minute and i still have my textbooks for both. if yall are wanting some accurate medical shit for your fic hit me up!

i can't tell you what happens outside the OR but anything surgical (or anything on an emt level that my textbook from 2015 has) i got u. can tell you everything from how to remove an appendix to how we treat gsws :)

(hate to clog up the tags but i'm gonna tag this for all the boys so everyone sees it - and this isn't limited to cod! if you're writing for any other fandom and happen to see this post i'm happy to share my knowledge!)

(also if anyone wants i can start doing some posts with the info for specific medical things for people? lemme know if that's something you'd be interested in)

[lorilane33]

OI! SIMON YOU DAFT CUNT!!

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 3 - Speak Their Language

Summary: You get something to aid you in your attempts to bond with your pack. Unfortunately, your ideas have consequences for everyone.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, some brief violent imagery but nothing worse than what's in the game, lots of military inaccuracies

Author's Note: Did you know there’s Scottish translators online? I do now lmaooo. Those military inaccuracies are really coming through in this one so...if you’re here for accuracy...I am so sorry. This one's a bit shorter, more of a filler for the next one but there's some important stuff that happens that you'll need for the next chapter. Also a lot of good ole easter eggs and references in this one. If you can find them all, I’ll give you a cookie. 

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You perk up when a knock sounds at your door. You hop off your bed, eagerly swinging the door open. Price is standing there, a package in his hands. The corner of his mouth twitches as you smile, almost bouncing on your toes in excitement. 

“Kate said you’d be expecting this.” He says, amusement shining in his eyes. 

You nod, holding out your hands. “Yes, sir!” 

You take the package, holding it against your chest. You had sworn Kate to secrecy about what was in it, after a long explanation of why you needed it and why you were asking her for it and not Price. She said she threw in a few other things, things you didn’t realize you’d miss once you moved to the UK. You knew she likely did that so she wouldn’t have to lie to Price when he asked.

“Don’t have too much fun.” He says, giving you a smile. 

“I’ll try not to.” You grin. “Thank you, sir!” 

You close the door, not bothering to lock it as you bound back to your bed. You open the package, digging through the snacks to the bottom of the box. You move the box to the floor, holding the book in your lap. You run your hand over the cover, excitement thrumming through you. 

“The Powerful Omega.” 

You’ve spent the last few days running through what you remembered from the book the last time you read it almost four years ago. There wasn’t much, only a few things sticking with you. Things you thought would be helpful. 

That was long before you knew you’d be placed in a military pack, though. 

You curl up on your bed as the others head out for the afternoon, the familiar sound of boots disappearing down the hallway fading into the background as you dig into the book. You’re determined to find some way to get Ghost to at least be tolerant of your presence. You don’t need him to want you, you don’t even need him to like you. You just know the entire process will be easier if he’s at least accepting of the fact you’re going to be part of the pack, whether either of you like it or not. 

He’s a big, tough, military alpha who doesn’t like to show his face. There has to be something in the book that might help you, or at least give you ideas on what to try. You know the best you can do with Ghost is try. He’s an enigma on purpose, and it seems like he’s going to stay that way, regardless of how close you try and get to him. 

You could use Soap to get close to him. Ghost’s protective aura practically envelopes Soap whenever they’re in close proximity, laying a claim without even having to touch one another. You know getting close to Soap could force Ghost to get comfortable with you, or it might make him more territorial.

But that scene at breakfast a few days ago, when he’d gotten defensive over that soldier staring in your direction. 

You let out an exasperated sigh, opening the book. “Alphas are so infuriating for literally no reason.” You murmur to yourself. 

You read until another knock sounds at the door, signaling lunch. You use your note pages as a bookmark, stuffing the book into the back of your underwear drawer before opening the door. 

“Hungry, pup?” Price greets you as he usually does when he’s escorting you to a meal. 

You nod, stepping out and closing the door behind you. “Always, sir.” 

Like most omegas, you have a healthy appetite. It always gets bigger close to your heat, and you never quite feel satisfied and full during that time. You wonder how you’re going to manage on a military base with such a rigid schedule. There’s always snacks in the rec room, but you’re going to need a lot more than chips and protein drinks to keep you happy when the time comes. 

You follow Price to the mess, his arm brushing yours as you walk. You’ve noticed them getting closer to you over the past few days, at least in the literal sense. It started with Soap and Gaz. They walk closer to you, sit closer to you. When you join them in the evenings in the rec room they’ve started putting you between them. Price has now started getting closer, walking closer to you, standing closer to you, often looming behind you like a shadow. 

Ghost is the only one who hasn’t changed much, still regarding you with disinterest and speaking shortly to you when you’re forced to interact. 

“Don’t worry about ‘im lass. He'll warm up tae ye.” Soap had reassured you after a rather cold shoulder from Ghost. 

You’re not entirely sure that’s possible. You’re determined to at least try to get on amicable terms with him, and you’re hopeful the book will help with that. Even if he’s nothing more than just another alpha in your pack, if you can get him to stop being so icy around you, perhaps you’ll be able to settle in better. 

And maybe you’ll be able to fix your lack of instincts. 

Dr. Keller said there was nothing wrong with your lack of instincts at this point in the transition, but everything you had learned at The Institute goes against what she said. You’re an omega. Your job is to be obedient, to serve your pack, and follow your alpha’s commands. Good omegas do what’s asked of them without question, putting their trust in their alpha. No one knows what’s best for you like your alpha. 

Your alpha hasn’t asked much of anything of you. 

You don’t know how to feel about that. 

“I’m startin’ tae think that sandwich insulted ye, lass.” 

Soap’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. You have been sitting and staring at your sandwich for a while, lost in your thoughts. It’s not a terrible sandwich by any means, certainly better than the ones you got at The Institute. 

They’re all staring at you, four pairs of eyes watching you. You’ve barely touched your plate, and you hardly remember going through the line. 

You shake your head, picking up your fork to poke at whatever mushy vegetable Price had added to your tray. “No, it’s fine. I was just lost in thought.” 

“‘Bout what?” Soap asks, taking a bite of his own sandwich. 

You shrug. “Just something Dr. Keller said.” 

“Ah, omega secrets then.” Soap grins. “I’ve heard rumors that omegas know the true meaning of the universe.” 

“Yeah, it’s 42.” You say, earning a chuckle from Price. 

If you hadn’t been looking, you wouldn’t have noticed the shift in Ghost’s shoulders, the slight softening of his gaze for a moment as he stares at his own sandwich. 

He's laughing at you again. 

He’s an enigma, a confusing presence in your life. You have no choice but to have him in your life, just as he has no choice but to have you in his life. 

You finish your food quickly, wanting to get back to the book. You’ve already got some ideas floating around from it, things that might help you ease into their world a bit more. 

Gaz walks you back to the barracks after lunch, the area between the two buildings more crowded than usual. You both slow a bit as a whistle sounds through the air, your head turning as a rather crude comment reaches your ears. 

“Ignore them.” Gaz says, putting a hand on your back. “Bunch of cocksure alphas. They’re always rowdy after the weekend. They go out, surround themselves with omega barrack bunnies, make themselves feel important.” 

“Have you...been with a barrack bunny?” You ask hesitantly, mostly out of curiosity. You know they likely have. They've had their entire lives they've been able to dictate for themselves. 

“Not since joining the team.” He answers honestly. “None of us have. We don’t usually have the time, or the need. We have each other now.”

And now they have you.

“Do they, the other soldiers...do they know why I’m here?” You find yourself asking as you enter the barracks. 

“Not specifically.” Gaz says. “Most of what we do is classified, even to them. I think some of them have begun to put two and two together. And before too long, they’ll be able to figure it out.” He says, giving you a look as you stop in front of your door. 

“Yeah...” You say softly, your stomach churning nervously at the thought of your approaching heat. There’s still quite a bit of time before then, but you don’t feel ready. You don’t feel ready to spend a heat with an alpha, you don’t feel ready to be claimed. 

“Don’t worry too much.” He says, pressing his finger between your brows like he might be able to smooth out the frown that’s formed between them. “Price will take good care of you. Besides, we’ve got plenty of time to work out the kinks.” He chucks you under the chin gently before he leans down, pressing a kiss to your rapidly warming cheek. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

You still feel a bit like you’re floating as you close your door behind you. Your face is warm, not just from the forwardness of Gaz’s actions but also his words. You let out a quiet sound as you fan your face, trying desperately not to think about how soft his lips are, how easily he had ignited a fire within you with some words and a simple touch. 

Gaz is trouble, you think as you pull out the book again, settling down at your desk to read. 

You open the book, starting at the next section. 

Bonding With Your Pack. 

This is what you need, ideas on how to do exactly that. Even though you’re already beginning to feel close to Soap and Gaz, you still feel as if there’s a chasm keeping you from Price, and an ocean between you and Ghost. You just need something, anything that will start building that rope bridge and maybe a boat. 

Learn To Speak Their Language. 

You pause at the chapter title, pulling out the notebook you’ve been taking notes in. 

“As much as we want to think it can be, not everything can be about us all the time. Just like in any relationship, we have to put effort into others as well. If you find yourself struggling to connect with your alpha, the first step is to figure out something they’re interested in. Sports? Video Games? Food? Get to know your alpha, and make it a point to learn about something they’re interested in. Learn to speak their language.” 

You read the passage thrice over, the realization dawning on you. You knew from the beginning that getting them to adapt to you was not going to be possible. You were going to have to adapt yourself to fit into their lives. Their lives of fighting and war and violence and guns. 

An idea begins to form in your head as you brainstorm, scribbling page after page of notes. It’s not perfect, but you’re in no rush to perfect it. After all, you’ve got nothing but time.

You sit next to Soap at breakfast, close enough his arm is brushing yours. You wish you could see Ghost’s face, or, well, his eyes at least. 

“So what do you guys do between breakfast and lunch?” You ask, all four of them pausing as they look at you. You continue to eat, pretending not to notice their looks. You know mornings are for their workouts before breakfast, but what they do between meals is almost entirely unknown to you. You assume it’s some sort of training, maybe meetings and briefings. 

“Training, usually.” Price answers after a moment. “Running simulations, training courses, weapons training, hand-to-hand. Keeps our skills sharp. Today they’re running a routine course to make sure they’re not getting lazy in our time off.” 

“Can I come?” You ask, their gazes snapping to you again. “To watch? I’m getting kind of bored sitting around.” 

Price’s gaze burns into you as you meet it, not looking away despite the tickling at the back of your neck telling you to yield. Tough alphas like a challenge, the book said. Don’t back down, even when you want to. 

“I don’t see why not.” He finally says, picking up his cup of coffee. “Give these muppets another reason to compete with each other.” 

The table erupts in chaos as Gaz and Soap immediately start betting with each other. You can’t help but smile, used to their bickering and competitiveness after spending time with them doing literally anything together. 

This is certainly going to be interesting, if nothing else. 

“There’s two rules for you being here.” Price says as you walk with him down a line of hangars. “You do everything I say, and stick close to me. They’ll be using live rounds, and the last thing we need is you catching a stray bullet in some freak accident.” 

“Sir, yes, sir!” You say, saluting him. 

He stares down at you for a moment, amusement shining in his eyes. “Cute.” He leads you into the hangar, a sort of building made out of plywood set up inside. “Over here.” He leads you to where a sort of command center is set up. 

There’s screens showing feeds from cameras set up inside the mock building, a timer and an intercom system set up. You look it over in amazement, Price coming to stand next to you. 

“How does it work?” You ask. 

“They enter there.” He points to what you assume represents the front door. “Work their way through both levels to clear the house.There’s targets in some rooms that pop up when certain pressure triggers are hit on the floor. Hit every target, clear the house, exit there,” He points at a spot on the side of the house in front of where you’re standing. “And reach that red line in 60 seconds.” 

You blink in surprise. “How fast can they do it?” 

“Gaz holds the record currently at 19 seconds, Ghost in second at 19.5, and Soap at 20.5.” He says. 

“Wow.” You say under your breath, looking over the cameras again. “I’m not sure I could even think that fast.”��

Price chuckles. “I wouldn’t expect you to be able to, sweetheart. We’ve had years and years of training and experience. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He says, heading back down the steps to where the others have gathered, wearing light gear. 

It’s not the first time you’ve seen them all geared up, but the change is always palpable. Gone are the laid back betas and alpha, and instead they’ve shifted into battle-hardened soldiers. It’s almost mesmerizing how easily they can shift between the two. 

And you can hardly handle your instincts getting a little twitchy. 

Price joins you again, turning on the intercom system. “Alright Gaz, at my go sweep the house and clear the rooms.” You hold your breath as Price pauses, Gaz in place at the front door. “Go, go, go!” Price says, the timer starting as Gaz enters the house. 

You watch on the cameras as he goes through the lower levels, jumping slightly as the first gunshots echo through the hangar. They’re louder than you had expected, even with the hangar doors opened partway. You feel a bit anxious as you watch the time and his progress, almost as if you’re watching an intense movie. 

17...18...19...

Gaz slips through the side door, racing for the red line marking the end. You stare at the timer as Price hits the stop button. Twenty one seconds. You wonder how often they don’t meet their previous records, or if their break really is having that much of an effect on them. You hear Gaz curse quietly as he passes, heading back to stand by Soap as Ghost gets ready at the start. 

The nervous anticipation doesn't lessen any as Ghost makes his way through the house, moving swiftly and silently as he always seemed to do. For such a large being he can move so quietly with an ease unlike you’ve ever seen. 

You watch the timer as he crosses the red line. 21.9. 

You catch a whiff of his scent as he passes, the hint of ozone burning your nose. He’s frustrated. They have to know they’re not performing as well as they know they can. Part of you wonders if it’s your fault they’re not even meeting their best times. 

Soap is up last, moving with an ease and focus that you’re not entirely surprised he’s capable of. Though he tends to be the most lighthearted of the four, and the most unserious, he made it on the team for a reason. 

Again you watch the timer, still held at rapt attention in the intensity of the moment as he crosses the red line. 25. He lets out a loud string of curses, most of which you don’t understand as he moves back to the start. 

“Wait here.” Price says before descending back down the steps. 

You’ve seen the change in him as well, a bit more subtle as he always seemed to be in the Captain mindset to some degree. You wonder if he’s ever not the Captain, if there’s a time where he gets to just be John Price. You wonder what he’s like when he doesn’t have the weight of his responsibility constantly on his shoulders. You wonder when the last time he got to let go like that was. 

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” You say as he joins you once more. You’re beginning to think maybe you made a mistake in asking to come along. 

“Most likely.” He says, resetting the timer. “But that’s something we need to know. This is the new normal. They need to learn to work through it.” 

Especially if it’s you they’re trying to get to. 

You knew there was a risk. Just being associated with them puts you at risk. They’re hidden, anonymous, deeply classified for a reason. You’d gotten that briefing during your time training with the CIA, after Laswell had told you where you would be going. Just knowing their names, who they are, where their home base is, is enough to put you in danger. You were hidden just as much as they were now, your entire existence now hidden beneath layers of security clearance. 

You could still be a target, if anyone found out. They might think you have information, details about their missions, about the things they do. 

The likelihood of that happening was low, but never zero. There was still risk involved in being around them, a risk you were assigned to take. It was your duty, though, as an omega. Do what you’re told, go where you’re sent, follow your alpha without question. 

Institutes really are like the military, you think. Only you’re fighting a different battle than they are.

You’re seated on the couch in your usual spot, curled up with a book. Your pack was having some downtime as Price had an emergency meeting he had to attend. Your heart had jumped a bit at the news, at the thought that they might be pulled away early. They weren’t supposed to get called off on a mission until after your next heat to allow for the adjustment and claiming, but if they were needed...they could be called away before then. 

So you’d settled in with a book in the rec room to try and calm your nervous energy. 

“Mind if I join ye?” 

You look up as Soap enters the rec room, a smile on his face. “No, go ahead.” You offer a smile back. 

He joins you on the couch, lifting your legs over his lap. You flush a bit at the bold move, but you were growing used to his boldness. “What are ye readin’?” 

“‘Lord of the Flies.’” You say, holding up the cover. 

“Did ye finish the other one already?” He asks in astonishment. 

“I’ve already read two books since I got here.” You say, laughing a little. 

“Och, yer a bright wee lamb, aren’t ye?” He chuckles. “Ye like tae read?” 

You nod. “Yeah. It’s good for passing the time.” 

He hums, grabbing the remote. “Ghost likes tae read too. Dinnae tell him I told ye that.” He holds up the remote. “Ye mind?” 

You shake your head. “No, go ahead.” 

He turns on the TV, keeping the volume low as he sits with you. His hand is warm where it rests on your calf, his thumb absentmindedly stroking circles over the fabric. You try to focus on the book but you can’t help the fluttering in your stomach at the proximity of the beta. You keep catching whiffs of his scent, and you’re beginning to feel an urge to ask him  about Ghost. If anyone can give you answers, it’ll be Soap. 

“Soap?” You ask, closing your book. 

He hums, turning to look at you. You stare into those bright blue eyes, your heart fluttering a bit. His eyes are so warm and expressive, shining with something you can’t quite put a name to. 

“Does Ghost...hate me?” You ask quietly, knowing with your luck as soon as you start the conversation, the man in question would appear out of nowhere. 

Soap’s lips tug up into a smile, a quiet chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Nae, lass. He doesnae hate ye. Ghost is...” He makes a face, trying to find the right words. “Ghost is very guarded.” 

He slips his arms around you, lifting you into his lap. You let out a quiet sound in surprise, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders out of instinct. His arms wrap around you, his tactical vest digging into your side a bit, but you’re too focused on the sudden proximity to really care. 

“He's no an easy man tae get close tae.” He continues. “I know. Couldnae stand me when we first met. I broke him down, proved myself. We spent enough time together, and that bond just formed naturally.” 

“He sees me as a threat.” You say, voicing the opinion you’ve been coming to over the last few days. 

“I wouldnae say a threat.” Soap grins, his hand squeezing your side. “A wee yin like ye. He just needs time tae adjust. He's gonnae dae it in his own way.” 

“I don’t even need him to really like me.” You say, tracing the Union Jack on the front of Soap’s vest. “I just need him to tolerate me.” 

“This is him tolerating ye.” Soap deadpans. 

You give him a look. “Well he’s got a funny way of showing it then.” 

Soap chuckles, the sound vibrating through your body. “Nah, dinnae worry too much about him, hen.” 

You hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You’re right. It’s Captain Price I need to worry about.” 

“I dinnae think ye need tae worry too much there either.” Soap grins. “The Cap’n is head over heels for ye already.” 

You give him a look of disbelief, eyebrows raising. “What?” 

Soap nods. “Oh aye, I havenae seen him smile this much in all the time I’ve known him.” 

You continue to stare in disbelief. You knew Price at least tolerated the idea of you becoming his omega. He’s been nothing but polite, cordial even with you. In the traditional sense he’s already begun courting you, providing and protecting. You still have yet to move beyond the polite tiptoeing, even with how things have been shifting the last few days.

You have the beta’s approval, which you know is an important step in pack formation. 

You bite your lip, your fingers curling around the edge of his vest. “You really think he...” 

“Mhm.” Soap nods. “Cannae blame him, pretty omega like ye strutting around the base.” 

He’s getting closer to you. You can’t do anything but stay still as his face lowers towards yours. Your stomach is fluttering, but you can’t tell if it’s nerves or excitement. His hand slides down your side, following the curve of your hip before it settles on your thigh. He’s so warm, his scent amplified with your close proximity. You feel a bit dizzy, your head spinning a bit. You understand now how betas can still win over both alphas and omegas. 

“We all feel lucky havin’ ye.” He says quietly, his breath fanning your face. His forehead presses against yours, so close to you your noses are brushing.

You wonder what Ghost would do if he walked in and saw you this close to his beta. Would your body fly through a window or a wall? Or would he tackle you, wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze until your head pops or your airway collapses? Or, was Soap right and he would do nothing? 

Or would he like it? 

The thought sends a shiver down your spine. Soap likes you, both of the betas in your new pack like you. It’s good, you know, having the approval of both betas, even though you don’t technically need both. Price could claim you with only his and Gaz’s approval, though it would be easier if all four approved. 

You wonder if Ghosts supposed tolerance of you is because of Soap. The alpha is very protective of his beta, though you don’t doubt Soap would go to bat for you if he needed to. 

He might have already. 

Soap hasn’t moved, both of you frozen where you are. He wants to kiss you, you think, your brain pulling up all the movies you’ve seen in your life. You’re gripping onto him tightly, your stomach fluttering. You’re nervous, unsure of how to move next. Do you let him kiss you? You’ve only been kissed once before, but that was hardly more than a childish peck on the lips. He wants to kiss you like they do in the movies. 

Will Soap be upset if you pull away? Will he force you back and take what he wants? There would be no stopping him. Even if the others were in the building, even if they heard you, would they come to your rescue? Or would they let it happen because it’s your purpose? What would Ghost do if he walked in and saw you? What would Price do? Would Price be upset that he wasn’t the first to kiss you? 

You are his claim after all. 

You slowly draw yourself back, removing your arm from around his shoulders as you turn slightly to face the TV. You hold your breath, not wanting to catch the souring of Soap’s scent, the tell that he was upset at your decision. You wait for his grip to tighten, for his body to force you back onto the couch. His hand moves from your thigh and you tense, waiting for the reprimanding to come, but instead he simply wraps his arms around your upper body again, holding you like he had been before. 

Your heart is still thudding in your chest as you quietly watch the TV, the silence in the room thick but not uncomfortable. You lean your head back on his shoulder, letting yourself relax into him. The almondy scent of beta is thick in the air, likely his doing to diffuse the tension he must be able to feel. 

“British TV is weird.” You say, trying to follow along with what’s going on, on the screen. 

Soap laughs, squeezing his arms around you for a moment. “Aye, it really is.” 

You continue to sit with him, letting his scent relax you. You’ve given up following what’s on the TV, his warmth and presence slowly lulling you until your eyes are drifting closed. 

The scent permeates the air everywhere he goes. 

Caramel. Vanilla. Strawberries. 

No amount of scent blockers can keep it from seeping under his mask, permeating his senses. He’d spray the scent blocker up his nose if he thought it might work. You’re stinking up the base, his beta, his life. Even now he can smell it, the sweet cloud of your scent wafting through the halls. 

He can pick up the sharp tang of anxiety on the edge of it, a low growl rumbling through his chest in response. It burns his nose and he hates it. His boots are quiet on the tile floor as he makes for the rec room, following the cocktail of scents. Your pungent sweetness layered over Johnny’s warm spice. 

Images flash through his mind of what position he might find you both in. He can smell the musky undertones of Johnny’s desire in the air, a scent he’s very familiar with. He knows how much his beta wants the new omega that’s been forced on them. They don’t need an omega. He knows how much Price fought against it, but even the Captain has begun to fall under your intoxicating spell. 

You don’t even know you’re doing it. 

His hands curl into fists as he steps into the rec room. The TV is playing some daytime rerun, but his eyes are drawn to the couch. Johnny is fast asleep, his head leaning against yours. You’re asleep in his lap, hand under your cheek, resting against his chest. You’ll have imprints on your skin from your hand and his vest. Johnny’s arms are wrapped tight around you, looking more peaceful than he has in a while. 

He’s already comfortable enough to sleep with you. 

“MacTavish!” He snaps, startling both of you. 

The only thing that keeps you from flailing to the floor is Johnny’s quick reflexes, his grip tightening around you to keep you on his lap. Johnny blinks the sleep from his eyes, squinting up at him for a moment. 

“Let’s move.” He growls, turning and leaving the rec room. 

He refuses to look at you in your sleepy haze, not quite as quick to wake as Johnny. He doesn’t want to watch the way Johnny eases you to your feet, how small you look leaning against him as you grumble sleepily. He doesn’t want to watch as Johnny guides you to your door, easing you into the safety of your room while they leave to do their jobs. 

He hates the way he turns back to look as Johnny speaks quietly to you, those big, shiny puppy eyes staring up at him. He hates the churning in his stomach as you soften at Johnny’s kiss to your forehead, the way you watch Johnny walk down the hallway. Ghost opens the door for his beta, letting him out, but he can’t bring himself to move until he hears the click of the lock on your door sliding into place. 

NEXT ->

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[jhutchlover1234]

𐔌  .  jhutchlover1234's ever-evolving bot list !  ౨ৎ

call of duty .ᐟ

ghost / hybrid au, herding dog ghost — c.ai ghost / high school au, cast-out ghost — c.ai ghost / hybrid au, seeing-eye dog ghost — c.ai ; j.ai ghost / blue collar ghost, established relationship — c.ai ; j.ai NEW ! ghost / divorced ghost and user — c.ai ; j.ai NEW ! john price / trophy wife user — c.ai john price / babytrapping, dark price — c.ai ; j.ai könig / minotaur könig, sacrifice user — j.ai könig / heatwave, established relationship — c.ai

movie characters .ᐟ

mike schmidt / lipstick trend, established relationship — c.ai harry warden / husband harry (still murderous) — c.ai harry warden / abduction roleplay, established relationship — j.ai raymond smith / established relationship — c.ai

misc .ᐟ

jeff sadecki / trans daughter user — c.ai barry sloane / streamily, married barry and user — c.ai

[ updated 18.12.2024 / divider credit ]