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springtyme · 8 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐍𝐨 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 ♡

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐈'𝐦 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐝 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Spencer Reid x f!reader || Series masterlist || Series playlist

Main masterlist || can also be read on ao3 || Next chapter

summary: After having worked for the BAU for two years, you have seen and experienced a lot, but after a series of murders of young married couples, you’re asked to do something that you never had thought you would have to do; going undercover, as an expecting, married couple, with Spencer Reid.

word count: 5.8k

warnings/tags: Eventual smut! (18+, mdni!) Undercover as a married couple. Pretend pregnancy. Language. Drinking. Angst and fluff. Slow burn. Mutual pining. Coworkers to lovers. Not set at a specific time, but definitely somewhere in the early seasons. Reader uses she/her pronouns. Mention of canon-typical violence.

The table is a bit sticky, and the music could be better, but the drinks are decent and you’re just so happy to finally be out with your friends after what feels like forever. Your job is demanding, and being an FBI agent in the Behavioral Analysis Unit means that your work-life balance is almost non-existent. But tonight, you don’t want to think about the gruesome crime scenes or the long hours spent profiling and investigating violent crimes, all you want to do is have a good time and catch up with your friends. And finally having an occasion to dress up and feel cute isn’t bad either.

Closing your glossed lips around the straw of your Strawberry Daiquiri, you take a long sip and let the sweet, icy drink cool your throat as you sit back in your chair, listening to the lively chatter of your friends. Michaela and Piper are going back and forth about some new movie that you haven’t had the time to watch yet, and you and Janelle, who is sitting across from you, are laughing at their antics as you listen to their debate with half an ear, but you focus shifts as Janelle gently nudge your shin under the table.

“That guy is totally checking you out,” Janelle says with a playful raise of her eyebrow, gesturing towards the bar with her eyes, as she takes a sip of her Mai Tai, while Michaela and Piper continue their discussion about whether the final plot twist of the movie was too predictable or an actual genius twist.

You can’t help but let out a tired giggle and roll your eyes as you follow Janelle’s gaze, glancing over to the bar and catch the eye of a man who is indeed looking in your direction, but you quickly turn back towards your friend again. “I thought we had decided to just focus on having a girls’ night out tonight, no boys allowed?” you say, giving her a knowing look. She shrugs her shoulders and smiles jestingly.

“You can still appreciate the view, even if you’re not looking to buy,” she teases, taking another sip of her drink. You shake your head, laughing at her antics, but you can’t help but look over in the direction of the guy at the bar again. He catches your eye and flashes you a charming smile. He is cute, sure, but not cute enough for you to want to do anything about it.

But to be fair, he could be the cutest guy in all of D. C. and you probably still wouldn’t do anything about it. You don’t really have the time or energy for dating right now and you are not really currently in the mood for meaningless sex with a stranger either.

Your job consumes so much of your life already, and you’re content with just focusing on your career, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Sure, it would be nice to have someone to share your life with, but what you’ve learned over the last few years is that most guys don’t understand the demands and emotional toll of your job. They either can’t handle the long hours, and all the time you have to spend on cases, or the gruesome details of your work, or they simply can’t comprehend the darkness that you have to face on a daily basis. And so, you’ve built up walls to protect yourself, to shield yourself from potential heartbreak or disappointment.

“You sure it’s not you who he’s checking out?” you ask, trying to shift the focus of the conversation away from your lack of interest in dating. Janelle laughs and shakes her head.

“No, I think he’s definitely into you,” she says, nudging you playfully.

“Well, I’m not interested, so he is all yours, Nell,” you reply, taking another sip of your drink as you give her a playful wink. Janelle just laughs and shakes her head.

“Nah, I’m good. I’m just here to have a good time with my girlies,” she says, raising her glass in a toast, making Machaela and Piper forget their never-ending debate and cheerfully join in.

Just as you’re about to raise your glass and join in the toast, your phone buzzes in your purse, interrupting the moment. You reach into your bag and pull out your phone, seeing Hotch’s familiar number flash across the tiny screen.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” you say with a sigh, standing up from the table giving your friends an apologetic smile. Your friends nod understandingly, knowing that your job always comes first as you excuse yourself from the table and head to a quieter corner of the bar to take the call. You feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you, knowing that your night out with your friends is about to be cut short.

“Yeah?” you answer, putting the phone to your ear, not bothering with any formalities as you know that Hotch is going straight to the point when he calls you outside of office hours.

“Sorry to interrupt your Friday night, but we’ve got a new case, high priority,” Hotch’s voice comes through the line, his tone serious and professional, but you can also hear the tired edge in his voice. It can’t be easy being the Unit Chief and always having to be on call, but you respect him for his dedication to the job. “I’m afraid I need you and the team back at the office ASAP.”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” you say, already mentally preparing yourself to switch back into work mode.

“Great, thank you, agent,” Hotch says, and you can hear the gratitude in his voice before he hangs up. You can only imagine how shitty it must feel to have to call in your team on a Friday night only a few hours after everyone has left the office. But that’s the nature of the job, and you have accepted it a long time ago, even though it means sacrificing your personal life and plans at a moment’s notice.

With a deep breath you take a moment to collect yourself, trying to shake off the disappointment of having to leave your friends behind. As you head back to the table to break the news to your friends, you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt for having to leave them hanging. They all look up at you expectantly, sensing the change in your demeanor. “I’m sorry guys, I have to go. Work…” you trail off, your voice apologetic, you hate having to disappoint them.

Michaela and Piper exchange sympathetic looks, while Janelle just nods understandingly. “It’s okay, we understand,” Janelle says, giving you a reassuring smile.

“I’m sorry I have to cut the night short,” you say, feeling the weight of disappointment settling in your chest.

“Hey, your job’s important, we’ll catch up another time,” Michaela says, standing up to give you a supportive hug. “And we are really proud of you, just so you know,” she adds, giving you a reassuring smile as she pulls back from the hug.

Suddenly you almost feel like you could cry. You spend so much time burying your emotions and focusing on the job that it almost feels overwhelming to be reminded that you have people outside of work who love and care about you. “Thank you, Kay,” you say, smiling back at her. You hug the others and say your goodbyes, before you quickly gather your things and prepare to head out and find a cab.

· · · · ·

Spencer is abruptly pulled out of his slumber by the sound of his phone ringing. The book he had been reading sprawled open in his lap. The softness of the armchair and the long week of work finally caught up to him, and he must have dozed off. He blinks groggily as he fumbles to grab his phone. He squints at the screen, momentarily disoriented from being woken up so suddenly. Seeing it’s a call from Hotch, he quickly answers, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Hello?” Spencer mumbles, trying his hardest to sound awake and alert despite his groggy state.

“Reid, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we have a new case, high priority. I need you and the others back at the office ASAP, we will have a briefing as soon as you’re all here,” Hotch’s voice comes through the line, terse and serious, but also tinged with exhaustion.

Spencer’s heart sinks at the news, knowing that his plans of spending a quiet Friday night at home, recovering after a hard work week is now dashed, but he quickly pushes the book aside, already mentally preparing himself to switch into work mode.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he replies, removing his glasses that he had swapped his contacts out for earlier in the evening. Rubbing his eyes and sitting up straight, the sense of urgency now kicking in.

“Thank you, Reid,” Hotch says before ending the call, leaving Spencer to gather his things and head out to Quantico without delay.

As he makes his way out of his apartment and towards his car, he can’t help but feel a sense of disappointment at having his night disrupted once again by work. He had really been looking forward to a quiet night in, and finally enjoy a break.

Spencer watches the city lights pass by in a blur as he begins to make his way out of D. C., the reality of his job sinking in once again. He knows that as a part of the BAU, his work is never truly done. The cases are always waiting, the criminals are always out there, and the demands of his job are always pressing. And while he loves what he does and finds fulfillment in helping to catch the most dangerous offenders, and having his mind challenged, there are days when he longs for a sense of normalcy, for a break from the darkness that seems to follow him everywhere he goes.

With a deep breath, he steels himself for the long night of driving and work ahead, knowing that he may not see his bed again for a while.

· · · · ·

As you arrive back to Quantico, you rush into the FBI building, quickly making it through the security check. The heels of your stilettos click loudly against the floor as you hastily make your way to the conference room. The short, tight dress that had made you feel so confident just a few hours ago now makes you feel exposed and vulnerable as you walk through the sterile hallways of the building.

You try to pull down the short hemline of your dress, as you push open the heavy door to the conference room, but it doesn’t change the fact that most of your thighs are on display and that your tits are almost spilling out of the low-cut neckline. It is so rare that you get the opportunity to dress up and feel sexy, so you might have gone a little overboard with your choice of outfit for a simple girls night, or at least that is how you feel now as you’re about to walk into a room full of your colleagues, who aren’t that used to see this side of you, and are about to hear about the details of a violent crime case.

As you step into the room, you see that Derek and Spencer are already sitting at the big round table, waiting for the rest of the team to show up, Hotch is probably in his office getting more details for the briefing before the entire team is here. They turn their heads in your direction as you enter, and you can feel their eyes lingering a moment longer than necessary, seemingly surprised to see you in such attire.

“Damn, princess, you clean up well,” Derek says with a smirk, giving you a once-over. “You had a hot date tonight or something?”

You roll your eyes at his comment, knowing that he always loves to tease you about your personal life. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Morgan,” you reply with a raised brown and a playful smile, taking a seat at the table and crossing your legs and adjusting your dress as you sit down.

“Of course, I would like to know, that’s why I asked,” Derek chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “You come in here looking like that, and you expect us not to ask questions? I just need to know, is he more handsome than me, should I be worried?” he teases, earning another playful eye roll from you.

“Can’t a girl just want to look good for a change, without it having to be for a man?” you shoot back.

“What do you mean, for a change? You always look good,” Derek counters with a charming smile, before he turns to Spencer, who has been awfully quiet this entire time. “Isn’t that right, pretty boy?”

Spencer looks up at Derek and then at you, a faint blush rising to his pale cheeks. His hair is slightly tousled and he is wearing his glasses, making him look even more adorable than usual. You don’t know if it is wrong of you to think of your colleague as adorable, he is a grown man and exceptionally capable of his job, you respect him a lot, but you just can’t help but find Spencer extremely endearing.

“You don’t have to answer that, Spence,” you quickly interject, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable. You know that Spencer can be a bit awkward when it comes to social interactions and you don’t want Derek’s teasing to make him feel even more self-conscious.

You and Spencer have become good friends over the two years that have passed since you joined the BAU team, you and him are the youngest agents in the unit. You have always admired Spencer’s brilliant mind and his ability to remember almost everything he reads as well as his sweet, quirky personality. You have a mutual respect for each other’s intelligence and dedication to the job. You have also noticed the way he sometimes gets lost in his thoughts or stumbles over his words when he’s nervous, and you have always tried to support him and make him feel comfortable in social situations.

But despite being friends and good colleagues, there’s also always been a slightly awkward tension between you and Spencer, at least on your end, it’s not like it’s there all the time, but you do feel it from time to time. You are not even sure where it comes from or why it’s there, but there’s something about Spencer that can make you feel slightly flustered and unsure of yourself, if you ever stop to think about it. It’s probably just because you admire him so much and don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of someone you respect so deeply.

“No, it’s okay,” Spencer says, his usual rambling tone coming through as he speaks. “You do look very nice, tonight. Wait, no, I mean, Morgan is right you always look nice, but you also look real nice tonight,” he stammers, stumbling over his words as he tries to explain himself.

You can’t help but smile at his adorable awkwardness, grateful that Derek’s teasing didn’t faze him too much. “Thank you, Spence,” you say, giving him a kind smile and reaching out to pat his arm reassuringly, hoping to ease his discomfort. “I appreciate it.”

“Oh, so when it is him you appreciate it, I see how it is,” Derek jokes, earning a playful shove from you.

“Shut up, Morgan, you know that I love you,” you say with a laugh, playfully rolling your eyes at him, which makes him laugh, but you don’t get to continue your banter as the rest of the team starts to filter in, Hotch enters the room with a stack of case files in hand, his usual stoic expression in place as he takes his seat at the head of the table to begin the briefing.

“Thank you all for coming with such short notice,” Hotch starts, his voice authoritative and commanding. “We have a new case that just came in and it’s classified as high priority. A series of brutal murders have been reported in Northern California. Local police have finally reached out to us for assistance after multiple cases after two new victims were found earlier in the day. They have all been double murders, with the assumption that the victims have been stalked for a while beforehand, and are then killed in a very specific and violent manner. All have been young married couples, all under thirty, and in all of the cases, the female victim has been between five and nine months pregnant.”

As Hotch continues to outline the details of the case, you can feel the weight of the seriousness of the situation settle in the room. You are usually able to compartmentalize your emotions and focus on the task at hand, but the thought of innocent lives being taken in such a violent manner always hits a nerve and you feel a chill run down your spine as Hotch describes the details of the case, the gravity of the situation sinking in. This is a disturbing and horrific case, one that hits close to home for you as a woman.

As Hotch finishes the briefing he turns to Spencer. “Reid, I would like to have a word with you in my office. The rest of you, start looking into the evidence and see if we can find any leads or patterns that may help us track down the unsub.”

You watch as Spencer nods in acknowledgment, it’s clear that he is a bit confused about being called into Hotch’s office alone, as he follows Hotch out of the room, leaving you and the rest of the team to start digging into the case files and evidence.

· · · · ·

“Please take a seat,” Hotch says as he gestures towards the chair in front of his desk, as Spencer follows him into his office. Spencer feels slightly anxious as he takes a seat, his eyes searching Hotch’s face for any clues as to why he’s been called into his office while Hotch takes his seat behind the desk. Hotch clears his throat before speaking, his tone serious and professional. “I have something to ask you to do, and it’s not a small thing,” Hotch begins, his eyes fixed on Spencer. “I need you to think carefully before you answer.”

Spencer can feel how his heart starts to race, his mind already trying to anticipate what Hotch is about to ask him. “What is it?” he asks, his voice steady despite his growing nerves. Hotch takes a moment to gather his thoughts before he speaks again.

“I’ve spoken with the local authorities in California, as well as our own expert and with the circumstances of the case and lack of leads, we have decided that the best way to proceed is to send in two undercover agents that fits the profile of the victims, and I want to ask you to be one of those agents.”

Spencer’s eyes widen in surprise, his mind racing with the implications of such a task. Going undercover in a case like this would be incredibly risky, not to mention emotionally taxing and it is not something he has much expertise in.

“I understand that this is a big ask, but you fit the profile of the victims and your ability to think on your feet and adapt in high-pressure situations makes you the best candidate for this job,” Hotch explains, his eyes searching Spencer’s face for any sign of hesitation.

Spencer takes a moment to process Hotch’s words. He can see the logic in Hotch’s reasoning with the specific details of the case and the lack of leads; it might be the best way to proceed, and Spencer knows that it is only done when absolutely necessary. “And you’re sure I’m the best agent for the job, I don’t have much experience with undercover work,” Spencer says, keeping his voice as steady as he can while feeling the uncertainty within himself.

“You’re more than capable, Reid. Your intelligence and quick thinking are your strongest assets, and we have full confidence in your abilities. I would never ask this of you if I was not fully convinced that you are fit for this job. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I also know that you have it in you to handle it,” Hotch reassures him, his tone firm and unwavering.

Spencer nods, taking a deep breath as he processes the weight of the task that has been given to him. This is a very serious assignment, one he knows is crucial to solving the case and bringing justice to the victims. “If you believe I can do it, then I’ll do it,” Spencer says finally, his voice resolute.

Hotch nods, a sense of relief crossing his features. “Thank you, Reid. This means a lot to the case, and I know you will do a great job,” he says, his voice showing his appreciation.

Spencer reciprocates the nod, feeling a surge of determination coursing through him. It’s a lot to take in, and it takes his usually so fast thinking mind a second to realize that he won’t be going undercover alone. “Who will be the other agent going undercover with me?” Spencer asks, wanting to know who he will be partnering with.

“I have someone in mind, but I want to make sure that she is on board before we move forward.”

“Is it, Y/L/N?” Spencer can’t help but ask, his mind already considering the possibilities of who he is going to work undercover with, and you are the person in the unit that would fit the profile of the victim the best. He really hopes it’s gonna be you, even though a part of him also doesn’t want you to be put in a potentially dangerous position. Spencer knows that your skills and intelligence would complement his own in such a high-stakes situation. And most importantly he just really likes being around you. You are always so kind to him and you never fail to make him feel included and supported.

Hotch nods. “Yes, she fits the profile as well and I believe that she has the expertise for this kind of operation. I will speak with her and see if she is willing to take on this assignment. I trust that the two of you will work well together on this case and you seem to get along well, and that’ll be important in this case. I’ll have to be sure that the agents I’m sending in can deliver a believable performance.”

And that is when it really dawns on Spencer, the two of you are not just going into a dangerous situation together, you will also have to pretend to be a couple, a young married couple expecting a child. He had been so caught up in the seriousness of the assignment and the potential risks involved that he hadn’t even considered that part of going undercover with you.

The thought of pretending to be a married couple with you, even if it’s just for the sake of the operation, sends a wave of feelings and thoughts through him, too many at once for him to fully process. Sure, it’s all part of the job, but the idea of being so close to you and having to maintain that facade is a challenge he’s not sure he’s fully prepared for. The idea of playing the role of your husband, even if it’s just for work, is both exhilarating and absolutely terrifying at the same time.

But as Spencer looks into Hotch’s eyes, he sees the trust and confidence that his boss has in him, and he knows that he can’t back down now. He has a job to do, and he will do it to the best of his abilities, alongside you.

· · · · ·

After Hotch and Spencer left the conference room, you and the other agents moved back to your desks to go through the evidence and case files. You are now wrapped in the cardigan that usually hangs from the back of your desk chair and you feel a little more office appropriate.

“Damn, this is a tough one,” Derek says, shaking his head as he scans through the crime scene photos. “The level of violence in these murders is just brutal.”

You nod in agreement as you flip through your own stack of evidence, looking up from the file in your hand as Spencer and Hotch emerge from Hotch’s office, Spencer walking down the stairs to join the team, but Hotch stays back, his expression serious and you get a little surprised when he addresses you.

“Can I have a word with you in my office?” Hotch says, his tone somber before he steps back into his office.

You can’t help but feel a sense of urgency as you put down the file in your hand and get up from your desk. You pass Spencer at the foot of the stairs, his eyes flicking down to meet yours. “Everything okay?” you ask, a hint of concern in your voice. Spencer nods, but there is something in his eyes you can’t quite read.

“Yeah, uh… yeah, Hotch will explain,” he says, his voice slightly tense, and a slight crease is formed between his brows but the look in his brown eyes are soft as they meet yours.

“Okay,” you whisper, giving him a small smile, before you quickly step up the stairs, or at least as quickly as you can in your five inch heels. You feel a small knot of anxiety starting to form in your stomach as you step into the office, wondering what this is about.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you feel the weight of Hotch’s gaze on you as you stand in front of his desk. “Please, sit down,” Hotch says, his tone grave as he gestures towards the chair in front of him. You take a seat, feeling a sense of unease settling in your stomach.

Hotch’s expression is unreadable as he looks at you, and for a moment, you can’t help but wonder what all of this is about.

“I have a very big thing to ask from you, agent, and I want you to know that I’m asking this of you because I trust you can handle it. It’s a request, but the choice is fully up to you,” Hotch starts, his voice steady but filled with seriousness. “Due to the lack of leads and the nature of these murders, we have come to the decision to send in two undercover agents who fit the profile of the victims to try and draw out the unsub, and I would like to ask you to be one of those agents. Agent Reid has already agreed to take on the assignment, the two of you match the victim profiles, and I truly believe that with your skills and expertise, you would be the perfect choice for this task.”

You lean back in your chair as you let Hotch’s words sink in. So this is why Hotch wanted to talk with Spencer. Going undercover on a case as gruesome and high stakes as this is not something to take lightly, but with the circumstances of the case and the lack of current leads you can see the logic in it. It’s a risky move, but you know that sometimes risky moves are necessary in order to catch the unsub and bring justice to the victims.

“I know that this is a very big thing for me to ask of you, and I want you to know that I fully understand if you have any reservations or concerns,” Hotch continues, his tone earnest. “But I also believe that you have what it takes to handle this assignment, and your dedication to the job is unparalleled. I wouldn’t ask this of you if I wasn’t convinced that you could handle it.”

“I understand the gravity of this assignment, Hotch,” you say, your voice calm and steady, wanting to reassure him that you are aware of the importance of the task at hand. “I am aware of the risks involved, and if you think I’m the right person for the job, then I’ll do it.”

Hotch nods, his features softening. “Thank you, agent. I know this is a lot to ask, but I have full confidence in your abilities and I truly believe that you and Reid will be able to handle this assignment with the utmost professionalism.”

You nod in acknowledgment, a surge of determination coursing through you by your decision. You also can’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over you at the fact that Spencer will be the person going undercover with you. You trust him implicitly and that makes you feel a sense of ease.

“I will arrange for a briefing with you and Agent Reid to go over the details of the assignment. You’ll also have to go through a training course while we set up a location for the undercover operation, and you will of course be given your undercover identities. I’ll inform the rest of the team about the assignment,” Hotch’s words are firm and decisive, and you can see the weight of responsibility in his expression. “But you better get home and get some rest. You have a long and intense process ahead of you, agent,” he adds, a softer tone creeping into his voice.

“Copy that,” you reply as you stand up from your chair. Soon you’re back down in the bullpen, standing at your desk as you gather your belongings and start to make your way out of the office. Just as you’re about to close your purse, you catch Spencer’s eye from where he’s standing over at his own desk, and as you give him a tired smile, which he mirrors, you swing your purse over your shoulder and walk over to his desk.

“So, Hotch asked you?” Spencer says as you approach him, his brown eyes meeting yours. You nod, the weight of the assignment settling in as you face each other.

“Yeah, he did. Looks like we’re partners in this one,” you reply, smiling at him once again.

Spencer nods, a small smile of his own tugging at the corners of his lips. You both stand there for a short moment, the weight of the assignment hanging heavily between you, before Spencer breaks the silence. “Do you need me to walk you to your car? I know the parking lot is just outside and that we have security, but still.”

You feel a wave of gratitude wash over you for his offer, and you can see the concern in his eyes as he looks at you, but that is also when you remember that you didn’t drive here yourself.

“Thank you, that’s really sweet of you,” you say, feeling touched by his concern. “But I actually didn’t drive here tonight, I took a cab.”

“You took a cab all the way from D. C.?!”

You laugh at his surprised expression. “Yeah, I was out, I didn’t have my car and I also had had a few drinks.”

“You should have called me, I could have picked you up and we could have driven together,” he says, his tone filled with genuine concern. You can’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness.

“I appreciate that, Spence. Maybe next time,” you say, giving him a grateful smile. You know that Spencer is always willing to go above and beyond to help his friends and colleagues, and you can’t help but feel extra lucky to have him as a partner in this assignment.

“Well, you have a ride back home now,” he says, offering you a gentle smile.

“That’s nice,” you reply, with a bright smile, feeling very grateful for his offer. You had expected to get a lift from one of your colleagues when you drove out here, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to get hold of a cab this late out here, but it feels really nice that you didn’t even have to ask for one.

“Of course,” Spencer replies, his smile growing wider. Soon the two of you are stepping out of the FBI building and are met with the brisk night air, your feet are hurting and the cool air makes goosebumps rise on your skin. But almost before you get to register it, Spencer has removed his jacket and offers it to you. “You must be cold,” he says, giving you a kind look. You try to protest, but he insists, draping the jacket over your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you mumble, not feeling like protesting further as soon as the warm feeling of the jacket engulfs you.

Once you reach his car, he opens the door for you and you slide into the passenger seat, feeling a sense of gratitude for his kindness. “You want this back?” you ask, removing the jacket from your shoulder. You don’t really feel ready to give up the warm garment, but you also don’t want to assume that he offered it for more than just the walk to the car.

Spencer shakes his head as he settles into the driver’s seat and you watch him start the engine. “No, you just keep it.” You smile happily as you toe off your shoes and curl up in the seat draping the jacket over your bare legs, feeling like it is enveloping you in a comfortable cocoon of warmth and safety as Spencer starts the car and begins the drive back towards D. C.

The landscape passes by in a blur outside the window as the two of you drive in comfortable silence, the both of you seemingly getting lost in your own thoughts for a little while. The weight of the assignment in front of you settles heavily between you.

“I’m really grateful that you’re going to be my partner on this assignment,” Spencer breaks the silence eventually, his voice soft but filled with sincerity.

“Me too,” you reply, turning to look at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Another comfortable stretch of silence fills the car as you continue on your way back to the city. Despite trying to fight it, your eyes start to feel immensely heavy. Fatigue from a long day and the weight of the impending assignment finally catching up to you, and with the gentle lull of the car you never really stood a chance and soon you are starting to doze off, slowly sliding into the sweet embrace of sleep as you sink deeper into the soft car seat.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated :) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter ♡ edit: it would especially be nice if you reblog when you ask to be added to the tag list ♡

Taglist: @luivisa @babyspiderling @reidsdaisies @eddioto @sadroses98 @lovelyygirl8

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mawlbone · 2 months ago

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OPERATION HOME - OMEGA TF141

[ASK FROM: @asexualbuthorny - hii. could i maybe request something for the reverse abo? basically reader is a huge mountain of an alpha but is actually kind and gentle when not working. reader used to work for a mercenary group which was brutal to both alphas and omegas, often using shock collars and muzzles and other torture to keep them in line. one day the group falls apart and Laswell gets her hands on reader and transfers him to omega tf141 as both a soldier and a heat assist. reader acts as he always has, obedient and quiet, thinking his only purpose is to listen and do whatever his omegas demand and that his needs and wants don't matter. one day he doesn't show up for breakfast and the task force goes looking for him only to find him in his room, in a cormer on the floor, clutching a pathetically dirty and thin blanket as a sad version of a nest as he goes through rut. reader doesn't dare touch himself, taught that his rut is a nuisance and should be ignored. so the task force take it upon themselves to care for their alpha and it's just a lot of cuddling, soft sex, reader being a sub top and scared and confused while the task force cuddles, feeds and loves on him. (hope that was specific enough. also do you write omega readers?)]

SNIPPET: In a life full of losses, you learn how to fade into the background; whether becoming a fleeting image, a distant memory, or a lost figment of someone’s imagination. It’s safer to keep your cards close and your collar closer around your neck. Everything's better when your leash is wrapped around your own hand until someone takes it.

[CW: amab reader, sub top reader, hypersexual reader, sa abuse, religious imagery, sex work, unhealthy relationship with food, human trafficking, dehumanization, collaring, muzzling, drug usage, omegas have both parts, death and violence mention and no major character deaths, canon is my playground.]

[COMMENT: Thank you for requesting. I enjoyed writing this ask and angst in general, always welcomed into my inbox. For new readers, please refer to my pinned post to learn more about the #⛓️‍…reversedabo under au for context. Also future asks may not as long as this for the sake of quality control unless I really like it. I just went overboard since and there’s little to no content about it despite how much I love the au.]

— 1989

You knew you always been a bit bigger than other children for your age. It was undeniable in the way your body creaks like an unoiled hinge; squeezing in between tight seats, towering over the older children with your lumbering height, eating with a hunger that only a fully grown man should have. The lunch ladies will offer you the leftovers of the day’s meals to take home and you’ll always take it, ignoring the rumors and glistening glares of snarling parents pointing to you like you are something extraterrestrial. Maybe you should have taken that as a sign that something was bound to be abnormal with you. It didn’t matter, you got an extra bag of food for you and your mother to eat for tonight. It’s a simple life but you’re happy, you can’t wait to see her this afternoon. You walk home with a wag of your tail that day. Money is tight as always but hopefully the food will cheer her up.

When you arrived home, you chattered into her ears about your day; from the lectures, to the dry lunch, and the teasing children that will bother you every morning in a breathless breath as you yapped from the floor, watching her fix up your torn oversized shirt. You can hear her laugh as she tells you to slow down as she places the cloth underneath the needle. The chattiness, she giggles saying “you got it from your father”, before her tone fallen, you can make out something about “strangeness in your appearance as well” being from him as she she mutters. Occasionally she’ll look at your chipmunk-ed cheeks as you snarf down today’s lunch. You never saw any pictures of your father around the house, you had asked before if you could, but like always, she denies with a firm shake of her head as she dolled herself up for the night. She said he was special, you don’t know what exactly she means by that but the way your mother fondly sighs lips at the mention of him makes you think he’s good at least.

Mother says she has to see clients later tonight, something about an important event for a scary man as you sat at the table listening to her gently scold you to never become something like him. You nod. It’s ridiculous, how could you? You don’t even know this man she keeps talking about after work, gossiping about the terrors the man holds over the entire place.

You grown older now. You know a bit more about the cruelness of this world now from the words of your parent. She tries to preserve as much of your youth as possible once your baby teeth drop like rain in entered secondary school. She likes to keep them in a little box above the fridge to remind her to clean it open, something about holding onto memories you learn one day when you find her on the couch bawling after a cup of wine looking through the box. Photos of your first baby steps, childhood drawings, and infant clothes are laid pristine with the slightest of frayed edges onto the frame as if they had touched them often, greatly worn by the love of time.

It’s nightfall when your mother has to leave you for the day, giving you the usual reminder to not open the door for strangers. She doesn’t come tuck you into bed anymore.

”You’re a big child now!”, she explains, kissing your cheeks with a new color with her bright red lipsticks as you blush, furiously wiping away the marks from your face while the sound of her laughter rings in the background at your petulant behavior before you raise your head to look at her once last time for the day.

Flashy in her high studded collar, black pumps and and sparkly long dresses that she picks out at the nearby discount store, you don’t understand the pointed words of your classmates and mean ol’ parents calling her all sorts of name. “Slut” is what you hear most often combined with the fact that you were the school’s “bastard child.”

It didn’t matter. You didn’t care about their words, they aren’t in your life. Why bother with them.

She will always be your mother firstmost in this cramped one bedroom apartment. For there is life in the never-ending dirty dishes in the sink, the pile of laundry that always needs to be folded and the clutter of shoes by the door. It’s not the most ideal version of a family you usually will see on television and sure, normal children usually do not have to deal with mean men knocking at your door for protection money every month but it’s fine. Everything is fine.

— 1996

Well, everything was fine until it wasn’t when you woke up from your hospital bed. A lingering sense of soreness resonating throughout your entire body, did you get hit with a truck? Fuck your bones feel jiggly as you try to sit up… White walls meet your teary eyes, blinking slowly as you take in the fluorescent cold lights of your room.

There is a thick stench of alcohol and blood wafering through the air burning your nose as you breathe in. The smell smothers like smoke as you winced into your oxygen mask, startling the person next to you. It’s heavy. It’s painful. You want to stop breathing. Gasping, you slowly take in your air as slow as possible trying to minimize the pain that surrounds your chest with a devil’s grip.

Everything feels heavier, yet sharper the more conscious you feel. It’s like if you had slept for too long. You don’t want to move, everything feels too sharp as your senses rushes back into you. The air smells denser… The mixed scent of sweat and pheromones surrounds the air, how nauseating.

The last thing you remembered was passing out on the couch so why are you in the hospital? It’s too expensive to be here… You need to leave immediately, you try to lift your body out from the bed only to be held down by a worn hand escapulating your own.

It's your mother.

You can do nothing but look at her grieving face, the quiver of her bitten lips as she stares at you. Always silent, always firm for the both of you and think to yourself, “I cost her money again didn’t I…” There are tears streaking down her face as the silence of the room envelops you whole.

It’s summer again, the sweltering sun breathes down your throat, your presentation and fever will continue. This pain will soon pass, you’ll learn how to deal with it, she and you both will, even when the doctor walks in with his chart congratulating you for being an alpha as he hands you a new prescription of pills for you to try with a strained smile on his face. He knows what is awaiting for you in the future, he and your mother knows your life is doomed at the hand of this society.

After that appointment, your mother signed you out of the school that following day, “it’s unsafe” she explains as you watch her walk in through the door with a multitude of textbooks from the bookstore to learn at home instead. She looks older now, deeper lines embedded into her face as you stares at her as if you were something that was not her child. It’s your fault isn’t it?

You know now your father was an alpha as well who eloped with your mother before you were born during a heated argument with her one day. Killed during a shootout on his way home to her. Maybe that’s how you are, always sucking the life out of someone like a wind to a burning flame. Your mother is too poor to get you a proper muzzle after the hospital visit and all the bills and protection money she has to pay. There is barely enough shifts at the nightclub to cover your supressment pills and patches so she made due. Her old collar tighten around your neck alongside a homemade wire muzzle that wraps inside around your face. The frame cuts into your jaws if you move it around too much, something that your mother heavily scolds you more as she cleans your bleeding gums. You learn to stop speaking with it on.

Church Sundays became a norm between the two of you once you presented. Something about her saying not wanting you to grow dull and learn restraint as she smoothes out your clothes once more with a graze of her hand before mass started. Church was one of the only few places where they would accept the two outcasts you were without harassing your mother for her work or you for being an alpha. You think you understand what she means as you sit on the pews with her listening to the priest preach about the traditional roles of what alphas, betas, and omegas should do in the house. It’s a bit droning at this point, you think.

The words are nothing new for the past few months you've been attending here, she knows you find it boring as you fiddled with the Bible in your hands. Your eyes dart across the thick lines following along to the speaker’s words, anything to stop the ache in your bones as you chew your lips. Distracting yourself from your pained mind, you would occasionally peer over to look at the multicolored stained glass windows peering into the room. It looks pretty against all the white of the church you think before your mother nudge you to focus. She says mass is for you to learn how to deal with temptations in your life as she bows her head before the bread for a silent prayer. You don’t know what exactly she prays about in these quiet moments. You hope it’s something solely for her and not you, following her movements. You wonder if people believe in a God because they too yearn for a father as well. You don’t know about a father, your mother always gave you enough love to fill both roles — even if it comes at the cost of aching jaws and body pains as you grow bigger and bigger, no longer able to fit the shared bed you and your mother share in the cramped space on one paycheck. You stay on the couch now.

It was easy to drown in emotions. It’s the most resonating feeling all humans know. Drowning from everything bad that weighs you down, swallowing the salty tears that dares to consume you. It’s tiring, it’s so tiring to be angry at people. You want to go back to school, you wish you were never presented as an alpha, you wish you never knew about your father. You just want to rest away. Soon enough, the choir starts again and you stand straighter.

You don’t have any more memories after that as countless hymns flood your ears once more.

— 2000

Someone's screams rouse you from your slumber, followed by the sound of gunshots cracking through the quiet night, immediately making you sit up from the couch. Panicking, you could only stand in shock before your mother comes rushing in from the bedroom pulling you into the cupboard as she quickly fastens your muzzle onto your face. The bangs on your apartment door resonate throughout the entire space like the sound of your neighbor’s bottles smashing against your shared apartment wall. The violence looms over the two of you like a plague.

“W-What’s going on—“, you whispered as the sensation of cold water dras she fastened the locks from outside, the rustle of keys being placed back into the safe is all you could hear as you clutched your blanket closer to you. She doesn’t answer as you hear her footsteps fade away.

POP. POP. POP.

You don’t remember much about that night. Only the sound of bullets blasting through the door immediately striking her head first through the swissed door as they barge in with a final push.

And deep inside that dim, dusty, dark cupboard, the faint sound of her body slamming against the floor sticks long far and deep inside brain.

You didn’t last long despite mother’s best attempts as the brutes broke you from your wooden safe. The scent of a scared alpha pup left them eagerly cracking open the cupboard as you screamed, kicking at their chest to no avail as they grabbed you, ignoring the sight of your bloodied mouth spilling out onto your face. The wires had cut into your face once more making your face red like a grotesque monster with blood continuously drooling out of your mouth. The last thing you remember is the sight of her corpse sprawled on the wooden floors as they walked you out of your beloved apartment. Her usual red lipstick now glistening with blood as it spills out of her mouth like a river. Like mother and child, you two will always bleed for the other, it’s too bad neither of you cannot save the other from this night. That’s the last memory you have of her before you felt a fist hitting the back of your head.

— 2001

That following year, you sold into a trafficking ring. You remember the auditioner’s booming voice as you stand in front of that stage, naked with a towel wrapped around your waist. Heavy chains wrapped around your body keeping you anchored to the ground.

You were so small, too small to be on your own clearly, but it doesn’t matter. You are the lowest of the lowest here and there is no one left to protect you. There’s no feeling now. Everything feels numb, there is no one else for you to care about anymore. Once more, you drown into the depths of your mind as you distantly hear the auctioneer’s voice peak once more.

“Is that an $80,000 from number 4 that I hear! Oh come on guys, it’s a young alpha! Train him! Use him! Beat them! All yours if you can nab them up!

“Wait misters and missus, there’s a $120,000 from number 93 from the top I see! Ooh, I guess you’re finally listening!

“$500,000! Crazy person we got over there, someone got deep pockets tonight everyone!”

The sensation of your mother’s long fingers stroking through your hair still sticks itself onto your head. You were laying your head on her thighs before that very night watching the morning television. There was frozen pasta from the convenience store defrosting in the fridge, a pile of dirty laundry waiting to be washed in the morning, errands to run tomorrow since it was her day off. You knew she tried to live, you knew she wanted pasta tomorrow, she knew she wanted to fold clothes with you tomorrow and catch the nearest bus to the bank so she can get some cash to spend on a cake for you tomorrow like she does every year for your birthday. But there are no more birthdays with mother anymore, she’s stuck in the apartment and you’re nowhere to be seen, her poor baby. Why did they go?

You think you begin to hate God, you wonder if she's searching all over heaven to find you. Was it not enough to take your father but now your mother as well? Is this truly the merciful man the old priest always preached to you about? Whatever, you can only hope your father can comfort her cries from wherever she is.

You cannot hear anyone’s words from the crowd. All those voices mended together to a nonsensical cheer at your appearance as they watch your price grow higher and higher above your head like a firework waiting to happen.

The glow of the LED lights placed behind you makes you look like a game, a prize to be clawed up in those arcades that you will go to after-school when your mom is not home to open the door for you. With every voice comes a bid a thousand dollars more than the last before an auto bid won out from the side booths.

“A young impressionable alpha for the taking? Oh what a lucky catch, oh yes, oh yes! Whoever is lucky to have you, they hope they will be willing to share!”, the crowd thinks as they hoot at the mysterious group of men who managed to buy you at an outrageous million dollar bid…

Once you were taken into their land, you learn whom they were after they had fattened you up to look presentable than the frail thing you were at the ring. Forcefully feeding you with all sorts of pills and bland food to keep you in good health, they beat you down for costing so much. Can’t have you getting sick now can’t they as they howled, laughing at you as big hands clutch onto your new muzzle to unhinge your jaw without you biting them as they shove the slop down your throat, watching you choke down the antibiotics only to vomit it out because it was too big for you before crushing it up with a bag and shoving it down your windpipe leaving a bitter tang on your tongue as you coughed profusely.

RAM-F8

Mercenary group. Specialized in infiltration and assaination in high conflict zones. Good at distributing soldiers and men across the frontlines for blood money you learn in between the weeks they kept you here. Their accents are thick and unfamiliar to you as they manhandle you around to train you some more, merely scuffing you by the shock collar they fasten around your neck to drag you. Easily tossing you around like a rag doll as you were still too weak to do anything against them.

Many of them surround your cage, grabbing your body through the bars of your enclosure to grope at your bare skin hungrily. ”An alpha would make a good weapon“, they murmured between themselves watching you squirm away from your touch, each hand feeling like bugs crawling deep into your skin as they push you around, trying to feel your muscles growing in. Injuries and scars litter down your body nowadays. Some new, some old from the long training you endured from the other children, a mix of mainly omegas and you from the auction they bought you from. But anyways, the months long training proved results in your physique. You feel stronger, sure… But the way they kept pressing onto your shock collar to bully you while you’re resting rattles you, each voltage leaving you shaking at the smell of burnt flesh and red marks imprinting into your skin.

It gets harder to breath comfortably nowadays.

Sure, there is a variety of betas and omegas brought down into the cells with you, but you are their prized alpha, ready to become an efficient weapon for them, after all, why else are they spending so much money and time on you. The operators know they can flash their pheromones to get you to listen to them easily, provoking your alpha urges to please them.

“Stupid mutt!”, they call you with a sickeningly sweet voice as they push you around, knowing you were too exhausted after your rut to properly react to them as they poke your face. But they cannot touch you, you’re a weapon after all. Dumber mutts get reduced to the fuck bench so be thankful they are being so kind to you.

So that’s why every time you misbehave, viagra pills will be shoved down your throat. You learn to tolerate them, it’s better to not fight them when they have hold of your food and suppressant pills as they laugh and mock you from outside as you grind against the shitty bedding they provided for all their captures. There’s no sense of privacy in the cage as your tongue spills out from your metal muzzle, deeply panting for air as the heat of your body escapulate your body. Once again they drugged your water after you put on a fight against them and now everything just fucking hurts. Regrets start settling in once you body begin to sweat furiously in the dingy basement. It’s humiliating and downright vile the way they jeer at you as you pant against the floor as you held your legs to your chest sobbing. The migraine pounds deeply within your skull and you could do nothing to relieve your dick from its state as you wept. Every day after that, they will continue this process every time to train the disobedience out of you, something about breaking you in to behave and continue working despite your rut cycle as you gnaw at your knuckles, feeling your canines aching to sink into someone’s neck. Maybe this is what your mother meant by learning to have restraint.

You’re not sure how long it been since they kept you down there between the training and drugging, your mind had become more malleable to their orders and soon enough you were ready for the field. Your spirit was broken, trained to be obedient only to them like a loyal lapdog. You find no reason to bite back anymore. Where else would you go? You don’t know even where the fuck you are underneath this underground bunker. You give up, you’ll take what they teach you from now on.

So when they placed a gun into your hand, simply pointing you to shoot the glass bottles from afar, you know what to do.

Point.

Fire

Point.

Fire.

Point.

Fire

You learn the routine, they direct, you shoot. The operator positions your body to fire better. Calluses form onto your hand over time as you steady yourself again and again on this range. Each recoil leaving your soft skin bleeding as you yelped from the burn of the gun before you were harshly shocked once more into tolerating the heat in your hand. From there, those bottles soon become small animals, you try to ignore the clutch of your heart as their squeals penetrate through your ears. A necessary sacrifice in order to eat for the day. Finally before they release you for missions, you can feel your overseer clasp hid heavy arm around your shoulder as some of the other men tossed in a familiar roped man into your sight.

You recognize him.

It’s the man from that very night. Some henchman from a loan shark factory that embezzled money from his company and tried to flee into the outskirts. RAM-F8 was ordered to capture him but free rein over what condition they bring him in, so when they look at you and point at the man, you didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t even get to scream before the bullet hit his head. You killed the man with nothing more than a shitty pistol. There is no sense of satisfaction rushing through your veins, after all what revenge will do if the person it is for is not even alive anymore.

You were signed off to complete your first mission after that with a pat to your shoulder.

It was slow to rise in rank in the company, something about ensuring you maintain loyalty to RAM-F8. Eventually you made it to lieutenant.

But food was always too scarce for lower dogs like you. It’s always about power, it’s always about rank allowing you to do whatever you wish. There’s no safety protection like the military, you are simply property to them after all. So when they whip you because you fed the younger pups your leftovers, you don’t regret it. It may be the dumb rut alpha brain talking you into babying these soldiers and treating them like your young outside of missions. Maybe it was a facade of a pack that you always wanted but they’re yours even when the pills fucked up your ruts to the point where they are irregular now. Your pheromones reeks of you being in pre-rut when the suppressment patches are off, so naturally you just want to cradle your team in your arms and keep them close like a bunch of toys. They don’t mind too much as you settle them on your lap like a plush to carry around.

But that’s not alpha like, that’s not the image they strive for you. Big and dominate, ready to pin and kill anyone they wish, not some simpering fool who mothers after his pack. So when they caught you nuzzling and scenting one of your comrades after a near-death mission, they caught your ass.

You got leashed outside the barracks shortly after getting beaten up by your superior in the winter night. Nothing but your standard white shirt and sweatpants as you shivered outside, simply sitting outside on the steps with thick iron chain wrap around your collar chaining you to the nearby fence. It’s a pretty winter night, you thought as you watch the snowflakes fall down like teeny tiny fairies onto the snow.

It’s awfully beautiful for such a bitter moment as a cold gust of wind leaves you sneezing into your arm. Bruised and sore, the cold just makes everything much more hurtful as you sobbed silently, letting hot tears run down the tracks of your reddened face. It’s embarrassing for a fully developed alpha to still be crying at this age. You still feel like a child, you do not know how to adult or care for yourself. What’s the point when everyone goes away eventually, you wish you died young and happy than whatever this bullshit your world had come to.

Oh how filling your gullet with the warmth of the food fills you with greater delight than the nauseating emptiness of a hard cry. It just felt so good to eat until your stomach aches, at least something is full unlike the hollowness of your heart breaking after disappointment after disappointment you bring to everyone’s life. You miss your shitty apartment, you miss the church you used to frequent every Sunday, and you miss your mother’s presence with her soothing words that everything will be alright. Maybe you should have asked her to pray for you at least once before everything fell to shit between you both. You don’t remember her face anymore.

It doesn't matter anymore does it? You might as well make some use to someone, even to someone like them. Your body, your wants, your needs? All of that doesn’t matter anymore. It belongs to them now, even your ruts are theirs to control. It’s a liability, it’s something that shows them how weak and stupid you are to your instincts and maybe they were right to beat those feelings out of you. So with all that pain and anger that rips you up inside, you take it to the battle grounds.

And several years down the line, when your masked face will appear in international lists of wanted men, they will renown you as Rhino, a tank capable of taking out militia of men with a single charge of your gun, or so as rumors say. And in those years, your file will be handed into the hands of a woman as she reads over your case one conference meeting. And her eyes will widened the tiniest bit at the baby photo presented beside your name. It haunts her, a government ID photo that has not been updated since your birth, how long had you been exactly in this business for little one as she stares at your baby face.

She makes a note to keep an eye for you as she writes you into the database days later. Seems like you’ll be trouble for them if she were ever to meet you in the future.

— 2010

It's been seven years since you joined RAM-F8 and four years after it had disbanded due to political outburst from both sides. You knew when to cut your losses so amongst the chaos between the two factions of your mercenary group, you cut your contract with them after paying your debts off, running with nothing more than your beloved gun in your hand. Your pack is no more, moved away into other bases after that ordeal so there’s nothing left holding you back as you board the nearest plane to Britain. A recruitment list calling in need for more soldiers, no questions asked.

So here you are, sitting in a base office with a blank look on your face, gently smiling at the person in front of you. Your appearance had changed drastically from the small child seen in your file. The leftover baby fat has melted off your cheeks giving you a more pronounced glow, there are facial scars and others litter down your arms and chest like beloved kisses from the wargrounds. But you look matured. Well-trained and well aged into your years, no longer looking like the child she remember you as any more.

But Laswell still does despite all these years later. Maybe it was the profile picture that still lingered in your file that made her feel tense looking at you. Same eyes, same nose, same ears. It’s all the same despite the damage done to them.

So when the flickering lights brought an ominous hum to the room, you simply tilted your head at her, waiting for her to break the silence first. Your hands are folded in front of her. Clean. No trace of a weapon in sight. Your crude accomplishment with your peaceful demeanor is a strange contrast in her eyes. She recalls what you said in that email to her, something about seeking sanctuary under the military despite being a former mercenary. She looks at you and observes just observes, you’re quiet, she thinks looking up at your massive looming figure. You look almost comical in the small wooden chair you chose to sit on for courtesy's sake, almost as if you were purposefully making yourself look smaller.

It’s awfully strange. She can barely smell your alpha scent through the thick scent patches plastered underneath your industry issued collar and muzzle. It’s as if you were entirely blank. Devoid of all emotions for yourself.

“Awfully silent aren’t you.”

No answer.

“Why do you cover yourself like that?”

No answer.

“How did you became a mercenary?”

No answer still.

“You can work despite ruts?”

You nod.

Laswell sighs, that’s the only answer she gotten from you so far. You tell her to don’t worry about your background, only care about what you can do for the military.

She remember the tapes recording you from above of how you killed thousand of men while in the throws of rut. A fucking monster in the moment. everyone thinks as they watch the recording. The bulging muscles ripping out of your uniform, the trail of bubbled spit as you growled to your enemies as you bark out orders to your men, the sight of blood stained teeth clinging to your mouth as you rip and crush soldiers underneath your heavy weight with a quick jump or shot from your gun.

It was terrifying as much as it heady to their mind to look st you. Everyone in that meeting wanted you, practically slobbering at the idea of adding you to their ranks.

What a powerful weapon they think, urgently contacting all their informants after the meeting to track you down. Every string, every line, and every person they burn through trying to find your whereabouts. There was no answer. You were nowhere to be seen.

Yet here you are, right in front of her four years later after your disappearance. Still looking fresh from war with the amount of bandages that cover you. You say you got it from a weird haired fella while rescuing him from a collapsed building. An accidental joint collaborator to take out some gang members between your own personal mission and his. You fled before his pack can come finding you. She snorts.

She likes you. You’re dangerous but she likes you. An outcast, a black sheep, a misfit. Oh, she knows who would love to collect you as she immediately makes a note for someone to see you later. Laswell asks if you mind working as a heat aid for a pack of omega soldiers. You assure her it’s fine. You just wanted somewhere to stay. And that was that as she signed you off to stay under someone giving you a note to see him a bit later.

Captain John Price. An omega SAS captain of Task Force 141. A finely decorated officer with a list of accomplishments underneath his belt. He operates a small team of his own, you read. Quite imposing, you think looking at his profile, it’s respectable still.

You grimace a bit underneath your mask. You can only hope he will be decent.

— 2010

Meeting Captain Price was as unnerving as you thought you’ll be once you greet him a few days later. All scowling and posturing as the leader watching you enter his office, it’s something you come to expect from your vague background. But it was courteous enough, even with the thinly veiled threats he laid on you if you dared to hurt his men. You understand. You would had done the same for your own pack once ago. But with everything cleared with a date, he sent you off to your room.

Once the door clicks behind you, the captain couldn’t help but think about the nostalgic you bring to him, another stray little pup like the one he claimed years ago after he got your file from Laswell. He chuckles to himself, hopefully you’ll stay in his pack and deal with the chaos his boys ensue on a daily basis. Better to have a pack alpha than deal with the small tantrums their wolves throw when they smell something unfamiliar on the others. He takes a drag out of his cigar in his office as he continues to read your papers, reminding himself to introduce you to briefly to the team before they scare you off.

“A muppet”, he mutters to himself as he takes another drag out of his stick. Too quiet and obedient. He’ll get you to talk more.

When you met Soap, he scared the living shit out of you like the firecracker he is. You were walking around the base, easing yourself into the new environment trying to find your room. The scent block patches were slowly fading a bit underneath your collar and you were looking forward to replacing them in the privacy of your own space as you turn into a dark corner, not noticing blue eyes stalking you from behind when suddenly a stocky mohawk-ed omega immediately pounce onto you, almost causing you to fall onto the floor as you curse loudly.

Immediately your hand twitches to throw the man off only for the stranger to nuzzle into your neck as he begins scenting you the best he can from underneath your collar, nuzzling his nose underneath the thick leather as he slathers your oily gland onto his nose while he purrs louder than a lawnmower as you held him up. Soap didn’t know who this stranger in front of him was, but they smelled way too good and too familiar to the scent of that alpha who saved him from the rubble as he wags his tail profusely. His wolf knows it’s you and she wants to bring you home to his pack NOW! You’ll be so good for them he thinks as he shoves his nose further underneath your collar, only slightly growling at the scent patches that clings to your neck before ripping them off with his teeth, lathering your neck more with his scent, covering the skin with his own scent and spit.

You felt yourself wanting to be burnt to the ground from the insane circumstances you placed yourself in as the rest of the TF141 found you moments later. It wasn’t hard with the thick scent of pheromones coming off the both of you as you stand there stoned faced, letting the omega do as he wishes before he turnt to the others with a grin before continuing his marking. Here you were, trapped in a corner being marked upon by a strange omega that you don’t remember seeing as your captain’s eyes crinkles at you with a hand to cover his amused grin. “Seems like Soap already likes you soldier”, Price speaks as he watches you being smothered by his sergeant’s hold onto you. Price already knew who you were, your appearance matching the description that Soap gave once they recovered him. He spoke of you dazzlingly on the hospital bed when they finishing their debriefing, almost as if your scent had pulled him underneath your control. But you don’t know any of that as you stare whale-eyed at your captain for help. Not wanting to be dishonorably charged not even a day into your service as he stood there smiling at you. How adorable he thinks, watching you panic internally at what to do with the omega, only merely gripping his back to support the man.

On his right and downwards you see a hulking soldier with a skeleton mask glaring at the both of you, a hatted man with the British flag patched onto the front raising a brow before laughing at Soap’s clinginess and another man with funny antennas attached to his helmet who tilts his head the slightest at the sight in front of him. The embarrassment was a bit too strong for your taste. Yes, what a wonderful first introduction. Being caught snogged by their mate, yes! How wonderful! You sarcastically think inside your head as Soap continues to giggle, giving himself a high off your scent. The rest of the meeting went better, well the best it can be for both sides with their mate gnawing at your neck like a crisp trying to ignore the awkwardness.

— 2014

It been a few years since you joined TF141 and Ghost still does not know what to make with you.

You were a decent enough person to his pack, managing to find your place in the group itself both on the field and off of it. In every space of their rooms, you manage to make your presence linger around them. Stray clothes his pack will steal from your closet to sleep with on their bed, your medication being right next to theirs in the cabinets, and your weapons spewed throughout their private home finally being organized in the back shed of the yard. They got a house once you moved in, close enough to the base to walk or drive to it. They were expecting to anyways, too tired to deal with the noisiness within the base. They forbid you from wearing your muzzle and scent patches however to your displeasure but you listened.

And it’s almost disgustingly domestic the way you slot into everyone’s lives. He sees the way you help Gaz in the kitchen to cook their meals together every night, always leaving house with a lovely aroma as the both of you exchange recipes, occasionally feeding the other something from your pot to try out between layers of meat, vegetables, or soup spread out on the tablecloth every day at home. There’s always an abundance of homemade frozen dinners stocked in the freezer if you and Gaz were gone for a mission. It’s nice, even funny sometimes when Johnny and Roach plea for takeout from the both of you, wanting something from their usual pub spot after a particularly long week, bartering with the idea of no dishes, no wait time, and no labor between you and Gaz before you shoo them away. Price chuckles in the background as he watches the scene. He still remembers how you excuse yourself from dinner for the first couple of weeks you live within their home. Saying you got too full from constantly taste testing and nibbling on dinner while preparing it until Gaz got sick of you constantly leaving them. Firmly sitting you down onto the chair to eat with them, the thick stench of displeased omega forcing you to obey him as you wince, hearing the seat creak underneath your weight as you squeeze yourself to appear smaller between the rest of them. Overly conscious of your mass in the house.

They got a bigger table the next day.

And as always, you return the same favor back to them tenfold. Johnny got scolded for leaving his stuff everywhere? You helped cleaned out his closet and built him a separate back shed to store his bomb materials, even sometimes illegally getting the parts for him to Price’s disapproval as you watch him cheer at the new gunpowder you got him. Roach wants to go hiking with somebody to collect some bugs from the forest? You’re carrying your guys’ lunch, his bug encyclopedia in your backpack and some jars for him to place the bugs inside of, even making him a bug bingo for him to check off with a pen for him, the two of you alway coming back with muddy boots by the porch to clean off later. Gaz is anxious and keeps nesting the house when everyone is away on a mission without him? He will see you through the home cameras taking him to your lap and tucked into your neck to lay down and rock him while you watch some television together. Price is pissed off with the screw ups of another team’s missions? He’ll see you in the middle of the night sitting besides the captain at the table with only a dim light to illuminate the drawn up map he made, curling his arm around your waist as you discuss battle plans with him. Occasionally pointing at a building and making notes of it, giving your own experience s over the years at what angles to shoot at, what weapons are the best at that range, how many men they should deploy at the location as Price drinks his whiskey before kissing your neck gently mid-sentence as you frown, gently pushing his face away to hide the blush arising from your face as he laughs at you.

Everyone does notice the way you tense up when Soap was playing around with you one day to cuddle on the couch, placing his hand underneath your hoodie to hug you closer before you freeze momentarily. Or how you always like to keep your shirt on while helping them with their heats or how you carefully pick apart food before eating it at restaurants or store an abundance of snacks in your drawers. They don’t ask and you are thankful for that. Maybe one day during a drunken stupor but you don’t wish to anytime soon.

For Ghost, well he does not interact with you often. It’s something Price said he expected from the both of you. Too reflections that are eerily similar to one another. It’s discomforting. It still does not stop you from making sure he gets his favorite cup of tea, or maintaining his weapons so they don’t get jammed, or even repairing his ripped balaclavas that got torn in the wash as he watches you sew it back up with a machine. He desperately wants to know everything about you. What makes you tick? What makes you the way you are? He wonders.

The body keeps count when the mind doesn’t.

The last time he and you both got into a heated argument was during your first year together. An insult still too fresh for a healing wound. A fist too close to the face hitting the wall. And a bark louder than his father. Price yelled at the both of you for it once he caught the both of you brawling, he still cleans after both of your injuries. Price somewhat expected it from your pasts, but he expected you both to still be more mature to not start a rumble like a bunch of foolish children. He force the both of you to apologize. It somewhat made the both of you closer after that ordeal. You don’t talk much but you still huff a laugh at his bad jokes in between car rides and make his favorite drinks when he can’t sleep. That’s how you always been. Quiet but caring despite all these years later.

In the fields, you were different from this gentle giant in private. Once that muzzle is placed on, you are back into being Rhino. Roach likes to drag his gloved fingers around the holes of the muzzle and drag you down to kiss the iron cage before each mission. Something about it being good luck before Price gives your task for today’s mission. The others give you pats on your chest and neck scenting you before you leave on your separate way. Ghost simply pats your arm which you take, firmly rubbing your wrist against his shoulder and with everyone else. You always look good geared up in your uniform. He knows in the way their eyes darken as they graze upon your form as they watch the your tight shirt folds over your muscles mesmerized.

Soap gave Gaz shit when you left, smelling the slick running out his ass as he laughs obnoxiously, dodging the light punch heading his way. Gaz points out the fact he does the same once you come home sweaty and dripping in blood to the gasp of his cries while Roach merely watches them from afar, avoiding the crossfire wondering if anyone had found the stash of your jackets he keeps at the bottom of your closet. Price is no better, smoking the pack of his favorite cigars that you got for him while on vacation when he misses you.

While Ghost is still not yet comfortable with asking for your clothes when he’s in heat despite leaving a pile of it at his door, he still cares in his own way because you too care for him and his pack. So when he was searching through your bag one day to find some bandages you said that you keep inside, his fingers graze over a small zipper in the corner of the bag. Suspicious. He opens up the small pocket, he finds a bottle of small pills. Dozens of them in fact. Illegal rut suppressants and many bottles of it, a dose way above the recommend amount from his knowledge of his own heat suppressant. Do you not like them? Why would you not spend your rut with them? Is it something personal with them all? Whatever it is, he does not want to find out what happens when the dosage does not work anymore, what will you resort to other methods in order to hide your medical needs. Hopefully you’ll understand him one day when Ghost hid them into his pockets and drop them off in a random alleyway dumpster in the middle of the night.

And so when a month pasts and the team finds you more stressed than ever before, pacing around the house and searching through the cabinets for something. They team worries, sking you what’s wrong before you turn them away with a shrug. You always smelt of pre-rut, something you say was just part of you now but this was something different, it’s stronger now. It’s your rut, they know it’s coming. So Price orders you to be on break knowing some parts of your condition, you suddenly snarl at him, a surprise to the team before you profusely apologize to him saying you’ll be fine before hiding away in your room.

You didn’t appear for dinner that night, Price helps Gaz with cooking in your absence. The table feels emptier without you and despite rapid knocking at your door to at least eat something, you didn’t answer. Neither for breakfast that morning either. Ghost knows what he did, Price knows because he got interrogated by the captain for your current state, something about him being more distant this past few weeks around you. So with a huff, he makes some calls to get themselves situated before your cycle hits. The others are a bit lost but they can still smell the smothering scent of your rut starting from downstairs, they want you to take your time, to let them in on your own accord. But one too many times of hearing you groan painfully in the depths of your room over the day, they were done. Price going out to garden to get away from the noise only to still hear you hours later but louder. Soap and Gaz occupying themselves in the shed to not be smothered from the smell of your rut triggering their own heat only to hear you whine louder everytime you walk near your door. And Ghost having to hold Roach close before he comes running into your room to console you, his eyes weeping at the thought of you being in pain. The blond could only console the younger omega, kissing his cheeks as all of them can feel themselves growing insane at your cries, eventually convincing to open the keys to your door and there you were…

Clutched into the corner of your closet, they find you looking awfully haggard holding that thin dirty blanket to your chest. A far cry from the imposing alpha they see in uniform. It’s pathetically small against your bulking form. It’s a horrible nest. What a dumb alpha you are, why don’t you let them help you. Can’t you see they love you? Silly thing you are. You can distantly feel the form of hands carefully picking you up from the wooden floorboard, your head is leaning against something’s shoulders. You can hear the clutter of footsteps following behind as you fall once more into the depth of sleep in your rut exhausted brain.

Everything hurts. You hope it will be over soon.

There was distant muttering when you woke up from your nap. Something soft laid beneath you and someone is holding your head up to pour water down your throat, it’s cold and refreshing feeling it against the heat sweltering throughout your body before someone’s hands wipe the droplets dripping down your chin, gently caressing your cheeks as you pant heavily. Blearily you open your heavy eyes to take in the scene around you.

You can smell Price behind you, gently scratching your head with his big hands. You are laid in between his legs, the back of your head resting against his warm chest as he coddles you. An arm wraps around your neck ground you, letting your alpha purr at the thought of covering it in your scent as you nuzzle into his grip. He chuckles hearing you making oh so sweet sounds for him as you purr louder, peering your eyes up to look at his pretty blues before you hiccup, feeling something suddenly warm and wet wrapped around your dick as you squirmed, looking down to see the rest of your pack surrounding you on the nest. A pile of clothes, pillows, and blankets encapsulate every space of your living room from the floor up. The table had been moved to make space for all of you.

Why are they all here? Fuck, it’s your fault isn’t it. You are taking advantage of them, they should had left you alone. Maybe renting a hotel room to avoid them would had been a better cho—

You didn’t get to finish that thought before Gaz leans over to kiss your lips as he roams his tongue deep inside your mouth, thrusting it against the roof of it as you groaned. His hands gently tilts your head to the side for a better angle. Price is still holding onto you, trying to relax you from your worries, his hands had moved to cover your eyes from what’s going on below, gently hushing against your ears to stand still and behave for them.

But it’s hard. It’s terribly hard when you want to desperately please them. You’re terribly whiny and Roach has to stuff his fingers into your mouth to quiet your cries when you slobber all over them. Absolutely drooling at the sound of slick dripping down your legs, you hear Gaz cursing as he shifts his bottom from Soap’s fingers stretching him out. The scraps of the other’s nails digging along his clit makes his squirm and squeeze around Soap’s arms to slow down. Even hissing at him that he’s doing too much before Ghost shoves his fingers beside Soap into his slicked up pussy. Gaz chocks on a moan before he swats them both away with his legs, grumbling at them before Roach replaces you in kissing your face, lathering your face in his spit, you’re theirs, it’s okay to relax. They will take of you, it’s okay. You breathe deeply, your mind is fuzzy from your rut. You listen to them. You can distantly feel someone sinking down your dick making you squirm. It feels too much, everything feels too good and warm around you. You can hear Soap cooing and rubbing his stomach feeling your dick bulge bully his inside before slamming his hips down to meet your own. He yelps, feeling the stretch. Immediately spilling onto your chest. It’s embarrassing for Gaz as much as it was sweet feeling your tail wagging below you, the heat wrapped around you feels comforting. It’s real, it’s soothing. They’re all here. It’s different from the cage. Your head feels clearer, you can finally breathe. All your pack here is around you, they’re safe and taking care of you. You feel someone biting down your neck

Aww, you’re feeling good, they cooed as they watch Gaz gently bounce up and down your hips. God you looked good all flustered for them. You can distantly hear Soap chattering away to Ghost, smoothing your shaky thighs as Ghost lifts Gaz’s hips to rise again. It addicting, you’re being spoiled. Someone is wiping away your sweat, you’re holding someone’s hand and you don’t feel bile rushing through your throat for the first time in a long while. Don’t worry [Y/N]. See they got you, don’t worry about them. See you’re being so good for them aren’t you? Focus on them, focus on them. Look at how good you’re being. What a good boy you’re being for them.

You don’t remember much once the fogginess of rut fades away from your head, your brain feels leaky. There is a buzz spilling out of your ears and there’s nothing more in your world than their whispers around your head. You’re safe. You got a home. Don’t leave them, you’re wonderful. Stay here with them. They love you.

It been a week since you woke up from your rut. Your body feels sore from your five omegas taking care of you. There’s a full feeling in your stomach. Your body is warm. There’s no sound of gunshots outside your door. Your pack is safe. The fridge is full of food, and your heart feels heavy. It’s hurts a bit too good, you reach over to grab Ghost beside you, nuzzling into his neck as you sobbed silently into his back, finally letting the tears from. It’s different now. There’s warmth upon warmth on your skin, a far cry from that cold winter night.

The house breathes.

You too breathe.

#💀…cod #⛓️‍💥…reversedabo #🏠…operation home #male reader #poly141 #john price x reader #ghost x reader #roach x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #top reader #sub top reader #mawlbone’s empty pen #sorry about not replying in the original ask #my writing process is wonky and non-linear

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