#eventual poly 141 x reader

[tbag-hq]

after DAYS of thinking, i disregarded everything i came up with and wrote this in like 30mins LMFAO / full version of this

cw: Illusions to babytrapping, grammer, age gaps, kind of dark reader

header by aquazero

You of course always knew that even after years together, a ring, house, a dog and even know a baby. That even though you're committed enough towards john to give up your freedom for him, you know he might be as committed to you.

Maybe it was the constant deployments, or maybe the feeling that you only had a ring due to familial pressure and the constant hinting that he would get from you.

No matter what it was it's clear now that maybe trying to keep someone who didn't want to be kept (at least by you) was an idea destined for failure, even more so when the key part of the idea included a baby.

John always made sure to be safe, he didn't care for children and that was something made obvious early on, regardless of how many years spent together even just the thought of having kids offput him, even more so with the knowledge that he spent more of his time working then anything else.

He wasn't exactly in his prime either, pushing his mid 40's was something that also contributed to your own thoughts, over the years you've seen friends and cousins start families, you could admit you felt envious.

Just seeing, holding, and babysitting the kids caused a dark sense of resentfulness to make it's way inside of you, you had seen many stories of girl's 'accidently' forgetting to take their birth control which resulted in pregnancies and love filled marriages.

At some point after your own birth control had seemed to 'slip' your mind, you had fully convinced yourself that it was healthier for your own body to stop taking it at all.

You of course didn't want john to know as the last time you had tried to convince him that birth control was bad for the body and that john "Probably couldn't produce kids anymore anyways."

He wasn't to excited to hear you reinforce his own insecurities of being to old for you, after that argument it took a little over a week of apologies, favors, and sex to make it up to him.

After the seed of a baby was planted inside your head, you stopped birth control and decided to not actively try and get pregnant but let nature take it's course, that course being condoms with tiny holes in them.

And when it finally happened, although you had to act devastated and as if your life had just been ruined, inside you were jumping for joy at the prospect of your little family of three, you know if only that had actually been the case.

If only you had seen the signs, the quietness from him as you talked about the life growing inside of you, the way his stuff slowly made it's way out of your house and into someone else's.

If only you had noticed his weird behavior before waking up one day three months into your pregnancy to john price and all of his things gone.

[screamingforests]

Cat shifter reader au

The sick chapter, uhhh reader is referred to as "it" but its not meant to be dehumanizing, im just tryna keep it gender neutral

~

You had caught the flu. And it sucked. Being sick as a cat was 100% harder, especially because the experiments ran on you left your immune system weaker than usual. Usually, you would hide beneath a dumpster and ride out the worst of it or hide in your tiny apartment that you barely lived in.

But now you couldn't do either. You were trapped within the house of the four men who had all but abducted you.

You'd been hiding beneath Soap's - or Johnny as "Ghost" called him - bed. He was, surprisingly, the least touchy with you. It was something you appreciated after living so long alone.

Johnny, Soap, whatever, had heard you sniffling late into the night and heard you heaving the next morning. When he couldn't coax you from beneath the bed for even water, he got concerned.

So he left the room to round up the others.

"I think the cat's sick."

"Can't we just take it to the vet?" John asked. "They can give meds for it, can't they?"

Ghost chimes in, "that wouldn't be an awful idea except-"

"It bites us every time we get too close," Gaz finishes, nodding. "What about using a towel to grab it?"

Soap sputters at that and it delves.

Meanwhile, you were almost crying beneath the bed. You were shifting rapidly from human to cat form because neither form could take the sickness. The rapid shifting sapped what little energy you had left.

You could hardly stop the soft, pained meow that left your throat. Every movement made your body ached and for once, you wanted to ride it out in your human form but you couldn't.

Not with the military men outside the door, still arguing about taking you to the vet or not. Who knew if they'd turn you into the government to be returned?

The thought made you shudder.

Finally, the arguing dies down, and the door opens. There's a shuffle of feet, but you're fading in and out of consciousness.

You hiss softly as you see several items get pushed underneath the bed. A cat bed, when did they get that?, and a bowl of water. Some soft cat-food soon followed.

Then Ghost gets on the floor and peers under the bed to look at you.

"You better get well, cat, you're worrying Johnny."

You growl but move to curl up on the softer cat bed. It was better than the cold floor.

~

The next morning, you awake to being shuffled around. Someone was pulling on the cat bed, but you were far too fever addled to care. You should've.

Before you know it, Gaz is lifting you up and setting you on the bed.

You sneeze and look around blearily, something feels off.

You shifted back into your human form while asleep.

The shock of it makes you shift back and scramble towards the open window. Gaz isn't quite fast enough to stop you. Fear pushes you further.

But you're too sick to really go far, but you find a decent hiding place. You practically collapse into it as your consciousness is stolen from you.

[lushrve]

hockeyteam!141 x figureskater!reader

cause who doesn't want the image of these boys all sweaty and bloody in hockey gear (also i haven't mastered writing in a scottish or manchester accent yet so don't come for me)

you’re a figure skater, something you’ve devoted your whole life since childhood to. over the years, you’ve honed your craft, becoming one of the best in your area. you do well enough at competitions; not olympic material, but skilled enough to bring home a state title every now and again. you take pride in the way your body glides across the ice, painting pretty pictures with each scrape of the blade of your skate. it’s methodical, structured, clean. if you close your eyes, you can almost pretend you’re dancing on clouds.

it’s a small town and there’s only one ice rink for miles, so of course you run into the local hockey team practicing and warming up for matches. you don’t know most of them (don’t care to, frankly), but some are more notorious than others.

the team captain and center, price, the tactical mind behind their victories. from the few games you’ve watched them play, you can tell that he calls the shots. you watch as he sits on the bench, watching his teammates rush back and forth across the ice. it’s like he sees beyond the game. sometimes, you see him close his eyes, like he’s seeing a play take shape in his head, before calling out to the others and making it happen. they always listen, his booming baritone too compelling to disregard. (that voice made you feel something too, but you didn’t want to admit it.)

then there was a defenseman, simon. you just knew him as “riley” by the last name emblazoned on the back of his jersey. but if you listened closely (and you did), his teammates called him ghost. it didn’t take you very long to find out why. ghost was a large man, all broad shoulders and hard lines. he preferred the silent approach to taking down an opponent, slamming them against the boards before they could even register the sound of his skates scraping the ice. he played dirty, your eyes often meeting his when the referee threw him in the penalty box. (he winked at you once as he cleaned some blood from his lip, fresh from a fight. you pretended not to notice.)

left wing belonged to johnny, a scottish man they called soap. he got his nickname from his assist record, always coming in to clean up what price or ghost or another teammate had fumbled to lead his team to victory. he was quick on his feet, but brutal. while ghost was the primary muscle, soap wasn’t afraid to get physical if someone was coming between him and a goal. soap was also mouthy, chirping in his thick accent across the ice to get in the other team’s head. half the things he said, you don’t understand. hell, the other team probably didn’t either. but the tone was what mattered. (he leaned over the plexiglass after a solid win, personally inviting you back to their next home game. you blushed crimson.)

right wing was kyle. by far the prettiest one on the team, you thought. he’d take his helmet off as he skated back to the bench, running a hand through his sweat-soaked curls. the sight of him was like a work of art, a canvas brutalized by the nature of an aggressive team sport. he wasn’t as quick to get physical as the others were, but the moment everyone dogpiled on the ice, he was right there in the fray, throwing punches that landed just as loud and hard as the rest of them. the way he moved on the ice almost reminds you of your routines, careful and choreographed. he knew exactly where he was going, and he always hit his marks. (you wondered if he always moved like that, wondered if he danced through life.)

ghost and soap approached you after a win, coming up into the stands after they’d stripped themselves of their gear. while soap looked a bit smaller after shedding the heavy padding, ghost didn’t. still a hulking wall of muscle. “oughta sit in the stands mo’ often, birdie,” soap chirped, a smug smile on his face as he leaned on his hockey stick. “y’r like a good luck charm fer us.” you blushed pretty, averting your eyes and missing the way the two men looked at each other. you’d do just nicely, they thought. ghost cleared his throat, your eyes snapping up to him like he’d commanded it. (he could’ve. you would’ve obeyed.) “when d’you skate again?” he asked, arms crossed over his expansive chest.

“y’ve seen us in our element. now we wanna see you in y’rs.”

[meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender]

Summary: You had only wanted to petition the god of summer for rain to ease the drought. Locked away for your crimes, the god of summer, Johnny comes to your aid to set all things right. Eventual Poly 141.

A/N: Please comment and reblog. Thank you to @ethereal-night-fairy and @wildflower-and-honey for feeding my brain worms. I love you both and cannot thank y'all enough <3 Thank you, @saradika, for the beautiful dividers I use in everything. @itsagrimm it would feel wrong not to tag you in something I had written.

CW: (18+) Children begone! PIV smut, swearing, a Dyslexic wrote this, Religious Kinks, some violence. Let me know if I missed anything!

NO AI

Leave a comment and reblog!

Even on a summer night, wrapped in darkness and starlight, sweat insisted on gathering at your temples. The fire cracked as you added your willow bark and woven cattails to the flames, praying to the god of summer, Johnny, for rain. You anxiously rubbed your arm over your beloved leaves' trellising along your arms, watching the embers' pops fall on dead grass as you stood beside your bucket of dirty water. Crispy and dry, shriveled and withered, the once green leaves of the oaks looked yellow, some falling away to join the dusty ground below. When you traveled to the lake to gather your offering, the water seemed putrid, mostly evaporated, leaving muddy banks to dry in the heat. It reeked a musk so awful; you wondered how even the fish stood it.

Come harvest, the looming hunger would cause an instability you feared. If the tradespeople hadn’t food, your people would not have even a foraged berry; the livestock not a blade of grass to chew.

“The council of elders dictated no fires, little lady.”

You jumped, turning to face Phillip Graves, your neighbor and ever-faithful watchdog for Elder Sheppard. Clutching the fabric of your dress, you licked your lips before tilting your chin up.

“Someone had to appeal to the gods about the drought. Or does the council think they can strong-arm the clouds to gather?” You bit. Pressing your lips together as Elder Sheppard followed behind his dog.

“My mother used to wear the robes of a priestess. I find it odd you wear those robes as well when the last of them burned with her body,” Sheppard noted.

The body of the last holy woman, who had mysteriously burnt to death in her home as her son had conveniently been away, was found with chains tethered to her body. Your family had always insinuated it was Sheppard who had murdered his mother and tried to cover it up, but there was no proof, no investigation.

Power begets power without hesitancy, and nothing made Sheppard hesitate.

“They were a gift, Elder-”

“Stolen or forged items ain’t gifts, little lady,” Phillip interrupted. He moved to stand beside you, circling you wolfishly. His grin never seemed to fit his face, always too small for proportion, a liar in disguise—a mutt of deception.

“How dare you imply such things about my character without proof?” You hissed, hands coming to clutch your skirts.

Phillip lurched forward, grabbing your arm. He tore your sleeve from your dress, the fabric popping at the delicate seams. You stepped back, only for him to hold your arm still in a grip that dimpled skin and muscle. Pain simmered below his touch, dancing with the fear curling in your throat. Philip glared at the tendrils of silver scars blessed to you by Kyle, god of Spring.

If Sheppard killed his mother, what would keep him from murdering you?

“Are there more marks?” the elder inquired, hooking a finger under your belt with a tug to suggest removing the garment altogether. 

Enraged, you smacked his hand, retrieving your arm from Phillip’s death grip, “My body is none of your concern!”

“The safety of the village comes before you!” Graves sneered, yanking your skirts towards him until you toppled forward. His hands moved to your hips, and you shoved at him until his hand came sharply against your cheek, the sting of the slap making you gasp.

Phillip… had hit you. Your eyes stung with tears as you grappled against him, shoving your elbows and hands anywhere near his body until you were free, only to be pulled back by Sheppard.

“I think it’s time for you to learn your lesson on hearsay, foolish girl,” Shepard hissed. “The gods are unkind to those who take liberties.”

“I’ve found favor with them. Cannot learn a lesson that is not there,” you quaked. From the corner of your eye, Philip pulled his dagger from his belt, flipping the hilt. With one quick flash, he struck your temple, leaving you crumpled into the cracked, dusty ground.

The moonbeams blurred the walls covered in cobwebs, revealing a thin layer of dust on the floor. Your beloved temple once stood as the prized gem of your people, welcoming all to a haven of peace and community. Pushing into a sitting position, the room tilted like the waves of the rushing river. The darkness of the windowless temple entryway echoed with the dry summer winds, carrying nothing but the singing yearning of water from the plants.

Shepard and Graves deserved to be hung on the oak for treason against the gods, the people, and yourself. Your arms, once covered in Kyle’s beautiful marks, claiming you as beloved of spring, now were dotted with drying scratches and swollen welts of discolored skin from their harsh treatment.

“Happy summer solstice, I guess,” You huffed, slowly hobbling to your feet, using the locked door to bear your weight as the spinning room settled again.

There were worse prisons to be had than a dusty temple. At least in the dusty temple, you were safe and alone from those who wanted you dead. You furrowed your brow and pushed off of the wall, heading deeper into the holy rooms. If they had wanted you dead, they should have stabbed you.

“Gods help me,” you huffed, sitting on a bench along the hallway leading to the offering room. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against the wall, feeling a touch of a headache thump harder against your skull.

“You called Fawn?” 

You cracked open your eyes to see a man standing at the threshold of the altar room, beams of fire light flickering from the once dark room. He stood on his toes, seemingly bursting with energy, trying to go. Where he wanted to go, who knew? Perhaps he didn’t know himself? 

“Johnny?” You guessed, gazing at the god of summer. His blue eyes glittered like gems as he nodded. 

“As smart as you are, bonny, ain’t ya?” he teased, coming closer. Standing before you, he narrowed his eyes, moving your jaw to examine your temple. “Ach, that will do. What happened?”

“Got in trouble for trying to petition for your favor. Tore my dress and all,” you huffed. “Now I'm locked in here. I'm sure I can get out through the window in the east corridor if I break it.”

Johnny chuckled, holding your chin in both hands as he ran his thumb over your temple, smearing the blood. A breath of warmth trickled from his hand, allowing the skin to stitch together. Your eyes fluttered closed as you soaked in the warmth. 

“You could. Or you can stay the night with me,” Johnny teased. “Feel better, Fawn?” He questioned, leaning down to place a kiss on the healed skin. Your face warmed, suddenly bashful of his affection. 

“If you want, I’ll spend the night, Johnny,” You muttered as his nose brushed your cheek.

“Nae, spend it if ye want. If ye did nae want to, don’t. I want our Fawn to be comfortable above all.” He gave a bright grin before leaping to his feet and stepping back. Rocking on his feet, he tucked his hands in his pockets.

“I am comfortable with you. I wouldn’t accept it if I weren’t.” You stood, slipped your hand in his, and followed him into the offering room.

The offering room, dressed in old tapestries covered in dust and neglect, still looked magnificent and of the wealth the gods deserved to be honored with. The wealth came in the delicate hand-spun embroidery lace that decorated tables, and in the hair-line needlepoint stitches one of your ancestors had sewn into the tapestries. It was in the richly dyed fabrics of floor cushions and pillows, the foraged metal bowls with intricate silver detailing that held fruits Johnny fed you with.

Fruits that he summoned after you had explained the drought and how you ended up locked in the holy shelter. You chewed on your berry, leaning against him as he pulled you to his side once you sat. The god of the West absentmindedly brushed your arm or hand like he couldn’t help it, needing your skin like a lifeline. He looked at you similarly, leaning forward as you spoke, quietly nodding or humming under his breath, staring at you like you spoke words of newfound wisdom that were important to him. Words he held deep in his heart.

“I am sorry. You might think these problems in the village bellow you, as a god,” You murmured, bashful under his intensity. Setting your meal of fruits and other delicacies aside by your water glass, you let the god pull you into his side once more. “Drought and intrapersonal strife are not new in this world- certainly won’t end anytime soon either.”

“I ken what ye mean, Fawn,” Johnny kissed your hair as you turned into his chest, more so laying on top of the god. His hand slid down to your back, continually moving. “But Kyle was the one to start the drought. These are not normal climate patterns or political drama; they come from us because we protect ours. And you are ours, no?”

You blinked, lifting your chin to look him in the eyes. You understood the gods had wanted you. You wanted the gods in return. But the gods came and went with the seasons, only able to be in the village one at a time, Kyle had once told you. Not all gods were as peaceful as the four who loved and cherished one another. Allowing the gods to gather in groups in mortal lands would destroy people, animals, and the Earth.

“Have I not dedicated my life to the service of the gods?” You questioned. “I belong to you, but you are a god- gods. You cannot belong to me, a mortal.”

Soap hummed, kissing your forehead before saying, “Willne stop us from being loyal to ye. But you need to ask for help, Fawn. We canne help without mortal consent. If either of those haughty bastards lay a hand on ye again,” He tipped your chin up and brushed his nose against yours as he spoke. “I’ll kill them myself. I’ll hunt down their soul in the other world and kill it until nothing is left of them or their legacy.”

A breath caught in your throat. The god of Summer was serious, bluntly stating how he would end the most immortal parts of a human for you. You opened your mouth once, twice, three times to find the correct words to thank him, but it did not matter. His lip quirked into a smirk, knowing he had rendered you speechless. You scoffed quietly in disbelief yourself, smiling, as you reached forward and kissed him, crawling into his lap.

“Mmf, Kyle dinne say you were this eager,” Johnny teased between kisses, eagerly pulling at your hips to be closer.

“I learned it from Kyle,” You giggled, tugging the hem of your skirts to straddle the god of the West. Johnny laughed, finding his hands beneath your skirts, slithering to knee the softest parts of your legs and hips.

“That I believe, but no more eager than me. Might say he learned it from me, Fawn,” He muttered between kisses along your neck until his hands slid to your ass, groping you while pulling you forward, cunt flush with his aching cock. You inhaled sharply, looping your arms around his neck as you gave a gentle rock of your hips.

“Go on, Fawn, take what ye need,” Soap encouraged, pulling your robes from your body with reverence for the material and laying it on the floor with care. His eyes flickered to your breasts, hands itching up to cup your breasts as he mouthed at your nipple. Closing your eyes, your hips continued their gentle grind as he licked and sucked and nipped your skin. His hips started to roll, his cock pulsing under your slick heat.

“Wanna ride you, Johnny,” You muttered as you slid your hand to his cock, stroking him with slow, twisting motions. The god tilted his head forward, resting it on your neck as he groaned.

“Ye could ask to kill me, and I would say yes,” He chuckled.

“Wouldn’t want that. Whose pretty cock would I get to sit on, then?” You giggled. “Besides, you’re not the one I want dead.” Rising to your knees, Johnny moved his hands to your hips and leaned back to watch you sink on him with a groan.

“Ye, ye want someone dead?” Johnny cursed as he throbbed inside of your slick pussy.

“Thought it was obvious, darling,” You breathed, letting your hips come flush to his thighs.

Legs settling to his sides, you sat there momentarily, soaking in the feeling of being connected to the god. He radiated heat, chest pressing against your own until your hearts beat a wild back and forth, call and response. His hand slid along your spine as the other cupped your cheek to bring your lips to his.

Just as it had been with John and Kyle, when the sun rose, and the village awoke, so too would Johnny leave. The infinite curtain of the universe had once separated your two worlds of divinity and morality. Still, it had been risen for you to peek into, touching and tasking the tremendous edges of the divine.

“I adore you,” You whispered against his lips. “Come what may in the morning, I adore you.”

“Then fuck me like you mean it, Fawn,” Johnny teased, smirking. “Move those hips, Gaz won’t shut up about.” He smacked your ass, making you squeak and jolt, but his hands pushed your hips back down. Moaning, you tangled your hands in his hair as he bent his head to play with your tits.

“Fuck, Johnny,” You gasped as he moved a hand to your clit, following the tilt of your pelvis until that familiar heat simmered in your abdomen.

“Feel good, Fawn? Yer choking my cock, love.” Bending his knees, he planted a hand behind himself as an anchor and thrust his hips up, taking the breath from your lungs. Since he couldn’t rub your clit anymore, you rubbed yourself, clenching tighter and tighter as the heat in your body rose.

“Our good little mortal,” Johnny groaned. “So pretty dressed in her robes Price gifted you. Bet you would be prettier spread out on my altar, huh? Dripping on the cloth as I watch you gift me orgasms.”

“I,” You whined at a harsher thrust, hips chasing his for more.

“Dinne fash, Fawn. We all will get our orgasms from you, altar or not. You’re too beautiful not to be blissed out before us.”

Your body tightened. Wetness gushed around his cock as you came unexpectedly from his mouth. Your eyelids blurred with black and white streaks as blood rushed to your head. In all of it was Johnny’s steady thrusts and your slowing rubs, dragging you through your orgasm. Johnny grunted and came, watching his cum spurt along your folds.

You both laid back on the floor to catch your breaths, Johnny’s cock still standing at attention. Brushing your head down to the ends of your hair, he kissed you gently.

“We adore you too, Fawn. So much,” Johnny whispered. “Orgasms on our altar or not,” He joked.

“Well, that’s good. I’m sure plenty of women in the village would offer it if they knew.”

“Wouldne want them, just yours. Few in your village believe like you do. We don’t care for offerings made out of obligation.” Johnny stretched his arms up, bracketing them behind his head. “Price is thinking of how to set things right in your village. But it is difficult.”

“A good many things in life are difficult,” You agreed. “It just depends on the price you are willing to pay for peace.”

It came about Wednesday morning. You had escaped the temple days before with help from the god of Summer to find your home, thankfully untouched by the elders or their dogs. Remaining in your home or the wilds of the woods, clouds slowly gathered. Soap visited you as he could with gifts of food to sustain you and other necessities, so you did not have to go to market, but the darkness gathered.

When the storms came, winds carried the dust like leaves, pelting rocks at your walls. Thunder cracked open the skies and earth, shaking the home’s foundations. You prayed through the storm, thanking the god of summer for rain and praying that your village would not be flooded.

Most said it was an unfortunate coincidence when Phillip Graves’ home got struck and sparked like kindling.

Some said his home alight in the rain was as moving as the dawn of a new day, a reminder of nature’s might.

The smoldering embers of Phillip Graves’ home told another story as they pointed to the West, marking this as the divine punishment for his despicable behavior. That night, when Johnny entered your home, he gifted you a small cloth bag of charcoal, promising you the gods were not done working in your village.

Me again! Hope y'all enjoyed. Don't forget to comment/reblog.

If anyone knows how to format here, could you tell me how to get an extra space between paragraphs? Having everything scrunched together is driving me nuts. When I try manually, the format reverts to the original. Any tips/tricks are welcome :)

[lushrue]

hockeyteam!141 x figureskater!reader pt 2!

part 2 of this au finally! i'm so glad people like it! comment if you wanna be added to the taglist, already planning pt 3 so there will be more where this came from 💗

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9

your name was announced through the loudspeaker as you skated onto the ice, all covered in sequins and polyester. you’d always thought it was a little bit silly, the conventions around figure skating costumes. that fit that Margot Robbie threw in I, Tonya about the ridiculousness of it? yeah, you’d had a moment like that once or twice. the rough fabric scratched your arms, the glint of the sequins drew focus away from your expressions. but you still felt elegant as you set your mark at center ice, hitting your starting pose in the silence before the music began.

breathe in, breathe out. focus. momentum is everything, remember your character, focus going into your jumps.

in the moment before your routine started, you flicked your eyes up and scanned the crowd. it was something that you’d done ever since your first routine that you took to competition. usually, you were looking for your parents, their smiling faces and the flash of your mom’s digital camera. now, though, it became more curiosity, finding a spot to let your eyes settle when you weren’t looking at the judges’ table. it was then that you saw them. four big, brutish hockey players sat shoulder to shoulder in the stands. the one with the mohawk (soap, you remembered) lifted his hand to wave at you, only for the man beside him (kyle, you guessed from this distance) to swat it down.

the shock must have played out on your face, because you saw price smirk as your music began playing. you let the sound seep into your bones and just like that, it all melted away and you skated.

…

the four of them watched pretty intently for the first few seconds of your routine. price was focused on the placement of your body, how you kept your center of gravity in the middle at all times. he had to admire how precise you were in your movements, like you knew the physics behind all of it. for all he knew, you did. he could tell you were skilled and he liked that about you. talent recognizes talent, or however the saying goes.

kyle was simply admiring your choice of music. Moonlight Sonata, though basic, was like black coffee, he thought. a classic choice that never really got old, but so many things could be added to it to make it new and exciting. and watching you skate to it, he felt like he’d never heard it before. he watched your face more than anything else. you were so expressive, a story playing out in your eyes, and he soaked it all up. it was like reading a novel, and this one was a page-turner.

ghost was watching the lines of your body. it was like you were painting the air as you moved, each flick of the wrist and lift of the leg deliberate and purposeful. it all served to make a pretty picture. every now and again, he’d look at the thin lines your skates left on the ice, the swirls and curves detailing everywhere you’d been. much prettier than the harsh notches he left behind when he stepped out of the rink, he thought. just like you, they were delicate.

soap was far less interested in the artistry or skill of it and more focused on you. the way your hair moved as you spun on the ice, the way your costume clung to your skin. he couldn’t even act as if he wasn’t watching disrespectfully, thinking of what your body might look like under the spandex and sparkles. you lifted your leg and began spinning, and soap thought he might keel over right then and there. ghost nudged him as he adjusted himself on the bench, a silent gesture that told him to behave.

johnny gestured to price behind kyle’s back, getting his attention. “didn’t i tell ya, cap? a right beaut, that one,” he said, earning himself a flick to the head from ghost. price chuckled, turning his attention back to where you were winding up for a jump. two turns in the air and you landed perfectly. he knew you would, you talented thing. “yeah. a beaut,” price responded, a small smile curving his lips.

...

you skated remarkably, in your opinion. it was a relatively simple routine, but with every completed skate, regardless of skill level, came a sense of accomplishment. as you hit your ending pose, you made eye contact with your hockey players in the stands again. ghost’s face was unreadable from this distance, but you caught the pleased expressions of the other three as they clapped for you. soap had a glint in his eyes that spelled mischief and made something in your stomach tighten. kyle was looking at you like the artist you perceived yourself to be, almost how you imagined someone would look at their favorite painting. and price’s face had pride written all over it. you caught an almost imperceptible nod from him, as if to say well done.

you bowed to both sides of the rink and skated off the ice, a performer’s smile on your lips. it wasn’t entirely fake, not like it had been at some competitions. this time, it was born of the idea that four of the men you’d been watching, nay, pining after for a month were finally turning their attentions to you. for the first time in a while, you wondered what someone besides the judges thought of your routine. the worst part was, you needed them to like it. you felt the intense need to please them, keep them coming back for more.

the four of them found you in line for the concessions, grabbing a hot chocolate to soothe your cold bones in between programs. your free skate was coming up next and you knew you’d need a little pick-me-up before then. as you thanked the high schooler who’d poured your drink, you turned to walk away and almost collided with a wall of solid muscle. price, you’d realize as you looked up. “told ya we wanted to see ya, bonnie!” soap’s voice chirped from behind the broad shoulders of the team captain.

you glanced around him, noticing kyle and ghost stood off to the side. kyle was all polite smiles and ghost looked as though he was aware of how much space he was taking up, supremely uncomfortable as people brushed past him. soap was stood off to the other side of price, arms crossed over his chest. then your eyes turned up to the captain himself, feeling a sense of pride radiating off of him. you weren’t sure why; this was a man who barely knew you. but it made your stomach flutter all the same. “good performance you put on out there, love,” he said, the rumble of his baritone voice more compelling when it was directed at you. you’d seen the boys scramble to follow his orders before during a game, but you’d thought it was just his rank on the team. no, you realized, it was definitely the voice.

“thank you,” you replied sheepishly, clutching the warm styrofoam cup in your icy fingers. “i’m glad you all liked it.” kyle spoke up, stepping a bit closer to where you stood. “liked it? i loved it! you’ll have to tell me more about how you choreographed it, the musicality was insane!” “easy, garrick,” ghost’s voice rumbled from where he stood, a bit muffled by the black surgical mask. “don’t wan’ to scare off our pretty bird.” oh, you could get used to that. you spoke up, your eyes flicking between the four of them. “actually, i still have another program to skate.” you hesitated, almost worried you were being too forward. but then you continued. why not live a little, take some risks? “if you all wanted to stay, that is.”

you didn’t have to tell them twice.

taglist: @cadotoast

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch4

Description: chapter 4 - I’m not entirely sure if this is any good. I need to go through and edit it but I’ll do that when I’m closer to knowing what’s actually gonna happen 🤣 we will wait and see! I’ve posted this on ao3 as well - same username and title. I love Wes Anderson, hence the Isle of Dogs theme. Feel that it fits the theme of this fic too. Anyhoo..

I allow Gaz to lead me to a well lit room. It looks like some sort of living area. Comfortable sofas and carpeted floors. This was totally foreign to me after my time spent in the facility. I felt so out of place. I flit my gaze to Gaz who must notice my discomfort or awkwardness, and he beckons at me to sit down on the sofa. I am still zipped up inside his warm jacket, which smells of a warm vanilla scent mixed with some variation of citrus fruit.. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it is comforting and calming. I try not to make it obvious that I am taking in his scent.

The others are already situated in their seats. I feel all of their eyes itching into my skin. I shrink back into myself again. The pack Alpha, their Captain, clears his gruff throat before speaking. "We have received information from Laswell. She has found your file and is going to send it over as soon as it is secured in the system.. she has told us you are not a direct threat to us. Is this correct, Laika? Can we trust you?"

I feel like scoffing at him. Me? Can they trust me? It's almost laughable that a pack of four huge Alpha's think that I, a drugged, undesignated girl, could threaten them. Not to mention that I am not in the best of shape due to lack of nutrition and poor sleeping habits. "Well..?" he prompts. I met his gaze for the first time since they'd found me. "I pose no threat to you or your pack members, Captain" - I decide to address him officially as pack Alpha. He stands a little straighter than he was before, obviously happy with my answer. I feel a sense of relief wash over me before dropping my gaze back to the floor.

A growl echoes through the silence, the others all looking between each other to find the source of the sound. Their eyes land on me. I can feel my face redden under their scrutiny - my stomach is the source of the growl. "S-sorry" I stutter anxiously. Gaz steps forward slowly and smiles down at me. "C'mon, let's go and get some food. I could eat too." He nods towards the left and I follow the motion with my eyes and see an open door to what looks like a kitchen. I stand up nervously and follow Gaz, taking the widest possible route around the masked man and Soap, still not trusting them.

I step into the kitchen area and Gaz opens the fridge and inspects the contents. "What d'ya like?" he asks. I shrug. "Not really eaten much since- since I've been their asset.. I-I used to like soup though.." - "Soup? Let me check the cupboards. Think we've got tomato.." He moves around the kitchen smoothly, opening and closing cupboards when he doesn't find what he is looking for. I stand in the corner quietly, trying to avoid getting in the way. "C'mere" he beckons me over - "tomato or chicken?" he nods to a stack of four tins -two of each flavour- stacked neatly in the overhead cupboard. "J-just whatever is spare will be nice. Th-thanks" I whisper. "C'mon, love, try to stop being so shy with me.. you can trust me, even if you aren't sure about my packmates yet, yeah? I promise you they're good men underneath their tough exteriors.." he tries to convince me. "S-sorry.. I'll try harder" I murmur. I decide to try and be bold - I step closer to him and look over his shoulder into the cupboard to inspect the tins of soup. "Tomato would be nice.." I utter quietly. Gaz's smile is instant. It lights up the entire room, my eyes drawn to it. Wow - he had beautiful teeth. Sharp canines, gleaming white.. It reminded me that my teeth had been neglected - only able to brush them a couple of times a week when they allowed me to shower. I suddenly find myself feeling self-conscious. I haven't even properly looked in a mirror for at least a year..

I step back again, feeling a little anxious after my inner thoughts had caught up with me. Damn him and his big, perfect smile. And his deep, kind eyes. "How buttery do you want your bread?" The question snaps me out of it. "Butter?.. uhm.. same as you?" I question my own answer. "I've not had butter for ages. Just stale or mouldy bread.." I admit. He sighs sadly, but immediately tries to cheer me up. "You should see how Soap takes his bread. I swear he would use an entire block of butter per slice if he could. It's gross" he says jokingly. I release the smallest giggle at that. He is smiling so brightly now that he knows that he successfully made me laugh. My defences drop for a split second thanks to the growing comfort I am feeling in Gaz's presence, and my mouth blurts out before I can catch it "they scare me..”

Gaz snaps his gaze back down to mine - "What? Who? Soap..? He is harmless" - "and the masked one" I add blushing, anxiously. "That's Ghost - the masked one. He can take a while to warm up to strangers.. he won't hurt you though. Promise" he reassures me. My eyes follow his hand closely as he gently places it on my shoulder, attempting to comfort me, I assume. I try not to tense up or flinch at the soft touch. I just stare at his hand until he slowly withdraws it. I jump slightly when the microwave dings. Gaz pours the soup into a bowl and hands it to me with a plate full of buttered bread. I stand there confused, just staring at the food that I am holding.

"C'mon, hope you don't mind eating on the sofa. We usually just eat off our laps.." he shrugs. "It smells nice.." I compliment, following him as he holds the kitchen door open for me seeing as I had my hands full. I, once again, take the widest route around Soap and Ghost.. I sit down at the very end of the sofa and wait for Gaz to sit in the place next to me, subconsciously using him as a barrier to the outside room.

"What did Gaz make you for tea, lass?" the rich Scottish voice chirped. I jump in my seat slightly. I quietly respond "Tomato soup" without looking at him, remaining hidden behind Gaz's body. Soap leans forward and looks right at me "Smells delicious. Any leftovers, Gaz?" he asks. "Make your own... tins are in the cupboard" - "Awkt, but you made her some.." - "I'm not microwaving soup for you, Soap, piss of mate" - "Fuck sake, ya prick, though we were supposed to be packmates.." The duo go back and forward like this in a light hearted tone for a couple of minutes. "I - I don't mind letting you have this.." I offer anxiously, shakily holding my plate out towards Gaz, feeling guilty that I'd taken their food.

Gaz gently guides the plate back into my lap. "Don't be silly, bug, you haven't even started it and you haven't eaten properly for ages. Get eating!" He instructs, I listen - ever obedient. I gently lift the spoon to my mouth and slurp the soup into my mouth. I swear it's the best thing I've ever tasted. I hum quietly to myself. Unbeknownst to me, Gaz and Soap are watching me with a fond smile on their faces. I eat about half of the bowl, and a slice of bread before feeling utterly stuffed. I slowly lift my gaze from the food and glance at Gaz. "I can't eat any more.." I whisper. "You sure? You've not eaten much.." - "I'm full.." I reassure him. Soap suddenly sits forward in his seat again, making me shrink back slightly again. "Ya done, Lass?" - "mmhmm" I murmer shyly - "Here, hand it over then!" he says keenly. Before I can even process his words, he has leant over Gaz and stolen the bowl and plate from me and was groaning in pleasure at the taste. I blush slightly, embarrassed, that he hasn't even replaced the spoon I had been using. "For fuck sake, Soap, you know she's jumpy. Tone it down a bit - yeah?" Gaz suggests to Soap. "Aye, sorry just starvin' - Sorry wee'yin" he gobbles around a mouthful of bread. I just stare at the scene in front of me, lost for words.

With warm food in my belly for the first time in forever, I start feeling sleepy. I slowly unzip Gaz's jacket, now that I'm warm again, and hand it back to him. "Thanks.." I whisper, placing it on his lap. Gaz tries not to show his disappointment that you are no longer wearing his jacket - his scent. "Are you wanting me to show you to the spare room? Think it's set up ready to use.." he offers. "If that's ok.. I - I don't want to be a hassle.." - "None of that, now.. C'mon, follow me."

I stand and follow obediently again. I enter the hallway after Gaz. The walls are wallpapered with a white floral pattern. It's light and airy. Gaz walks up a set of stairs to an upper level, I follow him closely. He stops on the upper landing and points to the left hallway. "It's the second door on the right. You'll have your own bathroom too." I nod and hesitate before walking independently down the hallway, feeling a little insecure, but deciding to be brave anyway. I get to the door and slowly twist the door handle. I glance back at Gaz who just nods and turns to go back down stairs to join the rest of his pack.

I step into the room and take stock of everything in it. The walls are covered in blue and white striped wallpaper. There is a window on the back wall of the room. I check out the bathroom which is to the right hand side of the room - it has a shower, sink and a toilet, with another smaller window behind it. I step back into the main room and look at the bed. I hesitate before slowly lowering myself down on it. It's soft. I should feel comfortable, but instead I feel exposed. Unsafe. I decide to look around the bathroom again, digging through the cupboards to see what I could use. I find a few toothbrushes, still in the packs, so I remove one and hurry to brush my teeth. It's funny how such a small bit of self care can make me feel cleaner. I decide to strip from my filthy clothes and step into the shower. I turn the water on, accidentally blasting myself with freezing water before it started to heat up. I don't even squeal, being all too accustomed to cold showers. I do, however, moan when the water starts to heat up. I check out all of the soaps and products on the rack in the shower. It all looks like male stuff but I don't care. I absolutely lather myself in it. I repeat it several times over. Lather. Rinse. Lather. Rinse. And so on...

I finally step from the shower when my skin starts to wrinkle. I haven't felt this clean since - well - probably ever! The wall of steam floods the bedroom when I leave the bathroom. I get myself dry and search the chest of drawers for something clean to sleep in. From the looks of the contents inside, it looks like standard military style clothing. I find some dark joggers and a khaki t-shirt. I quickly dress, finding myself having to seriously tighten the drawstring around my waist of the trousers and roll the sleeves up of the long sleeved t-shirt. I climb into bed and pull the covers tightly around me. I toss and turn before finally dozing off.

*Gaz's POV*

I show her the directions to the room she is to stay in, deciding to stay back and let her check it out for herself. Soap had stayed in that room a few nights ago when he pissed everyone off so badly, Ghost decided to punish him by throwing him out of the pack bed for the night. I just hope he had left it clean enough for her. I walk downstairs to the rest of my pack. I sit back down in my space next to Soap, who immediately chucks his legs over me, to rest them on my lap. I massage his legs for him, making him purr. I smile softly at my pack mate.

Price speaks up then. "Kyle - what's going on with the girl then..?" - "She's scared.. terrified. Fuck knows what they've done to her but none of it has been good. I think she is warming up to me though" I reply. He nods in agreement. "Kate sent over her file. It looks like she's been tortured and drugged to comply. Her designation is unknown - but she has been the asset behind all four of the most recent Makarov hits. And several before these too, before we were called up, so she certainly isn't as harmless as she makes out." I find myself nodding too, trying to piece together what all of this means. "Who is she, then?" Soap asks. "Her government name is Y/N Y/L/N - they called her Laika - apparently she was always co-operative, or obedient, I think is the word they used. I guess she was thrashed into submission. They say she is of a gentle, anxious, nature but the drugs helped 'level' her - whatever that means" Price explains.

"Turned her into a puppet, that means. A puppet to do all of their dirty work" I spit back, disgusted and angry. "So the drugs, are they still in her system? Is that why she isn't giving off any scent or signs of her designation?" I ask. "That's something we are going to have to ask her, Kyle. The file mentions that she gets 'topped up' every couple of months when she starts showing resistance" - "Poor girl was trying to fight it" I interrupt Price.

"Don't start getting attached, Garrick." Simon grumbles at me. "Piss off" I snap back.

"I'm tired, let's go to bed, yeah, talk about it in the morning?" I suggest. "Yep, Kyle's right, bed - all of you" Price orders. We all stand and make our way to our room. I glance toward the door of Laika - Y/N's - room and all seems quiet. Hopefully she is sleeping, I think inside my head.

*Back to Laika (Y/N's) POV*

I wake, startled - seeing visions of pools of blood I had been the cause of. Seeing lifeless eyes of those I had killed. I leap out of bed and start feeling my arm for my handkerchief. Shit shit shit. I'd left it somewhere. I slide down the wall panicking, trying to remember where the hell I had put it. All this time at the facility and I'd managed not to lose it. It comes to me all of a sudden. Gaz's jacket. My handkerchief is in the pocket of his jacket. I sneak out of the room and try to quietly tip toe downstairs. The stairs are a bit creaky but being quiet is my speciality. I finally find my way to the room we had been sitting in when I had returned the jacket to Gaz. It wasn't there. My stomach sinks. A single tear falls from my eye. I slump on to the couch and try not to weep. I can't go rooting about looking for it. I will just have to calm myself down and go back to my room. I try to gather myself.

Five, or so, minutes later, I stand and start to make my way back up the stairs. I avoid all of the creaky parts of each stair and successfully make it to the upper landing. I turn toward my room and gently close the door. I fail to notice the dark, masked Alpha, watching my every move. He slinks back into his pack's room, not waking them.

I try to settle back in the bed, failing miserably. I find myself crawling under the bed with a pillow and blanket, feeling safer in an enclosed space. I finally settle into a restless sleep.

[jinxxangel13]

Phantom of the Night

Chapter 6:

Tw: blood, gore, minor character death, guns

~Masterlist~ ~Prev~ ~Next~

“Echo 0-1, moving interior.” Phantom called out, flipping her NOD’s up and sweeping her gaze around the first room.

She heard him before she saw him, registering the repetitive phrase just before she reacted.

“Mut!” Die.

Phantom pulled the trigger without hesitation.

“Grenade!”

She threw herself into the room on her left to avoid a direct blast and any shrapnel aimed her way. Once the explosion settled, she stepped back out into the original room, meeting Soap’s eyes with a nod.

“Fuckin’ hell. Good one.” Soap shook his head as he looked at what remained of the body.

“Check the bodies. Need positive ID on Hassan.”

As a team, Soap and Phantom moved together to clear the first floor, unintentionally making it a competition to see how many AQ soldiers they could down.

“Kill confirmed. Negative on target.” Phantom turned back towards where Soap was, seeing him dropping another soldier.

She rolled her eyes at his suggestive eyebrow wiggle, following him to the stairs where Ghost and another Bravo soldier waited for them.

“Pushing to second deck.”

Phantom could hear some sort of broadcast of Hassan playing in the first room on the right at the top of the stairs. Ghost reached the door first and opened it, only for an AQ soldier to walk out just as he would have gone in. Ghost pinned the soldier against the wall next to the door and shot him once in the stomach and once in the head. 

Hot.

Soap and Ghost entered the room ahead of Phantom and encountered another AQ soldier.

“Got two x-rays. Neither Hassan.” Ghost spoke to Soap and Phantom, who stood at the door right behind them.

“Dump ‘em.”

Phantom raised her gun and fired at a final soldier slumped in the corner, most likely for a surprise attack.

“Good eye.” 

“Thanks.” Phantom muttered, turning back around to lead them down the other hallway.

She avoided directly in front of her, swiftly stepping to her right through a crumpled wall and shooting an AQ hidden behind a pillar.

“Dropped another.”

Phantom stepped over the body and leaned out of the archway, just narrowly avoiding a bullet in the side coming from the room at the end.

“Tha’ fuck?”

She ducked across the hall as fast as possible, peaking around the doorway to figure out where the other enemy was coming from. Looking down, she noticed there was a grate at the bottom of a wall, a muzzle barely glinting in the light flooding from outside.

Phantom raised her gun, took a slow breath as she aimed carefully around the corner to avoid making noise, then fired twice.

Soap rushed down the hallway when the way was clear to her.

“Sneaky little gits are everywhere.” he spat, double checking the room.

Phantom swiveled around to the final hallway, trying to hear if someone was there before risking her neck again. She hadn’t heard anything so she peeked around the corner, taking a second before stepping in quickly. A shot rang out without her thinking about it, not even realizing she had been the one to pull the trigger on the last AQ soldier who was hiding behind the busted door in the back.

“Room clear.”

Ghost followed behind her into the room.

“Shit-He was here. This was a bloody op-center... Poke around. Likely Hassan's. Good intel from Laswell."

Soap tailed Ghost into the room, both looking around as she went through the broken door to do the same. When Phantom came back into the room, she watched Soap shuffle some papers on top of the desk written in a mix of what looked to be Arabic and a few others she couldn’t tell from the distance.

“Look- Hassan's uniform. So, he was here.” Soap turned the desk chair to show a black jacket with the familiar patches they were looking for.

“Lost him when we secured the crash site.”

Phantom turned back to Ghost as he spoke.

“Are you sayin' we shouldn't have helped?” Soap looked surprised, exchanging a glance with a partially angered Phantom before turning back to Ghost.

“Choices have consequences.”

“Glad to know I was a choice.” Phantom growled out as she shouldered her way past Ghost, ignoring the odd look he gave her and continued back downstairs.

Their radios went off simultaneously.

“All Bravo- we got movement out here.”

“On the way... All Bravo, circle up outside.” Ghost was behind Phantom, following her back outside and heading left behind the building to a warehouse.

“If Hassan's gone, then what the hell are they still protecting?” Soap called from behind her.

“Bloody good question. Let's find out.”

Phantom didn’t bother flipping her NOD’s back down, having an inkling she wouldn’t need them once they breached the rolling doors.

The three of them met with the rest of Bravo Team outside the house and headed down toward the warehouse together

“What do we got?”

A Bravo soldier answered Ghost back on his right, barely audible from where Phantom stood on their left.

“A warehouse. Roll up door's open. Heard somethin' inside…”

“Copy. Let's clear it.” 

The group of them crawled under the door and entered the darkened warehouse. Suddenly, the warehouse lights turn on and AQ soldiers burst out of hiding all along the back. Bullets started flying and the sounds of screams and glass breaking rang out in the room.

“Contact!”

Phantom took cover behind some crates with Soap, losing eyesight of Ghost and the rest of their team as she focused on the AQ soldiers. She switched guns as fast as she could, double checking that she had enough bullets before going prone and aiming between the slits on the side of the shelves.

[thetravelingtyper]

Updates, Updates!

Hey kids! (10/12/24)

Masterlist!

Currently working order!

On The Same Page (Simon x Author! Reader) Pt 13 - hopefully out this weekend or by the middle of next week

Letters From Nowhere Pt 3 (cbf! Johnny x reader x Simon)- By next week

A little Price thing I am cooking up - Soon to be announced

Misc:

One and the same (wolf! Simon x reader) part 2 - hopefully before Halloween

Project star to be announced

Our Shattered Heart (poly 141) is still in my brain and I am slowly trying to get back into it. It is more my personal project than anything else.

[screamingforests]

Wait wait wait for the shifter!reader au, i just knooooooow price is the dad TM that doesn't want the cat and then a week later, BAM, is the one doing most of the coddling and spoiling.

And i literally mean buying the best fish for kitty, cuddling while watching football, baby talking, the whole shebang.

And i headcanon that the cat doesn't like simon very much, always listens to soap and just looooves biting and chewing on him, and the 141 knows that if kyle is in another room, that's where kitty is going to be. no one can keep kitty in the room if gaz is in another one shshshsh

No this is literally adorable and i love this idea

Price is definitely the one to do all the research for catshifter!reader. At first, it's just food, claiming if he didn't want to eat it, neither should you. That and you refused the cheap kibble they picked at the corner store while heading home after just picking you up.

"I think you're goin' a lil' overboard..." Soap murmurs as Price writes down a list of vet recommended food and treats, and a list of raw foods cats often enjoyed too.

"Kibble is the cat version of an MRE. Do you want to eat an MRE every day for the rest of your life with no change?" Price quips back, and it shuts Soap up pretty quickly.

~

Then, the cuddles start. While you mainly lay with Gaz or Soap because they handle you the best, Price is quickly raising in the ranks. Afternoon naps curled up on his chest were amazing, his heartbeat soothing you to sleep. Though the boys were mad, you stole their spot.

"Think we can kick the cat off and steal the spot?" Simon mutters under his breath, Gaz playfully shoves him.

"Don't you dare, they're finally bonding!" Is Gaz's whisper-shouted response.

~

Gaz and Soap are the ones who tag team toys. They quickly learn your preferences and stock up on that. With plenty of cat trees and scratching posts so you'd stop scratching Simon's bed.

Most times, though, you end up asleep on one of their laps(Kyle's, probably), while they keep themselves entertained. The toys were great for when they were gone, though.

[supernova2205]

The Silence Of The Mole

Poly 141 x Medic Reader

Summary: A field medic and lover to the 141 is caught in a web of suspicion and betrayal after a mission goes wrong. Accused of being a mole, the reader faces harsh interrogations from the squad, leading to deep emotional scars. As the truth comes out, trust is shattered, and the reader must decide whether they can ever forgive the team, especially those they were closest to.

Warning: ⚠️ Ghost being extra mean ⚠️

The mission had gone to hell in seconds. You crouched behind cover in the wreckage of what was once a safehouse, blood staining your gloves as you worked frantically to save an injured operative. Shouts and gunfire echoed around you, the air thick with the stench of smoke and burnt flesh. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

The intel had been airtight, or so everyone believed. You’d moved in with precision, confidence, and a plan. But the ambush hit hard and fast, your every move countered like they were reading from the same playbook.

You didn’t have time to think about how it had gone wrong. You were too busy pulling Soap out of the line of fire, throwing yourself between Gaz and the sniper that had him pinned, dragging Ghost back when shrapnel ripped through his shoulder. The fight was chaos, but somehow, you all made it out alive—just barely.

When you finally made it back to base, everything was eerily silent. No one spoke as you filed into the debriefing room, the weight of the failed mission pressing down on all of you. Price stood at the head of the table, his face like stone, and you could feel the tension in the room simmering beneath the surface.

“This wasn’t bad luck,” Price said finally, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Someone sold us out.”

The words hit like a physical blow. You looked around the room, seeing the same shock and disbelief mirrored in everyone’s faces. A mole. Someone had betrayed the team.

The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating, until Ghost spoke. “We need to find out who.”

It wasn’t long before the rumors started.

It began as whispers, quiet and insidious.

“She always knows where everyone is.”

“I heard she was asking a lot of questions before the mission.”

“She’s close with all of them—maybe too close.”

At first, you ignored it. You told yourself it was just paranoia, that people were looking for someone to blame. But then the stares started. The sidelong glances in the hallways, the conversations that stopped when you walked into the room.

You tried to push it aside, focusing on your work in the med bay. But the tension followed you everywhere, growing louder and more hostile with every passing day.

The breaking point came when Price called you into the debriefing room.

The room felt colder than usual, the air thick with tension. Price sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable. Ghost was next to him, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture radiating controlled fury. Soap and Gaz sat farther back, their expressions uneasy.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you asked, your voice steady despite the sinking feeling in your stomach.

“Take a seat,” Price said.

You hesitated, glancing at the others, but eventually sat down. The silence stretched on, oppressive and uncomfortable, until Price finally spoke.

“There’s been a development,” he said. “Rumors are going around that you’re the mole.”

You froze, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “What?”

“It’s not just rumors,” Ghost said, his voice low and biting. “We have to investigate.”

Your stomach twisted. “You think I did this?”

“No one’s saying that—” Soap started, but Ghost cut him off.

“We’re saying we can’t rule you out,” he said.

Your breath caught in your throat. “I’ve been with this team for years. I’ve saved your lives more times than I can count. How can you even think—”

“Enough,” Price interrupted, his tone sharp. “We’re not accusing you. But we need answers.”

Your chest tightened, anger and disbelief warring with the hurt that clawed at your throat. “So, what? You’re interrogating me now?”

No one answered, but the tension in the room was answer enough.

The interrogation started that night.

Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz all took turns questioning you, their voices sharp and relentless as they picked apart every detail of your actions before and during the mission.

“Where were you two hours before deployment?” Price asked, his voice calm but cold.

“In the med bay, prepping supplies,” you answered, your hands clenched into fists beneath the table.

“Alone?” Ghost pressed, his tone unreadable, though the accusation was clear.

You nodded. “Yes. I always prep alone; you know that.”

“That’s convenient,” Ghost said, his eyes narrowing.

Your jaw tightened. “What are you implying?”

“Just stating the facts,” he replied, his voice clipped.

Soap shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding your gaze. Gaz leaned forward, his brow furrowed in conflict, but he didn’t speak up. It felt like they were watching you drown, unsure whether to save you or let you sink.

The questioning dragged on for hours, each question more pointed than the last. They dissected your every move, twisting your words until even you started doubting yourself.

“Did you access the mission brief before it was officially released?” Price asked.

“I didn’t,” you said firmly.

“We’ve got logs showing someone accessed it from a med bay terminal,” Ghost said, his voice hard. “You’re the only one who uses that terminal.”

Your stomach dropped. “I didn’t touch it. I swear.”

“Then who did?” Price asked, his eyes boring into yours.

“I don’t know!” you snapped, your voice cracking under the pressure. “But it wasn’t me.”

Your words hung in the air, but the doubt in their eyes didn’t waver.

The interrogations became a daily occurrence. They pulled you into that cold, sterile room every night, questioning you until your voice was hoarse and your body ached from the tension. The physical toll started to show—dark circles under your eyes, a tremor in your hands that you couldn’t hide.

But the worst part wasn’t the exhaustion or the relentless questions. It was the way they looked at you.

Price, the man who had been your anchor in countless storms, now looked at you like a stranger. Ghost, your silent protector, treated you like an enemy. Even Soap and Gaz, the ones who always comforted you and usually had your back no matter what, kept their distance, their expressions torn between doubt and guilt.

It wasn’t long before the interrogations escalated.

One night, after yet another grueling session, Ghost stood and loomed over you, his towering presence casting a shadow over the room.

“You’re not telling us everything,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“I’ve told you everything I know,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

“Lies,” he said simply.

Before you could respond, Ghost’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist in an ironclad hold. You gasped as he pulled you to your feet, his grip bruising.

“Ghost,” Soap said sharply, stepping forward. “That’s enough.”

But Ghost didn’t let go. “People died because of that ambush,” he said, his voice cold and venomous. “Our people. You think you’re walking out of here without giving us answers?”

“I didn’t do it!” you shouted, your voice breaking.

Ghost’s grip tightened, and panic surged in your chest. You tried to pull away, but he was too strong.

“That’s enough,” Price said, his voice sharp as a blade.

Ghost hesitated, then released you, shoving you back into the chair. You stumbled, clutching your wrist as tears blurred your vision.

The room was silent, the tension thick enough to choke on.

The physical strain from the interrogations started to show. Your body ached from being yanked and shoved, your wrists bruised from Ghost’s rough grip. Your hands, once steady and skilled, trembled constantly, making it harder to do your job in the med bay.

It wasn’t just the physical toll. The emotional weight was unbearable. The 141—your lovers, your partners, your family—looked at you like you were a stranger. No matter how much you pleaded, no matter how many times you swore your innocence, they refused to believe you.

Only Gaz and Soap seemed to falter. They still looked at you with doubt, but there were moments when you caught glimpses of something else—guilt, hesitation, maybe even regret. But they didn’t say anything, and their silence hurt almost as much as the accusations.

A week later, the truth finally came out.

You were in the med bay, stitching up a soldier’s wound with trembling hands, when Price walked in. The look on his face was unreadable, but there was something heavy in his eyes.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice softer than it had been in days.

You nodded, though your chest tightened with apprehension.

Price led you to the debriefing room, where Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were already waiting. The tension in the room was palpable, but this time, it felt different.

“We know the truth,” Price said, his voice low.

Your heart stopped.

“It wasn’t you,” he continued. “The intel breach came from someone else. A jealous operative spread the rumors to cover their tracks.”

You stared at him, the words not fully sinking in. “What?”

“They’ve been discharged,” Ghost said, his tone clipped.

You looked between them, your anger and disbelief bubbling to the surface. “So that’s it? You spent a week tearing me apart, treating me like a traitor, and now you expect me to just move on?”

No one answered.

“Do you have any idea what you put me through?” you demanded, your voice shaking. “What you did to me?”

“Lass, we—” Soap started, but you cut him off.

“Don’t,” you said sharply, tears streaming down your face. “Don’t you dare try to justify it.”

They tried to apologize, but the damage was done. The betrayal cut too deep, and no amount of words could erase the memories of their accusations—the way they’d looked at you, interrogated you, hurt you. It had shattered something fundamental between you and the people you once trusted with your life.

You stopped sharing quarters with them, opting instead to sleep in the med bay. It wasn’t ideal—your back ached from the stiff cot, and the sterile smell of antiseptic filled your dreams—but at least it gave you space. You couldn’t bear to wake up beside them, to feel their hands on you, knowing what they’d done.

The med bay became your haven. You threw yourself into your work, tending to wounded soldiers and drowning yourself in the steady routine of bandages, stitches, and medications. You thought if you stayed busy enough, you wouldn’t have to think about the past week—or the aching void in your chest where their love used to be.

Soap and Gaz tried the hardest to make amends.

“Lass, let me help you with that,” Soap said one evening, stepping into the med bay as you struggled to move a heavy supply crate.

“I don’t need your help,” you said coldly, refusing to look at him.

“Please,” he said, his voice quiet. “I just… I want to help.”

You hesitated for a moment before stepping aside, letting him carry the crate to the storage room. He lingered after, standing awkwardly by the door as if waiting for you to say something.

“Is there something else you need?” you asked, not bothering to hide the edge in your voice.

Soap flinched but shook his head. “No. Just… sorry.”

You turned away, refusing to let him see the tears welling in your eyes.

Gaz was more subtle, his attempts to bridge the gap quieter but no less earnest. He stayed late in the med bay, helping you clean up or organize supplies without saying a word. He brought you coffee in the mornings, setting it down on your desk before slipping away.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me,” he said one night as you worked side by side. “And I don’t blame you. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. For all of it.”

You didn’t respond, keeping your focus on the sutures in your hands. But when he left, you found yourself staring at the door long after it closed, wondering if maybe—just maybe—he meant it.

Ghost and Price, on the other hand, kept their distance.

You saw them in passing—Ghost’s hulking figure lingering in the shadows, Price’s steady presence in the command room—but they didn’t approach you. They didn’t try to explain themselves, didn’t offer apologies or excuses. At first, you were relieved. You didn’t think you could handle hearing their voices without breaking all over again.

But as the days stretched on, their silence began to weigh on you. It felt like they were avoiding you, like they’d given up on even trying to make things right. And maybe they had.

One night, as you sat alone in the med bay, the door creaked open. You looked up to see Price standing in the doorway, his hat in his hands.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“Where else would I be?” you replied, your tone sharper than you intended.

He stepped inside, hesitating for a moment before sitting down across from you. The weight of his presence filled the room, the silence stretching unbearably between you.

“I owe you an apology,” he said finally.

You stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

“I let my judgment get clouded,” he admitted, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I should’ve trusted you. I didn’t. And that’s on me.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Do you have any idea what you put me through? What you all put me through?”

Price looked up, and for the first time, you saw the guilt etched into his features. “I can’t take it back,” he said. “But I want to make it right.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “You can’t make it right, Price. Not after this.”

Ghost came to you a few days later.

You were organizing supplies when you felt his presence behind you, a familiar weight that sent a shiver down your spine.

“What do you want, Ghost?” you asked, not turning around.

“I wanted to talk,” he said, his voice unusually hesitant.

You laughed bitterly. “You? Talk? That’s a first.”

There was a pause, and when you finally turned to face him, you saw something you had only seen when he showed you his face: vulnerability.

“I was wrong,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was wrong about you. And I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, the words hanging in the air between you. For a moment, you almost believed him. But then you remembered the way he’d looked at you during the interrogations—the cold, unyielding fury in his eyes—and the anger surged back.

“You think ‘sorry’ is enough?” you asked, your voice shaking. “You didn’t just accuse me, Ghost. You hurt me. Physically, emotionally—you broke me.”

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking. “And I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

“Good,” you said, your eyes blazing with tears. “Because I don’t think I can forgive you either.”

Soap and Gaz were the only ones you started to let back in. It was slow—painfully slow—but their earnest efforts began to chip away at the walls you’d built around yourself.

Soap made you laugh again, his humor cautious but genuine. Gaz stayed by your side during the long, quiet nights in the med bay, his steady presence a comfort you didn’t realize you needed.

Price and Ghost, though—they remained on the outside. No matter how much they apologized, no matter how many times they tried to reach out, you couldn’t bring yourself to let them in. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

And yet, despite everything, a part of you still longed for the family you’d lost. Whether that longing would ever outweigh the pain they’d caused, though, was a question you weren’t ready to answer. Not yet.

Authors note: Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed this week’s fic! It was definitely a rollercoaster for me to write my heart was all over the place! I’d love to hear your thoughts on it, so please let me know what you liked and if there’s anything else you’d like me to explore. Looking forward to your feedback and what you’d like to see next 🫶🏼

[lushrue]

hockeyteam!141 x figureskater!reader pt 3

thank you all a million times over for all your love on this series! comment to be added to the taglist and send some asks my way if you have a scenario that you wanna see these characters in, i eat it up!!

cw: drinking

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9

price stood at the center of the face-off circle, his stick resting on his knees as he sized up his opponent. it was the third period and the score was tied 2-2. price’s team was on the power play after the visiting team had received a two minute minor for slashing. figured, he thought. they’d been playing dirty all night; the ref just finally saw fit to call them on it. it was two minutes where they had the upper hand, two minutes to take advantage of their strength in numbers. he adjusted his stick in his grip, looking over his shoulder to make sure gaz and soap were in position before turning his attention back to the face off. he inhaled, and on the exhale, the sound of rubber smacking the ice hit his ears.

price gained control, taking the puck down the ice into the opposing team’s zone. he glanced to his left, meeting soap’s eyes before making a pass. soap received it, the puck smacking off his stick as he took up position on his side of the ice. a defenseman skated towards him, poised to try for a steal. but soap was ready. he made quick eye contact with gaz, sending the puck sliding his way. gaz took advantage of the fact that no one was on his ass, taking it and skating ever closer to the opposing goal. price was lined up, ready to go. it was the perfect position for a slapshot straight over the goal line. the goalie wasn’t watching his right flank, still preoccupied with gaz skating towards him. perfect. gaz made the pass, simon smacked the opposing defenseman into the boards to stop his approach, and price swung. the puck slid over the line before the goalie even knew what happened, setting the buzzer blaring.

through it all, you were watching in the stands. their coordination on the ice was enough to show you why they were first line, why laswell trusted them more than anyone else to get the game started on the right foot and to end it just as smoothly. you were one of the first on your feet after the goal, shouting and clapping. soap skated past price, giving him a congratulatory knock on the helmet as gaz held up his glove for a fist bump. simon gave price a thump on the back, skating behind him as they returned to the bench. “good shot, cap,” he shouted over the music, stepping off the ice as the second line stepped in to relieve them.

you smiled and waved as soap turned to meet your eyes. you’d taken to sitting right behind the bench, making your presence known to them rather than blending into the crowd like you’d done before. soap winked before nudging kyle, who tapped simon’s helmet, who elbowed price. soon, all four sets of eyes were on you. you blushed under the weight of their collective gazes, but managed to collect yourself enough to give them two thumbs up. price chuckled, nodding his head in thanks at your gesture. soap tugged his helmet off, the sweat making the longer strands of his mohawk stick to his forehead. “come out with us after tha game!” he called, his voice slightly muffled by the plexiglass. you didn’t even hesitate. “yeah, ‘course i will!”

…

it was a handy victory after that, simon managing to eke out a goal of his own before the game was over. this win would move them up in the league rankings, signal to everyone else that they’re a force to be reckoned with. with an ever-rotating roster of fresh blood, rebuilding years were bound to happen. but now they were on the rebound, and it felt better than any vice they indulged in. 

that wasn’t going to stop them tonight, though. the four of them stepped out of the locker room to find you waiting, your coat draped over your arms. your eyes were glued on your phone, a familiar crutch to pass the time. the moment you heard soap and gaz’s jovial chatter, your head snapped up, meeting the eyes of your victorious men. you flashed them a smile and a little wave, closing the distance between all of you. “that was a really good game tonight,” you said sincerely, your eyes flicking between the four of them. it wasn’t just a win for one of them, it was a win for all of them. you wanted to make sure they all felt properly congratulated.

“thanks, dove,” price replied, a smile of his own threatening to show through. usually, his mind was racing with thoughts of how they could improve, what they could’ve done better. but not tonight. tonight was for celebrating, and he wasn’t going to let his overactive mind get in the way of that. gaz chimed in, putting his hand on price’s shoulder. “well, it helped havin’ our good luck charm in the stands. didn’t it, cap?” his pointed glance settled on you as price chuckled, your cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink. their good luck charm. how about that? “good point, kyle,” price said. the weight of their eyes boring into you threatened to overwhelm you, like the tide overtaking the shore.

thankfully, johnny’s scottish brogue broke the tension. “did’ja see my assist in the second period, bonnie?” he asked, shouldering past gaz to be closer to you. you couldn’t help but laugh a little, nodding at him as you clutched your coat a little closer to your body. “yeah, i did,” you reply. you also hadn’t missed the way he skated with more gusto after that, knowing that you’d seen him. “it was impressive. you all work so well together out there.” simon finally made his presence known, shifting on his feet beside price. “yeah, we’ve worked really hard to get ourselves there,” he said, sounding proud of the progress they'd made as a team. you notice kyle and johnny exchange a glance, but you can’t quite read it. there’s something there under the surface, something that goes beyond the game.

before you can spare it a second thought, price places his hand on your shoulder, guiding you out the doors of the ice rink. “c’mon, dove. we’ll take my truck.”

…

it’s around your third mixed drink that you start to get a little more comfortable.

they’ve paid for the last two rounds for you, indulging whatever fruity concoction you find yourself craving. they took you to the one good bar for miles where the air was free of stale cigarette smoke and depression. the five of them weren’t the rowdiest table by far, but they were holding their own. the boys carried on their own conversations in the background, chattering loudly about the game. as you sip at your vodka cranberry, your attention is on kyle’s phone screen as he swipes through pictures of his family. “and tha’s my brother, steven. he’s got a wife and kid. haven’t seen ‘im in a while, they live kinda far.” soap nudges him, causing his phone to nearly tumble into his pint of guinness. “don’ bore the poor lass,” he says, his words already starting to slur a little. johnny was drinking whiskey, which hit a little harder than the beers that his teammates were nursing. no wonder he was on his way to being three sheets to the wind.

you blush and shake your head, giving kyle a reassuring glance. “it’s not boring, i promise. i like getting to know you all. it’s what friends do, right?” friends. you hadn’t stopped to think about it before, but you supposed you’d fully entered friend territory with all of them. you’d come to watch them play multiple times now, and they’d come and watched you skate. not only that, they’d stayed for both your programs and stuck around when the final rankings were posted. mere acquaintances didn’t do that. 

your words seemed to strike some chord in each of them as the hum of their side conversations abruptly stopped. you caught price smirk over the rim of his glass as he took a swig of his drink, his posture confident with his shoulders back and chest forward. johnny looked at you like you’d hung the moon and stars just for him, but only for a moment. kyle’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, like he hadn’t expected you to perceive them as friends. and simon, as usual, was hard to read, but you were getting there. there was a tightness in his expression that spelled unease to you. you faltered, opening your mouth to backtrack before price waved a hand to cut you off.

“nah, the bird’s right, johnny. guess we should know some things about each other if we’re gonna be friends.” his smirk remained, his eyes now fixed on you. maybe it was the alcohol talking, but you could swear you saw a glint of hunger in his eyes. you swallowed, desperate to ignore the electric thrill that struck your core. “why don’t you start us off, love? we wanna know more ‘bout ya,” he said, leaning back against the booth seating and staring you down expectantly. you clear your throat and take another long drink from your glass. you’d need some liquid courage for all this.

“well, i’ve been skating since i was little. i’ve loved it for as long as i can remember.” the memories brought a smile to your face. you recalled sitting in front of the television set, cross-legged as you watched the figure skaters dance on the ice in your ballerina dress. your dad sat next to you, telling you that that could be you someday. you certainly hadn’t competed in any olympics, but you were proud of the level you’d achieved. johnny chuckled, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. it sent a bloom of warmth through you and your cheeks flushed crimson. “somethin’ besides the ice, bonnie,” he said playfully. “we wanna know you, not the skater.”

you composed yourself quickly after being startled at his touch, settling into the casual display of affection. glances were once again exchanged, but this time, it was price and simon. “umm…my favorite color’s green,” you said, looking between johnny and kyle for approval, to see if this was what they wanted. when you got a nod in reply, you decided to continue. you told them about your favorite foods, family vacations, the artists that were on heavy rotation in your car radio. they seemed to hang on your every word, letting the aura of you seep into their bones so they’d never forget it.

the more you drank, the more you talked. so price kept the drinks flowing.

…

kyle drove you home in price’s truck, your swaying body sandwiched between ghost and soap. johnny had an arm around your shoulders to keep you steady and simon had his hand on your arm for comfort. you’d been drunker in your life, but you certainly had a good thing going. all this contact from attractive men was only fueling the fire, butterflies stirring in your belly that weren’t born of alcohol. you muttered things you knew you wouldn't remember in the morning, something about how warm their bodies were and how good they looked in their pads and gear. they were gentlemen, of course. their touches remained innocent as they walked you to your door and made sure you got in safely, staying until they heard the lock click. they had to be satisfied that you were secure for the night.

as the four of them piled back in the truck and headed back down the road, it was simon who broke the silence first. “we gotta have her, yeah?” he said, his voice a rumble that harmonized with the engine. kyle and johnny didn’t respond, looking to their captain for a response. ultimately, he made the final call. price hummed, his head falling back against the headrest of the passenger seat.

“yeah, think we do.”

taglist: @cadotoast @jupiternighties @hxnneydew

[undercoveravenger]

Room in The Den

Pairing: Hybrid!141 x Male!Reader

A/N: Intended as an early-stages poly relationship, but could also be interpreted as platonic.

Part 2 -> Click here

-----

It’s a bullshit new law that does it. Some asshole lawmakers deciding that just because there’s some small fraction of animal DNA in them that they can’t do their jobs right without “an actual person” watching over them that gets you assigned to the 141.

Sure, joining a team that elite is an honor, but it’s something you’d have wanted by your own merits, not just because someone who’d never seen real combat in their lives thought your new colleagues needed someone fully human to reel them in. 

You’ve seen their numbers - they don’t need you and you’re sure as hell they don’t want you encroaching on the bond that their experiences have fostered between them. That’s why you come in expecting the animosity. 

You were right. Captain Price is cordial enough, he shakes your hand without crushing it and says he’s eager to work with you but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes and the terseness in his voice tells you he’s just saying it to be polite. He’s run this task force long enough to know how to do his job without you there. His Lieutenant doesn’t even grant you that. The sergeants seem wary and you don't blame them but you know that it’s better to be someone like you that knows their worth than one of the holier-than-thou bureaucrats they’d been considering assigning to this post, so you’ll just have to try to find your place in the team.

-----

Soap is the easiest to win over. He finds you in the gym one night long after everyone else had retired back to their bunks, ripping through reps at the bench press without a spotter. He’s thrown for a minute, used to being the only one up this late since the rest of the squad is mostly diurnal, but he’s content enough to admire the way your compression shirt is darkened with sweat and to watch your muscles shift with each movement. Can feel himself drooling a little at the spice of your scent, heady and masculine and tempting enough to make him want to bite.

 He wonders a little, whether you’d be able to keep up with him and he can’t help the steady pace his tail picks up behind him as he decides he’s going to find out.

You’ve got your eyes closed and earbuds in like you’re the only one for miles and yet you still seem to sense him as he drops his bag and moves to stand near you. 

“S’dangerous,” he says as you re-rack your weights and pull an earbud out, “To lift without someone to spot you.” 

You nod, it’s one of the biggest rules of gym safety for a reason, but you’d never been great with rules. “Never much liked askin’ for help,” you admit after a minute. “Didn’t wanna bother anyone.”

He hums, and you don’t feel judged, just understood, “Well, you’re stuck with the lot o’ us now, whether you like it or not,” he grins, wolfish and happy, and moves to stand at the head of the bench to spot you, “Bother away.” And just like that, you’ve got yourself a new workout buddy.

It’s like he’s your self appointed shadow after that, waiting outside your door every morning with a freshly made protein shake in each hand, one for each of you. He’ll get all whiny about it too if you say no, pointy wolf ears drooping and tail falling still behind him. He looks like he’s about to cry until you finally relent and take yours from him (he perks up right away every time, the little faker). Eventually you learn that it’s easier to just take it from him without the fight and let him ramble on about whatever he’d seen on tiktok the night before as he walks you to your office.

He joins you for meals too, complains about the amount of food on your plate and scoops bites off his own plate to supplement yours despite your protests. His Ma had always told him growin’ up that he had to eat plenty of protein if he wanted to be big and strong and protect his pack, so he’s just tryin’ to do the same for you and doesn’t understand why you feel the need to argue about sharing food.

You’re part of his pack now, and Soap’ll be damned before he neglects one of his packmates, just don’t be surprised if he starts bullying his way into your room at night too - he’s a cuddler.

-----

Gaz warms up to you next, though he always blames the blood loss if someone asks what won him over. He’d joined you and Soap for your evening workouts a few times, and grinned at each other when you passed in the halls, but it’s not until the morning after a brutal op that he really starts to see you as part of the team.

It’s early. Barely three-thirty in the morning when the heli touches down and maybe only four when the squad tumbles through the doors but you’re right there with the rest of them. Price is already headed down to the administrative wing for a debrief and Ghost has a snoring Soap over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes on his way to the barracks, and then there’s just the two of you.

You’ve got one of Gaz’s arms over your shoulder and an arm heavy around his waist, tucked snug under his bleeding wing, taking most of his weight as you help him limp through the halls. You hang a left instead of the right that would lead to the infirmary, instead guiding him into your office. You sweep whatever paperwork had been on your desk aside, and help him up to sit, legs hanging off one side of your desk and wings cascading over the other.

You’re quick to shrug off the outer layer of your tactical gear and cast it aside, pulling out a sizable med kit from under your desk and settling on your knees in front of him. You ask him if it’s okay, before you help ease his cargo pants down enough to get to the wound on his thigh and he finds himself taken aback since their usual medic would just muscle them off or cut them away to get at it. You wait until he nods to start tugging at the fabric, fingers careful and intent as you work the material free from the torn flesh. 

He watches as your gaze flickers over the wound and you reach for what you need without even looking. He’s been told his eyes are intense before, it’s normal for bird of prey hybrids, perhaps especially so for golden eagle hybrids like him, but he’s never quite understood the way people describe being pinned in place by his gaze until now. 

You work fast, sterilizing, stitching, and then bandaging his wound with a speed that would rival the military doctors in the infirmary, and the stitches seem more sturdy than he can remember his last ones being. 

Once you’re satisfied with his leg, you stand and move behind him to get a better look at his wing. He'd taken a bullet to it, right through the meat of the muscle, and he knew he’d be grounded a long while until it healed. You hesitated then, unsure if he’d be okay with you touching such a personal area as his wings. 

Gaz swallows hard, trying to think of the last time someone other than himself had handled his wings, and nudges it back into your hands. You’re remarkably gentle, he thinks, as your fingers card delicately through rich caramel feathers until you’re able to uncover the bullet hole. You use a pair of tweezers, to make sure that there are no lingering bits of shrapnel, and a tiny set of scissors to trim back any of the soft downy feathers that could catch in the wound as it heals. 

He’s started churring by the time you’re done, a sort of contented trill from the feeling of someone else preening his wings, despite the lingering pain from the injuries. His golden eyes snap back to focus as you nudge a water bottle and granola bar into his hands with a muttered apology that it was all you had on hand, and he’s still plenty happy because you’re trying to be part of his flock by preening him and providing for him. He churs the whole while as you guide him back to his room and help him into bed.

Gaz quickly becomes a regular participant of you and Soap’s late night gym sessions and joins you for mealtimes once in a while after that night.

-----

Truthfully, you still don’t know what convinced Ghost you were worth knowing, but he supposes that’s because you hadn’t known he was there. He’d been on his way to deliver a mission report from Price to one of the other admin when one of his rounded ears caught the sound of your raised voice. His curiosity drew him to the door, cracked just enough that he was able to see you stood across a table from a trio of generals, arms crossed and back straight. 

“I appreciate your congratulations,” you growled, and Ghost was taken aback by the ferocity in your voice. He’d never heard you speak like that before, not even in the field. “But I am not the one who should be hearing it.”

His ears prick forward, tugging against the thick fabric of his mask as he listened closer, intrigued. 

“With all due respect, Major, task force 141-” one of the pencil pushers started.

“No,” you interrupted, hands coming down hard on the desk between you and the other officers, “They are due the commendations. They are the ones who built this team from the ground up. Sure, there have been successful missions since my joining, but those are not only my achievements. If you want to offer a public congratulations on a successful operation, it will be to my entire team, not just the picture you think would be easiest to publish.”

With that, you turn from the board of your superior officers and head for the door, ignoring their protests, and Ghost has to scramble back in order to avoid being hit with the door. 

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” you say as you see him, moving out of his way. “Didn’t see you there,” and for once that doesn’t sound like some slight against his panther genetics, just a plain statement - he’d been behind the door and you hadn’t meant to nearly clip him with it. You clap him on the shoulder and head off down the hall back toward your office and Ghost is tempted to drop the file where he stands to follow you, one simple interaction you hadn’t meant for him to see enough to convince him there was far more to you than he’d thought. 

You weren’t just some babysitter added to their little family to observe them like they were no more than wild animals - you actually saw their worth and were willing to fight for it?

An amused little huff escapes him and Ghost forces his attention back to the task at hand, spotted tail lashing smoothly behind him as he turns and continues on his way, sharp claws digging puncture wounds into the folder he’d been sent to deliver and your words ringing in his mind.  

----

Price was the last to come around to you being a part of their little family, though he’d never been outright hostile the way Ghost had at first. He’d done his best to be professional with you, complying with the needed paperwork and taking your insights on each operation under consideration, though he never deliberately sought you out. 

That didn’t mean he could avoid you when the team had a mission though, especially not now with the five of you piled into a much-too-small cabin in the mountains near where intel suggested one of Makarov’s bases were. Laswell had just radioed in to let Price know there was a snowstorm incoming so evac might be delayed and to expect to hunker down at least another two nights.

With only two bedrooms and a total of three small beds between them, you’d volunteered to take up roost on the lumpy couch in the living room so he’s not surprised to see you there, so much as he is by your company. You’re sprawled out in about the middle of the couch with Gaz tucked comfortably against your side, your arm around his shoulder and one of his wings curling around the both of you. As Gaz’s wing shifts, Price notices Soap curled against your legs, snoring away, but he freezes as he sees Ghost.

Everyone on the team has gone through hell, but Price knows Ghost has dealt with more than his share. Nightmares aren’t uncommon for any of them, but for Ghost a decent night’s sleep was an incredible rarity. That’s why he’s so startled to see Ghost stretched comfortably along the rest of the couch with his head on your lap and his face nuzzled into your stomach, skull mask gone in favor of his more casual balaclava, and his breathing deep and even.

A pleased little huff escapes Price, warmth spreading in his chest at the sight of his three favorite people curled up together happy and comfortable. And if you were part of that? Well, there was plenty of room for one more in that old bear’s heart.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 8: Nobody’s Son, Nobody’s Daughter

You hate how weak you are, sometimes.

That a text can ruin your whole day.

>> Hey. I hope you’re doing well. I miss hearing from you.

You’re fuming. Absolutely fuming. In under fifteen seconds you’re on your feet, face hot and heart pounding as you stomp across the old wooden floor.

“I’ll be right back.” You grunt to Johnny and Kyle, ignoring their wide, confused eyes and fast walking past them and out the back door.

The sun is up for longer now, only just beginning to set. It’s hot and hard to breathe, which only makes you more pissed off. Your skin prickles and blood rushes in your ears. You hate the way your hands shake. Your boot connects with the dumpster hard. It hurts, but you’re too pissed to really care. You just need it out of your system - the metal sending a ringing, gong-like sound bouncing around the back alley as you repeatedly slam your foot into it.

How dare he?

Miss hearing from you? YOU?

He ignores you for your whole childhood and teenage years - didn’t even try - and he misses hearing from you!? Couldn’t ever remember your age or grade when you did see him and he hopes your doing well!? Blew you off for his other kids for years and he fucking misses you!

How the hell did he even get your new number? Your mom, probably. The traitor. Fuck.

“Think that bin’s ‘ad enough, bird.” Simons voice startles you. He glances down at the dent you somehow managed to make. Your foot throbs when you put it back on the ground, shifting your weight onto the other one. One of your toes is bleeding, you think. You hand feel it soaking into your sock.

You look away, face hot from embarrassment now. “Didn’t know anyone was out here…”

Simon takes you in for a moment. Usually you don’t mind it - his intense silences - but right now it feels like being dissected. Like he’s pulling your skin back to reveal that squirming, tar-like creature aways simmering just a layer beneath. The pathetic little worm you try so hard to cover with a functional facade.

“Smoke?” He tilts the pack toward you. You wrinkle your nose - it’s a shit brand - but at the moment you wouldn’t care if it was made of actual shit as long as it had nicotine.

You pick one out and plop down on the weird curb that lines the opposite side of the alley. Simon sits beside you, raising his lighter toward you cupping his hand around the little flame to light your cigarette. It’s intimate, in a way, and if you had the emotional elasticity for it you might have blushed.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks after a few drags.

You shrug. “Dads suck.”

Simon hums. “That they do.”

“It’s just like-“ You make an exasperated sound and run your fingers through your hair. “Like if you’re not around for fuckin’ twenty years, you don’t get to act upset when I don’t want to talk ever. Just because now I’m the one that set the boundary. It’s stupid. It’s mean.”

Simon nods along as you ramble, your voice trailing off eventually. You both sit there quietly, for a moment. This is the type of silence that you don’t mind. Enjoy, even. Just existing together. At first you thought he hated you, or just didn’t like much of anybody, but you’ve come to theorize that he’s the same as you. That he gets stuck in his head, too. It’s nice, having someone to sit with without the need to entertain them. To preform.

Your lip quivers even as you attempt to stop it by sinking your teeth in. A killing blow. It doesn’t work. You bury your face in your hands. “I don’t know why I’m crying…”

“Because you’re hurt.” Simon bluntly replies. It’s soft, though. As soft as a voice like his can be.

“He doesn’t deserve it.” You sob, messily wiping at your eyes. Your eyeshadow is probably smudged to hell now but you can’t bring yourself to care. Hopefully the others don’t ask about it.

An arm wraps around you, tucking you close. The surprise of it almost knocks you out of your crying fit entirely. Simon isn’t touchy. With anyone. He doesn’t look at you, just keeps his eyes forward while he takes a long drag, but that arm remains around your shaking shoulders with you pressed to his side.

It’s quiet, as it usually is when you close up with just Simon. The others took off for the night. Johnny said something about a date before dragging Kyle off arm in arm. They must have set up some kind of double date for the evening. John’s last appointment had to reschedule so he knocked off early as well. It’s nice, really, to be alone in the shop with Simon. He lowers the music, helps you with sweeping and the trash. Tells you the newest joke from wherever the hell he gets them. Popsicles, you think, based on his sweet tooth and the quality of pun.

“C’mon. We’re takin’ a field trip.” Simon tilts his head toward the street past the turn to your apartment. He still insists on walking you home, even if the sky is still relatively bright.

You look up, frowning. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

You follow him down the quiet street. It’s warm and muggy as you go. You keep glancing up at Simon, waiting for some sort of tell. Some hint at where he’s leading you. In the back of your mind, you become innately aware that Simon is probably the only man you’d follow this blindly.

You nearly knock into him when Simon comes to a sudden stop. “Here.”

You look up, squinting at the tacky sign in what you can only describe as “intense manly man” font. Bold, blocky letters in bright orange with faux cracks scattered through the letters.

TANTRUM TANK

A mixture of stunned and curious leaves you quietly following Simon in. You press the spot between your brows to dissipate the confused frown. The lobby is pretty basic with a few decorations that mimic the style of the sign. Cracked facades and black walls. The room is lined with plastic chairs and a couple safety posters reminding patrons not to hit each other with the bats. A large television screen flashes between images of people in hazmat suits smashing various garbage and debris, pausing on a menu of times and prices.

“Simon!” A man appears behind the counter, face bright. “Here for your usual hour?”

Simon steps up to the counter, nodding in your direction. “Actually, I’ve got a plus one.”

The man’s brows raise and he looks you over, giving you ashort, polite greeting. You nod and smile back, pretending like you know why you’re here at all. You just watch as Simon briefly chats with the clerk who obviously knows him well. He’s a regular here, then. He doesn’t give anything away, just makes some brief, perfunctory small talk before taking a key and waving you after him. Why’d he bring you here, of all people?

Your heart skips at the thought of Simon wanting to do something with you, though. He brought you here because he wants to hang out - in his own way. He must do this with the other boys, too. Maybe one of them bailed on him or something. Part of you wonders if he didn’t want to come alone, but that doesn’t sound like him. Plus, you can’t say that its’ at all out of character for him to decide something and just do it with no other communication. You also can’t say you mind much. Not with him.

“You come here with the others a lot?” You ask as you follow him back to the room.

“No.”

You frown. Oh.

The two of you lapse into silence as you put your things away into designated lockers. There’s a sort of interim room before the actual rage room with storage and a few stacks of protective gear in various sizes. Simon’s quick about it. Practiced. He slips on the protective plastic suit quickly while you grunt and struggle with unfolding it. Your hair crinkles with static as you finally get the mass of plastic unfurled and step into it. Of course the one that fits you around is too damn long. At least the gloves fit.

“Simon?” You murmur, finally finding your voice - as weak as it comes out. “Why’d you bring me here?”

He looks you over for a moment with that same steady gaze as before. You’ve never felt seen like you do with Simon. Even with the others… they don’t see to the core of you like he does. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Some pathetic little part of you left over from your misunderstood teenage years.

“I ’ad a pretty shite father.” Simon says as he zips up his suit. “Taught me a lot of anger. I didn’t- I don’t want to be like ‘im. Don’t want people t’be scared…”

You stare, wide eyed, frozen in place. As if any movement would disrupt this new found honesty - would frighten the man away from confiding in you. It’s sudden and far more than you’ve gotten out of him in the months you’ve known each other. It’s too special to risk.

“Sometimes you’ve got t’get it out of your system. Better than breaking your foot on a skip.” He snorts, stepping forward and carefully pushing a pair of safety glasses over your eyes. One hand runs over your hair just for the briefest moment; another lightly pats your cheek before he turns on his heel, grabbing one of the bats hanging on the wall and making for the door.

You stare after him, shell shocked by both the admission and uncharacteristic physical touch. You involuntarily reach up to trace your fingertips over the cheek he touched.

Don’t want people to be scared…

A part of you breaks in the back of your mind. The obvious, unsaid ‘of me’ sits heavily on your tongue. Some distant image of what he might have looked like as a child. Small and blonde with those big dark eyes… You gulp down a tight breath and follow after him, just a little too close to crying at the implication.

Simon gestures toward a crooked, half broken office desk. “Ladies first.”

And oh, if that first swing wasn’t the best release you’ve had in a long, long time.

A/N: Sorry for being inactive the past couple weeks, I could literally write a novel with how much as happened irl🙃

Anyhoo next part y’all are getting lots of Price because that homecoming skin has got me fucked up

[jinxxangel13]

Phantom of the Night

Chapter 7:

Tw: blood, gore, minor character death, guns

~Masterlist~ ~Prev~ ~Next~

Recap:

“Contact!”

Phantom took cover behind some crates with Soap, losing eyesight of Ghost and the rest of their team as she focused on the AQ soldiers. She switched guns as fast as she could, double checking that she had enough bullets before going prone and aiming between the slits on the side of the shelves.

She was able to drop 2 people on the top floor, and one heading down the stairs before she had to take cover again. The AQ were now lighting up her hiding spot with bullets, so she had no choice but to dash to the forklift in front of her. It wasn’t a lot of cover, but it was good enough for her to take down a heavily armored soldier hiding behind an ammo crate at the back of the warehouse.

Phantom couldn’t see anyone else, but still waited for Ghost’s call.

“We clear?”

“All clear.”

Phantom shouldered her gun, rolling out her shoulder with a wince at the pain in her arm, but it could wait a bit longer at this point.

“Search it. Let's find what they were hiding…”

“Lieutenant. This warehouse wasn’t on the schematics. Got a bad feeling about this.” Phantom lowered her voice when she stopped near him. “Check the container.” 

Ghost gestured to the one in front of them, with her nodding in agreement. With the help of two other Bravo soldiers, they opened the heavy metal doors to reveal a computer system with lines upon lines of code flying across the screen.

“The fuck is this?”

Phantom's eyes widened as she stepped into the container, trying to decipher the letters flying across the screen before it clicked.

“It’s English.”

“It’s all in English.”

Phantom scoffed as Ghost mimicked her words without realizing and stepped up to the controls. Her fingers flew across the keyboard before she flipped a switch to the side, waiting a moment after she heard metal creaking above her before making her way out of the container.

“This isn’t good…”

Ghost, Soap and Phantom watched as something was raised out of the top of the container.

 “Steaming Betsy...:” Soap muttered, stepping back slightly.

“Ballistic missiles.”

“It's a fucking mobile launcher.” Phantom snapped, her fists clenching tightly. "Shit."

“Sir, these'll go 1,000 miles.” 

“At least…” Ghost huffed. 

This mission just went from bad to worse as the weight of what they found settled on everyone's shoulders.  Phantom snapped back to the present as she noticed Soap starting to climb up a nearby crate to get a closer look at the side of the metal.

“How the hell did Iran get their hands on this?” 

Phantom stepped closer to Soap, though she kept her feet on the ground this time.

“Could be anyone at this point. Trade, black market, stealing.” Phantom shrugged. This wasn’t the first time she had witnessed something like this happening.

Ghost called out to one of the other team members.

“7-6, get us through to Laswell.”

“Roger, stand by... Bravo 7-6 Charlie to Watcher-1, how copy?”

“This is Watcher-1, send traffic.” Laswell called over the radio.

“Laswell, this is Ghost, we got something.”

“Tell me you found Hassan…”

“Hey, Phantom, take a look at this…” Soap pointed something out on the missile, Phantom's eyes finally understanding what symbol was on it.

The American flag was etched into the missile.

“Ghost, do you have Hassan?”

“Negative. We found a weapons cache. Hassan's got missiles... they're American.”

“0-7-- This is Gold Eagle Actual, repeat that last.” It must be bad if General Shepherd answered.

“I say again- Hassan has missiles.” Ghost retorted back.

“They have fucking American missiles, General.” Phantom called through her radio.

She walked away from the crate in annoyance, not caring about what else was said at that point as the pain in her head and arm started to become debilitating. 

“Let’s clear out to exfil.”

Phantom was one of the last people on the plane when they picked the team up. She took the time to rewrap her arm tightly with the help of Alpha 0-2, who also used some antiseptic she handed him from her kit to try and clear her head wound-sans her helmet. She hissed in pain, knuckles whitening in her lap as she sat as still as possible.

“I know, kid, gonna hurt like a bitch.”

Phantom chuckled, tilting her head slightly to allow him easier access to the rest of the wound.

“Probably gonna need stitches.” She groaned, earning a small yet pained smile from the man in front of her.

[nerdygirlramblings]

implied poly!141 x fem!reader

pure fluff, abrupt ending

They were smitten the first time they saw you, some new civvie working in the admin building. Price saw you first and was taken in by your open, friendly smile. You were sweet every time he had to come in, always saying hello and asking how his day was. He couldn't help but talk about you to his boys.

Gaz was next, finding reasons to drop by with a question for your boss or "remembering" paperwork he had already brought to someone else. He always seemed to pop in when your boss was out, though, so he had to talk to you about it instead.

Soap noticed how often Gaz was slipping off to your building. He knew Price was smitten; the man had all but admitted as much. But it seemed Gaz wanted to keep his interest in you a secret. Soap never could let a secret go, so he followed Gaz, found him flirting with you, watched you give him soft touches and shy smiles. He couldn't remember the last time Gaz had lost his sharp edges.

He told Ghost what he saw, and the two began watching you.

They saw how you always dropped by medical on Wednesdays with a bakery box in hand. They learned Tuesdays - the first full day of training rookies had - was always busier for medical, so you brought them a pick-me-up after a hard day. They watched you stop and chat with every invisible employee: groundskeepers, maintenance, custodial staff. You made it a point to acknowledge those who were often overlooked. Soap and Ghost didn't interact with you personally, but they fell for your kind heart nonetheless.

It slowly became clear that there were others as enamoured with you as they all were. Flowers on your desk they knew Price didn't send. Lunch delivered when you'd clearly brought your own. A few other officers who stood a little too close and for whom your smile was tight rather than inviting.

They tell all this to Price and Gaz who bring it up with you in their own way.

Gaz asks about the bouquet behind your desk. You tell him they were a gift, and when your tone seems strained, he presses for more, finds out they came from an officer who didn't believe you meant no. Price stops in after a lunch delivery and jokes about you having two meals. Turns out you're allergic to what was delivered (someone obviously did not do their homework), but it was a favorite of the same soldier who sent the flowers.

This man was making their bird uncomfortable, and they wouldn't stand for it.

Slowly, things take a turn for this poor sod whose main flaw was an overbearing interest in you. His reports come back flagged for missing information, and he gets reamed out by his superior. (Gaz hacked the system and deleted things. Don't worry, he fixed it later, after the damage was done.) His flowers get delivered to married women, which raises an HR concern. (Ghost offered the florist double the cost of each bouquet to send them to a list of other people. He told them you didn't want people jealous of your relationship with the soldier and to spread the joy.) He finds himself called to the head of medical about the legal issue of accidental poisoning. (Price dropped by with your ill-delivered lunch to chat with the head and accidentally let it slip how this delicious food was sent to a civilian employee deathly allergic to some of the ingredients.)

The boys could have gotten dirty and taken matters into their own hands, but they wanted to be able to keep themselves clear of the fallout. To be there for you in the aftermath.

It took about two weeks, but eventually the officer was demoted and transferred. Word gets around the other soldiers how the 141 was protecting its own. They staked their claim on you before you ever realized it.

Two days after the incident, Price shows up with a vase of your favorite flowers (courtesy of Soap's intel). Later that day, Gaz invites you to your favorite restaurant (thanks to Ghost's observations) for dinner, "no strings, doll, just a nice meal." You show up in a cute but classy dress to find the whole task force - including Soap and Ghost whom you've never even met before - seated and waiting on you.

They'd decided to let you know where things stood before some other idiot tried taking what was theirs.

Inspired by the "To the pain" scene at the end of The Princess Bride: "That is what to the pain means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever."

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 7 : Sweet Strawberry

Summary: You're not a soldier, you're just an omega. You shouldn't have to remind them of that, yet you find yourself needing to. Price makes it up to you in the best way possible.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, angst, panic, fluff, suggestive content, terrible flirting

A/N: Not entirely happy with it but it's done and I can move on from this one. I struggled so much with this chapter omg. Also, I just wanted to make it clear that I am not from the UK, I've never been to the UK, I'm simply going off of prior knowledge and what Google can tell me. So, if there's any inaccuracies, I am so sorry.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You’re expecting the knock when it comes. You’d been standing in front of your door for almost five minutes, and you get it open almost before he’s finished, hand still raised. He gives no sign that betrays his surprise, if he feels any at all, instead he simply looks you over before turning on his heel and marching towards the door. 

You close your door behind you, slipping down the hallway after him. It’s raining again, though you had prepared for that, flipping the hood of your jacket up as you hurry after Ghost. He threatens to disappear in the darkness of morning, slipping between the street lamps like a specter. It’s not often you get to see the true danger in them, the threats that they pose, the things that make them good at their job. You can imagine how many on his opposing side have been caught unawares by the way he seems to flow with the darkness around him. 

You are significantly less graceful and quiet, feet slapping the wet pavement as you speed walk to keep up with the giant alpha. You can almost imagine the look on his face as you plod along behind him. If your lives depended on your silence at this moment, well, it wouldn’t entirely have been your fault. If he didn’t walk so fucking fast...

He’s at least courteous enough to hold the door open for you, though perhaps that was simply something that was deeply ingrained in him. Manners that become unconscious practice, even when you despise the person you’re with. He leads you down the hall towards the practice room again, unlocking it and flipping on the lights. He empties his pockets and removes his shoes and sweatshirt, before moving to one of the punching bags. 

You can already predict what your lesson today will entail. Your knuckles have almost completely healed since your little fit a week ago. You quickly strip off your jacket and toe off your wet shoes, moving to join him without having to be told. 

“Do you know how to wrap your hands?” He asks, holding out two rolls of hand wraps. 

“No.” You shake your head. It’s not entirely true. They had shown you once while you were with the CIA, but that had been weeks ago and you���re sure you’ve forgotten the right way to do it. Even if you tried, he’d likely sigh and do it himself anyway. 

He lets out a breath, pocketing one of the wraps before grabbing your right wrist. His hands are just as rough as you remember them being the day you punched Corporal Allen, calluses dragging against your skin as he meticulously wraps the fabric around your fingers. You watch him, trying to memorize how to do it in hopes that maybe, eventually, you’ll surprise him and manage it yourself. 

He finishes your hands quickly before wrapping his own. You flex your hands, trying to get used to the feeling of the wraps. They’re not too tight, shockingly. You had half expected him to choke your fingers until they’re purple just because. But, you also know Price will be looking for any mark or sign of injury as soon as he sees you at breakfast. The thought of him laying into Ghost for even a bruise as your stomach twisting, and not in a bad way. 

“Make a fist.” Ghost says, crossing his arms as he stands in front of you. 

You stare at his bulging muscles for a second too long, quickly curling your fingers as your face warms. 

He takes hold of your hand, inspecting your fist. “Not bad.” 

“I did grow up with brothers.” You murmur. 

“Did they ever hit you?” He asks as he turns you to face the boxing bag. 

“Only playfully.” You say, missing the subtle edge to his voice. “Dad would have caved their heads in if they ever tried.” 

You can’t see the way he’s staring at you as he stands slightly behind you, but you can feel his gaze as it lingers for just a second longer than you expected it to. You’re not sure if maybe he doesn’t believe you, or maybe he knows there’s more to the story. You’ve hardly spoken about your family since your arrival, but they seemed to accept the fact that they haven’t been your family for years now as a valid reason.

“Get into your fighting stance.” He finally says, moving around you as you take the stance you had perfected last training session. “Good.” He says, looking you over. “Now throw a punch at the bag.” 

You squeeze your fists, imagining Corporal Allen’s face on the bag before you throw a punch, barely managing to move the bag. 

“Punches like that are what will get you hurt.” Ghost says, extending your arm. “You can throw your weight, which is good. That’s why you were able to throw Allen off his feet. You’re asking for a broken arm, though. Keep your arm flat and facing downwards through the entire punch. Aim with the knuckles and twist your lower body for support.” 

He throws a punch at the bag, the sound of his fist hitting it loud, and you watch the bag swing back and forth violently. He could probably punch through you if he wanted to. Your pitiful punch wouldn’t even stun him. 

He stops the bag from swinging, having you throw repeated punches at it. He fixes your form and technique as you go, teaching you different kinds of punches. Your arms quickly get tired, and you know you’re going to be sore again. Maybe you should take up some weight lifting or something. You could ask Soap to help you. 

You go until your arms feel like they're going to fall off, your shoulders burning. “I can't anymore.” You whine, breathing heavily from the exertion of throwing punches for 30 minutes. 

“You have to learn to push through the pain.” He says, looming over you. “You think in a fight, everyone will just stop because your arms are tired? Or you're a little sore?”

He has a point. 

You take half a step back as he invades your space, leaning down close to you. “If they're out for blood, they won't even stop even as you're bleeding out in front of them.” His eyes are dark, biting into you, speaking volumes of his knowledge and experience. You wonder how many times he's been in that situation, how many times he's had to fight quite literally for his life. He steps away from you, moving towards the center of the mat. “Come on. I'll teach you some combinations.” 

You don't want to follow him. You want to curl up in a corner and nap for the next four hours. You don't doubt he'll find a way to force you, though, so you move to the center of the mat with a sigh. 

He teaches you different combinations, working through them over and over. You're sloppy, mixing up which punch is which, which move means what. It only gets worse as you get more and more tired, but Ghost is relentless. 

Finally after almost an hour and a half of training, he calls it. Your legs are shaking and you can barely lift your arms to unravel the wraps from around your hands. You sink onto the floor, laying out flat on the padding as you try to catch your breath. 

“Come on.” Ghost says, lacing up his shoes. “You'll have time to shower before breakfast if we get back now.”

“Wait. Just gimme a minute.” You breathe, not even sure you have the willpower to get up from the floor, much less the muscle power. 

He lets out a sigh before approaching you, bending down to slip his hands under your arms. “On your feet, soldier.”

He lifts you easily, far too easily. Your legs shake, nearly giving out as you're forced onto them. You pout, ignoring the ache in your bones as you're forced upright. 

“‘M not a soldier.” You murmur. 

“In here with me, you are. You want to learn to fight, you get treated just like everyone else I've taught.” He says, glowering down at you. “Now get your shoes on and let's go.”

Your brows pull into a frown, but you do as he says, slipping your shoes back on and your jacket. You had hoped perhaps he would have a little mercy, given your status and inexperience, but it seems you're not even being awarded that. You know part of it is his revenge for you invading his protective circle around Soap, for kissing Soap in front of him. 

The frown doesn't leave your face as you follow him back to the barracks, having to almost run to keep up with him. 

“You look tired.”

“I am. I had training with Ghost again this morning.” 

“How is that going?”

“It's hard.” You admit, sinking back in your chair. “He's hard on me. He sees me as a soldier, not an omega.”

“Have you brought this up to him?” Dr. Keller asks, crossing her feet as she relaxes on the couch across from you.

You nod. “Yeah. He said I have to push through it, because if I wind up in a real fight, they won't go easy on me.”

“Well, I can’t say he’s wrong about that. But, that’s still no excuse.” Dr. Keller tilts her head at you. “You could bring it up to Captain Price. He is your pack alpha, and he’s also Lieutenant Riley’s. I don’t doubt he’d bring it up to him on your behalf.” 

He would, but you don’t really want to stir the pot in that way. The last thing you need to do is become a tattle-tail. It’s quiet between you for a few moments, Dr. Keller shuffling her papers as you mark a clear end to that conversation. 

“How did you do on your assignment? I see you’re wearing a different sweatshirt this morning.” She says, eyeing you. 

You’re wearing Price’s sweatshirt, the one he gifted you. You’ve been wearing it almost every day, his scent still clinging to the fabric. Your face warms as she stares at you, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, but...I didn’t ask for this one. Price gave it to me after I told him about where my other one came from. I uh...I kissed Soap. And Gaz.” 

“Oh?” Her brows raise, and she writes something down on the paper. Your face warms even more as you watch her pen move with every letter. You can only imagine what she’s putting down. “Is that something you wanted? I know we talked briefly about it last time.” She says.

You nod. “Yes. I did want it. I...I also...kneeled...with Price...Did a couple times actually...” 

Dr. Keller’s mouth opens in surprise, her eyes shining as she looks at you. “You did? That’s huge! That’s an incredible development! Did you initiate, or did he?” 

“I did.” You say bashfully, sinking back further into the chair. “Both times.” 

Dr. Keller smiles at you, looking almost proud. “This is a big step in the right direction. How did it go? Were you able to relax?” 

You nod. “Yeah. It was nice. He was...gentle. He did it right.” 

“Good. How did you do coming down from it? I know it can be intense and difficult for some omegas.” She asks. 

You shrug. “Fine. I felt it a bit the morning after, but it wasn’t too bad. I fell asleep on him both times.” 

“Oh?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Did you stay with him?” 

You shake your head. “No, Gaz took me to my room both times.” 

“Good. That’s good practice, for when your heat comes. Shows how much trust they have in each other.”

You hadn’t really thought of that. There was a lot of trust involved in omega’s heats. Omegas have to trust their alphas to take care of them while they’re blind with insatiable need, but both alpha and omega have to trust a beta to keep them alive. Your heat will trigger Price’s rut and make him lose control for a while, and it will be up to Gaz to keep you both fed and hydrated. He’ll be the one to help you both afterwards as well.

“Have you started nesting yet?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You shake your head. “No. Don’t feel any drive to either.” 

Dr. Keller hums as she writes something down. “Well, it has only been two weeks. Though, perhaps if you can manage to ask for some things to make your space more comfortable, that might help ease you into it.” 

You chew on your lip, tugging at the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You know she’s right. Until you’re comfortable and feel safe enough, you won’t feel the drive to nest. You’ll need to nest before your heat arrives. Otherwise, it’ll cause issues for both you and Price. 

“When...when should I be worried?” You ask. 

“Hmm...” Dr. Keller looks at her calendar. “If you’re not feeling any sort of drive to nest by our next appointment, then I’d say we may need to consider using some exercises to help jump start it.” 

“Exercises?” You ask warily. 

“All easy things.” She reassures you. “Things like scent introductions, tactile explorations, and some bonding exercises might be helpful as well.” She writes something down on a sticky note. “I’ll explain everything in detail and you’ll get to choose whether you want to do any of it or not. No one’s going to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, alright?” 

Tears prick your eyes at her words, and you furiously blink them back. It’s a little late for that kind of sentiment. Your presence here alone was thanks to a long line of people forcing you to do things you’re not comfortable with. It was easy to get lost in the excitement and the emotions of bonding with a pack, easy to forget that you would never have chosen this place had you ever been given the option to choose. 

You would have gone far from the military, far from this kind of life. It’s your duty to bond with an alpha, but what if you don’t want to? What if it’s all a front, and as soon as you’re claimed the curtains rise and suddenly everything is different? What if Price isn’t as kind as you’ve come to believe him? Just one squeeze too tightly around the back of your neck while you’re kneeling and everything would change. 

How easily he could take everything from you. 

“You want to talk about what’s going on in your head right now?” Dr. Keller asks, breaking the silence between you two.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been staring off into space, lost in your thoughts. Of course she knows something’s changed. She’s spent years learning the ins and outs of omegas and all the secrets you can only imagine. She’s probably just as in tune with subtle changes as the four well trained soldiers that make up your new pack. Maybe even more in tune with them. 

You shake your head, keeping your gaze on the floor. 

“Remember nothing shared in this room leaves this room. It’ll always only be between us.” She says softly. 

You’re panicking. You can feel the pressure rising within you. You’re like a grenade and someone is about to pull the pin. You’re afraid you’ll spill everything to her, afraid you’ll let out things you’ve successfully kept buried for years and years. Things you’ve left behind, things you’ve had to move on from. Things you can’t afford to let out now. 

“I’d like to be done now.” You silently curse the way your voice shakes. 

Dr. Keller’s brows pull into a frown but she nods. “Okay.” She slips her papers into her notebook before standing. “Let me grab my keys.” 

You stand as she moves to her desk, grabbing her keys from the drawer. She leads you from her office, thankfully staying quiet as you walk through the rain towards the barracks. You’re still panicking, the turmoil inside you probably projecting the sour scent across the entire courtyard but you don’t care. You can’t. 

“Remember, if you ever need anything, I’m usually in my office.” Dr. Keller says as she drops you off at the door. 

You feel guilty as you hurry to your room, shoes squeaking on the tile. You feel bad for cutting the appointment off early, you feel bad for feeling the way you do. Later you’ll be grateful for Dr. Keller respecting your boundaries and not pushing, for following through with her promise and letting you be in control of the appointment. 

Right now you don’t care. Right now you can’t care. You’re too lost in your turmoil, the bitter scent of your distress seeping out from under the locked door. 

“...can ye talk tae me, hen? Let me know yer alright?” 

The soft voice coming through the closed door pulls you out from your burrow under the thin blanket. You blink blearily at your phone, trying to see the time. It’s just a little past the normal time you go to lunch with them. How long have they been knocking on the door? 

“Come on, lass.” Soap’s voice comes through the door again. “I dinnae want tae have tae kick in the door.” 

You force yourself out from under the blanket, pocketing your phone before quickly moving to your door. You throw it open, Soap’s eyes immediately scanning you as you rub tiredly at your eyes. You don’t doubt he’d kick in your door if he felt he had to. 

“Sorry,” You yawn. “I was asleep.” 

His eyebrows raise as he stares down at you. “Ye were asleep? Ye weren’t kidding about bein’ a heavy sleeper.” He leads you from the barracks, crossing the courtyard towards the mess.

“One time, when I was about two or three, my dad took us to some demonstration on base.” You say as you begin walking to the mess with him. “I fell asleep about halfway through and slept through a howitzer going off.” 

Soap lets out a laugh so loud it echoes in the courtyard. “Ye slept through a howitzer?” 

You nod. “Yup. My dad never let me live it down. I heard it all the time. ‘You’ll have to try hard to wake her, she slept through a howitzer once.’” 

Soap chuckles, leading you into the mess. “Ye are a deep sleeper.” 

You shrug. “I did say so. My phone will wake me up though. Alarms, calls.” 

“I’ll keep tha’ in mind.” He says as he guides you through the line, making your tray for you. 

You sit between Price and Gaz as usual, feeling a bit on edge still despite your nap after your appointment. You hadn’t gotten to sleep for very long, not nearly long enough to clear your head completely. You know they can tell, Gaz slowly shifting closer and closer to you, Price’s gaze flickering to you out of the corner of his eye every so often. Even Ghost’s eyes pass over you every so often as they sweep across the mess. 

You wonder if he feels responsible. 

You hope he does. 

Soap walks you back to the barracks after lunch and you spend the afternoon burrowed under your blanket again. You’re exhausted and sore after a long morning of training and your appointment. You wish you could sink back into sleep, let the emotions pass without you having to feel them, but you’re too awake now. Too aware of them as they prickle in the back of your mind. 

Dinner passes without incident, but you can’t ignore the feelings still stirring within you. You feel agitated and on edge, not even pacing your room helping you. You let out a breath before you put your slippers on, slipping out of your door. You make your way down the hallway, turning right instead of left like you would if you were heading for the rec room. The door is cracked open and you pause just before you reach it, suddenly feeling nervous. You shouldn’t really. There was no reason to be nervous, yet you can’t help the urge in the back of your mind to turn tail and race back down the hallway to the safety of your room. 

“You can come in, unless you’d prefer standing in the hallway all evening.” A voice calls from inside the office. 

Your face warms a bit at getting caught, but he could probably hear you coming down the hallway. He could probably smell you too. 

You push open the door, slipping inside before closing it behind you. Price stares at you from his desk as you stand there, shifting nervously on your feet. You feel agitated, on edge still. You’re worked up, and you don’t quite know why. 

“Everything alright?” Price asks, likely picking up on your nervous energy. 

Yes. You want to say, but then you’d have to come up with a reason as to why you sought him out, why you feel so worked up. You could just kneel for him. It’s what you should do, let yourself be eased into a peaceful state of mind. Let him take care of you. 

 “I don’t know.” 

The words are hardly more than a whisper, your voice trembling just as much as you are. Your chest feels tight, your breaths becoming shallow. You're not sure when he got up, when he even moved. His scent wraps around you, warmth encompassing your being as your face is pushed against his chest. 

“I need you to breathe for me.” Price says, pressing your ear against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heart, the air flowing in and out of his lungs. 

You close your eyes, trying to match your breaths to his. It's hard, your body fighting your attempt to regulate it. You close your eyes, focusing on the soft fabric of Price's shirt against your cheek, the warmth of his hand on your head as he keeps you pinned against his chest. It's not constricting or suffocating. It's grounding, keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts. 

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to as he holds you there, letting you calm down. You begin to slowly relax, your arms wrapping around his waist, fingers gripping the back of his shirt. 

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” He murmurs, lips brushing the top of your head. 

“I don’t know.” You whisper, still clinging to his shirt. “I’m just...I feel off. Ghost was being hard on me this morning and then I got upset during my appointment and I’ve just felt on edge all day and I can’t relax because I can’t get comfortable!” 

Price tightens his grip around you just slightly. “What do you mean?” 

You huff out a breath, squeezing your eyes closed so the tears don’t escape as the words leave you in a flood before you can stop them. “The blankets aren’t soft enough and the pillows are too thin and it’s too dark and I’m tired of smelling like bland soap!” 

Price hums quietly, squeezing you gently as a tear slides down your cheek. “Then we should do something to fix that.” 

“But I shouldn’t need it!” You cry, trying to push away from him, but he keeps you tight against his chest. “I’m supposed to be a good omega and adapt and learn to be comfortable where I am.” 

“That might be what you were taught,” He says, letting you push away from his chest, but he wraps his hands around your arms, keeping you in front of him. “But things don’t have to be that way. We should have taken care of something like this sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t even think of it. You shouldn’t have had to ask for it.” 

You blink up at him, genuinely surprised by his words. “I...what?” 

“We all have our own little comforts that we keep. Soap sleeps with a stuffed bear. Don’t tell him I told you that.” 

A small smile tugs at your lips at the mental image of Soap snuggling up with a teddy bear. 

“You deserve some comfort too.” He says, squeezing your arms.

“But, it’s not...regulation.” You say. 

“Doesn’t have to be.” He says. “You’re not a soldier. Even then, the only ones going in there are us. The only thing I can’t approve of is painting the walls. Unfortunately the prison grey has to stay.” 

You can’t help but laugh, wiping the tear from your cheek. “I suppose that’s alright. Just...as long as it’s not as dark and maybe a soft blanket or something. That’s really all I need.” 

He hums, staring down at you. You can’t quite figure out the look on his face, something shining in his eyes. “We’ll get it figured out.” He says, squeezing your arms again. 

“Get some shoes on. We’re going on a trip.” 

You look up from your book, staring at Price as he stands in the rec room. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, arms crossed as he stares down at you on the couch. You mark your place in your book, pushing yourself up to sit. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and unlike last week they had the day off, which means you do as well. 

“Are you going to make me hike through the woods for two hours again, sir?” You ask, pushing yourself up to stand. 

“No. We’re going into town.” He says. 

You blink at him. You haven’t been off base since you arrived, and you figured you probably wouldn’t be getting that opportunity any time soon. “Can I ask why, sir?” 

“We’ve got some shopping to do.” He says simply, turning and leaving the rec room. 

You stand there shocked for a moment before you’re following after him, slipping into your room to put comfortable shoes on and grab your phone and a jacket. You don’t even have a wallet to carry around to make yourself feel better. 

Price is waiting by the door for you, a car parked outside. You’re slow to approach him, suddenly feeling a mix of emotions. He’s doing this for you. He’d really taken your conversation last night to heart and now he’s going to go spend money on you that he doesn’t need to. 

“What’s that look for sweetheart?” He asks, standing in front of the door. 

“You don’t have to do this.” You say, staring up at him. He seems so tall like this, so...imposing. 

“Course I do.” He says, his gaze softening just slightly. “Should have done it sooner. You deserve to be comfortable too.” He says, turning to open the door. 

You follow him out, climbing into the car when he opens the door for you. He gets in the driver’s seat, the car rumbling to life. He drives to the front gate, passing off two ID cards to the guards. He passes one to you when the guard hands them back, the gate in front of you opening. 

“That’s your ID card. Gets you on and off base.” He explains as he drives away from the gate. “I doubt you’ll be leaving on your own, but just in case.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You say, slipping the card under your phone case for the time being. 

He glances at you, a small smile on his lips. “You can call me John, if you'd like. You don't need to be formal when we're in private.” 

“Yes, sir.” You make a face, biting your lip at your automatic response. “Sorry. Old habits.” 

“From the institute?” He asks. 

You shake your head. “My dad, actually. He was a firm believer in respecting authority figures. All ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ by the time we were old enough to know the difference.” 

“Sounds like my father.” He says, staring out at the road ahead. “Old grizzled military man.” 

“Do you still have contact with him?” You ask curiously. You don’t know much of anything about their families, their backgrounds.

“Not really. Beyond holidays, neither of us really make an effort to talk to the other. After mum passed, there wasn’t much to talk about.” He says. 

“She was the glue.” You say, watching the trees pass by the car. 

“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “As betas usually are.”

“Do you have any siblings?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. You know next to nothing about them, while they likely know your entire life story. 

“No,” He shakes his head. “Just me. You have a lot of siblings.” 

You nod. “Seven at the time I left for the institute. Could be more now.” 

“They never tried to keep contact with you?” He asks. 

“Nope.” You turn to look out the window. “The institute didn’t really encourage it either, because we were being prepared to join new packs. That’s hard to do when you still have bonds with your old ones. I think they might have forcibly ended some. I know there were some omegas that tried to keep contact, but it became less and less until eventually it just stopped.” 

Price’s hands tighten around the steering wheel just slightly. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been paying attention. Silence settles in the car as he drives, farmlands passing until the houses start getting closer and closer together. You stare at the buildings as he drives through town, a blend of historical and modern. 

“It’s beautiful here.” You say, watching people and cars pass by. 

“I suppose so.” He says, glancing at you. “I grew up in this area.” 

You turn to look at him. “You did? I didn’t know that. Then again, I don’t know much about any of you.” 

“You can ask us, you know.” He says. “We don’t have to be that secretive with you. At least not about ourselves.” 

He pulls into a parking lot, opening your door for you and helping you out of the car. You slip your hand into his, holding it as you cross the parking lot. You stare up at the store. ASDA. You’ve never heard of it before, though you suppose the stores would be different here too. 

Price drops your hand to grab a cart, the store bustling with people. You hang onto the edge of the cart, staying close to Price’s side. “We’re here for you.” He says, guiding you through the aisles. “Get whatever you want.” 

He’s led you to the homegoods section, your eyes widening at the entire aisle of blankets and bedding in front of you. You try to take it all in, but you feel a bit overwhelmed. There’s so many choices, so many options. 

“Pick out as many as you want. Don’t worry about the price.” He says, before you can protest. “We get paid decently, but don’t have many chances to use it. Let me do this for you.” 

You stare up into his eyes, the sincerity in them, before you nod, turning back to the wall of blankets before you. You study them, running your hand along them to find the softest ones, doing as he says and ignoring the price tags. You settle on a couple soft ones, grabbing a throw blanket as well that you can pack around to the rec room if you want to. He takes you to the pillow aisle, and you settle on a pair of fluffy pillows, as well as a couple decorative ones as well. 

“Here.” He slips a big plush strawberry into your arms before you leave the aisle, your cheeks warming as you look at it. “Makes me think of you.” 

You preen at his words, holding onto the strawberry as you make for the lamps and nightlights, settling on a cat shaped one that will sit on your desk and changes colors. You pick up a few other items before heading for the toiletries, finally setting the strawberry in the cart as you zero in on the soaps and body washes. You smell all the strawberry scented ones, trying to find the perfect one. 

“Why strawberry?” Price asks as you put a strawberries and cream scented body wash in the cart. 

“Compliments my scent.” You explain as he leads you to the shampoo and conditioner. “We had a scent specialist come to the institute one time as an activity. We all figured out what our scents smell like and what notes compliment them the best.” 

An arm wraps around your waist before you can look at the shampoo, pulling you back against a broad chest. Price’s nose presses into your neck and he inhales deeply. He lets out a content hum, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. “I think you’re right.” 

Your face burns hot as he presses a gentle kiss against the side of your neck before releasing you. You stand there for a moment, trying to calm the heat rushing through your body and focus on the shampoo. You hear him chuckle as you shuffle forward, your face still burning as you smell the shampoo bottles. 

You settle on one, holding onto Price’s arm as you continue around the store, picking up a few other items and a couple for himself as well before heading to the checkout. 

You hold on to Price’s arm as you leave the store, sticking close to him as he loads the bags into the trunk. You can feel the slight tension in his body, the way his eyes scan the parking lot every few seconds. You can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for him to relax, especially out in public. How fast his mind has to be running, how alert he is to everyone and everything. A threat could come out of nowhere, could come from anyone. 

It must be exhausting. 

“Hungry, sweetheart?” He asks as he buckles his seatbelt. 

“Always.” You answer, leaning on the center console.

He smiles. “What are you in the mood for?” 

You blink at him. Most of the restaurants you know probably don’t exist in England. “Fish and chips?” You offer, pulling up the one British food you’re confident in naming. 

“Fish and chips it is.” He says, turning on the car. 

“I have yet to have real fish and chips.” You say, settling into the passenger seat. 

“Well, I know the perfect place.” He says, pulling out of the parking lot. 

You don’t have to go far before he’s parking on the street and helping you out of the car. His hand settles on your lower back, guiding you down the street to a fish and chips shop. 

It's too early for the dinner rush, the shop mostly empty and quiet. Price orders for you before guiding you to a table, and you let him sit facing the door and front window. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. They seem so relaxed on base, though you suppose that's the place they feel the most comfortable. You can't even imagine the kinds of things they've seen, the horrors they've been subjected to. 

You don't want to think about the things they've done. 

Your eyes snap downwards as Price's hand slides across the table, closing around yours. You don't want to think about the things he's done with those hands. The lives he's taken, the people he's tortured. Will he ever turn those hands on you? 

They've given you no reason to fear them yet. They've all been kind, polite. Even Ghost hasn't truly given you a reason to fear him, despite his obvious disapproval and hard exterior. 

You know nothing about them. 

You've known them for just over two weeks. You can't possibly have any understanding of who they are, how they express their emotions. What if they get upset? What happens when they get angry? What if you anger them?

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you. Any of it.” Price says, drawing you from your worried thoughts. “I know you were taught to expect this, perhaps not this exact situation, but something like this. Being sent off to some strange alpha to join their pack, bonding with complete strangers. None of us were expecting this either. It’s been an adjustment in a lot of ways, but I want you to know that we’ll take care of you. You need anything, you tell us. You want anything, we’ll do our best to make it happen. We’ll keep you safe.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I promise you that.” 

You want to believe him. You really do. They haven’t given you any reason to not believe it. 

It’s only been two weeks. 

You continue to talk with him as you eat, making light conversation, getting to know him a bit more. Despite the trickling uncertainty in the back of your mind, it feels good. It feels like a date, something you had dreamed of before you presented, something you had imagined happening when you finally got old enough to start looking for potential mates and packs. 

Of course, back then, you had thought you’d be an alpha. 

It had been expected of you. 

Price has his arm wrapped around you as you walk back to the car, his hand on your hip. It’s possessive almost, and it makes your stomach flutter. Price is the only one you haven’t kissed yet, well, besides Ghost, but you’re certain you’d wind up through a wall if you even thought of trying. It’s almost ironic that Price would be the last, considering he’s going to be the one claiming you, the one you spend your heat with. 

You stare out the window as the buildings fade into farmlands again. The sun is setting, painting the world in oranges and reds. You still feel a bit warm from Price’s possessive hold on you, his teasing in the store. You can still feel the tickle of his beard on your skin, his lips pressing against your neck. 

You jump when rough fingers trail down your arm, pulling it from where it had been resting in your lap. 

“You were right.” Price says as he lifts your hand to his face, pressing his nose against your wrist and inhaling for a moment. “Strawberries are the strongest note in your scent.” He lowers your hand again, lacing your fingers together. “What’s got you all worked up over there.” 

You stare at him, your face getting warm again. Of course he can smell it. You can smell the muskiness beginning to form around the edges of his scent. Desire. “You haven’t kissed me yet.” You say, moving his hand into your lap. “You're the only one that hasn't...well, besides Ghost.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “You sound disappointed.” 

You untangle your fingers with his, letting his hand rest on your thigh. “What if I am?”

His fingers flex against your leg, the muskiness of his scent strengthening. “Then maybe we should fix that.” 

The cocktail of scents in the car is intoxicating, and you feel bad for the poor beta soldier at the gate when Price rolls down the window to hand off your IDs. 

Price is out of the car as soon as it's parked, moving around to your side to open the door. He pins you against the side of the car as soon as you're out, caging you in with his arms. 

You stare up at him, head swimming with the musk laced in his scent. You can see his eyes shining in the light next to the door of the barracks. He looks like a hungry wolf, the back of your neck prickling with excitement. 

He leans down, breath fanning your face as he gets closer and closer to you. You press yourself against him, hands gripping his shoulders as he presses his lips to yours. His lips are surprisingly soft, his beard tickling your face. He growls quietly against your lips, pushing you harder against the side of the car. 

You let out a quiet sound in response, hands gripping his jacket. His hands slide from the car to your sides, sliding down to grip your hips. You can feel the muscle hidden beneath his jacket and shirt, the strength that he possesses. He may not be purebred like Ghost, but he’s still every inch an alpha. 

You let out another quiet sound as he pulls away, pressing a caste kiss to the corner of your lips. “Bloody hell, now I know what those boys were on about.” He breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“They were talking about me?” You ask, pulling back slightly. 

“Only good things.” Price grins, leaning down to kiss you again. “Sweet as sugar.” He breathes, kissing you again. “And just as addicting.” He pulls away from you, his hands resting on your waist. “We should get your stuff inside so you can get it all set up. Want me to fetch one of the boys to help?” 

You bite your lip. “Or you could just do it.” 

He stares down at you, something flashing across his face but you can’t quite make it out in the low light. “You’re sure?” His voice is quiet, taking on that soft tone it often does when he speaks to you. 

“You’ll have to eventually.” You shrug. “Might as well start now.” 

He leans down, kissing you again before pulling away, opening up the trunk. He grabs most of the bags, only leaving the pillows for you to grab before he leads the way into the barracks. You open your door, stepping in first before he follows. You dump your pillows on the bed, and he sets the rest of the bags on your desk. 

“Blankets in the wash.” You say, digging them out of the bags, pulling the tags off. 

“I’ll take them.” He says, fishing out his stuff from the bags before taking the blankets from you. 

You switch out your pillows for the softer ones, organizing the decorative ones just the way you want. You squish the strawberry to your chest again, a smile forming on your face before you flop back onto the bed, sinking into the soft pillows. It’s almost perfect, you think. 

“Comfortable?” Price’s voice rumbles in the doorway, a smile on his face as he stares at you. 

“Much better.” You say, sitting up and placing the strawberry in its place. 

The two of you finish taking everything out of the bags, decorating the rest of your room. The posters on the walls, and the nightlight on your desk. It feels far more homey already, and you know you’re going to sleep well tonight once the blankets are out of the wash. 

“Thank you.” You say, looking up at Price. “This really means a lot.” 

“All in a day’s work, love.” He says, pulling you into his arms again. 

You lean against his chest, resting your head over his heart, listening to it beat steadily against your ear. 

You wake up suddenly, yet you’re not quite sure why. There’s no one in your room, your new nightlight easily showing you that. Your mouth is dry, but there’s a line of wetness down your chin. You reach across your nightstand, your phone illuminating the time. 

Just past one a.m. 

You smack your lips, feeling thirsty after the excitement of the day. You’d forgotten to grab water when you left the rec room and you huff out a sigh. You don’t want to get up, but now that you’re aware you’re thirsty, there’s no stopping those thoughts. 

You don’t even bother with slippers as you pad to the door, opening it up. You leave it cracked as you sleepily shuffle towards the rec room, the barracks almost dead quiet this late. You grab a bottle from the fridge, unscrewing the top before drinking a few gulps. It’s cold and tastes divine, soothing the dryness of your mouth. You screw the top back on, closing the fridge before heading back towards your room. 

You turn the corner, still half asleep, nearly yelping as you slam into a chest. You stumble back a couple steps, staring up at the covered face looming over you. You gulp, holding the bottle to your chest. 

“S-Sorry.” You stutter. 

“You’re out of bed.” He says quietly, voice rumbling in the silence. 

“Thirsty.” It’s all you can manage as you hold up the bottle. 

He stares at you for a long moment, eyes flickering all over your face. His chest is heaving, almost as if he had been running before you ran into him. His hands are closed into fists at his sides, knuckles almost white with how tense he is. You think for a moment he might be mad, but you can’t catch any whiff of ozone in the air. Your nose prickles at the scent, but it’s not anger. 

Your tired brain can’t make sense of it, yearning to sink back into the softness of your bed again. You slowly shuffle around him, taking cautious steps, waiting for him to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. He simply watches you go, standing there in the hallway as you slip back into your room, not moving until he hears the click of your lock slipping into place. 

NEXT ->

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