#poly141 x female reader

[ryuzakemo128]

MDNI

Imagine retired! hitman! female reader. Think John Wick style.

"I'm retired." you say.

"I don't kill anymore." you remind.

"I don't need to go back." you protest.

But as soon as one of them gets hurt? You don't hesitate in making it personal.

The mask is on.

The gun is out.

And your rage is felt.

Your rage is real.

Your facade is gone.

"Hell is here. Repent while you can." uttered from the father to his son who harmed your love.

[forsworned]

Being the only female on TF141 is like Simon constantly scolding you for getting into sheningans with Johnny and Kyle while Price sits on his arm chair with a good book, whiskey in hand and him puffing out smoke like a chimney from his cigar like the daddy he is.

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

You cock an amused brow at him as you look up from the embarrassingly cute photo of the skull-masked behemoth fast sleep and cuddling your Hello Kitty plushie. "Cos y'fockin' said so?" You mock his gravelly Manchester accent and it sends Johnny and Kyle into a fit of giggles. And even Price is chuffed by it. It's contagious really.

It lets your guard down enough for him to yank your phone out of your hand deleting the picture with a swiftness that made your eyes ream and your heart jump. You all groan and jeer at him for being a poor sport but he's quite satisfied with himself. Little does he know, you have a few copies of it in your desktop.

[novemberheart]

{overview} You get answers for Simon’s behavior

{warnings} fem reader, poly 141, a/b/o dynamics, mentions of fighting, cursing, mentions of heat cycles and marking

Chapter 31 <- Chapter 32 -> Chapter 33

“He has the flu,” the doctor spoke. John growled, not in the mood for games. “Alpha flu,” The doctor clarified.

“Bloody stupid name,” Kyle mumbled.

“What does that mean?” You urged.

“Has he been away for a while?” The doctor questioned. Her glasses had become foggy. She was nervous. John growled again. They had already answered that.

“Yes,” you answered. You wrapped your arm around John’s bicep giving him a small squeeze. His shoulders fell slightly.

“Have you been marked yet?” she asked, turning her full attention to you. You quickly shook your head.

“That would be why. His alpha already considers you his omega and being away from you without marking you”- she cut herself off with a sigh. “It would be like if you left your car with the keys in it in a bad neighborhood- for lack of a better analogy,” She explained. You weren't sure you loved the comparison.

“So his alpha is losing it because she's his omega but doesn't have the claim to prove it?” John clarified. The doctor nodded her head.

“Being away could've caused paranoia, especially if his alpha felt she wasn't well protected- or it could just be because deeper bonds have formed,” She continued.

Could be both.

You were by yourself with Kyle, who wouldn't be in the best position to protect you. Plus the two of you have grown closer.

“How come I haven't experienced this?” John voiced what you were thinking.

“It depends on a lot of different factors,” she started. “Could be biological, genetic, outside factors, so many things,”

John nodded his head.

“What do we do now?” Kyle questioned.

“Well, the best thing would be claiming. When's your next heat?”

“About three to four weeks,” John spoke for you. You were happy he was keeping track.

“Well then our next option would be sedation”-

“No,” John interjected. “She’s not being marked while sedated. Simon wouldn't want it to be that way and neither do I,”

“I’m fine with it,” you assured. You lied. No one wanted to be marked while sedated- besides betas. It was traumatizing, even though it wouldn't be painful. When you woke up you had to work through every emotion sober- unclouded by your heat. It scared you.

“No,” John pressed again. You breathed a sigh of relief. John’s hand rested on the back of your head, pulling you towards him. You whined, burying yourself into his side. “Is there a way we can spur on her heat?” John suggested.

“I suggest talking to an omega specialist,” she offered. John sucked in through his teeth nodding his head.

“Thank you, doctor,” He extended his arms towards the door. He showed her out. “Come here, pretty girl,” John soothed. You clawed at your eyes, quickly finding comfort against his chest. “I'm sorry that happened,” he whispered, his own throat growing tight at the lingering scent of your fear.

“We can talk to an omega specialist,” you mumbled, once your tears had finally died down.

“You sure, lovie?” Kyle spoke up.

“Could just lock the bastard in Johnny’s room till he snaps out of it,” John jested. You chuckled dryly, still refusing to remove your face from his chest. The two men sighed, sharing a glance with each other.

This wasn't how they wanted this to go down.

“If there is something we could do, would you be open to being marked?” John hummed, pressing you even further against him.

You were ready.

You had been during your heat.

You had waited longer than most omegas to be marked, not that that's saying much. It was more of a privilege than anything. Your pack was letting you consent to it on your own.

“Yes,” you agreed aloud. “I’d want you to mark me too though,” you added. John quirked his brow, an almost amused look on his face.

“That’s a lot, sweetheart,” he reminded. “Besides I’m not sure Simon’ll let me that close to his omega,” John purred. You grumbled, shooting him an angry look.

“I don't want to just belong to one of you. I want to belong to all of you,” you pressed. A flame sparked in the bellies of both men, their hearts skipping a beat.

“You already do,” John hushed, brushing your hair away from your forehead. “All ours. Which is why we have to take care of you. I'll schedule an appointment with an omega specialist today and you go write down all the questions you have, yes?”

“Yes, alpha,” You agreed.

Simon groaned causing Johnny to sit up in his seat.

“Morning, L.T.” Johnny yawned. Simon groaned again, a familiar ache and neediness in his body, along with a deep ache in his already bruised jaw. “How ya feelin’?” Johnny pressed.

“What happened?” he groaned. He could hardly open his eyes.

“Cap knocked you out. Right hook,” Johnny responded. That would explain it. The captain had a deadly hook. He was lucky his head was still attached to his neck.

Simon suddenly snapped awake, causing Johnny to throw himself forward.

“Pup?” Simon questioned, his eyes bearing into Johnny’s for assurance. He could still smell you against the sheets. His stomach twisted with a painful groan.

“She’s alright,” Johnny responded quickly. He didn't believe him. Johnny could tell. His eyes still searching for any signs that he had fucked up beyond repair. While it wasn't a good situation to be in, it wasn't Simon's fault.

Johnny knew why this happened to Simon. Simon’s walls were still up. Granted, you had shortened them quite a few feet, yet he was still holding himself back. Johnny could see it. He could see the way Simon stopped himself from letting his alpha take care of you. The way he’d whisper to Johnny to get you seconds once you cleared your plate instead of getting it for you himself. The way he always put your raincoat in plain view so you wouldn't forget it- instead of just reminding you.

It was only natural that his alpha wanted credit for these acts. He wanted to be seen as a worthy mate.

“She was a bit shaken, but she won’t hold it against ya,” Johnny assured. Simon's back flattened against the mattress, not in ease but in defeat. “Wanna hear what the doctor said about you?” Johnny's tone was too teasing for Simon's mood. “She said your alphas pitchin’ a fit because you were away from our girl,” Johnny smirked. “You wanna mark her,” Johnny whispered. The gravel in his voice usually sent a tingle up Simon’s spine, this time it made Simon kick him off the bed. “Bastard,” Johnny grumbled. The thud alerted John.

“Find my tooth while you're down there,” Simon requested of Johnny, shooting a glare at John.

“Don’t hold that against me, honey,” John soothed. Simon flushed at the name, rolling over onto his stomach. “I’d want you to do the same to me if I was in your position,” John added. Simon felt a wave of sickness wash over him again.

“How is she?”

“I just told you ho”- John held up his hand to cut-off the Scot.

“Go cuddle with you omega,” John directed, nodding his head towards the door. Johnny huffed at the cut-off, but would rather be doing that anyway. “She was scared,” John said once the door had shut. “Had all of us scared,” John continued. Simon whined low in his throat. He was with his alpha- his captain, he didn't need to be strong anymore. “None of that,” John soothed. His hand grabbed Simon by the scruff so his head was in his lap. “Wasn't your fault. She’s sitting at the kitchen counter writing questions to ask the omega specialist. She wants you to mark her,” John explained. A pleased rumble echoed in Simon’s chest at the idea- but stopped due to another.

“She’s not being sedated,” Simon snarled.

“Course not,” John assured. “Kyle’s been talking to one over the computer, apparently there is a pill that can spur on a heat. We’re looking into that,” John explained.

“I can wait till her heat,” Simon assured. “I can pick up a mission till her heat”-

“That's not feasible Simon,” John sighed. “First of all, we can't send you out there in this condition. Second, who knows when our girl will even get her heat. Third, your being away will only make the symptoms worse.”

“She gonna hate me after this?” Simon asked, mostly to himself.

“Do you want to mark her?” John asked suddenly.

Yes.

He's been biting back the urge to sink his teeth into you since Inverness.

Simon settled for a grunt.

“Then she won’t hate you, Simon,”

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Johnny thanked, peeling off your raincoat for you. The doctor smiled at the interaction.

“Of course. The situation, as it has been described to me, isn't one that should be taken lightly or pushed back,” she responded. “How are you doing?” She asked softly, turning towards you. She had eyes that looked exactly like Kyles. It instantly calmed you.

“I’m alright. Nervous. Thank you for asking,” you tried to smile.

“Your alpha- John, sent me over your medical history and I think the best option will be Camilcotazine. Are you familiar with that drug in any way?” She asked.

You were. One of the doctors at the omega holding house wanted to put you on that to regulate your heats. You declined because of the side effects. Instant two-week heat.

You nodded your head, explaining why you chose not to go on it at the time.

“Well, that's exactly why I want to prescribe it to you,” was her response.

“How long will she have to take it?” Johnny asked. You suddenly realized you left your paper with questions at home.

“For about three months,” she said, making both of you wince. “We can't tell if the medication is a good fit for you during the first month, because it will throw you into a heat regardless. The second month is to see if your heat begins to regulate itself and the third month is to see if it matches the second month,” she explained. It made sense, unfortunately.

“That’s fine,” you spoke up. “What if my heat lasts longer than it is supposed to?”

“The good thing about Camilcotazine is that it's a very commonly used medication. It has gone through thousands of tests and has been used for omegas for over fifty years. 1/7 omegas are on or have been on it. I am very confident in its ability,” she explained.

You looked over at Johnny.

“When do I start?” you breathed.

Hi friends!!! The next few chapters are going to be veryyy spicy! Hopefully that is something you enjoy…… see you in three days! 🧡

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 7 - Now We’re Even

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: Description of injuries.

AN: It's Monday already :(

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You wake and you’re in pain. The room you’re in is dark, lit up by a string of barely working lights flickering on the wall. You’re in a bed though, a proper bed. You feel down by your side, there's a bandage there now. If you press hard enough you can feel stitches. Somones patched you up, you’re not sure where you are, there are no windows in the room.

You swing your legs out of bed. You can hear voices, the door to the room is cracked open. You get up gritting your teeth through the pain, you press your hand to your side leaving the room to follow the sounds of the voices. Each step sends shooting pains down your leg, you’re hobbling down the corridor to a room at the end, that's where the voices are coming from. 

“Going west is suicide, we should be pushing north. Cut off Konni’s troops before they make ground.” It’s a female voice.

“Now that sounds like suicide.” A male voice you don’t recognise replies. 

“He’s right you’re outnumbered. We should let them fight, slip in and take out Makarov from the inside out.” That's Price’s voice. You push open the door, everyone in the room turns to look at you. Soap is the first to move, or maybe you should call him Johnny now. He doesn’t even know your name, or maybe he does. 

“You look like shit.” He says resting his hand on your shoulder. Your stomach drops. That was the first thing Caleb said to you. You look past him into the room, there's a table in the middle with a map. You look up at the other people standing around staring at you. You can see Ghost and Gaz, then there's Alex, one of his arms in a sling with bandages around his face. 

The woman must be Farah, you’ve never seen her in person before, only seen her photo on the news or wanted posters. She looks different in person, older, taller.

“Did you find anything important?” You ask, pointing at the laptop. Soap moves to the side letting you step in. You try to hide the limp but the pain makes you scrunch your face. 

“Yeah, whoever's computer you stuck it in had way more than we hoped.” Price says. You walk over to the table looking at the map. You can tell what's safehouses, the rest you’re not sure, they’re marked as points of interest. There’s a dotted line circling an area with a question mark next to it.

“Ivan, he was my handler, pretty much ran the base on the border.” You say. And all it cost you was a kiss. 

“It’s a listening post, Konni.” You point inside the circle on the map. “Here, Al Qatala safehouse.” You look round the table. 

“What about here?” Farah asks, pulling another map over. You move, wincing as you do, pulling the map over to orient yourself.

“Al Qatala base, it was a farm. Konni helped Al Qatala take it over. They mostly use it for weapons storage.” 

“How do you know? I thought you didn’t listen to what they said.” Ghost asks, his arms crossed. 

“They’re all along smuggling routes, easy waypoints to stop off if needed.” You explain pulling the maps round. A pain shoots up your side, you wobble bracing yourself on the table. Someone's hands end up round your waist, you don’t care who it is, you're secretly happy for the support. 

“I’m okay.” You say when you regain your balance. The hand leaves your waist and lands on the small of your back.

“You should rest, We can talk about this later.” Farah says. You look up at her, you didn’t expect her to care. You look over at Alex, he smiles at you. 

“I want to help.” You say turning to look at Price. “You said pick a side. I’m picking.” He eyes are digging into you, you lean on the table taking the weight off your side. 

“You did good work for the ULF. We’re in your debt.” Farah says. You laugh. 

“With respect, Farah. I’m not picking the ULF-” You gesture to Price “-I’ll stick with them. The ULF patched me up, you have intel, you have Alex, we’re even. I’ll stick with you, 141, as long as your interests align then I'm here to help. The moment that changes I'm gone.”

Price is smiling at you with his arms crossed. He looks back at Ghost for a second then back to you, you have no idea what he’s thinking or if he’ll even accept your help, or want it. Your head is pounding now. You have no idea how he managed to keep a straight face with a bullet in his side.

“Thinking about a life in the military?” Price asks. You chuckle, gripping the table making your knuckles go white. Maybe you do need to lay down. You have no idea how long it’s been, they clearly have no morphine or you would have hoped they would have given you some.  

“In your dreams.” You lurch forward gripping your side. Pain shoots through your leg. You can’t hold your weight anymore and you fall back against Soap behind you. Christ, you should have stayed in bed. Black spots flash across your vision and adrenaline pulses through you. You use it to stand yourself up with his help. 

“Take her back to bed.” You hear Price say. More arms come round you, you look up and see Gaz. You didn’t expect him to help but you don’t care you wrap your arm round him and they both help you walk out the room. 

You want to help, you don’t want to be laid down in bed. You could use a nap though, you feel so tired. You’re not sure how long it’s been if it’s the same day or a new day.

“Where are we? Not another safehouse I hope.” You say trying to lighten the mood. 

“One of the ULF bases outside of Sakhra.” Soap says. Great, you roll your eyes hoping they can’t see. At least you’re away from the border. 

“Has Makarov made it to the base yet?” You ask as they help you get back in the bed. 

“Don’t know. Don’t worry about that now though. Get some rest then we’ll talk.” You sigh laying back in the bed pulling the blanket over your legs.

“Sorry about the way I acted before. In the safehouse.” Gaz says, you look up at him. You haven’t seen him without a hat till now.

“It’s okay, I get it. No hard feelings?” You ask, meeting his eyeline. 

“Water under the bridge.” He says, extending his hand out. You reach over and shake it.

“Look at you making friends already.” Soap says, slapping him on his back. Gaz shakes his head then leaves. 

“I’m sorry about your friend by the way.” Soap says leaning in closer. You sigh looking up at the ceiling. 

“I didn’t want him to get hurt. If I thought he was going to help-” You choke on the words. You don’t get to mourn for him. “Guess it's for the best right? No strings attached.” He lets out a sigh. 

“What about the other guy? Ivar?” 

“Ivan? What about him?” You shrug. “It was business, nothing else.” 

“You really should get some rest.” He says turning to head for the door. You nod at him leaning back in the bed and looking up at the ceiling. 

…

When you wake, Ghost is in a chair by your bed. His eyes are closed, his head tipped forward. You’re not sure what to do, you didn’t expect to wake up with anyone by your side let alone Ghost of all people. You don’t want to wake him, you’re just frozen in bed watching his breathing. 

You have to turn to take the weight off your side. The creaking of the bed makes him jump up. He straightens up, turning to look at you. You feel bed, you almost want to apologise. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks. 

“Good. I think. Did Price get checked out?” You ask, sitting up in bed, you remember you completely forgot to ask.

“Yeah, he did.” You don’t know what to say now. You’re feeling a lot better, the pain is better maybe they’ve been giving you something. 

“You’ve been asleep for over 24 hours. Price was starting to worry.” He says suddenly.

“Just Price?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. 

“Soap too. But he worries about the weather.” He says getting up. You scoff, your eyes following him as he walks round to the other side of the bed.

“Think you can stand? Price said to bring you as soon as you woke.” He opens the door. Something blooms inside you, something you haven’t felt in years. Do they care about you? These strangers who wouldn't have hesitated to put a bullet in your head a few days ago? Now they’re sitting by your bedside and worrying about you? 

You swing your legs out the bed trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. Your side hurts but not as much, more like a dull throb rather than the sharp hot feeling you had before. He hands you a jacket and you pull it on. You realise your clothes have been changed too, the old ones had been bloodied. 

You walk through the hall and out into the sunlight. It’s bright. You have to bring your hand up to shield it from the sun. The place is busy, surrounded by high walls with armed guards walking around. Some people look over and stare but you think it’s more for Ghost and his mask than you. 

You’re not out for long before you’re taken into a small building, Ghost knocks on a door and you hear Price shout. You walk in to see him leaned over a table, the only light in the room coming from a small window and a lamp. The place looks dark ominous, the walls decorated with maps, photos, and other various things. So this is where they’ll decide your fate. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He asks, standing up straight. 

“Fine.” You say hearing Ghost close the door behind him. 

“What are you looking at?” You ask pointing at the papers on the table. You think you recognise them. 

“First things first.” You hear a chair scrape behind you. You swallow the nerves. “Sit.” 

You sit down as Price walks over to you. 

“You did well getting intel, the plans-” he gestures back to the table. “-missile guidance system Makarov stole from the Russians. Farah’s been trying to get her hands on them for months.” You’re not sure what you’re supposed to say so you nod and keep listening. 

“I didn’t expect it to get so loud while you were getting Alex out though.” 

“Well I was kind of winging it.” You admit looking down. 

“It’s good though. Worked to our advantage anyway.” He reaches over, picking up a laptop and turning it to face you. “This was sent to a shadow company from Konni.” It’s a picture of you, and a bounty. Wanted alive, that's good at least. 

“Shadow Company?” You ask looking up at Price. 

“Americans, don’t worry about them.” You frown. What are Americans doing communicating with Konni? “The point is they don’t think this is ULF related. They think you’re just an opportunist who was paid to get Alex out. They haven’t traced it back to us.” 

“How long do you think that will last though?”

“Not sure but right now we’ll use whatever advantage we have. Konni were going to get intel out of Alex, but now they can’t.”

“I bet Makarov is pissed.” You say scoffing.

“They’re not going to move without having solid intel on the ULF.” 

“Why?” 

“They think they’re outnumbered.” 

“Surely not? Konni is massive, Makarov basically has Russia's defence in his back pocket.” 

“Using Russian defences would be an act of war.” Ghost says. He walks round into your field of view. You look between them.

“Why are you telling me all this?” You ask. Maybe they don’t want your help and they just want to rinse you for intel.

“If you’re going to help us, you need to know where we stand. What the plan is.” Price says. 

“What is the plan?” Price smiles looking at Ghost then back at you. 

“We’re going to kill Makarov.”

next

Banners by plum98

[cynicalrosebud]

Masterlist

Hello! You can call me Cyn! I’m 25, Ojibwe Native, and really tired!

I write for Call of Duty mostly, OCs, male readers, female readers, I do it all! Depends on what gender I'm feelin' that day. I have a proclivity towards hurt/comfort/whump fics, so please be mindful of the tags.

Friendly reminder that all of my work is my own creation and is protected. Do not repost on other sites, copy, or steal my work. This includes lifting text, using it in AI chatbots, or sharing it without my explicit permission. I work hard on my stories and creations, and I kindly ask that you respect that effort by not reusing my work without proper credit or authorization.

If you'd like to share or use something, please reach out to me first for permission. Thank you for understanding! :)

My best work can be found under #Cyn’s Best

Incorrect Quotes:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Ghost is scary

Subs deal with so much

Price’s Lecture

Echoes of Duty (COD Sentinel AU)

Masterlist

Worldbuilding

Sentinel and Guide SAS Handbook: Special Operations

Rumor Has It (Poly!TF141 x oc!Male)

Masterlist of Chapters

Blurbs and Drabbles Masterlist

141 + Nikolai x Rumor Kinky Drabbles Masterlist MDNI

Rumor’s Dossier

By Trust Alone (Soap x Mexican!Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

K9 Hybrid AU

AU Worldbuilding

Hybrid Gear and Civvies

Handle It (K9!Hybrid!Reader x Handler!Alex Keller Masterlist

Loyalty & Instinct (K9!Hybrid!Reader x Handler!Kyle "Gaz" Garrick) Masterlist

Lacuna (K9!Hybrid!Reader x Handler!John Price) Masterlist

Collateral Hearts (K9!Hybrid!Reader x Handler!Simon “Ghost Riley) Masterlist

Ka-Freakin-Boom (K9!Hybrid!Reader x Handler! John “Soap” MacTavish) Masterlist

Kinktober 2024

Fic List

SFW Alphabet COD

Ghost - He Riley Loves Me

Price - Price Check

Gaz

Soap

Soldier, Poet, Kings (TF141 x Reader)

Jojo's Bizarre GhostPrice

Parallel Lines (Price x Reader)

Gentle Descent (Alex Keller x Reader). MDNI

Tactical Observer - Poly141 x Reader - Request Fic

Tactical Observer Part 2 - Request Fic

Requests are open! Nothing illegal or gross and please stick to COD characters but otherwise I’m available!

I also accept requests for fic banners

141 Dividers I made!

Dividers by @drizztdohurtin

Banner by @saradika

[spicyspiders]

Loads of request/ writing ideas

Feel free to ignore all of these mostly male reader sorry ofc you can choose whatever gender u want ur the writer!! These have been eating away at my brain for a while

Male Reader x graves

Male Reader x gaz

Husband reader x Price

Bf Reader x gaz

First date with any one on 141 or all of them ur choice

You team has to work with the 141 (male reader,female reader or gn reader don’t matter) you can make a series about it leading up to smut or jus one write yk

You teach graves a lesson (smut) male reader

(Maybe he’s like being EXTRA bossy or out of line picking at the smallest things and u snap and idk smut..)

Drunk night out with poly141 (fluff or smut wtv works)

Skincare (fluff) with any person from cod

Husband price and house wife/husband reader where they stay home and idk he takes care of them (fluff or smut ur choice )

Hand necklace ( smut ) anyone from cod

Bookstore reader x anyone from cod ( smut or fluff idk you choose )

Roommate soap ( smut )

(Idk how u feel abt preg reader..) but preg reader or single dad reader x anyone from cod ( fluff )

Neighbor Kyle ( smut )

Poly141 x Reader smut

Or hear me out.. you were on one team (ur own) got moved to the 141 after a altercation see JOHNNY after he basically left u ( he said he would help u get out of a toxic household and jus ghosted u..) (pre military) you can choose how it goes either smut fluff or angst up to u Pooks

Idk man these have been nawing at my brain for a hot minute I’ll add to the list can I be 🌞 anon so I can continue adding?

Yeah you can be the 🌞 anon. I'm going to go through this list and put a link to the ones that I've already written. I'll put it under a read more since this list is pretty long.

Here is a link to my Graves x male reader tag. I've only written one for him, but it's something.

Link to my Gaz x male reader tag.

Haven't written a story where Price and the reader are husbands, but here's a link to my Price x male reader tag.

The first Gaz story I wrote kind of has this depending on how you read it.

The next four points on your list I don't think I've written.

I haven't written a drunk night out, but I've written something where Price, the reader, and Ghost go out to a bar together. Here's the link.

It's not skincare per say, but I've written a fic where Ghost helps the reader shave his face.

I don't write fem reader fics, but this one kind of relates to Price x husband male reader, which I haven't written.

Does hand necklace mean choking? I'm sure I've written something that has choking in it already, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't write it again.

I haven't written anything like this before.

Or this.

I probably wouldn't write anything with pregnancy in it, but maybe maybe something with a single male reader.

I've written anything like this.

It isn't exactly poly, but I've written multiple stories where the reader is with all of 141. Those can be found in the Gaz and Price links I've put above.

The last bullet points sounds intense. Johnny said he would help get the reader out of a toxic situation but then ghosted them? If I wrote this, I'd probably change some stuff about it if that was okay. Like maybe the reader is in a toxic situation that Johnny tries to help him out of, but then realizes he doesn't have the power to help him? I couldn't really see Johnny ghosting him, more so he ends the relationship (or whatever it is that they have) because he feels like he can't be what the reader needs.

[onebigfangirlworld]

Masterlist

On the Outside Looking In Universe

Mob AU!

Peace and Quiet (rooster x bob x hangman x reader)

Complete (Soulmate AU, rooster x bob x hangman x reader)

F1 AU (jake seresin x OC)

Sugar Daddies in the house tonight (icemav x reader)

Still Growing Up Now (Iceman x Maverick, Iceman & Original Female Character, Maverick & Original Female Character)

Honor and Duty (Iceman x Maverick, Iceman & Original Female Character, Maverick & Original Female Character, Rooster x Hangman)

Angsty poly!141 Blurb (call of duty fandom, ghost x reader, john price x reader. kyle gaz garrick x reader, john soap mactavish x reader)

mob boss john price blurb (john price x reader)

untitled poly141 blurb   (call of duty fandom, ghost x reader, john price x reader. kyle gaz garrick x reader, john soap mactavish x reader)

[ryuzakemo128]

MDNI 18+ Omegaverse

Note: This is my first try. If it sucks let me know.

Word count: 1705

Omegaverse Parts: Part One + Part Two + Part Three + Part Four

Masterlist

You were not an alpha, you were certainly were no quivering omega, and you are not even a fucking beta. What in the name of a metaphorical god are you? With no conclusive, definitive answers to who or what you are. You are left to wander the expanse of earth. 

You have a sniper rifle with the initials of your name faded away. Scratched off by your own hand. Dubbed the lone wanderer. As you were often seen by military packs alone. No pack. No, nothing at your side. Did it matter to you? Not really. You were fine. Right?

Things were different when you were adamant in sewing the wound on your leg by yourself. “Don’t like it? Then…… Then you can fuck off.” you growled. Your fingertips worming their way to take the bullet from your leg. After the bullet was finally removed after several messy, painstaking minutes?

You dosed your wound in rubbing alcohol and hissed. But continued to stitch your own wound up. Contemplating whether to put in staples as well to keep the wound from ripping open again. As you finished up, firmly wrapping the bandage in place and thinking of what move to make.

You looked at your digital watch, five hours until sundown and five hours until you have to find somewhere safe enough to sleep. Limping to an abandoned office or one which looked to be in disuse. You weren’t going to let anyone catch you again. Not like last time, either. 

The screeching of the metal on concrete too familiar for your ears, you found a storage closet and shifted the blankets around to hide inside. Falling asleep to avoid hunger building inside your stomach. The cool metal digging into your body in combination to the thin woollen blankets lulled you. 

Lulled you straight into a slumber. An uneasy slumber. But slumber all the same. Hoping the gunshots in the distance would cover the quiet purrs coming from you, your lips and the office which is usually empty at this time of day. Things were soon to get far worse now. 

Things always tend to get worse before they even get the chance to get better. Life fucks you over and leaves you for the vultures to pick at your corpse. Always the victim. Never the victor. Thus, when you escaped the last pack who tried to claim you by force?

You learned to fight, to shoot, throw a knife and to hunt other animals. Living the high life, right? What more could you ask for? Home? Stability? A pack? A family? Ha! That shit was for Aphas, betas and omegas. You had survived this long on your own, hadn't you?

But what about the scent? Your scent? What about it? It's faint, growing stronger every second, it was your time. But you weren’t ready for it. To be fair, you have never been ‘ready’ for its arrival. And you certainly weren’t ready for it to happen now of all times. 

The heat of your core right up to the tightness in your abdomen. Your heat is coming. Fucking perfect. In the middle of a fucking war zone and your heat comes in while you’re injured. The closet wasn’t going to cut it anymore. You needed somewhere better to hide. Now.

Quickly moving, you grabbed your bone knife, your bag, your sniper rifle. You limped your way out of the closet. The sun is setting. You know what that brings? The hounds of Deadlock. The alphas of task force 141. If you could smell them? Then they already smelt you. 

They claimed stray omegas like they were kings of the fucking world, and anyone who had a problem with that?  Well, they'd just blow their fucking heads off. That's what alphas did. But you? You weren’t going to tango with alphas. A death sentence wrapped inside a twisted hand basket case.

You rarely go into heat. As far as you know, it is quite rare for you to get into heat. The medication you took prevented it from showing. Always taking it two days before one came close to showing. Here you are with your large med bottle empty. No warning.

Like your pathetic, absent deadbeat of a father, you hoped you would not have to see it happen to you. The scent grew stronger still, a sweet coppery tang uniquely yours and yours alone. Panic rushed through you, your body and your senses. Urging, willing, forcing yourself to move faster.

Stumbling into the hallway, moving to the medical room three rooms away from the office you forced yourself to hide in three hours prior. Checking your wristwatch habitually. Two hours until midnight comes knocking on your door. Two more hours until your heat comes in full swing. Only two hours. 

Pushing the barrel of your gun into the door. Forcing your way into the medical room, the smell of clinic grade medical rubbing alcohol assaulted your senses. You didn’t have the patience to be slow and steady like you would have wanted. Not with the impending danger at your heels. 

Shoving a chair underneath the door handle to prevent someone from coming in while you stocked up on antibiotics, clean bandages, painkillers, antiseptic, and any other kind of medical supplies you thought were important for your needs. All of them. Shoved into your backpack. You weren’t going anywhere without them.

With your scent growing increasingly stronger. You worried immensely about them being able to kick down the door and drag you away from there by force. If they found you, you would be as good as theirs. Fucked up leg and all. It didn’t matter that you were in there.

You paused, standing at the door, listening for movement, footsteps down the hall. Listening for the sturdy combat boots to come marching right past you, hoping the room’s medical grade antiseptic and bleach would be strong enough to cover your heat. Your scent. The sticky fluid urging to come out.

Yet you heard nothing. It was silent. Too quiet. Suspiciously silent even. You knew better than to let it conquer your sense of self-preservation. You came too far to let yourself get taken again. You had to wait this one out. No matter how long it took or how hard.

Waiting felt like agony, felt like nails on a chalkboard, every second passing did nothing for your anxiety. The windows were covered to prevent flashlights, helicopter lights and other unwelcome visitors from peaking inside the medical room. Your breaths grew shallower, your stomach getting tighter, and your heat is here.

Your body temperature rising to an unbearable, flow of burning heat. Biting down on your thick leather belt to muffle the sounds coming from your lips. The sound of window glass breaking, shattering as you hid in the medical shower underneath the cold water and away from the door’s window. 

Your grimy, sweaty, dirty clothes removed and left into a bath of white vinegar soaking in a plastic tub. As you used the surgical scrub to clean yourself with. You hoped if you cleaned your clothes with vinegar, soaked it inside it and let it stew within the white vinegar.

Silently hoping by time morning came around your clothes would be dried, clean and ready to wear again for the new day. Trapped inside this medium sized room until the first wave of your intense heat passed on by. It would become unmanageable quickly if you let it control you. 

Ghost sniffed the air, they weren’t going to get to you in time now were they? By the time this wave went through your body. You would be gone and the morning would arrive. And they’d have to smell your sweet scent after the fact. After you were long gone.

“If she hasn’t left yet, in the next six hours, the heat will pass, and she’s gonna be long gone by the time we’ve sniffed her out.” Ghost told Price. Taking another long whiff of the sweetest scent he’s ever smelt in a long time. You’re sweeter than he assumed.

“Are you even sure this stray isn’t an omega like the other we’ve found? What makes you so damn sure she’s not another one?” Price questioned Simon, his voice both gruff and sceptical of his comrade’s analysis over the situation. He had every right to be sceptical over this one.

“Her scent is sweet, tooth rotting levels of sweet, think candy bars and cotton candy. There’s some spice to it, like cinnamon or pumpkin spice in those pumpkin spice lattes Gaz loves drinking so much. It's faint. But it is most certainly there. IF you know where to find it.” 

“But what else makes her so special?” Gaz enquired, hinting at the desire to ascertain as to why General Shepherd sent them out here. His burning urge to know more was there whenever something unusual is brought to their attention. Regardless of how they have personally felt about it all. 

“Well for starters, she’s covering her tracks, if she’s smart enough to do that? Then she’s not an omega, she’s a fucking ghost, mate. If anything, you’d think she’s been out there longer than we’ve been in this shithole. This is her playing field, Gaz. Her prime hunting ground now.” Soap smirked, a grin from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat rather than an alpha wolf’s. 

Gaz pulled out the file with your photo printed onto the white page, “This her Ghost?” Gaz asked ghost for confirmation. He wouldn’t budge until his information, he looked into his own time. 

Ghost remembered you, the rancher hat you wore that day and the bandana hiding half your face from his eyes. Shooting him in the shoulder with a tracking bullet. “Put a tracking bullet into my shoulder with her sniper rifle. It took us two weeks to get it removed without it detonating and taking my arm with it. That’s not a move an omega would make, it’s a move done by professionals. And she is a fucking ghost, moving in time with her surroundings. She’s not a sitting duck for us to come and claim her, she’s a fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing, that one.”

[ryuzakemo128]

MDNI 18+ Omegaverse Part 2

Part One

Note: Big things happens in this continuation.

word count: 1542

Omegaverse Parts: Part One + Part Two + Part Three + Part Four

Masterlist

Ghost still remembered how you were standing on top of the building when you shot the tracking bullet into his shoulder. You didn’t aim to kill, maim? Sure. You don’t take lives. You just run from others and keep them tagged for as long as possible to know where they would be. You didn’t care if they were special operatives or the Queen of fucking England. No one had the right to have you or own you. Ever. 

“I still remember how Price thought you were seeing things.” Soap snickered, “I still can’t believe it.”

“Well, whatever it is, just produced a strong smell of vinegar and my nose is hurting.” Gaz complained, whined, even. Your makeshift solution is working to your advantage. Even if it's drowning your dirty, grimy baggy clothes under hot water and white vinegar. They’ll end up trying again quite soon.

As you got changed into clean clothes, your naked body came into the view of the door window. Which to Soap? It was like he hit the fucking jackpot. Watching you pull on medical scrubs. Soap saw your back tattoo, “The gates of hell are open night and day; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labour lies.”

Soap yanked Price over to take a look at your tattoo. His hunch told him something, you weren’t just anyone, and you weren’t just a random omega the General wanted to contain. “I don’t think we know nearly as much about her as we think we do.” Soap told him, dragging him to the window and shoving the binoculars into Price’s hands. 

Gaz remembered your herbal cigarettes, the lavender burning and how Price would try to scold you for your habit. “And what? Leave you smoked up like a bastard in heat or somethin?” you told Price. Breathing lavender scented smoke into Price’s facial direction. Dodging his attempts to snatch the cigarette from you.

Price, at the time, growled, “What is with you? You’re slipperier than a greased-up pig at a county fair, and more elusive than the fucking Loch Ness monster.” The spunk you had before? Increased tenfold. 

“Look at you, tripping over yourselves still, fucking alphas who can’t track for shit huh?” you taunted with your walkie-talkie you found in the office. “Round And Round It Goes... Where It Stops, Nobody Knows. Round and round you go, when will I stop? Nobody knows.” 

You grabbed your stuff, and you left really fast, “Tell your mother I’ll fuck her soon.” you spoke into the walkie-talkie. 

“We’ve got to get to her before she’s gone. She’s a fucking ghost, we’ve been tracking her for months, and she’s always one step ahead of us. This might be our only chance before she disappears again.” Price told them. Soap was too distracted by the fact you flash banged him with your gorgeous fucking tits. 

Which Price had to admit? A smart thing to do when you’re dealing with four hungry, aroused alphas on your tail. Your tits were a flash beacon even after you headed out of the room with your gear. The limping of your leg and once soap has you in his grasp again? He wouldn’t let you go again. 

Crawling through the ventilator shaft, until you were dragged out by your feet by someone strong enough to get you out of there, and his deep voice hitting the base of your skull like a drum. 

Dragging you from the vent, one swift tug at a time. Before long, you were carried over to Price and Ghost. With Gaz stalking right behind him, intensely staring at you from behind Soap. He had you draped over his right shoulder and your belongings in his other hand. While Gaz carried your sniper and bone knife. 

Once Price taken a closer look at you, removing your shirt and replacing it with a clean, warm, dry shirt. As Price looked for one suitable. 

Soap’s eyes widened as he recognised the tattoo. He’s seen it once before. It’s an incredibly specific tattoo. Only one person he knew of had it. Someone who was thought to be dead. Yet here you were. Very much…..alive. Running around like a scared rabbit. Soap’s heart is racing. 

He knew you weren’t going to go with them quietly. Not with that tattoo.

“Guys, I think we might have stumbled upon someone important, she’s not what we thought she was.” Soap whispered to Ghost outside the medical examination room. 

Ghost looked at Soap sceptically, “What do you mean, Mactavish?”

Soap took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice calm, “The tattoo on her back. It’s not from a book, it’s from a person. The person who had it is... or was... a legend around these parts.” He paused, his eyes searching the room as if he could see through the walls. “Her callsign was Venom, one of the best snipers the military had, until she disappeared. She was thought to be dead after her last mission, but if this is her... she’s been hiding here all along.”

Price’s eyes narrowed as he digested the information. “Venom? That’s a name I’ve heard before. If she’s who you think she is, then she’s worth more than gold to Shepherd. We can’t let her go.” He turned to Gaz, his voice low and commanding. “Keep an eye on the exits, she’s clever. We don’t want her slipping away again.”

Still processing the information, his gaze sharp and calculating. “If that’s true, then we might have a bigger problem on our hands. Get a clearer visual, Soap, and make sure it’s her. We don’t want to spook her before we get a good look at her face and confirm her identity.”

Soap nodded, his eyes glued to the small window in the door of the medical examination room. “On it, boss.” He whispered back, his heart racing with excitement and a hint of fear. Venom was a legend, known for her sharp-shooting skills and unyielding spirit. If she had indeed survived, she would be a powerful ally or a formidable enemy.

Then she would be you, wouldn’t you? When he saw your face? Soap held the new photo with the one they have. They were a perfect match. You were indeed ‘Venom’. A legend from their annals of history straight into his sight. 

He felt his cock thicken, a growling in his chest, his animalistic instincts were now coming to the forefront.

“It’s her, boss. No doubt about it. She’s Venom. I’ve seen that tattoo before, on the back of the woman who trained me.” Soap said with a mix of awe and fear. “I don’t think anyone is crazy enough to be out here for this long. 

Price's eyebrows furrowed, “Venom… I thought she was dead. General Shepherd killed her.”

“So did everyone else,” Soap replied, “But she's very much alive, and she's in heat. We need to handle this with care. She's not going to come quietly. Or willingly for that matter.”

Price nodded in understanding, his mind racing with the implications of this revelation.“Alright, keep an eye on her. She's a ghost for a reason.” He turned to Ghost, “What do we know about her other than that she's a damn good shot?”

Ghost's eyes narrowed as he recalled the intel he had read, “Venom went dark after her last mission. Rumour has it she took out a high-value target that was off-limits. Her disappearance was sudden, and her file was sealed tighter than a drum. If she's the one in there, she's got a vendetta with someone or something, and it's not us.”

“But she's in heat,” Gaz pointed out, his voice thick with the same primal need Soap had felt earlier. “That….. That changes things completely.”

Ghost nodded, his voice a low rumble, “It does. She'll be more… vulnerable. Hesitant to trust.”

“Vulnerable or not,” Soap said, “We can't just barge in there. We need to earn her trust”

“But how? She’s not going to listen, and she’s stubborn like Price.” Gaz said, stroking his jaw, contemplating their next move.

“You’ve been out here the entire time?” Price asked you, both in awe, frustration and a little admiration in his tone. “You’ve been living out here alone all this time?”

“You make it sound far harder than it actually is. Did General Shepherd let you think that, or are you really that stupid enough to think it?” you answered. “With the right kind of knowledge, you can go far and wide. Took out the tracker from my neck, day one, surprised you pups are still working for that bitch.” 

General Shepherd. You were at odds with him from the sound of things. Whether that was a good thing or not? Another thing entirely. Another thing which now had to wait until they had you removed from this ancient building. Regardless of whether you wanted to leave it or not.

“So are you workin for him or what?” you growled. 

“That’s none of your fucken business.” Price snarled at you.

“I think it is and you’re going to tell me regardless of what you think or how you feel about it too.”

[ryuzakemo128]

MDNI 18+ Omegaverse Part 3

cw: isolation, cold weather, injuries, lovely things, overprotective price. mature language. angst.

Omegaverse Parts: Part One + Part Two + Part Three + Part Four

Masterlist

wc: 1311

Price noticed you were no longer on the base, all that working trying to find you all gone to waste because of General Shepard. His frustration grew each day you were gone. Each day you weren’t around the four. Did it matter that it was only a week? Fuck no.

What did the General hope would happen? Delay the inevitable? What kind of foolish man did they take Price for? When he found out you were sent down from a helicopter in the dead of night to Siberia? His blood began to boil. His temper began to rise higher levels.

The man was a monster, and you were his latest victim. The medical results came in. Not that you would ever get the chance to see them. To know what you are. Why people were so keen on taking you or killing you, or both. Not just a weapon, either.

“You can’t do that. You have no right to enforce that. It’s against protocol to send out an unknown operative.” Price argued. He tried making him see the error of his actions. He had to. Not many others were willing to stand up for you. He had to save you.

“Protocol can go to hell, Price. She’s special. The intel says so. We need her. And I will do whatever it takes to ensure she’s safe and on our side. Even if it means throwing her to the wolves and seeing if she comes back to us. That’s an order, Captain!” Shepard’s voice was cold, final. The conversation was over.

The medical evaluation you received years before your imposed, forced exile had always eluded you. Your results never even reached your own hands. They left you there in the middle of the forest with your Barrett M82, SIG Sauer P226, colt python, and a Bowie knife made from Damascus steel. 

Siberia wasn’t meant to be kind nor loving to you. It was supposed to have killed you long ago. They assumed you would be dead by now. Hoped to be rid of you by now. A detriment to what they wanted. Too much of an improbable, uncontrollable unknown. A freak.

The log cabin you made into your home was relatively small, easy to miss, and hard to find within the gusts often sweeping across the snowy landscape. The trees keeping the location of the log cabin a hushed secret. A stone fireplace and varying large cast iron pots and pans. 

Stolen from military vehicles you spotted along the road to a base in the area. Indirectly helping task force 141 from afar. Nikolai said, “Looks like some of their supplies were taken, no signs of a struggle, no signs of combat, and whoever it is. Knew exactly what to take.”

Captain Price remarked incredulously as he frowned deeply, “What do you mean by taken? Nikolai, they’re either stolen or they’re lost. It can’t be any more or any less simple than that. I don’t think ghosts exist to steal supplies from the back of enemy trucks. We would know otherwise.”

“Oh, but Captain, the world is a mysterious place, full of secrets and unexplained occurrences. Maybe, just maybe, there is something, or someone, out there we haven’t accounted for.” Nikolai cooed a little too cryptically for his own good. Possibly even too mysteriously for Soap’s liking. Like he knew more.

The snap of the bear trap's claws clamping onto your leg set out by Nikolai, “See? The little mouse came out to play.” He set out a nice steak within enough reach to tempt you. Purposefully trying to make you do something stupid enough to try stealing it from him.

Price managed to take a closer look at you, Nikolai’s mouse, who bit Price for trying to touch you without consent. Feeling your wolf like teeth into his hand. Digging into his flesh, not hard enough to break bones. But hard enough to leave behind a deep enough bruise.

Your jaw locked in, making it impossible for him to remove his hand. With every movement of his met with a low growl ripping through your throat. Refusing to let go. Price didn’t know what to think. But Nikolai seemed to have his thumbs up, soap and are distressed. Where’s Ghost?

Who knew ghost would be the one to find your log cabin first? There he was. Standing outside your log cabin, staring at the crate you were parachuted down from the military helicopter. Smelling your intense sweet smell of your previous heat. The scent still remaining on the fur blankets.

The place you still go into when your heat comes around again. Tally marks along the walls marking how many times your ‘heat’ came around. The thick, soft fur blankets soaking in the hot water in the giant metal tub in the shed. Which also served as your bath tub. 

Learning your scent could attract far more dangerous predators than you. You bathed once a day when you weren’t in heat. Twice a day during the period of your heat. Once in the morning, and once in the evening. As you found it to be rather productive for your benefit.

Price sniffed around the crate you used to live in before shifting to your cabin permanently. The scent of yours is stronger than any of theirs. Their combined scent could match it. But singularly? No. They’d be drowned inside your scent with enough ease. Like a Megalodon swallowing someone whole.

“I can’t believe we missed this. This is a fucking goldmine.” He whispered to himself. “Nikolai! Soap! We’re not the only ones who know she’s here. She’s been living here, right under our nose!” He waved his comrades over, getting their attention and to come closer to what he found. 

Their footsteps grew louder as they approached. Soap’s eyes widened as he saw the state of your living conditions. The way you’ve adapted. The way you’ve survived. It’s a miracle, really. “How long have you been out here?” He asked, his voice filled with a mix of amazement and horror.

You were patching your leg up and bathing in hot water, hoping to sterilise and clean the wound. It was the sight of your naked body that made them rather peculiar. You were a miracle wrapped inside the cold, tendency to bite people’s hands if they touched you without consent.

Your clothes discarded into the corner of your cabin. Soaking in cold water to get the blood from your clothes. The atmosphere of your log cabin, warmer than what you felt on the inside. After the stitches, your leg is wrapped in clean cloth. You were about to get dressed.

The door slammed open like the gusts of wind came through like a shout rather than a soft, sultry whisper. The four of them must have found you quicker than you suspected. Another 12 months living, surviving, on your own. 

The first to enter your cabin was someone you didn’t expect to see again. Considering the two of you yelled at each other like you wanted to rip each other’s throat out. “What the fuck do you want?” You spat, your teeth still clenched from the pain of your wound.

“To bring you back. You’re in no state to be alone, you’re in no state to be left to pick up leftovers to live off again. I don’t want to hear your protests because frankly, I don’t care. You’re coming with us.” Price's voice was firm, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes as he stepped into the cabin, the warmth of the fireplace hitting him like a welcoming embrace.

You stared at him. Shocked. In total state of shock. Price heard the meek, “I can go back now?” Soap helped you get dressed and patched up. Ghost packed up your things, because he knew it was valuable

[ryuzakemo128]

Pairing: Poly141! x Female Reader

Content Warnings: Swearing, medical examinations, medical terms, medical terminology, slight angst, graphic descriptions of the effects of being alone for ten years. Nikolai appears for a little while in this part. But he becomes a permanent character later. Cute nicknames. Pet names. Smut implications. Rather heavy handed

Dividers: @cafekitsune

Word Count: 3146

Note: I hope you enjoyed this part. If you have more ideas of where to have this go next. Then by all means message me or put it in comments below. I read all comments by the way.

Omegaverse Parts: Part One + Part Two + Part Three + Part Four

Masterlist

It’s been three months since you were back at the base. You weren’t too sure how the military personnel would react to your return. You were certain this wasn’t real, and you would certainly wake up soon.

You were now under the bright lights of the medical room. You didn’t know what to think now. If you were allowed to return, why the need for all these tests?

What were they testing for? What aren’t they telling you?

Why are they staring at you like you were going to die any day now?

Would it have been better to have been out in the wild instead?

All these questions spurned, swirled and turned inside your head. You didn’t know what to think. You didn’t know what you should feel.

Your skin felt like it was on fire with each poke, prod and needle injected into you. You didn’t like it. You loathed it. But what could you do? What was there to do? Other than to lie there and take what they dished out unto your body. Your shell. Your image.

Nothing is left untouched because anything you have deemed sacred wasn’t treated that way by them. Your life before wasn’t like that, and now you are left wondering if it was better to be alone rather than to have a place of ‘belonging’ in the first place.

An unknown creature made by mother nature they couldn’t easily define.

“I can’t take more tests.” You stated, your face pressed against the glass one-way window and your eyes shut. The IV drip jabbed into your right arm as you are so, so tired. “I should have stayed out there.”

As the days continued to pass, you weren’t sure what to think anymore and the more time to yourself. The more time you spend regretting ever deciding it was a good idea to come back.

What were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all? You don’t know now. You don’t want to know the answer to either question.

Who knew what would happen now?

You didn’t know. And for once, you had something far more tangible to be afraid of.

You do know if anything told you about predators, if anything about being in the wild taught you anything in those long ten years alone. You still don’t know how they affected you or if they made you ‘better’ at this.

At this job. At existing as you are and as you were before. Who knows?

Not like you will get the truth out of them without pulling teeth from their snapping jaws. You don’t know how long it will take for them to find out you are part of an incredibly morally grey, morally complicated, morally complex, morally fucked in the head, morally ambiguous. And more likely to go ‘feral’ if left alone for too long.

While you were asleep on the table, the doctor pulled them aside to the observation room outside the examination area.

“The effects of being isolated for eleven years are apparent,” The doctor stated, pulling up the brain scan on the digital whiteboard. “As you can see on the brain scan here, the amygdala and the hippocampus have both grown significantly. This could explain the heightened sense of danger and enhanced memory.”

“Other things that are affected are things like her nails, while they were oddly shaped before, they are now razor sharp. They can and will slice you open or dig into layers of your flesh.” The doctor continued showing off an image of damage done to a mannequin.

Price watched from the corner, his hand in his pocket, rubbing the bruise you left behind on his hand. The way your eyes glinted with the fireplace light, the way your teeth dug into his skin. It was almost like he enjoyed it. Like it was a silent declaration of something.

“Her wolf teeth evolved too,” the doctor continued to ramble. “They are far better than what they used to be.”

That statement alone hinted at the fact this doctor knows you far better than they thought they did. Price took a step closer, his curiosity piqued, “How so?”

The doctor pointed to the image on the board, “Her teeth, while sharp, they’re not just for show. They’re capable of injecting a venom. A venom that can incapacitate or kill anyone it comes into contact with. We’re not sure how or why this evolution happened. But it’s a significant advantage in combat. One that we can’t ignore.”

Price’s eyes narrowed, the implications of this newfound information were vast. If you had the capability to produce such a powerful venom, then that would explain why Shepherd was so keen on keeping you a secret. It was a weapon they hadn’t fully unlocked yet.

It also calls into question as to why you were kept a secret or left out there for ten years. What was General Shepherd afraid of?

What did he hope for when he threw her to the wolves in Siberia?

Did he hope she’d die out there?

The disconnect between the reality of knowing she wouldn’t have died and the hope the cold, starvation would kill her is large enough to fit the titanic.

“We need to keep this under wraps. It shouldn’t get back to General shepherd. The last thing we need is to have him tipped off about your return or anything we have learned about you.” Price stated.

“We can’t afford, if the General gets wind of this, he’ll do anything to control you. To use you as a weapon again. You’re not going anywhere near that monster.” Ghost remarked in agreement with Price.

“How does my organs look though?” you asked the doctor, more concentrated on your own health than how fast you could kill someone.

The doctor nodded, clicking away on their computer, “Your organs are surprisingly healthy given your diet out there. We’ve seen some malnourishment but nothing too serious, a bit of vitamin deficiency.”

The doctor continued to speak after you gave her the nod to go ahead, “Nothing we can’t fix with supplements. Your body is adapting to what’s available in the wild, which is quite extraordinary. It’s almost as if you’ve evolved to survive in such conditions. Your liver and kidneys are functioning at optimal levels, considering. But we’ll run some more tests to be sure.”

“What about the stomach and pancreas?” you questioned. “I had a lot of boar, deer, and bear meat. Can't say I've had a lot of greens out there. Besides mushrooms, fruit like berries and the occasional wild garlic.”

The doctor nodded again, scribbling some notes, “It's understandable given the environment. We'll need to keep an eye on your digestive system, but preliminary results indicate you're doing surprisingly well. It seems your body has adapted to extract the maximum nutrients from what's available.”

While you were settling into the base, you were keen on getting at least the optimal hours of sleep again. The nice, seven to nine hours of sleep. In between your fur blankets, insulated and the cold kept far from you.

After six hours, almost seven hours of sleep later, your door opened little by little. An unknown scent wafted in from the door, who is it? You can’t identify that smell at all. You frown as the scent gets closer to your bed.

The Russian accent finally gave it away now, odd to hear that here, of all places. You didn’t think it would have been something to wake up to. Yet here it was. Laid out in front you like an unwelcome sign with enough red lights to make the red-light district question itself.

You don’t know what the bear wanted from you, not like you could or would give anything to the guy anyway. But that it is beside the point. You shifted around in your blanket pile and pulled your pants back on. Don’t question why you don’t have pants on. Overheating is a major issue for you during winter, and the heat rashes drive you up the wall.

Nikolai. Whoever he is. Standing in your quarters like it was summer in the middle of the Sahara desert wearing a pair of shorts.

“Aren't you cold wearing those things?” you asked, drowsy and half asleep. You braced yourself for a no for an answer.

The stubborn bear never paid enough attention to the weather reports anyhow. It didn’t matter how many times you’d tell him. He wouldn’t listen to you anyway. It’s a wonder no one gave him an earful already. Not that you wanted to be that person to that.

You didn’t want Price ranting and raving at how you ‘hurt his feelings’ or some kind of bullshit excuse he might throw at you.

You didn’t care about hurt feelings, why would you? If any of them were alone for as long as you, were, they wouldn’t care either. Though you doubt they would have the guts to even last that long anyway.

You reached out for your shirt to put on underneath the layers of blankets. Not that you cared that he would still be standing there in total silence anyway. You didn’t wear a bra out in the wild and you still don’t.

City wolves would. Wolves like yourself? Unheard of. Unless you really needed it, most wolves, lone wolves like you? Didn’t bother with the trivialities of human societal norms like underwear and other such things.

If you felt the need to have such a thing you would have to learn from trial and error to make one yourself. Just like you were taught through ONI.

Men and Women had to learn how to sew in ONI. Both genders were required to learn it in order to be self-sufficient in the field. It was a necessary skill, especially when you’re in the middle of nowhere with no tailor in sight.

Probably why you asked for linen based clothes which Price didn’t think you’d be that specific in your request. Not that the doctor minded, she knew the benefits of linen just as much as you did.

If you were still in ONI’s branch headquarters, you would be wearing running shorts and a sports bra. Maybe a muscle shirt over the top of the sports bra to ward eyes off your chest region.

It was airy, enough material to cover yourself while also leaving out enough material to keep your body from overheating to an uncomfortable degree. The doctor had listened, much to the amusement of the men who had accompanied her.

While you braided your hair to prevent it from resembling a raccoon's post-food wash mess. You didn’t know what to think of the larger man. “I am sure you are here for an important reason, right?”

You didn’t know whether they wanted to recreate your old room with their own touches or if they wanted to go ham and just fuck in front of you.

The hormones were all over the place leaving you feeling like you were in an unending fever dream you can’t find yourself to leave because one, its too weird. Secondly its like getting flash banged in a fire fight or a western style show down.

Who knew if this would only be just another temporary space? You didn’t. You were just waiting uneasy and waiting until you had to find a new permanent spot on your own again. Instead of the wilderness. It would be inside the city this time.

Nikolai looked over the new hideout plans you had started for yourself. The combination of four storage containers. Two stacked on top of another two, forming a two-story space and the containers would be forty feet.

The outside would be painted Vanta Black to blend into the dark to make it virtually unable to see in the dark. The windows would be made of a one-way mirror, so you can see out without being seen. Allowing you to walk around naked.

If you desired to walk around your own hideaway stark-naked that is. Not that it would happen with five people staring at you or one of them staring at you. They’d enjoy the view of you unwrapped far, far too much.

The other ideas you had come up with were things like: hidden cameras camouflaged by the black paint. Along with visible thermal imaging cameras that look like security cameras only they won’t record audio, camera footage or anything which could be traced back to you. They would only detect and record heat signatures into an excel spreadsheet linked to a server database.

You had a dot point list of other ideas you had in mind for what to put inside it:

Camouflage Netting: It’s not just for military use anymore, it’s for hiding your hideout. It’s a way to make sure that no matter where you are, you’re protected from the eyes of anyone that’s looking for you.

Infirmary: Just in case someone gets hurt and needs medical attention. It’s not just for patching up gunshot wounds, but also for dealing with your unique condition.

Library of survival books: Because even the best of us need to brush up on their skills every once in a while. Plus, it’s always good to have a plan B, C, D, and so on.

Reloading Bench: This would provide with a source of ammunition, store your excess amount of ammunition created and to provide a workbench specifically for ammunition. Plus, it keeps everything organized and in one place.

Security System: You had thought about installing a silent alarm system that notifies the four of you if anyone gets too close for comfort. It would be linked directly to your phones or coms.

Solar Panels: To provide power and reduce the dependency on the grid. You weren’t going to be living in the dark ages, even if you’re living off the grid.

Soundproof Panels: Installed within the walls of the hideout to prevent any noise from escaping or entering, which was crucial for both privacy and safety during your heat.

Underground Tunnels: To escape and enter the hideout without being seen. It’s a safety net if shit hits the fan and you need to escape quickly. Plus, it’s a great way to get around unseen and get to places without having to leave the safety of your own base.

Nikolai looked over what you have come up with so far, eyes scanning over the drawings beside each dot point to drive home what you hoped to create in the future. You don’t know where this will end up being created. But for now, it remains an idea. No matter how ‘grandiose’ it sounded to him.

Debating with yourself if Yorkshire or Coventry would be better for this kind of hideout you were mentally creating for yourself. You didn’t know which place would be better and you didn’t know if they would react well to it either. A minefield hidden among the eggshells. What to do. What to do.

Would it be better to have them live inside a house while you lived on the land just outside?

Would it be better to just by a chunk of land and build something replicated from your own mind?

What is the better outcome? What is better for you? Which is going to help you more?

These questions swam around in your head like a tornado. A whirlwind of doubt and confusion. Until you heard his voice speak again, “You thought about this a lot, Da?” he asked.

You nodded, not completely trusting your voice not to crack and unable to find the will to speak either. The intensity of his stare made you squirm, intense, far too intense, you refused to be intimidated by him regardless.

Irrespective of what his opinion of what your choices meant to him. You had to keep yourself safe first. You can’t be bogged down by the opinions or notions of what they think you needed.

“Is there a problem?” you probed subtly.

“No….No problem here little mouse.” Nikolai answered his eyes finally darting back to your writing again.

You ignored the odd nickname he decided to call you at least it was better than ‘Darling’ or ‘darlin’ like the other four loved to call you. Though it did feel odd to hear anyone to call you things like that.

It was always either, ‘Venom’, ‘V’, ‘Devil’, ‘Beast’ or just your name. It is incredibly for someone to choose to call you by your name for some reason. Not that you cared that much about it.

Nikolai called you things like: 'Lyubimaya', 'Malinka', 'Milyaya', 'Solnyshko', 'Zayka' and, the oddest one of all, 'Moy Kotyonok' (My Kitten). Each name brought a slight blush to your cheeks, even though you knew they were just endearments in his language. He was always looking at you with a smirk, enjoying your reaction.

The act of calling you things like: ‘Little Mouse’, ‘Darling’, ‘darlin’. They did things to your mind, scratching a part of your brain you enjoyed more than you thought you would have. Though you preferred 'Little Mouse'. Over ‘Darling’ and ‘darlin’.

The cutest nicknames someone to think of piled onto you like a truck load of plushies. You didn’t know what to think of it all. You still don’t. You’re not sure if it was the hormones fucking with your mind or if it was the act of caring in general. Either way you find yourself liking it more than you assumed you would have.

Nikolai asked, “May I add a few more dot points?”

“Sure. Just don’t add anything that doesn’t help long term. If you can focus on long term things? Sure. Otherwise, add notes pertaining to other parts of the hideout you think it needs.” You answered.

Nikolai nodded, understanding the need to think long term instead of the short term, a hideout needed to think past the immediate needs and look at the potential problems you could have in the future.

“Da, I will keep this in mind, Little Mouse. Maybe we can have a room for vodka. Yes? It is good for the soul, and it keeps the cold away, da?” He smirked, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of humour.

“I was hoping for mead.” You quipped with a smirk. “Perhaps we could add beehives to make sure the honey is fresh?”

Nikolai’s eyes lit up with the idea. “Mead! Yes, good for the soul, keeps the cold away, and it is something we can make ourselves! You are clever, Little Mouse.” He scribbled the idea onto the paper, his rough, calloused hand moving swiftly across the page.

Perhaps it was in fact better to work with others instead of relying on yourself. Perhaps you have room for five others inside that heart of yours.

You would like that right?

Little mouse.

[ryuzakemo128]

who wants a royalty au of poly141 with pirate hunter reader?

Think about it. Four dukes meet a princess who is coincidentally a pirate hunter.

Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

If you would like to have a say/ input for this idea: Link to a poll.

The Defiant preys upon other vessels belonging to pirates, bandits, assassins, slavers, marauders, and thieves. Described as a beast with an insatiable appetite. Its prey deliberately chosen before headhunting those with influence inside those few communities. Targeting the ones who gather the most power amongst the pirates, slavers, and marauders.

The defiant is maintained by the pirate ships, she cleaves through in half with the obsidian blade in the front of the war ship. A blade made from obsidian and steel.

The wood of the ships would be used to fix damages incurred, and anything left over would be stored as cargo. Anything of value would be secured in safes to prevent theft from third party groups and individuals. Ensuring nothing of the wreck is left behind once they're done.

The Defiant's crew likely assess the materials on the conquered ships for quality and usability before dismantling them.

Usable wooden components are carefully removed and sorted for potential repairs or reinforcements.

Valuable metals, fabrics, and other resources are extracted and catalogued for later use or trade.

The obsidian blade is used to efficiently cut through enemy ships, minimising damage to the Defiant while maximising the harvestable materials.

Skilled carpenters and blacksmiths on board The Defiant repair and reinforce the ship with the salvaged wood and metal.

Any excess materials are stored in the ship's hold as cargo, providing additional resources for trade or barter.

The Defiant gets large shipments from outposts you have created all over the world, hubs of intelligence gathering, recruitment, trade, repairs, and maintenance. 

Your ties to people within the black market, information brokers, contraband trade, blacksmiths, mercenary services, protection rackets, money laundering, hidden workshops and safe houses. 

Planting disinformation whenever the target needs to be forced out of hiding. 

While also maintaining a close eye on the region as a hub for their spy network. One that you have meticulously established over the years to help hunt down more pirates, obtain more resources and expand their range of influence. 

Working on your own for this long has been taxing on your mind. So how do you do it when things constantly require your attention for one thing or another?

They called you, ‘Ghost of the High Seas’, ‘The Iron Maiden’, ‘The Merciless’, ‘The Pirate Killer’ and ‘The Human Shark’.  

However, once someone got your loyalty, they would have to do something so heinous and vindictive against you to lose it.

You didn’t give out demands.

You gave out requests.

For things which for sensitive souls in the royal department often took as forceful demands with a dramatic flourish. 

John heard a rumour of how you asked for something. But a Duchess took it as an aggressive demand.

Which he thought was either a declaration of war or an exaggerated complaint about you. Either way, you weren’t to be crossed, regardless of how simple your requests actually were.

You didn't need to raise your voice to get what you wanted; a simple, firm look usually did the trick.

John chuckled to himself whenever someone complained about how you managed to make it sound like a demand. Your diplomacy was as subtle as a sledgehammer, or a knife in the back. Depending on who you were dealing with. 

It worked surprisingly well in your favour.

It was all part of your charm. But you didn’t think you had charm. Something which he vehemently disagreed with you. 

To him, you had it in spades, enough to sink a merchant’s ship. His first meeting with was in court. You were mumbling, grumbling and scowling about having to wear a dress.

“‘I must take care to maintain a vigilant watch over you and all matters of such impropriety.’” you were as sour as a cat trying to get the taste of lemon off their tongue. 

The dress you wore, a midnight blue colour with matte silver trimmings, and silver embroidery in the skirts. The skirts hovered just above the marble floor.

Custom-made as well as custom-designed to suit your personality and fit your physique perfectly. The dress in made of soft feeling velvet. The underskirts of the dress have both satin and silk underlay. Underneath the silk and satin is a layer of cotton for added comfort.

The three throwing knives sat firmly. Comfortably in your garter. It provided another level of security in case you felt cornered by someone you didn’t trust. The fan you used to cool yourself down had feathered tips along the edge, matching your dress.

It was all part of your charm. 

Which had earned you the respect of many and the fear of those who knew you well. Price had seen it in action during your second meeting. You'd simply looked at a man twice your size and said.

“Might I entreat you for the loan of that map? Your generosity would be greatly appreciated.” and somehow, it had ended with him handing it over without a fight. It was uncanny.

“I am wholly indifferent to the duration required for its completion, provided that the task is executed with care. Such an undertaking demands an ample allowance of time, for one cannot hasten the attainment of perfection, even should the final result fail to appear flawless to the discerning eye of another.” you told your second-in-command.

You weren't petty, vindictive or sadistic. The preferred term you loved to call yourself is more, realistic, tinged with cynicism in your terms and conditions.

Strolling right past the four of them. Blatantly ignoring them. Not even giving them a sideways glance.

Your mind wasn’t focused on any of them. You had a target on your mind. The focus totally on your own mission. Your own priorities.

"Didn't your father give you a warship at sixteen?" John would overhear in complete disbelief. A warship for your sixteenth birthday? Was your father mad or just incredibly wealthy?

"I didn't just hear that, did you hear what I just heard? I'm not going hearing things, am I?" Kyle asked the other three.

"The defiant is more than enough. It dwarfs every warship stationed at this dock, and you know it." you protested. "It will cleave those pathetic pirates in two, or I will die trying."

The other person's voice is muffled. Your voice was loud enough to echo own the hallway. Simon couldn’t help but wonder how long you’ve been at sea for. Some say it has been almost eleven years. But that couldn’t be right. It would mean you were sixteen when you started Pirate hunting. 

“Did you hear that Price? Eleven years. What does eleven years sound to you if they were spent at sea the entire time?” Gaz asked Price. 

“Either a living legend or a madwoman.” John answered.

“Possibly both.” Simon interjected. 

When Price had the misfortune timing of coming across you in person a second time. Your face, had a sickening, twisted Cheshire grin painted across your face. The two sword slicing through pirates like a hot knife through butter. Slicing and cutting them down to size. 

It was, by the lord above, it was enjoyment on your face. Unhinged joy radiating as you continued to cut them down. 

Then a loud sound came from your throat. 

Your war cry sounded like a siren's song to your crew, a battle hymn echoing  through the port as you led them further into the fray. 

These pirates had no idea what was coming for them, who was coming for them, but the four shadows lurking in the alleyways certainly did. Watching with a mix of horror and fascination as you and your loyal band of warriors descended upon the marauders like the wrath of Neptune's own hand.

You weren't just a killer; you were a strategist. Knowing what how to strip things down fast enough to leave someone with nothing to work with. It’s a system you are familiar with. A system you crafted your own purposes.

The stragglers were picked off by your archers. As the fight quickly came to an end. 

“Look, take a real good look. The defiant cannibalises other ships as it is MEANT to be. To devour, to eat, to survive. And we do it well. She does it well.”

Price couldn't help but begrudgingly admit you had a point. The way your crew moved with precision, stripping the enemy vessels of their resources, was surgical. It is adamantly clear the Defiant is more than just a ship to you; it is a living, breathing entity you had tamed and turned into a weapon of war.

“Awful thing for morally minded people, to be sure.” you stated. “But sharks eat, lurk, move around, they don't stand idle because they're pretty or have a fancy title. They survive.”

“And you know what we do? SURVIVE.”

Perhaps it was the time Johnny seduced you into walking to their home in person a third time, whispering honeyed words into your ears like he knew what you were capable without really knowing what kind of person you are.

“You and your questions. I love them. Please tell me you have more.” you answered, taping the tips of your fingers together.

Price gripped the pommel of his sword upon hearing your voice coming through the front door. As his lover, their lover Duke John MacTavish, made his blatant seduction attempt in front of him, Duke Kyle Garrick and Duke Simon Riley. Their anger thrown towards you, as if you should have known better, despite not knowing he was spoken for already. How could you have known that? 

You tapped the tips of your fingers together nervously. “I will take my leave. My deepest apologies, your grace.” you were a rank higher. Tipsy sure. But you weren’t going to stay in a den full of lions. 

Simon blocked your exit, leaving your heart beating fast like a rabbit running from its predator. As the adrenaline building up inside, finally kicking in. “Goin somewhere luvie?” he asked. 

Price placed a hand on your shoulder, you were certain you were going to die right then and there. Was it the way your hair had crimson red flowers woven into your loose braid? Was it the matching teardrop earrings in your ears? 

“Your grace, if I may.” you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. As if you were willing your courage to come back to you. 

“You may not.” Price uttered into your ear, guiding you back into the depths of the room again. “As you might observe, your... reputation has indeed found its way to us. Yet, it is our friend Johnny, who, possessing a certain flair for eloquence, appears to have made no small impression upon your good self as well.”

“I can always find someone else.” you protested. Meekly. 

“But why would you need to? Why would you even want to?” Price cooed into your ear. “You have four willing men at your service.”

[ryuzakemo128]

Pairing: Poly141 x female reader

Content Warnings: omegaverse, mature content, sexual situations, explicit language, smut, smut ending, female reader is a little coy and bratty, Female reader has two favourites already. Roach is mentioned. Nikolai is mentioned too. If I missed anything let me know. Your origins. ONI is mentioned again in a tad more detail.

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune

Masterlist

Word Count: 5034

Summary: These men were a rather particularly odd bunch to you. Neither completely understanding nor completely forgiving from your own perspective.

The scorching sun high in thy sky mocked you as the black cloudless image stares back at you. Reflecting the inky marsh sloshing around your feet. You think it's because of the volcano beneath the depths, remaining out of sight beneath the dark layers of the ocean’s cold, gripping clutches.

Sea fowl, vultures, and the like pick at the rotting corpses left around you. Who were you to deny them their requited feast? For days, you found yourself back there, even as the stench of death soaks into you. You didn’t know whether it was a curse or a blessing.

Or perhaps you were simply haunted. Haunted by the choices made in seats of power. Powerful people sending their young to die for them in pointless and futile endeavours. Maybe it was the family curse of bringing death to those you loved. Regardless of reason. Things were never quite meaningful.

Not anymore, at least. It was your fault, you convince yourself. You brought this onto them like a foul tongued bastard with no home to belong to. The strong odour from the mixture of the deceased of human and fish alike stung your eyes and made it hard to breathe.

These men were a rather particularly odd bunch to you. Neither completely understanding nor completely forgiving from your own perspective. You would rather see yourself stay here in the lake rather than in the log cabin with the five of them. You don’t care for their company for the moment.

Hard to trust someone you don’t know well enough. Hard to want to understand someone if they can snap your neck the moment you turn away from them. Paranoid? Hard not to be when you expect a knife in your back from people who call themselves your ‘ally’ or ‘friend’.

You slept outside in the cool night air, the stuffy heat inside too warm to bring yourself to think about stepping indoors. These ‘men of war’ didn’t seem like they were ‘men of war’ to you, either. You think about how your superior would say, ‘Too much heart and too little sense of precaution’ or was it something else? You don’t remember the exact phrase anymore. Though, it would be surprising if you even tried to remember anything that man told you about how a soldier should be. Bitter right up until he was shot in the head. An accident.

An accident caused by one of the younger recruits. He wasn’t reprimanded, and neither was he punished for the accidental killing of a senior officer. You often wonder why that is. Did the higher ups plan for it to happen? You don’t know what else it could have been. Strange.

Strange in how you only remember how he died rather than how he lived. Not that it mattered anymore. And not like you should care, either. You don't know how long you've been standing out there for or asleep. You don't think about him unless you were about to hallucinate.

You opened your eyes and saw you were before you learned to kill, to maim and to take life from another person. In the act of not wanting to become a burden, so you take it upon yourself to eat their sins and absorb them like they were yours already.

You were standing in the lake again, your eyes hazed over as you hallucinated yourself again. Waiting for your parents to come back completely. Totally. Utterly. Unaware they were already dead. Much like the ones of those you served with. Not given much of a choice. Either starve or fight. 

Orphans were the best bet when it came down to Oni’s recruitment method. Better off stealing those with prime genetics than to commit wholesale murder. At least that is what they will tell anyone foolish enough to believe them or take them at face value. If they really wanted to?

Sometimes, if they wanted to fight dirty enough, they would pay in the hundreds of thousands of dollars to get their hands on them. Layering NDA upon NDA documents on the confidential matter to keep it disclosed and forcing them to keep their mouths shut tight about the entire matter. 

Born into this system from day one, your own mother played with your genetics beforehand, ‘saving Oni time’ according to her. She always had that sickening dark sense of humour. What better way to experiment than to use your own child? What better way to ensure a rather quick integration?

Your mother made sure you could speak German, Russian, Spanish, French, and Italian. Long before, she thought it was pertinent for you to learn English. Her reason behind these specific choices were simple. They were the languages of the elite. The ones who had both the most power and influence. 

You were three years old when your mother made sure you started gymnastics. Your mother wanted to instil flexibility, agility, and grace into your bones. 

At five years old when you started learning to use a gun. Your mother’s reason for this choice? To keep you safe. To get a head start above the rest of them. Giving you the technical know how of how to dismantle a gun within five minutes at the most. 

You were six when you started MMA and Kickboxing. Your mother said it was to keep you from remaining idle for too long. “Idle hands make idle minds” she would lecture until it was engrained into your mind. 

Seven when you hunted, killed and butchered your first animal. Your mother had told you it was to teach you survival skills, to show you where your food came from. You had watched with wide eyes as she had done it before you, her movements precise, almost loving as she dissected the creature in front of you.

You were nine years old when she got you into fencing, “a warrior must know all forms of combat. Otherwise, they are just fanciful idealists with no real means to achieve their passions.” She wanted you to break yourself and build yourself back up into something no one could recognise. 

The time you reached the age of ten when you killed your first human target. Not because your mother had demanded it. She didn’t force your hand and nor did she ask you to. Your protective senses were on fire. It was the only way to get him from ruining your mother’s work. 

At sixteen, you learned how to make your own bullets, tracking bullets, incendiary bullets, explosive bullets, armour-piercing bullets, tranquilliser darts, and even some that could disintegrate on impact. It was a necessary evil, your mother had said. It was something you had to learn to survive in this world.

You’re not sure if your mother was ever happy with how you turned out in ONI. You never got the chance to ask her yourself. You could only listen to old recordings of her ‘findings’ about you in the hopes to help you sleep sometimes. 

As you stood in the lake, inside the layers of cold, freezing water. You wondered if you were supposed to be alone for the rest of your life and this is how things were supposed to be. Forever. 

You sliced your mother’s old knife through the palm of your hand three times each. To ascertain how far your heat is going. You don’t think about how it could affect the five men inside the cabin once you were done. 

As you were walking to your hammock? Two of the men were at the back door with the arms crossed like you pissed in their favourite coffee cup or something. Soap and Price weren’t happy with the fact you were off in the lake at this time of day. Let alone by yourself. 

Soap was the first of the two to speak up, his frown is deep-set, his fingers digging into his biceps as he crossed his arms, “Where the fuck have you been for the last three and a half hours?”

“The lake near the backyard, I didn’t think you’d notice I wasn’t here in the cabin.” you answered with a yawn. 

Price raised an eyebrow at your answer, “It’s minus seven degrees out there, you could have gotten sick from hypothermia if you stayed any longer out there. Do you know how unsafe it is out there on your own?” 

“I can handle it. We’re not built the same, how many times do you need to be told that before you decide to listen to it. Besides, I don’t want to be stuck around here while the five of you fuck each other in there.” you frowned. “What did you want me to do? Wait around and listen to you? Boring. I don’t want to wait around for someone who fucks themselves and ignores me.”

“Talk about not knowing to please anyone but yourselves.” you added in, pulling your headphones on and going to sleep. Yet, long before you could go into a deep sleep, long before you could get the chance to sleep again. Nikolai? He decided to pick you up and take you back inside. 

You squirmed around as he tightly wrapped his arms around you. Nikolai whispered into your ear, “Keep still, little mouse, or I might drop you into the cold. Can’t risk that sweet flesh getting cold now, can I?” 

You kicked your sweatpants and then got extra comfortable afterwards. Ghost didn’t think you’d be THAT willing to cuddle up to the Russian man. But he was wrong before and now Price? Price was a little jealous over the fact that Nikolai could get you to stop being a little bratty without much of a hassle. 

As you were asleep beside Nikolai like you hadn’t slept properly in months. Price couldn’t help but ask how you could listen to Nikolai or Roach without much hassle. Especially since Roach is a beta. 

“How come she’s well-behaved for those two and for the rest of us?” Price asked Ghost a few hours later. 

Ghost still remembers how you sniffed all over Roach’s face and ultimately decided, ‘Yeah, I’ll take this one.’ Which Roach didn’t anticipate at the time. It was like you were choosing a new pet at the store and decided he was the one for you.

The next morning is full of noise while you were eating potato noodles you made yourself. While watching a shark documentary on the television. Ghost was allowed to get close to you without any adverse effects. Which surprised Price when he saw it happen in front of his very eyes. 

After a while you were asleep and there were at least three dirty bowls from the amount of porridge you ate afterwards. Price didn’t know how fast you could eat before this, and seeing it now? 

It wasn’t anything he’s ever seen before. You napped for at least thirty minutes and then devoured three bowls of porridge. Price didn’t anticipate this level of appetite from you. It was like Nikolai found the right kind of porridge for you to enjoy this much. “Semolina porridge,” he remarked. “Made from Semolina flour, milk, water, a pinch of salt, butter, and white sugar. One part added while you’re cooking it and a second smaller amount to dust it off. Along with a few strawberries.” 

They could tell Nikolai was proud of himself for making it for you. Price could still feel the burn of jealousy inside his heart. Not that he would ever say it out loud for the rest of the to hear it too. He felt like he needed to find a way to get closer to you and quick. 

It felt like you were unintentionally taunting him with how content you are right this moment. He knows it feels irrational to think this way. But how else could he feel when you act like this for two of them? How else could he feel when you are so foreign to someone like himself? How does anyone react to someone like you anyway? Was there even a right way to begin with? 

He tried shaking the thoughts from his mind and all it did was delay them for a few hours to a few days. Sometimes it felt like you hated him for some reason because you never acknowledge his presence some days. Like you were off in your own world where no one else could follow you into. 

But you were too honest to hide things from them either. You deliberately told them the truth to their faces and said you didn’t want to go into specifics. As you said, it would ‘turn their stomachs and lose their appetites faster than they can scream the word ‘Monster’. 

You never elaborated further than that. You said it wasn’t necessary. “Part of being experimented. You must not tell lies.” Price remembered you saying over the radio.

“Pretty sure ONI operatives weren’t always this brutally honest right?” Soap asked you.

“Depending on the operative. Otherwise, they’ll go a step further and become brutally honest. Which is far worse than the general kind.” you answered. “Those operatives? They do not give a fuck about what kind of rank you hold or how many times you remind them of it too. They can, and they will beat you down with raw honesty.”

You didn’t think your honesty was that brutal, you thought you were pretty tame in comparison. Though, from their own perspective of you? You were just as bad they were if not worse. Because who else knows how to cut down someone with just words alone other than ONI? 

“A few of them are nice enough to soften up the truth before giving it you. But find those operatives is more or less like finding a needle in two giant haystacks. Next to impossible and often aren’t shooting a gun or a field medic either. They’re more or less likely to be a chef for a base’s canteen or someone’s personal assistant somewhere higher up. Those operatives? They are high octane positivity to the core.”

“Exhausting to deal with and depletes your social battery real fast.” you added in. For clarification for people like Ghost who had a limited social battery sometimes. “So if you have the luck of running into one of them sometime. Don’t ask about anything related to their job. Unless you want to stay there for six hours. Don’t ask them.” 

You still didn’t know what to think of these men. But for one thing you knew for certain is that they were a strange bunch. Stranger than any operative you ever encountered in the past. You still don’t have a concrete opinion of them. The only you can form in the back your mind is that they’re different from most in some ways.

In some others they’re pretty much the same. You don’t know where this is going or how it would end up for you or them. You could only guess and assume. Neither of which are proven to be something rely on, and you don’t intend to do either one. 

When price saw you in the lake again? This time he decided to do something he didn’t think he had in him. He didn’t think he’d find himself right beside her in the lake’s water. The water chilled his skin faster than he could gasp out loud. Is this the kind of thing they taught you to tolerate regularly?

“How are you not suffering from frostbite?” he exclaimed in shock.

You placed his hand on your cheek to feel your temperature. “Does this answer your question?” Before he could say anything else you shoved his hand up the front of your shirt too. “How about now?” 

Price’s eyes went wide, the heat emanating from you was far more than a normal human could ever possess let alone anyone like them. Sure they got warm, but they never had gotten this warm before. “Fuck, you’re hotter than a fucking sauna in here, Venom!” Price exclaimed, his hand retreating quickly.

You snickered like his reaction amused you a lot which only made Price rather bashful over the fact that he realised his hands were just between your tits moments ago. The closest he’s been to getting you undressed in a sensual intimate manner. 

Combined with the fact you weren’t too bothered with where his hand had just been made Price feel rather flustered. How could you be so calm and collected about this? He thought you would have been a virgin or even shy about this kind of thing. Yet again he is proven wrong. 

“What’s matter price can’t handle the heat?” you playfully taunted him as you walked to your hammock at the back of the cabin. Before you could go back to sleep in your hammock? Price had decided to stop you from walking away from him by taking your wrist in his hand. Pulling you right back to him, his hand on your waist and another hand on your throat. 

The sudden jerk forward threw you off balance just a tad, just a little, causing your eyes to widen from the action alone. You didn’t think he’d be this forward, and you thought you could get away with pushing a few buttons at least. His thumb traced down the large vein in your throat, his hot breath against your ear, “I can handle you perfectly little mouse. But, little mouse? You’re playing a dangerous game with me right now.” There is a warning hinting inside his tone. 

“Is that so? Here I thought you were just being handsy or perhaps even jealous?” you mused with a slight hum and the act of biting your bottom lip was enough to send Price over the edge. 

You felt like you were 22 all over again, and you were about to sneak out to see someone off base. That relationship didn’t last long. The guy was shipped out not too long after, and he died in a mission somewhere in the UK. You still think about the guy sometimes. But not long enough for you to remember his name again. 

Price’s grip tightened around your throat just a fraction, a smidgen. Just enough for you to be aware of how strong he is without really putting more effort into it. Without cutting off your oxygen supply to your lungs. His thumb continued to caress the side of your neck. Feeling the pulse quickening under his touch. 

The heat from your body continued to be palpable. His own arousal grew in response to it. His other hand that had been at your waist is now drifting to your cheek, causing your eyes to flutter just a bit. He leaned in just enough for his breath to brush against your skin.

He whispered, “Little mouse, you’re playing a rather dangerous game with me.” 

“How can you be so certain of that?” you coyly questioned battling your eyelashes, your voice a seductive purr. You weren’t going to just give yourself over without playing around a little first. What’s the point of sex if your not one hundred and ten percent willing? 

Price smirked as you were trying to play hard to get, just like how he was hard to get rid of. It’s like an immovable object colliding with a stubborn force of nature. Or as the saying goes ‘What happens if an unstoppable force collides with an immovable object?’. 

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? With your coy smiles, your flared clothes, your little games, venom? Hm? You act like your invincible, and you don’t care about anything. Ever.” Price spoke in a hushed tone, his warm breath against your skin.

You were about to squeak out something much like a little mouse they loved to call you so much now. Before you got the chance to do just that? Price decided to hush you up by pressing his lips against yours. It made your head spin like crazy. Like he knew exactly what to do to get your knees to buckle. 

The kiss was just rough enough to keep your attention, gentle enough to keep you from pulling away from him. The silent conversation of emotional needs colliding together like two asteroids or two star colliding together. You didn’t want to admit it. You really didn’t want to. 

Your heart is beating like a wild horse in a rodeo. Kickstarted like a generator. And your body? Your body felt like it was on fire. 

His scent is overwhelming, but not unwelcome to your senses. You can feel his hand tighten against your throat further, an act of possession and unfiltered desire which you are more familiar with. 

His thumb gently caresses your cheek as you kissed him. Sending sparks throughout your body, your hands slowly drifted to his chest. Unsure if you pull him closer or push him away. It felt odd to be kissed like this. 

Sure you’ve gotten laid in the past. But it wasn’t like this before. It was always a frenzy of tearing each other’s clothes off and leaving before the other woke up. Before their hangover could affect your own. 

You weren’t used to the slow affair it could have been. You don’t know if you even deserved something like that at all. Did a creature like deserve such a thing? Did you? Be honest with yourself. Did you really think you deserve to be seen as ‘normal’?

You pulled away. You couldn’t think of anything. It was like he scrubbed it clean with his tongue and two hands. Price smirked, “You’re not used to that, are you? I can tell from your face, it's an open book right now. I think you are much, much cuter when you’re like this.” 

“Not mention, you don’t say much afterward,” he added. “If I hazard a guess you are far more used to the one-night stand kind of thing, and you are far more used to the  rough kind of love, no?” His eyes searched yours, looking for a reaction.

Your face flushed, and your sudden bashful behaviour now made it glaringly obvious of your inexperience to this kind of thing. You now realise he’s reading you like book you didn’t know all the pages to or the lyrics to a song you can’t listen to without crying.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you stated, your hand is still shaking, stop it from shaking before he notices. You feel more like a young teen who’s nervous around a first crush or something equally cheesy. The kind of feeling which didn’t lead to a one-night stand, a hangover, and a guy stealing your underwear like a pervert of some kind. 

Price took a step closer to you, his hand still on your cheek, his thumb stroking it gently. “I can feel it, your heart racing like it’s running a marathon. I know you’re not used to this.” His voice was low, almost a murmur. It was as if he didn’t want to break the spell of the moment.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice, trying to keep the heat from burning up your entire body. “Is that so? Maybe I like playing hard to get, hmm?” 

You wandered off to the bath house to cool down properly there. You didn’t run away. You know you didn’t. But you kind of felt like you had, right? Like you had decided that running away was the better option for you. 

You didn’t bother hiding your tracks. You weren’t a coward. You didn’t have to hide from anyone. You didn’t have to. You weren’t weak. You’ve never been weak. Not even when you were a child. Not even when you were being experimented on. 

You didn’t have a thing to fear. You were the thing everyone else and everything else is scared of. You were always careful in your choices, right?

You didn’t expect him to follow you into the bathhouse. His eyes never leaving your form hidden beneath your clothes, no matter how much you hid behind graphic men’s shirts, sweaters and sweatpants, or the crop tops with kimono sleeves or bells sleeves with flared pants and jeans.

He knew that you weren’t going anywhere. Not when he had you right where he wanted you. He had to admit, seeing you like this? It was far more satisfying than he could ever have imagined. 

The bathhouse is steamy, fogged, you were hard to see through it all. But he knew you were in there, that was all that mattered right? To know you were in there. 

The water from the shower had a faint hint of mint, and you knew that it was going to be a long night. You turned the water to cold, as cold as it could go and stepped underneath it. It only dimmed the heat inside you by a small margin. 

He watched as the water ran down your body, your skin goosebumps from the cold. He didn’t say anything, just took off his clothes and stepped into the shower with you. His body washed with the minty scent of the water, and the heat from his skin clashed with the coldness from yours.

Price wrapped his arms around you from behind, his erection pressing into your back. You could feel the heat radiating from him, it was like standing in front of a bonfire. His lips grazed your neck, and his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin there, making you gasp. “You are mine, Venom,” he whispered.

You could help but lean into him, even as his fingers traced your jawline and his gaze remained on your low rise micro V string underwear which only covered the bare minimum at most. Leaving next to nothing else to the imagination. If Price knew you were wearing this kind of underwear the entire time? 

He would surely have had something to say to it. You imagine how one conversation would have gone, with you stating how it's not their problem and that it wasn’t his business to know what kind of underwear you wore. Then again they should be used to the fact that you don’t wear a bra in your off hours sometimes. 

Price’s hand drifted down to your waist again. Tracing the edges of your underwear like he wanted all of you. In ways, you never thought about. Or even experienced for yourself. Your breath hitched and you turned to face him. The slick wet tiles against your back as he pulled at your underwear. You would have taken it off, but it was already coming off with his hands and the slight growl?

If that was to indicate anything, it was his want, his need to claim you as not only his but his pack’s. The wild and primal urge crawled up your throat. As your core tightened, shivers travelled down your spine. You didn’t know if it was the way he looked at you or the way he touched you. Maybe it was both of those things all at once?

“I… I…. I can’t.” you whispered in heavy, heaving gasps. This is foreign territory for you. Usually it was going down the guy rather than the other way around. You didn’t know if you would like it either. 

He paused for a moment. Only a moment did he pause in his pursuit of your nectar seeping from in between your thighs. His hands slid further down. He muttered, “Yes. Yes you can.” as he slid your underwear off you, and “MINE” he growled. 

He didn’t bother to keep his voice down when he uttered those words from his lips. Pressing them against your inner thigh, slowly moving further up and up.

Reaching the juncture between your plump thighs, his trailed against your weeping cunt. You gasped as you felt his warm tongue against your clit. In response your body shivered and your back arched. Eyelids fluttering as he continued to taste every part of your folds. 

His hands found themselves planted on your ass cheeks as he continued to eat your pussy out like he was starving, and you were the last meal for the rest of his life. 

You didn’t know what to do, you felt so exposed, so vulnerable. Your hands found themselves in his hair, gripping it tightly as waves of pleasure crashed over you. It had been a long time since someone had touched you like this, with care and hunger.

Price's grip grew stronger, his tongue dancing around your folds, tasting you. His breath was warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he moaned, the vibrations resonating through your body and making your knees wobble.

As the sensation building up inside your depths, your body tightening and quivering under his touch. You felt like you were edging closer and closer to the edge of an orgasm. You were going to fall long before you felt like you were ever ready to. 

Your breath grew to be ragged, heavy, you urged him to go faster, and he was more than willing to comply. A blur of pleasure and confusion. 

Before you could orgasm he stopped and stood up, you whimpered when he pulled his tongue from your depths. 

“Why did you stop?” you asked. Your voice horse from the amount of moaning you made from your preciously beautiful lips.

Price smirked at you, a small part of his dominance over you in this intimate act within his eyes as he lifted your chin in his hand,  “Because, my sweet little darling mouse, I am far from being done with you.” 

He picked you up and carried to his room rather than your own. What better way to tame a wild creature such as yourself than to have it done in your own strong scented domain? What better way to ensure his seed is deep inside you and that you have at least one of his children? 

This will surely help you remember whose pack you are part of now. To help remind you who you belonged to now and who was in your past.

[ryuzakemo128]

Who eats alone, dies alone.

Pairing: Poly141 x Outlaw! Female Reader Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not eat, kidnapping, murder, cheating, affairs, coercion to get sex and a 'family', reader is bisexual, tall and plus sized, misogyny, violence against women, violence, and other things that will make your stomach turn. Don't read if you're squeamish. word Count: 3074

Masterlist

Credit 4 Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

You weren’t a small.

You were tall.

You were never considered a pretty little young thing like the women you envied around you. The anger at your circumstances, at yourself, burned inside you like a furnace and the only thing to fuel your wrath was bloodshed.

You're useless, aren’t you if you can’t be like the surrounding women?

What use is your existence if you're scaring people away?

Your charm lured in a victim for your boss. But you didn’t care.

Your boss being a pretty young blonde with enough money to make the oil barons wish she was their wife.

You shot three people in order to get to your target, you didn’t even look at them.

The gun felt light in your hands, the three bodies dropped pretty quickly. 

“Get in.” you ordered. Slamming the carriage door after getting in with him to deter from leaving. You pointed the gun in his direction, “I would hate for someone to get the wrong idea that we’re together.” you spoke in a low husky tone. The smell of his fear drifting to your nose. You might be enjoying this a little too much. Might.

You brought out the handcuffs and snapped them wright on his wrists. Your gloved fingers making sure he can’t simply run away without look too suspicious. 

Ghost called out to Price whom was shooting at the caravan as it rode off into the dirt and dust. They got there far too late. Like they always do. Too late to make any kind of real proper change. 

As soap looked around the medium-sized carriage for an escape route, “Sweetheart, Sugar, darlin. You’re goin no where. You’re stayin on that sweet arse of yours and accepting how things are for time bein.”  You whispered into his ear. 

“I don’t want this to become permanent. So I suggest you compose yourself. A lovely woman will make sure you’re well-fed and cared for. And you’ll be thankin the good lord for everything she is.” you winked at him. Right as the carriage bumped and jostled around along the uneven terrain. 

Price saw you in person the following week with information on a new target. The one who took Johnny MacTavish. The same women who killed three men without a single sign of remorse in her eyes. 

Finding none made his stomach drop.

His heart beats faster now. 

He knew you. The woman kicked out from the church his parents always went to on a Sunday morning. He remembered how a man kicked you in the stomach until you coughed up blood from the blunt force to your stomach. Always kicking himself for never standing up for you. 

Had he known you were forced to take this path alone, then. What would he have done? 

Your mother eventually passed from a cancer which ate at her mind as well as her soul. Your father cheating on her with the maids inside your manor. He thought his amassed wealth would grant him a front row seat straight into heaven by the time he died. Not that he have ever personally read the actual thing himself. He knew a few proverbs and apparently it’s all he ‘needed’. To your poor mother’s dismay, who had actually read it in her youth.

Your eyes looked into his, a wall of steel and stone standing before him. Unlike the woman who was beaten by men just because she couldn’t control her sexuality. The faint scar along the left side of your jawline, a memory and a reminder that men could never be trusted.

Why did you take Soap so aggressively? So much show of power from someone in a short amount of time. It was like you were begging to be shot down. 

But Price knew better than to take a book by its cover. He’s seen the same look in your eyes as the men he had taken to be his lovers years ago. The look of someone who had seen too much, felt too much pain, and was now numb to the world around them. Someone who could endure any amount of pain or punishment and keep coming back for more.

Price still speaks to your father. Not that he would admit this to your face. ‘A monster by association’ you would call him. Not like you would be completely wrong. But you wouldn’t be right at the same time. Though he knew you wouldn’t care for the complexities or details. 

They’ve seen your type, your kind and your brood before. Thrown away like yesterday’s garbage. Thrown to the curb like you weren’t worth a damn thing. Not like you shown it on your face how much it bothered you. Not like you could get in somebody’s face and scream at them before. Not like you can now.

You never felt so free in your life. 

A pity, things came to a head this way.

He didn’t want you dead. He wanted you to bring MacTavish back to them. But it was certainly clear you weren’t going to do to just that. Not like you could defy your boss’s orders in the way he desired you to. If you did, you would be on the streets again, and who was he to tell you to leave a home you found on your own? 

Maddening to be sure. To be stuck between a rock and a hard place. You were making your own way to support yourself, your own way to bend the world to your own image and your own liking. Crafting it to your own whims and desires, like you enjoyed the thought of playing god to serve yourself alone.

Price had to regroup to the others. Before things got messy like it had last time. Three dead in the attempt to blockade you. Like a ram, you barrelled through like they weren’t worth a damn thing. Ruthless in your loyal servitude. A pity. It should have been him you were serving instead.

To have you bent over. 

What a sight that would be. 

But he knew your boss. The dinner party he’s invited to indicate as such. 

Hoping he would be able to sneak Johnny out of there. While she played hostess to her dinner guests with a fake smile. One which never seemed to reach her eyes. A plastered, well-rehearsed smile which looked haunting if you knew sadistic ways. There wasn’t much he could do for him from this far away. 

If you were there? It would be borderline impossible to get him out of that estate. No matter what. He couldn’t do a damn thing. 

“If she’s there, we won’t be able to get him back, Kyle.” price protested, waving at the naive man’s suggestion. “She’s like a dog with a bone, relentless, tenacious, a loyal bloodhound. And I don’t think it’s the money keeping her loyal, either.” 

He wasn’t wrong. You weren’t loyal to her for the money alone, were you? The money made things easier to swallow. Easy to deal with the eccentric nature of her whims of her sexual drive. You couldn’t be bothered to argue with the semantics of why you worked for her. The captives didn’t need to know. Anyone outside wouldn’t understand either.

Not in the ways you would have hoped to get. You would repent later. Repent tomorrow. But tomorrow is always one day away, and you were allergic to the thought of confession. To be brought to your knees because of something as fickle as truth. To escape the wooden pressures of the crucifix and sermons spoken from inside their little chapels won’t touch you again. 

Not while you still live and breathe. 

You were in the hands of a powerful woman married to an oil baron who was away for months at a time. Known for his thing for bringing in young mistresses to breed like some kind of rabid dog. You ignored how some woman would be paid to live there with his wife. Normally as well paid maids and servants. What better way to keep your marriage and the women you found attractive all in one place? 

According to him, it didn’t sound nearly as insane as his wife’s sadistic streak of kidnapping young men from the streets to play with as her one-way lovers. A way to cope with the sadistic desires from his wife, or did he enjoy it too much to take much of an issue with her actions? Who knew. As far as everyone else is concerned. Those men disappeared from the face of the earth.

Gone. Never to found again. Not even their loved ones ever knew what happened to them. But you did. Some of them died trying to escape. Mauled by vicious guard dogs on their front lawn or starved. 

You still remember when your boss spanked you hard enough to make cum like crazy. Not that you could ever explore that side of you. Not like you ever could. Not with the parents you have. “Call me mummy.” she’d hiss into your ear as she’d finger your clit. Masterfully. 

She knew your secret. The kind which could get you killed if the right kind of people knew about it. It’s how she kept you in check. The strangle hold on you was real. Even as Soap was forced to watch the same night, he was brought in to her estate. 

A bisexual woman of your standing? You wouldn’t last a week by yourself. You didn’t want them to that secret. The other being shunned by the church you used to attend with your parents. The church disowned you and threatened your parents to urge them to do the same. When your parents refused because they didn’t trust what the church tried to say.

With your mother dead.

Your father lost to himself with the lust of women and greed of the green dollar bills. 

Picking up a gun, learning how to shoot, learning how to intimidate, and learning to forgive yourself for hurting so damn much. 

You were finally good at something.

Scared men paid more. Scared men didn’t argue. And scared men didn’t survive.

Those who crossed you wished they never saw you. Those who survived knew what kind of monster lurked beneath your eyes. 

The most dangerous thing someone could be is a dangerous woman with nothing to lose and everything to gain. And you played up your dangerous look, and attitude to the absolute maximum. Unhinged in the ways you felt alive. Unhinged in ways men would be praised for. You didn’t need a mirror to know you looked every bit of the part of a dangerous gun slinging outlaw you made yourself into. Like you always wanted to be. Like you are meant to be. 

A cold-heart gunslinger because otherwise you would have been dead years ago. How your trench coat bellowed and how your bandana remained firmly on the lower half of your face. Hiding your identity. Keeping others from trying to find you or tracking you down. Covering your mouth in the covers of darkness. Either way, it worked well for you.

The stallion you rode on while the carriage was getting repaired in the workshop just outside of town. The black horse, a symbol of your capabilities and tenacious spirit. The woman you served had the audacity to still call herself, ‘Lady of the Sapphire Manor’.

You weren’t like her. You were never like her. Never fed into someone’s desire for company like she did with you.

The same manor is technically yours by all rights and reason in terms of inheriting after your mother passed on. It was little to no wonder as to who should own that manor. 

Your father was the first person you murdered. Tied him up on a wooden chair in the backyard, stacking every portrait containing his likeness painted or printed onto them into a bonfire formation. Piling them up around him like a final act of self realisation. He was asleep until you poured that gasoline over him. 

The cold, biting, gasoline-soaked person who gave you life as Soap watched from the balcony in the second story of the manor. Soap saw you getting ready to murder your father in cold blood. This wasn't any old stranger you could emotionally detach yourself from. This was your bloodline.

You didn’t blink.

You didn’t flinch.

Looking over to the woman in the balcony for approval. Her approval. ‘It’s like she needs it, like she craves it, to be owned completely instead of wandering around and wondering if you’ll ever fit anywhere.’ Soap pondered watching this as he remained tied up in his wooden chair. 

The match flicked to the match box, the fire burning the match stick to the gasoline covered man. As his pleas for mercy were ignored, as his screams splitting the night sky as the flames licked his flesh until he was nothing but burned flesh and bone. The flames reflected in your eyes. It’s clear kidnapping, keeping people hostage, tormenting hostages weren’t enough anymore. 

You’re no longer satisfied with small amounts of murder, mayhem, chaos, and pain. You wanted Soap to see the real thing. To smell the burning flesh from people who were the real monsters in the world, and you wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw everything. 

He wasn’t like the rest. He didn’t belong in your world. Just like you didn’t belong in his. You have a part to play. You played it so well.

A monster. A terrible beast. Unloved and unlovable. You had to play the role of the monster to survive.

Soap found him high as a kite walking to his lovers without his pants on with only fifty dollars to his name. Pockets full of opium. No memory of how he got inside the manor. Plenty of memories of all the horrors lying inside the depth of Sapphire Manor. Inflicted by you for the amusement of ‘The Lady’. 

“We’re dead price. DEAD long before we knew she existed. You don’t see it. You’ll never see it. I have seen it. We’re dead.” his nonsenual muttering as Soap gripped his face, rocking him side to side like they were in some kind of long term hospice centre on giant wheels. Too afraid to stop moving in the case, he heard the screams of the man he watched burn to death come back. 

“She killed her father Price. She turned him into a human bonfire and watched him burn.” Soap continued to blabber on and on. 

This all happened in a matter of four days and five nights. Breaking him until he couldn’t trust what he saw in the dark. Always checking to see if you were standing in the darkness. Checking outside his window every five minutes, sometimes hallucinating you were standing outside. 

You were never physically there. You haven’t been since you left him in the middle of town to walk home alone. Likewise, you weren’t a babysitter and you got what you wanted from him. An excuse to get more from your boss. A pay raise. 

Torture isn’t a one shoe fits all scenario. It is usually tailored to the individual targeted. But somehow your methods were brutal enough to break every man The Lady held within Sapphire Manor. The letter you had left in his pants that you gave through the mail slot. 

‘The lady holds no interest in a man who's lost his wits, Soap. Perhaps it's time for you to leave us. I return you to your ‘family’ what ever that is. Lest this be a reminder to keep your nose out of her opium business and shove off elsewhere. 

You turned him into a broken man. Like you have done so many times before with so many other men. A master of torture. A musician in the realm of pain, fear, and madness. You weave it well. You play with it like an artist who poked and prodded, working with your clay. Moulding people over and over. Swimming in the sea of your seemingly eternal madness. 

Taxidermy people sitting in various rooms, permanently frozen in their state of distress, stuffed and poised like hunters did with their animal trophies. Redesigned, redressed and posed in ways you wanted them to look. Another thing, The Lady took pride in her home. People would assume they were fake and none the wiser. Unless they knew of the method of how they came to be. They will never know the gruesome side. 

Your methods of torture evolve after each ‘failure’ finding what works and what needed to be changed. The opium haze of your victims made them easier for them to ply the information from their lips, easier for you to manipulate. You weren’t always so good at this, your first attempts were clumsy and lacked finesse, but with each soul you crushed, each man you bent to her will, you grew more adept, more skilled, more terrifying.

When it came to dosing them with morphine on the second day? The effect of the morphine made them susceptible to suggestion, one tool of many you used to help get you what you wanted from them. You didn’t have to get to the actual torture if they gave you what you wanted. Gentle whispered promises to stop if they talked. 

Was it really so hard to imagine soap gave in so quickly?

 You didn’t even need to get your hands dirty with the actual torture. 

Who knew imagery of darkness, formed and sculpted by your own hand, was enough to break people? 

Price shouldn’t blame him from folding so quickly. If you call being stuck there for four days and five nights relatively quick. Which, in terms of torture? 

It was a record.

The only one who went mad in such a short time. A sick, twisted form of pride gurgled inside you. Chewing at the leftover rage you kept in the furnace called your brain. 

The Lady had eyes everywhere in her manor, and you were just one set of eyes under her service. A gatekeeper. The one who decided who kept their sanity or not. If they even got to see the light of day again, that is. 

What you are now? He wouldn’t have guessed you would have become. He would have called anyone mad for thinking this would have happened anyway. That you were doomed from the start.

[ryuzakemo128]

Omegaverse headcanons

CW: dark stuff mentioned.

In the same universe as my omegaverse parts

Pairing: Poly141 x female reader. With Nikolai included to a degree.

Omegaverse Parts: Part One + Part Two

One. You don’t get it when someone wears denim jeans into the desert. “What the fuck is this?” you asked, borderline annoyed. Your frustration showing this time, “Soap, march up there and get changed, you’ll sweat up a fucken storm. We’re going into a desert location, not fucken fashion week.” 

Two. You have a bath at eleven o’clock regardless of time zone or location. In hot weather it's a cold bath and in cold weather. It's a reasonably hot one. A creature of habit is what Price loved to call you. Even if you bit him on the hand once.

Three. You never miss a training session. Ever. If they thought they can get you to skip it? They’d be told, ‘I’m sleeping on the couch tonight’. And not, ‘You’re sleeping on the couch tonight' because what’s worse than a partner who only won’t sleep in the same bed as you. But also won’t fuck any of them during that night either.

Four. You hate when people don’t eat breakfast. It’s like not having ammo in your pocket before you go out on a mission. Sure, you might not need it, but if you do, you’re fucked. And no, a black coffee doesn’t count.

Five. You hate when people don’t clean up after themselves. You don’t live in a barracks anymore, you’ve got a penthouse in the city now, but that doesn’t mean you can throw your socks anywhere. You’ve got a basket, use it. And for fuck’s sake, don’t leave your gun on the coffee table.

Six. You have an ever-growing collection of knives, from bone knives to Damascus steel knives. They all have stories. They're all displayed neatly in a glass case in your penthouse. Price has made a habit of not asking where they came from. Fully aware of where the bone knives came from.

Seven. “No, Price, I don’t care. If Nikolai isn’t living here, you can’t fuck him here. End of story. Good night and go fuck yourself.” you reprimanded from the master bedroom ensuite. “In the grace of my good will, you may stay over his place and nothing more, nothing less.”

Price wasn’t terribly happy with that, but he knew you were right. If they wanted to mess around with someone who isn’t living there? They better do in their house, under their roof and in their domain. The only strict rule you enforced quite well. For a good reason too. Their nests were in here, and you didn’t want anyone else’s scent mingling with yours, except for those who lived there permanently. Plus, you liked your privacy.

Eight. Your back tattoo is still something Price and Ghost love staring at, “The gates of hell are open night and day; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labour lies.”

The words etched into an archway, 'The gates of hell are open night and day; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way:’ and the words, ‘But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labour lies.’ is etched into the open gateway, gilded in gold and silver. As if thunder and lighting struck down onto the pavement leading into a ‘heaven’. 

If there even was one? You don’t know, and you don’t even want to pretend to know if there is one, too. You’ve seen enough shit to fill a library with horror books. Enough to know some questions just don’t have answers or have answers you don’t want to hear. 

Nine. You love lavender cigarettes over cigars, tobacco, chewing tobacco, normal cigarettes. Vaping was fine, but you liked the raw taste of the cigarette in your mouth, the way it burned down your throat and into your lungs. You'd sit on the balcony with the cool breeze, watching the city lights twinkle like distant stars, a cigarette dangling between your lips.

Herbal cigarettes and vapes were common for you, a way to keep the inner ‘beast’ in check without the use of sex, raw meat or a cage fight. Lavender is said to soothe the ‘savage beast’ according to your mother. But you liked to think of it as a way to keep the peace, to keep your mind from wandering to places you’d rather keep locked away.

Ten. You've got a thing for rain. It's like your inner wolf comes out, yearning for the wet fur and the smell of damp earth. You'd sit by the windowsill, letting the droplets kiss your skin, the smoke from your cigarette curling around your form. Sometimes, when the weather is just right, you'd go out onto the balcony and let it soak you.

Price eventually found you outside in the rain one afternoon on the balcony, vaping a strong lavender-scented electronic cigarette. You were wearing a black men’s shirt with a double-sided dragon graphic print on it. Draping over her, large enough to swim in by the looks of it. One of the men’s shirts she usually bought for herself. 

Eleven. You eventually showed the four of them around your walk-in closet, “Thrifted or bought impulsively.” you told them. “Take a good look.”

And Price has seen the large collection of men’s shirts, jackets, and hoodies you have. It was a walk-in closet with a collection of dark clothing far too big for you. But you loved how comfortable they felt on you. How the fabric hung off your shoulders like comforting armour.

Twelve. You wear men’s deodorant, which Soap finds to be rather amusing. “You know, darling, there’s stuff for females, too.” he teased one morning, holding up the stick deodorant he found in your drawer.

“But do they have any smelling like lavender & cinnamon or dark chocolate or leather & cookies or coconut & black pepper?” Soap looked at your Lynx body sprays which you usually put on after a shower. Which for the rest of them?

The large bottle of body wash in your shower is a mix of both types. The lynx Dark chocolate, the ‘golden temptation’, which is a molten chocolate blended with fresh citrus and smoky amber. Along with goat’s milk body wash, which is more for sensitive skin, sometimes even your scent can be overpowering to the alphas.

Thirteen. Cartoon movies like Anastasia, Care Bears, The Wild Thornberrys, Teenage Ninja Turtles, Rugrats, and SpongeBob were your guilty pleasure. You could spend hours watching them, even if you've seen them a hundred times before. You liked the simplicity of them, the way they made you feel like a kid again. You felt complete, perfect, right to watch them.

Fourteen. You cook with slow cookers a lot, Gaz saw you use four at once one afternoon when he came from his solo missions. Two for wagyu beef stew and two for salted caramel fudge. You were busy since four in the morning, and you were having a nap by seven in the morning as they slowly cooked. 

Fifteen. You have a pet wolf named 'Mona Lisa' because she smirks when she's being cheeky, and she's got a penchant for stealing socks. You found her as a pup when you were on a mission and smuggled her back home. Now she's got her own room in the penthouse, filled with plush toys and a giant dog bed that she rarely sleeps in, preferring the floor beside yours.

Price came face to face with the wolf pup, Mona Lisa, a northwestern wolf with deep piercing copper eyes, staring at him intently. He'd never seen such a creature so close, especially not in the penthouse. “I take it she's yours?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“As much as she wants to be.” you replied.

Price leaned down, looking into her eyes, “What does that mean?”

“I don't own her, just as much she doesn't own me.” You said, stroking her fur gently. “We're just roommates who share a very complicated relationship. She's got free rein of the place, does whatever she wants, and I don't question it.” You couldn't help the fond smile that played on your lips as Mona Lisa leaned into your touch, her tail thumping against the floorboards. “And much like other wolves of her species, she is territorial and defends her territory against intruders.”

Price chuckled, “So she's the unofficial security system, huh?”

“More like a bodyguard, but that works too.”

Price laughed, his eyes lighting up as he watched you with Mona Lisa. It was a strange dynamic, but it worked. The wolf had taken a liking to you from the moment she was brought into the penthouse. And she was as protective of you as any of the guys were, maybe more.

Sixteen. You were not an alpha, you were certainly were no quivering omega, and you are not even a fucking beta. What in the name of a metaphorical god are you? With no conclusive, definitive answers to who or what you are. You were left to wander the expanse of earth. Alone. For a time before they came into the picture. You were harsher than the winds of the desert sandstorm, colder than the snowy Ural Mountains, and more elusive than a ghost in a haunted mansion.

You had no pack, no back-up, and with absolute certainty? No way of knowing what you are that made you seem so unapproachable by everyone around you. You didn’t know what made you monstrous to those who had trained you. Whatever it was? They refused to make a lick of sense over it. And before you know it, you were left to rot in the middle of nowhere. 

You have a heat cycle which is both intense at times and “Her scent is sweet, tooth rotting levels of sweet, think candy bars and cotton candy. There’s some spice to it, like cinnamon or pumpkin spice in those pumpkin spice lattes Gaz likes to have every Halloween.”

Though there are times when you were in heat, and you barely noticed. Either it was very faint or you were too distracted to particularly pay extra attention. 

Your heat is either in intense or faint, it was always a coin flip between the two. Perhaps this is another reason why you don’t fall into any of the three categories of Alpha, Beta, or Omega. 

Price caught you looking up quizzes like ‘What wolf are you?’,  ‘Are you a true loner?’,  ‘Are you an Alpha, Beta, or Omega?’ and ‘Where are you on the omegaverse hierarchy?’ 

You were still fighting the military to get them to give you your medical results, it was an uphill battle with no mountain to fall onto. 

You threw your hands up, exasperated, “Why is it so hard for them to just hand me my own fucking medical records?” You sighed, slumping into the chair at the dining table.

Price shrugged, sitting across from you, “Maybe they think you’re a danger to yourself and others if you find out what you are. Or maybe they just lost it.”

“Their minds or the records?”  You quipped, eating a slice of apple from the fruit salad you made for breakfast. 

Price chuckled, taking a seat beside you, his gaze lingering on your flushed cheeks, “Could be both, knowing how the military loves to keep its secrets.”

“Like a whore who keep all tips for herself,” Soap grinned, sauntering into the kitchen. He had always had a knack for making everything sound like a double entendre.

“Or CEO of a billion-dollar company who refuses to pay it employees livable wages.” you quipped.

Seventeen. You were meticulous in your guns, specific about certain things like the cleanliness of your rifles, handguns and organising them by type, calibre, use, and then by the date of purchase. 

The ammunition is given the same treatment, even if there was back-up stored away somewhere. They were neatly organised too.

You had a knack for knowing where everything was without looking. It was like a sixth sense. You could be in the middle of a conversation and point to the exact spot where a gun was kept. It was unnerving at first especially your memorisation process is basically staring, touching and then memorising the layout. You had a way with the weapons that was almost sensual, a dance of precision and power.

Even the gun oils you used were separated, one for rifles, one for handguns, one for magnums and another for pistols. You had a scent to each of them, and you knew the smell of each like the back of your hand. It was almost a comforting scent, one that filled the air when you were in the penthouse armoury. It smelled like home, like the smell of your mother's kitchen when she was cooking up a storm.

Dividers Credit: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

[ryuzakemo128]

Pairing: Poly 141 x Reaper! Forensics Pathologist! Female reader

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Note: Only the reader's hair colour is defined. Everything else is up to you. Also the third image is what I image you wearing in this fic.

“Confused is all. As to why you of all people are at my doorstep. Don’t you pups know what death looks like? Or do you prefer to experience it yourself?” you raised an eyebrow at their interference. Your long black onyx nails tapping the back of your clipboard.

A reaper right in front of their face. Disguised as a Forensics Pathologist, a mortician, a keeper of the dead.

John Price, the stern-faced leader of Task Force 141, took a step back, eyeing the woman with a mix of wariness and curiosity. “We've seen plenty of it,” he replied, his British accent thick and commanding. “But we're not here for a lecture on mortality, Doc.”

“Pity. You look like you need one. Several. Of. Them. Perhaps then you will promptly understand how important my work is.”

Your hair looked like molten lava, the layers of charcoal, auburn, and copper framing your sharp face, which was devoid of any make-up except for the crimson lipstick that stood out against the starkness of your teeth.

“Do you think you scare me scotsman? I know more about life than you lived in a year.”

Your eyes bore into Soap, holding his gaze as if challenging him to dare.

“Shoot me foolish man, go on, do it, see what kind of 'damage' you won't be able to do.”

Because no one can kill death. And they will all come to her eventually.

Death is the end of everything.

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune