Gaz and his jealousy over the pretty bird Soap strings along
Gaz never thought himself to be the jealous type. Focus on the job and he'd make it through. He enjoyed what he did truly. Enjoyed his team mates too, most of the time. Price was an excellent mentor to look up to, to be guided by. And Ghost; well Ghost was simply something else entirely, both in and out of the field. And Soap was a force to be reckoned with. Cocky, and loud mouthed.
And lately, he seemed incapable of shutting up about the girl he was fucking. He'd found her on leave before last. Some "pretty thing that fucks like a slag". He enjoys yammering about your cunt, how wet and flustered you get. How you "actually wait around for him" even though all Soap wants is fun toy to use when he has time off base.
He shares the videos too, shamelessly, of his cock railing you while you hide behind your arm shyly. Tits bouncing so prettily. Kyle can't help the way his eyes fix on them when he notices the scars, like two anchor shapes. around your nips then cutting down to under your breasts.
"Yeah, apparently she had some right massive tets" Soap responds when Kyle asks about it, "Absolute shame I only found her after, would've loved to talk her out of it."
The way He says it so casually irks Kyle deeply. The way the fellow Sergeant seems to think he could or should get to influence a decision like that. Especially for a girl he's so vocal about "just stringing along".
It's months of it, slowly rotting away in his head. Your sweet face in his head, the way you moan stuck in his head as much as he hates it is from the amount of times Soap shares some new video he has of them fucking; or that he's convinced you to send to him. And the way you laugh? it clenches something in his chest, Kyle knows that sound all too well because- "Yeah, it's a little weird she sometimes gets a giggling fit after cumming. But it's not to hard to ignore when the lays so good?"
And it's finally when Price is talking with him, late one night, in the mans office over some nice scotch that it solidifies in his mind, Kyle has to have you. The old man goes on something about "Don't let himself have regrets like him." Or something to that effect, and Kyle just knows.
Knows that Soap is a right bastard. Knows that he can be so much better for you than all the leash jerking and disrespect his fellow soldier shows you. because you deserve to have better. His obsession research had gotten out of hand before he made the decision to steal you away from the Scot. Had learned what you did for work (literal fuckin charity work, with rehabbing various animals for the shelter local to you) an absolute angel of a person. Had learned your hobbies, and seeing you post your latest culinary creations always had him drooling about how nice it would be to come home and be lucky to have your food waiting. Not that he'd demand such a thing, but truly food was love in his house growing up.
So when it came time for a mandatory leave, he just so happens to book it for where you live without breathing a word of it to Soap. All he has to do is show you why he's so clearly better than the idiot your mooning over, and you'll make the obvious choice right?
hypmic fantasy au fr where jakurai was a doctor working for the clergy, hired because he was blessed with a fckton of holy powers and the church wanted to try and use that power.
jakurai, of course, didn’t do jack sh*t for them except nurse the sick back to health in the name of god, thus increasing believers, donations and, most importantly, the demands of the church for the general populace. And that’s a no no for the church that opened up in this mid sized rural village to get as much money possible out of them. fortunately! there’s been this demon lord wreaking havoc on the lands and being a general menace so they send jakurai off on a ‘holy mission’ with some other ‘useless’ holy knights to get rid of him
everybody died. everybody except jakurai. he alone, blessed with all this power, defeated the demon lord yet couldn’t save any of the lives of those who fought with him. but, as if the cost wasn’t high enough, the demon lord is the by product of a curse, one that moves to the next person who had slayed the previous host. transforming into the demon lord was long. it was so painful; jakurai felt as if his head had been cracked in half. the right side of his face was on fire; it had to be peeling and melting. his spine was strung up and he could feel every vertebrae s t r e t c h.
jakurai laid on the marble floor, passed out from the excruciating pain for three days and three nights. he awoke to the stench of old blood and bodies beginning to rot as the new demon lord. it really was a terrible curse.
his holy magic was now of black hellfire. the powers bestowed upon him which helped him heal now only caused destruction. it didn’t take long for jakurai to decide to live in solitude; if he only destroys then for everyone’s safety, he would rather fade into obscurity.
that isn’t what happened though.
though he remained in this demon lair, people across all nations still came to defeat him. listening to these warriors, townsfolk, estranged family members, even those not yet of age, any slight against humanity, whether big or small, was ooobviously of the fault of the demon lord.
...well, it gave jakurai a revised purpose: protecting humanity from himself and themselves.
it gave him a newfound determination to find out what he was capable of and to grow into an undefeatable being so nobody could receive this curse from him. he was determined to make sure the end of the demon king came when he was certain it ended with him.
(unbeknowst to jakurai, however, the curse truly does end with him. the curse of the demon lord was supposed to take the new host’s mind and individuality and warp it into a being only bent on causing destruction and suffering. but because jakurai had so much power and favour with his god, the curse could only transform his body and source of power. he wouldn’t know this until ichiro, doppo and hifumi would stumble into his life, much much later.)
It isn't often that ghost is overpowered, outmaneuvered, or of all things outsized. He's been a big guy most his life, even before the military; he'd shot up early. A freak among his classmates. All military life had done was add bulk to his body through training, missions. Grit, sweat and blood filling his body out with muscle, collecting scars with it.
He's skeptical, when Price talks about adding a fucking mutt to the team. Werewolves have been around, oft seen as lower than humans. hard not to when the can be so bestial. It makes them hard to trust. hard to predict. At least, that's what he's been fed all his life, being from poorer inner city. the kind of place that bred tensions, both racial and classist. He thought himself mostly better than where he grew up. But werewolves?
They were horrible, vile things. His time with Roba had proven that.
But despite his protests, Price was firm. With enemy combatants using werewolves more and more, it was becoming a handicap not to have a wolf. The healing, tank like qualities, tracking. The 141 was getting a Lycan, it wasn't even on the Captains insistence, merely his endorsement for an order higher up the chain.
Your unassuming when you make first introductions to the team. Professionalism all around, but Gaz seems excited to Ghost's disgust. Soap at least seems reserved, even if a bit too friendly in his opinion. Your still smaller than him, just a smidge under price in size. And the first time he sees you in light PT clothes? His brows furrow under the mask.
He's never seen anyone with so many scars other than himself. The most obvious ones are the silvery pink ones ringing your body, arms, every surface of you, so precise and repeated, he thought it was some fucked up torture result until he'd gotten a really good look one day. Which was when he realized, they were stretch marks. he begrudgingly conceded in a way it was a scar from torture, just a self inflicted one for changing your freak body in the ways it can. There are others littering your body, nasty things that he can't find himself caring enough to learn about why they are.
He keeps an eye on you. The only one on the team with a brain it seems to not trust a literal fucking animal not to loose it. Ghost becomes your shadow, not because he's obsessed with that way you laugh. Nor that he enjoys the fluidity of your movement, not at all. It's because someone needs to be ready to unload a clip between those pretty soft eyes when you inevitably go feral.
The first time he see's you transform into your 'war' form is not a pleasant experience. the two of you separated from the team in hostile territory him with his leg loaded with shrapnel limping through the woods, refusing help to lean on you. He'd barely had notice before you were lunging, bones cracking joints popping. and he'd stupidly been distracted trying to tie off the bleeding.
He cursed himself in the moment, trying to grab for his knife but as fast as you were it only crested out the sheathe before he was tossed into the earth with all the ease of a child tossing down a toy. The sound of something heavy colliding he thought had to be you snapping his legs. but when he refocused through the pain, the continued sounds. Snarling, crashing, feral growls, he found you locked in combat with another werewolf, one he'd been entirely unaware of. You towered over him in this form, all muscle with silky fur, not the patchy flea riddled thing roba had.
And the way you tossed the other around, the crunch of bones and the splinter of the tree you both broke. It had his blood rushing in ways he was confused by. In ways that disgusted himself. and when you returned, nosing him with a whine, like a kicked dog begging for scraps; his heart fluttered in a weird way. Especially as you refused any further protests about him 'managing' it stumbling through the brush and carried him to the rendezvous point like an unruly pup.
Omegaverse with Phillip graves x Olympic athlete reader
The structure of society is a fragile concept. Omega's, the backbone of it all, some might say. Natural born subservient to their dominant counterparts, the yin to an Alpha's yang. More often then not providing support from the home, keeping Alphas and Betas alike in tip-top condition, caring for their packs like a mother would her pups.
Which is why, when the O-virus plagued the world, and was unfairly lethal to the omegan population that was already having struggling presentation rates; the world panicked. With Omegas growing outnumbered, one Omega for every fifty Alpha's out there, the future looked bleak. The scarcer the beloved secondary gender became, the more dire their situations became. While not much could be done for the already-mated Omegas, already serving society by serving their packs, the same could not be said for the unmated Omegas...
You thought you'd be safe, told you were, that as an athlete who represented your country and a gender category that was dwindling you'd have temporary exemption at the least.
It seemed not to be the case, as middle of the night, you were ripped from your home. Along with every other of age and un-mated Omega, taken from their parents arms; polished for pictures and display. All for packs and Alpha's who were deemed "worthy" to be given the opportunity for happily ever after. The obvious suspects of course Politician's, CEO's, Celebrity's, Military Officer's and Official's.
Leading to now
It was an old practice - hunting an Omega down and capturing them, one that pre-dated all of the young, cocky Alphas now roaming the halls. However, with time being of the upmost importance and the days of long courtships before markings long behind them, this was the easiest way to show an Omega what a good Alpha they could be. They could hunt, provide, care for - all shown by catching their prey, or in this excercise, their Omega.
Phillip had never given much thought into settling down with a mate. The Texan Alpha had trampled over a lot of people to get where he was in his career and with more foes then friends at this point, he'd just never thought that adding an Omega into the mix was worth all the hassle. However, he'd always assumed that one day, he would eventually settle down with a pretty young thing. Enough pups to keep him busy and his family line strong.
But with the virus that had devastated the Omegan population his fantasy was fleeting before his very eyes like sand through his fingers. And well, Phil had never been one for twiddling his thumbs and wait for things to happen. Which was why, when Phillip heard about the arranged auctions, hunts, and numerous other plans for division of Omegas; he all too eagerly secured himself a truck load of rounded up Omegas for his Shadows to hunt down in the Shadow Company's Headquarters.
Phil strolled almost leisurely through the familiar halls of the base he owned, head held high as his sharp gaze flickered around. He'd come across several Omegas thus far, none of which really called to his Alpha. Some were meek, others feisty. And while Phillip wasn't exactly sure what exactly he was looking for in a mate, he let the ones he'd previously caught go, taking his time while his shadows waited eagerly for their own chances to secure a mate.
~~~
You were reasonably panicked, and pissed. Not to mention the way you were covered in grime was making an unpleasant tingle climb your spine, still in the pajamas you'd been taken in. The beginning of this "hunt" had been a mess. half the omegas barely took the chance to run, and had been subsequently easily caught and publicly rutted by overeager alphas. The entire thing was painfully debasing, but you were determined, you weren't going to be caught, you were going to make it out. Carve some sort of path out this maze of a compound. Surely there were people who'd help, that's what you'd thought until you'd realized the uniforms were military.
But still, you weren't some helpless damsel as oft stereotyped by your secondary gender. You'd often gone camping with your grandfather, and it had you forming some half baked plan to stick to off grid, toughing it in the woods until you could reach your family for help.
It was a shame that weapons had seemingly been disallowed for this hunt. You'd crumpled an alpha with his nose driven into his skull, gurgling. You didn't want to think about if he'd passed out, or had died despite you turning him to his side. You didn't have the mental capacity to really worry or care though when every part of you was focused on survival. But either way to your disappointment the man hadn't had anything useful on him to make a weapon.
You managed to somewhat steady yourself against the Texan, looking up like a doe caught in headlights. Naturally, you were disheveled from the chaos of the last few days. The abduction. Being thrown into a truck with some other un-mated Omegas. The long journey to god-knows-where. Being released into this unfamiliar building. Your scent soured with distress had Phil cooing as he gently cupped your cheek. His instincts pricking in interest, it may just be the best he gets from the batch they stole.
Your bare feet were thudding down the hall from another alpha who'd caught you ransacking the body. Now was not the time for quiet steps, it was a sprint to flee. And the sound of your feet slapping the concrete was exactly what warned Phil to your rapid approach.
"Doll, I suggest you slow down before you-" Phillip started in a warning, hearing rushed footsteps coming closer. However, too late to skid to a halt, as they turned the corner, the Omega collided straight into the Alpha with a small squeak. Phil's arms going around them to keep them steady in the collision. "-bump into me… well now, ain't you just pretty as a peach?"
"Oh, come now. Don't look at me like that, sugar. No need to be all frightened of little ol' me," He purred. "You know, I think you'll do nicely…"
You were exhausted, pissed off, scared, and worst of all overstimulated and halfway into a meltdown. So when those hands, and unfamiliar scent wrapped around you, cooing what felt like faux sympathy. Even if the accent was achingly nice, you snapped. Midway through him saying "you'd do nicely" You reared back quicker than a viper, well built through years of training. Your head connecting with his nose with a crunching sound as your leg swung, kicking out his knee with a pop that got his hands off you
Doing what most his Alpha's couldn't do in mere moments, lay him out flat on his back. And forget any of the omegas he'd caught and released so far coming close to it, even the 'fiery' ones had been really more like spitting kittens for all the fight they'd given him. And as he scrambled to his feet to follow after your quickly retreating form, the taste of iron in his mouth. He was having a hard time telling if he wanted to catch you because he was pissed; or more for the raging knot in his pants that he couldn't wait to get into you.
He's obsessed, reader is the only one who talks to him around base you know? But after an injury forces him into retirement, he doesn't do well with the loneliness. It's like a knife in his side, no longer basking in their presence, like a starving dog who crowds for even rotting scraps. And, you're still working, still able to get hurt.
He can't have that now can he? So, he does whats best for you both, he takes you. And of course you run, he can't blame you, still stuck in that soldier mindset. You just have to be trained, be shown that a life, in the middle of nowhere, with him, is the best you could ever have. But after so many attempts, patience is wearing thin; its why he never made a good sniper, you know?
So something a bit... drastic, will have to be done. He doesn't want to hurt you, but you'll get hurt far worse out there.
available here.
Thanks for those of you who read my stupid little stories❤️
we get to learn what the end of that last chapter was about, and start down the tortured road of pining and guilt
Tagslist: @orphicaeon and @wrathfulrook
Stupid call signs I may use for future reader inserts to avoid y/n
Not all of these will have pleasant reasons, callsigns are usually from embarrassing or horrible moments. some of these I'm taking from actual callsign stories from https://www.f-16.net/callsigns-G.html
Just want to have a little list of my favs for future. but a lot of them are a fun giggle.
Bambi - not because they are small and cute, but because it takes a few seconds for a bullet to go down range when shooting far off. And well, between pulling the trigger and reaching the target, one unfortunate deer popped out of nowhere and got merked. that or because of running a transport line, a deer darted in front of the humvee and well, training/orders are to not swerve (not that they had much opportunity)
Blaze- Likely an incident involving catching fire in a base kitchen.
Yote/coyote - had a coyote pretend to be sweet on them in a wilderness excercise. then nearly took their arm off middle of the night for some scraps.
Dash - Dumb Ass Stabbed Himself. Because they did, not even in a high stakes entanglement either. just fucking around too much one day in basic
elf - operator is very short, miltary guys are so creative
Fish - either a drinks a lot or b Fuck Is She Huge for a tall, solidly built fem operator
Gadget - In pilot training got named Gadget because they usually carried in their flight kit all the items my crew mates didn't, such as plotters, color pencils, calculator, kleenex, aspirin, snacks, etc.
IRIS - I Require Intense Supervision, operator who gets drunk and wanders off to do stupid things often
