Pls be nice its the first longer thing since forever
You were just trying to get the literal buffet of food to your men when a rookie, barely looking at you, stops you from entering the barracks
"no civilians allowed sweatheart"
Somewhere in the distance you could hear someone cursing cause thats the Captains Wife
Raising an eyebrow you said "I'm no civilian and I'm just trying to deliver something"
The guy didnt like that answer and tried to make himself bigger
"lady we dont let any barracks bunny in here no matter how good a lay"
Laughing in disbelieve you scoffed "I may not be as threatning as my husband or member of this base but you I have three guard dogs under his command who can make your life a living nightmare!"
The 141 minus the captain were investigating after hearing of an argument with a civilian on base and right after rounding a corner they could recognize your voice
Soap was instantly grinning and calling an excited "bonnie!"
But that grin was wiped away quickly when he saw that rookie trying to intimidate you
Ghost basically materialized beside you and you could see the exact moment the rookie realized his tragic error
"we'll deal with you later an' it wont be pretty"
you had never seen anyone run that fast and if you weren't so fed up with the situation you might've laughed
turning to the boys you sighed "thanks guys I was nearly ready to just scream for john or you all"
Instantly you were surrounded by three burly men trying to get a hug, kiss or look in the bags with food
Gaz slung his arm over your shoulder and pressed a kiss on your temple
"c'mon we'll bring the goods to cap"
And you were led away in the middle to finally eat in peace
Summary: As the bond between Reader and the pack grows stronger, cracks begin to appear where no one is looking. A single envelope waiting at home is enough to unravel everything Reader has fought to leave behind.
Pairing: Poly!Tf141 x Reader
Words: 6.5k
Warning: simplified version of 5-4-3-2-1 method.
Previous chapter - Next Chapter // Masterlist
Authors note: I was on vacation and couldn’t upload a chapter this big. Anyway, my darling Gaz will appear more and more from now on!
Disclamer: (I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating or imitating this work)
Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!!
The truth was, that afternoon was colder than usual. The last warm days of September had long since passed, giving way to the crisp, chilly evenings that marked the beginning of autumn.
Two weeks had passed since the night Ghost stayed over, and ever since then, your entire routine had changed.
You had spent years teaching yourself not to get attached to places, routines, or people. Everything in your life had been carefully designed to be temporary, easy to erase, easy to leave behind if the moment ever came. Everything was temporary, and at any moment you could receive relocation orders and be forced to pack up all your belongings in a hurry. That was why it was easier—more efficient—to own as little as possible. The fewer things you had, the easier it was to gather them and leave.
Your apartment had always reflected that. It was clean, organized, and comfortable enough, but it had never truly felt lived in. Nothing was ever out of place. There were no pointless little trinkets or sentimental decorations. No cheap souvenir magnet bought during a beach holiday. No wedding photograph or picture of a niece or nephew. No small hand-carved wooden figurine picked up from a local market in some distant country. Not even a forgotten hair tie abandoned on a random shelf. Nothing stayed long enough to matter because you had learned a long time ago that the more pieces of yourself you left behind, the harder it was when you had to disappear again.
The problem was that Ghost and Soap were apparently very good at making themselves impossible to remove from your life.
It happened slowly enough that you didn’t notice it at first. There was never a conversation about it. No moment where anyone admitted that something between you and the two soldiers was shifting into something much more complicated than friendship. Everything happened quietly, hidden behind simple excuses that sounded reasonable enough if nobody questioned them too deeply.
Soap started walking you home after your shifts because, according to him, he was already heading that way. It was a terrible lie considering the packhouse was on the opposite side of the base, but he said it with such confidence and such a bright smile that you never had the heart to challenge him. Ghost did the same on the nights Johnny couldn’t, appearing outside the medical office after training and claiming that your building was on his route, even though both of you knew perfectly well that Simon Riley never took unnecessary routes anywhere.
Soap was the first one to make a move.
A jacket he forgot on your couch after staying too late gradually became something that simply never left, as if it had always been another decorative object in your living room. There was a pair of Soap’s shoes by your front door because he complained about walking around your apartment in military boots, a box of tea in your kitchen that definitely wasn’t yours, and an extra mug that you had bought without even thinking because you were tired of the two of them arguing over who got the bigger one.
Ghost’s presence appeared more slowly.
Ghost’s black hoodie, the one you had accidentally stolen that first morning, somehow found a permanent place folded neatly over the back of your chair. Neither of the two men had the heart to tell you the truth, that the hoodie belonged to Ghost, because they both knew that if you found out, you would never wear it again. There was a spare pair of gloves by the entrance. A book left on your coffee table because he was "still reading it," even though you had never once seen him pick it up. And two extra toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet that had appeared one morning, neither of you ever acknowledging where they had come from.
Neither Ghost nor Soap wanted to admit it out loud, and they probably never would, but somewhere deep down, almost unconsciously, they had already begun preparing for the day your husband came back.
If someone had told you two weeks ago that two members of Task Force 141 would slowly invade your apartment, you would have laughed.
And yet, there you were.
Standing barefoot in your kitchen, wearing red-and-green tartan pajama bottoms, stirring a new recipe you were experimenting with in a saucepan while two mugs that didn't belong to you sat drying beside the sink.
It should have bothered you. It should have made that old survival instinct buried in the back of your mind scream that you were getting careless, that you were letting people leave traces behind, that you were making it harder for yourself when the day inevitably came when you had to disappear again.
But for once, the apartment didn't feel like somewhere you were hiding.
It just felt like home.
Ghost and Soap spent most afternoons and evenings with you now. They would pick you up after your shift ended and spend the rest of the day at your apartment. They never stayed the night. It had become a sort of unspoken agreement between the three of you, one that nobody had ever voiced aloud and that you had accepted without ever questioning it.
They always waited until you had fallen asleep before quietly leaving for home in the early hours of the morning. Going to bed late and waking up early, they spent only the bare minimum number of hours sleeping at the packhouse.
And that was exactly what they had done that night. Once the dinner dishes had been washed, the pajamas and blankets folded away, and you were fast asleep in your bed, they could finally leave.
The packhouse was quiet when they arrived.
Too quiet.
That should have been their first warning.
The second warning was the light still on in the kitchen.
Their captain was sitting at the table, one hand wrapped around a mug of steaming tea, looking far too awake for someone who should have been asleep hours ago. A frown creased his forehead as he rubbed at his brows and tired eyes with one hand. A half-smoked cigar rested in the glass ashtray on the table, right beside a half-finished glass of whisky.
Soap stopped in the doorway.
Ghost stopped behind him.
Because somehow, they both immediately felt like recruits who had just been caught doing something they shouldn't have.
Price didn't look angry. He looked tired instead, slouched back in his chair, wearing a T-shirt he should have changed out of hours ago, his hair thoroughly disheveled. A familiar look lingered in his eyes, glinting with quiet acknowledgement, as though he had already figured everything out before they had even walked through the door.
"Good night?"
Soap cleared his throat.
"Aye."
Price hummed, absentmindedly toying with the cigar still resting in the ashtray, his fingers gently brushing over it.
His eyes remained fixed on the alpha and the beta standing in front of him, moving slowly from one to the other again and again.
"How long are we going to pretend this isn't happening?" he murmured, almost smugly, in a single quiet breath.
That simple sentence, like a punch to the gut, seemed to knock the air from the other two members of the pack. Neither of them answered, because they knew exactly what he meant.
Soap tried to deflect anyway.
"What?"
Price gave him a look. His tired eyes traveled across Johnny's face, and a faint, almost sorrowful smile touched his lips.
"Don't."
One word. That was all it took.
Price ran a hand through his hair and straightened up in his chair.
"How many nights have you slept here this week?"
The room fell completely silent.
"Johnny?"
Silence.
"Simon?"
Ghost's jaw tightened.
"Thought so."
Ghost remained silent, which was answer enough.
Price sighed, scratching at his overgrown beard. He wasn't necessarily angry, nor disappointed. It was concern more than anything else.
Because he was their captain.
And because he was their alpha.
That meant noticing things before they became a problem and, usually, eliminating them.
Price took another sip of his tea. He had abandoned the whisky hours ago, its taste growing more bitter with every minute he spent waiting. The golden liquid burned his lips each time he looked toward the oppressive darkness embracing the hallway and the ominous closed door that had haunted him both in life and in his dreams.
It had been closed since eight in the evening, and its owner had refused to come out or even crack it open. What reason would he have to do either? Who was waiting for him on the other side? For the past couple of weeks, two empty bedrooms had haunted both the house and those who lived in it. Their occupants had left behind everything that wasn't essential, taking only what truly mattered with them to a better place, beginning a new life without ever letting go of the old one.
Price tried to remind himself that they still shared the mark that bound them together, a bite of eternity and loyalty decorating each of their bodies. More often than not, he found himself reaching up to touch it, trying to chase away the fears and doubts that tormented him in the middle of the night.
He knew Gaz did the same.
A couple of nights ago, Price had climbed into bed beside him. Gaz had spent days moping around like a sad pup. But his pup nonetheless. How long had it been since they had been together? Since they had shared a bed? God, he couldn't even remember. Soap had always been the one who gave Gaz the most attention. It wasn't unusual to stumble across the two of them in some compromising corner with their trousers halfway down.
Between kisses and gentle touches, Price had noticed just how red Gaz's mark had become. It had taken nothing more than the slightest brush of his fingertips for the young sergeant to break down, crying like a child. Between desperate sobs and broken breaths, Gaz confessed the grief of losing not only his alpha, but his soulmate, his other half.
"My Johnny," he had cried.
Price had held him for the entire night, Gaz's body completely flushed against his. He could still feel him trembling with quiet sobs he desperately tried to hide, even hours later when he thought Price had finally fallen asleep. He hadn't. He hadn't slept that night. Nor the next. Nor the one after that.
Instead, he had waited at the kitchen table like a loyal guard dog waiting for his owners to come home, even though they never did.
Price glanced once more toward Gaz's bedroom door. It remained closed, and who knew how much longer it would stay that way if he didn't put an end to this.
"You two even realize how obvious you're being?" Price clenched his fists beneath the table, trying to release some of the tension building inside him. When neither of them answered, he barked, "That's what I thought."
Soap shifted slightly, already looking like he wanted to defend himself, but Price pointed at him before he even had the chance to open his mouth.
"Don't start, MacTavish." Soap shut his mouth again. "I don't want to hear a single comment. Not one."
An oppressive silence settled over the kitchen.
"You walk her home after every shift. You spend more nights at her flat than here. Half your things are already there, for God's sake."
His furious eyes shifted to Ghost.
"And you're not any better," he said, his voice carrying a trace of contempt.
Ghost didn't react, at least not visibly. Price knew him well enough to understand that didn't mean anything. Out of all of them, Ghost had always been the hardest to read, trained to reveal nothing, even under the worst kinds of torture. Sometimes Ghost remained a mystery even to him, and, painful as it was to admit, there were moments when Price wondered if he truly knew him at all.
"You're leaving your scent all over her place."
That made Soap look away.
Not out of guilt because he knew Price was right, they were doing it on purpose.
"You're not pups. You know what that means."
The kitchen remained silent because they did.
In their world, scent mattered. Presence mattered. Leaving pieces of yourself behind in someone else's space wasn't something casual, especially not with an omega.
Price tapped his fingers once against the table.
"You know exactly what it means," he said, pausing just long enough for the silence to become suffocating, "and you're still doing it anyway."
That was the part neither of them could argue with. Price picked up what remained of the whisky and emptied the glass in one swallow. Maybe, by the end of this conversation, he really was going to need the courage it offered.
"You already have a pack."
Price's voice remained calm, but there was a firmness beneath it that reminded both of them exactly why he was their captain.
"Me. Gaz. You two." His gaze moved slowly between them. "We built this. We chose this." Price's eyes were as cold as ice, his expression so severe it would have unsettled the Devil himself.
Soap swallowed.
"We're not replacing anyone."
The answer came so quickly that it stole whatever argument had been forming in Price's throat.
Price sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his beard before leaning back in his chair once more. He looked exhausted in a way neither of them had seen in a very long time. Dark circles shadowed his tired blue eyes, his hair was still damp from the shower he had probably taken hours earlier, and the tea sitting on the table had long since gone cold.
The weary disappointment of a man who had spent years holding four people together and could suddenly feel the seams beginning to stretch settled like a crushing pressure beneath his ribs, almost making it difficult to breathe.
Price held Soap's gaze for a long moment before finally answering.
"The problem," Price muttered, clenching his jaw, "is that neither of you has stopped to think about what happens after." He tried to relax, but he had no doubt that, with the adrenaline coursing through him, his pheromones were already flooding the kitchen with the sharp, acrid scent of something burning.
"You're not two unattached soldiers courting a woman." He deliberately tried to project a calmer, steadier scent into the room, noticing that both Soap and Ghost had begun pushing out unpleasant, increasingly putrid pheromones of their own. "You're members of an established pack."
Another silence settled over the kitchen.
“A pack doesn't change because just two people decide it does.”
The words hung heavily between them.
Ghost finally spoke.
“What are you saying?”
Price didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked down the dark hallway. Both men followed his gaze instinctively. Only one bedroom door stood closed. Gaz's room. It hadn't opened all evening.
“How long has it been,” Price asked quietly, “since either of you actually spent an evening with Kyle?”
Neither of them answered.
Price nodded once. “Thought so.” He looked back at them, exhaustion replacing whatever frustration had briefly crossed his features. “He's struggling.”
Soap shifted uncomfortably, clenched his jaw, and crossed his arms, trying to look away. “He'll be fine.”
“No.”
Price's reply came immediately.
“He won't.” His fingers absentmindedly tapped against the table before he spoke again.
“The television's been on every night this week.”
“What?” Johnny frowned.
“He doesn't watch it.” Price's eyes drifted toward the hallway again, giving a small nod in the direction of the living room. “He just leaves it running.” Another pause. “He sits on that sofa until he hears the front door.”
Soap's stomach tightened.
“He hears the two of you come home,” Price said, swallowing hard. “He pretends he's already asleep until you close your bedroom doors. Then he goes back to bed.”
Neither Ghost nor Soap moved. The image settled over the room like lead.
Price continued quietly. “I know he wasn't asleep.” His voice had dropped so low they almost had to lean forward to hear him. “Because I've been sitting right here.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Price had watched it happen.
“Because I sit at this fucking table, night after night.”
He had watched Kyle glance at the clock every fifteen minutes. Watched him make another cup of tea that always went cold. Watched him curl up in the corner of the sofa, the television providing nothing more than meaningless background noise while he waited for footsteps that came later and later every evening.
“You think he doesn't notice?” Price looked directly at Soap. “He notices every time you walk past him because you're in a hurry to get to her.”
Then his eyes shifted to Ghost. “He notices every night you come home smelling like her fucking antiseptic-smelling flat instead of this one.”
Neither of them had anything to say.
Because every word was true.
“He's trying very hard not to resent her.” Price tried to sound reasonable. He tried not to let any more frustration show. He knew he needed them to understand, because getting angry at Soap and Ghost would accomplish nothing. “And every evening you spend somewhere else...” Price sighed wearily. “...you're making that harder.”
“What's that supposed tae mean?”
Price sighed.
“Johnny.”
“No, go on.”
Soap crossed his arms.
“What exactly do you mean?”
Ghost remained silent beside him, but his attention shifted carefully between the two of them.
“So what the fuck am I supposed tae do, huh? Just stop fuckin' seein' her?”
“You barely know her.”
Soap's jaw tightened. “That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
“Johnny, it’s been weeks.”
“And?”
Price stared at him. “And you're acting like she's already part of your pack.” Price let the silence linger for several long seconds before speaking again.
“You've spent years in a pack made only of alphas,” he began slowly. “No omegas. No women. Nobody outside the four of us. Just deployments, missions... and each other.”
He wasn't accusing them. He was stating a fact.
“And now there's an omega who trusts you. One who lets you get close.” His eyes settled briefly on Ghost before moving back to Soap. “And now you have someone to take care of, someone with a status below yours.” He paused, carefully choosing his next words.
“Careful.” Soap's jaw clenched.
“I'm not insulting you, Johnny.”
“Sounds like ye are.”
“No.” Price shook his head slowly. “I'm saying I understand.” That made both of them look at him. “I understand you're men, after all.” His voice had softened when he spoke those words. “I understand you've spent years pushing parts of yourselves aside because the job and the pack always came first. I understand what it does to a wolf when, after years of nothing but muscle, someone suddenly opens the door to warmth and... softness.”
Only a brief moment passed before Price spoke again.
“And you don't even know what she smells like.”
The kitchen fell completely silent, even Ghost looked at him then.
But Price didn't back down.
“She’s on blockers constantly. Suppressants. You said it yourselves. You can't read her properly. It's impossible for you to feel a bond with her. You can't even tell what's instinct and what isn't.”
Soap looked genuinely offended.
“You think this is about wantin' tae sleep with her?”
“I think you're soldiers who have been isolated for years, and suddenly there's a woman in your life who makes things feel normal.” Price's expression hardened slightly.
Soap let out a short laugh, but there wasn't a trace of humor in it. “Unbelievable.”
“You were the one who brought Gaz in.” Price's expression remained firm.
Soap had been the first one to accept Kyle completely. The first one to pull him into their routines. The first one to make room for him until Gaz stopped feeling like the new addition and started feeling like family.
“You fought harder than anyone to make sure he knew he belonged here.”
Soap's expression tightened as he looked back at him.
“So that's the problem.”
“Johnny,” Ghost warned.
Soap let out another humorless laugh and nodded slowly, looking away as though he needed a second to stop himself from saying something he couldn't take back.
“Right.”
“Johnny,” Ghost tried again.
“No, I get it now.”
Price frowned immediately, noticing the shift.
“You don't.”
“Aye, I do.” Soap took a step back, shaking his head slightly as the frustration he usually buried beneath jokes and easy smiles finally cracked through. “So what? That's what ye want from me?”
Price's expression tightened. “What?”
Soap gestured between them, then around the walls of the packhouse, toward everything they had built together. “You want me tae just do what ye want.”
“That's not true.”
“Isn't it?”
“No.”
Soap laughed again, sharp and bitter. “Because it bloody feels like it.”
Price's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay quiet. He knew Johnny wasn't finished.
“Ye want me when ye need somebody who listens. Somebody who follows orders. Somebody who keeps everybody smilin' after a bad mission, 'cause God forbid anybody else has tae deal wi' the fuckin' silence.”
“Johnny—”
“No, let me finish.”
Price stopped himself completely, Soap rarely interrupted him. That alone was enough to tell him how serious this was.
“I'm good when I'm useful, aye? Good when I'm the one makin' jokes, keepin' morale up, followin' behind ye 'cause ye ken I'll always be there, followin' every order ye gie.” He laughed bitterly. “Like a good pup, aye? Like ye always say when good ol' Johnny's suckin' yer cock—”
“MacTavish.” Ghost's warning echoed through the walls, and he was certain that if Gaz hadn't already been awake, he certainly would be now.
However, Johnny was far too gone to care about warnings. He kept going, his fists clenched so tightly with rage that his knuckles had gone white. “But the second I choose somethin' fer myself, suddenly everybody needs tae remind me tae think. The moment I find my person, ye've aw got somethin' tae say. I never once said anythin' about whit you an' Simon have.”
“We are your people, Johnny.”
“Doesn't seem like it.” Soap shook his head. “Doesn't seem like it.” Soap shook his head. “Whit? Am I just supposed tae sit here like some well-trained dog?”
Price's expression changed immediately. “Don't.”
But Soap continued anyway. “Is that it? Keep me close, pat me on the head, throw me a bone every now and then so I stay happy?”
“Johnny, enough.”
“Why?”
“Because you know that's not true.”
“Do I?”
After a few long seconds, Johnny's expression changed completely. His eyelids narrowed, his brow furrowed, and his eyes became glassy. Ghost could have sworn he even saw his lower lip tremble ever so slightly. He looked genuinely hurt.
“Ye all trust me with your lives.” Soap pointed toward the door, toward the base outside. “Ye trust me with explosives. With missions. With decisions that decide whether people come home or not.” His hand slowly dropped to his side. “So why cannae ye trust me with this?”
“Johnny...”
But Soap was already moving toward the door.
“Good talk, Captain.”
Not Alpha, not Price, not even John. For Soap, the conversation was already over. And before Price could say another word, Soap reached the doorway, turned, and walked out.
Ghost stayed for only another second, just long enough to look directly at Price, long enough for Price to realize that Simon wasn't angry.
“I'll talk to Kyle tomorrow,” he said simply. “I'm still his Alpha, and I've failed in my responsibilities as his Alpha.”
Ghost gave a single nod before turning to head toward his room.
“Ghost.” Price spoke before Ghost could leave. “I'm just trying to protect the pack.”
Ghost remained quiet for a moment.
Then he answered.
“I know.”
And then Ghost followed Johnny into the dark hallway.
Price remained alone in the kitchen. For several minutes, he reflected on everything that had just happened. He believed what he had said. He truly did. He had to think about the pack. About Gaz. About the family they had already built long before you ever appeared. But the look on Johnny's face...
Eventually, Price turned off the kitchen light and walked down the hallway. He stopped outside Gaz's bedroom. For a moment, he considered going to his own room before deciding against it.
He quietly opened the door. Darkness filled the room. The half-unmade bed, its headboard pressed against the left wall, occupied the center of the room.
Kyle was asleep. Or at least, Price thought he was.
The atmosphere was peaceful, and Price moved carefully, quietly taking off his clothes until he was wearing nothing but his boxers.
Then he carefully climbed into bed behind him and wrapped an arm around Gaz's waist, pulling him close and allowing himself to breathe properly for the first time all night. Absentmindedly, he buried his face deeper into Gaz's neck, breathing in the scent of jasmine while his fingers idly played with the fine hair of Gaz's happy trail that decorated his abdomen.
He tried pushing out happy pheromones, trying to blend his own scent with Gaz's. This was his pack, his responsibility. And he was terrified of losing it.
A few minutes passed in silence before Gaz spoke softly, barely above a whisper.
“Talked to them?”
Price closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Of course he was awake.
“You were supposed to be sleeping.”
Gaz hummed. “You're terrible at sneaking in when you're upset. You smell like burnt rubber.”
Price sighed again. Neither of them spoke for a while. Price simply continued stroking Gaz's happy trail and holding him a little tighter. He thought that maybe, if he stayed quiet, the subject would simply disappear. He didn't want to worry Gaz any more than he already had.
Suddenly, Gaz's hand came to rest over Price's arm before he turned around to look into Price's eyes.
“How bad was it?”
Price didn't answer immediately. “Johnny left.”
Gaz was quiet, too quiet. His gaze drifted somewhere beyond Price, fixed on a distant point in the darkness of the room.
“Kyle?”
Gaz took a slow breath, blinking as he gave a faint shake of his head, pulling himself out of whatever distant thought he'd fallen into. Then he said something Price wasn't prepared for.
“It's okay.”
Price tried to meet his eyes.
“What is, love?”
Gaz rolled onto his back, moving only a few inches away from Price, and stared into the darkness for several seconds in thoughtful silence before finally turning over and presenting his back to his Alpha.
“I already knew they'd choose her.”
The words settled heavily between them, hebay and painfully.
Price didn't know what to say, because he wanted to deny it. He wanted to tell Gaz he was wrong. That everything was still the same as before, that nothing was changing, that no one was being replaced.
But after everything he had just said in the kitchen, after everything he had watched unfold over the past few weeks...
For the first time in a very long time, John Price didn't have an answer.
So he simply held Gaz a little tighter and let the shadows of the night envelop them completely.
By the time you left the medical building, the last traces of daylight had already begun bleeding into a deep indigo autumn sky. The base felt different at that hour. Quieter. The morning rush of soldiers marching between briefings had long disappeared, replaced by the occasional patrol crossing the streets or the distant rumble of military vehicles returning to their garages. The cold evening air bit pleasantly against your cheeks as you tucked your hands into the pockets of your jacket and started the familiar walk back to your apartment.
It had been forty-eight hours since you'd last seen either Johnny or Ghost. For the first time in weeks, neither Ghost nor Soap had appeared outside the medical office waiting to walk you home. They had left before dawn with the rest of Task Force 141 for a training exercise several hours away, and although you kept telling yourself that you appreciated finally having your routine back, the silence beside you during the walk home felt unnaturally loud.
You caught yourself glancing over your shoulder more than once, almost expecting to find Johnny jogging to catch up with you, or Simon already waiting farther down the road with his arms crossed over his chest.
Neither of them appeared. The realization settled somewhere uncomfortable beneath your ribs. You didn't like how quickly you had grown accustomed to them. That thought annoyed you enough to force your attention elsewhere.
Instead, you mentally reviewed tomorrow's patient list, trying to remember whether Sergeant Mills needed his stitches removed or whether that appointment was scheduled for Friday. It was easier to think about paperwork than to admit that, after only two weeks, your apartment somehow felt emptier simply because two infuriating soldiers weren't waiting inside it.
By the time your building came into view, the evening had fully settled over the base. Warm yellow lights glowed behind curtained windows while televisions murmured faintly through the thin apartment walls. It looked peaceful, ordinary, safe.
Exactly the kind of normality you had spent years trying to build.
You unlocked your front door with practiced movements, balancing your work bag against your hip while fishing your keys from your pocket. The familiar click of the lock echoed softly through the small hallway before you nudged the door open with your shoulder.
Warmth greeted you first. The central heating must have been running for several hours already, and the air inside felt much heavier compared to the cold, windy evening outside.
You kicked the door shut behind you, dropped your keys into the ceramic bowl beside the entrance, left your work bag on the floor at the foot of the wooden dresser beside the door, and shrugged your jacket off your shoulders, hanging it on the coat rack mounted on the opposite wall.
For a brief moment, you simply stood there.
The silence was overwhelming.
It filled every space, every corner of your home.
After several weeks of pretending to be one happy little family with Johnny and Ghost, the desolate silence had settled between your walls once again, and there wasn't even a trace left of the cheerful chaos Johnny always brought with him.
For a moment, you thought about how much your life had changed over the past few weeks, and a feeling of dread settled deep in your stomach. You'd let your guard down.
And that always came with disastrous consequences.
Over the years, you had learned how to disappear into the background, how to avoid drawing attention to yourself. The quieter your life was and the fewer people who knew you, the safer you were. Keep your head down. Don't speak too loudly. Don't attract attention.
It seemed those three simple rules had been completely forgotten the moment a certain Scotsman smiled at you.
Once again, it was just you.
Exactly as it had always been meant to be.
Shaking your head, you pushed those thoughts aside and started walking toward the kitchen, your sock-covered feet padding softly across the warm wooden floor as you wondered what you could make for a quick dinner.
That was when you noticed it, as you walked past the living room on your way to the kitchen, a white envelope caught your eye.
It rested perfectly in the center of your dining table. Not tossed there carelessly, but placed exactly in the middle.
Deliberately.
Your footsteps stopped, and every muscle in your body tensed at once.
The apartment hadn't looked disturbed when you'd walked in. Nothing appeared broken. Nothing seemed to be missing. Even now, the room around you remained exactly as you had left it that morning.
Except for the envelope.
You stared at it for several long seconds without moving. A slow, familiar unease crept beneath your skin. Again. The same thing all over again. That same familiar pressure settled over your chest, your mouth suddenly dry as your hands and knees began trembling, threatening to give out beneath you.
That crippling anxiety slowly crept through your body every time it appeared: Fear.
You tried to reason with yourself. It wasn't the first time you'd thought you'd seen things that weren't there. Your constant nerves and paranoia often made you see shadows of the past where there were none.
It wasn't the first time you'd thought someone had entered your apartment, nor was it the first time you'd found something out of place. You had read somewhere that prolonged stress damaged memory. That had to be the explanation. That was why you couldn't remember moving things around yourself. Your memory was failing you. Surely that was it. Things didn't move unless someone moved them.
Maybe it was something Johnny or Soap had left on the table, you tried to convince yourself as you slowly approached the envelope.
Without consciously realizing it, your breathing slowed, and your eyes stopped focusing on the envelope itself. Instead, they swept methodically around the room, cataloguing exits, windows, reflections in the dark television screen—anything that looked even slightly out of place.
Nothing.
Calm down, no one's here. No one could have gotten inside. Slowly, you stepped closer. Think. Reason.
Breathe.
Your fingers carefully lifted the envelope, almost expecting something to happen the moment you touched it. Instead, it felt as though your apartment had sunk even deeper into the overwhelming silence of the very depths of Hades.
You held the envelope in your trembling hands and turned it over to look for a sender. Once again, you were met by that devastating white emptiness.
No address, no stamp, no name, only a blank white envelope sealed with meticulous precision. Whoever had left it there knew you lived here. They knew you would be the one to find it, whether or not it was a coincidence that the soldiers had been sent away on a training exercise.
You slipped a finger beneath the flap and opened it and a single photograph slid into your hand.
Your stomach dropped.
It was grainy, black and white, taken from a security camera. The date in the corner showed three days earlier.
There you were.
Walking alone through the eastern gate of the base, your medical bag hanging from one shoulder, completely unaware that someone had been watching you.
Your throat tightened as you slowly turned the photograph over. Only four words had been scrawled across the back in thick, uneven, familiar red handwriting.
We'll meet again.
Without wasting another second, you hurried toward your bedroom. You didn't care about bumping into the corner of the couch or knocking over the small table lamp resting on a side table near the stairs. You rushed upstairs and shoved your bedroom door open without caring whether it stayed open behind you or not. Only one thing mattered.
You dropped to your knees in front of your wardrobe and pulled open the third drawer. You reached behind the lowest shelf until your fingers found the concealed latch hidden inside the wood. A soft metallic click answered your pull before a narrow false panel slid sideways, revealing a compact electronic safe concealed within the wall.
You entered the code from memory with trembling fingers.
Breathe, remember to breathe.
Inside rested a small black storage case, its contents arranged with almost obsessive precision. Several passports lay stacked one atop another, each bearing a different name, a different nationality, a different face that had once belonged to you. Beside them sat bundles of neatly banded cash in four different currencies, old military identification cards, police badges from countries you hadn't set foot in for years, encrypted USB drives, folded maps covered in handwritten coordinates, burner phones with their batteries removed, and sealed envelopes marked only with dates that meant nothing to anyone but you.
Everything necessary to disappear.
Your eyes swept over the familiar contents, searching instinctively, until they stopped on the small square of black velvet nestled between the passports and the bundles of cash.
It was empty.
With shaking hands, you slipped the photograph and the white envelope into the case before snapping it shut harder than necessary. The safe disappeared behind the false panel once more, every secret sealed back into the wall as though none of it had ever existed.
It wasn't enough.
The feeling refused to leave.
Instead, it settled somewhere between your shoulder blades, prickling across your skin with the unmistakable certainty that someone had been inside your home again.
You lunged toward the drawer beside your bed, yanking open the top drawer and digging through several pairs of thick winter socks until your fingers wrapped around the familiar grip of the pistol hidden beneath a folded blanket.
Cold steel, solid. Real.
Your thumb checked the safety out of pure habit.
The apartment suddenly felt much smaller. It was as though the walls were drawing in and stretching back out again, like something out of an Edgar Allan Poe story. The floor seemed to rise and tilt beneath your feet in a slow, relentless sway that made your knees rock forward and back as if you were standing on the deck of a ship.
The colors around you blurred together, bleeding into the outlines of every piece of furniture in the bedroom, while hazy white clouds began to gather around you, wrapping everything in a pale fog.
A dull ringing filled your ears, and the silence that had consumed the apartment only moments before was drowned out by the thunder of war drums pounding from your heart all the way to your teeth.
A terrible feeling settled inside your increasingly disoriented mind. You were forgetting something.
Breathe, you need to breathe.
How did it go again? Right.
Three things you can see: The nightstand, The wardrobe, The closed safe.
Two things you can touch: The wooden floor beneath your bare feet, The gun.
Summary: A change in procedure around base causes you to spiral as your world comes crashing down. There's only one way out of this and it starts with telling the truth.
A/N: Honestly, I'd been inspired by a few series (Standard Emergency Protocol and Pantry Solutions) I've read those and it caused me to want to write my own A/B/O COD AU, so I started this as a sort of funny fic awhile ago. I'm haven't entirely plotted out the whole story, but I have some ideas for the first few chapters. I was finally inspired to finish and post it because @cringeycookies liked the snippet I posted in a wip tag game. So thanks to everyone who inspired me, and a special thank you to @penelopepine for helping me with the dialogue and Price's reaction as I try to begin writing for them.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," the nurse responds, "we're no longer authorized to refill suppressants of any kinds for any purpose." With a push of the empty orange pill bottle back across the counter in your direction, she offers you an ugly forced smile.
"Is there really nothing we can do?!" You complain incredulously, "Nothing at all? What am I supposed to do with this?!" Taking the emptied bottle into your hands, you stare at the nurse with widened eyes and a wild look.
"There is no 'we'..." she rolls her eyes in response, focus returning to the papers before her. "But if you insist, you can always bring it up with your CO, or the Base Commander." She scribbles something out on the page, but you can hardly focus when your world is virtually crumbling apart around you. "Now if you don't mind, some of us actually have work to do around here."
Still stunned, you can't help the way your breathing picks up as your heart begins to race. About a month ago now there was a base-wide meeting where they'd finally cracked down and implemented a new program the government is trying out: OPP. The Omega Pack Plan. While it's uncommon for Omegas to even be recruited into the military to begin with, such a thing does exist. Regardless, the Base Commander gathered everyone in the Auditorium for a presentation to talk about the new program and how the army would implement it into the troops. Luckily, considering you're on an elite Task Force, it doesn't apply to you. At least... it didn't.
"What the hell is this?!" You yell, tossing the orange bottle in his direction.
He'd heard the stomps all the way down the hall and smelled you coming, so he's neither surprised by your appearance, nor startled by the toss of the bottle. John swiftly catches it in his hand as he looks up at you. "What?" He inquires, finally glancing down to examine what he's caught. "A pill bottle?"
"Captain, it's empty! They won't refill it- I can-"
A groan tumbles past his lips as he drags a hand down his beard. "Look, Panther-" referring to you by your callsign, interesting move. "There's nothing I can do, it's over my head now. I wish I could do something, but I can't." Sitting back in his leather chair, Price places the bottle on the desk; a faint rap of the plastic hitting the wood is the only sound between you momentarily before you hurriedly shut the door.
Panic begins to flood your system as you're not sure how to handle this. It's your turn to freak out. You know how this goes, you know the story now; ever since they'd implemented and dispersed the Omegas into the troops, they'd started implementing them into the Task Forces, and now they have to do so with the One Four One. Fingers curling in and out of shapes as you try to process your next move, you speak before you can even begin to plan what you're going to tell him.
"I- I'm- I..." You're pacing his office now, the heavy gaze of your Captain upon you as you try to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. The thing is, you're usually good with pressure- really good. It's your job to be good. It's just... this is different. This is your life, your livelihood at stake, the livelihood of all your future generations to come.
A sigh resounds throughout the office before you hear the low timbre of his voice. "Dove," he calls out with a gentle tone, "I want you to take a deep breath for me. Alright?" With the calm and even sound of your Captain's voice and the assured look on his face, you comply. Exhaling the last of your breath, you close your eyes and focus in on the deep intake of air through your nose. With the parting of your lips you slowly release it before giving yourself a moment.
When you open your eyes he gestures to the seat before his desk, though you know he won't take offense if you decline. Hesitant, one hand finds its way to the other, wrapping around your arm as you listen to him speak. "Now, can you explain what has you in this state? I assure you that there's nothing that can't be dealt with." You want to trust him, you know him--John Price--your Captain. He's always had your back, always made sure you felt comfortable in the Taskforce, always made an effort to check on you after things got rough.
You nod. Licking your lips, you search his blue eyes as you tentatively take the seat across him.
"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, alright? I can guarantee you that unless you're trying to tell me you're an Omega, nothing you say is going to shock me that warrants the amount of panic you're putting yourself through," Price chuckles. He's obviously joking, trying to break the tension with humor. Lips drawn upward into a small smile, the Captain stares at you expectantly.
"What if I am?" You whisper, eyes unable to tear from his visage as you try and gauge his reaction. Unexpectedly, silence fills the space between you and feels deafening in the small space. The growing comfort of his office these couple of months now feels like a cage you're forced to stay in, under watch, as you stare down your superior on the brink of a battle to the death. And that's what you do. His blue eyes bore into yours, skeptically shifting between your left and right as he seems to try and get a read on you.
All of the sudden you jump at the smack of his hands hitting the desk in front of him. He laughs at you.
He's laughing at you.
And you're sitting there with your guts spilled out, dread eating away at the pit in your stomach... and he's laughing. It feels like forever is passing you by as you stare at him in shock, this moment between the two of you frozen in time as nothing else persists.
"I understand what this was now," Price explains, still chuckling to himself as he shakes his head. There's a warm smile on his face that feels eerie considering the dire context of the situation at hand. "You got me! I fully believed you for a second there, too."
Eyebrows furrowing in dark realization, you can't help but stare at him wildly. "Wha-" You begin to question him and his line of thinking, but he cuts you off.
"This was all a prank, right? The bottle, the hysterics- you really outdid yourself, Sergeant." Leaning back in his chair, he props his ankle up on his other knee. "Because let me tell you, this was good. Better than anything Soap's cooked up in awhile. Did you come up with it yourself?" There's a cheeky grin on his lips. "Ah, I know you did."
Lips opening and closing like a fish out of water, you sit in the armchair across from him pale with a dazed look across your face. He doesn't actually think that this was...
"Well, with your little triumph in your pocket, I say we get back to work, yeah? I've got some new leads from MI6 that've just popped in." With that, the man stands from his desk and rounds it. "Garrick should be back around Tea. I'll see you in the Command Station then," he informs you. It's then that he passes by, a genial clap on your shoulder while he's at it.
Left stunned in silence, you can't help but grit your teeth, consequentially pronouncing your jaw as anger ebbs through your bloodstream. Breath getting heavier, you can't help but loathe the meeting tonight. Your Captain might be satisfied with the conversation, but all you feel is discouraged. He's abandoned you, left you alone in his office with a humiliating sense of betrayal and shattered trust. Almost like you hadn't just told him your biggest secret at all.
Punching the standard heavy punching bag hanging in front of you, you grunt, ignoring the pain that gnaws at your knuckles underneath the reusable hand wraps. Sweat builds on your brow as you continue to unleash your pent up anger on the gym’s equipment. How could he?! When had you ever pulled anything even similar to this? Never! And the fact that you’ve only been on the team for a handful of months only exacerbates the abandonment you’re feeling right now. He’s your Captain! Regardless of your feelings or the situation at hand, isn’t he supposed to be there for you? He’d promised from the get go to help you with whatever you need, and now the one time you go to him for aid it backfires in your face and leaves you without any sort of solution going forward aside from straight up telling the whole team the flat out truth, and God forbid! You can’t even begin to fathom how that’d go.
A pent up and frustrated yell almost akin to something of a growl emanates from you as you tear into another round of swift jabs and punches. Regardless of the situation at hand, you’ve been trying to build up your upper body’s strength and letting out the anger you’d accumulated over this morning’s events seemed like a perfect opportunity to let loose.
The stretches and treadmill routine didn’t take a lot out of you, but the weights, and now the punching bag definitely is starting to take its toll. Sweat beads at your forehead in rivulets that drip down the sides of your neck, down your scalp past your neck and between your shoulder blades. Tank top soaked in sweat, you breathe hard as your heart pumps rapidly in your chest. You would’ve wound up here at some point or another tonight, but the Captain’s discourteous response certainly led to an earlier workout time.
While others sparsely litter the gym’s floor, you pay them no mind and vice versa. It’s not uncommon for soldiers to be found blowing off steam or aiming to beat their highest reps on the weights. Yet, this gym is reserved for higher standing members of the Force, the gym on the far side of the base where there are less people, offices, and considering the regular army men train in the bigger gym closer to their quarters, it’s mostly other higher ranked officers in here.
“Captain’s lookin’ for ya,” Markowski, another Sergeant that you’d come to befriend on base announces from the doorway, having poked his head in after leaving a few minutes earlier. He belongs to a different Task Force.
A groan tumbles out of you as you realize it’s already that time. Just as the door clicks shut, your phone chimes loudly with the alarm you’d set earlier going off. A few quick swipes of your fingers, you turn the alarm off and unlock the device, seeing a number of messages flood your notifications.
Kyle: You hear they’ve bumped up the timeline? 😯
Johnny: “ https://Tiktok/Shattered.Rat567 ” Had me rollin’ 🤣👏🏻 Gotta check it, Bonnie
Simon: You coming to the meeting or not? 🤨
Johnny: Where r u? You’re usually first here 👀 Cap’s getting peeved, watch out
Not looking forward to the inevitable mess of a meeting before you, you don’t bother rushing to join the men. With a wash of your face in the women’s locker room, a speedy bathroom break, and a grab of the items you’d brought with you, you’re heading for the Command Station.
With the time Price set the meeting, you won't get to eat dinner till afterward. You'd be lying if you said you weren't annoyed by this entire situation, your agitation from neglecting your hunger earlier has certainly come to bite you in the backside.
While you don’t have time to respond to their texts, having set the alarm with only enough time to get back to your team’s Command ‘station’ albeit more like your headquarters before heading out. Speed-walking through the orderly halls with a haste perfectly common around here, you navigate with a well practiced knowledge. Though you’ve only been here coming up on six months soon, you’re well acquainted with this part of the base.
Rounding the corner, you’re in the hall, close. Yet, the worry of being late lingers in the back of your mind and adds another layer of annoyance on top of your residual anger buried deep down from this morning’s situation. You’d inevitably come up with your solution. It’s not one you like… but it’s the only logical option. Another turn and you’re striding into the big garage-like room.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Sergeant,” Price calls out to you. Lifting his eyes from the map laid out across your station's table, he glares in your direction.
“What took you so long?” Soap snaps, his brows slightly furrowed as he stares at you from the opposite side of the table, hands lazily wrapped around his vest’s straps.
A look at your watch tells you that you’re not even late, the meeting doesn’t officially start for another minute! But you are usually waiting on them. He’s got you there.
“Yeah, you’re usually the first one here. It’s not like you,” Gaz whispers under his breath as you sidle up alongside Ghost, Gaz standing diagonal to you right beside Price at the head of the table.
“Focus,” Ghost orders the men, his hands tucked in his hoodie’s pocket. You don’t fail to notice the way he subtly takes a step further away from you as soon as they start talking again. Price goes back to talking plans as Gaz is questioning the circumstances of the information the Captain had acquired earlier when he’d had to leave the office.
“Which is exactly why-”
A heavy exhale on your behalf leaves the men frozen as their eyes drift back to you. “Do you have something you’d like to say, Panther?” The Captain questions. Jaw clenched, you tear your eyes from the map they’d settled on.
“We’ve got a big problem,” you announce, cutting off the Captain as you finally raise your gaze to meet Price’s slightly widened blue eyes.
“Well, if you see something that needs changin’ then let’s hear it,” he responds. A ‘hmph’ follows as he crosses his arms over his chest and sits his weight back onto his heels.
“It’s not about the op,” you correct him. Tilting your head side to side you attempt to crack the kinks in your neck while standing a little straighter to appear more engaged and serious.
“And it’s more important than this? What we’re doin’ right now?” Soap questions, his hands dropping to rest on the table as he looms over it, eyeing you with frustration obvious in his irises.
“What is it?” Gaz asks, a quirk of his eyebrow garnering your attention for a split-second. He’s genuinely asking, and there doesn’t seem to be a hostility in his scent as he turns his attention to you. Then there’s Ghost, who you don’t even need to look at to feel his heavy gaze on you, waiting expectantly.
“Actually, it is,” you argue with Soap, anger beginning to boil in your belly, the frustration and angst having been left to simmer all afternoon. “I can’t believe you didn’t take me seriously when I came to you earlier,” you turn your anger on Price. He looks taken aback by the outburst, something you’re not known for.
“Dove,” he calls calmly, hands out in an attempt to pacify.
“Don’t-” you bark, starting to raise your voice without realizing it. “I came to you in confidance! Trusting you when you said you’d be there to help me if I ever needed it! How could you?” Gritting your teeth, you don’t realize how hard you’re breathing as your chest heaves with anger.
“Woah, woah-” Gaz sputters, “What-” holding his hands out to try and diffuse the argument.
“I let myself be vulnerable-” You continue to shout.
“Isn’t this something that shoul-” Soap attempts to dissuade, backing down as he puts his hands out.
“-and tell you the truth, and-” you’re lunging for him across the table. You’re held back by a massive hand on your shoulder. “You laugh in my face?! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
You're suddenly pulled back, off your feet, and shoved into a metal chair that'd been nearby. Your Lieutenant is hovering over you, his cold eyes now tinged with a spark of anger as they bore into you scrutinizingly. There's the sound of commotion behind him, multiple voices overlapping, yet you can't see anything with that utter giant in front of you!
“Does anyone wanna explain what the bloody hell is goin’ on here?” Ghost snaps. It's only then when the man steps aside that you can see where everyone is. With both of you in your respective corners, you simply glare at the Captain from over your crossed arms out in front of you.
“Are you bleedin’ kidding me, ya Scally?” Price grunts as he shrugs Gaz’ hand off his shoulder. “You’re still on about it! When w-"
"That doesn't explain what happened, Cap," Gaz interrupts, stopping him from going off and getting them nowhere.
He groans, running a hand over his face once more before composing himself. Everyone waits for an explanation—you too—he’d been the first to speak, and you’re curious to hear what he comes up with. “She came into my office, bloody cryin’, tossing me a pill bottle, muttering about, saying she’s a-”
You don’t dare let him finish, not wanting him to be the one to finally say it, exposing your truth to the team. "Omega. I’m an Omega, ” you finish his sentence. While you’re scared to meet their faces, you take a deep breath and force yourself to do so.
"Christ," Price curses, fingers coming up to pinch the skin between his brows as he hangs his head.
Ghost's stoicism is nothing unordinary, and in fact, is somewhat a comfort considering you'd expected nothing less from him.
Gaz looks stunned for a moment, eyes flitting about the other’s faces before the serious look on his face morphs. Lips slowly drawing upward, you shouldn’t be surprised when he starts laughing. "Yeah right," Garrick teases, "and I'm actually the Prime Minister."
Yet, it's not just him. The uproarious laughter from your right only adds fuel to the already burning flame as the two other Sergeants laugh like idiots. All as if it's some poor joke with no consequences to anyone's life, and yet... it's the truth. At the end of the day, it doesn't change anything. At the end of the day, your life is still in jeopardy and they're treating it like some joke. Unable to form any sort of retort, you simply blink; stuck in a stupor raw, stung, and with a dumb look on your face.
Soap, rounding the table slaps Gaz on the back, his face flushed red from laughing so hard. "Yer makin' my stomach hurt. God," he eggs the other on between his dying chuckles and attempting to catch his breath.
"You're really just gonna stand there and laugh?!" You finally burst. Anger surely must be coming off your scent in waves, but you don't care. Standing from the chair, you don't flinch as Ghost swipes his arm out in front of you in case you were going for the Captain again. There will be no physical altercation on his watch.
"She already pulled this on me earlier, mind you, and now what? You're trying to pull it over on the lads' too, eh?" Price goads you.
"And I was telling the truth! You're the one who said I was joking," you point out. The volume of your voice is lost on you, partially blinded by the fury bleeding out.
"I suppose you never did admit to it being a prank," Price reasons, fingers grazing his beard as he runs them over it repeatedly in thought. "But how do you expect us to believe that when you clearly smell of a Beta?"
"Even on the battlefield, after everything we've been through-" Gaz starts.
"After yer all sweaty from a workout, too. I think we'd notice, Pan," Johnny argues, illuminating a legitimate point of consideration.
"Oh please," you mutter quietly to yourself. Shaking your head, you can't believe they're really all being this daft right now. "Like you have heard of those Scent Spritzers.”
There are various perfumes on the market specifically designed to alter one’s scent. Most use it smell like an Alpha when they’re not, or an Omega when they’re wanting to seduce an Alpha when going out. But Omegas posing as Betas was rarely heard of. You’re more than sure it happens more frequently than people know of, they just haven’t been caught. And in your line of work? It’s scarce. People are thoroughly vetted, but… you’d been on suppressants for a long, long time. And a Beta perfume only perfected your hiding.
“Did you forget we’re Alphas, love? We’d be able to smell you across the room if you were,” Gaz taunts. There’s a puff of his chest that makes his cockiness even more annoying than usual.
"You really want to be an Omega? Dumb yourself down to some weak fragile thing?” Johnny jokes, nudging Gaz’ arm as he shakes his head.
“A doll who can get whoever she wants? Want to be nothing more than good for knockin' up and popping out pups?” Gaz adds on.
“Are you serious right now?” You test, seething under your skin as your hands ball up into fists. “How could you say that?!”
“It’s what people say,” Ghost comments.
“Nobody would want that and you’re out here lying about it,” Johnny pokes.
“We’re only trying to point out the flaws in your little rouse, Pan,” Gaz says, a smile lighting up his features as he crosses his arms over his chest.
"And what if I was lying, hm? Would that change anything you just said to me? How you feel about Omegas?" You scoff.
“This isn’t about your designation,” Price finally speaks. Fingers still weaved into his beard, his blue eyes lift to meet yours. “I see what this is about now, but there's nothin' to worry about, Dove.” Your Captain takes on a softer tone and all of the sudden you feel yourself start to get emotional as a twinge of sadness, of the hurt bleeding through upon understanding makes you feel seen.
“I know it's intimidating, the thought of having your first unmedicated heat, but we have medics here. It's natural. Heats, ruts, we all have them. And, hey... at least you're not an Omega, right?" Whatever relief you’d momentarily experienced sinks back down in your gut with the speed of a rollercoaster drop. It’s as silent as a stakeout, the only sound being people’s breathing. And the lack of yours.
It takes a moment to gather yourself, everyone’s eyes on you with the serious topic change. While sex and the downsides to a designation are something discussed with the boys, you’d often been left out. And to your comfort. "You know what? I can’t do this,” you retort. Backing from the group, you toss your hands up. “I guess you'll just have to wait and see," you bite back. With a whip of your hair over your shoulder, you head for the door.
The room is silent once more as everyone gawks. You’d never reacted in such a manner, had an outburst like that… this is… certainly different, and something they’re not at all used to.
“It’s because they took away her suppressants today,” Price explains. It might not have been something the group should be privileged to know. A private matter, really… but with the way you acted? He felt the men deserve an explanation, at least.
“That makes sense,” Gaz responds quietly, eyes still on the door you’d gone through.
“That’s no excuse,” Johnny counters, arms crossing over his chest with a scowl on his lips.
"Well... that went better than I thought,” Ghost comments with a shrug. “Back to the plan? We can fill her in later.”
AO3 link. next chapter -> Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 4,147
Maybe support me on kofi?🥺👉👈
Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.
Summary: When Price was young and left his childhood home, a farm in the middle of nowhere in England, he didn’t enter the military. Instead he moved to London, got a degree and a good career, earning good money. He got you, a human dog hybrid as a pet, after feeling lonely - and you lived your best life for years, spoiled and pampered, Price’s lapdog who got praised at every party. Loved and fucked every night. That was until Price decided to return to his roots and go back to farming - dragging you along to the middle of nowhere, away from all the wonders of the big city. Expecting you to accept this sudden change in lifestyle and pretend to be a farm dog. Bad luck however, because you fucking hated it, and became more and more unruly. In hopes of getting you to calm down and to keep his live-stock and farm safe, Price then got three working dog hybrids - and all at once, your life was even worse than before.
tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy
author's note: Hi sinners <33 Just a heads up; the reader is gonna be a spoiled brat. If you want a smart and sweet reader who isn’t mean at times, well. Bad news. This ain’t it.🥰The reader is she / her and has a pussy and is chubby. I tried my best to keep the descriptions somewhat vague otherwise. Reader is a cocker spaniel hybrid. I will tell the others along the way. In this universe, hybrids have ears, tail, claws beneath nails and canine fangs. There will be heats and ruts but there is no omegaverse. They will have personality traits of their dog breed and so on.
Now. I know there aren’t wild wolves in the UK… but in this fic there is, ok? mwah.
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The countryside was peaceful compared to the city; the absence of the bustling streets and constant traffic, created a quietness that was indescribable.
Out here, at the new farm, the noises only came from animals that lived in the stables and barn or the occasional rumble as a tractor turned on. The wind caressed the never ending fields of wheat and the long rows of fruit trees, under which the goats and sheep walked most days.
The stress here wasn’t the same kind as in the city. Sure , there were stressful moments and sometimes Price looked like he needed to sleep for more than just the few hours he got everyday.
But he didn’t have to worry about the morning traffic, waiting in a queue for an overpriced, questionable tea or coffee. There was no need for him to wear a suit, no noisy, overfilled train cars in the underground. No crowded dog or hybrid parks, no meetings or rules to follow - except those John Price decided for himself.
He was happy, so much was clear to you. It had been three months since the move - Johnhad gone back to his roots, buying back the farm that his parents had used to own a little while ago, using some of his endless wealth on renovating the place. There was no step on the stairs that was loose, like it used to when he was a kid - sure they still creaked, but you weren’t afraid they would disappear from beneath you.
It was modernized, but most of the old charm left. Price fit right in; the furniture he had inherited and never believed he would use was suddenly in the living room. His knowledge of the business world was abandoned in the city, for the knowledge of farming that he still had left from his youth. John got a couple of farm hands and workers, who helped him with the big place.
It was like he reclaimed his own self that had been buried beneath the suits, ties and paperwork. Now he didn’t smoke his cigars from stress, but from pleasure, clearly much content.
It was like the farm had truly made John Price happy once more; his smiles more genuine, his true self stepping forth. Returning to his childhood home and taking over the farm had been the best decision Price had made. There was no question about it.
… and you hated every bloody day at the farm.
The early morning hours in bed with him, being disturbed by the farm waking up, the rooster crowing and John leaving the bed, giving you a pat in between your ears, taking all the heat with him. The constant bugs, the muddy stables and the big animals, the helpers who always teased you for not fitting in, the lack of friends you had out here. The foxes’ screams in the night, the wolves howling, and the cows occasionally mooing sounded like creatures stepping out of nightmares.
You were not made for farm life. Literally. Simply not made for it.
Some would argue that you, as a hybrid pet, didn’t have a say in it and sure , legally you didn’t. But you were a lapdog, an elegant pet. Not a farm dog. Created to be cared for and cuddled, you were a purebred cocker spaniel hybrid; you weren’t made to run around on a farm, following John on his duties And doing work.
Sure, you had the instincts to hunt a few things here and there, but it was mostly balls and the occasional bird or squirrel. You weren’t a guard hybrid, not really a working dog.
You had had enough trauma throughout your life - you deserved not to be forced into this! You had grown up being trained to be a lapdog, not a working-dog like you felt like John expected you to act like now.
You wanted John to be happy, you really did - you loved your Master! When he bought you a few years ago, when you were still aggressive and unruly (… more than now at least), you had thought he would tire of you like everybody else had. But with patience, rules, training, praise and punishment and a whole lot of sex later, you were a perfect hybrid pet for the city! People always praised how well you looked, laughing when Price said you were really a little troublemaker. You would follow him throughout the fancy apartment, on your daily walks, sometimes for meetings.
But why the fuck did it have to be a farm? He worked somwwhat the same time that he did before, genuinely seeming to enjoy himself. Forgetting about poor you!
Out here, there were no hybrid daycare that you would go to when he had long days, there were none of your playmates nearby, everything stank of animals and there were no places nearby for you to get your hair and fur styled and pampered! No nail technicians, no fancy cafes, no shops for John to buy you things in! No special made coffee or chef-made meals every other evening, no freshly baked croissants.
You felt like you had tried . You really had.
But after the first week, you had your first breakdown - and as the weeks passed, they didn’t stop. At first, John was sympathetic, like the perfect owner he was.
Cooing at you, kissing your forehead, as he gently scratched your ears. Kissing away any tears, saying it was okay - that you were just overwhelmed, that it would be okay. That you would come to like it out here.
Big fucking joke.
He had tried every trick in the book, in an attempt to please you and made you less upset, but as days turned into weeks and tantrums began to appear, you knew his patience began to disappear.
He followed professional advice and then the advice of the neighbors down the street, Rodolfo and Alejandro (who had caught you running away at one point), tried some of the workers’ advice. He had given you your own room, and it was mostly designed like your own, perfect to the pale green paint on the wall, all your toys and dog beds, your CDs - everything. He had tried hauling you along every day, trying to give you a routine to follow - but after two weeks, he gave up, not having the energy to deal with a tantrum that got worse and worse each day. He went on walks with you, fucked you silly, tried his best — and you didn’t want it.
No, you wanted to go back to your old life. Not this country life that you hadn’t signed up for, with horses that neighed loudly whenever you passed them; they were definitely going to trample you at the first chance, you knew that. You could hear foxes scream in the night, warning you of the dangers. The goats and sheep were so fucking loud and no you didn’t want to go pick fresh apples off the trees - had he seen the size of the spiders crawling on them?
When you in one of your biggest tantrums took off and bolted from the farm in distress, Rodolfo and Alejandro had almost hit you when you emerged from the corn fields onto the road.
You had cried the entire drive home, no matter what the two men had tried saying, especially as Rodolfo called Price in advance — your master was livid . The worst thing was, that it was not that kind of anger where he yelled at you before punishing you - no, this one was almost silent, a sharp grip on your collar as he dragged you along after thanking his neighbours.
He had belted you then, ignoring your crying and screaming, only stopping when you broke, sobbing and going quiet. He had explained it to you then, what could have happened, what dangers you could have ended in - and as you sobbingly apologized and tried to explain, that you wanted to go back to the city, John had sighed .
Said that he had pampered you too much since he got you, which had made you greedy and attention seeking. Which only made you cry more, as you hid your face in his neck, fingers digging into his shirt, ass cheeks burning.
“Spoiled rotten, little birdie,” he mused, though you could hear the softness in him, your tail wagging a little, hoping to get him to be less mad.
“‘M sorry,” you had whined in distress, upset with yourself as well, ears tipping down, “wanna be good but I don’t like it.”
Your rather dull escape attempt resulted in several things. An AirTag on your collar, so that he always knew where you were. A remarkable lack of treats, sex and then… the crate .
You fucking hated the dog crate.
Sure, it hadn’t been nice of you to bite one of his pillows into a simple pulp of fabric, feathers everywhere. Or create chaos in the kitchen… or get drunk on his fancy whiskey (that one had ended worse for you, hangover was a bitch and there wasn’t much sympathy from John). And yes, you might have ripped most of the flowers surrounding the house up, until one of the workers had caught you. Maybe pissing yourself in the middle of the living room while staring him in the eyes and ignoring his warnings had been a little…excessive.
But the dog crate? You hated that thing with a burning passion.
Hated it when he locked you up, ignoring your whimpers and whines, your promises to behave, ignoring your little howls as he left.
Mean. The farm had made him mean. Perhaps you had become a bit unruly too, but it was like he didn’t take your clear suffering seriously.
Mean and happy - unruly and suffering. What a pair you were. One of the workers, KAte Laswell, who was a big helper and often stayed over for dinner, suggested a fucking shock collar. You had growled, only stopped when John sent you a sharp look.
You had even heard him talking over the phone with somebody, saying that he didn’t want to rehome you, but he didn’t know what to do.
That had made you melt a little and you had cried as you had crawled into his bed a couple of hours later, begging him to not abandon you. Fears of never getting to see John again or being loved again by him made you cling onto him as he kissed away your tears, gently fucking you.
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
It was a random morning a couple of days later, that you found him still in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, humming to himself while smoking a cigar.
He looked nice like this. Despite how he sometimes muttered about being too old, he wasn’t really that old. Late thirties, and perhaps it was the peace on his face or the sun rays that kissed him, which made him look younger. But still. There was a decade between you, but days like this, you were reminded that it didn’t matter.
“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to join me, Darling?” He asked teasingly, pulling you from your thoughts. You let out a little huff and kissed him good morning, receiving a pat on the ass before you sat down on your own seat. It had been a while since the two of you had eaten together - often he was up at the crack of dawn, so his calm behavior and gentle humming was unusual to say the least.
“Why are you not working?” You asked carefully, as you ate some of the bread, trying to ignore how it wasn’t a fancy sourdough one - though you were pretty sure he had picked it up from a local bakery in the village which was a little drive away.
“Because,” he put the paper down, then tapping some ash off the cigar into his ashtray, before looking over at you, a pleased smile on his face, “you and I are going on a trip.”
“A trip?” You didn’t even bother to be embarrassed about how your voice got higher with excitement or how your tail thumped against the backrest of the chair as you wagged it, “where are we going? When? Can we go now?”
Price had laughed, a happy sound that you knew not many got to hear; it made your heart beat a little faster, made you feel butterflies in your stomach.
“Well, we got to do a few things first to get ready, and you ,” he used the cigar to point at you, your tail wagging a little faster, “need to not freak out when I tell you where we are going.”
Despite the warning, tears streamed down your cheeks when he told you. John didn’t get mad as a part of you had expected; he knew your abandonment issues first hand, knew how you had been left behind before, from one bad owner to another.
“You’re going to sell me and leave me with a mean owner and I’m gonna die of hunger and thirst - and - and —“
“Not gonna leave you, princess,” John crooned, covering your face in kisses as you hiccuped and sniffled, clinging to his clothes, “you know that. My favorite puppy. Pretty girl.”
Despite your tears and small sobs, your tail wagged at his words, “silly puppy,” he mused with a smile, gently scratching your lower back, “‘m not gonna sell you. Ale and Rodolfo are looking for a hybrid, I figured we could go look at the auction as well.”
“What if - what if - what if you’ll like them more?” You sniffled dramatically, sure that your life was only going to become worse than it already was. One thing was this bloody farm and the crate, another thing was having to share Price. You didn’t like the idea one bit. If that happened, you were going to show him how a proper tantrum was thrown - the crate would probably be the least of your worries.
As if to prove his love, John bent you over the table, fucking you in between the clattering dishes and cutlery, tea and coffee almost spilling over. Despite how many times your owner fucked you, it made you lose control of your mind every single time. His cock reached so deep inside you that it bordered on pain, your mouth open as you panted and moaned at each thrust; your soft stomach being pressed against the edge of the table, one hand holding onto the back of your collar, the other on your tail. The table rattled, John groaned and moaned, your fingers desperately trying to hold onto anything.
“My princess,” he snarled darkly into your ear, “you’ll always be mine-“ a moan, a grunt, “- no matter what happens, yeah?”
“Yes ye-ah- yes, sir, I’m yours - ah ah - I’m yours!” you managed in between pants and wails of pleasure, fear of abandonment forgotten in the ocean of euphoric satisfaction.
You came harder than you had for a while; the reminder of your worth, of how you deserved his worship, making you cream around his throbbing length, legs in spasms afterwards. He pushed deeper, filling you up with a loud roar like sound, his hands moving to grab onto the fat of your ass and hips as he came. Pain and pleasure made your toes curl and a content sigh left you, your tail wagging against Price as he chuckled.
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
The auction hall was filled to the brim with humans and hybrids alike. Every owned hybrid followed their respective owners, all wearing mandatory leashes so no pets would be confused with the ones that were being sold. You wore your own pink one with pride, gem stones sparkling. A matching leash connected to the D-ring on it, that also bore your tags. You were convinced yours were the most beautiful in this entire place.
“They’re bonded,” Laswell pointed out, pointing to the papers that hung nearby, showing off general information about them, “gotta get all three.”
You dared to look at the little board with the informations about the three hybrids they were looking at.
“Ah, we don't have space for three, mi amor.”
“eso es una pena,” Rodolfo answered, while you looked over at John - who kept looking at the three hybrids. You dared to peek over at them.
All three of them were enormous .
Two of them wore muzzles, meaning they were biters. At least at the auction. You shouldn’t judge then, not really, but you did... Even though you had worn a muzzle five years ago, when Price had chosen you. You hadn’t tried biting people out of malice; you had been scared and angry at the world. Angry for being abandoned once more, over the fact that you were most likely being passed on to another abusive master. You leaned a little closer to Price, taking in his scent.
Even from the start, despite all the problems and your attitude problems, he had been sweet. Strict at times — probably not enough — but kind.
The biggest one looked like a Great Pyrenees breed, most likely. The fur on his ears and tail looked shorter, badly cut. Probably due to matting or if he refused to get it cut. His hair, a dark blonde almost brown, was in a buzz cut. He had scars, all over - unable to hide because of the lack of clothes most hybrids were given, only underwear. There was a lot in his face, though you suspected a bunch were hidden by the muzzle. He stared into nothing, his ears curled back, though they moved now and again, listening to different sounds.
“Hard to get sold,” Laswell commented and you looked over at her in synchronicity with John, “they’re ex-military.”
Like he had been called to them, a man who wore one of the seller badges appeared.
“They’re obedient once they fall into place,” he happily explained, going full seller-mode, “they’re just not too fond of the auctions - too many people.”
“Makes sense,” Price mused, clearly interested - much to your annoyance. The fact that he asked follow up questions made you frown, fingers tightening in his shirt. He was here to look. To help Alejandro and Rodolfo, who both had continued their walk. You dared to look over at the hybrids again. All three were staring at you and John.
“How come they were discharged?”
“One of them got a hearing loss -“ he nodded towards them, “the one with the mohawk. And they’re a bonded pack.”
“So only retiring him was out of the question,” John concluded once more looking over at them.
You felt your tail go in between your legs. He couldn’t be seriously considering those three . you couldn’t help but let out a small whine. Price gave your leash a little tug.
“They’re working dogs,” the seller continued, his eyes flickering to you, making you huff, “so they’ll need something to do, not just be pets.”
“Oh I know. I have a farm. Need some work dogs - this one isn’t guarding much.”
They all laughed, your tail going even further between your legs with embarrassment.
“You can’t be serious,” you whined in a whisper to John, not caring that you sounded needy - spoiled would Laswell had said and you ignored her as she rolled her eyes.
“Hush, Princess.” John didn’t even look at you.
“You have animals there?” The seller asked, “one of them is a herding dog - the border collie.”
“I do - several. That’s why there's a need for guarding dogs as well, bloody wolves have been terrorizing us.”
You knew he was telling the truth; he had muttered about dead sheeps and goats several times - even a calf had lost its life to the wolves in the area, despite he and Laswell having shot two already. Even foxes had gotten into the coop, despite the fences.
“They’re good at that too, with their training,” the seller offered, clearly interested in selling them or at least getting John to bid on them. “The one with the mohawk, Soap , will have hearing aids with him, so you don’t need to worry about that.”
You looked over at this “Soap”, scrunching your nose. They were still staring, the biggest one bending down to listen to the third one, a beautiful black man, whisper in his ear. No doubt judging you.
“It says here they don’t do well with others,” you muttered, in a desperate attempt to sway John, pointing to the board with their papers. It did indeed say so, to which you wanted to argue that YOU should be his main focus in this whole thing - how would he even consider adding them to your household if these dogs could get a hold of you?
“It’s in the sense that they’re not really housetrained to be social family pets,” the seller swooped in, pushing your argument away, annoying you even more, “they’ve had missions all their lives. They need to have something to do.”
“I’m sure you’ll get along with them, sweetheart,” Price answered, giving you a small scratch beneath your chin as he finally looked over at you, a glint in his eyes, “some company will do you good.”
You huffed, crossing your arms. Hardly . Price’s smile told you that he thought this was a great idea however. You dared to look at the men again. Still staring, fucking bastards.
The black man seemed like a mix of some breeds, German shepherd and… you looked shortly at the board. Belgian malinois. Fancy. He wasn’t as tall as the big one, but broad and with scars as well. There was a more slender look to him, but his six pack proved he was strong. His curly hair wasn’t too long, probably cut not too long ago. He was looking at you curiously, making you raise your upper lip a little, as if to warn him.
The one with the hearing loss looked like some sort of border collie - covered in scars as well, some of his skin looking like it had been too close to fire. He was broad like the two others, his upper arms the size of your head. He even sent you a cheeky grin, even daring to wink at you. You just looked away, tipping your chin up a little.
“You can look closer if you want, sir?”
You were pulled back into the conversation at once and before you could argue, John had already passed on your leash to Laswell and walked towards the men with the seller. You whined, distressed that he was really, actually considering this.
“You’ll be fine,” Laswell commented calmly, with empathy in her voice for once, though she didn’t look at you, merely at John and the others.
“He is gonna lose interest in me,” you whined, perhaps a little dramatically, bottom lip wobbling a little as you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, “then he’ll leave me in the crate all day and only care about them an—“
“Calm down,” Laswell said, “you’ll work yourself into a fuss.”
“He can’t do this to me,” you argued in a sullen voice, already imagining John forgetting all about you, focusing on these three hybrids for the rest of his life, leaving you cold and lonely inside the dog crate - maybe even rehoming you, “he promised he wouldn’t get rid of me.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Laswell answered just as calmly as before, “John loves you too much, you’re just being spoiled. Hanging out with some working dogs will do you good.”
“They probably have fleas,” you said, your prejudices seeping into your words, knowing you’re being mean, judgmental against your own kind, “they’ll kill me and eat my dead body.”
Laswell laughed. “No they won’t. Worst thing they’ll do, is probably knock you up.”
A high pitched, scandalized sound left you, despite knowing you had an implant. Laswell laughed again, giving your leash a little yank and then scratching you behind your long ears.
“Settle, Princess. That won’t happen without John’s permission.”
You almost cried at the sight of John shaking the seller’s hand.
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
They all met up again for the actual auction part and you sat at John’s feet, sniffling a little. Crying hadn’t helped, in fact John had just petted and kissed you, calling you sensitive. Alejandro had gotten a hybrid earlier that they didn’t need to bid on - she was for sale for a certain price. Something about being too intense without enough space to roam, having attacked others before.
Fucking great. Beasts all around you.
John won the bidding on the three working dog hybrids he had been interested in - because of course he did. He spent way too much money on them too, according to you.
One more - or well, three more fucking things to hate about this “farming life” that had been forced upon you.
Thriving Thursday (maybe also thankful Thursday): pretty little thing family after omegas had the baby (or maybe a few more babies) and being thankful that shitty ex dropped them and that they sent in the application for the matchmaker service
You can’t help but stare when the little wrapped bundle nestles further into the broad chest of one of the most capably dangerous alpha’s you know. The sniper and soldier, calculating and dedicated to being a ghost on every operation he goes on, is dedicated to keeping your baby safe.
Every movement that could have woken your baby, that could have stirred them from the sleep they’re in on his chest, draws his ire. Johnny raised his voice to shout across the kitchen asking Kyle about something, and Simon could have killed Johnny with his eyes alone.
It was his time with the freshly born babe, this beautiful little boy that was going to be raised to be a good and strong alpha like his daddies. There was nothing that was going to end the time Simon had with him early, not until your hungry little boy needed to breastfeed.
You watched him, that protective daddy that he was, as you rested after giving birth. You were in labour for a long time and though your alpha’s were there for you every minute, it was still you that had to go through that.
The doctor recommended you take the time you need to recover, to give your body time to heal. The alpha’s in your pack stepped up the moment your baby boy first cried.
The first time he used his lungs to cry in the hospital room, pride flourished in the hospital. Gaz was the first one to hold your baby, the first alpha to calm the son that had just come into the world. Kyle’s voice soothed your baby, stilling the cries that had filled the room.
“You need to eat.” The interruption to your view of Simon comes when John sits beside you on the couch, carrying a plate of food for you—a combination of protein, fruits, vegetables and legumes. “I want you to finish it all.”
You sit up and lean against John, your head resting on his shoulder. He turns his head to kiss your forehead, giving you an affectionate exchange for the plate of food in his hand. He watches, he waits, as you start eating the food piece by piece, making sure you are cared for.
When Johnny and Gaz come into the living room, Kyle’s carrying a bottle of your breast milk for the baby. Johnny carry’s a diaper for your son and a spare set of clothes to change into, almost as if he predicts that he’s going to have a blowout.
“Give ‘im here, Si.” Johnny approaches the couch Simon’s sitting on, where your baby is tucked against his chest, nestling in. “It’s my turn.”
“The baby’s hungry,” Simon doesn’t deny Johnny, he wouldn’t do that, but he does take as much time as he can before he gives your son up.
Once Johnny takes your baby, he sits on the other side of you your baby snuggling into one of his daddies chests. It only takes a few minutes for your baby to wake up, his soft little cries and scrunched nose evident of his hunger.
“My boy,” Johnny coos, calming your baby before his hunger makes him too cranky, “got mum’s milk right here.”
Johnny taps the nipple of the bottle against your baby’s lips, waiting until he follows the movement. Once he takes the nipple into his mouth, he begins suckling and quickly becomes content with eating. Johnny’s fingers brush over his forehead, his scent soothing your son who looks up at his daddy watching him.
“Best decision we ever made,” Johnny whispers to your son, speaking to him as he east and fills his belly with breast milk you pumped and stored, “applying to meet your mama. She’s beautiful, your mama, and you are gonna grow up like your daddy-”
“The biggest and strongest,” Simon says with a lilt to his voice, “alpha. The best of the best.”
There was a general consensus among them all, the alpha’s that would’ve sent your ex a thank you card for walking out. Cause if he hadn’t then they wouldn’t have had the chance with you.
And that would’ve been one of the greatest upsets of their life.
A/N: I wish i could say im back but im not sure if i really am. Life had been really fucking shitty and honestly writing has been the last thing i wanted to do, so heres what i had written before life kicked me when i was already down. Its short and i apologize. When i do get back on my feet i promise i will make them longer.
“What do you think of this one?” Kyle slides his laptop towards you, showing you another house listing.
This one was 5 bedrooms, with an unfinished basement, 2 large living rooms. You scroll the listing and shake your head. The kitchen was so outdated you were afraid the pipes were insulated in asbestos.
“It needs a lot of renovation, and I'm worried about asbestos. That kitchen looks like it hasn't been touched since the 30’s,” you slide the laptop back to him.
“What about this one Mo Chridhe?” Johnny slides a real estate magazine towards you. The page flipped to a tudor style build, and you shake your head, scrunching up your nose.
“No,” You rest your head on your hand, you glance at John and Simon who are talking quietly amongst themselves.
“What about you two?” You ask, and they both look at you. Simon and John share a look, communicating without words. You hated when they did that, silently talking with their eyes. All your husbands did it, it was something they developed after working together for years. Johnny and Kyle look over at them and share a look too.
“Oh no you four don't, tell me what you're thinking,” you frown, and they laugh.
“We’ve been looking for a month, Lovie, maybe we won't find anything that fits all of us.” Simon explains coming over and standing behind you. He wraps his large arms around you, putting his large scarred hand on your stomach.
“So what are you suggesting?” You look up at him, your head tipped back against his chest. He looks down at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“How about we build?” He suggests.
“Like from the ground up?” You ask brows furrowed.
“No from the top down,” Johnny retorts, “Ouch!” He whines rubbing the back of his head as Kyle glares at him.
“Boys,” John warns.
“We found a few large plots of land we can build on, that already have water and electricity hook ups for them,” Simon explains, reaching over you and grabbing the laptop on the counter. He pulls it closer to him, his fingers moving over the keys as he pulls up the listing for the land. Pulls up the picture of a plot of land, 5 acres in the countryside.
“Hmm..” you hum as you look at it, trying to imagine what kind of house you would build there.
“We can have whatever you want. If you want 20 bathrooms you can have it,"John crosses his arms across his chest. His shirt flexing over his forearms, your eyes drifting to the light green fabric. Your eyes trail up his arms to his chest, his neck and finally to his face. His beard was a little longer, his bright blue eyes looking at you. As you stare he raises an eyebrow at you. The rumbling at your back sending goosebumps over your skin.
“Baby?” Kyle says his warm hand landing on your arm. You jerk your head to the right where he stands, a knowing smirk on his face.
“Did you hear Simon?” He asks, his full lips twitching at the edges as he fights back a smile. A blush flushes your cheeks, making them grow warm.
“No…” you mumble, your face tipping down to stare at the counter.
“You get lost in that pretty head of yours?” Johnny smiles, “something catch your eye Mo Chridhe?”
“Think she was staring at our captain,” Simons voice is laced with a smile.
“I-I” you stumble over the words, your eyes darting around the room.
“Have we been neglecting you Darling?” John comes closer standing on the left of Simon.
“No…”
“You sure?” He whispers as he leans in his lips brushing yours. There's a sharp intake of breath behind you, Simon's fingers flexing over your small baby bump.
“I think we haven't been paying her enough attention…” Kyle murmurs, his lips finding your neck and shoulder. Trailing over the smooth skin there, his tongue darting out to taste you. A shudder runs through you as John's hand comes to hold the side of your face, his rough fingers brushing along your jaw.
“Steaming Jesus,” Johnny groans.
“Thank fuck it’s almost midnight,” Kyle adds.
“Think we should spread her out over the counter,” Simon mumbles, a series of affirmative noises follow. As John pulls back from your lips he smiles, your chest heaving with each ragged breath.
“Is that what you want Darling?”John breathes his minty breath fanning across your flushed face. “Want us to lay you out on the kitchen counter and have our way with you?”
Your voice fails you and all you can do is nod. Desire coursing through your veins lighting your nerve endings on fire. Each movement from them sends new ripples of electricity over your body.
Johnny smirks, his smile smug as he watches you squirm. He loved how turned on you got when you were pregnant. Your hormones racing, no matter how exhausted you were you couldn’t ever turn them down. It had been awhile since they all had taken you together, finding it hard to find a moment when they were all free, the children all taken care of so they could all dote on you without interruptions. The last time had been the second night after they got back and found out about the new babe. The tiny life growing inside you.
John glances at Simon, the two having a conversation with their eyes again, and suddenly you’re lifted off the stool. Placed on the white counter to like you’re the most precious thing in the world, you shudder as the counter comes in contact with your bare thighs. John moves the things behind you, and places a sweatshirt on the counter, his hands going to your shoulders to lean you back against it as Simon nudges your legs apart with his hips.
You stare up at the ceiling, the recessed lighting you hated staring back at you. You gasp as two sets of lips touch your thighs. Both warm but so distinct.
Simon and Kyle.
Kyle’s stubble is softer against your skin than Simon’s. His lips fuller. Simon’s lips are followed by tiny bites that sting slightly. Leaving marks in their wake as he trails his lips to the hem of your shorts.
“Oh,” you gasp, as a warm hand slips under the hem of your shorts and teases the edge of your panties.
“Wanna play a game?” Johnny asks, leaning his arms on the counter as he peers down at you.
“What kind of game?” You mumble eyes half lidded as he and John trail their fingers along your skin.
“We blindfold you and see if you know who’s touching you,” Johnny smiles down at you.
“Okay. What happens if I win?” You ask, raising an eyebrow in defiance.
“You can get those chickens you’ve been asking for when we move,” John replies, and you smile.
You had been bugging them about getting chickens. With the amount of eggs your family went though it would be more practical to have them then buy 6 dozen eggs every week. At least if you had some chickens you could get fresh eggs every day.
“Deal.”
A few moments later Simon comes back with a tie from the upstairs closet and gently wraps the soft fabric around your eyes. He ties it securely behind your head making sure not to snag any of your hair in the knot.
“Ready?” Johnny's thick accent asks from your left.
“Yes…” You mumble, your hands clenched at your sides in excitement.
Suddenly there's a hand on your thigh that trails down to your knee, the skin is smooth and soft, but the cool metal wedding band gives away who it is. Kyle's band was significantly thinner than the others, he had used his grandfather's wedding band but due to years of resizing it had grown thin and worn.
“Kyle…” you breathe, and you're rewarded by his lips touching yours briefly.
“You’re right baby.”
The next set of hands are much more aggressive with their touch, they land on your sides, roughly trailing up, pushing your shirt up with them. Exposing your full breasts to the cool air. Your nipples pebble from the sudden temperature change, and suddenly a warm set of lips catches one of your nipples.
“Johnny!” You gasp, back arching off the counter.
“Fucking hell Mactavish did you have to get us all worked up like that so fast?” Simon's deep voice grumbles, the sounds of clinking belts and fabric hitting the floor with soft thumps follow.
“Sorry LT, cant resist these anymore,” Johnny chuckles, his tongue flicking out to lap at your nipple, earning a small moan from you.
Your breath stutters in your chest as someone else starts to pay the same attention to your other breast as Johnny does. The lips are warm but the tell tale brush of a beard on your skin gives them away.
“John,” you pant, your chest heaving with each breath. Between the blindfold, the anticipation and the attention they were showering your breasts with you weren't sure how long you were going to be able to pay attention and figure out who was who. Pleasure was already starting to fog your brain. A pair of large hands grabs your sleep shorts and panties and discards them. Before the same pair of hands push your knees up towards your chest and your heels land on the counter top.
A thick finger glides along your entrance and you choke on a moan.
“S-Simon,” you stutter out as he swirls his finger through your folds.
“Good girl,” he praises, as he regards you by pushing his finger into your aching cunt. You let out a lewd moan, as John and Johnny pull away from their assaults on your nipples to look down at what Simon was doing.
“Fuck,” Kyle moans and you can hear his hand working his cock.
“Want to keep playing? Maybe we should make you guess who’s cock is buried deep inside your tight little body,” John whispers in your ear, making you shiver. Goosebumps erupting on your skin.
“Oh god, please,” you moan as Simon adds another finger, stretching you open.
There's a moment of pause and you know they’re all looking at each other trying to figure out who gets to go first. After a brief moment Simon pulls his fingers from you and you whimper at the loss.
The soft sound of a cap opening, and suddenly you can feel someone standing by your feet, two sets of hands help pull you to the end of the counter, your ass almost falling off but the person between your legs makes sure you don't fall. Your body trembles from anticipation and when you're sure you're going to combust if someone didn't touch you right that moment. With one hard thrust the person between your thighs slides into you. Your breath stutters in your chest as they grab your hips and slam into you.
“Fuck!” you gasp, as they pound into you.
“Who’s between your legs Darling?” John asks, as you struggle to make sense of who's between your legs through the waves of pleasure that are rolling through you. You take a few breaths and really concentrate. The hands holding your thighs were calloused but not enough to be Simon or John.
“Tick Tock love, who is it?” Simon's voice is right by your ear.
You groan as the person pulls almost all the way out before they ease back in, they were long but not nearly as thick as Johnny or Simon.
“Kyle!” You gasp as Kyle slams his hips into you, his thrusts faltering as he falls over the edge, your own orgasm sweeping through you.
You suck in a sharp breath as he pulls out and Kyle’s soft lips fall onto yours before he places a soft kiss to your baby bump.
“You’re right,” Kyle murmurs, as he trailed his hand up to your cheek where he brushes his thumb along your cheekbone.
“Ready for the next person?” He asks softly, and you nod. It takes a few seconds but eventually someone else settles into between your legs, they spread your legs wider and their hands grip your waist. They weren’t gentle, as they thrust into you with one harsh thrust, before setting a brutal pace that had you a moaning mess.
“Oh fuck! Oh god,” you moan loudly. They didn’t stop their brutal pace, their fingers digging into your skin, nails biting into the soft flesh.
“Simon!” You scream as your next orgasm quickly overtakes you, the mixture of the brutal pace and the lingering pleasure still coursing through your body from Kyle sending you tumbling over the edge far faster than normal.
“Fuck you’re so tight, so wet for me.” Simon grunts as he slams into you. It only takes him a few moments to find his own release, Simon leans over you and kisses you, his arms on either side of your head, His lips brush yours and you sigh softly.
“You’re such a good girl,” Simon mumbles against your lips before he pulls away and slips out of you. Your entire body trembles as you lay on the counter, your skin slick with a thin veil of sweat as you wait for the next person.
“Can you handle anymore” John's rough voice is in your ear. His breath tickles the side of your face as he talks.
“I-I don't know,” you mumble, your entire body felt like jello.
“Did we become too much for you Darling? I thought you could handle all of us?” John presses a kiss to your cheek.
“I don't think she can, such a shame,” Kyle chimes in. his hands brushing across your thigh.
“You can handle it Lovie,” Simon coos, his large hand trailing down your chest as he tweaks one of your nipples. Your back arches off the counter and you moan loudly.
Without warning there's someone gripping your thighs and pulling them apart, their rough hands digging into the soft flesh, and you wouldn't be surprised if you had bruises after. A moment later they bottom out inside of you. Your thighs shake as they move, their thrusts are softer than Simons but there's a controlled restraint in them. Almost as if they are afraid it really is too much for you.
“Johnny, don't hold back,” you moan.
“Ah fuck,” Johnny groans as he thrusts back into you harder. His hands digging into your thighs to hold you in place. “Fuck youre so tight for me, so wet.”
As Johnny continues his brutal pace someone undoes the tie around your eyes and you blink as your eyes adjust. Simon leans down and captures your lips in a kiss. One of his hands on your cheek as his tongue invades your mouth. Your head spins from the sensations, the feeling of Johnny's rough thrusting, Simon's attention to your lips. Johnny’s movements stutter and a moment later he stills completely. His hands let go of your thighs. His palms smack the counter on either side of your hips.
Your moan is swallowed by Simon as Johnny pulls out of you. He dips his head and kisses the red fingerprints on your thighs for a moment. His breath tickles the sensitive flesh there, before he pulls away.
“I guess I'm the only one left,” John smiles as he takes Johnny's place. You tear your mouth away from Simons.
“I guess you are,” you breathe your eyes meeting his. His lip ticks up in a small smirk as he leans over you, one large hand wrapping around your throat for a moment before he squeezes lightly. His blue eyes remain locked on yours as he slowly slides into you. From the corner of your eye you can see Kyle and Johnny slip from the kitchen and a moment later the sound of the shower turning on echoes through the house.
Simon watches as John fucks you on the counter, his eyes never straying from your reactions. The way your back arches off the counter, the way your breathing stutters when he hits that one spot inside of you. As John picks up his pace he lets go of your throat and moves his hands to your hips. He holds you in place as he slams into you with a steady yet brutal pace. As your orgasm rips through you a hand covers your mouth to silence your scream. Simon's dark brown eyes staring down at you. His pupils lost in the color of his irises. John pulls out of you and catches his breath and Simon slowly lifts his hand from your mouth and your heels slip off the edge of the counter. Your entire body went limp, your hair stuck to your forehead.
“You okay?” Simon asks softly.
“Better than okay…” you give him a lazy smile.
“Oh?” Simon tilts his head towards you, as John pulls on his boxers.
“Yeah, I was just ravaged by my 4 husbands and I get chickens.”
thinking about a nightfall by penelope douglas type of situation with blackchurch, but instead of it being emmy getting dumped in with will and co, it’s reader being dumped in with tf141. (brief summary of context here)
the boys are stuck there, have been for years without any outside contact, especially not from women. they’re immediately enraptured with you, obsessed with your every expression and movement.
you met simon first; waking up in a panic then stumbling out into the hallway, desperately trying to figure out where the hell you were, freezing at the sight of a dark figure, barely concealed by the shadows. he’s tall, and visibly very strong, his face completely hidden, but you can feel his eyes on you, the heavy weight of his gaze locked onto you, watching you like a predator would its prey. you stammer out a few words, anything to get him to drop his eyes or tell you what was going on. he stayed silent, and you could’ve sworn you saw his shoulders shaking lightly, was he laughing at you? completely losing your nerve, you spun on your heal, running down the hall as you heard the man’s heavy footsteps behind you, heartbeat pounding in your ears.
price was next, you turned a corner and bumped right into his chest, strong arms catching you as you fell back with a squeal. he held you steady, raising an eyebrow as the corner of his mouth twitched up, holding back a smile. he’d waited so goddamn long for this, he almost couldn’t believe you were real. you looked so scared, wide eyes staring up at him as salty tears spilled down your cheeks, a quiet whimper escaping your lips as you feel simon press up against your back, sandwiching you between them.
price shushes you, asking you what your name was kindly, smile finally slipping past his grasp at the deep flush of your cheeks, before guiding you to the living room and sitting down next to you to ask you some questions. you were too scared to run again, knowing that there’s no way you could get past the two of them, yet alone run faster, they’d catch up in mere seconds. simon always loomed near, staying with his back leant against a wall in the living room as he watched the two of you talk. you couldn’t bare to look at him, far too terrified to meet his eyes in the much lighter room. the mask didn’t help. you weren’t quite sure what it was of, weren’t quite sure you could cope with knowing yet either.
johnny and kyle were last, loud barks of laughter echoing down the hall, interrupting your shy and brief answer to another of price’s questions. they trailed into the room, their conversation coming to an abrupt end at the sight of you, johnny’s eyes nearly bulging out his head as kyle’s jaw dropped.
price ordered them to sit, observing your reactions as you watched warily, very aware of the fact that you seemed to be in a house full of men in the middle of nowhere, no where to escape to and no one to protect you from them. kyle gave you a small smile, obviously trying to calm you whilst johnny looked like he might explode with excitement beside him, beaming at you before going into a erratic ramble of questions, giving you no time to answer before asking another one. you shook silently on the sofa, wracking your brain for some kind of a solution, hopelessly begging your mind to wake up from whatever horrific nightmare this was.
fearful tears streamed down your face, trying to slowly distance yourself from the men, shifting down the sofa and towards the door. you nearly jumped out of your skin when simon pushed off the wall to move closer, walking up to you before kneeling before you. your heart leapt in your chest as you finally met his gaze, the realisation that his mask was a human skull, making you whimper again. his head tilted as he just looked at you for a minute, your brows furrowed and chin quivering at the terrifying man knelt in front of you.
eventually, he smacked his lips together, exchanging a quick glance at price before returning his focus back to you, “you’re ours now, lovie, and we’ve been waiting a very long time for you.”
Summary: You had quit the military after an incident and have been working as a freelance photographer for many years and had built a platform for yourself. But when an offer comes knocking at your door, will you relive your past while trying not to get yourself killed in the process or choose to live a more reserved life to yourself? The decision you make is not an easy one- yet the people you meet along the way may sway the opinions you hold about your future and your relationships.
Chapters:
(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) (pt.6) (pt.7) (pt.8) (pt.9) (pt.10)
word count: 50,000 words (100 pages)
Series Quotes:
Quote From Kyle Garrick (said in pt.2)
Quote from Fish #1 (said in pt.6)
Quote from Fish #2 (said in pt.6)
╰┈➤ *✧･ﾟ:* Thank you for checking in, more to come soon! *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ
