Summary: Your water breaks, and the strongest, deadliest men on Earth suddenly forget how to function.
Rating: Hilarious chaos with heartwarming panic and big brother energy (plus one very protective husband)
Masterlist
--- Soap (Johnny McTavish)
He’s the first one to scream.
You were just standing in the kitchen, eating frozen grapes, when your face suddenly scrunched. Then came the sentence that would send him into orbit:
“Um… I think my water just broke.”
Johnny blinked. “Broke what?”
You stared at him. “My. Water.”
“…OH BLOODY HELL.”
He spun in three full circles before grabbing his phone, keys, your hospital bag, and accidentally—his tactical vest.
“Johnny!” you shouted. “You don’t need your combat knife!”
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT I NEED RIGHT NOW!”
Ends up driving you to the hospital with one hand on the wheel and the other clenched around yours like you’re defusing a bomb. Tears in his eyes. Keeps whispering, “You’ve got this, love. You’re so damn strong. I’m right here.”
He does not leave your side. Not for water. Not to pee.
--- Price (Captain John Price)
If he’s the dad, he’s prepared. Had your hospital bag packed two months ago. Knew the signs. Has a backup plan. A spreadsheet.
But the moment you say, “It’s time,” that man goes dead silent.
You: “John, did you hear me?”
Price: Nods slowly, blinks once.
You: “…Are you okay?”
Price: Already lifting you like a damn princess. “Yeah. Yeah, just—f**king hell, it’s happening.”
He becomes hyperfocused. He’s the one timing contractions, double-checking your breathing, adjusting your seatbelt, coaching you the whole way with that deep, calming voice:
“You’re doin’ perfect, love. Deep breaths. Almost there. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
And when it’s finally time? He kisses your forehead and whispers, “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”
--- Gaz (Kyle Garrick)
Gaz is a mess. Like, heart pounding, phone upside down, nearly calls 911 when you say, “My water just broke.”
“Wait—wait, like, now? Now now???”
“Yes, Kyle.”
“Okay—okay! Don’t panic. Don’t panic. One of us has to stay calm, and you’re kinda busy!”
He accidentally forgets the hospital bag, then comes sprinting back five minutes later with four bags, unsure which one’s the real one.
At the hospital, he’s pacing like he’s awaiting a mission briefing. Texting 141 updates every 30 seconds. Even crying a little.
But the moment the baby’s out and he hears that first cry?
He breaks. In the softest, happiest way. “That’s our baby, love. You did that. I can’t believe it. You’re f***ing incredible.”
--- Ghost (Simon Riley)
Says absolutely nothing for the first thirty seconds. You tell him you’re in labor, and he just stares.
Then, suddenly, moves with terrifying speed.
Throws on his hoodie. Grabs your bag. Guides you to the car like he’s in a tactical op. Voice low, calm, deadly precise.
You didn’t think he could be gentle, but he holds your hand like it’s fragile. Sits behind the curtain with his head against yours, murmuring quiet things between contractions:
“You’re not alone. I’m here, yeah? Not goin’ anywhere.”
And when the baby’s born? He chokes on a breath and whispers, “Bloody hell... they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
Then he holds them with big, calloused hands and rocks like he was born to do it. Doesn’t say much, but you catch the tear slipping down his cheek.
Bonus: The Rest of the Team
They show up at the hospital like a squad of worried uncles.
• Soap brings a giant stuffed bear and immediately cries.
• Gaz holds the baby like it’s made of glass and won’t stop taking photos.
• Price stands in the corner with arms crossed, eyes watery, whispering, “Takes after their mum.”
• Ghost stays quiet... then sneaks in a baby hat he knitted himself and pretends he didn’t.
I don’t really have any ideas but could you maybe do some more tf141 x reader smut,your write it so well !!
TF141 x fem!reader, group sex, morning sex, somnophilia (just a bit), oral, dom/sub vibes (sub!Simon Riley), cumplay, kissing, they're in love your honor
Warm hands slide between your thighs, tugging at your panties, and you mumble into your pillow. "Five more minutes."
Warmer lips brush the back of your neck. "Mm, go back to sleep baby. Just gonna tuck up in here," and Kyle's cock pushes up against your pussy as he seats your ass back against his hips, spooning you, panties down just far enough. He moans softly, kissing your neck, your shoulders, and you tug your pillow in closer as he rocks back and forth. His cock moves smoothly, soft skin against yours, his hand coming down to cup your pussy, but he doesn't try and play with you, so you actually do manage to drift back off.
You wake right the fuck up when a hot mouth seals over your clit, licking at the slick that's built up, Kyle's cock dragging wet now where your body responded as you slept, and you fumble a hand down and feel Simon's short buzz as he moans around a mouthful of cunt and cock.
Kyle's groaning into your ear, holding you tighter, and your back arches as his cock rubs up against your hole- "Fuck, oh fuck Kyle," you gasp, "Si- oh shit-!" Your belly tightens, brain still catching up to your body, and your hips buck forward against Simon's mouth.
There's a low chuckle above you, and you look up to see John sitting up against the headboard, coffee in hand. "Good morning," he drawls, sipping as calm as if he was sat at the table and not two inches from where you're getting double-teamed before it's even properly daytime.
Simon pulls your thigh up, spreading you open, and sucks wetly at your clit as Kyle finally fucking gets in, oh shit, and you warble out a little soft moan as Kyle sits up and pushes fully inside, rolling you forward over Simon. No complaints there, he just wraps both arms around your hips and keeps licking at you, enjoying a little face-sitting for breakfast.
"Mh- oh!-morning!" You gasp, Kyle thick and hard and gasping himself as you clench around him, and John just chuckles again and reaches for you. The big shirt you sleep in is tugged up, and you take the fabric from him between your teeth when it's pressed to your lips. You tits swing as Kyle fucks you harder, sharper, John using his free hand to grope at them as you moan around the shirt.
If Simon's moaning, you can't hear it, suffocated as he is under your pussy, but you can feel his shoulder moving as he jerks his own cock.
Hot wet mouth and thick cock and fingers stroking your breasts and nipples, and you're still foggy with sleep, it's a heady mix that makes you moan, hips rolling back to meet Kyle, and you come almost embarrassingly easily, shuddering with a sharp clench of your pussy, leaning forward into John's warm thigh. He pets your hair, peels the shirt out of your mouth so you can pant, squirming, as Kyle moans and pounds into you.
Simon sucks at your clit again, tongue flicking, and you shiver with overstimulation, jerking away. He clasps you tighter, keeping you down on his mouth, lapping at the gush of slick that follows.
"Be nice," John scolds, "she just woke up," and Simon eases off, mumbling into your pussy.
As soon as his arms let go, you squirm away, sheets all thrown aside, but Kyle catches your ankles and flips you, slamming back into you, groaning. At least on your back your clit isn't too stimulated, you can just enjoy being fucked, warm body close to yours and Kyle gasping, his sweet face scrunched up as he gets close, fingers digging into your thighs. "Come on," you urge him, "c'mere, give it to me, let go," and he gasps like a man drowning and comes, thick hot spurts of it, bending to press his forehead to yours.
"Fuck," he says, and grins, and you maybe clench a little just to see him shudder again.
"Where's Johnny?" You realize, and Kyle mumbles he went for a run as he squirms down your body, his cock slipping out.
The mattress rocks, and you cradle Kyle down against your chest as John takes care of Simon. He's got the big man kneeling up, holding his coffee cup for him, as the kiss, John twisting his wrist as he jerks Simon's leaking cock hard and fast. Kyle sucks at your nipple a little, just relaxing into you, and you both watch as Simon shakes and moans.
He's always a little submissive, a little more eager to please, when he's got his head buried into your pussy, so it's nice to see it from another angle, the way he chases John's mouth and gasps at each slick movement of their tongues, or when John cups his balls and rolls them in his palm.
Your belly twists when he starts to come, fast pulses pulled out of him, and John takes the cup back to aim Simon's cock into it- the cum splashes in, thick and milky-pale, and Kyle moans with you when John cups Simon's cheek and prompts him to drink, kissing him sweetly when he finishes, eyes dark and huge and soft.
Simon's finally let go to collapse onto you, breath wheezing out of your lungs as he latches onto your other breast- two giant men do not a comfy blanket make.
Kyle rolls off you, grinning, and strokes over Simon's head as he sucks. "Good boy," he croons, half-teasing, and Simon mumbles a little and throws a two-fingered salute up. You get a kiss to your lips as he stands, walking naked to the other side of the bed to get a kiss from John.
You eye the heavy bulge in John's briefs, a damp spot at the edge where the tip has peeked out. He smells good, close enough to you that your cheek is pressed against his thigh, coffee and sex and musky, sleep-soft skin, and John rolls the briefs off to tap his cock to your lips.
You lick at him, tasting the musky pre on your tongue, tilting your head back so he can roll his cock over your tongue. The angle's bad for anything deep, but that's perfect, you just want the weight of his cock, letting John use your mouth as your eyes slip closed, Simon still dozily playing with your breasts, Kyle kissing John before he goes to clean up.
Only to be walked right back into the bedroom, Johnny's hands on his ass and tongue in his mouth. "You started without me?" He gasps, pretending outrage, and you giggle around John's cock.
Simon grumbles, "We all have a day off together and you went for a fucking run, mate, that's on you," and John's cock rubs sticky on your cheek as you turn your head to laugh.
Johnny shrugs. "Yeah, alright," he says, and then pounces, the bed squeaking under his weight.
He doesn't hesitate- John moans as his cock is swallowed to the root, Johnny gulping and licking and huffing, a hand stuffed into his shorts. The run energized him instead of wearing him out, and you whine a little when Simon sits up and pulls you to lay over him, lifting your ass up in both hands, thumbs and fingers all meeting between your thighs.
You're slick with your own cum and Kyle's, clit sensitive but not too much now, and you moan as Simon fills you with two fingers, the others spreading you open and thumbing over your clit, rubbing fast and light. John's moaning, holding Johnny down against his cock, hips rutting in, and you see when he comes, his face soft and open, Johnny moaning around him, his own cock hard where he's got his shorts pushed down.
"Here boy," Simon teases, as Johnny pulls off, lips shiny. He grins at your pussy, slick and on display, and bends to share a kiss with Simon, then you, thick cum on his tongue.
Then he's got his cock lined up with your hole, and you shout as he pushes in, a hard fast roll of his hips that takes him to the base, your pussy quivering and clenching around him, stretching.
You cling to Simon as Johnny fucks you, takes your cunt hard and deep, slaking himself. If you come, that's great, but he's after his own pleasure, and you have to admit that does something for you, pussy used for a wet hole while you moan and bounce on it, Simon and John both using their hands to tease you, plucking at your nipples, stroking over your tongue.
Kyle's kissing Simon, hot and wet, pinching at his nipples as well, and John crowds in and tips your chin up, holding you steady as Johnny groans and digs his fingers into your ass, spreading your cheeks open so he can look and see where his cock splits you apart.
John lifts his coffee cup to your lips and spills a little onto your tongue, bitter roast and sugar and a creamy aftertaste of cum, Simon's cum, and you clench and drool it out again as you shake, moaning, pussy milking Johnny's cock as Simon and Kyle lick the mess from your lips, a clumsy three way kiss that makes your clit throb with every slap of Johnny's balls.
You collapse down, moaning, and Johnny drags you back against him hard, taking advantage of you being soft and limp for a moment to grind his cock so deep your belly aches, and then he's coming with a shout, thumbing over your clit so you clench and whine, drawing it all out of him, so he pants and sags over you. Sweat drips onto your back from his chest, his throat, and you hear more kissing, John and Kyle taking a taste of him.
Simon chuckles as you gasp against him. "Hell of a wake up call," he says, grinning, and you can't help but follow it up with a kiss as your boys all squirm in together, bodies connected, taking a bit more of a lazy morning together.
Thinking about hyena!hybrid reader who comes from a family of hyena hybrids, so she grew up in a highly matriarchal family and was taught by her mother, aunts and other female family members to never take any shit from a man, even her own father. And she is mean as hell to men who don't interest her, using her tongue as a weapon and slicing through the egos of alpha holes who think they can tame her wild spirit, venom dripping from her lips with every insult she throws their way as she pinpoints their exact weaknesses. Her mother taught her to fight, more than simple rough housing but to subdue men and make them beg for mercy, but she much prefers using her words, watching as the light and confidence they had just drain from them as these men just try to make themselves smaller in her presence.
The TF!141 boys EAT IT UP, their cocks straining against their combat trousers as they watch her tear into a new recruit who thought they could tug on her tail, or a superior officer who made an off hand combat about female hybrids being slaves to their heats and shouldn't be in the military (Price had to step in for that one and promised to make sure she was properly disciplined). They love it, the fire in her eyes as she goes off, the way her fluffy ears twitch in anger and her tail swats from side to side in frustration. They adore it, and the little masochists that they are they love when that anger is turned towards them
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.
>-;;;;€ᐷ parings: Barbarian!tf141 x civilized reader
>-;;;;€ᐷ synopsis: After a terrifying dream of being hunted through an endless forest, you wake to a reality that feels just as inescapable. Surrounded by unfamiliar territory and the looming presence of the tribe, the truth behind your sacrifice becomes clear. When Price offers you a choice, you quickly learn it isn’t a choice at all—only a different kind of loss.
>-;;;;€ᐷ contents: Themes of fear, captivity, and coercion. References to blood, hunting, and predator/prey dynamics. Emotional distress, forced marriage, and feelings of isolation.
Reader discretion is advised!
>-;;;;€ᐷ word count: 1.5k
Series Masterlist | next | moodboard | playlist
Cold air bites at your face as you push through the dense woods, branches snagging at your clothes like they’re trying to keep you there. Each step crunches too loudly beneath your feet, the sound swallowed by the endless stretch of trees around you.
The forest doesn’t feel real.
It feels…awake.
Watching.
You don’t remember how you got here. With every step, that thought slips further from your grasp, like trying to hold water in your hands. Hours could have passed. Maybe days. Time feels wrong here, stretched thin and tangled.
And then you hear it.
A wet, tearing sound.
Your body stills, breath catching in your throat. It’s unmistakable, the sound of something feeding. A predator that’s already caught its prey.
You should run.
Every instinct in your body screams at you to turn around, to get as far away from that sound as possible but your feet don’t listen. Something pulls you forward, slow and quiet, like you’re being led.
Drawn in.
Your steps grow lighter, more careful, as you move closer. The sound gets louder. Clearer. Your stomach twists, fear and curiosity knotting together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
Then you see him.
At first, it’s just a shape, broad, hunched, massive.
Then the details come into focus.
A back covered in scars. Not small ones, no, these are deep, jagged marks that carve across his skin, wrapping around his body like proof of every fight he’s ever survived. Old wounds. Brutal ones.
Your nose wrinkles as the scent hits you.
Blood.
Thick. Metallic. Overwhelming.
It coats him. Smears across his skin, his hands, his mask.
The animal beneath him is barely recognizable, but the patches of white wool cling to red-stained ground, matted and ruined. A sheep…or something like it. Torn apart.
Your breath stutters.
The mask.
It clicks into place all at once, your blood running cold.
You know him.
The wolf.
The quiet one. The one who never speaks but always watches. The one whose gaze feels like it cuts straight through you.
Your heart starts to race, pounding so hard it feels like it might give you away. You take a slow step back
and a branch snaps beneath your foot.
The sound echoes.
Loud. Sharp. Final.
Everything stops.
The tearing. The movement. Even the forest feels like it goes still.
Then
He moves.
His head snaps toward you with a speed that shouldn’t be possible, something inhuman in the way it happens. Too fast. Too precise.
Your eyes lock with his.
And whatever you thought you knew about him doesn’t matter anymore.
There’s nothing human in his gaze.
His pupils are blown wide, swallowing what little color you can see. There’s no recognition. No hesitation.
Just instinct.
Just hunger.
A long, suffocating second passes. Maybe more. You can’t tell.
Your body forgets how to move. Your lungs forget how to breathe.
Then your heart slams against your ribs—
Run.
You don’t think. You don’t hesitate.
You turn your back on the predator—every lesson you’ve ever been taught screaming at you not to and you run.
Branches whip at your face as you tear through the forest, your heartbeat roaring in your ears.
Faster.
You can hear him behind you.
Not chasing—no, hunting.
There’s a difference.
He doesn’t stumble. Doesn’t slow. The forest doesn’t touch him the way it does you. Where you trip and falter, he tears through everything in his path like it was never there to begin with.
Closer.
You can hear it, the heavy, controlled rhythm of him gaining on you. Feel it, like a shadow at your back.
Your lungs burn. Your legs scream.
Ahead, you see it—
An opening.
Light spills through the trees like something holy, something safe, and you push yourself harder, ignoring the sharp sting of branches slicing your skin, the ache in your feet—
Closer.
So close.
You can almost make it—
And then—
Something slams into you.
Claws dig into your back, pain ripping through you as the force drags you down. The ground disappears beneath you.
And everything goes black.
—
You jolt upright with a sharp gasp, lungs dragging in air like you’ve been drowning.
Your heart is still racing. Too fast. Too loud.
For a moment, you don’t know where you are.
The furs piled on top of you feel suffocating, heavy and wrong, and you shove them off in a panic. Your skin is damp with sweat despite the cold.
“It was a dream,” you whisper to yourself, your voice shaking. “Just a dream…”
You try to slow your breathing. Try to steady the frantic pounding in your chest.
You’re safe.
You’re—
Your feet hit the ground as you climb out of the bed, and pain shoots through them. You wince, staggering slightly.
It feels real.
Like you were running.
The thought sends a fresh wave of unease through you, but it’s quickly replaced by something stronger. Something deeper.
You want your mom.
The need hits suddenly, sharply, like a bruise pressed too hard. You want her voice, her hands, something familiar to anchor you—
You look around.
And everything shatters.
This isn’t your home.
The tent. The furs. The smell of smoke and something wild lingering in the air.
It all comes rushing back.
Your chest tightens as the memory settles in fully.
You’re not going home.
Your father isn’t here.
No one is.
You’ve been given away.
Left here—with them.
Your knees weaken, and you stumble back, hitting the edge of the bed. The betrayal stings fresh all over again, even if part of you understands why.
You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing the tears back. Thinking about it won’t change anything.
It just makes it worse.
A faint glow filters through the tent, signaling early morning. It’s quiet outside, too quiet. No voices. No movement.
Dead.
The thought makes your stomach twist.
Are they only active at night?
You hesitate before inching toward the entrance, fingers brushing the rough fabric as you peek outside.
The sunlight hits your eyes, and you squint, blinking against the brightness. Dew clings to the grass, sparkling faintly.
It looks…peaceful.
Empty.
Too empty.
Tents are scattered around, silent and still, each one holding something you don’t want to think about.
Beasts.
You shake your head, trying to push the thought away, and step outside. The grass is cold and wet beneath your feet, grounding in a way the tent wasn’t.
You take a slow breath.
And then your gaze drifts to the forest.
It stands there, quiet and looming. Not as terrifying as in your dream but not harmless, either.
Something about it still feels wrong.
And then the thought creeps in.
Run.
Your body shifts before your mind fully catches up. One step. Then another.
If you go now…if you’re fast enough…
Maybe you could make it home by nightfall.
Maybe they wouldn’t catch you.
Maybe—
“If you run,” a deep voice cuts through the silence, calm and certain, “I can—and will—catch you.”
Your entire body locks up.
Slowly, you turn.
The Bear stands behind you.
Without the layers of furs and armor, he somehow looks even more imposing. Solid. Unmovable. His presence alone presses down on you, heavy and controlled.
There’s nothing wild about him.
He doesn’t need to be.
He already knows he’s in control.
Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating.
“But you weren’t thinking that,” he adds, tilting his head slightly, his gaze sharp. “Were you?”
You shake your head quickly.
He studies you for a moment…then nods once.
“Good.”
The word isn’t kind. It’s final.
“I’ve been told,” he continues after a beat, his tone measured, “that you didn’t agree to our arrangement.”
You swallow, forcing your voice to work. “…No. I—I didn’t.”
His jaw shifts slightly, tongue pressing against his cheek in irritation. Not explosive anger controlled annoyance.
“Right.”
He glances toward the forest, then back at you.
“If you don’t want to be here anymore,” he says evenly, “you can leave.”
Hope sparks so suddenly it almost hurts.
“Re—”
“But,” he cuts in, his voice sharpening just enough to stop you cold.
He steps closer.
Once. Twice.
Each step feels deliberate, like he’s making sure you understand every word that follows.
“The deal is off.”
Your breath catches.
“Your people will no longer have our protection.” Another step. “And we will be free to hunt them—if we please.”
The hope dies instantly.
Crushed beneath the weight of what he’s saying.
This is why.
This is why they sent you.
Not for power. Not for gain.
For survival.
One life...for many
Your throat tightens as the realization settles in. The betrayal doesn’t disappear but it changes. Twists into something heavier.
Something you can’t ignore.
“Will you leave,” he asks, watching you closely, “now that you know?”
You hesitate.
Then slowly shake your head.
His gaze lingers, expectant.
You force the words out.
“No… I’ll stay. And marry you.”
A small pause.
“You will marry us,” he corrects, calm but firm.
Your stomach drops.
“…Us?”
He nods once, completely unfazed.
“You’ll have seven days,” he continues, already turning slightly as if the conversation is nearing its end, “to learn our rituals. To prepare.”
He glances over his shoulder.
“I’ll send four women to you. They’ll teach you what you need to know.”
There’s a beat.
“I expect a lot from you.”
And just like that, he walks away.
No hesitation. No doubt.
Like your decision was never really a question.
You stand there for a moment, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once.
Then you turn and stumble back into the tent.
The air feels heavier now.
Colder.
A strange mix of emotions twists in your chest- fear, dread…something almost like relief buried beneath it.
Your parents didn’t give you away for nothing.
They were trying to save everyone else.
That has to mean something.
…Right?
You sink onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly ahead.
Seven days.
Four beasts.
Their rituals. Their traditions.
And you have to survive long enough to make it to the wedding.
If you even can.
hiii i’m back 🥹 so sorry for being so long and i promise not to be gone for that long again !! ALSO I changed up some ppl Gaz is now the snow leopard and soap is the hyena!
hope you enjoy!!! | borders by @saradika-graphics !!
↣ synopsis: you thought your bond with the pack was unshakable—until an unexpected stranger arrives in town. suddenly, you find yourself pushed out of their hearts. now you must uncover the truth before it’s too late, or risk losing everything.
↣ warning(s): violence, blood & gore, non-con elements
See, the whole "why would you need a dildo when the real thing is better" situation is funny, but I raise you "i have to use a dildo because my sex drive is beyond Heaven while yours is in Hell compared."
Something about tf141 finding Reader's dildo. A few sad feelings go across, wondering if they can't please you right, before they take it upon themselves to prove that they can sate you. They kiss you, (attempt to) overstimulate you, playing with your clit/sucking you off, yet even after hours, you're calmly redoing your makeup, giggling at the sight of them groaning and holding their dicks in pain.
Still, they throw away your dildo and tell you to depend on them instead. After all, it's four against one, and that day was just a fluke! They weren't properly prepared, you can't blame them when you're the one with such a tight hole.
Cue Johnny screaming more than moaning, clawing at the sheets while you ride his cock that's starting to shoot blanks. You used condoms at the start before you ran out, making the scene of the bed something akin to porn art.
The war criminal of a man was crying, genuinely fucking crying, begging and pleading for you to free his cock. The noise finally caused Kyle to stomp in, suddenly freezing at the sight. You grinned happily when you saw him.
Before he could escape, you were dragging him by the ankles into bed while Johnny escaped without his dignity.
Kyle was so much fun to play with, licking at his nipples and squeezing his cock between your thighs already had him squirming, pleading with you to be gentle. You cooed at his wishes, gripping his chin and forcing his face forward as you sat on his face to suffocate him with your cunt/ass.
It took a little longer before he was out of commission, but he didn't beg for you to stop as much as Johnny did. Rather, he submitted completely and entirely to you. He was surprisingly kinky when forced into this submissive mind, willing to literally lick over your armpits and worship every inch of your body. Every. Single. Inch.
Once he was dumbed out, it was kind of boring though, not to say it didn't turn you on, but you wanted more resistance. It seemed another incubus had heard your call as Ghost suddenly walked in to see Kyle willingly rimming you, saying something about Soap collapsing in the showers.
He shook his head slowly at the look in your eyes, beginning to back up as he tried to process what had become of the room, what had become of his fellow member. He had more horror in his eyes than the victim of a shooting and screamed when you grabbed hold of him.
You had to cuff him down when he started fighting around and used your own body weight to push him down. He cried and whimpered and you suddenly stopped.
"Do you want me to get off?"
A small shake of his head.
"You want to continue, yeah?"
He contemplated for a moment before embarrassingly nodding, pushing his thighs together to hide his throbbing erection. You sighed in relief at the conformation that seemed to just be role-playing, he knew his safe word anyway.
You purred and clicked out a switch blade, watching his eyes widen in fear and arousal as you slit a hole in his pants and boxers, slipping his cock into your mouth. He bucked his hips into your throat, groaning from his gut at the warmth and slickness, trying to struggle and get his brain working again.
"Y.. You fee-el sooo goood.." he moaned out lewdly like some hentai slut, rambling on about his brain not working through hiccups and sobs.
(For pussy havers) Suddenly, when you disconnected from his slick cock, he all but whined, sobbing out and dumbly begging for you to come back and keep sucking. He watched as you dug into your duffel bag and taking out a bright pink strap on with a bottle of lube. He cried out and shook his head in panic.
The feeling of your cock pressing into his hole had a pathetic moan torn out of his throat. Even the strongest of men falter at the feeling of thick cock suffocating their prostate, it's like a reset button for their brain.
You, of course, took full advantage of this button and slammed into him, the sound of skin to skin echoing off the walls alongside his high pitched whimpering.
He was easy to break in this way, clearly only needing to get stuffed with cock, and suddenly he's doing everything. You slipped off his mask to reveal his scarred face with the open wound in the side of cheek where you can see his gums and teeth. It was even hotter when you fucked his throat and he slobbered lewdly, trying his best to keep the spittle inside yet it kept drooling down his jaw.
After literally fucking his brain dumb, the only man left to reprogram was the Captain himself. He was clearly looking for his soldiers when he came in just in time to see and hear Simon thanking you through orgasm.
He was the cockiest, thinking if he just got on top of you and fucked you with his cock, you'd submit. Oh, how he was so wrong. He tried for hours, trying to overstimulate and bully your body, only earning another round after round. It's like every orgasm pulled out of him elongated your own till another hour. His last resort was to present himself like a dog in heat in a desperate hope you'll get off from using him, not even caring about dominating you or proving you wrong, just to make you cum.
After a small regrouping of gathering all four men, you had them all frotting against eachother and rutting through eachothers holes while kissing eachother sloppily while you got to masturbate to the sight of them debauching themselves. It was all in pure desperation. Every orgasm they pulled out of eachother wasn't to make themselves or even their partners feel good, only to make you feel good. Their mission had been reduced all the way down to just making you cum at the very least, not even to prove that their cocks were worthy of your slutty hole.
When you were finally ready, you joined into the middle of their orgy, and suddenly, all the attention was on you. Mouths slobbering on your pussy/cock and ass, rimming you out and thrusting through your throat. They whined out and praised you for reducing them, reminding you of how much better you were like it was simply fact, and fuck if it wasn't turning you on.
At the moment you came, they all moaned out in their own pleasing orgasms and you near fainted from how hot it was. They came from the relief of making you release, fuckkk.
Aftercare lasted the rest of the day, their leave written out and a long shared bubble bath between everyone as you praised them, rubbing pain ointments over any heavy spankings as well. They were fucking in love with you. No one had ever made them feel that good, nor would anyone after you even be able to mimick the same feeling. This was the kind of sex that you got off to for months after, whether you want to or not. They truly wouldn't have it any other way.
She’s real, she’s deep, she’s logical, she’s mystical. She believe in kindness and oneness and romance and magic. She’s sensitive and distant, a warrior, a lover. She believes in roadtrips to the stars and dancing with the universe. She’s fearless and gentle, wondrous and brave. She lives in waterfalls and forests and sunsets and galaxies. She’s the artist, the thinker, the poem, and the dream.
