#cod pack 141

[ilostthewar]

In the pack!141 au I have going with omega!Johnny. Reader and her first heat with her new pack!

Heats can be emotional and vulnerable times, especially when doing them with a new pack. So Johnny takes it on as his responsibility to ensure your first time with his pack goes well. He’s not worried that John or Simon would ever harm you, if that was a concern he would have killed them ages ago. But he wants to be there to help soothe any nerves. To help stretch you so you can take your alphas’ and their knots, to smooth away the pinch in your brows when you’re being stuffed, to hold your hand and hold you still. Show you how to present and the tricks that your alphas like best. Show you how to be a good omega for your alphas. Show you how good it feels when your alphas take care of you the way you need.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter One: News Crashing

Poly!TaskForce 141 x Omega!Reader

The Omega Pack Plan Masterlist

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.

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anxiety, Existentialism, Misogyny, Dismissive Attitudes, Angst, Rage

Mentions of: Medication,

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.”

[elysianightsss]

Vicissitude | Part One

You’ve always been the apex predator in today’s society. An animal that naturally hunts others. A wolf enjoying the sight of pretty prey quivering with their tail between their legs; it brings a sense of peace to your mind. You’re the top of the food chain. The royalty of the wolf hierarchy. The better option.

That’s, what an Alpha is.

The only thing that differed from you and other Alphas was military rank. Big muscles or not, you were all on the same level until it came to your rank in the work place. And for you as a Lieutenant, life was pretty good.

Alphas towered above others, top tier. first class. Betas were the middle class, not useless. In fact they were very helpful, pushing their calming pheromones out to those who needed it most. They were usually the ones who became medics, Alphas too intimidating for a patient to handle.

Omegas in today’s society are lower class, pushed under someone else’s thumb. Born to be less than. Regardless of the time any effort they put into a career or life, they were only really viewed as one thing; breeding stock.

Unless of course they were mated. Mated Omegas that had an Alpha wrapped around their little finger were dangerous. Not respected, but walked on eggshells around out of fear of upsetting their Alpha.

You’ll never have to worry about that, you don’t want an omega and you’ll certainly never take one as a mate. You prefer to stay a free butterfly, to flit around and flirt. You were simply not wired that way, you didn’t want to own someone.

You just wanted to simply be.

When the pretty beta medic in front of you starts to speak, you realise you’ve been daydreaming. She blushes under your gaze and stutters telling you that you have the all clear for the upcoming mission. She flutters her lashes at you, heart jumping in her chest when your arm brushes against hers as you walk out of the room with a smirk aimed in Johnny’s direction.

“Y’might wanna lay on the charm mate, she’s a sweetheart.” You say, opening with an air of confidence, the sort of attitude and amusement twinkling in your eyes that only an Alpha can possess. Something Johnny shares when he hears the squeak of the medic behind you, her cheeks burning red with his animalistic grin aiming itself at her when he stands.

His fist bumping yours when you begin to walk past him and down the hall. The building is stale, void of any real colour, greys and blacks and whites. The nothingness of grey brick buildings gives a certain stability you find calming. The constant state bringing an ease to your Alpha.

You feel the respect, rolling off of the people on base as you walk past in your military issued boots. Tight cargos that shape your curves, a gun shoved in one of the holsters strapped tightly to your thigh. You don’t feel the need to hide, never have, it’s something quite spectacular when you’re not afraid to show off. Not scared of someone looking too long and staring too hard. You don’t worry about what they might find.

Not when you’re sure you can win the fight, gain the upper hand. The only threat that really mattered was that of another alpha, but you usually stuck together. All of you understand your place unlike the others in the hierarchy who believe they hold the power. You turn your nose up at the omega barrack bunnies who believe they can claw their way up just because you use them for a slight relief during a rut.

It’s pathetic.

Your alpha is one you can control, in your head she is free of shackles or cage, wings spread wide, she roams free. Prowling back and forth, watching for any warning signs that you may be in danger. A good wolf, the best inner beast in your opinion.

John’s is far too serious, so strict and all about the rules. No exceptions. Johnny’s is a little sinister but an excitable puppy all the same. Kyle’s wolf is interesting, quiet yet deadly, easily able to crawl under your skin and fester there. Simon’s, on the other hand is loud, screams non stop, how Simon can remain so silent is truly a mystery to you all.

But you’re all bonded, in a way that no one else on this base understands. Bonded like how an Alpha and an Omega bonds during mating, but it’s not romantic and blissful. It’s in your bones, connected like where your humerus meets your radius and ulna. Bending as one, moving as one. You’re all still unsure how they did it, how they made it this way but you’re not to question it.

It’s the job.

Walking into the mess you grab a tray, piling your food on and making your way to the usual table. Kyle’s there stirring his coffee with one hand, a book open in the other, nose shoved in it as usual. John’s sitting next to him, a file open in both hands as his eyes scan the white paper that’s mostly redacted with black patches all over.

You drop your tray on the table, grinning a little when they both grunt with disapproval. “Where’s iron giant?” You ask as you sit, picking up your spoon and taking your first mouthful of rice.

“Prepping the jet.” Kyle answers without looking up, an air of uncare sitting around him.

“You get the all clear?” John asks his head lifting in your direction but his eyes don’t move either, glued to the file.

“When do I not?” You smirk, biting off the end of a sausage. John’s eyes lift to meet yours finally, a smirk of his own; definitely more cocky than yours.

“Easy was she?” John tilts his head slightly.

“Relatively.” You reply with a shrug.

“Easy on the eyes.” Johnny comments smugly as he drops his own tray onto the table, his food bounding slightly causing Kyle to tut and cover the top of his mug.

“Priss.” You scoff, but it doesn’t affect him. Kyle simply removes his hand and brings the coffee up to his plump lips to finish it.

“Finish up you two, wheels up in fifteen.” John points at you and Johnny before leaving, Kyle leaves too grimacing a little when he sees you and Johnny inhaling your food like wild animals on his way out of the mess.

You race Johnny to the jet and beam with pride when you beat him; you may have tripped him up but that’s by the by. Johnny is so animated in his annoyance that he may as well have a cartoon black cloud above his head. Muttering to himself about how you cheated as he trudges onto the jet, you follow closely behind.

“Everyone set?” John calls out, each of the guys responding with a yes sir. You nod with a pat to John’s arm as you move into position, sliding into the pilot seat. Flicking a few buttons here and there before you deem yourself ready for take off.

Being a pilot was just one of the many things on your mostly redacted resume that got you picked for task force 141. It came as a shock to you that you were the only woman when you first met the guys and they already had history with one another whereas you had spent your years of service either undercover or hidden away in remote areas of the world doing the kind of things that you don’t even have access to read the report of.

You thought you’d be the outsider, the odd one out and a little part of you didn’t mind that too much as you’d spent so most of your life alone. You rather enjoyed it at times. But when bonding was mentioned and then became a direct order all of that went flying out of the window.

Bonding with them was painful. Being scented by another alpha was hard to swallow, then the bite which is usually done when the height of pleasure is achieved during an omegas heat to mask the pain.

But having to do it with another alpha in a cold, sterile, white room was excruciating. Eight sharp canines piercing through your skin, a pair at a time. You felt weak when you whimpered at the last pair, the guys having not made any noise at all. But John was quick to comfort you with a soft smile and a pat on the arm while a drop of your blood rolled down his chin.

The scar you carry is not pretty but it is proof of your loyalty to not only your task force but to the military. Each of you bears the same mark. You were bonded, it allowed things to run smoother out in the field though. It had even saved Johnny’s life at one point so you were all begrudgingly grateful.

You feel what they feel, just dulled compared to your own feelings.

Their scenting being the only one you accept, the smell of others, even the thought of being scented by someone outside of your pack made you feel sick. One time a private tried it on a dare and you actually threw up all over his shoes, a migraine weaving its way behind your eyes and only did it go away when Johnny scented you.

A curse and gift.

The flight wasn’t long, the usual pre mission rituals happening behind you. Soap praying and pressing his fingers to his body in a cross. Simon with his headphones on, Cello Suite No. 1 in G major blaring so much that you can all hear it over the hum of the jet engine. Kyle reading a few chapters of whatever book he is currently engrossed in. And John’s eyes are glued to the building blueprints on the table in front of him, not moving, not even a glance away from the paper. Studying it like that will make every aspect of the mission go smoother.

You huff a small laugh at the sight over your shoulder, “Whatever is meant to happen will happen Cap, giving yourself a headache won’t make it any easier.” You hear John grunt but relent, stepping away from the table with a sigh.

His hand lands on your shoulder, standing next to you. There’s appreciation pulsing through the bond, aimed at you from all of them. It pulls a small smile from you.

“Approaching the drop zone.” You comment, eyes on the hologram map that hovers in front of you. You hear the rustle behind you of your pack readying themselves to leave the jet. Body armour strapped on tight, weapons at the ready as you land the jet, slotted carefully between some trees and turn off the engine.

Slipping out of your seat you put on the bulletproof vest that was set out for you, the Great Britain flag in black and white printed on your chest as you strap it on. Grabbing your M249 SAW, not standard issue but you gave Simon the puppy dog eyes and he convinced Price to allow it for you. Even if the rounds are unreliable and it jams a lot, you love it.

“Stick to the plan. Nothing we haven’t done a thousand times before. Rendezvous in two hours. Minimum casualties. Let’s move out.” John is sharp with his words, something that makes your Alpha scratch at your brain, a challenge brewing in her belly. But you shush her, letting her simmer and hiss at you.

As soon as your feet hit the dirt you first bum Johnny and head west, gun tight in hand. The forest you landed in was the perfect cover, it was tall and thick and covered with moss. Big Douglas firs taller than the sky gave you and your team plenty of camouflage, the wide trunks were enough for you to hide behind.

The dirt beneath your feet was damp, cold winds blowing gently even though the twilight sky is completely clear with stars shining almost as brightly as the moon. If you were someone else, you might even stop and admire them. If you were something else.

But your only focus was the leaves and twigs crushing beneath your boots as you surveyed the area surrounding you. The concrete compound reared its head when you made it to the tree line. Crouching, you brought your gun up and looked through your scope, watching. Waiting.

The moment came when one of the men on guard became distracted. Knocking him out with the end of your gun to the back of his neck. Once he was down slipping inside was easy, fighting the men in your way was easy, reporting to your team that you’d made it in was easy. Finding the gas canister was not easy.

It was eerily quiet, the only rustle of life came from you. Goosebumps prickled on your body as you walked slowly forward trying to push the memory of that stupid horror movie Johnny had made you watch to the back of your mind. ‘This is always how the first girl in the movie dies, alone and in the dark’ You think as you open a door on your left, thinking you’d find it empty again but to your surprise and slight relief it’s there.

The red swirling gas glowing inside of a glass canister, you’d never moved so quick. Your gun at the ready, you survey the room. It’s still eerily quiet- then the hair on the back of your neck stands on end after a shiver runs down your body.

You feel like you’re being watched.

Fingers twitching against your gun, wanting to switch on any light you can to get a full glimpse of the room. To take in that you’re alone and there’s no reason for this feeling. But even when you’ve checked every inch of the room you still feel it.

Someone’s eyes on you.

You radio your team that you’ve found what you’d been sent there for but their reply is static, unreadable. You feel panic begin to rise in your throat like bile, it pushes you to rush toward the canister and grab it before something, you don’t know what, happens.

But when your fingers wrap around the handle, the thing rumbles, vibrates, like it’s protesting your touch. You have all of two seconds to recognise the cracking sound before the canister explodes. You jump out the way. Fast, agile but the gas is already flowing out and spreading towards you quicker than you can move.

You do your best to hold your breath, ignoring the ache inside your chest. The nagging feeling that comes with no air as the red mist fills up the space around you. You’re suddenly frantic, eyes searching for a way out through the thick gas but you cannot see an end. The door is shut. You’ve no way to escape.

It’s only when your vision starts to blacken at the edge and you know you’re going to pass out do you take a deep breath in, coughing and spluttering on the suffocating red air. You feel the effects immediately; a feeling akin to headrush shoots its way inside your skull. Your body feels weaker, like your muscles relax against your will. A shooting pain rolls itself through your abdomen. A lightening sensation pulsing in your cunt. A stabbing agony passes over your body before it’s gone, just like that.

Like it never happened. Like you had hallucinated all of it, except you’re on the floor panting. Sweat clinging to you, sticking a few bits of hair to your forehead. But the same as the pain, the gas is gone too.

And as if by magic, “Veil come in! Veil come on talk to us!” You hear your Captain’s panicked voice in your ear, comms no longer static, no longer silent. A coincidence?

Your hand shakes as you lift it to your ear, tapping on the device a few times, you hear that familiar buzzing that means it’s on. It’s working even if when you needed it, it wasn’t. You go to speak, to say something, anything even if it was just a noise but out of the darkness, like an angel, Johnny is there in the doorway panting heavily. Only when he sees you on the floor does he let out a huge sigh of relief.

You were alive.

But his big hopeful eyes aren’t what get your attention…….the door is open.

Part two

Series masterlist

Taglist | @aldis-nuts @gazsluckyhat @evans-dejong @bearyark @tinythebunni @ramp-it-up @madsothree

[hatsbuckets]

ramble: imagining the 141 and friends going to any of their kids' graduation.

You know that they don't miss a single one.

Price's adopted little girl? (from my one head canon i had that one time) She gets hyped the hell up when she meets them before the ceremony, she has more flowers than she can handle, and taking pictures of everyone and the different groupings (her and Dad. Her and Dad&Nik. Her and Dad&Nik&Johnny&Simon&Kyle. Her and Dad&Nik&Johnny&Simon&Kyle&Kate& Kate's wife. Her and Kate. Her and Kate& Kate's wife. Her and Johnny&Simon. Her and Kyle. Etcetc until she's happy.) is something they've got down to a scientific routine. When her name gets called and she crosses the stage, they hoot and holler and clap for her (chill guys). Afterwards there are more pictures and ice cream.

And later, Nik catches Price crying, watching his little light eat ice cream with Simon, Johnny, Kyle, and Kate, laughing and telling stories because she's a light, and will bring more hope into this world than he ever did.

IM OBSESSED WITH PRICE BEING A GIRL DAD CAN U TELL.

[s0fter-sin]

idk why it wouldn’t let me answer this @kissmesharman but i absolutely love this, ghost not knowing how to process his omegan traits, to allow himself to be the one who is vulnerable and be protected instead of protecting is so ‼️ being soft, being open and accepting always came with consequences; it was always met with pain and betrayal and you only have to learn a lesson so many times before it sticks

the insidious ways roba and his ilk tried to force him into complacency, using their pheromones and rumbling and scruffing to trick his instincts into submitting- all they did was make ghost bury his omega so deep inside, he almost laughed at the irony of his own burial. even after he’s exhumed, he doesn’t hear it for years; naturally doesn’t heat even without suppressants, doesn’t purr, doesn’t feel that innate safety an alpha’s presence is supposed to bring

just being near other designations calms you down, whether they’re family, pack or even strangers thrown together in too-cramped barracks. it levels out your hormones, gives you people to act your instincts out on, and it’s never a surprise to walk into the cherries’ barracks and find them all tucked inside the resident omega’s nest; discordant purrs and chuffs layering over each other, too-big feet tangled together, still young enough for the milky smell of pup to cling to the edges of their scent especially clumped together like this. a lot of them won’t make it through selection, won’t find pack in each other but it’d be cruel to strip them of this simple comfort

ghost hasn’t stepped inside a nest in almost a decade

hasn’t felt the desire to build up softness and safety, to spread that feeling of home to the 141 even after he admits to himself that they’re pack. even after months of rejection - growling at soap’s happy chuffs whenever he saw him, pumping off bitterly aggressive pheromones to drown out gaz’s pack?home?safe?good? scent until he knew the beta felt sick with the sour poison, avoiding price whenever he was in pre-rut despite it being the most tempting and warm time of year for an omega to be near an alpha, those days before the terrible need when alphas are all affection, rut drunk with the happiness and safety of pack - they still welcomed him with open arms and bared necks as if he were a second pack alpha and not an omega

he’ll posture and loom over any unfamiliar presence, anyone that could potentially be a threat to his pack; his growls a thunderous undercurrent that shakes the very ground and makes anyone who hears it submit on instinct. soap and gaz happily submit to him; almost vibrating in place when he scents them, enduring their appeasing nibbles and licks at his hidden mouth, falling to heel whenever he decides to take over a situation. price shows it in other ways; nose blind after too many breaks and too many cigars, he lets ghost gentle him when his stress reaches its peak, hangs his head and just breathes as ghost threads his fingers together and cups them around his neck, squeezing his scent glands with his palms. ghost bumps their temples together and they’ll just stand there until the burnt scent of tension leaks out of the air

they’re not shy with their submission until most people just assume ghost’s an alpha based purely on the actions of his pack

they’ll never point it out, but the 141 has never suffered for lack of a pack nest. bc ghost unknowingly makes individual nests wherever they go

he’ll push soap into the comfiest sofa cushion after scoping out a safe house, tug gaz’s jacket straight when he uses it as a pillow and eye mask in one, pace in front of the bedroom price claimed to ensure his pack alpha is safe inside his den. he divies out rations, always opens them and switches the desserts so gaz and soap don’t argue over who got the better one; takes the instinctual first bite of anything scavenged or hunted to know it’s safe just to wait until everyone’s done eating and full before taking his own portion. they all present themselves for ghost’s inspection after missions; lets him run his hands and nose over them to check for injuries and it’s ghost who more often than not ends up taking care of them instead of sending them down to medical

they’ll never tell him, never make him face his own behaviour before he’s ready to come to terms with it himself. as much as ghost’s convinced himself otherwise, his omega is alive and well and his pack will welcome his shy return whenever he feels ready to step back into the light

[bloodmoonsbloodbank]

Tws: miscarriage (forced), referenced torture but not detailed

Alpha!Simon and Omega!Reader who are trying for a baby but before they even confirm that they’re pregnant Omega!reader gets captured on a mission and uh oh

Omega!Reader who is sex repulsed but wants pups so during their next heat them and Alpha!Simon try for pups

Omega!Reader and Alpha!Simon are so excited but want to keep it a secret until they’re certain

Omega!Reader and Alpha!Simon and the task force get sent out on a mission. They figure it’ll be fine it seems standard nothing they haven’t done before

And then something goes horribly wrong and Alpha!Price has the choice between pulling Alpha!Simon or Omega!Reader

He pulls Simon

His logic is sound, why would anyone hurt an omega? Sure you’re part of their task force but you’re an omega you’re still highly valued so at the very least they won’t kill you and your pack can get you back and he knows you’re a tough soldier, that you won’t crack

Alpha!Simon who explodes at Price in the safe house in front of Soap and Gaz revealing to the team that you guys had been trying for pups

The team that is horrified

Alpha!Price who didn’t know his boys were trying for pups

Alpha!Price who prays you aren’t pregnant because he would be heartbroken if anything happened to you or your unborn pups

Omega!reader who is pregnant and captured

Omega!reader that is pregnant and tortured

Omega!reader who’s captors can tell by their scent that they’re pregnant and try to use that to get information from them

Omega!reader who refuses to crack like the good soldier they are even when their captors threaten their pups

Omega!reader who panics when their captors start getting physical Omega!reader who gets feral snarling, growling, snapping once their captors start targeting their belly

Omega!reader who is heartbroken and sobs in their cell when there’s blood soaking their pants after a few days

Alpha!Simon who apologizes to Alpha!Price and reassures him that he made the right call with the information he was given and that it’s his fault for not telling him

Alpha!Simon who is the first to see Omega!reader when they are rescued, tied to a chair beaten and bruised with a red face from crying and a raw voice from sobbing

And he knows

Alpha!Simon who crouches in front of them and reassures them as one of the boys untie them

“No he’s not mad, you made the right choice, it’s okay, you followed your training like the good soldier you are, you’re such a good boy it’s okay, it’s not your fault”

Alpha!Price who still feels guilty about his choice

Omega!reader who stays in their room for weeks mourning and refusing to come out

Alpha!Simon who understands this was hard on them and dutifully takes care of them while they mourn

Alpha!Simon and Omega!Reader who both feel responsible for what happened but reassure each other that it’s not their fault

Omega!Reader who some what goes back to normal after a while and the pack supports them not bringing it up but being there if they want to talk about it or still need comfort

Alpha!Simon who makes sure next time they’re trying that Alpha!Price and they whole team for that matter knows

Chat is this anything? Idk I’m tired so it might be a little messy, I might edit and fix it up in the morning. I thought of this in the shower so half of it disappeared before I could write it down but I think I got the gist of it still. Send post

[thejohnlockedfemboy]

Nothing Permanent But Change pt.7

cross-posted on ao3

“Come in, Simon.”

Ghost was loitering like a wraith in the open doorway to Price’s office, unwilling to make the first move and encroach on the alpha’s territory. Millen had long since been sent back to his room, Soap pressed to his side for comfort. The beta and xi had curled up in Millen’s bed for some much-needed quiet time.

Swallowing hard, the lieutenant slowly shuffled into the room. For once, both his mask and balaclava were off, exposing his scarred, bloodless face. He was trembling steadily, feeling like he was back in primary school, being called into the principal’s office for scrapping on the playground. Or worse, the situation stirred up memories that had been buried deep for decades, of when his father would arrive home, booze-blearied and foul-tempered, and find some feeble excuse to beat Simon until he couldn’t get up from the floor. Better him than Tommy, though.

Price was sitting in his chair, taking in a long drag from a cigar. He breathed out the smoke and looked up. He gestured towards the seat opposite to his side of the desk. “Sit.”

Ghost shut the door behind him, keeping his head bowed. He had no scent to declare submission with, so he was forced to use his body language as much as possible. He said nothing, just slowly sat down, shoulders hunched and breaths stuttering silently.

Price shifted, and Ghost flinched, his arm coming halfway up instantaneously to block a hit that was never coming. Price’s stern expression softened ever-so-slightly.

“Simon,” he said firmly. “Look at me.”

Ghost’s tongue darted out to wet his chapped lips before he tore his gaze from the hardwood to look at his captain. He stared like a man awaiting an execution sentence.

Price stood. Ghost tensed at the movement, the strictly military part of his brain registering it as a threat. Price, however, just walked around the desk, stopping beside Ghost’s chair. He rested one hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder, making him go even more rigid, hazel eyes rolling up in fear like a spooked horse. But Ghost still didn’t move an inch, his bloodshot stare locked on to one of the empty areas of the wall straight ahead.

“Simon,” Price said quietly. Ghost still didn’t move, just trembled.

Price cupped the hinge of the lieutenant’s jaw to turn his face upwards. “Look at me, Simon. I’m not him.”

Ghost — Simon — choked down a surge of tangled emotion. It settled like a lump at the end of his esophagus. Factually, he knew that Price was not like his father. Simon wasn’t here to be hurt. Reprimanded, yes. Punished, likely— deservedly. But Price surely would never…

Price’s thumb, the pad rough from a lifetime of hard service, grazed over Simon’s squared cheekbone. The motion was so tender that it had Simon struggling not to break down into tears.

“I’m not him,” Price repeated, for only Simon’s ears to hear in the stillness of the room. “I will never lay a hand on you unless you want me to. You can screw up, you can make me mad, but no matter what, I would never hurt you. Do you understand?”

“C-Captain—“ Simon’s voice broke, and he was desperately fighting down a sob of wretched, pathetic proportions. He gulped in a breath and pressed his face against Price’s palm. “John—“

“Shh,” Price murmured, leaning down to kiss the crown of Simon’s temple, where there was a thin line of scar tissue from an old knife graze. “It’s alright, son. You’re not in trouble. What happened today was a trauma response. I just need you to tell me what triggered it, and where your head was at when you lost it.”

Simon gave a broken whimper as Price straightened back up, losing the closeness between them. The noise would have been comical coming from just an absolute unit of a man, had his misery not been so clearly written across his features.

“I— it was Soap,” Simon finally managed to say through hiccuping breaths. “I knew they were only playing, but— but Soap hit the ground and ‘e sounded hurt, and it was exactly like at Las Almas when he was shot, John, and everythin’ happened so fast, he was on ‘is back and I ‘ad to protect him—“

Price pressed a finger to Simon’s lips, stopping the younger man’s spiral before it could reach a full nosedive. “Alright. Alright, that’s all I needed to know.”

Simon was white-knuckling the armrests of the chair, struggling to maintain his fragile composure. “I d-didn’t— mean to—“

Price soothed the lieutenant with another chaste kiss to the forehead, and then carefully tugged him to stand. Simon was taller than him like this, but that didn’t matter in the moment. Price stroked the san’s cropped hair, admiring the gentle curls that were the color of cornsilk. “You’re still a good boy,” Price reassured him, and Simon melted into his touch, chin resting against Price’s neck. In return, Price encircled his arms around Simon’s waist, holding him loosely so that the lieutenant had the option to escape if he wanted to.

“You’re to apologize to Millen,” Price decided, though his tone was not purposefully cruel, even if what he was saying would cut deep into Simon’s pride. It was necessary to smooth over incidents between packmates as soon as possible, lest negative feelings be given time to fester. The worst-case scenario in any pack — especially military ones — was a subordinate having to fear his superior as the result of one bad encounter.

“What if I scared ‘im off?” Simon asked despondently, still drooped against his captain’s warm, stolid body.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“But what if—“

Price shushed his lieutenant by running a hand up and down the ridged length of his spine, feeling the bumps of each vertebrae. Some were a bit out of place or slightly lumpy, a result of dozens of injuries over as many years, and it made the area sensitive. Knowing this, Price was taking full advantage of it. Simon gave a hoarse moan as Price’s skilled fingers dug into a hard mound of tissue just at the base of his back, forcing the muscle to spasm sharply and then relax.

“Y’tense,” Price muttered in a voice that was tinged with amusement. He repeated the action, and Simon instinctively tried to pull away. Price allowed him.

“Okay?” Pruce questioned, and Simon gave a small nod. He rubbed at the back of his neck hesitantly, then leaned forward to nuzzle against Price’s prickly muttonchops— marking the captain as his even though he had no pheromones with which to do so.

Price rumbled approvingly, and rubbed against Simon’s packmark— a clear pink indent on a circle of otherwise unblemished skin. It was the only mark there was room for, as to both the left and right sides of Simon’s neck were ragged swathes of scar tissue: deep, criss-crossing cuts, chunks cut from his flesh as if he were a Thanksgiving ham to be diced and served upon a platter. His scent glands had been gouged out with vigor. The entire grisly mess had been cauterized, leaving various different shades of greyish-red where the burns had not healed well.

The disfigurement was courtesy of Manuel Roba. The torture Simon had underwent at the hands of the cartel overlord had permanently crippled his former dynamic as an alpha.

Simon hated his scars. Hated how his body no longer functioned because of what had been taken from him. He didn’t understand how Price could gently knead the welted flesh and not feel disgust, and yet every chance he had, the captain continued to do so.

“Proud of you for tellin’ me what happened, pup,” said Price. He gripped Simon’s scruff, nudging the taller man down so he could peck a quick kiss to the cicitrixes that peeked out above Simon’s high shirt collar. “Won’t have you talk to the staff sergeant yet tonight. Give him a day to calm down, then I’ll oversee the both of you, keep things friendly.”

Simon nodded in agreement, trying to push his head against Price’s cheek again. He gave a whine that was more of a constriction of air high in his nasal passages than something actually audible, but Price got the message just fine.

“Come on, pup, let’s head to my quarters. You could use a little skin-on-skin, eh?” Price guided Simon to the door with a hand on the small of his back, and Simon whimpered happily in response.

“Want me to text Johnny, see if he wants to join?” Price offered, figuring that Roach or Gaz could take over for the beta on xi nest-sharing duties. Simon nodded fervidly, the thought of his bondmate making his previously dulled eyes light up.

Price plucked his phone from his pocket, tapping on it several times before the screen lit up. He really had preferred his old flip-phone, but Gaz had got him this fancy Android for Christmas last year, and how could Price say no to his boy? The captain had let his beta show him how to work the maddeningly complex electronic until he finally had a very, very basic grasp on how to work the blasted thing. It took the captain nearly a full two minutes, but he managed to send Soap a text.

P: My room. Simon.

He tried to send one of the little ghost emojis, and ended up misclicking and sending two crying cats and a trombone instead. After a moment, a bubble with three blinking dots appeared on Soap’s side of the chat app, and then his reply arrived.

S: On it. ETA three minutes, have to grab Roach to stay with Millen. He’s still a wee bit shaken up.

Price managed to send a thumbs-up and then stuffed his phone back into his pocket. Simon was waiting anxiously by the door, sniffing the air to try and pick up any trace of his bondmate. Price slipped his own hand into Simon’s, rubbing over knuckles swollen and split from the san’s favorite pastime— the gym’s punching bag. “Come on, love. Johnny’ll be along shortly.”

They walked together to Price’s quarters, which were quite spacious due to his large pack size and rank as an officer. The bed was the width and length of two queen-sized put together, a size sold specifically for pack alphas to provide prime nesting space for their omegas and betas, and covered with thick quilts and pillows, all scented thoroughly by all of the 141. There was a small couch and a few beanbags clumped to one side, along with a closet and a dresser filled with memorabilia.

Because the 141 were only a pack of five, they didn’t qualify to have a shared housing unit outside of the barracks. If they had only one more official packmate, they would be upgraded to something more like a two-story flat, with a large bedroom and bathroom at the upper floor and a common room, kitchen, and spare room at the ground level, the space primed to strengthen the pack’s bonds by way of constant proximity.

As they were, spread out between hallways, it put stress on them all. Soap and Ghost didn’t even have a two-person room to share despite being bondmates. The brass was so far behind on the permit paperwork for proper pack lodgings that it was frustrating. They had all been waiting years now.

Price guided Simon down into bed and began to strip off the san’s boots and outer gear, until he was just in his plain black boxers. Knowing that Simon got cold easily, Price grabbed one of his long-sleeved shirts from one of the dressed drawers and managed to wrangle the already-purring younger man into it before shucking off his own clothes, down to just his shorts, as well, which were, of course, camouflage-printed. John Price truly was a military man, through and through.

After they were both a bit more comfortable, Price lowered himself down beside Simon with a soft groan, his stiff joints easing into the mattress. He pulled Simon to his chest, claiming him as the little spoon. It was their usual position, and one that made Simon feel safe and protected.

The door brushed open and then closed back, and the familiar outline of Soap entered the room. He barked softly to announce his presence to Simon, who raised his head instantly, keening excitedly in response.

Soap dipped his head momentarily to let Price chuff against his right scent gland, for once playing the part of a respectful subordinate. Then the Scottish beta crawled up to entangle himself with his bondmate, and Simon latched onto him like a large British octopus. Price dragged the blankets over the three of them and slung his leg over Simon’s to hook his foot under Soap’s knee, refusing to let either of his boys move even an inch away from him. Perhaps he should have let Ghost and Soap to have some private time, as mates, but he granted himself the right to be selfish, for once, and breathed in the musky salt heat of the two men cozied up at his side.

“Ye alrigh’, Si, lovey?” Soap murmured, nudging his nose into Ghost’s eye socket. Ghost huffed and curled his arm over Soap’s face in response, disgruntled.

“‘M not a child,” Ghost muttered. “Not a lovey.”

“But ye are,” said Soap, voice muffled, and he nibbled at Ghost’s arm through his shirt sleeve. “Yer my lovey. Mah wee little alpha.”

Ghost’s expression flashed with pain for a moment, and his brows drew together, suddenly looking far more downcast. Both Price and Soap noticed the change at once, and two sets of kisses were placed upon Ghost’s cheeks. The san squirmed and tried to hide himself under one of the pillows, but Price dragged him back up for more attentive care.

“‘M— not—“ Ghost pawed at Soap as the bets tried to work his way under Ghost’s shirt. “Not an alpha. Anymore.”

“Maybe not,” Price concurred, voice a throaty catch, like an old station wagon puttering to life. “But you’re still our Simon.”

“Aye,” agreed Soap. He huffed indignantly as Ghost tried again to escape. “Stop movin’, ye git, Ah’m tryna show ye tha’ Ah love ye!”

Price chuckled and bumped his knuckles against Soap’s scrunkly mohawk. “He won’t let you. Stubborn little pup.”

“Which one of us are ye talkin’ aboot?” Soap laughed, nipping at Price’s fingers. “Being stubborn, Ah mean.”

Price smirked, adjusting himself so he could keep Ghost linked onto his elbow and Soap clinging to his leg. “The both of you. Muppets.”

“Old man,” Soap shot back, earning him a half-hearted swat. “Ow!”

“Call me old again,” Price warned, though he was mostly teasing, “and I’ll show you young whelp just how much life I still have in me.”

“A reanimated corpse would ‘ave more stamina than you,” said Ghost, prodding directly at the bit of Price’s ego that he knew would bruise the easiest. “Y’ nearly ready for retirement, captain. Didn’t that nice waitress give y’ the senior discount at that diner in Worcestershire?”

Price growled low, Ghost’s words thudding directly into their mark like a heavy sniper’s slug. His scent flared with irritation that he swiftly tamped down, unwilling to allow himself to be angry with Simon, even to the smallest degree. Instead, what seeped in was a fondness that he had acknowledged years ago. It had originally sprung up without warning like some scam ad in an opened tab of a phishy website— just the presence of his boys infected the hardwired code of his instincts, converting what had once been a hardened, take-no-bullshit heart into something paternal. Imagine that: his own bloody biology had betrayed him, turned him into some sort of mother hen.

But he could never deny that he didn’t love every second spent with his pack. Price had never gotten to nurture that side of himself before he had taken Simon and the rest of the 141 under his wing, and it felt good to look over the sound bodies of the little family he had gathered together and know that he had done his job well for the day. So long as each member of the unit was alive and breathing, Price was content. Even if they all were cheeky mongrels and he wanted to smack some sense of respect into them.

Soap wriggled further beneath Price, until he was laying under both of the captain’s legs and smooshing his entire cranium into Ghost’s stomach. The spoiled little bastard wanted attention; he always did.

Price absentmindedly rubbed at the top of Soap’s head with his sock-clad foot, like one would do with a beloved pet that was too far out of arm’s reach. Soap didn’t appear to mind, and he settled back down with a purr. Ghost grumbled fussily, clearly nettled that Price hadn’t risen to the bait.

“Y’know, you’re gettin’ more complacent in your old age,” Ghost declared, and his shit-eating temptation was more akin to Soap than himself. Maybe the sergeant’s cocky attitude was finally rubbing off on him, dissolving subliminally into Ghost’s personality without either of them knowing or. Or maybe Simon just wanted to push the limits of what he knew Price would allow after the stress of the day.

“And you’re getting to be more of a brat,” snorted Price. “Don’t test me, pup. I can still bend you over my knee well enough.”

“Negative, sir, it would blow out the joint. You’d need surgery for it,” Simon replied, completely deadpan. It wasn’t a completely empty threat on Price’s part; the captain had taken the lieutenant across his lap more than once when Simon needed to let go of some of his hurting by replacing it with a pain he could control. It worked exemplarily for the times when Simon needed discipline, when he was probing at the thinnest threads that might snap at the right pressure.

Price grunted. “Behave.”

Simon licked his lips. There was that tone he’d been waiting to hear, the one he craved like a hit. It was hotter than the burn of any whiskey and more euphoric than the menthol smoke of his favorite cigarette brand. It was a slavery to a chemical high and it made him want to drop to his knees and beg to be sacrificed at the altar of Price’s authority.

Price caught Simon’s expression and raised one bushy eyebrow. “Randy, are we?”

“No, he’s Simon,” Soap giggled from beneath Price’s legs. He was kneading quite shamelessly at Ghost’s arse, and apparently thought that his own joke was worthy of Charlie Chaplin. They shared the same grin, anyway.

“S’funny, Johnny.” Ghost ground back against the beta’s hands until Price whapped the both of them with a pillow.

“Control yourselves,” the captain chastised them. “If you feel well enough to be flirting, Simon, then you’re feeling well enough to get out of my bed.”

Ghost immediately stilled and curled into Price’s side, playing dead. “Can’t move. ‘M asleep.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Price’s lips. That ploy always worked. He squeezed Ghost’s thick bicep.  “Good lad.”

Soap rested his head against Ghost’s latissimus dorsi, and the lieutenant’s hand inched down to pet at his bondmate. Soap’s eyes closed and he sighed in gratification.

“Johnny?”

Soap’s eyes opened again, and he swiveled his head to peer up at Ghost. “Aye?”

Ghost’s voice faltered briefly. “I… the staff sergeant. Is he—?”

“He’s fine, L.t.” Soap gave a small grin. “He’s tougher than ‘e looks. To be fair, though, being set upon wi’ yer fangs would scare anybody.”

Ghost knew that Soap was trying to make light of the situation— the lieutenant had already told his sergeant why he had attacked Millen during the time Ghost was in his room, being brought back to reality enough to face Price. Las Almas had been a traumatic experience for Ghost and Soap both, neither knowing if they would ever see each other again or if they would make it out alive. It was that mission that had brought them together to court for the first time afterwards. Even with the lingering echo of gunshots in their skulls, they wouldn’t trade what had happened for anything.

“Gettin’ in y’ heid,” Soap chided. Ghost blinked back to himself once more. How did both the captain and sergeant always know when he was becoming lost to the past? It was almost uncanny how in-tune they were with his mannerisms, recognizing entire confessionals in the way his nose scrunched up at an unwelcome memory or when his fingers twitched for a gun that wasn’t there.

Ghost made himself fill his lungs and then slowly exhale. He counted to ten and then felt the urge to check the perimeter of the room fade. They were safe here. Price always made sure of that.

“That’s better,” Soap said, satisfied. He chewed insistently at Ghost’s hand until the petting resumed, and Price tangled his fingers into Ghost’s hair in a mirror of the action.

It was pack, plain and simple. Love, trust, and years of codependency wound into a protective shield for the three of them. They all smelled of each other. They knew each other and knew that their presence was one that meant security.

Later on, Ghost would have make up for what he’d done to Millen, and hope that the xi wouldn’t be affixed in his terror of him. Price would be there to smooth over the transition as best he could. Soap would excel in his role of moral support once the confrontation was over.

But for now, they could stay in their nest, and know that things were okay. 

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Pack 141 - Fae!Soap Headcanons

Tags: monster au, Fae!Soap, poly 141, sfw, fluff, general lore, Soap's mom? for a minute at least, fae lore I roughly researched.

-Soap's mother was a stubborn and superstitious woman. When her baby boy was born with a caul over his face, her heart seized with dread. She had been told stories, how it was lucky to have a child able to see beyond the veil. How the caul signified a great power, coveted by the people of the forest. Her only babe, marked as Fae. 

-They would come for her child, steal him in the night and replace him with another. And it would be a cold day in hell before Jill Mactavish let anything touch her son.

-She slept with the bundle clutched tightly in her arms, refusing to sleep until she left the hospital. Left him wrapped snugly to her front as she hammered iron railroad spikes into the corners of her property; hung horseshoes above her doors, sprinkled fine lines of salt around every doorway and window of her home. 

-She thought it had worked. At least for a while. But the Fae are persistent if nothing else. Jill began to notice strange flowers pop up around the foundation of her home, odd tapping rhythms heard in the night. Would she know? Would she know if the lamb in her arms was replaced with another?

-She was so exhausted, worn thin from paranoia. Yet Jill Mactavish was no quitter. Under the light of a pale full moon she marched to the edge of her property. Her blue eyed bundle cooing and gumming happily at his fingers as he wriggled against her chest. With a final look to the boy she faced the forest with a stern resolve, “You won't take him! But I'll share him! Leave us be or help me raise him right!” 

-The winds rustled, branches creaking ominously. Leaves gathered and spun into a tornado of color in the chill autumn air. Jill would freeze in place as the leaves fell away, revealing an ethereally beautiful creature before her. All high cheekbones and sharp eyes surrounded by inky black sclera. 

-Ordinarily the Fae would swap out changelings, snag the babe once it was the right size and replace it with one of their own. Considering the wee one was already Touched….perhaps a swap would be unnecessary.  Human mother's were coveted. The milk of human kindness and all that, and the babe was truly beautiful, destined to be strong. The fae had looked Jill up and down with a calculating look. Yes. A deal could be struck. They would raise the baby together.

-And thus Soap spent his time in equal parts amongst the Fae and humans, learning to socialize with both, though he didn't completely fitting in with either. Soap was hell on wheels. Rambunctious and equally curious, constantly nosing or getting into things he ought not have. Not that he was ostracized by either group he was just..*odd.* Unable to find his footing or close friends.

-You could say that Soap has many siblings, though this term is used liberally.  By human technicalities Soap is an only child (his mum's baby boy). His mother, through the nature of her bargain,  was brought into the fold with young John. Helping to raise and nurse her own gaggle of fae children of differing bloods. Other children Soap would call family.

-Fae don't have strict family dynamics, it's certainly a community effort to rear little ones. Fae children can be produced in a myriad of ways, with no one way being seen above another, p in v? that works. Born from a flower? Sure why not. Throw some herbs and intent together until a wailing babe sounds from the cauldron? That works too.

-Soap naturally inquired about this, as any kid would. “Ma? Did I come from a flower?” “You came from my belly wee one” Soap had squinted at her, eyeing her belly incredulously, "but how?”

-It took several conversations to get the toddler to understand that the other children in his human primary school were not in fact his brothers and sisters. 

-As humans are fascinated with the Fae, the Fae are equally as fascinated by humans. As John grew into a young man he would see the differences. The Fae courts had long fallen into a peaceful rhythm. The humans? Hardly. With a powerful knack for chaos, among other abilities. Soap threw himself into the army. Keen to help as many as he could, and perhaps even find his own way. 

-Soap is a marked child. He is more resilient on average than most Fae, and shows no obvious limitations in what disciplines he can learn. However, as marked he does have particular dispositions toward the following.

-Tongues, the ability to speak any language at will. Sometimes without thinking about it. For Soap this isn't automatic, but after a few days of listening or studying he's fluent. (Albeit with the accent). This gives Soap a peculiar edge when working with varying communities, elements, and other critters/creatures.

-Glamour, a sophisticated illusion, these may allow for invisibility or changes to appearance for a brief time (upwards to an hour but possibly longer depending on the severity of the change). Living amongst the Fae made permanent changes to his body. The sclera of his eyes had shifted inky black. His teeth and nails razor sharp. There is an ethereal beauty to all Fae as well. Naturally Soap uses this ability to cover some of the obvious issues.

-Soap knows he's distracting. He's a proud thing, and rarely bothers shifting that. He's damn good at what he does and looks damn good doing it. Hshows off his muscles/skills/looks without shame. 

-Shapeshifting, self explanatory, but only works proportionally give or take a few inches. He may take on the appearance of another person or creature, briefly. But once again, only appearance. Mimicking voices is another skill.

-Sight or Clairvoyance, this ability's range depends on the court or bloodline. In Soap's case, his visions will occasionally come to him in dreams, these being more sophisticated visions or events far in the future. These visions are generally more detailed.  He is typically privy to smaller prophecies,  glimpses of events happening minutes before him. These are typically vague, but have consistently been enough to save his and his teammates asses numerous times in the field.  The Infamous Mactavish Intuition ;)

-Soap is one hell of an alchemist, and can make due with most natural items at his disposal. Poisons, potions, explosives, you name it, Soap can make it. He excelled remarkably in the maths and sciences in school, and it’s why he was also quickly assigned to demolitions so long ago. 

-Soap has a very noticeable smell. One that isn't exclusively detected by other supernatural beings. Any human standing beside him would notice it. Lemon and shortbread, with a warm curl of rose.  Clean, green and vaguely sweet. People wonder if his callsign was from this fact rather than his prowess on the field.

-Nudity has no taboo with the Fae. Raised as such, the man has literally no shame. Soap Mactavish has been naked since he was a child in the woods, and will continue to proudly do so. Does not understand why everyone else is so uptight about it. Will bust in on someone in the shower without a second thought. “Stop screamin’ it’s just me”

-Fae are very partial to music, and Soap is no exception. He is so easily captivated by the sound, swaying slightly, almost as if hypnotized. Soap isn’t as in tune with artists and genres as Gaz is, but he keeps a hoard of songs on his phone. Gaz is his main contributor, keeps him well fed with playlists he makes. Playing new records for Soap as they bop around the kitchen together, playfully dancing or headbanging together.  Soap was once pretty proficient with piano and guitar at his mam’s encouragement. His singing however, nearly got him killed in basic. 

-Many animals are the watchdogs of the Fae. Soap has been seen having conversations with himself, unknowing to onlookers that a little frog or squirrel was sitting beside him. Someone swears they saw a mouse crawl out of his tac vest once. He whistles with the birds, scoops up bugs and plops them back into the weeds.  He unfortunately doesn’t know the language of the shower spider. He doesn't bother to learn, he thinks he prefers the silence in this instance. 

-Soap can be attracted with a myriad of things just like any other fae. Music as mentioned above is one. He is also partial to pretty chimes and bells, running water, shiny and/or colorful displays, as well as anything sweet, candies or sweet creams/milks/liquors.

- Too much contact with iron on his bare skin will poison him.  Fortunately most weaponry constructed now is made of more synthetic material. It can be noticed that Soap is very particular about his gloves, and is rarely seen without them on. Iron on properties or above doors won’t exactly stop him, but it is incredibly uncomfortable and will lead to sickness if he is trapped within such a ward for too long. 

-Fae, like crows, are enamored with jewels and other shiny objects, less of a weakness really and more of a distraction. Soap, prior to his enlistment had several piercings, such as his ears, and brow…among other things. He was very fond of the adornments, and easily captivated by the shiny displays on others. (This also extends to his intense love of blowing shit up and watching the sparks fly, big ole hearts in his eyes as the colors dance)  In the event the team goes out for something special Soap will throw on a few pieces for fun~ 

-Soap can not lie, at least not directly, however Soap is a very sharp lad, and has learned to cleverly navigate around this by either not telling the whole truth, letting others assume, or simply not correcting misconceptions. He is a Fae afterall, being clever is his specialty.

-Customs of love and marriage vary among the Fae. Many Fae interpret strong love as variations of servitude, especially towards human mates.  Soap has gotten himself tangled between both of these versions of love. For Soap love is servitude. Not something to be expected of his lovers, but from him. Soap gives himself to his lovers willingly, He wants to be good, give them anything they want and let them take what they need. Love is worship, and Soap is a very devoted man.

-Soap and Gaz had bro’d up as soon as they spotted each other. Having seen through each other's glamours, they became fast friends. Two oddballs fighting side by side. Which would turn into playful banter, and kips on the helo leaning against one another. Then to wandering hands and desperate kisses, having found comfort and fondness in each other after years of hiding themselves among humans. Soap and Gaz are the most cuddly. Johnny likes to lay sprawled in his Sphinx’s nest, his arms curled around his middle, face buried against Gaz's stomach. Both of them absolutely hate to sleep alone. 

- Soap had a knack for getting into trouble. Disregarding orders to do what needed to be done. Had nearly been kicked out had his skills not saved his skin (and countless others). It was Price who sniffed him out, offered to take the man on loan for a bit. Soap's former CO was happy to be rid of him and hopeful that the notoriously stern Captain would knock some sense into him. Price, however had no such plans, he cut Soap loose, full authority, and watched the man bloom. Price did not anger at Soap’s decisions, didn’t flinch at his savagery in the field. In fact, Price had looked upon him with fondness (and a fair amount of exasperation). He kept Soap warm with lovely praises and a regular morning coffee, plus a heavy splash of sweet cream, for good measure.

-Simon had been more difficult, adamant on giving the Fae a hard time. Having seemingly been put off by Soap ever since he bounded off the truck and fist-bumped his arm on the tarmac. But Soap was determined, chatting and teasing, unphased by the lieutenants' icey behavior. They fell together in no time. Soap nestled to his chest, lips brushing over Simon's slow beating heart. Soap would never admit it. Never admit that he knew it would be like this all along. That Soap had seen him in his dreams.

[incinerated-vestiges]

Nearly there.

[suzloo]

Omega Ghost- Puppy Fever Headcanons

- Simon doesn’t think he can have pups. Not because he doesn’t want them. But because he thinks he physically can’t. His body has been through so much damage that doctors told him that it would be nearly impossible for him to carry pups of his own.

- He hasn’t sought out fertility treatments, even if he’s mated or otherwise. He has a mindset of “If it’s meant to be it’s meant to be, if not, oh well.” even thought it kind of stings.

- That being said he still gets the occasional puppy fever. It’s not as intense as most omegas but there’s subtle changes in his behavior since he’ll never in a million years admit that he wants one.

- Like for instance, when he has down time, sometimes he can be caught watching videos of pups teething, learning how to walk and crawl and things like that. He’ll claim he fell down a rabbit hole and just got caught up in it if you catch him though.

- His eyes will linger on a visibly expecting omega. There’s a sense of sadness and envy in his eyes but it motivates him to keep on fighting to make the world just a little safer for pups who are new to the world and gives him the slightest chance of hope that one day things will be safe enough to where he could get treatment and have his very own pup brought into the world.

- If he does end up having a pup of his very own in the future, he’d retire the mask for good. After fighting for so long he deserves to reap the benefits and spend time with his pup.

[miscfandomwrites]

A/N: This was supposed to say "Bad day" but whoops. I'm tired. anywho, this seriesis inspired by some other authors with their own 'Sunshine series' yet my main take was wanting a main character who is a housewife ish and is fed up with their shit. They're all scared of this rabbit shifter because she's put up with them for this long. There's a whole backstory and lore and such if you want me to get into it, but for now here's 'Bay day' lol

Pairing: (Shifterverse) 141 + Keegan + Konig x Rabbit Shifter! Reader

Warnings: Lots of language, mentions of bodily harm.

Words: 1.3k

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

~

Nothing seemed to be going right. 

First, it was a downpour all day, meaning I couldn’t even drive to the farmer’s market since they had announced that they were going to be closed for the weekend since the weather was so severe. 

It also meant that I had to rush outside to the garden in my new, clean, white sundress, getting mud all over it as I hustled the chickens and ducks back into the coop, and ran around gathering all the tomatoes I could find before they split from the excess rain, some of them already splitting as I gathered them into my dress, staining it red and coating it with tomato seeds.

They boys were all on base today, yet weren’t coming home anytime soon both due to the weather and due to the paperwork they were getting held up with from their last couple missions. 

And today was a Sunday, meant to be a relaxing, self-care, pampering day for me, yet here I am, running around like I lost my head. 

I had just started to dry my hair with a kitchen towel before I remembered that there were sheets hanging outside on the line to dry - one of the perks of living with a team I guess, is that even with an industrial washer and dryer, it still didn’t cut the amount of laundry this house went through during the week. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” I yelled as I ran back outside, skipping putting on the rainboots and just decided to go barefoot, easily hopping the small gate that kept the animals on the fenced side of the yard. My ears twitched as the rain hit them, and I flattened them against my head as I muttered curses to myself as I tore the sheets off the drying rack and ran back inside, about to toss them into the dryer before I realized my dress had covered them in mud. 

I opened the washer, expecting it to be empty, yet was greeted with the sight and smell of Soap’s mildew-y clothes that have definitely been sitting in the washer for the last two days, unswitched. 

“Motherfucker.”  I hissed as I dropped the sheets on the floor and grabbed a laundry pod and some scent beads, throwing them into the washer and starting his clothes on a hot, heavy washer since half of it was his workout gear. 

I shook my head as I felt some of the water starting to reach my inner ears, causing them to twitch and me to wince and I quickly grabbed a spare cloth and quickly cleaned them out, hating the feeling of water in them. 

I could faintly hear my phone buzzing from upstairs, and I jogged up there only to be greeting with Price’s contact, wanting a voice call.

I answered as I opened the dishwasher, realizing I forgot to start it before I went to bed last night, the pod door still closed tight. 

“Hey love, looks like we might be running even later tonight, there’s a new recruit….” He started as I held the phone between my shoulder and head and tried to start the dishwasher again. 

“What time should I have dinner on the table then?” I interrupted him as he was telling me about how they were going to be training not just one but several new recruits, causing them to be home around eight pm at the earliest. 

“Oh, uh, probably around nine or ten then?” He questioned. 

I just shut my eyes and sighed for a moment, before nodding. 

“I’ll get some stew in the crockpot then, today’s not going too great so I doubt I’ll be up that late.” 

“That’s alright dove, we can just pick up food on the way over.” I heard Ghost’s voice, causing me to pause for a moment. 

“Am I on speaker?” I asked softly. 

“Yeah, we jus’ got out of a meetin’ “ Soap replied. Sounds like everyone was there. 

“I’m implementing a new rule: Set a fucking timer on your phones for your laundry. Next batch that grows mildew in the washer will go into the burnpit.” 

A hushed silence answered me, before I heard a smack! and Soap yelling out. 

That was definitely Gaz. He’s the only one who actually takes care of his laundry on time. 

The washer beeping from downstairs gathered my attention, and I said my round of ‘be safe’ and ‘don’t kill the newbies’ before I hung up and tossed my phone on the couch, only for it to slide off and land on the wooden floor, landing screen-first. 

“Oh that definitely fucking broke.” I sighed, padding over to it and picking it up, wincing as I saw shards of glass left behind on the ground. 

A slew of expletives left me that would’ve left Soap blushing, and I set it face-up on the coffee table and headed downstairs, switching over laundry and starting half of the sheets in the washer before heading back upstairs, and cleaned up the mess my phone made. 

It was around three at this point, so I gathered some thawed meat out of the fridge and some vegetables and went to work putting together and stew for the boys that could be left cooking for the next several hours. Halfway through chopping up the carrots, the dryer buzzed, scaring me enough that I accidentally sliced into my finger instead, causing me to yelp and immediately hold it to myself, using my dress as a pressure dressing as I rushing into the bathroom and yanked out the medkit from under the sink. Only to find it fucking empty. 

I hissed at finding this, heading back into the hallway and pulling open the doors and finding the spare medkit things, disinfecting and wrapping up my fingers. (Turns out I nicked two, not just one.) 

I didn’t bother putting away the items since I knew I needed to refill the medkit anyways, leaving the bloody wrappers and roll of gauze on top of the box.

I headed downstairs, switching laundry again, and set up the drying lines we had in the laundry room for the sheets, carefully setting them up, not noticing spots of blood getting on the edges from my fingers. 

After switching laundry I headed back upstairs, my phone buzzing with an incoming call from Soap, which I didn’t even bother touching as I was not about to get shards of glass into my fingers. 

I finished making dinner, setting it up in the crockpot on medium heat, and didn’t bother cleaning up the kitchen as I collapsed on the couch, about ready to cry my eyes out. 

Instead, I fell asleep, my body exhausted, and about jumped out of my skin when I heard the door open and several voices. 

About thirty minutes had passed, leaving me groggy as shit, blinking sleep out of my eyes as they shuffled inside, dropping off bags of something on the counters as Price made his way to me. 

“I know we’re a little early but-holy fuck, what happened?” He started, causing everyone to immediately stop and head my way, causing me to be crowded by everyone. I could barely keep the tears out of my eyes, explaining that today was just horrible. 

“C’mon, let’s get you out of that dress and into something warm, bun.” Gaz spoke softly to me and Price starting giving instructions to the rest of the boys: Konig and his crew were to take care of the animals and check the perimeter, Ghost was to help with laundry, Soap was on dish duty, Price was going to finish up with putting away the groceries which I later learned were from them going to the farmer’s market ass-early in the morning before the sky opened up to make sure I got what I needed for the week. Keegan took it upon himself to restock the medkit, and helped rebandage my hand as I sat on my bed, Gaz sitting behind me, softly brushing my tangled mess of hair. 

This. This is what a pack was like.

[ilostthewar]

Omega!Reader trying to bond with pack!141 through grooming.

It’s obvious, but Johnny and Gaz fall into this much easier. Soap is a fellow Omega, so he gets the urge you’re having. Gaz is a beta, and while his instincts are a bit different, he’s completely fine with being cared for this way. Soap likes it best when you play with his hair. He might not let you shave him, he insists that it’s an art that is incredibly difficult to master Gaz is rolling his eyes the entire time. But Johnny wants you to oil his hair, play with the strands, deep condition them. Soap is the first to complain about the size of the showers cause how is he supposed to be lovingly scrubbed by your hands if the bathrooms are the size of a tiny closet? Even if he complains, it doesn’t stop him from wanting to bathe with you. Especially early in the morning when you’re both a little drowsy and the water is still hot, he can lock his arms around you and lay his face in your neck, pressing lazy kisses to your gland. It makes your scent fill the steamy room, like a sauna specifically made for him.

Gaz is in a similar boat. Grease his scalp, help detangle his hair. He likes that you keep products specifically for his hair type. He ultimately prefers lying with his head in your lap, or with you straddling his thighs, gently working lotion into his face with the tips of your fingers. He likes doing face masks with you, as long as they aren’t the pulling kind. Enjoys you gently spreading the paste over his cheeks, and you always peck his lips afterwards. However long the masks take, he simply sits with you. He likes that afterwards you’ll use a warm cloth to gently wipe it all away until his skin is clean. Kyle doesn’t really feel the need to steal your time or attention, but he willingly admits that he would bite someone if they tried to interrupt this time with you. Kyle is constantly moving, so it’s more than nice to have his pretty omega fretting over him and ensuring his comfort. When you both are finished, you’ll rub your face against his and purr so sweetly and he would do anything to get to have this all the time.

John takes a bit more convincing. He’s a busy man, and while he gets what you’re trying to do, he has trouble wiggling the time in for extensive spa treatments. At first it’s simply being around while he gets ready. Sitting on the toilet lid while he goes through his routine, or sprawled in his bed while he gets dressed. Eventually, you can start to help once you notice the rhythm, buttoning up his shirts, helping tuck them in. Pulling him around by his belt to steal kisses while you fix his collar. Though John’s absolute favorite is when he sits you on the sink and you help him trim his beard. Your hands are firm and gentle, moving in steady motions, pulling the skin taught before swiping the razor. It’s quiet and almost reverent. And when you’re done, aftershave applied and items cleaned and put away, you’ll just press against his jaw and neck. Maybe he can spare a few minutes.

Simon is probably the hardest one to bond with in this way. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but some days are harder than others to have so much direct attention layered on him from his pack. It starts small. Simply ensuring his gear is in place, gently pulling his mask to cover his skin, maybe scenting an item of his clothing so he can have you with him all day. Peeling his gloves off to rub lotion into his hands when you both are sitting together, massaging the muscle until it twitches and relaxes. Sliding your hand under his mask to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. They seem like smaller gestures, but it’s in the way Ghost will lean into you and allow you to continue. How he searches you out when he’s had a long day. Eventually he’ll end up splayed across your body, and he swears he’s not asleep, but you’d beg to differ with his air horn snoring.

[cas-backwards-tie]

🍻 I'm so ready for this next chapter I would love to see a snippet :)

Ahhh! I'm so happy that people are excited about my writing ❤️ It truly means the world! Admittedly, for whatever reason (life, maybe?) I haven't been as inspired lately to figure out the mess of a chapter that I've had drafted up for awhile now. This definitely gives me a reason to continue figuring it out, however, so thank you! Also, picking only three sentences (which would be intriguing) was really hard for this one! [fyi: I know this is technically 4 sentences, but bc you've had to wait so long, I decided to put the last one, bc I felt it tied this moment together better]

This snippet comes from this series, if anyone wants to check it out!

wip motivation game

when someone sends you the corresponding emoji, share three sentences of that wip before writing three more.

The Omega Pack Plan, Chapter Two: Reap What You Sow - poly!taskforce141 x omega!reader

------------

“Going out with a bunch of guys you don’t know?” Kyle tacks on. His arms crossed in front of his chest in a disapproving manner.

“They’re unmated! No way,” Soap protests, now standing before you, obviously unpleased. “You’re not serious.”

“So what?! I’m unmated- who cares? That doesn’t inherently make them evil,” you argue.

Want To See My WIPs?

[theghostofsoap]

aight all y'all, we need to make #pack 141 a tag for ABO pack content.

I need protective pack leader Price

I need cute fuckin family cuddle piles

I need them helping each other build their nests for those who need it

I need them feeling safe enough to relax around each other

I need good ABO pack content

[sudzydemolition]

I made my oc that I'm reading the fic that @omegapropaganda made called burnt honey! Here's my Gallivan, my little cinnamon roll!

[celenawrites]

ik I said I'd be working on the Mafia AU fanfic I have just released and am planning for TF-141.....but a/b/o au....the trust issues, the abandonment, the exclusion from the pack....the slow burn, the care and pack bonding......the eventual groveling.....I-