#pack 141 au

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Pack 141 - Vampire!Ghost Headcanons

Tags: mentions of blood and scars, mostly just HCs of Ghost as a vampire, some very light ghostprice, even lighter poly 141, if ya squint

Ghost who's change had been partially undergone in a shallow grave in a southern countryside.

Price had been the one to find him, bringing him home and helping him through the rest of his change. Taking on the role of his new sire. He had known Riley prior, a strong and bright soldier. And while Price should have taken appropriate action and put him out of his misery…he had other plans in mind.

Unsired vampires generally don't survive, and the ones that do often become feral or have very significant behavioral problems. Due this arrangement, Price and Ghost share a very intimate bond.

Simon hadn't been aware of the monstrous world around him prior to the events around his changing. And upon learning of Price's lycanthropy he felt a bit betrayed for some time. He would eventually come to understand, but he was definitely salty about it.

This being said Simon was not socialized as a vampire. All his information came from Price and what official reports they had on his kind in general. He isn't totally out of his depth, but there are some pieces missing.

By vampiric standards Simon is still a fledgling, though only other vampires would clock him on that.

Through diligent training Price helped Simon through any frenzy instincts, though it isn't completely gone Simon has exceptional control around the copious amounts of blood that come with his profession. Not to mention the mask helps muffle the scent.

What Price finds most amusing, is that after most of the wrinkles are ironed out, Simon is largely indifferent to the change. He carries trauma certainly, but the new found power and diet appears to have not phased him fuck all.

Simon still stubbornly takes his tea at the same time, after having gone through some trial and error. He found he can still drink his tea albeit a little altered. Blood with 3 sugars please.

Though Simon had eaten his mess hall gruel without complaint for years, he did miss the routine. He still slinks off to his room to eat his own meal on the same schedule.

While he doesnt burst into flames with the sun touching his flesh he is significantly weaker. He was already prone to burning red like a lobster in his human life. The change didn't make things to terribly different. The mask and layers of clothes prevent most of the issue.

Due to certain traumas around his change. Simon is very particular about feeding. And besides emergencies or very specific exceptions. Simon does not feed from the source. He often just drinks from a canteen/bottle with a blood/water mixture. To human onlookers it would honestly just look like he was using the flavored water enhancers. Which also brings Simon a certain kind of amusement.

As is common, Simon has enhanced strength and senses. He now possesses a red pearly tapetum lucidum or “eyeshine”. He suffers through the ‘sunglasses at night’ jokes to avoid any questions or accidental detection on night ops.

The change did not make Simon ethereally beautiful. He looks mostly the same besides paler skin, red tinted eyes and new shiny fangs. He still maintains all his scars/marks and tattoos from before. And while his healing factor prevents most scars, significant wounds may still scar lightly or the scar may take decades to fully fade away.

Simon doesn't feel cold to the touch per se, but he does run cooler than the average human due to his altered metabolism.

If available, he does prefer to at least long ‘nap’ during the day. While it's possible for him to carry on normally during daylight hours it does take more out of him.

Generally speaking most normally socialized vampires forgo sleeping regularly all together. Price however, insisted upon resting during Simon's changing. “Good for your mind” he'd stated gruffly. And Simon had kept up with it ever since. While he does legitimately sleep, this happens less often. His naps being more meditative in nature.

Similarly to Price, Simon does have brood instincts which occasionally become a point of contention between the two. Price's alpha wolf mixed with Simon's brood nature have them butting heads possessively over other members of the task force on occasion.

They are both smart enough to know the common goal of ultimately ensuring safety and care over their brood/pack mates. And most of the time they behave…but sometimes…

[bluegiragi]

new moon (part 1)

early access + nsfw on patreon

[natelia-aldelliz]

More werewolf au because I can :

Graves wasn't supposed to know about the werewolves, but Shepherd knew so maybe that's how he got the intel. As he's betraying them, he asks, almost begs, Soap to come with him, to join him against Alejandro and Ghost.

Alejandro because of the 'drug affiliation' thingy and his blatant dislike of Mexicans and Ghost because he's a monster. A beast, not even human. And he wants to protect Soap, believes him to be in danger, doesn't listen to Soap trying to de-escalate the situation, trying to ask him not to do that.

(Because he believes he knows what other people need more than them)

And Soap still has that very primal fear inside of him everytime he's around his the pack, that prey instinct that his predators are there, waiting for him to lower his guard. That's true, he does, he's even too scared to admit he's also not fully human.

But never, ever, has he considered betraying them, going against them in anyway. He wouldn't be a good cat if his fear of bigger predators wasn't overtaken by his very cocky very wrong feeling that he could take them all in a fight if he had to.

His cat-self was scared of their lycanthropic-selves, but he himself had never been scared of them as people. Well. Scared that they'd reject him, that they'd never consider him a member of the pack, yes. But scared that they'd hurt him? Not really.

Graves doesn't appreciate rejection, getting told no. He opens fire, Soap gets a bullet in his shoulder, Ghost begs him to get up and run.

He roams the streets with his head swimming from the blood loss, fighting against his instincts to just turn into a cat, curl up in a hole somewhere and lick his wounds, purring to himself to try and comfort the betrayed-hurt-helpless feeling in his gut.

But he can't, because he's not like the were-people, he's not a werecat, he doesn't heal faster. And his human biology makes surviving a bullet wound easier than the cat biology for some reason. (He tried, it just made him go in shock faster.) The hands keeping the blood from flowing freely definitely help for one. And what if Ghost contacts him and he can't respond and his LT thinks he's dead and leaves him here?

The Shadows are everywhere. The good thing is that his eyes see better in low light than theirs, than even the night vision helmets. His hearing is also better, though not as good as his cat-self's. That means he always knows where they are around him and he can avoid them.

When he's finally reunited with Ghost, the man keeps throwing him weird looks, but doesn't say anything. Soap can't really focus, he needs all his remaining blood doing actually important things and analysing your superior-officer-that-you've-been-lowkey-flirting-with's looks isn't one of these.

They reach Alejandro's safehouse, are reunited with Rudy, then Ghost sees him wobbling in place and drags him in the little medbay to see to his wounds. He gets stitches, incredibly thankful for Ghost's steady hands. As he finishes up though, his hands stay a bit longer on his shoulder, one of them climbs up to his ear and tugs it slightly, his eyes still staring.

Soap knows what he's doing, has seen Price lightly tug Gaz' and Ghost's (through the mask) ears, knows that it's a stand in for nipping them when they're in human form, as a way to say hello, or assert dominance or comfort them. Reserved for pack members.

Has... has he been accepted in the pack? His heart is beating faster, which isn't good with all the blood he's lost and the fact that the adrenaline is running out fast. His head is spinning. He looks up at Ghost with dilated eyes, trying to focus everything on him to try and understand before he passes out.

Ghost is looking straight at him, as usual, his head slowly tilting, his eyebrows furrowing in incomprehension. His peripherals are darkening more and more, darkness seeping in, and his eyes suddenly feel very hot while the rest of his body is getting cold and tingly.

Ghost's hand makes its way to the back of his neck, helping him hold his head up as his vision gets more and more blurry.

"What even are you?" Soap thinks he hears whispered as he finally loses consciousness.

[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-

[shyravenns]

Stayed up until 3am trying to figure out how to draw a semi-decent werewolf, so that I could finally bring that AleRudy werewolf handler au to life before Halloween

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 8: Nobody’s Son, Nobody’s Daughter

You hate how weak you are, sometimes.

That a text can ruin your whole day.

>> Hey. I hope you’re doing well. I miss hearing from you.

You’re fuming. Absolutely fuming. In under fifteen seconds you’re on your feet, face hot and heart pounding as you stomp across the old wooden floor.

“I’ll be right back.” You grunt to Johnny and Kyle, ignoring their wide, confused eyes and fast walking past them and out the back door.

The sun is up for longer now, only just beginning to set. It’s hot and hard to breathe, which only makes you more pissed off. Your skin prickles and blood rushes in your ears. You hate the way your hands shake. Your boot connects with the dumpster hard. It hurts, but you’re too pissed to really care. You just need it out of your system - the metal sending a ringing, gong-like sound bouncing around the back alley as you repeatedly slam your foot into it.

How dare he?

Miss hearing from you? YOU?

He ignores you for your whole childhood and teenage years - didn’t even try - and he misses hearing from you!? Couldn’t ever remember your age or grade when you did see him and he hopes your doing well!? Blew you off for his other kids for years and he fucking misses you!

How the hell did he even get your new number? Your mom, probably. The traitor. Fuck.

“Think that bin’s ‘ad enough, bird.” Simons voice startles you. He glances down at the dent you somehow managed to make. Your foot throbs when you put it back on the ground, shifting your weight onto the other one. One of your toes is bleeding, you think. You hand feel it soaking into your sock.

You look away, face hot from embarrassment now. “Didn’t know anyone was out here…”

Simon takes you in for a moment. Usually you don’t mind it - his intense silences - but right now it feels like being dissected. Like he’s pulling your skin back to reveal that squirming, tar-like creature aways simmering just a layer beneath. The pathetic little worm you try so hard to cover with a functional facade.

“Smoke?” He tilts the pack toward you. You wrinkle your nose - it’s a shit brand - but at the moment you wouldn’t care if it was made of actual shit as long as it had nicotine.

You pick one out and plop down on the weird curb that lines the opposite side of the alley. Simon sits beside you, raising his lighter toward you cupping his hand around the little flame to light your cigarette. It’s intimate, in a way, and if you had the emotional elasticity for it you might have blushed.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks after a few drags.

You shrug. “Dads suck.”

Simon hums. “That they do.”

“It’s just like-“ You make an exasperated sound and run your fingers through your hair. “Like if you’re not around for fuckin’ twenty years, you don’t get to act upset when I don’t want to talk ever. Just because now I’m the one that set the boundary. It’s stupid. It’s mean.”

Simon nods along as you ramble, your voice trailing off eventually. You both sit there quietly, for a moment. This is the type of silence that you don’t mind. Enjoy, even. Just existing together. At first you thought he hated you, or just didn’t like much of anybody, but you’ve come to theorize that he’s the same as you. That he gets stuck in his head, too. It’s nice, having someone to sit with without the need to entertain them. To preform.

Your lip quivers even as you attempt to stop it by sinking your teeth in. A killing blow. It doesn’t work. You bury your face in your hands. “I don’t know why I’m crying…”

“Because you’re hurt.” Simon bluntly replies. It’s soft, though. As soft as a voice like his can be.

“He doesn’t deserve it.” You sob, messily wiping at your eyes. Your eyeshadow is probably smudged to hell now but you can’t bring yourself to care. Hopefully the others don’t ask about it.

An arm wraps around you, tucking you close. The surprise of it almost knocks you out of your crying fit entirely. Simon isn’t touchy. With anyone. He doesn’t look at you, just keeps his eyes forward while he takes a long drag, but that arm remains around your shaking shoulders with you pressed to his side.

It’s quiet, as it usually is when you close up with just Simon. The others took off for the night. Johnny said something about a date before dragging Kyle off arm in arm. They must have set up some kind of double date for the evening. John’s last appointment had to reschedule so he knocked off early as well. It’s nice, really, to be alone in the shop with Simon. He lowers the music, helps you with sweeping and the trash. Tells you the newest joke from wherever the hell he gets them. Popsicles, you think, based on his sweet tooth and the quality of pun.

“C’mon. We’re takin’ a field trip.” Simon tilts his head toward the street past the turn to your apartment. He still insists on walking you home, even if the sky is still relatively bright.

You look up, frowning. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

You follow him down the quiet street. It’s warm and muggy as you go. You keep glancing up at Simon, waiting for some sort of tell. Some hint at where he’s leading you. In the back of your mind, you become innately aware that Simon is probably the only man you’d follow this blindly.

You nearly knock into him when Simon comes to a sudden stop. “Here.”

You look up, squinting at the tacky sign in what you can only describe as “intense manly man” font. Bold, blocky letters in bright orange with faux cracks scattered through the letters.

TANTRUM TANK

A mixture of stunned and curious leaves you quietly following Simon in. You press the spot between your brows to dissipate the confused frown. The lobby is pretty basic with a few decorations that mimic the style of the sign. Cracked facades and black walls. The room is lined with plastic chairs and a couple safety posters reminding patrons not to hit each other with the bats. A large television screen flashes between images of people in hazmat suits smashing various garbage and debris, pausing on a menu of times and prices.

“Simon!” A man appears behind the counter, face bright. “Here for your usual hour?”

Simon steps up to the counter, nodding in your direction. “Actually, I’ve got a plus one.”

The man’s brows raise and he looks you over, giving you ashort, polite greeting. You nod and smile back, pretending like you know why you’re here at all. You just watch as Simon briefly chats with the clerk who obviously knows him well. He’s a regular here, then. He doesn’t give anything away, just makes some brief, perfunctory small talk before taking a key and waving you after him. Why’d he bring you here, of all people?

Your heart skips at the thought of Simon wanting to do something with you, though. He brought you here because he wants to hang out - in his own way. He must do this with the other boys, too. Maybe one of them bailed on him or something. Part of you wonders if he didn’t want to come alone, but that doesn’t sound like him. Plus, you can’t say that its’ at all out of character for him to decide something and just do it with no other communication. You also can’t say you mind much. Not with him.

“You come here with the others a lot?” You ask as you follow him back to the room.

“No.”

You frown. Oh.

The two of you lapse into silence as you put your things away into designated lockers. There’s a sort of interim room before the actual rage room with storage and a few stacks of protective gear in various sizes. Simon’s quick about it. Practiced. He slips on the protective plastic suit quickly while you grunt and struggle with unfolding it. Your hair crinkles with static as you finally get the mass of plastic unfurled and step into it. Of course the one that fits you around is too damn long. At least the gloves fit.

“Simon?” You murmur, finally finding your voice - as weak as it comes out. “Why’d you bring me here?”

He looks you over for a moment with that same steady gaze as before. You’ve never felt seen like you do with Simon. Even with the others… they don’t see to the core of you like he does. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Some pathetic little part of you left over from your misunderstood teenage years.

“I ’ad a pretty shite father.” Simon says as he zips up his suit. “Taught me a lot of anger. I didn’t- I don’t want to be like ‘im. Don’t want people t’be scared…”

You stare, wide eyed, frozen in place. As if any movement would disrupt this new found honesty - would frighten the man away from confiding in you. It’s sudden and far more than you’ve gotten out of him in the months you’ve known each other. It’s too special to risk.

“Sometimes you’ve got t’get it out of your system. Better than breaking your foot on a skip.” He snorts, stepping forward and carefully pushing a pair of safety glasses over your eyes. One hand runs over your hair just for the briefest moment; another lightly pats your cheek before he turns on his heel, grabbing one of the bats hanging on the wall and making for the door.

You stare after him, shell shocked by both the admission and uncharacteristic physical touch. You involuntarily reach up to trace your fingertips over the cheek he touched.

Don’t want people to be scared…

A part of you breaks in the back of your mind. The obvious, unsaid ‘of me’ sits heavily on your tongue. Some distant image of what he might have looked like as a child. Small and blonde with those big dark eyes… You gulp down a tight breath and follow after him, just a little too close to crying at the implication.

Simon gestures toward a crooked, half broken office desk. “Ladies first.”

And oh, if that first swing wasn’t the best release you’ve had in a long, long time.

A/N: Sorry for being inactive the past couple weeks, I could literally write a novel with how much as happened irl🙃

Anyhoo next part y’all are getting lots of Price because that homecoming skin has got me fucked up

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the end - Post-apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - You won't be cornered in your territory and that's final. You begin to make little presents for your trespassers should they dare to enter your woods. Meanwhile, the four alphas find something very interesting...

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader. The reader is officially a bad ass

Prologue

You stared down at the nest you had created and suddenly felt disgusted and angry. These alphas have stepped onto your territory and made you react like this. Three years of near bliss, despite the struggles, gone. The anger rolled over you in waves, it boiled your blood to the point you felt hot all over your body.

No. You weren't about to cower in your cabin and let some stupid alphas wander all over your territory. You were going to do something about it. You marched back towards your living room and opened one of the closets on the side of the hallway. You grabbed the bag full of supplies and swung it over your shoulder then looked at the shotgun leaned against the wall.

You hesitated only for a moment before you grabbed it too. Even in the times before the world ended you hadn't been one for conventionality. You preferred to be alone on your own property living your own life. And no alpha or beta, whether back then or now, was going to take this from you. You shoved the extra ammunition into your pockets and unbarred your door.

The cold winter air nipped at your skin and distantly you could still smell their combined scents. You pulled stuffing from a torn apart pillow and stuffed it up your nose. Happy hunting indeed, you thought as you stepped off into your piece heaven that would become their hell.

"Hey captain," Gaz said as they wandered through the very small town. It had likely been abandoned for ages. The first thing Gaz had noticed was that the windows were smashed in but the doors boarded up. Then he noticed the marks, spray paint in different symbols meaning something or another. "I think this place has been completely stripped bare."

Price hummed thoughtfully and turned to look around at the other buildings. All of them in similar states of disrepair but all with symbols sprayed onto them. He turned to his team, and contemplated their next steps. "Do you think they might still be around?" Ghost spoke up finally.

Price glanced at his lieutenant. They had stuck together when the entire world had completely gone down. First the electricity and then a disease. It apparently didn't take much else to throw the world into chaos. People killed people all the time before but not even Ghost had been prepared for the level of depravity some people dove to. Kidnapping local omegas, killing betas or hunting alphas for sport. Blowing up buildings and ransacking stores.

They had all stuck together as a pack since that was what they had always done. They wandered from place to place and it had taken them a little over a year to make it back to the UK. Bonds grew stronger and their ruts continued. They were all each other's support. Price considered the facts in front of them.

"Negative. I don't think whoever did this is still around," Price said as he eyed the pharmacy. The only building not having been closed off or marked with an 'x'. "Soap, Gaz, go investigate the pharmacy, me and Ghost will try to find any other buildings not marked."

They wandered around the town for a bit with Gaz and Soap meeting back up not long after they had departed. "Over tae counter medicine like Advil but nae much else," Soap tossed Ghost the bottle who looked over it.

"Not expired yet. Good find."

"Wait," Gaz suddenly said and sniffed the air. Everyone paused, Gaz had the best nose of them all. Able to sniff out any scents even days old. He walked over to a telephone pole that had a red smear on it and sniffed with his nose almost on the old blood.

He felt his cock chub up his pants immediately at the scent. At first it smelled like sweat and dirt but underneath that was a tangy, sour then sweet like a granny smith apple or a green grape, scent. An unmistakable smell of omega.

Gaz turned to the three other alphas, "There's an omega around." He grinned.

Hehe I'm gonna have fun writing this

Liked my fic? Buy me a Nutella jar

I do not give any permissions to repost my work, use it in AI, translate my work or any other thing. All rights reserved with me.

[diejager]

Hi! In your Only Human AU what would happen if TF 141 + König and Horangi go into a something like a “rut”? Or is that possible in this universe? If it is would they ask Y/N for help? If possible can it be in the form of a Drabble🥺?

Rut Cw: rut/heat cycles, mention of sex, possessive behaviour, obsessiveness, mention of knotting, implied smut, tell me if I missed any.

Ruts were odd phenomenons, it reduced hybrids and monsters to desperate and horny men, clinging onto the person they considered their mate for relief and pleasure. Some hybrids had ruts, like canid and felid shifters or shifters in general, a monthly cycle that incapacitated them. Others were luckier, having a few ruts per year, sometimes once every few month or once a year; these could range from a dragon to a harpie or from a percht to a gorgon. There, however, were some exceptions, spectral beings and the undead were without ruts, their body long dead and able to function without it, yet they could impregnate and be impregnated as any other hybrid and monster could. They suffered from bouts of occasional arousal, little flares of pleasure when faced with a situation that turned them on or by strong emotions towards someone or something.

You were unfortunately enough to be thrown into a group of rutting hybrids - with the sole exception of Ghost - unprepared and without a forewarning on how to deal with them. You had to deal with a clingy werewolf, howling at the moon and whining in utter heartbreak because you told him off for humping your leg in the rec room, huffing and gasping down your neck. A hissing and possessive tiger, stalking you down the halls and jumping you whenever you were alone to ravage you against the wall, mouthing and nipping at your neck, making sure his scent would stick over the wolf and nagual musk. And a protective nagual, looming over you like a shadow, arm slung around your shoulder and ready to start a fight with the other shifters if they tried masking his scent.

Luckily, their ruts never overlapped, it might’ve been a fortunate coincidence, but one that you wouldn’t take for granted. You had a schedule drawn up in the first year after they accepted you into their pack, Soap’s was always after the full moon, the silver disk being the catalyst to his urge; Horangi had his in the later days of each month, oftentimes beginning on the last day of the werewolf’s rut; and Alejandro took the first week of the month, starting slowly on the third or fourth day and ramping up on the following day.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t put in consideration for the others. Price, Gaz and König also had their moments in the yearly cycle, falling victim to the throes of instinctual need. You thanked your lucky star that Gaz rutted once or twice a year - thrice on rare accounts - with little to no change in his character. He might’ve been more hands, wanting to keep a hand around your waist, to give you soft and loving kisses on your lips as much as he did on your cheek, nose and forehead.

Price and König were a handful, one hoarded you to his office and had you follow him wherever he went, and the other was deathly possessive and deep into his instincts. König was on the extreme side of his type, breaking out nearly six to seven times a year, stuck mid shift with broader shoulders, red eyes and a monstrous appearance, and he had half the mind to stay considerate to other. A danger stumbling on two feet. Price was the medium, a perfect balance with three or four ruts yearly and a the self control to let you go if the situation demanded it. Despite his self-control, he was still a dragon, controlling and possessive, ordering you to come straight back to him whether or not you were knotted to Soap or Rudy was balls deep inside of you.

Despite Rudolfo being considered a monster, he was simply a human with the ability to control cadejos, as vulnerable and as resilient as one. And being human meant that he got aroused, coaxing you into his room for the night and taking care of the heat brewing between your legs. Much like Rudy, Ghost retained his bodily function - human wise - and came back as a monster, but he was a stranger to ruts, scoffing at the neediness and vulnerability of one. That, however, never stopped him from indulging in his sexual kinks and dark fetishes, having you as the subject of his exploration if no one else hit their cycles.

They were a handful, from Soap’s mutt-like character to Rudy’s calm demeanour, they had you exhausted, wringing you dry and panting, always ending up face down or backed against the wall. You were grateful - truly - that the others would willingly jump in and take over for you, helping whoever it was spend his rut. Now, you’d have to redraw your calendar, tired and clinging to your bed to stand up.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @virginalsacrifice @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Three

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Suggestive themes (smut is coming I promise)

I literally wrote a whole chapter and it deleted </3

Masterlist

You woke up, body slumped against the door as you groaned. The soft strum of pain vibrated through your lower back, the dull ache sending a small zap through you as you stood up.

Groggy eyes drifted to the stained window, the barely visible streak of sun peaking over the forest as you sighed, feet padding against the floors as soft creaks spoke back to you.

You stared in the mirror, dull eyes staring back. You rubbed your face, small streaks of sticky sleep dragging across your palms as you picked them off.

Mortification is all you could feel. Not only are four men in your house, but you touched yourself to one, and another walked in on you. MID ORGASM. You silently prayed they had packed up their stuff and left. Or maybe it never happened and Ghost hadn’t seen anything. Or maybe- fuck it. There wasn’t much use denying.

The chill of the water woke you up as you scrubbed vigorously, almost as if you could wash away the embarrassment you felt.

You dressed yourself before heading to the barn, the acreage becoming more and more visible by the minute as you fed the animals, collecting any eggs in your makeshift apron, before letting the horses roam in the paddock

You took note of the overcast, thick smog of clouds littering across the barely visible sky. You needed the rain, but you also knew it would make it harder for them to leave if it did.

Conjuring that it would make things easier if they woke up and you were gone, you cooked yourself breakfast before heading out, planning to target a small set of shops you were yet to raid, tucked away on a more secluded part of the area. In fear of waking them up, you rolled out the rusting bike from the garage, a small woven basket adorned with half broken flowers as you rolled the worn wheels onto the gravel road.

You didn’t take much with you. Only a bottle of water, a pistol (incase you magically needed it) and two apples as well the large backpack stitched on your back.

The trail was mostly flat, a few rocks causing you to wobble from time to time, but for the most part it was an enjoyable ride. The soft flicker of the sun stretched through the adorned trees, the heaviness of the clouds beginning to weigh on you as you peddled faster.

It was an hour or two trek, you believed, the roaring ache of your thighs begging for the needed break as you pulled into the abandoned town. Sometimes you expect people to run out, waving you down in celebration, but it never came.

You could hear the soft groans of nearby dead, wobbling their rotting limbs towards the bike before turning around. The tinkle of the rusted bell greeted you as you ducked through the aisles. It was a small store, only supplying anything for a couple hundred, most items expired now anyway, but it was worth a look.

You held your bag open, dumping a few cans of tinned vegetables in as well as a bag of sugar, a pack of razors and some long-life cartons of skim milk. With achy thighs, you jumped over the counter, mess everywhere, register half open with nothing inside. It was funny, even during an apocalypse people found the time for money.

You rattled at the metal knob on the staff door, growing frustrated when it wouldn’t budge before you began to kick, slamming your boots against it repeatedly before it eventually swung open. It might have taken you 15 minutes, but it was sure worth it as you snatched up the golden sweetness many would refer to as whiskey.

You headed off with a few other things, half open stock boxes tipped everywhere as your hands grabbed for anything that hadn’t expire, or was about to. With a heavier bag, and a smug smile on your face, you peddled your way home.

“Y’ think she got scared and buggered off?” Soap quipped, mouth half full with an apple, juices spurting across the room as Ghost glared back.

“If it wasn’t for him,” Gaz interjected, thumb pointing towards the masked-man, “she probably would have let us stay.”

Ghost rolled his eyes, replaying the scene in his head for the hundredth time. Sure, he should’ve knocked but he’s glad he didn’t. Half of him wanted her to ask him to stay, to fully satisfy her, to fully satisfy him.

“She wouldn’t have just packed up and left- put far too much effort into all this place to leave,” Price said, voice deeper than usual as he took a swig of water. Time ticked slowly as they waited around, searching every crevice of the house before they landed on a bow and arrow.

Soap snatched it, veiny hands clawing at the weapon as if it was gold. “What’dya say, LT? Fancy hunting some deer?”

“I ain’t hunting for anybody if I ain’t staying-“

“Go hunt a f’cking deer,” Price huffed.

The two me disappeared into the forest as Gaz stepped outside, bottom plonked in the barely comfortable porch chair. The Captain knew you would probably bitch them out, but a sick part of him wanted you to let them stay, wanted you to realise they were what you needed, that they magically landed on your farm for some Godforsaken purpose.

He would make you realise. He knew he would.

You felt like vomiting now, your bones burning as if they had clawed through your flesh, attempting to escape the treacherous journey that you forced yourself to endure.

You almost felt lost. Why did it feel so much longer on the way back?

You smiled to yourself softly as you passed the tree you marked a few months ago, the unmistakable smiley face almost greeting you. Your smile quickly faded when you felt a spit land on your cheek. And then another. And another. Until you were peddling faster as wet pellets hit the ground.

Slippery hands clutched the leather handles as you neared the entrance of the farm. You were drenched now, hair matted to your neck and face as you flicked it behind you, annoyed that you neglected your clip.

Your boots squelched against the ground as you slammed the garage door shut, weak arms clutching your bag as you swung it around your shoulder, weaving in and out of trees as you stumbled up the front steps.

Tumbling inside, you took note of the cleaner house, a small wrapped bowl of vegetables and a bowl of tomato soup (that was probably cold now) greeting you as you kicked off your boots. You stood over the sink as you scrunched your hair out, the trickle of water tapping as you shrugged off your coat, fumbling outside to hang it on the underground clothes line.

For a minute you thought they had left, no manly faces greeting you until you heard the soft clearing of a throat. “Made you some lunch,” he said.

“Thank you… Gaz, isn’t it?” Clammy hands gripped the bowls as you sat down on the couch, the lukewarm mixture sliding down your oesophagus.

“That’s right,” he replied, gentle smile adorning his face as he watched you, trying to observe you, almost as if you were a war criminal he wanted to break in. Military men, you thought.

You sat in silence, yet didn’t find it to be uncomfortable. Though Gaz was incredibly handsome, and well built, you almost felt comfortable in his presence and you couldn’t quite place why.

“Where did you go?” He asked, almost as if he was hesitant to speak. Your eyes flickered to his lap, hands gently rubbing together before rubbing against his denim-covered thighs. He has nice thighs.

“Uh, I went into a town.. bout two hours from here. Got a few things and I also just wanted to.. get out, I guess.”

He nodded.

Once you finished up, you braced yourself as you ran outside, yet found no horses frolicking frightened in the paddock. Fear ran through you as you sprinted to the barn, heavy footsteps slapping against the mud as you took in the closed door.

You let out a shaky sigh, relieved, when you saw two large, longer heads staring at you from inside, the gentle squawks of hens sounding across the room.

“I hope you don’t mind that I put them inside, figured you would hav’ done that anyway when you got back.” You jumped at the voice, body jolting as you snapped your head.

Price stood there, rough hands clutching a wooden broom as he swept, a beanie now plonked on his head instead of the hat he greeted you with.

“Uh- thanks. Yeah, they’re afraid of the rain.”

“Y’r a good owner, picking up the slack after they were abandoned.”

“I guess so,” you conceded. You looked at him, taking in the way his eyes flickered down your drenched frame, a cerulean blue darkening into a navy.

“Y’r wet.” His tone was sharp, even while stating the obvious, a visible clench of his jaw causing you to tense as you wobbled, suddenly nervous under his gaze.

“Well, I was out in the rain,” you said, almost like it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. You looked away but could feel him walking closer to you.

“Y’r gonna catch a cold if you don’t change.”

“I’ll survive,” you replied, your voice now dropping to a low whisper. You looked at him, his stare heavy, almost like it was weighting you down. He smiled at you, a hand reaching out before it landed on the flesh of your waist, squeezing as you felt the familiar heat you encountered last night, prickling through you again.

Your breathing was shallow, an occasional hick passing through you as his hand lingered. “Pretty thing, hm?” He gestured, nodding towards your chest as you noticed the faint outline of the rose-coloured brassiere you chose today. You blushed and you were sure you looked silly, a red hue across your face as you barely stuttered a reply.

You turned, almost feeling like you were about to choke. Feeling betrayed by your own body, you pressed your thighs together and you were sure he noticed.

“Y’n need any help staying warm,” he began, “just tell me, sweetheart.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

The 141 boys and the TikTok trend “everybody knows that I’m a good girl officer”

Firstly, I want to say that in this house, we say "fuck the police (derogatory)" every single day. However, I will indulge in this instance because it's our 141 boys and I think the trend with them would be absolutely smoldering. But I will change it up slightly, and pull from my Bodyguard!141 AU Post as well as lean into a security detail aspect for this one.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, dirty thoughts, flirting, secret relationship

Word Count: 1.5k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

Price adjusts the ear piece in his right ear.

The blasted thing doesn’t fit right. It keeps slipping. It’s irritating but it’s manageable. Not like Price is running anywhere. At least, he doesn’t plan on moving too quickly. His job is to stand and observe. To make look after a certain MP’s daughter, and to take her back to the hotel when she tells you she’s ready to leave.

You are no stranger. Far from it.

And it goes far beyond the grounds of appropriate behavior.

Price has completely stuck his foot in it, bedding you when he isn’t supposed to. Stealing kisses in dark corners, and fucking you behind closed doors. He was hired by your father to look after you, and instead, John has taken it much further than that.

But he doesn’t fucking regret it.

Not at all.

John adjusts his ear piece and scans the room from left to right. You’re not in sight but that doesn’t bother him. This ballroom is packed full of rich schmucks who couldn’t give a shit about him.

He scans the room again, and this time he finds you.

You’re walking toward him, hips moving in a sultry sway that steals John’s resolve. You’re gorgeous. Perfect. And he can’t stop staring.

The corner of your mouth quirks with amusement, and John straightens his shoulders, making himself appear bigger. He needs to look professional. He needs to look like he’s not thinking about all the ways he wants to fuck you.

But it’s hard to focus, and when you approach, you glance over your shoulder at him, words leaving your mouth that John doesn’t entirely catch at first. Your foot pops in the air, and the friend you’re walking with giggles, her hand pressed to her painted lips.

Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.

A good girl.

Yes. You are.

You’re John’s good girl.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

High-stakes missions have always been part of Kyle’s life. It is what he knows. What he thrives on. But between the missions, Kyle keeps working, and not with SAS.

Kyle mostly signs up for security detail at different places around London. Sometimes he might work as a bouncer for a club, or be monitoring people entering a music venue. Sometimes the gigs are swanky, and sometimes they’re not. Kyle doesn’t really mind as long as he’s paid.

That’s the whole point.

He’s saving. Wants to buy a house. Maybe find someone to settle down with. Life is going by fast. He needs some stability amongst all the violence.

And tonight? Tonight, he’s nothing more than a glorified security guard.

He looks the part in all-black tactical gear, and he isn’t the only one. There is an entire group of them all lined up in front of large windows, creating a bit of barrier. The event coordinator expected protests. All there is are a handful of people across the street with signs. They’re harmless.

Kyle doesn’t pay them any mind.

He does watch the regular people walking by on his side of the road. Some people are here for the event and others are just passing through.

Standing on the corner nearby is a small group of young women. They’re all dressed up like they’re heading to the clubs. Kyle pretends he’s not looking, but that would be a lie. There is one he keeps glancing at.

You’re fucking stunning. A beauty.

But Kyle has to remain calm. Aloof. He’s not here for you or anyone except the job at hand.

“Go over there.”

“I can’t!”

“Girl. He is so cute. Do it.”

Kyle casually turns his head, only to find you striding toward him. His throat drops into his stomach, and you waltz past him, pausing just to his right, flipping your hair, and batting your eyelashes at him and then your friends.

“Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.”

Your friends scream, and then you hurriedly run back to them as if you’ve done something you shouldn’t.

A good girl? Sure you are, love.

Kyle smirks and looks away, doing his best to hide a growing smile.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon sits in the driver seat of a large, black SUV. His fingers are itching for a cigarette. He needs the smoke—to feel the burn. To rid himself of some of this agitation.

It’s not annoyance. It’s not frustration. And it sure as shit isn’t anger.

No. Simon has a fucking rager in his pants, and his thoughts are filled with images of you. You—who he’s supposed to be protecting. Escorting you to and from events, pushing back the crowd, and keeping a firm lock on where you are at all times.

The black dress you’re wearing tonight is made of flimsy material. It clings to every curve and swell. Simon is hungry—a feral animal that couldn’t stop stalking you throughout the event.

Now, he’s about to take you back to your hotel. And he knows you’ll invite him in. He knows that the little black dress you wear will be nothing but a pile on the floor in due time.

But this need in his bones isn’t just Simon’s fault. You were a fucking tease all evening. You were bad. Openly flirting with other men in front of him, drinking more than you should have, and genuinely being a little terror to his sanity. All this behavior will only get you punishment. A punishment he’s happy to deal out once he has you behind a closed door.

A car door clicks, and Simon glances up, expecting to see you slide into the backseat. You’re not there. You’re next to him. In the front passenger seat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” asks Simon, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel.

You shrug and settle in. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, leaning on the middle armrest.

Simon can smell your perfume. “Buckle up,” he growls, and you do so casually, as if you don’t hear his irritation.

He pulls out into traffic, and the moment the two of you are clear of the building, Simon feels your hand on his thigh moving dangerously close to his dick.

“This bad behavior needs to stop.”

Your body shifts and you sing-song the next words out of your mouth. “Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.”

The words are bit slurred. You’re completely pissed, and Simon cannot help but laugh. No punishment then. Not tonight at least.

But tomorrow?

Absolutely.

John "Soap" MacTavish

This isn’t Johnny’s usual job, but it’s easy work.

Usually, hired security and local police take care of concerts and sporting events, but the military has been called in for this one, and Johnny is fine with that. Again, it’s easy work, and they’re paying him more for it.

He stands in one spot, scans the crowd, and acts casual while looking downright intimidating. The intimidation isn’t hard. They have him completely decked out in all-black tactical and balaclava included. All you can see of Johnny are his eyes.

It’s fun, actually. When he put it all on, he pretended to be Simon, only to receive a swat upside the head for it from the man himself.

Johnny has his hands casually resting on his bulletproof vest. No one is really looking at him, and those that do quickly look away. But there is one he can’t stop looking at.

You’re so damn cute, and you can’t stop glancing at him either. You’re with friends, and you keep smiling in his direction. If this were any other night, Johnny would approach you, flirt a bit, maybe even ask for your number. Might even take you home with him if you were open to it.

But Johnny is on the job, and he can’t afford to do that.

As you move closer to him through the crowd, one of your friends keeps saying something to you, moving their hands as if urging you to do something. Johnny isn’t sure what, but he’s curious. You don’t look like danger, and there is nothing about your demeanor that says that you’re looking to cause trouble.

Maybe it’s the balaclava. That seems to be a thing now.

As you approach, there is a pop of your foot, a quick flip of your hair, and a stunning smile. Your friend holds up her phone and you turn away from Johnny briefly to say “Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.”

I bet you fucking are, love.

Your friends giggle with pleasure, and you quickly move away from him but not before you glance over your shoulder one last time, mouthing a silent “thank you.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@arrozyfrijoles23 @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Pack 141 - Werewolf!Price Headcanons

Tags: monster au, sfw, werewolf!price, mentions of gore and body horror, loose a/b/o dynamics, possessiveness, scent marking, fluff, werewolf lore sprinkled with pack 141 interactions

-A born lycan. The shift was as natural as breathing. And he quickly showed the temperment of an alpha.

-Shifts to the outsider can appear gruesome. As the wolf quite literally emerges from within, human flesh falling away like a gristly chrysalis to reveal the beast beneath. Traditionally, this shed flesh would be devoured, though it isn't commonly practiced today. The flesh disintegrates quite quickly once shed.

-This being said Price can shift in degrees, often enhancing his own claws or teeth for defensive purposes rather than shift completely. 

-No, the clothes do not magically pop back on once he's done. Shifting completely is inconvenient and typically a last resort. It's difficult to strip in the middle of a fire fight, let alone find his tac bag stark naked after it's all said and done.

-For born wolves, this shift is generally smooth and quick. For those bitten, it is this first shift that often leads to their death. Around 75% of those bitten do not have the bodily fortitude to withstand the change.

-as a born wolf, Price's enhanced senses are also perfectly integrated, and require no sensory aids for him to navigate his daily life unlike the majority of bitten wolves.

-born wolves have a tendency to remain in seclusion, within the safety and comfort of their pack. When a new alpha is born they typically either stay to take over leadership, or stake out a new territory to build their own pack.

-John was quickly ostracized when he showed little interest in either of those things. He seemed to be far more preoccupied with exploring both the world and his own strength. The military amongst the humans would do quite nicely.

-During his tours there would be fleeting encounters with other monsters, typically enemies. But a few comrades as well. Such as Nikolai, a bear shifter. The pair of lycans got along beautifully.

-Now, despite his former pack's opinions of him, John had never explicitly said he didn't want a pack, just not their version of a pack. No. John had a different idea in mind.

-Simon was the first. A strong and brutal human, who had shown an endearing gentleness in certain circumstances. Price had decided immediately that Simon would belong to him. He just needed some final paper work to build his pack task force. He had even settled on changing Simon himself, despite the risks. A bloody vampire had beaten him to it. Price was hardly angry that Simon's humanity was taken from him, just that Simon had to suffer in such a way to get there. At least Price had the pleasure of siring the newborn himself.

-Next had been Soap. A wiley thing with a blatant disregard for orders and big blue eyes that were far too pretty to be all human. Price couldn't decide if he should scruff or praise him for his cheek. But Soap had an excellent knack for mixing things that should absolutely not work, into something that would cave a warehouse in seconds. Along with a distinct aversion to touching certain metals with his bare hands. His peculiarities had earned him a nickname, and also given him away as a Fae. Price would have him too.

-Garrick followed not long after. Sharp and driven Gaz. Incredibly clever with a proud determination that blazed behind those warm brown eyes. Gaz's skills made his inner wolf purr in delight.  Another lovely thing for him to keep. Price was taken with him immediately, and had never felt more at ease than with the sergeant he had stolen in Piccadilly. 

-While he could tell from Kyle's scent that he was something Other. Price would only receive cryptic answers or riddles that only made the younger sergeant chuckle as Price failed to guess correctly. (Price would totally not make up excessively silly answers to see the sergeants pretty smile, oh no).

-It wouldn't be until they were stranded in an excessively hot desert that Gaz would reveal himself. Price had emerged from their tent to see Garrick, posted up like it was summer vacation, with a brilliant golden wing curled over his head to shade him from the sun. A long tufted tail flickering back and forth out of a small cut in his fatigues. Gaz had looked up from his book, golden slitted eyes peering over his aviators. Flashed him a toothy grin. “Wanna make another guess Cap?”

-Price has a vicious possessive streak, and he plays it incredibly carefully in the beginning of the task force. He watches his vocabulary when talking about the “team.” His pack. Perfect, strong and beautiful. All of them. Chosen carefully.  He was careful not to spook them at first, worried his possessive language would put them off.  But they are, for all intents and purposes, his.

-His possessiveness had manifested subtly at first. Scent marking them. Brushing shoulders or gentle touches as he passed them. He would even resort to smoking beside them if touching seemed out of the question. At least his smoke would soak into their clothes and hair.

-As they fell together it became less subtle. Price couldn't resist sinking his teeth into their flesh as they writhed beneath him. Suck bruises along whatever flesh he could get his mouth on. It was a pro and a con that his boys all healed so well. While his marks did not remain for long, it meant he could only mark them up sooner. 

-He loves that their scents all intermingle, really. But he can be stubbornly adamant that his scent is the most notable. Often catching Soap or Gaz to tug into his office, kissing the breath out of them, only to curtly send them back out, freshly scented and a bit dazed. It's a fair compromise considering Simon often hogs the sergeants to himself.

-Simon often seeks him out of his own volition. Coming to his office to sit quietly, work on his own reports and bask in Price's scent of spilled ink and warm honey. Or sneaking to his room in the night. Slipping off the mask to bury his nose against his throat. No biting. Just breathing. His scent a balm to the younger vampires frayed nerves. 

-Price takes an immense amount of pride in caring for his pack, and takes his job seriously in protecting and providing. Gets immensely distraught when one of his mates is hurting. Knowing no limits in showering them in comfort items and love. 

[bluegiragi]

work it out (part 2)

early access + nsfw on patreon

[miguel-owhora]

hmmm thinking about a COD ABO au where the 141 live in a society where alphas are typically seen at the top of the pack, with betas and omegas as their subordinates. They're used to omegas being submissive and traditionally housepartners.

Enter the reader: this towering, large, heavyset omega who comes from a different society where omegas are actually on top of the pack, where they're more aggressive and territorial compared to the other two sexes.

The others expect you to roll over, maybe be more submissive, and they're quickly proven wrong when you snap at Price when he gets a little close—and it startles them, because an omega just snapped at the head alpha.

The boys grow intrigued by you, but they quickly learn not to overstep your boundaries; you show them you have no qualms with baring your teeth at them. You're not mean, you're polite and respectful as long as they respect you. However, some other idiot doesn't realize this and gets the idea that you need to learn your place; an omega shouldn't be ordering them around, shouldn't even be a soldier, nevermind be anything but a househusband.

The boys get a glimpse of how different omegas are in your society when they see you force the other alpha into submission, sinking your sharp teeth into the back of their neck, threaten to bitch them if they don't learn their place. Blood glints over your slick spit teeth, pupils dilated and feral with aggression and anger. You hold them in a scruff, pinning them down with your body and strength, until the idiot submits. Only then do you let them go with their metaphorical tail tucked between their legs, and you raise your head, glaring at anyone who'll meet your gaze, and ask if anyone else wants to get bitched.

Gaz has to smack Soap's hand down when it starts to rise, ignoring the chubbing in their individual pants as you dip from sight, with Ghost watching you with dark eyes, and Price eventually calling everyone back to their activities. Though, it's a silent agreement that all four boys slink back to their rooms to rub one off to the idea of you bitching them out.

[crunchyroaches27]

”You’re safe, pet.” | TF 141 x omega!reader

OKAYYY BEAR WITH ME! I just released a pt2 of the ghoap post I made but I could not help but write this one. It’s fluff and angst and the same time.

omega!reader is rescued from a Omega trafficking ring by TF141

BACKGROUND INFO

everyone has lil tails and ears (🥺) + Omegaverse AU + they/them pronouns used; Gender neutral + Alphas have pointed canines for marking

there are more characters, like Alejandro but he doesn’t play too much of a major role. He doesn’t deserve to be here

Price is the pack leader. He is an Alpha— the most dominant out of his other mates. His word is absolute law. He likes to regularly scent his pack, it makes him feel reassured that his pack is safe. Price is essentially their cigarette-smoking dad

Ghost is next in line in this chain of command, he is also an Alpha. He is more impulsive than the others and often has to have many restraints, leading to him often being aloof and angsty. Soap likes Ghost, but Ghost is too fucking slow

Gaz is third in line, also an Alpha like the ones before him. He is cool and collected, yet he also is a bit of a rebel— here and there he will challenge Price’s authority and be snarky

And finally, Soap. Poor Soap is at the bottom, being a Beta. Despite not being an Omega, he still carries out monotonous tasks. As the “peacemaker” of his pack, he ensures that all is well between them. That doesn’t mean he isn’t a jackass sometimes. His body scent is fainter, but his scenting abilities are better than the rest bc he is a Beta

In this cruel world made up of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas, there is bound to be danger lurking in every dark alley, every shady nightclub. Over the course of three days, you had seen and felt things you thought would never end. You were used and passed along like a joint. One particular Alpha paid a good fortune for you, and you found yourself dressed in skimpy clothes and drugged with aphrodisiacs. Your pheromones leaked like a pipe. There’s no hope. Why even bother? you thought angstily as you were transported to a new location.

You’d heard of the tragic trafficking of Omegas, but you didn’t expect to experience it firsthand. Omegas have to know every tactic to defend themselves. Your ears drooped in disgust and a sort of disbelief as your body began to enter some sort of stupor; the drugs meant to make you extremely docile and languid were starting to kick in. The sudden sensation of a sharp turn and the screech of wheels snapped you out from your haze. Instead of hearing the usual excited chatter, you heard gunshots. You were too lethargic to even move, so you passed out in your seat. When you awoke, four men surrounded you; three Alphas and one Beta.

You found yourself on a small cot. Three Alphas and one Beta were sniffing your pheromones to deduce your mental, physical, and emotional state. “Aye, Omega’s ‘woken up,” the Beta with the warhawk mumbled. The bearded Alpha hummed. “Hmm. Let’s start with introductions. What’s your name, Omega?” Another Alpha, clad in a skull mask, trilled, seemingly pleased at your arousal (arousal as in the waking up sense!!). “You’re safe, pet. We don’t bite, at least, not unless you want us to.” He jibed with a British lilt once he sensed your fear. His dark-skinned pack mate snorted, rolling his eyes. You could smell he was an Alpha, too.

All of their ears were perked high in expectation, their eyes watching your every move, sniffing every pheromone released into the already stuffy air. “Y/N,” your response made them nod in acknowledgment. “Mm, ‘Kay. We already knew that. Jus’ wanted to see if we got the right person.” The bearded Alpha sighed before continuing. “Well, I’m Price. This ‘ere is Ghost, Gaz on my right, and Soap’s the one in front of ya.” Soap promptly bent down and twinkled at you, his tail wagging. You didn’t even have to ask for their ranks, you could smell it in the bodily fragrances they released— that applied for them too. You could tell that Price, Ghost and Gaz were all Alphas, while Soap was a Beta.

You wondered how they weren't dying to breed you, your pheromones were uncapped and flowing out into the air freely. They must be taking some kick ass suppressors, you surmised. You were, for the lack of better words, glad they weren’t groping your body ravenously. Yet, despite their composed demeanors, glints of wolfish desires were expressed through their eyes. Their tails were rigid and raised.

“We saved you from that trafficking ring— shouldn’t you be more grateful?” Ghost earned himself an elbow pinch from Price. Ghost lowered his ears and grumbled as Gaz snickered. “Omega’s pumped full of drugs. Damnit, they’re barely alive,” Price grunted, his brows knitted— not in regards to Ghost— but at your deplorable condition. “Don’t expect much yet.”

“Soap, call in exfil, we need to go back to base. We need to get this Omega treated.” At Price’s order, Soap’s ears flicked and he soon got to work. “Don’t worry, Omega,” Price murmured, his thick fingers tracing circles on your sunken-in cheeks. He practically melted at the sigh you soughed. “You’re safe, pet.”

One half of you loved his touch, the Omega side that constantly craved the touch and comfort of an Alpha; the other half wanted to flinch back and snarl at it. You’d been touched, and not in a nice way— you didn’t want to bear that again. Yet because Price’s touch was refreshingly compassionate, the former side won.

At the hospital

When you arrived at the base, you were stirred awake by a splitting headache, an after effect of the narcotics. Your vision was bleary but you could tell that you were in an infirmary— and that you were not alone, either.

Ghost and Soap were seated on the chairs adjacent to your little mattress. Their tails were curled curled together as they waited for your awakening. When you finally announced it by clearing your throat, both of their ears shot up in attention and whipped their heads around to face you.

Soap was the first one to detach from the tail-curling and walk towards you, a gentle concern painted onto his face. “Ye feelin’ any better, Omega?” He chuckled at your reply, a tired no. His hands neared to replace the tape covering your scent glands, but then he stopped, seemingly remembering his manners. “Mind if I change ‘em? Not gonna try anything slick,” Soap asked, his icy blue eyes warming themselves for you.

“No,” you croaked. Slowly, he started to strip the tape off, clean your gland, and patch a new piece of tape on. Obviously, your scent had been carried in the air, exciting both Soap and Ghost. You knew Soap had a better nose than the rest. Soap’s pupils had dilated, making you a bit uneasy, “not gonna try anythin’,” he assured you again, smelling your distrust.

“Where’s Price and Gaz?” You questioned, hoping you remembered the name of the two Alphas right. “They’re in Mexico. With a friend; they should be back soon.” Ghost replied, rising to his feet to join Soap. They both assessed you with such focused attention— especially Ghost— making you feel like a piece of meat again. Your ears pinned themselves against your head.

Ghost’s inhaled deeply through his mouth, his breath trembling. He leaned closer towards you, his head tilting to try and whiff up any of your heady pheromones that still lingered in the air from the tape-replacing. Ghost's ears were angled towards you.

Ghost realized what he was doing and promptly gave you your space, as if to prove his salaciousness was kept under control. Or maybe he did it as an apology. "Sorry, just, you smell nice."

Soap hummed in what could be expressed as skepticism.

"Well, I think we should leave 'em to their own devices." Soap said, giving your hand a quick squeeze. He ordered for a glass of water to be delivered to your room before he left with his packmate.

You were left alone with your thoughts. You realized how much of a windfall this was. Out of hundreds of millions, you were saved. You had quite possibly the aid of God by your side. What an occurrence.

Sorry. Didn't really know how to end it, but pt2 will come out fs 😚

[flowerfreya]

Are you hungry ?

Part 10 of The Office AU

Masterlist

Pairing: poly!141 x Reader

Content: Reader makes dinner for men but no one wants to eat it ( I really am talking about food lol , get your head out of the gutter )

I think I am going to have reader interact with Soap next chapter and maybe a fight with wacky girlfriend

You’re being dumb , but your lonely , sad and he’s there.  Your ex boyfriend saw you at the grocery store after the whole shit show of a day with the wacky ex girlfriend now current girlfriend. 

He sees you before you see him and he comes up behind you and scares the living shit out of you. Turning around quickly , you get ready to give whoever it is hell when you see who it is. 

He lifts his hands in a mock surrender, “Chill”, he laughs. 

You're not really in the mode for his shit but it’s nice to be in someone's energy that you know. 

He looks at you up and down, “You look good”, he says. 

You fold immediately. He asks you to come back to his place for dinner. You have to finish shopping because he mentions that he hasn't had any food since you left. You pay for the groceries because he isn’t able to because he lost his job and hasn’t been able to find a new one. You meet him at his place , which used to be your place.

When you finish bringing in the groceries and putting them up in the kitchen, “Hey do you want to help me cook”, you turn your body away from the stove and look at him on the barstool on his phone. 

“No, you're better at that stuff than me”, he doesn’t even look up to answer the question. 

“Oh, okay”, you are ignoring the red flags, you just need something. You're not sure but being alone after always being in a relationship is…just not working for you. You like to be needed and wanted and after a long day you want someone to talk too. 

“So how was your day”, you're trying to make small talk , maybe to lead into something more. You and the boys have great banter. You could be talking about nothing and still feel like you are having meaningful conversation. 

“Good”.

“What did you do today?”

“Nothing”.

“Crazy weather we had” 

“Maybe we don’t have to talk”, you look over at him as he says that and decide right then and there that this was a bad idea. 

You remember this is why you broke up with him. He seems like he hates you. Only tolerating you because you make his home life easy and has a good lay. 

You don’t even want to finish dinner but you brought all these groceries and you’ll be damned if you waste it. 

“Dinner is done”, you sit down with your food in front of you and start eating. You look at your ex and see that he is staring at you, almost in a confused manner. 

“Are you not going to make me a plate”, you hate that you used to do that. You would have never done that with anyone else but he made it like the food was better when you put it on the plate for him. Like his mother. 

“I’m not your servant”, you reply. Going back to finishing your food. You start to think about how you're going to take all this home without causing a fuss. 

You hear the chair scrape across the floor as he stands up and gets his dinner for the first time in god knows how long.

You finish your dinner in record time. You clean up the kitchen and pack the food up and let him know that you’ll be right back. 

Once you get back to your car, you leave. It makes you giggle because you know he’s waiting for  you to come back up and you won’t. 

When you get home, you call Simon, “Alright”, he answers after three rings. 

“Yeah all good, just wondering if you're hungry”, you ask. You’re a little giddy because of what you just did. 

But then you hear her in the background, she asks who is calling him this late.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company”, you hang up before he gets a chance to respond. You know you shouldn’t be jealous of the wacky girlfriend, you just got out of a relationship but she doesn’t deserve them but you are jealous of the wacky girlfriend. 

You blop down on the couch with a twisted tea and some melatonin and hope to pass out and forget all about tonight and hope that maybe tomorrow Simon will want to eat with you. 

[veritasangel]

141 MC au

a/n: might be mentions of violence/illegal activities etc. in this au - MC m.list

The club's president, John Price, was a man forged in fire, tempered and hardened by years on the road. Light scars showed testament to the hardened life he’d lived. He was a leader through and through. He was respected- feared, even -but deeply loved by his brothers. He'd been the one to make the hard choices, to hold the club together through thick and thin. His motorcycle was just as intimidating as he was, a black Harley-Davidson custom made with the emblem of the club emblazoned proudly upon the tank.

Price’s voice carried weight, whether he was giving orders or sharing a drink with his brothers. He knew the strengths and weaknesses of every member and usually knew exactly what to say to keep morale up and the club running smoothly. Of course that also meant he was a perfect sweet talker, capable of manipulating any innocent soul into joining him, be it for a business deal or getting them in his bed.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick was the club's Vice President and Price's right-hand man. Younger, yet no less capable, Gaz had won his position through loyalty and an unshakeable sense of duty. He was the strategist, the one that could see the big picture and who never left Price's side, in more ways than one. His quick thinking and sharp instincts had saved the club countless times, be it in tense negotiations or high-speed chases down winding roads.

Gaz rode a sleek, lithe bike that matched his style perfectly: fast, efficient, and always ahead of anyone else. Where others were quick to anger, he was calm, and could end an argument with few words. His relationship with Price was unspoken, but built from many rides and battles, both on and off the road.

John 'Soap' MacTavish, the Road Captain, was the wild card in their group. A need for speed, thirst for adrenaline. Soap was responsible for going over different routes for the club rides, balancing the safety with just enough excitement. He lived for the open road, where the only thing that mattered was the next stretch of asphalt.

The bike Soap rode was an expression of himself. Loud, aggressive and impossible to ignore. He knew how to take the lead over the pack onto more thrilling avenues. Yet under his façade of being carefree, there was a ruthless loyalty to his brothers. He'd die for them, no hesitation and he knows it. ‘All in the name of the club’ is his usual motto.. He was often alongside Gaz, joking and messing around, usually preparing their bikes for the next ride. Though, it was clear to all that he had a soft spot for Simon.

And then the Sergeant-at-Arms, Simon 'Ghost' Riley. Ghost was the club enforcer, the one to handle business when it got dirty. His reputation preceded him, he was a man of little words, a dark shadowing presence. He always had a skull bandana worn over his face, which instilled fear into whoever crossed the club. Ghost was a silent guardian; an embodiment of the strength of this club, something that ensured nobody messed with the group.

Ghost's bike was as intimidating as he was: a matte black machine that roared like a beast when he hit the throttle. He was the first line of defence, he’d make sure the club's rules were respected, from both the members and from outsiders. Despite the fear Ghost instils in those who cross his path, he is fiercely protective of his brothers. In particular Soap, his closest friend, whose relationship is often a little blurred. But they were a good balance for each other, the wildness of Soap brought down a notch by Ghost's calm lethal precision.

Together, the four were the heart and soul of the 141 MC. The town knew them and respected them, but many feared them. They had each other's backs, no matter what. Whether out for a ride, attending to business, or chillin' in the clubhouse with a cold beer, nothing could break the brotherhood they forged in steel and blood.

༄ cod m.list

© veritasangel ↣ 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴