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criminalamnesia · 3 months

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Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

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audisive · 1 month

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♪ WEST COAST. (💌) – next part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: soap accidentally finds out about simon's girl.

tags: fluff, romance, simon is a big baby !! let us all accept this fact, soap and his assumptions, uh bad jokes, very rushed fic, crack ?, reader can indeed fix simon

Soap isn't sure when his assumptions started, nor is he sure how it got to Gaz and Price himself.

Maybe it was when he started to notice that Ghost left base whenever he could. (How come ye never leave base? It's a hassle havin' to go back and forth for nothin', Johnny.) Maybe it was the smudged color of red and pink on his balaclava, the lingering perfume on his hoodie, or his new wallet taking the place of one that was once worn out.

"Wha's yer favorite perfume, LT?" "My enemies' sweat and tears."

(It's well-known that despite the fact that Ghost does consider the 141 to be his family, he keeps his personal life very private and away from them. They respect that, in turn, but let's face it, Soap is nosy.)

Really, it was an accident. Soap swears it was!

He just happened to be passing by his lieutenant in the bar where the team had all gone to celebrate a wreck of a mission that they've managed to successfully finish. Truly, it was an accident when his eyes caught a glimpse of Ghost's new wallet, and he really, very much so did not mean to watch a little too long – long enough for it to open and reveal a hefty amount of cash and a small square of colors, barely noticeable.

Soap's feet move before he could quietly search for more.

"Got a new wallet, aye?" He slides beside the taller man smoothly, just as the Brit had grunted out another order of Bourbon. Ghost hums in acknowledgement.

"Y'got a crush on me or somethin', Johnny?"

Soap chuckles even if the other does not. "A just happened tae see it. Fancy little thing."

It doesn't take long before Ghost disappears into the night, but the Scot swears his pace was a bit faster than usual when he left the awfully-smelling bar, and Gaz would be lying if he said he didn't see the little picture of a pretty bird tucked away in his scarily huge lieutenant's wallet.

It's not that Soap often makes bold assumptions about people and their personal lives, not when they're out of reach from him, but can you really blame him for thinking that the words 'Ghost' and 'girlfriend' do not sound right in the same sentence? Would it be considered an assumption this time if he'd seen the photo himself? Surely, his superior isn't some perverted freak who keeps an image of a breathtaking woman he randomly found in his private items. Uh, he hopes not, at least.

"Bullshit!" is what a drunken Soap yells when the Brit nonchalantly discloses to the team, without hesitation, that he is simply not interested in dating. He spills everything he's gathered in the past few months, from the smallest hints to the biggest; the unfamiliar strand of hair on Ghost's hoodie to the wallet from months ago.

"A'm no crazy!" Soap convinces no one as he's ushered back to the barracks for making such an insane assumption about the lieutenant in his unreliable state. Ghost's lips curl up into a smirk against the cold glass of Bourbon in his hand, sat back and relaxed with his legs spread wide.

Call him a big baby (he is) for making a fool out of his sergeant instead of just telling the truth and bragging about his angel to the others, but can you blame him? He just wants to keep you tucked away in his pocket, away from everyone else. What are you talking about, lovie? 'Course 'm not ashamed of you. You're just too pretty for them, is all. Gotta keep m' girl safe, yeah?

Besides, they don't have to know the way Simon melts into the nook of your neck when he gets home from deployment or know that he uses your lavender-scented shampoo. And no, it doesn't matter that Johnny knows. It's his word against the lieutenant's. He spares his LT and turns a blind eye this once.

When the time is right, Simon is sure to properly introduce his heart to his unspoken family. For the time being, he just wants to keep you his pretty little secret.

divider by @cafekitsune !

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soaps-mohawk · 3 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood Masterlist

Summary: Task Force 141 operates successfully without an omega, at least that’s what Price has been saying since its formation. Two alphas and two betas balance the pack just fine, and they have the numbers to prove it.

It works for a while, until the Omega Initiative is born and the 141 find themselves having to adjust to the sudden addition of an omega to their pack. Fresh out of an institute, you’re hardly fit for their secretive, dangerous world, or so Price thinks.

As each member of the team gets closer to you, things begin to come to light, not only about you but about the decision to force you into their lives.

Maybe, just maybe, Price was wrong and the 141 does need an omega after all.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz, Ghost x Soap

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, NSFW content, explicit smut, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), knotting, biting, claiming, mating cycles, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, age differences, military inaccuracies, canon typical violence, blood, weapons, language, no use of Y/N, brief torture, hurt/comfort, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Chapters containing smut are marked with a *

Updates are posted on the weekends, either Saturday or Sunday PST

This fic can also be found on my Ao3 -> HERE

NAVIGATION PAGE Lore and world building masterlist CRCB Barracks Sims 4 Build Masterlist Support me on Patreon for more bonus content

Divider by: samspenandsword

Part 1 - The Omega

Chapter 1 - The Introduction Chapter 2 - Adjustments Chapter 3 - Speak Their Language Chapter 4 - You Can Be Useful Chapter 5 - What I Want *

Part 2 - The Bond

Chapter 6 - One Step Closer * Chapter 7 - Sweet Strawberry Chapter 8 - The Thing About Ghost Chapter 9 - Save Me Chapter 10 - Treat Me Gently*

Part 3 - The First Heat

Chapter 11 - It's Coming Chapter 12 - Fire In My Veins* Chapter 13 - Piece Me Back Together* Chapter 14 - The Aftermath*

Part 4 - The New Normal

Chapter 15: Bonnie* Chapter 16: Big Brown Eyes * Chapter 17: Alone Chapter 18: Don't Let Me Go

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #x reader #a/b/o

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cheesit-notes · 9 months

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TASK FORCE 141

and how they fuck you

cw: MDNI!, fem reader, rough fucking, raw dogging it, riding (cowgirl), finger fucking, slow ghost, thigh riding, fucking in front of recruits a/n: teehee pls don't ban me for this Tumblr, this is 18+

soap who likes fucking you rough, and even rougher when in front of the recruits. not really into condoms, likes it raw kinda guy you know? don't worry, he'll do tons of foreplay for you. kisses trail from your face down to your thighs. will get down on his knees to eat you out, and mind you, he's as good as he says. he honestly forgets about any forms and sorts of dirty talk at this point because he's too busy, your moans do most of the talking. by the time you're ready, he's already superr impatient. his pants strained and he's leaking precum like a faucet, he's been so patient up until now so he feels like he deserves a reward. his reward being he gets to ram his cock into you with little to no warning^^ if you think being fucked hard and rough is the end of it, you're wrong. he's a cocky fucker, he'll fuck you in front of the recruits just to show them who's better.

gaz who has you ride him, cowgirl style. you could be on the couch in the common area or in his barracks on the bed, doesn’t matter. he’ll sit there and watch as you do all the work. at first you’re doing so well and he’s praising you for it but after a while, you start to get tired :( poor you. he knows when you’re slowing down and he can get soo mean. a hand on your hip as he instructs you to go faster, harder, until he has you slammed down, bottoming out in you. the entire time, he’s spitting out insults about how you can’t do something as simple as riding him properly. cums inside you, sticky hot white cum drips down your thighs as you try to get up before his hands force you down on him again. he’s just trying to keep the cum where it belongs so let him fuck it back into you, yeah?

ghost who, surprisingly, likes fucking you slow. really slow. so slow in fact you start begging him to go faster. it feels like he’s teasing you with how little he’s giving you, but he’s enjoying it. there’s two position you’re in: on your knees taking him from behind with his hand on your stomach, or on your back with his thumb pressed over your abdomen. has at least a finger over your stomach to feel the bulge as he slides in and out. shit gets him high. calls you his little doll ‘cause you’re honestly just laying there letting him do whatever. he cums just from feeling the bulge that’s his cock in your stomach. even after he’s all soft, he’ll still shove some fingers in. he’ll curl his fingers and they’re so big and fat, and god, even his fingers stretch you out. this’ll go on for hours until you’re a babbling crying mess who came just from some fingers. he’s got all the time in the world to play with his doll.

captain price who’s a more hands-off kinda guy. he won’t even fuck you until you’ve cum from riding his thigh. making a mess over his pants as your legs tremble from the sensation. shoves toys in your cunt in the morning, “quiet, i’know you can take it”, so by nighttime you’ll be all wet for him! he’s not rough like soap, and not slow like ghost, he’s just normal fucking. not too rough, not too slow, just right. trust, he’s got tons of experience so he knows how to please a woman. if there’s one thing to complain about, it’s his death grip on your thighs. it doesn’t stop at red markings that last for hours or days, there are bruises on your thighs that can last up to weeks. he takes making you unable to sit normally to a whole new level. price is like soap in some ways, he wants to show people that he’s superior but not as obvious as soap. he won’t fuck you in front of the recruits, but you will be riding his thigh during briefings with the team.

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princeguri66 · 4 months

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"our sergeant keeps kissing us when he's drunk, how do we tell him we'd like for him to kiss us while he's sober as well." -TF 141

TF 141 x very affectionate while drunk male reader

All fluff!

Building off of my old drunk clingy reader thing..

You have too much affection for the task force in your heart for your own good. When you're sober you at least hold it off, suppress it, unsure on how your friends would think about it. At most it's an arm around the waist or shoulder. Trying to not be too affectionate in fear of making them uncomfortable. Unbeknownst to you, they absolutely live for it.

When you're drunk all that self restraint goes away, other than clinging to their side you also very much enjoy giving them little pecks all over their face.

You have Soap leaning on your front, his back connected to your chest as you turn his head around to kiss his face, smooshing his cheeks as you do so. Kissing all the way from his brow to his jaw, rubbing your cheek against his and then resting your head on his shoulder and nuzzle your head into his neck as you leave him a blushing mess.

And when you're sticking next to Gaz, your hands wrapping around him, trapping him in your embrace as you leave kisses on his cheekbones and kiss the tip of his ear. Your lips touching every surface that you can get your hands (well lips) on. Leaving kisses on his shoulders as well.

Ghost sitting facing you as you intertwine your hands with his, and slowly lift said hands to your lips, kissing each knuckle and moving up to his covered face, placing kisses where he can still feel it through the fabric of his balaclava, like his cheeks and his chin. Maybe even his ear. You can't see it but he's beat red from his face down to his neck.

Sitting on the couch together with Price, your thighs touching and you have an arm on his shoulders, you can't help but keep staring at the man and as he turns to look at you you place a small kiss in the middle of his eyebrows, moving to kiss the corner of his eyes and moving your other arm to grab his face and smoosh his cheek in to your lips and give him an audible kiss and moving your lips to kiss the corner of his mouth. Only the best for your captain.

The next day always follows you furiously apologizing to the team, hoping you didn't make them uncomfortable but they always brush it off, always assuring you that it was fine and they don't mind it. They don't mind it at all, in fact, they're patiently waiting for the day you'll kiss them without having the help of alcohol.

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bloodstainedhair · 4 months

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Holiday Season

pairing. obsessed 141 / polar bear-hybrid reader *scenario/headcanons

note. gender neutral reader. reader is physically described to be 6ft or over. common hybrid features such as animal ears, tail, nose, claws, and paw pads.

cw. unhealthy relationships/yandere themes, meat and blood mentions, a lot of eating from hands mentions, a weird type of infantilization, big bad bear is called cute a stupid amount of times, dangerous but passive reader, vague made-up base because i watch too many movies.

Holed up in the middle of fucking nowhere, Alaska, the white wasteland. That's how the 141 were going to spend the merry month of December. Endless snow in sight and no family to be found. A complete and utter joke of a holiday season.

It scarcely matters, the food that's been stored, the dense furniture they've been given, even the solace they find in each other. It's miserable out here. The freeze is always licking at their skin, seeping through their layered clothes to cling to the exposed nape. It's their constant company.

Yet, something else bothers them. A hint that only their trained eyes could catch in their misery. An entity, perhaps, something that follows the men without rest. It's a shadow of winter, blanketing itself around the base and leaving its warmth with no trace to its next destination. Only something another human could pull off.

Dishes left strewn on the counter are returned to their cupboards, clean and scrubbed. Leftovers are consistently missing a bite more than what Soap remembers wolfing the night before. If a blanket or pillow goes missing, best bet it doesn't come back. It doesn't take much convincing for Price to round up his boys to find out the root of their question. Not when they've nothing else to do.

It's Soap who finds you first. Rummaging through the fridge with a plastic container in your hands, that adorable black nose covered in spaghetti sauce. He wonders how they didn't hear you sooner with the way you carelessly scarf down the contents. You remind him a little of himself...

Little round ears perk up at the sound of his gasp. Soap freezes in place as your head cranes back to inspect him. Eyes staring at him with indifference, a lone noodle stuck to your cheek and tomato red staining your considerably large teeth. Sharp and big, enough to poke out from your mouth and dig into your chapped bottom lip. A similarly large grayish-blue tongue swipes out to clean the damning evidence.

So. Fucking. Cute.

Johnny is thanking the names of every God he knows when you let him lead you by hand to his team. A new warmth flows through his body, lighting up his dormant nerves in the winter night, your thick black claws prodding into his rough skin. You must be a docile ol' thing, obediently following him to his buddies, though only after he bribes you with more meals to come. He'll cook up the whole damn kitchen if it means you trail him like this daily.

Ghost is sure that Johnny's the one hiding furry ears and a tail when he rushes over like a dog with a fresh new bone. That, and he's more crazy than he imagined dragging over what looks to be a six foot something polar bear hybrid right his way. Ghost doesn't forget things easily, and he's confident that said bears are known to be the most eager predators in the presence of flesh. Not just by circumstance, no, by nature.

A strange thought does pop up in head. That fluffy white tail you sport catches his eye for longer than he'd like to admit. He wonders. If he offered up a nice, raw chunk of seal to you, would it wag in anticipation? Would your ears twitch at the sounds of his boots crunching in the snow, bringing you yet another delicious catch? He could be the perfect provider for you, he thinks. Maybe even have you hunt alongside him, a bonding ritual of sorts. Blood all over your mouth, allowing only Simon to dab away at your chin with a towel. What a sight to behold. Two predators in the same room.

Gaz takes a step away before doing the exact opposite a minute later. You're not just some wild animal, and he's half worried he just disrespected you to your face (you didn't see it). Any bit of nervousness he had melts away when you gently push your nose into his warm hands. He was going for a handshake, but this is surprisingly preferred. Seems he missed wiping some the cocoa from a recent pot of hot chocolate. He hadn't expected you to be so... soft. If you want more, he's got a heap of cookies hidden away in his room. No issue with you visiting him for a late night snack. Christ, he'll even handfeed you if you're feeling lazy, no worries.

Captain Price nearly drops the flimsy cup of coffee held in his gloved hands. Fucking giant thing you are. He nearly drops it again when your nose takes a sharp turn to the smell of his beverage. Not picky, are you... He'll keep note of that for later. From the looks of it, you're adapting well to the chaos of his batch, sniffing and patiently waiting for Soap to release you from his iron grip on your paw pad. He also takes note of what your wearing almost immediately, Arctic grade parka wrapped around your waist in favor of standard workwear, more akin to a jumpsuit than winter gear. Unbelievable. However, that does explain it now. You work here.

It makes sense, considering you're one of the more volatile hybrids. So many people, including your bosses, are uneasy about the predators. It must've been particularly bad for you. Hiding you away in a big and lonely base to eat dinner at an empty table. The world unable to appreciate you for what you are.

Price on the other hand, he knows his boys like the back of his hand. They understand your type. Would take you in without judgement or fear. Indulge you. Feed you fat red meat from calloused palms and let you lap at the warm blood still dripping on the snow. Gladly clean the droplets that stain your pure white parka. Make you warm.

#btw i genuinely love winter. it is literally the only season that makes me happy. fuck you summer (is born in july)#mine #yandere #yandere cod

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multifandomimagin3s · 1 year

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Reader sits on their face and breaks their neck - 141, Los Vaqueros + König

requested by @daniel-meyer-03 contains sexual content (obvs), minors dni

Simon “Ghost” Riley

He always encourages you to put your whole weight onto his face - doesn't matter what size you are, he loves being smothered by your thighs.

His tongue is lapping your wetness like a man starved, when he mis-times his movements completely, feeling his neck go 'pop.'

He halts his movements with a grunt, head falling flat against the mattress; you raise yourself back off his face so sit at his side, as his hand comes up to cradle the back of his neck.

"Ah shit, that doesn't feel good."

He'd be pissy in the ambulance, purely because he wasn't allowed to put his balaclava on before he left and he's not happy about the Paramedics seeing his face.

Since he's legally dead, I reckon Price would have to pull some strings to get him seen in a private hospital to try and keep things hush hush.

He would be a grumpy guy when he has to wear one of those neck supports for the next few weeks," I look like a twat."

Isn't annoyed at you in the slightest - in fact it's quite the opposite, you had to tell him 'no' more than once when he suggested you sit on his face again, neck brace be damned.

"Would be a hell of a way to die, Love."

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

This would probably one of many sex-related injuries he's had in the past.

Pulled his hamstring and a few muscles in his back one night when you two were really going at it.

Slipped during shower sex and almost took you to the ground with him.

Has banged his head off the headboard during missionary more times than you can count.

So it's fair to say that considering he's in the SAS, he's really accident prone.

Would wear the neck brace with pride, wouldn’t care if the team took the piss out of him for it - and for how he got injured in the process.

Even when his neck was in agony, he couldn't stop smiling.

"Considering how this happened in the first place, cannae really complain, Darlin'."

If he felt any awkwardness he didn't show it - even in the Emergency Department, he wasn't shy when he was asked how he hurt himself, which made you flush bright red each time.

Would probably act like a big baby when he'd given medical leave.

Being able to just be with you, cuddling and spending time together, was amazing - and he'd been given 6 weeks off, so he was going to enjoy every second of it.

Oh, and like Ghost, he absolutely wouldn't be deterred by the experience in the slightest.

But is maybe a bit more mindful to put a pillow under his neck the next time he asks you to sit on his face.

Captain John Price

I reckon his neck is probably fucked already - like the muscles in his neck get so tight that sometimes he struggles to turn his head.

It's the norm for him.

But when he feels a sudden pop sensation just above his nape, he knows that something isn't right.

Probably would have encouraged you to continue riding his face if it wasn't for the intense pain shooting up his neck.

Would refuse to go to the hospital - "I've had worse on the field, Love, I'll be fine."

It wasn't until you pushed him into going for an x-ray that he realised he'd actually injured himself.

Wouldn't tell a soul what happened - not even the Doctors.

His private life stays just that - private.

Would grumble like an old man when he has to put the supportive collar on; "I look like a bloody dog when it's had its knackers cut off..."

Also wouldn't be annoyed at you at all - in fact, he promises that as soon as he's given the all clear to stop wearing "this bloody thing" he wants you back on his face.

Captains orders ~

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Mans is just confused as fuck.

One minute you're riding his face, his hands on your ass guiding your movements.

The next he's in agony - and then in an ambulance.

It isn't until a Doctor reviews his x-rays with him that he finally clicks on to what happened.

You rode his face...and broke his neck.

The realisation has him breaking into a fit of laughter - which mildly concerns the clinical staff.

He's in the military, risks his life on the regular - and the worst injury he's gained so far is from oral.

He's honestly nearly pissing himself from laughter, which makes you laugh too.

The neck brace doesn't even bother him one bit - the medical leave is a bonus in his eyes because he gets to spend more quality time with you.

Doesn't tell the Team how it happened - but Soap put the pieces together in his head, and is clapping Gaz on the back with booming laughter at the realisation.

"Fuckin' hell mate, that's one way tae do it!"

Alejandro Vargas

Like Soap, he's a bit too happy considering the situation he's in.

He's a passionate man, so getting an injury during sex doesn't bother him at all.

Usually he's very co-ordinated and he definitely knows what he's doing in the bedroom.

So fuck knows how he managed to practically break his neck whilst you were riding his face.

One wrong jerky move of his head and the next - searing pain.

Also is a grumpy guy when he's wearing the neck brace.

Would definitely play on it a bit, giving you the big brown puppy dog eyes so you'd give him more cuddles and affection; "Mi Amor, it hurts less when you're by my side ~"

Definitely would still try and initiate sex despite being told to take it easy.

Would happily let you ride him on the couch - his typical positions weren't on the cards but any angle he gets of your amazing body brings him bliss.

Gets the brace off...and probably injures himself again because he was a bit too eager to finish what he started.

Rudy Parra

Like his comrade, he's also a very passionate lover.

Apparently, a bit too passionate.

Which is why he was currently sat on your couch, arms crossed over his chest with a slightly annoyed expression.

He's not annoyed at you - he's annoyed that he didn't get to finish what he started.

Rudy was having the time of his life, smothered between your thighs, and he probably would've kept going had it not been you that hurriedly hopped off his face when he let out a pained groan.

Would probably try and convince you to let him continue where you left off.

But the hospital staff would probably be less impressed if he ended up back in the Emergency Department because he hurt himself further.

So he waits...impatiently.

As soon as the Doctor gives him the all clear, he practically dives between your legs.

He has to make up for lost time ;)

König

The poor guy is mortified - he’s not angry at you, not one bit, but that trip to the hospital is one that he’ll never forget.

Doesn’t like social situations, or hospitals for that matter, so being in a busy A&E department really was making him feel gradually worse by the minute.

That and he still had a bit of a *ahem* problem since your activities got interrupted.

Wearing a neck brace wouldn't bother him too much - as long as he can still wear his hood, he's happy.

Speaking of which, imagine the poor doctors trying to persuade him to take it off so they can examine his neck.

Thankfully he doesn't have to go on-base wearing the support - he'd probably die of embarrassment if Horangi found out what exactly happened, because then the entire base would find out no doubt.

Somehow, his comrade finds out anyways, and texts his friend some thumbs up emojis; "Way to go, big guy, best way to end up in the ER ;)"

After he gets the brace off and has to take it easy for a bit he'd be a bit sad since having you sitting on his face is his all time favourite position :(

Still, he improvises - and when he has your knees pressed to your chest and his mouth is writing the alphabet between your thighs, you would never complain ~

#simon riley #soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain price #john price #konig #rudy parra #alejandro vargas #simon riley x reader #soap mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #captain price x reader #rudy parra x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #konig x reader #multifandomimagin3s

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neoarchipelago · 5 months

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Hybrid AU with Squad 141 and reader is a Red Panda hybrid.

The boys just love to cuddle them, pet their ears and tail. They get so flustered and slightly annoyed to be treated like some kind of plushie. But they also melt every time one of them swings by their room in need of comfort to cuddle them. Big fluffy tail wrapping around the man's waist. Eventually letting them fall asleep.

Hybrid!reader who gets lots of looks of 'cute' 'adorable' 'fluffy' to the point everyone wants to touch their tail or ears, much to reader's dismay.

Boys try to not interfere per Reader's request, they can handle it they say. Until one day, reader ignores some nasty recruit who wants to pet their tail and reader refuses politely after a constant, annoying request from the recruit. Until the idiot decides that if he wants the tail, he'll get it, as he grabs it with force in a tight grasp, making reader yelp in pain. Attracting immediately the attention of the Team. Ghost ain't even in the room but he heard it, comes barging in as soap and gaz are already on the situation.

You get extra cuddles and attention that night. No one dares touching your tail until you're comfortable. Word is spread about what happened to the recruit after daring to touch you. Now no one even dares uttering a word of praise or a request to touch you. They know you're off boundaries. You belong to them.

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sleepyconfusedpotato · 6 months

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🚬🦇 Vampire!Price 🚬🦇

Vampire!Price AU where he's 737 years old and has been through countless wars. One of the most powerful beings in existence who has the gift, or rather, a curse of eternal life. Now he's with the SAS, forming the Task Force 141, a team of soldiers with special abilities. In the modern day though, Price has sworn to only consume animal blood, because if he consumes human blood (even the enemies') his thirst will grow insatiable and he'll harm other people he grew to cherish, which explains his pale skin colour. He hasn't drunk any human blood since WWII. When he's at the height of his powers, he can control the blood flow of other beings with blood, and with that, their movements and even every pump of their heart. That is, until he met Gaz, who hadn't a single drop of blood inside his body. Spoiler : it's Mummy!Gaz 👀

What a fun experience ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Revisiting the Vampire!Price had been really enjoyable, plus the fact that I get to study more shading and colouring techniques (because I suck at colouring)!

That cup is definitely just a red tea.

Hope you love this art! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

Lineart version 👇

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criminalamnesia · 2 months

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the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,

your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

thank you!! here’s part 3 :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.

you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.

no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.

in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’

you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.

the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.

you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.

the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.

you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.

you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.

you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.

you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.

just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.

you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.

the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.

you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.

“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.

you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.

simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.

“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.

you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.

“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.

simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.

you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.

your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.

there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.

“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“did you follow me in here?”

“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.

“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.

simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.

he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.

no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.

“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.

you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?

these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.

“fuck off,” you tell him.

“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”

he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.

“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.

“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.

“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”

“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”

you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”

he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.

johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.

but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.

the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.

cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.

but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.

now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.

“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.

“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.

“you should’ve just killed me.”

author’s note:

not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.

and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)

taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina

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soaps-mohawk · 3 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.”

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.”

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?”

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago.

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink.

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her.

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting.

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care.

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long.

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic.

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not.

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack.

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week.

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head.

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath.

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-”

“Classified?” You finish for her.

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...”

The less there is to make you a target.

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time.

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.”

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal.

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military.

That, and the excuse for violence.

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented.

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you.

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together.

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face.

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.”

You look nervous.

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly.

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega.

His omega.

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy.

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand.

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly.

He doesn’t even want to think about that.

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy.

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand.

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed.

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.”

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side.

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents.

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit.

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about.

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?”

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.”

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went.

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.”

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks.

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.”

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right.

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.”

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega.

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says.

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.”

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”

He hasn’t failed her yet.

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked.

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags.

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment.

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent.

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk.

One more to go.

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk.

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity.

He’s going to be a problem.

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible.

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane.

“Coming, Si?”

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared.

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute.

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent.

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack?

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door.

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly.

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says.

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no.

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back.

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.”

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression.

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?”

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.”

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it.

You can hold power over them.

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to.

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile.

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell.

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already.

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in.

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha.

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs.

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?”

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.”

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer.

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

“You lived on base?” He asks.

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.”

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it.

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say.

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well.

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.”

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent.

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.”

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks.

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.”

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks.

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.”

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks.

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance.

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.”

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.”

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails.

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze.

He’s going to be a problem.

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either.

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.”

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting.

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach.

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell?

What if they don’t like the way you smell?

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you.

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.”

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible.

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully.

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen.

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack.

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs.

“Ready?”

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin.

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland.

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others.

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you.

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours.

He’s testing you.

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl.

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting.

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached.

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place.

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?”

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head.

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.”

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland.

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you.

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze.

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this.

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him.

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat.

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper.

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek.

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze.

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them.

They could if they wanted to.

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you.

“You hungry, pup?”

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work.

Pup. Price called you Pup.

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you.

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment.

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again.

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.”

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.”

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out.

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear.

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes.

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear.

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing.

He’s proving his ability as a provider.

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can.

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you.

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks.

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost.

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult.

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #a/b/o

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blingblong55 · 2 months

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Hungry Eyes-141&König NSFW

Photo Credit: @ave661

Based on a request: Can I request a headcanon of Minx Fem!Reader with 141 and König, please? Reader walking around in the base with Red dress, tight fit and high slit thigh. Blood red lipstick saying hello to them boys, salivate. Tq!! ---- F!Reader, minx!reader, 18+, MDNI, smut ----

You knew what you did to the men of the team, they did too but they can't stop it. Not like they want to anyway.

It's your day off today and what do you do? Play tricks with them, which is more like a hobby to pass the time. The first thing you do is put on some hormone oil behind your ears and rub it on your wrists. You get yourself ready, a red dress on your gorgeous body, black heels and that red lipstick that drives them crazy. What more can a girl do but watch men thirst over her beauty? Worship, that can be one thing.

John Price:

When you walk into his office so he can 'help' you zip your dress up, his breath catches in his throat.

"Everything okay?" you ask with a smirk. "Yes, uh..yes" his voice tried to play pretend while inside he would die to touch you and fuck that pretty body of yours.

As you walk past him, all he can do is stare at that ass of yours. The dress made it hard for him to miss the perfect shape of it.

He groans and walks to his office. "Where are ya going?" Gaz questions. "Have a meeting over the phone," is all Price has to say.

In his office, the blinds are drawn close, his trousers pulled to his ankle and his boxers are the only thing that keeps his dick from coming out and tempting him to please it.

"Fuck, Y/N," a groan escapes his lips and he shakes his head. His hands are on his fat cock, stroking it as he pictures those curves of yours.

His fist holding his cock tight, picturing your sweet cunt wrapped around it. Your tits bounce and that red mouth opens as you suck his fingers. What a sight it would be

"Shit...f-fuck" he stammers as pre-cum leaks down his hand.

His eyes shut close, teeth biting down his lower lip to prevent himself from moaning your name.

Before he knows it, he moans your name as he cums. His fat cock leaking the one thing he wished your cunt would be filled with.

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

He tries to be respectful at first but then his eyes wander your body. Hear rises and he shrugs, trying to play it cool.

When you leave the room and all men head their ways, he finds himself in his room.

As he strokes his cock, in his other hand, your pink lace panties. He sniffs them and groans, "Fuck, the things you do to me."

Your scent and the mental image this man formed of you getting fucked by him was too much that soon, he was moaning your name.

He bit down his bottom lip to prevent any more noise but knowing that maybe you could hear him moan your name was enough to make him keep going.

Just as he sniffed your panties and the smell consumed him, his cum leaked out, coating his hands and just like always, he cleaned it with your panties, something to hand to you later on.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Feral, that is the one word that smile and those curves of yours made him feel.

Those red lips were enough to have him picture your mouth wrapped around his fat cock.

Unlike the other men, Gaz was a little more smart in how he pictured you, well...he had that one picture you sent him of the aftermath of a rough mission.

The exhaustion in your face was enough to have him stroking himself, his balls tightening. Groans and small whimpers would escape when he imagined all the things he would do to you if only you gave him the chance.

The taste of your sweet cunt, that is the one thing that had him going over the edge and sending you a rather risky text.

"I know you, so just cum for me." As soon as he read the text, he leaned back on his bed, his fist pumping his every needy cock. "Fuck Y/N...such a dirty thing for me," he moans as he cums to simple orders.

John "Soap" MacTavish:

He's the pervy one, so because of this, he gets himself in your quarters, lays in your bed and undresses.

Bold, stupid, horny, sexy and smart, that is what you can describe him as since all he does lately is seem to just please himself to you.

As he lays in your bed, he pulls out his little toy. Your name is carved to the side of the fleshlight. His sensitive pressing against the entrance.

He chuckles deeply and sighs, "Let me fill you up, bonnie."

Without any hesitation, he fucks the fleshlight, his cock enjoying the sensation, his body shuddering as he positions himself on his knees, fucking his cock into the toy.

With his free hand, his phone is pressed to record. And as he records himself moaning your name over and over, he makes sure to angle the camera so you can see clearly how the toy is getting filled.

By the time he cums, the moans turn to subtle whimpers of your name and some slight curses under his breath.

König:

The built-up tension on his trousers was too much that soon, he is in a stall, sitting down and stroking himself as he tries to keep quiet.

The little red dress, the way your soft tits moved as you walked and that goddamn smile you had when you knew he was watch, fuck are you a view for hungry eyes.

His boxers get covered in pre-cum and all he can do is continue because he needs this, he needs to cum to the thought of you.

Your soft thighs, that is what he focuses on the most and as he does, he pictures his cock in between them. He would hold you from behind while his cock releases cum on your pretty thighs.

He feels his orgasm building up and he covers his mouth as he mutes the moans he wishes you heard.

His cum ruining his boxers and soon enough, he leans back and sighs.

A/N: Happy Valentines Day, enjoy this and please yourself like they did ;)

Tags: @fanofstuffidk @kas-mccoy07 @mikaronn @love-simon @imasimpsowhat06 @sae1kie @bittermajesties @cross-axis @ess-perspective @thatonepupkai @lake-lili @lovelyvqer @pasanau4 @merivalowrites @luvecarson @goldenmclaren @maylovessyou @kit-kats06 @cookiefanhere @nunezr29 @cringeycookies @liyanahelena @deni-sova @johfaam0 @froggy-anon @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @krinoid24 @istillcantfindausername @iruzias @frizzseaberries @idklols @katybaby00 @spicypicklesoh @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @baldwinhearts @undercover-smutlover @Juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @nobodys-coffee @honestlyhiswife @enarien @simonssweetgirl @willowaftxn83-87 @coralwitchdreamland @ikohniik @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @anonymuslydumb @avidreadee123 @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties

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chamomiletealeaf · 1 month

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having absolutely desperate floor sex with one of the 141 men after him being over protective at the bar and pawing at you in the bar and in the car all night

who said that???

THIS IS SO SIMON OMG

The thought of rough floor sex with him is just 🥴🥴🥴

Warnings: afab! fem reader, manhandling, oral sex (f! receiving), floor sex, prone bone, doggy, dom! Simon, kinda jealous and possessive Simon if you squint a bit

Imagine you’re out with him and the team, wearing that dress he loves so much and other men seem to love too. The bartender keeps flirting with you and Simon grips your hip or thigh harder and harder every time he does and gives him the death stare.

God is this bartender ever gonna learn when to shut it?

You notice Simon getting irritated and announce you want to dance. You grab Simon’s hands and drag him along knowing he’s gonna hate it, but at least it gives you a chance to show him you’re his.

He follows you to the dance floor, not wanting you out of his sight. You start swaying your hips to the music and Simon just stands and watches you with hungry eyes, his hands in yours still.

Although his skull mask hides everything but his eyes up, you can tell he’s desperate for you. It’s in his eyes.

So you turn around and press your ass to his front, grabbing his hands and moving them to your hips, still swaying your hips to the music right on his hard on starting to form and he grips your hips like you would run away if he didn’t.

He leans his face down to your ear and whispers:

“Quit doin’ that or I’ll fuck you right here on this dance floor.”

And you, being the tease you are, press your ass even harder into him with a smirk and he growls in your ear.

“Let’s go.” He grumbles and pulls you by the waist flush against him through the crowd and the rest of the team sees you two as you walk by.

Simon doesn’t look at them but you quickly say goodbye while Simon is practically dragging you out of there and Johnny and Gaz look at each other and laugh, knowing what’s about to happen.

Simon doesn’t say a word the whole way to the car and you giggle to yourself, liking the effect you’re having on him. He doesn’t say a word on the car ride home but he drags his hand up and down your inner thigh, giving you a pinch every time you make some snarky remark about how some innocent flirting from the bartender got him so worked up.

Then at each red light he drags his hand all the way up to your pussy covered by a thin, baby blue thong and he rubs you through it, making you spread your legs for him even further, but he never puts his fingers in, teasing you as much as you did him.

When you two finally get back home he pulls you out the passenger seat. And the second you get inside, his lips are on yours immediately. He kisses you roughly, his tongue licking at yours and he walks, making you walk backwards to wherever he’s leading you.

He leads you into the bedroom but before you get to the bed he stops you.

“Bend over the vanity. Lemme see these little panties you got on.” He demands, saying the first words he’s said since the bar. And you bend over the black vanity he built for you right by the bed.

Simon hikes your dress up and hums in appreciation when he sees your baby blue thong with a cute pink bow on the front and he gives your ass a smack, making you jump and whine.

“Well fuck me. You had these on this whole time? Hm? Around the guys as well? Fuckin’ minx.” He says, and he presses his full hard on against your ass with a death grip on your hips while he leans over your back to grunt in your ear.

“Gonna eat this sweet little pussy out.” He says almost to himself as he drops to his knees so he’s eye level with your pussy.

“Fuck lovie, look at that wet spot. You like riling me up like this hm?” He says and you nod biting your lip, and he presses his face into your clothed pussy from behind making you whimper.

Simon moans into you and licks you through your panties a few times before dragging his hands down from your hips to pull your panties off.

You step out of them and kick them to the side and he grabs your thighs.

“Get your legs up on my shoulders.” He says, and when you don’t because your brain is too hazy from only thinking about his tongue on your clit, he manhandles you and pulls them up himself so your upper body is pressed against the vanity and your knees are bent on his shoulders while he holds you up. It’s uncomfortable, but fuck does it feel good.

Simon wraps his arms under your thighs and rests his hands on your lower back while he eats you out from behind.

“Fuck Simon right there, just like that.” You moan, wanting to reach back to grab his hair but if you do, you’re afraid you’ll fall, but Simon has you locked in place on his face.

He eats you out like he hasn’t eaten anything in days, shaking his head to push himself deeper, his tongue lapping at your hole and moving down to play with your clit.

As he continues to hold you up and eat you out, you feel your orgasm hit you hard and you shake and can’t hold yourself up anymore, letting your face press into the vanity, eyes rolled back.

“Fuck Simon I- I’m cumming oh my god-“

You say while cumming on his face.

Simon licks you up clean and moans at your taste and the pulse of your pussy on his tongue.

He doesn’t give you a second to adjust before pushing your knees off his shoulders so you stand again, and he pulls you up off the vanity, pushing you onto the ground next to the bed.

He’s so pent up he can’t even wait to get you both on the bed.

So he’s gonna fuck you on the hardwood floor right next to it.

He throws you on the floor face down, palms by your chest to catch yourself and you feel him kneel behind you.

“Arse up.” He says. “Just a little. Arch your back for me.”

You do as you’re told and lift your ass up just a little bit, knees together so Simon can fuck you in a prone bone.

“Fuck look at that.” He says, taking in the sight of your ass and glistening pussy in front of him.

He straddles the back of your legs and lays his weight on your back. He reaches one arm down to wrap around your hips so he can keep your hips up and rub at your clit, and the other arm is wrapped around your throat.

He slides in easily making you both moan and he wastes no time getting to pounding you.

“Been thinkin’ o’ this the whole night. Watching that dumb bloke behind the bar flirt with you. Almost lifted this pretty little dress and fucked you on the bar right in front of him.” He says panting into your ear as he pounds into your pussy, making squelching noises as he does so.

You feel tears form in your eyes from the pleasure of feeling Simon’s full weight on you, his thick arm around your neck, the cold floor pressed against your cheek and the sweet stretch of his cock thrusting deep into you.

“Doin’ so well for me bunny, fuck. Keepin’ that back nice and arched up for me.” He says and you whine in response, trying to keep your arch while he places all his weight on you, using your toes as leverage.

“Ah- f- fuck me Simon yeah-“ you moan out pathetically through tears and he laughs darkly in your ear at your desperation.

“Aww poor bunny. Can barely take it hm? Feel too good?” He mocks, and starts to rub your clit making you gasp, and you nod with a sob.

“Feels so good.” You mewl, and every sob you let out causes your pussy to clench around him which makes his hips stutter and his breath hitch.

You loved when Simon was rough with you, but he’s never just thrown you on the floor and fucked you like this and you were fucking loving it.

Then Simon changes positions.

He releases him arm from around your throat and from under your hips and he sits back on his knees which pushes your legs further apart.

“C’mon bunny on your knees.” He commands.

You tremble as you push your ass up even more so you’re on your knees then you bring your knees back together. Your face is still pressed down on the wooden floor which starts to warm up from your bodies.

Simon leans over your back again, pushing your upper body down and places a hand on the side of your face to keep your cheek pressed to the floor, and his other arm wraps back under your hips while he fucks you in doggy.

The new position makes you squeal once he starts fucking you again and you can’t help but kick your legs out from the pleasure.

“Uh-uh, keep your legs together. Thaaat’s it. What a good little bunny. Taking my cock so well.”

Tears start forming again in your eyes and when Simon starts to rub your clit again that’s when you start to full on sob.

“Gonna cum for me sweets hm? Gonna cum around my cock? Do it. C’mon you can do it. Show me how good I make you feel.”

And with a few more rough and fast circles on your clit and a few more thrusts of Simon’s hips you’re cumming hard with a high pitched whine, pussy clenching him so hard while you throb you nearly push him out every time it pulses with your orgasm.

Your pulsing and squeezing around him causes Simon to cum and he cums deep inside you, filling you up.

“Fuck bunny- yeah that’s it, milk me with that sweet little pussy- fuck- pounding around me so good-“ he says right before he cums in you with a grunt, and you beneath him, eyes half lidded with tears running down your cheeks and your mouth open drooling on the floor.

You two stay like that for a minute before Simon picks you up and finally places you on the bed.

“How you feelin’ sweetheart?” He asks.

“S- so good.” You say, still in a daze from the orgasm he just gave you.

“Maybe I should let the bartenders flirt with me more often if this is how it ends.” You say with a smirk and he laughs.

“Oh sweets, you know all you have to do is ask.” He says with a smirk before kissing your forehead and lips. “And don’t joke about that.” He says more sternly this time before he goes to get a towel to clean you up, making you laugh.

Simon was the only one for you, and you both knew it.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod x reader

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