Thinkin Abt: Classic “traitor” Sergeant You And Tf 141, Except You Have A Different Trauma Response

Leave a mark

MINORS DNI

Monster!John "Soap" Mactavish (with Poly Monster!141 at the end) x Male Reader

Cw: it starts off with Soap but the rest r mentioned and written but not as much as soap, marking with markers, nothing else I believe lmk

Silly thought but like imagine a monster reader who has crazy fast regeneration. Like deep cuts heal in seconds. Maybe you're a ghoul who just has crazy regen, or something like that.

Anyways,

Wouldn't a relationship between Soap, who loves leaving bites and see the aftermath due to his instincts as a werewolf and you who literally heals in seconds be interesting?

He loves getting fucked by you, but everytime he leaves a bit unsatisfied. It's not because you can't make him cum or anything, hell you can pull multiple orgasms from the guy and you have.

It's just that he can't leave satisfied knowing that he left a mark on you. He has bit you so much but the marks just won't stay. With the other members he can clearly see the marks he left on their neck and shoulders, even with Price who due to his dragon blood heals faster but the marks still stay for a day or two.

So everytime you two fuck, even if his ass if filled to the brim and his balls are empty he still whines because he can't leave his mark on you. You're a member of the 141, his pack, so it pains him that he can't put a claim on you like he has with the others.

So one day you get a bit creative.

One night in your room where he's riding on your cock, bouncing up and down while you lay your back on the bed, your hands gripping his hips and slamming him down on you as you cum. He leans down and bites as hard as he can on you as the feeling of you filling him up makes him cum. Pulling away and only being able to whine because he can't even admire his mark before it fades away.

"Aw, is puppy unsatisfied?" You tease and chuckle. And before he could insist that he was, you reached to the bedside table and picked up a red permanent marker, "why don't you mark me with this instead?" You say handing him the marker.

He huffs out a laugh at your little solution, but it's the best you got since you can't really make yourself regenerate slower. So he indulges, testing the marker on the back of your hand, the ink incredibly opaque so it stands out against your skin. Then he draws a bite mark at your neck then adds "Soap's Claim" in big letters, covering the whole left side of your neck.

He leans back, the bright red against your skin and the obvious letters, he finally sighs a sigh of relief.

It doesn't go unnoticed as well (just how he likes it)

The other members of the task force noticing Soap's eyes seem a bit brighter and his tail has been swaying peacefully the whole day. And that's where you enter, neck bare for everyone to see (it's the least you can do) Soap grins, happy to finally be able to show off his claim on you.

And now they want to have their names on your body too.

It's all color coordinated too now, Price who loves to write across your shoulder blades, with words like "Price's hoard" or just a simple "Price" with a heart next to it, it's simple but huge.

Gaz with a bright blue marker who likes to do it on your lower back (because he can also rest his head on your ass) writing something like "Gaz was here" and likes to draw wings on you. (Wing themed tramp stamp with 141 between the wings anyone?)

And Ghost with either white or black who loves to mark your chest, either a simple "ghost" or "Simon Riley" on each pec. Also likes to draw a ghost doodle on top of your heart.

And if you five fuck together, you aren't the only one who ends up having ink on you, but you'd have the most. And when you wake up to find a big arrow pointing to your dick and ass that says "Property of 141" written in multiple colors, you'd wish you could show it off.

pt2/finale traitor!tf141 au

cw: some angst, hurt with lots of comfort, can be read as platonic or romantic, flashbacks to past torture, mentions of violence, military inaccuracies, reader tears 141 a new one (we all cheered), we're overcoming hedgehog's dilemma with this one boys (four times you saved them, one (and a half) time(s) they saved you) realllllly fckn long

(it's the finale part yay! i don't have any more ideas to continue this au, but asks abt it are always open)

in the months since you've joined kortac, you quickly cemented yourself as efficient, capable, and reliable in their eyes. as fundamental to the team as the very foundation of a home. your hard work in the field even earned you a new call sign, one gifted by könig himself.

wraith.

a harbinger of death, the final phantasmal apparition any enemy would have the misfortune to see. sweeping, practically dancing, through swaths of men, leaving them dropping like flies in your wake.

but if that was true, the why were you back under intensive care in the med bay again?

the latest mission had gone sideways. a simple recon mission that had went belly up due to an enemy ambush. reconnaissance turned into rescue instead. and kortac's new target?

you.

it wasn't pretty. the way they tore through the field to reach you, nearly trampling over friend and foe alike, guns blazing all the while. leaving nothing but blood and carnage in their wake, blood lust only temporarily abated before they realized the state you were in.

on the verge of passing out, bound and bloodied, battered and bruised all over again. you had certainly looked like your callsign then, pale from exhaustion and the fabric of your very being fraying once more. despite the strength of your bonds and your faith in them, doubt still gnawed at the edges of your psyche. the pain from the physical beating imposed by your captors was nothing compared to your own mental flogging.

will they come?

i hope they do.

they shouldn't come.

it's not worth it.

the mission is compromised.

i'm sorry.

the sight of könig kicking down the locked door and the feeling of someone gently bundling you into his arms was the last thing you remembered before passing out.

they came.

despite your ceaseless tears and aches, there was a small smile on your face, too.

waiting for you to wake up again was agonizing.

the four of them, huddled around your bed in the base's med bay, with only the incessant ticking of the clock and your steady breaths to break the silence. they couldn't focus on any paperwork they had brought either, too agitated, too restless, too worried, to focus on mindless bureaucracy.

horangi sat at your bedside, bent over from exhaustion and boredom, his hand clasped with yours. he remembers how you used to be, those few months ago. quiet but strong, withdrawn but not entirely cold, he could sense the smallest flicker of warmth--wanting in all your movements. despite it, you hadn't uttered a word to him at all, barely met his eyes, carrying yourself admirably, independently in action.

he remembers it as if it were yesterday, when you first spoke to him.

he was too caught up in the heat of battle, tunnel visioned whilst carving a path into enemy territory and leading the charge with you as support. you had felt the chilling, piercing gaze before you ever saw them, all but shoving horangi's head down and missing the sniper's bullet aimed for him. he had looked at you, bewildered, before you summoned the strength to speak.

"enemy sniper in the vicinity. watch your six, horangi." your comm headset then crackled to life as you relayed the message to the team.

in the grand scheme of things, it was a small gesture. a teammate saving another's life is common place on the field, but horangi still felt grateful all the same. your sharp senses, your quick thinking, your presence and the safety it brought only emboldened him on the field, knowing that you'd be there to drag him out of harm's way.

outside the field, he knew that even if you couldn't express it fully aloud, you still cared for them very much. one day incidentally, you had noticed horangi picking at his food, dissatisfied with grey slop from the mess hall. (and you were too, to be quite honest.)

eventually, you found yourself and your team stationed off base for once, waiting around in temporary housing for the start of the mission. it seemed like the perfect time to have something other than MREs.

it was a very simple meal, grilled meat, storebought kimchi, savory steamed eggs and some freshly cooked rice. but when you called them in for lunch, horangi nearly dropped to his knees and proposed to you on the spot. he had to hold himself back from positively bear hugging you into his arms, instead eagerly complimenting the meal you prepared and squeezing your hand in appreciation.

"did you like the meal hong-jin?" he could barely hear you over the running faucet of the sink whilst he helped with the dishes, but he still beamed at you regardless. (he thought that meek voice of yours asking for approval was downright adorable.)

"of course i did! thank you. i really appreciate it." he couldn't remember the last time he felt so... content. so cared for and seen. it made him feel warm inside, heart full and fuzzy and soft around the edges from your quiet attentiveness.

that's why, when you all return to base and he spots you in the early morning light, sipping on coffee all alone—he joins you without a second thought. settling down next to you on the bench in the rec room with his own cup, no words exchanged but it's warm and comforting all the same.

you don't bat an eye at his presence, as if he was always meant to be there. you carefully lean into him, your shoulder's a hair's breadth from touching his. one hand holds your steaming cup and the other gingerly fiddles with his own free hand.

(you can sense his gaze too, burning into you and hong-jin as he watched from the hallway. mactavish. burning up with jealously, regret, remorse, as he watched you two.

watched the way you slowly scooted closer to hong-jin, leaning into his side as he casually swung his arm up and around your shoulder. watched as the tension bled from your body and left you utterly relaxed and open.

he couldn't remember the last time he saw you like that. if ever. he couldn't stomach the sight anymore, stomping away from the rec room with clenched fists and a deep scowl on his face.

that should've been him.)

(whether hong-jin sensed him too, he didn't say. if he did, or if he didn't, hong-jin didn't give a shit either way. all that mattered was being in the moment with you.)

krueger sighed as he glanced at the wall clock again, only five infernal minutes since last he checked it. he then glanced over to horangi, who was now soundly snoring in his seat, his head resting in his arms. then, a shadow of a smile graced his own face as he looked at you.

he remembers how the roles were reversed before, that time you went out of your way to save him. he remembers it clear as day.

the first ever mission where you two had been assigned as partners. he had respected you immensely, your silent intensity and lack of fluff, efficient, strong, a damn good partner. the mission had went off without a hitch, until the end of it.

you didn't know how to turned out like this. one moment the building was eerily quiet and still, and the next it was a raging inferno. just moments before, you had been separated from krueger looking for the documents. and now you were running, panting as you made it outside. but, something was off when you looked around.

where was krueger?

you hesitated only for a split second before running back in, while your teammates all shouted for you to stop. but you tuned them out, focusing, clearing your mind and remembering the layout of the building, where krueger said he was headed.

you found him in the hallway leading to the security room, crawling along the floor, his leg injured in the blast. clutching the documents with one hand, and using the other to drag himself forward.

when the smoke had parted to reveal you, he thought he was already dead. your silhouette blurry and grainy around the edges, the roaring fire illuminating your face in an ominous orange. an angel of death. he felt you take the documents from his hand, resignation filling him as he thought you'd turn and run.

he didn't resent you for it. not at all, take the documents, focus on the mission, leave the baggage behind. but you didn't. you didn't leave him there. you hauled him up single-handedly, adrenaline pumping through you as you fought to remain calm and steady, whilst rushing him and yourself out of there.

you spoke to him just loud enough to hear, keeping him awake and alert.

"c'mon krueger, i'm getting you out of here."

"keep moving, this is no place to die."

"you can sleep when we're safely back on base."

"i'm not leaving without you."

and he couldn't help but wonder, why?

for a man like him, one you barely knew beyond being teammates.

why? as you two narrowly escaped the building as it completely collapsed.

why? as you dragged his half unconscious body to the evac point, as you waited with him, patching up his wounds with what meager medical supplies you had on you.

why? as you fitted the oxygen mask over his face in the helicopter. his vision fading to black from exhaustion.

you sat with him as he laid in med bay, waiting for him to wake up. you remember what it felt like, to wake up all alone with no one around. how harrowing and disorienting it was, near tears when one of your old teammates had finally gone to check on you. through his (quite insincere) apologies, you sensed his piss poor excuses.

"oh, you're awake... apologies. we were busy." he didn't look physically exhausted at all, no sweat or sign of training.

paperwork, you realized.

they were too busy doing paperwork to stay by your bedside. when it sunk in, you had merely swallowed, staring at your bandaged hands.

"it's ok." you managed to mutter, after a beat there was a small click of the door. and the sterile room faded into suffocating silence once more as his footsteps led him away.

krueger, now awake, studied your face as you glared at the wall opposite you, hands clasped together and lost in thought. watching your tired eyes growing glassy with unshed tears, he decided enough was enough.

you startled slightly when he waved his hand in your line of sight, immediately snapped out of your trance. looking to him a concerned look that crossed your face, you murmured, "how're you holding up?"

"could be worse off... thanks. for saving me back there." he can see how you melt, a little less guarded with a small smile crossing your face. even under the sterile med bay lights, eyes tired and skin a little dull, you still looked like an angel. his saving angel.

he doesn't care why you did it. all it matters is that you did, he didn't need to know why when it was written all over your face. your actions, your presence besides him spoke more than words could.

(garrick had noticed you from the hallway, watching you intently.

green with envy as you tried to stifle your giggles before breaking into a real, honest to god, belly laugh. watched as you held onto krueger's hand so you wouldn't keel over in your seat from laughter.

watched as you wiped away happy tears-- so different compared to the terrified ones he remembers you shedding before. watched as your guarded demeanor melted into something softer, full of big smiles and genuine laughs you shared with krueger.

not him. it should've been him.)

(yes, krueger noticed him. didn't see him directly but he could tell in your eyes. how your laughter flickered and dimmed slightly as you glanced at something-- someone, before he redirected you back to himself. making you laugh at his jokes, and forgetting all about garrick. good. garrick could go to hell for all he cares.)

even when krueger was able to get up and walk around, you still stuck by him. doing work in his med bay room and telling you when and where you'd leave to. whether by pure happenstance or good fortune, krueger had been awake one morning just before you'd leave for coffee.

"oh, good morning, seb! i'm going to go have coffee with horan-- er, hong-jin..." a brief nervous pause, you were considering something.

"do you... do you want to join us?" asked with such tender hope in your eyes that he couldn't possibly say no. (frankly if you told him to jump he wouldn't even say "how high" he'd just do it.)

despite the sudden appearance of sebastian, hong-jin didn't look surprised in the slightest. they shared one look with each other and they immediately understood; watching as you happily prepared coffee, humming beneath your breath with your back turned to them. that morning, and for the following mornings after that; you enjoyed your coffee happily squished between the both of them.

back in your temporary room in med bay, sebastian had now drifted off in his chair. lulled to dreams by the quiet room and pleasant memories you shared.

nikto had elected to lean on the far wall of the room, opposite your bed. muttered something about being able to see the whole room for safety. but he now surveyed the tranquil room, seeing both krueger and horangi asleep in their chairs, and you, hopefully peacefully asleep too. his eyes lingered on the teddy bear that sat dutifully at your side, as if to protect you from night terrors. the teddy bear that he got you.

it was supposed to be like any other sleepless night, awoken from fitful slumber by nightmares both real and imagined, past and present.

rest would not visit them again tonight it seems.

with practiced ease they had made their way to the base's rec room, searching for tranquility in the stillness of night. peace, away from his restless mind. sitting quietly down at the table, waiting out the night until you happened to stumble in.

there hadn't been many words exchanged between you before. but there was mutual respect-- anyone would always appreciate a hard worker like you. but now he watched quietly as you tottered over to the empty seat besides him in the rec room, attempting to muffle quiet sobs as you slumped in the chair. they weren't the only ones to have bad dreams tonight it seems.

nikto didn't know what overcame him, they shouldn't of pried. everyone on base has their struggles, but between you, it felt different; his body overcome with the urge to help, to comfort.

he spoke quietly. "night terrors?" the question hung in the air for a bit before you sniffled, and nodded. he didn't ask about what aloud, but the offer was there. there was no judgement in his gaze, but understanding. even if he didn't cry, even if his own nightmares came night after night, he understood deeply.

they sighed, standing up and went to get a pot of coffee going; if he was going to stay up all night, might as well enjoy it. but after they set a fresh cup of coffee in front of you, the dam inside of you broke and you spilled everything, with nikto and the night as your only witnesses.

sobbing into your hands and sleeves about what they put you through. how they slashed so painfully at you, spat at you, how they imprinted themselves deep into your psyche.

you told nikto you despised looking in the mirror because it reminds you too much of them and what they did to you. how you can feel the phantom edge of riley's blade glide up your face, or how mactavish punched you so hard you nearly blacked out.

how you can still feel garrick's hand gripping your wrist, holding it still as his knife comes down on your pinky, severing it with no remorse.

nikto's care for you wins out against their new found contempt for task force 141 in the end. he gets up from his chair across you, and sits besides you instead. a single palm, placed soothingly on your back.

"allow us to show you something." their hands reach their mask and, they slowly, unhurriedly undo all the buckles and belts that secure it. methodically laying piece by piece of their mask down on the table, carefully, as to not startle you. the last piece of nikto's mask comes off and you're granted a front row view of his face.

they easily read your expression, no surprise, no disgust, no pity either. they see recognition in your eyes, familiarity. it's different from all the other looks they've gotten. you don't scream or cry (anymore), nor do you try to run away, instead you sit quietly memorizing their face.

for once, they feel as if they don't hate their own face either.

"the past comes for us night after night. but we cannot allow ourselves to wallow in it anymore. what's done has been done, the best any of us can do is simply move on... and keep living." the words settled into your mind.

nikto is right.

you can't allow the 141 to rob you of your life more than they already have. you want to thank him. for his advice, for his trust in you, and you tell him to wait for a moment.

he's left alone in the dark again, but it doesn't feel suffocating anymore. even he didn't know the weight they were carrying until it was gone. although your presence is momentarily absent, he-- they trust that you will return.

and you do. they note you look a little embarrassed, but you move to sit down next to him again before handing them a little well loved teddy bear. it's plastic eyes a bit scratched and cloudy, the ribbon around the neck is loose, and the stuffing a bit lumpy. well adored.

"here." you start. he takes a moment to give it a soft squeeze, and he doesn't know why but his heart sinks and soars at the same time.

"i always hug my bear when the nightmares are too much. it makes me feel better when i hold him... so i.. i want you to have it. so that he can help you too." you can't help but feel a little childish, fiddling with your fingers as you await his reply, but no such chiding or scoff ever resounds from them.

instead, a soft "thank you. we will cherish it." falls from their lips, and that's all it takes for you to truly relax. they expect you to return to your room but you don't, staying put and keeping them company through the silent night. sometimes you talk some more, sometimes it's just your breathing that's audible, they listen intently either way.

but they watch as your eyelids grow heavier, your words slurred and drowsy, and before you can fall asleep on the hard table; nikto tucks your body into their side instead. a warm arm and a strong chest keep you securely in place, blissfully asleep.

(nikto does not move an inch the whole night. not while you're still peacefully asleep, nor when the light of dawn illuminates the room and chases away the dark, and most certainly not when a certain lieutenant walks into the rec room.

the certain someone doesn't notice you peacefully sleeping in nikto's arms until he turns around and is greeted with the sight of your peacefully sleeping face. blissfully unaware to who was in the room besides you and nikto. he looks confounded, envious even, and nikto can sense he's itching to say something. but he sends the lieutenant an icy glare, lifting a finger to his lips.

the man doth protest too much, they think. making a talking motion with his hand, before pointing at him and then making an ominous throat slitting motion with their thumb. he seems to get the memo the second time around, quickly exiting the rec room with only a single final fleeting glance towards your peaceful face.)

(your sleepy visage belies your awareness to his presence. even in sleep your body still remembers, subtly awakening when he entered the room, feeling his burning gaze lingering on you despite being in nikto's arms.)

the second visitors to the rec room are much more welcomed ones. hong-jin and seb were surprised to see nikto there, but more importantly with you curled up peacefully in his arms.

any surprise is quickly replaced with adoration as they watch you peacefully snooze for a few more moments, before they sadly have to wake you. a simple "wakey wakey sleepyhead" and a small shake from hong-jin is all that's required to wake you. (nikto and seb do give him a teasing side eye for that.)

their hearts collectively squeeze as you gradually come to, looking at all of them with a fond glint in your sleepy gaze, a soft yawn and an even softer smile.

you now share your mornings with hong-jin, seb, and andre after that. the more the merrier after all. sometimes they fight over who gets to sit next to you, and the loser of three way rock paper scissors always sulks a little, but the smile you give all of them makes up for it.

in the quiet room nikto can feel his head nodding, drowsy with sleep, so he leaves the wall. laying down, horizontal to the foot of your bed to sleep.

(rest may not so easily visit nikto, but rest is within reach wherever you are. whether that may be right next to him, or a just few feet away in your room.

he had also gone and gifted you another teddy bear. after you so graciously gifted him yours, similar but not quite the same. with big round eyes, and cute ears and a neat bow that he tied himself, along with a little heart in one paw.)

when könig looked up from his paperwork to check if you woke up yet he was met with sound of soft snores in the room. looking around, he sees his trusted teammates sleeping peacefully and lets out an amused hum.

he feels his focus slip away, paperwork long forgotten when he stares at you.

he always liked you. long before you even joined kortac, when you were still with them. he saw himself in parts of you, like how it was so hard for you to connect with your team, and how you opted to close yourself off. he liked your tenacity, your readiness to work, it was a shame that they had gotten to you first.

which is why the 141's biggest blunder was the greatest thing they ever inadvertently did for him.

he almost pitied them, those fools. they did what they did, they chose to do it, and made the biggest mistake of their lives. no where did it ever say that he couldn't benefit from their self inflicted misery.

welcoming you to kortac was one of the best days of his life. you took to the new work like fish to water, always offering to pick up the slack whenever necessary. always finishing more paperwork than required of you, training the new recruits, you ran around non stop to help others. but he didn't like how you overdid it, even when you were on the verge of collapsing asleep in the hallway you still trudged on.

he remembers being up at ungodly hours doing work when you knocked on his office door and requested for more paperwork to do, despite the bags under your eyes protesting otherwise. when he questioned you, all you could respond with was a stilted "can't sleep." and that was that. he'll let you do paperwork until you tired and then he'd return you to your room.

but he watched in abject horror as you sat there long past him, completing reports and filing things away. and you were STILL awake and doing things even after he went to bed and woke up again. (he did place you on bed rest for a few days after that, as much as you silently complained about it.)

when this behavior continued, he knew that he had to question you about it. and so he waited until your brain was a little fuzzy from exhaustion, you inhibitions giving way to the more primal parts of your psyche. when your guard was down and you could be a little more honest.

"lieutenant." his voice broke the ambience of his still office, cutting through the sound of flitting paper and scribbling pens.

you head snapped towards his immediately, despite the way your eyes fought to stay open.

"may i ask why you work so hard? you do realize you don't need to go above and beyond, ja? you're only exhausting yourself doing this."

a pregnant pause lingered in the air as you stared at the floor under his feet. your grip tightened on your pen, and he thought that you'd get up and leave entirely.

"if you don't want to answer you don't have to. i won't force you--" his sentence was cut off abruptly when you looked directly at him.

"because i have to." your voice, despite being a whisper was more akin to a bomb. he was confused, going to question further but you then continued.

"if i'm not useful anymore. then i'll be discarded again like before." your voice was the weakest he's ever heard it, vulnerable and scared. your eyes were downcast again, avoiding his piercing gaze whilst unshed tears built in your own.

the sight of your tears glimmering under the warm lamp lights quickly roused him to comfort you. corralling your shaking and sobbing body into his arms, holding you tight as you sobbed your heart out.

he didn't tell you to stop, only letting you continue emptying your emotions where it was safe. one arm around the back of your neck and the other soothing up and down your back, "it's ok, sweetheart. it's ok. i promise you will never go through that again. so long as i live, i'll be right beside you. they won't ever touch you ever again, i'll make sure of it."

right there, in that cramped office of his during a frigid night, being consoled and comforted by your colonel, what else could you do but believe him? he sounded so self assured, his tone kept soft and low, cradling you against him until you fell asleep.

(price wasn't envious of könig at all, he was the man that put you into that position in the first place. executing that god forsaken order that ruined your life and theirs.

so why couldn't he will himself to walk away when he heard the two of you talking?

hell, he could hear your sobs being muffled into könig's chest. could hear you murmur the smallest "thank you"s towards him too. but no, he was most certainly not envious of könig at all.

how silly would that be.)

(könig had most certainly known that price was outside. if not for his footsteps breaking the still night, then most certainly the camera recording would've told him. bastard just doesn't know when to stop does he. god, if you weren't positively sobbing yourself into exhaustion in his arms he would've stomped outside to tell him to go fuck himself.)

a few days after you confessed your troubles to him he awoke with a sigh, needing to talk to horangi. but he wasn't in his room. and neither was krueger. or nikto for that matter. and when he checked your room, you weren't there either. it left him scratching his head as he wandered through base in the morning until eventually stumbling into the rec room.

there you all were, on the rec room bench, bathed in the glow of early morning all sharing quiet conversation. his heart lurched in his chest at the sight of you, so happy you were practically glowing, squished between horangi and nikto.

when he was about to turn heel and flee you noticed him, calling out to him and so politely asking him to join. he froze before stiffly turning around and tottering over to an empty seat near you.

"so... this is where you all are in the mornings?" he spoke quietly, trying not to break the relaxed atmosphere.

and you piped up from your comfy place on the bench before anyone else could. "yeah! we're all here every morning. why don't you just join us from now on könig? i'm so sorry we didn't say anything earlier, you we're just really busy all the time and i ah... i guess i didn't want to bother you."

his eyes widened a fraction while his hands tensed around his coffee cup, taking a moment to mull it over. "sure. why not."

the bright grin you gave him in response rivaled the sun.

but he quickly woke from his reverie when he heard you sob. the sound still haunts him in his nightmares, blind and deaf he would still be able to tell when you were crying. the four of them snapping to attention as you contorted painfully on the bed.

you were back in that godforsaken interrogation room again.

where the lights blinded you in the darkness, where the cold nipped at your fingers and nose, where the ropes bound your body and where fear and hunger made themselves uninvited companions to your misery.

what would they take from you this time? hacking away at you more and more and more until nothing was left. your body, your mind, your pride, your soul, all fit to be chopped up and tossed aside.

what had you done this time? spoke too loudly, too much? didn't speak enough? looked at someone wrong? stood out too much? or did you try and fade into the background? it didn't matter anyway, they would hammer you down like a bent nail until it wasn't even visible on the wood's surface anymore, with only a crater left in it's wake.

oh, look. ol' skipper is here too this time. what a party it is now! the more the merrier of course, yes, why not allow price to blindly stick you with pins as if it were a mere birthday game?

what's the matter cap'n? got jealous just watching from the sidelines and wanted to join in on the fun now too? there's more than enough to play with and to discard before you get bored.

look at all the fun toys you have at your disposal! used syringes with mysterious unknown liquid, rusty pliers and nails, broken glass, a hot branding iron, and whatever other indistinguishable horrors lay on that table!

what fun will we have together today?

"sweet--" what? what was that? that didn't sound like any of them.

"sweetheart-- sweetheart wake up" were they talking to you? who was talking to you?

it was as if the ropes had melted away with no resistance when you stood up, stumbling your way to the door with warm light behind it. the torturous room falling away into the white void behind you with each further step you took.

"wake up sweetheart." the voice was coming from behind the door. with little hesitance you turned the knob on the door and with a gasp you awoke with a start. you were safe.

warm and safe. safe and warm. far, far away from that room. far away from them.

they had all deflated like a balloon, rife with heartache when you finally woke up from the nightmare. your panting and whimpers of "help" and "stop" and "please" had distressed them, watching you flail around haplessly made them want to cry. it was only when könig started to utter "sweetheart" to you that you calmed for a bit, then finally rousing from that horrid memory.

when you had registered that they were all there, at your bed, waiting for you, you nearly burst into tears again. a small wobbly smile gracing your face as you pulled them all into a tight hug.

"i'm happy. i'm so happy to see you all again. i love you all so much. thank you for waiting for me." they melted into your touch, your hug, until you pulled away and wiped at your eyes.

you muttered what had happened without any prompting from them, all too shaken up from the dream to keep quiet. "i saw them again. in my dream. i was in that room again. i think something will happen soon. it.... it felt different this time. my captain was there, too. he's usually never present in them."

they had made sure to be hyper vigilant around you that week. nearly pouncing on any of the 141 whenever they got too close or looked at you for too long. barring their teeth and snapping their jaws, before ushering you far and away from them.

but even the most hyper vigilant of hounds can't protect all the time.

it happened after you went to the bathroom during dinner. one way in, one way out, no where for you to run. at first it was mactavish, of fucking course it was mactavish. cornering you in that hallway to beg for your forgiveness, asking for you to return. what emboldened them so much this time around? oh you definitely knew. seeing you happy, oh so happy without them.

they knew their window to get you to return to them was closing, and fast. but they hadn't realized that it closed a long, long time ago. instead, your tolerance for them was dwindling, slowly, slowly draining until you'd finally explode.

mactavish just wouldn't let you go, kept sputtering on and on about how sorry he was until garrick and riley had showed up as reinforcement. at least garrick had enough balls to look you in the eyes as he begged you to return. riley didn't even look at you, staring at the tile above your head instead. allowed mactavish and garrick to do all the talking for him, the despicable bastard.

as if it wasn't bad enough to be hounded by the three of them, their ring leader had finally showed up too. strutting onto the scene with a stride far too casual to be appropriate. the man who you saw like a father, the one who tossed you to the dark without a second thought, the one who was too cowardly to show up and do the dirty work himself.

you didn't want to say anything. didn't want to give them the satisfaction of your reactions, your emotions, anymore of your life that they'd taken from you without remorse. but you had more than enough.

"don't you know when to take a fucking hint? haven't you done enough already?! when the hell did i ever say i wanted to return? what sort of message did you manage to delude yourselves into thinking was real?" you barked at them. they had looked taken aback, not expecting your outburst.

"but-- bonnie, i promise this time we'll be better! we promise! we'll take care of you--" if looks could kill, frankly, mactavish would've been a pile of ash on the floor.

"what makes you think you can take better care of me better than my own team can? where was this attitude when i first joined, huh? where was it? you don't even feel bad about what you did to me! you're just saying sorry to absolve yourselves from the guilt of what you did. like doing that could fix anything you did to me. you don't actually care and you never did! just-- all of you can go fuck yourselves."

mactavish looked like a kicked puppy but you couldn't care less at all. until price spoke up, just had to open his fucking gob didn't he.

"ye don't mean that." he muttered as you attempted to leave.

you turned abruptly to level him a nasty glare.

"oh i'm sorry. did you become a mind reader all of a sudden, price? what the hell do you even know about intention anyway? i'm pretty sure you didn't give any second thought to whether i actually intended to "betray" you all, now did you? well listen to me when i say this, if you ever try to pull this fucking stunt again i intent to make sure that no one would've ever even heard of you. i will make damn sure, that it was like you never even existed in the first place."

you had been gone for suspiciously long, their food trays abandoned without second thought as they went to look for you. rounding a corner near the bathroom they saw you muttering something to price.

they all watched as your eyes lit up when you saw your team, eagerly scampering over to them. horangi had pulled you into a hug, asking if you were ok, if they touched you all the while glaring at them. from the corner of you eye you could still see them, standing still as if you couldn't.

"what the hell are you all still standing there for? either use the bathroom or leave already, jesus christ."

as they were leaving, now, now riley thought it was a good idea to finally speak. the gall of these men is ridiculous.

"sergeant--" he started.

"that's lieutenant to you, riley." you barely spared him a glance before you turned to talk to könig once more.

"lieutenant.. we just--" could they seriously not take a hint? it's not even a hint, it's as obvious as a stop sign.

"are you that dense? do i need to sound it out for you? leave. me. the. fuck. alone. riley." he stood stock still for a few moments, looking at and searching for something on your face.

"you heard them, leutnant." he didn't even bother to look at könig, only shaking his head as he drifted down the hall.

you let out a deep sigh when they were all finally out of sight. practically collapsing boneless against könig's chest as he rocked back and forth soothingly. he patted your hair adoringly, cooing at you as they led you away, back to their barracks.

they lay you on top of konig's chest, with krueger and horangi holding you from each side, whilst nikto lies on top of you like a weighted blanket.

squished between all of them, you've never felt more content and loved. the 141 had their chance, but with you in their hands now? kortac would never, ever let you go.

one man's trash is another man's treasure after all.

taglist: @erintaro @trulovekay @rainingkatzen @blackcats-and-witchcraft @callsofthesky

The Second Duchess

Y'all, Noona's brain worms got me again. AO3 | This will be two parts. | This will end bitter. A/B/O dynamics, vaguely victorian, there will be an actual ghost in part two, odd power dynamics.

When John found you, a foreign lady, visiting a neighboring earl, he thought he had found redemption.

His first wife had been designationless, like you. He and his pack, Johnny, Simon, and Kyle, had ill-treated the first duchess. Her final words, left in an open letter, lingered over them all, even now.

You were supposed to be better. Every tale of you spoke of your bravery, your dedication, your loyalty. I found them all to be lies. When my corpse haunts your memories, may you think on it with more fondness than you ever did me.

The people who claimed the right of parentage over you had sent you to a foreign court in the hopes that someone would take pity on you. Foolish attempt really. No one at home wanted you; no one here would either.

All your life you had been discarded. Set aside for your lack of designation, you learned to cope. The scarred skin at your neck where your gland had failed to grow in the womb became your favorite place to decorate. If not with necklaces, then with art. You had learned how to paint on your body and create wreaths that wound round your neck; you set new standards because you could not do much else. If people were going to stare, why not give them something to look at?

Running wild became your favorite way to use your lack of designation. You could ride a horse side saddle or sitting forward like a man. You could ride better than most men in either seat. The stable hands at home got used to a horse disappearing for a few hours. You always stabled the horses you used, fed them, and brushed them. They stopped complaining after they saw how well you cared for the animals.

You hired art teachers and painted nude bodies. Music teachers taught you how to listen to the lewd songs sung in the taverns and play them at dinner parties. Languages were mastered; the curses were the things you memorized first. The cooks blustered when you demanded to be taught, but when you threatened to hire someone to teach you they quickly gave in.

The maids taught you on the sly the cant and candor of the working class. When they told you of the needs in the community you worked directly with the women who headed each group in need. Connections were gathered like coins in a purse and guarded like a hen over her chicks.

Without quite knowing how you became a woman of influence. A whisper or a word in the right ear and you could turn the tide on harmful policies. If you declared a business untenable for their use of child labor or the way they treated their workers the working class would not patronize them again.

That same level of leverage never breached the bubble of the aristocracy; hence, how you found yourself shipped away to start again.

The weeks warning your mother had given you had been enough for any in your contact to fire off letters to kin and foe alike of your coming. Even letters to foes told of your abilities to conquer changes.

Dock workers had a penchant for overindulging in your country. Men overindulging left women and children bereft of comfort and stability. You had been working at the underpinnings of fact before you had been shipped off.

No one noticed where you wandered, even here in this new country. No one cared. Just this morning you had sat down with the head of the laundress of the city to see what pieces you could shift. Their letter had arrived first, and tending to their needs would become your first priority. They needed childcare.

Children often needed tending and older children needed to be taught reading, writing, and arithmetic. An aging governess or two could be convinced to play school teachers and a maid without a reference could become a tender. Most of the legwork would arise from connecting with the women who would care for and teach the children. The juxtaposing issue would be where to house them and the children during the day. The price per child needed to be reasonable to the laundress and enticing to the governesses and the maid.

Censure, while a familiar disrespect, never became easier to bear. It bit at your flesh like the slap of hands. You had been relegated to the piano in the corner of the room while the other women partook in after-dinner sherry.

You hated sherry. You hated all alcohol really but sherry most of all. It tastes of lies and disappointment in its syrupy sweetness. Shuttering those memories, you focused on playing through a key change and into a jaunty tune; lewd would be a more accurate word, for the song you had learned down at the docks.

All these thoughts swirled through your head as your fingers played without you. Being so deep in thought you failed to notice the men had rejoined the party.

The knuckles rapping the top of the piano before your eyes brought you back to your body. Your motions paused the last notes you played lingering in the air. It is doubtful anyone was listening to you anyway.

A broad man leaned against the piano. His hair was cut short and sprinkled with gray. A neatly maintained beard, sun-kissed wrinkles around his eyes, as well as the fine cut of his coat completed the look of a lord. Being unfamiliar with this county’s aristocracy you offered a demure smile.

“Can I help you, my lord?”

“Where did a thing like you learn a tune like that?” His voice is rich and cadence firm.

“It is astounding the things musicians will teach you for the right incentive.” Settling your hands back to the keys you began to play a medley of your favorite drinking songs.

“Why do you not hide it?” His voice is as a surprise as it is unexpected.

Decorum meant different things here. Like it being acceptable to ask about one’s secondary gender.

“Why would I hide something I am not ashamed of, my lord? I am not causing harm to others by existing,” you lift a brow as you glance at him quickly.

He stared at the paint ringing your neck. The style of dresses here, that your great aunt had draped you in despite your protests, involved low necklines and off-the-shoulder sleeves. The corset cinched around you held up the dress. You had painted flowers and vines. Now, if anyone stared overlong you could assume they were observing your skill with a brush and not the scar where your scent gland should be.

Transitioning into a light, airy tune that has been well accepted by “higher” society you stole glances at the lord. You had yet to be introduced, but his dismissal of decorum intrigued you. Not many men approached you for a chat, even less without being introduced as an oddity first.

“Would you take a turn around the room with me?”

And there went your interest. Like with anyone who did not conform to society’s standards, you were propositioned every so often. Pursing your lips, you don’t look at him again.

“If you can gain an introduction before I depart for the night, I will consider it.” Focusing back on your fingers you played around a key change into a moving piece.

This bit of music sounded a bit like weeping when you played it.

He would not find your aunt anywhere near this room. She had consumed a fair amount of dairy in the soup course and would be leaving rancid deposits for the maids to clean in the morning. Once she felt well enough to travel she would send someone to collect you to the carriage. No one else here could claim acquaintance to the point of introductions.

As you predicted the lord could be seen drifting from person to person questioning and pointing toward you where you played still. All shook their heads and peered around for your aunt. Nearing forty minutes later a maid approached you, hands clasped neatly in front of her white frock.

“Ma’am, your aunt awaits you in the carriage,” her voice is mouse quiet even as her eyes dart to and for.

“Thank you for telling me. Can you inform the butler I will need my things?”

The notes lingered before dying, suffocated under the volume of conversation. The lord noticed though. As you slipped around seats and finally into the front hall, he followed. The aged butler held out your shawl, gloves, and hat.

One glove on and buttoned at the wrist you started on the other one when he appeared. The lord gave a near-silent dismissal to the butler. When you turned you found your hat and shawl held hostage.

“My things, my lord,” your hand extended for your things.

“While I was not able to obtain a formal introduction, I wanted to introduce myself. Duke John Price, at your service.”

Plucking your bonnet from his hand, you hum. Duke Price glared at you as tied it in place.

“How wonderful I avoided the misfortune of being introduced to a duke then being as lowly as I am, hmm?” You glanced at his face.

His sun-kissed wrinkles are now plucked with frustration.

“Will you be returning my shawl or shall I brave the night with bare shoulders, Duke Price?”

You let the title remind him of his place in the scheme of life.

The blue of his eyes reminded you of the center of a flame, scorching in its heat. You saw the decision in the tilt of his head. Standing stiller than the statues you saw dotting this land, you did not fight when he settled the shawl around your shoulders.

“Travel safe. I look forward to our upcoming introduction,” Duke Price held to the end of the shawl as you stepped back.

“Must not have much to look forward to in this country,” you let derision drip from your tone.

One more step back and you are free. A hand behind your back finds the doorknob and you are out. Now the footmen are looking to the door as you descend the stairs.

“What kept you?” Your great aunt’s voice bites from the dark of the carriage.

“It took some time for the butler to gather my things,” you lie. Climbing in and sitting forward on the bench to peer out the door window, Duke Price watches you from the door.

Sliding back the darkness hides you from view.

John fired off a letter before the sun had risen. I have found her. I will return when wed.

It took weeks before he secured your acquaintance. He tried though, gods, the way he tried. You would have laughed if he didn’t disrupt so many damn meetings.

A local Chaplin had agreed to offer room and board to the two governesses and the two maids who would be watching and teaching the children. A different church, whose Bishop agreed, would serve as the care space and classroom. The two churches would have no fees, but negotiating the prices that would remain fair for the laundresses and the women caring for the children became the sticking point.

The women all raised their voices. It was as if they could shout a little louder than their neighbor they might be clearly heard. In times like these, you were grateful for your nose blindness. Someone had once explained that the overlapping scents of anger reminded them of a barn fire, acrid and dense.

You finished finalizing the numbers on your page before standing. Snatching up your mini abacus, because math in your head forever alluded you, you placed it in a pocket of your skirt. Both hands lifted your skirt. Once your feet could move freely, you stepped onto the chair and then onto the long table where the discussion had devolved.

Both boots planted firmly you released your skirt and shoved fingers in your mouth to whistle. The piercing sound cut through all of the noise. All of the women sat down and glowered at each other, and you.

Movement at the door of the room tipped your annoyance into rage. Duke Price stood in the doorway. This was the fourth meeting he had appeared in.

“The Duke of Price has two seconds to be gone from this room or he will be funding this project for a year.”

Your pointed glare and sharp words caused all the women at the table to turn and do the same. These were proud women. They would not accept charity, and the offer of it would be seen as offensive. The duke narrowed his eyes and stepped back into the shadows.

“Close the door, my lord. If you are incapable of such a feat one of these lovely women would be happy to assist.”

The iron lock clicking into place turned all eyes back to you. Pinching your fingers to the bridge of your nose you shut your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Here is the pricing that accommodates everyone. The women handling the children will not need to cover room and board, which will reduce their incoming monies. In turn, that reduces the burden per child for the laundresses. Now, you must decide among yourselves,” you open your eyes and scan the laundresses now, “If you wish to pay a per child fee or a flat fee. Tally your votes and inform me of your decision. This scheme will begin on the first.”

The women who handled the dirty laundry for the city nodded and rose. They spoke among themselves as they exited the room.

The older governess, Brenton, if you recall correctly spoke up now. Her white hair gleamed under her dowdy cap.

“Who will be supplying the learning materials? The pay for watching the children will not cover that.”

You climbed down as you thought over how to obtain the needed materials.

“There is an irksome lord that I will make pay for the displeasure of my constant annoyance.”

All four women shared a look. They had worked under several lords and ladies and knew this would be a formidable task.

“Well,” Miss Brenton clapped her hands twice, “We will leave you to your trial ma’am. If we can be of any assistance before our work begins, please reach out.”

“Thank you. I know this is going to be an odd period of transition for all of us.” Settling at the head of the table as the other stood, you gestured to the door. “Miss Brenton, if you don’t mind, could you play chaperone for a moment?”

“Must say, I am interested to see how this plays out.” Tucking her skirt back down Miss Brenton sat back down.

Pulling out a clean sheet you began to note down the needed items, chalk and chalkboards, readers, nappies, blankets, cribs, the list went on. The click of heavy-soled shoes stopped at your side. Paying it no mind, you continued. A second sheet joined the first, transferring a list of vendors that would help funnel money to the bottom where it was most needed. Some were spouses of the laundress, others were brothers, fathers, or uncles. All were low class and would provide solid work.

A total of three sheets filled you ensured each was dry before stacking them. Folding them into neat thirds, you turned and handed them to Lord Price.

“You are a difficult woman to make an acquaintance of,” he took the papers held in proffer. “What is this?”

“The bill.” Standing, you let the chair legs scrape against the floor. “Miss Brenton, can I interest you in having company on your walk home?”

The shrewd woman looked near apoplectic at your handling of a duke.

“This is a lengthy bill.”

If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

Lord Price’s eyes were upon you when you finally let your head finish turning. No smile graced his lips. Shame. For all he had made your last few weeks as painful as a throne in the thumb, he was nice to look at.

He wore a blue today. His eyes shone with the gold stitching on his jacket and vest.

“It has been extraordinary lengths you have gone to bother me; this seemed a fair request.”

Neither gaze shifts when Miss Brenton choked on air.

“Consider it done,” Duke Price tucked the list into his inner coat pocket. “May I join you ladies on your journey?”

“Of cour—”

You cut Miss Brenton off with a hand and a sharp look. Turning that sharp look on the lord, you speak your piece.

“No. I do not know what your intentions are with me, and frankly, I am tired of finding you amidst my business. The only men who pursue me do so for my,” you gesture to your scarred neck, “eccentricities.”

A string attached to your stomach could not have pulled tighter than if it were looped to a kite. This conversation made you wish you could skitter into a hole, a church mouse hiding from god. This would be the sixth time you had told a man no.

The duke huffed a laugh.

“I have enough eccentricities roaming my home. What I seek is a chance to see if we would get on well.”

His blue eyes left heated trails as they worked across your face. Goose flesh rose on your arms. Chest and further down where you dare not think of the flesh continued to rise. Every bit of you reacted.

“Why?” The question is breathy, haunted with questions.

Duke John Price held the sword of Damocles at your neck. The blade yearned for a taste.

You spent your days in the shadows. Confronting men who could take what they wanted was the only time you thought you knew what it was like to be whole. Acid bullied the back of your nose.

“I am in need of a wife. Someone who has the skills to manage others.”

He is not done. You don’t care.

“Choose any of your fashionably young countrywomen then.” Ripping your eyes from him, you stack your papers and close your ink well for travel. “There is a full troop of them yet unwed who would kill for the chance to lay in a duke’s bed. They have all been trained to manage households.”

The string in your body is cut. A tangle now lives in your chest.

“Miss Brenton, was it?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Can you give us the room for a moment?” The kind command would take more fortitude than the aged governess possessed.

A beseeching look to the matronly woman did not save you. Her wrinkles quivered as she slowly stood.

“I can give you three minutes m’lord.”

He inclined his head as if accepting a toast from a royal.

As the door swung shut you formed a plan. Stepping to the opposite side of the table, for distance and a barrier, failed. The toe of your boot caught the leg of the table. Papers fluttered from your hands as your knees cracked against the stone floor. Duke Price was there in an instant. He lifted each paper, laying it neatly in a stack.

Tears pricked at your eyes. You hadn’t moved from your fallen position. Head hanging to your chest you held back from weeping by the breadth of a string.

“Why will you not leave me be?” The words are harsh, strangled by the tightness in your throat.

“When hunting foxes, one strategy to attempt is sending them to ground. Where do they hide when they can no longer run?” His demeanor was cool, his voice soothing. “You run in circles, managing to better every bird, twig, and rock you brush against in your escape.”

Sniffing, you set about finding a handkerchief to wipe your face; you refused to face the laundress’ if they knew you used your skirts as rags.

A blue handkerchief in a gloved hand drifted below your nose. Lifting it, careful to not touch even his glove, you dab your nose.

Somehow you had managed to drip ink into the crease where your nail becomes flesh. Gloves hurt your hands after a time. You had managed to work around wearing them. No one noticed. No one ever noticed. And if they did they didn’t care to police a grown woman who had no prospects.

“I have a pack, they are wonderful and I would burn the world for them. I need a wife who can see. I am looking for someone who notices the needs overlooked, connects with those unheard, and sends war captains on impossible journeys. If you had allowed an acquaintance between us weeks ago, I could have courted you slowly.”

Duke Price holds out your papers. They crinkle in your delicate grip as you press them to your breast.

“I do not believe you.”

His cloth pressed to your nose cannot prevent all the vile feelings filling up your bones from injecting themselves into the words.

No one wanted you. Even the one who had lied in word and deed to make you believe he did.

Brokenness allowed you to see because you could not smell; that did not make you valuable.

“And what would make you believe me?” He curls nearly in half to peer up at you.

A duke is on his knees, craning his need to get a look at you. What the hell had this world turned into?

Sniffing again, you straighten. Plans. You can make plans.

“A contract. Legally binding even in marriage. Make it two. One to court me and become engaged and the second retaining my rights to leave this country unhindered, if I so desire, if marriage were to come to pass.” You study him now. The wheels are turning in his mind.

“And what of the consequences of reneging on either contract?” A single brow is lifted in your direction.

“I imagine your solicitor has worked with you a long time, my lord. If he does not think of something suitable, I would be happy to revise and return it for review,” you lift a brow in response.

Games were easier. The rules never changed. Once understood, you could slide below notice and return to living life and helping where you could.

The man before you lifted both cheeks into a full smile. Your heart dropped into your heels still below your butt. He had a beautiful smile.

“They will be at your door for review before the week is out.”

“You have not yet gained an acquaintance, my lord, it might be rejected at the door,” you gave him a saucy wink and a watery laugh.

“I think a contract will be introduction enough.”

He held out a hand. You shook it, grip firm. Twice it bobbed before he turned your hand over and laid a kiss on your knuckles.

Catching sight of your lifted brow from his position he threw you off balance, again.

You had been to sea. Once only, were you out during a storm.

Then you had clung to the railing until a man in a slicker had slid a rope around your waist and helped haul you below deck. That wild energy that had commanded you to land came now. This time though? You longed to dive below the waves. If only to see if the storm could touch the seabed below.

Solicitor Allchin sat stiffly in the sitting room of your great aunt’s home. He wore black as if born to it, hair flounced the appropriate amount to show he would be fastidious and dogged in a task.

Your nails, trimmed short, bite into the fabric coating the arms of the wing-back chair. The crazy fool had actually done it. Two contracts lay strewn on the tea table before you. Unable to continue to read, they had been thrown down.

“Allchin?”

The man startled at being addressed. He had been taking surreptitiously deep breaths. If anyone believed you to be afflicted with no scent gland upon meeting you would call them a liar.

“Yes ma’am?”

“What is your opinion of Duke Price?”

You refused to call him John. It felt like ceding ground in a war you didn’t intend to entrench in.

“He is a fair man, mostly. Cares well for those that he considers his, discards those he doesn’t.” Allchin spoke firmly. Confident in his honesty.

“Thank you. That will be all. I will return these with any adjustments within three business days.” Standing would be beyond your power. If you rose the only thing you would manage is the three steps to vomit in an oriental vase.

“Ma’am,” Allchin rose, tugging his coat neatly into place. “If I may? I have a question.”

“You may not.”

Rage fluttered in your chest with hummingbird wings; it stung your eyes, water filling them.

Allchin nodded once and saw himself out. Lifting the paperwork, you read what you could. He had tilted everything in your favor. If you agreed to an engagement you could keep it quiet until the bans were read. Either party could break the engagement and you would receive a settlement for cover “pain and suffering.” You would retain full autonomy and legal status as a person in the event of a marriage. Property bought or sold in your name would remain yours.

Working itself out seemed to be working in Lord Price’s favor.

Someone, and if you ever found them you might actually hurl them down the stairs, had told your great aunt about the visit and the paperwork.

“What is this I hear about an offer?”

The testy old woman had called you to her office like a child. She opened and shut a fan in one hand. Open. Shut. Open. Shut.

Blinking slowly, you release a breath.

“I did not think you could hear at all anymore, Aunt.”

Slam. The fan cracked against the edge of her desk.

“Do not test me, child! Have you had an offer?” Her frail voice betrays none of her age as she shouts.

Disdain drips from your canines like blood from a throat you clenched between your teeth.

“I lost my childhood to bigotry and hate. I will not lose my adulthood to it as well. Any business between myself and any man who might make an offer is none of your damn business. Only those who care about my welfare are welcome to that knowledge.” The temperature in the room changed, flashing cool before heating up with a rage you knew waited to boil over.

Turning on a heel, you stride from the room.

Any calls from your aunt fall on deaf ears. You lock yourself in your room and squirrel away the paperwork. Not well enough.

One of the maids must have found them. Word reached you as you were fitted for a wedding gown that your aunt had offered a hefty reward for the person who could pry the information from you. You thank the young woman pinning the skirt and ask after her children. She smiles as she tells you of her daughters and their clumsy attempts at stitches.

Masterlist | Part 2

The Benefits of Being a Marine Biologist (Part 3)

Part 1 - Part 2 Merman x transmasc reader Contains: first kiss with your monster boy crush and then you make out. Extreme communication and consent because that's very sexy Warnings: mentions of arousal Length: 1.7k words

You've lost count of how many days you have visited Abalone. The weeks had turned into a blur of begrudgingly working at the laboratory and wringing out any spare time you could to go to the beach to see him.

Today you were coming to visit with a gift. It was silly, really, but you felt compelled to give him something tangible from the human world. He tries his best not to show it, but you suspect he gets lonely when you don't come to visit.

As you walk down the now well-traveled sand path through the grass, you realize you're feeling nervous. But why? You're just going to give him a gift. That's a completely normal thing to do. And Abalone won't be mean to you if he doesn't like it - his grasp of human socialization is loose at best, so he would just tell you what he thinks of it. You take a deep breath as you exit out of the brush onto the beach.

There he was, as always, in the water framed by the sinking orange sun. You've told him he should be more careful in case someone else saw him, but he always dismisses your worries and says he knows how to hide. For his sake you hope that's true.

You run down to the shore, and Abalone comes to the edge of the water to meet you. As you pause to drop your bag in the sand and kick off your shoes, he pulls himself out onto the sand in the very edge of the waves, propping up his head with his hands to watch you. You walk over to sit next to him in the sand.

"You should be careful, if you get beached I don't think I can haul you back into the water."

Without missing a beat he asks, "What is beached?"

"It's when an animal gets too close to the shoreline and gets stuck in the sand. Like you right now," you tease.

"Oh. I have seen that before. Very bad."

You look around at the tiny beach in disbelief. "What on earth managed to beach itself here?"

"Not here," he answered. "Somewhere else. A long time ago."

"Oh? Where else did you live?"

He didn't reply to you, his mood clearly dampened by thinking about the past.

"Nevermind about that. I brought you something! A human trinket for you to keep."

Abalone perked up and looked at you eagerly. "Ooo! Show me!"

Taking a small pouch from your pocket, you explained to him, "Now, this is supposed to be waterproof, so it won't rust. I went into town thinking of something to get for you, and I thought this was pretty perfect."

You take the silver necklace out of its silky bag. Holding it out for him to see, you say, "It's an abalone shell pendant! Because that's your name." You laugh nervously. "It's okay if you don't actually like jewelry, I just thought it would be nice to give you something."

Abalone stared at the necklace silently, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. Did he really hate it? Had you somehow offended him?

Something changed in his expression. You couldn't quite place it at first, but you quickly realized it was that his cheeks were darkening. He was blushing.

"I… um…" He tried to say something to you, but his voice caught in his throat.

"I'm sorry!" you exclaim, instinctively shifting away from him and clutching the necklace to your chest. "I didn't mean to upset you or anything, I just wanted to do something nice-"

"No, not that," he cut you off. He hid his face in his hands as he said, "For us something like that is asking for courtship."

Oh no. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- I didn't mean to do anything like that! I'm sorry Abalone, I've made you uncomfortable, haven't I?"

He looked at you with one eye peeking out from between his fingers. "No, it's fine. It is just that… no one would do that for me. Not for real."

He looked so sad, and something came over you. Without thinking you leaned toward him and put a hand over his own on his face. "Why would you think that? You're perfectly lovely."

He didn't move, but he didn't resist your touch either. "There are reasons."

"You don't have to talk about it. It's okay." Your mouth moving faster than your mind, you continued, "Maybe it doesn't mean as much coming from a human, but I do like you a lot. You're funny and sweet and you would never let me get anywhere close to drowning on your watch."

He moved his hands down from his eyes to look at you. "You mean it?"

"Yes." You took his hands into yours and looked into his dark eyes. "What if I do mean it?"

He looked at you blankly as you realized what you had just said. Feeling your own face flushing, you turned and picked up the necklace from where you had dropped it in the sand.

One hand in his, the other holding out your gift, you ask again quietly, "What if I do mean it?"

"… You do?" He whispered, as if afraid to break the quiet tension.

Moving slowly with hesitation, Abalone sat upright in the sand, his tail trailing off into the water. You leaned closer to him, and he gently pulled you toward himself with your hand that he still held. Tentatively leaning in toward each other, your lips meet his. You tasted salt as he slowly pulls away from you.

You look at each other silently, frozen with nervousness. With his sleek body so close to yours, you couldn't deny it any more. Abalone wasn't only an object of your curiosity.

He breaks the silence. "Was that all right?"

You smile at his slight misuse of the word. "Yes," you reply breathlessly. "Definitely."

You lean forward and kiss him again. This time he doesn't move away. He gently puts his arms around you as your lips meet again. And again. Despite his large size, he touches you so softly. His sharp teeth graze your lips.

Without breaking your embrace, you pull yourself onto his lap. You put your arms around his neck and your hands in his hair, and he hugs you to himself a bit tighter. "So pretty," he mumbles when his mouth parts from yours. "Pretty human boy."

Abalone kisses you deeper, his hands on your waist now. You wonder how long he has been waiting for this. How long you have wanted this.

You feel his tongue on your bottom lip, and you can't help but pull away from him giggling. Seeing him frown and his big sad eyes, you quickly say, "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, I promise. Do you have a forked tongue?"

"What?"

"Like is it split down the middle?"

"Maybe?" He stuck out his tongue a bit to show you. It was a darker gray like his hands and tail, and it was indeed forked.

"It is! Like a lizard," you laugh. "See, this is what I'm used to." Your demonstration of a human tongue seemed to amused him.

Abalone pressed his forehead against yours as you mindlessly played with his hair. "Is this bad? For you and me to…" he trailed off.

"I don't think so," you answer quietly. "And maybe, even if it is, I don't care."

Seemingly satisfied with that thought, he gently began kissing you again. Slowly he kissed harder, and you leaned into the pressure. Your hands gripped the hair at the nape of his neck, and his claws poked into your back.

When you were pressed into him nearly as hard as you could be, Abalone carefully flipped you over and laid you down on the sand. Your mind went blank at the sight of him above you, his damp skin glowing in the dying light.

He bent down and continued to kiss you, his mouth trailing down your neck. You felt his teeth on your skin and you gasped quietly. He was giving you gentle love bites, careful not to break the skin but the pinpricks still made you dizzy. His tail was between your legs and you felt his hips pressing into yours. You held his neck and shoulders tighter as your back arched to meet his touch. It didn't take long for you to become hard and wet.

His frantic pace of kisses and bites gradually slowed until he gave you one final kiss on your lips and laid down on top of you, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

"Was that too much?" He shyly mumbled into your shoulder.

You struggle to find your voice again. "… No, not at all."

He flopped over to lie in the sand next to you, hugging his arms to himself and avoiding your gaze. But he does turn to look at you when you quietly say his name.

"That was wonderful." You reach over to take his hand. "Maybe we can do it again?"

He blushed furiously at that, but didn't look away from you. "Yes, maybe." He held up the necklace from wherever the fuck it had ended up in the sand. "Can you help with this?"

You laugh and pull him to sit up with you. You undo the clasp and instruct him how to hold his hair out of the way. Reaching around his neck, you lock your gift in place.

Smiling sweetly, Abalone touched the pendant on his chest. "Thank you."

Wishing you could stay for the rest of the night, you sighed dramatically. "The sun is almost fully down. I really should go now."

He nodded and tilted his head, silently posing the regular question.

"I can come back tomorrow night! And since tomorrow is Friday, I don't have to worry so much about going home."

He grinned at you brightly. "Tomorrow. I have things to do, then." And with that, he slipped back into the shallows to swim away. A flick of his tail splashed you with seawater, and with that he was gone.

You didn't know whether to be excited or worried by his final words. Gathering your things and beginning the trek home, you figured you'd have to wait and see.

AN: thank you all for your patience while I took like two months to finish writing this! I plan for part 4 to be the final part, and it will probably be very long and very explicit :3 Thank you for reading as always xoxo Tip Jar on Ko-Fi (requests/commissions coming soon??)

cw: f slur (i blame @rodolfoparras)

thinking about a homophobic misogynist man who just can’t get off like how he used to before he met you. no matter how times he fists his cock, is balls deep into some random women; none of it mattered. it was never enough, he was never satisfied. but when he thinks about his last “session” with you… he’s throbbing and rock hard within seconds (aww is that pre cum on the tip?) he tries to brush it off as nothing more than a little meeting between guys, he’s not a fag and he’ll never will be. his actions speak other wise but he’s way too narcissistic and delusional to see his contradiction.

he’s in too deep in his fantasy to hear himself whining and moaning like a bitch as he fucks into the tight hole of his hand. his eyes brimmed with tears as he recalled you holding his legs against his chest as your fat cock drilled into his sore hole, your pelvis slapping lewdly against his ass. he called you every insult in the book, but you didn’t care. in fact, his bitching made you pound into him harder.

he spat on his pointer and middle finger and slid a shaky hand down to his hole. it twitched and clenched around nothing, he felt so empty. he forces his two fingers inside him to the knuckle, if there was a heaven, he just saw it. as the fantasy continued, he only got more desperate. he bucked into his fist like a mutt in heat as his fingers thrust in and out of his tight heat. his pillows are drowning in drool at this point.

you call him your pretty princess, whose pussy was made to take your dick. your digits wrapped themselves around his throat, his adam’s apple bopping under your palm. taking in as much air as he could before you took it with the thunderous pace of your hips.

he never wished for a third arm more in his life. before long, he let out a pathetic, little, tiny sigh of “daddy” as he came all over his hand and belly. he lays on his soaked sheets absolutely exhausted. his first good nut in ages. he thinks about you again, and remembers he has a huge cucumber in his fridge he was about to blend into his work out smoothie.

his cock is leaking pre instantly.

Imagine Ghost accidentally conditioning the 141...

Ghost is busy. Always. Too much paperwork, too many reports, too many logistics to handle before training. It’s 1400 before he realizes he’s skipped lunch. Again.

Not a big deal. Not the first time. Won’t be the last.

But he is hungry.

His eyes land on the bright pink bag of Valentine’s Day mini Snickers that’s been sitting, untouched, on his desk for a week. They were part of a bulk shipment to the base; some gift or something.

Not exactly lunch. But it’ll do.

He grabs the bag and heads for the training field. He’s two minutes late, not that it matters much because Soap and Gaz already have the unit ready.

"Where’s Price?" he asks, tearing open the bag as he walks up.

"Got pulled away. You’ve got this one, Sir," Gaz replies, raising a brow as Ghost lifts his mask just enough to pop a Snickers into his mouth.

Ghost doesn’t react, just grunts.

Today’s drill is a simple infiltration exercise. Hell, it's something Ghost or Price hardly have to be here for. Their presence would be more of a formality. Gaz leads the attackers. Soap leads the defenders. The teams get ten minutes to plan, to prep.

And then Ghost sounds the time up, and the groups move.

Ghost watches, leaning against a crate, chewing another Snickers, barely paying attention to one of the new guys—until the kid steps right into a trap. Ghost sees it before he does.

Blue powder erupts into his face.

Soap’s defenders descend, but the kid doesn’t go down easily. Blind, but still fighting back, holding his own until his team pulls him out.

Soap's team wins. Barely.

When it’s over, the teams regroup. Ghost is still eating Snickers.

He turns to the recruit, still dusted blue.

"What 'appened?"

"Didn’t see the wire." The kid shifts uncomfortably.

Ghost turns to the unit. "Who set it?"

One of the defenders raises a hand. Ghost considers him for a moment before reaching into the bag.

He tosses a mini-Snickers at the soldier.

The guy catches it. Looks at it. Looks at Ghost. Eats it.

Ghost turns back to the newbie. "Held your own. Tha' matters. Surprises happen. Don’t let ‘em get you again."

And that’s it. Training’s dismissed. Ghost pockets the rest of the Snickers and moves on.

...

The next day, Price is still gone. Ghost doesn’t skip lunch this time, but he still brings the Snickers bag.

They run the same drill.

Same recruit. Same route. But this time, he checks everything. Quick. Efficient. Finds the wire. Disarms it.

No blue powder today.

Gaz’s team wins.

Ghost eyes the recruit and flicks a Snickers at him. The kid catches it mid-air.

...

By the end of the week, Price is still gone. Ghost keeps the pink bag of Snickers on him during training. Like it's just another part of his kit.

One or two mini snickers get handed out every session. And nobody really notices at first. But the team starts moving differently.

They work harder. Smarter. More ruthless. More efficient. No one wants to be the guy who doesn’t get a Snickers.

Even the veterans sharpen their tactics. Gaz and Soap notice. But no one says a damn thing. If Ghost is going to give them snickers, then shut the gel up and let him give them snickers.

...

They're sent on a mission. High stakes.

They don't lose a single man. Not a single injury.

At the end of it, back on their transport home, Ghost pulls the pink danm bag from some unassuming pocket and hands out the snickers.

The men take them without question. They earned it.

But Ghost is running low. The bag nearly empty.

...

At the next training, Ghost doesn't hand out a single snickers. Not on purpose, but the bag is empty, so there's nothing left to do.

But the others notice. Gaz squints. Soap looks like a confused dog. Head tilt and all. The newbies glance at each other, shifting.

...

Two days later, Ghost swings his door open at 0600 sharp—and pauses.

Sitting just outside his door, neat as you please, is a bag of mini Snickers. Not the Valentine’s ones anymore. Just regular.

Ghost blinks. Hums. Pleasantly surprised, he picks up the bag, inspecting it briefly before stuffing it into his tac vest like it’s just another piece of gear.

He doesn’t think much of it. It’s a good snack.

At training, he does as he always does. Watches. Observes. Evaluates.

And then, without thinking, he tosses a Snickers at a recruit who clears a building faster than expected.

He snaps to attention as he catches it, eyes shining. Ghost does not question it.

The pattern continues.

And when he starts running low, Ghost finds a fresh bag of Snickers waiting for him.

Somebody—somewhere—has decided that the Snickers will not run out.

...

At training, at drills, in the field, there is a silent expectation. A new, unspoken rule. Do something exceptional? Get a Snickers.

The machine of the 141—the deadliest operators in the world—now snaps to attention at the crinkle of plastic.

They move with a ruthless kind of precision, bodies coiled, eyes sharp—waiting, anticipating.

Even Gaz and Soap are part of it now—though everyone refuses to acknowledge it outright.

But the moment Ghost hands one of his men a Snickers, he takes it.

Silently. Gratefully. Like a goddamn reward.

Ghost does not acknowledge this. Not out loud. But he keeps handing them out.

And they keep earning them.

They'd quite literally kill for a Snickers. (imagine what they'd do for an expensive piece of chocolate)

...

And then Price comes back three weeks later. He walks into the training area and pauses.

Something is off.

The unit is too sharp. Too focused. The newbies stand stock still in their group, as if waiting for something.

Gaz and Soap exchange a look. Soap refuses to meet Price’s eyes.

But he doesn't acknowledge it, until he begins unwrapping a plastic sleeve holding a new pen. The plastic is thick and loud. And half of their fucking head snaps his way. The hungry eyes of three dozen of soldiers latching on him.

Ghost, standing at the edge of the group, tears open a fresh bag of Snickers.

And now the entire fucking unit reacts. Subtle shifts in stance. Focused attention. Expectant silence.

Price squints. Frowns.

Ghost flicks a Snickers at a recruit. He earned it today.

The recruit catches it like it’s a holy offering and eats it immediately.

Price’s frown deepens. Slowly, carefully, he turns to Ghost. “The fuck did I miss?”

Heyyyyy I'm bored and curious so here goes. What would, like, Makarov/the 141 do with Hound if he had, like, a really sensitive gag reflex? I have a really sensitive one (lollipops and long straws are a nightmare. Don't even get me started on popsicles.) and I know it isn't a pleasant feeling or experience, especially with something right around the throat, like the collar Makarov had hound wear. Just a thought, feel free to ignore this ik it's kinda weird. Hope you had a good new years over there in European bread land 🍞

Hmmm the tf141 I feel would be aware and careful around Hound's gag reflex. So maybe slow shallow blowjobs and more than happy letting Hound jack them off and lap at their tip. Ooh and eating them out. Since Hound has a sensitive gag reflex, I feel like he would try doubly hard to satisfy the 141 by eating them out like their hole is the last meal he's ever going to have.

Makarov thought.. yeah, nothing like that. The moment Makarov finds out Hound has a sensitive gag reflex he's making Hound deep throat. It's not even about the pleasure aspect as much as it is about the domination. Makarov gets off on Hound being a good dog and following orders even when every cell in Hound's body is screaming in pain and begging him to pull back. The collar just adds to the appeal of it. I think Makarov would like putting Hound on his back so Hound's head hangs off the edge of a bed and Makarov can use his mouth like that. Can feel him trying not to choke and the tight bump of the collar when he bottoms out all the way. The rush of power definitely has him coming again and again just so he can feel Hound's throat get even tighter as he's forced to swallow down Makarov's cum.

Also excuse you, I come from the European potato land :Dd

Neglected Beta!Y/N And the bad pack! 141

Part 2

(Warning! not a little a few unpleasant descriptions, a description of the abduction,Mention of bullying , other traumatic moments , etc. In the end ,After all, this is angst,but with a good(?) ending,there may be mistakes in words-English is not my first language,the characters are adults, implied SA)

You're walking along the highway, and to the left and right there's a dark, terrible forest, and it seems that your death is about to leap out of the darkness, that every rustle of leaves and whiff of wind whispers about your imminent death, and only the rare passing cars give you a tiny, tiny hope that you'll live, that John is back, that Price is about to run out of the car and hug you, but reality cuts like a knife.

It's starting to rain, a nasty drizzle, and the humidity is making everything worse, and the fog is settling in and even the already sparse streetlights light the road even less.

Mommy said there were monsters lurking in the darkness.

Mommy said to be a good girl and not to walk at night.

A red old car stops in front of you and you stop as the headlights are almost blinding and illuminate you in this terrifying darkness. A slight smile, tired and exhausted, appears on your lips, but just as quickly disappears when you realize it's not Soap, or Price, or even a nice family willing to help.

Three men get out of the car. Your doom is coming to you, stepping on your heels, and you want to just run away, but the forest seems even more dense, you want to fall down and cry, asking for help, but hope is completely abandoned when the one who was the skinniest of them all, says in his hoarse voice: "Sit down with us, bunny, we'll take you for a ride".

Unconsciously you take a step back, you want to run away, but their disgusting hands pull you along, dragging you like a piece of meat, not caring about any moral qualities. They shove you in the back seat and don't even let you squeak.

Their hands touched everywhere, slipped under your thin sundress, and squeezed your legs as you drove and you couldn't even squeak in fear.

The big guy behind the wheel took your phone, and the one next to him was not shy about touching you.

The basement they dragged you into was cold, damp, and dark, lit only by a dim, flickering light bulb, and the stained old mattress was horrifying.

It's all right, Price will knock their teeth out! Your pack remembered you were gone long ago and are on their way anyway, they've pinpointed the location, they're gonna save you.

But will they?

"Damn, Soap, you're a hero.... Didn't think you'd pick up a couple finds"-said Gas, leaning forward to whisper to Soap.

When Johnny burst into the house with three hotties under his arm, no one even wondered "where's the beta?". Price frowned, but when the blonde winked playfully at him, the old man was lost and forgotten, and when the two girls jumped into his lap, he was ready to howl at the moon like a damn wolf.

Ghost, being ice cold, couldn't help but hold back a smile, noticing the colorful brunette with tattoos, and the soap smiled haughtily.

"Damn dog"-mumbled Ghost as the brunette that sat on his hip squirmed her hips on him, rousing him.

The clothes came off even before the drink ran out.

You sit on the mattress damp from the excessive dampness of the basement, hugging your knees with your arms, mentally waiting for the moment when your pack bursts into the basement. The door creaks open and you jump up reflexively, but only a tall, thin man with a yellow tan, a weird curly haircut and a bandage, dressed in a silly beach shirt and shorts walks into the basement. He hisses angrily, "idiots!" but as he gets closer he can't help but smile, mumbling, "okay, she's cute for a beta."

You head spins and everything moves apart under you feet as you head goes blank and vivid images flash before you eyes. You are just fire, you and only you on this stage, there is only you in this world.

You feel a touch on your shoulders, a soft stroking of your hair, and you turn, meeting Ghost's loving gaze. His eyes sparkle at the sight of you, and his mask is off. He's as handsome as you imagined him to be, and his hands reach for your face, pulling you in for a loving kiss before sliding gently down to your waist. You feel hot, with his kisses on your body and his smile, and everything around you shines with yellow light like heaven and you feel safe.

"I hope that girl doesn't fall off, asshole"-pahabic laughter echoes above you, but you don't hear it, don't understand. It's not Ghost whose caresses you feel.

You wake up on the mattress and wake up confusedly, horrified to find that.... You didn't want to-- To see. You didn't want to know! Oh, no, just no, please.

No clothes at all.

You start sobbing in despair, sobbing so loudly that one of the big guys comes down and through reluctance and anger, throws an old T-shirt at you when you beg for your clothes back.

It smells of one of them, smells of its captor, of dust and sweat, but you can do exactly nothing, just hastily putting it on to hide your body just a little.

The food showed up the next day. When the pot-bellied man brought a plate of leftovers from the chicken, a couple of whole chicken legs and a quarter of a tomato. That was all the food for the entire day.

When the main one of all came down to the basement to check on their victim, you asking with desperation : "can I go to the bathroom? ". You hope they'll take you upstairs and maybe like a cool lady you'll run away, but it all goes awry when he puts down an old rusty bucket.

"what's this? " you say, hoping you've misunderstood, but the man says with a sneer, "won't be stupid."

It was hard to wake up from sleep, and Price was the first to wake up. Climbing out of bed, he sighed heavily, but noticing a girl sprawled out on the bed without a blanket, he playfully slapped her ass before laughing playfully as he stood up.Grabbing his phone from the counter, he first checked all the calls, and noticing the new ones, he snorted incomprehensibly as he scrolled through the messages. Why was the beta calling them, and what the hell was going on? He was in the kitchen, making a mug of coffee, when the blonde he'd been with threw her arms around him and John instantly forgot all about it, putting his phone aside.

And everything seemed really fine, the omega numbers were in their pocket, they had one last meeting with the administration of the distribution center before they were allowed to take any omegas into their pack, but....

The hellcats stole their money. Price was the first to notice this as he looked into his wallet, about to head to the center.

"Those bitches stole from us!"-shouted Gas, leaving his room hurriedly:he hadn't found his watch, but the most hurtful thing was losing the damn ghost ring-an expensive gold man's ring that he wore as a gift.

"And anyway, where's the beta?"-said Price also irritably:it wasn't quite time to deal with the theft when they were late for a meeting.

"She's not in her room"-Gas replied, and Ghost just mumbled, "what the fuck does 'pick me up from the store' mean?"

It was a goddamn shock.And they were seriously fucked up.Soap nervously tried to call their beta while Ghost was on his way to the store, but got nothing but a recording of the girl leaving the store.

"Next time you'll clean up after her yourself, amigo," Curly man says in disgust squeamishly grabbing the bucket, but the big man only laughs, quickening his step to further annoy curly, "Maybe we should just let her use our bathroom. "

A slight hope of the slightest goodness instills itself in you, unconsciously pulling you forward, wanting to hear more.

"No way, you idiot, someone will see her. It's easier to stop feeding that bitch"?"

Tell why? Why do you have to go through all this? Why do you have to be a waste of space, and why are you... Not needed by your pack?

Over time, you get used to the sound of droplets dripping from the ceiling, the flickering of the lamp, and other people's hands on your body.

No one will come. No one needs you. 'Have they noticed you disappeared?. You don't know.

Maybe they've already been given an omega and they've forgotten about you.

But the search was on. Fucking week after week, every fucking day they tried to find any clue, and the police were in on it too.

It was bloody embarrassing to explain to the police why their beta was without a pack tag, embarrassing for Price not to remember what color your eyes were, and embarrassing for Soap that it was his fault this happened.

It wasn't even about being a beta, or an omega, it was about being a girl, a girl who was alone on the highway at night. A girl who was afraid and could be attacked at any moment and disappeared without a trace.

Everything changed when a month later a signal was received: the phone was turned on.

The whole squad came to that old shack, an old house somewhere on the very outskirts, in one of the most disadvantaged areas of the city.

Ghost remembered the moment. He was making his way through the house before he noticed the open basement door when everyone thought it was too late.

He ran down the stairs until-- Until he saw you, and his heart sank with horror and pain. So small in that huge basement, you sat with your knees drawn up to your chest, biting your nails and staring at the wall opposite. A frail, thin creature, broken from the inside out. Ghost had seen a couple of such captives in his life, but this time he.... The emotionless big man couldn't hold back a tear as he swept your figure into his arms, hugging you by the shoulders and leading you out of the cellar.

"I'm here, baby," was the only thing you heard, but you didn't understand anything.

A bright light hit your eyes, but you didn't understand anything. What was going on? Never mind. Who was it? You don't care.

You sat in the ambulance with a blanket thrown over your shoulders and didn't hear the paramedics or anyone else as you continued to bite your fingers.

"Something is cracking deep inside me," Soap said, standing in the hospital smoking room, leaning on the windowsill. A beautiful sunset was coloring the sky in shades of peach and pink, but he wasn't interested. Simon, who was standing nearby, took a cigarette out of the box and lit it from the lighter, almost immediately taking a deep puff and letting out a trickle of smoke, he said: "This is the heart. "

It's a heart. But does it have one? Does it have those feelings everyone talks about, or can at least the damn brain stop screaming?

Soap hated himself more than the others. Only if he hadn't gone to that damn department then, if he hadn't left in the night, if he hadn't walked out of the store then, none of this would have happened.

Wouldn't be the broken man he is now. There wouldn't have been a girl whose self-esteem, whose psyche would have been murdered. And there wouldn't be the abandoned, lonely beta with no marks, but with deep scars and a hatred for all alphas.

(maybe I'll write a couple of sketches about their life after the tragedy, but I do not know)

♡ My Cuddles! || König & Krueger

┊pairing : könig x gn!reader x sebastian krueger ┊content warning : fluff, slight jealousy, cuddles, a little suggestive, swearing ┊word count : 1.3 k ┊a/n : look-sometimes you just need two masked men who want to fight for your cuddles alright? *sobbing defending myself*

It was going to be a long fucking night, that much was for sure. The night watch duty was torn between the three of you: König, Krueger & Yourself.

With your hour already done, it was time to get a bit of sleep before the next one.

With the masks hanging ominously over their faces. The two Austrian men watched as you walked with a heavy step over the the only bed in the dim cabin. Eyes and intents hidden under dark fabric that blanketed their faces, neither relenting in their quest to keep their identities hidden.

Yet, both heads turned subtly, trailing after your retreating form.

Krueger was sitting in the corner of the one room cabin, shucking quiet pieces of wood onto the ground. Digging his blade into a piece of wood as he carved it out and looked it over, pretending to keep busy even if his eyes flickered over and stole a glance at you taking your boots off.

König meanwhile, was standing by the window, arms folded over his chest and leaning against the wooden walls. Glaring out into the dark snowy night, making sure nothing shifted or moved out there. Pretending somewhat that his blue eyes weren't also flickering occasionally across the room to watch you slip under the covers of the blanket.

Your soft, satisfied sigh made them both momentarily pause. The sudden tension in their shoulders making the two men glance at each other.

Krueger's sniper veil swayed slightly as he considered König, and König's eyes turned icy, brows furrowing. A silent shared sentiment passing between them.

They were both thinking the same thing.

Krueger was the first to move, nearly jumping to his feet. Setting his rough carving down on the table, twirling the blade between his fingers before sheathing it back into his belt.

Under his hood, König's mouth hung open slightly at the man's audacity. Watching rigidly and slightly panicked as the veiled mercenary stalked over to the side of the bed, looming over you with an aura of mischief.

"Sleeping soundly?" he murmured, leaning over to gauge your expression better. The edges of his veil bristling against your arm as he whispered, "Cold, schatz?"

Before you could turn and address the sudden intrusion, Krueger was already slipping his boots off and crawling in behind you with a grunt. Throwing an heavy arm around your waist as if he's done this a thousand times before.

König's eyes widened, the shock evident through the small windows in his mask. His watch completely forgotten the moment Krueger lifted his head up, checked to see that König was looking, and with a seemingly satisfied-smug-gesture, his arm tightened around your waist... pulling your body flush against his own. Your ass pulled back against his hips.

If Krueger could see the tall snipers face, he'd bet there was a vein throbbing against his temple, ready to burst.

König's eye twitched, gloves creaking in protest as they balled up into tight fists.

He crossed the room in a few strides, looming over the other side of the bed and damn near ripping the blanket off. "Was zum Teufel!" he whisper yelled harshly, icy eyes glued to Krueger's body against yours like he wanted to strangle him. "What the fuck are you doing!?"

Krueger hardly flinched, resting his chin on your shoulder innocently-the bastard. "I'm keeping meinen Kleinen Liebling warm."

"You are making things uncomfortable!" they continued to whisper shout to each other, as if you weren't quite literally stuck between the argument to protest yourself.

Kruger huffed, reaching a gloved hand to tilt your chin his way. Able to see your face over your shoulder.

Your face was the picture of perfection to him. Inviting, surprised, and a beautiful dark blush blossomed across the bridge of your nose, spilling onto the architecture of your face.

"Are you uncomfortable, schatz?" he purred the name out, unable to help the way his body was starting to react with you so close. You fit so perfectly against him... like you were made to fit in his arms. The bubble of warmth between your two bodies pleasant... and your hips pulled back against his was giving him ideas.

König watched on in horror and Krueger's gloved hand gave your hip and experimental squeeze. The color draining from his skin the moment you shook your head quietly. The blush painting your complexion all-telling.

König had no fucking choice but to back up then, if you had no protests then there shouldn't be any further discussion...

but he watched as Krueger cuddled his veiled face into your hair, breathing you in enthusiastically as you tensed. His actions making your pulse visibly jump under the delicate skin of your throat. Krueger's arms wrapping more firmly around your waist... wandering up to try and splay across your chest- and no way he was going to take that any longer.

A surprise to everyone, König had lifted the blanket hastily, inviting himself into the tangle of limbs.

A small surprised squeak came from your lips, the bed dipping as König climbed in quickly, his own arms wrapping around your back and pulling you into his chest. The two of them beginning to fight like two little boys on the playground.

"Verdammt, du großer bastard!" Kruger hissed as your shoulders were pulled away from his chest, the cold filling in your sudden absence. He gripped at your hips a bit harder, determined to pull you back.

"Halt die klappe! Du kleines arschloch!" König gritted out, much stronger than him.

Both of them huddled closer, leaving no inch for you to even squirm away. Their bodies brushing and squishing you lightly between them.

König reached over your shoulder, pushing insistently against Krueger, trying to peel him off your body like a bug. The sniper's hard chest and arm barring you against him.

Krueger was hardly taking the sudden childish act, retaliating with his own. His leg shuffled between yours, kicking at König's shins, trying to push him out of the bed that he had claimed first.

"Hey," you whispered, between their little scuffle. König's hand pushing at Krueger's veiled face, smearing his head away, while Krueger's foot was getting closer to kicking König in the balls. The two not noticing your growing exasperation.

"Hey!" you finally shot up, their limbs halting to glance up at you. For a moment, both feared you would get up and leave their arms empty. And just like that... they calmed, listening despite the scowls on their hidden faces.

"Both of you... just... be quiet and go to sleep... or don't, I don't care," you muttered, falling back into the bed with a soft thump.

The two of them watched your face quietly before turning to each other. An ominous 'you almost fucking ruined it' aura seeping from both of them.

"Just... stop fucking moving," you murmured sleepily. As much as they were, the two of them were actually really warm. Wrapping around you like the worlds best weighted blanket.

You relaxed against them, letting your eyes flutter closed to find a moments peace. The feeling of you softening made both of their heart flutter dangerously in their chests.

Begrudgingly, they complied, muttering quiet curses.

König cradled your head close to his chest, smoothing down your hair with an almost imperceptible touch that belied his size, your leg bent delicately over his own... and Krueger held your hips, wrapping a gentle arm around your stomach, nuzzling his face into your shoulder. The quiet and calm finally seeping into the cabin.

everyone give anon a kiss for helping & correcting the translations :)

The Impenetrable

TF 141 x G/N Reader

No warnings Mainly Just Funny Shit and slight suggestive themes

Was watching a movie while finishing up some Kofi Request and wrote this really fast for shits and giggles. Hope you all enjoy!

• Everyone has been trying to get into your pants since you had joined-

• It seemed like everyone job was second nature to the ongoing project to get you in their bed. The snappy Mechanic that had fire on their tongue and a ass everyone wanted a peice of.

• However everyone at the base had their dreams crushed by you that they knew better then to take another swing, that was till Task Froce 141 landed on the Base.

• Having been stationed for the time being they had caught wind of the hot mechanic that everyone wanted a peice of-

• Soap of course was the first to take a crack at it- Especially when he saw you for the first time digging in the engine of your latest project with your backside for all to see- No military pants could hide that thing

• Soap leans against the side of a tank you’ve been working on, arms crossed and a smug grin on his face.

"So, how abou' you let me take you out? You and me, nice dinner, maybe some dancing. I promise, I clean up well."

• Without looking up from the engine you whefe in, you scoff.

"Sorry I don't date dirty minded pervs"

• Soap flutters his eyelashes in surprise- Having never been curved so fast in his life.

• He gives a fake gasp, playing up his humor "I'm a good church boy! I'm not dirty minded" He says giving a wink in your direction

• "Mhmmm, Right- So that half chub you got there is result of being a good boy?"

• He freezes for a second glancing down as he shifts his legs crossed- flustered clearly as Soap is ranking though his brain for some comeback. "Oh, come on, cant help a fellow when youre bent over like that- Normally im way more charming then this"

• You finally glance at him, smirking. "If you were a good boy your friend wouldny be a problem- and you’re about as charming as a car alarm at 3 a.m."

• Soap clutches his chest dramatically. "Ach, Damn right to the heart here."

• You roll up and throw the grease covered towel at his crotch which he caught and clearly immediately regretted by the grimace of oil on his hands.

"You’ll live-"

• Seeing Soap return, his ego ever so effortlessly kicked like a soft puppy-

• Gaz decides to give it a go next, Waiting till you're getting back from the showers and clearly heading to your bunk.

• "Hey, I know you probably hear it all the time but-"

• "If you know I hear it all the time why bother saying it?" You cut in. Gaz almost tripping as he clearly hadn't expected that

• Rubbing the back of his neck as he smiled

"Yeah you are right- But Still, Wanna grab maybe some coffee?"

• "No-" You say flately Stepping into the barreks with the man hot on your trail.

• "Come on (Y/N), Just 1 cup of coffee?" He says, almost whining with a playful smile.

• You gave a heavy sigh, looking to him before reaching to the side and handing him a tube of the powdered coffee mix and a cup.

"Now would you look at that! A cup of coffee and here I am, a true win for ya"

• Gaz looked to the empty paper cup and the packet of powdered coffee before he chuckles, shaking his head. "Alright, you got me. But c’mon, you’ve got to admit, there’s a bit of chemistry here."

• "Yeah, like oil and water," you say flatly. "Doesn’t mix, no matter how hard you shake it Big guy" You say and pat his shoulder.

• He winces with a smile, backing off with his hands up. "Alright, message received."

• When Gaz returned he was just as battered, Soap laughing at the man till he got a packet of coffee thrown at him in relation-

• Now Ghost was curious.. how 1 mechanic had taken down half is team so effortlessly

Yeah.. Curious

• He'd made his way to you during breakfast, having brought his tray over and sitting infront of you as you ate.

• A few moments of silence pass as you eat, Not even bothering to look up to him.

• "How long are you gonna sit there haunting my plate?-"

• "Rather dramatic isn't it?"

• You glance up at him finally, a half chuckle leaving. "Says the guy who wears a skull mask to breakfast."

• Ghost tilts his head slightly. "Hm.. I want to ask you on a date"

• You look to him calmly, setting your plastic fork down. "Ghost, I appreciate the effort, but I prefer relationships where my date doesn’t look like he’s about to read my last rites before dessert."

• He actually chewed over your words for a second before giving a faint nod. "Fair point."

• Ghost chuckles, shaking his head as he picks up his tray, knowing he wasn't gonna win this one. "Your loss, handsome mug under here-"

• You wave him off "Handsome or not- Ive got something called- Surival Instincts."

• Ghost returned, Seemingly taking the rejection on the chin and clearly now more interested then when he went in.

•Price had finally heard about the utter failure of his team and decided to show them how it was done-

• You were in the office handing over reports to your superior when the Captian made his appearance.

• Price leans in the doorway, arms crossed, that knowing smirk on his face. "Alright, I’ve seen the other lads fail. But surely you’d make an exception for me to let me take ya to get a drink?"

• "I don't date senior citizens" You cut short and straight to the point.

• The poor Captian looked like he got punched in the gut, chuckling through his teeth. "That’s cold, love and you know im not old like that-"

• "Oh? Was it the fishing hat or the mutton chops that told me otherwise?" You chime as you walked past him as he leaned off the doorway enough to do that

• "Brutal, But I respect that"

• You provide a thin smile back to him "Wonderful, and I take it you'll respect me saying no?"

• Price shakes his head with a laugh, tipping his hat. "Fair enough. But if you ever change your mind-"

"I won’t."

"Didn’t think so..."

• It would go down as a legend of how you had managed to beat team 141 so brutally like no one else had.

• However now each man trying to formulate their next move on you like it was the greatest mission at hand-

Bonus!

You laid in your bunk, Smirking to yourself as your bunk mate and best friend leaned over to look down at you as you smiled to yourself.

"How long till the bet is up?" They chimed down at you, Watching how you smirk and look at your phone.

"Looks like 4 more days and then I'll win the pot-"

"Damn- Really in it to win it hm?"

"Keeping my legs closed for 3 years and winning 225k? Hell yeah"

It had started out as a funny little wager with your graduating team, Whoever could keep their legs closed the longest would win the money pool, It had started off as a few hundred dollars- Then turned into a few thousand dollars and it just grew every month till it had hit a astronomical amount. Each member trying their hardest to keep in the running-

Some lost to love, others to barrack bunnies, some to drunken nights- However the number of those chipped away lower and lower as the money grew.

Now It had been between you and one other person- who was set to get married in 4 days time and would lose on their honeymoon.

"Well it's almost over? Who are you gonna knock boots with first?"

You smile to yourself, thinking over the last few days and specifically the four members of team 141- Did you want the Skilled Joker, The Energetic Charmer, The Brooding Powerhouse, or The Seasoned Dilf?

"Who indeed~.."