magic

Your throat burns with cheap whiskey you found in the safe house drawer, a sticky note on it.

“For times of need, drink up comrade”

You praise the gods over and over begging them to bless the kind soul who left it behind, no doubt expecting something like this to happen.

You’d taken 6 big swigs, Price suggested you just take one, but as his back turned your stomach flipped and churned with anxiety, knowing that in a few minutes the bones in your nose will be pushed back into place, very painfully and firmly by your captain.

You chugged like your life depended on it before watching Price find a seat in the kitchen. He beckons you to sit, and you do, the whiskey hitting your head.

Thank god, you’re atleast tipsy for this.

You still feel nauseous as you take your seat and price moves towards you, his hand going to grab your chin. You flinch away, not wanting this to happen and he smiles

“Wait no no no no-“

“Where are you going-“ he places a firm hand on your shoulder, pushing you down and trapping you in place “I’ll make it quick… I promise” he softened his voice “come here..”

His hand reached for your chin again and he pulled you to face him, closing your eyes, you felt his other hand leave your shoulder, and rest on your nose “breathe in”

Oh god now? Oh right, oh god no - no not now wait wait wait-

*CRACK*

Pain shoots through your nose as you pull your head back, but it’s no use, you barely move an inch as Price tightens his grip around your chin

“There you go, good lad… it’s all over now” he soothes, patting your shoulder as he wraps his hand around the base of your neck, squeezing.

Your head spins and you clench your fists in desperation to deal with the pain.

“Come on, let’s get you to a bed so you can sleep this off hm?”

“Yes.. please” you grunt out..

He likes affection especially physical ones in doses- but it has gotten better over the years..

However there is something that annoys him to no end..

Poking

Its such an odd tick for him-

So when you want to mess with you all you got to do is poke him and you can quite literally see his eye twitch.

Simon had gotten on your last nerves after deciding to overpack on your last date, who brings a tactical knife to a resturant. So you had gone a bit petty..

Walking past him as you gave a small poke right on his back. The man turning his head quickly at you as you saw his face twitch.

"What..."

"Mind grabbing the fresh sheets off the top of the closet?"

He nodded but clearly had a grumble. This started with you asking random things of him, Or just walking past. Not without a poke- You saw him slowly start to lose it.

Poke

Poke

Poke..

It was the final one when he was watching the game, slowly crawling behind the couch so he couldn't see you and..

Poke

"FUCKING GOD DAMN IT FUCKING BLOODY GOD FUCK!-"

He yelled loudly roaring up at the ceiling. You giggle and run away as he loses his mind in the livingroom and goes to chase you.

Price

John Price is a man who always has things planned

He knows where things are, knows how to go about it all and has a way to get around anything.

That includes his house.

John is a man who can walk through his house blindfolded and with tape behind his back without bumping into a thing-

As long as you dont move stuff..

Move stuff and it's like you through him in a thorn maze buttass naked and with a stick to navigate.

He does not know were to start or where to go.

If you move an object from its normal spot it might as well have disappeared from existence.

And when it comes to major arrangements..

Just put him out of his misery

John should not come home and when he goes to find a cup finds the plastic Tupperware instead

"The Hell.."

So he goes into another cabinet and finds dishes instead. Now a frantic search takes place for a damn cup.

He slowly begins to feel his blood pressure rise as he pulls out plates, the spices and everything he could think of the find a damn cup.

"...LUV!!"

He yelled out, Now frustrated. You walk into the kitchen and raise a brow at the man who looks so out of his element.

"Where are the fucking cups?"

"Its the cabinet next to the fridge"

John stops over and opens said cabinet as he grabs a cup angrily.

"Why did you move stuff? I cant find shit"

"I told you I was getting the kitchen reorganized when you were underway. I also redid the closets and organzied your office"

He looked at you as if you told him you'd laced the house with bombs for him to find.

Kyle

Kyle is fairly laid back, man.

He can handle many things but he does have a few pressure points.

But his worse one are things not symmetrical

He will stare...

Oh he will stare

Before finally he breaks and needs to fix whatever it crooked or off.

Paintings, Pillows- Hell he has even evened out some flowers you had in a vase once since they all leaned to one side.

It is like watching a nature documentary of a bird needing to arrange something just right. From moving a lampshade a few times till its somehow perfect.

So when you get an abstract art peice that is MENT to be crooked

He almost loses his shit

Getting home from an assignment and while he takes off his boots sees a painting at the end of the hall. There it looked like a wave going across the shore which was even by the image but the canvas itself was tilted giving it a unique effect...

"Fuckin Hell.."

He instantly tries to correct it.

"Hey love, Welcome back"

You say sweetly prepared to give him a hug and kiss but see he is totally focused and even took the painting down to look at the back of it to see why it wasnt evening out.

When you scold him telling him its ment to look like that.

You might as well have just said

'Im going to give a headache everytime you walk down the hall'

So sure he tries but everytime he walks past it he attempts to make it straight before it goes back to his corrective form making him groan and stomp away.

You actively saw the man stressing out everytime he looked at it.

It would only take a week to find the painting thrown into the garden..

Johnny

Johnny has a few things he actually cares about that are small..

Just a few things he will take a extra moment on and kept an eye on.

So ypu unfolding all the clothes.. makes his blink one eye then another like he was a frog you kicked.

Johnny has a strict thing about having things folded- he has been trained to a T on folding and making everything neat.

It was something that was weirdly important to him-

He would take a incredibly precise and almost meditative state while folding the clothes.

So when you bulldoze to grab one item in the middle of the stack or tear apart the drawer to were it looks like soup?

Yeah it gets on his last nerve.

He has folded up all blankets and towels so they were practically a masterpiece

To you in seconds reach in to grab a random towel not even looking and knocking over a stack of towels to use to clean up a major spill on the kitchen.

...

Johnny jaw dropping as he looked to you as if you had ripped his heart out.

"(Y/N)! I just folded that!"

You hear yelled out as you have the towel om the ground frantically moving it across the dirty floor in mild panic.

"Im sorry! Actually can you hand me another one!"

You were then promptly met with a towel to the side of your head.

Hong-Jin (Horangi)

Hong-jin appreciates you. He likes to make sure you are spoiled- well taken care of and content.

So You being a pushover over little things bothers him.

He will look at you as if you have grown a second head.

When you let someone just get their way or get in your way it frustrates him.

You are a strong person, he knows it. Yet you let someone insignificant talk down at you.

Standing with his arms crossed, lips curled down in a frown as Hong-jin watched the waiter completely ignore your every instruction as they set down your meal and you accepted the incorrect food.

"Say something-"

He will grumbled. When you try and strug it off or change thw topic he will feel his chest tighten as he would take a heavy breath.

Sure not wanting to be confrontational was an admirable trait but this was simply insanity.

Constantly he tried to push you to approach people with simple complaints that could bw resolved. A simple tiny mix up with change, the wrong dressing for your food, them giving you the wrong color of something.

It is something you want so why are you so okay with not getting what you want!

"(Y/N)- You deserve what you asked for. Tell them.."

When you wilt in your seat a bit flushed. He grumbles and looks around- irritated for the person in question.

"Excuse me- You"

"Hong-Jin!"

Konig

König likes to go in and out when it comes to certain things.. Choices being one especially if they are small. He would prefer to at least have some idea of what he wants so he can get back to where he feels comfortable

So being indecisive over small things

It will drive him insane..

Absolutely up the fucking wall.

Sure he knows sometimes it take a moment to think things over. He has even needed a moment to make a choice.

But taking 30 minutes to pick something low effoet is insanity

Switching back and forth constantly with something as simply as what you want to eat at the same restuant you two go to constantly.

Trying to think of what brand to get of bread

It makes him feel on edge since it means they are attracting more looks or prolonging a interaction he doesnt like.

He will try to be nice however it will slowly drive him mad.

"Schatz please.."

König will beg as he tries to keep from saying the choice he knows you will make.

So when you two are shopping for you to get a new phone he is leaned against the wall.

He will close his eyes and channel in all the calm of his body. His soul.

You going back and forth between two phones when he knows that you know which want you want.

"...(Y/N).. You want that one on the left.."

"Well yeah, but i don't know- This one is also good"

He will put his head in his hands trying not to cry.

Nikto

Listen.. Nikto doesnt like scarcity. He has known the feeling of not having enough. Of scrapping by, he never wants to experience thay again.

Listen.. He knows he eats a lot

So forgetting to stock up has a emotional grind to him.

He knows he can go through many things fairly quickly.

He has a card that you can use at any and all times. It is practically ENDLESS for you to use for whatever needs you have and whatever you could possibly ever want.

SO why do you wait till there is quite literally crumbs in the house? Or that there is barely anything in terms of house needs until its ABSOLUTELY gone.

So many times he has gone to different parts of the find there wasnt a restock.

Hell even of stuff you use constantly!

How do you not restock your own stuff!

So of course when things like that happen he will feel absolutely annoyed.

Nikto felt a twitch in his eye as he stared at the empty toilet paper bag in the bathroom. Stuck on the toilet as he felt a pain behind his eye.

"(Y/N!)"

You peak in to see your boyfriend there on the toilet- His scarred face a twisted mess of irritation.

"Где находится туалетная бумага?"

(Where is the toilet paper?)

"Oh- I must have forgotten to pick up some more"

Nikto closes his eyes and heavily sighs

Simon who has you flat on your back after your picnic date. Set the whole thing up when you briefly mentioned how romantic it would be to have lunch under a big tree, wind playing in your hair as you admire the peacefulness of the view around you. Almost as breathtaking as the smile that takes over your face when he guides you to the set up, admiration singing in your eyes when you squeeze him tight under your arms.

Tease him for being slightly suspicious about insisting you wear a dress and when you both settle on the blanket and Simon starts unpacking the picnic basket, the moment feels perfect. Under the biggest tree in the small field of Simon’s backyard, miles from other people because he valued his privacy.

Wind blowing your hair, makes the trees sway, soft brushing of their branches together filling your ears. Has you relaxed as Simon settles all the food he put together for you to eat. Made a cherry pie that was to die for and as you eat and talk, lay down to get comfortable, the atmosphere slowly fills with longing. Small talk drifting off when Simon settles beside you, eyes locked onto you until he leans down to capture your lips.

He hovers over you, kisses you soft and sweet as your hand combs through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Swallow his groan and arch under his palm caressing your waist.

You buzz at the low smack of your lips together, legs clenching when Simon picks up the pace. Squeezing your ribs and nipping at your lips, makes you breath harder, nipples hardening and sending zips down your spine when the material of your dress drags along them.

Tongue dipping past your lips and dragging across your teeth, pace so fierce that you have to pull away to breathe. Mind swimming as you catch your breath and while your lips pulse and ache, Simon drags his own across your jaw and down your neck. Lightly skimming them down your shoulder enough to pull a whimper from you. Soft kisses that make you shudder and keen when his palm scraps along your thigh and under your dress.

Wind filtering under the lift of your dress around Simon’s wrist, sending goosebumps over your feverish skin. Nudges your legs wider to rub gently at your clit through your underwear with his knuckle. Traces the seam of your pussy and groans lowly at the wet spot.

“My pretty girl.” He murmurs against your temple, presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Shiver running down your spine at the caress of his voice in your ear and when Simon gently pinches around your clit you breathe a soft moan.

He leans down to press tender kisses around your chest, dully nips at the plushness of your breasts. Nose nudging at the peak of your nipple. Only tugging the fabric down when you squirm and whine with impatience.

You tense and whimper when Simon takes your nipple into his mouth, sucks harshly and laves his tongue roughly across it. Hips jerking when he digs his knuckle firmly into you. Is slow to slip his fingers under the edge of your underwear and pull the fabric to the side so he can hear you huff and dig your nails in his hair.

He lifts the edge of your dress to your stomach, coos at the slickness of your cunt and bites down on your nipple to release the feralness that builds in his chest at the sight.

You squeak, hand fisting his hair before he presses soft kisses to the sting. Simon finds your lips again when his fingers slip between your folds, collect your arousal to aid in the short, quick circles his finger makes around your clit.

You moan into his mouth, suck at his lip to hear the low grunt vibrate his chest. Pull away to watch your face as he picks up the speed of his hands, breathes into your mouth when it falls open, moans and pants warming his face as you buck your hips.

The exposure of your chest sends a zing down your spine, buzz shooting to your clit every time the wind teases at your nipple. Eyes clenched closed when Simon circles your opening, dips the tip of his finger in only to pull it back out.

“Simon.” You whine and scrape at the nape of his neck. Know it makes him shudder and do as you please when his finger fills you up. You sigh and pulse around him, groan filling his chest at the feel of how warm and tight you are around him.

“Such a good girl, baby. Here comes another one, you’re doing so well.” He coos into your hair, presses a kiss to your cheek right when he presses another finger inside and you moan at the stretch.

Pant and gasp as he works his fingers in and out, palm brushing against your clit every time he pushes in, has your hips chasing after him when he pulls out. Tits bouncing as you jerk has a groan building in his throat, makes his forehead fall to your chest just to feel the rush of your breaths.

Simon nuzzles his teeth into your nipple to feel you shudder against his lips, moaning filling his ears as he curls his fingers. Cranes his neck back to see your eyes squeeze shut, mouth fall open in a loud squeal, and your back arch. Your jerk sends your chest knocking into his mouth and he takes the unconscious request without question.

Your body burns as you melt under his touch, hips squirming as your nails find purchase in his back. Moans and whines getting louder while the hot coil in your stomach grows tenfold at the constant probe of the spot that has your toes curling.

Simon trails sloppy kisses up your neck, breathes into your ear when he feels you pulse wilding around his fingers, arousal gushing down his palm, obscene squelch’s making your face flush.

“Messy girl. Gonna cum f’me, baby? Show me how much you like my fingers buried in your cunt.” He goads, fingers working in harsh, short thrusts as he grounds his palm into your throbbing clit.

You gasp, air stuck in your lungs at the constant grind and thrust of Simon’s hand. Low moans filling the air at the hoarse whispers in your ears egging you on.

“She’s doing so good, baby. Suckin’ me in, a little filthy, but she can’t help it can she, hm?” You keen at the sarcastic tone in his voice, makes you whimper and shake your head pathetically, legs tensing closed and kicking out when he laughs coarsely in your ear.

Simon tuts softly, presses soft kisses to your temple before slipping his leg between yours to keep them open. “You know better than that.” He coos, pecks your lips when his palm crashes down on your clit harshly during this one particular thrust. Hushes you with a curl of his fingers.

Heat in your stomach turning to fire as your legs try to shut around Simons. Hand flying to grip his wrist while your back arches. Loud cries clawing up your throat, hips grinding into Simons hand that moves frantically to draw your orgasm out as long as possible.

He groans lowly. “There she is.” Head leaning down to take your nipple in his mouth and suck harshly, trapping the peak between his teeth.

Your hands claw at him, mind buzzing and fading into black before your eyes peel open, soft whimpers breathing onto Simon’s lips as he kisses you, small pulses around his fingers fading into a gentle fuzz that covers your body.

Fingers slipping out with a shudder, pulling the wet edge of your panties back over your sloppy and swollen pussy before giving it gentle pats that make gasp.

Simon brings his fingers to his mouth, eyes locked so intently on yours that you blush at the vulgar moan he lets out as he sucks his fingers clean.

As your neighborhood's entrance comes into view, your mind goes back to overhearing your parents saying something about locking the doors if you kept coming back so late. You didn't think too much of it until you remembered you didn't have keys. They never bothered giving you one. When you came home early, you had to wait outside until one of them or your brother arrived.

When you arrived at your front door, it was locked. So you rang. Once, waited a few minutes then a second time and waited again. You waited like this for 20 minutes.

But no one came..

The cold had already settled deep into your bones. It's not like you had the adequate clothes for the winter either. They never bothered buying you anything. You contemplated your choices. You were too tired to try and climb up a window or something, staying outside meant a high risk of dying, so it was not an option either. You walked away, staying here wouldn't do anything to help anyway. And slipped your hands in your pockets and your fingers grazed the set of keys Ghost had given you. And suddenly, your best bet was probably crashing at his house for the night knowing he wouldn't be back for another two to three days. So you walked forty-five minutes through the snowy and icy roads, trying not to pay attention to your discomfort. You didn't want to admit it, but by the time you reached Ghost's house, your limbs were heavy and your vision was fuzzy. You fiddled with the keys, your hands raw and fingers covered in frostbites. The door finally opened and you stepped inside the snow falling off you and covering the floor. You closed the door and forced your body inside, and crashed on the closest surface, the couch. You had forgotten to take your shoes off, but considering the stars in your vision, that was probably the least of your problems.

It was 2am. Ghost was driving back to his house. He had finished his mission earlier than anticipated and decided to go home immediately. He'd never admit it out loud, but he was looking forward to seeing you coming in the next day to take care of Riley. He parked his truck and hopped out. He opened the door and to his surprise, it wasn't locked. Which was weird since you always locked it. He stepped inside and saw the melting snow on the floor. His hand hovered instinctively over the gun at his belt. When he heard Riley padding over and whining. She tried to pull him towards the living room. He hated that. Something was wrong and it stressed him out. So when he arrived in the living room, he didn't expect to find you slumped on his couch. Half of your body is actually resting on it. Riley was whining at your side and he approached you slowly. You were soaking wet and your lips were blue. He didn't know how you got in this state or why you were still here but he had a small idea of why you weren't home. He shook you and made sure you were breathing. You opened your eyes, but they were unfocused and glassy. You tried to speak and what you thought was a coherent apology was actually almost gibberish.

You don't remember much after crashing on the couch. You barely recall seeing Ghost, but you were unsure if that wasn't a dream or hallucinations.

The light of dawn was plunging Ghost's house in that beautiful wintery blue-gray. It was truly a peaceful winter morning. Ghost was in the kitchen, boiling water and settling not one, but two cups on the counter. Once the water was ready, he poured it in the cups over the tea bags and left them infused for five minutes. During those five minutes, he walked over to his room. He had put you there to lay in his bed in hopes of warming up. Inside, here you were in one of his hoodies and weighted comforter over your body, covering you up to your shoulders. Riley was laying right next to you resting her chin on your legs. Ghost approached and took the thermometer from the bedside table and brushed a hand across your forehead to get it out of the way. He could tell you were still cold to the touch and not out of the woods yet. The thermometer confirmed it. But at least it wasn't life threatening anymore.

Your eyes fluttered open at the touch. You slowly regained your surroundings, your vision swishing around a bit. You debated sitting up but went against that due to how dizzy you felt.

“Look who decided to come back from the dead.”

Ghost deadpanned. He wouldn't show it, but he was relieved that you had woken up. You rubbed at your eyes to chase the sleep and drowsiness away. There was a slightly awkward silence until Ghost interrupted it.

“How are you feeling kid?”

You looked at him for a moment before answering:

“I'm okay… I think.”

And then yawned immediately after. Which you could swear you heard Ghost huff at. He ruffled your hair and left the room to go back to the kitchen. Questions could wait for a few hours. He wanted to make sure you're okay first and not push you. So he poured some honey in the cup that was meant for you before heading back to his room with both cups in his hands.

The others gave you space

Heavens knew you needed it; you flinched at movements that came too fast , you huffed defensively over your food, guarding it.

Amongst all of these kind strangers , Ghost was the one you trusted most , he didn’t push, or pry , but he also didn’t look at you like a wounded animal.

No there was something more , something deeper.

Understanding.

How could he understand? He had a pack, a herd , a life with people who cared for him.

Part of you wanted to ask him , the other , louder part of you was still learning to talk again.

He just sat with you , gave you space whilst you ate , kept you company whilst Kyle checked your wounds .

He was simple , he didn’t talk much , you didn’t talk at all .

You mostly stayed in the stable , the door to the main cabin was always open.

An invitation you just … couldn’t take , not yet.

Johnny enjoyed visiting you, he would bring you things, blankets , pillows and one day

“I’ve found a book you might like; it was  one of my mas favourites ”

His excitement was palpable; he had stumbled into the stable, and his tail was wagging so hard you thought it might fall off.

You looked at the item he held out , it was small , bound in leather , hints of silverleaf in its ornate decorations , it had clearly been well loved , something precious to Johnny …

A gesture that did not go unnoticed .

The cover had ... symbols? You weren’t sure what they were , hells you didn’t know what a book was , the look you gave must’ve said it all

“You’ve not seen one before? Oh wait … can ... can you read?”

Read… you knew that people could read.

You remembered sitting on your mothers lap as she sounded out words , your eyes following her fingers as she traced symbols into the dirt …

You must’ve known how , you weren’t that young when you were taken … so why … why couldn’t you remember how.

 You let out a huff of irritation , first you couldn’t recall how to speak and now this ...just how much had that …. That BASTARD taken from you . You should have HURT him more , you should have DRAGGED it out , should have made him BEG-

A gentle hand on your shoulder , before you can think you’ve shoved your opponent down , your horns pointed low on either side of their throat , you could hear the roar of the crowd , the smell of the arena , now was your opening you should-

“HEY GET OFF HIM, NOW”

Get off him…?

That wasn’t something the crowd had ever asked for…

Was it the crowd shouting and jeering … it sounded like your own blood rushing through your ears.

Your opponent , your eyes focussed , it was … it was Johnny , he was whining and crying , ears pinned back .

Fuck

You scrambled back , your back met the wood of the stall with a bang

You looked at the doorway

It was John who had shouted , smoke subconsciously poured from his mouth and nose.

Kyle and Ghost had stepped forward to comfort Johnny .

you...

You had scared Johnny...

Happy , kind johnny

Kyle was looking at you over Johnny’s shoulder , wary ,like he was waiting to see if you’d lunge again .

You saw Ghost start to turn , to look at you , you couldn’t bare that thought

You ran , your legs carried you outside , back into the woods .

Away from the shouts and sobs , you couldn’t believe it , you’d fucked up , had you hurt johnny?

You were too scared to check , your punishment would be worse if you had , you were sure of it .

You stopped just outside the edge of the clearing

You should run further … but where would you go ?

You tried desperately to calm your breathing , curling up under the trees.

Your face was damp , tears … you were crying.

You rubbed desperately at your eyes , you shouldn’t cry .

~~

It was growing dark , the stars your silent overlookers , the noise from the cabin had calmed, johnny wasn’t whining anymore , the small of Johns smoke had drifted away … the sourness from your outburst was dissipating .

Part of you wanted to go back , to apologise , to huddle down in the stables once more.

You opened your mouth , trying to make a sound outside of grunts and huffs.

The sounds you made were strained and hoarse , sharing no resemblance to the words you wanted so desperately to say , that you needed to say ,

Your hand moved to your throat , as if you could physically manipulate your vocal cords into obedience.

The damned collar was in the way , you gripped it .

This collar …. That man …

He had succeeded , he had made you into the creature that fought ruthlessly , without thought …

His perfect monster …

You sniffled.

Then you noticed it … a scent … someone was approaching .

hope you enjoyed!

Your target emerges from his protected spot, standing tall and bravely aiming his rifle at your running form, his finger about to pull the trigger when you pounce on him with a snarl, latching on to his arm before he can take his shot.

The man screams in pain and horror, trying in vain to free himself from your bite, which only causes you to growl lowly and sink your teeth deeper into his flesh, your strength outmatching that of a mere human by far. You easily oppose his frantic but meek attempts at shaking you off, and you allow yourself to give in to this tempting little game of tug-of-war, pulling with just enough force to counter the man’s unimpressive strength, letting neither of you gain the upper hand just yet.

“Stop playing with your food, Fangs!” a booming voice then suddenly sounds across the battlefield, a direct command from your handler you understand and obey without hesitation. You are in enough trouble with Ghost as it is, having transformed on a mission without his authorization, which could just earn you a permanent place in the silver-enforced kennel on base and your old collar and muzzle to top it off.

With one swift and abrupt pull, you claim your victory against the enemy soldier, making him scream in agony as you all but rip his arm from his body, breaking bones and tearing flesh and muscle just as easily as the fabric of his clothes.

The man drops to the ground with a dull noise, his gun following with a clatter before you let go of his arm that limply lands next to the soldier’s head, his blood now staining the fur around your muzzle and front, making it wet and cling to your body unpleasantly, the taste of blood almost unbearably strong on your tongue. 

Nausea hits you unexpectedly and all at once, a slight tremor taking hold of your body despite yourself, and your gaze frantically searches for your handler among the chaos of the destroyed house.

That is, until you hear Soap curse to your right, too Scottish for you to understand, probably even in your human form, which makes it impossible for you to comprehend now. Still, your ears instinctively turn in the direction of his voice, your eyes following immediately after, and suddenly you can't move a single muscle in your body, simply frozen to the spot in the middle of an active battlefield. Because as your teammate's impossible blue eyes meet yours, usually so kind and gentle when regarding you, you realize what he said wasn't an expression of excitement or delight at your way of handling enemy soldiers.

Human facial expressions are even harder for you to interpret in your wolf form than spoken words, but repulsion and fear are things you have been regarded with all your life, and you just know this is what you see written all across the Sergeant's face at this very moment.

Your hackles rise immediately as you shift your body weight back, the feeling of lightheadedness and shortness of breath taking hold of you suddenly and without warning.

It was always bound to happen like this. Desperately, you have clung to the naive hope your team would accept you as you are, as the hybrid capable of turning into the monster of their childhood stories. That they would trust you no matter what. And for a while, it seemed like they had, looking out for you on base and accommodating you wherever they could, never making you feel less for being different, never letting themselves be blinded by the stories and warnings surrounding your kind.

But now, seeing you like this for the very first time, seeing your true colors, brutal and wild, reduced to nothing more than an animal, they realize just how dangerous you really are, that they should've been afraid of you this whole time.

That you're not a friend at all—only a threat, never to be trusted.

A low and dangerous growl forms in your throat without you meaning to, your awareness narrowed to only you and Soap facing each other, but the sound suddenly turns into a high-pitched wail, white-hot pain exploding through your body.

A bullet pierces your flank, ripping open your flesh, and you stagger to the side with the force of it. Soap yells something unintelligible to you at the same moment Ghost’s voice registers in your mind, more gunshots ringing in the air before you regain your footing and can think clearly again.

Your eyes flicker from Soap to Ghost to your attacker hitting the ground, lying unmoving on the dirty ground in a pool of his own blood. You make a displeased noise, your tail flicking in annoyance behind you when you take several steps towards the lieutenant, pain shooting through your body with every single one. The man in question gives you what is most likely an unsympathetic look over above the edge of his skull mask, and the tilt of his head foretells that a long lecture is waiting for you as soon as your team would be back on base, holding a monologue about distractions on the battlefield and that the slight limp you will have to endure for the next day or two has been your fault alone. And he would be right about it, of course, which would only sour your mood further, hiding under the covers of your bed in his room and licking your metaphorical wounds while resisting doing the same to your literal ones.

“You alright, pooch?” Soap calls then, his eyes and weapon trained on another enemy, downing the soldier before looking over to you again, not sounding overly worried, but at least that horrible look has disappeared from his eyes. Not that he actually has to worry about you. Even with a gunshot wound like this it isn't necessary for you to take a trip to the infirmary; your wolf form also gifts you with an accelerated healing ability that you don't possess before transforming. As long as you're not hit with anything made from silver, the wound will close on its own quickly and the blood loss will only be minimal.

Instead of giving Soap any sort of comprehensible answer you could provide in this form, a growl forms deep in your throat as one last enemy soldier decides to seal his fate and storm into the destroyed room, his weapon at the ready. But before he—or Ghost or Soap for that matter—can fire, you already jumped at him and thrown him to the ground, holding him down with one massive paw of yours on his chest. Your long and sharp claws rip open his skin and only sink deeper into his flesh while you bare your teeth. The soldier's scream is silenced by the sound of his neck breaking into a thousand pieces under the force of your bite, fueled by your frustration, anger, and anxiety about this mission, your transformation and Soap’s reaction to you—the other you.

Not the human with the funny ears and tail that always betray her feelings, the one that can track down Gaz's lost hat within moments because of her amazing sense of smell and gets uncharacteristically excited when she spots a squirrel climbing on one of the trees near the base.

No, this is the version of you that the special forces are interested in—interested in controlling and having it fight for them.

The hybrid.

The descendant of the werewolf.

The monster.  

The reason why the military has been the only place left for you. A place where, for once in your life, you're accepted, not feared, even if only by a handful of people.

Or so you have hoped.

“Fangs.”

Ghost’s voice, calm but firm, snaps you out of your thoughts and immediately you let go of the soldier's corpse, his lifeless eyes staring back at you full of terror, his head hardly connected to the rest of his body anymore.

You trot over to your handler, your head hanging low, avoiding any eye contact with him and Soap. You come to a stop next to Ghost, close but not touching, your whole body still tense with your ears pinned tightly to your head and your tail down.

There are no more enemies left, the only living people you can sense nearby are your team—Ghost and Soap in the house with you and Gaz and Price just outside of it, emerging from a neighboring building, on their way to regroup with the rest of you.

But still, you can't calm yourself, can't shake off the restlessness and anxiety that have taken hold of you. The stillness of the battlefield feels like it's crushing you, suffocating you, while you can only wait for the inevitable to happen. For your captain and Gaz to enter the room and see what you have done, what you are capable of. For them to look at you the same way Soap has looked at you. For all the trust and friendship you have built with the team over the last several months to be lost in a single moment.

“Don’t worry.”

When you look up at Ghost, he's already watching you, his brown eyes gentler than you have ever seen them before, and you feel yourself relax just a fraction. As your handler, Ghost is the only one who has seen you like this before, not in action but in this form, and both then and now, his calm, almost indifferent reaction to the other you and your abilities comfort you greatly. And you have believed, against your better judgment, that the rest of your teammates would have a similar reaction, that they would, after having gotten to know you, recognize that the beast they saw before them was still you at its heart.

But seeing how Soap has responded to you in this form, you have little hope that it will be any different with Gaz and Price.

Seconds later, the captain and the sergeant enter the room, their low conversation abruptly stopping as they take in the aftermath of the fight that has happened here only moments before. A low whistle sounds from Price as his eyes scan the mutilated bodies scattered all across the room while Gaz actually freezes in the doorway for a good few seconds.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles under his breath before following the captain into the room. You watch their boots step over debris and dead soldiers, not brave enough to meet their eyes and see the look on their faces as they realize that the stories about you and your kind are true, that your nature is brutal and ruthless, and that you never can be fully trusted and therefore will never truly be a part of their team.

Before you can even think about stopping it, a growl breaks through the silence surrounding you, pained and angry, having no other outlet for your fears and frustration while you were in this form. The air around you shifts immediately, your teammates tensing up around you, except for Ghost by your side. You see Gaz taking a step back and Soap gripping his weapon tighter, and suddenly you feel the ground underneath your paws crumble.

Your team—your family, your pack—has rejected you, like everyone in your life you thought had come to care about you has done before. The realization would have brought tears to your eyes in your human form, the loneliness and heartbreak restricting your throat painfully until it's hard for you to take a single breath. But now, with your mind trapped in a wild animal’s body, you can only make yourself smaller, cowering next to your handler with your tail instinctively tucking itself between your hind legs.

You don't notice the confused and concerned glances your teammates share over your head, the way Gaz takes a hesitant step in your direction at the same time Soap tentatively opens his mouth only to be stopped by a firm shake of his head from Ghost.

Your mind barely registers your handler's words as he calmly tells the rest of the team that you and he will check the perimeter one last time before getting the hell out of here, Kyle and Price having successfully collected and secured all the data the 141 has been tasked to retrieve before you were suddenly attacked.

As you limp behind your handler, your head hanging low and your usually sharp eyes almost unseeing, you hope, desperately, that your team knows you would never hurt them.

You can't tell them, not in this form, but you hope, after all, that they know.

You feel Ghost's eyes following your every move as you patrol between the now abandoned and destroyed buildings, walking ahead of him, your ears flicking this way and that, your eyes following just as frantically as you scan your surroundings, knowing very well that you and your teammates are the only living beings—four soldiers and one lonely monster—left in the area.

Still, you can't seem to calm yourself, even this eerie stillness of the battlefield after the fight too loud and overwhelming to your senses, the stench metallic of blood and gunpowder ever-present, carrying it with you, the substances clinging to your fur, staining it.

With every step you take, your paws create little clouds of dust rising from the dry ground, lingering in one spot longer than yourself as you restlessly move ahead of your handler only to circle back a few moments later, brushing past him and again ahead of him, before continuing this little routine anew.

Your tail flicks behind you in agitation, but with every step you take, with every circle you complete, you regain some composure, the sound of your pulse roaring in your ears slowly ebbing away as your heartbeat calms, finding great comfort in the fact that whenever you turn around, the Lieutenant is still behind you, still following with steady steps and regarding you with the same imperturbable expression through his mask.

The grip on his weapon is attentive and fighting-ready, trained soldier as he is, but his gaze is solely focused on you, just as aware that every possible threat has been systematically neutralized by the team.

But when you abruptly stop in front of him, every muscle pulling taut in your body, a low growl rumbling through your chest, ready to attack at a moment's notice, his attention too snaps back into place, training his weapon up at the balcony that has evidently caught your attention.

At first, he can't discern anyone or anything up there, but Ghost knows by now not to question your instincts in matters like these, trusting them completely, even with how distracted and worked up you still are about the rest of the team seeing the other you for the first time.

He deliberately slows his breathing when something moves on the balcony, the barrel of his weapon following the movement as his finger grazes against the trigger, not in the mood for any more surprises today—

—only to immediately drop his rifle again when nothing more but a little calico cat steps out of the shadow, its head held high as it slips through the railing of the balcony, gracefully and noiselessly jumping down onto the roof of the house underneath before hopping down from there too, landing on the dusty street right in front of you and him.

Ghost fights the urge to roll his eyes behind his mask—so much for trusting your supernatural instincts; your transformation in front of the team must've taken even more out of you than he thought—as the feline slinks closer to you specifically.

It's almost comical how fast the fight leaves your body and you all but drop to the ground, making yourself as small and non-threatening as possible, which in this form is a hopeless endeavor, he fears. Transformed, you're bigger than even the largest species of wolves on the planet, your head reaching his chest, just standing on your four legs while your paws are quite literally the size of his own head. Still, you desperately try your best to communicate to this little feline in front of you that you're completely friendly, your ears and eyes turned firmly forward while your tail starts to wag in cautious excitement behind you, every ounce of your attention now fixed on the cat.

Ghost can't decide if he should laugh or sigh at this ridiculous picture you make, so he just stays quiet, not wanting to ruin this moment, ruin this welcome distraction from your current worries.

By now he knows you well enough to be aware of how much you adore cats—and that this love is tragically one-sided. Even in your human form, cats give you a wide berth whenever they spot you, hissing at you when you try to get closer to them before simply bolting away from you, and he can't imagine it will be any different after you have transformed, but he lets you have this moment. After all, maybe this cat will finally surprise both of you and take a liking to you, even when you must be the largest and most terrifying dog this little kitty has ever seen in all of its nine lives.

God knows you could use this small comfort, he thinks.

The cat continues to take deliberate steps towards you, and both you and Ghost dare not to move even an inch as to not scare it away now, waiting with bated breath to see what it will do next. Ghost doesn't pretend to be an expert on cats, always having been more of a dog person—even wishing for a puppy from Santa when he was maybe seven years old and somehow, in its own strangely ironic way, being granted that wish almost thirty years later when the brass had decided to make him your handler—but as far as he's concerned the little feline seems relaxed and curious about you.

When it steps right into your personal space, you almost can't keep the exciting wagging of your tail under control anymore, your whole body vibrating with barely contained elation. You wait in breathless anticipation for what it'll do next—maybe sniff you cautiously at first before rubbing its little head against you? Would it maybe even cuddle up to you eventually, purring contentedly while being pressed close to you? You have half a mind to just transform back right this moment, even if it means leaving you stark naked in front of your handler, just to be able to pet the cat, to pick it up and hold it in your arms!

But your dreams are shattered when the little feline stops right in front of you, just centimeters away from where your head rests between your paws on the dusty ground, and suddenly its whole demeanor changes, hissing angrily before swiping with one paw at you, its razor-sharp claws striking you right across your sensitive nose.

You can't help but yowl in surprise and indignation, your nose stinging terribly as you jump up to your full height again, snarling viciously at the cat as it bolts away, vanishing into the shadows of a narrow alleyway between two buildings.

For a split second, the violent urge to retaliate—to track the cat through this whole ghost town and to corner it, to sink your teeth into its weak little body, breaking every bone in it, warm blood flooding your mouth as its lifeless body hangs from your jaw—flares up in your mind. But it's gone as quickly as it came, and you're left standing there shocked and dumbfounded, baring your teeth as an angry growl rips from your throat, the sound low and dangerous even to your own ears, but you don't move. Only staring in the direction where the little cat has vanished in betrayal.

But before you can even begin to wallow in your sorrow, a laugh rings out behind you, raspy and unguarded, and your head whips around just in time to watch your handler regain control of himself, his shoulders shaking and his brown eyes crinkling at the corners behind his mask with fading laughter. You're dimly aware you've never made Ghost laugh before since joining the 141, but your nose, feelings, and pride are bruised too badly for you to truly acknowledge this fact.

Without thinking, you snarl at him, betrayed and angry that your handler would make fun of you after everything that has happened today, your teeth on full display while your ears are pinned back against your head—only to realize too late what you're doing.

You freeze instantly, panic and dread choking you as you frantically try to think of a way to apologize to Ghost without having a shared language at your disposal, to somehow communicate to him that you didn't mean it, that it was just an accident, to tell him you accept every punishment he deems fit for your transgression—locking you away in the kennel on base or having you wear the silver collar again—if he just doesn't hurt you.

You whimper pathetically when your handler wordlessly takes a step towards you, your terrified eyes never leaving his approaching form as you cower in front of him, your ears and tail instinctively tucking close to your body, making yourself as small as possible.

Ghost stops dead in his tracks immediately, regarding you with an unreadable look in his brown eyes as his jaw ticks almost indiscernibly beneath the thick fabric of his mask. Then he simply lifts his gloved hands in a placating manner, one hand still holding his rifle, and murmurs, "Easy there", followed by your name.

When that doesn't seem to calm you down in the slightest, even backing further away from him while your eyes never leave his, he crouches down in front of you, trying to make himself as non-threatening as possible for a man of his size and stature, going as far as gently lowering his weapon to the ground next to him.

"'m not gonna hurt you, I promise, Fangs," he says then, his voice deadly serious while being softer than you ever heard it before. "I'd never hurt you, you understand? Just want to take a look at your nose, that's all."

Ghost lets his words hang in the tense space between the two of you, simply staying put as he watches you assessing him, still curled into yourself protectively. You whine quietly, desperately wanting to believe your handler while knowing the painful consequences of misplacing your trust in someone. But you're also achingly aware he's never given you a reason not to—freeing you of your restraints the moment he met you, always looking out for you on base, dragging you to the infirmary no matter how small your wound, and willingly sharing his room with you, sacrificing what little privacy he's granted on base just so you have a comfortable place to rest.

And even after months of him being your handler and you trailing after him like a little lost puppy, he's seemingly never tired of your presence despite not being able to stand anyone else talking to him for more than ten minutes at a time—his own team included. He just continues to accommodate you without comment or complaint, never losing his patience with you even though you're nothing but trouble for him, never raising his voice at you.

(Except for the time he saw you happily munching on a piece of chocolate Gaz has kindly shared with you, Ghost having all but shouted at poor confused you, demanding what you were doing while hauling you towards the base's hospital until you explained with tears in your eyes that chocolate isn't dangerous to you at all. Just to almost disprove your own point the very next day, having gotten sick from eating all the chocolates he has gotten you as an apology for his earlier behavior without restraint, your hoarse voice explaining to him between waves of nausea that you really can tolerate chocolate just fine, except apparently in large quantities when you're not used to eating much of it. Your handler just hummed noncommittally, still a little unconvinced, still a little guilty, as he gently held your hair.)

Your heart still pounds anxiously against your ribs as you slowly get up from your cowered position, taking tentative step after tentative step towards Ghost, your nose stinging and your flank protesting with a dull but manageable ache while you desperately hope you're not wrong about him.

But your handler simply proves again that he more than deserves your trust when he simply waits for you to make your way towards him, watching you patiently before slowly getting up when you come to a stand right in front of him, his weapon still on the ground beside him and his hands where you can clearly see them.

"Atta girl," he mumbles proudly and gingerly holds out one of his hands, palm facing up, without touching you. You look down at it, then up at him where his brown eyes watch you with nothing but kindness, and you only hesitate for one more second before letting your head rest heavily against the offered hand, nuzzling against it, relief washing over you almost violently.

Ghost chuckles quietly as he starts rubbing strong fingers along your jaw, his touch more pleasant and relaxing than you could've ever anticipated. Eventually, he brings his other hand to your face and you allow him to gently tilt your head upwards, his eyes sweeping critically over your bruised nose.

You think you see him wince in sympathy behind his mask as he declares matter-of-factly, "Little cat got you good."

But his words only register at the margins of your mind as you're too busy melting against his palms, sensing the warmth of his skin even through the material of his gloves, and your tail starts to wag behind you in cautious excitement all on its own.

"We'll find you a cat that likes you someday, I promise, pup," Ghost adds just as one of his hands wanders between your ears, giving the top of your head a hearty scratch. It punches a sound of pure bliss straight from your chest, making him bite back another chuckle while he continues to pet you, wondering absentmindedly if your fur would feel as soft between his fingers as it looks like.

The two of you silently stay like this for a long while, your wagging tail gaining more and more velocity the longer your handler's fingers run through your fur, scratching behind your ears and petting your head and down your neck. Ghost only stops his caressing when his eyes catch sight of your flank, dried blood making your fur stick together where the bullet has ripped open your skin.

"Gonna have a look at that too, yeah?" he tells you as he moves to your side, carefully examining the wound which is already closed by now. His fingers gently press against the still tender skin, brushing your fur the wrong way just to get a better look at it.

"Bullet went clean through," he says, more to himself than to you, his voice sounding equal parts surprised and impressed. "Really weren't lying when you said you heal fast, huh."

You chuff in agreement, impatient for him to continue petting you. When he doesn't return to his earlier position fast enough for your liking, too fascinated by your surreal healing ability, you give him a nudge with your head, intending for only a soft push. But you underestimate your own strength in this form in contrast to that of a mere human and send your handler, despite his build and mass, staggering a few steps to the side.

"Fuckin' impatient," you hear him complain without any heat behind it, but his voice gets drowned out by the euphoric rush washing over you when his fingers return to scratching behind your ears and under your chin, eliciting an elated rumble from deep within your chest.

Ghost shakes his head in amused exasperation but continues to dutifully stroke your fur, noticing that his gloves, but also his pants and shirt have already started collecting your hair on them and wondering who on base could provide him with a lint roller.

"Getting shot today was absolutely stupid and unnecessary," your handler eventually tells you, completely unprompted, and while you agree with him, it's not something you're keen to hear at the moment, too busy reveling in the first gentle touches you received in literal years. That is, until his next words register in your mind, making your eyes snap open despite yourself and look up at him in complete and utter shock.

"But I'm proud of you, Fangs."

His hands move so he's holding up your head, forcing you to keep looking at him even when every instinct in you begs you to lower your eyes, helplessly overwhelmed. And Ghost doesn't stop there either, brown eyes boring meaningfully into your own as he continues speaking.

"You did well today. Was the right decision to transform, even without my authorization. You saved this mission and all of us, you hear me?"

You do hear his words, but it's difficult for you to process them, much less to believe them. Your whole life, you've been nothing but a burden, a dangerous thing needing to be controlled and contained, so you can't just accept your handler's words now.

Futilely, you try to escape his hold on you, to shake him off, but Ghost's fingers only tighten along your jaw, firm but not painful—never painful. For someone usually not overly keen on prolonged eye contact himself, he's very adamant about this, about you absorbing what he's saying and understanding and trusting the truth in his words.

"I'm not afraid of you like this, and neither are the others," he says when you stop struggling against him, his usually gruff voice uncharacteristically gentle and sincere. You don't know if he's aware of how desperately you have longed to hear these words for a long, long time; for someone, anyone, to tell you that they see you as more than the monster of their childhood fairy tales, see the real you even when transformed. It leaves you shell-shocked, unable to do anything more than to stare up at him, the storm of emotions forming in your chest threatening to overpower you while your throat constricts painfully.

But still, Ghost is not done.

"Price, Kyle, Johnny—they're not used to seeing you like this, but that's all. They trust you, trust your instincts, trust you with their lives, just like I do. Earlier, back in the house, that was nothing more than a misunderstanding, I promise you."

A second passes, and then another one, and then you do the only thing that makes any sense to you in this moment.

You press close to him, as close as you can, forcing Ghost's hands to fall away from your jaw as you rest your head heavily against his sternum where his heartbeat is loudest, putting a little too much of your weight against him, but he doesn't object. Doesn't tell you off or push you away like you feared he would.

Instead, he simply puts his strong arms around you as best as he can and holds you close, his fingers sinking into your fur, not letting go of you for a long while.

The flight back to your current base is uncharacteristically quiet, no mindless chatter can be heard from Soap just to fill the space, no attempts to bait either Gaz or Ghost into a friendly, albeit not less heated argument, are started by him, and not even a casual conversation between the four men starts to form like it usually does even when fatigue begins to settle heavily in their bones after a mission.

Instead, the only sounds filling the tense silence inside the aircraft are the hum of the plane's engine, one of the men shifting in their places, or the occasional cough or hum from someone or another.

Still transformed, you're lying down a little way away from where your team is sitting strapped into their seats, your head resting wearily on your paws as you pretend to not watch your teammates anxiously, who in return pretend their eyes are not also flitting over to your corner from time to time, exchanging worried and helpless glances between each other in the meantime.

Despite Ghost's words, you're still wary of approaching the rest of your team, especially when you can't yet properly communicate with them to show them that you're still you. Still fear that having seen you on the battlefield, having witnessed what you're capable of, has damaged your friendship with them irreparably—that even if they're not afraid of you, they can never truly forget this glimpse of the savage animal slumbering underneath your human facade at all times.

Wallowing in your self-pity, you must've accidentally made a little noise, because suddenly four pairs of eyes are firmly fixed on you with varying degrees of concern visible in them. It's Soap who eventually speaks up first, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.

"How're you feeling, Fangs?" he asks you carefully, leaning forward in his seat and letting his gaze sweep over your body where it inevitably gets stuck on your hind leg, the area still an unsightly mess of bloody fur and tender skin. "The wound giving you trouble?"

He looks and sounds heartbreakingly guilty, almost as if he's blaming himself for you getting hurt back in the house. Perplexed, you stare up at him before vehemently shaking your head, your ears following the movement comically. You vocalize a sound, trying to make him understand that the injury is nothing to be concerned about, that he can probably watch it heal during the rest of the flight, only to remember in frustration that words are currently not something at your disposal.

Your head whips around to where Ghost is seated, his gaze already trained on you, and you give him a pleading look, begging him to explain what you're not capable of in the moment instead. Your handler sighs heavily, as if what you're asking of him is a great burden, but answers your request anyway.

"Don't worry, MacTavish," Ghost addresses the Scot, his eyes meeting his teammate's blue ones for only a second before returning to yours, "she's alright. Had a look at it myself. Bullet went through cleanly and the wound's already closed itself."

"Fuckin' hell," is all Soap can reply as his blue eyes widen in surprise, looking as impressed as Gaz and Price at their teammate's words.

"Still," the Scot says to you after a moment, shifting in his seat as if he just can't get comfortable, "I'm so fuckin' sorry that you got hurt because of me, Fangs. Wasn't my intention to distract you, I just didn't realize how strong you actually are like this."

He says it like it's a compliment, like it's something to be admired, something you can be proud of, and it wrecks you completely. Not to mention that you can't recall the last time someone sincerely apologized to you.

When you don't react, too stunned and moved by his words, Soap makes a move to open his safety belt, but you're faster than him.

In the blink of an eye, you're up and in front of him, and without checking your strength, you press close to him, your head all but slamming directly into poor Johnny's stomach, who doubles over with a breathless 'oof'. But to his credit, he recovers immediately, even before you can freeze in horror at having accidentally hurt your teammate, and throws his arms around you, welcoming this opportunity to pet you to his heart's content.

He's ashamed to admit it, because it makes him every bit a bastard as the people constantly taunting and insulting you on base, invading your personal space and grabbing you without your consent, but he's always wanted to touch your ears, always wondered if they're as soft as they look. But now that you've initiated the touch yourself, he allows himself to carefully trace a finger over the shell of one ear, over the little notches where pieces of skin are missing, watching your reaction closely so he can stop the moment you show any signs of being uncomfortable. But judging from your happily wagging tail, you seem to thoroughly enjoy it, especially when he begins to scratch behind your ear.

Just as Soap's hand moves to the side of your head to give you a good and affectionate ruffling, chuckling in boyish delight while the continuous thumping noises your tail makes on the floor of the plane get faster and faster, he stops his ministrations abruptly when he notices the sorry state of your nose.

Concerned, he guides your face closer to his, trying to get a better look at the cuts visible on this sensitive part of your body, and asks, "What happened to your nose, pooch?"

You only huff in annoyance, not keen on having your embarrassing one-sided scuffle with the little cat repeated to your teammates, but Ghost doesn't share that sentiment.

"Cat," he simply tells the rest of the team, the smirk audible in his voice.

There is a beat of silence before Price closes his eyes and grins while Gaz and Soap break out into unrestrained laughter.

"Ohh, did the big bad wolf try to make friends with a cat again and got her ass handed to her?" Soap teases by literally baby-talking to you, a fat grin plastered across his face which only grows bigger when you growl lowly and bare your teeth at him, clearly not as amused by your little misadventure with the cat as the rest of the team.

"Look at these pearly whites," the Scot continues undeterred, still using that stupid baby talk with you, "look how scary you are!"

You roll your eyes at him, but halfway through the motion, Soap begins to scratch under your chin which forces your eyes to fall shut in pure pleasure, a happy sigh escaping you as he shows no sign of stopping to pet you anytime soon.

Besides, you can't really be mad at him, or the rest of the team for that matter, for poking a little harmless fun at you, not when Ghost was right and your teammates really do accept you for who, and what, you are.

Not when you finally have found a place among people who genuinely care about you.

The rest of the flight is defined by your tail thumping joyfully against the metal floor of the plane while you happily let Gaz and Soap try basically every stupid thought that comes into their minds with you.

At first, they're just petting you in tandem until Soap has the brilliant idea to stick a finger into your mouth and curl it around one of your massive canines, tugging while you playfully pull against him, obviously using only a fraction of your strength. Otherwise, you'd simply drag him out of his seat, or worse, bite his finger off like it's nothing.

Now, the two muppets are amusing themselves with putting Gaz's iconic hat on your head and taking pictures of you while you sit primly in front of them, seemingly not opposed to their antics at all. They even try begging Price for his bucket hat, but the captain sternly refuses.

And maybe, after the plane has landed, Ghost goes out of his way to track down Gaz again to ask the younger man to send him the pictures they have taken of you for no reason whatsoever, really. Certainly not for the pure and adorable look of happiness he can see in your eyes even in your wolf form, surrounded and accepted by the first real family you had in years.

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dividers by @/cafekitsune

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