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S.A.U.S INDEPENDENT CONTRACTS.
/Special Agents Underground Services OFFICAL PERSONNEL FILES.

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Price and his toxic!Spouse making him sleep on the couch most nights. It's always said over dinner, with Price digging into the food his wife threw onto a plate for him. A full dish of rounded out foods, nothing he doesn't like. His steak cooked to his preference. And his wife's fork scraps against the plate each time she stabs it into her own portions. Her umpteenth glass of wine close to empty and ready for another refill. "Do not even think you're sleeping in my bed tonight, John." She's disgusted with him. Glaring at her husband from across the table. "The couch again, doll? What have I done this time?" She just rolls her eyes. Setting her fork down and pushing her chair back, scrapping against the polished floor. "I've lost my appetite. I don't want to see your face for the rest of the night."
John who knows his wife can't sleep without him. So every night, he indulges in her tantrums. Up until it's past midnight and he can hear her pattering around upstairs in their her room. He isn't gonna let her feelings towards him ruin her rest. So like every other night that he's told to sleep on the couch, he ends up cuddling his wife in their bed. Holding her as she cries herself to sleep cursing his name.
Johnny who tags along with MΓchΓ©al on their shared off day to go to a car show MΓchΓ©al is participating in. Cut to Johnny having to use MΓchΓ©al's jacket to hide his boner when MΓchΓ©al shows off one of his tricks from college, having his lowrider bounce up and down over him. Made worse by how sexual he makes it, and that stupid cocky grin on MΓchΓ©al's face.
Price inviting his men over for dinner with his missus, saying they all deserve a nice home cooked meal after such a strenuous and horrid mission that dragged on a few days longer than planned. Only for Price to have to duck out of the way of a wine glass being hauled at his head as soon as he opens his door. A smile on his face as he greets his wife standing in the hallway, dressed in a lace slip and bathrobe hanging off of one shoulder, and looking at her husband as if she wished he had died long ago.
The concept of alpha!ghost who clings to beta!reader in a not so socially acceptable way...
Ghost has long since lost care for normal social conventions. He's the alpha who stinks up the place because he can't be bothered to wear scent blockers, not like anyone else on base does either. He growls when he wants to and with his freakish size is more than willing to push people around. Everyone knows about ghost, how could you not?
What people don't realize is just how in tune he is with others emotions and scents.
He acts like he doesn't care in the hopes people would stop fucking shoving their scent at him, yet they still do. In a base full of too many alphas and omegas, he almost always has a migraine from everyone else's scents.
Well. Everyone but you.
You, the mechanic that absolutely refuses to share shop space and is too skilled to really replace. You're also a beta. A fact that ghost became distinctly aware of when he had to get your signature on some paperwork after he totaled a humvee.
Even as you reamed ghost for the state he turned the humvee in, yelling and waving your hands, your scent never once left that bland neutral so many betas possessed.
The entire time you spent yelling at him, ghosts head didn't hurt once. It was like bliss that left him rumbling in delight and you calling him a freak.
Now, you're essentially ghosts mental reset button.
If he's not loitering in your shop all day, then he's popping in every few hours to shove his nose into your neck.
No, he doesn't care who else is around when he does it. They're not the ones with a splitting migraine, are they? He makes up for it with snacks and buying you random shit, so you let him do what he needs.
Once, when you were waiting in line for lunch, everyone tensed and stepped away only for ghost to be at your back. Wrapping thick arms around your middle and nuzzling into your scent glands with a rumble. You nipped at him more out of habit than correction, but let him get his fill in the middle of lunch, not like you care either way.
Oddly enough, people stop approaching you to ask for a date. Eh, more time to spend in the shop, then.

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The concept of human!reader accidentally driving wolf!ghost insane....
You recently bought some new perfume, a thick rich scent that only serves to amplify your own natural musk, and ghost is obsessed.
Worse than that is how you love to reapply it all the time, subtle to humans but he's practically choking on that delicious scent from you. Anything of his that you touch picks up the scent, as if you were some coy wolf trying to get a sense of ghosts mating prospects.
He raises his brow when you stay back after a meeting to reapply, hovering just a touch too close so he can smell the minute change it takes on upon touching your skin "new perfume, sergeant? It's nice."
"Hm? Oh, yeah! I like the earthy stuff," you tell him, dropping the tiniest bit of oil onto your wrist and rubbing them together. The sight has ghosts stomach turning, knowing if you were a wolf hybrid the room would reek from that action. "Do you want to try some? It's pretty strong."
"Hmβ?" Before ghost can even speak, you're already slipping a hand under the hem of his balaclava to rub a bare wrist into the skin of his next. "Fuckβ! Ohh...hm....!"
A deep, pleased rumble spills out of ghost, and not seconds later you're being pinned to the meeting table, ghosts whole body on top of yours with lidded eyes. "christ love, do thst again."
"What...ghost?" You mumble, dazed, hand still under the mask. "Iβ I meanβ you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Ghost whines, ears pinning. A large, clawed hand wraps around your forearm, manually moving your wrist against his skin. His whole body shudders "fuck! Mhhh keep going. Like that."
"Holyβ is this like...a thing for you?" You grin, ignoring the stretch of your thighs being pushed so far apart for him to grind his bulge against you. Ghost rumbles and grunts, all animal.
He couldn't explain the fact you're practically claiming him as your mate, or at least your breeding bitch, not like you'd care much when his eyes go all glossy under the mask "pleaseβ please, love, please. I needβ"
"Go on, ghost, I want to see this." You urge. that one chat about soaps partners coming to mind, you shove a hand into ghosts pants and wrap a firm grip over his knot.
"Fuck! Holyβ hmmm! Thank you!" He pants, tail thrashing behind him. You watch, enraptured, as a large wet patch forms in the front of his jeans. Christ, that's a lot of cum.
"Wow. That was so worth eighty quid." You snort, only to get a huffy nip from ghost, who seems intent on smothering you under hum.
scrolling through old posts to try and reignite my creative spark (since I've been really upset with how much work has just been draining me and my creativity), and I came across this in one of my tags and-
who let me just leave this here without expanding on it? Like hello? What do you mean past me had this idea and was just like 'yeah, a sentence or two is enough'. Like get your ass back here and write this you bastard!
'Bust Your Windows' by Jazmine Sullivan and the thought of Sparrow and her ex; specifically after his betrayal/traitor status is discovered and the aftermath of that.
Soap gets oddly posessive about your body hair. Yes, He calls your bush his "little lawn" while brushing his fingers through it at night. He begs for the honor of getting to "mow" it, trimming it into different shapes if you allow. His favorite is a heart but the landing strip is lovely too, especially if you can manage a happy trail.
The day you wax it is the day he fears. He'll brush over the skin with sad puppy eyes wondering where his little forest went...then get distracted by the thought of glazing it with cum. Horny bastard.
Inspired by [this] gaz post by @phoebeselwyn
Me getting a million pt 2 requests for my shitty badly written short fic knowing I feel deep dissatisfaction of how both the rewrite and original came out
ps: not upset with the requests at all appreciate all the hype it's getting <3

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me after eating chili and not realizing it has tomatoes in it until it was too late
update, I'm fine now. After two hours I stopped feeling like I was breathing through a straw and now I'm completely okay and like nothing happened. God tried to weaken me, but it only made me stronger
I swear I'm going to staple a sign to your forehead that says allergic to tomatoes
low-key how was I supposed to know there were tomatoes in chili? They full on hid it in there just to assassinate me cause I'm too op :/
me after eating chili and not realizing it has tomatoes in it until it was too late
update, I'm fine now. After two hours I stopped feeling like I was breathing through a straw and now I'm completely okay and like nothing happened. God tried to weaken me, but it only made me stronger
me after eating chili and not realizing it has tomatoes in it until it was too late
So let's say....hypothetically...I was planning on writing up some short smut pieces for Feral! and the guys, how would y'all want the genitalia to be portrayed? Are we thinking vague like 'hole' 'strokes you' ect leaving it very open to ones interpretation. Are we leaning towards female genitalia? Male genitalia? Both? Are we gonna do it half and half were two out of the four pieces will be female and the other two male? Opinions, thoughts?
Need to do some more posting, maybe I'll introduce Vulture!reader finally. Or I'll do some OC posting cause my children have been left to neglect, especially the less popular ones (really need to write about my four babies who I haven't really written much for. Especially Icarus and Rot. Dr.Volkov too but they've at least for a couple of posts). Probably won't be able to do any long pieces until tomorrow cause work has been draining me of everything. I'm thinking of maybe opening up a Q&A? Maybe for the next few days. Would any of y'all be interested? It would be for all my characters (including the readers (aka feral and vulture)).

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More thoughts on this idea, cause this is how I cope with irl situations and distance myself from reality :}
Being in the military is the worst thing you can do if you're trying to avoid stress. With the constant strict and spirit breaking trainings, and dangerous missions that often ends with at least one casualty on either side of the playing field. Even during down times, the few slow moments you're afforded, aren't without the looming stress that breathes down your neck.
The military is the worst place for you to be. Proven more so after the incident. Though not understood why, it was able to be reasoned that your stress levels were somehow connected to these episodes you've started having. When missions get more taxing, and paperwork piles up more and more on your desk, you tend to be more likely to have hours go missing and frightening uncontrollably spasms. The constant stress having some type of strain on your brain that causes it to break. The military is the worst place for you to be, but you refuse to leave.
What is a weapon to do if it's laid to rest. When the metal goes cold and the bullets remain inside the chamber to never be used. What would a weapon be if it was not a weapon? What could it be if not a weapon? With no other purpose besides for what it was made for.
They've tried, really they try, to get you to at least consider an honorable discharge. That this can easily be classified as being injuried at war and no longer able to serve. Price talks over the paperwork on his desk, discharge paperwork that never got your signature. And Price can't find it in himself to forcefully send you away. None of them can.
Which is why you stay. Nothing changes, the stressors don't stop, and neither do your episodes. A continuous cycle that you refuse to end. Not when it means leaving the only purpose you've ever had. If you were not a weapon, if you no longer held a purpose, then what did you have to deserve to keep living.
Hmm not canon but thinking of Feral who has memory issues. Not in the way where it's a consistent thing, but there are times where hours just go missing from their memory. One moment they're running laps, the next, they're coming to to a cold tray of food. The time between the two events non-existent.
Of course the team notices. How could they not when you go from wiping the floor with a recruit in training, to suddenly becoming sloppy. Not like you've forgotten how to do hand-to-hand combat, but as if you're forgetting what it is that you're planning on doing. The look of confusion on your face only more evident when you end up on the mat and lay there with no clue as to how you got there. You're still able to function, you continue through your day, although slow and confused. Price has to remind you multiple times that you're cleaning your gun when you repeatedly look down at the dismantled weapon with confusion.
I like this idea π
Adding angst to this-
Feral who always sees Ghost in his whole get up. You see his mask more than you ever see his face. The few times he takes off his mask are rare and very far apart. Feral who, while in the middle of one of these episodes of theirs, happens across Ghost without his mask. He smells familiar, but the scent doesn't match with the face. You have no name to go with the man standing in front of you, giving you orders about doing something. You can't really grasp or remember any of the words coming out of his mouth.
"You good, puppy teeth?"
Is he talking to you? You don't ever remember going by 'puppy teeth', the name sounded condensing and insulting.
The blonde man stares down at you with furrowed brows. His own look of confusion reflecting yours, the way you were looking at him as if you've never seen him before. Similar to the first time you guys met, confused and on edge. Defensive and with the restriction to keep yourself from growling.
Oh... yeah.
Simon reaches into his pocket and pulls out the balled up black fabric and pulls it over his face. He watches as your confusion goes from defensive to simply confused. Completely forgetting about the stranger that was standing in Ghost's place.
"Where you going, kid?"
You blink slowly. And Ghost makes a sound of understanding. What was he understanding? You're confused. He gently places a hand on the back of your neck.
"Let's get you to Price's office, pup."
To add my two bits to the cute lil Feral, the cause being a mission that what the others thought has gone rather smoothly. A few bumps here and there, a cut to Soap's arm and Feral hitting their head a bit too hard. The unit all glad everyone's mostly in one piece and let Feral brush it off as a headache. Something that could have been caught and treated early on, left unchecked until one too many blank moments leads to someone getting bit. And when convinced to get a check the men learn that it's already late into the game and any chance of recovery will be made harder as the memory loss gets worse before it'll get better. Something all the man have to wear in their back pocket, that they should have and could have had Feral checked out even with a small bump but didn't.
If I may offer a rebuttal-
Think about a mission that didn't go smoothly, and instead a mission that went to absolute shit. The only relief found afterwards is that no one died. Soaps ear is ringing from a too close shot, Ghost has a medic working on removing a bullet from his side, and you're having your head injury checked. Your eye is bloodshot and a nasty bruise taking up half your face. You don't really remember what happened, just that you woke up after Ghost had hauled you out of there. Despite all of this though, everyone is told that after some time spent healing, they'll be fine.
And for a while that seems to be true. The bruise lasted for a couple of weeks, but eventually went away and with it went any sign of what had happened. Sure, the mission went to shit, but everything is okay now and it won't be allowed to happen again.
So it's all that more frightening when you start experiencing these...episodes.
The first time was the most terrifying and the worst, you struggle to remember what all happened but you faintly remember the way your body had started to jerk and twitch in an uncomfortable way while you laid in your bunk. You don't remember how long it lasted. You don't remember just how bad these spasms got, nor do you really remember any of them besides for the ones that happened just before you came out of it.
The good ones are when you just loose time, when your memory stops working and you're left going through the motions in a constant state of lost. The bad ones have your legs spasming and kicking out, sometimes your back arches in a way that has you feeling like your heart might just be trying to rip itself from your ribs. Sometimes you prefer the latter, you can at least remember short bits, there's some conscious part of you far in the back of your mind begging for it to stop. You can at least have tiny bits of ideas of what had happened during the two hours. But when you forget, that's what truly scares you the most. Cause where does it stop? How deep and far back can your memory be taken away from you? What if one day, the episode doesn't end? That's what truly scares you.