#poly!task force 141 x reader

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The sun rays entered through your window and pressed unpleasantly against your closed eyelids. With a slight groan, and after trying to hide your head further into the pillow, you sat up in bed, your feet resting lightly on the sea-green rug you had at the foot of the bed.

You rubbed your eyes somewhat harshly with your hands and tried to open them, attempting to let in the smallest amount of light possible, since it was still bothering you.

You tried to remember the events that had led you to this morning; however, your still-sleeping brain was incapable of remembering what had happened.

If that much light was coming in during the morning, it was because you must have overslept, which meant you were late for work.

“Shit” 

After that realization, the first thing you felt was panic. Not the slow confusion of waking up after a deep sleep, but the sudden kind of panic that made your entire body react before your brain even understood what was happening. The sunlight slipping through the curtains was too bright, the room too warm, and when your hand reached blindly for your phone on the nightstand and you saw the hour, your stomach dropped immediately. You were late. Very late. The thought was enough to make you throw the blankets aside and rush out of bed without giving yourself even a second to remember the night before.

Your mind was still trapped somewhere between asleep and awake as you moved around the bedroom, getting dressed in the first clothes you could find and trying to mentally organize the list of things you needed to do once you arrived at the medical office.

You didn’t think about how strange it was that you remembered falling asleep on the couch but had woken up tucked into your bed. You didn’t think about the fact that, for the first time in months, you hadn’t woken up multiple times during the night to check the door. And you definitely didn’t think about the reason why you had slept so peacefully, because thinking about Ghost staying after you had asked him not to leave was something your exhausted mind wasn’t prepared to deal with right after waking up. Forming those thoughts required far too much effort for someone who was still moving around the room with their eyes half closed.

That was why, when your fingers found the black hoodie resting on the chair near your desk, you grabbed it without hesitation. You didn’t inspect it, didn’t question it, didn’t even properly look at it before pulling it over your head and walking toward the door. It was only when the fabric fell over your frame that a confused frown appeared on your face. The sleeves covered most of your hands, the shoulders sat too low, and the hoodie was much heavier than you remembered any of yours being. You stared down at yourself for a few seconds, your sleep-clouded brain trying to solve a problem it didn’t have enough energy for.

So you left your bedroom and rushed down the stairs toward the kitchen, half hopping as you tried to put on your mismatched socks without wasting a single second. Your hair was messy, your eyes still tired, and what was actually Ghost’s hoodie covered you almost completely, while you remained entirely unaware of what you had just done.

Ghost, however, noticed immediately.

He had been awake for hours already, because sleeping inside your house had been almost impossible. Not because he was uncomfortable; strangely enough, it was the opposite, and that was exactly the problem. The quiet of your home, the knowledge that you were asleep only a few meters away, the memory of your sleepy voice asking him to stay because you didn’t want to be alone — all of it had kept his mind painfully awake. So eventually, he had stopped pretending, gotten out of bed carefully without waking you, and ended up in your kitchen with a cup of tea in his hand.

He was leaning against the counter when you walked in, one forearm resting against the surface and his back mostly turned toward the doorway. He heard you before he saw you. Your sleepy, careless footsteps. The small annoyed sigh you let out under your breath when you couldn’t manage to put your sock on properly while hopping on one foot across the living room. The way you moved around the kitchen without hesitation because this was your space and you were too tired to remember you weren’t alone in it.

For some reason, that alone made something inside his chest tighten.

Then he turned around.

And every thought he had disappeared.

You walked past him without even noticing he was there, heading straight for the coffee machine like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Your hair was messy from sleep, your eyes barely open, your movements slower and softer than the careful version of yourself you showed everyone else on base. But none of that was what made him freeze.

It was the hoodie.

His hoodie.

The same black hoodie he had taken off the night before and forgotten on the chair in your bedroom. The one that carried his scent more than anything else he owned. The one you had accidentally pulled over yourself without realizing.

Ghost's fingers tightened so much around his mug that he was almost certain it would crack as his eyes followed you. The hoodie was way too big for you, hanging off your shoulders, covering your hands, wrapping around you in a way that made the difference between you almost painfully obvious.

The rational part of his brain knew it was an accident. He knew you didn't understand what you were doing. He knew that without your ability to scent properly because of the suppressants, you had no idea what smell was emanating from you at this moment.

But his alpha didn’t care about logic.

His alpha saw you, sleepy and comfortable and wrapped in him, and reacted.

Contentment. That’s what his alpha felt.

A deep, warm satisfaction settled somewhere inside him, something embarrassingly close to happiness. The constant restlessness that had been following him since he met you, the frustration of not being able to scent you or understand you or place you, finally quieted for the first time. Because even if he couldn’t smell you, even if your scent was hidden away from him, you smelled like him now.

And he hated how much he liked that.

Because it wasn’t real. You weren’t his omega. You weren’t part of his pack.

You had a husband. Have, as in present tense.

That thought should have been enough to snap him out of it, but it didn’t. Not when you were standing there, making coffee in his clothes, looking more relaxed than he had ever seen you. Not when his instincts were telling him that this looked right. Not when his alpha was almost chirping with content, so happy that he was actively fighting against the purr trying to come out of his chest.

You finally grabbed your coffee and walked to the table, sitting down with a tired sigh before rubbing your eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. The gesture almost broke him. Such a small, meaningless thing, and yet his alpha reacted like you had done it on purpose. Like you had chosen him.

Only then did you finally look up and notice him staring.

You blinked, still half-asleep. “Oh. You’re still here.”

Ghost forced himself to look away before you could read too much into his expression. Even though he was still, as always, wearing his mask, he somehow felt like you could see right through it. Clenching his jaw, keeping his expression completely blank and trying to make sure his eyes revealed as little as possible, he answered with:

"Yeah."

Your eyebrows pulled together slightly as you studied him over the edge of your mug. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

You didn’t look convinced. “You’ve been standing there staring at me.”

Ghost cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Wasn’t staring.”

“You definitely were.”

For a moment neither of you said anything. You watched him with sleepy confusion, trying to understand what was wrong, while he stood there fully aware that the answer was literally covering your body.

He should have told you.

He knew he should have.

All it would take was one sentence. That’s my hoodie. You would probably apologize, maybe laugh awkwardly, and probably take it off and give it back.

And that was exactly why he didn’t say anything.

Because some selfish, quiet part of him wasn’t ready to lose this yet. Just for one morning, just for a few minutes, he wanted to pretend that the omega sitting in front of him wearing his scent belonged there.

So Ghost said nothing. And for once, he let himself have something he knew he shouldn’t.

By the time the caffeine finally started doing its job and your brain properly registered the numbers on the clock, every bit of calm left on your body disappeared. Ghost saw the exact moment it happened, the way your eyes widened slightly over the edge of the mug before you almost jumped out of your chair, muttering a string of complaints about being late, about the inventory you still needed to finish, about how the medical room was supposed to have been opened fifteen minutes ago. He barely had time to put his own cup down before you were moving through the house like a hurricane, grabbing your things, checking pockets and rushing toward the door while still wearing the same oversized black hoodie that very much did not belong to you.

Ghost followed without saying anything, even though he knew he should. He knew perfectly well that letting you walk through base covered in his scent was going to cause problems. Any alpha within a reasonable distance would notice it immediately, and even some betas with sharper senses would probably understand what had happened. The responsible thing would have been to stop you, tell you the truth and let you change before leaving. But every time he looked at you, at how naturally you wore something of his, at how comfortable you looked wrapped in a scent you couldn’t even recognize because of the suppressants dulling your senses, the words disappeared before reaching his mouth.

The walk through base was chaotic, at least on your side. You rushed through the corridors with a speed that almost made Ghost amused, apologizing whenever you passed too close to someone, your focus entirely on reaching the medical room before anyone noticed you were late. Behind you, however, Ghost followed with the complete opposite energy. Calm, silent, controlled. A few steps behind at all times, close enough to intervene if necessary but never close enough to crowd you. The contrast was almost ridiculous. You were all frantic energy and he was the shadow behind you, moving like a guard dog following its owner.

Everyone noticed.

Of course they did.

At first they looked because of the commotion. An omega practically running through the corridors was enough to catch attention, especially one who most people knew avoided crowded areas whenever possible. Then confusion followed when they tried to catch your scent and found nothing there, the same strange emptiness that always surrounded you. But the confusion never lasted long, because a second later they noticed what surrounded that emptiness instead.

Alpha.

Ghost.

Heavy and unmistakable.

Their eyes dropped to the hoodie, then slowly moved toward the man walking behind you.

That was where their curiosity ended and where Thor's eyes departed, summarizing the tasks they had been doing previously.

Ghost didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The second someone stared for too long, his eyes moved toward them, cold and sharp beneath the mask, and suddenly everyone remembered they had somewhere else to look. It satisfied something embarrassingly primal inside him, watching people step back without you even realizing why. You just kept moving forward, completely oblivious to the silent message everyone else was receiving.

Soap had been waiting outside the medical room for longer than he wanted to admit.

He was leaning against the wall, back pressed against the concrete, one boot resting behind him while his arms stayed crossed over his chest. Anyone walking past would probably assume he was there casually, maybe waiting for a check-up or killing time before training. Nobody needed to know he had been there for almost twenty minutes trying to decide what to say when he saw you.

He heard you before he saw you. Fast footsteps turning the corner.

He smiled automatically.

Until you appeared. The smile disappeared instantly.

Soap genuinely forgot what he was about to say because his brain stopped processing information correctly the second you rounded the corner. At first all he registered was you. Your slightly rushed expression, your messy hair, the way you looked exactly like someone who had woken up late and had been fighting against the clock all morning.

Then he noticed the hoodie.

Ghost’s hoodie.

The reaction inside him was immediate and confusing enough that he almost hated himself for it. Because one part of him, the instinctive part that had attached itself to you before he even understood what was happening, was ridiculously happy. His wolf saw you covered in pack scent, comfortable and safe, and reacted like it was the best thing that had happened all week. But then the rest of him caught up.

It wasn’t his scent.

It was Ghost’s.

The jealousy hit fast and sharp. Because how dare he? How dare Ghost have something Soap had been trying so carefully not to take, nor to mess up.

You didn’t notice the internal war happening inside him. You simply smiled like everything was normal, opened the medical room door, flipped the sign to open and walked inside.

“Morning, Johnny,” you greeted casually.

Soap barely managed to answer.

Ghost entered behind you like the good trained mutt he was, Johnny thought, and moved toward the corner of the room, silent as always, taking his usual position where he could watch everything without being in the way.

And Soap just stood there.

Watching you.

You started preparing the room, checking supplies and organizing the counter, but the sleeves of the hoodie kept falling over your hands. Without thinking, you pushed them up your arms, rolling the fabric until your forearms were free, revealing the delicate skin of your arms.

Soap’s jaw tightened. Because it was such a normal movement, such a small thing. And somehow it made everything worse.

The hoodie looked like it belonged there. Like you had stolen it on purpose. Like you had woken up surrounded by Ghost’s scent and chosen to keep it.

He looked at the way your skin disappeared under the hoodie, your soft and delicate skin. So tempting to bite into, to sink his teeth into. His mouth started watering at the thought of being able to touch you, of getting to taste even that small patch of exposed skin. The idea affected him so much that he could feel his pants tightening just from the mere sight of your bare, soft skin surrounded by Ghost’s scent.

God, he could come undone just at the thought of it. You, completely bare before him, completely surrounded by Ghost’s musk. The things you must have done to end up smelling like that. You, lying there, so trusting and relaxed, with Soap biting at your skin, soaking your skin with his saliva until you smelled only like him, until every trace of Ghost was erased.

God, Ghost.

He didn’t know what affected him more: the idea of making you only his, or the idea of you being completely scented by his mate. He could even imagine how good Ghost would look, all flushed, like he always got when they were together, with your bare body flushed beside him, giving him small kitten licks on his neck, right where their mating mark was. Your hand moving delicately down his body, tracing his abs, until it finally moved lower to his most aching part. So hard and pink against his stomach. How your delicate fingers would caress his hot, red tip—

“Johnny?”

You finally noticed him staring. You stopped what you were doing and turned around with a small frown, looking him up and down.

He blinked.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Aye.”

“You don’t look okay.”

“I’m fine.”

You stepped closer, immediately switching into nurse mode. “Are you sure? You look weird. Do you have a fever or something?”

That almost broke him.

Because there you were, standing in another alpha’s clothes, worrying about him.

His eyes dropped again.

“Nice hoodie.”

You looked down at yourself.

“Oh, this?” You grabbed the fabric with a small laugh. “Yeah, I actually don’t remember buying this one. It’s weird because I don’t usually get them this big, but it’s really comfortable.”

Soap went completely still.

His eyes moved to Ghost.

Ghost looked away.

That told him everything.

“Ye don’t remember buyin’ it?” Soap repeated slowly.

“No?” You frowned. “Why are you saying it like that?”

Soap opened his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Because you smell—”

Your reaction was immediate.

Your eyes widened in horror and you quickly grabbed the hoodie, lifting the fabric toward your nose.

“Oh my God, does it smell bad?” you asked, genuinely concerned. “Did I forget to wash it? Wait, maybe I put too much detergent. I bought a new one and I wasn’t sure about the amount.”

Soap stared at you.

Then looked at Ghost.

Then back at you.

Then Ghost again.

And suddenly he understood.

You didn’t know. You really didn’t know.

Ghost knew. But you didn’t.

Something hot and possessive twisted inside Soap’s chest, and he forced himself to smile even though it felt painfully tight.

“No,” he said carefully, voice controlled. “No, lass. You smell good. Really good.”

Your shoulders relaxed immediately but Soap’s didn’t.

He slowly turned toward Ghost, the smile disappearing from his face.

“Ghost.”

The lieutenant already knew.

“Need tae talk tae ye outside for a second,” Soap said, his voice strangely calm. “Something about the new recruits’ training.”

Soap waited until Ghost followed him outside. He waited until the door closed, until they walked far enough down the corridor that you wouldn’t hear them.

Then he snapped.

His hand grabbed the front of Ghost’s shirt and shoved him back against the wall, holding him there as every bit of control he had been forcing finally cracked. Ghost could have stopped him easily. They both knew that. But he didn’t move.

“What the fuck did ye do?”

His voice was low.

Dangerously low.

“Johnny—”

“No.” Soap’s grip tightened. “I trusted ye.”

Ghost stayed silent.

“I trusted ye with her because I knew I couldn’t trust myself last night. I knew if I walked her home after that dinner, after seein’ her smile like that again, I’d do somethin’ stupid.”

His breathing was uneven now.

“I asked ye tae protect her.”

Ghost’s jaw tightened beneath the mask.

“And now she just walks in wearin’ yer clothes? Covered in yer scent? Lookin’ like she spent the bloody night with ye? Even her hair smells like ye.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah? Then tell me what I’m supposed tae think, Simon.”

The use of his name made the silence heavier.

Because Soap wasn’t angry anymore.

Not just angry.

He was hurt.

And that was much worse.

Ghost didn’t answer immediately, and the silence that followed only made the anger inside Soap grow stronger. 

The problem was that Johnny knew him too well. Simon Riley wasn’t someone who hesitated when he had a good explanation. He wasn’t someone who wasted words trying to make a situation sound prettier than it actually was. 

If Soap was wrong, if he was overreacting, Ghost would have pushed him away already, called him an idiot, told him exactly what happened and walked back inside the medical room without wasting another second. 

But he wasn’t doing any of that. He was just standing there, letting Soap hold him against the wall, and that alone was enough to tell Johnny that something was different.

“Simon,” Soap growled, a last warning, and even though his voice was quieter now, it carried more anger than when he had been shouting. His fingers were still gripping the front of Ghost’s shirt, his breathing still uneven, his entire body fighting between the jealousy burning through his chest and the trust he had always placed in the man in front of him. 

Because that was what hurt him the most. Not the hoodie. Not even your scent being completely buried beneath Ghost’s. It was the fact that he had sent Ghost with you because he trusted him more than he trusted himself. He had stepped back because he was scared of crossing a line, and now it looked like Ghost had crossed it instead.

Ghost looked at him for a long moment before finally letting out a slow breath. “Something happened last night.” The words were enough to change the entire feeling of the conversation. Soap didn’t let him go immediately, but the pressure of his grip weakened as his expression shifted. The anger was still there, the jealousy still twisting painfully inside him, but both of those things were pushed aside by something stronger. Something much more instinctive when it came to you. Worry.

“What do ye mean something happened?” Soap asked, studying Ghost’s face carefully. He knew Simon well enough to recognize when he was being serious, and whatever he saw in his eyes made the last pieces of anger start fading. Because Ghost didn’t look guilty in the way Johnny expected. He didn’t look like a man who had stolen something from him. He looked concerned.

Ghost glanced back toward the hallway, toward the medical room where you were still working, completely unaware of the conversation happening outside. He lowered his voice before continuing:

“When we got to her place, she froze. The second she opened the door, something changed. She saw a light on inside and tried to pretend everything was fine, said she probably forgot it, but she was lying.” He still remembered the way your entire body had reacted. The sudden tension in your shoulders, the change in your breathing, the way your eyes had fixed on the bedroom door like you were waiting for something terrible to happen. You had tried to hide it quickly, but Ghost had spent his entire life reading people who didn’t want to be read.

Soap’s expression slowly changed as he listened. The jealousy disappeared piece by piece until there was nothing left except concern. Because he could picture it too easily. You standing outside your own home pretending not to be afraid. You forcing yourself to smile because that was what you always did. You hiding whatever was wrong because, for some reason, you thought you had to handle everything alone.

“She thought someone was inside,” Soap said quietly, but it wasn’t really a question anymore. He could see the answer in Ghost's eyes before the lieutenant even said anything.

Ghost nodded slightly. “I think so. She asked me to come in, made some excuse about tea, but she barely looked away from the bedroom door the whole time.” He saw the brief flicker in Soap’s eyes at the mention of you inviting him inside, that automatic possessive reaction he couldn’t fully control, so Ghost continued before his mind could go somewhere else. “Not like that, Johnny. She was scared.”

Soap could handle the thought of you wanting Ghost. It would hurt, but Ghost was his pack, and somewhere deep down he knew that whatever was happening between all of you was already more complicated than simple jealousy. But the thought that you had invited someone inside because you were afraid to enter your own home alone made something protective and furious rise inside his chest.

“Why didn’t she say anythin’?” Soap asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“There’s something else,” Ghost added after a moment, and the seriousness in his tone made Soap look back at him. “She keeps a gun under her pillow.”

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything.

Soap just stared at him.

Because that didn’t fit with the image everyone had of you. The sweet omega who spent her days patching up soldiers, who remembered how everyone liked their coffee, who laughed at his stupid jokes and worried whenever someone skipped a meal. That omega slept with a weapon within reach?

People didn’t do that without a reason.

“Why the hell does a nurse need a gun under her pillow?” Soap finally asked, his jaw tightening as he looked back toward the medical room.

Ghost didn’t answer because he couldn’t. That was the same question that had been bothering him since the night before. The same question that had kept him awake while you slept only a few feet away. The more he thought about it, the less everything made sense. Your lack of scent. Your fear. Your empty apartment. Your supposed alpha who somehow had no presence in your life at all.

After a long silence, Ghost finally spoke again. “You were right about something being wrong.” 

Soap looked back at him, waiting, and Ghost hated how easily the next thought came to him. He hated how natural it felt to blame a man he had never met. “Something’s wrong with him.”

They didn’t need to say your husband's name. Both of them knew exactly who they were talking about. Your supposed mate. The alpha who should have been keeping you safe, who should have been the reason your home felt protected instead of the reason you looked relieved every time someone walked you back there.

Soap looked away, his expression hardening. “An alpha shouldnae make his omega afraid tae go home,” he muttered, and this time Ghost didn’t correct him. 

He didn’t remind him that you weren’t theirs, that you belonged to someone else, that whatever they were feeling was crossing a line they shouldn’t even be approaching.

Because the problem was that he was starting to believe it too.

"There is no 'we'..." she rolls her eyes in response, focus returning to the papers before her. "But if you insist, you can always bring it up with your CO, or the Base Commander." She scribbles something out on the page, but you can hardly focus when your world is virtually crumbling apart around you. "Now if you don't mind, some of us actually have work to do around here."

Still stunned, you can't help the way your breathing picks up as your heart begins to race. About a month ago now there was a base-wide meeting where they'd finally cracked down and implemented a new program the government is trying out: OPP. The Omega Pack Plan. While it's uncommon for Omegas to even be recruited into the military to begin with, such a thing does exist. Regardless, the Base Commander gathered everyone in the Auditorium for a presentation to talk about the new program and how the army would implement it into the troops. Luckily, considering you're on an elite Task Force, it doesn't apply to you. At least... it didn't.

"What the hell is this?!" You yell, tossing the orange bottle in his direction.

He'd heard the stomps all the way down the hall and smelled you coming, so he's neither surprised by your appearance, nor startled by the toss of the bottle. John swiftly catches it in his hand as he looks up at you. "What?" He inquires, finally glancing down to examine what he's caught. "A pill bottle?"

"Captain, it's empty! They won't refill it- I can-"

A groan tumbles past his lips as he drags a hand down his beard. "Look, Panther-" referring to you by your callsign, interesting move. "There's nothing I can do, it's over my head now. I wish I could do something, but I can't." Sitting back in his leather chair, Price places the bottle on the desk; a faint rap of the plastic hitting the wood is the only sound between you momentarily before you hurriedly shut the door.

Panic begins to flood your system as you're not sure how to handle this. It's your turn to freak out. You know how this goes, you know the story now; ever since they'd implemented and dispersed the Omegas into the troops, they'd started implementing them into the Task Forces, and now they have to do so with the One Four One. Fingers curling in and out of shapes as you try to process your next move, you speak before you can even begin to plan what you're going to tell him.

"I- I'm- I..." You're pacing his office now, the heavy gaze of your Captain upon you as you try to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. The thing is, you're usually good with pressure- really good. It's your job to be good. It's just... this is different. This is your life, your livelihood at stake, the livelihood of all your future generations to come.

A sigh resounds throughout the office before you hear the low timbre of his voice. "Dove," he calls out with a gentle tone, "I want you to take a deep breath for me. Alright?" With the calm and even sound of your Captain's voice and the assured look on his face, you comply. Exhaling the last of your breath, you close your eyes and focus in on the deep intake of air through your nose. With the parting of your lips you slowly release it before giving yourself a moment.

When you open your eyes he gestures to the seat before his desk, though you know he won't take offense if you decline. Hesitant, one hand finds its way to the other, wrapping around your arm as you listen to him speak. "Now, can you explain what has you in this state? I assure you that there's nothing that can't be dealt with." You want to trust him, you know him--John Price--your Captain. He's always had your back, always made sure you felt comfortable in the Taskforce, always made an effort to check on you after things got rough.

You nod. Licking your lips, you search his blue eyes as you tentatively take the seat across him.

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, alright? I can guarantee you that unless you're trying to tell me you're an Omega, nothing you say is going to shock me that warrants the amount of panic you're putting yourself through," Price chuckles. He's obviously joking, trying to break the tension with humor. Lips drawn upward into a small smile, the Captain stares at you expectantly.

"What if I am?" You whisper, eyes unable to tear from his visage as you try and gauge his reaction. Unexpectedly, silence fills the space between you and feels deafening in the small space. The growing comfort of his office these couple of months now feels like a cage you're forced to stay in, under watch, as you stare down your superior on the brink of a battle to the death. And that's what you do. His blue eyes bore into yours, skeptically shifting between your left and right as he seems to try and get a read on you.

All of the sudden you jump at the smack of his hands hitting the desk in front of him. He laughs at you.

He's laughing at you.

And you're sitting there with your guts spilled out, dread eating away at the pit in your stomach... and he's laughing. It feels like forever is passing you by as you stare at him in shock, this moment between the two of you frozen in time as nothing else persists.

"I understand what this was now," Price explains, still chuckling to himself as he shakes his head. There's a warm smile on his face that feels eerie considering the dire context of the situation at hand. "You got me! I fully believed you for a second there, too."

Eyebrows furrowing in dark realization, you can't help but stare at him wildly. "Wha-" You begin to question him and his line of thinking, but he cuts you off.

"This was all a prank, right? The bottle, the hysterics- you really outdid yourself, Sergeant." Leaning back in his chair, he props his ankle up on his other knee. "Because let me tell you, this was good. Better than anything Soap's cooked up in awhile. Did you come up with it yourself?" There's a cheeky grin on his lips. "Ah, I know you did."

Lips opening and closing like a fish out of water, you sit in the armchair across from him pale with a dazed look across your face. He doesn't actually think that this was...

"Well, with your little triumph in your pocket, I say we get back to work, yeah? I've got some new leads from MI6 that've just popped in." With that, the man stands from his desk and rounds it. "Garrick should be back around Tea. I'll see you in the Command Station then," he informs you. It's then that he passes by, a genial clap on your shoulder while he's at it.

Left stunned in silence, you can't help but grit your teeth, consequentially pronouncing your jaw as anger ebbs through your bloodstream. Breath getting heavier, you can't help but loathe the meeting tonight. Your Captain might be satisfied with the conversation, but all you feel is discouraged. He's abandoned you, left you alone in his office with a humiliating sense of betrayal and shattered trust. Almost like you hadn't just told him your biggest secret at all.

Punching the standard heavy punching bag hanging in front of you, you grunt, ignoring the pain that gnaws at your knuckles underneath the reusable hand wraps. Sweat builds on your brow as you continue to unleash your pent up anger on the gym’s equipment. How could he?! When had you ever pulled anything even similar to this? Never! And the fact that you’ve only been on the team for a handful of months only exacerbates the abandonment you’re feeling right now. He’s your Captain! Regardless of your feelings or the situation at hand, isn’t he supposed to be there for you? He’d promised from the get go to help you with whatever you need, and now the one time you go to him for aid it backfires in your face and leaves you without any sort of solution going forward aside from straight up telling the whole team the flat out truth, and God forbid! You can’t even begin to fathom how that’d go.

A pent up and frustrated yell almost akin to something of a growl emanates from you as you tear into another round of swift jabs and punches. Regardless of the situation at hand, you’ve been trying to build up your upper body’s strength and letting out the anger you’d accumulated over this morning’s events seemed like a perfect opportunity to let loose.

The stretches and treadmill routine didn’t take a lot out of you, but the weights, and now the punching bag definitely is starting to take its toll. Sweat beads at your forehead in rivulets that drip down the sides of your neck, down your scalp past your neck and between your shoulder blades. Tank top soaked in sweat, you breathe hard as your heart pumps rapidly in your chest. You would’ve wound up here at some point or another tonight, but the Captain’s discourteous response certainly led to an earlier workout time.

While others sparsely litter the gym’s floor, you pay them no mind and vice versa. It’s not uncommon for soldiers to be found blowing off steam or aiming to beat their highest reps on the weights. Yet, this gym is reserved for higher standing members of the Force, the gym on the far side of the base where there are less people, offices, and considering the regular army men train in the bigger gym closer to their quarters, it’s mostly other higher ranked officers in here.

“Captain’s lookin’ for ya,” Markowski, another Sergeant that you’d come to befriend on base announces from the doorway, having poked his head in after leaving a few minutes earlier. He belongs to a different Task Force.

A groan tumbles out of you as you realize it’s already that time. Just as the door clicks shut, your phone chimes loudly with the alarm you’d set earlier going off. A few quick swipes of your fingers, you turn the alarm off and unlock the device, seeing a number of messages flood your notifications.

Kyle: You hear they’ve bumped up the timeline? 😯

Johnny: “ https://Tiktok/Shattered.Rat567 ” Had me rollin’ 🤣👏🏻 Gotta check it, Bonnie

Simon: You coming to the meeting or not? 🤨

Johnny: Where r u? You’re usually first here 👀 Cap’s getting peeved, watch out

Not looking forward to the inevitable mess of a meeting before you, you don’t bother rushing to join the men. With a wash of your face in the women’s locker room, a speedy bathroom break, and a grab of the items you’d brought with you, you’re heading for the Command Station.

With the time Price set the meeting, you won't get to eat dinner till afterward. You'd be lying if you said you weren't annoyed by this entire situation, your agitation from neglecting your hunger earlier has certainly come to bite you in the backside.

While you don’t have time to respond to their texts, having set the alarm with only enough time to get back to your team’s Command ‘station’ albeit more like your headquarters before heading out. Speed-walking through the orderly halls with a haste perfectly common around here, you navigate with a well practiced knowledge. Though you’ve only been here coming up on six months soon, you’re well acquainted with this part of the base.

Rounding the corner, you’re in the hall, close. Yet, the worry of being late lingers in the back of your mind and adds another layer of annoyance on top of your residual anger buried deep down from this morning’s situation. You’d inevitably come up with your solution. It’s not one you like… but it’s the only logical option. Another turn and you’re striding into the big garage-like room.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Sergeant,” Price calls out to you. Lifting his eyes from the map laid out across your station's table, he glares in your direction.

“What took you so long?” Soap snaps, his brows slightly furrowed as he stares at you from the opposite side of the table, hands lazily wrapped around his vest’s straps.

A look at your watch tells you that you’re not even late, the meeting doesn’t officially start for another minute! But you are usually waiting on them. He’s got you there.

“Yeah, you’re usually the first one here. It’s not like you,” Gaz whispers under his breath as you sidle up alongside Ghost, Gaz standing diagonal to you right beside Price at the head of the table.

“Focus,” Ghost orders the men, his hands tucked in his hoodie’s pocket. You don’t fail to notice the way he subtly takes a step further away from you as soon as they start talking again. Price goes back to talking plans as Gaz is questioning the circumstances of the information the Captain had acquired earlier when he’d had to leave the office.

“Which is exactly why-”

A heavy exhale on your behalf leaves the men frozen as their eyes drift back to you. “Do you have something you’d like to say, Panther?” The Captain questions. Jaw clenched, you tear your eyes from the map they’d settled on.

“We’ve got a big problem,” you announce, cutting off the Captain as you finally raise your gaze to meet Price’s slightly widened blue eyes.

“Well, if you see something that needs changin’ then let’s hear it,” he responds. A ‘hmph’ follows as he crosses his arms over his chest and sits his weight back onto his heels.

“It’s not about the op,” you correct him. Tilting your head side to side you attempt to crack the kinks in your neck while standing a little straighter to appear more engaged and serious.

“And it’s more important than this? What we’re doin’ right now?” Soap questions, his hands dropping to rest on the table as he looms over it, eyeing you with frustration obvious in his irises.

“What is it?” Gaz asks, a quirk of his eyebrow garnering your attention for a split-second. He’s genuinely asking, and there doesn’t seem to be a hostility in his scent as he turns his attention to you. Then there’s Ghost, who you don’t even need to look at to feel his heavy gaze on you, waiting expectantly.

“Actually, it is,” you argue with Soap, anger beginning to boil in your belly, the frustration and angst having been left to simmer all afternoon. “I can’t believe you didn’t take me seriously when I came to you earlier,” you turn your anger on Price. He looks taken aback by the outburst, something you’re not known for.

“Dove,” he calls calmly, hands out in an attempt to pacify.

“Don’t-” you bark, starting to raise your voice without realizing it. “I came to you in confidance! Trusting you when you said you’d be there to help me if I ever needed it! How could you?” Gritting your teeth, you don’t realize how hard you’re breathing as your chest heaves with anger.

“Woah, woah-” Gaz sputters, “What-” holding his hands out to try and diffuse the argument.

“I let myself be vulnerable-” You continue to shout.

“Isn’t this something that shoul-” Soap attempts to dissuade, backing down as he puts his hands out.

“-and tell you the truth, and-” you’re lunging for him across the table. You’re held back by a massive hand on your shoulder. “You laugh in my face?! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You're suddenly pulled back, off your feet, and shoved into a metal chair that'd been nearby. Your Lieutenant is hovering over you, his cold eyes now tinged with a spark of anger as they bore into you scrutinizingly. There's the sound of commotion behind him, multiple voices overlapping, yet you can't see anything with that utter giant in front of you!

“Does anyone wanna explain what the bloody hell is goin’ on here?” Ghost snaps. It's only then when the man steps aside that you can see where everyone is. With both of you in your respective corners, you simply glare at the Captain from over your crossed arms out in front of you.

“Are you bleedin’ kidding me, ya Scally?” Price grunts as he shrugs Gaz’ hand off his shoulder. “You’re still on about it! When w-"

"That doesn't explain what happened, Cap," Gaz interrupts, stopping him from going off and getting them nowhere.

He groans, running a hand over his face once more before composing himself. Everyone waits for an explanation—you too—he’d been the first to speak, and you’re curious to hear what he comes up with. “She came into my office, bloody cryin’, tossing me a pill bottle, muttering about, saying she’s a-”

You don’t dare let him finish, not wanting him to be the one to finally say it, exposing your truth to the team. "Omega. I’m an Omega, ” you finish his sentence. While you’re scared to meet their faces, you take a deep breath and force yourself to do so.

"Christ," Price curses, fingers coming up to pinch the skin between his brows as he hangs his head.

Ghost's stoicism is nothing unordinary, and in fact, is somewhat a comfort considering you'd expected nothing less from him.

Gaz looks stunned for a moment, eyes flitting about the other’s faces before the serious look on his face morphs. Lips slowly drawing upward, you shouldn’t be surprised when he starts laughing. "Yeah right," Garrick teases, "and I'm actually the Prime Minister."

Yet, it's not just him. The uproarious laughter from your right only adds fuel to the already burning flame as the two other Sergeants laugh like idiots. All as if it's some poor joke with no consequences to anyone's life, and yet... it's the truth. At the end of the day, it doesn't change anything. At the end of the day, your life is still in jeopardy and they're treating it like some joke. Unable to form any sort of retort, you simply blink; stuck in a stupor raw, stung, and with a dumb look on your face.

Soap, rounding the table slaps Gaz on the back, his face flushed red from laughing so hard. "Yer makin' my stomach hurt. God," he eggs the other on between his dying chuckles and attempting to catch his breath.

"You're really just gonna stand there and laugh?!" You finally burst. Anger surely must be coming off your scent in waves, but you don't care. Standing from the chair, you don't flinch as Ghost swipes his arm out in front of you in case you were going for the Captain again. There will be no physical altercation on his watch.

"She already pulled this on me earlier, mind you, and now what? You're trying to pull it over on the lads' too, eh?" Price goads you.

"And I was telling the truth! You're the one who said I was joking," you point out. The volume of your voice is lost on you, partially blinded by the fury bleeding out.

"I suppose you never did admit to it being a prank," Price reasons, fingers grazing his beard as he runs them over it repeatedly in thought. "But how do you expect us to believe that when you clearly smell of a Beta?"

"Even on the battlefield, after everything we've been through-" Gaz starts.

"After yer all sweaty from a workout, too. I think we'd notice, Pan," Johnny argues, illuminating a legitimate point of consideration.

"Oh please," you mutter quietly to yourself. Shaking your head, you can't believe they're really all being this daft right now. "Like you have heard of those Scent Spritzers.”

There are various perfumes on the market specifically designed to alter one’s scent. Most use it smell like an Alpha when they’re not, or an Omega when they’re wanting to seduce an Alpha when going out. But Omegas posing as Betas was rarely heard of. You’re more than sure it happens more frequently than people know of, they just haven’t been caught. And in your line of work? It’s scarce. People are thoroughly vetted, but… you’d been on suppressants for a long, long time. And a Beta perfume only perfected your hiding.

“Did you forget we’re Alphas, love? We’d be able to smell you across the room if you were,” Gaz taunts. There’s a puff of his chest that makes his cockiness even more annoying than usual.

"You really want to be an Omega? Dumb yourself down to some weak fragile thing?” Johnny jokes, nudging Gaz’ arm as he shakes his head.

“A doll who can get whoever she wants? Want to be nothing more than good for knockin' up and popping out pups?” Gaz adds on.

“Are you serious right now?” You test, seething under your skin as your hands ball up into fists. “How could you say that?!”

“It’s what people say,” Ghost comments.

“Nobody would want that and you’re out here lying about it,” Johnny pokes.

“We’re only trying to point out the flaws in your little rouse, Pan,” Gaz says, a smile lighting up his features as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"And what if I was lying, hm? Would that change anything you just said to me? How you feel about Omegas?" You scoff.

“This isn’t about your designation,” Price finally speaks. Fingers still weaved into his beard, his blue eyes lift to meet yours. “I see what this is about now, but there's nothin' to worry about, Dove.” Your Captain takes on a softer tone and all of the sudden you feel yourself start to get emotional as a twinge of sadness, of the hurt bleeding through upon understanding makes you feel seen.

“I know it's intimidating, the thought of having your first unmedicated heat, but we have medics here. It's natural. Heats, ruts, we all have them. And, hey... at least you're not an Omega, right?" Whatever relief you’d momentarily experienced sinks back down in your gut with the speed of a rollercoaster drop. It’s as silent as a stakeout, the only sound being people’s breathing. And the lack of yours.

It takes a moment to gather yourself, everyone’s eyes on you with the serious topic change. While sex and the downsides to a designation are something discussed with the boys, you’d often been left out. And to your comfort. "You know what? I can’t do this,” you retort. Backing from the group, you toss your hands up. “I guess you'll just have to wait and see," you bite back. With a whip of your hair over your shoulder, you head for the door.

The room is silent once more as everyone gawks. You’d never reacted in such a manner, had an outburst like that… this is… certainly different, and something they’re not at all used to.

“It’s because they took away her suppressants today,” Price explains. It might not have been something the group should be privileged to know. A private matter, really… but with the way you acted? He felt the men deserve an explanation, at least.

“That makes sense,” Gaz responds quietly, eyes still on the door you’d gone through.

“That’s no excuse,” Johnny counters, arms crossing over his chest with a scowl on his lips.

author's note: Hi sinners <33 Just a heads up; the reader is gonna be a spoiled brat. If you want a smart and sweet reader who isn’t mean at times, well. Bad news. This ain’t it.🥰The reader is she / her and has a pussy and is chubby. I tried my best to keep the descriptions somewhat vague otherwise. Reader is a cocker spaniel hybrid. I will tell the others along the way. In this universe, hybrids have ears, tail, claws beneath nails and canine fangs. There will be heats and ruts but there is no omegaverse. They will have personality traits of their dog breed and so on. Now. I know there aren’t wild wolves in the UK… but in this fic there is, ok? mwah.

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The countryside was peaceful compared to the city; the absence of the bustling streets and constant traffic, created a quietness that was indescribable.

Out here, at the new farm, the noises only came from animals that lived in the stables and barn or the occasional rumble as a tractor turned on. The wind caressed the never ending fields of wheat and the long rows of fruit trees, under which the goats and sheep walked most days.

The stress here wasn’t the same kind as in the city. Sure , there were stressful moments and sometimes Price looked like he needed to sleep for more than just the few hours he got everyday.

But he didn’t have to worry about the morning traffic, waiting in a queue for an overpriced, questionable tea or coffee. There was no need for him to wear a suit, no noisy, overfilled train cars in the underground. No crowded dog or hybrid parks, no meetings or rules to follow - except those John Price decided for himself.

He was happy, so much was clear to you. It had been three months since the move - Johnhad gone back to his roots, buying back the farm that his parents had used to own a little while ago, using some of his endless wealth on renovating the place. There was no step on the stairs that was loose, like it used to when he was a kid - sure they still creaked, but you weren’t afraid they would disappear from beneath you.

It was modernized, but most of the old charm left. Price fit right in; the furniture he had inherited and never believed he would use was suddenly in the living room. His knowledge of the business world was abandoned in the city, for the knowledge of farming that he still had left from his youth. John got a couple of farm hands and workers, who helped him with the big place.

It was like he reclaimed his own self that had been buried beneath the suits, ties and paperwork. Now he didn’t smoke his cigars from stress, but from pleasure, clearly much content.

It was like the farm had truly made John Price happy once more; his smiles more genuine, his true self stepping forth. Returning to his childhood home and taking over the farm had been the best decision Price had made. There was no question about it.

… and you hated every bloody day at the farm.

The early morning hours in bed with him, being disturbed by the farm waking up, the rooster crowing and John leaving the bed, giving you a pat in between your ears, taking all the heat with him. The constant bugs, the muddy stables and the big animals, the helpers who always teased you for not fitting in, the lack of friends you had out here. The foxes’ screams in the night, the wolves howling, and the cows occasionally mooing sounded like creatures stepping out of nightmares.

You were not made for farm life. Literally. Simply not made for it.

Some would argue that you, as a hybrid pet, didn’t have a say in it and sure , legally you didn’t. But you were a lapdog, an elegant pet. Not a farm dog. Created to be cared for and cuddled, you were a purebred cocker spaniel hybrid; you weren’t made to run around on a farm, following John on his duties And doing work. 

Sure, you had the instincts to hunt a few things here and there, but it was mostly balls and the occasional bird or squirrel. You weren’t a guard hybrid, not really a working dog.

You had had enough trauma throughout your life - you deserved not to be forced into this! You had grown up being trained to be a lapdog, not a working-dog like you felt like John expected you to act like now.

You wanted John to be happy, you really did - you loved your Master! When he bought you a few years ago, when you were still aggressive and unruly (… more than now at least), you had thought he would tire of you like everybody else had. But with patience, rules, training, praise and punishment and a whole lot of sex later, you were a perfect hybrid pet for the city! People always praised how well you looked, laughing when Price said you were really a little troublemaker. You would follow him throughout the fancy apartment, on your daily walks, sometimes for meetings.

But why the fuck did it have to be a farm? He worked somwwhat the same time that he did before, genuinely seeming to enjoy himself. Forgetting about poor you!

Out here, there were no hybrid daycare that you would go to when he had long days, there were none of your playmates nearby, everything stank of animals and there were no places nearby for you to get your hair and fur styled and pampered! No nail technicians, no fancy cafes, no shops for John to buy you things in! No special made coffee or chef-made meals every other evening, no freshly baked croissants.

You felt like you had tried . You really had. 

But after the first week, you had your first breakdown - and as the weeks passed, they didn’t stop. At first, John was sympathetic, like the perfect owner he was.

Cooing at you, kissing your forehead, as he gently scratched your ears. Kissing away any tears, saying it was okay - that you were just overwhelmed, that it would be okay. That you would come to like it out here.

Big fucking joke.

He had tried every trick in the book, in an attempt to please you and made you less upset, but as days turned into weeks and tantrums began to appear, you knew his patience began to disappear.

He followed professional advice and then the advice of the neighbors down the street, Rodolfo and Alejandro (who had caught you running away at one point), tried some of the workers’ advice. He had given you your own room, and it was mostly designed like your own, perfect to the pale green paint on the wall, all your toys and dog beds, your CDs - everything. He had tried hauling you along every day, trying to give you a routine to follow - but after two weeks, he gave up, not having the energy to deal with a tantrum that got worse and worse each day. He went on walks with you, fucked you silly, tried his best — and you didn’t want it.

No, you wanted to go back to your old life. Not this country life that you hadn’t signed up for, with horses that neighed loudly whenever you passed them; they were definitely going to trample you at the first chance, you knew that. You could hear foxes scream in the night, warning you of the dangers. The goats and sheep were so fucking loud and no you didn’t want to go pick fresh apples off the trees - had he seen the size of the spiders crawling on them?

When you in one of your biggest tantrums took off and bolted from the farm in distress, Rodolfo and Alejandro had almost hit you when you emerged from the corn fields onto the road. 

You had cried the entire drive home, no matter what the two men had tried saying, especially as Rodolfo called Price in advance — your master was livid . The worst thing was, that it was not that kind of anger where he yelled at you before punishing you - no, this one was almost silent, a sharp grip on your collar as he dragged you along after thanking his neighbours.

He had belted you then, ignoring your crying and screaming, only stopping when you broke, sobbing and going quiet. He had explained it to you then, what could have happened, what dangers you could have ended in - and as you sobbingly apologized and tried to explain, that you wanted to go back to the city, John had sighed .

Said that he had pampered you too much since he got you, which had made you greedy and attention seeking. Which only made you cry more, as you hid your face in his neck, fingers digging into his shirt, ass cheeks burning.

“Spoiled rotten, little birdie,” he mused, though you could hear the softness in him, your tail wagging a little, hoping to get him to be less mad.

“‘M sorry,” you had whined in distress, upset with yourself as well, ears tipping down, “wanna be good but I don’t like it.”

Your rather dull escape attempt resulted in several things. An AirTag on your collar, so that he always knew where you were. A remarkable lack of treats, sex and then… the crate .

You fucking hated the dog crate. 

Sure, it hadn’t been nice of you to bite one of his pillows into a simple pulp of fabric, feathers everywhere. Or create chaos in the kitchen… or get drunk on his fancy whiskey (that one had ended worse for you, hangover was a bitch and there wasn’t much sympathy from John). And yes, you might have ripped most of the flowers surrounding the house up, until one of the workers had caught you. Maybe pissing yourself in the middle of the living room while staring him in the eyes and ignoring his warnings had been a little…excessive. 

But the dog crate? You hated that thing with a burning passion. 

Hated it when he locked you up, ignoring your whimpers and whines, your promises to behave, ignoring your little howls as he left. 

Mean. The farm had made him mean. Perhaps you had become a bit unruly too, but it was like he didn’t take your clear suffering seriously.

Mean and happy - unruly and suffering. What a pair you were. One of the workers, KAte Laswell, who was a big helper and often stayed over for dinner, suggested a fucking shock collar. You had growled, only stopped when John sent you a sharp look. 

You had even heard him talking over the phone with somebody, saying that he didn’t want to rehome you, but he didn’t know what to do.

That had made you melt a little and you had cried as you had crawled into his bed a couple of hours later, begging him to not abandon you. Fears of never getting to see John again or being loved again by him made you cling onto him as he kissed away your tears, gently fucking you.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

It was a random morning a couple of days later, that you found him still in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, humming to himself while smoking a cigar.

He looked nice like this. Despite how he sometimes muttered about being too old, he wasn’t really that old. Late thirties, and perhaps it was the peace on his face or the sun rays that kissed him, which made him look younger. But still. There was a decade between you, but days like this, you were reminded that it didn’t matter.

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to join me, Darling?” He asked teasingly, pulling you from your thoughts. You let out a little huff and kissed him good morning, receiving a pat on the ass before you sat down on your own seat. It had been a while since the two of you had eaten together - often he was up at the crack of dawn, so his calm behavior and gentle humming was unusual to say the least.

“Why are you not working?” You asked carefully, as you ate some of the bread, trying to ignore how it wasn’t a fancy sourdough one - though you were pretty sure he had picked it up from a local bakery in the village which was a little drive away.

“Because,” he put the paper down, then tapping some ash off the cigar into his ashtray, before looking over at you, a pleased smile on his face, “you and I are going on a trip.”

“A trip?” You didn’t even bother to be embarrassed about how your voice got higher with excitement or how your tail thumped against the backrest of the chair as you wagged it, “where are we going? When? Can we go now?”

Price had laughed, a happy sound that you knew not many got to hear; it made your heart beat a little faster, made you feel butterflies in your stomach. 

“Well, we got to do a few things first to get ready, and you ,” he used the cigar to point at you, your tail wagging a little faster, “need to not freak out when I tell you where we are going.”

Despite the warning, tears streamed down your cheeks when he told you. John didn’t get mad as a part of you had expected; he knew your abandonment issues first hand, knew how you had been left behind before, from one bad owner to another. 

“You’re going to sell me and leave me with a mean owner and I’m gonna die of hunger and thirst - and - and —“

“Not gonna leave you, princess,” John crooned, covering your face in kisses as you hiccuped and sniffled, clinging to his clothes, “you know that. My favorite puppy. Pretty girl.”

Despite your tears and small sobs, your tail wagged at his words, “silly puppy,” he mused with a smile, gently scratching your lower back, “‘m not gonna sell you. Ale and Rodolfo are looking for a hybrid, I figured we could go look at the auction as well.”

“What if - what if - what if you’ll like them more?” You sniffled dramatically, sure that your life was only going to become worse than it already was. One thing was this bloody farm and the crate, another thing was having to share Price. You didn’t like the idea one bit. If that happened, you were going to show him how a proper tantrum was thrown - the crate would probably be the least of your worries.

As if to prove his love, John bent you over the table, fucking you in between the clattering dishes and cutlery, tea and coffee almost spilling over. Despite how many times your owner fucked you, it made you lose control of your mind every single time. His cock reached so deep inside you that it bordered on pain, your mouth open as you panted and moaned at each thrust; your soft stomach being pressed against the edge of the table, one hand holding onto the back of your collar, the other on your tail. The table rattled, John groaned and moaned, your fingers desperately trying to hold onto anything. 

“My princess,” he snarled darkly into your ear, “you’ll always be mine-“ a moan, a grunt, “- no matter what happens, yeah?”

“Yes ye-ah- yes, sir, I’m yours - ah ah - I’m yours!” you managed in between pants and wails of pleasure, fear of abandonment forgotten in the ocean of euphoric satisfaction. 

You came harder than you had for a while; the reminder of your worth, of how you deserved his worship, making you cream around his throbbing length, legs in spasms afterwards. He pushed deeper, filling you up with a loud roar like sound, his hands moving to grab onto the fat of your ass and hips as he came. Pain and pleasure made your toes curl and a content sigh left you, your tail wagging against Price as he chuckled.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The auction hall was filled to the brim with humans and hybrids alike. Every owned hybrid followed their respective owners, all wearing mandatory leashes so no pets would be confused with the ones that were being sold. You wore your own pink one with pride, gem stones sparkling. A matching leash connected to the D-ring on it, that also bore your tags. You were convinced yours were the most beautiful in this entire place.

“They’re bonded,” Laswell pointed out, pointing to the papers that hung nearby, showing off general information about them, “gotta get all three.”

You dared to look at the little board with the informations about the three hybrids they were looking at.

“Ah, we don't have space for three, mi amor.”

“eso es una pena,” Rodolfo answered, while you looked over at John - who kept looking at the three hybrids. You dared to peek over at them.

All three of them were enormous .

Two of them wore muzzles, meaning they were biters. At least at the auction. You shouldn’t judge then, not really, but you did... Even though you had worn a muzzle five years ago, when Price had chosen you. You hadn’t tried biting people out of malice; you had been scared and angry at the world. Angry for being abandoned once more, over the fact that you were most likely being passed on to another abusive master. You leaned a little closer to Price, taking in his scent.

Even from the start, despite all the problems and your attitude problems, he had been sweet. Strict at times — probably not enough — but kind.

The biggest one looked like a Great Pyrenees breed, most likely. The fur on his ears and tail looked shorter, badly cut. Probably due to matting or if he refused to get it cut. His hair, a dark blonde almost brown, was in a buzz cut. He had scars, all over - unable to hide because of the lack of clothes most hybrids were given, only underwear. There was a lot in his face, though you suspected a bunch were hidden by the muzzle. He stared into nothing, his ears curled back, though they moved now and again, listening to different sounds.

“Hard to get sold,” Laswell commented and you looked over at her in synchronicity with John, “they’re ex-military.”

Like he had been called to them, a man who wore one of the seller badges appeared.

“They’re obedient once they fall into place,” he happily explained, going full seller-mode, “they’re just not too fond of the auctions - too many people.”

“Makes sense,” Price mused, clearly interested - much to your annoyance. The fact that he asked follow up questions made you frown, fingers tightening in his shirt. He was here to look. To help Alejandro and Rodolfo, who both had continued their walk. You dared to look over at the hybrids again. All three were staring at you and John. 

“How come they were discharged?”

“One of them got a hearing loss -“ he nodded towards them, “the one with the mohawk. And they’re a bonded pack.”

“So only retiring him was out of the question,” John concluded once more looking over at them.

You felt your tail go in between your legs. He couldn’t be seriously considering those three . you couldn’t help but let out a small whine. Price gave your leash a little tug.

“They’re working dogs,” the seller continued, his eyes flickering to you, making you huff, “so they’ll need something to do, not just be pets.”

“Oh I know. I have a farm. Need some work dogs - this one isn’t guarding much.”

They all laughed, your tail going even further between your legs with embarrassment.

“You can’t be serious,” you whined in a whisper to John, not caring that you sounded needy - spoiled would Laswell had said and you ignored her as she rolled her eyes.

“Hush, Princess.” John didn’t even look at you.

“You have animals there?” The seller asked, “one of them is a herding dog - the border collie.”

“I do - several. That’s why there's a need for guarding dogs as well, bloody wolves have been terrorizing us.”

You knew he was telling the truth; he had muttered about dead sheeps and goats several times - even a calf had lost its life to the wolves in the area, despite he and Laswell having shot two already. Even foxes had gotten into the coop, despite the fences.

“They’re good at that too, with their training,” the seller offered, clearly interested in selling them or at least getting John to bid on them. “The one with the mohawk, Soap , will have hearing aids with him, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

You looked over at this “Soap”, scrunching your nose. They were still staring, the biggest one bending down to listen to the third one, a beautiful black man, whisper in his ear. No doubt judging you.

“It says here they don’t do well with others,” you muttered, in a desperate attempt to sway John, pointing to the board with their papers. It did indeed say so, to which you wanted to argue that YOU should be his main focus in this whole thing - how would he even consider adding them to your household if these dogs could get a hold of you?

“It’s in the sense that they’re not really housetrained to be social family pets,” the seller swooped in, pushing your argument away, annoying you even more, “they’ve had missions all their lives. They need to have something to do.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along with them, sweetheart,” Price answered, giving you a small scratch beneath your chin as he finally looked over at you, a glint in his eyes, “some company will do you good.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. Hardly . Price’s smile told you that he thought this was a great idea however. You dared to look at the men again. Still staring, fucking bastards.

The black man seemed like a mix of some breeds, German shepherd and… you looked shortly at the board. Belgian malinois. Fancy. He wasn’t as tall as the big one, but broad and with scars as well. There was a more slender look to him, but his six pack proved he was strong. His curly hair wasn’t too long, probably cut not too long ago. He was looking at you curiously, making you raise your upper lip a little, as if to warn him.

The one with the hearing loss looked like some sort of border collie - covered in scars as well, some of his skin looking like it had been too close to fire. He was broad like the two others, his upper arms the size of your head. He even sent you a cheeky grin, even daring to wink at you. You just looked away, tipping your chin up a little.

“You can look closer if you want, sir?”

You were pulled back into the conversation at once and before you could argue, John had already passed on your leash to Laswell and walked towards the men with the seller. You whined, distressed that he was really, actually considering this.

“You’ll be fine,” Laswell commented calmly, with empathy in her voice for once, though she didn’t look at you, merely at John and the others.

“He is gonna lose interest in me,” you whined, perhaps a little dramatically, bottom lip wobbling a little as you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, “then he’ll leave me in the crate all day and only care about them an—“

“Calm down,” Laswell said, “you’ll work yourself into a fuss.”

“He can’t do this to me,” you argued in a sullen voice, already imagining John forgetting all about you, focusing on these three hybrids for the rest of his life, leaving you cold and lonely inside the dog crate - maybe even rehoming you, “he promised he wouldn’t get rid of me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Laswell answered just as calmly as before, “John loves you too much, you’re just being spoiled. Hanging out with some working dogs will do you good.”

“They probably have fleas,” you said, your prejudices seeping into your words, knowing you’re being mean, judgmental against your own kind, “they’ll kill me and eat my dead body.”

Laswell laughed. “No they won’t. Worst thing they’ll do, is probably knock you up.”

A high pitched, scandalized sound left you, despite knowing you had an implant. Laswell laughed again, giving your leash a little yank and then scratching you behind your long ears.

“Settle, Princess. That won’t happen without John’s permission.”

You almost cried at the sight of John shaking the seller’s hand.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

They all met up again for the actual auction part and you sat at John’s feet, sniffling a little. Crying hadn’t helped, in fact John had just petted and kissed you, calling you sensitive. Alejandro had gotten a hybrid earlier that they didn’t need to bid on - she was for sale for a certain price. Something about being too intense without enough space to roam, having attacked others before.

Fucking great. Beasts all around you.

John won the bidding on the three working dog hybrids he had been interested in - because of course he did. He spent way too much money on them too, according to you.

One more - or well, three more fucking things to hate about this “farming life” that had been forced upon you.

Maybe John had gone mad.

“What do you think of this one?” Kyle slides his laptop towards you, showing you another house listing. 

This one was 5 bedrooms, with an unfinished basement, 2 large living rooms. You scroll the listing and shake your head. The kitchen was so outdated you were afraid the pipes were insulated in asbestos.

“It needs a lot of renovation, and I'm worried about asbestos. That kitchen looks like it hasn't been touched since the 30’s,” you slide the laptop back to him.

“What about this one Mo Chridhe?” Johnny slides a real estate magazine towards you. The page flipped to a tudor style build, and you shake your head, scrunching up your nose.

“No,” You rest your head on your hand, you glance at John and Simon who are talking quietly amongst themselves. 

“What about you two?” You ask, and they both look at you. Simon and John share a look, communicating without words. You hated when they did that, silently talking with their eyes. All your husbands did it, it was something they developed after working together for years. Johnny and Kyle look over at them and share a look too.

“Oh no you four don't, tell me what you're thinking,” you frown, and they laugh. 

“We’ve been looking for a month, Lovie, maybe we won't find anything that fits all of us.” Simon explains coming over and standing behind you. He wraps his large arms around you, putting his large scarred hand on your stomach.

“So what are you suggesting?” You look up at him, your head tipped back against his chest. He looks down at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“How about we build?” He suggests.

“Like from the ground up?” You ask brows furrowed. 

“No from the top down,” Johnny retorts, “Ouch!” He whines rubbing the back of his head as Kyle glares at him.

“Boys,” John warns.

“We found a few large plots of land we can build on, that already have water and electricity hook ups for them,” Simon explains, reaching over you and grabbing the laptop on the counter. He pulls it closer to him, his fingers moving over the keys as he pulls up the listing for the land. Pulls up the picture of a plot of land, 5 acres in the countryside. 

“Hmm..” you hum as you look at it, trying to imagine what kind of house you would build there. 

“We can have whatever you want. If you want 20 bathrooms you can have it,"John crosses his arms across his chest. His shirt flexing over his forearms, your eyes drifting to the light green fabric. Your eyes trail up his arms to his chest, his neck and finally to his face. His beard was a little longer, his bright blue eyes looking at you. As you stare he raises an eyebrow at you. The rumbling at your back sending goosebumps over your skin. 

“Baby?” Kyle says his warm hand landing on your arm. You jerk your head to the right where he stands, a knowing smirk on his face. 

“Did you hear Simon?” He asks, his full lips twitching at the edges as he fights back a smile. A blush flushes your cheeks, making them grow warm.

“No…” you mumble, your face tipping down to stare at the counter. 

“You get lost in that pretty head of yours?” Johnny smiles, “something catch your eye Mo Chridhe?” 

“Think she was staring at our captain,” Simons voice is laced with a smile.

“I-I” you stumble over the words, your eyes darting around the room.

“Have we been neglecting you Darling?” John comes closer standing on the left of Simon. 

“No…”

“You sure?” He whispers as he leans in his lips brushing yours. There's a sharp intake of breath behind you, Simon's fingers flexing over your small baby bump. 

“I think we haven't been paying her enough attention…” Kyle murmurs, his lips finding your neck and shoulder. Trailing over the smooth skin there, his tongue darting out to taste you. A shudder runs through you as John's hand comes to hold the side of your face, his rough fingers brushing along your jaw. 

“Steaming Jesus,” Johnny groans.

“Thank fuck it’s almost midnight,” Kyle adds.

“Think we should spread her out over the counter,” Simon mumbles, a series of affirmative noises follow. As John pulls back from your lips he smiles, your chest heaving with each ragged breath.

“Is that what you want Darling?”John breathes his minty breath fanning across your flushed face. “Want us to lay you out on the kitchen counter and have our way with you?” 

Your voice fails you and all you can do is nod. Desire coursing through your veins lighting your nerve endings on fire. Each movement from them sends new ripples of electricity over your body. 

Johnny smirks, his smile smug as he watches you squirm. He loved how turned on you got when you were pregnant. Your hormones racing, no matter how exhausted you were you couldn’t ever turn them down. It had been awhile since they all had taken you together, finding it hard to find a moment when they were all free, the children all taken care of so they could all dote on you without interruptions. The last time had been the second night after they got back and found out about the new babe. The tiny life growing inside you.

John glances at Simon, the two having a conversation with their eyes again, and suddenly you’re lifted off the stool. Placed on the white counter to like you’re the most precious thing in the world, you shudder as the counter comes in contact with your bare thighs. John moves the things behind you, and places a sweatshirt on the counter, his hands going to your shoulders to lean you back against it as Simon nudges your legs apart with his hips.

You stare up at the ceiling, the recessed lighting you hated staring back at you. You gasp as two sets of lips touch your thighs. Both warm but so distinct.

Simon and Kyle.

Kyle’s stubble is softer against your skin than Simon’s. His lips fuller. Simon’s lips are followed by tiny bites that sting slightly. Leaving marks in their wake as he trails his lips to the hem of your shorts.

“Oh,” you gasp, as a warm hand slips under the hem of your shorts and teases the edge of your panties.

“Wanna play a game?” Johnny asks, leaning his arms on the counter as he peers down at you.

“What kind of game?” You mumble eyes half lidded as he and John trail their fingers along your skin. 

“We blindfold you and see if you know who’s touching you,” Johnny smiles down at you.

“Okay. What happens if I win?” You ask, raising an eyebrow in defiance.

“You can get those chickens you’ve been asking for when we move,” John replies, and you smile.

You had been bugging them about getting chickens. With the amount of eggs your family went though it would be more practical to have them then buy 6 dozen eggs every week. At least if you had some chickens you could get fresh eggs every day.

“Deal.”

A few moments later Simon comes back with a tie from the upstairs closet and gently wraps the soft fabric around your eyes. He ties it securely behind your head making sure not to snag any of your hair in the knot.

“Ready?” Johnny's thick accent asks from your left. 

“Yes…” You mumble, your hands clenched at your sides in excitement. 

Suddenly there's a hand on your thigh that trails down to your knee, the skin is smooth and soft, but the cool metal wedding band gives away who it is. Kyle's band was significantly thinner than the others, he had used his grandfather's wedding band but due to years of resizing it had grown thin and worn. 

“Kyle…” you breathe, and you're rewarded by his lips touching yours briefly. 

“You’re right baby.”

The next set of hands are much more aggressive with their touch, they land on your sides, roughly trailing up, pushing your shirt up with them. Exposing your full breasts to the cool air. Your nipples pebble from the sudden temperature change, and suddenly a warm set of lips catches one of your nipples. 

“Johnny!” You gasp, back arching off the counter.

“Fucking hell Mactavish did you have to get us all worked up like that so fast?” Simon's deep voice grumbles, the sounds of clinking belts and fabric hitting the floor with soft thumps follow. 

“Sorry LT, cant resist these anymore,” Johnny chuckles, his tongue flicking out to lap at your nipple, earning a small moan from you. 

Your breath stutters in your chest as someone else starts to pay the same attention to your other breast as Johnny does. The lips are warm but the tell tale brush of a beard on your skin gives them away. 

“John,” you pant, your chest heaving with each breath. Between the blindfold, the anticipation and the attention they were showering your breasts with you weren't sure how long you were going to be able to pay attention and figure out who was who. Pleasure was already starting to fog your brain. A pair of large hands grabs your sleep shorts and panties and discards them. Before the same pair of hands push your knees up towards your chest and your heels land on the counter top. 

A thick finger glides along your entrance and you choke on a moan. 

“S-Simon,” you stutter out as he swirls his finger through your folds.

“Good girl,” he praises, as he regards you by pushing his finger into your aching cunt. You let out a lewd moan, as John and Johnny pull away from their assaults on your nipples to look down at what Simon was doing. 

“Fuck,” Kyle moans and you can hear his hand working his cock. 

“Want to keep playing? Maybe we should make you guess who’s cock is buried deep inside your tight little body,” John whispers in your ear, making you shiver. Goosebumps erupting on your skin. 

“Oh god, please,” you moan as Simon adds another finger, stretching you open. 

There's a moment of pause and you know they’re all looking at each other trying to figure out who gets to go first. After a brief moment Simon pulls his fingers from you and you whimper at the loss. 

The soft sound of a cap opening, and suddenly you can feel someone standing by your feet, two sets of hands help pull you to the end of the counter, your ass almost falling off but the person between your legs makes sure you don't fall. Your body trembles from anticipation and when you're sure you're going to combust if someone didn't touch you right that moment. With one hard thrust the person between your thighs slides into you. Your breath stutters in your chest as they grab your hips and slam into you. 

“Fuck!” you gasp, as they pound into you.

“Who’s between your legs Darling?” John asks, as you struggle to make sense of who's between your legs through the waves of pleasure that are rolling through you. You take a few breaths and really concentrate. The hands holding your thighs were calloused but not enough to be Simon or John.

“Tick Tock love, who is it?” Simon's voice is right by your ear. 

You groan as the person pulls almost all the way out before they ease back in, they were long but not nearly as thick as Johnny or Simon. 

“Kyle!” You gasp as Kyle slams his hips into you, his thrusts faltering as he falls over the edge, your own orgasm sweeping through you.

You suck in a sharp breath as he pulls out and Kyle’s soft lips fall onto yours before he places a soft kiss to your baby bump. 

“You’re right,” Kyle murmurs, as he trailed his hand up to your cheek where he brushes his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Ready for the next person?” He asks softly, and you nod. It takes a few seconds but eventually someone else settles into between your legs, they spread your legs wider and their hands grip your waist. They weren’t gentle, as they thrust into you with one harsh thrust, before setting a brutal pace that had you a moaning mess.

“Oh fuck! Oh god,” you moan loudly. They didn’t stop their brutal pace, their fingers digging into your skin, nails biting into the soft flesh.

“Simon!” You scream as your next orgasm quickly overtakes you, the mixture of the brutal pace and the lingering pleasure still coursing through your body from Kyle sending you tumbling over the edge far faster than normal.

“Fuck you’re so tight, so wet for me.” Simon grunts as he slams into you. It only takes him a few moments to find his own release, Simon leans over you and kisses you, his arms on either side of your head, His lips brush yours and you sigh softly. 

“You’re such a good girl,” Simon mumbles against your lips before he pulls away and slips out of you. Your entire body trembles as you lay on the counter, your skin slick with a thin veil of sweat as you wait for the next person. 

“Can you handle anymore” John's rough voice is in your ear. His breath tickles the side of your face as he talks.

“I-I don't know,” you mumble, your entire body felt like jello.

“Did we become too much for you Darling? I thought you could handle all of us?” John presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“I don't think she can, such a shame,” Kyle chimes in. his hands brushing across your thigh.

“You can handle it Lovie,” Simon coos, his large hand trailing down your chest as he tweaks one of your nipples. Your back arches off the counter and you moan loudly. 

Without warning there's someone gripping your thighs and pulling them apart, their rough hands digging into the soft flesh, and you wouldn't be surprised if you had bruises after. A moment later they bottom out inside of you. Your thighs shake as they move, their thrusts are softer than Simons but there's a controlled restraint in them. Almost as if they are afraid it really is too much for you. “Johnny, don't hold back,” you moan. 

“Ah fuck,” Johnny groans as he thrusts back into you harder. His hands digging into your thighs to hold you in place. “Fuck youre so tight for me, so wet.”

As Johnny continues his brutal pace someone undoes the tie around your eyes and you blink as your eyes adjust. Simon leans down and captures your lips in a kiss. One of his hands on your cheek as his tongue invades your mouth. Your head spins from the sensations, the feeling of Johnny's rough thrusting, Simon's attention to your lips. Johnny’s movements stutter and a moment later he stills completely. His hands let go of your thighs. His palms smack the counter on either side of your hips. 

Your moan is swallowed by Simon as Johnny pulls out of you. He dips his head and kisses the red fingerprints on your thighs for a moment. His breath tickles the sensitive flesh there, before he pulls away. 

“I guess I'm the only one left,” John smiles as he takes Johnny's place. You tear your mouth away from Simons. 

“I guess you are,” you breathe your eyes meeting his. His lip ticks up in a small smirk as he leans over you, one large hand wrapping around your throat for a moment before he squeezes lightly. His blue eyes remain locked on yours as he slowly slides into you. From the corner of your eye you can see Kyle and Johnny slip from the kitchen and a moment later the sound of the shower turning on echoes through the house. 

Simon watches as John fucks you on the counter, his eyes never straying from your reactions. The way your back arches off the counter, the way your breathing stutters when he hits that one spot inside of you. As John picks up his pace he lets go of your throat and moves his hands to your hips. He holds you in place as he slams into you with a steady yet brutal pace. As your orgasm rips through you a hand covers your mouth to silence your scream. Simon's dark brown eyes staring down at you. His pupils lost in the color of his irises. John pulls out of you and catches his breath and Simon slowly lifts his hand from your mouth and your heels slip off the edge of the counter. Your entire body went limp, your hair stuck to your forehead.

“You okay?” Simon asks softly.

“Better than okay…” you give him a lazy smile.

“Oh?” Simon tilts his head towards you, as John pulls on his boxers. 

“Yeah, I was just ravaged by my 4 husbands and I get chickens.” 

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