#thruple

That you were in bed with Onychinus literally and firguratively was hard to wrap his head round at first. Especially when you had only good things to say. About how much a criminal organization felt like a family.

It was absurd.

But his pack wasn’t so different, really. His blood binds him to his aunties and cousins. To the oldest and the youngest. He could see how it was similar, belonging, even if it wasn’t by blood. Maybe that’s what made it even more special: the existence of choice.

Meeting Sylus… also wasn’t what he expected. Maybe it’s all the rumors surrounding the enigmatic king of the N109 Zone, but Valko hadn’t expected him to be so…

Calm. Calculating. Firm, but not wholly unkind. He didn’t use violence for the sake of it (Valko still got carried away in the bloodlust sometimes). What got him was the unflinching loyalty. When he listened to how the twins found themselves as loyal henchmen (their own proclamation), he was still shocked that Sylus would let anyone that tried to kill him live. Then again… they’d only been kids. And the way they followed after Sylus was just like his younger cousin with himself.

And then there was you. You, who would rush into a wanderer firefight without a second thought because to you protecting innocent people was just your natural instinct. You, who packed as much ferocity into your tiny (to him) body as much as you cared kindness and compassion. You, who did not show fear or shame at your uglier emotions.

And the way Sylus looked at you… he had no idea someone like that could look so soft. You affected Sylus the same way you affected himself. You inexplicably soothe this beast inside him that he can’t help but wonder if Sylus hid a similar beast within.

Valko didn’t anticipate being drawn into either of your orbits. He figured he wasn’t the type. Neither you or Sylus ever pushed.

“I’m willing to accept many things for a fussy kitten.” Is all Sylus had said on the matter, but Valko had never scented anything antagonist regardless. And then Onychinus went and provided resources to him and his company with vague suggestion of it just being a smart investment.

Now…here he was.

Valko hadn’t meant to find himself in the bed of Sylus, but when he carried you in after falling asleep on the couch, you stubbornly tugged at his arm, asking him to not leave and he just… how was he supposed to deny you? You were deeply asleep now and he’d been resting his eyes for a while now. He was… comfortable. Content. You were snoring slightly and clinging to a little crow plushie “Grump Crow” you had announced.

Your scent was perfectly intwined with Sylus’s in this space. He saw part of you left all over the place where you’ve inserted yourself. Would you do that with him too? Irrevocably mark your existence in his life?

While sleep was hardly pulling at him, Valko had nearly fully settled into something like a deep meditation (something he’s taken up to help temper the wild beast inside him). That was until the near silent open and closing of a door, mechanical fluttering, and a harsh scent of gunpowder and blood hit him.

He nearly sat straight up before remembering you were still haphazardly thrown over him. That’s when he had to carefully escape your grasp. He took a moment to slip off his sweatshirt at least so you could keep his scent. After that, he slipped out of the room and followed his nose to the source.

In the hallway he saw a trailing bloodstain lead into the bathroom and his ears pinned slightly. The blood was starting to overpower all other scents now, but the natural musk of Sylus was beneath it all.

Without thinking, he pushed the cracked bathroom door open fully.

“What happen-“

Valko’s voice trailed off when he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun and Sylus the one holding it, shirtless and bleeding, with a first aid kit strewn about the counter.

The two men stared at each other quietly, Valko with his ears pinned and an instinctual snarl pulling as his lips and Sylus with a cold passivity. Finally, Sylus flicked the safety on and set the gun aside, grunting softly from the movement. Several bullet wounds ripped through the muscle on that half of the body’s ribs.

“Is she asleep…?”

Valko’s ears perked when Sylus had spoken. Quietly. Calm. Always calm.

“Uh… yeah. She was falling asleep during that weird show of hers. The one with all those people on an island trying to figure out who should be their mate- anyways- I tried to move her to your bed then she just kinda dragged me down with her…”

Sylus huffed softly, unable to help the small smile already pulling at his lips.

“She sinks her little claws in deep.”

Valko shifted slightly. Normally you were the buffer between the two of them.

“The bullets’ still in there?”

Sylus gave him a sidelong glance, as if trying to take Valko apart piece by piece to figure out what made him tick.

“That is why I’m in here, yes.”

“Let me help.”

Sylus grimaced at the suggestion.

“Sure. Go back to bed before a little kitten figures out she’s alone.”

Valko snorted before carving out space for himself next to Sylus. To his credit, Sylus was only slightly glaring holes into Valko’s face.

“Don’t be stupid. My evol can get them out quicker than painfully digging for them can and the sooner you’re cleaned up is the sooner you can go lay down and be all wrapped up in a sleepy kitty-cat.”

Valko didn’t outright touch Sylus, but the wolf made it stubbornly clear that he wasn’t just going to take no for an answer with the way his tail had slightly wagging and a cheeky grin grew.

“You’re enjoying this.” Sylus drawled before sighing and turning his injured half towards Valko. Valko wasn’t offended when Sylus kept the gun in easy reach.

“Only a little. I like helping- in general.” Valko placed a careful hand a few inches off of the main wound area, unable to help himself from noticing the way Sylus took in a breath, making the torn muscles flex against his hand. “And while you might not be my pack- family- it’s still important to help other members…”

Sylus watched in poised silence as Valko used his evol to draw the metal bullet casings from ruined skin. The pain was manageable, the evol control was exceptional.

“Holy fuck. Your lung should be Swiss cheese. Those fuckers were deep.” Valko looked at Sylus with wide eyes, holding the bloodied bullets in his palm.

“But they aren’t. I’ll heal the rest later.”

The two stared at each other a while longer.

“You need to eat.”

“I’ll eat later.”

“No, you should eat now. Your evol is really energy intensive.”

“I manipulate it.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that your body had to use a lot of it to do so.”

A metaphorical spark danced between their two glaring eyes. Then Valko’s tail started wagging again.

“She won’t be happy if she finds out you put off eating.”

A beat. Then a sigh.

“Well played.” Sylus drawled before tossing a roll of bandages at Valko. His tail wagged faster as he stepped closer to help bandage the wounds.

It was by the next hour that Valko has Sylus patched up and getting comfortable on the couch with a nice plate of food. He remembered you mentioning Sylus liked texture over flavor, so he fried up a veggie medley with some shredded chicken. Nice and healthy. Valko plopped down right next to him when Sylus put on the show you started falling asleep to earlier.

“It’s important to know if the male focus this episode makes the right choice.” Was all Sylus had divulged with a shrug.

Several hours later when you shuffled out to the living room, you were absolutely tickled to see Valko quietly curled up with his head in Sylus’s lap and Sylus running lazy fingers through the clipped strands.

You snapped a silent picture, but when you looked you noticed Sylus had still caught you, but a quirk in his brow and a tug on the corner of his lips made you grin just as much as you giggled. You moved quickly to join the cuddles when Valko’s ears pivoted around to follow your noises.

You notice it long before they do.

Simon Riley and Johnny “Soap” MacTavish aren’t obvious about it—not in the way civilians expect. There’s no grand declarations, no lingering touches in plain sight, no soft words whispered where others might hear.

It’s subtler than that.

It’s the way Soap always knows when Ghost is about to speak, cutting in just a second before him like he can feel it coming.

It’s the way Ghost stands just a fraction closer to Soap than anyone else, even in a crowded room.

It’s the silence between them—comfortable, heavy, full.

You don’t mean to notice it.

But you do.

And somehow… they notice you noticing.

It starts small.

It always does.

You’re newer to the team—not green, not by a long shot—but new enough that you’re still finding your place among them. You keep your head down, do your job, don’t overstep.

But you’re observant.

Too observant, maybe.

Because one evening, when the mission’s done and the adrenaline’s worn off, you catch it again—Soap tossing Ghost a glance across the room, something unreadable passing between them.

You don’t stare.

You’ve learned better than that.

But when you look away, you find Ghost already looking at you.

Not sharp. Not threatening.

Just… aware.

It sends a strange feeling curling low in your chest.

After that, things shift.

Not dramatically. Not enough for anyone else to clock it.

But for you?

It’s everything.

Soap starts sitting next to you more often. At first, it feels like coincidence—limited space, proximity, whatever excuse you tell yourself.

Until it isn’t.

Until it happens every time.

He’s easy to talk to. Warm, teasing, effortlessly drawing you out of your shell without making it feel like work. You find yourself laughing more than you have in months—maybe longer.

Ghost, on the other hand…

Ghost watches.

He doesn’t insert himself into conversations. Doesn’t try to pull your attention.

But he’s there.

Always there.

And when you do speak to him, when your eyes meet through that skull mask, there’s something grounding about it. Something steady.

Like he’s weighing you.

Not judging.

Just… deciding.

It’s Soap who breaks the tension.

Of course it is.

“You’re thinkin’ too hard again,” he says one night, dropping into the seat beside you with a quiet grunt.

You blink, pulled from your thoughts. “Am not.”

“Aye, you are.” He nudges your shoulder lightly. “You get this look. Like you’re tryin’ to solve a puzzle no one gave you.”

You huff softly. “Maybe I just like puzzles.”

“Dangerous habit, that.”

You glance at him, catching the grin tugging at his mouth. “Why?”

“Because sometimes,” he says, voice dipping just slightly, “you find answers you weren’t meant to.”

The words linger.

Heavy.

You don’t respond right away.

Instead, your gaze flicks across the room—unconsciously, instinctively.

To Ghost.

He’s already looking.

Of course he is.

And this time… he doesn’t look away.

The shift happens all at once.

And not at all.

It’s after a mission—long, exhausting, the kind that leaves your bones aching and your mind too wired to rest. The three of you end up in the same space, same time, same quiet aftermath.

Soap sprawls out like he owns the place, boots kicked off, arm slung lazily over the back of the couch.

Ghost stands near the wall, silent as ever.

And you…

You hover.

Caught between staying and leaving.

“You can sit, y’know,” Soap says, glancing at you. “We don’t bite.”

There’s a beat.

Then Ghost adds, low and dry, “He might.”

Soap snorts. “Only if invited.”

You hesitate—just for a second—before sitting down.

Not too close.

But not far, either.

The space between you feels… charged.

Different.

Soap studies you for a moment, something more serious settling behind his usual ease.

“You’ve noticed, haven’t you?”

Your breath catches.

You could lie.

You should lie.

But something about the way they’re both looking at you—open, unguarded in a way they aren’t with anyone else—makes it impossible.

“…Yeah,” you admit quietly.

Silence stretches.

Not uncomfortable.

Just… real.

Ghost shifts first, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. Not imposing. Not overwhelming.

Just present.

“And?” he asks.

One word.

But it carries weight.

You swallow, fingers curling slightly against your knees. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Soap’s gaze sharpens—not suspicious, but searching.

“And what does it do, then?”

You hesitate.

Because the truth feels dangerous.

But you’ve already come this far.

“It makes sense,” you say softly. “The way you two are… it fits.”

Another silence.

Heavier this time.

But not in a bad way.

Ghost exhales slowly, something almost like relief in the sound.

Soap leans back, running a hand over the back of his neck, a rare flicker of uncertainty breaking through.

“Good,” he mutters. “That’s… good.”

You frown slightly. “Why?”

The two of them exchange a glance.

And this time—

You understand it.

Not the exact meaning.

But the feeling behind it.

A decision.

Already made.

Soap looks back at you first.

“Because,” he says carefully, “we’ve been thinkin’…”

Ghost steps closer.

Close enough now that you can feel his presence beside you—solid, steady, grounding.

“…about you,” he finishes.

Your heart stutters.

“About… me?”

Soap nods, expression softer now, more serious than you’ve ever seen him.

“Aye.”

Ghost’s voice is quieter, but it lands harder.

“We don’t do anything halfway.”

The implication hangs in the air.

Clear.

Unavoidable.

You look between them—Soap’s warmth, Ghost’s quiet intensity—and something inside you shifts.

Not fear.

Not hesitation.

Something else.

Something… right.

“You’re asking me,” you say slowly, “to be part of this.”

It’s not really a question.

Soap smiles faintly. “Only if you want to be.”

Ghost doesn’t smile.

But his hand—gloved, steady—comes to rest on the back of the couch behind you.

Not touching.

Not yet.

Waiting.

“You’d be choosing both of us,” he says.

Your pulse pounds.

Spa Day Surprise.

I will be posting a slightly different version of this video on my DA page later this week with an accompanying story: https://www.deviantart.com/410parker.