Tales of Honey & Pink Salt

ᴀ ʙʟᴏɢ ᴅᴇᴅɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴄʜᴜʙʙʏ!ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀꜱ .*ೃ✧₊˚.↷ I'm Lu | F | 27 | Bi | 𝖘𝖍𝖊/𝖍𝖊𝖗 | I reblog/write smut | 18+ ᴍᴅnɪ ↷*ೃ✧₊˚. ───── I need my fictional men in ways that would've gotten me lobotomized in the 50's… ───── #corpsiewrittes LadyAtreides on Ao3 sideblog @baelorswidow

[corpsypher]

i'm Lu ✧ She/Her ✧ 26 ✧ queer

this post is a work in progress

✧ i reblog and write smut with Fat Reader as the main theme ✧ i currently write for cod, my fics are mostly nsfw and some are dark. ✧ please read and mind the tags, i ain't a babysitter so mdni. ✧ fuck ai, don't feed my shit to a machine.

Ao3 | Writing tag | Masterlist | Recs | moodboards | Pinterest

✧ on going

none

✧ recent

Devil's Dance (Kyle x fat!reader - strip club au) nsfw Pierced through the heart, but never killed (Ghost x fat!reader - patient/physiotherapist) nsfw

✧ wip

Pound (ghoap x fat!reader) *Daffodil (soap x fat!reader) - moodboard if you want it (stalker!ghost x fat!witch!reader)

also;

No fatphobia, no scat, no requests (we can chat and have fun but don't be obnoxious)

[crowttore]

Getting your face cradled by hands that kill>>>>>

[yeyinde]

surreal/psychological horror + Soap where you agree to house sit for a coworker when they take off for a vacation. but a man shows up and tells you he's supposed to be staying there too.

their son, he shrugs. came home on leave from the military. crashin' here. thought mam might'a said somethin'.

she didn't, but it's fine. and he's harmless. sort of. maybe. you're not sure, really. because he's a little pushy. has a wild temper that ebbs and flows at intervals you can't really keep up with. tempestuous. mercurial. but he makes dinner. he tells you about what he did—not all of it, but some. like why he was sent home as he gestures to the raw scar on his temple.

need some tlc, he quips with a sharp grin. and lucky him because he found the prettiest little doe waitin' fer him.

harmless. a soldier. you can trust that, right?

but he stares at you with a naked hunger, like he wants to eat you alive. but it's gone when you really look. and sometimes, things go missing. your clothes. panties. odd stuff around the house. he hides the newspaper in the trash before you can see it. says the cable is out on the television—Netflix only. no news. he can't—he can't bare to see it. trauma. you wouldn't put him through that, would you, doe? no. you're a good girl. the best.

(at night, asleep. a nightmare; his rough voice in your ear: his good girl. so good for him. so wet—)

and it's just three weeks.

you'll be fine.

(—even though you taste him in the morning. on your lips. your tongue. the back of your throat. salty, bitter. but—there's a pack of salted licorice on the table. fifteen pieces, it reads. maybe you ate them. fuck, got such a pretty mouth, doe. you count each piece. gonna make me cum. fifteen. it's fine. it's fine. there's an ache between your thighs. a tenderness you lie to yourself about as you ignore the stickiness pooling in the gusset of your panties. fuck, doe, ahm gonna—)

absolutely fine.

until your coworker calls after finally getting cell reception. chatting in your ear about her vacation. normal. totally normal. and her son? you tell her. he's been a real help around the house, too (but she should maybe talk to him about sneaking into your bedroom at night because that's so weird, it's so strange; you don't want to wake up to a man staring at you in the dark, or catch the scent of sage on your pillow anymore, the lingering heat—please tell him to stop doing that because when you do, he just gets a weird look on his face like you're the problem, and it's just all so—)

"what son? we don't—we don't have a son—"

the phone line cutting out doesn't really surprise you. and neither does the creak of the floorboards. the solid weight of a chest against your back. the press of metal. a warm, firm palm folding over your throat, anchoring you in place.

a soft, mournful coo:

"ah really didnae want ye tae find out like th', doe. ah thought we had time together." his hand tightens. breath heavy, ragged against the shell of your ear. "but we gotta go, doe. it's time for us tae leave—"

(maybe you should have pushed back harder against letting him hide the paper, or barring you from watching the news. you might have seen a familiar face.)

[anneofgreengabagool]

141 as bad first dates | 141 headcanon masterlist

gaz

ghost

price

soap

[archived-lunarwhims]

SERGEANT KYLE GARRICK & CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE in CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE (2015)

[rawme-price]

Price doesn't do aftercare, he's made that point blatantly obvious from the first night together.

Well, he doesn't do aftercare for himself. John has the decency to wipe you off and make sure you're okay, you wouldn't keep coming back to him otherwise, but when you try to look after him? Complete shut down.

"C'mon, sir, let me take care of you—" you beg for the third time, giving price your best pleading eyes. You run your hand over the hair on his chest, one leg hooked over his waist in that way you know he secretly likes.

"I'm fine." He grunts, shutting down already. Tensing up, about to push you off and escape like he always does when you lean foreward.

"Awww, no fun, sir. At least a kiss?" You pout, holding his jaw and pressing your lips to his. The faint taste of smoke and whisky on his tongue, mixed with the flavor of you.

Price jolts suddenly, pulls back, eyes narrowed "what the hell did i just swallow?"

Your delighted smile is the last thing price sses.

....only to wake up...still in bed? But, no, the sheets have been changed, and price feels different. Mouth minty, teeth brushed when he runs his tongue over them. He smells clean, too, as if he took a shower. Not to mention how for once his knees don't ache to the core.

He narrows his eyes at the ceiling. His wrists are cuffed to the bed.

...there's a weight on his chest, fingers curling into the hair between pecs.

"Glad you're awake, sir. Have some soup cooling off for you." Your voice drifts up.

Really, price should have expected it. That the one person willing to sleep with him consistently is also willing to fucking drug him for the sole purpose of aftercare.

Strangly, his heart flutters at the realization.

[feveredvisions]

Me when my husband annoys me instead of helping out in the kitchen 🙄

[guttedcut]

people always talk about someone getting fucked stupid but what about a top going stupid while fucking someone? their brain shuts off and they just become a horny mutt with the only goal of getting off as hard as they can, breeding their sub. incoherent whimpers and moans of pure lust and desire. just a thought

[ariaiscursed]

[unsterbliche--geliebte]

[hyperprosexia]

cw: 18+ | omegaverse au; a/b/o dynamics; sexism; curvy/fat!reader (some physical descriptions); strangers to lovers/mates; eventual smut pairing: omega!soap x fem!alpha!reader

part I

it all takes but one glance at you and johnny doesn't know left from right anymore.

pair that with the captain's introduction of you being his new personal assistant and the 141's secretary and being a bloody alpha and johnny's whole being is in a sudden frenzy.

a female alpha he's rarely met one in his life.

most females serving in the military are betas. female alpha's choose different careers due to the military being a male dominated field, and everyone knows that female and male alphas don't get along most of the time.

or it takes lots of work and, in some cases, lots of fights for dominance to balance out a pack order and the cycle repeats itself until someone is transferred or, in the rarest of cases, someone gets injured.

but you don't look like a typical alpha, certainly don't smell or behave like one.

you look comically tiny next to captain price, his packs alpha, his leader. you look tame, well-mannered, friendly and... warm... soft.

he can barely imagine you in some feral alpha rut, and oh there goes his heart skipping a beat that leaves him straightening his stance, rolling his broad shoulders.

and as a male omega, johnny knows the struggles; he knows how difficult it is to look a certain way, but present another.

he doesn't look like an omega, doesn't behave like one. never has.

johnny isn't dainty nor soft or small. he's not some darling docile omega that alphas go wild for. he's a large bloke, rugged and strong, and before people get a dulled whiff of his scent through his scent suppressants, they usually take him for an alpha or even a beta.

the alphas he's met have always given him an ick, left him feeling anxious, weak, and with the need to flee and rather find comfort in solitude or with other omegas he trusted, like his sisters.

johnny gets lost in his thoughts until the captain dismisses everyone from the briefing, and suddenly, he's left alone in the room while you sort out some papers at the front desk.

ever the social one, he decides to approach you directly, despite his past experiences with strange alphas.

"john mactavish," he says, holding out his gloved hand confidently, "but everyone 'round here just calls me soap."

and as you look up at him through your lashes, lips splitting into a bright smile, his knees nearly go weak.

you take his hand and shake it firmly as you give him your name personally and with the right pronunciation, not like price had butchered it previously.

"soap's your callsign, i take it?" you ask with a curious adorable tilt of your head as you release his hand, and goddammit, johnny hopes your scent will stick to the fabric of his gloves, so he can sniff it later while stroking his pathetic omega cock.

"aye," he replies, eyes glinting mischievously as they drink in your supple curves underneath your neat office skirt and blouse combo.

he licks his teeth. the buttons of your white blouse look bloody near ready to pop; the lace of your white bra faintly imprinting through the thin fabric. his instincts are buzzing to life despite suppressants, and it's taking him off guard in your presence.

and then you chuff with a chuckle. "you don't smell like soap. definitely not like the military-issued kind."

oh. so you're a playful one.

his broad back straightens. not even trying nor bothering to make him submit. you're giving him space, treating him like a normal person rather than his secondary gender. that's new.

and he fucking hates it.

are you not interested in him like that? it's his omega wailing inside him for the first time since his youth, when everything was still new and foreign, and his first heats almost made him go mad without a bloody alpha to soothe him.

"ah i " he gulps. struggles to come up with something witty as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, causing your scent to drift to his nostrils. he inhales deeply.

it's not intrusive or sharp like alphas usually smell to him, but his breath stutters in his lungs anyway. you smell like the wildflowers one can find in the highlands, saccharine, spicy licorice schnaps, and burnt bark mulch.

his omega whines inside him, wants him to submit, to be good for you, to make you see what he could be for you. don't you want to smell him, too?

"are you okay, sergeant?"

he blinks and his dark lashes flutter as he peers down at you. fucking hell, your voice your concern. it's making his chest feel tight. what the bloody fuck is happening?

"aye, ah'm jus' "

you reach for his right hand and bring it up to your face, and johnny doesn't pull back like he usually would.

"it's fine," you reassure him as your thumb pushes the fabric of his tac glove to the side, exposing his small scent gland there. a shiver runs down his spine.

"you're just tired, hm?"

he swallows down a whine, grits his teeth to keep it together before he nods slowly.

"guess so," he rasps, sounding like he's spent the past week in the desert. thirsty... needy. "been a few tough months." years, really.

you hum understandingly. "may i?"

he nods again. john mactavish, lost for words, a bloody rarity.

he wonders if you're just doing this because of your duty as an alpha to soothe some poor, pathetic omega like him, or because you truly want to get to know him. he'd certainly prefer to believe the latter.

and then his breath hitches when your nose brushes over his scent gland the one that shouldn't feel as sensitive as it does right now. you're scenting him, getting to know him, and he almost purrs. almost.

you're absolutely gorgeous. everything he ever secretly craved in an alpha, and he's suddenly so aware of how ugly he is compared to other omegas.

an ugly scottish bugger.

his omega thrashes inside him, whines and snarls in distress, and his hand clutched in your gentle grasp, balls into a fist when his scent sours and your nose wrinkles.

you pull back, gaze up at him in question, still holding on to his wrist, but johnny doesn't have an answer for your unspoken words.

"dinnae know what ye're doin' to me."

all he knows is that he wants to be yours.

》 continue

[pup-purgatory]

via

[boolger]

WELL I’ve beeen thinking and I’m just saying, Valeria would let Price fuck her girlfriend - while watching of course and holds gf’s leash hand

[obsequist]

I want the kind of sex that makes him want to apologize after

[dogpuppy]

[peppermint-toads]

johnny who swears that he’ll pull out because you’d just switched birth controls and told him he had to just in case.

johnny who makes good on his word, pulling out and finishing all over your glossy cunt from behind.

johnny who, still pumping his twitching dick, can’t help but shove himself back inside, the last couple weak spurts of his cum settling deep inside of you. along with all the cum he’d pushed back inside in the process.

johnny who apologizes profusely through shallow pants despite being too far gone to actually feel bad about it.

“don’t worry lass, i’ll get you the pill. just in case. promise.”

johnny who wakes up with you still in his arms, knowing you’d long forgotten about his promise.

[lunebrew]

sighs wistfully and forlornly and woefully and