DNI; people who use language rooted in bigotry, cultural appropriators (bitch i see you), anyone who supports AI, anyone who thinks it's okay to put artists out of work using AI, anyone who wants to put my work into AI i will find you in your sleep
WELCOME TO READ: my lgbtq homies and my bipoc girlies i love you (+ pretty much everyone else ❤)
Requesters Please Note:
i love you and i will be getting back to you asap.
referencing / discussing smut content is allowed but please don't go into overwhelming detail.
i'm never going to write angst without comfort (best i can do is put it in a part 2, but the comfort is going to happen whether you like it or not).
fandoms i write for: so far only cod, but more coming soon!
Hey guys! Sorry for disappearing- I will be staying disappeared for a while lol. I just wanted to give a little celebration update because I started this account in the last few months of me staying in my @..bus!ve household, and after a lifetime of being stuck there... I've finally managed to get tf out!! I've cut off like 80 percent of my ties in the last four months, and this is the happiest time of my life- so I've been doing some reflecting and wanted to extend a quick thank you to the community on here that helped keep me going in the last stretch of my stay there. W love
headcanon that the reason michael already had the 'reboot the humans when i snap my fingers' feature built into the neighborhood by the season finale is because he absolutely had to reboot jason a hundred times to manage to finally bring him into his office without him somehow throwing a molokov cocktail.
Hi y'all, just checking in and doing some account housekeeping + political commentary. If you take nothing else from this post: please promote No Kings Day (link attached) on your blog. Nokings.org is organizing protests across America to protest Trump's birthday parade on the same day it's being held, and it's also got toolkits for Americans to do so safely + while gaining experience for future protests. For all those who can, I strongly encourage you to attend.
Firstly, thank you so much to the girlies that sent in their prompts the other day 😭 I won't lie, it is going to take me time to get back to you because y'all are ARTISTS and i'm so excited to write these in a way that does them justice. But i love you guys so much for taking the time out of your day and trusting me with these 💖💖
Anyway, seeing as I've got a lot of time on my hands since I'm mostly spending all day in bed recovering from being sick I feel like I have the mental bandwidth to talk about some of the more political aspects of my work as a primarily CoD fanfic writer.
Now, for context- I could not possibly be more far removed from the actual Call of Duty games and canon- or the real life situations they pull from! I'm chilling in my little subcontinent and I am not directly affected by Trump, anything that happens to people in the military because I have no personal connections to anyone in service anywhere in the world, and so on. I've been a little hesitant to plug my own opinions because of this since it's hard to do it in an author's note before my fics where i'm trying to also include trigger warnings for the following content and so on.
That said, with the Trump day parade on the horizon and seeing so many veteran testimonies about how this is not what they represent or deserve; extending the amount of time that the military has been consistently referenced on my radar after the past few months including the absolutely devastating Pahalgam attack and the utterly terrifying notion that my country might end up going into an actual war, I'd like to overtly and clearly state my stance on these topics as a writer.
I think that something we as a fandom around a military video game should be endeavoring to further address is that Call of Duty is inherently pro military propaganda. I know that like me, for the vast majority of people: this is just about sexy men with interesting backstories- but the content we consume shapes our conscious reality in ways we individually cannot begin to fathom. My primary reason for contributing to the CoD fandom in the first place is because I want to contribute art that diversifies the kind of content we consume within this fandom.
What I'm basically attempting (however feebly) to hammer home in all my writing on this account is that the notion of "We get dirty, and the world stays clean," which I always always go back to because it's quite literally a scenario of a Captain speaking to his subordinates: is, frankly, horrific.
It is not only horrific for you, and me, and tons of the other girls and gays in a fandom space to hear- because let's be real, fandom is a space for people who are or have suffered to congregate, especially due to their identities. And so much of the pain and suffering that we face as being a part of certain minorities is through the fact that we are taught to sacrifice our individual freedoms of expression, safety, and the right to be our fucking selves for the sake of an oppressor, a conservative family member, or another person who is in the same boat as us- so that we may protect them from the horrors we face. We make these decisions consciously and unconsciously, for logical and survival reasons: and I believe that that is why so many of us in this fandom welcome these characters. Because we have all, at some point, neglected ourselves to make the world feel more clean.
But we deserve better than reinforcing those values to ourselves! It is a coping mechanism for me just as much as it is for everyone else here, but a coping mechanism is only coping if we do it safely. That's with the express and explicit understanding: that this idea is bad. Experiencing it through fiction is infinitely safer and more comforting than dealing with it in real life, but this is not something that we need to put on character moodboards or make the central character trait of Price and proceed to romanticize the hell out of it. That's not a sense of duty or a strong moral compass; that's a survival strategy, and survival stratgies can be and are just as beautiful and worthy of love as much as the first two things.
And insitutionally speaking, that is the idea that is taught to people who serve in any military in the entire world. It is the idea they teach your and my protectors; no matter how far apart our countries are, and they do it to get away with the horrific mistreatment of the people that give us the basic protection required to have an everyday life in our clusterfuck of a world. I highly recommend Nicque Marina since she gives a lot of insight on what being in service can actually be like, and I'm sure you can find any number of veteran testimonies on your own to understand what I'm talking about when I say that even soldiers who are actively within the service can face systematic dehumanization the likes of which I can never imagine.
This commentary is all very surface level, but the idea that the Trump parade funds could instead be used to fund tons of Medicaid; or even veteran medical aid for as much as 6000 people, makes me sick to my stomach. If our systems cannot provide for the people who are providing the most basic of basic conditions for those systems to survive; then they are not worth keeping around. And they are certainly not worth commemorating in something as objectively trivial as a video game.
My point is, be pro-military (people who serve) as much as you want, both politically and on whatever tumblr is. But please, please be anti-military (institution that does not value its own people, who also provide security for the rest of us) both politically, and in your writing.
ALRIGHT I'M OPEN FOR COD PROMPTS IN CASE ANYONE WANTS TO SALVAGE MY WILL TO WRITE will you get imagines? Drabbles? Concepts of a concept? A 5k fic? Who knows! In 10 seconds? In 6 months? Fuck if i know. But i'm open for prompts for any x reader ship (including König + Laswell bc i've never written for them before) and i'll be responding to all of them in one way or another. My masterlist is my pinned post in case you want a point of reference. Barrage of tags incoming
the thing about the good place that always got me (even on my first watch) (and yes, spoilers ahead) is the fact that no one in s1 ever cared about what was happening to the people in the bad place. And there's poetry in the fact that the first thing the writers addressed in the real good place is that the people over there couldn't because they were too gassed up on luxury to even think straight that i'm too exhausted to unravel
Girl. Your red string au. Top tier. Delicious. Chef's kiss. Perfect give me 14 of em
Subject: red strings au pt. 4 (masterlist here)
Sender's notes: @notsochillnerd this au owes you its life for the two months this request has been sitting in my inbox. Sometimes i would pull it out and just look at it on my phone. Some life updates nobody cares about but i'm subjecting you guys to anyway: passed my latest exam season (with flying colors), got my top program preference!! Also lowk got attacked online by the person who caused the events that inspired this fic so everyone being really nice to me on here is now 2x as appreciated. You're going into this part cold turkey because i said so. Except- Price is the biggest meanie in this particular part specifically because i hate his 'we get dirty and the world gets clean' (fuck that) propaganda quote (even though i myself am a price girlie) and the language is innaccurate to the inner workings of the military, unless it isn't.
Price has known the brass is plotting something for a while.
He's been doing this job long enough to see the signs for what they are- the missions have been becoming longer, with the breaks in between radio silent. They're being left to their own devices more often than usual, John's judgement getting very little flack in meetings and on phone calls. The most concerning though, is when Kate stops contacting him anywhere except from the formal channels.
Before this, she's at the very least gotten communication to him about the situation through word of mouth, if nothing else. At first, he selfishly hopes she's the one being surveilled and not his boys, that their newfound autonomy is a trickle down effect from an issue for his boss and nothing more. But when they get sent to quite literally run around a maze like a bunch of lab rats- all signs point to an experiment.
He generally makes a point to avoid those, because it sounds like they involve a lot of waiting around to watch all the rats die.
And when Laswell tells him a new civilian consultant has touched down on base, after they've been deployed- that they'll be calling him in an hour to help the 141 use their strings for higher efficiency- it confirms his worst fucking fears.
"I'm here to help," you say on comms, and he tries not to scoff in response. As far as he's concerned, you're here to do them all in.
Distantly, he wonders what his fourth love will wake up to when you've succeeded. Will they know the strings fell away because they're all gone? Or will the strings linger like they sometimes do, stretching farther and farther away in that distinct, undeniable direction of the dead?
Would anyone mourn them?
Wouldn't it be his fault if no one did?
"Soap and I are at East base, Gaz and Ghost are still going 'round the Southwest sect. What're y'recommending, Doc?"
You don't know how to actually answer that, because you thought there would at least be a PowerPoint presentation or something, so you say the only thing you know for sure right now.
"I don't technically have my PhD yet? I'm not eligible to have doctor as my honorific. I mean, I've-"
"Until we come up with a callsign, you're Doc. Unless you have something you'd prefer us calling you?"
You'd give them your name, but there's an edge in his voice that tells you he finds your line of conversation pretentious. So you pick a different battle.
"I can't make a recommendation without actually understanding your strings in practice first."
"What the hell do you mean by that?" Price knows he's veering away from surly Captain territory and into the guaranteed cesspool of Laswell's admonishments, but the last thing he wants is an invasion of their privacy. Not right now. Not when they're trying to grieve.
"I would need a good idea about the health trajectory of your strings, how they may already be facilitating communication between you, and so on? Captain, I understand this is sensitive, but-"
Price switches off their radio.
You stare at the screen.
No one is on comms except you, and this isn't a rejection. Even if it is a rejection, it's a rejection from a superior in a professional workplace environment that has nothing to do with your personal worth. Even if sitting at this desk right now is sort of the opposite of what you thought this part of your life was supposed to look like- even if you have gotten stuck talking with an ergonomic man from the armed forces and his primary agenda is to protect his magical personal life from you. Like you'd only ruin what he already has.
Your heart sinks when you feel yourself agree with him.
It's nightfall when Simon and Kyle reach their safehouse. It's more of a shack, really, but it might as well be a five star luxury resort compared to most of the other places they've made camp before.
And, the pairing helps. The two of them don't often end up together when the team splits, mostly because they have the same tendency to pick and choose when certain rules don't apply to them on a whim. At least around Soap, Simon ends up trying to be the responsible one. But even though their dynamic in the field is probably written into their DNA at this point- it has to be with every member of your squad if you want to get out alive- the change of pace gives them an opportunity to let it hang in the air. The truth that they both miss someone they've never had.
Simon makes sure his voice doesn't sound too well used before he opens comms. They've been whispering and mumbling the entire way here, but their Captain is probably wondering if he'll have a mutiny on his hands at the end of this mission. In time, he'll figure out that's just about as likely as you ever wanting to see their faces again.
"This is Ghost, Gaz and I have reached the safehouse. Anyone copy? We're at the safehouse on the Southwe-"
"Copy, you both alright?" Price cuts in, but there's an echo.
Kyle sighs (crumbling the force inside you that keeps your voice firm), walking over with the single blanket that was rough enough to ward off fungus.
"Captain, can you ask Johnny to come and troubleshoot for you? We heard you say 'copy' twice," he says, (and for all the hours you've sat there, waiting for them to call in, you don't feel any indignation at this) not even caring to ask before cuddling into the masked man.
On the floor.
"We need to take turns being on watch," Ghost hisses off the mic, but Kyle ignores him.
"You and I both know damn well you're not going to be able to sleep till at least 4, so shut up."
"How copy?" Comes through the speaker again, weaker in retrospective (to you, it sounds the same).
"Better now, Cap, ev'rything okay wit' you over there?" Simon tries again and nearly cringes when he receives a hollow, barking laugh too similar to his own for comfort in turn.
"Define okay. We've got saddled with some stupid analyst-"
The beep of someone leaving comms makes them pause.
Yes i know i said i was going to post red string au but then my Crazy Ex TM pulled some real shit and sent me spiralling. That said,
Girls, I just realized that the true joys of the nesting concept of the omegaverse has been kept from us this entire time.
There's so much more to see in a nest fic than just blankets, pillows and shirts!!
For example: Those universes would live for shawls. Have you ever been in one of those. The warmth, the thickness, the style- do you know the sheer joy of learning to / teaching how to / simply just wrapping a shawl around someone so it sticks while they work because it keeps slipping off their shoulders.
Also, and I'm just now realizing how much this has bothered me my entire life- why does everyone smell like apples and cedar and smoke?? There are so many more interesting scent combinations even in the Western world? Say they smell like tomatoes and cheese, that would get anyone interested??
But also, the smell of coconut or coconut sugar. I would die if I met someone that smelt like curry leaf. The smell of kesar or gulab jamun. The smell of baklava. The smell of sticky mango rice. The smell of peaches. The smell of chai or cinnammon or mountain air?? I'm only Indian so those are the best examples I can give BUT THERE'S SO MUCH MORE VARIETY TO ADD TO YOUR WRITING?
** btw do not use this post as an excuse to fetishize people who did not ask for it, i obviously mean this purely for fluff fics and / or longfics where smut is not the central focus 🙄
alrighty the next part of the 141 red string au is almost done. trying to write this is actually lowk tough because of the minimalist setting and right now is the part where i have to set up the dynamics (when i am actually far more eager for the issues within the dynamics to get resolved). i feel like it might be a little boring but... it's been sitting in my drafts for two months and i need to either get it out of the way or it'll be there forever. also writing military stuff is a little bit difficult given my country literally nearly went to war (and still might) over the last two weeks? it just requires a lot of pausing at my own writing and hurting a little bit. tl;dr, next red string au part coming tomorrow-ish, and then i'll probably veer heavily into the fantasy tropes of both this fic and the other fics i have planned in order to not drought again
Crack 141 x reader drabble. Reader is she / her pronouns, long and thick hair, in my head is a woman of color because we have BAGGAGE when it comes to this. Fear of violence and explicitly mentioned acts of violence but nothing gory and this will likely err on the side of cathartic rather than triggering but like. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOURSELF
At the end of every mission, Kate is the first to greet them when they land at base. She makes sure they get patched up, takes on any urgent intel they've got, and gives John a list of the absolute bare minimum of paperwork he has to get done by the last possible dates after the hard ones.
So when she gets a call from her neighbors saying that they think someone broke into her house- the one she shares with her wife- and that they have guns- the squad already begins moving in the seconds it takes for her brain to come back online.
The police aren't going to get there on time. They're not going to get there in time. They pull up to the house and they hear screams-
There's no time to prepare for what they see in the living room.
You're smashing the spine of some poor fuck with a hot poker and a level of commitment even Price himself can't say he's ever brought to the job- Laswell's wife is still sitting on the couch under a blanket, presumably where she was when they broke in- and from the sheer amount of blood and groaning from the other two bodies you've been at it for a while.
Laswell goes to check up on her wife while the 141 are just standing there catching flies. They don't know who you are, you're not from base- they can't make out your face with your thick hair swinging wildly around you, but you're out of breath and every now and again a shriek leaves you to suggest you don't exactly do a lot of cardio.
"Should we...." Price starts, but is immediately cut off by Johnny- ("Aye, yer fucking welcome tae, Cap,") and Kyle- ("I think they're busy working through something right now,").
"My wife's best friend," Laswell says from next to them. She looks at the person in question, now going at the balls of a particularly unlucky bitch- "she has.... very strong feelings about this type of thing."
Her favorite squad looks at her like they're going to animorph into puppies any second now. She sighs.
Not to be a hater but in what world would i want to see Jojo Siwa as my Princess Rapunzel? I mean Tangled (greatest movie of all time) does NOT deserve to be adapted into disney's live action horror series, but like considering all the terrible shit that's happened in the world recently thank GOD we've ended up in the timeline where at the very least jojo siwa is not going to be rapunzel. I truly think that would tip the karmic scales of our species past the point of repair. Like if you wanted to manifest a landslide, I think jojo siwa as rapunzel would get the job done.
Summary: Confusion, pheromones, and primal nature take hold.
Joel Miller / Dave York / f!reader | Rating: 18+ MDNII | Word Count: 6,000
Content Warnings: no official smut between parties in this part but... loads of loads (cum), kissing, jerking off, multiple orgasms, lots of scents and scenting, a/b/o talk and dynamics, getting horny on work time (Dave!), confusion about who's the omega, crying, cum-soaked sheets, poor spelling on FaceBook, FaceBook (it needs its own warning), cumming in pants, distracted driving, neighbours who don't like each other for no particular reason, everyone is just horny on main... JUST PROCEED WITH CAUTION OKAY?
Author's Notes: this is dedicated to my beloved prinny @xdaddysprincessxx - without you, i wouldn't have found this absolute unit of a genre + become enraptured to an alarming degree. So much so that I made + presented a PowerPoint on the Omegaverse. thank you 💜🥩💜 Welp. I got into the omegaverse + shit got weird. This was meant to be a one shot, but at 6k, it seemed to be a part 1 of at least 2. Next part will drop soon[ish]! Thanks to @strang3lov3, @noxturnalnymph , @bitchesuntitled + @ace-turned-confused for their eyes, minds, thots + love. Thanks also to @saradika-graphics for the dividers.
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Dave was never the type to hide himself. Whether you liked him or not, he made it clear he was the alpha in every room he entered, every conversation he encountered and every interaction he had. Since puberty Dave had given off such a strong alpha aura, even a mere beta knew better than to mess with him.
He’d never taken suppressants and his disdain for those who did did not go unnoticed. Dave held no sympathy - regardless of personal issues - for those who fell in line like sheep and conformed to what ‘society’ was demanding. He was above that, never feeling the need to hide who he was in order to satisfy the puritanical cowards that thought they were in charge. He was alpha enough to control himself when he felt it necessary and that was that.
There was never a time - that Dave would admit out loud anyway - that he ever doubted or felt insecure in his steadfast approach to being an alpha. But he knew his polarizing approach had cost him a long term companion and many, many friends. Outwardly, he proudly wore the title of ‘lone wolf’.
Joel hadn’t felt this clear headed in god knows how long. Why did he wait? He knew the answer, but it didn’t make the surge of instinct and biology - which washed away the dulled senses and lowered libido - any easier to swallow. For the first time in over 30 years, Joel Miller wasn’t on suppressants.
He’d started them because there was a societal requirement to hide his second gender - alpha. The betas, which made up the majority of the population, were brainwashed by their leaders - religious and political - to believe that their communities were in danger from the aggressive and uncontrollable alpha nature. And given that alphas were “triggered” by omegas, both alphas and omegas were expected to suppress their natural urges in the name of safety and the greater good.
But it wasn’t the middle ages, it was the early 1990’s, therefore culling entire pockets of the population was thankfully out of the question. The options became taking a chemical suppressant offered by the government or risk being outed and outcast by your friends and neighbors, which often led to discrimination and violence. Joel made the easy choice to take the pills and be “normal”.
So Joel suppressed his nature, knocked up his beta girlfriend, and became a single father all in one year. And now, 30-odd years later, with the changing and more accepting times (and after joining a suppressed alpha & omega support group on Facebook), he decided to go “sant-free” and enjoy who he truly was.
And who he truly was, was a lot.
Dave and Joel had lived on the same street for close to twenty years. There was a house between them, and they had watched owners and tenants come and go throughout the almost-two decades, and kept things as pleasant as they could between them despite their animosity for one another.
It was one evening as Dave was scrolling through Facebook - something he would never admit to doing - and he came across a support group for alphas and omegas who currently were - or had been - suppressed.
He smirked. “Fuckin’ pussies.”
He clicked on the group and joined, his interest solely in solidifying his fragile ego’s belief that he was better never having been tainted by a ‘sant’ in his life. Scrolling through the page, he got a kick out of the sob stories posted about ‘trying to gain back the time lost being suppressed’ and ‘feeling like being reconnected with my ancestors for the first time at a group howling’. He rolled his eyes and chuckled like an asshole, but stopped at a post with a familiar name:
Joel Miller
Anyone else feeling like there smelling better? Not my own cent, but everything and other people around me smells bigger and more smellier. 6mths sant-free.
Dave just about choked on the gasp he sucked in reading this. He had been around Joel countless times and never once scented anything but his Old Spice from him. This didn’t make any sense, but the picture on the profile he clicked on was definitely Joel. He thought Joel was a beta. According to his own alpha group, even a suppressed alpha could be scented out by others. It clicked for him then. Joel must be an omega; his scent getting better now that he was going au natural.
“Joel fuckin’ Miller’s an omega bitch.”, Dave murmured with a chuckle.
After his Facebook discovery, Dave thought so much less of Joel, not that he thought much of him to begin with. He made a point to throw Joel cool glares and the occasional middle finger as he passed him while pulling out of his driveway each morning to go to work. Even if Joel never saw the gesture, it was irrelevant for Dave; he just felt better doing it.
Joel knew Dave was an asshole, plain and simple. He always figured he was just overcompensating for something. He’d always gotten a bad feeling about him, and he just kept a polite distance and had advised the neighbourhood mothers to have their daughters skip his house when they sell Girl Scout cookies. It meant more for Joel anyway - at least that’s what he hoped for.
A silent, volatile accord had existed between the men, and you were about to come along and destroy it.
You’d moved into the house between them, having just left a tumultuous relationship mired in a power struggle with a beta man. According to the opinion of your friends, he was threatened by your ‘sacred omega energy’ and wasn’t worth your time or your tears. Even if you didn’t 100% believe that, the thought of it being true did make you feel better.
During your first viewing and the walkthrough with the home inspector, you’d noted that you had an older, sober-looking male neighbour on one side, and a clean cut man with a predatory stare on the other.
Neither seemed to be wiser to your omega-ness, despite the fact that you were no longer suppressed as heavily. You moved here to get a clean start now that you were taking back your innate nature, and relied on a different combination of medications to help ease your heats and allow you to be in public without being potentially accosted by overly aggressive alphas.
Your boxes were about 75% unpacked and for that alone, you decided that you deserved a break. Opening the back door, you stepped out onto the porch and then down to the patio, sitting on the back steps. The breeze was cool and sweet, causing your skin to prickle in goosebumps under the warm spring sun. Closing your eyes, you breathed in and enjoyed the peace and smells of cut grass and someone’s garden blooming downwind. It was complete tranquility.
Until it wasn’t.
You could smell him approaching his fence. The harsh, wet-metal tint of his scent dulling every other scent around you. He didn’t smell nice. He smelled brash, aggressive, bold, proud, stubborn… like a headache that wouldn’t go away in a rusted can. He was definitely one of those alpha-male alphas.
You turned your head to see the clean shaven neighbour, learing at you from over his fence.
“Nice day we’re having,” his voice cutting through the gentle birdsongs.
You nodded politely with a small, tight smile on your face. “Quite.”
Another scent drifted through to you, a softer, smokier scent, like that of worn leather with copper rivets. You turned your head and saw the older neighbour watching you from his porch out back, sipping a glass of some amber liquid. He was also an alpha, but far less brash, according to scent anyway, and it made your scent glands at the crux of your neck and shoulders throb. His eyes occasionally darted to the other man then back to you.
It felt like you were in the crossfires of a long brewing feud and given that these men both smelled like alphas, you weren’t too keen on getting caught in-between them.
The older man gave you a polite nod and took another sip. The younger man grimaced a smile as his eyes darted between you and the older man, then paused, seemingly smelling the air. You watched, growing curious as he looked away, brows furrowed and mouth tightening, as if he was trying to decipher something before his face relaxed and his eyes widened in realization. His scent changed, heedier notes crawling out from under his already sharp scent, and it made your blood run cold. He’d picked up on your omega scent and his own was responding. You moved to get up and run into your house, but stopped when you took one last look at him, seeing just his eyes glaring not at you, but past you. You turned and realized his ire was directed at your other neighbour, the older man on the other side of your other fence.
You turned back to the younger man and watched as his head sunk down behind the fence again. Then you heard a door slam and whipped your head around to find your older neighbour was now gone, too.
What the fuck?
Dave was furious.
He had a hot neighbour that he very much would like to get to know better, but Joel was so fucking distracting! How the hell can he look so unattractively old yet smell that good??
Pacing back and forth in his kitchen, Dave debated on going back out into the yard to try and get another whiff. Maybe this time, it would repulse him. Maybe this time, he would catch Joel’s scent again, and then, because it’s Joel, he would be so turned off, Joel’s scent wouldn’t cause his cock to twitch… his scent wouldn’t smell so good… so good and warm and earthy and comforting… like an arboreal paradise after a rainfall… and cinnamon… and a winter hearth… and…
“Get your shit together, York!”, Dave barked out, clenching his eyes closed.
Willing his body to purge anything that would positively reinforce how good Joel smelled, he braced himself on the kitchen counter, head hanging between his outstretched arms, and took some deep breaths. His mind told him over and over that there was no way that fuckmook of an old man could smell that perfect, but his body - his instincts - told him otherwise.
He tried to distract himself for the next few hours with his row machine, his bow flex, his tread climber, his stairmaster, anything to drive him to physical exhaustion, but no matter what, he could not get that smell out of his head or stop his body from reacting to the mere memory of it. Just that small whiff was enough for it to be embossed into his brain and tugged on every muscle remotely connected to his cock.
As he laid on his back on a yoga mat, sprawled out on the floor and breathing hard, he heard Joel’s deep chuckle careen through the open window.
FUCK.
He pushed himself up off the floor and stormed out the back door to his deck, and scowled as he whipped his head in the direction of Joel’s house, only to lock eyes with the older man as he spoke to you, the new pretty neighbour. Again, the scent wafted towards him and began to embed itself under his skin.
Oh fuck. The scent was stronger this time. Concentrated. Oh Fuck. Joel was going into heat. Oh fuck fuck fuck! This would probably be his first, and he’d need to be cared for and guided and helped, and the neediness he would have for an alpha, and -
Dave was shocked with himself, at how quickly he was succumbing to Joel’s scent, and he was even angrier when he realized he was fully hard. The seam in the front of his pants put pressure at just the right angle on the head of his engorged cock, making him involuntarily buck his hips as he sucked in a sharp, shaky breath.
Joel just stared at him, brows furrowed and you had turned around by that point, too. Both of you were watching Dave, and both of you were looking equally unsure and concerned.
Dave’s eyes were wide and his nostrils flared, his mouth turned down in a furious frown. His breaths came out in frantic, sharp puffs and his clenched fists did a quick one-two punch in the air as he yelled, “FUCK!”, before turning around and storming back inside his house.
With each step, his pant’s front seam shifted just so, and by the time he was in his living room, he had cum in his pants.
You were so confused.
All you had done was ask your older neighbour, who you now knew was named Joel, if he could tell you where to get a cheap lawn mower. That was it. You’d been inside and then could smell him again, and you came outside and were having a nice conversation when that asshole who smelled like water-logged metal appeared on his deck looking psychotic and also sporting a massive boner.
As you both watched him disappear into his home, you heard Joel huff, “Jesus Christ, Dave…”
It was a lot, needless to say, and watching that whole thing was enough to abruptly end your and Joel’s conversation. You felt a bit disappointed at Joel bidding you a good evening before stepping back from the fence, eyeing the yard of the guy apparently called Dave.
Dave felt like he was going insane. His cock was hard, the tip was so sensitive that just the bedsheets grazing the boxer-covered knob was enough to make him suck his breath in through his teeth as he tossed and turned. He bit his pillow and whimpered as he laid on his side jerked himself off at the memory of the omega’s scent.
By the time morning came, he was a sweaty mess. Instead of trying to clean all the cum out of his sheets, he threw them out. Even then, his cock was still semi-hard; his drive for that omega never quite letting up the choke hold it had him in.
His stomach muscles were sore from tensing all night and his head was cloudy with exhaustion, and yet he still got ready for work and managed to get out the door only a few minutes behind his normal time.
Today, he wasn’t so glad to be an alpha.
Joel was sweating. Good Christ, you smelled good. Even though he was rusty and somewhat out of touch with his alpha side, he knew what you were and he knew you were getting close to your heat. Smelling like a goddammed forest in a rainstorm and the warmed stones and embers of a hearth was already catching his attention, but adding the sweet, warm honey scent of your heat made you almost irresistible.
After going back inside once Dave had put on that performance, he frantically hustled up the stairs to his office and fired up his desktop, logged into Facebook. He needed help figuring out how to let you know he was interested as an alpha and not as a regular man. He felt completely out of his element and wasn’t sure what his instincts were screaming at him to do to you were very gentlemanly or wise. He clumsily typed his question, not caring whether his fingers were hitting the right keys or not - anonymously this time because he was too embarrassed to have his face attached to this - into his suppressed alpha & omega support group:
smelled a omaha. smelled good real gopd. how i get her attention.
He waited, but it was late. He needed to go to bed. He logged out of his FB account and shut the computer down, then jerked off under the stream of a cold shower. Joel too barely slept a wink, but managed to hold off on checking if his questions received any answers until the first inkling of dawn crept across the sky.
Wow! Must be a good smell to make you type that bad!😜
Hey there, bud - maybe tell her how good she smells
Been there. Give her food. If she’s close to heat, she needs iron.
Yeah! Give her some meat then give her your meat!
These alphas need to grow up! Just tell her you're interested. And the idea about bringing her food is sweet.
Drink some cold water and check your spelling you wild hog
Can tell she’s throwing you into a rut with your spelling - be careful!
Yeah, take her some food.
Joel read through the responses, deciding that food and talking were going to be what he needed to do, neither of which he had in great supply. Sure, he had food, but it wasn’t anything that he could use to woo anyone, and his conversation skills were lacking beyond giving instructions on how to properly install drywall.
He spent the majority of the morning worrying about what to give you and fighting with the clingwrap. He settled on a plate of protein leftovers.
You were already up, in the front room of your new home and unpacking your boxes. You watched Dave back up and the speed off, swerving to get control of the steering wheel as he did. Weirdo.
Even your heat coming on didn’t make him or his scent appealing. But Joel - now there was the one you had to be careful with. His scent and deep timber of a voice were calling out to your baser instincts. If they had their way, you’d be on the front lawn like a cat in heat, yowling and begging for him.
You tried to push the thoughts of him out of your head as you puttered away throughout the morning. It wasn’t until a familiar scent pulling at you followed by a knock at the door pulled you out of your focus that you realized it was after 12 noon.
“Oh, hey Joel.”, you greeted him sweetly upon opening the door. You tried to sound as cool and collected as possible.
He smiled back, subtly trying to take a deep inhale through his nose. “Hey - uh… Did-didn’t know if you needed anything foodwise or if you were hungry or…”
He held out a plate covered in clingwrap that seemed to be pulled and torn badly. You could see some cold, breaded chicken wings and a few cold cuts of ham. You took it from him, unsure of what it symbolized if anything at all, and offered him a small, slightly bewildered smile.
“Thanks… it’s -”
“Protein.”, Joel nodded, hands shoved into his pockets.
You looked at him, brows raised and nodded back. “Pr-protein. Yeah. Perfect…”
“Iron.”
You stared back at him, realizing he was silently pleading for you to like his gift.
“Iron.”, you repeated back to him, responding with a reassuring smile. “Want to come in?”
Joel looked like he was trying not to grin so damn hard and nodded, walking in your front door. His scent had a proud glint to it.
Dave pulled into his driveway, and sat in his car waiting for the stupidly slow garage door to lift up. He had the day from hell; nothing seemed to make sense and he couldn’t get Joel fucking Miller out of his head all day. During a meeting in which he should have been paying attention, his mind wandered to what he hoped Joel would sound like as he was in heat, begging and needy on the floor in his living room as Dave imagined himself standing over him, relishing in the scent and the power…
The whole meeting had paused, everyone turning their attention to Dave, as he was lost in the lusty daydream, eyes closed and sucking in air loudly through his nose then releasing his breath out his mouth with a groan over and over. It wasn’t until one of his superiors cleared their throat that Dave realized what he had been doing. The only saving grace he had was that his boss and most of the men in his department were also alphas and knew what the precursors to a rut looked like.
He spent the rest of the day holed up in his office with a headache and a semi-hard dick.
And now, he sat in his car with the windows down, waiting for that stupid fucking door to finally open all the way. He was so close to being in the confines of his own home, able to jerk off and be mad about who he was jerking off to, when he smelled it. That sweet, tangy, musky, spicy scent of an omega begging to be bred and fucked. Dave inhaled and his whole body shuddered. His sore stomach muscles tensed up and he swore he heard faint mewls coming from the direction of Joel’s house. Just as soon as they started, the scent began to fade a bit and the sounds seemed to vanish. He put his car in drive just as Joel came out of the front door of his home, walking towards yours and Dave began to sweat badly. He bit his fist as Joel paused and looked at him, and then slammed his foot on the gas and plowed right into his garage.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Dave had a basement, there wouldn’t have been a cement wall in the garage and he would have been parked in his kitchen.
But he still would have cum in his pants.
Joel’s afternoon visit was nice, albeit short. He stayed long enough to permeate your home with his scent by just standing in the front entryway. Not only that, you could see your own scent was affecting him. He stood, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet, hands jammed deep in his pockets and eyes looking anywhere but your face.
“I-uh… I hope you like… chi-chicken.”, he stuttered in a low voice.
You looked down at the plate in your hands and nodded. Finding his nervous energy bleeding into you, you felt like every nerve was hypersensitive to any changes in him. The way his breath moved in and out of his slightly parted lips, causing the slightly too long hair of his moustache to move with it. His pulse in his neck and the slight perspiration along his hairline on his forehead. Wait… this wasn’t nervous energy. Shit.
This was your heat. Shit. Shit fuck shit.
It was as if you both had that realization at the same time. Joel’s eyes suddenly zeroed in on yours and the depth of brown that you hadn’t noticed before robbed you of your breath briefly.
“I…”, you started, your voice almost hoarse.
Joel looked at you, his face taking on a sterner visage, and one hand pulled from his pocket and his right foot stepped forward like he was going to reach for you. You felt every fibre of your omega begging for his touch and your skin felt like it was on fire. But he stopped himself and pulled back. He cleared his throat.
“H-hope you like your… that.”, he nodded towards the plate in your hands and then backed up towards the door, fumbled blindly with the knob as he kept his eyes on you before finally getting it open. He stumbled back out the door and moved quickly back towards his house.
You stared at your open front door for a moment before shoving your face into the cling wrap covered plate and inhaling deeply, trying to keep any remnants of his scent in your nose. You quickly moved forward and kicked the door closed, then ran to your bedroom. Tossing the plate on your pillow, you ripped your bedside table open and pulled out one of your silicone toys and had the bottom half of your body naked in record time.
Laying on the bed with your head turned into the plate of now room temperature breaded chicken wings, ham slices and cling wrap, you tried to desperately quell the ache building up in your body before it got worse. It had been so long since you had a heat with an alpha in this close proximity.
Joel felt like an idiot. He knew you were in heat and yet he still got that close to you. He hadn’t been close to anything in heat, except maybe a barbeque, since going sant-free. Now that he had, he was seriously considering locking himself in the basement given the lewd and depraved thoughts he had about you. You just smelled too fucking good.
Joel was hard and he palmed himself through his jeans as he stood with his back against the inside of his front door. He opened his jeans, just in case, and plunked down on the floor.
Would it be the worst if he jerked off to you? The way he imagined you’d be needy and whiny, your pussy puffy and wet and juicy and oh so sensitive, just begging to be fucked and knotted…
Joel’s eyes were heavy and almost crossed at the thought of knotting you. The need was so strong, it was like he was drowning and desperate for air. Knotting you, hearing that pretty voice make pretty noises, feeling you constrict around his cock, maybe even breed you-
His eyes shot open and his brows furrowed in shock at his own thought process.
What the - no! No no no no no! Breed?? No. Nope. n-well… what if she… no. but what if?
He sat there on the floor, confused and horny and perplexed and aroused, for what felt like hours but was more like 26 minutes. His mind was brought out of that very unsettling yet tempting notion by his phone ringing. He almost jumped out of his skin and got up quickly, frantically pulling his cell phone from his pocket, answering it only to find it was a junk call.
The only thing that call did was make Joel resolute in his need to lay claim to you before any other alpha did - though he wasn’t sure why.
He did up his pants and flung open his front door and marched down his front steps, feeling the undeserved confidence of an alpha going into a full rut. As he turned to walk towards your house, he saw Dave sitting in his driveway, looking a little worse for wear. He paused, then Dave bit his fist and drove right into and almost through his garage.
While he was still very horny and he hated Dave, he was concerned. Joel ran over to Dave’s driveway but just as he got closer, Dave had already pressed the button to close the garage door.
Dave was a fucking weirdo.
Even though you weren’t yet in the deep throes of your heat, this time around seemed to be exacerbated by two things: no hormonal supplements and your house was sandwiched between two alphas, both of whom had much stronger scents. Maybe there was something to the societal niceties of suppressants and creating more harmonious neighbourhoods.
Joel’s scent had just gotten stronger and more intense. You knew without even looking out the open window when he was outside and when he arrived home. You’d quietly in your kitchen and just inhale, feeling the warmth bleed out from your core and wash over your body. Until Dave came home…
Dave, on the other hand, did smell more intense, but it was like he was fermenting in his own pheromones. That ‘wet pennies’ and sour scent was even more overwhelming. It was everywhere and you couldn’t escape it.
While Joel smelled like he was just waiting for an invitation, Dave smelled like he had the worst, strongest cologne you’d ever encountered, and it had gone rancid then dumped onto your carpet.
After Joel had left you with the plate of food and you’d done everything you could with your bedside table dwelling, silicone friend and still felt like you were unable to scratch that wandering itch, you heard a loud crash! and you threw on some clothes quickly and headed out your front door.
You looked towards Dave’s house as you came down your front steps and encountered the back of Joel and his amazingly broad shoulders as he shook his head.
“What happened?”
Joel turned and, seemingly catching him off guard, he shrugged. “No clue. Dave was in the car in the driveway an’jus’ drove into his garage. Pretty sure he hit the foundation an’all.”
His face looked less concerned and more perplexed and suspicious.
You waited to hear more as Joel just stood in front of you, ponderous. “And?”
“And what?”, he asked, giving you a skeptical look.
“And is he okay?”
“How in the hell should I know?? Been standin’ here almost as long as you, an-”
You scoffed, giving Joel a condescending look and walked past him quickly to check on Dave. You were just steps past him when you were jerked back against his body, colliding with him.
You wish you were mad, oh god, do you wish you were furious at his little stunt. But the feeling of his skin on yours radiated throughout your body and dulled your mind of any sharp feelings or thoughts.
You wanted him and that was final.
Joel wasn’t sure why you gave him such a high and mighty look and he wasn’t sure why you asked him such a stupid question. How was he supposed to know if Dave was okay? He’d only been outside about a minute or so longer than you.
But when you pushed past him, determined to make sure Dave was okay, Joel felt a disgustingly hot top-to-bottom wave of jealousy burst over him, causing his skin to redden and flush. On instinct, he shot his hand out and grabbed your arm, tugging you back to him.
But the moment you were up against him and close enough he could count the pours on your nose and you could do the same to him, like a dog chasing its tail he had no idea what to do with you now that he caught you.
Sarah had come home when she was in sixth grade and launched into a seminar on the topic of unwanted physical contact after there was an assembly at her school about it over dinner. Both he and his brother Tommy had sat wide eyed while she spoke passionately about consent and bodily autonomy; he’d never forgotten that and every time he’s intended to touch anyone, he was reminded of that evening. The assembly’s information had probably made a bigger impact on him than it had any of the kids who had initially been required to sit through it.
He was reminded of that moment as he stared down at you with big eyes and waited for you to shove him back or let a verbal tirade about unwanted physical touch at him. He watched your lips part and he closed his eyes and tensed up, inadvertently pulling you in tighter. Instead of feeling your hands land on him or hear the shrill side of your voice, he felt your mouth on his.
In only a nano-second, his brain went into recovery mode and the software that booted up was pure alpha instinct. His large hand came up to cradle the back of your head and the kiss was an electric moment. His emotions ignited and the world melted away. It began with a slow, lingering touch of your lips, a deep breath shared between the two of you.
But Joel’s desire took over and he deepened the kiss. His lips parted and his tongue prodded at your mouth, pressing for entrance. Once you obliged, his tongue explored yours, seeking a rhythm of pure connection. You seemed to melt into his touch and his hand fisted your hair and his other roamed down your to your lower back. He pulled you in closer from there, knowing you would feel his hardening cock press against your lower belly. His every movement was charged with longing, a silent declaration of affection, need, and raw passion.
To Joel, time ceased to exist. He could feel your heartbeat through your body in his hold as he pressed you against him. There was no hesitation, no restraint—just the overwhelming intensity of the moment.
In other words, Joel desperately wanted to fuck you.
Dave didn’t know what came over him.
Or, he did but admitting that he’d become completely at the mercy of an omega’s scent - his fucking neighbour’s scent - was humiliating. He’d been brought to his knees by just getting a whiff and he hadn’t been able to regulate himself since. Eating was a chore, so was basic personal grooming and hygiene. The only things that came easy to him were the acts of jerking off in bed and subsequently crying into his pillow.
Dave was in a rut and he had no omega - or other person’s orifice in general - to ride it out in.
Was that a good reason for driving into the cement wall in his garage? How was he supposed to explain to his insurance broker if there was any major damage and he needed to file a claim? That he went into a rut and hadn’t bathed, eaten a proper meal or slept a whole night in over a week because he was hornier than a 14-peckered owl and therefore it counted as an act of god?
He let out a deep sigh and slumped into his seat in the car, rubbing his face. He did manage to back the car up enough to pull it away from the wall without subjecting himself to more humiliation by opening the garage door. The damage wasn’t extreme but it was noticeable on his car, and it was clear that something had hit the cement wall.
He went into the house and as he came out into the open area of the living room, looked out the front window to see you and Joel attached by the face. When it dawned on him what was happening, he dropped to the floor and crawled up to the window, peeking up over the sill to watch. With his eyes trained on the two of you with your mouths interlocked, he reached up and clumsily cracked the window open, desperate to get the scent off Joel.
What he got instead was a faceful of old leather and musky hormonal mess clouding the sweet scent of an omega. The omega that he suddenly realized wasn’t Joel. Joel wasn’t an omega. You were.
Dave stared wide eyed and stunned, brows furrowing in deep angles, as the revelation hit him like a rogue piano that had been dropped on him from a few stories above.
Joel wasn’t an omega in heat. He was an alpha - just like him - and Dave didn’t know how he felt about it. He’d grown accustomed to seeing Joel’s face in his mind while he came. He’d imagined how good it would be to guide Joel through his heat and be the big spoon as he cared for him. The idea of Joel needing his knot, desperately begging for it, was one of the only things keeping him tethered to reality during this rut and now that it was not going to happen, he felt a deep hole breaking open in his chest.
He didn’t know how long he laid on his living room floor, sulking in what could only be described as a biological and hormone-fueled heartbreak, but when he finally pulled himself up, it was dark outside and he was able to see his reflection in the window. His face had the texture of the carpet he’d been lying on embossed on one half of his face.
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I love your take on the omegaverse. A lot of takes make it very serious, and that's fine, but the version you set up here is so much fun and feels really modern. I was grinning the entire time.
While they were making out I was just thinking about Dave sitting in his car with wet pants... and then you switched to his POV and it was perfect.
You know, I know a contractor who could take a look at that wall for him...
His disappointment when he realizes the situation with his neighbors!! Don't worry, Dave. You can still guide those dummies through their heat/rut. I'm sure they'd feel better with someone who knows what to expect and how to handle the situations.
i feel like my insecurities around my art and my writing might be at an all time high right now and i don't really know what to do with that information
Price has known the brass is plotting something for a while.
He's been doing this job long enough to see the signs for what they are- the missions have been becoming longer, with the breaks in between radio silent. They're being left to their own devices more often than usual, John's judgement getting very little flack in meetings and on phone calls. The most concerning though, is when Kate stops contacting him anywhere except from the formal channels.
Before this, she's at the very least gotten communication to him about the situation through word of mouth, if nothing else. At first, he selfishly hopes she's the one being surveilled and not his boys, that their newfound autonomy is a trickle down effect from an issue for his boss and nothing more. But when they get sent to quite literally run around a maze like a bunch of lab rats- all signs point to an experiment.
He makes a point to avoid those, because it sounds like they involve waiting around to watch all the rats die.
And when Laswell tells him a new civilian consultant has touched down on base, after they've been deployed- that they'll be calling him in an hour to help the 141 use their strings for higher efficiency- it confirms his worst fucking fears.
"I'm here to help," you say on comms, and he tries not to scoff in response. As far as he's concerned, you're here to do them all in.
Distantly, he wonders what his fourth love will wake up to when you've succeeded. Will they know the strings fell away because they're all gone? Or will the strings linger like they sometimes do, stretching farther and farther away in that distinct, undeniable direction of the dead?
i’m going to hold your hands when i say this and i am only going to be kind about it once: ai does not belong in fandom spaces, ever. not in writing, not in art, not in video, not at all. it does not matter how bad you want to see your favourite characters kiss, or how much you need a bit of help finishing a chapter, or whatever.
make friends with artists. commission somebody. learn to draw yourself. ask for a beta read. try a writing partnership. fandom spaces are communities, so engage with them! it is about the journey and the fact that we all love something enough to create and build together about that thing.
spending 30 seconds to kill a tree and get an AI to push out some soulless empty piece of “content” is antithetical to the entire point of being engaged with fandom, and if you’ve taken to doing this you should really reconsider if you belong in these spaces with the rest of us.
