Sam

18+ tired student

[thoughtkick]

I feel fragile, yet I remain. And every day I do, I tell myself that this struggle is shaping me, not ending me.

Thoughtkick

[beebymoonlight]

Propaganda I will ALWAYS happily fall into is that Simon making absolutely adorable CHONKY babies-

huge, chonk babies that are 99th percentile, obviously.

splits you in half on the way out, but what the hell were you supposed to do? huge beefcake wanted to bend you over and come inside, had to do it.

[serendipityscrible-deactivated2]

Accountability is the most important indicator of growth.  Let’s normalize saying, “I’m willing to work on that,” instead of “That’s just who I am.”

[weltenwellen]

To Be Alive Gregory Orr

[writingangst]

Russian Roulette

Summary: Simon Riley takes notice that the reader has a specific way of reloading her gun, which results in him being paranoid to the point he misreads the situation.

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Warnings: violence, angst, cursing, torture, hurt/no comfort.

Words: 2.3K

Part two

This was a prompt from Character.AI by user @/kstzii and I had to make this account to post because it really hit the angst spot for me. Hopefully, it does the same for you.

The echo from your sniper rifle was stifled by its silencer as you scored another bullseye. You felt someone's gaze burn into the back of your head. But once you turned, you couldn't see anyone. Must've been my imagination. You reassured yourself as you went back to attempt another shot. No bullets. You quickly reload and reposition yourself to fire off another round.

“What the hell was that?” Your lieutenant's voice called out. You swiftly turned to him. “Reload again.”

“What?” You were caught off guard, the slight hint of a Russian accent slipping out. Shit. You instantly clear your throat to switch back to your usual British accent.

“Are you deaf? I said reload again!” He repeats, his voice booming.

You rearange yourself from your position lying on your stomach, onto your knees, the head of your riffle touching the dirt beneath you. You look at him through slightly narrowed eyes. “Now, why would I reload when I just switched to a perfectly good mag?”

His jaw clenched. You noticied how he was trying to hold himself back. He did this often. You were sharp with your tongue and tended to use it on him often. In more ways than one. Though this time, he didn’t quite seem like he was enjoying it.

“You know exactly what I mean. That was a Russian reload,” he crossed his arms over his chest, the veins in his arms were prominent. It brought you back… No. This was serious.

You laughed it off, seeming unbothered. You were cool. Calm. Collected. Everyone knew you weren’t one to be thrown off your game easily. But this certainley was doing just that. You weren’t about to let him see that though.

With a scoff, you turn your back to him to get a better hold of your gun. “I reckon you haven’t slept, Lieutenant. Could be playing tricks on your sight.”

“I know exactly what I saw,” his tone was cold, but with his clenched fists you knew this was a ticking time bomb. “Do. It. Again.” He ordered in a firm tone. It left no room for any arguments.

You’re stagnant only slightly. There was uneasiness in your stomach at what this could mean. You knew Simon, and you knew Ghost. This was the latter, but you weren’t going to let this play out the way he wanted it to.

“And if not?” You challenge as you turned towards him, eyes sincere as you looked deep into his conflicted ones. “This gonna end in friendly fire?”

In long strides he stepped forward, coming to a halt right in front of you. He pulled you up by your elbow, but you never lost your grip on your weapon. With him being 6’4, you had to crane your neck to look him in the eye. His towering frame was imposing, making you feel small.

He leaned closer, just like he had so many times before. His body only a few inches from yours, but instead of it having the burning effect it usually did, now you were just feeling uncomfortable with the interaction. He was doing this on purpose. He was trying to intimidate you.

“What do you have to lose?” He countered, his voice low, a rumble to his chest.

You took it as a challenge.

With a clenched jaw, you took a step back from him as he severed his grip on your skin. You rid of the magazine wedged within your sniper and your eyes never leave his as you do so. Taking another mag from your tactical gear, you shift to do a simple tactical reload.

He watched you intently, his eyes glued to your every move. You didn’t break a single swet. And even though it seemed like something inherently intimate, you knew it was everything but. Once you finished and kept your straight face on him, he stepped towards you again.

He looked pissed as his eyes flickered to the mag that you just placed into your gun.

“That…” he stated through gritted teeth, gripping your chin with force between his thumb and his forefinger. You were forced to look at him head on. “…isn’t a British reload. Now tell me, who are you really?”

“I’m a simple sniper, sir,” you reply without skipping so much as a beat. “I was chosen for this task because of my outstanding sniper skills.”

Silence ensued.

Then you continued. “But you knew that already. You read my file,” you hissed back at him. “And you’ve trained with me for months, been in my bed, so what exactly are we implying here, Lieutenant?”

He kept his grip on your chin, his fingers digging into your skin. You noticed how he continued to get frustrated that nothing was out in the open like he previously thought it was. He expected you to be defiant, not secretive. A piece was missing and he was paranoid. Something wasn’t right.

Suddently, you’re smashed against the closest tree and your rifle was hitting the ground. You wince as a gruff pained noise falls from your lips once the air is knocked out of you. His vast hand squeezed your neck. Not enough to cut your air supply. Yet. But enough for it to be uncomfortable to breath. There was a sense of betrayal in his eyes and you knew he had assumed the worst.

“You’re a lying Russian spy,” he murmured into your ear with such force you thought you’d faint.

You struggled against him. “I am not Russian, nor am I a spy,” you rasp out as best you can, but you feel him crushing your windpipe. You wouldn’t lie to yourself. You feel hurt. He was one of the closest people you had since joining the 141 task force. Which made you angry. That’s when hurt vacated to make room for the feeling of deception. “But I will not explain myself to you when I have a job to do.”

You attempted to push him off but he was stronger and bulkier than you, making it almost impossible. You understood there that there would be no reasoning with him. Sleep deprivation and high stress levels were obvious indicators of this. You both had been on the field for days, and he had been the one doing most of the lookouts in order for you to get a bit of shuteye. You won’t be a good shot with heavy lids, sweetheart. He once said to you.

“What were you sent to do, huh?” He asked, his voice had lost its edge and now he just sounded distant. “Spy? Assassinate me?”

“Paranoid motherfucker,” you hissed, holding onto his forearm to steady yourself against his grip. “Screw you.”

His eyes narrowed, his grip loosening only slightly. “You sound surprised. You can’t honestly tell me that you expected me to not investigate the mysterious sniper with a Russian reload and accent?”

“And I’m almost certain you couldn’t find a Goddamn thing about anything and that’s why you got me cornered,” you stated as a matter of fact. “I’m not whoever the hell you think I am, and this paranoia is serving to have this mission go south if you don’t let me get to my gun.”

He laughed this time. Honestly, laughed.

You scrunched up your nose. Fuck you, Ghost.

“You don’t think I have dirt on you, sweetheart? I have files on you, more than you can count. I know you, better than you think,” he paused for a second. “I know your weaknesses, likes, dislikes. Everything.”

You laugh bitterly. “I don’t doubt that. Hey, I even had a hand in the shit you know because I trusted you. That still doesn’t mean you know jack shit about what happened in Russia. You’re so inclined? Ask Price!”

“I asked Price!” His hand gave your neck a quick squeeze and you saw how his body trembled. “He didn’t know a damn thing. Said your file was locked and he was denied access. Now why the hell would that be, huh?”

You snorted. “He said that to protect me. I had the whole record wiped. None of this concerns you, Lieutenant. We all went through shit, and you think you’re the only one that’s allowed to be a ghost? Fuck you!”

His eyes narrowed at your words. “Why would he protect you if you have nothing to hide? That makes no sense and you know it.”

“Because my trauma is my trauma! And you have no business budding into it!” 

“And if it’s something that could jeopardize the entire task force?” He muttered, his patience wearing thin. “If it could get everyone killed?”

“You’re an idiot if you think Price would let me anywhere near this damn task force if he considered me a risk,” your voice was cool, but your heart was thumping in your chest. You attempting one last shove that surprisingly caused him to let go. You wheezed when the pressure was off your trachea and you coughed to catch your breath. 

He watched you silently.

Once you composed yourself, you looked back at him as you held your neck. “I thought we were fucking friends, Ghost.”

“Friends?!” He spat exasperatedly. “You really think I would consider you my friend when I know you’re lying? You think I make friends with people I don’t trust?” His eyes were cold, his tone cruel and bitter. “Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet between your eyes for the simple deceit.”

Aside from the pain emitting from your neck, there was a hollow ache in your chest that was capturing your attention as well. You would relive the trauma if that would mean getting the job done. But when it came to Simon Riley, he was as good as dead to you.

“I was held hostage by Russian forces for 18 months.”

His stance faltered at that. You don’t think you had ever seen him lose his footing like he had in that instance. And his eyes… Christ, he had never changed his expression so fast. What the hell was that? Pity? He could go screw himself.

You continued. “Anything you can think of in torture, triple that. What kept me alive for so long was the fact they wanted to use me. The only way I got out of the constant abuse was the training. So excuse me if I picked up on a thing or two. Even the Godawful accent that creeps into the British one,” you cleared your throat. “I’m not your enemy, Ghost. But you’re right. I’m not your damn friend either.”

As you explained your past, his eyes never left yours as he listened carefully. He expected many things, but he hadn’t taken into consideration you being a literal prisoner to Russian forces. For once in his life, he was speechless. The thought that you had lived through a year and a half of torture at the hands of the Russians was something he could barely imagine.

His gaze had softened, but he hardened again when something wasn’t clicking for him. “Doesn’t explain why your file is locked.”

You snorted humorlessly. “Ever heard of Price’s little sister?”

His eyes widened at the mention of her. The captain was hush hush about the matter, but it was a well known fact he had family within the military. And that she was KIA some time ago. “What about her?”

“You’re looking at her.”

Those were the last words he expected to come out of your mouth. Shock and surprise flashed behind his mask as he finally realized what this meant.

“You’re…” He paused, trying to process the bomb that just exploded in his face. “You’re Price’s sister?”

“In the flesh,” you replied with the same cold tone he had been using earlier with you. “You’re not the only one trying to be ghost. You’ve just never been questioned by the task force on it like you just did to me.” 

What could he say to that?

“I took a bullet for you, Lieutenant,” you reminded him. “What fucking spy does that for the opposite team?”

His jaw clenched and you saw how his mask flexed due to it. His eyes showed how he replayed that memory in his head. It was something he thought about constantly. You had saved him, and he hadn’t seen it coming. He had been so focused on you being a spy that he hadn’t stopped to consider that you were actually on his side.

“I never should have questioned you,” he admitted, his voice quiet as he met your gaze again.

Your hand shot up to stop him from saying anything else on the matter. “It’s done. We’re done here.”

He watched as you walked away to pick up your gun, his mind racing with thoughts but they were too fast for his tongue. He knew he had messed up. He had completely misjudged the situation with the accusations thrown at you when in reality your connection to the task force was stronger than even his.

The irony in the situation wasn’t lost on him, but he didn’t find it funny.

“Wait,” He sighed, taking strides to catch up to you.

“This is unprofessional, Lieutenant,” you stated, dusting off your weapon as you checked for any malfunctions. “We’re in the middle of an active operation. I’m done talking.”

He exhaled a frustrated sigh as you dismissed his attempt at talking to you. He knew you were right, that the mission was what mattered now. But he couldn’t help the feeling that he needed to apologize. It was clawing at his chest, the emotion raw in his throat, asking to be let out in word vomit.

“You can’t honestly expect us to just ignore what happened and continue on like normal?”

Silence followed.

You didn’t even look at him.

“Go back to being Ghost, because Simon Riley is fucking dead to me.”

[pixielover1]

A Lion for a Pet.

Simon x FemReader. Angst. 1.6k Words

TW!! Slight physical violence and swearing.

A deer in headlights, or a gazelle in the maw of a hunter? Was this all just a bad twist of events, or fate?

Part 1.

You’ve been bustling with excitement all day. Pacing back and forth and checking the clock as if time would bend to your stare. Tonight was the night. Okay, maybe you shouldn’t be watching Dexter so much, but it was perfect. Time, however, didn’t get the memo. The seconds seemed to drift by at a snail's pace. But you remained steadfast, counting the years until that sweet 7pm ticked into view. Waiting for Simon to come back from deployment was always difficult, but especially when his return fit perfectly into your schedule. The door knob jiggles, barely heard over the jazz music that filled the flat. You zap to attention and practically run to the front door. Finally, your husband is back! Your bodies slammed together before Simon could even step inside. “Welcome home!” You blurted, tone warm and inviting as your arms wrapped him in a squeezing embrace. 

Simon's body stiffens. “Hey.” He responds with more gruffness than voice. You pretend the lack of interest doesn’t hurt you. He’s just his old and grumpy self! You ignore it. You take a step back, knowing that hugging Simon is a short lived enjoyment. 

You’re beaming, eyes crinkled and every tooth in sight. A prideful, love-filled look in your eyes. So intensely happy at your spouse's return. You look purely joyous. And Simon feels disgusted by it. How come you’re so damn happy? If you’d seen the shit he has to go through you’d be a little less bubbly. He takes in your body in a calculated manner. You’re wearing a cute black dress, a white bow dancing down the middle. Pretty. Gross, he thinks as he snakes past you, making your smile slink down. 

“Si?” You call out to him, turning around. You hated the way he made you feel like a puppy chasing after him sometimes. A flashback of the night he hugged you swims through your mind. It makes those silly butterflies flap their wings again. Plus, it was all an act. He had no reason to be upset with you after all. Especially not on a night like this… right? 

Before you can even overthink about it, he's trudging his dirty boots through the house. Again. You sigh at that, trailing your way after him. As always. Commitment was your love language after all. Maybe loyalty just wasn’t his strong suit. 

“Simon, your boots please!” He stills. Something radiates off him, but you can’t tell what. He walks back over, kicking off his shoes with a bit more force than necessary. You offer another small smile and lean in to kiss his cheek. He… moves? Surely it was an accident. You giggle, thinking he’s putting on a ruse. “Sim-“ You can’t even finish his name. 

“Where’s dinner?” He asks, cutting you off swiftly.

“Yes! I’m good, thanks for asking. And how are you?” You reply, crossing your arms. Please let this be an act. He looks at you. It’s a look so sharp that it cut right through your breath. Your back straightens, arms unfolding immediately. You pat down your dress, your gaze subconsciously sliding down to the floor. No wonder he’s a lieutenant, he had a way at making people feel small. 

“I made reservations.” You mutter, trying to ease the tension in the air. You ignored his disrespect so now, the act should be over.

“What?” Simon sounds. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, grumbling out words he tried to keep stuffed in. He forces in a deep, shaky breath before telling you, “I don’t feel like reservations.” So flatly. Everything so calm and cool and collected, always. You look down at the floor, the image of cute anniversary pictures fading away from your mind.

“I can.. I can get it started now. It won’t take long.” You offer, remembering how tired he must be and forgetting that you are too. It’s not worth the fight you attempt to convince yourself, to brush off how lousy you feel. Instead, you look up to meet his eyes again, but he’s already halfway upstairs. 

“Forget it.”

Your heart gets waterboarded. Or that’s what it feels like. How else could it plunge into this tightness? This… fear? You had never been scared of Simon before. But maybe that wasn’t it. You were scared of losing him. 

Then, the thought of your well decorated bedroom pops into mind. You gasp and race upstairs after him, “Wait, Simon!” You yell after him. The light flicks on. Shit! You think. He’s going to think you’re so lame for remembering something he didn’t. 

Simon’s breath is punched out of him as soon as the light fills the room. A big HAPPY ANNIVERSARY SIMON! in big golden balloons plastered above the bed. Utterly impossible to miss. His eyes drift. To the candles flickering, the gifts covering the bed. The little “I love you” He caught on the edge of a note. Before he can steal a glance at every little detail, you’re scrambling to try and pick everything up. “Sorry, sorry I forgot. I know you just wanna rest.” You say, trying to make it known that you weren’t upset with him. Even if that anger was replaced with disappointment. The dress makes sense now to him, it wasn’t a showy display of how much calmness you get to have. He looks up at the shining balloons. He thinks then that he has never seen his name spelt out on anything but paper. No banners, no cakes. Certainly no balloons or carefully plucked rose petals. 

Panic is the only thing on your mind, though. You pace with the thought of a fuming Simon. Mad at the imposing decorations in his space and the rumbling in his stomach. You don’t even dare to look behind you. You just continue to rush every decoration to the trash, tossing his gifts to the side. 

He swallows, also assuming you’re angry with him. He did forget your anniversary. When he catches a glimpse of your face, and it’s glistening with tears, the tiredness he was feeling cracks, and guilt slithers in. He takes a step forward, finally letting out a breath. Now, Simon would fix all this. Fix your broken heart and popped balloons. 

And maybe he would’ve, but your husband wasn’t the man behind you. Ghost was still in the pilot seat. A curling heat stabs it’s way into Simon, making his jaw tense. All pity he had for you was exiled by the need to be right.

“So you could do all tha’ but not dinner?"

A shift in the air. Or rather, the lack of. Your back is to him as your motions still. Breath escapes you and his words sink through your processors, reporting that this is certainly a glitch! After all, Simon would never talk to you like that. But as the silence continues, and Simon still feels radioactive, his knife slowly slides through your heart. So smooth and efficient. Like the perfect soldier he is. The insult settles deep into your mind, seeping into your bones as you finally comprehend it all. Your frame shrinks into itself, and you feel a thick pressure swallow you up. That act he was putting on, maybe it was the finale. Your mind reels with all the possibilities. How you didn’t even think him insulting you was possible. 

“Sorry.” You mumble, an instinct you need to free yourself from. You fumble with the last of the gifts on the bed, feeling too many emotions. Anger at him for just discarding your heart like that. And sadness for having a heart so discardable. You keep your head low, scared of the power in his aura. That’s what it is. Power. He has the power to do whatever he wants to you. Even treat you like shit apparently. Before you can flee, his hand strikes out to keep you close.

Now, you’re really scared of Simon. You flinch and suck in a sharp breath of air, the action dizzying. He freezes momentarily, never seeing your face contort like that. Not at him. Simon pounds at the confines of his mind for his body back. For his control back. But his protector, the one who makes everything right, the one who is all powerful, lingers. Ghost's Simon's hand pulls you closer, his eyes boring into yours. They are glossy and pitiful as you stare back in a taut anticipation. The mix of dreadful emotions pooling inside you makes the beast inside him roar. That same beast that normally kept you safe. I guess you can’t keep a lion for a pet, after all. 

His jaw ticks a few time, chewing and sizing up your fear. Anger washes over him. How dare you be scared of him when he was dealing with so much. 

“Where are you going?” He finally speaks. “You scared of me now, huh?” He probes you, roughing you up in a firm shake.

You exclaim how it hurts, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. Shock pumps adrenaline through you at his sudden display of power force. He growls, grinding his teeth in an unsettling manner. Terrified doesn’t describe how you feel about the man in front of you. The man you know could hurt you and cover it up easier than a bug getting squished under a rug. Your husband. Your Simon. 

“You don’t know shit about pain. You don’t know shit about anything!” He seethes, hand increasing pressure around your arm, leaving a bruising pulse. Your heart is racing, and so is your mind. Your rationale is getting smaller and smaller, allowing fear to shadow up the space in your mind. You can’t run. You can’t hide. Betrayal sits on the tip of your tongue, and the edges of your weeping heart. Simon fervently consumes your mind, warping every thought. Everything has changed in a single moment. Nothing bad was supposed to happen!

You burst out into tears, something that shocked even you. You tremble as your breath stutters and the dam inside you breaks. Simon is still standing over you, but now silent. You don’t try to run away from his vice. You just weep, sobbing as this hardened man watches. You look just like a child being disciplined for something you didn’t do. That sadness of not being understood. That sadness Simon knew well. And something Ghost knew how to defeat.

He grabs your cheeks, squishing them together hard as he brings your face close to his. “Stop that shit.” he stares dead into your eyes, making your entire body go rigid. "Or I can give you something to be scared of."

A deafening slap rings through the house.

 AN: Hi! Hope this reads well. :) Exploring Simon as a bad partner.

[rawme-price]

Colie hybrid reader x Wolf 141? or any of the guys individually

Currently very amused by the thought of border collie!reader having way more energy than the guys...

Sure, they like to run around and play and hunt, but they also like to spend days napping in the sun. So they need to find a way to tire you out, because napping with the pack doesn't feel right if the whole pack isn't there.

"Runt, I swear if you try–" price grunts as you roll out of his pin, flipping him over to pin him on the mat with a wagging tail and happy bark. For the past few months, they're go-to activity for you has been sparring...but no one accounted for you actually improving with all the fighting you do.

"Might be easier to just tie the runt up." Gaz snorts, watching you back off and nose at price playfully.

"Or ignore them. Poor thing has attachment issues." Ghost adds, arms crossed over his chest, but his voice is fond. He's stood off to the side with gaz and soap, ears flicking at the fight when– oh shit.

Ghost whips around when he hears a whine, and just barely catches price gripping the back of your neck like a scruff, turning, and slamming you down on the mats with a loud thump.

"You need to fuckin' settle down, runt." Price growls, one knee on your spine, his hand still on your neck.

Shockingly, you actually go limp and whine in apology. The rest of the day, you're much more calm and following price around. When they all gather for nap time, you settle right in tucked to priced side.

Huh....well....if it works, they won't complain.

[rimfaxe]

Ghost had in fact imagined alot of things >:3

The bike is not drawn, its a cut in photo cause it was easier ok? Also its not really that visible in this idea so I felt it was ok. But just so you know!

I've gone back and forth between the pages so much I can't see if I've missed something that need fixin anymore 🤣

Is this even cute or is it just cringe? 🫣

[rawme-price]

Imagine ghost getting hit with some sort of tranquilizer, except no one accounted for him being a fucking tank of a person who can shake off most sedatives.

So he ends up crawling out of that op with an assist, extremely drugged up but expected to just sleep it off.

Cue ghost in the back of the humvee crawling all over you, sleepy and cuddly in a way he never is, mumbling about "ye' always make m' feel safe....m' wish you'd hug me more..." with his face tucked into your abdomen and arms tight around your waist. He still has all the strength of a 6'2", 300 and some pounds soldier, so there's absolutely no escaping his grapple-cuddles.

...at least gaz gets insane blackmail material for when ghost is lucid again.

[rawme-price]

Thinking about alpha!ghost who freaks out the first time he sees omega!reader's nest...

Because he knows what an omegas nest should look like, he's been to price's house plenty of time, ghost is confused by how...off you are all the time. Anxious, tired, irritable. All things he'd dismiss as being a soldier, but nesting omegas tend to handle that stuff better.

Then he sees your nest. Your nest, which is literally a single ratty blanket.

"Uhm...you okay, si?" You ask nervously, eyeing ghost. He's frozen in your doorway, staring with wide eyes at your nest. You've been wanting to share this with him for weeks now.

"What the hell is that?" Ghost growls instinctively. He clamps down on it when your scent sours, and rumbles in apology "where's uh– the rest of it. Your nest."

"This is my nest," you frown, looking down at your beloved nest. Just the one blanket that used to house a familiar scent you like "i know it's a bit small...but I wanted to ask you for a jacket or shirt maybe?"

"Small? Christ, it's non-existent." Ghost huffs, stepping forward to brush a hand over the blanket with a frown "fuckin' hell. Yeah, whatever you need."

You get much more than the one shirt you bargained for. Ghost seems to take your lackluster nest as a personal offense, because suddenly he's gifting you half his wardrobe and a good chunk of his den to contribute to a proper nest.

His instincts hate knowing you're nest isn't helping, so he goes all out. Your nest slowly grows into a real one, one that makes you feel safe and surrounded in a way you hardly knew you were missing.

The best part, though, is curling up with ghost in the nest, both of your purrs mixing into one happy rumble.

[simonriley09]

Soap who fucks you like you're gonna leave him if he doesn't.

He's a whore, wanting to grind his cock as deep as he can while fucking you into the mattress, making you scream and try to crawl away from the overwhelming pleasure.

You feel like you're dying from how good it feels, the hard, slow thrusts driving you crazy. You can't do anything but moan, thighs useless and limp, the bed creaking and groaning under you.

Your hand fists the sheets, tears ruining your makeup, throat hoarse from screaming his name as he continuously ravages your insides.

You've cum like what, 4 times already? Your pussy is raw, aching, taking pounding after pounding, your cervix is ruined, toes curled and then you feel his rough hand shove your face into the sheets.

Which makes you clench. Such a slut he is.

You can't help but pass out after the 5th orgasm is pulled out of you.

Once Soap is done with you he holds you close, smirking as he feels you whine and twitch as his softening cock presses against your lower back.

Inspired by this plink

[hotintheory]

i had NO idea soap is a character let me tell you I was confused beyond imagination 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[nyxsify]

Were...you thinking of

... Soap?

Soap as in.... soap bar..?

[d0gbite]

i genuinely miss having a pack. and i know that’s so typical to say. but i do.

and when i say a pack, i mean a pack. folks often try to recreate packs in human societies by having a few really close friends. but a few is not a pack. i miss my PACK, dozens of wolves i was close-knit with. i want a living situation where 10+ of my closest loved ones and i live together, see each other every day, love each other platonically. i feel like these days the only option for living with many other people is having lots of children, but i want that kind of bond with other adults i know. like a wolf pack.

maybe that’s why miscecanis and a/b/o in general has appealed to me so much. so often they describe pack houses. i want that so bad

[greek-letter-verse]

Nesting, scenting, purring, scruffing... A lot of animalistic behaviours have been attributed to omegaverse characters. But there's one I've never seen used, and that's a shame. Have any of you heard about... Kneading?

Also known as making biscuits.

It's something kittens do with their mums, but older cats often do that with their favourite humans or soft toys and blankets!

It's associated with nest-making and scenting. Famous omegaverse things!

(as well as with heats in queens, but I'm trying to keep the post sfw, so shhhh)

Pups could do that with their parents! Omegas (and other nest-makers) could do that with their nests! And everyone could give friendly little massages to their friends!

(or make them a pizza, but like, as an Omegaverse Instinct™ thing)

So consider: kneading.

[rawme-price]

In your latest post you mentioned that omegas are shorter if they aren't from bitching... But I thought bitching was when an alpha bottoms and that's it?

I'm only asking because I don't wanna assume wrong.

Bitching is the process of turning an alpha into an Omega!

A natural born omega tends to prioritize things like fat storage and a healthy womb, whereas a natural born alpha doesn't have to do that so they have more energy to grow taller or pack on muscle.

Omegas made from bitching haven't spent years growing with omega hormones, so they are statistically taller than natural born omegas!

[h4nifah]

sorry im not giving into the cutting out sweet treats propaganda. life is hard enough

[nyxsify]

Period

[rawme-price]

Thinking about ghost who hardly even blinks at the filthiest stuff he says, not a care in the world who hears it.

He'll find you in the middle of talking to the other two sergeants, sling his arms around your waist and press his chest to your back so he can purr "wanna go to yours, lovie? I've been thinkin' about fuckin' you in front of that mirror all day...maybe chain you up? Hm? How's that sound?"

Or the one time he openly told price about the insane head you gave him in the humvee, or how he openly gropes himself if he's feeling really pent up. Absolutely nothing phases him.

That is, until you start to compliment him.

"Aww, look at you, simon! My pretty boy! So sweet!" You coo, holding ghosts unmasked face in your hands, turning it to admire the fresh eyeblack he applied.

"Ahm' not sweet..." he grumbles, face flushed pink at your simple compliment.

"Yes you are!" You drag his head forward for a smooch to his temple "my sweet soldier. With your brown eyes and soft hair, so pretty."

Ghost shifts in place, seemingly stuck between the desire to hide away and bask in your affection. In the end your sweet words win, becausr he tucks his face into your neck.

"My sweet, lovely, soft man. I love you, sweetie." You coo, smiling at the way ghost physically shakes from your words.

He's always so easy to fluster at simple compliments. It's easy to buy into filthy sex, but knowing he's loved even without giving anything to you...it's something else. It makes some weird, deep part of him shake and shudder. The only thing he's ever known is being wanted for what his body can do for others.

Now? With you pressing a kiss to his jaw? It's like he's feeling love for the first time, and is totally overwhelmed by it.

Still, when night falls, he crawls into your arms. Under the safety of darkness, he whispers "i love you too." And he means it.

[skyrigel]

“You are so hot, so sweet, so soft–” Simon growled, pressing you against the bedroom door, his hands roaming all over your blazing skin.

That's when you remembered, dazed with the crushing kiss Simon had pulled you in since you met him at the club–on and off–between breaths and moments where he pulled away to drive or admire your face.

“Oh my god!” you watched as Simon raised one brow, worry forming on his flushed face, something you were very proud of: making Simon Riley blush—the man whose grumpiness preceded him.

“Wot?”

“They can't see this, wait-” your cheeks heated up, “I am gonna-erm,” you faltered, finding the doorknob and twisting it as Simon looked puzzled.

The door opened behind you and you ran at the bed fully covered with your plushies; your darling babies. You were practically buzzing with electricity when Simon had kissed you, even more when he suggested taking ‘this thing’ away—because you knew he ended his affairs in the alley corners or bathroom stalls.

Back of his car was luxury.

So it was exciting, you felt special, and decided on your place since it was closer.

You gathered them up, a bit more hurriedly than you would've liked. But they couldn't stay in this room and see what things you would want Simon to do to you—things he whispered so hotly, so fiercely, in hungry kisses on your neck.

“Can I help?”

Your whole body responded to the rich, deep voice, and nodded further blushing.

Simon’ hands were bigger, he scooped four easily and smiled at you from across the bed. “Not in this room?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, nervously chuckling. “Sorry tis’ a bit silly but I can't let my babies—” no, no you didn't just say that outloud—“...see what happens here.”

You started to walk away, Froggie, Romi, Willy in hand and muttering fuck, fuck, fuck.

Simon would probably think you're weird as fuck and leave to shag any bird from the club you'd won him against. But he was following you out of the bedroom, on the couch where you put them down whispering apologies for this rough behaviour.

He did the same next with Otto, Edward, Lorry, and Missy, but minus the apologies and then came over to wrap an arm around your waist from behind. “Is it okay now?” He whispered, nipping at the soft skin of your ear.

You shuddered, feeling his erection rigid as you pressed further back. Eyes flashing open to see Froggie staring back—“Let's go to m-my bedroom, please.”

***

It was the greatest sex you ever had.

Simon had carried you to the bedroom, undressed you cruelly slow and then roughly fucked your mouth until you were begging mess, wanting his cock desperately.

His strong hands had held over your bloodless knuckles that gripped the bedpost for dear life as he slammed into you relentlessly, pounding hard with each thrust that tingled sparks up your spine.

Then your ankles were on his shoulder, and Simon was kind not let your eager mouth go hungry, kissing you sloppily as he fucked—groaning and grunting—and ate your open mouthed moans.

The best-sex-of-your-life.

But it wasn't just that—Simon stayed after a long time.

You knew he left after sex, and was prepared to conceal sad pout and kicked puppy eyes when he would leave eventually.

It had been surprisingly soft when he came back with a towel, cleaned you while pecking your lips and cheeks and forehead and then joined under the sheets, letting you rest your head on his thick arm that would make heavenly pillows. Softly listening as you made circles, hearts, and alphabets on his big chest.

“The green one is Froggie?”

“Yes, Froggie Farhan.” You replied, knowing he was smiling over your head.

“He gets a surname too?”

“Otto Walter also has one.”

“Hamster?”

You didn't want to correct him, it was a guinea pig actually for some sweet reason, and laughed around a yawn. Perhaps next time you would tell him this difference.

Dread settled in post nut bliss; there won't be a next time.

“Good night, Simon.”

“G’night, mama.”

***

You had woken up with all your babies nestled closely to you.

A tender goodbye. You didn't go to the club and decided to watch some tv with junk food, because the possibility you might catch Simon with someone else was…disheartening.

What you didn't expect was the doorbell to ring and there: Simon put down the dog plushie from his face to hand it out to you, a black cutie with big blue eyes.

Oh, you loved lil' guy. Surely it took after Simon.

“I wonder what you will name this baby.” He grinned, smug face to see how giddy your face was getting by every passing moment in his presence.

It was as if you would melt down when you gazed up into his eyes, pulling Simon inside not so shyly.

“Ghost Riley, it's yours.”

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