Going Through It

She/her | 25 | MDNI | just here to ovulate | feel free to get crazy in my inbox 💖

[quarterlifekitty]

Warning: I dabble in dark content. I reblog/create posts that contain potentially upsetting content such as dub-con, noncon, piss kink, fauxcest, graphic violence, etc. these will be tagged, but peruse at your own risk.

Do not use my work in any AI model.

Limit list (non exhaustive list of weird things I will/will not write about)

Simon "Ghost" Riley Johhny "Soap" Mactavish John Price Kyle "Gaz" Garrick König Nikolai Rudy Nikto

moth!reader(Konig) selectively mute!reader(Simon/Reader/Soap) little mermaid au(SImon/Reader/Soap) camgirl!au(multi) weaknesses(multi) promethean(Simon/Reader/Soap) desperate times (multi) if devils were real(Price/Reader)

dubcon babytrapping hybrids piss secret baby trope obsessive

va recs hentai recs character playlists

here's the old masterlist if you prefer it! it has more individual links, but isn't up to date

[gutsby]

X

Summary: Simon finds your G-spot.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Disgustingly loving sex (sorry). Soft dom!Simon Talks You Through It™️ Creampie. Brief mention of Reader’s insecurities w sex

Note: I’m on Instagram now (kinda), come say hi :-)

Word count: 2.1k

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried before.

You’d had your fair share of lovers and experienced more than a good deal of fun. With everyone in the past, climax came the same way, every single time: clitoral stimulation, and clitoral stimulation alone.

By this point in your life, you suspected your g-spot was probably just a figment of your imagination, no more real than Atlantis, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.

That was, until, you met your boyfriend, Simon.

And things had only been official for a week.

You and him had fooled around a handful of times—made love, as he called it, and kissed and cuddled and occasionally dry-humped until the two of you were both panting, groaning messes—but all of this was new. Simon was still learning you, as you were him.

He finished between your tits. You came on his tongue. He fingered you to the point of tears, and you learned how to touch his sac just right to get him to blow his load in seconds. On this night in particular, you were fucking missionary, and holding hands while you did.

Lovesick puppies, Price would say. Neither one of you seemed able to unglue your lips or unlace your fingers or keep your hips from colliding again and again and again in frantic search of the other’s furthest depths. You were perfectly wrapped up, with no desire to move

Except, you needed to reach down between your bodies to actually get off. That was a minor detail.

You didn’t think the man above you would mind if you moved your touch from his, but then that grip tightened the second you tried pulling away.

“Keep it there, lovie. Like holding you like this,” he said.

You enjoyed it, too. It was intimate, and sweet, and with your hands pinned on either side of you, locked securely in his, you felt safe. You just couldn’t finish.

“But I…I need to come,” you whispered against him. You rolled your hips and felt his cock twitch inside you.

Simon grunted, then swallowed. Nodded slowly.

“Yeah. I’ll get you there. Feel this?”

He slid deeper for emphasis.

You didn’t.

You rarely did, or at least not in the way you figured you were supposed to get when something pressed there.

“I think…sort of, yeah,” you hedged your answer.

Don’t bruise his ego, don’t hurt his feelings.

This is all on me, Si, I promise it’s not you.

Cutting in over your thoughts, Simon moved swiftly. Took your hips in his big, strong hands, lifted up, and plunged his cock to the hilt. The girth of him was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, and you felt your walls stretch, sting, and weep sweet liquid warmth around that intrusion. You moaned.

“Better?” The man’s question was simple.

Before you could answer it, he was sliding a pillow underneath your backside. Sawing his long, thick, leaking cock in and out of you, he reached a new spot.

You made a face, feeling good from that but…strange.

Simon snatched your hands up again and planted them beside your head on the mattress. He thrusted steadily. He peppered kisses all over your face and your neck while the bed frame squeaked in time, and you had to dig your heels into his ass to ground yourself.

“Talk to me, baby. Can’t make it better if you don’t.”

“I—I know, I just can’t—”

At the same time, Simon tilted your hips slightly once more, and the tip of his cock kissed something soft and wet and dizzyingly pleasurable inside your body. A loud, embarrassing cry slipped out between your lips.

You wanted to clap a hand over your mouth, hating the way you’d just sounded, but your fingers were stuck to his. Simon grinned down at you, toothy and approving.

“Can’t do what, now, darlin’?”

The warm, bulbous head of his cock had found its mark, and he just kept prodding that spot, like it entertained him to do it. The fingers laced between your own constricted their grip even more, and Simon leaned down to kiss you while his cock carved a mind-numbing path. In between kisses, he praised you.

“That’s my girl. She’s likin’ it now, isn’t she?”

“Feel good when my cock hits that spot?”

“Your pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby.”

But still, somehow, it just wasn’t quite enough.

Maybe you’d never found that place after all.

This was where most men gave up—after a few good minutes of fucking when their balls had gotten to be as swollen as stones and their bodies were aching for release, more often than not, they’d go off chasing their own high. That was when you usually started rubbing your clit, or waited for your partner to finish so they could get you off with their tongue or something.

You hated to feel like a burden, and you really despised the thought of being the reason your sweet Simon couldn’t get to orgasm. So you squirmed again.

Straining to reach down, to try and touch yourself, you whimpered, “Si, please, it just—it takes me too long—”

“Good thing we’ve got all night,” Simon replied bluntly.

Then, once again, he twisted your bodies like you were as soft and malleable as putty in his hands, and this time, he hitched one of your legs around his hip, high.

With one slow-rolling thrust and an audibly squelching sound, Simon’s cock stretched your hole to maximum capacity, and then a little more. Your juices leaked down his shaft, aiding the slide, and he stabbed in a few shallow strokes. Probing. Testing the waters, as if he were trying to find something hidden inside you.

You sucked in a breath. Simon’s gaze slid to yours.

“Let’s find that precious spot, lovie. Easy, now.”

Gently coaxing your body open, he drove a slow, measured pace. He split your cunt like it was the easiest thing in the world, delving within your wet, velvety heat to tease every contour and crevice of your pussy. His tip leaked precome. His balls glistened in your arousal and landed with the gentlest plap, plap, plaps while he explored your insides with his member.

It really was as simple as that, nothing more and nothing less than poking around. Having patience.

“S-Si,” you stammered, nose wrinkling slightly.

“What’s’at, baby? Got something to tell me?”

Like a teacher, almost, he pressed for more.

Like his cock was showing you something new about your body but he needed your help to tell him just how and where to find it, Simon took care to be kind. He smoothed a hand over the crown of your head and then cradled the back of it, one massive set of fingers splayed out against your skull and engulfing it wholly.

He still held onto your other hand tight.

Your cunt pulsed. Ached. Fluttered around him.

Stuffed to the brim, you had only to feel, and murmur:

“Higher.”

“Higher?”

“Um, to the…to the left.”

Simon tilted his hips left.

Yes.

That was just it. So close.

Almost…

Or, maybe…

“Maybe it just…isn’t there,” you huffed out, deflating. “Know you’re trying so hard, baby, but I think I can’t—”

Then Simon hit the same spot as before, only higher.

Just like you’d told him: to the left, and then…

“Oh, fuck,” you cursed. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck.”

The grin above you stretched even wider.

“There, lovie?” Simon goaded you on.

“Right there.” You nodded furiously.

A wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, from your core down to the soles of your feet. Your toes curled, and you squeaked, feeling Simon’s cock graze that soft, spongy, sensitive place—except he’d pushed in deeper. The sensation made your eyes roll back.

“Little dove doesn’t mind my pokin’ after all, huh?” Simon’s words were a tease, but you heard a strain in them, too. The second you were caught in the throes of real pleasure, your cunt must’ve clamped like a vice.

“Keep…keep pokin’, Si,” you choked out. “I like it.”

Your lover kept at it—poking from the inside.

The routine almost felt like losing your virginity all over again, together. Simon cradled your head, told you how good you were doing, how sweet you were for him, and you whimpered under his hold. Squirmed and clung to him for dear life, then kissed him feverishly.

Simon’s mouth was hard and hungry, his thrusts deep. His cock throbbed within the wet, clenching confines of your pussy, and he seemed to be going wild at the feeling. With the idea that he was driving you wild, too.

You realized as much when he whispered it to you.

“Could lose my bloody mind when you’re like this—” Another sharp, labored breath. Another shudder passing through his body when your insides squeezed. “—so why didn’t you talk? Ask for what you needed?”

Your voice was small. “Didn’t wanna be a bother.”

Your eyes were locked with Simon’s, and in his irises, you caught a shade of concern. It flared, hot as anything, then mixed with disbelief. Disappointment.

“Don’t be angry, Si, I—” you started, hurried.

“‘M’not.” Simon blinked. But he gritted his teeth, and he withdrew his cock until the head was bumping and teasing between your folds, then he shook his head. “It’s those fuckin’ pricks who should be sorry, yeah?”

The ones that you’d been with before.

You wanted to protest, insist that you were at least partly to blame, but you never got the opportunity.

Simon was back inside you in a blink.

Hitting that same spot again, and again, and again.

He grinned, the tic of a muscle in his jaw telling you that he was less amused this time around, but proud.

Vindicated.

“Well. It’s not like they’re ever gettin’ a chance in between these pretty legs again, are they, lovie?”

You nodded in agreement.

You smiled back at him, only to have that gentle curve falter a little when you felt Simon’s thrusts accelerate.

“Only thing that’s gonna touch this spot other’n my cock is my seed, splatterin’ all over your walls, right?”

When he gave a playful nip to your lower lip and squeezed your hand tighter, you knew that he meant it. The man had plunged so deep inside you that his pubic bone was now grinding against your skin, and the rest of him was buried. His balls, all full and warm and heavy with his release, rested firmly in your cleft.

And the steady, measured strokes of his cock landed with near-surgical precision on the G-spot you’d convinced yourself up until tonight didn’t exist.

Simon beamed. You were overcome with ecstasy.

“This it, lovie? This spot right ‘ere?” he cooed.

His cock bobbed against that gummy and indescribably dizzying place, causing your last moan to morph into something more akin to a shriek.

You nodded your head: “Y-Yes. Yes.”

“Feel good when I hit it?”

“Fucking perfect, Si.”

You sighed when the man bottomed out for what felt like the millionth time, and the pleasure never waned. He felt just as good now as he did when he first got in.

“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock then, pretty girl?”

“Yeah. I’m— I’m so close.”

“Go on then, love.”

And, shortly, you did.

Maybe three, four, five more stabs of his cock to your most precious, intimate place and you were unraveling beneath him, stars bursting in your line of vision. It seemed dramatic to say, but that was really what it came to—your mouth hanging open, eyes wide, gaze peering into Simon’s while he fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. You clung to him, and your walls spasmed again and again and again, milking the man’s release in the next few seconds. Simon shuddered and grit his teeth as he unloaded a thick, gooey load inside, dousing that spongy, body-numbing spot and then some. The two of you moaned in unison.

Your body was boneless, your head a hazy mess.

It took several seconds for your conscious mind to come back online fully, and when it did, Simon was leaning in again and planting kisses along your face.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, breath fanning hot across your skin. “My perfect girl. You did so good.”

You smiled and caught his mouth for a proper kiss.

“Thank you,” you murmured against him.

Then Simon squeezed your hand—the one he’d been holding this entire time. He lifted it gently, like he was afraid too rough of a movement might split you in two.

He turned your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours and expression soft while he did.

“That’s what I’m here for, lovie.”

[beebymoonlight]

[kaletastrophes]

I truly believe Soap has three wants when he comes to America to watch Scotland play in the World Cup: support his team by watching some games, get wild drunk, find a wife. Those aren’t necessarily in order of importance either.

He barely makes it out of the airport, walking with the lads in their matching kilts, putting on a show for the cameras that have come to see the Scots arrive, before he sees a pretty girl walking down the street, thinks ‘oh, she’s the one’ and just never lets her go 😔.

He doesn’t even book a hotel room, decides he’s gonna move into hers after the first second. She agrees to drinks and he follows her home after and barges in. Makes himself cozy in her bed. Their bed now. She thinks he’s just forward and Scottish people are weird. He doesn’t understand American customs…..he’ll will sneak out after they fuck. He stays all night and swipes her key in the morning, attaches it to his key ring.

Tells her to hurry in the morning with a slap on her ass, they’ve got places to go, beer to drink, games to watch. The lads are waiting to meet her.

Of course he makes her watch all the games with him and the boys. Makes her wear a skirt that somewhat matches his kilt, he wants everyone to know that she’s his girl just by the pattern on her clothes. It doesn’t hurt that it gives him easy access to run his fingers over her panties whenever he wants. Doesn’t hurt that he can lift her skirt up as they walk down the street, get a nice look at her. Doesn’t hurt that he can slip a finger inside her while they wait for beers at the bar. Doesn’t hurt that when his friends are turned away, he can put his hand up her skirt and quickly press his thumb against her asshole, tell her how he’s gonna fuck that pretty hole later, laugh at the shriek she lets out. It’s humiliating. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happen to her. She feels like everyone can see her dripping down her thighs.

When they get to the pub, he pulls her down next to him, pulls her so close she feels like she might start getting claustrophobic. He makes sure she never takes her hand off his upper thigh, even when his friends laugh or complain he’s gonna flash everyone with how high he’s dragging his kilt up. Keeps her hand locked under his, moving her hand around as he sees fit, as the night goes on he pulls her hand closer and closer to his cock.

He turns and pushes his mouth against her ear to tell her what a tease she is. Like he’s not dragging her hand along his cock himself! Tells her she’s gonna make all the boys jealous. Tells her that his team is very important to him, that this game is serious, and if she doesn’t stop he’s gonna have to drag her to the ally and fuck her, he’s gonna teach her pussy a lesson for making him miss the game. He coos at how red her face is.

She’s confused by him and slightly (more than slightly) creeped out by some of the things he says and does. But fuck it. She’s young, he’s actually very good with his tongue, he doesn’t live here, he’s gotta go home eventually, and it all reminds her of some of those cheesy smutty romance books she finds herself reading. She thinks it’s just a fun, weird World Cup hook up….Scotland can’t possibly go that far into the tournament right???

Soon he’ll be gone and she’ll have just a funny but strange story to maybe post on tiktok someday or tell her daughter years from now. But no. He buys a plane ticket for himself AND her, has her stuff packed and ready to go the night before. Tells her she’s coming with him. He can’t just let her go now, she’s his girl! He’s ready to settle her down with a baby back in Scotland. She’s the one.

As soon as they get to Scotland he takes her over to his mums. His mum and sisters greet them at the door with “oh! We’ve heard so much about you! We’re so happy you’re finally here!” He’s been telling his family about his American fiancé back in the states for 6 months now…

[rawme-price]

Simon "oi fuckin' like bugs, innit." Riley who is genuinely obsessed with bugs in a weird way. He absolutely stops in the middle of the sidewalk to crouch down and watch a centipede eat. He understands them in a way he hardly understands humans. Bugs are always, always around even on missions that have him feeling like he's back in a casket. He loves them and needs his partner to feel the same.

Vs

Reader "I'm just a littol beetle you can't hurt meee :(" who's a beetle shifter and absolutely abuses that power. On the rare occasions that ghost is genuinely upset with you, you simply shift i to beetle form and he's already gently scooping you up and placing you on a dish with some leaves. You win every argument because ghost is a huge softie for beetles. It'd be dehumanizing with anyone else but with him it just feels like love and acceptance.

[uevnas]

humping is so peak guys who agrees. humping against an older guys jeans while getting cooed at. you and another puppy frantically jumping against each other. humping a boot or a thigh or a pillow or or or kmmpghffn

[553580]

something something you call for your husband as you make tea in the kitchen and another man's voice answers. slowly you make your way to the living room, where a strange man is wearing your husband's clothes, reading your husband's book, sat in your husband's chair.

"somethin' wrong?" the stranger asks, peering over your husband's reading glasses. he has powder blue eyes, a dark, shaggy beard with flecks of silver glinting in the lamp light, and shoulders so broad they stretch the thin cotton of his everton fc shirt- and even sitting down, you can see that his joggers stop well above his ankles.

you don't think you've ever seen this man before in your life- but something about him is awfully familiar.

"where is my husband?" you ask quietly, voice shaking in obvious fear. the man's mild curiosity flips to deep concern as he puts the book down, not even bothering to mark his place.

"what are you- i'm right here." his brows furrow. "sweetheart? are you all right?"

"you're not my husband." on shaking legs you slowly back away towards the kitchen door. "you're not my david."

"of course i am, who else would i be?" he asks, sounding concerned- but not in the way david would be. david would be irritated, angry, annoyed with you for being 'hysterical'. this man isn't doing that- and what's more, he seems genuinely worried.

"i don't know you. get out of my house." it comes out barely above a whisper, terrified tears springing to your lashes. you can barely comprehend what's happening right now, but the way you see it, your options are one of two things:

one- there is a stranger in your home, pretending to be your (missing) husband and doing a rather poor job of it. your david is not near as gentle or sweet as this- if he was really your husband, he'dve told you to shut up by now. twice, probably.

two- you have suddenly undergone some sort of traumatic brain... thing... that you don't remember, and now your husband appears to you to be kinder, taller, wearing a different face, and speaking in a different voice. your brain is no longer to be trusted, and you're going to have to depend on david as reality's grip on you continues to loosen.

so you've either lost your mind, or you're in serious danger from an intruder. either way, your instinct is to get far away from the man whose presence is causing you so much confusion and distress.

"are you hurt, darling? did you hit your head? did you fall? do you remember?" he asks, brows creased in concern, arms out like he's trying to calm a nervous horse. he's fucking with you, he's got to be. david would've called you names by now- hurtful ones, cruel ones meant to belittle and break the spirit.

the worry in this stranger's voice and written on his face brings your tears spilling over your lashes and onto your cheek. fear and humiliation have you turning on your heel to run, but the stranger is on you faster than you'd expected, arms locking around your waist and reeling you in.

"it's all right. it's okay. just a bump to your head, sweetheart, we'll take you to see someone, get you fixed up. it's all right." he spins you in his arms, pulling you into a tight hug, one hand holding the back of your head as the other rubs up and down your spine. light kisses are peppered against your temple, and it brings another wave of tears to your eyes.

he's an imposter, you're certain of it- and it breaks your heart to realize that a stranger, someone who maybe even wishes to do you harm, is treating you with a gentleness and compassion that you actual husband hadn't shown you in years.

"what do you want?" you ask, voice croaking with emotion. the stranger coos sympathetically at you, petting at your back as he continues to nuzzle against the side of your face.

"i want my best girl t'be well. we'll get you well, love, don't worry. we'll see a doctor, and then maybe i'll take you up to scotland for a few days. i've heard of a place we can rent- out of the way, far from people, a quick walk to the sea. should do your nerves some good, i think." he murmurs softly, determination audible.

it's hard to think like this. you know he's lying, that you're not hallucinating, but parsing out what it is he's actually after seems to be nigh impossible without directly confronting him, and you're not sure that's the best idea. what if he drops the doting, attentive, and concerned charade that you can't help but relish in? on one hand, it would mean that he could decide to hurt you to get what he's after. on the other, well. with your cheek pressed against his shoulder and his broad, warm palm still rubbing comforting circles on your shoulders, it fills a need that your husband left unfulfilled for years.

the realization wrings a pained sob from you, and the man murmurs quiet assurances, sweet words to calm a hysterical woman, all with the patience and warmth you've been so severely lacking.

and you cry all the harder for it.

"i st-still don- don't know what you wa-want from me-hee-hee." the words rattle and shake their way from your mouth, uncertain and afraid- but they're met with more tenderness and gentle reassurance, which makes it all the worse. this is the most danger you've ever been in, and you've never felt more treasured in your life.

"i don't want you afraid, darling- especially not of me." he murmurs between gentle shushes, and god help you, but you really do believe him. you pull back a bit to look at him, and the soft way he looks at you is heartbreaking. when was the last time david looked at you like that? it's been years. you stare up at the stranger's face, still feeling that faint spark of recognition as you gaze up at his face. you remember those eyes and that little mole on the side of his nose- but not where you'd seen them before. it's infuriating, making you feel even crazier than his assertion that he's david.

"please don't hurt me." you plead, looking deep into those beautiful blue eyes. his visible shock almost makes you flinch, but his expression settles into a determined one as he gently cups your face in his hands, thumbs wiping away your tears.

"listen t'me: whatever else you might believe about me, know that i will not hurt you." he tells you, solemn as a funeral, eyes locked onto yours. he tilts his chin to his chest. "i think we'd better get that fresh scottish air in your lungs sooner rather than later. lets pack your bag, darling. come on."

he leads you towards the bedroom, but as you pass the window you notice something- despite the fact that they won't be picked up for another three days, the bins are out, and judging by the way the lid is tilted, stuffed full to the brim.

'david' watches you like a hawk as the two of you pack your bags, telling you to bring as much as you like, that he'll figure out arrangements with your work until this 'mental health crisis' is over- and you wonder if he means to kill you.

"you don't have to be here. you don't have to do this." you plead with him, throwing every clean pair of underwear you have into the bag petulantly. "you can just leave me. just go. live your life, leave me here, it'll be okay. you don't need me."

"yes, i do." the stranger murmurs, pulling you in for another hug and kissing your temple. "i've needed you since i first saw you. it's why i'm here, why i have this ring, isn't it?"

david's ring sits on the man's finger, and in your heart, you know you should grieve- but there's a blockage inside of you preventing it. it could be that fear and confusion have overridden it, it could be that david's callous and cruel behavior eroded away any possibility of it, or it could be that you've actually, factually, broken your brain during the course of this mindfuck of an evening.

the stranger presses a gentle kiss to your lips- and while still fairly chaste, you can feel something in it, a passion that's barely being held back.

"i'm gonna take care of you. we're gonna take care of each other. in sickness and health," he kisses your forehead, "-til death do us part, yeah?"

"yeah." you reply, without knowing why. the way you see it, he's huge, in your space, and either crazy or dangerous or both. fighting isn't an option, and you're not fast or wiley enough to run. freezing didn't work, so fawn it is, you suppose.

"my good girl. lets finish packing and get on our way." he presses another kiss to your mouth, and reaches back to full-handed grope your ass, winking as he lets go to finish looting your husband's closet. it doesn't escape your notice that none of the blue everton shirts get packed into his bag, nor any of the trousers that you suspect also cut off above his ankles.

soon he's got you buckled into the passenger seat, your luggage packed in the boot, and the backseat crammed with a few days worth of food, toilet paper, and general supplies. he reaches over and squeezes your thigh, fingers flexing on the inseam of your trousers, and it sparks a memory.

merseyside derby, a few years ago. david got drunk and started shouting at some liverpool fan who'd done nothing more grievous than breathe the same air as him. he'd ignored your husband entirely, giving you a once-over with powder-blue eyes, smirking slightly when he'd remarked that he thought you'd look even prettier in red.

it had been so long ago, but now here you are, receiving that same look in the front seat of your husband's car, and the memory leaves you breathless.

"we're really doing this?" you ask warily, voice shaking with nerves. how long was he waiting? watching? planning?

"we're really doing this." the stranger confirms warmly, unaware of your recognition and subsequent mental spinout, putting the key in the ignition. the engine turns over, and it feels like a death knell.

"who are you, really?" you ask, voice barely audible over the radio that's just come to life, volume last set by david to mask any 'chatter' you might engage in. the man clicks it off entirely.

"i'm your david, sweetheart. remember?" he asks, but there's a tone to it. a mild warning, and therefore, an acknowledgement of the farce. your blood runs even colder, and your posture stiffens. he pulls the car out, driving you both through the neighborhood in the dead of night, making your way north towards god-knows-what.

[jeleynai]

I managed to finish this just in time! Almost missed MerMay..

Thank you to the lovely person on Patreon that requested a Mer version of the boys <3 I only did Ghost for now but I had SO much fun <3

As always, early access, WIPs and other goodies are on my Patreon!

[crashingcryptid]

"Fuck, baby, gotta get you pregnant.. Please let me make you a mama, love, please please please..." Everytime Simon fucked you he begged to cum inside. He never wore a condom in hopes you'd finally say yes, spilling himself on the outside of your cunt.

"Si - can't. I can't -"

"You can!" Simon pleas desperately, pulling your head to the side so he can look at you. "Look, so good swollen full of me... I'll be a good Papa, Mommy, I swear. Please -" His hips stutter inside of you, your eyes rolling back when he cums deep inside you.

"Si!" You protest, gasping when his calloused fingers find your throbbing clit. "Supposed to pull out, you fucki -" Your toes curl into the bedsheets as your orgasm rolls through you, sobbing softly when he keeps stimulating you.

"That's it, mommy... I'll be so good for you, so so good." He huffs into your ear, his thumb swiping back and forth over your sensitive bud. "Just a few more, love. You can take it."

"You did this to me." You glare at Simon from where he was kneeling between your thighs, just barely visible over you belly bump. "Are you happy? Huh? Proud of yourself, you dick head?" Simon keeps massaging your swollen feet, pressing a soft kiss to your belly. He knew you were so hungry, but your food wasn't done cooking yet. He didn't mind the small bouts of verbal abuse.

"I'm sorry, love. The pork just needs to finish cooking." He assures as he moves up to massaging your ankles.

"You're not sorry at all." You grumble over the sound of your hungry stomach. "I can't believe we're having a baby." You sigh as you rub your stretched skin, smiling when you feel your baby kicking softly. "Hey, give me your hand."

Simon almost protested, but you already had his wrist in hand, letting him feel the baby's foot as she kicked. "That's all you, Papa... Can't wait for you to met her."

[diviniaviti]

murder suicide is awesome to me bc its like annnnnd im coming with you

[quarterlifekitty]

Quick little sketch of how I imagine König under the hood

[ceilidho]

Oh to be in east coast America during the FIFA world cup where the Scottish have taken over Boston

can’t believe no one’s taken this and run with it yet….or maybe someone has and I never saw it because I’m so checked out rn (vacation mode). But what a great bit for a fic. Girl who stares a beat too long at Soap in his kilt when they’re in line pre game and him going “ah can show ye if yer wonderin’ what ah’ve go’ on underneath.”

[rawme-price]

Thinking about octopus mer!price who's decided intern!reader is his mate.

Truthfully, the sanctuary had thought his tank was escape-proof after the whole nikolai debacle. Shame on them for not realizing an octopus mer can never be bound to a place except through choice of leverage.

Because now you're left to deal with price showing up anywhere throughout the sanctuary because he wants to keep an eye on his "mate"

How the hell he even made that decision, seeing at your field of study is sharks not octopi, you have no idea. One day you're walking past the octopi enclosure and the next two thick tentacles are circling your legs and pulling you closer to him.

If ever an employee comes across his empty tank, the first step is to call you and nine times out of ten that's exactly where he is.

[anneofgreengabagool]

fruiting body | john price x reader | 1.8k words

tags/cw: 18+. explicit sexual content, historical (regency england) au, cis-female reader, dubcon, infidelity, secret cucking, breeding kink, in-laws fuckin', loss of virginity

navigate to: part one

part two (final)

Dinner is, of course, lavish as always.

As from the first evening, Lord Price has you sitting in the guest of honour seat, directly to his right. Cecil is further down the table, between the silent Mr. Riley and amiable Mr. Garrick.

Upon finishing your course of freshly caught mackerel, prepared with mint, Mr. MacTavish, to your right, leans toward you. "Mrs. Price, will you do me the honour to drink a glass of wine with me?"

You smile and accept. The courses are served, soft white breads and roasted swan with fennel, and no shortage of madeira and claret at the bequest of Mr. MacTavish.

Lord Price — you cannot think of him as Father — is an exemplary host, ensuring that conversation does not lag or suffer, despite Cecil's social weaknesses. Your eyes find your husband across the table, in his cups already, and you look away, embarrassed for him. For yourself. For another night not spent in your marriage bed with your husband. You will be grateful should he keep his head upright once you retire to the drawing room. He does not meet your eyes and you try to keep your jaw unclenched.

The candlelight masks the way your eyes soften with imminent tears, but before your nose has time to prickle with the telltale sting, a heavy weight finds your leg through your gown. Your head shoots up quickly; Lord Price is discussing something about the Americas, completely unaware of you. But his hand, large and hot, is rubbing your thigh under the tablecloth, hidden by bottles of drink and and grand candles and jellied desserts. Just as abruptly, his hand pulls away.

Dinner service ends in a fuzzy haze — Mr. MacTavish was so kind to offer drinks so you would not need to ask directly, but this may have worked against you, as you find that your full concentration is required to take steady slippered steps to the drawing room.

Mr. Garrick and Mr. MacTavish take their places at the card table, where, if the previous evenings indicate a pattern, they will argue goodnaturedly about their respective hands and tease about one another's poorly disguised bluffs. Your husband sits at the piano; he is a talented player, when he is of sober mind, but it does give him a purpose in this room. You simply wish his talent was up to snuff for this audience.

Mr. Riley takes up so much room, but settles in a comfortable armchair opposite Lord Price, who lounges on the settee closest to the lit fireplace. Before you consider a seat of your own, perhaps in a corner to do some needlework or look at portraits Lord Price has hung up, he beckons you silently.

You perch on the settee and listen to the ambient conversations over the crackling fire, cigars being lit and sucked by mouths, Cecil's slowing piano tinkles, glass clinking to glass as drinks are poured. Your eyes grow hot and drowsy from the near fire, the drink in your blood, and fall asleep.

Upon waking, the room has shifted imperceptibly. All three guests are now involved in a heated card game, and you no longer hear Cecil playing. A glance over the edge of the settee reveals he's asleep against the piano. And, most alarmingly, your legs have been brought up and are resting over Lord Price's lap. He is reading a book, his warm hand stroking over your stockinged anklebone. He glances over, sensing your shift into wakefulness. Your eyes are panicked like an animal's, there are no two ways to describe it.

His hand shifts higher, petting you, soothing you. His eyes watch you, sliding from neutral to heated and dangerous, as it skims slowly but quite assuredly up past your garters. You silently clap your hands down to your waist, as if you will be able to fluff his hands out from under your gown.

"Sir—" The whisper is smoke-thin. No weight behind it.

"Father," he smiles benignly. Hand making its way to the heat of you; hot from the fire, from your unexpected slumber, hot from the smoky room.

"My hus—"

A gentle suck of the teeth, the smallest of head shakes.

You stare at the card table, but everyone's got their backs turned to you. You are alone. Alone with Lord Price and his climbing hand. Your eyes now turn to him, pleading.

The tips of his fingers reach you and your mouth drops open, stupid. His eyes crease in the cruelest smile you've ever seen and you can tell he can feel where you've grown damp. A fingertip becomes substantial in weight and size — a full finger, curled toward himself — beckoning you — sliding against your wet seam from entrance to clitoris. Come. You want to cry out, want to slap your hands against him, want to draw him into you, want to feel the full force of him against you. All it takes, in the end, is a strung-out minute of flicks and presses and you're jamming your legs down against his lap as it takes ahold of you. Your hand comes down and grabs at his, through the layers of fabric, to stop him, your mouth open and no sound coming out.

You retire for the evening.

—

The heat comes. Your bedchamber is stuffy and filled with Cecil's snores, and so you wander the hallways, knowing what you're seeking and pretending all the same. The servants are asleep in their quarters. The guests have bedded down.

If Lord Price is awake…you cannot let yourself think that far, but your brain is racing to the conclusion on its own. Filling your fuzzy head with lurid thoughts and pictures out of books you've seen. Naked flesh pressed into contorted positions.

In the end, you do not hope to discover he too shares in your wee-hour wanderings. You take yourself straight to his bedchamber. Slip inside the darkness, the only light source a hot bed of coals.

You hear the sharp inhale of a man awaking.

Every decision that brought you to his doorway has been one made in deep, absolute error. You stand in your white shift, clutching the sides. Boneless and alive.

"Come," he says, a sleep-rough edge turning his sonorous voice sinful.

You climb onto his elevated bed, feeling the heat radiate from his slumber-heavy limbs. You stare at him, although the light source is not enough to reveal what you want to see; perhaps there is no light source that could show you that.

"'s not right," he says loosely, his accent thicker. "Seein' a bride neglected, 'specially not one so pretty and sweet."

You kneel by his side.

"'as he breeched you yet?"

You shake your head. "The drink…" He had tried, once, but he couldn't remain stiff enough and it had hurt you too much.

He nods, and you know he already knew this to be true. "Can't be takin' that kinda chance on everythin' 've built. Need the line to continue, hm?"

You don't breathe.

"C'mon then, be a good girl. Get me ready." He holds out an arm to fasten around yours, and you almost bolt off the bed. He pushes the bed linens down and with a bit of adjustment, his nightshirt is pulled off with ease over his head, tossed to the side.

Son and father compare in no way. This is as far as your sensibilities can process.

His cock is hardening out of warmed sleep, pulling away from his body, flushing with colour. Your hand reaches out to grasp it — you've tried this with Cecil to mixed success — and you feel as if a great balloon has been placed inside your chest, consuming all your oxygen and shifting your organs. He feels hot under your touch, and he makes a little humming sound that pitches low toward your sex, and you take him firmly in hand.

You don't want to be another disappointment for Lord Price.

Pearly liquid leaks out the top of his cock when your fingers move up the shaft. Surely, he has not spent already with such meagre effort on your part? You pause and look up at him. He gives you the largest smile you've seen on his face and it pushes a shudder through your entire body. "Keep goin', sweetheart."

The liquid runs down over your fingers as you pump over his shaft, trying to make the motions seamless despite your lack of expertise. You watch his hips drive up a little.

"Easy," he warns. "Don't waste it."

"What?"

"My come, sweetheart. It'll be yers," he says. "C'mere."

He doesn't kiss you and you don't know if it's a mercy. He fits you under him and hitches your knees up so they're on either side of his broad hips. His hair is scratching you.

"Wait—Sir—"

"Gonna be s' good for ya. Gonna fill this cunny up with everythin' she needs, hm? Mak'er nice 'n full wi' me." You don't know who he's talking to anymore. The heat has spread like wildfire through your flesh, and you keep thinking about his finger beckoning you over the threshold, and why did you come here if not for this? "M' sweet bride, s' good." Muttering into your neck.

His cock presses up against your damp cleft. He spits on his fingers and coats you, startling you. He grins. Then fully seats himself inside you in two, no three, slow juddering motions. The terror on your face must soften when realization breaks over you: for all your fears, it is but an uncomfortable stretch. Odd and uncomfortable with this angle perhaps, but not unbearable or worth all your concerns.

Your breath punches out in a long, shaking exhale. Years released.

"Lord—"

"Father."

Revulsion snakes through, but it's grabbed by the throat when his cock drags out of you slowly and then fucks back in, hitting a spot you didn't know existed. "Father," you whisper, shame-faced.

He fucks you faster. You don't miss the connection.

"Yer cunny feels so fuckin' good 'round me, girl," he groans deeply into the crease of your neck. "Gonna fill you wi' my seed. Strong seed for m' bride."

His words disgust and pull at your skin in tandem with his cock, coating you with a film you can't scratch off. It's under your flesh, absorbing in.

"F-father," you cry.

It feels so good, so unlike anything you could have ever imitated with your own hands or fingers. The familiar spiral, one you've taught yourself to chase on lonely evenings, is upon you.

"Oh, daughter," he grits against you, his cock angled just right, and then his hand comes down between your bodies and rubs at your clitoris. "Oh, m' girl. Beautiful fuckin' bride f' me."

You lock up, your neck tensing and pulling away from his face that's much too close, sucking you in. "Ohhhhh," you cry out uncontrollably.

"'assa girl," your father-in-law croons softly, snidely, proudly. "Let it out, sweetheart. Don't gotta 'old it all in. Let 'em (him?) hear me give it to ya good, jus' like you deserve. Fillin' this sweet cunny full. Oh god, girl, open up f' me, don't close up like that on me — god you're so fuckin' tight on me. Lemme put a baby in ya." His chest is heaving, his words crawling into you, and then he's coming inside you, sending your own spiral into aftershocks as he throbs inside of your tightness.

Your face is streaked with tears. When his breath has calmed, he kisses your face, from temple to eyelids to tip of nose to your waiting mouth. Smiles down at you, then rolls off you. Cleans his cock with the edge of his nightshirt from the side of the bed.

Humiliatingly, he hovers close to your still-open legs and inspects where his spend is beginning to drip out. He kisses the hinge of your hip and pats your thigh. "Better clean up 'fore breakfast, daughter."

[girl-lostconnection]

Hear me out on single mother Reader x obsessed+in love at first sight butcher Simon

You don't know him, you think, not really.

You've seen him a couple times behind the counter - large man in an apron, blond hair buzzed too short to his skull, surgical mask on his face and in the cool air of the butchery, it almost feels like you are the meat on his counter.

Stupid thought, really, probably because you haven't been resting much lately and maybe, because running from your child's father across the country is draining you of energy, money and hours of sleep.

'What can I get you?' He asks, voice vibrating through the space between the two of you invisible strings getting stroked because you have to crane your neck to look up at him, because his eyes don't blink at you as he stares, because you don't know how to ask for what you want and what do you even need- You shake your head, stepping to the side, pretending you are still looking at the display, letting the impatient man behind you step forward so that the line can finally get moving and butcher's head tilts to the side.

Not even surprised, for some reason.

Your pride and joy sleeps on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your neck - little boy with your eyes and your nose, his hair tickling your nose when you turn your head to breathe him in, trying to calm down.

His gp has already told you that he needs to eat more meat, but apple never falls far away from the tree - a picky eater has another picky eater, because your chid positively despises red meat, refuses any duck or lamb, spits out ground meat, whining about texture and doesn't take to fish kindly either.

And money's tight this month, you chew on your lower lip, fingers wooden with anxiety coarsing through your body like electrical current.

Buzzes in your arms, already aching because your 3-year old is a growing boy, and maybe you aren't getting stronger to hold him up for hours like before when he was an infant and you could pretend you can still carry him under your heart. Keeping him safe.

"What can I get you, luv?" The low voice slithers through your stupor, so you'd look up from the display and see that the large man from before is bracing his arms on the counter, leaning forward. "Been starin' for a while. What's the plan for dinner?" He asks, and you don't know how to push down the animal's urge to back off from him immediately.

The butcher's eyes are dark and round, almost soft when his gazse is anything but.

'Cow's eyes', you think, swallowing a smile because you don't need no trouble and don't want to smile at another man to give him some bloody reason to get closer. 'If cow was a butcher, that is.'

"I'm not...sure." You say quietly, keeping your voice low and he hums, apparently not planning to pull back. "He uh...doesn't like meat much. But I need him to eat a little of it, something...just- just don't know what to try." Your lower lip wobbles and fuck, this is humiliating. But the month have been so rough and so long and you are so so tired.

"Okay." The man nods slowly, tilting his head to the right shoulder, eyes the bottomless well that you cannot get out of, thick stone of it muffling any screams. "Lad eat anythin' from meat or nothin' at all?" He clarifies, keeping his voice quiet and gratitude blooms in your chest for this small consideration.

"Uh, yeah, he..." you nod quickly, wiping tears on your shoulder hastily. "Likes chicken nuggets sometimes. In the shape of dinosaurs." You explain and the man makes a sound only adjacent to chuckle.

"Got decent chicken fillet this mornin'. Fresh." He proposes, nodding at the neatly arranged pale pink of chicken on your left. "Can coat breadcrumbs and bake 'em in the oven till golden. Should taste like nuggets."

It is so simple, so bloody easy but you have no energy to feel embarassed that you did not think of it yourself.

"I'll take two." You swallow the small shudder, because you cannot allow it while your boy's asleep. Can't risk waking him up.

"Four quid." The man nods, starting to move immediately, picking out the meat to wrap up for you and you fumble for your wallet, trying to get it out of the pocket without needing to set your child down.

The butcher huffs out air, but when you glance up at him, he is looking down on the meat he is packing for you. The only give away of his mood - eyes crinkled in the corners.

Is he smiling?

"Here you go, luv." He takes the money from you and passes you the wrapped up meat. "Let me know how it goes with the chicken." The butcher adds, not requesting but telling and you nod automatically, too glad to get it over with.

He is weird, you think. Weird, but he was nice and that's much more than you were getting in the last couple months.

Only back at your apartment when you get dinner ready, you realise something. The butcher didn't pack you two fillets. He packed four.

When you step into his shop few days later, your toddler, holding onto the bag of groceries you have in hand. "Helpin', mum" as he said to you, determined to do just that.

The bell dings above your head and the butcher emerges out of the backroom, his whole massive frame moving too quietly for someone of his size.

When he sees you and your boy, something changes in his eyes, almost eager. Anticipatory of something, when he gives you a short nod and circles the counter, leaning on it again, this time by the register, so he can see you proper.

So there is no glass between you two.

You open your mouth to greet him, only to pause realising that you don't know his name. Bloody hell, you didn't even ask it last time.

"Simon." He chimes in helpfully, eyes crinkling when you quickly nod. He is definitely smiling.

"Thank you for the last time, Simon." You smile, wide and relieved, reaching for your wallet. "But you've given us more accidentally. How much do I owe you for the extra two fillets we got last time?"

He makes a low humming sound, something satisfied passing through his eyes when he turns his head from side to side, slowly shaking it.

"Not accidental. On the house, luv." He says, glancing down at your toddler, tilting his head to the other shoulder when your son just stares up at him back. "Y'like the chicken?" Simon asks, casual and curious, not moving any closer but your baby quickly nods. Stands on his tippy toes to reach for the counter.

Breathes out 'thank u', a little shy in the face of a new person met and when you glance at Simon, his heavy shoulders sag down, dark eyes warm in a way you didn't expect.

"No problem." He says back to your son and glances back at you. "Same today, luv?"

"Uh...yeah, yeah, please." You snap out of your daze quickly and he nods, pushing himself up, suddenly towering over you. "Seems like we hit out jackpot with oven-baked chicken."

Fuck, you did not realise he will be even bigger up close.

"Breast's better today." Simon announces casually, not even looking up at you as he packs it for you just as quickly as the last time. "Same price as last time."

You are pretty sure that it should not be the same, but the big butcher sends you one glance and you promtly shut your jaws closed.

You will still be paying for the meat, so maybe it's okay if he wants to be kind to someone.

"Thank you, Simon." You tilt your head, mirroring his usual gesture without even realising when you take chicken from him. "Love, tell Simon 'bye-bye', we are leaving." You glance down at your child, currently watching Simon with rapt attention, clearly not planning to leave.

Simon huffs out 'g'bye', very obviously amused and says that he will see you later.

You don't question it. Not until you run into him in the grocery store. Then at the bakery.

Simon tilts his big head to the shoulder every time, large and tall, thick thighs wrapped in jeans that should be bursting at the seams by the looks of it.

Simon huffs 'hey, lad' at your son and breathes out 'mornin', love.", purrs 'evenin', luv' and practically savours the surprise on your face when you run into him in your apartment building when he tilts his head at you in the elevator and hold it so you can get in.

Smiles behind his surgical mask when you glance up at him and your throat bobs.

Not good for you and your kid to be all on your own. He could fix it for you, you know.

Simon nods goodbyes to you, says 'see you soon' instead of simple 'bye' and has the pleasure to watch the jump of your pulse at the base of your neck, breathing hitching.

Yeah, perhaps he should. Simon checked, there is no one with you and the laddie you haul on your hip everywhere.

You could use a hand and won't you look at that, Simon had two.

[quarterlifekitty]

I keep thinking about your Nikolai kidnapper post where he cuts off reader’s pinky…

I think maybe it surprised me so much because you normally write Nikolai as very doting and soft. Also the idea of not knowing he’s keeping a tab! And the thought of not knowing when or how bad the consequence will be. The thought of disproportionate violence over a small infraction. Like Ouagh horrifying but much to think about

I keep thinking about if reader gets like phantom limb sensations. But especially I keep thinking about Nikolai cooing at reader when he sees them go to grab something and what’s left of their pinky moves too cause what is that going to do? Reader is so silly.

Also! Also! Reader’s grip strength would be affected by the loss of a pinky. Imagine Nikolai specifically did it on Reader’s dominate hand. It helps keep them from some mischief and he loves when his milaya has to come to him because no matter how hard they try they can’t quite get a jar or some other container open. See they need him? If they can’t do something as simple as open a pickle jar by themselves how could they ever hope to make it on their own?

Ooh and imagine if he ever gets reader a wedding ring the little pinky cap frequently knocks against it and makes a little tinking sound

Ouaghhhhhhhh

I also often think about pinky cutter Nikolai.

He keeps it, by the way. In a little jar of formaldehyde. You think the jar used to be one of those little jams that come in a gift basket. Maybe a hot pepper jelly. It sits on his desk— the one where he does his more delicate work.

The thing he wants you to realize is that he’s watching and he’s remembering. There are a thousand tiny things every day that even you don’t know you’re doing. But he does. And like Anubis, he keeps a set of constantly balancing scales in his mind.

Nikolai likes watching the little twitch of your silver cap. Especially when he can see you holding it out— when you’re holding up a drink. As if you still need manners and decorum with him. He’s a tradesman, at times. Works with his hands. He’s very acutely aware of his fingers and the important roles they play. Taking your pinky was a kindness, in this respect.

Your drink is always poured into a big mug. He watches as you struggle just the slightest bit. The slight tremor of your hand as your pinky fails to contribute to the grip. Even better when you drop it. Shattering a cup into a few wonderful pieces, followed by tearful, guilt-ridden apologies.

Your ring is custom. It has a little indent— a curve for your cap to fit into. A reminder of what came first, between eternal devotion and harsh discipline.

[whitebriefscowboy]

[sheepispink]

umm not sure if i like this but omegaverse kinda-neglected reader! x tf141 (ghost focus), angst, good ending, gn!reader, SFW

You’re a beta. That should come as a relief, many tell you every day they wish they were your designation instead. No heats, no ruts, not even stinking up a room when you got a bit too overwhelmed by an emotion.

Just in the middle: a nice calming scent, a decent paying job— never too high, a beta CEO wouldn't be able to control anything— and the lack of any crazy season that would get you all flustered. Your sense of smell was incredibly different to theirs, but you werent given much chances to complain considering all they went through in heats.

So naturally you were taught your life revolved around alphas and omegas, all the way from secondary school when you were sat next to the reactive Alpha’s to “try and make them behave better”. In biology class your designation was skimmed over very quickly in favour of understanding how to react to their emotional changes and the like, and anything else you had to figure out for yourself. 

It’s not like getting out of school into the workforce was much better. Omega’s rights had changed greatly in the past century, and no one would bat an eye at them being in most jobs— so applying was even more impossible. Even when you did get into the workplace, it was like alpha’s would immediately stop listening when there was an omega in the room, or vice versa. Truthfully you were jealous of their natural pull to each other, like the relationships you’d read in books or see in swoon worthy movies.

“There’s all sorts of jobs— chefs, mechanics, cyber analysts, engineers, dont just have to be a soldier.” The army recruiter outside your local supermarket rambles, clearly trying to get at least one recruit today at the minimum. Otherwise he’d definitely get in big trouble. “And you’re a beta, so you can do both work with Omega and Alpha jobs! You’ll be fine!”

“What?” You look at him, that mention perking you up and he looks at you with glee. You were only listening in hopes he’d get you off his back, but that was certainly news to you.

“I bet you’re sick of fighting with even more people for jobs now, huh? In the military omega’s and alphas are kept very seperate, even so, they’re required to be on suppressants so everything’s very easy.” 

—————

So, that’s how you ended up here, bullied and forced into the shape of a soldier, something you still feel fake about even after countless deployments. It’s quickly forgotten though when you have the thrill of finally finding your place in society.

Your first team was mostly alphas, a beta here and there, but it felt great to have them treat you equally, slapping a hand on your back and grinning at a job well done. The omega team wouldnt even bat an eye when you were assigned to them, just as welcoming. Truly the best of both worlds, you could be anything you wanted in this system— it was like it was built for you to thrive.

Then the taskforce got established, and by a stroke of luck, you got transferred on. “You always run this early?” A hand lands on your shoulder, and you jump just to meet Sergeant Mactavish’ grin. After completing your demolitions course with flying colours, you soon got assigned under him. His hair is wet, mohawk flat for once, and you can only assume he just washed off. Still, his scent washes over you, easing your momentary shock and you nod, smiling. “Yeah, isn't the water too cold this early?”

“It’s alright. C’mon, let’s go meet the others for breakfast.” 

You follow him, the faintest happy scent trailing off of you as you do so, and spiking just the miniscule amount when you sit down at the table.

“Please please give me your bread roll, i love the jam they use for it.” Gaz pleads, clasping his hands together and you can't help but roll your eyes, letting him trade it for his fried egg. “I love you so much-“ He mumbles, already taking a bite out of it that Price rolls his eyes as he takes a seat. 

“Almost thirty years old...” He mutters and you giggle, eyes moving to where Ghost comes with his tray, sitting next to Price.

“I saw you on the track, you looked tired.” He says, giving you a pointed look, and making your cheeks flush. Oh, right. The night prior you’d been suddenly awaken to help deal with a feral omega, forced to give up hours of sleep to soothe them to submission.. 

“Just didn’t get the best sleep. I’ll feel alright after a coffee.” You give him a small shrug, eating more of your food. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer before nodding and carrying on.

 The sergeants were more than happy to include you in all their plans, barely batting an eye when your scent wasn't as strong as theirs or in combat training you couldn't hold as much of an intimidating presence. Nor did the Captain and the Lieutenant care either, always praising the fact you could slip by unnoticed, with no chance of wavering from the other two designations and such. 

It felt almost like a pack.. and it was perfect. So perfect.

“Johnny, just spill it!” Gaz groans as the Scot dances around the subject for the tenth time that morning, making you all roll your eyes at the breakfast table. 

“I got an omega!” The whole table falls silent, and then Gaz lets out a low whistle patting him on the back whilst the Captain nods approvingly. 

“And you wont show us a photo?” Ghost chimes in, making Soap stumble to get his phone out, excited as he passes the phone around. A sweet, soft omega. Round cheeks, a bright smile, hanging off his arm like it was the key to her heart. A perfect match to him.

“She looks perfect with you, good on you, son.” The Captain says, giving him a gruff smile and Gaz snickers at his father-like praise. Then they turn to you, as you sit in shock, fork gently clattering on the plate.

Your jaw hurts from how you physically have to force a wide enough smile, standing up and coming around to congratulate him properly. It’s even worse when Kyle insists he should show more pictures and so you stand there between them, making fake ooo’s and aaah’s in hopes it would hide the slightest change in your scent.

It changes everything.

“Soap, me and Gaz are going to the pub later—“

“Ah… cant, omega wants me to watch a movie with her. What about friday?”

“Oh— do you mind if we do some sparring today?”

“Uh.. okay, sure. Just gotta finish up this text to my omega. Ye know she’s getting stronger by the day! I’ve been helping her keep fit, yknow, to stay safe and all.”

“Do you want to go grab lunch?”

“Oh— sure. Feels like i havent seen you in forever.”

You smile wide when he finally agrees to hang out with you again— after all, it’s not like he was acting like this with Kyle. So you both enter the mess, going to grab your plate. 

“Ahh.. the ‘mega loves chicken like this, makes hers a bit more seasoned though. Bloody good.” You smile weakly, trying to start your own conversation about work, and the mission you’ll be going with him on. 

“Oh ye havent heard yet.” He falls quiet and you tilt your head in confusion, about to place the dish on your tray.

“Havent heard what? Was there a new brief?”

“You should talk to the Captain.”

Confused, you do stop by his office later that evening, gently tapping on the door with your knuckles and announcing yourself. With a weaker scent, he couldn’t tell you apart from the alpha’s across base with their scent blockers on, unlike the rest of the taskforce.

“Come in.”

“Soap said i havent heard something about the mission im going with him on soon? Did something change?”

“Ah, right. You dont need to go anymore.”

You blink in surprise, suddenly really confused by all of this and you step forward a bit more, scent souring. Not that he’d pick up on it.

“He’s a claimed alpha now, there’s no need for a beta to mediate.”

You stand there, the contents of your stomach in your throat as you process his words. Mediate. You werent there because of skills.. the CO who encouraged you to take a demolition course didn't even think you were good at it either. They just needed a beta to mediate in a field lacking them.

“Oh. Right.”

A month passes by of you watching Soap slip away from you, barely talking to you if not about his omega, never joining you on a morning run until you’re sure he’s forgotten about you altogether. At first you had chalked it up to him just being busier with mated life. After all, you’ve witnessed the pull of an omega first hand many times, how it makes them change. Though, his relationship with the alphas didn't change in the slightest.

With his protective instincts he was drawn to the alphas more now, always hanging around Gaz and and Ghost when they weren't busy, beelining straight past you unintentionally. You cant really blame him either, no one remembers the beta’s faint scent.

It was Gaz next. One evening you were leaning against him on the couch, unable to hide your despair and luckily he’d been nice enough to let you sit there without explanation. It was nice, you thought that if you had no Soap, at least you had your other best friend. He always made you smile, and he was the reason you even got a slice of attention from Soap these days.

And then it came. 

It started small, just hanging around Soap more often than not. Really you hadnt thought much of it, but it did feel rough when you sat also on the rec room couch just to watch them fully invested in something you could never join in on. You figured it was about Soap’s omega again, not something you particularly wanted to hear about.

Then it turned into turning down bar nights altogether. They would both cancel, Gaz excusing it with ‘plans’ whilst Soap was always honest. Sure you had the whole team, but being in the vicinity of four alphas in an alpha only bar was enough of a scent overload to give any beta a headache. 

Then you saw his lockscreen on accident, just wanted to check the time really. It was unmistakably obvious though, the smiles, calmer than Johnny’s one, but just as gorgeous and adorable. A real treat for the eyes.

“Congratulations.” You mumbled when he came back to the couch with his can, raising a brow at you. 

“What..?” He knew, of course he did. You knew his lying look.

“Got yourself an omega, when are you gonna tell the others?” 

He seems embarrassed, quickly grabbing the phone off of you, cheeks burning. “How did you see that?!” 

The next morning he announces it to the team and you join in with congratulating again, only too aware of the cycle that was soon to repeat. Only, it wasn't too bad with Gaz. You were grateful, so grateful when he still would spend a lunch or two with you, or even just talk to you.

“Hey, we going on our usual grocery run this week?” You two were put together on the rota for stocking the rec room and so you both head out, riding shotgun in Gaz’s car. 

You both had a copy of the list, walking around the store together, until you eventually got them all. “Oh! Just a second, need to grab some scent stuff.” In the small beta section they allowed, there were really good products to clear out scents from others that’d stick to betas and linger around. After all, you had a keener sense of smell, so being around the taskforce meant it racked up pretty fast on your clothes and on your room. 

Kyle was the first you confided in after you suddenly fainted once, at a bar, the scents too much for you to handle. Though you managed to quell it pretty quickly with these. Some you could just spray in your nose and go— perfect for getting rid of the oncoming dizziness.

“You know you dont have to get the fanciest things, just get the base ones. It’s at the back of the store and they’re expensive.”

You pause, he never questioned this before, not even the first time you had nervously told him— afraid to be undermined. 

“There’s no base ones..” You say with a raised brow, but you cant bring yourself to be too rude to him. Even if his tone was almost sharp, scolding, as if you were being selfish. Right now it feels like you’re reduced to your designations, and that’s it. Not humans, not friends, not even teammates. Alpha and beta. “There’s only one brand that ever does it.”

“Really? And what about the cheap scent clearers? The ones you used to use before.” He gives you a firm look, challenging, and you swallow, unsure where this hostility came from.

“..They got pulled off the shelf, Kyle. Thousands of beta’s got chemical burns— i couldnt smell properly for a week.” 

He pauses for a split second, like he’ll acknowledging the truth in your words and his wrongs, then just huffs, turning to scan where the empty checkout is. “Fine. Get what you want then, but I'm going to pay. I’ll meet you at the car.”

When you return with the small plastic bag, he puts his hand out for the receipt so it can be handed to you at a price for expenses on the card. “I paid for it myself.” You mutter back, your scent tinging sour and in the close proximity it might be noticeable this time. He pauses, and then puts his hands on the wheel, choosing not to comment further.

———————————

The sergeants are on a mission, one you were supposed to be on, but now you’ve been shoved into another with unclaimed alpha’s who need a bit of extra settling. Or rather someone lesser than them they can secretly believe they’re higher than. It doesn't feel much different to secondary school now, and you find yourself with less will to argue about it. 

Thankfully, Lieutenant Ghost is here with you. He’s always been alright— not exactly friendly but not rude either. You were quite intimidated by his rank at first, convinced he’d be strict and unforgiving but he’s content if you get the work done. 

“Handled that bomb in record time.” He comments beside you on the way back to base. There was another demolitions expert on the team but when news came up that there was another bomb they had not suspected, he immediately put his trust in you to disarm it. 

“Thanks for the chance, Lt.” You smile up at him and he nods, acknowledging your hard work. After all, you really did always put in more than your best. Even so, he cant help but notice you sink as soon as he shifts his attention to someone elsewhere, the conversation falling quiet. He’d be blind to notice the gap between you and the sergeants, even if you were a beta and them having omega’s shouldnt even bother you. Him and Price had to regularly reminds them to not walk around in clothes stinking of their partner.

“The sergeants are back from their mission, could hit the pub tonight. Whole team can come”

You feel too bad to decline now, so you just nod. “Okay. Yeah.”

—————

The Alpha only pub is bustling and you offer to grab the third round just so you can escape the thick scents building around you. It doesnt help that you’re basically rationing your scent-refresher as of right now.

“Omega’s doing good.” Soap responds to Price’s questions.. At least you’ll miss this mandatory conversation while you go. The bartender already knows you, greeting you with a welcoming smile as you start your order. It’s all going on Price’s card, so you take the opportunity to get a sundae instead of alcohol. He did owe you one after an explosive you caught right by his position. Besides, it was less than a tenner, and you’d savour it for life.

“Heat’s coming up though. It’s only three days long usually, but should go smoothly. The store almost ran out of supplies too.” Soap sighs loudly, shaking his head and Kyle nods along, also probably having similar issues. 

You’re not exactly listening, carefully holding the plate of drinks so you don't accidentally spill it with the countless bodies in this crowd.

“If they got rid of the beta section, they’d have more to spend stocking on the omega stuff.” A soldier hanging around elbows Soap, but he doesnt disagree. If anything the buzz of alcohol just makes him want to finally speak his truth now.

“Right? I mean really? Beta period products? Beta scent enhancers? Like those would actually even work to attract an alpha let alone an omega. Those scent refreshers cannot be real either, i mean, you’d think they’d want to smell us, ya know? Not like they get anything else— ”

The table goes silent, Gaz obviously kicking Soap in the leg until he looks up and meets eyes with you. The other soldier doesnt bat an eye, raising a brow at you. “Oh, your drinks are here. Can you order me two aswell?”

“I’m not a waiter” You snap back, and the Captain stands quickly, taking the tray from your hands and placing it down on the table.

“Think your team wants you back over there.” He motions for the soldier to go with his eyes, and he quickly leaves. “Thanks for grabbing them, i’ll get yours. Come, sit.” He turns to you but you freeze, shaking your head, and turning back into the crowd. “I’ll get it myself.”

“You idiot!” Gaz puts his head in his hands at the very obvious tension from Soap’s words. 

“I didn't know they was there!” He retorts, though also slumps into his seat a little more. “It’s true. What do you want me to say?”

“Enough.” Price sighs, pinching his brow, he should’ve stopped the sergeants earlier but he hadnt known he’d be stupid enough to say that. Even if it was something that they were all thinking.

They take their drinks from the tray you brought, Gaz and Soap downing theirs immediately as if that’ll get rid of the dread hanging on their head. Price begins to sip his light chatter starting up again until Ghost suddenly speaks up.

“They still haven't come back.”

It’s been five whole minutes, and there’s no sight of you to be seen anywhere. 

—

You’re sitting at the back entrance of the pub, empty at this time with the game roaring inside the pub. The alleyway it leads into is dirty, a few football decorations here and there, but mostly just black bin bags spilling out the large bins. There were two guys who had been staring you down for a while, like you were something that needed saving. The second one of them approached and caught your lack of omega scent, they immediately groaned and just turned away. 

You just stick your spoon back in your sundae, not even lifting your head the entire time, just letting the cold sweetness try and keep you together.

There’s a small noise as someone sits down beside you, a rustle of clothing, and then the soft click of a lighter. You turn your head, slightly surprised to find Ghost there instead of a random drunk bloke hoping to score a sweet thing.  He meets your eyes but neither of you say anything as you go back to eating your sundae. 

“Should’ve got the other one.”

“What?” 

“The bigger one.” He shrugs, the cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. “Price told us to order whatever.”

“This is the only one that can come in a takeaway cup.” You mumble and he doesn't say anything further, not even when you lick the spoon clean.

“Why are you here?” You ask, unable to keep silent anymore. It’s not like he actually came to see how you were, and you’re suddenly glad he didn't come ten minutes earlier when you were on the verge of bawling your eyes out. 

“S’posed to be a team night.”

“Maybe for the Alphas.” You grumble and he cant help but hum alongside you, not arguing with you on that fact.

“Cant stand the smell, can ya? Got the takeaway cup cause you knew you’d need to go regardless.” Of course he figured it out immediately, though you’d think it’s impossible to read you given how some people treat you.

“You mad i’m not fawning over your scent?” You scoff and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, making sure no chocolate sauce lingers— especially with how he’s watching you right now.

“Johnny is a stupid drunk, ‘lright?.” He mutters, a bit of bitterness in his tone that always lingers, but it’s not directly at you. “Price’ll convince you it’s just his instincts and all, looking after the omega.”

You look over at him and give him a deadpan look, the most honest you’ve ever been with the man. Usually you’re pretty agreeable, in fact the only time you’ve had a conflicts was when they got injured. Turns out you’re the only voice of reason whenever that happened, as the smell of the blood sent the rest of them into a spiral of worry.

And well, after that, he can't really blame you for being like this.

“I’m going.” You mutter, standing up and throwing the plastic cup in the bin before wiping your hands on your jeans. 

To your surprise, he doesnt hesitate to follow you as you round to the front, heading to the little bus stop. It’s not the first time you’ve left early, but it is the first time someone’s made sure you’re alright by the end of the night. 

————————

Soap only makes a quick apology which you’re forced to just accept,, because what else can you really do? Mess up a whole team because of one thing he said which wasnt that far from the truth?

As predicted, Price did try and tell you it was due to protective instincts, wanting the best for his omega. Right, the same instincts that made him leave you like you were dirt on his shoe. 

Besides, life was getting busier for you as you now got passed between two teams. Either working with Ghost and Price or a different group of alphas. Passed around like a damn stress toy in your opinion. 

“So we’re going to the one in the highstreet?” Gaz and Soap are chatting on the couch, not that you’re listening, just getting your things out the cupboard to make yourself a hot drink. 

“My ‘mega loves it, craves the food there all the time. She’s gonna love meeting yours.”

Whatever, it wasnt the first time they’ve discussed plans in front of others. Wouldn't be the last.

“I’ll text the Captain and Ghost.” Soap adds, humming as he starts tapping away at his phone, opening their group chat you assume. One that you’re clearly not on, given that they dont invite you.

“You think he’ll even come?” 

“He’s not that antisocial.”

“Yeah but he’s only one without an omega dumbass.”

The container you're holding clatters against the table and they both back to stare at you with the exact same wide eyed look you’re giving them. If he’s the only one then Price..

You walk out like nothing happened, even if you can feel the tears start to burn your eyes. It was all going so well, you were all happy together— werent you? So why?

The cycle repeats for the third time. You’re taken off another team, not deemed useful enough anymore. You congratulate Price when you next see him, and he doesn't say more than a thank you. Somehow it hurts more that he didn't purposefully tell you— he just forgot, like everyone else did.

You stopped coming by the rec room the last time the sergeants had a movie night without you. The texts between them and you ran dry, and after skipping one breakfast, you just never came back again. That’s just how it was now, and they didn't even reach out once. In fact, all of the last messages were from you. An unanswered question, a conversation cut short, or a text that just never even got opened. 

Except for Ghost. He still spoke to you— well, as much as he’s known to anyway. A hello in passing, a chat between sets in the gym, maybe when you’re queuing for food. As much as you wanted to take the opening, you just couldnt, too terrified to. After all, it was only a matter of time until Ghost left you aswell. You should know that you should savour every last moment, cling onto it tight, but you just can't. It’s not like you two were ever the closest anyway.

——————-

You’ve been moved to an omega team this time. It’s not the first time you’ve worked with one, but usually they can balance each other out easier since they aren't as explosive as Alphas. It also means this is a mission you can't slip up on from the months of work they’ve put into this.

They welcome you immediately, and you grasp the ropes of it all fairly quickly, until it’s finally the day. The prisoners are right where you expected them, and just as told, the one in the middle has explosives strapped all over.

They evacuate the rest out whilst you kneel down before the explosives, watching the wires and where they turn and twist intently whilst the person tries their best not to squirm too hard. Even with your best efforts, nothing seems to match what you know but you frown as you notice the wire reaching towards the chair they’re bound to. Down to the floor.. a weak floorboard. The weight of the chair.. essentially a mine.

One hostage on that chair— you move her off and everyone dies. What do you even do? 

“Do not stand up at any point, okay? I’m going to get you out, but you have to trust me.” Shrugging all the gear off, you cut the straps that locks the person to the chair.

You hand her your gear carefully and step back, just enough to reach the doorway. There’s no telling how large this bomb is, but you can assume it cant be enough to seriously damage the ship you’re on. 

“Okay, you need to shuffle forward just slightly and place the gear behind you, okay? Then, when you’re ready, cover your head with your hands and run towards me.” The woman trembles, doing as you told and the weight of the gear seems to be a good enough trade off for the mine to not set off. 

After that, she bolts, and you pull her through the doorway and as far away as possible, shielding her as the shockwaves rattles through the ship.

———————

Ghost hadnt expected to see his phone buzz at this time, by the infirmary no less. But when they relayed what happened, he had made his way there immediately. You had just come out of surgery, a high enough dose of anaesthesia in you that you just werent acting right. He intended to wait outside until you stabilised, that is until the nurse rushes out suddenly.

“Would you mind coming in, sir? We need someone to restrain them.”

He steps inside to see you squirming against another nurse, slurring and trying to escape your bed, clearly panicked. 

“Stop that, you’re going to hurt yourself more.” He reaches for your flailing wrists, forcing the nurses out the way as they stand at the back and watch you get manhandled by the alpha. 

Something in his gut feels uncomfortable with the stains of red across the bandages across your body, burns peeking out of some. So he carefully restrains your wrists against each other, holding them firmly.

“L-lieutenant?” You stammer out, dazed eyes searching for him intently until you manage to focus on his mask. Finally you stop freaking out for a moment. He turns but the nurses are already gone, probably called to another patient— the operation you were on had quite a few injuries for different reasons.

“Yeah, it’s me. Y’just came out of surgery, you’re okay now, alright?” He carefully lets go of your hands, helping you reposition yourself after you had tried to squirm off the bed. “I’ll grab the nurse, then we can see when we can get y’outta here.”

The nurse?

You blink at him, looking around at your surroundings, the sterile smell of the place attacking your nose. Simon was an alpha.. and the nurses, well specifically in this wing.. your eyes glance to the sign outside the door, the familiar writing.

“No- no you cant!” You barely manage to grasp his arm as he pulls away and he looks at you in confusion. The beeping in the room starts getting even louder than before, almost incessant and you feel like your chest is going to explode.

“Your heart rate is rising, sarge. You need help—“

“Lieutenant— no, please-“ You whine pathetically as he pulls away from you, leaving him stunned until he reluctantly steps closer again before you throw yourself entirely out of the bed to reach him.

“I wont let ‘em hurt you, promise.” He can only assume you must be scared of needles or something, a fear of medical care surely. He never knew that about you, and it spikes something in his chest, a cog in his head. The fear radiating off of you is palpable, and he can smell the faintest change of your scent in the air. 

“No- no! The nurse— she’s an o-omega, you cant—“ You choke out, head getting dizzy from all the sudden movement as you desperately clutch his sleeve. It forces him to stay right there, not the grip on his sleeve but the desperation in your eyes.

“Sarge— i’m not gonna act like a wimp in rut from talking to an omega.” He huffs but he knows you’re out of it. It must be the anaesthetic getting to your head, making you say all these silly things.

“You’re going to leave me- you’re going to—“ A sob escapes you as grip loosens on him and he freezes, watching you curl into yourself. Your forehead gently hits his arm, tears wetting his sleeve.

“I’m right here.” He says, voice quieter and it makes him breathe relief when the beeping settles down to a steadier rate, even if it is still high and you look even worse like this— so lost and terrified.

“You are..”  You sniffle, pressing your nose further against his arm. “t-the omega nurse- she- she’ll come and you’ll leave with her. You’ll leave me- a-and never speak to me again, please- lieutenant please.” Your hands tighten and he swallows sharply, letting your words sink in.

It was never about envy, not even the way you stared at them whenever they spoke about omegas. It was pure fear. And this feeling in his chest, it was tightening with each soft sniffle from you, instincts flaring. He’s never felt like this in his life, infact he was convinced he never would. But he just cant stand the sight of you like this— the bloodstained clothes, the fear in every small movement, your vulnerability. 

He steps forward without thinking about it, his free arm gently prying you off of him until you fall back against the pillows. “Not leaving you for some random omega, you silly beta.” He scolds, picking you up off the bed until your head rests on his shoulder, sniffling into his shirt.

“Gonna take you where you belong. Gotta tell me if i hurt you, though.” Warmth spreads through him now that he has you against him like this. It clicks something in his brain he didn't know was waiting for a stimulant.

All that leaves your lips are the sobs that keep coming, staining his shirt, but finally settling now the dizziness has settled. “Dont go.. don’t, please, you cant..” 

You’re right, he cant keep you around these omegas and all of this. No, he needs you to be healing properly around things you like— you want. He needs to look after his beta.

He grabs your duffel off the chair where it’s left, checking the corridor twice before marching through the quiet corridors towards the barracks. 

“I’ve got you, i promise.”

———————-

taglist: @heyitsniki18 @insanityall @twoandahalfdimes @ririerm @alexinarcadia @sgt-artemis-owl-riley @mxxnechos

[alexinarcadia]

Almost cried. In front of my parents, too. This amazing.