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

[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.

[robertmitchum]

ROBERT REDFORD in THE ELECTRIC HORSEMAN dir. Sydney Pollack

[beebymoonlight]

baby mine — ghost x f!reader

when your stupid ex boyfriend kicks you out of the flat, he forgets to give you your cat back. you find the meanest looking guy in the bar to help you get her back.

type: one-shot (3.4k), ao3

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of violence, smut, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral, simon is not a good or nice person (except to reader), reader also maybe isn't a good person who knows, reader has hair long enough to hold, curvy/plus-sized!reader, size difference, size kink, military inaccuracies, 18+

There is a special place in hell for men like Michael.

You can see her through the window by the door. Her big eyes are looking at where you are, paws against the glass. Her mouth opens, and she scratches at the window, and your bottom lip trembles as you set your hand down where she touches.

You could care less about the things you left inside. Your clothes, your bags, your shoes, even your fucking computer can stay behind, but not her. Your tabby cat is inside, sitting by the window, and Michael changed the fucking locks.

You bang on the door for an hour. You leave, come back, keep banging, but no one ever answers. You've never felt this desperate or uneasy, but every time you come back and see her by the window, you nearly lose all of your composure. It isn't fair. She doesn't belong to him. He can take years from you, take your money, take your sanity, but he won't take her. You'll come back every single day. You'll become a nuisance. You'll never let him relax. Until he gives her back to you, he will never know peace.

A single day passes before you decide it's time to take drastic measures.

The nearest military base is situated a good distance away, but not so far that you won't drive to its neighboring city. There's a small main road with a few local shops, including a few restaurants, a bookstore, a coffee shop, and the crown jewel—a pub.

It's just after supper time when you ring the bell above the door walking inside. On a Friday evening, it's lively, packed close with warmth and tall pints and plastic baskets full of chips and greasy fingerfoods.

There's a lot of military around here. You can tell by their haircuts and the way they chug their glasses; but you aren't looking for baby-faced rookies with too much pent-up aggression. You're looking for the meanest guy in the room, and that means someone with scars and someone who goes cloudy behind the eyes when you ask him how he's gotten back from where he's been.

That man is sitting at the far booth with his back to the wall. A place where he can have an eye on the rest of the room at all times. Big, gloved hand wrapped around a sweating glass, gaze focused on the foam of his beer as he pretends to listen to whatever the red-cheeked man across from him is laughing about.

You ask the bartender what they're drinking and order another round, picking up each glass and making your way towards their table. You'd be nervous if you weren't so determined. You stand awkwardly beside the table before his friend notices you there.

"Tha' fer us, bonnie?"

He juts his chin out at the drinks you're holding, and you set them down with a nervous smile.

"Yeah," you look between them. You fixate on the big guy, who barely squints at you over his drink, and you bite your lip. "I was hoping you had room for one more."

His friend cackles, "aye. Always fer a pretty face."

"Cute," you swallow. "But…I wasn't really talking to you."

The bigger one sits up at that. He leans back in the booth, rolling out his shoulders, and you hop up onto the seat next to him. His friend seems to get the message, picking up his new drink and tipping it towards you before taking a long drink of it and going to find a warm spot at the bar.

"Lookin' for advice or a fuck?"

"Neither," you say softly. "You're big, yeah? Are people…generally afraid of you?"

He laughs, and when he wipes at his masked face, you see a glimpse of a tattoo sleeve that adorns his massive left arm.

"Suppose."

"Great. How much for you to be my bodyguard for a few hours?"

He kisses his teeth under the mask, and then he turns his head to look down at you. His eyes are half-lidded, the skin looking a little greasy under the eye-black smudged there, but he's so calm and collected and amused. You've amused him; you're entertaining him. It's the most interesting thing that's happened to him all week, and you hope you're keeping his attention.

"Wot's tha' include?"

"It's gonna be illegal," you mumble, biting your bottom lip. "Just a little bit."

"Tha's my specialty, love."

"Not murder," you clarify, and he just shrugs. "Just…a little breaking and entering. Maybe some intimidation."

"'s Friday night, swee'eart, at least offer me somethin' fun."

"This isn't funny," you suck in a shaky breath. "It's…" You look down at the sticky pub table, swallowing again. You dig your nails into your own legs to keep your composure. "I need to get something back. Something that belongs to me. So it's not really…it's not really stealing."

A pregnant silence falls between you. You fail to keep the tears at your lash line back, and you quickly use the back of your hand to wipe your face gently. You think about your cat scratching for you on the other side of the window. You think about her sweet face; you think about Michael forgetting to feed her in the mornings as he usually did, and how he never changed the water filter in time even when you asked him to.

"'m Simon."

The low timbered voice breaks you out of your inner spiral. You look up at him again, and when you meet his eyes, you're finally able to let out a breath of relief. You don't know why, but there's something extremely soothing about sitting next to him. About being in his vicinity. He's so large and takes up so much space, but it's warm there, and he's not as mean as his outer layer might suggest. He's calm, and the way he presents himself tells you that it is not by luck that he's still sitting beside you.

You tell him your name, and his gloved hand touches under your chin.

"Olright, love. Lead the way."

Every time you have ever come back to this apartment, you have met the closed door with dread. A little fear. You feel none of that; not with the apparition at your back. You knock on the window beside the door, and like always, she appears. She meows on the other side, her eyes wet as she scratches and sniffs. You look over your shoulder at Simon who tilts his head to the side.

"This wot he stole?"

You look back at her on the other side of the window, shrugging.

"No," you say softly. "But it's all that matters."

The jiggling of metal brings your attention back to him. Simon is at the door, a multi-tool in one hand, and he's focused intently on working the doorknob until you hear the sound of a lock turn and then the door opens. The chain on the door jangles just as Simon opens it slightly, and you watch with rapt attention as he sticks his arm inside for just a few seconds, and then he swings the door open wide.

You push past him, reaching for the cat. She meows loudly, coming right to you, and you coo as you bend and pick her up from the floor. Loud purrs and sweet chirps follow as you hug her to your chest. You pet her little head, turning towards the living room. You used to keep her carrier behind the couch, and you find it as you go searching for it, exactly where you left it. You slip her inside and zip it up.

"What the fuck is this?"

You freeze, standing up straight and turning. You're caught, definitely—you knew he must have been home by the fact that the chain was latched, but you tried the nice way. You weren't going to get your cat back by being patient, not anymore.

"I'm just getting her, I'll…I was just leaving."

"Fuck no, you broke into my flat."

"Our flat," you snap back, putting the straps of the carrier over your shoulder. "And I'm leaving."

Michael looks like he's going to take a step towards you, but then he notices the dark shape in the corner of the room. He frowns a little, squinting.

"Who the bloody hell is that?"

You turn just in time to see Simon take a small step forward. The sudden movement seems to terrify Michael; he scrambles backwards into the kitchen counter, making the plates behind him fall off the counter and shatter onto the ground. He nearly trips over himself trying to get distance, and Simon seems to think it's very funny. He laughs, chest heaving, and he looks down at you as he gets closer.

"Flopping like a fuckin' fish, he is, in'he?"

Michael looks around frantically before he finds a pair of prongs. His hand shakes as he holds the pointy end towards Simon, spitting at him.

"Get the fuck out of my flat! T-The both of you!"

Simon's reaction tells you that maybe he has a few wires crossed in his head. He steps forward instead of away, laughing still, and you watch warily as he tilts his head to the side and nods his head towards Michael.

"Go on, then, mate," Simon taunts. "Try it."

Like a fool, Michael obliges. You flinch when Michael swings, but Simon tilts his body at just the right moment to dodge. He smacks Michael's arm, but he tries again—and like playing footie with a child, the weapon is now in Simon's hand, and then oh—

Michael's screaming as it pierces through his open palm.

He bleeds a lot less than you thought he might. Sadly, also, his blood is as red as yours. You thought he might be a little less pathetic at a moment like this. It is a gift, however, to see him bursting into tears as Simon grips the collar of his shirt and leans over him.

"Lot like you like to take things that aren't yers, tha' right?" Simon spits. "Like to punish and intimidate and fuckin' take, even if ya aren't owed."

"Please—please just get out, take her, fuckin' please!"

"Oi, wot's all this?" Simon snorts. "Now yer pissin' where you stand cause it got too real, eh? Got wot was comin' ta you? Reckon it's not like you thought. Reckon you thought she'd come hat in hand, beggin' for wot she deserves, but you wouldn't know good cunt even if it sat on yer face, yeah?"

"Please…"

"Simon—" You try, but he tsks, shaking his head.

"Nah, love, he's gonna learn," Simon murmurs. "Have you learned?"

"Yes," Michael squeaks, and you're not longer staring at the blood dripping on the hardwood, you're oogling at the giant man standing in what once was your kitchen that's starting to look more delicious by the second.

"Good," Simon breathes. "I know where ya lay yer head, mate. Know where ta come back if things aren't quiet on her end. You'd do well to remember tha'."

He releases Michael with a shove; Michael sinks to the floor, hands trembling, and Simon makes his way towards you to put a hand to your back and turn you around towards the front door.

"Need anythin' else?" Simon asks. You're too speechless to say anything, so all you do is shake your head. You clutch the carrier closer; she meows from inside the bag, and Simon nods his head towards outside so that you start moving. The door shuts behind you both, and then you're being led to his truck, ushered into the passenger seat, precious cargo on your lap as you breathe a huge sigh of relief.

The drive is quiet, but a comfortable quiet. You don't realize until a few streets over that you're smiling; a big, sparkling grin that's taking over your face, and when Simon rolls his truck to a stop at a red light, you lean over the center console and give his masked cheek a big, wet kiss of gratitude.

"Got a death wish or somethin'?" Simon turns to look at you, glaring from under the mask. It's so hard to be scared of him. He just put the fear of God into your terrible ex-boyfriend so you could get your precious cat back; he scared him shitless—literally—and he did it looking this good.

"Is that what a kiss gets me?" You ask. You slide your hand down his bicep, swallowing the drool when you feel just how solid and beefy he is under that hoodie. He fills it out too well. He must be so fucking handsome under that mask; there's no way he wears it for anonymity, he must be so hot, he wears it so he doesn't have to swat away all the boys and girls when they usually buzz around him like moths to light—

Maybe death is really this sweet. This good. Your cat is snoozing, safe and sound, in your bedroom with a full belly. The lights are on low; soft orange glows from well-placed lamps, giving the entire living room a warm feeling. There's a man on your couch with his belt unbuckled, mask halfway up his face as he pants because his cock is in your mouth, and he tastes like sweet, sweet victory.

"Ahh—fuck."

You nuzzle your nose up the length. He's so hard; you don't think a man has ever been this hard for you. He's leaking so pretty, dribbles down the length that you catch with the tip of your tongue, forcing him to hiss and spit and bite his knuckles. He keeps his hips still, but his hand around your hip squeezes the flesh there nice and tight, borderline bruising when you suck his tip a little too softly. You lick a stripe around the head before leaning back up towards him, and his hand around your hip curls against the back of your neck as you share a messy, wet kiss.

You twist your wrist, pumping his cock with a gentle glide of your palm, and he grits his teeth between kisses, touching his forehead to yours.

"Oll tha' for a cat, yeah?"

It is true. You did do it for her. But you did it for you, too.

"Not just the cat," you whisper, smoothing your thumb along the tip. He kisses you again, slower this time, and you groan into his mouth as you squeeze your thighs together. "Look at you…"

"Fuck—" Simon grunts, and his other hand finds the base of his cock, squeezing hard, and you giggle as he scrunches his nose. "Don't say shit like tha'."

You can't with his mouth on your cunt. He's laying flat on his back on the couch, legs too long to fit. Boots against your blanket, you'll whine to him about it later, but now both thighs are on either side of his head, and he's slurping with a hot tongue. You cup both sides of his head, dragging your hips, and while normally you'd think twice about dropping your weight on someone like this, the ease at which he hoisted you up his chest tells you Simon's a big, big boy—and he can handle whatever you give him.

"Gonna let me handle things from now on," Simon murmurs. He kisses the inside of your thigh, and you yelp when he smacks one side of your ass. He's waiting for an answer, and you took too long to give one.

"Y-Yeah," you breathe, leaning your head back. You feel yourself dripping between the legs, flooding his mouth, but he curls his tongue all the same. Uses two thumbs now as he hooks his arms around your thighs to pull the wet, sensitive skin back so he can drink what he's owed. He said he takes payment like this, getting his fill; he says he's never really satisfied until there's cum in his mouth and some in your cunt, and he's not gonna leave your flat before becoming familiar with those two, mutually non-exclusive events.

"Yeah, y'r pretty, olright," Simon laughs, but there's no more humor when he bounces you on his cock. Oh, he hurts a little. He told you he might, but then you're really there, knees on either side of him as you clutch onto the meat of his shoulders and hope to God he doesn't let you go. "Told you tha' you'd feel it, didn't I?"

"Yeah," you whisper, cupping that face of his, half-revealed to you, and you rub your thumbs down his scarred cheeks. Gorgeous, even with eyes that dead inside. "'s big."

"Don't—" He snarls, holding down your hips, shaking his head. "Wot did I say about sayin' shit like tha', eh?"

Life has spoiled you. Life is too good. Life is your pet curled up between your pillows and warm beneath the blankets, and life is fucking the sanity out of big, pudgy military men with blood under their fingernails and their breath stuck in their throat. You've rendered Simon to nothing but grunts and sputters. He's focused on keep the rhythm, arms clasped around your middle as he fucks up into you and pants into your neck. You reach for the back of the couch, digging your nails in, and all you can do is cry and take it as he keeps bringing you back down again and again and again.

The kiss you share is starved. You're so hungry, your hand slipping under the mask to cup the back of his head, and he draws your hips down and holds you there as he licks into your mouth and relishes in the pulsing of your cunt. This is what he fights for, maybe.

Not the glory. Not for the good of others. Not for Price and his self-guided moral compass, not for Laswell and her targets, not for revenge, not for blood, not to save the world. It's so he can come back here onto home soil and fuck a gorgeous girl without ever being interrupted by the sound of anything but her.

Her. You. Whatever she is, what you are, what you will eventually be—it manifests itself in the very room he's in, and he's got it between his teeth, and he won't be letting go for anything.

Nothing at all.

He's smoking a cigarette by the open window as she makes tea. He smiles, just barely, with teeth a little yellow when he sees you burn your hand a little as you pour the water into a misshapen mug.

"Olright?" He asks. The mugs shake a little as you bring them back into the room, precarious as you overfilled the mugs. He takes one from you and takes a long sip, flicking the cigarette out as he watches you get settled. You set your mug down on the coffee table, leaning forward to give him that same sweet, wet kiss on his cheek.

"Never better."

Belly full. Eyes bright. You are nothing like the woman that propositioned him just a few hours ago. A monotone, piss-drink evening, and then a scared, desperate girl asking him if he was willing to do something a little off the books.

Fucking finally. The world was just starting to get a little too dull.

It's the middle of the night when he hears the creak of a door. The sound of a little bell. You're laid out on your side, having just fallen asleep. The movie on the telly still plays, but Simon has turned the volume down. The light flickering from the screen is enough that he sees the cat trot into the room, eyes searching for you and seeing the two of you settled there.

She comes over slowly, sniffing the toes of Simon's boots, and then she closes her eyes as she rubs her face against his leg. Low purring, headbutts, and then she's putting a paw to his boot and looking up at him with the same big, wet eyes her mother has. Simon reaches down, scratching under her chin, and then she's curling up on his lap, little head next to yours as he leans back and takes it in. The sight for sore eyes. The thing that makes his medals and his stripes and all the money in the world look worthless—cheap.

"Yeah," Simon takes another sip of his tea. "This'll do."

[gravitcat]

a thing for mermay i guess

[nikcod]

"three enemies heading your way, nik." "then keep them out."

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Enemies to lovers with chubby fem reader where you're both fragrance influencers and you disagree on a perfume

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

It's a petty rivalry to be sure, but you started it. Noah was just reviewing another perfume he received in PR and gave it a scathing review.

"It's too sweet," he grumbles pulling the perfume away from him. "Why the hell is everything so sweet these days? Can the gourmand trend please pass so we can get some real perfumes back into the game?"

The video went viral. His fans agreed while newcomers argued that it was a good perfume. He didn't care. He was getting more money when people got angry in his comments.

But then you made a review in response.

"I like this perfume! The strawberry and coconut combination really shines through, but it's not overbearing. And the whipped cream is a nice addition once it dries down. What Noah doesn't seem to understand is that not all scents were made to please men," you say with a disgustingly sweet smile. "Anyways, this is a great dupe for—"

Noah doesn't listen to the rest of the video. To call out his name over a stupid perfume? Oh, this means war.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

He starts making reviews of every perfume you review, and he always disagrees.

"Again, too sweet. This perfume may not be made for a man, but what's the point of wearing a perfume if you don't want to attract a man? One out of five."

"We've gotta stop promoting strawberry marshmallow perfumes. It's so overdone. I think I've smelled one good strawberry marshmallow perfume, but I wouldn't want my girlfriend to wear it. One out of five stars."

"What the hell is the obsession with vanilla these days? Honestly, this isn't special. You could find this at Marshall's. I'd give this a zero if I could. One out of five stars."

Over and over again, he criticizes each perfume you review. He expects a reaction, a comeback video, but you give him nothing. You mentioned his name once and then he never hears it again, and frankly that pisses him off.

Then one day you have a big announcement.

"I've been keeping this a secret for a long time and finally I get to reveal it to yall!" You lift up a pink bottle slowly and squeal. "I collaborated with my favorite perfume company and made my own perfume! I'm so so happy with how it turned out! I've put a lot of hard work into this perfume and I hope you all like it. And as an added bonus, if you pre-order this perfume and use my code, you'll get fifteen percent off your order!"

He's already adding the perfume to his shopping cart before he even knows what the notes are. He can't wait to destroy you in this next review.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

To his surprise, he gets a package the next day from the same company. When he opens it, he finds your new perfume inside and a handwritten note.

I figured you'd want to review this before anyone else could. I hope you hate it!

Y/N

He scoffs, but he's already going to his setup to film a review. He decides to do a surprise livestream to review your new perfume. He hasn't even taken off the plastic wrapping on the box when he starts.

"Hello, everyone!" he announces once his audience grows to his liking. "I got a surprise in the mail today and thought I'd do a live review of it for you all. I haven't opened it yet, but let's get started."

He takes off the plastic, and opens the box.

"First off," he starts, lifting the bottle, "pink? How girly can you get? And the bottle may be decently heavy because of the glass, but it looks cheap regardless. There's nothing unique about a rectangular bottle. At least be a little original."

He grabs a strip of paper, spraying on the perfume and waving it around.

"I don't have high hopes for this, but I'll be fair in my review."

He brings the paper to his nose once the perfume dries and takes a sniff.

His eyes widen.

"Uh..." He swallows, taking another sniff, this one longer. "Um... well, I can definitely smell roses, which is nice, but it's a bit fruity too, like peach and pear." He feels his face burning as he takes another whiff. "As it dries further, I'm getting notes of ylang ylang and jasmine and... definitely vanilla but there's also a musk to it that helps everything settle." He tries not to look into the camera as he continues breathing in the perfume. "It's sweet but mature, like an older woman with a lot of power. What's this called? 'Dutchess'? Ah... yeah, the name fits."

His comments are blowing up, moving too fast for him to read, but he couldn't make out the words if he wanted too. He's too distracted by the scent, how it engulfs his senses and holds him there, drawing him further in.

"Uh..." He has to focus. At the very least, he has to wrap things up. He clears his throat and puts the paper slip down despite wanting to keep smelling it. "I have to admit, I'm impressed. I didn't expect this kind of perfume for this price point, especially from a creator like Y/N who always reviews overly sweet perfumes. I think it's, um... decent, and I would be interested in any woman if she smelled like this. I'll give it five—no, four point five out of five stars. It's kind of tacky to put vanilla in there."

His comments fly by on the screen as he clears his throat again.

"Ah, well, that's all I've got today. Thanks for joining this impromptu livestream and I'll see you guys later."

He ends the livestream quickly, exiting out of the app and putting his phone down. He glances at the strip of paper before picking it up, bringing it to his nose, taking another whiff of the perfume you created. The roses hit him again along with the pear, sweet but not overbearing like other perfumes you've reviewed, floral and seductive. He imagines you wearing this at a fancy restaurant, wearing a tight black dress and red bottom heels.

He has to go outside for some fresh air to clear his head and subside the ache in his groin.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

He thinks he's going crazy.

Ever since his review of your perfume collaboration, his life has gone downhill. Everyone clipped his livestream and reposted it, and drama channels are making all kinds of comments about it.

"Pretty boy fragrance guru Noah Flowers has finally agreed with something Y/N has done? Fans are shocked by his recent livestream reviewing Y/N's new perfume collab!"

"I can't believe Noah Flowers actually liked Y/N's new perfume! I haven't received it yet, but I'm hoping it lives up to my expectations!"

"I think it's so typical of a man to hate what a woman does but secretly like her, and Noah Flowers is no different. Of course Noah likes her perfume! He probably jerks off to her pictures in private and then makes a hate video about her after!"

His side of the internet couldn't shut up about the incident, and he couldn't get the perfume out of his head. It seemed like every day, he would try to go about his business, but at some point he would go back to that perfume and smell it for a couple minutes before he could continue with his day.

And he would never admit it, but some of them were right. Your perfume scratched an itch he didn't know he had. It was consuming every fiber of his being. Hell, he even held up a test strip of your perfume to his nose while he jerked off one time, just so he could enjoy two things he liked at once.

He couldn't focus, he couldn't sleep. Roses and pear and vanilla and musk fogged his mind day in and day out. He thinks about messaging you and apologizing, asking about the perfume making process as if he hasn't had a few collaborations of his own, trying to figure out how you made such an addictive scent.

He checks his email to find an invitation to a perfume gala that a few companies were collaborating on. New perfumes would be introduced and full size bottles would be given out. He's not sure if he wants to RSVP to the event until he sees a new video by you.

"Yall will never guess what I got in the mail today!" You put a screenshot of the email on the screen. "I got invited to Infinity's Perfume Gala this summer! I've already RSVP'd and I can't wait to go! I'm looking for some plus size clothing brands to buy from so I can get some new outfits for this event: do yall have any recommendations? Also, I have no clue what perfume to wear! Should I wear my collab perfume or—"

He hurries back to his email to RSVP to the event.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

The event is as extravagant as they advertised. There are at least five perfume companies he's come across giving out full size bottles of perfume and cologne, and there are plenty more giving out free samples. Noah has found his online friends and is walking around the event with them, chatting while smelling samples.

"Oh, did you hear about the lady going around the event and smelling everyone?" one says.

"Jesus Christ, are you kidding? How tacky."

"I know, right? She's got a bag of coffee beans that she smells in between. She looks like a hillbilly."

"Is it someone we know?" Noah asks, picking up another sample.

"Fuck, I forget her name. Ah, shit, she... oh! She came out with that new perfume in the spring! Wait, you did a livestream on it, remember?"

"Y/N?!" he almost gawks, body burning, eyes wide. His friends slowly smirk, giving him knowing stares.

"Ah, yeah, Y/N. She looks good too. She's got this tight dress on and—oh, hey, there she is."

Noah whips around, eyes searching before they fall on you. Shit, you do look good. You're wearing this skin tight two piece outfit that you fill out so well and some white heels, and you're laughing with some other women as you walk. He wonders if you're wearing your collab perfume. Would it smell better if it settled on your skin or your hair? Would it drive him even crazier—fuck, you're walking over here.

He turns quickly to look back at the table as his group greets yours. Your voice sticks out to him, so sweet and cheery within all the noise of the event. He can't look at you. What if he gets hard? What if he does so and you notice? God, that would be so fucking embarrassing that he could die—

"C'mon, Noah, quit being shy," his friend says as he turns Noah around to face you. Despite how he's treated you online, you still smile kindly at him.

"Hi, Noah."

"H-Hi Y/N..." he mumbles.

"I kinda figured you'd show up to this, but I wasn't sure if we'd bump into each other! Small world, right?"

"R... Right..."

"Oh, I just have to know what you smell like."

"Wha—"

Before he can react, you've approached him, grabbing his suit and pulling him down so you can take a deep breath from his neck.

"Oh. My. God." You take another whiff. "Holy fuck, you smell good! I'm definitely getting the leather, but I can smell amber too and it's soooo good. What are you wearing?"

"T... Tom F-Ford's Tuscan Leather..."

"Oh my god, seriously?! I can't believe it! I mean, it smelled good in the store, but I didn't think it'd smell this good on somebody else! I wanna get their Lost Cherry sooooo bad but I just can't justify the price point—"

He can't focus. You're so close, and you smell so good. It has to be your collab perfume, but somehow it smells even better on you, so floral and divine. He wants to smell you more, but he stays still as you keep sniffing his neck and collar. Shit, he feels his cock pulsing. If you get any closer to him, he might pop the biggest boner he's ever had—

"Jeez, Y/N!" one of the women says, pulling you away from him. "You've sniffed, like, every guy at this gala. You've gotta chill out!"

"Sorry, sorry!" you say to the group. "I can't help it! I gotta find the perfect perfume so I can make my future boyfriend wear it!"

'Future boyfriend': does that mean you don't have a boyfriend now? Are you single? How can you be single when you look and smell so good? Noah watches as you pull out a small bag off coffee beans and stick your nose in the opening. Fuck, you're so fucking cute—

"You ladies busy later? Wanna join us for dinner?" his friend asks, and Noah suddenly can't stop thinking about sitting next to you during dinner, that delicious perfume clouding his senses.

"Nah, we're good," one of the other women says. "We're gonna have a girl's night, but thanks for offering."

"Well, don't have too much fun."

"We will!" you beam, saying your goodbye's before dragging your friends off. "C'mon, I wanna see if Coach has full size bottles!"

Noah watches you go, focused on the sway of your hips as you walk away. His friend shakes his shoulder, bringing him back to the present.

"Dude. Your dick is popping out."

Noah panics, looking down just to find that his pants aren't tented. The other men laugh.

"Made you look!"

"Shut up, assholes..."

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

When he leaves the gala, he goes back to the hotel room to shower and change, spraying a new cologne for dinner. The dinner is nice, fancy with dimmed golden lighting, but he can't stop thinking about you, hiw pretty you looked, how good you smelled. He gas to adjust himself under the table just to sit comfortably.

He gets an Uber back to his hotel, wishing he had a better buzz. He's still thinking about you, his thoughts far from pure. Maybe he'll jerk off when he gets back to the hotel room. He has your perfume in his checked luggage; it wouldn't hurt to take a whiff while he fists his cock, right?

When he gets out of the car, another car pulls up behind, the door opening and the sound of pop music leaking out. Two women stumble out of the car, laughing and singing together, holding on to each other. One of them is you.

"Y/N?" he says without thinking. You look up and smile.

"Oh my god, Noah! Are you at this hotel too? Small, small world!"

"Are you drunk?"

"Naaaaah! I just got a good buzz going! She's drunk tho," you motion to your friend who is swaying.

"Nah... I'm good, I'm good... Just gotta get to bed..."

"Let me help you," he offers, walking over.

"Oh, for real? That's so nice of you, Noah!"

"It's nothing. What floor are you on?"

Noah helps your friend to the third floor as you follow behind. He keeps her from tumbling as you unlock her room and help her inside. Once she's safe in bed, you exit the room, where he is still standing, hands in his pockets.

"Thanks again for your help," you tell him once you get in the elevator together. You're wearing a mini dress now, with heels that have ribbons winding up your calves. He tries to smell you, but you're too far away for him to do that without seeming weird.

"It's no problem," he mumbles as a reply, staring down at his polished shoes. You stand in silence together for a moment before you turn to him.

"My perfume collab was a hit," you say. "The company wants to do another."

"Oh, really? That's great."

"Yeah, but I don't know what I wanna do this time. I have a prototype but I don't know how people will feel about it."

"Well, what are the notes?"

"Ah, it's too hard to explain. It'd be a lot easier if you smelled it. Why don't you come by my room real quick so you can see—or, I should say smell—what I'm talking about?"

He's in dangerous territory now. He should say no. He's not sure if he could contain himself if he was with you in a tight space surrounded by your scent.

"C'moooon, Noah. It smells soooo good, I promise! Just come smell it real quick and then you can go to bed."

For some reason, he can't say no to you.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Your room is identical to his, but it smells way nicer. Vanilla lingers near the shower, and he glances to see a body cream and oil on the sink. He wonders how soft you feel as you dig around your bag.

"Okay, so it might not be up your alley, but I want you to go in with an open mind. Keep smelling this until I tell you to stop," you say as you toss your coffee bag to him. He catches it, opening it and sticking his nose inside as you pull out a boring bottle.

"You gonna tell me the notes or what?"

"Nooo, I want you to guess! That's the fun part, isn't it?" you ask, dousing yourself in the perfume. He thinks it's excessive to be spraying so much on yourself, but he also finds himself excited to smell this new scent on you.

"Okay," you say twirling for a bit to air out the perfume before you walk towards him. You smile, tilting your head slightly to present your pretty neck. "Smell me."

He hesitates, slowly lowering the bag, a wave of pomegranate hitting his senses. He leans down quickly for a better scent, taking a deep breath. He was right about the pomegranate, but there's also raspberry and orchid and violet and mahogany.

"Oh my god," he whispers, burying his nose into your neck and sighing after a big breath. "Oh my god—"

"You like it?" you ask, voice soft.

"Do I like it?" He takes another deep breath and has to stop himself from groaning. "You smell fucking incredible. If I had a girl that smelled like this, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of her."

You hum, and he realizes how close you are to his own neck.

"You smell good too," you whisper. "I've smelled this before."

He scoffs.

"I doubt it—"

"No, seriously." You grab his suit jacket and pull him down further, taking another whiff. "It's... woody and aromatic. I know this scent, I swear..."

You hum in thought as he continues to appreciate your scent. He doubts you know it. Not even his friends could guess what he was wearing.

"Hah!" You pull away with a smile. "Mélange by Christopher Watkins!"

His eyes widen.

"I knew it!" you gleam, bouncing up and down.

"How did you..."

"I got this scent last summer!" You pull him back in and take another whiff. "It starts with lavender and juniper berries, but then it settles into tonka bean and patchouli. I was obsessed with this scent for the longest time because it was so good but basically unheard of. I got it for my boyfriend at the time but then he took it when we broke up. I was so pissed."

You hum, rubbing your face into his collar, sighing happily.

"I wish I could smell this all the time with a man's natural musk."

"I can't believe you know this cologne."

"How could I forget it? I sprayed it on my boyfriend's balls so I would actually enjoy giving him a blowjob."

That makes him swallow hard. The thought of you bare on your knees in front of him, wanting to please him. Shit, now he's thinking about sixty-nining you, your cunt suffocating him with your scent as you suck him off. He wonders what your pussy smells like when it's dripping wet—

"Noah."

He looks down at you, shocked at the seductive smile you're giving him.

"Don't you think we smell good together?"

"H-Huh?"

"I think our perfumes smell so good together. Like rough sex during a thunderstorm, hot and passionate and needy." Your hands run along his chest, finding his neck, fingers teasing his hair. "I bet it'd smell even better with real sex, all the sweat and musk mixing in, with our perfume."

He has to leave. If you keep talking like that he's gonna go crazy, but you're leaning into him and you smell so good and your body is so plush and soft.

A crack of thunder makes you jump, glancing at the window. It starts pouring rain shortly after, making you huff and look at him.

"Would you look at that?" you coo, leaning closer, lips just a breath away. "A thunderstorm."

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

"I told you it would smell even better," you sigh, twisting in the sheets as he thrusts into you.

"Yeah, yeah. You want me to say you were right or something?" he pants, trying to keep his rhythm, but the mix of your scents is distracting.

"Yeah," you huff, reaching out just to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you. Your perfume is overwhelming in this position, making his head fuzzy. "Tell me that I'm right."

He huffs, about to disregard what you say, but you push the back of his head down into your neck and that delicious smell enraptures him all over again.

"Yeah," he says, pressing his nose into your neck, taking a big breath in. "Yeah, you were right."

"I was always right, wasn't I?"

"Don't push it—"

"C'mon, just say it. It'll make me cum easier."

He blinks, looking at you, seeing your adorable pout. He huffs.

"Alright, fine. You were always right."

"Ha ha!" you tease, pinching his cheeks. "I made you say it! I was right, I was right, I was—oh!"

He speeds up, thrusting harder, making you squeal and whine.

"You're so fucking annoying," he grumbles.

"Y-Yeah," you moan, tossing your head back as you palm your breast. "But at least I smell good."

He scoffs, but he doesn't deny it, instead choosing to tuck his face back into your neck so he can smell you while he fucks you.

"Do you usually get this wet? Or is it because of me?"

"Which answer will make you rub my clit?"

"Just be honest."

You huff, nosing at his neck.

"Honest, huh?" He grunts in reply, his hand trailing down your stomach as you shakily exhale. "Honestly, I usually get this wet, but it's been a long fucking time."

"Yeah?" he whispers, thumb pressing between your plump folds to fiddle with your clit. "How long?"

"Jesus, I don't know. I don't keep track—oooh, fuck, right there!"

He focuses on the spot, listening to your pleas for him to go harder, then faster.

"Oh my god, da—N-Noah!"

"What?" he asks, slowing down, making you whine.

"No, no, no, I wanna cum—"

"You almost said something. 'Da'? 'Da' what?"

You whine, turning your head away, eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't make me say it. It's embarrassing."

"I'm not gonna laugh at you."

Still, you keep your mouth shut, even as he rocks into you. He leans down, ghosting your ear.

"Were you gonna call me 'daddy'?"

You whine, tucking your face into his neck.

"Just tell me, Y/N."

"... Y-Yeah..."

His dick twitches at the thought.

"You can call me daddy. I don't mind," he whispers reassuringly. You keep quiet, so he stops completely, making you whine unhappily. "Tell daddy what you want."

You nuzzle into his chest, squeezing his shoulders.

"...Please fuck me daddy. I wanna cum."

He swallows hard as he pulls back, thrusting in hard, making you squeak. He builds up his pace again, giving you that same rhythm as before, making you moan.

"You wanna cum for daddy?"

"U-Uh-huh!" you mewl.

"What can daddy do to make you cum?"

You pull away and look up with glassy eyes.

"Kiss me," you almost beg, and he complies with your request immediately, crashing his lips to yours, swallowing your moan. Your hips curl into his, legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close. One hand is rubbing your clit quickly while the other toys with your breast, squeezing and pinching and pulling. He knows you're almost there; he can feel you pulsate around him. He's certain that just with a little more work he can—

You pull away, letting out a wail. At the same time, he feels your cunt clench down on him, making him struggle to move. It's all too good: the way you sound and look and smell. He's not going to last much longer. Even just the look you're giving him now makes him want to let go.

"Lemme go," he says quickly, pulling at your leg. "I'm gonna cum."

"Then just cum in me then."

"What?" he asks, shocked, but his dick is harder than ever, ready to bust at any moment. "N-No, I can't, I can't get you pregnant, I—"

"Dummy," you mumble, rolling your hips, making him gasp. "I'm on birth control. Just cum in me already. If you don't, I'm gonna have you make me cum again and—"

Before you can finish, he's reached his climax. He pushes in as far as he can go, letting out this low groan in the back of his throat as warmth blooms inside you. You pout as he starts gasping for air.

"Damn. I wanted to cum again."

He huffs, riding out his high before he leans down, grabbing you and flipping you both over so you're laying on top of him, his cock still inside you.

"You good?" you finally ask, pushing against his cheek. He bats your hand away but doesn't stop you when you do the same action again.

"Yeah... I'm good. Are you good?"

"I guess." You sit up on his cock, the view turning him on. "I wanna cum more."

"Jesus," he groans. "I didn't satisfy you?"

"You did, but I still want more." You bounce gently on his sensitive cock, making him sputter. "I wanna cum so much I can't even move."

"Fucking—" He pulls you up and off his dick, sighing with relief once you're off of him. You pout, kneeling beside him as he catches his breath. He glances at you, your lip jutted out, and feels a wave of heat go straight to his dick. He sighs, sitting up against the headboard. "Gimme five minutes to recover and then I'll fuck you again, alright?"

The giddy squeal you let out just makes his body burn hotter.

[duallpa]

MORGAN SPECTOR photographed by Jeremy Liebman for Cultured Magazine

[takaholic]

I love a misunderstanding where you kiss your friend on the cheek and he gets all serious and goes, "You shouldn't have done that." And you feel awful believing you overstepped a boundary, but he's internally spiraling because the sensation went straight to his cock and he'll be up all night thinking about it.

[rawme-price]

No thoughts just alpha!ghost who grew learning to control his scent and omega!reader who very much...didn't.

Ghost had always been told that spilling your scent everywhere was poor manners, that only children couldn't control their scent. Meanwhile you were taught that having an open scent was essential for communication and perfectly normal.

Which means the first time ghost meets you, his instincts have no idea what to do with such strong happy omega scents suddenly in his space. Ghost grew up with scent blockers at home, and in most public spaces people wear some sort of blocker. You barely have a chance to purr a greeting before he's grabbing you by the shoulders and shoving his face into your neck.

"Mghhggh— omega. Sweet. Good." He rumbles, low and muffled into skin, almost as if he doesn't register it's happening. You can only stand in shocked confusion. Gaze slipping to the still open door of his office and wondering if you should call for help, because you have no idea why he's acting like this and—

"Fuck— you smell good— christ—" ghost holds you tighter, crowding you against the desk. You tentatively lean in to sniff around his scent blockers and get the faintest scent of arousal.

Which is instantly confirmed by his hips rutting forward, his hard cock rubbing against you while he whines "sorry— I don't— fuck that's good—"

Oh. Oh shit. The peices slowly click into place, and you realize exactly what your scent is doing to him, though you always thought this sort of aphrodisiac like reaction was a myth.

You try to soften your scent, knowing it will stress him out if your own scent fluctuates too much, one hand sneaking up to massage the back of his neck "hey. Hey, it's okay. I get it, do what you need to do."

Ghost makes a sound caught between a growl and a keen, pressing the entire length of his body against you. "Fuck— sorry— hold still— omega. Smell good. Mhhh—!"

You've never seen an alpha react like this.

You've also never seen an alpha pop a dry knot in his trousers, and yet thats exactly what ghost just did.

....you. probably shouldn't leave him alone in such a vulnerable state, right? You should stick around in his office, close the door and makes sure he's okay.

You're just being a considerate coworker....or thats what you'll tell yourself later.

[tojisteddy]

I just need everyone to shut up and realize Soap is getting you pregnant even without trying on the first load he gives you.

And sure he has hyperspermia and it doesn’t mean people who have it always have a high sperm count but god damn it, that Scottish man could get your pregnant anytime you want. And maybe you weren’t trying, but you’d finally let the man turn you into a little cumdumb instead of making him pull out. Groaning your name while his fat and girthy length is pulling your sopping wet walls apart everytime he rails into you, your hand going down his tattooed and slightly hair chest, clenching down on him hard when he hits the perfect spot, your uterus practically begging to get knocked up.

You feel every fucking ounce, ever glob that paints your walls white, till it’s leaking out, always groaning that it’s too much, too full. But you take all of you, going dizzy at how good it feels.

“Sorry hen, can’t help m’self.” Soap shudders but he only pulling you closer by your legs, calf’s thrown over his right shoulder, watching your weary body only succumb to the pleasure of it. The man just loves being inside your tight heat, dragging him further inside your warm walls.

He gives you a brutal thrust, hand palming your stomach where he can feel his pulsing tip, before kissing your knee, blue eyes glossed over, “Bet ye a wee babes already in there, aye Bon?”

Didn’t even take a fucking week for you to start feeling symptoms, a pregnancy test already positive before you’d even realize, you weren’t even ovulating.

He’ll tug your standing form in between his legs, covering your face in embarrassment and shock. Johnny will kiss your stomach, “Knew it wouldn’t take long f’me t’meet ye baby, bloody mental. Don’t worry though, Da ‘nd mummy are ‘ere.”

[silverlullabies]

Can’t stop thinking about Trucker!Simon who’s been rolling for four straight days without a real shower, big frame crammed behind the wheel of his rig, the sleeper cab behind him smelling like diesel, old sweat, stale cigarette smoke, and faint grease of last week’s truck stop burgers.

Trucker!Simon who’s got you- the pretty little bird he picked up on the side of the interstate at 2am, thumb stuck out in your pretty little sundress, soft tits spilling heavier over the neckline every time you breathe, panicked, after you’d quietly explained through the open window that someone had ditched you out there, hundreds of miles from home with nothing but your bag and you just needed a ride to the next town, anywhere, please- in his sleeper, curled up on sheets stiff with old sweat and cum, stained more than clean.

Soft thighs pressed together, pretty mouth parted, eyes wide and already glassy in the low light from the dash. He’s too big for the space, has to duck his head, shoulders brushing the sides, and he fills it completely when he crawls in after you.

Shirt half unbuttoned and stuck to his chest with sweat, jeans open and shoved down, freeing that heavy cock that you’ve seen the outline of under his oil stained pants when he’d palm at it, bulging against his thigh when he drove under street lamps to this trucker stop.

It hangs thick and flushed between his thighs now, heavy balls drawn up tight, the skin at the base dark with dried sweat and the pre he’s been leaking into his boxers since he got a whiff of your sweet floral perfume as you climbed into his rig.

Kneels on the mattress, one big hand braced on the low ceiling, the other reaching down to fist his cock slow and lazy, eyes dragging over you, your soft curves, the way your pretty clothes are already rumpled from being in his rig, the little tremble in your thighs that only gets worse when he leans in closer.

Mattress dipping under his weight, until his chest is right in front of your face, heat rolling off him intense. You wrinkle your nose hard, trying to turn your face away, shoulders curling in like you can escape the stench.

He shifts his weight anyway, knees forcing between your thighs, spreading them wider, one nicotine stained hand wrapping around yours, yanking it down to wrap around his cock. It’s hot, heavy, the skin at the base tacky. Your fingers don’t quite meet around it.

You flinch violently, trying to yank your hand back with a soft disgusted sound, but he just wraps his bigger one over yours and makes you stroke him once, twice, slow, firm drags that smear fresh precum down the shaft while your lower lip wobbles and your breath comes in tiny, hiccuping gasps. He groans at the skin of your hand around his cock which is all too used to the feeling of his calloused hands and scratchy sheets and not at all used to soft and warm.

His fingers thread into your hair, digging into the base of your skull, and he forces your face down the trail of coarse hair on his stomach until your pretty mouth is pressed right against the root of his cock.

The smell is strongest here, musky and sharp, the faint bitter trace of old piss where he’s been too lazy to stop properly. You squeeze your eyes shut and try harder to twist away, soft disgusted whimpers catching in your throat, hands pushing weakly at his stomach, nose wrinkling as you gag at the smell of him. He holds you there until your lips brush the tacky skin.

Rocks his hips forward, the fat head of his cock smearing across your soft cheek, leaving a shiny streak. “Open up.”

When your lips part and you take him in, he grunts low, the wet heat of your mouth making his balls draw up tighter. He pushes the taste of road and sweat across your tongue, then deeper.

You choke immediately, a wet, panicked sound bubbling up as your hands fly to his hips, pushing hard. Tears bead in your lashes and spill down your temples, nose wrinkling hard at the stench, but he doesn’t let you pull back. Both big hands sink into your hair, fingers twisting tight at the roots, dragging you down, groaning when he pushes into your throat, feels it convulse around the fat head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he rasps, barely a word, more a punched out sound of satisfaction.

Then he shoves you down the rest of the way, using his grip on your hair to force your pretty mouth lower, inch by inch, until your nose is pressed flush against the sweaty, crusty hair at the base of his cock.

Your throat spasms hard around him, fluttering and squeezing, and he groans again, deeper this time, hips twitching forward. Saliva floods your mouth instantly, thick and messy, spilling out around your stretched lips and dripping down his balls in shiny strings.

He holds you there, nose buried in the damp, crusted pubes that smell like days of sweat and road grime, cock buried to the hilt in your spasming throat.

One thumb slides forward, pressing against the outside of your neck, feeling the obscene bulge of his cock stretching your throat. He rubs it slowly, while your eyes water and more tears track down your face.

Then he starts to rut, grinding his cock deeper into your throat while saliva pours out of you. Every time he pulls back just enough for you to gasp a wet, choked breath, thick strings of spit stretch between your lips and his cock before he shoves you back down again.

Your hands keep pushing at his thighs, manicured nails scraping over sweat slick skin, but he just tightens his grip in your hair and fucks your throat harder, deeper.

The wet, gurgling sounds are obscene in the cramped sleeper. Your mascara is running, pretty face a mess of tears and spit, nose still wrinkled in disgust even as your throat keeps fluttering and milking him. He groans every time you gag, the sound low and satisfied, hips rolling in steady, filthy ruts that smear more of your saliva into his pubes and down his balls until they’re shiny and dripping with it.

He doesn’t let up until your vision starts to blur at the edges and your hands go slack against his thighs. Only then does he pull you off with a wet, obscene pop, cock shiny and flushed dark, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to the head. You cough and gasp, chest heaving, tears and saliva dripping from your chin onto the stained sheets while he fists his cock once, twice, smearing the mess you made all over himself.

Then his hands fall to your hips, manhandles you between his highs, one big hand under your soft legs. The sundress gets shoved higher, bunched under your tits, grips your panties and pulls, ripping them off, forcing your legs wide even as your thighs tremble and try to close.

You’re crying harder now, soft hiccuping sobs, hands pushing frantically at his stomach and chest as he lines up, eyes wide and pleading up at him.

“Please- wait” your voice cracks, small and teary, “- condom? Do you have a condom?”

He pauses for half a second, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. Then he answers, low and rough, “Ain’t got one.”

The stretch of his cock is immediate and overwhelming, feels like he’s splitting you in half. Your back arches hard, a broken whimper slipping out as your hands beat harder at his chest, trying to push him off, soft thighs shaking uncontrollably.

He’s too big for the cab and he’s too big for you, hips grinding forward, heavy balls pressing tight against your ass, coarse hair at his base rubbing against your soft skin while fresh tears spill down your temples.

You keep pushing at him, palms flat against his sweaty chest, trying to create space, soft disgusted sounds mixing with the first helpless little moans that start slipping out every time he bottoms out.

The mattress creaks. The sheets stick to your back, stiff and filthy. Every thrust makes the cab rock slightly on its suspension. Sweat rolls off his chest in fat drops, splattering onto your soft belly and the swell of your tits while he fucks you in deep, heavy strokes that grind right up against your cervix. The wet slap of his heavy, pendulous balls is loud in the cramped space, scent getting thicker the harder he works, mixing with the new smell of sex and your own unwanted arousal until the whole sleeper reeks of it.

He breathes heavy, low grunts punched out of him every time your cunt flutters and squeezes around the thick drag of his cock. One hand stays braced on the ceiling, the other gripping the back of your soft thigh hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open while he uses you.

Your hands are still on his chest, pushing weakly, fingers slipping through the thick sweat coating his skin, but the resistance is turning sloppy. Your pretty face is scrunched, eyes going glassy, mouth falling open on broken little moans.

He fucks you through an orgasm like that, grinding rolls that drag the fat head of his cock inside you until your soft body locks up and you sob out a high, whiny sound, cunt pulsing and gushing around him.

He doesn’t stop. Just keeps using you, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your collarbone, the wet slap of his balls getting filthier as your slick and his precum mix into a messy froth at the base of his cock.

You’re babbling now, soft and fucked stupid, little “ah- ah- plea- ” sounds that don’t quite form real words. Your thighs are shaking so hard they can’t stay wrapped around him. He catches one and folds it higher, nearly bending you in half on the narrow mattress, and the new angle makes you wail, eyes rolling back as he grinds right up against your cervix with every thrust.

When he gets close he drops forward heavier, chest crushing your soft tits, the full weight of him pinning you down into the stiff sheets.

You panic the second you realize what’s about to happen, hands shoving harder at his sweaty chest, legs kicking weakly, soft sobs turning frantic. “Nono, pull out, I’m not on birth control- please-”

He doesn’t even grunt in response, just wraps his arms around your body, shoves you down on his cock throbing deep inside you, and then he’s cumming thick, hot spurts pumping straight into your womb, flooding your uterus with days’ worth of heavy, pungent load. It’s so much it forces its way out around his cock in messy rivulets, smearing down your ass onto the already ruined mattress.

Empties every last drop deep inside you, flooding you until your lower belly feels warm and full. Only when the last spurt finishes does he pull out, thick strings of cum stretching between his cock and your messy cunt.

Before you can scramble away he grabs tou, big hands flipping your soft, trembling body onto your stomach, then hauling your hips up so your face is shoved down into the filthy mattress. One heavy palm plants between your shoulder blades and stays there, pinning your face into the stiff, sweat-and-cum-stained sheets. Your sundress is rucked up around your waist, soft ass presented, and he’s already lining up again, the fat head of his cock nudging through the mess leaking out of you.

You try to twist, try to push up on your arms, panicked little sounds muffled into the mattress. “Wait- wait, you can’t- ”

He pushes in anyway.

“Haven’ fucked anyone in months,” he mutters, hips snapping forward hard enough to jolt your whole body and your mouth opens on a moan, drool pooling onto the mattress beneath your head. “Balls been so heavy they ache. Ain’t wastin’ it on these fuckin’ sheets again when I got a pretty little hole right here to fill over and over.”

Maybe you should have just walked to the next town.

[ceilidho]

Soap would have a belly button piercing just fyi

[ceilidho]

He got it cold stone sober too. Probably has had it for years. Takes it out for work and wears it the rest of the time. Pushes you down and makes you think for a second that he wants you to suck him off only to make you lick and suck on the piercing until he’s ready for your mouth on his cock. Likely tries to peer pressure you into getting one yourself at some point because he’s weird and wants to know what it would be like to do the same to you.

[ohbo-ohno]

He also has nipple rings, but he got them on a drunk dare from Gaz. He tells you they they feel so good bonnie, here, twist, see how I- and making the most pornographic sounds you’ve ever heard. He insists they weren’t that bad, that ye need a pretty pair too, cute little matching couple’s outfit, huh? He thinks about pinning you down and kissing you and hearing your piercings against his and all but comes in his pants

[vieneinpace]

William Etty's Male Nude, with Arms Up-Stretched (1828) revamped by Astra Zero

[553580]

i might write a full thing out later, but, like, the brainworms are wriggling and i'm still unsure if it's anything

something something mob au where price suffers a blow to the head on a handoff gone wrong, and while he seems to be cognitively fine in all other ways, there's just one small problem:

he keeps demanding to see his wife- but he's never been married.

he talks about her all the time, tells the boys what she looks like, her name, how they met at a coffee shop she'd worked at- one that's not too far from where he keeps his office. it doesn't take them long to realize he's been harboring something of a crush on the barista at his local coffee place- and a solid thwack to the head with an improvised nightstick has convinced him that the two of you have been together for years.

were price not a) the head of organized crime in the city and b) growing increasingly upset and violent at being kept from his 'wife', they'd just ignore his demands, up his sedatives, and worst case scenario, hire a working girl to put on a wig and play the part for a night. easy peasy, no harm done.

instead, you're snatched up after a closing shift, your car left abandoned with the door half open as you're shoved into a van and given very clear instructions at gunpoint: you will play the role of mrs. price, you will allow him to do and say as he pleases, you will not cause a fuss, run away, or do anything to harm the old man.

you'll be made to play house, to be his perfect housewife under the threat of a bullet to the brain. you're to let him do whatever he likes and pretend it's absolutely fine and normal- groping, smacking, fucking, fingering, all of it. you are his little plaything, given a very specific role to act out. anything less than a completely convincing performance and you'll wind up in the river. or the rose garden. the man in the skull mask is still thinking it over.

it's hard to do anything but agree, especially when all you've been told is that the infamous 'bravo' who runs the 141 gang has asked for you, specifically, despite the fact that you have nothing to do with organized crime. it's terrifying- after all, you're just a barista, worried about picking up enough shifts to pay rent. the most contact with bravo and his gang is reading about the brutal deaths linked to him on the evening news. you couldn't pick him out of a lineup if you tried-

-or so you thought.

your entire world feels like it's caving in on you when you're led to a private room with armed guards at the door, only to see one of your favorite regulars being tended to in an ostentatiously large bed, his eyes lighting up as he bats the doctor's blood pressure cuff away as he reaches out for you as if you're long-lost lovers and not just a barista and the guy who recently switched from americano's to lapsang souchong.

something something it's a terribly confusing thing, after all, to be forced at gunpoint to play wife to someone who actually does make for a very loving and attentive husband- even if he is mafia.

[fatfangs]

eww dude keep your skinny fetish to yourself

[orson-pope]

I love your Aymer de Valence stories so much 💜

I've got a request in mind 😊

Aymer took her as a hostage, not to harm her but to force her family into obedience. What he never expected was that she wasn't afraid of him at all. Her quiet kindness and the way she looked at him like a man, not a monster, caught him completely off guard. One day he lightly bruised his hand, nothing that serious, but when she stepped in to help, he snapped at her and pushed her away, too proud to show even a small weakness. She didn't back off. She stayed where she was, steady and determined, insisting on seeing the injury. That impressed him and when her fingers finally touched his hand, the gesture was so gentle it stopped him cold. No one had ever touched him like that, careful, calm, without fear. He couldn’t stop looking at her face, at the way she genuinely cared. Something in him shifted in that moment, sharp and unexpected...

Your writing always leaves me wanting more - thank you for creating such magic ✨💜

Tale as Old as Time

Pairing: Aymer de Valence x fem!reader

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: MDNI, no physical description of the reader, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, angst, yearning, descriptions of violence, blood, kidnapping, enemies to lovers, disgustingly sweet, proofread once, no beta

Notes: I LOVED this request, and I hope I’ve done it justice! I made him a brooding romantic, sorry not sorry. 

Your heart was beating loudly, tiny beads of sweat trailing the outline of your neckline. You’ve overheard a little here and there and were lingering around your father’s solar while he and other men were discussing your fate. Grateful for the first time in your life that you didn’t have any sisters, you took it with your head high; you were to be sent away from your home, the only place you ever knew, to your distant cousins up North, in anticipation of an attack and even a possible siege that was brewing against your father and his allies.

It made more sense to marry you off, especially for an alliance, as you were more than old enough, but your father, a stubborn, headstrong man, wouldn’t even hear about it. So you were sent away, in a simple carriage, with only one of your ladies. Kissing your brothers goodbye and hugging your mother, you barely looked at your father, trying to believe he had thought all of his options through and would send enough men to protect you from treacherous roads.

Unfortunately, your instincts were right - just as the sun was gently setting on the same day you departed, and just as you were reaching the castle of an allied lord, your carriage was surrounded, loud galloping and neighing making your beloved lady gasp in fear.

“Whose flag is that?” she asked, putting her hand over her mouth, peeking through the window.

The carriage stopped abruptly, men shouting and sneering mere meters away from you. You took a quick peek through fine curtains and sighed, staring at the blue and white striped banner adorned with red martlets.

“Aymer de Valence, 2nd Earl of Pembroke.”

“The beast?” 

A terrified whimper escaped your companion's lips, but the door opened with a thud, startling you both.

“Out, both of you!”

You met Aymer once, and although you were not introduced, you knew what he looked like, and the man playing nice and holding out his hand for you was decidedly not him. You hovered your hand in the air, your eyes settling on a huge man sitting on a horse that was seemingly too small for him. You cocked your head before setting it straight again, a small, polite, learned smile gracing your face.

In three long steps, Aymer de Valence and his irritating smirk were offering you his hand. He pulled his chainmaille hood off, showing a new, ill-healed scar across his bald head.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” your hand was small, nestled inside his, his long, strong fingers elegantly wrapping around yours as he guided you a little further away. “Has the Lord Edward’s castle fallen?”

You looked up, flashing another polite smile, looking again at those piercing blue eyes. 

“No, my Lady.”

You glanced at those sharp, crooked teeth when he spoke, strangely captivated by them. He was still holding your hand, breaking all rules of propriety. Yet Aymer de Valence was known for such acts, his ruthless, brutal nature caring little for the laws of men or God. His dressing up as just another soldier amongst many, trying to trick you for what seemed nothing but his own amusement, was the most tame of the examples.

“We are attempting… A negotiation.”

A giggle escaped you, a warm and earnest reaction at Aymer calling this kidnapping a mere negotiation. He frowned and clenched his jaw, but you couldn’t help yourself, your fingers tightening around the edges of his gloved palm. 

“Where are you taking us, Your Grace?” you finally managed to gain some composure, your pretty doe eyes still scanning his fuming face.

“Pembroke Castle,” he spat out, swallowing hard. It took him by surprise that you sniffed out his little rouse so quickly, and then effectively disarmed him with your pretty smile and politeness, treating him like you would any other nobleman.

He remembered you from that tourney, always giggling and wide-eyed, knights swarming you for your favour. 

You gave three, two of them to your cousins, and one to a handsome young knight; Aymer didn’t even think to ask, but unhorsed the knight in the first joust. He’d often remember how, while all the ladies around you were gasping and covering their mouths, you were serious, calmly looking at Aymer executing his beloved horse.

**

It’s been a whole moon since Aymer took you hostage, and the negotiations have stalled quickly after that. Your lady was ransomed, not having much use for her, and would now send you letters, hoping that you too would soon be safe away from the monster’s grasp.

You didn’t mind terribly, however. You were fed, entertained, and left alone, well, mostly. Aymer was growing bored, it seemed, and would barely leave you alone, demanding your presence at every meal, even going so far as to bring you to hunts. 

You had a free rein of the castle, as much as propriety allowed, and would spend most of your days among the books in the solar or embroidering. Aymer even generously procured some special threads for you when you asked, adding a couple more spools in different colours and even fine linen fabrics to serve as your canvas.

Your father decided to keep calling Aymer’s bluff, to your growing irritation. At first, you were fearful, not knowing what Aymer would do with you, and you were saddened by the realisation of how little you meant to your father, your family.

“No harm shall find you while you’re under my protection,” Aymer awkwardly told you, finding you distraught in the solar. He sounded… Irritated, almost offended by your tears. 

“I never thought it would,” you wiped your tears and fixed your hair, trying to come to terms with your father’s harsh words. “These tears are not for you,” you added quietly, swallowing another sob.

Aymer nodded, relieved and angered at the same time. He had no idea where this need to walk to you and wipe your tears himself was coming from, to embrace you and hold your face in his hands. So he left it at that, letting you grieve in solitude.

As far as Aymer was concerned, your father was a moron. Caring so little as not trying to get you back, but at the same time not marrying you off, was one of the most idiotic decisions Aymer has seen. And not that you weren’t agreeable, far from it: kind, pious, and pretty. 

Pretty enough that now, during the evening sparring session, he was losing focus, his eyes constantly trailing to you, sitting on a bench with a book in your lap. You didn’t pay any attention to it, your eyes glued to wherever Aymer would swing his sword. It became a common occurrence over the past few weeks, where you pretended that you would read just as he was in the yard, and Aymer pretended he wasn’t nervous when you’d be late to those sessions.

Swing after swing, he was trying to show off his strength and precision, even if he would never admit it, going so far to fight multiple opponents, leveraging his prowess and frame to impress you, catch that tiny moment when you would be smiling at him, your eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, before you’d quickly look into your book, trying to act as if you’ve never noticed him.

And then it happened; Aymer himself couldn’t say how, but he was struck on his sword-wielding hand, a nasty cut spreading from between his thumb and forefinger, all the way to his wrist. He cursed himself for not wearing gloves. As blood was dripping from his hand, he caught you in the corner of his eye, standing up and hastily making way towards him.

Everyone around him was frozen in fear but you, calmly demanding to see the wound. 

“Curse you, woman,” he spat out, pulling his hand away and immediately regretting it.

“Let me see, my Lord,” you repeated in an even softer tone, your fingers already reaching towards the bloody mess of his hand, ignoring the frown on his face.

Aymer thought of you as kind, a little timid, a little naive, but suddenly realised you were the only person treating him like he was nothing but a man. There was no fear in your eyes, no hesitation, your fingers gently, softly touching the back of his palm. He was taken aback, unable to say anything, unable to think. 

It’s been years since such kindness was extended to him, and despite craving it, now faced with it, Aymer didn’t know what to do, except stare at your face.

He was still thinking about it, lying awake in his chambers hours later. Your fingers, sullied in his blood, slowly sliding over his skin, patiently exploring, following the line of the cut, assessing for depth, asking him to move his fingers, massaging gently.

“I’m sure you suffered much worse, my Lord,” you said, flashing a faint smile and pressing your handkerchief to the wound, soaking it completely in crimson, watching his face relax.

Aymer already ordered his servants to clean that handkerchief to a pristine state, despite doubting that it was possible. He should at least get you more threads, more fabric, in case you wanted to make another. Perhaps a bracelet, to apologise. He quickly shook off the last thought, a weird feeling of hollowness spreading through his chest.

Then, he heard three quick, mousy knocks on the door, and in a blink of an eye, without waiting for an invitation, you simply opened the door, with two servants in tow; Aymer was too stunned to speak, watching you walk in, carrying clean rags and ointments, servants carrying hot water.

“Thank you,” you turned to the servants, watching them squirm uncomfortably.

“My Lady?” one of them asked, avoiding looking at Aymer.

Still, you dismissed them before turning to him; he was sitting on the edge of the bed, without his sleep shirt. Actually, you were not sure if he was wearing anything, a heavy quilt covering his lap. With all of his muscles on display and the idea of him being naked, you couldn’t stop the flush to your face, but you pretended it was the fire burning in the hearth. 

You thought him strong and handsome, especially now, warm flames dancing across his handsome features, somehow making his eyes even bluer. The skin of his torso and his arms was taut, scarred, and a little paler compared to his tanned face, and you tried so hard to control your breathing.

“May I see?” 

Removing the soaked rags from his hand, you slowly washed the crusted blood around his wound before gently applying a healing ointment, a faint scent of chamomile filling the chambers.

“Are you not afraid of rumours?” Aymer tried to get a read on you so badly. He wanted to desperately know the true nature of your feelings towards him, almost like he would be able to read your mind. He closely observed your face for any tell he might have missed, for any indication that his own feelings were making him delusional. 

“Rumours, my Lord?” you were still spreading the salve, your fingertips almost ghosting over his imperfect skin.

“You are alone in an Earl’s chambers.”

And there it was again, that wholehearted giggle that you couldn’t suppress, your fingers resting lightly against Aymer’s forearm. His whole body stiffened, his brows furrowing, jaw protruding. He loved your laugh, but never when it was so agonisingly pointed at him. It wasn’t anger spreading through him, it was pain - not that he was adept at handling either of those, a red flush rapidly creeping up his neck as he clicked his teeth together, almost literally biting his tongue to not snap at you. 

“I’ve been your hostage for weeks, my Lord. Do you truly believe rumours are not already abundant? Probably why my father doesn’t want me back, his daughter’s honour ruined by the beast,” you continued, trying to catch your breath, your laugh turning into a wide, warm smile that had Aymer’s heart beating a smidge faster.

“Why didn’t your father marry you off?” mellowed under your smile, and focusing on the way your fingers were rubbing into his palm, he cautiously probed, now fearing you might have been betrothed after all.

“When he sent me away, I asked him the same. I was actually convinced he would do so, for an alliance; it was only sensible. But instead, he remained stubborn, and I am now here. Alone in an Earl’s chambers,” you teased him, flashing another warm smile his way, but quickly looking away. You truly didn’t want him to know the depth of your growing feelings, as you still didn’t trust him completely. Somewhere deep there was fear after all, fear that he would hurt you, ridicule you.

“Who did you have in mind?” Aymer’s voice was uncharacteristically hoarse, his other hand gripping around the quilt so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Who did I think I should marry, or who did I want?” you were careful to make a distinction, because you truly had two different men in mind, not that your father wanted to hear about either.

“Who did you want?” his voice falling all the way to a throaty whisper, Aymer was trying to hide a tremble in himself. He was bracing for disappointment and more pain - there were so many young and charming Lords, much more suited for a beautiful, young Lady such as yourself. You wouldn’t look twice his way, he told himself, if he hadn’t stolen you from the world.

“I’ve heard that the Earl of Pembroke is rather handsome.”

Aymer’s whole body went rigid so fast he forgot to breathe. You stilled as well, observing his reaction, wondering if you were too direct, too unladylike. 

You were toying with him, he was certain of it. Ridiculing and mocking him, the same as you saw through his rouse when he stopped your carriage, you already saw through him and his hopeless weakness for you.

“Do not tease me, harlot!”

He jerked his hand away, jumping out of the bed with such force that you fell to the floor. His short, tight braies showed off his muscular legs that made your mouth water.

“Why would I do such a thing?” you tried to reason with him in the softest, silkiest voice your throat would produce. “And he’s strong, I watched him unhorse man after man at a tourney. Although not sure what to make of his predilection for kidnapping young Ladies.”

Aymer wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t even turn from the table to look at you, chugging goblet after goblet, small drops of wine trickling down his chin. You waited, your heart beating hard, before you finally had to admit defeat, to your utter embarrassment.

“Good night, my Lord.”

“Aymer,” he growled through his teeth.

“What? I couldn’t possibly…” it took you a moment to understand what he meant at first.

“You are in my bedchambers! You’ll address me in any way I like!” he threw the goblet across the room, just above the hearth, where it echoed against the stone wall.

“Yes, my Lord. Aymer. Good night.”

**

You couldn’t wait for your wedding day to end. There were so many people present at the ceremony and even more at the feast, including the king. Joyous celebration for everyone except your family, who looked like they were attending a funeral. You were nervous, so much so that even Aymer noticed, pushing for the pro forma bedding ceremony earlier in the evening, trying to be alone with you.

“You look sour,” he commented, getting up from the bed.

“I couldn’t wait for the day to be over.”

“Married to me for less than a day, and already sick of my presence?”

“Aymer,” you followed your brooding husband out of bed. “I’ve been so excited I haven’t slept for days. And then I started to think of all the ways this could go wrong, what my father had planned, if he had planned…” your thoughts trailed off as you grabbed Aymer’s hand, gently pressing kisses against the scar.

Standing on your toes, you craned your neck as much as you could, but Aymer stood unwavering. You peppered his jaw with kisses, your hands sliding over his chest and under his shirt. You could hear your breath stuttering, and feel flush spread through your cheeks, and heat through your maidenhood.

“I couldn’t wait for the day to be over, because I couldn’t wait to be your wife,” you whispered against Aymer’s skin, pressing harder into his body.

He finally relented, dipping his head to claim you in a feverish kiss, his huge hands settling over your waist. 

“I love you,” he muttered, his cheeks reddening, before gently picking you up and laying you down on the bed. “I love you,” he repeated as he settled over you, his lips gently falling into the crook of your neck.

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