Honestly, Tvyek is pretty miraculous. It’s permeable to water vapor but not to water, it’s nearly impossible to tear, but can be easily cut. It’s cheap and made entirely without binding chemicals. In addition to being used for wristbands, it’s used to wrap construction sites to keep out water during construction, for tear-resistant envelopes at Fed-Ex, coveralls for mechanics, and my wallet, actually.
Fun tip, though it looks like paper, Tyvek is plastic, and cannot be recycled with paper.
Dr. Robby or Jack Abbot as sugar daddy. 👉👈 What do you think?
ahh thank you for sending in this ask, Stormy—and sorry it's taken me so long to get to it but ohhh i have THOUGHTS about sugar daddies Dr. Robby and Jack Abbot.
i wrote about sugar daddy Jack Abbot last year, so i'm going to focus on sugar daddy Dr. Robby this time—and i think sugar daddy dr. robby takes the 'daddy' part of your arrangement very seriously 🤭🤭 18+ content ahead!
sugar daddy dr. robby who expects you to text him 'good morning' and 'goodnight' every single day, especially on mornings when he leaves you sleeping in his bed to go to his shift at the pitt. he likes knowing when you're awake and when you're asleep. and if you're not getting enough sleep? well, robby's going to have to do something about it— giving you a bedtime and consequences if you don't stick to it. (of course, the consequences are him fucking you until you're sated and limp and sleepy in his arms, so you don't mind it much at all 😈)
sugar daddy dr. robby who takes you on dates to the aquarium or to play mini golf or to get ice cream because he loves watching the way your eyes light up when you're having fun. it brings him so much joy when you lace your fingers with his and swing your joined hands between your bodies while you look at all the pretty fish; and when you get playfully competitive, jumping and cheering in excitement each time you sink your ball in the hole of the mini golf course. and don't get robby started on how much he loves watching you eat an ice cream cone. it makes his cock chub up a bit, and he's eager to get you back home, where he can end your date by spreading your thighs and making you cry out with a different kind of excitement—first with his mouth, then with his cock.
sugar daddy dr. robby who wants you to send him photos of your outfits every day, and if he's missing you particularly badly, he asks you to lift your top or your skirt so he can see your tits or pussy covered in the lacy lingerie you started buying when he gave you his credit card. it makes him happy to see how pretty you look in it, and half-feral knowing he paid for it. and when you go shopping, you text him photo after photo of your body clad in all manner of matching sets and one-pieces, making him miss you more and more until he demands that you be waiting for him when he's done at work. he expects you to be kneeling just inside his door in one of those matching sets, ready to suck his cock as soon as he gets home from work.
sugar daddy dr. robby who fusses over you whenever you're hurt, even if it's something as small as a paper cut. he sits you on the counter in his bathroom, distracting you from the sting of the disinfectant with scruffy kisses against your cheeks and lips until you're giggling softly, the pain completely forgotten. he washes the little cut clean, then presses a soft, sweet kiss to your skin before covering it in a bandaid. when he's done, robby takes you into his arms, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back and telling you how proud he is of you for being such a good girl for him. you've never felt so cherished or taken care of, and you sink into his hold with a contented sigh.
sugar daddy dr. robby who sets lots of rules for you, and doesn't hesitate even a little to punish you if you break them. when you disobey him, robby takes you over his knee, making you count each time he spanks your ass. and he's got big hands, so every time his palm lands on your soft flesh, it makes a sharp cracking sound, the burning pain reverberating through your body until you're sobbing and apologizing for what you did wrong. once you've learned your lesson, robby pulls you up and comforts you, kissing the tears from your cheeks and holding you close, explaining all over again why he sets the rules and why it's important for you to obey them.
sugar daddy dr. robby who takes you for rides on his motorcycle, even going as far as buying you your own helmet because it's one of his rules that you have to wear one—even if he doesn't. but you don't like that, so you pout and whine about how hypocritical he's being until robby gives in and buys a helmet for himself. he lets you decorate it with stickers to match yours, and he promises to wear it, even when you're not with him. (then you enlist everyone at the pitt in helping you hold him to his word, and if you hear from any of the nurses, doctors or students that he didn't wear it, robby comes home to find you crying and asking him who's going to take care of you when he gets hurt. your big, teary eyes make robby's heart hurt so much, he never forgets to wear his helmet again—a fact that makes you extremely proud of yourself.)
sugar daddy dr. robby who loves taking care of you, but every once in a while, he lets you take care of him, too. he lets you lead him into the shower after a particularly rough shift at the pitt. your small hands wash his big body, your adorable mouth pressing kisses to his broad shoulders and soft belly, worshipping his thick thighs before nuzzling his half-hard cock. robby has to lean against the tiled wall, staring down into your hooded eyes while you kiss and lick and suck on his cock until he's fully hard. all he can do is settle a big hand on the crown of your head, guiding you gently while you suck him deep into your throat, blowing him in a slow, lazy rhythm that eases all the tension from his body. you swallow every drop of his cum and then finish washing him, giggling when he sweeps you into his arms and lays you down on his bed, showing you with his mouth how much he appreciates you for taking care of him.
sugar daddy dr. robby who doesn't like it when you swear—except when you're drunk on his cock. any other time, swearing would get you put over robby's knee, but when you're stretched out beneath him, tears streaming down your cheeks from him making you cum three, four, five times already, he won't hold anything that spills from your kiss-swollen lips against you. robby loves watching your mouth move, trying to form words while he's fucking you slow and deep with his thick cock, but all you can get out is different variations of "f-fuck" and "daddy!" and when you're so mindless with pleasure, you let slip a "fuck, dad, please," robby can't hold back any longer, fucking you into the bed and draining his balls deep in your pretty pussy.
sugar daddy dr. robby who discovers he has a breeding kink thanks to you. at first, he thinks he just likes filling you up, claiming you with his cum, but then you beg him, "breed me, daddy," and something snaps in robby's mind. the thought of filling you with his seed is good, but the idea that it could take root in your body and turn into a baby makes him absolutely feral. he pictures your belly big and round with his kid and he becomes a possessive beast, fucking you fast and brutal, his fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of your hips. robby wants to claim you as his on the most base, primal level possible, knocking you up and keeping you for the rest of your life as his perfect, spoiled good girl. and to make everything even better, when robby shares these ideas with you, his cock still pounding ruthlessly into your cunt, he watches as your eyes go hazy, and he feels the way your pussy pulses around his hardness. you go even dumber on his cock, whining and begging and pleading for him to breed you. so of course he does.
and when sugar daddy dr. robby finds out that he did breed his precious little sugar baby? well, he's going to put a ring on your finger so fast, you barely have time to say, "yes, daddy" when he asks you to marry him 🤭
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics
Summary: He told you that he could smell the change in you, could smell your body calling him and begging him to claim it.
♱
Prince Baelor was watching you again.
Those dark eyes of his always seemed to be watching you these days, and while it was not something you particularly minded, you had never been one to enjoy too much attention, and while he was one man, having the attention of the heir to the throne was the attention of one man too many. You picked at your food, appetite long lost, in the hopes that it would bore him and his gaze would stray elsewhere.
Deep down you knew this hope was futile.
The dark-haired prince did not seem to find interest in any interesting thing you chose to do but instead in you. You supposed that you could be staring into a goblet of water and you would still find his deep gaze on you. Were you any other woman, you would have been flattered, but as it were, you hated attention, and you almost chuckled at that.
The gods certainly had an interesting sense of humor to place you into perhaps one of the most attention seeking houses in Westeros. You guessed they could not help it if you believed like Aerion believed, that dragon blood ran through their veins—your veins. Perhaps that was why you hated the attention so much, only half the amount of dragon’s blood coursing through you unlike Aerion.
Your brother never missed an opportunity to remind you that you were a mere halfling, only half as worthy of calling yourself a Targaryen and even less so because you were a bastard. That was a word that stung less in your adulthood, and you remembered hearing whispers of it growing up, eyes stinging as if the word was a blade meant to harm you.
You accepted now that it was a descriptor like any other—an insulting one, but a way to describe you and categorize you nonetheless. Not everyone said it with the same vitriol that Aerion carried when he said it, and your eyes found his just as he was on your mind. He ate obnoxiously and pointedly, and you swallowed down a sigh at his ever persistent attempts to get some sort of reaction from you.
“I have had my fill,” you suddenly said, standing. “I think I will retire for the night.”
You did not linger to see if your father was okay with that, hurrying to make your exit and find sanctuary in your chambers. The feeling of a dark gaze still heavily weighed on you as you made your way down the corridor, and you desperately wished that you were none the wiser to your uncle’s watchful eye.
“She is well past maturity,” you heard him quietly say one day. “Do you not find it worrisome?”
Your father’s response had been immediate.
“Of course it worries me,” the other man had almost snapped. “...but our house is no stranger to the odd late bloomer or two.”
The white-haired man was being nice, of course, recalling only one Targaryen to ever live well beyond their sixteenth name day with no presentation in sight. You were well beyond your twentieth and yet you still walked around with no presentation in sight. No heat, no rut nor anything to classify you, and when these thoughts plagued your mind, you would think on Aerion’s hurtful words and perhaps the truth in them.
You did not belong.
There was something wrong with you.
He all but uttered it the first time your father brought you home, introducing you to your siblings whose hair was just as white as yours. An eighteen year old halfling bastard with no scent, and years later nothing had changed, and you had the nerve to hate attention. Attention was all you drew, but not once had it ever been from him.
Prince Baelor—your uncle Baelor—had never been anything but kind to you from the moment your existence was no longer a secret. Where one brother regarded you with borderline contempt, and the rest took a moment to get their footing about how to take your sudden presence, the dark-haired Targaryen welcomed you immediately. You were far from naive, knowing that he most assuredly had an opinion or two about his brother and his parentage of you, but if he did, you never heard it.
For years prince Baelor had only ever made you feel comfortable and like family.
Now, all he ever did was watch you.
In the years that you came to know him, you recognized that he was an observant man. Perhaps that was why he was so different—so kind—because he was always watching. Watching the things people said, watching how they reacted, and watching and seeing what people tried to hide. Only you had nothing to hide, and yet he watched you as if you did.
As if he was waiting for you to reveal it.
“Prince Maekar demands your presence at supper tonight.”
Your chambermaid stood at your bedside with an even expression, though her eyes betrayed her. Your father could behave unkindly at times, and there was no doubt in your mind that the brunette before you had been on the receiving end of said behavior. You hated that whatever treatment she endured was because of you, but it was not enough to pull you from your chambers.
For days now you felt unwell.
…and that was what you told her…again.
“Yes, I made that clear to him, but he is insisting and…made it a point to remind me to tell you that it is not up for discussion.”
A break in her expression betrayed what her words did not, and you swallowed, guilt consuming you. There were many suppers and such you chose to miss due to your tense relationship with your brother, but for once, you really were sick. You knew that your father would not believe you, and yet you could not muster the strength to obey him.
Truthfully, you worried about just what was wrong with you.
You heard nothing of a deadly illness passing through the small folk, and as it were you were hardly one to leave the keep. Even still, you found your stomach twisting into knots at times so badly that you thought you would be sick. Two nights in a row now you awoke covered in a thin sheen of sweat, bed damp and body hotter than it has ever been.
Not only did you not want to be around your family, you were afraid to be, and just as you were about to reiterate that you did not feel well, there was a knock on your chamber door. You exchanged a glance with the other woman before she answered it, and something in your gut stirred at the familiar voice.
You were sitting up and swallowing down any bad feelings just as Baelor brushed past her. His eyes were on you immediately—like always as of late—and you resisted the urge to avoid his gaze. With a small nod from you, your chambermaid left you and the silence in her absence felt incredibly heavy. You pretended not to know why as he approached you.
“You do not look ill,” was the first thing he said to you.
A reply was on your tongue, but it was momentarily forgotten as he stopped just at your bedside where your chambermaid once stood, and your lips parted. A scent surrounded him that you had never smelled before, and it stumped you for multiple reasons, but most of all for how good it smelled. The dark-haired man was standing over you and looking down at you with the slightest curve to his lips as if he thought you were acting like a disobedient child yet again.
…and the entire time all you could focus on was the scent that invaded your senses.
“I assure you, uncle” you said after some time, finally gathering your thoughts. “I am.”
“My brother already has much to deal with where Aerion is concerned,” he hummed, reaching out and touching your cheek. “He does not need any trouble from you.”
It was the faintest of touches, and yet your whole body felt as if it was lit aflame. A brief sudden urge filled you to lean into his touch, and the thought was so uncharacteristic that it broke you out of whatever mental fog you found yourself in. Leaning away from him, you cleared your throat, and when you chanced a look at him, Baelor was staring down at you as he had been for months now.
Waiting.
He always looked as if he was waiting.
For what? You did not know, and telling yourself that you had enough problems without making any up, you swiped your tongue between your lips to speak.
“I know I have cried wolf many times before, but I am entirely serious when I say I have not felt well,” you told him, gaze pleading as you looked up at him. “Please get that through to my father. He always listens to you best.”
The handsome prince looked down at that with a fairly quiet chuckle.
“Only when he feels like it, I fear.”
Before you could respond to that, he continued.
“Come to dinner tonight,” he hurried to elaborate before you could refuse. “Appease him and plead your case, and I guarantee he will let you be for at least a few days more.”
His expression was comforting, and his soft eyes held a command there that you did not want to go against. Baelor had always made you feel safe and heard, but there was something different about it, now, and the calmness that washed over you in his presence desperately made you want to listen to him.
You did not have time to linger on that, watching as he offered his hand to you, and you took it without thinking. His palm was rough, the hand of a skilled knight, and you did not hate it. You never had, but in this moment, the roughness appealed to you in a way it never had before. The feeling against your soft palm made you curious, and before you could press that curiosity, he was pulling you to your feet and letting you go.
“I will send for your chambermaid,” he told you, but your mind was somewhere else entirely. “Your father has already been angered by one of his children today.”
You watched him go, and you watched her replace him, and still your mind remained on the feeling of his hand in yours. You felt as if you could have held it for the rest of the night, and the thought made you frown. It was not unheard of—especially in your house—to find comfort with one’s own blood, but you were not raised in the Red Keep nor Dragonstone or around any Targaryens before your eighteenth name day. These feelings did not feel natural to you, and doubly so because they were coming out of nowhere.
Your uncle Baelor has always been a safe space for you, and now…
Now something stirred in you that felt like a little more than mere comfort.
The walk to the dining hall was long, the walk to the table even longer, and somehow dinner felt even longer than those torturous walks. You sat across from your uncle, and if you did not know any better, you would have sworn he was right beside you.
The scent of him reached you from all the way across the table, and there were times you had to physically harm yourself to bring your mind back to the present instead of his hand in yours and his comforting gaze holding yours and his presence in your bedchamber. The thoughts made your skin warm, and yet even after you forced such thoughts away, you were still warm.
Hot even.
You ate as best as you could, and contributed to the conversation enough to be deemed polite, and still…your mind and body were in two separate places. A heat was taking over you like no other, and the food that once satisfied you was making you feel even more sick. It twisted within your gut like a fist, and at some point you found yourself abandoning your utensils and the pretense of eating altogether.
Your brothers’ and your cousins’ voices blended together and faded into the background all at once, and you weighed the ramifications of abandoning supper early after all the trouble your father went through to get you here. You considered whether or not it was worth it, and just as you started to swallow down your discomfort and stay, you chanced a glance up.
Your gaze connected with a dark one—a familiar dark one—and you blinked at Baelor as he stared at you as he had many times before. Conversation flowed around you, but it did not touch either of you, and you felt trapped. You looked between his eyes as he stared at you, and your uncle did not break eye contact as he reached for his ale, bringing it to his lips and holding your gaze the whole time.
You did break eye contact, however. Your gaze falling to his throat, watching—transfixed—as the sweet liquor traveled down it, watching it bob as he swallowed. It hypnotized you, as did every move he made, and you watched him pull the cup away, your lips parting at the stray traces of drink on the pink skin. Movement pulled your gaze away from his mouth, and you suddenly found his fingers—and the way they stroked the rim of his cup—more interesting than anything going on at the table.
The gentle back and forth of them piqued your curiosity just as the rough feel of his palm did in your bedchamber, but unlike before, you could linger on it. Watching their movement made something pinch deep in your stomach that was unfamiliar to you, and you felt the tip of your tongue touch the inside of your bottom lip, wanting a taste of something wholly unfamiliar. You could not place it…and then the heat all over your body concentrated in one place…and your heart dropped…
Your eyes met his again, and there was a look of knowing in Baelor’s gaze that could not be mistaken for anything else.
An uncontrollable heat was growing between your legs, spreading throughout your whole body until you could feel dampness on your forehead. The air on the back of your neck felt entirely too cool, telling you that the light sheen was not just contained to your face. You wanted a myriad of things all of a sudden, but most importantly you wanted Baelor to stop looking at you like he knew exactly what was wrong with you…because he did, and now you did too, and you were stumbling to your feet and out of the dining hall without a glance back at your father’s irate baritone.
Your late presentation was all anyone was talking about.
At least, that was how your chambermaid told it. Through the fever and the pain of your first heat, she murmured to you about your father’s simultaneous relief and disappointment. Relief that there was indeed nothing wrong with you, but his unmet hope of you presenting as an Alpha like literally every single one of your siblings. You could just hear Aerion’s voice now, mocking your bastard lineage as the reason for the fuck up.
“I told you,” he would say in that low mocking tone of his, full lips pursed. “You are not right.”
It momentarily brought tears to your eyes, and you squeezed them shut as she held a cool damp cloth to your forehead.
You were always told that the first heat was the worst, lasting for far longer than any that would follow, and in those moments where you found yourself alone and sweating through your clothes, you wondered… Why you? You could probably count the number of times on one hand—possibly six fingers if you thought long enough—that a Targaryen presented as an Omega.
It was humiliating, and this was a thought that plagued you even as you stumbled down the corridor in the middle of the night to a scent that had not left your mind and senses for days. You knew where it was taking you, and you only wanted to be near him, only wanted to indulge in the smell of him as you fought through this misery.
You were in the worst pain of your life and your nightdress was so soaked in sweat that you looked as if you had gone for a swim in it, but the moon was high in the sky and the halls were empty of anyone to witness your desperate plight, and no one else was awake. At least, that was what you assumed, but your assumptions were incorrect as the familiar door was opened before you even approached it.
Baelor could smell you coming.
“You should be resting,” were the words to greet you as you stumbled into his arms.
He said this, but it did not stop the older man from twisting his fingers into your hair and pulling you against him, your nose pressed into his chest. You deeply inhaled, lashes fluttering and eyes rolling into the back of your head at his scent. It was the scent that triggered all of this, and it terrified you how he could smell like all of your favorite things at once.
“Do you wish for me to retire to my chambers?” you quietly wondered, lips brushing against his thin shirt as you said this.
You both heard and felt him deeply inhale, and you could feel his nose in your hair. It felt strange to just stand there breathing each other in, but you decided that you did not care when Baelor gently leaned your head back, his nose dragging along the expanse of your throat. All you could focus on was his scent and how much you wanted to suffocate in it.
“All you have to do is command me, and you know I will struggle to disobey,” you breathed.
When his lips met the corner of your mouth, that was answer enough you supposed, but then he spoke, and his words traveled straight to the pit of your stomach, and you clenched down on nothing.
“Your father will be less than pleased…”
The cool metal of his rings against your warm skin soothed you as he kissed you, and you clung to him as he forced you to follow him inside of his chambers.
“Would you like for me to make you feel better?”
You started to nod, but Baelor interrupted you.
“Use your words,” he firmly told you, nipping at the place where your neck and shoulder met.
“Yes,” you pleaded. “Please.”
Every touch of his fingers on your skin soothed you, and Baelor seemed to understand that you did not want him to stop touching you. Ever. The fur on his bed made you feel even hotter, but it was of no consequence as he peeled your damp attire off of you, the cool air hitting your naked frame making you shudder.
The dark-haired prince was focused on soothing your heat, and he was only partially undressed when he pushed you to your knees, a hand on the small of your back while the other wrapped around himself. The slick between your legs was dripping down your thighs, and his thick cock stretched you out with ease because of it.
The noise you let out was unlike anything you ever heard escape from yourself, and with your forehead pressed to his bed and your fingers twisting into the fur, you could hear him using the time to completely disrobe. When you felt his bare chest pressed to your back, you could not hold back the soft mewl that climbed from your lips.
Baelor pulled his hips back until the head of his cock was just brushing against your folds before surging forward and filling you once again. You struggled to catch your breath at his pace, the hand on your back holding you down for him and keeping you in place to take him. Every push of his hips against yours soothed that fire within you, alleviating some of that discomfort deep within your gut.
You felt…animalistic.
Your teeth were sinking into your lip, and your nails were scratching at his plush bedding, and his Alpha pheromones were making you feral. You wanted to taste him and be as close to him as possible and be in him if you could. His face pressed into the crook of your neck as he rutted into you, and when his teeth grazed your skin, you could not swallow down your small yelp. It felt like a thousand bees in your neck, and you reached back to pull his head closer.
“I could smell the change in you,” Baelor calmly told you. “I could smell your body calling to me and begging me to claim it before you even knew what was happening.”
His words caused a shudder to travel down your spine, and he ran his hand down it as if he knew. When Baelor sat up, he forced you to your hands as well, and they shook as they struggled to keep you up as he continued to steadily thrust into you. The wet sound between your legs reached both of your ears, and you sighed when one of his hands gently twisted at your scalp again.
“You have always been so obedient for me,” he hummed.
You sighed a soft ‘yes’, weakly nodding.
“...always so agreeable, always looking to me for comfort,” he deeply said to you, a hand tracing over your sweat soaked skin. “Always looking to me to protect you.”
His cock stroked that fire in you, making it hotter and hotter.
“Even now, it was I who you ran to tonight to get you through your first heat,” his hand tightened in your hair. “...and it will be I who takes care of all of them. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” you breathed, recalling that he liked for you to use your voice.
“Do you understand what that means?"
His voice was getting closer, and you breathed another soft ‘yes’. Baelor’s nose grazed against your neck, followed by his lips, and when they parted, then his teeth. Your whole body shivered as they pressed into your skin, not enough to break it, but enough to make your heart skip a beat. Baelor did not ask nor did he warn you, and when his teeth sank into your neck fully, marking you and claiming you as his, your whole body convulsed.
Your arms gave out and you collapsed beneath him as you came around his cock, nails scratching and pulling at fabric as he fucked you through your peak. His entire frame pinned you between himself and the bed, and you could not stop gasping and moaning at the feeling of his cock sliding against your walls, the length of him covered in you, wet and glistening no doubt.
His facial hair scratched against your skin in the best way, and the ring on his finger was pressed so firmly against your hip that you knew it would leave a faint impression. Your toes curled as you struggled beneath him, eyes watering just a bit from the pain in your neck, and when Baelor finally pulled his teeth away from your skin, a gentle kiss soothed the irritated flesh.
You were still coming down from your high when he slowed his thrusts, fucking you gently and slow, and you leaned back into him in an attempt to get closer. One of his hands came around to your mouth, and you absentmindedly parted your lips to allow two fingers inside, sucking on them when he gently told you to.
His lips were at your ear now, and he deeply inhaled.
a/n: not fully proof read, pls excuse any silly mistakes 😭, also haven't written smut in a long time but you can tell i fucking love this man. i hope you all enjoy!!
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What was that thing people said? 'Don't poke the bear'?
Wanna know what you did? You poked the bear. Multiple times, if we're being honest.
"Y'know, you're not even that big Jay." You hum, teasing smile making its way onto your face whilst trailing a nail up and down his back. He was hunched over his bike, fixing something or the other - you're not sure what and you really couldn't care less. He tensed, only for a moment, but you saw the muscles on his back stiffen underneath his black compression shirt.
"Yeah?" He doesn't look up. He simply sounds amused, you could even hear his smirk. Well we can't have that now, can we?
"Mhmm, matter of fact it's probably tiny down there too."
"Oh yeah, tiny."
Smug bastard. He wasn't even trying to indulge you. The least he could do was play along. You cross your arms petulantly, brows furrowing in frustration. You glare at his (sexy) back with all the strength you can muster. Meanwhile, he's doing all he can to not burst out into laughter.
You're contemplating stomping out, when he stands up, stretching his arms out in front of him. He tilts his head down to look at you, stupid fucking smirk still so present on his face. He takes a step towards you; you try not to gulp when you notice the dark glint in his green eyes.
"If I'm so tiny, then…" Another step forwards. "…you should have no problem taking it all, right?"
Your eyes widen, heat creeping up the back of your neck as you take a step back. You school your expression into one of dismissal, waving him off with a hand. "Oh, I can take it. Can it even satisfy me though? Surely something so small can't feel that good." You shrug, looking the epitome of innocence as you blink up at him with faux sympathy.
You don't know when he took another step, but now you're pressed against the wall of his garage, his beefy arms on either side of your head, caging you in. You have to fully crane your neck upwards to look at him, and it's then that it hits you just how much this man towers over you. Your eyes rake over him, really taking him in this time. He wasn't just tall. No, he was big. In every sense of the word. Muscles that flexed with every move, strong, solid but with that subtle softness underneath that made you wish he would both hold you close and crush you.
"Yeah? Pretty little thing like you thinks she can handle me?" His hand reaches out to grab your wrist, thumb rubbing gently against your pulse point with a voice so soft it's almost mocking. You swallow back your response when his hand trails up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Up, up, and up.
Until he reaches your collarbone. Calloused fingertips ghost over the skin, causing your breath to hitch, your eyes following his every move. And then, ever so slowly, his hand wraps fully around your throat. Not choking, not squeezing (yet) just… holding. The pad of his thumb presses onto the bottom of your chin, forcing you to look at him with a shuddering breath and wide eyes.
A flash of amusement passes through him at your bewilderment, poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek as he lets out a scoff. "What's wrong? Don't tell me this is too much for you already?" He bends down, leaning in close enough so that his breath ghosted over your ear as he whispered, "I haven't even started yet."
You manage to force a weak glare in his direction, hands clenching into fists by your sides to stop yourself from grabbing onto whatever part of him you could. And just because you can, you throw in a smartass retort in there for good measure. "Too much for me? Please, we both know you're just stalling cos you're ashamed to take that small dick of yours out."
Jason lets out a breathy laugh, low and dark in your ear, lips brushing against the sensitive skin. "Cute. Sounds like you think about what my dick looks like a lot, huh sweetheart?" How is he still so unfazed from your taunts? You were hoping for a reaction, an angry one preferrably, but he was refusing to give you anything, much less whatever your dirty mind had conjured up before you began your bratty act.
His other hand drags down your chest, cold palm flat against the plush skin of your stomach - and then slowly caressing back up until his fingers reach the edge of your bra, all while his gaze is locked onto your face, relishing in every little shudder that leaves you. He cups you, swiping a teasing thumb over the hardened nipple poking through the stupidly thin fabric of your bra, smirk widening when you arch ever so slightly into his touch.
The smirk doesn't leave his face as his hand abandons your tit, sliding down, squeezing your waist on the way before his fingers dip into the waistband of your leggings. He cups your pussy through your panties, letting out a sharp exhale when he rubs along the already wet fabric sticking to your folds.
His grip on your throat doesn't falter, keeping you pinned against the wall, thumb still pressed under your chin so you can't look away even if you wanted to. "What happened to that smart little mouth? You're awfully quiet for someone who's soaked through her panties." He drawls, voice laced with just enough amusement to make you want to both kiss him and slap him.
Your reply dies in your throat, replaced by a gasp when you feel his big fingers push your panties to the side, gently rubbing along your slick pussy. By the time he leans in, lips crashing into yours, you're already trembling. He kisses you like a man starved. Deep, rough, swallowing back every little gasp trying to escape you as he continues toying lazily with your folds, gathering the arousal practically gushing out of you to smear it against your clit in slow circles - as if you weren't already struggling to keep up with his tongue furiously swirling against yours.
He nips teasingly at your bottom lip, before taking your tongue in his mouth and sucking. The action so obscene and unexpected it has you bucking up into his hand, entire body flushing with need.
He groans lowly, almost desperately, pulling back just enough to mutter into your mouth, "You're fucking dripping. Haven't even touched you properly yet." He swipes his fingers through your folds even slower this time, as if to prove his point.
The quiet whimper you let out is muffled into his chest as your head falls forward, hands clutching needily at the front of his shirt, thighs already starting to tremble slightly. The hand on your throat tightens ever so slightly as he lets out another groan - feral and impatient, "Fuck, get this shit off." His hands tears away from your throat and your pussy long enough for him to grab fistfuls of your leggings, ripping apart the thin fabric like it's fucking paper. Not even a second later, your panties suffer the same unfortunate fate, dangling in his fist before he tosses them behind him.
"What the fuck?" You yelp out, trying to catch your breath as you look up at him with wide eyes. Honestly, the action made you more aroused than pissed but you weren't about to let him know that. "I liked those! What are you, a fucking animal?"
He just shrugs, not even flinching at the tone of your voice, pupils dilating as he fixes his gaze on your now bare, glistening cunt, tongue wetting his lips. "Don't give a fuck, need to see how well she can take my fingers." He looks up briefly to press a fleeting, almost soothing kiss to the corner of your mouth, "Besides, I'll buy you new ones."
His knee slots in between your legs, pushing them further apart as his hand goes back down to spread your lips. "God, how are you so wet?" He groans at the sight, forehead falling to rest against yours as he watches your cunt glisten. You're still trying to comprehend what the fuck just happened, looking back and forth between the scraps of fabric that were once your clothes and the positively hungry look in his eyes; and then his lips are back on yours. Messy. Needy. Desperate. Teeth clicking together, tongues swirling as you feel saliva accumulate at the corner of your mouth, every part of your body seemingly dripping for him. He swallows all the little moans, free hand gripping your jaw to press himself closer to you . He pulls back, lips barely just hovering yours as his thumb smears your spit across your cheek, "Look at you, so wrecked already. You still think you can take all of me, sweetheart?"
Your eyes flick up to his, chest heaving as you try to catch the air he just stole out of your lungs, and stubborn as ever, give him a nod. "I told you I would didn't I?" You huff out, hands trailing up his abs to rest on his pecs.
He chuckles softly, nudging his nose against yours before he whispers, "Then I better not fucking hear you complaining later." He swats lightly at your clit, making you yelp before the same hand reaches back to squeeze your ass, blunt nails digging into the soft flesh, dragging you forward against his bulge. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head when you feel just how fucking huge he is. And that's when you realise, you might have fucked up.
He doesn't even give you time to second guess yourself as he drags you over his bulge once more, "Feel that?" He murmurs, dipping his head, "You're gonna be stuffed full soon enough." The hand gripping your jaw moves down to settle on your stomach, stretching his thumb and pinky finger out across as if mapping you out, letting out a low hum, "Up to here I'd say?"
Your brows furrow in confusion until you look down, nearly choking on air when you realise what he's doing. You see him pressing down into a spot that's nearly up to your fucking ribs and you think you might pass out before he even unzips his jeans. Whether it's from fear or excitement, you're yet to decide.
He continues pressing into your stomach as his other hand gathers the mess dripping down your inner thighs and then, without warning, pushes one long, thick finger in.
You let out a strangled cry, eyes widening, hands scrambling to hold onto his arms. Fucking hell, that's only one finger. Thick and stretching your hole out in a way that has your walls clenching around him. His eyes never leave your pussy, watching as his finger goes in and out. In and out. Rubbing you inside just right, curling just enough to have you panting helplessly, nails digging into his skin.
"Struggling already? Oh baby, how're you gonna take my cock if you can't even handle one fucking finger, hm?" He taunts, dragging his finger out and pushing it back in, slow and torturous. His thumb ghosts over your clit, but not touching it just yet, refusing to give you that extra bit of pleasure just yet.
Jason's mouth is back on your skin, biting and sucking at your neck, working his way up to your jaw before licking a stripe along the outer edge of your ear. "I don't know. Maybe it's too much for you." He murmurs into your ear, nipping at your lobe teasingly, his movements halting inside of you. You immediately shake your head, letting out a whine in frustration.
"W-wait, no! Don't stop…" He's got you begging already. Not even for his cock. Oh no, he's got you begging for one finger.
His smirk widens, letting out a hum as his finger begins pumping into you again and you gasp softly in relief. "Feel good? You want another one?"
You manage a shaky nod, letting out a small "Mhmm" amongst soft pants. He tuts disapprovingly, slipping out of you to land a small slap against your clit. You squeal, eyes flying open as you reach out to hold onto his wrist, a weak attempt to stop him from swatting at your sensitive clit again.
He doesn't even flinch, looking down at you sternly. "Words sweetheart. Use them. You think you can take another one?"
You weakly glare up at him, cheeks flushing at how much his commanding was affecting you.
"Yes please." You murmur after a beat, pussy clenching around nothing in anticipation.
Jason almost wants to laugh, biting back a snort at how you're suddenly so obedient. "Good girl. So polite. Is this all it takes to finally make you use your fucking manners?"
You then feel his index fully back in you, his middle finger prodding at your entrance, before slowly pushing into you. "Jas- oh fuck!" The stretch fucking burns, and the thought that it's not even his dick making you fall apart like this is almost humiliating if not for the fact that it felt so good.
"Relax," He mockingly soothes, smirk never leaving his face as he watches your expressions flicker between pain and pleasure. "Gotta get you ready f'me. Can't have you breaking in half when I finally sink my dick into this sweet cunt now, can we?"
He takes his fingers almost all the way out, leaving only the very tip inside before thrusting all the way in. Deeper. Faster. The loud schlick, schlick of your pussy filling the room, every curl of his fingers making you clamp down, wetness dripping down both his wrist and your inner thighs. You're almost thankful he ripped your bottoms off you, because they would've been ruined one way or another.
Your hips buck forwards greedily, needing more. His hand on your stomach is quick to push you back into the wall, pinning you in place with a low growl. "Fuck no. You don't get to use me like a toy. You said you could take it. So fucking take what I give you."
You whine, eyes rolling, head falling back with a thud as you feel his fingers around every inch of your walls. "M-more, nghh— fuck I need more Jason!"
His lips twitch in amusement, drinking in every bit of your pleasure. "My poor baby," he drawls. "You wanna cum that bad? Can't even keep your fucking eyes open."
You can only nod desperately, clutching at the sleeves of his shirt when you feel that coil inside you ready to snap, walls fluttering around the fingers still bullying your poor cunt. He groans at the sensation, his free hand sliding up your shirt, under your bra to tweak your nipple at the same moment his thumb presses into your clit, eliciting a sharp cry from you. "Go on then, cum on my fingers." He murmurs, now pulling at your nipple whilst continuing to rub the inside of your pussy and your clit raw.
A strangled moan escapes your lips, whiny and guttural all at once. Your pussy clamps down on his fingers as wave after hot wave crashes over your body, leaving your thighs shaking in a way that has you struggling to hold yourself. He's quick to notice, freeing your nipple from his grasp as he wraps a strong arm around your waist, holding your trembling body against him.
But he doesn't stop.
His thumb is still circling your clit, softer now, but still enough to have you twitching and sobbing from oversensitivity. "J-jay, h-hahhh — I can't, s'too much!" Your hands try to push him off you, but his grip on you is tight, insistent on wringing every last drop out of your pussy.
Jason only bites down on his bottom lip, trying to ignore the way his cock was twitching in his pants as his fingers keep working you through your orgasm. "You're still squeezing them so tight. You're not done yet, sweetheart." He rasps out, pressing his forehead gently against yours. "Thaaat's it. Keep cumming f'me."
He only lets up when your walls relax around his fingers, fluttering weakly. Your eyes are half lidded, tears pricking at the corners with your mouth parted to let out small hiccuped gasps. Slowly, he eases his fingers out of your drooling cunt, wetness dripping down to his wrist as he presses them lightly against his lips. "Messy girl." He mumbles as he sucks off your slick, eyes never leaving yours as he does so. "Shit, you taste so sweet. Gonna have to taste you properly next time."
Your pussy clenches around air at the sight. You're starting to think you might need to start praying for your survival at this rate.
You feel him shift against you, the tent in his pants brushing against you making you shiver. The sound of a zipper has your gaze falling downwards just in time to see him push down his boxers, the weight of his cock heavy against your thigh. Your eyes instantly widen, breath catching in your throat. Holy shit. He's not only long, he's also thick. The tip is flushed an angry red, already dripping pre-cum as he wraps his hand around it, letting out a relieved hiss as he swipes his thumb over his slit.
"That's not…" You gulp, "…that's not gonna fit." You finish off in a whisper, head snapping up to stare up at him.
He gives himself another slow stroke as he looks down at you, white streak of hair falling over his brows. "Sweetheart," he mutters, voice dripped in amusement, "We're gonna make it fit. Didn't you say you could take all of me? Without complaining?"
Well shit. You did say that.
He swipes his cock teasingly up and down in between your folds, smothering yout slick over his length with every move pulling out a groan from him and a breathless whimper from you. He nudges the head against your entrance, pressing inside ever so slightly, stretching you out around the width - enough for it to start stinging - before he pulls back out. Being the tease that he is, he keeps repeating the motion, for what seemed like hours on your end (it was barely a minute). You're panting, pawing at his chest, needing him to fucking put it in.
The desperation must have been obvious on your face because his hand comes up to brush stray strands of hair off your forehead gently, checking in with a soft "You ready?"
God, you've been ready for him. If the way your arousal had dripped all the way down to your knees was any indication.
"Jay I swear if you don't put your dick inside me right n- OH FUCK!" Your threat is interrupted by a squeal when he finally pushes into you, hands going back to their rightful place on his arms.
He snorts quietly, watching you with barely contained amusement. "Relax, that's just the head- fuck look at you. Twitching like you're about to come just from this."
You shake your head desperately, because what the fuck does he mean, 'just the head'? You felt like you were being split open. "It's- oh fuck — too big Jay-" You sniffle, nails leaving red dents on his pale skin as you clutch to him like a lifeline.
His low, sharp laugh cuts you off as his eyes glint almost cruelly. The hand on your head, reaches back to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging so you looked straight up at him. "What did I tell you earlier?" He purrs, pushing himself further into your entrance, eliciting a choked sob from you. "Don't wanna hear you fucking complaining. You said you could take it. So fucking take it like a good little slut."
Despite his harsh words, he eases every inch into you slowly, almost carefully. The stretch of his cock feels almost endless - your walls being forced open wider and wider with every inch. By the time he's almost all the way in, you're crying into his chest, still clutching at his now red arms from the way your nails have been digging and raking at them.
"H-hahh— s'too much-" You can't help but whimper, sniffling as you feel your pussy stretch in ways you didn't even know were possible.
"Always fuckin' whining hm?" He taunts, shoving the rest of him into you with a particularly rough thrust. Your back arches into his chest, eyes flying open as a sound that can only be described as a shriek rips from your throat, tears blurring your vision. You can feel him everywhere. Cock buried inside your warm pussy. Body wrapped around yours, touching you in any and every way he wanted.
Jason clenches his teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he lets out a relieved groan, forehead falling into the crook of your neck. "Fuck meeee. So fucking tight. Took every inch so well." He emphasises his point with a slow, deep grind of his hips into yours, another whimper slipping out of you.
"Didn't I tell you we'd make it fit, sweetheart?"He murmurs into your neck, tilting his head to look down. "You feel that?" He whispers, hand pressing into the rounded bulge of your stomach, "That's me. All the way up here." He sounds almost fascinated and it would be cute if you weren't currently shaking from his cock just entering you. He presses down harder, making sure you really feel him. Your eyes flutter, head falling forward from feeling so full and his grin sharpens.
"Don't you fucking dare pass out on me before I get to ruin this pretty pussy."
You barely hear him, let alone understand what he said. And before you can make sense of his words, he's pulled out halfway, only to thrust back into you mercilessly. You wail, half in pleasure, half in shock, walls spasming and contract in pure need.
Jason grunts, plunging in and out of you, ripping scream after scream from your poor throat, tears streaming down your cheeks. "Aw, my poor baby." He mocks, thumb swiping gently at a tear. "Are you crying? Go on. Cry on this fat cock."
Your legs are shaking. Shaking too much for you to be able to consciously hold yourself up. Jason doesn't even hesitate; he grips your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly, arms locked around your back, your legs dangling over his forearms, all while keeping you stuffed full. You're helpless in his hold, completely at his mercy.
"Oh my god— Jason!" You squeal, hands clawing at his back for purchase.
"I got you sweetheart, just hold on tight." He grits out, muscles flexing as he lifts you up and down on his cock. It's fucking brutal. Each thrust sending a jolt through your body, his grip and pace unrelenting. You couldn't even try to run away.
Your head lolls forward into his bare shoulder, biting down to muffle yet another scream. When did he even take his shirt off?
He lets out an equally feral groan, burying his face into your neck, "Feel so fucking good. Fucking made to take this dick."
"Uh huh, s-sho good—" You babble out, barely able to form any words, just repeating what he was saying back to him. You feel your arousal drip, drip, dripping down your thighs, coating Jason's own skin with every rut.
He's bouncing you on his cock like a fucking ragdoll, hips snapping up into you erratically. He nudges your head back with his own, letting it fall back against the wall, biting down onto your neck with a snarl when he notices your eyes fluttering shut. "Told you not to fucking pass out on me." He pulls you back down so hard this time, you swear you can feel the head of his cock in your fucking lungs. "You better keep those pretty eyes open, y'hear me? Cos I'm not stopping until I cum inside this drooling cunt."
He moves you ever so slightly, so that your legs were now wrapped around his waist, both of his hands grabbing onto your ass to pull you up and down like a ragdoll. You hate how much you love how easily he manhandles you.
"How are you this fucking tight? Squeezing the life out of my dick- fuck me—" He groans, teeth biting down onto whatever area of skin he hasn't marked yet (which wasn't a lot). He's hammering up into you so hard you don't even have the energy to cry out anymore. You're just gasping and sobbing brokenly on his thick fucking cock. For a minute you think this might be how you die.
He doesn't break his rhythm. Not even for one second. He doesn't give you time to breathe, everytime he plows into you, he knocks the air out of your lungs - your entire body is shaking in his hold, coated in a thin layer of sweat and arousal. Your pussy clamps down impossibly tighter around him, and he knows you're close.
So he doesn't relent.
"Shit, you're close aren't you? Can fucking feel it." He says through clenched teeth, sweat dripping down from his hair and onto his chest.
"Nghh— ah fuck. Gonna c-cum!" You don't know how you even managed to string together those words. You feel every muscle in your body tightening, convulsing as you're finally pushed over the edge.
"That's ittt, such a good fucking girl. Cum for me, sweetheart." He punctuates each word with yet another pump of his hips, your body jerking in his hold as you go limp from your orgasm. "Shit, keep going baby. Milk my fucking dry."
You're gasping, crying and panting all at once into his shoulder, feeling as if you've just had the soul sucked out of you. And yet, he doesn't stop. If anything, his grip on you tightens, bouncing you even more ruthlessly on his length. His pace is more frenzied now as he chases his own high. Your cum is dripping out of you, down onto his cock, and down both of your legs.
"So fucking close, I'm about to h-hah— lose my fucking mind" He pants out, rutting up into frantically, almost using you like a toy. "Gonna fill you up. You want it baby? Want my cum filling up that tight little pussy?"
You nod desperately into his shoulder, nails grazing across his back, leaving trails of red as your pussy clenches around him just at the thought of him cumming inside you. "P-please" You all but whimper out.
That one word is all it takes for him to let go. His warm load shoots deep inside you, filling you up to the fucking brim. "Yeah, f-fucking take it." You feel his cock twitch inside you, his forehead pressed into your neck as he huffs, grinding out the last waves of his orgasm, wanting every single drop inside you.
He doesn't let you go, doesn't even pull out - just lifts his head up from your shoulder, gently nudging at your jaw with his nose. "Look at you, fucking brat. All fucked out, sobbing and clinging to me." He mumbles teasingly. You can only let out a huff in response.
"Did so good for me." He whispers, softer this time. "My good girl, hm?"
You've managed to calm your sobs into quiet little hiccups, still overwhelmed by everything. Not only is he still inside you, but he also filled you up with his cum. It's safe to say, you don't think you'll be able to form words at the moment.
He lets out a low chuckle, bringing a hand up to cup the back of your head, holding you to his shoulder, peppering soft soothing kisses along your shoulder.
"Still think I'm small, sweetheart?"
taglist: @heliumshorns, @yinzlovescoffee
ᯓ★ notes from star: comments and reblogs appreciated as always!! and lmk if you wanna be tagged for any other days!!
It only takes the movement of your finger to share this post nothing more !!!! If you read this and choose to scroll past it, don’t pretend you didn’t see it. You saw it and you chose silence. You chose to continue your day as if nothing was wrong, while others are physically and emotionally breaking and don’t have the luxury of ignoring reality. Silence here is not neutrality; it is abandonment. Reblogging or offering a word of support costs you nothing, yet refusing to do even that says everything.
I am writing this while suffering from anemia, living with constant exhaustion, dizziness, and a lack of proper nutrition in conditions that show no mercy. My body grows weaker day after day, and I don’t have the privilege of being sick quietly. Asking for help is not weakness it is a last attempt to survive. Ignoring this reality, however, is a cruelty with no excuse.
If you’ve reached these lines and are still thinking of scrolling away, remember that this choice leaves a mark. Sharing is an action. Donating even a small amount is an action. Ignoring this is a conscious decision to leave a human being in pain alone. Don’t claim compassion while doing nothing.
Warnings: ⚠️dead dove; do not eat⚠️ dub con, void!Bob is a really fuckin hot incubus, fisting, cunnilingus
Basically if you’re under 18 and/or dark fics aren’t your jam, you better skidaddle
Incubus!Bob that haunts your new apartment in the dead of night
Incubus!Bob that eventually disrupts your dreams, bringing out your wildest fantasies that only you knew about and leaving you breathless and wet when you wake up
Incubus!Bob that has learned about you, your body, and your deepest desires without ever directly interacting with you
Incubus!Bob that causes you to light candles around your room and pray to a god that you hope will protect you from the demon living in the darkest shadows of your house
Incubus!Bob that snuffs out the candlelights, causes the temperature in the room to drop, and emerges from the shadows, a tall, dark figure with dim eyes that pierce your soul
Incubus!Bob that hushes your screams by gripping your neck and throwing you to the bed before hovering over you
Incubus!Bob that tells you, “Don’t be afraid, sweet little angel. I won’t hurt you. I just wanna make you feel really good.”
Incubus!Bob that makes your panties wet and your nipples hard through your nightgown because even though you feared for your life in that moment, the past few nights left you hot and bothered by the strange figure in your dreams, and you so badly needed a release
Incubus!Bob that tore off your nightgown and panties to worship your body as if you were the goddess that deserved to be prayed to, dragging his claws against every curve and marking your skin with his fangs
Incubus!Bob that kept your hips locked under his firm grip as he devoured your pussy like forbidden fruit, making you come more times than any mortal has attempted to in all your life
Incubus!Bob that shoved not one but two fingers inside you, forcing you to look into his white eyes with his free hand as you pulsed around his fingers
Incubus!Bob that successfully slipped a third finger in your aching hole after challenging you to take more of him, your wince melting into a moan
Incubus!Bob that manages to push his fourth finger in and your needy cunt sucks and lubricates each digit as he experimentally curls them against a spongy spot that causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head and thrash on the bed
Incubus!Bob that dives back in to flick your budding clit with his tongue while part of his hand is still inside you and holy shit does it all feel so good to you that you are in tears and your vision gets fuzzy
Incubus!Bob that removes his fingers and mouth from you as you’re floating back to earth from your high
Incubus!Bob who is the last thing you see before you drift off to a peaceful slumber, feeling him kiss your forehead as you succumb to sleep
Gaz is the kind of guy to notice instantly when something is wrong.
He knows the kind of toll this place can have on you, he feels it himself on dark cold night. Visions of a dark room and the clink of his fellow soldiers chains. He notices when you look more shell than person, when everything has you wishing yourself out of your body.
He seems to always know what you need.
A gentle "hey, you're done, okay? Let's go sit down." When you've spent the past eight hours bent over your desk. He guides you to his barracks, with warm lights and a soft bed.
Gaz hands you a water bottle, the liquid tinted pink with the electrolyte packet you like. "Drink this. Don't think I didn't see those energy drinks in the can."
It's not judgemental, not pity either, just fact. Gaz doesn't throw soft words at you, knowing too well how hollow those can feel sometimes.
Instead, he gently leads you into bed, with the thick blankets designed to stave off the cold of the base. His chest presses to your back, arms around you, keeping your soul inside your body even if you wish it weren't.
"I'm here, okay? I'll always be here." He whispers, and you both know he isn't talking about his position next to you. It may not be alright now, or even later, but gaz is here to support you. To keep you afloat until you find the strength to swim.
Always. Even when you don't realize you're sinking, he's there.
List of suicide hotlines for multiple countries [here]. My DMs are always open <3
Pairing: Alpha!Simon Riley X Omega!Reader, TF141 X Omega!Reader
Summary: You reconnect with your Alpha for the first time since being back on base.
Warnings: language, angst, a/b/o dynamics, minor fluff,
Word Count: 2.9k
A/n: part ten is gonna be short but is ready for posting, and im working on part eleven tonight! Im really excited for part 11&12 y'all have no idea
~*~
“Good session?”
The voice cracks the still quiet of the empty gym like the snap of a whip, grabbing your attention instantly.
You don’t answer, only slowly lift your eyes to the man on the other end of the gym.
His eyes, always guarded, are focused on you. Unflinching, unwavering. Almost as if he’s ready to pick apart everything he sees that he doesn’t like.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
Gaz’s words echo in your ears as the large man crosses the room on silent feet.
‘He’s afraid…’
It’s hard to believe someone so massive and menacing could ever be afraid. Especially because of you.
Your silence doesn’t bother Simon. He’s honestly a little surprised that you haven’t gotten up and left yet.
He takes it as a win and continues on his way toward you, determined to say what he came here to say and leave right after.
As he gets closer, he waits for your scent to hit him.
He waits until he’s only a few feet away, and still doesn’t get a single hint of the scent that’s been itching at his brain for weeks upon weeks upon weeks.
You look different.
He wonders briefly if the suppressants are to blame for that, too, but when your eyes meet his, he knows that’s not what it is.
You’ve changed. At your root, your core. You’re different from the Omega he trained with all that time ago.
“He’s doing good work with you. Your stance is stronger,” he tries again.
“Is your rut due?” Your question visibly catches him off guard and you can’t help the little spark of satisfaction you feel.
Is this power?
Certainly not. Can’t be.
An Omega like you having any semblance of power over an Alpha like him?
“No, why would-”
“You haven’t said a word to me,” you interrupt, rising to your feet.
“You’ve barely looked at me, and you leave the room every time I enter. What reason could you possibly have to come seek me out if it isn’t your rut?”
He lets out a heavy sigh and drops his eyes for a moment.
There it is.
“I know. And I know you’re angry and-”
You let out a tired, breathy laugh that tastes a little bitter around the edges. “You seem to know a lot of things, Simon.”
Hearing his name on your tongue lands like a blow to the chest, and he needs a moment to recover before speaking again.
“I thought space would help,” he finally tries. “I don’t know if you remember what happened last time you saw me, but you didn’t exactly make it seem like you wanted an apology.”
“I don’t.” You don’t specify if you mean you don’t remember or don’t want an apology, but he seems to understand that those two words apply to both.
“I figured. But you’re getting one anyway.”
As he takes a step toward you, he watches for any trace of the feral Omega he met in the woods. The one who refused to let him come near.
“I’m sorry. I said what I said and I can’t take it back, but I can try to make things better. I can start showing up... Being there for you the way you need me to. If you’ll let me.”
You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling.
He sounds so genuine, so real. So different from the man who called you a waste of Oxygen.
You wonder how much his conversation with Laswell has changed his perspective.
The reminder of the overheard conversation makes your stomach churn.
The fact that he knows so many dirty intimate details of your wretched life and your constructed childhood, yet you know next to nothing about him besides his prejudice against Omegas.
“Why now?” You finally ask, throat tight as you try your hardest to maintain your composure.
Gaz’s words of encouragement ring in your ears.
This is your life. You get to decide what you do.
Simon shrugs and looks away, eyes scanning the room as if he’s looking for an intruder, a threat, a danger to his Omega. But he just can’t look at you. Not when you’re staring at him with those intense eyes and all those feelings.
There’s so much he wants to do, wants to say, but he knows he can’t. Not now, not when you’re still so fragile. Not when your scent, your biology, is being regulated by Military-Grade suppressants.
“I’ve been watching you,” he finally says, eyes still roving over every inch of the room.
Everywhere but that space you occupy.
“Watched you with Gaz, watched you by yourself. I can see it in you… that spark. It’s not gone yet, and I wanna help bring you back to life.”
Of all the things you thought he’d say, that was nowhere on the list.
“You’re not just a toy for me to abuse during my rut.” His words are final and unflinching, and as he says them he brings his eyes back to you.
You hold his gaze with dry, thoughtful eyes.
“Whatever they told you before… it doesn’t matter. That’s not who you are, not anymore.”
Another silence rests between the two of you but it’s far less tense, less awkward.
This silence is almost welcome. An unspoken olive branch extended and left to hang there until you decide to take it or swat it away.
Your fingers reach out, accepting his peace offering, and then his fingers find yours.
His palm slides across yours, long boney fingers wrapping around your hand until he has enough of a grip to help you to your feet.
Your eyes stay locked on his the entire time until you’re on your feet. Only then, once your hands are no longer connected, do you drop your gaze as well.
“I’ll let you get back to it.” He starts heading toward the door, pausing once to shoot a soft glance over his shoulder.
“You ever get tired of Gaz you let me know. I won’t be far.”
‘I won’t be far.’
A promise. A hefty one, at that.
Without giving you an opportunity to respond, he leaves the room.
Once the door clicks closed behind him, he lets out a heavy sigh and his shoulders loosen a bit.
That went… a lot better than he thought it would.
He doesn’t get to celebrate his little victory for too long, of course.
The flickering shadow of an all-black uniform glides through his peripheral vision, vanishing a split-second after his eyes land on it fully.
Odd.
Instead of going the way he normally would, he takes a left toward the shadow.
Something in his gut twists, tightening when he finds no trace of them.
Not even a scent to follow.
~*~
Price leans forward, brows heavy as Simon captures his full attention.
“You’re sure?” He asks, voice gruff and low.
Simon nods once.
“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
Price works his jaw a few times, mulling over the situation before leaning back in his chair once again.
“Run through it one more time.”
“At the west end of the Gym hallway. They were scentless, wore an all-black uniform. I couldn’t tell if they were armed. They disappeared within seconds.”
Laswell pinches the bridge of her nose and squeezes her eyes shut.
“Theta-6. They must be checking on her.”
Price’s mouth tightens into a hard line as a wave of anger sours the air.
“They’re not permitted to have field assets active on my base, much less without my knowledge.”
“John, let’s be frank. The only reason Simon saw the agent is because this has already escalated,” Laswell says, her voice bordering on exhaustion.
“They’re here to observe without being seen, they have been the whole time, haven’t they?” Simon realizes, far slower than he’d like to admit. “See if she’s meeting expectations.”
“Which she obviously isn’t,” Laswell adds without missing a beat. “Not to them. They built her to be obedient, desirable, disposable. Training with Gaz? Running from her assignment? Her Alpha? None of that is acceptable.”
“She’s a person,” Simon growls, “not hardware. Not a pet or a toy.”
“Good luck trying to tell that to the funding board.”
A heavy silence settles over the office as the reality of her words set in.
There’s a reason Theta-6 has been able to do the things they do. Why they get away with the cruelty that goes on behind those closed doors.
Because they produce attractive results…
Most of the time.
“We’ll keep her close,” Price orders, bringing the room back to attention. “No more wandering alone. I want eyes on her. Always. If Theta-6 is getting bolder, that means they’re not just looking. They’re deciding.”
~*~
The water raining down on you is a couple degrees past ‘too hot’, but you stand beneath it anyway.
The stinging pain does wonders to help ground you as it runs over old bruises and healing scars.
Beyond the hot water scalding your skin, you can still feel the ghost of Simon’s touch on your hand. The feeling of him, so warm and steady and sure. So purely Simon.
You wonder what it’s like to be so rooted in who you are. To be so sure of yourself.
But hey, at least now you’re trying, right?
Something still doesn’t feel right.
A deep feeling of unease that gnaws on the walls of your stomach like a caged animal desperate to escape.
No matter what you try or who you’re with, you can’t seem to shake the prickle in the back of your neck. The deep gut instinct that something is watching you.
Which makes no logical sense, you try to reason.
Nothing gets inside these walls without permission. Without clearance.
Shaking the silly thoughts from your head, you turn the water off and step out of the shower, freezing when you notice movement in your peripherals.
Right as you turn to look, the soap clinging precariously to your lashes decides to acquaint itself with your eyes.
You blink furiously, scrubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand until you can kind of see and then-
You’re alone.
Of course you’re alone. This is a military base, for God’s sake.
You check the bathroom door once for good measure, heart hammering just a tiny bit less when you confirm it’s still locked.
Bracing both hands on the counter, you take slow, careful breaths as your composure flops around on the floor like a dead fish.
It’s your suppressants, you try to reason. It must be. There’s no other rational explanation for your newfound paranoia.
Right?
~*~
“Fuck!” Your back hits the mat with a thud hard enough to knock most of the air from your lungs.
Gaz is quick to roll off of you and help you lean forward until you’re able to catch your breath.
“What’s going on?” He asks quietly, one steady hand resting on your back.
You shake your head and avoid his eyes.
“Didn’t sleep great.”
Just because he can’t smell the lie doesn’t mean he won’t be able to see it.
It’s not like it’s totally a lie, though.
You haven’t been sleeping too well lately. It’s hard when every second your paranoia increases. When every sound makes you twitch and every movement makes your heart skip a beat.
Sleeping hasn’t exactly been the easiest.
“It’s more than just that,” he presses, coming to kneel in front of you. “I’m here if you need to talk about it. You know that.”
You do know that. And you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it.
But the last thing you want is to burden Gaz anymore with your issues.
You just need to tough it out. Push through it for however much longer they’ll be in your system, and then everything will be back to normal.
Or whatever new-normal is waiting.
These are the thoughts that plague you as you continue training.
These, accompanied with the ever-present feeling of being watched, have you missing a step and catching the corner of Gaz’s fist to your jaw.
Though he’s not hitting nearly as hard as he would with anyone else, the force of it is still enough to knock you off balance and send you tumbling to the floor.
“Okay, that’s enough for today.”
You shake your head furiously and rise to your feet.
“No, we’re not done.”
“Yes. We are. You’re not gonna learn anything this way. And I don’t need to teach you how to take a beating.” He turns away from you and starts unwrapping his knuckles, ending the argument before you have a chance to start it.
“I’ll take you to get something to eat. Or I can take you to rest, whatever you need. But this,” he motions to the gym around you, “isn’t what you need right now.”
A distraction is exactly what you need. But you can’t tell him that, because all it will lead to is a loving, motherly conversation about what it is you’re trying to distract yourself from.
“I’ll be fine to walk on my own.”
He opens his mouth to protest but you’re already halfway across the gym toward the door.
His expression is tight as he watches you walk, and he struggles with his own internal battle.
Price’s orders were direct: Don’t let you out of his sight.
But at the same time, the last thing he wants to do is make you feel trapped.
So he lets you venture into the hallway alone, watches you as far as the windows allow, and then trusts a higher power to keep you safe when you disappear from view.
Your footsteps echo in your ears as you march toward your room.
You feel a little bit bad for not confiding in Gaz but it’s all so suffocating; all you want is time and space to breathe.
Gaz has earned your trust more than most, but even his loyalties are questionable. What happens if you confide in him and he tells Price? What if they tell Laswell?
Each step away from the Gym feels colder than the last, and that familiar eerie tickling starts to creep up your neck.
Wrapping your arms around yourself, you pick up the pace.
The last thing you want to do is spend another moment exposed to the ever-present gaze of whatever creature haunts your peripherals.
And as you turn down another hallway, your steps falter and your heart drops into your stomach.
There’s an open supply closet down the hall, and a figure standing in front of it.
They’re tall, that’s the first thing you notice.
The next thing you notice is the lack of standard uniform. There isn’t so much as a patch on the all-black uniform.
They’ve got a datapad in their hands and their head is focused toward the closet, but you swear their eyes flicker to yours for the briefest of moments.
It’s a fraction of a second but it’s more than enough for that eerie feeling to race down your spine.
You continue marching, keeping your eyes forward as if nothing is amiss. As if you didn’t just hesitate.
As if you are not painfully aware of how out of place the two of you are. And you’re sure they know it too.
The figure doesn’t move as you pass by, doesn’t so much as nod your way, but the pit in your stomach grows the closer you get.
There’s a type of familiarity in the blankness of their eyes, the emotionless expression on their face.
You’ve seen it many many times before.
You may not know the name of the Agent at the supply closet, but you don’t have to.
You know who they are and what they’re here for.
And when you glance back before rounding the corner, they’re gone.
Summary: ...Snapping the folder closed, he tosses it back to Price and rises to his feet. "Since you're just the messenger, you can tell them to send the pup back where it came from."...
Warnings: A/b/o dynamics, military inaccuracies, language, sexual themes, smut, injuries, lowkey mean!simon, kinda strangers to simons a hater to lovers?
Word Count: 3.4K
A/N: Y'all really thought i would be involved in the COD waters and NOT do something a/b/o??? y'all thought wrong. Im such a hoe for this shit but enjoy cause i have another a/b/o idea for cod? idk maaaan
A/N2: I literally have like 12 different things written and ready for posting idk why i dont post them. i think im scared of you guys 😣 but im gonna try to post at least once a week until i start getting through my inventory........
~*~
"Thank you for joining me on such short notice," The Captain says, pushing open the door to one of the interview rooms.
The Lieutenant steps in a moment after him, ducking slightly through the doorway, but says nothing.
The Captain sits down first, then motions for the other man to sit across from him.
Ever the good soldier, Ghost obeys, taking a stiff seat while his eyes flicker around the otherwise empty room.
"What's goin' on?" He finally asks, tugging his gaze from the mirror behind Price and focusing on him instead.
The older man heaves a sigh and tosses a thick folder across the table. It thuds lowly upon impact and slides over to Ghost, and the man only stares at it blankly.
"This is done. There's nothing you can say or do that will change this."
Running near a mile a minute, he wracks his brain trying to figure out what's going on as he slowly flips open the folder.
Confusion settles on his shoulders when he finds the contents sealed in a plastic bag.
Eyes flickering up to his Captain, he pauses.
Only after Price gives an encouraging nod does he open the bag, and when he does he wishes he hadn't.
His eyes roll back and a shudder tears down his back.
"What is this?" He grits out, yanking the shirt out of the bag and crumpling it up in his hand as the scent slowly fills his nose through the fabric of his balaclava.
It smells earthy, homey. Sweet and warm like baking with the cool fog of morning dew.
"This is your Omega."
"Try again."
Price sighs, "don't make this any harder than it already is. It's above my head, Lieutenant. These aren't my orders, I'm just the messenger."
Ghost is quiet for a long moment, then he quickly flips the folder open and starts scanning over the words on the page.
There's a picture of a pretty Omega with warm, happy eyes.
Looking past that, he reads her name, nationality, presentation age. He eats up every word, stopping only when he gets to the part about her upbringing.
The Omega they've so kindly gifted is from a Military Omega Shelter.
The shelters are more of a ghost story than he is.
Snapping the folder closed, he tosses it back to Price and rises to his feet.
"Since you're just the messenger, you can tell them to send the pup back where it came from."
He leaves the room, and the walls tremble with the force of the door closing.
Price heaves out a heavy sigh and turns to look at the mirror over his shoulder.
On the other side of the glass, Laswell watches you carefully.
She keeps her senses on high alert for every breath, every tiny change in your scent.
Your eyes, however, are locked on where the angry Alpha was just standing.
You'd been told stories of why Omegas needed to see Alphas in their natural habitat before submitting to a mate. Something about the primitive nature taking over and kicking the Omega into fight or flight when seeing an unknown Alpha for the first time. You were never a big believer in that, you'd openly scoffed at it.
But now? Now you couldn't be more grateful the Shelter enforced it before sending you off.
If you'd had to meet this Lieutenant Riley in person without seeing him from a distance first, you're sure the weight of his glare would've killed you.
The silence hangs so heavily between you and Chief Laswell that a trill starts to ring in your ears.
"That wasn't too bad," she finally says.
Your eyes find your fingertips as your brows draw together.
That wasn't too bad?
If that's 'not too bad' you're positive you don't want to know what 'bad' is.
His harsh words echo in your head and your frown deepens.
A chuckle leaves her lips at the look on your face, and she watches as Captain Price slowly rises to his feet and leaves the room.
"I wasn't sure what they would've told you about this assignment," she confesses, leaning back in her chair with a sigh.
She slides over a folder that bears a striking resemblance to the one that Captain Price gave the Lieutenant.
"They told me I would find out when I got here," you answer quietly, eyeing the folder.
That's not entirely true.
You knew you would be coming here to be mated. That here you would service an Alpha or perhaps a pack.
Everyone in the Shelter knew.
The only time girls leave the Shelter is when an Alpha needs an outlet, a rut bunny to quell his raging animalistic needs. And there's no shortage of those particular Alphas in the military.
On the off-chance an Omega isn't chosen, she stays with the Shelter and goes on to teach the next generation.
You weren't one of those lucky ones.
"By now, everyone who knew you has been led to believe that you died in the helicopter that brought you here. Your funeral will be in two weeks. Empty casket."
Her words shock you so deeply that, for a split second, you bring your gaze to hers.
"The rest of your life will be, from this moment on, highly classified. To be shared with none but those in your pack, with the exception of given doctors and myself. All your medical needs will be met through our facilities, and anything you require will be provided. Do you understand?"
Her voice rings with such authority that all the suppressants in the world can't hide the fact that she's an Alpha.
"Yes."
She gives one firm nod of her head, then flips the folder open for you.
There, on the first page, is a generic photo icon in place of where your new mate's face should be.
"Lieutenant Riley is a private man, required by his profession. If he wants you to see him, you'll see him."
You skim your eyes over the page, breathing steadily to keep your scent even and hide the apprehension growing in your belly.
The document is more redacted than not, and it's a mere two pages long.
Sitting up straighter and casting your eyes down to the floor, you nod your understanding.
Laswell rises and motions for you to do the same.
Like the good Omega you are, you obey, following her as she opens the door to the hallway.
"He won't be on board with this. He'll likely refuse. Vehemently. You must understand that it has nothing to do with you as an individual and everything to do with the situation at hand. No Alpha will admit they need help, fewer still will accept it. Even when it's wrapped wonderfully in a gift like you."
Her words ease some of your nerves, her compliment warming your tummy for the briefest of moments.
Your inner Omega yearns for more approval from this Alpha, hell, from any Alpha, really.
The Shelter gave just the right amount of Alpha exposure to cause a deep craving for their approval.
Surely one of the reasons you were chosen for this particular one.
"You are here to help him in ways he may not even understand. Be patient and know that you're doing what's necessary. You're helping him."
The warmth in your tummy spreads to your chest and you can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth.
That smile vanishes, however, when Laswell turns down a long hallway with only one door at the end. In front of the door is the very man in question.
His eyes bore into yours and you quickly drop your gaze, heart racing in your chest.
Laswell doesn't falter. She continues down the hall with you at her side, and Simon straightens up and starts walking.
"Lieutenant," She greets, pausing her stride.
"Laswell."
He walks right on by the two of you without sparing either of you a glance.
The sound of his voice so close, the deep rumbling growl of it around that one word has your scent permeating the air.
Risking a glance over your shoulder, you catch sight of him as he turns the corner, his glare focused on you.
You suck in a shuddering breath at the menacing look and snap your head back forward, biting on your bottom lip to stop it from quivering.
"I put your bags in here already. I didn't think he'd be that attuned to your scent so soon," She confesses.
The two of you come to a stop outside of the door that must be for your quarters.
"This is a biometric locking system. Right now, you and I are the only ones with access. Once you've been claimed and welcomed into the pack, your pack mates will also be given access with the permission of your Alpha."
You say nothing, only nod your understanding as she unlocks the door.
Respecting the boundary of the threshold, she takes a half-step back to give you enough space to enter.
Slowly, you step into the room, glancing around quickly before flicking on the light.
Though far better and larger than your room at the Shelter, it's still very sterile and military.
There's a bed to the right, with a nightstand on either side. At the foot of the bed is a stack of extra pillows and blankets.
On the opposite wall is a small desk with four folders placed neatly on it. Your bags occupy the space on the floor beside the desk.
To the left are two doors. One that likely leads to a closet and another to a bathroom.
Your inner Omega recoils at the stale stench of the air.
"You'll be okay here for the night?" Chief Laswell asks after a moment.
"Yes." Is your automatic reply. You don't know why she's asking, you both know that you don't have a choice.
She nods, watching from her spot outside the door as you step further into the room.
"The first week or two I won't mind if you ask me for anything you need, but I would like to see you get more comfortable with your Alpha and with the other members of your pack."
You nod your understanding, walking toward the desk and inspecting the other contents.
"Once you get used to them, the team's not so bad. I think you'll get along well with the Sergeants."
Your brows furrow for a moment, but before you can say another word the door closes between the two of you with a soft click and the 'whir' of the lock.
At least no one else can come in.
Slowly, you make your way around the perimeter of the room, taking your time and breathing heavily to cover the area in your scent.
Once you've successfully scented the room, the bathroom, and the closet, you take a careful seat on the corner of the bed and let the silence envelope you.
Ever since the Shelter took you in, you knew that your life would be some variation of this. But you never thought it would be so... alien.
It's almost like you're watching someone else live your life.
Shaking the thoughts from your head, you stand up and make your way back over to the desk, flipping open the folders.
Each one has a plastic bag inside, and information on your new pack.
Lieutenant Riley's folder is as bare as the one Laswell slid over to you, however the plastic bag is what really piques your interest.
Carefully, you pull it open, a soft purr leaving you as his scent fills your nose.
He smells wonderful. Like the earth after a rainstorm. The smoke wafting from a dying fire through fresh morning fog. Like destruction and the peace that follows.
After another long, deep breath, you seal the bag once more and hug it close to your chest.
Your mind wanders back to when he found out about you. The anger that filled him, the way he shuddered when he smelled your scent.
Chief Laswell's words ring in your ears as you start to worry.
It's not you. You're not the problem. He's angry at the situation.
Shaking the thoughts from your head, you set the bag down and flip open the next folder, shivering when you see another plastic bag, and a photo of Captain Price.
The whole team must be here. A tiny piece of them given to you, to allow yourself to get familiar with them even in their absence.
You're more than sure that Lieutenant Riley didn't willingly provide anything. The others, though? You're a little bit more hopeful.
You open the plastic bag a crack and give it a gentle sniff, another purr of satisfaction rumbling softly in your chest.
The Captain smells more woodsy, with a spicy undertone. Like an old, warmly lit cabin in the middle of the forest, in the heart of the winter.
You keep the bag held up to your nose as you read over what little information there is.
The document is redacted, but still gives you far more information than the Lieutenant's.
Sealing the bag, you move on to the next folder, cocking your head to the side and letting your eyes flutter closed as you open the bag.
This one is fresh and citrusy, like linen hanging to dry in the sun beside an orange tree.
Sergeant Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick.
A Beta.
You had expected the pack to consist of all Alphas.
Truly, you expected the Military to only employ Alphas.
Your eyes scan over the words quickly, greedily devouring all that you can about this Beta as you take deep breaths of his scent.
This is good news. Great news, even.
Sealing and setting down his bag, you move on to the last one.
Your eyes widen when you read the name and presentation.
Another Beta.
Who goes by Soap?
This one smells like the loveliest combination of lemon, jasmine, and sandalwood. Like a Sunday reset, a freshly clean house, and a lover at your hip.
After reading through Sergeant MacTavish's file you set his bag down and take a few steps back, so far, in fact, that you hit your legs on the edge of the bed and stumble back.
Falling onto your back, you take a few breaths and try to clear your head.
Your eyelashes lightly kiss your cheeks as you let your eyes fall closed, basking in the lingering embrace of your new packs scents.
You bask in it so much that you fall asleep right there on your back.
It's hours later that you're awoken by a soft knock on your door.
Pushing to your feet, you take a moment to sniff the air, recognizing the scent from one of the many folders on your desk.
Slowly, you open the door, a little surprised to see the Captain standing in front of you.
"Evenin'," he greets, smiling gently at you.
You bow your head in acknowledgement, refusing to let your eyes stray to his.
"I'm Captain John Price. I... I figured you know that already, but I thought it best to come introduce myself properly."
His scent is so much stronger like this, like a brick wall of woodsy spice that makes you feel cozy and warm.
He must feel you relaxing, your scent easing to something a bit softer, because his shoulders relax and his scent wafts more freely.
"They're serving dinner, if you'd care to join us?"
His words confuse you, but the way he asks confuses you more.
He's your pack leader. He barks orders and the rest of you follow them.
So why is he asking if you want to go with him?
They didn't go over this at the Shelter.
Instead of verbalizing any of your confusion, you just give him a soft nod and take a step out of your room.
The door shuts and locks behind you automatically, something that eases your nerves.
Captain Price leads the way, and you follow closely behind him, anxiety prickling your palms at all the new faces you pass.
Every single person stops to watch as you walk by, their gazes heavy with judgement, intrigue, and some other things that you'd rather not put a name to.
Finally, after what feels like hours of walking in silence, Captain Price pushes open the door to the mess, leading you toward a table in the far corner where two men have already taken a seat.
"Here, have a seat with the boys while I get you some food."
You obey instantly, taking a seat across from the two Beta's as the Captain turns and leaves.
There's a moment of tense silence between the three of you before one of the two men across from you finally speaks.
"S'nice to finally meet the reason why the Lt's been busting his knuckles for the past four hours," The Scottish one says.
You look up as he speaks, your eyes meeting his.
"This is Gaz, and I'm Soap. Or Kyle and Johnny. Or, your favourite pack members. We're not picky with what you call us, really," he continues, smiling cheekily at you.
Something about him has you feeling immediately at ease, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
"How are you adjusting so far?" The other one, Gaz, asks.
You glance around the mess for a moment before bringing your gaze back to him.
"It's... a lot. But I'm sure I'll get used to it quickly."
He nods his understanding, his own eyes drifting over your shoulder to where his Pack Leader is getting you food.
Providing for Omega.
The two Betas would be lying if they said it didn't make them feel good to see you already getting taken care of.
Simon's standpoint on the pack needing an Omega (him needing an Omega) is firm. The rest of the pack, however, don't share his disdain.
Soap couldn't be more elated!
A plaything! A toy! A woman with soft hips and a gentle smile. This is exactly what they've been missing, Simon's just too stubborn to see that yet.
That's fine. Even though your mate isn't too keen on making you feel like part of the pack, Soap's dead set on making you feel included.
"Well, anything you need you let us know, yeah? We want you to be happy here," Gaz says.
You nod your gratitude, dropping your eyes when you feel Captain Price return.
He sets a tray of food down in front of you, then another beside you for himself.
"Now, don't feel pressured to eat everything here. I wanted to get you a bit of everything."
"Thank you," you murmur softly.
Price clenches his jaw to stop the shiver that so desperately wants to roll down his spine at the sound of your soft sweet voice.
Conversation picks up between the three men after that. Each contributing their part between bites of food.
You pick at the food on your plate, taking nibbles here and there, but your attention stays focused everywhere but your food.
How could you focus on something like eating when you have a new life to explore? A new pack to learn?
That last part isn't as hard as you had thought it would be.
As they eat and chat, you're able to put together the mosaic that is their pack. Your pack, now.
Captain Price is an Alpha, the lead Alpha, and he leads his pack. He bears the weight of their safety on his shoulders and back, and you're included in that.
Soap has a naturally charming and calming energy about him, as if all the issues in the world couldn't wipe the smile off of his face. More than once has he made a sly remark that has your brows raising and a giggle falling from your lips.
And Gaz is a healthy mix of humour and tender level-headedness that really does make you feel like he may understand what you're going through. And if he doesn't fully understand it, then he certainly can empathize with it.
"All finished there, little one?"
You're snapped out of your thoughts by Captain Price's low voice, and you turn your head toward him, nodding your answer.
He nods along with you then rises, taking the tray from in front of you.
"Well, little one," Soap teases playfully once the Captain is out of earshot, "how about a tour?"
When my mom and aunt were younger my aunt was in high school and my mom in middle school. A group of girls were bullying my aunt and one slapped her in the lunch room. The principal met with my grandma and the other mom. He said they weren’t punishing the other girl because he didn’t get involved in “girl problems.” My grandma asked if that meant my aunt could retaliate the next time it happened and he said no then it would be a fight and they’d both get in trouble.
So my grandma turned away from him and to the other mom and said “I have another daughter. She doesn’t go to this school and she’s a star softball player with her own bat. You can tell your daughter to stop bothering mine or you can drive her to the hospital with a shattered jaw. That’s your choice.” And walked out.
Few months later that girl stole a necklace from my aunt. My grandma called the cops and they all drove to her house to get it back. The cop came outside with it and said he told the family my grandma wouldn’t press charges if they gave it back. My grandma took the necklace and said “Then you’re going to have to go in and tell them you lied because I am pressing charges. She’s a thief and I want her treated like one.”
My grandma was a single mom in the 70s with two daughters and she took no shit from men who tried to undermine her and her daughters.
She was a nurse up until recently (finally retired after trying and failing 4 times)
She got into it a little later in life and worked as an army nurse for a while before working regularly as a hospital nurse.
Most of the other nurses were either also new and young and did what they were told or older and experienced and were used to being bullied by the doctors. As she had dealt with soldiers and had to learn to tell army dudes what to do, she had no interest in letting doctors treat her less than them.
At her hospital the doctors would go into a room looking for something, ransack it, then leave it messy for a nurse to clean up. The first time one tried that on her she stood in the door and said he wasn’t leaving until he cleaned his mess. He tried to say he was busy and couldn’t take the time to clean and she said if someone started dying she’d let him know, and didn’t move until he cleaned his mess.
She became a terror to the doctors who she did not let give any shit. If she paged a doctor and he didn’t come right away, he needed a good reason and lying wouldn’t work because the nurses would tattle and say he was doing a crossword and ignored her, so if she paged they had to go after her or else she’d yell at them.
One time in particular a doctor was chatting with a nurse and didn’t notice she’d paged him five times. When he realized he went running down the hall, saying “Out of my way, [name] is mad at me!”
When my moms gallbladder was inflamed and near bursting after my brother was born, she went to my grandmas hospital. They told her she was fine and to wait, while she was on the floor holding her stomach and crying. My dad called my grandma and told her the situation so she marched down to the ER and said “That’s my daughter, what time today can you get her in for surgery?” When they tried to say they thought she should go home my grandma wouldn’t let them. Luckily they got her into surgery in time to avoid it bursting.
During the AIDS crisis, she also bullied the other nurses who would refuse to treat anyone with AIDS. She said if you treat smokers who gave themselves lung cancer you don’t get to turn around and say you won’t help an AIDS patient who you blamed for contracting the disease. Her favorite patient from that time was a man who got it from doing drugs that she took care of regularly. He had a cat named Speed Ball and he would bring in pictures to show her.
