saw a post letting people know that your ao3 bookmarks are viewable on your account unless you make them private, which suggests that the median ao3 user does not use ao3 in what i will call 'the optimum fic-finding treadmill' where you find a fic author you like and look through their bookmarks to find more fics that are good and then look through that author's bookmarks for even more good fics. like a conga line of great but extremely specific tastes. or one of those chessboard rice doubling analogies and oh no that is a LOT of ao3 tabs.
Freshly turned Omega Reader x Older Alpha Price dubcon anyone? Being chased down in the woods during the yearly hunt by a man old enough to be your dad and getting mounted while he growls in your ear about how well you're going to take his knot? How he's going to fuck a litter into you? Just me?
(Preview below)
“Is that-” Farah squints. “Is that captain Price?”
The man closing the door to his pickup is tall, broad, with silver hair dotting at his temples and a thickness around the middle that speaks less of fat and more of weight, strong and sturdy like an aging oak. His expression is severe- focused with an intensity that’s as startling as his flinty blue stare. Everything about him screams alpha in the way of a seasoned veteran, nothing like the young upstarts in the clearing who push and shove at each other trying to impress their omega counterparts. No- Price walks forward with a quiet self-assuredness that comes with decades of experience, able to wrestle down any challenger without breaking a sweat.
“Price?” Alex asks, unable to hide his astonishment, and you blink at the name of the police captain who the local rumor mill had declared a permanent bachelor, refusing to take a mate or partake in the yearly ritual for over a decade now.
Two younger alphas break off of a group to go meet him, and you recognize them as part of the police force as well- one with a baseball cap and clever brown eyes and the other with a wide grin and mohawk that resembles more of a cockatiel than an actual hairstyle. They chat together, seemingly just as surprised as you to see the alpha who’s probably a decade older than the next oldest among the crowd.
“Wonder what’s brought him out.” Farah muses for a moment- before a low growl from a nearby alpha catches both her and Alex’s attention near a different group, and they both leave you to attend to whatever ruckus is stirring. You watch them go before turning back-
and realizing Price is looking right at you.
For a moment you cast a glance over your shoulder, thinking perhaps he spotted someone behind you. When you realize no one is there, you turn back to find that his eyes haven’t shifted, pinning you to the spot. You try not to squirm, ducking your head and glancing up through your eyelashes as he refuses to look away. Unlike Frank, Price looks at you not with a lewd sort of hunger, but more of something primal, carnal in the way that feels vaguely possessive.
I always say that the thing which sets Sargent apart as a portrait artist is that he draws/paints literally every subject - no matter their gender, social position, life vs representational drawing etc - like he is right that minute realising he's desperately in love with them. And it rules every single time.
I’ve always been a sucker for soap x single mother!reader…
Soap who has been dealing with severe migraines years out from the incident and subsequent recovery, and the sudden loud wailing coming from the next unit over that’s put a halt to anything resembling productivity in his downtime.
One day it’s just too much for him. He’d have been tempted to bang on the wall if he weren’t certain that the cries were coming from a baby—He was annoyed and frustrated, but he wasn’t a villain.
Since that was off the table, he settled for the next best thing.
You, tired and jumpy, winced as you opened the door, baby girl nestled in your arms as you rock her, finally settled down for a nap. You had been dreading this moment but were nowhere near surprised it was happening. “-I’m so sorry.“ you urged out quietly before whoever it was could scold you.
You looked up hesitantly, greeted by a man with a gnarled scar running from his temple and stretching far past the side where you could see. What had surprised you the most however, was the stun-locked look on his face. You expected annoyed or angry—he looked… almost dazed? It was hard to pinpoint.
There was a beat of silence before something sparked back to life behind his eyes, the steel blue gems darting down to the baby, then behind you into your flat, and finally back to you.
“The bairn, if you er- ever need someone tae watch it… ah’m right next door.” He urged in a whisper, reaching a big arm past your door to grab the stray ballpoint on your console table. You pursed your lips as he dug through his pocket, hunching over to scribble his number on a crumpled gum wrapper, using his thick thigh as a surface.
“Right, thanks-” You coughed awkwardly, still a bit off from the shock of a large stranger suddenly invading your space. You looked down at the paper “-John, I’ll uh… let you know, sorry again… about the noise.” You offered with a tight smile, closing the door.
Back in his apartment Soap was already buzzing at the thought of introducing his new perfect little wife and baby at the next family gathering.
This was on a post about how it's ignorant and privileged to wear headphones in public and I fear its already become a part of my vocabulary. Must everything harbor a moral failure.
