#sibbydni

[ohclaire]

Suggestive :p

John won’t go to the club with you. But he will drag you to his old man bar.

It’s the type that has street signs and car parts stuck to the wall. They don’t have any of the nicely flavored liquor you like, but the drinks are half price on Thursdays…and there’s pool tables.

Which. Wouldn’t matter. You’ve never been known to play pool, frankly you don’t know how to. But that’s kind of part of the appeal…because now John wants to teach you.

So, he drags you to his old man bar where you’re the only thing that’s not aged, and buys you your drink of choice (though, without the fun flavor you like), gets himself a whiskey, and then drags you to the pool tables.

Then, when you absolutely whiff your first shot, he comes up behind you, pressing his whole front into your back, and caresses down your arms to place your hands properly. He slides the stick back and forth to show you how it should glide through your hands, and you try to ignore the image that creates.

Once you’re both griping the pool stick properly, he bends you over the table, pushing you against it with his hips, and bring his head around to your ear to whisper about aim. And you pretend like you’re listening, but all you really catch is a whispered “juuuust like that, sweetheart.” His breath is hot against your neck, and it makes goosebumps shoot up.

When he finally takes the shot, he jerks forward with the force, jolting himself into you and squishing your hips harder against the table. The force makes a small noise leave you, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, just gives you a peck to your neck and a “perfect, baby.”

And then he’ll pull back like nothing happened, like you’re not sweating and feeling the effects of that in…other places. And the rest of the bar will look at him like he’s a perv…which he is, but you like him like that.

So yeah…no clubs for John.

[ohclaire]

Suggestive :P , feminine!reader

The boys. Reallly like that lower part of your stomach that sticks out in bodycon dresses. Like. A lot.

You normally don’t wear them because you’ve been conditioned to believe only a certain body type can, but the boys have spent a long time helping you heal your perception of yourself, so you finally feel confident enough to try.

When you walk out in the skin tight dress, feeling pretty for once and they all groan loudly, covering their faces and turning away, you get nervous very quickly. Do…do they not like it?

You kind of curl into yourself, bringing your arms up to wrap around your stomach.

“You tryin’ to kill us or somethin’, hen?” Johnny speaks first, “cannae just do that to a man without warning, now me pants are uncomfortable…”

You’re still locked in your perception that they don’t like the dress, so you’re confused trying to figure out what he meant by that.

“Jesus, love, why the hell haven’t we seen this dress before? You been holdin’ out on us?” Kyle is bold enough to approach, gently taking your arms away from yourself to hold your hands and continue admiring your body.

Price drags his hand down his face, peeking through his fingers before groaning and turning away again, “sweetheart, I dunno if you can wear that.” Your heart sinks again before he continues, “I’m afraid it’ll be on the floor before we get to the restaurant.”

Simon comes from behind, wrapping his arms around your stomach and caressing it appreciatively. He leans down to whisper in your ear, letting you feel his warm breath on your neck, “‘s dangerous, pretty. Gonna make me do thing that aren’t appropriate for the public.”

Your face is hot. Oh…so they like the dress.

[ohclaire]

You’ve gotten used to being left behind.

The youngest sibling last at home, the last kid not in a group, the single one, the lonely one, the one no one wants.

It’s fine. You’re being dramatic. It’s not like that at all, not as intentional or as malicious as you make it out to be. It’s just the way the pieces landed and that’s fine. You’ve been like this your whole life and you’re okay with it by now.

You’re okay with the way it feels like everyone else would have someone who cares if they went missing. You’re okay with feeling like a piece of roadkill left on the side of the road. The way people look at you in half sympathy and half morbid curiosity. How it feels like you stink of abandonment, how it warns people off. They’re glad it’s not them and you’re fine that it’s you.

You think it would be fine if someone would just stay too. Not move on to greener pastures. To finally be the greener pasture. The final destination, the goal and not the…stupid yet entertaining pit stop that people got to say “that’s nice” to and then forget. And somehow you still always think they’ll stay. Ignore the signs until they’re already long gone.

So yeah, you are stupid. Because you just can’t seem to kill that small part of you that hopes every time.

Which is why so much dread fills you when you’re introduced to your new squad and they’re nice. Really nice. They remember your name and acknowledge you…all the time. Not just the first day you’re introduced, but every breakfast and lunch and team meeting and training exercise and debrief…they look at you. Talk to you. Listen to you.

Maybe you have a low bar.

You’ve been waiting to fall into the background. Let the funnier and more talented people take the spotlight, let everyone forget you exist and let them leave easy. You’re counting down the hours until they’re gone. It’s no use putting up a fight anymore.

You never quite relax. Always skittish or sitting on the edge of your seat like you’re looking for the first opportunity to run. It just makes them want to anchor you more. Show that you can trust them.

They see the signs. It’s not their first time dealing with a flight risk. They know by the way you look shocked when they ask your opinion, or if you’ll come to an after hours hang out, that you’re waiting for the moment they give up on you.

But it never comes. They never let you disappear.

You finally start to give in to hope. Maybe naively or prematurely, but you’ve been on guard for so long it’s hard to not lean into the warmth they are giving so freely.

Which is why when you’re taken prisoner in an impossible situation, you know there’s no hope for rescue. That what you had feared would finally come.

The situation was too complicated—too dire—to risk. Even conceptualizing your rescue you knew it would be too difficult. No general in their right mind would approve a mission to get a soldier back from the situation you’re in.

At least that’s what you thought until your team busted down the doors.

You can only stare in disbelief as they take down the enemies in the room, trying to remember if you had been given anything that would cause hallucinations.

You’re still questioning when Soap’s warm hands find your wrists, loosening your binds.

“You didn’t really think we’d ever leave you behind, did ya?” He clearly sees your disbelief. His voice has a color of humor, but there’s a softness that lets you know it’s a real question.

You thought for sure they would.

“But—I…Shepherd?” It’s the only think you can think to express your confusion.

Price looks back from his protective stance at the door, hand still firmly on his weapon. “What? You thought a little red tape could keep us from you? It’ll take a lot more than that, I’ll tell you right now.” He explains like it’s obvious.

Ghost is the one that hauls you to your feet, supporting your tired and injured body. “I’ll carry you out of the Sahara myself if I have to.” He thinks and then scans your body, “…do I have to?”

“No, no. I can walk.” You assure him, even if his support might be the only thing keeping you standing right now. He doesn’t let go.

“There’s not a whole lot of places you could go that we wouldn’t follow you.” Is Gaz’s explanation as he hands you a knife. He bumps your chin with his knuckle before falling into line behind Price, already on the move to get you out of there.

It takes countless life-threatening missions, the numerous times they refuse to leave you behind through harrowing odds, the multiple instances they have gone back into heavy fire just to get you back, before you finally start to believe that nothing could possibly take them away from you.

[ohclaire]

Suggestive :p

You…weren’t anticipating that the gym would cause so many issues.

It’s the military for god’s sake. You work out. Your teammates work out. You work out…together…as a team. That’s nothing new.

And yeah, so what, your new team is very easy on the eyes. And maybe your eyes wander when they’re doing reps and their biceps and thighs bulge out and their skin glistens with sweat and—

You’re getting off track. But that’s the point. Sure it can be distracting, but you simply remind yourself that you are a professional and are unaffected by such frivolous things like how absolutely humongous Simon’s biceps are. You don’t care.

But then one of the guys ended up cramping on mission and literally almost died. It was stupid and kind of funny after the fact, but Price tore into him about not stretching properly. So now on top of normal work outs you had to endure group stretching.

Which is about as compelling as it sounds. Watching Soap do downward dog…Gaz doing cat cow…but what really got to you was when Price made you roll out your muscles.

Hamstrings was fine, it was the quads that were the problem. Not only because by the time you got to this last step, you were all exhausted and sweaty and they started to get far more vocal, but also because of the position.

Because suddenly you’re all flipped over, and they’re holding themselves off the ground with their forearms, sweat dripping down their arms and onto the mats, groaning as they try and roll out their thighs…rocking back and forth with their chins tucked to their chest, whimpering a little when they hit a knot…it gives the image of…something else. You kind of wish you were a foam roller…

“Sergeant!”

You snap your head up to your captain, realizing you had stopped your own roll-out to ogle your teammates and…picture things.

“Did I say you could stop?” His hands are on his hips as he stands in front of you and looks down at you.

“No, captain!” You start rolling again, ignoring how close he is and how the angle you were looking up at accentuated…things, and how every movement almost makes you bump into him.

Soap moans as he rolls out a knot. God, you really need to convince him to let you stretch privately.

[ohclaire]

Suggestive :P

Kyle had some sort of obsession with your neck.

He could barely go 5 minutes without attacking it, lips attaching and sucking, biting, and kissing relentlessly.

“Kyllle,“ you complain, pushing at his chest, “tickles—“

“Shh, sweetheart,” his teeth grab a sizable chunk that he suck hard, making you squeal, “just gotta—lemme do this, honey.”

“Mmf!” You try and keep it together but no inch of your neck is spared and the sounds that he’s making alone…

And this is just in private. His addiction is still insatiable in public.

Whenever he passes by you, he has to lean down and plant a kiss on your neck, no matter how brief. And if he’s standing behind you, arms around your waist, you better believe he’s also got his face tucked into your neck.

It’s not even necessarily to leave marks, he just likes doing it, you think. Not to say leaving marks isn’t also a bonus. He makes it his goal to never have you walking around without at least one hickey.

One night he got drunk and came home and all he wanted to do was suck at your neck. You finally caved when his eyes started to water as he begged “please, baby, you gotta let me. Just one kiss I promise then I’ll go to bed.”

It was not one kiss.

You tried your best to cover it up, but you ended up having to go into work looking like an animal had attacked your neck. And of course your colleagues notices.

“Jeeesus, Gaz. What’re you, some sort of vampire?” Soap immediately commented.

The bastard had the gall to look smug.

[ohclaire]

Depressed omega!reader whose scent makes it incredibly obvious.

Obviously omegas being emotionally regulated and safe was very important for pack health, and their scents ensured everyone knew if they were in distress.

But you tried, really tired, to reel it back in. Of course you didn’t wanna be walking around practically sending out a distress beacon, but short of getting on scent blockers there wasn’t much to do. And you tried that too, but apparently one of the side effects of the blockers was depression…which just wouldn’t help the situation would it? Well, at least then you wouldn’t be bothering the whole team, you supposed.

When you got like this…and your scent went out, unpleasantly curdled from your normal one, everyone else went haywire. It was only their biology, distressed omega means unhealthy pack. It sent them into overdrive, itching to help and find a solution. Part of you felt incredibly guilty that your hurt was causing them discomfort too…but the rest of you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Which sounds callous, but caring about anything got hard, and thinking down that road just made your scent worse and made the boys go more stir crazy, which made you feel guiltier…so you just stopped thinking about it.

Sometimes it’ll come out of nowhere. You’ll be sitting in the rec room, having an enough pleasant time, everyone doing their own thing. And suddenly you’ll start thinking too much, too deeply about certain things, and won’t even notice how far your thoughts go until Johnny gives a loud whine. Only then do you notice how much your scent has changed and how everyone has stopped what they’re doing to look at you in concern.

You always mumble a “sorry…” when you realize. But they don’t let you apologize.

It’s…nice in a way. You’ve always been bad about asking for help, and for too much of your life your sadness (and subsequent scent changes) went uncared for. So to have them care so much about it…made you feel good. Feel loved.

Sometimes they’d take your mind off it. Moving from individual activities to a board game, or a movie night. Or sometimes they’d ask if you wanted to talk. And most of the time the answer was no, but sometimes you’d cry into their arms and it would make them cry too, but you’d feel better.

And you love them for it.

But sometimes even that’s too much.

And so you’ll lock yourself in your room and lose yourself in your nest, lose yourself in the thoughts, and just let yourself feel.

You could still sense them, taking shifts outside your door. You don’t know if it’s intentionally set up so you’re never alone, or if they just have the urge to get as close as they can when your distressed scent is wafting through the cracks in your door and they can’t reach you.

You lie there for hours, maybe days, and it feels like it’ll never get better. Like there’s weights attached to your limbs, glueing you to the sheets. But then eventually you wake up and feel like you can manage a shower, and suddenly you’re putting on new clothes and drinking water and opening the door. And the boys have the decency to behave relatively normally, just relieved that you’re feeling okay again. You prefer it to them treating you like glass.

But still, they’ll make you breakfast and refuse to let you help, and they’ll make you sit in the middle of the couch to be surrounded by them with a million blankets and your favorite show on. And John will kiss the crown of your head when he hands you your coffee, and Kyle will warm your cold hands and kiss your knuckles, and Simon will put his head on your lap so you feel attached to the world, and Johnny will say something that will make you laugh for the first time in days. And you’ll start to remember a little why you got out of bed.

Maybe in the future, you’ll leave the door unlocked. Let them be there while you feel like you can’t breathe. But for now, they can handle the feelings of uselessness if space is what you need. They’d do whatever it took to make you feel okay again.

[ohclaire]

nsfw mdni

AHAHAHAHHA HELP ME LORD IM OVULATING

poly!141 x reader

thigh humping, thigh holster appreciation

…back to the staring at things you found pretty (or in this case, insanely hot). Sometimes it got you in trouble. Like right now.

Recently you’ve found a grander appreciation for your teams thigh holsters. Of course they were useful, you wore some yourself! You probably couldn’t function without them. But…they also served to…accentuate your teammates.

Simon had accidentally picked up your holster and strapped it on without thinking, which led to it really hugging his thigh. You guys laughed about it, Soap took the piss out of him for it, you all moved on. Except. You didn’t. Because you couldn’t get the image of his thick thigh being squeezed like that out of your head. And now it unlocked something in you, making you hyperaware of even regular-fitting holsters.

So now you’re here, sitting in the plane, blatantly staring at the boys thighs. God forbid!! But all of their thighs were so thick and you could see the muscles flexing under the straps and god when they wore two it kinda also just helped to draw the eyes upward and—

“Can I help you, sergeant?”

Fuck.

“No, sir!”

Price raises his eyebrows, crosses his arms, and adjusts in his seat. His thighs spread wider.

“Really? Cause to me it looks like you’re having a bit of a staring problem.”

“Ma never told you it’s rude to stare, sergeant?” Simon chimes in.

Your face is hot, you’re being called out but you’re still having a hard time drawing your eyes away from his spread thighs. “Sorry!” You tilt your head up to the ceiling, putting your eyes in time-out.

Price hums, “no harm, sergeant…go ahead an’ look.”

You don’t move.

“What did the cap’n say, lovie?” Kyle’s in on it now too.

You whine. You didn’t mean to. Now you’re even more embarrassed.

“Cannae do anything by yourself, huh? Need some help, hen?” Soap reaches and grabs your chin, forcing your head back down to look at your captains thighs. His bulge has grown. You whimper again.

“You’ve been distracted. Liking the look of our thighs, hmm?”

Your cheeks are burning, eyes flickering to the others for help but they’re just waiting for a response too.

“Answer the captain, sweetie.”

“…yes, captain.”

“Thought so,” he moves his hands to pat his thighs, “c’mere.”

A breathless huh escapes you.

“Up ya get,” Soap pushes you out of your chair.

Thats how you find yourself grinding on your captains thigh holster 30,000 feet in the air. The embarrassment hasn’t dwindled, what with the team watching and all. But still, the embarrassment isn’t enough to stop your movements…or your noises.

“‘S alright, honey, get it out. Need you without distractions when we land.”

…you’re not sure if it helps get it out of your system or makes it worse because now all you’re thinking about is doing it again on the others. And you think they’d let you.

[ohclaire]

Suggestive :p

Johnny had a strong accent, that wasn’t news. But a pattern you had begun noticing was that if he got irritated enough…it came out hard. And yeah, sue you! You like his accent. So, what, if you sometimes, maybe, intentionally piss him off to bring it out? Is that really harming anyone?

So here you were, talking trash about his favorite sports team. You honestly couldn’t care less about the one you were ‘favoring,’ you just knew it’s the one that would piss him off the most.

You can see him trying to hear you out, be a good boyfriend and support your opinions, but the more wrong things you say, the redder his face gets, until finally he explodes in a mess of Scottish accent and sports rage.

“Steeeamminggg Jesus, hen! Ya cannae say that! To think—“

Now he’s on a roll, passionately speaking, on the verge of yelling. Honestly it’s almost unintelligible with how much scots is being thrown in, but you do not care. It sounds like music to your ears. You can’t help it that your gaze turns a little sultry, and you end up biting your lip, head tilting as you zone out. His voice is just so smooth, and his forearm muscles are being accentuated by his frantic movements, and his eyes are so blue…

“Are ye listening? Cannae believe ya! Gettin’ me goin’ on an’ on ‘bout this and ye ain’t even listenin’!” His anger dwindles when he notices what you are paying attention to. He knows that look. Intimately. Suddenly he doesn’t remember what he was on about. He just sees your face and knows it’s time to take this conversation out of the rec room.

In the end, he gets off topic too. But he makes sure to keep talking in your ear during the activities that follow, as a favor to you ;)