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savagemickey03 · 2 days ago

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Hiii im back🙈👀 I was wondering if I could get another chibs fic🤣🙈 im a told chibs slut🤣🤣😍😍😏 I was thinking all day what if reader and chibs are like friends with benefits and shes Gemmas assistant or a fill in Gemma when shes not there and chibs plays it cool but you guys recently started hooking up and no one knows and she goes home to her place and chibs is already there and she didn't knoe and they start making out and being all cuddly and and gettinf things going anf then the new prospect (who can't take a hint that you don't like him bc hes too cocky) starts knocking and she answers and hes flirting and shes jusr like " im busy i havr tk go" and he keeps talking anf chibs walks up and just stares at him and nods for him to go👀😫😫😫😍😍😍 idk just something I've thought about all day😫😫😫🤣🤣🤣

Another amazing request, indeed! thank you for sending it to me! again, I tried my best to sum all the information up and wrote the fic asap

I hope you like it! 😊☝🖤

WARNING: EXPLICIT SMUT UNDER THE CUT

"COME HERE, SWEETHEART"

Gemma had hired you to manage the TM's accounts.

Since she spent a lot of time looking after the children while Tara was at St. Thomas's, she'd left the money-related tasks to you, such as collections, payments, and other transactions involving money.

You were organizing the stacks of bills in the safe when you saw someone parking a Harley in its designated spot out of the corner of your eye.

The driver got out of the vehicle and headed towards you as soon as he saw you.

You raised your head to bump into the figure of Chibs.

You and the Scotsman had a somewhat peculiar relationship.

The first day you came to work at the shop, Gemma introduced you to the guys, and since then, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off you.

At first, he was very nice to you.

He helped you with anything you needed and was always making sure you didn't lack anything.

As the weeks went by, this all became more complicated, until you were finally doing it anywhere, on any surface.

From the first time he tried you, Chibs needed you near him all the time, as if you were a drug for which there was no cure.

Several times, when he saw you finishing up with a client who was leaving, he would nod at you to the chapel to come when you were finished, using the excuse that he had to talk, which wasn't true.

In the end, you were both exhausted, sweating, and having serious trouble hiding what had happened from your children.

No one knew about your encounters.

Jax knew there was something going on between you because of the intense glances Chibs gave you from time to time, but he never said anything.

He assumed it was something that belonged to the two of you, and that he had no business getting involved.

That day, you had agreed to meet at your house after work.

Sometimes you two would do that: he'd leave first on his motorcycle, and you'd wait ten minutes and follow in your car.

When you arrived and parked your car next to the house, your hands were itching from how nervous you were.

You gripped the doorknob and pushed it open.

Chibs was already there, just as you'd agreed, both arms resting on the sides of the couch and a lopsided smile on his lips.

"Oh, sweetheart," he whispered. "You don't know how much I've missed you today." He murmured, motioning with his index finger for you to come closer. "Come here."

You obeyed and stood in front of him.

He looked at you for a few moments, as if you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, before placing his hands on your hips and guiding you down so you were sitting on his lap.

A gasp escaped your lips when you felt him against your most sensitive area, despite the pants you were wearing.

"Do you feel it, love?" he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I've been hard all day because of you," he growled, making you nervously shift on top of him. "These pants…" he murmured, running his hands over them. "Where did you get them?"

"Do you like them?" you asked timidly. "I bought them when Gemma gave me my first paycheck." You smiled. "I always said that as soon as I had money, I would buy them."

"I love how they look on you," he affirmed, playing with the zipper of the garment. "But I think they would look prettier on the floor." He smiled, giving me a mischievous smile. "What do you say, princess?"

"I'd say I agree with you," you murmured, mimicking his gesture.

The Scotsman leaned in to kiss you, his mouth, as always, moving eagerly over yours, as if no matter how many times he'd kissed you, he always needed more.

You brought your hands to either side of his face to deepen the kiss, causing you both to gasp into each other's mouths.

Chibs tugged at your lower lip between his teeth, causing you to let out a moan that was quickly replaced by a groan as he began to pull down your pants.

And at that moment, there was a knock at the door.

An exasperated grunt escaped Chibs's lips, and he gave you one last kiss before resting his forehead against yours.

"Fuck, this has got to be a fucking joke," he complained, causing you to give an amused smile. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No, just you," you smiled before getting up from her lap and combing your hair a little with your fingers. "I'll go see who it is, I won't be long," you promised, heading for the door.

When you opened it, you didn't expect to find the person standing there.

The new prospect of the sons watched you closely for a few moments.

Ever since you started working for Gemma, you'd noticed how his eyes followed you around the workshop, and how he always seemed to be doing anything to get your attention.

You weren't sure if he liked you or if he was just one of those people you talk to and seem to be flirting with you all the time, even if he didn't mean to.

You watched him from above, just like he had, before speaking.

"What are you doing here?" you asked politely.

"I saw you leave the TM faster than usual," he explained. "I just wanted to make sure you got home safely, and that no one had kidnapped you, you know," he whispered, winking at you.

"Very funny, prospect," you murmured, crossing your arms over your chest. "Well, as you can see, I got home in one piece, so…"

"Yeah, right," he whispered. "You look beautiful tonight," he blurted out. "Well, actually, you always do."

At that instant, you felt Chibs' presence behind you.

He leaned against the doorframe beside you, staring at the rookie, and he did the same.

He didn't need to say anything; with a simple nod, the boy understood it was time to go.

Without a word, he hopped on his motorcycle and disappeared down the road as quickly as he'd arrived.

"There was no need to scare the poor kid," you said, laughing as you closed the door.

"That 'poor kid,' as you call him, interrupted the moment I was having with my girl," he whispered, placing his hands on your waist to pull you back towards him. "Nobody does that"

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savagemickey03 · 3 days ago

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"Bring her in" 4

Warnings! Heavy petting and soft smut ahead!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The day you are patched in isn’t a good day. Abel is missing, and Half-Sack is dead. You’ve got a bullet hole in your leg, and the club is more divided than ever between Jax and Clay. There isn’t a celebration for your patch, not that you mind, it is hard to be in a good mood when so much is going on. Tig is on edge with the addition of Kozik, and Chibs is even worse off after the shit show with Jimmy and his ex-wife.

That had been an awkward meeting, but you’d just given the older woman a crooked smile and told her that you were doing your best to keep the Scot safe. You don’t think she believed you, but you weren’t worried about that. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

The crew wanted you to stay in Charming with Tig and Piney while they went off to Belfast. You’d argued against it, but Jax had shot it down, stating that he needed you to stay because you had the most level head out of everyone who was staying behind. You’d sighed and dropped the argument after that, but it still unnerved you to watch the men you’d begun to see as family pack up and leave for Ireland.

Chibs had pulled you in close, lips pressed to your brow, and arms tight around your waist as he held you against him. You’d clutched him just as close, burying your face in his chest and demanding that he be safe while he was gone. The Scot had huffed and brought you in for a fierce kiss, his scruff scratching your face and his hand cradling your jaw like you were a precious piece of art.

You ignored the whistles and catcalls from the other men, lips quirking up in a fond smile as you kissed him back, remembering the feel of his lips and the heat of his body in case something happened while he was gone.

Tig held you close when you got back to the clubhouse, the two of you cooped up on one of the couches littered around the bar. You leaned into his weight, a heavy sigh leaving you. The day had drained you, and the shit with Lumpy had rubbed you wrong, so you couldn’t help but be worried about the old man.

“What’s on your mind, hun?” Tig murmurs. He can see the worry lines that creased your brow. His hand rubbed up and down your side, and you easily leaned more of your weight into him to take.

“Just worried. Tiggy,” You murmur and wince when the stitches on your leg pull when you shift on the couch. Your shadow hums and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“Yeah, me too, babe. They’ll be fine, I’m sure,” He nods down at your leg, wanting to change the subject to try and take your mind off the rest of the club. “How’s the leg?”

Tig had been the one to tackle you to the ground during the drive-by, though he hadn’t been fast enough before a round had torn into your thigh. Thankfully, you were the only club member to be shot, but that night had been terrible regardless. You’d have to hold the curly-haired man tight and promise him more than a couple of times that it wasn’t his fault. The poor guy had a guilt complex a mile long.

“Doesn’t hurt as much now, but I’ll probably limp for a long time, huh?” you say and gently smooth your hand over your sweats. You couldn’t wear jeans with the thick bandages.

Tig watches you, wetting his lips as an idea comes to mind. He shifts beside you, scooting down the couch so that he is more level, lips grazing against your ear, “Want me to make it feel better?”

You shiver, eyes going half-lidded. For the most part, your relationship with your two shadows was mostly tame. They got handsy when booze was involved, but you never minded the attention. But maybe it was time to step forward in your relationship with them.

You turn, giving Tig all of your attention, your body feeling hot at the thought of his hands on you. You reach up and gently tug a lock of curly hair, eyes heavy with growing interest, “Okay.”

That is all Tig needed to hear. He surges forward, one hand finding your hip and the other holding your jaw firmly. He kisses you harshly, his facial hair rough against your face as he presses closer, mouth opening so that he can lick into your mouth with a soft groan.

Slick muscles tangle together in a soft dance of affection, and you find yourself shifting, your hands sliding into his curly hair to bring him closer to you. He smells like motor oil and road sweat, but it's the hottest thing that's ever curled around you. Tig grasps you by the waist, turning you so that you lie back on the couch, and you are left looking up into those blue, blue eyes of his.

“Gonna make you feel good, baby,” Tig swears softly and pushes your shirt up, lips pressing against the sensitive flesh of your stomach and grinning when you twitch under him. He is easy with your leg as he adjusts himself between your thighs, hands seeking scarred, soft flesh until they find the waistband of your sweatpants. He tugs gently, looking up at you through thick lashes.

“Can I take ‘em off, sweetheart?”

The question gives you pause. This would be the first time that either of your shadows would see you naked. You lick your lips and glance around the clubhouse. No one seemed to be here, so you looked back at Tig and gave a nod, your lips turning into a small smile.

“Please?”

Tig doesn't need to be told twice. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and begins to tug them down, though he does make sure to leave your underwear snug around your cunt. It wouldn't do for someone else to see such treasure.

He can see a wet spot staining the fabric of your panties, and the sight has his cock throbbing in his pants. He licks his lips and leans in, teeth nipping gently across your clothed clit. You jump against his face, a soft sigh leaving you when your shadow flattens his tongue and licks along your pantyline, the tip of his tongue sliding past the fabric to tease the sensitive flesh below.

Tig wants to bury his face in your cunt and die there. You smell amazing, the soap you use thick in the air that mingles with the scent of thick, musky arousal. He slides his tongue under your undies, sighing with pleasure when he gets a taste of succulent slick that leaks from your pussy like a waterfall. Fuck. Chibs was going to be so jealous.

“Aye, so what the plan- Woah!”

Tig jerks away from the apex of your thighs, and you snarl in pain when he accidentally jars your injured leg. He quickly apologizes and helps you slide your sweats back on before leveling a seething glare at Kozik, who stood on the other side of the bar, his hands up in surrender.

“Sorry, man. I didn't know that any extracurricular activities were going on.”

You can’t help but snort and fall back onto the couch. Your fun had been ruined, but you couldn't be too mad. There would be plenty more opportunities later.

@staley83 @maayhemvotee

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savagemickey03 · 3 days ago

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Don´t Leave

Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

Summary: Daemon and you have an argument without realizing that someone is listening to you.

I recommend reading Scare first to understand better.

As I always say, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated, especially comments that motivate me to keep writing 🥰💖💖

If you have ideas or thoughts for this series you are welcome to share them in my inbox. I'm always happy to read them 🤗💖💖

I also remind you that my commissions are open.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

I wish you all a good read!

“We’re leaving,” Daemon said once the two of you were alone in his chambers. “You should say goodbye to your brother quickly.”

It didn’t surprise you that that was the first thing he said after returning from the meeting you two had with Viserys. You knew your husband was furious. You were too. You couldn’t believe Criston Cole was still alive after how he attacked and killed Joffrey at your brother’s wedding. The most infuriating thing wasn’t that he wouldn’t face any punishment, but that he was now part of the Queen’s Kingsguard. Alicent Hightower seemed to have more power over Viserys than you thought. You felt foolish for having felt sorry for her before.

“No,” you said as you headed to bed. You didn’t want to sleep, but you were tired of climbing up and down so many stairs, so you wanted to get some rest.

“No?” Daemon repeated, his displeasure at your refusal to leave the place where neither of you was respected could be clearly heard in his voice.

“I understand you’re upset, Daemon. I am too, but I’m not going anywhere,” you said, feeling your husband’s eyes on you as you took off your shoes and began massaging your feet.

Another time, Daemon would have offered to massage you and asked how you felt. But now he's angry, at Criston Cole for daring to touch you, at Viserys for being such a weak king and letting him get away with it, and now at you for letting this disrespect slide.

“Why do you want to stay? We’re not respected here,” he asks. You can see he’s starting to get frustrated with you by the way he runs his hand down his face.

Daemon loves you. He knows he’d be bored with a meek young woman who did everything he said without batting an eye, but right now, he wants you to be an obedient wife. You Teo and Baelon must leave King’s Landing.

“I’m not going to leave Laenor alone in this nest of vipers,” you say, and Daemon laughs. Unlike other times, his laughter didn't make you feel warm, this time it irritated you. And you know what he's going to say next is going to be stupid, but you still face him. “What are you laughing at?” You stop massaging yourself and frown at him.

“Laenor is too old for you to be babysitting him, wife. He should be able to take care of himself.” Your annoyance grows at how cynical your husband is being. He saw how devastated your brother is over Joffrey’s death; you’re sure he also heard the way the court spoke of your brother. How could he be so insensitive?

“He’s my brother, and he needs me here. I’m not going to leave him alone just because you’re offended by Viserys again. You can come back when you’re past your temper,” you stated firmly, making it clear to Daemon that you weren’t going to change your mind. If he wanted to leave, then he’d leave without you or your son.

Your words only cause your husband's anger to grow. It's not just about Viserys disrespecting you, but about your safety and that of his children. How do you expect him to want to stay in King's Landing knowing that his brother wouldn't do anything if something happened to you or your children? How did you expect him to stay here and see Cristino Cole's face every day without being able to harm him after that man dared to touch you?

“Do you care more about your brother than the safety of our children?!” he accused you, finally losing his temper and raising his voice.

Before you can lash out at him for daring to say that to you, you hear crying. Both Daemon and you fall silent instantly, paralyzed because you both know that cry perfectly well. It's Baelon.

“Baelon?” you call softly, and the crying continues. You hear him nearby, so you don't hesitate to get out of bed and bend down to look underneath. Your eyes instantly meet your son's violet eyes and and his face full of tears. “Can you come out, please?” you ask, feeling pain in your heart at seeing him so distressed.

You move away, and he's not long in coming out. You immediately take him in your arms and sit with him on the bed. “I'm sorry you heard this, Baelon,” you apologize as you rock him, hoping he'll calm down, but he keeps crying. “It's all right, I swear,” you say, trying to reassure him.

“I don't want Kepa to leave! Kepa, don't leave me!”

Hearing his son's cry and how his eyes looked at him, sad and desperate, made Daemon finally move, he sat next to you and didn't even have to ask you to give him the child because you were already giving it to him. You knew your comfort wouldn't be enough; your son wanted his father.

You looked at your husband attentively, waiting to see if he would take this opportunity to impose himself on you and tell your son that the three of you were leaving.

“I'll never leave you, Baelon,” Daemon assures him as he hugs him. He means it; he'd already missed enough when he'd been fighting at Stepstones, and he's not about to miss out on anything else in his son's life.

“Do you promise?” his son asks, still crying.

“I promise,” he replies without hesitation and kisses his forehead. “Don't be sad anymore,” he says, stroking his back, hoping he'll start to calm down.

“I don't want to leave either. I like playing with Aegon,” he whines, and Daemon sniffs as he watches you hold back a smile. Of course, you didn't listen to him when he told you he didn't want his son around Alicent Hightower's son. You thought your son should be around his cousin, no matter who his mother was. Besides, it seemed like the little prince didn't spend much time with the Valyrian side of his family.

“Maybe we can stay a little longer,” Daemon says, not wanting to give in completely. For a moment, it seems like he’s saying the right thing because your son’s sobs stop, but then he frowns and crosses his arms. “What now?”

“You yelled at Mommy and didn't say you're sorry,” his son reminds him, and Daemon smiles because, of course, Baelon wouldn't let that happen; he's a mama's boy, after all. He's proud to know his son would never let anyone treat you badly.

“You're right, it was wrong of me,” he admits, looking into your eyes. You don't look as upset as you used to, but he knows that later, when the two of you are alone, you'll have to continue this conversation. It wasn't right of him to accuse you of not caring about their children. “I'm sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, not just to make his son happy.

“I can only accept your apology if you bring me a cake from the kitchens,” you say. Daemon knows that you don't talk seriously, but he still decides to indulge your whim.

“It’s a fair request,” he agrees, placing Baelon back in your arms. “But before that,” he kisses you. It’s short because he doesn’t want to make a big scene in front of his son, but you can still feel the love he has for you. “I’ll be back.”

And you smile as you watch him leave, knowing he won’t go anywhere without you.

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works

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hotd masterlist daemon's wife au

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savagemickey03 · 3 days ago

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thinking about pussy slapping w simon >.<

cw - pussy slapping (obvi), afab reader, unprotected piv, overstimulation, lil bit of mean!simon :3

(this is my first drabble hehe pls be nice guys meow)

simon is a man of very few words. he likes to get his point across without having to say it twice. he’s never one to fuck without pulling at least three orgasms from you- it’s the least he can do, right?

you’d be writhing against the sheets of your shared bed, soft cries and whines falling from your plump kiss bruised lips, and you had lost count of how many times you came. if you weren’t aware of simon’s training in the military- you would think his amount of stamina was a fucking superpower.

“cmon, birdie, i know this pretty cunt got a few more in ‘er.” he would grunt- a soft slap to your cunt at first, the light tough making you writhe. if your vision wasn’t so blurry- you would see an almost sadistic smile curling on his lips.

you choke out a cry- finally blubbering out a coherent sentence as he’s forcing his cock in and out of your poor weeping cunt.

“si! i-i can’t! s’too much!” you cry out, hot tears rolling down your reddened cheeks. he could feel your cunt fluttering around his shaft- eliciting a groan from him. “bullshit, luvie- she’s absolutely beggin’ for it.” he’d chuckle lowly, tapping your chin to make you look down at where you and simon were connected. “look at tha’, love- shes absolutely soaked.” he’d muse.

when you protest again- you’re met with a harsher slap to your cunt, your lips parting as you let out a squeal of pleasure mixed with pain. simon’s pace never stutters when he does this, his cock prodding at your cervix as he lifts your hips up a bit more with his strong hands- hitting the spot that makes you see stars.

“you ain’t done till i say yer done, kay luvie?” he growls- leaning down to place sloppy kisses to the sensitive flesh of your tits.

“give me three more.”

DOLL2SICK— est. 2025 © do not copy or publish my work to any other platform!

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savagemickey03 · 4 days ago

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Honey & Vanilla Part 1.

Black!Reader x Jax Teller No trigger warnings, however if you haven't finished the show then don't read cause possible spoilers ya feeeeeel

Another weekend, another break. Your week had been more than stressful. With Abel tripping and knocking himself unconscious whilst running from a bee, hospital visits, Thomas finding a permanent marker and decorating almost every available wall. Jax hardly being present, and Gemma and her overbearing ways. You needed out. So when Cass invited you to one of her favourite bars in Lodi, you didn't hesitate. She brought her man with her, and he brought a few of his boys too, none of them catching your eye though, not seriously anyway but that didn't stop them from hovering. One drink turned into too many, and somewhere between the loud music, rum punch and dodging half drunk chat up lines, you realised you weren't as steady on your feet as you thought.

You had called Jax, told him not to wait up - not that he was, but just in case, you know. Told him you'd stay at Cass's but he wasn't having it. "Let me know when you're ready, I'll come get you" was all he said. And sure enough, an hour later his SUV pulled into the parking lot, whilst you were all congregated outside. The headlights flashing once to get your attention. You said your goodbyes, hugged Cass, waved off the boys and stumbled over to the car, sliding into the passenger seat like it was something you'd done before. But it wasn't, not like this. He'd never seen you drunk, all flushed and giggly trying to act sober. But the way your head swayed side to side and how you kept sneaking looks at him, told him you were anything but sober.

"You good?" Jax asks with a hushed laugh, guiding you into the house with a gentle grip on your elbow. His touch steady and grounding, just firm enough to make sure you don't faceplant on the rug.

"I'm fine" you lie, immediately slumping down onto the couch like your whole body had been waiting to collapse. You bend forward to take your heels off, but the fiddly little strap refuses to budge and your fingers were far too uncoordinated to win this fight. You sigh in defeat, Jax leaning against the back of the couch as he watches you struggle in amusement.

"You eat?"

"I..uh...nah" you mumble, eyes closed now, your head tilted back towards the ceiling like it might stop the room from spinning.

"Jesus" he shakes his head, pushing off the sofa and heading into the kitchen, muttering something under his breath that you were too drunk to catch. You still don't move, keeping your eyes shut letting the dizziness mellow into something somewhat manageable. You had no idea what Jax was doing until the couch dips beside you. You blink your eyes open to find him offering a plate with a simple cheese and ham sandwich, cut into four little squares. Definitely not your go to midnight snack, but right now? it looks fucking divine.

"Aww" you smile, sitting up right now to look at him "this is a cutesy sandwich" you laugh, referring to the tiny pieces he's cut it into.

"Habit" he laughs with a shrug, clearly used to prepping food for his boys.

“This is fucking good” you point at him with the sandwich, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. “You tryna seduce me with food or something?"

His head snaps towards you, his brows pinched together. But you don't even notice, too busy stuffing your face. He laughs low and real, his shoulders doing most of the movement.

"Relax...I'm just joking" you mumble through a laugh, eyes still on your plate "...kinda"

The last part comes out quieter, so quiet you're not even sure he caught it.

But he did.

Just like he's caught everything lately. The way your eyes linger a little longer when he walks into the room. The way you're always smiling around him, even when the energy can be a little...off. And Jax? he's been the same. Stealing glances, asking questions that don't need answers. Any excuse to keep you talking. Ever since that lil pamper session, something between you shifted. Subtle, but real. Like the space between you had thinned, and you both started leaning in without meaning to.

You grab another square, biting into it with the loudest, most dramatic moan as if you've just tasted the meaning of life. "Oh my god..." you say with a mouth still full, waving the sandwich at him "...this is a good fucking sandwich"

"Yeah...you've said... twice" he shakes his head with a laugh, leaning back as he watches you demolish it like you haven't eaten in days and beginning to realise he's becoming dangerously close to forgetting he's your boss.

“There…” he mutters, letting go of your ankle and tossing your heels to the side of your bed like they personally offended him “…Better?”

You wiggle your toes, relief washing over your feet as a grin grows on your face and your back sinks deeper into the mattress “Better” you confirm. But then it hits you. “Ugh” you groan, hands flying upwards towards your face.

Jax stiffens immediately, his brows pinching together “…y/n?…you good?”

“I gotta get this shit off”

“The makeup?” He blinks, a little confused

“Yeah” you say, dragging fingertips down your heated cheeks. His eyes flick around your room like he’s scanning for the solution “You uh…need help or somethin’?”

You peek at him through smudged lashes and faded eye liner “Really?”

He crosses his arms, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You giggle lazily in response “Too late, you offered” you stretch your arms out towards him, fingers flexing like a child asking to be picked up “Come on, Boss man”

He chuckles under his breath and grabs your hands to help you sit up. The spark between your palms is almost immediate. Small, almost nothing but it settles somewhere low between you both, neither of you saying a word about it though. "Aight...what do I need?"

You gesture drunkenly towards your dresser, a lazy wave of your hand "Top one...pack of face wipes"

Jax doesn't hesitate. He walks over, already reaching but the moment his hand grazes the wrong handle you jolt upright like you've been electrocuted. "NO!" you blurt, panic laced in your tone "Not that one..."

He freezes, hand still hovering, turning towards you with that damn smirk tugging at his lips. The kind that says he doesn't need to ask why and judging by the way he chuckles under his breath and redirects to the drawer you actually meant, you're guessing he already put two and two together.

He returns with the wipes in his hands, settling on the bed beside you. You're sat with your legs crossed, your thighs plush and glowing under the warm hue of your Himalayan salt lamp, trying your best to stay upright with your palms pressed down against the bed. Frizz clings to your hairline, your edges completely gone. Melted away by the heat, the sweat and the way your body moved to the music all night long. Not a single trace left of the sleek swoops you laid down before heading out.

"Right...let's see if I remember how this goes"

"Be gentle…I’m just a girlllll" You tilt your chin up with a hint of a smile.

He huffs a laugh and presses the wipe to your forehead, wiping slow and careful. There's something about the way his hand cradles your face, thumb brushing along your jaw that feels more intimate than anything you've felt in a long fucking time. He moves to your cheeks, then your nose, avoiding your hoop piercing, then gently around the corners of your mouth.

"You...you're better at this than I thought you'd be"

"You're the one who taught me. Forced me to take part in your little science class"

"You loved it" the memory replaying in your head. "What?" you ask, blinking at him confused by the way he's suddenly squinting at your face.

"What...the fuck" he mutters, leaning in closer, his brows touching in deep concentration.

"Jax?" you laugh nervously "What is it?"

"Your eyelash. It's hangin' off" he says, reaching towards your face like he knows how to fix the problem.

You swat his hand away, falling back in drunken laughter "Its fake you loser. Just pull it off!"

He chuckles, holding his hands up "Nah, I don't wanna hurt you"

Rolling your eyes, still giggling you peel the lash off yourself, then the other, leaning over him and setting them gently on your nightstand like trophies, that's the moment everything fucking stops, for him anyway. The weight of your thigh brushes his, your tee hanging forward just enough for him to catch the top curve of your tits, soft and heavy. Bouncing ever so slightly with the quick shift of your body. He doesn't mean to look, but he does. His eyes dragging from your collar bone, down to your chest, your thighs, the faint stretch marks catching the light along the sides of your hips like caramel lightning.

He shakes his head, smiling but its tight and distracted. He swallows hard like he's trying to force down everything he just felt. His hand moves again as you return to your position. He begins wiping at your face like he didn't just get hypnotised by you, like he's not reeling from how close you are.

“I’m sorry about Gemma” he mutters, sitting back attempting to change the direction of conversation.

“Don’t be” you slur softly, head tilting forward like it’s too heavy for your shoulders “she’s just making sure I’m not slacking…that’s love…loud…bossy ass love” Your fingers reach up without much thought, brushing against the gold chain resting against his chest. The bullet pendant is tilted, like always. You straighten it gently, eyes just about focused and your thumb keeping contact for just a second longer than necessary before letting it fall back into place.

"Its always crooked" you say like a damn warning "Drives me mad"

"You always notice the little shit...I've been seeing that lately" he catches you off guard.

Then, his voice drops lower, more serious.

"Why were you gonna stay at your friends place?" he asks, not demanding just curious.

You look down for a second, trying to collect the pieces of courage. "I..." you lick your lips. your buzz fading just enough to feel the truth about to leave your throat "I didn't wanna come home drunk. Say something, or do something I shouldnt..." your hands going up in surrender, you've just done exactly what you didn't want to do.

"You didn't trust what might happen" he finishes for you.

You nod sheepishly, but your hearts pounding, too loud to ignore. Maybe it was the rum punch, or maybe it's the way he's looking at you, still holding your face carefully as he continues to remove the makeup. "Something like that" you hum, eyes flicking up to him, heavy lidded and all doe eyed like you don't even realise they way you're looking at him.

He can’t see it. The way you’ve got all flustered after your confession and under his touch. The heat spreading throughout your entire body. Thankfully, your melanin covers it up, never giving away your secrets. But Jax? He can feel it. Right under the pad of his thumb, the fires from within curling around your features. He doesn't say anything at first, just watches you. He tosses the used wipe onto your nightstand and leans in a fraction closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I'd never cross that line with you..." he admits, your stomach dipping with rejection, you look down at your lap, fingers picking aimlessly at the soft skin of your thighs. "...not unless I knew you wanted it too”

You look up slowly, his words still hanging in the air. The ache in your stomach begins to soften, the sting of what you thought was rejection melting into something warmer. It was restraint he was showing. A boundary being drawn not because he didn't feel it, but because he did. Then, he clears his throat, stands and turns towards the door. But not before reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing your bonnet. Throwing it gently into your lap "Don't forget this" he says, rough and warm at the same time.

You smile sleepily as you pull it on, curls disappearing beneath the silk "Look at you...still learning" you laugh, biting your bottom lip shyly.

He pauses in the doorway, turning just enough to catch your eyes.

"Just been payin' attention darlin"

He doesn't leave yet. He stands there, looking at you like he doesn't want to walk out. You meet his gaze and nod once, soft and honest, and he nods back just as smoothly.

You've both been feeling it, and now…

You both know it.

*photos & gifs do not belong to me | all credit to original owners.

Ugh writing this slow burn is killing me! The amount of times I wanted them to FUCK IT OUT. But. It’s cutesy I like it hehe. I fucking love these two…slowly becoming my new fav ngl 👀🤭

Apologies for being MIA I know, I know…Gemma would say I’m slacking cause I am, but I’m back and I’m better (wishful thinking 🤭) THANK YOU ALL for the birthday wishes the other day honestly love u all 🫶🏽

I made a post earlier, but I’ll say it here again incase anyone missed it so…From today I am no longer taking on or completing any NEW WRITTEN REQUESTS FOR FICS. I am however taking request for the TEXT AU’s and will still be continue parts of fics that ALREADY EXIST (including till it’s gone extras - so send those asks in) 🖤

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savagemickey03 · 5 days ago

Text

Happy Birthday, America

Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader | The Boys

NOTES: this is definitely a little cliche but I think it’s so cutie, I don’t even mind. Enjoy it <3 I hope all my USA besties have a happy holiday and all yall other friends have a great Friday!

TW: set in the 1960s, illusions to social anxiety/being uncomfy around crowds, Ben having a womanizer reputation, cliche “I know I’m just a right now girl” kind of trope, Ben being a sweetie pie because he wuvs her (not that he actually says it)

It was supposed to be dazzling.

That’s what the Vought publicist kept chirping in your ear while she pinned the little rhinestone star through your earlobes: You’ll be dazzling. Like something out of the pictures.

And maybe you were.

The ballroom was certainly built for it—glittering chandeliers, swags of red and white silk, a brass band striking up marches while the high-society crowd tried not to spill their cocktails. It was 1963, and everything was bright and patriotic and just a little unreal.

But no one dazzled quite like him.

Ben. Soldier Boy.

He was the shining star of the Fourth of July gala—his face plastered across posters, his name on every tongue, his laugh carrying over the orchestra like he didn’t have a care in the world. He’d posed for photos with senators, kissed a few powdered cheeks, signed autographs with a wink that made grown women giggle.

And you…well, you were just trying to remember how to breathe. You weren’t just some girl tonight. You were the one on his arm—the flavor of the month, sure, but the current one.

And Vought wanted everyone to see it.

You’d lasted almost an hour at his side, gloved hand resting light against the crook of his arm, smile pinned in place. You were getting good at the smile—it didn’t quite reach your eyes, but no one seemed to notice.

But when the toasts began, you slipped away.

You told yourself you’d be back before anyone noticed. Just five minutes of quiet. A little air.

The terrace was cooler, the music muted behind the heavy doors. You pressed your palms to the marble balustrade and watched the boats in the harbor.

For a moment, it felt like you could just be you again, not some polished accessory for America’s favorite hero.

Then the door opened behind you.

His steps were unhurried, his presence filling the space like gravity itself.

You didn’t have to look to know he was smiling. You could hear it in his voice when he spoke.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice rich and smooth as the bourbon he’d been nursing, “aren’t you just a vision”

You closed your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” You could hear the grin in his voice. “Haven’t even said anything yet.”

His footsteps crossed the stone, unhurried. When he came into view, your stomach did that ridiculous flutter it always did.

He was broader up close, all that swagger and self-satisfaction taking up every inch of space. He was carrying a fresh class of dark liquor, ice clinking against the glass.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doin’ out here, darlin’?” he asked. “Or should I guess?”

“I needed some air,” you said, trying for steady.

“Mmm.” He cocked his head. “That what you call it?”

“What else would I call it?”

He smiled—slow, knowing. “Hidin’.”

Heat climbed up your neck. You looked away, out over the harbor. The fireworks hadn’t started yet, but you could see the barges anchored in place, waiting to launch the spectacle.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you muttered.

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his drink on the railing beside you. Then, in one fluid motion, he braced a hand on the iron beside your hip, leaning in close enough you could smell the tobacco and aftershave on his collar.

“Am I?”

His free hand lifted, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he was wiping something away.

“You looked like you were gonna pass out in there,” he murmured, voice low and amused. “All that fuss over me, and you standing there like a scared little rabbit.”

You huffed a little laugh, your breath almost catching in your chest. “You love it.”

He grinned. “Course I do. What better way to say ‘happy birthday, America,’ than with it’s favorite hero.” His thumb traced your lower lip, pressing just enough to make your heart jump.

“Can’t say I blame you, though,” he drawled. His gaze tracked down your dress—slow and appreciative. “That room’s enough to make a man want to jump ship. One of the worst of the year, if y’ask me.”

He turned more fully toward you, pulling you to face him all the same so he could take you in—slow, head to toe.

“You look somethin’ fierce tonight, honey.”

You swallowed. “It’s just the dress,” you shook your head, eyes not meeting his.

He chuckled—a low, easy sound that made your stomach flutter.

“No.” His thumb brushed your collarbone. “It’s the way you wear it.”

Heat prickled at the back of your neck. You looked away, out at the harbor where the fireworks were being readied.

“Everyone’s been staring,” you murmured.

“Mmm. They always stare.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

He tipped his head, studying you like he was working out how best to tell you a secret. Then he leaned in, close enough you could feel the warmth of him.

“I’ll let you in on somethin’,” he crooned, voice velvet-smooth. “I’ve been doin’ this a long time. The uniforms, the parades, the photographs.”

His knuckle traced your cheek, tender in a way that almost startled you. “But when I walk in a room and you’re lookin’ at me the way you do…” He smiled, slow and sure. “That feels better than anything else.”

Your breath caught.

“Ben.”

He didn’t let you look away this time. His hand framed your jaw, thumb stroking the hinge of it like he was memorizing your shape.

“You know what I was thinkin’ when I saw you sneaking out across the ballroom?”

You shook your head.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “God help me,” he murmured, “I’d rather be out there alone with her than in here playin’ hero.”

Your heart fluttered hard enough you thought he’d feel it against his chest.

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered.

His mouth curved against your hair.

“Sure I do, sweetheart,” he crooned, “I never say anythin’ I don’t mean to you.”

He drew back just enough to meet your gaze—steady, warm, hungry in a way that made your knees weaken.

“You look like you’re about to bolt,” he said softly.

You tried to answer, but he quieted you with a gentle press of his thumb against your lower lip.

“You don’t have to,” he promised. “You can stand right here with me. Let ‘em look all they want. They’ll all be comin’ out soon for the display,” he dipped his head toward what lay beyond the balcony. “I’ll give ‘em a show they’ll never forget.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He smiled—a slow, wicked little thing—and his hand settled at your waist, palm splayed over the curve of your hip.

“Or,” he drawled, a playful tilt to his voice, “I can take you down to the car, drive us out past the bay, and we can watch the fireworks. Just you n’ me.”

Your pulse tripped over itself.

“What do you want?” he asked, low and coaxing. “The stuffy gala…or your handsome superhero of a date all to yourself?”

You looked up at him, heart hammering, and realized you’d never stood a chance.

“Just you,” you whispered.

His grin flashed—bright and boyish, the movie-star smile that made headlines and broke hearts.

“That’s my girl.”

He bent to kiss you, slow and warm, while the first flare lit the sky behind him.

You were still catching your breath when he drew back, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“All right,” he said, that movie-star grin sliding back into place, “let’s get outta here before somebody decides they can’t live without another picture.”

You laughed before you could help it—soft and incredulous.

“Wait , Ben, you can’t just leave in the middle of your own party—”

“Sure I can.” He was already reaching for your hand, folding your fingers into his warm, calloused palm. “They’ll survive.”

“Your publicist will kill you.”

He gave your hand a tug, urging you away from the balustrade. “Sweetheart, they’ve been tryin’ to get rid of me for twenty years.”

You shook your head, a helpless giggle escaping as he swept his cap off the railing and tucked it under his arm.

“Come on,” he coaxed, crooning low as if you were some shy little thing he was luring into the dark. “Trust me.”

And God help you, you did.

He led you across the terrace to a side stairwell, every step muffled by the red carpet runners. You passed a pair of catering staff, who gaped openly—Soldier Boy, in full uniform, star studded date in tow—and he just winked at them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

By the time you slipped through the service exit into the warm summer night, your heart was pounding for an entirely different reason.

“Ben—”

“Hush,” he teased, glancing over his shoulder with that wicked glint in his eye. “You’re gonna give us away.”

You pressed your hand over your mouth, trying to stifle another laugh as he steered you around the corner of the building to a sleek, shining. The kind of car that belonged in a glossy magazine ad.

Of course it was his.

He opened the passenger door with a little flourish. “Your chariot, m’lady.”

You rolled your eyes, but it didn’t stop the grin tugging at your mouth. “You are completely impossible.”

“Mm-hm.” He leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial. “And you love it.”

You slipped into the seat, satin skirt whispering over the leather upholstery. He shut the door with a decisive click, then rounded the hood to slide in beside you.

As soon as he turned the key, the engine rumbled to life—a deep, purring growl that somehow suited him perfectly.

“You really just…walked out,” you marveled as he pulled away from the curb.

He shot you a sideways look, one hand steady on the wheel. “You think they’re gonna fire me?”

You snorted. “I think they could try.”

“Let ‘em,” he drawled, and the sheer careless confidence of it made something warm bloom behind your ribs.

You settled back against the seat, your heart still tripping along in time with the engine.

He drove fast—not reckless, but with the easy assurance of someone who knew everyone would get out of his way. The city blurred by in a glittering wash of glowing signs and streetlamps.

You didn’t ask where he was taking you. You didn’t have to.

The road sloped upward, out past the edge of the city. When he finally pulled over, you could see everything—the skyline sprawled in glittering silhouette, the barges in the harbor ready to launch their fireworks.

He cut the engine. The hush that followed felt intimate, like you’d both stepped out of time.

Ben turned toward you, his green eyes catching the glow of the dash lights.

“C’mere,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing.

Before you could ask what he meant, he was out of the car and coming around to your side. He opened the door, offering his hand.

You took it, feeling absurdly shy all of a sudden.

“Trust me,” he said, soft and earnest, like he already knew you would—that you already did.

And then he bent, one arm curling behind your knees, the other bracing your back—lifting you effortlessly against his chest.

You gasped, clutching his shirt. “Ben—!”

He just laughed, low and delighted, as though your outrage was the best thing he’d ever heard.

“You’re gonna wake up the whole damn city,” he teased, crooning close to your ear.

But you couldn’t stop giggling, breathless and a little dizzy, as he carried you the few steps to the front of the car.

With one smooth motion, he set you down on the warm edge of the hood, his hands bracketing your hips to steady you.

“Better,” he murmured, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against your waist. “Got you right where I want you.”

You tried to glare at him, but he was smiling that lazy, movie-star smile again—and God help you, you melted.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek that was somehow more intimate than any of the showy things he did in public.

“Stay put,” he murmured. “I’m gettin’ the blanket.”

He ducked back to the trunk, rummaging for a moment. You were still catching your breath when he returned with a folded wool blanket, spreading it carefully behind you.

“Don’t want you scuffin’ up that pretty dress,” he teased, helping you move a little further up the hood and over top of the blanket.

He stepped in close again, palms sliding up your stockinged calves to the backs of your knees—an absent, proprietary touch that made your breath hitch.

“You all right?” he asked, voice softer.

You nodded, smiling helplessly. “Yeah.”

His grin went crooked. “Good.”

Because then he braced his hands on the edge of the hood and hoisted himself up beside you, one boot planted on the bumper.

From here, the city looked small. The sky was starting to glow with the first burst of fireworks—white sparks cracking open the dark.

You felt his arm slide around your waist, pulling you in against his side.

“See?” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “Best seat in the house.”

From the hood of his car, the city looked like something out of a dream. Glittering towers silhouetted against the harbor. Ferries drifting past the barges stacked with fireworks. The big hotels lit up in patriotic colors.

And Ben—Soldier Boy—sitting beside you like he wasn’t the most famous man in the country. One arm wrapped around your waist as though you belonged right there along with him.

Maybe you did.

Just for tonight, at least. Or until he got bored again.

You leaned back against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of it under your palm. When the next firework went up—a shimmering red peony—he lifted his free hand and pointed.

“Look at that,” he murmured. His voice was so soft you almost didn’t hear it over the echoing boom. “Ain’t it somethin’?”

You smiled, tilting your face to watch the gold sparks trail down.

“It really is,” you whispered.

For a little while, neither of you spoke. You just sat there in the hush between explosions, your satin skirt gathered around your legs, his hand resting warm over your hip.

You’d never felt so much like you were living someone else’s life—a glossier, more beautiful version you could never quite trust to be real.

A cool breeze lifted the hair at your nape, and you shivered. Ben’s thumb rubbed an absent circle against your waist.

“Cold?” he asked.

“No,” you said quickly. “Just…”

You trailed off, feeling silly.

“Just what?” he coaxed, his voice gone all honey and rough edges.

You swallowed, watching a white chrysanthemum bloom over the harbor.

You hesitated, then blurted it out before you lost your nerve. “It feels like a dream,” you murmured.

He shifted, his chin brushing your hair from your spot tucked against him. “What does?”

You traced the crease in your skirt with your fingertip, trying not to look at him. “All of this,” you said softly. “The dresses. The parties. The way people look at me when I’m with you. Being here with you. The way it feels…like someone else’s life I get to borrow for a little while.”

He was quiet, and you felt your chest tighten a little.

“I know I’m lucky,” you went on, trying for a smile. “I know girls would kill to be in my shoes.”

You felt him take a slow breath, but he didn’t interrupt.

“…Sometimes I just can’t help but think about how much I’m going to miss it,” you admitted, eyes still fixed on the sky.

His thumb stroked the side of your waist, just once. A careful, almost steadying touch.

“Miss it?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You swallowed. “When it’s over.”

This time he did go still. Not shocked—just quiet.

You dared a glance at him, your heart thumping.

His eyes searched yours for a long moment—steady, unblinking, the green of them dark in the glow of the fireworks.

“Sweetheart,” he said, so low it felt like a promise. “Where in God’s name do you think you’re goin’?”

“I know I’m not the kind of girl a man like you keeps around,” you said softly. “And that’s all right. I didn’t expect to be. Never expected to be here at all.”

“Darlin’,” he murmured, and there was something in his voice that made your throat go tight. “You don’t have to talk like it’s already said and done.”

Your chest squeezed. “It’s just…” You trailed off, feeling silly. “You’re…you. And I’m… just me.”

He tipped his head, watching you like he was reading a language no one else knew.

“You think I don’t know? What people say? What they think,” he asked, quiet, almost matter-of-fact. “You think I didn’t hear every wiseass in that ballroom talk about how I get tired of the same girl too fast?”

You felt your face go warm, and he sighed—deep and low, like he’d been carrying something heavy he wasn’t sure how to set down.

“It’s not that I’m shocked you’d think it,” he said, voice low and a little rough. “I created that reputation for myself. I’m just…disappointed you’d think that way about yourself.”

You swallowed hard, and before you could look away, he caught your chin in his fingers—gentle, coaxing.

“You’re the first person in a long damn time who looks at me like I’m just a man,” he said, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. “Not a brand. Not a headline. You didn’t want anything from me. You were just….happy to be here. With me.”

He didn’t look away.

“You think I don’t know that’s somethin’ worth holdin’ onto?”

Your breath caught, something soft and startled moving through you.

He smiled then—small, a little crooked, a lot more real than the ones he wore in front of the cameras.

“You probably been sittin’ here all night thinkin’ I’m gonna get tired of you,” he murmured, voice warm as the July air. “And all I’ve been thinkin’ is how I’d give just about anything to keep you lookin’ at me the way you are right now.”

For a moment, you didn’t trust yourself to answer.

So you just leaned up, pressing your forehead to his, and let the next firework burst over you both—brilliant white raining down like a blessing.

He exhaled, and you felt it, the way his shoulders eased, the way his hand tightened at your hip like he couldn’t help it.

And neither of you said another word for a while.

The next few fireworks went up—silver and red—and he leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“You’re my very best girl,” he said, soft as a secret. “Don’t you ever doubt it.”

Something in your chest cracked open at that—something you hadn’t even known you were holding back.

You nodded, blinking fast. “Okay,” you whispered.

He kissed you then—slow, sweet, so careful it made your eyes sting. Like he needed you to believe it.

And for the first time all night, you did.

You kissed him back, your hand sliding over the broad line of his chest, and let yourself have this moment—warm and golden and impossibly bright—without wondering how long it would last.

This kiss was so soft, almost like it was an apology. For the headlines, for the reputation, for the fact you’d ever had to feel doubt that you were truly wanted.

You stayed there with your mouth pressed to his, feeling the way he softened under your hands, how the tension that always seemed to live in his shoulders finally eased.

When you pulled back just enough to breathe, he rested his forehead to yours, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheekbone.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low and a little rough, “I haven’t much cared what anybody thought of me for a damn long time.”

You blinked up at him, your lashes damp.

“But sittin’ here with you…” His throat worked, like he was searching for the right words. “Makes me wish I’d tried a little harder to be the kind of man you could believe in.”

Your heart gave a small, startled ache.

“You don’t have to try, or apologize,” you whispered. “You already are.”

For a moment, neither of you could said anything. You just looked at each other, the fireworks casting flickering light across his face—first gold, then silver, then blue.

He exhaled, something like relief in the sound, and brushed your hair back behind your ear with a care that nearly undid you.

“You’re my girl,” he said, steady as a promise. “And if you’ll have me…I’m gonna spend a long time provin’ that means somethin’.”

And this time, when you smiled—small and a little shy—it didn’t feel like you were waiting for it to end.

It felt like something was finally beginning.

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savagemickey03 · 5 days ago

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71 soldier boy, maybe some polaroids??

71.“stay still, i wanna take a picture”

ben loved seeing you in anything- a formal dress, one of his shirts, some lacy lingerie. but one thing that he thought was his absolute favourite was when you worr things that were popular in the 50’s

he would help you pick them out of course, not like you knew what to look for. but as soon as you got home, ben had you on the bed and posing for him like he was the best photographer ever

you were in a modern set inspired by 50’s lingerie- a black satin bra that pushed your boobs together, a matching pair of panties with clipped on garters, which pretended to hold up your thigh high stockings. like a picture perfect pinup model, it had ben all but drooling over you

“stay still, i wanna take a picture” ben said as you pretended to pose for him on the bed, which was mostly you sticking your ass out in different directions and giggling like a schoolgirl. he tried to keep his voice serious, but you could hear his smile

“m’posing for you, not my fault your too old to work a polaroid” you said behind a grin, arching your back in a way that had ben groaning under his breath as the flash from the polaroid camera filled the room briefly

“watch your mouth sweetheart” he tried to be stern, but it was so damn hard when you looked like you just walked out of a vintage playboy magazine ben wouldve kept when he went to battle

you moved to a few other positions, each photo being printed and left to process before he took another- on the bed with your back arched off of it in the most perfect way, on your side and pretending to welcome him into bed with you- and bens favourite was you bent over the edge of the bed with your ass in the air

“c’mon- you wanted me in this, you gotta take it off now”

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savagemickey03 · 5 days ago

Text

those ties that bind us

SUMMARY: You choose a new pair of alphas over what you've come to know.

PAIRING: Poly!alpha!141 x omega!Reader x alpha!AleRudy

WARNINGS/INFO: 18+ MDNI | OMEGAVERSE AU | female!Reader; angst; a/b/o dynamics; hurt/comfort; cussing; smut; spit kink; bad Spanish translations; bonding; open end

Based on this little blurb. 🩶

You had a feeling it would happen someday if your packmates, the alphas who you’ve spent and shared most of your life with for the better part of the past three years, won’t finally make a move, make you theirs officially—but now that it happened eventually, you’re not quite sure how to tell them.

Perhaps you didn’t do enough? Didn’t make your intentions clear with none of them? The desire to be claimed, to belong, to be loved—always put off by Price, smiled at by Gaz, supported but never pursued by Soap, and straight up ignored by Ghost.

As you follow Simon and Johnny over the busy tarmac, your combat boots begin to feel heavy with each step you take that leads you further away from Alejandro and Rudy, the alphas who are now courting you and currently staying behind by the truck after saying their goodbyes to their foreign comrades.

Even then, you’d wondered if neither Simon nor Johnny found it odd when you chose not to say your own farewells to the other two alphas after finishing a successful operation, but again they stayed oblivious to the bond that has been blossoming between you and the Mexican soldiers since you’ve first stepped foot into Las Almas.

Just last night it was Alejandro who had told you that, perhaps it will be better if you’re the one to break the news to them, though assuring you: “We’ll always have your back, cariño,”.

And now, the harsh tug you’re currently experiencing deep down in your chest cavity, right behind your heart, only puts the last necessary nail in the coffin for you.

You’re staying.

As if on cue, your body works before your mind catches up—still both mentally and physically recovering from the mission—and you freeze in your steps, coming to an abrupt halt that causes Simon to glance over his shoulder, having noticed you in his peripherals like the vigilant alpha he is.

And it causes a chain reaction, when Johnny follows his leader's reaction, stopping dead in his tracks and following Simon’s line of vision until bright blue eyes settle on you, a puzzled look settling on his ruggedly chiselled face.

You speak up before either of them can: “This is goodbye... for now,” you tell them over the loud noises surrounding you on the airfield, and you try to keep your voice firm and steady, but it cracks at goodbye before your throat tightens painfully enough to make your eyes well up with tears.

Simon and Johnny share a long, meaningful look, having a full-on conversation with their eyes in a language you don’t speak like you’ve witnessed so many times before, and then they fully turn simultaneously before approaching you with purposeful steps that make you brace yourself for an argument.

“Whot’s tha’?” Simon asks, towering and gripping the straps of his bulky tac vest while tilting his masked head like a curious puppy. You know he’s just trying to give you another chance to change your words, but this time you won’t.

“Whaddaya mean by ‘goodbye’, bon?” Johnny chimes in, brows furrowed while his gaze flickers between you and then over your shoulder, eye narrowing as they land on their allies—friends—the alpha males still watching the scene unfold with crossed arms and squared shoulders—looking ready to step in any second if need be.

Johnny takes note of the sudden tension and dominance oozing off Alejandro and Rudy, how the comradery and friendliness from before has now seemingly disappeared soon as he and Simon approached you this time—as if they suddenly have a claim on you that your literal packmates don’t.

And just like that, it dawns on them like a physical blow to the chest.

Simon’s jaw clenches as he tries to reign in the rumbling growl building up in his chest while Johnny doesn’t bother to hide the snarl taking over his face, sharpening his features into something feral; both of their scents spiking in intensity, lacing the hot-humid air with sour pheromones, ready to scent mark and drag you onto the cargo plane with them if push comes to shove.

Your eyes widen at once, a deer caught in headlights, staring at the truck coming full speed at her.

“Ye’re comin’ home with us,” Johnny growls, gloved hands balling into tight fists at his sides to keep himself from simply snatching your wrist before Simon’s hand comes up to rest on his shoulder like a physical leash. “Easy there, Soap.”

Neither of them is angry with you, you can tell that much, but judging by their blown pupils and dominant stances, something strange is happening.

“I’m not coming with you. I’m–” Your heart thumps violently and your breath hitches momentarily, making it harder for you to get the words out as both men stare at you intensely, expecting you to make a choice that’d be in their favour.

But you’ve made your decision.

“I’m staying here... with Alejandro and Rudy. I have–I have already informed Price last night and asked for special leave,” you explain, fidgeting with your hands while your pulse thrums in your neck.

A strange sensation goes through your body as you speak those words; a buzzing energy rushing through your veins as you cut those emotional packbonds, now brittle by the years of neglect, to focus on the future waiting for you just a few yards away—a tiny seedling soaking up sunshine for the first time, finally stepping away from the trees who’ve drowned her in shadows, causing harm without even meaning to.

Johnny shakes his head slowly, disbelief settling on his face as the crease between his brows disappears, eyes softening. For a moment, it almost looks like something inside him shatters, as if he can feel it, too.

“No... please,” he breathes, reaching out to grasp your hand while his shoulders slouch. “Ye cannae jus’... do this, bon. Ye belong with us,” he squeezes your hand weakly, “–our wee omega.”

A soft whimper escapes your throat, one that has Alejandro and Rudy perk up with worry despite the distance, and one that makes Johnny’s eyes water—because he knows what it means. Your decision is final and it’s their own bloody fault.

They should’ve seen it coming, should’ve noticed the signs even amidst battle, and yet they didn’t; thinking they still had time.

“I’ll miss ye,” Johnny rasps before pulling you against his chest only to bury his face into your neck to inhale your sweet scent greedily, hoping it will brand itself into his nostrils—one last time. Warm blueberry tarte, honey-soaked linen, and freshly cut grass, a concoction now dulled by sadness, though still perfect, still—theirs. It makes his teeth itch to bite, to mark, and his chest feels heavy, unable to let you go just like that.

“Are ye sure, luv?” he mutters against your skin and his nose presses into your virgin scent gland in a way that makes you shiver. You nod meekly, eyes squeezed shut as you rub your face against his shirt, leaving your scent on him instinctively. Just for the flight home to make him feel better, you think. Always the good omega looking out for her pack.

“I’m sure,” you reply so quietly, you can barely hear it yourself. “It’s been inevitable from the moment I saw them... smelled them.”

You can’t see it, but your admission shatters them; cracks their ribcages open underneath their gear and stabs their hearts repeatedly until there’s nothing left but bloodied, torn muscle and shredded heartstrings—hurting even a cold one.

After another moment, Johnny releases you reluctantly; strong arms flexing with tension as they lower at his sides. He rests his forehead against yours, chuffs low in his throat—a quiet, sorrowful goodbye that rings in your ears until your tears drip down your cheeks.

He pulls back with a grimace when Simon squeezes his shoulder, like separating himself causes him physical pain, and he leaves your tears to be wiped away by your new alphas, though in every other situation, Johnny would’ve licked them off your skin with flagrant reverence.

“C’mon, Soap, ’s time to go,” Simon announces, giving his Sergeant a firm pat on the shoulder while his eyes never leave you. You peer up at him, head ducked with a hint of shame, tendons flexing in your neck at the tension.

Eventually, Johnny turns away with a pained snarl, speeding up the process like ripping off a band aid and pulling off scab, muttering profanities under his breath as he storms off towards the plane that will take them back to the UK—while Simon stays back, still staring down at you with those onyx eyes of his, though now they hold a kind of softness to them that leaves your whole system reeling.

“Lieutenant–” you rasp, and he huffs through his mask, making your jaw snap closed again.

His gloved hands come up to rest on your shoulders, the skeleton prints spanning wide, thumbs brushing your sensitive scent glands with a tenderness you’ve rarely experienced from him as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours, hardshell mask pinching into your skin.

“...’s olways been you, pet.”

Your breath stutters, eyes fluttering as you try to process his words while your fingers tremble to reach out and claw into his tac vest to keep him close—keep his scent near, the one no omega before you has found as enticing as you.

Too much, too rigid, like ice shards and gasoline fumes jabbing into your lungs with each deep inhale, rather warning off any potential mate than drawing them in.

It made you feel safe and that’s all that ever mattered to him.

Simon lets you go with practiced ease, shoves down his feelings even though his alpha is snarling, thrashing and howling behind his mask of indifference, but he cannot contain the sound that tears out of his throat, thank god muffled by the cloth covering his mouth—husky and unpractised like blunt nails scraping over gravel, a puppy learning to communicate—something akin to a whine, a sound you’ve never heard him nor any of them make.

Your eyes widen, synapsis and instincts firing in your brain, hissing at you to soothe and purr for him, for the alpha you’ve dared to hurt—but then the dirt on the tarmac scrunches under his boots as he turns, leaving his broad back for you to look after while a swooping feeling in your stomach makes you nauseous, and you swallow your pathetic whines, having lost the right to call for them.

There’s an invisible snap and you swear you can hear it, like a cruciate rupture knocking the breath out of you, loud as a gunshot and nasty, leaving you behind with a limp and quivering lips as you watch them walk away from you, though you can see the slight hobble in their own heavy steps.

That night, your new alphas make sure to help you—not to forget but distract you from the pain of severing your packbond instead.

Though, it’s hardly merely the bond that has broken your heart.

They bring you to their private quarters, invite you into their den, a ranch house on vast land, many klicks away from Las Almas, and give you time until the sun sets, and nightfall cools the temperature to something more bearable, to settle in and sort out some of the internal chaos wreaking havoc and lacing your scent with a bitter smack of sadness.

It is obvious that you’ve loved them all—all four of them with equal ferocity. You would’ve taken a bullet for each one, you’ve tended to their wounds, the ones you can see and the one you don’t, took care of their emotional needs, made sure your shared nest was always comforting and warm to them—and for what? To be replaced if another, perhaps more beautiful, sweeter, and docile omega comes along to take the place you should have been given freely and with an urgency bordering on alpha possessiveness?

You have loved them in the dark and it was good—until someone else showed you what the light can truly look like.

It’s easy and effortless.

Your instincts are no burden but a relief to them; the fact that you come from the same line of work only fuelling their desire to make you theirs. They’ve shown it with their eyes, in the way their chests puff out as they inhale your scents, two pairs of rough hands itching to grab and grope and keep.

And just as they do in the field, Alejandro and Rudy work as a team to shed you of your material layers first before peeling away metaphorical ones—until they have stripped you naked of both cloth and invisible barriers, leaving you raw and exposed to them as they devour you whole, slow and methodically.

Their scents are strong and unapologetically wild, and it doesn’t take long until it seeps into your pores to stay; engulfing you in a comforting blanket of burnt blue agave, leaving a taste of finely aged tequila in the back of your throat, dried cloves, chili and cardamom, reminding you of a homecooked meal waiting for you, and the promising musk of their heady desires, hidden beneath a touch of violent smoke rising from the end of a gun barrel—a barrel now pointed at you.

“Yes, you should weep for them, querida,” Alejandro murmurs against your temple as he cradles you against his bare chest; all warm skin and chiselled muscles. “Makes it easier to let go and focus on what’s in front of you.”

The white curtains sweep as a soft breeze sweeps through the spacious bedroom, coming through the open floor-to-ceiling windows; moonlight illuminating the room in semi-darkness as you lounge on the bed.

Between your legs, Rudy hums in agreement, trailing languid, open-mouthed kisses up your supple legs while you spread for him willingly, giving him more space to explore.

“Agreed,” he breathes against your dewy skin, feeling your skin pebble with goosebumps under his tongue as he licks a slow stripe over the sensitive scent gland on the inside of your left thigh, so, so close to your glistening sex.

He groans at your taste and starts rutting against the mattress, grinding his hips slowely, breathing out: “Díos.”

Your legs quiver and you squirm in Alejandro’s arms, a mere bunny embraced by two wolfs, though perhaps you’ve never felt safer—more wanted—in your life.

A whimper leaves your lips, perspiration building above your furrowed brows.

“Are you–” you swallow hard, unsure if it’s too soon to ask. “Will you–”

Alejandro kisses your temple, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Of course, we will,” he assures you, nose trailing along your hairline, “–just not tonight. It would be too much for you.”

Before disappointment can settle into your gut like a parasite, like another worry adding to your fragile soul, a petulant pout forming on your lips, Rudy is quick to distract you again by parting your outer folds with deft fingers to expose the little treat resting at the top of your pussy, leaving you hot-faced and gasping.

“Pinche... es hermosa, Ale,” Rudy mumbles under his breath, thumb stroking over your swollen clit with unfamiliar reverence. “Voy a probar un poco.”

Your breath hitches while Alejandro smiles against your skull, strong hands roaming over your torso and settling right below the curve of your tits—squeezing and groping your giving flesh lightly as he feels your thumping heartbeat beneath his palms.

“Mi conejita,” he growls before nipping at your earlobe. “I will fuck you once Rudy has prepared you for my cock, yes? Tell me how much you’d like that, cariño–”

The term of endearment, so cute and innocent, followed by pure filth, makes your pulse spike and your pussy throb with its own heartbeat—and then Rudy leans in with a shameless groan to slowly lick and suck at your clit, and the world tips upside down like your eyes rolling back into your skull.

The night progresses in a whirlwind of earth-shattering orgasms and whispered promises—and they manage to keep your mind off the past, giving you but a taste of your new reality.

Rudy eats your cunt as feverishly as Johnny, though less messy and more precise, like he has all the time in the world to learn and explore—and you realize that he does when his teeth graze over the scent gland of your inner thighs again, scraping the sensitive surface with his teeth and lapping up your essence while Alejandro warns him to slow down, let you breathe.

The second-in-command finishes on the mattress, his tan skin sweat-slicked and panting, his ruddy cock spurting a massive load into the white sheets—simply from licking at your sex.

You coo at him when you catch your breath, fingers tugging at his black, fluffy hair to pull him in for a kiss while Alejandro manhandles your legs, pushes them apart and drapes one thigh over his hip as he shifts his weight behind your back for a better angle.

“That’s it, querida, kiss your man,” Alejandro growls, squeezing the back of your neck while he strokes his own prick from base to tip, exhaling a shaky breath when he coats himself in your succulent slick.

Rudy’s tongue is tangling with yours and you can taste yourself on his saliva; messy and passionate, you suck on his tongue with a sensual purr, half-lidded eyes drinking in his wrecked, pretty face.

Alejandro grunts as he lines himself up with your dripping hole, drooling tip dragging through your swollen folds. “Escupir en su boca, hermano,” he orders, voice rumbling with a growl that has you keening, and Rudy is swift to cup your jaw, keeping your mouth open, all too eager to follow his Colone’s orders.

Your breath comes in sharp pants as you stick your tongue out, a breathy moan spilling out your chest as Alejandro thrusts his fat cockhead past your entrance, sinking in an inch or two only to pull out and repeat, your velvety walls swallowing him up with greed.

“Joder,” he groans huskily, resting his forehead against the back of your head.

“Eyes on me, cariño,” Rudy chuckles, giving your jaw a small squeeze. “Feels good, no?” His tawny eyes crinkle at the corners as you nod with your tongue still out, your eyes nearly crossing from pleasure. “Heh, so cute.”

And then Rudy tips your head back against Alejandro’s broad shoulder, making the other alpha watch with his thick cock now nestled and twitching deep inside of your cunt, as he spits a generous glob of saliva into your mouth.

“Now swallow,” he croons before dragging his spit-shiny lips down the column of your throat, feeling it bob against his nose as you swallow obediently.

Alejandro snarls against your shoulder blade, pupils blown with searing lust and possessiveness at the teasing display between you and Rudy, and his hands settle on your hips, keeping you in place on his lap as he begins to thrust his hips up, driving his throbbing cock into your welcoming heat with unbridled need and liquid fire simmering in his veins, spreading like a wildfire as his balls draw up tight.

So close to your virgin scent gland on your neck, he huffs your sticky skin and bares his teeth while you’re blissfully unaware, making out with Rudy until the latter notices the shift in the other alpha—and he swiftly reaches out to grab a fistful of Alejandro’s sleek raven hair, tugging it back to make their eyes meet.

“Not tonight, boss. Tu mismo lo dijiste,” he reminds the older alpha pointedly.

Alejandro growls, then nods. He feels your walls flutter and tighten around his rutting shaft with another impending climax. They share a look, and Rudy tightens his grip with a curt nod—a silent promise to keep the other alpha from sinking his teeth into your mating gland in his ecstasy.

Not tonight, querida.

On another continent, now separated not only by distance but a broken packbond, Gaz paces inside the Captain Price’s office, deadly like an agitated jaguar in its too tiny enclosure.

“This is fuckin’ bullshit, Cap,” he repeats, snarling for the umpteenth time. “Absolute fuckin’ madness!”

His scent—usually so calm and fresh like mint leaves soaking in spring sunshine and fresh lemonade—has turned the air and atmosphere inside the office sour.

He stops right in front of Price’s cluttered desk, glaring at his trusted superior with blatant fury in his eyes as he braces his hands on the polished mahogany, leaning forward.

“How could you agree to this? How could you allow her to stay over there?! To leave our pack?!”

Behind his desk, John keeps his arms crossed tensely, jaw ticking as he clenches and unclenches it, his tongue dry and thick in his mouth as his mistake dawns on him.

The seasoned Captain made a decision with your wellbeing as his priority—always his priority—and now it’s biting him in the arse, becoming more of a simple graze like he’d expected. No, he can feel you slipping, can feel the bond severing, and it’s making him anxious, sad.

Sad. Downright depressed.

John hasn’t felt anything like this before, but he is still faring better than his Sergeant—who had no clue what was happening until he’d staggered into his office a few moments ago, clutching his chest as if someone had stabbed him with a combat knife, whinging like a pup in distress.

Bloody hell, he can’t imagine how Soap must be behaving right now—still stuck in a plane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean; having only Ghost to turn to and soothe him. Fuck. It’s a bloody disaster.

“Gaz,” John sighs roughly, tries reasoning, “– it's her decision. I couldn’t deny her.”

“Deny her?” Gaz barks out a humourless laugh. it only agitates the younger alpha more. His eyes widen, his face twists into a dangerous snarl. “Fuck that, Captain!”

John has never quite seen him lose his composure like this. He rises from his chair with a warning growl, towers over the Sergeant and forcing him into submission, pulling both rank and dominance to ease the tension.

“That’s enough, Garrick,” he says, finality lacing his sharp tone. “She asked for special leave, nothing more–”

“We are losing her. Our omega. Our girl,” Gaz interrupts, though his voice has lost some of its burn. His jaw clenches as he grits his teeth, keeping his accusations inside as he regards his Captain with a hint of disappointment and desperation.

He swallows hard, feeling the bond continuing to dissipate; it feels like sand running through his hands and there is nothing he can do to stop it from leaving him. He knows that Price can feel it, too.

“I don’t know about you, but I cannot lose her, sir,” Gaz admits, brows furrowing with a distraught whine. “We were planning to make her ours, didn’t we? Or did that fucking plan change, too?”

There is a tense pause. John’s jaw ticks again and he rubs a hand over his coarse beard, sucking his teeth before he shakes his head slowly.

“No, son, it hasn’t.”

2K notes · View notes

savagemickey03 · 5 days ago

Text

Unstoppable Force | Omegaverse Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader

Summary: He hadn't had his rut in YEARS. You took suppressants. Some manipulation from Val made sure both those things would change.

Contents: SMUT, mild dubcon, Omegaverse, fem!reader, Alpha!Bob, Omega!Reader, No Y/N, thunderbolts!reader, penetrative sex (p in v), breeding, designations aren't obvious until rut/heat, creampie, light possessiveness, if I missed any tags let me know!

WC: 4.6K

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Masterlist

A/N: I still have Bob brainrot and was thinking about a A/B/O fic and couldn't find any so I wrote it. I've never written A/B/O before so yeah do with that what you will. had to hold myself back from using the phrase 'lost in the sauce' so be glad that's not in the middle of the smut y'all

“I’m not sure I understand,” you let Valentina know. “How is this going to improve my fighting?” She took back the folder she’d slid to you across the table.

“It’s just some testing, nothing more. Now if you’ll just come with me, I’ll go get us some more drinks. We’ll discuss the details later.” Val said as she picked up the cup she’d handed you earlier. Whatever it had been, it had been sweeter than you preferred.

“I’m good, thanks. Where are we going?” You politely declined another drink. You walked through a hallway with no windows, no doors, except for the one all the way at the end. Val entered a code into the keypad and held the door open.

“Just wait in here, I’ll be right back.”

Your eyebrows raised when you walked into the room. It looked nothing like a meeting room, or a laboratory, for that matter. A large mirror was hung on the back wall. The door closed behind you suddenly. The echo startled you out of your focused assessment of the room. A door on the other side opened, and the hairs on the back of your neck immediately stood up.

Alpha.

The smell was blinding, almost making you want to hunch in on yourself. It was natural for it to overtake all of your thoughts, yet it surprised you how much it made you pause in your tracks. Whoever it was smelled phenomenal. You slowly backed away, making sure that whatever you did, you didn’t run. Your back met with the door and you grasped for the handle blindly, twisting it, only to find it locked. You cannot be serious.

“Val?!” You questioned loudly, sure by now the room was being surveilled. She’d tricked you. To do what, you weren’t sure yet. You shouldn’t have trusted her. Shouldn’t have let your guard down, even for a second.

Your eyes finally caught what your nose had already told you, hunched in the doorway. Bob? He wasn’t an Alpha, right? He was a Beta, Yelena had told you herself. Was there someone else behind him? There must be. You tried to look around him, but suddenly his frame looked broader than you’d ever recalled it being.

“Bob? What’s going on?” You questioned. His eyes snapped to yours. He looked just as alarmed to see you as you felt.

“You can’t be serious!” Bob yelled out to nobody in particular, banging on the door that had closed behind him, presumably also locked. “You can’t do this to her!”

His breathing was irregular as he spoke your name. “You need to stay back. Just– Just stay there, on that side of the room. I’ll stay here and we’ll wait it out.” He hunched in on himself and crouched into the corner furthest from you, behind a lavish bed.

This wasn’t research. You still didn’t understand what Val was up to, but this couldn’t be good.

“Bob, please tell me what we’re doing in here,” you pleaded softly, though you did as he said and followed his example, hunching in the opposite corner.

“They can’t do this to you,” he mumbled. “It’s not fair.”

“You’re scaring me,” you whispered. He scoffed a laugh.

“Good. You should be,” he refused to look at you, turning his face into the wall. All this time, the looming scent of Alpha hadn’t left the room. It was messing with your ability to think.

“You’re a Beta, right?” You searched for any change in his body language for an answer. His spine stiffened.

“... Right?” You begged. You already knew the answer. All these months in the tower, it had somehow slipped past all of you that Bob was, in fact, an Alpha.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “This– It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t know you’d be here!”

“What is this place?” You looked around the room, trying to spot a way out. It was hard to think critically when every nerve in your body was starting to scream at you to go over to Bob.

“It’s… hard to explain. Just… Stop talking, please,” he cupped his hands over his ears.

“I’ll stop talking when I understand what the hell is going on!” You were getting frustrated with him. You were scared. Your stomach turned as your fingers began to tingle. You brought your hands up to your lips, remembering the drink Valentina had given you. She hadn’t drank any herself. Fuck, how could you be that stupid?

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he repeated.

“What wasn’t supposed to happen, Bob?” He gasped softly at the mention of his name.

“Don’t– Don’t say that. Don’t say my name.” He demanded. You raised your hands in mock defense.

“You have to understand,” he started. “They said they were going to help me. They promised.” He averted his attention from the wall to the ceiling.

“This is cruel!” He yelled at the ceiling. “You don’t know what’s gonna happen! What I– What he might do to her!” Did he? Did he know what was going to happen? He obviously knew something, knew more than you.

You saw him slump against the wall, roughly hitting his head against it. He turned, finally making eye contact. You drew in a sharp breath. His eyes were flickering gold, the way they only did when he was using his powers. This wasn’t right. He had been working on controlling it for months now.

“It’s been years. They– They said they’d help me,” he ran a shaky hand over his face, laughing at his own past stupidity. “I should’ve known they’d pull something like this.”

“You have to tell me what’s happening. Fucking spit it out already,” you demanded.

“I haven’t had a rut in over 15 years,” Bob informed you. “But I’m having my first one right now.”

Fuck.

No no no no no no no no no NO–

“You– Right now?”

“Right now.” Bob nodded.

You had to get out of here. It’s not that you didn’t want Bob. Quite the opposite, actually. But he wasn’t going to be in his right mind. God, you should’ve known the second you smelled an Alpha that you were in trouble. Actually smelling someone’s designation could only mean two things; either they were experiencing very extreme emotions, or they were nearing a rut/heat. You couldn’t think about the smell. Couldn’t let it get to you, or it would trigger your heat.

“I’m assuming you’re an Omega?” Bob distracted you from your thoughts.

“Yeah… I didn’t think it mattered!” You cried. “I’ve been on suppressants for forever. I haven’t had my heat in like… God, 5 years? Maybe 6? Val said they were just going to do some testing with my new suit… I should never have trusted her.”

“I think I’m going insane,” Bob laughed maniacally. “It’s like I can smell you. But that’s impossible if you’re taking suppressants.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, actually,” you winced. “She gave me a drink. Didn’t think anything of it because apparently I’m an idiot.”

“She spiked it with something?” His breathing was getting more and more laboured. He was realizing by now that you had been set up, too. This was all an elaborate scheme.

You shrugged. “I guess we’ll be finding out real soon if she did, and with what.”

Bob turned his back to you, back facing the wall. You could tell from the heaving of his shoulders that he was breathing heavily. He was trying his best to stay in control.

You, too, felt like you were slowly but surely losing your mind. Whatever Val had given you was working fast. You could feel sweat build up on the back of your neck. You were tempted to take off your clothes, but were sure that wouldn’t exactly make the situation any easier for Bob. You could deal with the temperature, as long as he stayed away and didn’t trigger your heat.

It had been so long you’d had one, and even when you did, you’d never spent it with an Alpha. A rutting Alpha? Even better. No. Don’t think about that. Don’t think about his rut. Don’t think about what he could be thinking about. Don’t think about what he could do to you. Don’t think about his knot.

Shit.

You were definitely thinking about his knot, now.

So what if you’d been harbouring a secret crush on him for months? It had been harmless, up until now. He was relying on you to control yourself, and you were messing that part up real fast.

The temperature was rising quickly. The room was too small for an Alpha experiencing his rut, especially with an unmated Omega so nearby. You untied your shoes, trying to find the best way to cool down without setting him off. You put your socks in your shoes. It helped for about 0.3 seconds.

A familiar feeling was starting to build in your stomach. It wasn’t discomfort, exactly. Dissatisfaction. An itch. A need.

You tried to hold it in. You really did. His scent was so overwhelming. That combined with the fact that your system had been flushed clear of all suppressants for the first time in years? You were fucked.

A soft whisper of your name rang from the other side of the room. It sent a shiver up your spine. You understood, now, why he’d begged you not to say his name. It was like he was speaking directly to the part of you that was holding up your reserve, and crumbling it.

“Hmm?” You acknowledged painfully.

“How… How are you feeling?” Bob asked quietly. He’d likely smelled it already. The desperation. His rut had triggered your heat. Neither of you were going to be able to hold back.

“Like I’m slowly burning from the inside, but other than that, peachy,” you replied sarcastically, bringing your hand to your forehead to wipe away the beads of sweat.

“I don’t know– I don’t know how much longer I can control this. It’s been so long…” He didn’t dare turn around. Maybe you should turn your back to him, too. Maybe then it was easier to keep your mind off him. You decided to give it a try. The second you tore your eyes off him, you felt a dire need to put them back on him. You resisted, for now.

You heard the ruffling of fabric. You were so tempted to turn around. The heat was getting to him. He’d taken off his sweater and let out a small sigh of relief. It sounded downright pornographic, though you were sure any sound he made at this point would sound like that to your ears.

You decided that, since neither of you were looking, it couldn’t hurt to take your shirt off as well. You grabbed it by the hem and lifted it over your head, leaving you in your bra and pants. The air was a lot colder, bringing goosebumps and relief to your skin. You discarded the shirt somewhere behind you.

The smallest of whimpers escaped your lips. It was really starting now. A trickle of slick escaped your core, and you knew he could smell it. Your senses were overwhelming you, telling you to rip all your (and his) clothes off and just get it over with. You couldn’t give in. Not with whatever Val had been planning to happen.

“Bob?” He moaned obscenely at the mention of his name. He acknowledged your questioning tone with a small groan.

“I– I just think I should tell you something, before…” you didn’t have to finish the sentence.

“What is it?” He grunted. The sound of a zipper opening made you freeze in your tracks. Was he…?

“I– these last few months… I just– I’m not sure how to say this,” you started. You just wanted to reassure him it was okay if he broke. You wanted him, regardless. It was okay to lose control. You knew he’d already smelled your pussy from across the room, yet still felt like a schoolgirl about to admit her crush.

“It’s okay… If you, y’know. I– I like you, Bob,” more rustling from the other side of the room. You were fighting with every fibre in your body not to turn around.

“You’re just saying that,” he gasped out. “Because of the– the heat.” You could hear him moving. The sound was slick, though ever so silently. He was touching himself.

“I’m not! I like you. I do,” you were squirming, trying to find a position that would alleviate the building pressure in your abdomen. You rolled your shoulders, the tension in your neck was killing you. All you wanted to do is throw your head back and expose your neck for him.

The slick movement was increasing in speed. He sounded delicious, even though he was obviously trying to contain all the small moans and whimpers. Whether it was to spare you the need or himself the embarrassment, you were unsure.

“Are you,” you bit your lip. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” he groaned out. “‘M sorry… I can’t– It’s, fuck, just– Stop talking.”

“It’s okay,” you were surprised by the sensual tone of your voice, barely above a whisper.

“Stop. Talking,” you could tell he was close. His laboured breath was something you wished to feel against your skin. You slowly snuck a hand into your waistband, no longer able to control yourself. You gasped when your finger made contact with your clit.

“Fuck, no, are you? Oh fuck,” Bob immediately groaned loudly, immediately coming at the thought of you touching yourself to the sound of him doing the same. He held the base of his cock tightly, refusing to pop a knot right then and there. Coming inside of his boxers was bad enough.

You took your pants off, no longer content with it limiting your range of movement. Had all your previous heats felt like this? You couldn’t remember ever feeling this out of control, this insane. Fucking hell, you could smell his cum. He really wasn’t helping the situation right now.

“Do you feel better?” You asked. An orgasm usually helped keep the hormones at bay, even if it was only for a few minutes.

“No, I hoped I would but I–” He clenched his teeth tightly. You circled your clit with two fingers, willing your hips to keep still as to not obscenely go and fuck your own hand.

You knew you made a mistake the second your resolve broke and you sent a glance over your shoulder to look at him. He’d been able to control his need to turn around, still facing the wall. It didn’t matter. His sweaty, naked form, heaving from his orgasm, was enough to enthrall you. He instantly noticed you’d gone silent. Worried for your wellbeing, he slowly turned around, meeting your hungry gaze.

Something snapped. He flung his head against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. The force had cracked the concrete on impact. He groaned loudly, every muscle straining, fighting to keep his hands off you. Your parted lips, wide eyes, undressed form, it was his undoing.

The sight of him losing control was enough to send you over the edge. A high pitched whine escaped your lips, your toes curling. His eyes snapped open, lips parting at the display. He was on your body before either of you could blink. His powers were taking over. He pinned your arms above your head, to the floor. While you were only in your underwear, his pants had yet to leave his body.

“I’m sorry it has to be like this,” he spoke, scanning your face.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him again, trying to wiggle out of his hold. “I want you. Wanted you long before today.”

He released your wrists and brought a hand to your cheek, softly caressing it and taking you in for a moment. He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe you wanted him.

“I’m not gonna be able to stop,” Bob confessed. You flung your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. You leaned into his ear to speak, feeling his hot breath on your neck.

“Then don’t.”

It was enough. He kissed you hungrily, bringing your body as close to his as it could go. He tasted every bit as good as he smelled. His hands made quick work of your bra and underwear. Your head whirled as your back suddenly met the soft mattress. His powers. He was so fast. So strong. The bed swallowed you.

He was biting at your lips, nipping at the skin of your jaw. The only way you could explain it was feral. You put your hands on the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down. The zipper was still open from his previous endeavours. “Off,” you demanded between kisses. He shimmied them off while maintaining contact with his mouth to your skin at all times.

“Never would’ve guessed,” you breathed as he worked his mouth down your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly. “–that you were an Alpha.”

“What, I’m not imposing enough?” He laughed, making eye contact and switching to the other nipple. There was a big, noticeable wet patch in his underwear from where he’d come in them before. He quickly shimmied out of those, too. His cock slammed up against his abdomen, already hard again and ready to go. God, he was big.

“Hmmm, you’re too sweet,” you told him. It was true. He always made an extra cup of tea so you could have one. Did the laundry for the others. Made sure everybody’s favourite snacks were at the tower at all times. He was just so thoughtful.

“Wanna take care of you,” he came back up, having spent enough attention on your breasts, for now. “Is that not an Alpha thing?”

“Now that you mention it…” He did have a point. An Alpha took care of their people. All the things he did so the team was at their best was exactly that. You tugged him back down to smash your lips against his again. You could spend eternity like this. You were going to get addicted to kissing him.

You trailed your hands down his chest, over his tight abdomen. “Can’t even begin to tell you how hot I think you are,” you informed him. His eyebrows shot up.

“Really?” He started kissing dangerously close to your mating glands. The feeling of anticipation was killing you. You craned your neck to the side instinctively, giving him more access. The feeling burned, in a good way.

A new wave of desperation washed over you. It was starting to hurt, your eyes blurring with tears as you tried to work through the burn. Bob noticed something was off, pulling away for a second to check on you. While noble, it only made the feeling worse.

“You okay?” He asked, eyes scanning your face for any discomfort. Like a good Alpha.

“It– It hurts, Bob,” you whined. “Please, make it stop.”

“I’ll make it stop. I’ll help you, baby,” he whispered, bending back down to suck a hickey over your mating gland. A promise. He ground his hips down, sliding his cock between your wet folds. The contact made both of you moan. Bob’s jaw fell slack as he closed his eyes, throwing his head back.

“Fuck me, Bob,” you put your hands on his shoulders. “Need you inside of me.”

“Look so good like this,” Bob mumbled as he took his length in his hand, lining himself up with your entrance. You prepared yourself mentally for the stretch. He shuddered as he slowly pushed his tip inside, spreading you open. It notched inside and he paused for a second, checking to see if you were okay.

You were more than okay, lost in your heat, desperate to get him deeper. You gave him a small nod, signalling for him to please continue pushing inside. The stretch felt amazing. If you had ever doubted his Alpha status, the feeling of his girth inside you would’ve changed your mind. You were so full. He still wasn’t all the way inside, going torturously slow.

When he finally bottomed out, you stopped breathing. Bob’s eyes snapped closed, mouth agape as the pleasure of feeling you around him overtook his senses. A sense of satisfaction settled in your body. The fact you were finally giving in, finally letting yourself be filled by an Alpha during your heat, was a taste of something you wouldn’t ever get enough of. You almost felt complete. There were only 2 things missing;

A knot, and his teeth biting your neck.

“M-move, now,” you demanded. He obliged, dragging his hips back gently. When he snapped them forward again, you couldn’t hold back a moan.

“That’s it,” Bob nuzzled your neck, pulling his cock out and snapping forward faster this time. Your exorbitant amount of slick made the slide much easier. If this would become a recurring thing, you weren’t sure you’d even be able to take him outside of your heat.

“Gonna make you mine,” he groaned. “Nobody else can have you.” Another gleam of gold flashed through his eyes. God, you sure hoped Val was prepared for Sentry to make an appearance, because it was looking like that might be the case by the end of this.

“Already yours,�� you sighed. “Always have been.”

“Say it again,” he pleaded. “Say you’re mine.”

He probably hadn’t intended for it to be an Alpha command. It had just slipped out.

“I’m yours– All yours. Only you,” you whimpered out, unable to resist the command even if you’d wanted to. It had sent a new rush of heat spreading through your body. A newfound sense of need settled in your very being. You needed him closer, deeper, anything. You’d crawl into his skin if it were possible.

You knew he felt it too, what the Alpha command had done to you. You’d tightened around him, clenching his cock tightly. A mischievous expression took over his face. His balls slapped against your cunt as he finally started fucking you the way you needed. Hard. Frantic. Feral.

“Fuck, Bob!” You keened. He’d found that spot. You dug your nails into his back, desperate to keep him going exactly like that. “Don’t stop.”

“So good for me,” Bob moaned. The way he chanted your name like a prayer was obscene. “All mine.”

He dropped his head to your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth and tonguing around it. He kneaded your other boob with his hand, rough enough to sting, but so, so good.

“So pretty,” he babbled. He was losing his sanity to his rut. “You smell so good.” He was nuzzling your neck again, inhaling your scent deeply, committing it to his permanent memory.

“It’s like you were made for me. So tight. Perfect fit,” Bob mused. You could feel it, too. The way he filled you exactly to the brim. Stretched you out just enough for you to feel so, so full.

He pounded into you, but it wasn’t enough. “More, Alpha. Please,” you begged. Bob lost all sense of control at the title.

“Such a good Omega for me,” he grazed his teeth over your mating gland. It sent your head reeling, dizzy with pleasure.

“Please.” What you were begging for, you didn’t know.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Bob whispered with haggard breaths. He brushed your hair out of your face, cradling it in his hands as he continued his brutal pace, chasing both of your highs.

You knew you were getting close, the knot in your stomach tightening. Bob grabbed your hips tight, snapping his hips forward. You were sure there’d be finger shaped bruises all over your body by morning, but you couldn’t find yourself to care.

One of his hands worked itself between your bodies, seeking contact with your clit. Your head slammed back against the pillow, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. Holy shit.

“Ah, Bob- fuck, oh-” you sought anything to hold onto, settling on the sheets underneath your body. Your knuckles turned white as you held on tightly. Your jaw fell slack at the sensation. He was trying to make you come, and he was succeeding.

“Come for me, O-Omega,” he moaned loudly. “Ah- Come on my cock.” His voice was faltering with the sheer effort he was putting into fucking you right. He was mesmerised at the sight of your tits bouncing wildly with the rhythm and force of his hips pounding into yours.

“Knot me,” you begged. You needed it. Needed it right now.

“‘F course I’ll knot you,” Bob reassured you. “Gonna fuck my cum inside you. Fill you up real good.”

“Fuck, please.” The thought of him filling you up to the brim drove you insane with lust. “Alpha, please, knot me, knot me.”

“So good for me, baby. Come for me,” his fingers sped up, circling your clit in tandem with his thrust. His hips were starting to falter, he was getting close. A tear rolled down the side of your face at the intensity.

He bent down and bit down on your neck, exactly where you needed him to. You were screaming out his name, gripping his shoulders tight as you came on his cock. You shuddered, body tightening with your orgasm. Your vision went white as the bond settled in and connected your very being to him. Mates.

Bob groaned loudly as his hips stuttered, filling you up with his cum. You could feel the base of his cock swell, stretching your entrance and locking you together. He ground his hips, now unable to pull out, but desperate to keep fucking more cum inside of you.

He finally slumped over you, exhausted from the strain it had taken. He rolled over and pulled you on top of him. He placed a few soft kisses on your new mating mark. For a second, you rested just like that, still connected, chests heaving with deep breaths. Your mind was clearing of the fog brought on by the heat.

“I’m sorry,” Bob whispered, stroking your hair softly as you laid your head on his chest.

“Don’t be,” you picked your head up, looking him in the eyes. “I loved every second of it.”

“I did too,” Bob smiled, but then it faltered. “I’m just… Valentina…” Right. That was the whole reason you’d ended up in this situation.

“She’s probably looking for a way to replicate whatever they’ve done to you. Maybe she wants super babies,” you sighed. It was the only explanation you could think of. You felt his cock twitch inside you, making you gasp as another light spurt of cum came out of it.

“Don’t– Don’t talk about us having babies while I’m still inside of you.” You laughed and clenched around him intentionally, making him hiss and throw his head back.

The doors audibly unlocked, then. Bob quickly threw a blanket over your connected bodies.

“Well, are you going to thank me, or what?” It was Val. Of course it was.

“You better get the fuck out and leave us alone if you know what’s good for you,” Bob threatened.

“Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you,” she grumbled, walking back out and closing the door behind her.

“I’m gonna kill her,” you grumbled, laying your head back on his chest and drawing tracing shapes on his chest.

“I’ll help you,” Bob agreed. You hated her, but at least you’d gotten a mate out of it.

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savagemickey03 · 5 days ago

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This blog is my cod wormhole, mostly a place to post my poly!141 x reader work and share fanfic / fanart I like.

NOTE:

I have never played cod: all in-game knowledge and lore comes from ao3 and this site (and a little from game-based wikis).

I write reboot characters and ignore most games storylines.

Reader is afab unless otherwise noted.

We're all (mostly) fluffy here. Life has too much angst already. I like my escapism sweet.

Feel free to ask questions, share HCs, request stuff

This is my sandbox. If you don't like how I play with my toys, you don't have to play here.

Master List

Minors DNI

Series and Extended drabbles

complete

Choose Your Own Meet Cute (implied poly!141 x gn!reader) - choose your own adventure style story

my Works, ye Mighty (poly!141 x fem!reader) - au; the 141 are ancient gods [9.6K words]

ongoing

Off to See the Wizard (poly!141 x fem!reader) - tech wizard helps the 141

fierce wars and faithful loves (poly!141 x fem!reader) - au; omegaverse

Maverick (implied poly!141 x fem!reader) - drabbles

- spitfire soldier

- meeting Laswell

- mission trouble

one-shots and drabbles (* indicates an ask)

Wrap Me Up (poly!141 x fem!reader)

rom-coms (poly!141 x fem!reader)

guardian (poly!141 x gn!reader)

aggressive affection (poly!141 x gn!reader)

knight au (implied poly!141 x fem!reader)

The Princess Bride (implied poly!141 x fem!reader)

baby trapped (poly!141 x fem!reader)

viking 141 (implied poly!141 x fem!reader)

Christmas Quickie (poly!141 x fem!reader)

"Where is Gaz?!" (poly!141 x gn!reader)

salvation (implied poly!141 x fem!reader)

shoppe girl* (poly!141 x gn!reader)

homecoming (poly!141 x fem!reader)

date night* (poly!141 x fem!reader)

accident prone (poly!141 x fem!reader)

introverted* (poly!141 x fem!reader)

quiet comforts* (Price x gn!reader + Simon)

child's play* (poly!141 x fem!reader)

puppy love* (implied poly!141 x fem!reader)

pack punishment* (poly!141 x gn!reader, omegaverse)

and baby makes three?* (Simon x fem!reader x Johnny)

star light, star bright* (implied poly!141 x gn!reader)

the light, the heat (poly!141 x gn!reader)

when life gives you lemons, give them back (poly!141 x fem!reader)

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savagemickey03 · 5 days ago

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baby trapping(?) the 141

inspired by this post from @beloveds-embrace

It was an open secret on base that the 141 were together together. You'd occasionally see one of them - usually Gaz, sometimes Price, often Soap, never Ghost - taking someone to their barracks after a night out. You'd watch them pick up men and women, soldiers and civvies, fit and plush, but never the same person twice.

Whoever was lucky enough to join one of the 141 for a night always looked well-fucked the next day. And every one of them was tight-lipped about what happened. They'd never even confirm if sex was had, despite how obvious it was.

You're out at the pub when the 141 come crashing through the door. You heard they'd gotten in this afternoon, back from a semi-succesful mission: no one injured, intel collected, bad guys still at large. You didn't expect them to be out tonight, had figured they'd be tired or stuck in debriefs for a while.

It's clear right away they're on the hunt. Soap sidles up to two women at the bar sipping something pink in a martini glass, arms draping quickly over their shoulders. Gaz laughs as he joins a few guys playing darts, smile a little too calculated.

You're surprised when Price and Ghost are sat on either side of you.

Price nods to the bartender, who puts down a pint of something dark in front of him and Ghost, gestures to you, and says, "Amaretto sour for her." You have no idea how he knows your favorite drink. You didn't think he even knew who you were. He glances at you from the corner of his eye and asks, "'avin a good time, doll?"

You really have no idea how to respond to that. You try, and fail, to make small talk without making a fool of yourself, but it's hard when Ghost keeps chuckling - at you, not with you. He's slipped his mask up only enough to sip his stout and you try not to stare at the small glimpses you get of his face.

A few drinks later, Price puts his large hand on your knee, and you feel the warmth penetrate your slacks. "Seen you on base, doll. Glad to find you here tonight." To say you're shocked is an understatement. "What say we head out, yeah?" He drops a few notes on the bar and gently steers you up and off your barstool. You feel Ghost stand up on your other side.

As Price herds you to the door, you notice Soap and Gaz have abandoned the people they were with and have fallen into step with your little group. They get you into their vehicle, snug in the backseat between Soap and Kyle while Price drives.

Soap leans his shoulder against yours and puts his mouth to your ear. "Lass, 'm sure glad we saw you. Been hopin' fur it fur weeks." You feel the blood rush to your cheeks. Gaz drapes his arm across the seatback, heat radiating across your neck, but he doesn't touch you. Instead, you see him run his fingers through Soap's mohawk, and you squeeze your thighs together a little. You never thought something like, well, whatever this looks like, would be something you would be part of.

You're back at their barracks faster than you thought possible. Getting past the door and through the common areas is a blur. Instead your brain stutters on the feel of Price's mouth on yours, his beard scraping against your cheek and neck as he kisses down your throat.

There are hands at your waist, unbuttoning your trousers and sliding them and your underwear down your legs. Another set of hands is tugging your shirt up over your head. Once you're naked you feel multiple sets of lips kiss and nip: teeth tug on your ear, a tongue laves against a nipple, stubble rubs along your inner thigh. Big hands, fingers rough with callouses and bluntly bitten nails, roam your body. And through it all the praises whispered "good girl" and "so sweet" and "made fer us" carry you into oblivion.

It never occurred to you the 141 were the Three Musketeers: anyone they brought back was one for all and all for one. You understand why those before you believed in "don't kiss and tell." You leave their barracks feeling shell-shocked. It carries you home and into work the next day, where you fully expect things to go back to normal.

And they do. Mostly. Until a vase shows up on your desk two days later with nothing but a bar of soap on the card. The blooms are your birth month flower. Two more days pass before you hear Price's voice in the hallway. You peek your head out as he turns your way, and his smile beams. "There you are, doll. Brought your favorite," he says, holding take away. And not only is it your favorite dish from your favorite cuisine, its from the little shop you like best in town.

You really know something's different when Friday rolls around. Gaz corners you as you leave medical, and before you realize what you've agreed to, you're following him into the 141's barracks.

This is unheard of. They never bring the same person back twice. You don't plan to question it, though, just ride it out as long as they're interested. Six weeks of wooing - you couldn't think of another word for the presents and flowers and meals and conversations and the sex, god the sex - fly past before Price breaks the news of their impending deployment.

They ask you to wait for them, to be part of them, when they get back. It's on the tip of your tongue to say yes. You want this, you want them, but you hesitate. They've always been the 141, and you're an outsider. You leave your response vague and hope they hear the desire in your tone.

A month into their deployment and you're struggling to sleep. You can't keep food down. You regret how open you left things. But it's more than that. An itch in the back of your brain drives you to ask a nurse friend on base to discretely check your hCG levels. The response is what you hoped feared.

You don't know how you'll face them if they ever return. You were worried about getting between them before, but this is ten times worse. You can't imagine how this will change how they are with each other. You're carrying someone's baby. It never occurs to you to do anything other than raise it yourself.

You make it on base another two months, and there's no word about the 141. But as you begin to show, rumors start dogging your steps. People knew you'd been involved with various members of the 141 before they'd deployed. Now they're whispering about whether you even know who the father is.

As a civilian employee, you're a contractor on base, so you simply ask your employer to find you a job in town. You want to leave entirely, but your heart won't let you take their baby far, at least not until you can determine whose it is and at least let them know.

You don't expect them to be part of the baby's life, but it isn't fair to disappear when you know word will make it around base and they have the means to find you anyway. You figure this will allow for a clean break before any fallout.

Months go by, and you hear from friends still on base that the 141 came back but haunted. They'd had a few close calls on this last mission: injuries that could have been prevented, stealth ops where they were the ones being ambushed. Things that shouldn't have happened. Things that made them think long and hard about what the future held for them.

Now that they're back, you expect someone to track you down, find your location in town, but no one comes. You vaguely notice the large home on the edge of town, the run-down one with a massive garden, slowly starts looking better.

Two weeks after your little girl is born, the knock you never thought would come finally does. You carry your bundle to the door and clutch her tighter when you see the 141 through the peep hole. You open the door and wordlessly let them in.

The expressions on their faces range from awe to fear. You're sure your face displays the same. Finally, it's Price who speaks. "We should-a been 'ere, doll. Can ya forgive us?"

You know you're gaping and can barely bring yourself to nod.

"We meant it," Ghost tells you. "We want you. And now we want you both." It's more words than you've heard him speak at once, and without prompting.

Soap looks at you with such unbridled longing, reaching out his hands not for you but for your - their - baby that you don't even think before passing her over. As he cradles her carefully, Price chimes back in. "We bought a place, big, on the edge 'o town. We're not retiring, but we want to do more than look one day ahead. And in all those days, there's you, you and this miracle."

Finally, Gaz pins you with a look. "Come be ours, dove. You've been what we were missin' before we even knew we were missin' anything."

This time your answer is anything but vague.

main masterlist

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savagemickey03 · 6 days ago

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cw: 18+ | omegaverse; shameless smut; voyeurism; dub-con; gn!reader; poly!alpha!141; a/b/o dynamics

》 previously

price can feel each tremble and quake of your exerted muscles as he keeps you in position on his bed.

one large paw scruffing you by the neck, your face tilted to the side, cheek smushed against the mattress, because he can't waste one of your sweet sounds to be muffled.

no, he needs to hear you.

they need to hear you, smell you through the slim crack between the bedroom door and floor.

and listen to the wet, squelching noises of their captain's prick pounding into your sopping hole, sucking him deeper with each grind of his hips while your silken walls ripple and flutter around his throbbing cock.

he's been mounting you for the past hour after working you open, turning you nicely loose and pliant for him, for much longer than that.

the bedsheets are soaked with your combined essences; sweat and cum and slick drenching the white fabrics, and filling the air with your lovely scents.

scents and sounds that are leaving his boys desperate, pacing, and snarling in front of the locked bedroom door like the pack of starved wolves they are.

perhaps he'll let the boys sleep in them once he's finished with you tonight.

price considered this to be the safest option, and the next step of your introduction to his beloved pack of alphas.

"my sweet, sweet 'mega, can ya hear how crazy you drive my boys?" he rasps into your ear, draping himself over your tacky back with a low groan protectively, claiming and possessing as his mouth latches and sucks on your sensitive scent gland, leaving another lovebite on your skin.

you spread your knees wider apart and push your hips back, nodding obediently with a soft, breathy exhale while his coarse chest hair rubs over your flushed back. his burly, hot frame on top of you making you dizzy while his strong alpha scent engulfs you like a weighted blanket.

"m'gonna let 'em knot you one after the other, aye? gonna make sure they won't break you, though."

outside the bedroom, johnny is barely able to keep himself from breaking the door in as he scratches and claws at the dark oakwood, leaving marks with his blunt nails while kyle keeps trying to sniff your scent through the crack at the bottom, kneeling on all fours while his cock leaks inside his boxers and his drool dribbles down his chin as he huffs and pants for you and his pack leader.

it's simon who's staying behind them, keeping himself somewhat together, though he keeps his rough palm over his rapidly swelling bulge; cupping and squeezing himself absentmindedly while his eyes roll back behind his balaclava with each chirp and mewling whine price coaxes out of you.

and the three younger alphas listen with bated breaths as price picks up the pace he's fucking you in working you both towards another mind-blowing climax.

the bed's frame squeaks and creaks with the sheer force of the captain's thrusts; skin smacking against skin obscenely as you moan and cry out in pleasure while your alpha's knot begins to swell and thicken as he works it past your sopping rim with a guttural groan until it lodges at last, keeping you stuffed with his thick loads of cum.

once you collapse underneath him, limbs giving out while he's still deeply connected to you, he runs his calloused palms along your curves soothingly; cooing praises into your ears with his gruff voice as he hovers above you, one arm braced next to your head while he keeps caressing you tenderly with his free hand.

"... the choice is yours now, sweetheart," he murmurs, nosing along the curve of your neck as he inhales your mixed, heady scents deeply.

"who would you like to meet first, hm?"

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savagemickey03 · 6 days ago

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Price’s lil Wife Poly!141

Price’s rules for the boys

- work and home are separate. He can not stress this enough. No call signs used in the house. No ghost mask (told Simon this the very first time he met you. No mask. Not now. Not ever)

- soap used “gaz” once and price made him run laps around the neighborhood (the other housewives loved it)

- No talking about any mission any op. Complaining about recruits or higher ups was allowed. Only can talk about what happened on base.

- The missus was kind and pure and he would not let the type of work they do reach her

- When it came to what could and could not be done physically that was fully up to you “stop asking me. It’s her bloody body for christs sake” after the thousandth awkward “can I please fuck The Missus tonight 👉🏻👈🏻”

- If you wanted one of them one night? Just fine. All of them one night? Also fine

- In fact most things in this new relationship were completely up to you. If they stayed/lived in extra rooms, what they called you, how often and how they got to touch you

- Other than the No Work rule the only other thing Price (tried) to put his foot down on was “if she sends you a voice message. Don’t. Fucking. Open. It. In. Public” well that just seems weird now doesn’t it? No lil Mrs price was a lil tease and now she has more men to mess with????

- Only a week or so in to this whole thing Johnny was the first to get one and did he forget or just choose to ignore Price’s rule? The world may never know but he pressed play (full volume bc men always have their volume up for no reason) and the sweet sounds of you moaning his name played so fucking loud in the grocery store. The rest of the boys made the same mistake. Price tried to warn them, he really did.

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savagemickey03 · 6 days ago

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Kyles supposed "Girlfriend" (Gaz x femreader)

CW: highly suggestive but no smut, ogling, sexualising comments, Shy!reader. This is kinda very self indulgent so no judging!

Synopsis: The 141 team have been sceptical of Gaz's claims of this perfect "Girlfriend" of his that they've never seen before or heard of before. So one night, they all go out to the pub and specifically invite you over, in the attempt to settle this once and for all. Hopefully...

The club the boys were out at was completely full, patrons filling pokie seats and dining chairs. The four soldiers sat at the farthest corner, not drawing attention to themselves, and no one drew attention to them. They were all lively, talking, laughing and chatting to their hearts' content after a mission well done and a much-deserved weekend. But there was one who was not so lively.

Gaz sat with the group, drumming his fingers against the wood impatiently as his gaze circled the room. Eyes like a hawk and reflexes like a dog, his head would shoot up at the sound of shoes walking towards them, only to drop once more once he realised they were not what he was hoping for.

Price eyed the young sergeant with a raised brow. He had seen this boy go through hell and back twice over. This was the sergeant who chased down terrorists from morn to dusk, and never had Price seen him as nervous as he was right now

He looked down and checked his watch. It was getting close to nine. "She runnin' late?" The Captain inquired, raising an eyebrow at Kyle.

Gaz felt himself grow more tense at the question, barely taking his eyes off the door to answer, "She'll be here."

It was less an answer and more of a reassurance to himself. Because you were running late. Very late. It was challenging to fight the worry that you had bailed, too scared to show up this time. Had you even left the house yet? Gaz goes to recheck his phone. No messages. He fights the urge to text you, knowing it might make you more nervous or distract you if you were actually on your way over. 'Patience, Kyle, patience…' He reassured himself in his own mind. Those thoughts are quickly and rudely cut off by the sound of Soap's humour.

"Still not convinced she's real." He prods, looking for a reaction. "Like, come on. Takes very little effort to make up a girlfriend, and you couldn't even make it convincing."

"30 pounds says she conveniently 'gets sick' last minute and can't come." Ghost chides in. The two share a chuckle as Gaz forces a weak laugh in an attempt to cover up the real anxiety those comments bring.

As the four of them talk, Soap's head suddenly shoots up, and he lets out a low appreciative whistle. "Now that's a fine pair-a legs if I've ever seen one."

On reaction, the entire table turns to look at what Johnny was ogling so bluntly. And Kyle's jaw dropped so quickly that it almost hit the floor.

There you stood, done up in your best outfit. It was like a cartoon how the men's eyes slowly scanned you from the bottom up. Starting at your shiny high heels that pushed up and accentuated those gorgeous calves, up those thighs that were so nice and juicy it would have left a well fed man salivating (Kyle can't even blame Johnny for calling you a fine pair of legs.) and then up your hips and waist, clad in a gorgeous dress that hugged your figure tightly, highlighting every dip and curve. Their eyes traveled up further, to your upper body, where all thoughts of acting gentlemanly left their brains as soon as they caught a sight at those perfect breasts that peaked out from the very, very steep neckline. Those bare shoulders that called to them, like a canvas waiting to be painted with kisses and teethmarks. And then up to that gorgeous face, with lips a deep, satin red and eyes that could enchant a man into doing just about anything. You were a living example of perfection as you walked in, immediately capturing everyone's attention.

"Blimey…" is what Price whispered to himself. Not even he was immune to the effect you had.

"That's… That's her." Gaz breathed out as he looked at you, all his worries now ground into dust at the sight of you.

Soap scoffed, "You wish."

Without a word, Gaz stands up, flattens out his outfit (A simple black shirt and pants. Had he known you were going to show up like this, he'd have worn a full suit) and strides in your direction.

No one has time to stop him before he's completely gone from the table, and they all watch him wide-eyed with shock and worry. "She's going to eat him alive…poor bastard." Ghost almost sighed in pity.

All the while, you were standing close to the entrance, playing with your purse anxiously as you looked around. You weren't much of a crowd person. You could almost feel the eyes on you all around, and you weren't able to tell who was staring out of judgment or admiration. You were standing there scanning the room until your eyes spotted Gaz making a beeline towards you, grinning from ear to ear.

"You came!" He exclaimed, almost in disbelief at those very words.

"Well…yeah. Wasn't I invited?" You began to clutch your purse a little closer. "Was I supposed to come?"

"Yes! I mean, not if you didn't want to-" Kyle began to stumble on his words a little, the mix of excitement and anxiety moulding into one -"I just…I just wanted you to come… I'm happy you're here."

It made you calm down a little, and you smiled. There was a particular calming effect that Kyle had on you, which made you believe you could do just about anything. You probably wouldn't have done this if it were anyone else.

"Sorry I'm late, It took a while to get dressed and then I got nervous at the door." You explained, flushing your hands against your dress to push down the invisible wrinkles only your anxiety could see. "I-it's not too much, right? I wasn't sure what to wear, and I had this in the closet for a long time and…"

"Trust me," he reassured you. "You look more than perfect." The grin on his face was almost contagious as he steps beside you and places a gentle hand on your hip, beginning to guide you to the table.

"Sorry, I guess I'm just nervous…again. I don't want to embarrass you in front of your friends. I wanna make a good first impression."

Gaz looks out towards the aforementioned group of his, all staring slack-jawed as he strolls this goddessian angel to their table, and all he can do is smirk proudly.

"Sweetheart, you could never embarrass me. In fact-" He places a kiss on your temple right in eye view of the starstruck soldiers - "I think you've already made a perfect first impression."

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