#Likely will use this as a main driver
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Ink Test: Kill this guy
Based on this comic by @hausofdecline
#comic#helluva boss#striker#Moxxie#inking#traditional art#Tombow Fudenosuke Brush Pen - Soft - Black#I love these two ;-;#I really gravitated towards Striker first with his dynamic with Moxxie before shipping anything#imp au#Striker the pragmatic-down to business kinda guy and Moxxie the only real one with a moral code in the group#They're foils in the best of ways#Very different yet very similar#Striker is Moxxie if Moxxie was cool and not the series punching bag#Hence the reason why Moxxie hates him and wants to beat him#And Striker's just an overly competitive douchebag that of course he's game#Probably ended up being one of my favorite ink pens of the bunch for these comics#Line variation and control is nice#Likely will use this as a main driver
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Oh you hate Lance Stroll because he's a nepo baby? You a Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Charles Leclerc, FORMULA ONE fan, Hate Lance because he's a nepo baby?
#get over yourself#fucking sheep#Nothing says#I dont have my own opinions#Like hating lance for being a nepo baby and then loving those other guys#I feel the need to clarify that i am not criticizing these drivers#and i do think there is valid criticism of lance that exists#But using the fact that hes Daddys cash or whatever to justify hating him#shows a very shallow understanding of the sport as a whole#Lando Norris's parents are some of the richest in GB#his dad is one of the main sponsors of Mclaren#Carlos's dad is an incredibly famous rally driver#charles grew up in MONACO for fucks sake#mk rant over#sorry lol#f1#formula one#formula 1#lance stroll#lando norris#charles leclerc#carlos sainz
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If I made a parody about the United States like I dunno, a Simpsons episode where the characters had to use their driver's license as a national ID, people would say come on, be serious. And yet, from what I understand, you need to have a driver's license in the US or you're basically undocumented.
#cosas mias#I remember having this argument a couple times in other forums#because freedom something something the US never had a national ID like other countries#and I never quite understood what happens if you can't drive or don't want to drive#do you just stop being a person?#okay I know they have social security and other stuff#it's still incredibly weird to me that their main ID is a driver's license it sounds like parody
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I was thinking there aren't enough memes catered to third parties on this site (ex. two muses talking about a third) which imo make rp flow so much smoother sometimes bc it feels more realistic for interactions to not start & end at only the two people directly involved, but then I realized... blud, you have a meme sideblog. You can literally make your own dreams come true
#◜✧ . ❪ ooc. ❫#I remember back in the day (<-2016ish) we all used to yap about each other's dynamics in-chara; for example friends would tease one another#about their alleged crushes; strangers would ask one another if they've seen [x/y/z] whether it was a friend of theirs or sb they want dead#and I recalled this today bc I saw one of the. idk maybe 5 total?? memes of this sort again... I stood there as if struck by lightning#Obviously I think it's especially great to do this organically/unprompted but I feel like a lot of people are (understandably!) shy about#bringing up one muse of theirs in an interaction where that muse isn't the main focus. I get it!! But imo it feels sm more lifelike#to experience those tiny details 🥹 I know at some point it was considered cringe (??) to use one muse to ask a mutual abt their other muse#(ex. me using Tobias to ask sb's muse about Elijah; me using Ango to ask sb's muse about Nikolai etc; you get the gist!)#but frankly........... WHO gaf about what's cringe & what isn't in this day and age 😭 I think we should all bring back being cringe & free#especially since these can be great drivers for BOTH the side dynamics (the people talking could become better friends) AND the people#from the main/primary dynamic whom they're talking about (a third party could help drive this dynamic further/make them realize things etc)#Once I get my break (real soon!!!!!!) I might work on making more of these memes bc starting w smth prompted may make it easier#for people to jump onboard & then later down the line we can eventually start doing stuff like this out of the blue too 🫡#And speaking of creating memes... I don't usually tend to; but if any of you guys ever have suggestions for memes you'd like to see#but can't find anywhere/can't find enough of? Lmk and I'll write them up for you so you can rb them & live the life of your rp dreams 🫡
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it's all fun and games typing up a silly, rickety little au idea in the tags of someone else's post and then suddenly you find yourself expanding on the world-building and plotting out interconnected stories for characters you swore would only make background appearances and your brain is On Fire with the need to write even when you know you can't commit to yet another doomed wip
#the terror#this is 100% about the fucking hartving tech!averse jirv/librarian!hartnell au from yesterday bc IT WON'T LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE#thinking about a ficlet detailing how bridlgar met#peggles is a delivery driver who does the rounds dropping off the library's stationary orders and john's the one in charge of receiving#and they strike up a friendship over terrible stationary puns and eventually start dating when john introduces harry to classic lit#thinking even more about a joplittle sequel where after ned shows up soaking wet the first time and is immediately smitten#by thomas “Just Being A Decent Person” jopson; he starts volunteering at the library just so he can get closer to jops#(like the loser he is; bc why ask someone out directly when you can just hang around in their orbit and hope they notice you noticing them)#but the more time he spends at the library the more he comes to love it; and ends up volunteering to read to children on his free weekends#(my tumblr homies know exactly where i'm headed with this bc i am so transparent my mom might as well have called me “window”)#and jops; despite his better instincts; gets so turned on after hearing ned do voice impressions for fictional crayons while reading to#a bunch of enraptured rugrats that he decides then and there he absolutely can't NOT fuck ned senseless the second he gets his hands on him#meanwhile for the main fic; jirv and tartnell are both absolutely disgustingly in love but are also completely clueless#as to how to go about expressing interest in each other bc while i imagine jirv not being as repressed in this as he normally is in fanon;#he still hasn't actually figured out he's Big Time Gay™ yet and#tartnell on the other hand is both extremely attracted to and intimidated by the handsome; aloof yet kind; bible-quoting scotsman#who's decided to adopt him as his personal apple support technician#despite the fact that tartnell knows little more about iphones than jirv (seeing as he's been using android since smartphones took off)#god i'm in so deep about this stupid little au i've dreamed up that i just want to yell about it for hours on end#and despite knowing i'll likely NEVER get around to writing it; it is just... taking up Brain Space... that i already Do Not Have
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It's 9:30 AM and I'm looking up lightsaber colors and their meanings when I'm supposed to be paying attention to a class on zoom.
In other news I think my Star Wars X F1 AU is coming along nicely!
#ever wondered what it would be like if f1 cars could fly? this au answers that question by putting all of the drivers in x-wings#oh and lando can use the force. no big deal. not like force-users are hunted by the empire or anything . . .#still have to figure out the actual plot of the main story but I do know how I want it to end#and i have several ideas for side stories or spinoffs as well#i swear i always get my best inspiration/motivation when I'm in class#it's very inconvenient#anyway#did you know that orange lightsabers represent creativity ambition and resourcefulness?#and yellow represent goodness warmth energy and loyalty#in other words i think i know what color kyber crystal lando is getting in this au :)#star wars au
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Ray's After Ending is so funny because for a good chunk of it, most of the RFA members are knocked out by V's sleeping gas (Saeran is immune, Saeyoung isn't present bc he was kidnapped by his agency under his father's orders and MC wakes up in like an hour) but the game has a call feature where you can call the characters and it would be a waste if you couldn't use it bc the characters were unavailable so instead they have other people pick up the call (Jumin's driver picks up Jumin's phone, Jumin's father picks up Zen's phone, Yoosung's friends and mom pick up Yoosung's phone and Jaehee's coworkers pick up Jaehee's phone) and we do get to learn about the characters from outsider's point of view but it's so funny to me that these people are visiting their loved ones and suddenly the phone rings and they decide to just. answer it. and start talking to this stranger they've never met
#prince's talk tag#maybe its not actually weird people just pick up their loved one's phone call for them but i personally wouldn't#i cant stop thinking about how its Jumin's father that uses Zen's phone like Chief Han what were you doing in Zen's room??#i know they needed to assign somw character to Zen and he's not on speaking terms with his family#but I would of thought Chief Han would go to Jumin and the driver could go to Zen#does this mean something? am i thinking too hard about this?#also rip yoosung his friends and mom lowkey kinda dragging him in their call with you#and with the friends since one of them is a girl one of the options is like 'A girl?!?! are you dating??' and shes like 'no lolol'#'he's nice but i dont see him like that'#the main thing that made me make this post was thinking about Yoosung's mom saying how Jumin calls her sometimes and sends her holiday gift#like!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! idk man that just plays on a loop in my head#i know thats like a very professional thing to do. Jumin was raised to please people in a business capacity#and the he cares about the RFA so yea it makes sense. im sure he has gifts sent out to companies his works with#and I'm sure if the other members had a good relationship with their parents hed do the same with them#but in the RFA Yoosung and I guess V are the only ones with parents they talk to#idk if he sends a gift to V's father tho bc we never talk to him#but man. while i know hed do it with the other members if he could just the fact he does it with Yoosung is sweet#and it makes the part in Seven's route where he calls Yoosung's mom about her son's dilemma make sense to me bc they do talk once in a whil#so its not too out of the blue when he does it i guess#but man can we talk about how awesome Jaehee is? bc her coworker that picks up her phone spends every call gushing about her#like we knew she's great at her job but man hearing her coworker talk about her fills me with such love and admiration#and she's apparently really loved by the other assistants too like they all gush about her#jaehee is the best character in the game im not joking around#they wanna get close to her but bc she's their boss it's hard T_T#and the one that picks up the phone wishes Jaehee knows she was the one that stood with her overnight when she wakes#Yuni (the assistant you're talking to) says she would of quit the job had it not been for her#LIKE!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAA!!!!#it was a nice way to use the call feature during the first two days of the characters not being awake to answer#and even though this is supposed to be the last thing you play before completing the whole game#you still learn something new about the characters you've known since day 1
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my "earliest convenience" would be like next year or something. Like a bit busy but I'll pencil it in to my diary bro cheers
#f1#HungarianGP#the comms drama was so fucking entertaining#at one point a legit forgot other people behind mclaren were also racing 😂#until max caught up to lewis for the second time and then tried to take him out of the race#sir lewis surviving the attacks and getting P3!!! 👏🏽#but back to the main entertainment#wish they sold tickets to the mclaren and rbr debriefs#peak netflix drama content#it shouldn't be kept from us ya know#felt like lando and rbr pit wall would've just loved to plug their comms out at some point 😂#rbr pit wall basically telling max to stfu 😂#let me be clear...i believe mclaren team messed up the pits and stuff for their drivers#lando ended up way ahead and oscar wasnt catching#it was a shitty position to put both their drivers in#but anyway....still just so funny#cant wait for the full comms for all teams to be available on youtube#im actually gonna listen to them lol#and relive the hilarity#we usually dont get to hear much team drama over comms...they keep it pretty under wraps#so this was fun 😆#happy for fellow aussie oscar tho!! congrats to him 🎉
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SUCKERRRRRRRRRRRRR
#maya's art tag#GOT THE DRIVERS GOT MY MAIN ART PROGRAM#GOT OLD MSPAINT BACK BECAUSE WINDOWS 11 PAINT IS ACTUAL HOT GARBAGE#but heres the kicker.#im thinking of moving from firealpaca to clip studio#its on sale for 20 rn#and honestly with the way my arts been going i really cant rely on rebelle for my painty stuff considering i love using clipping layers#plus its super heavy and prone to crashing#firealpacas brushes are also only good for doing like hard shading stuff#otherwise its brushes SUCK#so im hoping i can switch over soonish#still. firelpaca. youve treated me so well. ily. based art program
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this might sound silly but i love saying thank you to people ^__^
#ahhh. it's so fucking nice to live somewhere where i don't feel in danger#i love saying thank you to the bus driver. why wouldn't i try to make their day 2% brighter#they don't get paid enough to deal w people and drive on these fucked up roads LOL#i said thank you to the construction worker who was directing traffic the other day !#like! it's hot outside! you're direacting traffic! thank you for telling me when i won't get hit by a car !#idk they just seemed so appreciative and told me to have a nice day and it's sooo not what i'm used to#and it's so so nice it's SO nice#i love you pdx i love you so much. you are home to me#um. do i even have a text tag on my main#blake.txt#??
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earlier at work today i talked to my boss about time off and took a whole week off at the end of july just because i have so much pto built up and i never take vacations and the way my schedule works i have ten days off. i feel like i should Do something. should i go somewhere
#i never go anywhere or do anything.. maybe i should take a trip somewhere. where should i go#who wants to let me borrow a car and or go on a road trip with me in their car#i'll drive i'm a good driver got lots of highway miles#just dont gotta car anymore#ive had this fantasy of going to a cabin on the coast in maine just to be off the grid and by the ocean for like two years maybe i should d#it for real. rent a car drive up there. have camp fires and eat fresh fish#chatpost#idk i'm not used to having free time or money i don't know what to do with it
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Altus
this is kind of my favorite genre of image ever. like THIS is what the internet is for


#atlus#metaphor refantazio#seriously all the main character are linked to or named after f1 drivers (or used go be)#considering all their school logos look like car logos this feels like it makes sense now
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Even when I thought we had boundary of just friends, she confuses me.
I tell myself to ignore it. That it's just a game for her and that she really is just comfortable with me as a friend.
But we all went out Sunday night (you, me & Sam). You asked us again if Sam & I were still "not a thing." We both told you the truth (for like the 10th time): we're not a thing. There's no sort of situationship or anything like that. We're just friends.
**((also I fucked up one of my tags I meant to say that Alice told buddy boy that I threatened to kill *him* again, not that I threatened to kill her. He sounded really serious when he said "i promise v, im leaps and bounds better than anyone shes had before. I would never hurt her." I said "Oh, im sure. Its because thats who you are Ty. Thats what you and I do. We protect people." I'll be so honest yall i was crossfaded as fuck because i was running iff 3 hours sleep & literally no food almost the whole day leading up to our outing. NOT doing that again jfc))**
#when leaving that bar to head to another one you were in my driver's seat & i was in the front passenger since i was too drunk to drive#the foam rose you tentatively pinned to my vest valentine's night was pinned to my visor directly above your head#did you notice it? is that why you did what you did next? i was packing my tiny bowl & you said it was cute#i said ''thanks! courtesy of my ex lol'' & as i was talking you were saying something else. but as soon as we both stopped#you said ''i love you'' with a wide sweet smile took the sides of my head in either of your hands & kissed my cheek#i dont know what you said right before the ily & idk why you kissed my face especially with sammy in my back seat?#then at the 2nd bar not only did you insist that i take the jacket off your back because i was cold & dreaded getting my coat from the car#but you also (for the 2nd time very recently) implied that i enjoy impact play (which i do but thats none of your business missy)#and why would you even throw that assumption out there? its happened a couple times recently & you also said on speaker at work last week-#that i love it when you & sam are mean to me. yeah i do enjoy it to a degree but again what are you trying to get out of me?#what info are you rooting for? what are you wondering about me & why? not to mention the other three main things you did that night.#at the 2nd bar i went to the rest room. you were coming in just after i washed my hands & saw me trying to put on my gold chain necklace#from inside the stall you asked if i needed help. i said nah i got it. you said if i didnt have it on by the time you were done youd do it#i said if you insist & probably shouldnt have but i stopped trying to put it on (i definitely couldve gotten it myself)#you came out washed your hands & asked if i was trying to shorten the chain. i said yes & id like it on the 5th or 6th large link please#you confirmed ''kinda like a choker?'' & tugged it ever so firmly but also gently against my throat as you clasped it on the 6th large link#which that can be written off as you being a homie & just struggling to quickly get it cause your nails are in the way & youre also drunk#but then when we were all sitting in your car after buddy boy came to get us & get food we were talking about how you train new hires#i said ''my love you cant train people like theyre dogs'' & you immediately shot me back a look out of the corner of your eye#then you turned forward & if i remember correctly you said ''i beg to differ'' or something along those lines exCUSE ME?????#then i was complaining about ''all the femmes in my life (you & sam) are always so mean to me''#you very happily & proudly announced to your boytoy that i admitted that i enjoy being hit#i then argued that i never admitted to anything but was simply accused. you & sam said that my silence was admission enough#i countered that i stayed silent because i wasnt going to say a word on it without my lawyer present#you said i couldnt afford a lawyer & i laughed saying ''exactly & thats why i wont speak on it''#but you & sammy kept egging me on so my drunk ass said ok maybe i do a little but who doesnt enjoy getting a little rough every now & again#the topic ended up changing shortly after that#you also smirked as you told buddy boy that i threatened to kill you again that night#i corrected that i didnt establish a new threat just renewed the old promise & that i was mildly serious since i dont have much to lose lol#heyitslapis rambles
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fig. 1. hand in dog mouth | Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader



MASTERLIST · AO3
The first time he smells her from inside the woman's locker room, it brings him to a halt. The human voice in his head grows dimmer and dimmer until it ceases to make a sound.
or: the forced mating omegaverse au
tags: Size Difference, Size Kink, Omegaverse, Explicit Sexual Content, AFAB Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping, Heavy Noncon/Dubcon Elements
“Fuckin’ gym isnae giei’ me a free month even though ah have tae drive tae practically the other side o’ the country tae get a decent pump in.”
“Mate, I can’t understand you when you get all worked up,” Gaz sighs on the other end of the phone, probably pinching the bridge of his nose. A lot of their conversations end up that way, one of them quickly losing patience with the other until the call abruptly ends.
Johnny drops his gym bag in the back and slams the car door shut, rounding to the other side to get in on the driver’s side.
“Ah said, they aren’y refunding me fer the month even though the other location is on the other side o’ town. That’s a half hour back ‘n forth,” he gripes. The call switches to bluetooth a couple seconds after starting the car, Gaz’s exasperated voice coming from the speaker instead of his cell.
“Don’t you already get a discount?”
“That’s jus’ fer bein’ a vet. This is completely different. It’s gonna be closed fer a month fer renovations. Ah cannae do this fer a whole month.”
“Hey, I know where you live. Aren’t there other gyms around that you could go to instead?”
“Are ye out o’ yer fuckin’ mind, Gaz? Ah’m no’ payin’ ten quid fer a fuckin’ day pass when ah already pay out the nose fer a membership.”
“No need to get mad at me, mate, I’m just giving you suggestions.”
“Well, keep them tae yerself if they’re all that bad.”
“Okay, this has been a great chat. I hope you blow a tire on the way there and try calling me for help so I can ignore it.”
The call ends with a loud beep and Johnny barks out a laugh as he reverses out of his spot, looping out of the lot and onto the main road.
He takes the highway because most of the slush and snow has long been cleaned off, though his wipers pump back and forth furiously to keep the snow flurries from sticking to the windshield. That already sets the tone for his evening. He nearly gets in an accident twice on the way there, everyone losing their ability to drive the second the weather is even slightly bad.
He should just be lucky his gym even has another branch. They could’ve left him high and dry for the month, forced him to go to one the other gyms in his neighborhood that don’t offer the same range of weights and veteran’s discount.
Worse, he could’ve been left with no choice but to use Gaz’s guest pass to his exorbitantly overpriced luxury gym downtown. Even the thought makes Johnny shudder. It could always be worse.
It’s so much more than just the drive that he hates about the other location. Like the first time he came here months ago when an appointment on the other side of town made him think it would be more convenient to pop in rather than heading back home for his workout, the parking lot is packed when he arrives, and he has to circle the lot twice before a spot frees up.
The gym is similarly packed when Johnny walks in, and his mood darkens as he scans the weight section for a free bench. None in sight. Just meathead after meathead lining the far wall, huffing and puffing with each rep, dumbbells scattered around.
Headphones slipped on and music loud enough to make his ears ring, he heads to the treadmills instead. Better to just start his workout like usual and hope for the best.
The air stinks of sweat and hormones, alpha pheromones wafting through the gym and leaving not a corner untouched. It’s one of the reasons he prefers the location closer to his place—convenience aside, his location is mainly frequented by betas and omegas, the odd alpha not having much of an impact on the overall vibe.
It’s not that he doesn’t have plenty of alpha friends (Gaz being just one of them), it’s just that sometimes he likes being the biggest, meanest thing in the room. Keeps him in line. Keeps him from being the stupid shit he is ninety-nine percent of the time, as Gaz would say. He likes to be the only one posturing.
So he doesn’t relish being forced to work out with a million carbon copies of himself. It’s nothing Johnny isn’t used to at least—a decade in the military and a lifetime of contact sport before that had been enough of an education in coexisting with other alphas—but it leaves him on edge, muscles bunching up until his shoulders are nearly up to his ears.
Running loosens him up. Distracts him from the urge to sink his teeth into something tender and shake until it bleeds.
A brisk walk to a light jog to a full on sprint. Tongue suctioned to the roof of his mouth, sharpened canines throbbing. The most natural state in the world—legs pumping under him faster and faster, the faint memory of bare feet on a cold forest floor turning over loose soil with every stride. The steady pound of his feet against the ground rumbling through him.
It’s a pale imitation of the real deal, but the taste of salt and rust on the back of his tongue keep him grounded. The beast in his chest rumbles its approval.
When a bench finally frees up, Johnny has to dash across the gym when he sees another alpha nearby eyeing his spot. He reaches the bench a few seconds before the other man though, slinging his sweat-drenched towel across the seat to claim it as his. The alpha hovers for a tense second, face screwed up in anger and nostrils flared like he might put up a fight for it.
Do it, Johnny almost growls, teeth itching. Try it and see what happens.
Lucky for both of them that the other alpha knows when to cut his losses. He shoulder checks another alpha as he stomps back to the leg press machine and nearly starts a whole other fight, but that’s none of Johnny’s business.
He cringes when he finally looks down at the bench only to find someone’s back outlined in sweat. Entitled shitheads at this gym can’t even be bothered to clean up after themselves.
The noxious miasma of alpha stench would make his eyes water if he weren’t so used to it. Pungent and sharp, like gargling brine.
A month can’t go by quick enough.
He leaves feeling worse than when he came in. Shoulders tight with tension and irritation crackling through him. Doesn’t even bother throwing a halfhearted see you later to the front desk workers on his way out. The height of rudeness. Not even rude so much as just not him; Johnny likes to talk, he likes to be friendly with the staff. It speaks to the anger riding high in his blood that he can’t even pretend.
To make it worse, his car is covered in snow when he makes it back, forcing him to spend an extra five minutes cleaning the shit off before he can finally leave.
It’s untenable. He can mind his ego for a paycheck, but on his own time his patience curls up into a ball in his chest and goes to sleep. It’s not a question of if he’ll lose his temper but when. Inevitable. His pugnacity has always been his downfall; his Achilles’ heel. Always cutting himself down on a sharp tooth.
The rosary beads dangling from the rearview window sway with the car when he takes a tight turn.
“Ah ken,” Johnny mumbles to himself, silver cross glinting under the stoplight. “Ah can do a month. Ah can keep it together.”
The next couple of times are just as bad. It’s always crowded during his preferred usual time and it always stinks, like the staff know they’re fighting a losing battle trying to keep the place clean so they don’t even try.
The sorry fuckin’ state of this place, Johnny thinks in revulsion, sneering down at yet another machine damp with sweat from the guy before him. It takes him a minute to wrestle down the impulse to chase after the other alpha and drag him back by his hair before shoving him face down into the puddle of sweat on the seat he left for someone else to clean up.
Only the threat of being permanently banned keeps his temper in check. That can only last for so long though.
It’s gotten to the point where he seriously considers taking Gaz up on his offer to come with him to the gym downtown. He’s a danger to himself and others here; a walking time bomb rapidly ticking down. Each day, something new tests the limits of his patience, like when he comes in one crowded afternoon only to find all of the lockers taken, the locker room stuffed to the brim with alphas and a few straggler betas.
He sits in his car with the heat on for an hour until the gym clears out, steaming enough to fog up the windows. Nearly turns right back around when he enters the locker room to find it absolutely demolished—damp towels strewn about, shower water all over the floor, and stinking to high heavens of sweat, body odour, and piss.
There’s still a dent in one of the lockers from the brief loss of his temper. He doesn’t cop to it, but he makes a point to only use the lockers on the other side of the room from then on.
He’s desperate enough to join Gaz at his fancy downtown gym all of one time, but the facilities there are so serene and sterile that his skin crawls the moment he walks in. Soothing spa music echoes through the three-story gym (no, wellness centre, the staff correct him at the check-in desk, and Gaz has to kick his bad knee to keep Johnny from howling) and verdant green plants grow from pots placed around the facility.
Like working out in the jungle, he thinks sardonically.
“How can ye even concentrate here?” he asks, aghast, staring at the group of limber, flexible bodies stretching and straining in a group yoga class behind a nearby glass wall. He licks his lips.
Gaz rolls his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”
“Ah’m no’ gonna get kicked out for breathing too loud, am ah?”
“If anything, you’re gonna get kicked out for public indecency,” Gaz sneers, looking down pointedly at Johnny’s open hand inching towards his crotch. “Can you chill out, mate?”
“It’s no’ my fault! They’re arching their backs ‘n pushing their tits out. Ah shouldnae have to look at that when ah’m tryin’ tae work out.”
“Would it kill you to not run your mouth off for five fucking minutes?”
Johnny mimes zipping his lips and then follows Gaz downstairs to the locker room, where the wall-length granite sink and infrared sauna make his eyes nearly bug out of his head.
To no one’s surprise, he doesn’t go back. Gaz doesn’t ask him again either.
An appointment one day pushes his schedule back a couple hours and he shows up later than usual, his teeth clenched tight the whole drive over because he expects the worst. Double the occupants, double the meatheads.
But when he pulls into a near empty lot, the knot of tension in his chest loosens. Only a handful of cars, and most of them are parked near the take-out place at the other end of the complex.
It’s practically a wasteland when Johnny walks in. A few people here and there, but otherwise deserted. Only a single person posted near the free weights.
Even the locker room is more palatable. Freshly cleaned and stocked with new towels. All of the showers have been scrubbed down and dried, the curtains tucked behind the holdbacks and waiting for someone to use them. It’s like walking into a brand new gym.
“Yeah, this is kind of the sweet spot,” a staff member tells him when he rocks up to the desk to ask about it. “We get a lot of alphas that come here right after five, so when it empties out around nine, we have the cleaning staff come in to sanitize everything.”
“Well shit,” he laughs, pushing back from the desk and lacing his hands behind his head. “Guess yer gonna see me more often.”
True to his word, he starts showing up later and later, the streetlights plump and gold when he swerves into the parking lot and parks in the middle of two spots purely because he can. There’s a new bounce to his gait, a pep in his step.
It fucks up Johnny’s schedule for a bit, but it’s well worth getting home well after midnight if it means that he gets the gym to himself. No one to complain when he groans and pants through each rep, sweat dripping from his face and body onto the floor, weights slammed against the mat with a loud thud every time he finishes a set.
(In truth, he’s no better than the alphas that plague the gym during the evening hours, but he’s long made peace with being a hypocrite.)
For a moment, it seems like life will at least be bearable until the month is over and he can go back to training at his regular gym. All he has to do is wait it out.
When it first catches his nose, he splinters down the middle.
It happens when Johnny’s on his way out for the night, muscles warm and only slightly sore, the kind of soreness that’ll dissipate by the time he flops into bed. It’s later than usual—closer to one than twelve, and he’ll feel it in the morning when he’s forced to get up at his usual hour—but there’s hardly anyone else in the gym and for that, it’s worth it.
The strap of his gym bag digs into his shoulder as he tosses a hand up on his way, saying goodbye to the beta manning the front desk on his own. A shame that he’s stuck on his own all night. It would drive Johnny crazy to be stuck at work with no one to talk to—it’s one of the reasons that he followed Gaz into private security when they both got out of the service.
He turns around, about to step out of the gym, when a peculiar smell tries to sneak past him. A slippery thing, silverfish quick and just as conspicuous.
He catches it though. Hunting dog with a purebred snout, he sniffs it the second it wafts under his nose and goes ramrod straight, egress forgotten.
The door to the women's locker room is closed, but he can smell the faint traces of the omega’s scent clinging to it. She must have touched it on her way out. Must have placed her palm against the door and shoved. The alpha beneath his skin that wears his face stills as well, everything vanishing into the singular nature of the scent emanating from the locker room door.
In twenty-nine years, he’s never felt so—
(unmoored, untethered
sinking into it like a stone, not coming apart but unraveling altogether—)
He breathes in again and it’s fainter now, but he can still smell it. Candy pink frosting, so sweet that his teeth hurt and his dick throbs. Juicy like a ripe peach waiting for his teeth. It wafts from the women’s locker room, so subtle that it’s clear that whoever it belonged to is long gone. He must have just missed her, an hour separating them at most.
It’s like nothing he’s ever smelt before. No omega in heat has ever made his head spin like this, every inch of him attuned to a single scent. Even slick on his tongue has never made him feel like this, rut thundering through his bones and snapping him into a new shape.
The hunger shifts from his throat to his stomach, settling in deep. And the beast under his skin that wears his face opens its maw, ropey strands of spittle stringing between its teeth.
“Hey man, you good?”
Johnny blinks, looking over his shoulder to find the guy at the front desk frowning at him. It snaps him out of whatever spell he’d been under. His alpha recedes beneath his skin again, hungering but quieter.
“Uh…” he clears his throat, pulling the strap of his bag back up onto his shoulder from where it slipped down. Gives the guy a thumbs up. “Yeah. Sorry—lost my train o’ thought.”
The employee stares at him for a beat before mumbling, “Okay…” under his breath and looking back down at the computer.
Johnny stares at the door for another few seconds before finally leaving.
He sweats all the way home. Worries, wonder, and woes. Blinks and suddenly his exit is next, another car behind him honking when he changes lanes abruptly without signalling. Haud yer wheesht, he thinks and flips the other driver off for good measure.
At home, he paces the length of his house thinking about that omega’s scent until it’s time for bed. Then he tosses and turns until his sleep grows profound and swallows him whole like Jonah. Into the belly of the beast. Nothing to do but let it spit him back out like a peachstone.
Then morning comes and his jaw clicks when he yawns and his bad knee hurts.
But worse than the snow pelting his windshield on the drive to work and worse than the cold stinging his face when he parks and stops for his morning coffee is the memory of that smell.
It’s not as if he doesn’t have any experience with omegas. Despite growing up under the thumb of four alpha sisters, Johnny’s been popular with omegas his whole life. His history with them is an assortment of sordid trysts and quick flings, good enough to scratch an itch but not enough to make him want to bite and keep.
Sticky, messy, syrupy ruts spent buried between an omega’s soft thighs, gorging himself on slick and pussy; nudging his cock against pillowy lips and then thrusting down their throat, hand palming the base of their skull to hold them in place.
It’s always been like that though. One and done; a couple days at most to work through the worst of his rut and then out the door, a messy kiss for the road before whistling his way home. Johnny’s good for that. A romp in the hay, a roll in the sack. Generous with his fingers and mouth and cock.
He’s never craved an omega like this though, never fevered like he fevers now. Itched like his skin was turned inside out in his sleep.
Waking up in the middle of the night panting, the covers under him drenched with sweat and his knot throbbing in his hand, already swollen and aching. Fisting his cock until he has no choice but to roll over and bury his teeth into his pillow, humping the mattress frantically until he comes, eyes watering with the force of his orgasm.
No tonic for this ailment. It simmers in his blood, infatuation decocting into full blown obsession.
Brontide as leitmotif and it rumbles in his ears.
Wandering through the city punch-drunk, always waiting for it to catch his nose somewhere else. In line at a salad bar, always a head taller than everyone else (which he’s still getting used to, which is still a strange new fact of civilian life); at a local venue with Gaz for a concert, scenting the air for any sign of them; seated at the back of the coffee shop across the street from the gym, eyes trained on the door.
Waiting. Always waiting.
And, hungering like a starved dog.
Saliva pooling in his mouth when he thinks of what it’ll be like when he finally has them under him, desperate and cloying and wet.
Other omegas smell sickly to him now, off somehow. A facsimile of what he knows is out there waiting for him. He’s not down for a quick fuck anymore. A hand on his chest and doe eyes blinking up at him makes him shudder now, grimacing down at the omega trying to compete for his attention when out there there’s—
His omega.
Just for him. Made to take his knot and clench around it and squeal when he pumps them full—
Hishishishishishis.
So he shrugs her hand off and sends her on her way.
Johnny spends weeks trying to line up their schedules—his and that elusive omega’s whose scent still permeates the gym even though he never actually sees them in the flesh—to no avail. Even though he’s there waiting at the gym nearly every day, they must stagger their visits. Worse, they seem to come at irregular hours; some days, Johnny shows up and though he can smell the omega’s scent, it’s flat, stale. Like they’ve been gone for hours, ages. Only the oil from their hands still embedded in the dumbbells on the rack.
He doesn’t even care if anyone’s watching when he brings one up to his nose and breathes in.
Then abruptly, the scent disappears, and with it, his soundness of mind.
A week gasping for air, flopping belly up. Breathing in nothing, not even the old, stale scent of his omega because they’re gone suddenly without warning. The first couple of days are manageable only because he doesn’t notice it at first, used to his omega taking a couple days off at a time to rest and recover, but then two days stretch into three. And then into four.
Johnny’s long thought of himself as wild and self-reliant, not accountable to anyone or anything apart from himself. It takes four days to obliterate that notion.
On the fourth day, he wakes up and his agony crawls out of his mouth on spindly legs.
It follows him to work and back, an ache between his shoulder blades and a gnawing, wretched hunger for something he can’t have because it’s beyond his grasp. Smoke now, lost in the ether. He drives across town before and after work, hoping that they’ll suddenly reappear and set his mind at ease, but the gym only smells of alpha funk and his own souring mood.
Too long without it. He’s nothing but a shell of himself in its absence, without the scent of his omega to calm him down, and it makes Johnny realize that he wasn’t doing well on his own before but just barely surviving. Barely keeping his head above water.
Ghost hauls him out of a bar by the scruff of his neck on Saturday night when he almost starts a fight, and only sinking his canines into the other alpha’s forearm calms him down. He slumps forward in the bigger man’s hold and whines when Ghost strokes a hand down his back and murmurs something vaguely soothing in his ear, his words muffled by the mask. He even lets Ghost drag him back home and curls up on his couch until a balled sock hits his head and he slinks into Ghost’s bedroom, dragging his feet the whole way.
His longing is excruciating. Pathetic. Like a dog with its own empty bowl in its mouth begging for scraps.
Gaz still calls every day because they’ve been joined at the hip since they first met almost a decade ago and it’s not long before he picks up on the shaky note in Johnny’s voice, stilted conversations becoming wholly incomprehensible. Even Price calls him towards the end of the week to ask if he’s doing alright. No, sir. Yes, sir. Ah’m fine, sir.
“Was it Gaz who snitched?” Johnny gripes, cutting a side-eyed glare at the alpha on the bench next to him curling sixty pound weights and groaning like he’s getting sucked off at the same time. Still no sign of his omega.
“Well, it wasn’t Simon.”
That makes him snort. Last time he tells that traitor a goddamn thing about his life.
Absence does not make the heart grow fonder. It makes the world seem fetid and bland, and he looks out at it through dull eyes, anger kindling inside. Makes his stomach cramp like there’s nothing in it. It takes the sheen out of an oil spill, leaving only the mess and rot behind.
And then suddenly it’s back like nothing happened, stopping him in his tracks as he walks into the gym. They must have gone out of town for the week, on vacation or visiting family, something so trivial that he’d laugh if his innards weren’t char and ash. If his alpha weren’t half-feral, blotting out his thoughts for hours at a time, all instinct and anger and teeth taking over until he regains clarity and the sky is dark.
It nearly brings him to his knees when he walks into the gym and the smell of his omega blooms bright and nacreous. The gym staff eye him with growing uncertainty, but he’s hardly the most concerning customer at a big box gym (last week someone locked themselves in one of the bathroom stalls with a knife), so they leave him to his own devices when he’s finally able to move again.
His omega isn’t there, of course. Johnny can tell from a quick glance around the gym and a sniff of the air. But they were, and that’s all that matters.
Their reappearance sharpens his resolve. Runs it against a whetstone, his time of waiting coming to an end. He rolls his shoulders back and puffs his chest out in anticipation. It can’t come soon enough.
Nothing stays silent for long when a wolf is watching from the shadows. Eventually it has to make a sound.
It’s quiet in the gym at two a.m. (a far cry from his usual time, but the hunt demands sacrifice), only the sound of a single treadmill whirring and shoes hitting the belt disturbing the near silence.
Johnny smells you the second he walks in. It punches him right in the chest when he inhales and the ripe, sticky scent of his omega flows into his lungs. Mouth watering on instinct. Rutilant eyed, he tilts his head wolf-like and stares down towards the other side of the gym where a pretty thing fiddles with the settings on the treadmill, settling into a light jog.
He’s buried under an avalanche of want so powerful and so swift that it collapses him down to base instinct. Thoughts disconnected and hazy, blooming like a bruise in his head.
Shouldnae be here, he wants to croon in your ear while he holds you down, almost swaying on his feet at the thought. Should be back in my bed at home takin’ my dick so deep in yer gorgeous cunt that ye can taste my cum on the back of yer tongue—
The employee manning the front desk doesn’t even look up when Johnny scans his pass and pushes through the turnstile, flipping to the next page of the magazine open in front of him.
It’s better that way. Johnny doesn’t know what he’d do if someone tried to stop him or get in his way.
The gym is deserted at this time of night, only the single treadmill in use and someone that passes him on their way out, a gust of wind at Johnny’s back signalling their departure. Everything always works out in his favour. He suffers for it, but God rewards him for his patience.
He takes a seat on the closest available training machine and doesn’t even pretend to use it. Johnny’s never been much of a performer anyway. Instead, he drops his gym bag down on the floor beside the chest press machine and leans forward, elbows resting against his knees.
He’s lucky that you’re too concentrated on your workout to feel the heat of his stare. Your phone rests on its side in front of you, an episode of a show playing to distract you while you run. Earphones in to block out the noise. He knows Ghost would tell him to correct that. Can’t have his omega distracted while alphas lurk nearby waiting to dig their teeth into the supple lump of flesh sitting tantalizing just below the collar of your shirt—
A bead of sweat runs down his temple and his dick twitches in his sweats.
There are cuffs in his gym bag. Tools of the trade. It’s not as innocent as he lets himself think, but they’re there in case things go sideways. Sideways like if you take one look at him and run the other way when you notice the way his half-lidded eyes barely blink as he stares at you.
And he can’t have that. Not now that he’s found you.
His patience is unwavering when the circumstances call for it. It’s a skill he picked up in the service, learning to channel all of the frenetic energy coursing through him into a tight point at the back of his mind, compressing it all down to a singularity that later he’ll allow to expand and burn itself out like a dying star.
Not now though. Now he sits and he watches and he waits.
He stares at your ass while you run, crossfaded on his alpha’s slabbering hunger and his own need to wrench those leggings down your hips. When he has the luxury of time, he’ll tie you to his bed by your wrists and ankles, belly down to make it easier on him, and sink his teeth into the flesh of your ass until it’s tender to the touch, until even ghosting his hand over your ass makes you squirm and weep.
Even the thought has a growl rumbling at the back of his throat.
You’re not a very fast runner, but you’re quick enough. Like a rabbit, Johnny thinks and nearly laughs at his own joke. A distracted one at that, too concerned with what’s in front of you to notice what’s lurking right behind.
No matter. He sits and he waits.
Eventually, the treadmill starts to slow down, and with it, you. Panting to catch your breath. Fingers trembling when you pause the video on your phone and scrub a towel down your face to wipe off the sweat.
And for once the entire gym smells of nothing but a honeyed sweetness. Spun sugar and strawberry Angel Delight. Intoxicating and heady. It permeates the building, dragging him deeper into a drugged haze, dulling his senses, plugging his ears with cotton until the only thing he can hear is the sound of your rabbit-quick heartbeat going bump-bump-bump in your chest.
You must have been finishing your workout with a light jog because when the treadmill comes to a complete stop, you take another second to catch your breath and then step off to the side, draping your towel around the back of your neck and heading for the locker room.
Johnny feels himself rise to his feet but there’s no consciousness behind it. No intent beyond primordial reflex, prey drive kicking in when you try getting away. He forgets about everything else—the employee at the front desk, his gym bag next to him. His knees don’t even crack for once, the movement fluid, and when he follows you towards the locker room, his feet hardly make a sound.
It’s to his advantage that you haven’t noticed him yet, but he’ll deal with that soon enough. The locked room door swings shut behind you and there’s a second where he hesitates, better thoughts creeping past his alpha to whisper in his ear that he doesn’t have to do it this way. He’s never had trouble with an omega before—why use force now?
And then he hears a locker slam shut on the other side and instinct takes over.
You’re half-undressed in the middle of the locker room when he walks in, clad only in your panties and bra, and his world narrows down to that moment. Everything in his life has led him to this. Like a red sea parting; the universe suddenly giving him a sign, beckoning him forth.
The door swings shut behind him and your ears twitch at the noise.
He’s done this before in another life. Three strides and he slips right up behind you, arms winding around your front to pull you into his chest and covering your mouth with his hand. You freeze for a split second before going haywire, flailing in his hold, his hand muffling your screams.
“Shh, it’s just me, doe,” Johnny shushes you, arms constricting around you. Relishing the feeling of your body against his, warmer and softer than he imagined.
You shriek behind his hand, twisting in his hold and trying with all your might to break free. Simple thoughts for simple creatures. Even when you try to bite his hand, Johnny only coos, cock swelling at the feeling of your tongue on his skin. The little kittenish licks just rile him up. He likes it less when you try to headbutt him, narrowly missing his nose when you throw your head back.
When he dips his nose into the crook of your neck, he can’t help the growl that slips out of him.
“Enough o’ tha’,” Johnny growls, words reverberating with his annoyance.
The sound makes you still, prey instincts as sharp as his. Smart girl. You know when not to push your luck. He’s bigger and stronger, and his teeth are precariously close to your mating gland, which sits nestled in the crook of your neck.
He breathes in. Your scent is strongest there, at the base of your neck. A delicate layer of skin and then underneath it, your blood sings. Whispers praises high and sweet to him. A shuddering breath out.
You mumble something behind his hand. Tremble violently, your nails digging into his forearm with a biting sting.
He shushes you again. “No’ here, baby—gotta take ye somewhere more private.”
He pays no mind to the way you resume your screaming behind his hand as drags you deeper into the locker room and away from the door. Hardly needs to use any of his real strength, only a fraction of it. The fight you put up would almost be endearing, would almost make him go thatta girl and nip at the tip of your nose, if not for the way it triggers his instincts, an innate urge to dominate you into submission.
It isn’t hard to wrestle you to the floor in the showers. Like play fighting, all bark and whine and keen, teeth snapping an inch from his nose until he pins you under him, snarling right in your face until you submit. That gets you to stop making a fuss. The last thing he wants is to deal with a front desk employee trying to play the hero by pulling him off you. Not that anyone could. He’d rather this not end in bloodshed.
“Tha’s better,” Johnny growls. “Jus’ be nice, a’right?”
You shiver at his words, eyes wide and petrified, darting all over his face. Even tinged with your fear, how could he not preen under your gaze now that you’re getting a proper look at him? He knows what he looks like—rugged and strong, mohawk recently cleaned up and beard freshly trimmed. Not a behemoth like Ghost, but big for an alpha, broad shouldered and beefy.
Big for an alpha in a couple different ways, he leers.
“Don’t hurt me,” you whimper, and that breaks his heart. How could he ever? How could he ever look at something as perfect as you and want to ruin it? His chest aches at the thought.
“No, baby,” he whines, nuzzling his nose into the side of your face. “Ah would never, baby, never. Dinnae be scared. Ah’m no’ gonna hurt you, doe.”
He drags his nose down the length of your head, running his tongue over the rounded corner of your jaw. Your sweat tastes of wet roses and tart jam. Still intoxicating, but wrong, sour and sodden with fear. It makes his skin itch and his shoulders tense. You shouldn’t be scared of him; his omega should never be scared of him.
“Ye cannae smell it, doe?” he asks, pressing a soft kiss into your neck, lingering there so he can feel your pulse flutter against his lips. “Ah can… Cannae smell a damn thing else when yer around. S’all ah can think about.”
“What are you talking about?” you whisper, so frightened that you can barely squeeze the words out, fear choking you. He can’t stand it. The thought that you might find him dangerous makes his throat burn, agony ripping his chest open and yanking his insides out.
He braces himself up on his forearms and forces his hand under your head, lifting your head up off the tile floor.
“How do ah smell, doe?” Johnny rasps, shoving your face into his neck and holding you there until you have no choice but to inhale. He feels the way you shudder when you do, hands spasming against his chest. “Smells good, doesn’t it? Just breathe it in, doe.”
You do, shakily. Then a deeper inhale, filling your lungs with his scent.
“I—oh god—” you groan, your hands suddenly fisting in Johnny’s shirt and dragging him closer.
“Jesus,” he curses through clenched teeth, dizzy with lust. He goes with it, laying more of his body weight on top of you, hind brain taking over.
A long, deep inhale. Your nose digs into his neck. “What is that?” you whine.
“S’the best thing in the fuckin’ world.” An understatement. Johnny’s eyelids fall shut when your tongue pokes out to lightly graze his neck.
So much pent up emotion and anguish and want only for it suddenly—
stop.
Motion succumbing to instinct, to fate. Everything else is collateral damage when fate gets in the way.
Your hands fisted in his shirt, scent ripening, fear replaced with something else—still sharp, but charged. Hesitant because you shouldn’t want this—it shouldn’t even be a thought in your head to indulge the strange man who wrestled you to the floor and forced you to scent him, but then you get a good whiff of him and that thought shakes like television static, like a mirage, like a glass surface wobbling right before it breaks—
When he pulls back, the world is different.
You’re glassy eyed, so pliant now that he could do anything to you, anything at all. And then his eyes dip lower.
He cups your neck with a clammy hand and strokes a finger over the lovely gland at the crook of your neck. It’s warm to the touch.
“Look a’ this,” he breathes, awed. Your hand flies to his wrist, fingers barely able to wrap around it.
“D-don’t touch it,” you choke out, swallowing harshly. It has to be sensitive. Still, Johnny can’t keep from stroking his finger over it again, soaking up the way his touch makes you shiver. Poor thing, gone so long without your alpha’s touch.
“Ah cannae help it, doe,” Johnny whispers. He switches to his thumb, rubbing the pad of it over your gland until you whine and squirm, eyebrows drawn tight together. “Does it hurt, baby? Do ye need me tae make it better?”
You whine, trying to weakly bat his hand away. “N-no, that’s for my alpha—”
“Aye, tha’s right.” His eyes gleam fulgurite under the fluorescent lights. “Fer yer alpha.”
He digs his thumb in harder until your mouth opens on a silent cry.
His alpha drools a messy puddle beneath his skin, jowls sagging. It stares without blinking.
It’s different than lust or bloodthirst. Darker; deep-seated. He’s never felt this way before, and, if his gut feeling proves true, he never will again. It’s like looking down a vast, dark hall, and seeing only one way out.
A damp shower room floor in a locker room is no place for him to take his omega for the first time, but he couldn’t lift himself off you if he tried. His muscles feel far too heavy, like lead weights dragging him down, the gravity stronger here somehow.
“Let’s get this off,” he murmurs, sitting back on his haunches.
“Wait—wait, not here, alpha, please—”
Your protests fall on deaf ears. He wrenches your bra over your head, mindful not to let the back of your head smack against the tile floor. “Gentle, gentle—there we go. Tha’s a good girl.”
Your panties come next, stripped off and tossed elsewhere. His lips follow the path of his hands, sucking kisses into your hips and thighs until your fingers thread into his hair and yank. He yelps, scalp tingling with pain.
“Do tha’ again, doe,” Johnny purrs, shuddering when you do. Eyes rolling back in his head.
His world tilts on its axis when he forces your legs apart and stares at the perfect slice of heaven between your thighs.
“Doe.” Voice broken, shredded. Running his thumb up the seam of your lips and moaning when your hole clenches at his touch and a drop of slick leaks out. “Oh, doe…she’s so…”
Too awestruck for words. Language is beyond his grasp, too inadequate for the feelings coursing through him. Lacklustre, diaphanous thing. There’s no way to describe the feeling of leaning forward and touching his lips to yours, angling his head to give her a proper kiss, one with tongue and feeling. She kisses him back just as passionately.
The taste of you is incomparable. He can’t believe he ever thought there was a world where he could subsist on just the smell of you. Impossible now that he’s had you on his tongue. He runs it up the seam of your pussy, the flat of his tongue spread wide to catch every honeyed dewdrop clinging to your skin, sucking each fold into his mouth to be extra thorough. The pearl sitting nice and pretty at the top gets a wet kiss for waiting so long for his touch.
He pulls back for a second to catch his breath. “So pretty, baby,” Johnny whines, pulling the hood of your clit up with his thumb and sucking her into his mouth.
“Oh my god—”
He buries his face into your cunt, the bridge of his nose wedged against your clit and making you howl. He doesn’t budge even when you practically wrench his hair out by the roots, too committed to making your pussy squirt all over his face. Not an easy task with the way you keep trying to push him away from your cunt, but Johnny’s always risen to any challenge.
You howl when he wedges his tongue in as deep as it’ll go, thighs clamping around his head. Not a bad way to go, Johnny thinks in a daze, chin wet with your juices and nose nuzzling your sensitive little clit, making your whole body jolt. He can tell you’re close by the way your thighs spasm and your scent goes marzipan sweet, so lush and rich that his swollen cock leaks in his sweatpants.
It’s easy to get lost in your pleasure; Johnny feels it like it’s his own, his low back aching with the force of your impending orgasm. He misses your clit too much to let her get lonely though, so he lets go of your hip to push a couple fingers into your hole instead of his tongue.
“C’mon, doe, lemme see ye come,” he whines into your pussy, thrusting all three fingers into your hole, half-lidded eyes with blown out pupils watching the way your pussy gobbles them up. “Just like tha’—oh, there we go, baby, oh my god, come on, yes—lemme have it, doe—”
Your release is wet on his hand and all over his face. Little pussy still milking his fingers, the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
A hush falls over the room, the moment almost devotional. He thinks you might be crying, but it’s hard to tell because the blood in his ears is too loud and his hand is wet with your come and he wants nothing more than to do it all over again until you can’t even talk.
He rises to his feet in a daze, a deep red flush high on his cheekbones. His shirt comes off first, pulled over the back of his head and tossed behind him; his sweats are similarly discarded, tugged down and kicked away until you’re staring up at him in all his hairy, naked glory, cock flush with blood and heavy, drooping away from his stomach.
He laughs when he notices where your gaze has dropped. “Like what ye see?”
“I don’t know about this—” you start, but he pays your words no mind.
“C’mere,” he growls, suppressing the urge to wince when he drops to his knees again.
Johnny hooks an arm under your low back, hoisting your hips up until your ass rests against his thighs, making your back arch. It thrusts your tits up towards his face and he nearly goes cross-eyed staring down at your cute little nipples. They look lonely too.
He gets distracted again, forgetting about sinking his cock in your cunt in favour of hunching over to get his mouth on your tits. Sucks one until it's hard and pebbled against his tongue and circles his tongue over the soft areola skin, completely forgetting about your other breast. It’s hard to pull himself off.
You yelp when he bites down, not hard enough to hurt, but deliberate enough to tick you off.
“That’s too rough!” you hiss, grabbing him by the hair again.
“Sorry,” Johnny gasps. He nuzzles between your breasts, practically purring. “Ah’m so sorry, doe, ah couldnae help myself…”
Puppyish, he leans up to bunt his head under your chin, shuddering when your fingers loosen and hesitantly scratch his head.
“…Okay…” you murmur, overwhelmed. He ignores you, too content with nuzzling into your neck while you run your nails over his scalp.
Being this close to you after weeks of nothing is almost enough. The air reeks with your scent. If it weren’t for the ugly, festering ache in his belly, he’d be tempted to skip straight to this. Roll onto his back and pull you onto his chest, press his nose to the crown of your head and breathe in until it lulls him right to sleep. Maybe get a good belly scratch at the same time.
Then he inhales and the scent of your come on his chin makes his spine go stiff. Drool leaks from the corner of his mouth.
It can’t wait anymore. The thing under his skin shakes with hunger, its greed a ravenous, frothing appetite that goes mindless when it waits for its food. Do it. Do it now.
He braces a hand against the tile floor to lift himself up and pets your cheek with his free hand. “Ah’m gonna put it in now, okay, doe?”
And he means it too, stomach cramping with eager anticipation, knot already filling up at the base of his dick—still small enough to pop it into your hole, but not for much longer—because it’s everything he’s dreamt of since he first caught your scent in the air.
That must not be the case for you.
When you twist onto your belly and try to scramble away, he stares dumbly for a second before seeing red. Johnny crawls after you, dragging you back by your ankle when you get a bit too far away and flipping you over again. You hiss when the back of your head smashes against the floor, hands reaching up to cradle it instinctively.
You get it snarled right in your face, his anger erupting out of him like a geyser, like a dense fog rolling down from the mountains and spreading to everything below. “Ye dinnae fuckin’ move.”
“I-I’m sorry,” you breathe.
Even consumed by rage, he can smell your terror. Putrid, not the soft sweetness of your usual scent. There’s pain there too, and it makes his muscles tense like he’s ready to spring. It’s what brings his alpha to the surface, the scorch of anger cooling slowly as you lie there trembling.
It doesn’t feel good, but he can’t—he can’t let you go.
His hands flutter over your face, squeezing your cheeks and leaning down to plant kiss after soft kiss on your lips. “Doe, please, ye cannae do tha’…ah wanna be gentle, but ah cannae control myself if ye—” Johnny can’t bring himself to say it, the image too painful to contemplate. There’s no reason on Earth that his omega should be trying to run away from him.
“O-okay, alpha…I…I’ll be good.”
His self-control is hairstring thin. “Yer just nervous, right? Tha’ why ye tried tae run?”
“I-I’m just nervous, alpha.” It’s a neat trick, repeating his words back to him in order to calm him down. It works.
His chest deflates as he kneels there over you. Johnny stares into your eyes a few seconds longer, a subtle reminder not to fucking move, before he sits up again, rolling his shoulders back and tugging your lower half in again.
This time when he notches the head of his cock against your entrance, you whisper oh god oh god oh god to yourself but you don’t try to run. It must seem inevitable—no way to fight him off or talk him out of it because there’s a film over his eyes that reflects nothing back.
And then he slowly sinks his cock into you, your hole stretching around the mushroomed head. His jaw rolls on a shaky exhale.
Something in him cracks wide open and—
something ugly slithers out.
“Oh fuck,” he moans, voice cracking. His cock sinks in another inch, warm, wet heat sucking him in. “Jesus, doe, ah cannae fuckin’ breathe—”
You flex your hips at his words, ankles digging into the divots above his arse and pulling him in until he suddenly bottoms out, cock stuffed to the root in the warmest, snuggest cunt he’s ever felt. It nearly makes him go mad; he gets so close to it that his face goes numb, the blood pounding in his ears. He curls over you, a string of curses slipping out of his mouth.
You’re there when Johnny opens his eyes again, damp hair haloing you.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, a tear slipping past your waterline and dribbling down your face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me—”
“It’s okay, doe.” His hands run up and down your sides, soothing you. “S’just instinct. Ye cannae help it any more than ah can.”
Your walls squeeze around his shaft, nerves making you tense up, and Johnny groans, his hand curling into a fist by your head. It takes every iota of his being not to come right then, buried to the hilt in your pussy with your ankles digging into his low back. He nearly does when you whine at him to move.
“Okay, baby,” he breathes.
Johnny tries to be gentle at first. Makes a conscious effort to rock into you with slow, smooth strokes, distracting you with a deep, wet kiss. Lips gliding together, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth only to graze it with his teeth, heat rushing through him when you tremble. Coaxing your tongue into his mouth and then sucking on it.
His control starts to slip when he tries to pull out and your ankles dig into his back, pulling him back in. The force of his next thrust makes your body shift, sliding up the wet floor. Too much. Be gentle. But he can’t—the pressure in his core gets worse the longer he fucks you, an eagerness to reach his end building and building. All he can do is chase it. Bite at its heels.
“Yer so pretty,” he rasps, petting your face with shaky hands and bucking his hips into yours until you can’t hold back your pretty little moans. “Pretty, pretty doe. Ah’ve got ye, love.”
A few more like that, pounding into you until you squeak like a toy and he laughs, breathless and full of mirth. Buoyant. Revelling in the sound of you coming apart under him, all fractured pleas and kiss-swollen lips.
Perfect angel, all sweetness and moans and cream coating his cock, gleaming under the fluorescent lights every time he pulls out.
There’s a white ring at the base of his dick from the mess of your combined fluids. Johnny nearly passes out when he notices.
His bad knee aches from digging into the tile floor. He’ll feel it in the morning when he wakes up with bruises on his elbows and shins, muscles stiff and twinging when he moves, but it’s a price he’ll happily pay to keep his pretty doe on her back with her legs spread.
Any lingering guilt about fucking you on the gross shower room floor evaporates the more you pant and the wetter you get because, he rationalizes, on some level you must want him just as bad. Not with the same fervour, not a bone bright ache that sucks you dry and spits you out like a peach pit, but close enough that you aren’t pushing him away anymore.
He ignores the weak pressure on his shoulders. Pries your hands off so he can pin your wrists together over your head.
“Been lookin’ fer ye fer so long,” Johnny croons. He ruts into you clumsily, losing any semblance of finesse. “Smelt ye weeks ago ‘n knew…knew ah had tae have ye.”
Your eyes fly open, stunned. “Weeks?” you gasp.
“Thought ah’d lose my fuckin’ mind lookin’ fer ye.” His breath comes out ragged. “Couldnae sleep or eat or do anythin’ except jerk my cock raw. Should’ve saved it all up fer ye, but…” his laughter is a deep, brassy thing. “…ye’ll still get a fair share.”
“You’re disgusting,” you moan, and that makes him laugh even more, rutting into you like a beast.
“Christ, doe, keep runnin’ that mouth.”
“You’re a—”
dumb, nasty dog
sick in the head, fucking me with that big, fat dick—
He grunts and his lip pulls back in a mean, crooked grin.
It’s never been like this before. Like someone drilled a hole in the side of his head and filled it up with you. You’re in every crevice of his mind and body, mycorrhizal tendril spreading through him.
“Ah’m gonna ruin yer pretty cunt, doe,” Johnny rasps, neck soaked with sweat and eyes burning hot, pupils blown so wide only a glimmer of blue remains. “Get her nice ‘n soaked with my come.”
“Alpha—” you keen, for lack of anything else to call him and it makes his vision go blank.
That’s the only truth that matters to him. Like a divine calling—his omega begging for him, asking for more more more. It’s as close to love as he’s ever gotten; as close to heaven as he ever will.
Diving headfirst into oblivion. He clamps his hands around your waist to hold you in place and fucks into you with renewed vigour, losing himself in the pleasure. Any coherent thought evaporates, reduced to mindless instinct. His beast and him are indistinguishable; two sides of the same coin; he looms over you Janus-faced, a god of beginnings and endings.
He breathes out heavily through his nose, teeth gritting together and lips pulled into a flat line. So close to it, knot catching more with every thrust, almost too big to pull out.
The smack of his hips against yours fill his ears, drowning out your pleading and keening. Seismic motions churning beneath the tile floor keep a steady pulse. The lewd squelch of your pussy nearly drives him mad—slick running down your thighs, pooling onto the floor beneath you, this place irrevocably changed because of your mating—
If only you’d squirt on his dick too, he could die happy. Scream out alpha, alpha, alpha until you shudder and come.
And you do eventually—milk his dick filthy sweet and cling onto him for dear life, nails scoring red lines into the flesh of his back. His muscles bunching under your touch.
“Fuck, doe,” Johnny chokes, near tears himself. His perfect girl coming all over his cock, eyes rolling back in your head like it’s never been like this for you before. “Tha’s right, tha’s right—such a good fuckin’ girl—oh, baby—”
You need him. No other alpha can take care of you he would. It’s not enough that he fuck you, not enough that he make you come, not enough that he see you through your next heat, he has to—
Take it all for himself, every last fuckin’ inch of you his.
He bears down on you, scooping his arms under your back until there’s no space between you, chests pressed together.
His eyes zero in on it. The nodule of flesh at the crook of your neck. And his teeth itch like they’ve never itched before, too large for his mouth.
“Alpha—” you sob, squirming in his hold. “Alpha—too tight—”
He can’t respond. Mouth full of drool and teeth, fucking you harder than you should be fucked, cockhead trying to kiss your cervix with every thrust. He’d crawl inside of you if he could. His thrusts only slow when his knot finally catches, the pressure making you sob when he tries to pull out and he can’t, stuck inside you. Lazy grinds of his hips now, getting as deep as possible.
It’s a shock to his system so profound that he can’t stop shaking. His first knot—better than a ring, more binding than a marriage contract. The most basic, ancient covenant. Irrevocable.
And—it feels—
Indescribable. His thoughts leak from his ears like tar. Eager, fevered. Eyes fixed on your mating gland, dropping his head to get a better view. Better up close, so close that his teeth graze it every time he pants, so sharp that one wrong move and they’ll slice right through, one twitch and it’s game over—
You mewl and arch your chest, inadvertently thrusting your neck up too, so his canine drags across your gland—
mine mine mine mine mine mine
The beast under his skin has a name and it’s—
mine mine mine mine mine mine
(and his teeth just slipped, he’ll say when you ask)
Ah dinnae mean tae, doe, honest—
But ah’ll take care of ye—
You’ll never understand it, but there’s a beast that lives under his skin and it—
—yearns, craves, hungers, howls like its belly is still empty even after all this time, constantly aching no matter how much it’s fed—
Sometimes Johnny wonders if it’s like this for other alphas. Whether they crave their mates with the same intensity, the same burning need smoldering in their veins. He asks Price once and gets an answer that neither confirms nor denies.
All Johnny knows is that your legs shake when you follow him out of the gym, the employee behind the front desk not meeting his eyes. Better that he not. There’s still blood and come on his chin, his grey sweats stained at the crotch. You’re no better, shirtless under your puffy jacket, hat jammed on a bit too low on your head because he had to be the one to put you back together after taking you apart.
And though he’s sheepish on the drive home—because what’s his is yours now, and what’s yours is his—your car still back in the parking lot until he can get someone to pick it up in the morning, he wears guilt like sheep’s clothing. It doesn’t fit quite right.
“We’ll get ye a nice wedding gift tomorrow,” he placates when you huff, thumbing your swollen bottom lip at the next stoplight. It’s tempting to lean in and suck it into his mouth, even now.
“I’m gonna max out your fucking credit cards,” you mumble, scowling at him. Still, you wrap your lips around his thumb when he slips it into your mouth.
You cup your hand over your punctured mating gland in lieu of a bandage.
Johnny cackles. Man plans and God laughs.
In the distance, thunder rumbles and your head turns towards the sound that only you and he can hear.
#ceil writing#cod x reader#soap x reader#soap/reader#john mactavish x reader#john mactavish x you#john soap mactavish x reader
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They never should've given us the ability to track our delivery drivers as they're going along their route. Mr UPS im watching u drive further away pls pakige
#slugposting#stalking these poor mfs every 3 minutes#like i also dont think their every move should be monitored and tracked anyway. no doubt us being able to watch them is a#side effect of the greedy companies cracking down on the poor drivers human rights. i am a nosy hypocrite tho#anyway gimme pakige its my main source of dopamine for today
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It's 2031, and Hermitcraft Season 15 has just started.
DocM77 has created a machine that adds a new dimension. Zero mods, no resource packs, just redstone and glitches. He is using Netherite blocks for his redstone circuits.
JimmySolidarity joined two seasons ago, and has died first every time. He is very careful this season, but other Hermits kill him first on purpose.
TangoTek has built Decked Out 4 in the End. It is roughly four times the size of the main island, and the dragon has been captured and sealed in an obsidian box so that it will make a cool sound effect in one specific room.
SMajor joined five days ago, and he has already been in a fan-favourite duo with half the server. His Ao3 tag has quadrupled in size, and his tumblr tag is full of art vaguely shipping him with just about anyone with a face.
Pearl has been a landscaper, a janitor, a postmaster, an accountant, a bus driver, and a librarian. Running out of public service jobs, she has started showing up at people's houses in real life with teas and coffees. No one's sure how she gets there.
Etho's tissue box has finally disintegrated, and everyone is excitedly recommending him mic stands. He is trying to hide the fact that he has put an exact copy of the box in its place already.
Zombie Cleo has become so adept at manipulating armor stands that they can perfectly recreate literally anything. Including things that by all rights should not exist. New viewers occasionally complain about lovecraftian nightmares and mental issues after seeing them. Cleo and their older viewers laugh like it's an inside joke.
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