bamtomio7597

[bamtomio7597]

Before/after

[bamtomio7597]

Everyone who sees you and Simon has a different idea of who the parasite is. Because it’s got to be one of you, otherwise the whole damned world won’t make sense.

The people who see the way you smile after Simon punches the lights out of someone who hit on you at the bar, the way you heap shopping bags on him without a word– they figure that some conniving, pretty thing has taken an ugly, lonely dog and wrapped it around her little finger to do her bidding. Who would otherwise be with a beast like that unless they were getting something out of it? He’s a bit older, too. You’re probably milking him for all he’s got, and the poor bastard might even be aware, but he’s too desperate to stop it from happening. People have a miraculous way of pitying the thing that disgusts them– as if the disgusting thing ever asked. The disgusting thing would prefer to be neither disgusting nor pitied, but if it had to pick one? It would rather be disgusting.

The people who see Simon’s bruising grip around your waist, the way he grabs you by the hand and pulls you out of establishments, the way he grunts when you dote on him– they think poor thing. Letting a brute handle her like that. She probably has no self respect, thinks that she can’t do any better, is convinced that hurt and love are close bedfellows. Probably has a strained relationship with her parents, if there’s any at all. Probably too scared to leave. Bet he just grabbed the first soft thing he could see when he realized that he needed something to keep inside, to warm his bed, to make his tea, to bear the brunt of his feelings of impotence. You must be helpless and lost. You must cry yourself to sleep sometimes. You must know that one day he might rip something out that you can’t grow back.

In reality, they should be scared of your symbiosis. As if created by the philosopher’s stone, your bond was forged without sacrifice. The ultimate fulfillment in auto-cannibalism is unattainable, but you’ve figured out how to perpetually nourish and consume each other, a two-headed ouroboros. It was supposed to be Adam pulling free his rib to create his woman, not two anatomical dolls sitting on the floor together and exchanging plastic organs. 

You don’t like the pickles and he does, so you get to take your pickles off of your burger and he gets to have extra pickles.

[bamtomio7597]

So like how are the guys acting in the roommate au about their cute little roommate thinking about moving out now that they have the funds to live on their own? How they convincing us to stay? 👀

Live reaction:

On a more serious note- they are immediately alarmed 😭 think they might have done something to make you feel like that until you explain your reasoning for considering the idea, so they are immediately kinda just firmly telling you that you don’t need to consider it anymore.

You say you want to give them their own space? Okay, well, they want you in their space. You say you don’t want to bother them anymore? Okay well you were never bothering them in the first place where did that idea even come from. You want to give them their privacy back? Okay well they don’t want any privacy with you and so on and so forth lol.

“Not many places you can get that are as near to your college as here, too.”

“…How do you know that?”

“…pass me the salt, Kyle.”

“Yes, Cap.”

[bamtomio7597]

Phillip Graves x Reader who comes out only at night, smiling a little too wide for him to relax, never coming into the house, disappearing when he’s not looking.

Phillip Graves who starts living in Appalachians, a job forcing him and Shadows to go off the grid, forcing them into places with signs “tonight these mountains will be just as cold as they were 2,000 years ago”, his boys not in awe from the impromptu trip.

Old superstitions dying hard even in men like them.

Phillip who goes out for a smoke in the middle of the night and notices a pretty thing watching him.

Eyes too sharp, smile too wide, face a little too perfect. It makes his spine itch, it makes him want to curl in on himself, it makes him want to cry.

Reader that stalks just on the edge of their property, watching him and Shadows, making small talk with some of them. Asking their names.

Asking where they come from. Asking if they are alone.

Asking if anyone knows they are out here.

Reader who never actually comes close enough to properly look at them, always in the corner of their vision, slipping away when they try to look closer.

Careful and friendly, chirping “hey Phillip”, chirping “how’s it going, boys?”, chirping “you look good enough to eat”.

It puts Shadows at ease and grates on Graves’s nerves.

He doesn’t like not knowing things, not being able to look in your face too long, not being able to get answers.

But to actually look at them Phillip or his team would need to leave the premises of the house, the safety it for some reason grants.

It’s few weeks later when they get a little accustomed to the strange thing lurking outside, some of them going as far as to have a little flirty banter or share few jokes when out smoking.

After all, they never come close to the Reader and the Reader themselves are never outright hostile. Just unnerving. Smiling like they know how it ends.

Smiling like they are waiting for something.

Phillip doesn’t like it. Phillip doesn’t like it at all, he doesn’t like watching some of his men return half delirious after going out to “smoke” — eyes a little too wild, chests heaving, lips wet.

But there’s little they can actually do and as it was said, whoever pretty thing that took liking to his team and him is…they aren’t attacking.

But the tension is palpable in the air, cracking between all of them, like the storm is coming and the primal instinct deep inside of them makes them restless. That’s the only reason why Phillip gives a green light to drink a little.

Just enough to take the edge off. After all, they need to be alert and ready if anything was to go down.

But some of them have a little too much and it makes air a little too light, tension draining from shoulders, legs getting stretched out as they are trading salacious stories and good-natured jokes.

And in the heat of the moment, on the peak of fun — one of them whistles.

Sound cuts through the air like hot knife through the butter, sharp and high. A signal.

Multiple hands fly up quickly, old superstition to never whistle in the house especially not after sun goes down, rises their hackles.

And for a moment they don’t even notice another sound. A softer one.

Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Tap. Taptap. Tap-

It’s soft and rhythmic, vaguely familiar — pattern recognition kicking in when it repeats.

Pattern recognition kicks in before his sense does and Phillip feels a chill run down his spine, sharp intake of breath near him just a very unfortunate confirmation.

His men stare behind his back and god, he hates things like that, that’s why he doesn’t fucking watch horror movies, that’s why he lived as long as he did in his line of work.

But the tapping repeats when he doesn’t turn around, cold sliding to his fingers, cooling him off, blood pumping in his ears and he fucking hates the way his brain made connection before he consciously did. Because the tapping repeats and he knows what it means.

Tap. Tap. Taptap. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap-

Because the first thing they teach you is fucking Morse Code.

Phillip slowly turns around, finally able to see your face but it doesn’t feel like a victory.

It feels like defeat.

Because you are smiling too wide, eyes squinting from light — shadows on your face sharp and wrong and too fucking dark.

You tap a finger against the glass of their window again and Phillip forces himself not to look away, not to curl in on himself, not to wail because your smile splits your face and humans surely don’t have this many teeth.

Phillip finally knows what you were waiting for. Not for them to come out to you, not for them to slip and let you snatch them like naive lambs into the forest and stuff your belly.

You were waiting for an entirely different thing.

You tilt your head to the side, flashing him sharp points of your canines, leaning in, watching him through the glass.

Smile too wide and eyes too sharp, none of them moving a fucking inch of their bodies, blood flowing back to the head, leaving limbs cold and them shivering.

But you tap on the glass again. Soft, rhythmic sound that makes their hearts pound harder.

“Open up”

[bamtomio7597]

:0

Missionary with your fav military man, but his dog tags keep tapping you in the face, causing you to giggle. He scoffs and nips at you playfully before taking the chain in his teeth and thrusting even harder, fucking you up the bed in punishment

[bamtomio7597]

Are they cute in every universe

Hell yeah

Gladiator GhostSoap AU by @/SundayCat3 on Twitter

https://twitter.com/SundayCat3

[bamtomio7597]

very relatable, honestly.

Let it be known that if Simon "Ghost that is not nice" Riley is the voice of reason we're all in big trouble

[bamtomio7597]

When you got plushies on your bed and you’re abt to fuck

Gaz: is turning them around so they don’t see

Soap: is lining them up so they ALL see

Ghost: is shoving one under your hips so he can raise up your ass and fuck it

Price: is putting one in your arms so you can hold it and squeeze it when you’re overstimulated and squirming

Nik: putting it in your arms and involving it in the dirty talk tbh (“Carrotcake and I are so proud of you, milaya— taking papochka’s cock to the base like this. Did you fuck yourself in this bed while thinking of me, makýshka? Did your silly rabbit know what a slut you are for me before I did?”)

[bamtomio7597]

plushie violence

synopsis: the cod men abuse your plushies

ੈ✩‧₊˚gaz, ghost, soap, alejandro, rudy, graves, keegan

cw: none

an: lets ignore that it’s been over a month when i said a week…irl stuff got busy and my daredevil hyperfixation has been beating my ass 😔

masterlist

dividers from @/saradika-graphics :)

[bamtomio7597]

!! diff version under the cut !!

+ google drive link for easier download

i also made a google drive folder so it'd be easier for yall to print/download cards in case you wanna print em n etc

includes (both eng and ru): - og version (with kisses); - no kisses version; - empty card

IDK IF KISSES SUIT HIM OR NAH SOOO YEAA

+ empty ver in case you wanna write sth else

[bamtomio7597]

Omegaverse

all my omegaverse works!

Standalone Oneshots:

Alpha Price x Omega Reader

Omega 141 x Alpha Reader

Omega Simon x Omega Reader (background poly 141)

141 x Trauma Bonded Reader

Sensitive Nose

Designationless Reader x Poly 141:

Original Concept

Possessive Behaviour

To be Seen is to be Loved

After-Missions

First Time in a Nest

Bad Mission

Personalized Pheromone Perfume

Childhood Box

Phantom Scenting

Candles

Good pack

Synthetic Scent Procedure

Slighty Showing

Neglected Omega Reader

Neglected Omega Reader x 141

Fluff Take

Hurt/No Comfort Take

KorTac Steps in

Emotional Support Omega Reader

ES Omega Reader x 141

Es Omega Reader x 141 p2

Social Butterfly's Yearning

[bamtomio7597]

(More of designationless reader based on this idea)

You had always been less.

Less noticeable, less intrusive, less of a presence that mattered, and you learned early on that your family didn’t want you too close. Their scents were for each other, their touches were reserved for those who belonged. You were something other, something they tolerated rather than accepted.

It started small- your mother shifting away when you tried to curl up beside her, your father keeping his voice clipped, distant, like warmth was something you hadn’t earned. Then it became something more. You weren’t allowed in the nest, weren’t allowed to linger where they laid together in a comforting tangle of limbs and scents. You could watch from the doorway, but never enter. Could exist near, but never within.

And so, your body adapted to your family- and now it it was adapting to your pack.

Once more, it started with small things.

The way Ghost would stand a little closer than usual, his hulking body looming just within reach. The way Gaz would brush his fingers over your wrist whenever he passed by, lingering like he was trying to confirm something, brows furrowed. The way Soap had developed the sudden habit of hooking his chin over your shoulder, inhaling deeply before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.

You thought nothing of it at first. They were tactile- it wasn’t unusual for them to be close, to press up against you like you had a scent they could bury themselves in. You had never complained about it before, so you assumed it was just… normal.

But then Price had done it.

He wasn’t the type to be overly affectionate- comforting, yes, steady and there,, but not one for unnecessary touches even if sometimes he’d hold you tight and close. And yet, when you had handed him a cup of coffee that morning, he had taken it and your wrist, holding you still for just a moment too long. His fingers had tightened, just slightly, like he was resisting the urge to pull you closer. His nose flared subtly, lips parting before he let you go with a slow exhale.

You frowned at him, but he only took a sip of his coffee and looked away like nothing had happened.

It started escalating after that- after you joined their nest and arms regularly of your own will.

Ghost wasn’t just standing close anymore- he was standing behind you, his chin nearly brushing the crown of your head as if debating whether to bury his nose there. Soap had stopped using pillows entirely, opting instead to just tuck himself against your side, his face pressed somewhere against your shoulder, your throat, your hair. Gaz had taken to curling around you when you were sitting together, nuzzling shamelessly, inhaling against the skin of your neck like he was trying to memorize something.

And the worst part?

You could feel it.

There had always been something missing, something hollow where others had instincts- some part of you that had never quite woken up. You had learned to live without it, learned to ignore the way packs moved around you instead of with you, the way scent markers never quite stuck no matter how much time you spent pressed into someone’s arms. You had long since accepted that whatever part of you was supposed to respond to this kind of attention had simply been burned out of you long ago.

But now-

Now there was something stirring, something faint and new and wrong.

A deep itch beneath your skin, something that made your stomach curl and your head swim every time one of them leaned in close. Something that made the back of your throat tickle whenever you rested with them, calm and content.

It wasn’t a scent, not really- more like the promise of one, something so faint and elusive that even you couldn’t quite catch it.

But they could, because they had noticed before you did.

That much became painfully clear when Ghost backed you into the corner of the common room one evening, pressing close, his head tilting as he breathed deep, slow, deliberate.

“…The hell are you doing?” Your voice came out unsteady, but he didn’t move, only leaned in closer, eyes dark and fixated like he was trying to map something beneath your skin.

“You smell different.” He murmured.

Your heart lurched.

“No, I don’t. I don’t have any smell.”

Ghost just huffed, a sound that was almost a growl, but not quite. Behind him, Soap shifted where he sat, his nose scrunching, his brow furrowed like something was bothering him.

“I noticed it too,” Gaz muttered. “It’s… new. But it’s there.”

Price had been silent up until that point, but when he finally spoke, his voice was careful.

“…It’s not strong.” His gaze pinned you, assessing, like he was searching for something just out of reach. “But it’s there, love.”

Your stomach twisted.

You had lived your whole life thinking you were empty, thinking you had simply been born wrong. And now-

Now they were telling you it had been there the whole time?

You- you couldn’t believe it. You refused to believe it, refused to accept it after everything, but-

That night, you barely got a moment to yourself.

Ghost wasn’t just standing close anymore- he was practically wrapped around you, his face pressed against your throat, his breath hot and deep as he inhaled in his sleep, mouthing at your neck. Soap was sprawled over your stomach, arms locked around your waist, while Gaz had curled up at your side, face tucked into your shoulder. Even John, John, who had never been one for unnecessary indulgence, had you caged, his body curled around the entire mess of you, nose buried in your hair, lips pressed against your temple.

It was suffocating. It was overwhelming.

It was the safest you had ever felt in your life.

Omegaverse Masterlist

[bamtomio7597]

oh my god.

“oh i’m a feminist. i wanna put a woman on top. and on the back, on her knees”

[bamtomio7597]

diff version under the cut :P

+ empty ver in case you wanna write sth else

[bamtomio7597]

need help, L.T?

[bamtomio7597]

Azrael!

[bamtomio7597]

Price and ghostprice requests for garrick and frankie, thank you.. 🩶🫡

(Reporting back from mission over the years:)