hypers-omniac

[hypers-omniac]

I love this idea! But I know it would also be super taxing and stuff. I’m not sure what you’d even write about at a certain point, but your creativity has managed to surprise me every time. <3

What if I just kept CRCB going forever?

[hypers-omniac]

Simon has dinner

Literally I don't know what this is I just got horny

18+

CW: simon eats you out, squirting, idk

Placing the window in front of the stove was a good choice, you think—especially since your kitchen faces west. The sun kisses your skin as it sets at the horizon, only countryside stretching before your eyes.

You're lost in your head, mindlessly stirring dinner with a wooden spoon. Red lentils, bit of coconut milk, spinach—a recipe you found online and couldn't wait to try.

Arms wrap around your waist loosely, out of the blue—appearing so suddenly that you can't help but jump on the spot.

Heart in your throat, you turn your head to look behind you in horror—

—but you're met with a smirk blooming on scarred cheek. Quickly, Simon hides it in the crook of your neck—stubble coarse against the thinner skin there, though he soon soothes the irritation with apologetic kisses.

"Scared me shitless." You breathe a chuckle, dropping your spoon on the counter. "Asshole."

He only huffs. "Sorry."

Big hands feel you up, from the curves of your stomach to the silhouette of your hips. They reach upwards, thumb at your nipple as his palm follows the soft arch of your breast. Squeezing, feeling its weight in his hand and how it delightfully dimples under the pads of his fingers.

"Bit hungry, love" he whispers, mouth kissing the shell of your ear.

No matter how often you giggle and swat him away, or say that dinner’s just about ready—he won't let go until he's satisfied. 

And you know how rare that instance is.

Which is why his hand sneakily turns off the stove.

Which is why those subtle kisses on your neck turn open and awfully patient; teeth at your jugular, bites assuaged by his tongue a moment later.

Which is why you're panting, now, naked with your ass flush to the kitchen island—clothes hanging from the back of a chair, or crumpled on the kitchen floor. 

Simon crouches before you, head already buried between your thighs.

He encourages your hands to pull at his hair, guiding your fingers to fist his curls. Encourages your moans to grow louder, because he didn't buy this cottage deep in the countryside for you to be afraid of waking up neighbours that don't exist.

He sucks on your clit, laps at your cunt until he can hear your cries grow breathy, until you fall quiet—only gasping for air.

He fits a finger inside. Then two. Sucks and licks and pumps you stuffed and full with three. Your heels digging at his back, your thighs closing in around his head. Gorgeous pressure—even if it cottons his ears, muffles your voice.

He can live with that. Feels like a right bargain.

It's probably less than a handful of minutes before you're cumming on his tongue. 

He pushes in—inhales, the bastard. Takes out his fingers and replaces his tongue, effortlessly sliding over your clit to prolong your orgasm for as long as he can.

Licks over and through them to taste the juices you drip, those that you spray. Ecstatic when you do, holding onto your thigh something fierce—like he won the moment he started drowning between your legs.

Until you're a puddle on the table, dizzy and slack. Gooey limbs draped over his shoulders, blood like syrup pumping slowly down to the tips of your toes.

He looks up at you, cheeks wet and mouth smiling the loveliest smile and yet still the cheekiest of smirks. Tenderly, you draw its outline with your thumb.

“Still peckish?” You ask with the same tease you see in his eyes.

He scoffs and turns his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, where your flesh is softer and streaked with silver lines.

"Nah," he shrugs. "Ate loads."

You snort, something between embarrassment, disgust and utmost fondness riddled in your tone.

"Oh my God, Simon."

Gently, you nudge him with your foot, hooking the arch at his shoulder. He catches it. Softly kisses your ankle through his smile, huffing a breathy laugh.

He leaves his hand there, draped over your shin—smoothing slow lines all the way to your toes, up and down, in a soothing fashion.

"Reckon bed's sounding better than dinner right now." He murmurs to your skin, leaving pecks to the side of your foot. "What d'you think?"

You shake your head fondly with a quiet chuckle.

Simon won't let go until he's satisfied—and you know, always have, that those instances are rare.

And he proves you right every single time.

Alas, dinner can wait. Takeout is always an option, after all.

You jump down the kitchen island—can't even land on your feet that he already has his hands wrapped solidly around your thighs.

He stands up, and brings you with him.

You kiss his cheek. "Reckon it does."

[hypers-omniac]

The men working on his crew today are too loud, too boisterous, too young, too content to stand around blabbering, taking the piss instead of doing their actual jobs

Getting into construction work following retirement from the SAS wasn’t exactly the idyllic image of sipping a daiquiri on the beach that his thick stack of discharge papers had painted in his head

But it kept his hands occupied and his mind busy, his daily stressors having shifted from cleaning blood out of his gear and patching broken bones every other day, to instead complaining about the rising price of lumber and pulling splinters out on occasion

Trading in his AR for a nail gun, swapping his tac vest for a tool belt, even turning in his skull mask for a hard hat, was surprisingly an easier adjustment than he’d predicted, the long hours and physical work meant he was too exhausted by the time he got home to spend much time doing anything other than preparing for the next day, a never ending cycle that kept him from being still for too long

It might have been some time since Simon Riley was on a battlefield, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still play the hero every once in a while

He’s stood at the top of a ladder, wiping the sweat off his brow as his other hand pats agains this tool belt, searching for the one tool he’s certain he forgot to bring up with him

“Pass me the claw head hammer will y-” Simon cuts himself off from asking the lad stood below him, when he notices he’s only talking to himself. Squinting through the glare of the afternoon sun shining in his eyes, he glances around the job site until he spots most of his crew gathered near the front gates

He rolls his eyes to himself as he begins making his way back down to solid ground, having spotted what had the men so distracted : a pretty bird stood on the other side of the fence

Simon can admit to himself, even he likes to partake in the occasional bird watching, he is just a man at the end of the day, but not when there’s work to be done, and they’re already more than a week behind on this job

“Alright you tossers, back to it!” He shouts to be heard over the group of men, a chorus of groans and grumbles echoing out before they’re slowly dispersing

“Ach, we were jus’ helpin ‘er out, sir!” A man who sounds like he’s been smoking all his life croaks out as he walks by

“Here, miss. He’s the one that might be able to give you an answer.” One of the younger men on the crew says, pointing a gloved hand in Simon’s direction

He follows the younger man’s gaze, expecting to find another curious bystander peeking at the work, perhaps a nosy neighbour who wants to know why such a mess is being made, hell maybe even one of the hens from the nearby college stopping by for a quick flirt

He’s prepared to offer a professional nod, maybe even a begrudging ‘Alright?’ if it appeases them, before he’ll be excusing himself back to the job, uninterested in getting home any later tonight than he already has to just to entertain some stranger

But of course, he doesn’t end up doing so, does he? Not when his hand comes up to block out the sun, his gaze peering through the chain link fence, and it’s you that his eyes land on

You, with your wide eyes fighting to appear confident, though the controlled panic running through them is clear to see from where Simon stands a few feet away from you

Your body tense as you push a small pram in place back and forth, back and forth, your attention jumping between the men and whoever must be tucked up under a pile of blankets in the stroller, presumably also the reason for your enticingly large cleavage, he allows himself think for a split second before averting his gaze

Simon sends the younger man away with a quick jut of his chin, before he’s taking a careful step towards you

“Wha’ can I help you with?” He tries in vain to mask the usual harshness in his tone, but with such a quick switch in his emotions it doesn’t come out sounding quite how he’d hoped, yet you don’t flinch away from him either

“I know-” you let out a frustrated breath, readjusting your grip on the pram’s handle as you steady yourself, locking eyes with his once again with a new vigour behind them this time around. “I know this is so silly of me, and I’m sure you’ve had lots of people botherin’ you, so uh, sorry for bein’ one of ‘em, but here I am.”

You let out a small chuckle to yourself, more self deprecating than anything else, but Simon finds himself offering the slightest bit of a smile in return, if only to ease your nerves

“Anyways, I can imagine you’re probably not allowed to tell but, uh, people have been saying this might be a daycare you’re building here.”

He knew what your question was going to be long before you’d opened your pretty mouth- everyone and their mother had been asking about the project

Limited childcare in the area meant that as soon as the first whispers of a new daycare being built had started to spread, parents and even parents to be had been poking their noses before shovels had even hit the ground

Opening his mouth to give you the same answer he’d given everyone before you, Simon finds the words dying on his tongue as the unmistakable sound of an upset baby comes from the pram, and a very small baby at that

“Shh, shh darling. It’s okay, baby. You’re alright, shh.” He can’t find it in himself not to step closer until he’s practically got his nose poking through the fence to get nearer to you both, eyes glued to the way your lips formed the sweet soothing words, peering towards the increasingly squirming bundle tucked away in the pram

“Tha’s a tiny one.” Simon practically whispers to himself, though he knows you’ve heard him when your eyes glance up to meet his. “Can’t be very old.” He remembers how small his nephew had been when he’d been born, and recognized that distinct newborn cry instantly.

“Just turned eight weeks.” You answer with a ghost of a proud smile dancing across your lips quickly as you gaze at your bundle of joy, a tidbit of information you would expect a new parent would be all too happy to talk about, though the elation quickly disappears from your face. “Unfortunately my job is uh, I have to go back to work soon, I’ve just really been needing to find a spot for her somewhere.”

“Have you told your boss to sod off?” He asks, biceps bulging as he crosses his arms and leans a shoulder against the fence. He doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like the idea of a pretty little bird being all worked up and stressed about finding her new little baby bird somewhere to stay because her job is trying to force her to come back so soon

He also recognizes the fact that he doesn’t know you, that you’ve been a stranger to him up until about 60 seconds ago, and that he shouldn’t go involving himself in things that don’t regard him, but there’s something about this, something about you, that has him asking more questions that he should

Simon hardly realizes the corners of his mouth trying to smile along when you let out a small chuckle at his question, before your answer has him set back into his usual scowl. “No, I wish it were that simple.” you try to laugh again, though the sound doesn’t quite reach your eyes as you push some hair out of your eyes, Simon’s fingers twitching at his side

“No, they’re not forcing me to come back, it’s more of a- I need to work again. Money doesn’t exactly make itself, and it’s just me and her so…” you trail off, offering a meek shrug before you avert your gaze from his and go to fiddle with the baby blankets. “There- there just aren’t any daycare spots anywhere, and the waiting lists are months if not years long. And she and I just don’t pass through this neighbourhood often, so I’m worried that once that sign goes up announcing this is a daycare, that the spots are going to be taken up before I even have a chance to-”

“S’alrigh, s’alright.” Simon interrupts your rambling, a hand raised slightly in the air as though you were a spooked animal he hoped to calm. having heard everything he needed to hear. You look up at him with such sincerity in your eyes, he can tell you would do anything for that baby, that you likely aren’t above begging and pleading at this point, alone with a baby and short on options, he knows what he’ll do. Had pretty much made up his mind soon as he saw you, but now he’s decided.

“Just you and her, you said?” He asks quietly, absentmindedly nodding along with you when you confirm his question. “Well, I mean, I can tell ye that yes, this is meant to be a daycare ‘ere.” He speaks hesitantly, watching as the hope builds in your eyes at his words. He brings a sweaty palm up to rub the back of his neck as he breaks the news to you.

“But I couldn’t tell ye anythin’ about who we’re buildin’ for, love.” He continues, the term of endearment slipping past his lips unconsciously. “They just give us the blueprints and we do our part. Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout what or who’s takin ownership.” He watches that same sliver of hope that had started to grow quickly be snuffed out as you take in what he means.

“Oh. Well, I guess it makes sense.” You reply, evidently disappointed but too kind to push, too used to the recent defeats to expect anything else. “Thank you anyways, really. I appreciate you-”

“I’ll find out.” Simon says quickly, preventing you from bidding him whatever goodbye you were about to give him, keeping you here just a little longer.

“W-what?”

“I’ll find out. Who we’re building for. I’ll find you a name.”

“I- I- I don’t even- you really don’t have to do that!”

“Doesn’t matter what I have to do. I want to. So I will.”

He watches your face carefully now, seeing how you glance up at him with a different sort of apprehension in your gaze, almost like you’re truly taking him in for the first time, discovering something you weren’t expecting to find in him.

“Well, thank you. Truly.” You tell him, a smile so genuine gracing your lips that Simon finds himself choosing to smile back at you. The moment doesn’t last long however, when the baby starts to fuss again, your attention being drawn back to her. “I know baby, I know. I’ve got to feed you soon.”

Simon can’t help the deep blush that creeps up his neck and across his cheeks, unsure if it’s the way he enjoyed hearing you say ‘I know baby, I know’ a little too much or the idea of his own lips helping to ease that heavy ache in your swollen breasts that has him momentarily flustered.

“Maybe I could-” he clears his throat, pointedly avoiding looking at your chest and maintaining eye contact instead. “Maybe I could get your number or email or somethin’, to get back to you that is.”

“Oh! Yes of course! Here,” you say, digging through your pockets until you fish out a wadded up receipt. Simon pulls the pencil that’d been resting over his ear down and gently slips it through the fence over to you, watching with rapt attention as you bring the tip to the paper and write down what might be the most important numbers Simon ever learns. “There’s my number.”

He takes the pencil back from you and carefully accepts the paper you hand him, looking down at the name and smiley face you’ve left as well, whispering your name to himself before meeting your eyes once more. Before he can change his mind, Simon is tearing off the end of the receipt that’s still blank, and begins writing down his own name and number on it.

“If I don’t get back to you by the end of the week, you use tha’ to knock some sense into me, alrigh’?” He asks, slipping you the paper. He knows there isn’t a chance in hell he would forget about reaching out to you, about following through on this, but again, there’s something about you he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Thank you, Simon.” You answer, reading the name off the note he’s just given you, a small chill running down his spine at the sound of his name leaving your lips, the way you say it like it’s a name worth knowing. “Seriously, I can’t even tell you wha-”

The both of you can’t help but chuckle together when the baby’s cries cut you off again, you offering a sheepish smile in apology along with a small shrug of ‘what can you do?’.

“I’ll let you go, someone needs you more.”

“Well, we’re both very grateful to you, Simon.”

He stands there longer than he really should, watching the two of you walk off until you’re out of sight. The note you slipped him though? Well, that he holds onto until he’s clocking out, and maybe on the drive home as well, and maybe it’s the first thing to ever be hung up on his fridge in his flat, that little smiley face reminding him why a little bird watching isn’t so bad after all

I dunno ladies is this something???

[hypers-omniac]

Ugh something something lovesick hopeless romantic reader who is so scared of romance

She hates herself when she first starts to notice it, bubbles of dread and guilt simmering low in her gut and crawling through her esophagus until it feels like she’s choking on it. The playful banter over comms suddenly feels like it might crawl onto her skin, a spider with legs of needles creeping along her goose-pilled flesh.

But it’s not her fault she just wants to kiss him better. To card her fingers through his hair, let her thumbs trace shapes into his face until her palms memorize his skin. It really isn’t her fault, right? So she just sits there, quiet, and thinks about the way the sun would hit the back of his irises. Never gathering the courage or the general want to ask him. Because how could she?

How could she asked to be loved in return?

[hypers-omniac]

What'd they throw you in for?

Sexualizing fictional war criminals

[hypers-omniac]

I’ve returned from the fucking dead. Sorry. I hid tumblr because all I do is GOON on this app and it was out of sight, out of mind for a few months. I hiding it now because I miss reading and being happy. Maybe I’ll write smth who knows

[hypers-omniac]

Simon having a Jacob’s ladder is my Roman Empire ilysm core ty

In Limbo [Chapter 16]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

brick by brick

cw: mention of Simon's past (domestic violence, child abuse, attempted drowning), mention of Chip's discomfort with Marco

wc: 4.1k

“So… we talkin’ about Marco and Andrei or…?” 

Simon’s neck hurts. Painfully tense from spending the last handful of nights sleeping on the couch rather than in his bed. It’s a symptom of your skittish tendencies. You’re still keeping an awkward distance from him, which he knows he can’t entirely blame you for. It’s a lot to soak in. His job — the things he’s done. You’re still talkative — at least, not any less than usual — but you’re still hiding. Still making sense of this new mess you’ve found yourself in. So, he gives you the bed.

He rubs at the back of his neck with rigid fingers as he swivels in the computer chair next to Johnny. If he’s lucky, he can work the knots out before they root deep enough to form a migraine. Tight tendons pull at the base of his skull, and they don’t seem to want to relent. The dim incandescence of the security room helps stave off the beast, but the question posed to him only pokes the bear. 

“What’s there to talk about?” Simon’s playing dumb. Even the mere thought of Marco is enough to make his brain throb uncomfortably in his skull. He’d rather snuff this conversation out before it truly begins.

“Aye, I see,” Johnny hums. He eyes the handful of monitors in front of him before spinning around in his chair. “So we’re pretending I never saw anything on the cams?” 

“Would appreciate it,” Simon huffs. His hand falls away from his neck as he tilts his head to either side. There’s a sharp click that accompanies the movement, followed by a sigh. “Don’t need this getting out, yeah? I promised her that I’d keep it between us.” 

Johnny nods. “So, I suppose you wanna keep Price in the dark too?” 

The reply that burns the tip of Simon’s tongue hardly seems to come from a sound mind. Lie to John Price. The John Price. As if his family hasn’t been known for snuffing out undesirables for generations — for keeping the streets safe for those who would otherwise be crushed under steel toed boots. The same boot you’re currently pinned under. He thinks back to the other day and the tears that pooled in your eyes; the fracturing of your voice as you all but begged him not to tell John. 

Or worse; Row.

How did his allegiance switch so abruptly? So violently that an omission of truth suddenly becomes easy if he does it for you? 

“Don’t mention it to anyone. Price included,” Simon confirms. 

Johnny is a good man. An honest one. So much so that his discomfort manifests in the minute clenching of his jaw at the thought of telling such a lie. “Is she safe at least?” 

Safe. Simon thinks about it. You. Curled up in his bed wearing nothing but a plain t-shirt, burrowed beneath heaps of blankets. You’ve been sleeping non-stop lately, like you’ve got a deficit you’re attempting to catch up on. He lets you curl up like a cat and nap the days and nights away, because if you’re comfortable enough to sleep around him, then that must mean something. Something good. 

“She’s stayin’ with me,” Simon shares. “Probably will be for a while.” 

“Ah.” Johnny’s chair squeaks as he leans back. “So… you two official, then?” 

Simon pauses, head tilting to the side. “You’re a funny man.” 

A cheeky remark flits across Johnny’s tongue, but the words are lost on Simon’s ears. His phone buzzes in the pocket of his jeans, and his heart skips a beat. There’s no hesitation in retrieving his phone and allowing the screen to illuminate his face with a text message from you. 

i’m learning new tricks (: 

Your message is quickly followed by a picture. You’ve captured an image of the string you always play cat's cradle with, laid out flat on the coffee table in his living room. It’s in a design he doesn’t recognize. Form fuzzy without fingers holding it taut, but he’s still able to make out the lattice-like rectangle that swirls in the picture. 

it looks better when i’m actually holding it. fun to do!

Simon tries to hide his smile.

Looks great sweetheart.

A playful scoff pulls Simon’s attention away from his phone. He looks up just in time to catch the tail end of Johnny’s rolling eyes before he twists his chair back around to look at the monitors. 

“Aye, right. I’m the funny one,” he mutters, sarcasm dripping from his words. 

Another message from you has him ignoring the man. 

it’s called jacob’s ladder

Simon has to blink several times in order to clear his vision. He rereads your message, convinced he’s seeing it wrong, but nothing changes. Each word is still the same — all the way down to the name. 

Didn’t know they had string versions of that. 

It’s impossible to hide his mirth. That sly chuckle that seeps from his chest as he stares at the screen, waiting for your response. Simon is a simple man. He likes his jokes, no matter how debauched they are. 

i don’t get it

Somehow, he’s not surprised. His fingers hover over the screen as he contemplates his answer. 

I’ll tell you when you’re older. 

Muffled music swells to a crescendo, only to quickly diminish into a hush as the door opens and closes. John Price enters the room with broad shoulders swaying, but it’s impossible for him to hide his exhaustion. He’s jetlagged, and obviously so. Enervation gnaws at the heels of his feet as he strides into the room, bags pulling at his eyes. Still, he manages a smile as Johnny swivels around to greet the boss. 

“Evening boys.” Despite his weariness, his voice is as gruff and sonorous as usual. 

“Missed you, boss,” Johnny teases. “How was your holiday?” 

“Warm,” John chuckles. 

“Looks like you got a bit of color, too,” Simon notes. 

Laughing, John rubs the tip of his rosy nose. He pretends not to notice the slight peeling of his skin. “Like I said; warm. Warm, sunny, and a hell of a lot better than London in December.” 

For a short moment, his eyes flicker to the rows of monitors behind Johnny. Black and white footage of clubbers dancing illuminate the tight space of the room. The building is packed, almost alarmingly so. Full to the brim of tired uni students with nothing better to do over their break, they dance the night away as the New Year approaches.

“And you boys? Got some good R&R, I hope,” John asks, arms crossing over his chest. 

“Well, Lucy was stuck working again,” Johnny sighs. His fingers are buzzing; tapping his knees like he’d rather be clacking away at a keyboard than having this conversation. 

“Hospital hardly lets her catch a breather,” John notes. 

“Aye, but she likes it that way.”

“Course. And you, Simon?” 

His phone buzzes just as the attention is turned on him, but he doesn’t dare look down at his screen. Instead, he nods his head as he adjusts himself on the faux plastic leather seats of the office chair. 

“Yeah. Good. Manchester was cold as hell, but we survived,” he explains coolly. 

“Chip like it?” John continues.

“Her and Joey got along well,” Simon humors. 

“And your brother? Doing well?”

Simon nods. “Happiest I’ve ever seen ‘im.” 

This feels like an interrogation. An uncomfortable insight into his life that he usually doesn’t offer up willingly. For a moment, Simon’s guilty conscience gets the better of him. Has him feeling as thin as cellophane, and he nearly melts under the heat until he realizes John’s looking at him the same way he did all those years ago in that pool house. Hidden away in the locker room, offering him a job. Earnest and amicable.

This is the furthest thing from an interrogation. It’s rapport building. This is the man who has broken jaws to keep children safe and spilt blood over the smallest of cuts on women. John’s known you much longer than Simon has, and he’s simply checking in on the very man he helped save all those years ago. Muscles melting, Simon allows himself to take a proper breath. 

“Glad to hear he’s keepin’ clean,” John praises. “Either of you heard from Kyle?”

Johnny chuckles. “Nothin’ but moaning and groaning. Still hungover from mummy’s Christmas party. Fuckin’ lightweight.”

“I’d self medicate to get through that bureaucratic bullshit too,” Simon chuckles.

Halfway through his sentence, John’s phone begins to buzz. Loud; obnoxious; incessant — a phone call. His sigh is heavy and tense as he retrieves the item from his pocket. His thumb nearly goes to ignore the call until he reads the ID at the top of the screen. 

“Wife calling you home?” Johnny teases. 

“We’ll see,” he chuckles. 

His laughter dies in his throat the moment he answers the call and Row is sobbing on the other end. 

The world continues to rage around them as the room falls into silence. Row’s wailing cuts through the room; bounces off the walls like her voice is nothing more than a toy to be tossed around. Johnny and Simon share a look — wide eyes framed by furrowed brows — while John attempts to calm her. His head dips as his free hand rubs at the back of his neck; a stress response Simon has rarely seen in the man. 

There are a few words that cut through the static of the call, each of them framed by blood curdling cries:

John — please — I can’t do this — not again — I can’t.

There’s an attempt at diffusing the situation. Of gently cooing into the phone, of asking what’s wrong, but nothing calms her. It’s all tears and painful laments that he can’t seem to quell. John doesn’t bother to give either of the boys a second glance before he’s ducking back out the door. Music swells, then quickly dies. Neither of them speak. They just sit in their chairs with Row’s cries echoing in their minds. 

“The last time I heard her cry like that was when her ex-fiancé cheated on her,” Johnny mumbles to himself. He pauses as he looks at Simon; he’s still staring at the door. “Think everything’s alright?” 

“Yeah,” Simon responds after a pause. “If not, we’ll know soon.” 

His tone is even — strong and unwavering — but the truth is, Simon hates the sound of crying. It makes his teeth ache as if he’s scraped his fingernails on a chalkboard. He’s reminded of his mother. Even after all these years her screams haunt him as she braces for the unforgiving impact of a closed fist against her face. He sees her crumpled form on the kitchen floor. A trembling hand covering her eye. 

It reminds him of himself as a child. Pathetic pules and sputtering echoing off the bathroom walls as he begs and screams. High pitched and prepubescent. Water sloshing. Feet kicking. His father always hated the sound of him — every sniffle, every blubber, every cough — and he eventually grew to hate it too until even the sound of his own breathing infuriated him.

Worst of all, it reminds him of you. In the midst of your trashed apartment, hardly able to get a full breath in, tears streaming down your face — terrified. Prattling. Rambling. Hit with an unforgiving concoction of grief and fear; his stomach churns at the mere memory of you trembling against him. 

Pushing it out of his mind, Simon brings his attention back to his phone — back to you. Everything melts away — Row’s cries, the music pounding just beyond the door — and for a moment it’s just him and the notification flashing on his screen. 

i just googled it. the ribbon and woodblock toy, right? jacob’s ladder? i forgot those existed haha

It’s past three in the morning by the time he gets home. You’ve left the kitchen light on for him. He doesn’t know why, but that makes his heart wrench. 

You’re the first thing he checks on. He doesn’t even bother to take his shoes off at the door. The very moment the deadbolt latches behind him, he’s peeking into the bedroom through the gap in the door. Snug, you’re buried under his comforter, head hardly visible as you burrow your face into the pillow. For a moment, he stands there and watches you with nothing but a sliver of light seeping through the doorway to illuminate you. 

Safe. Comfortable. Sleeping. 

Retreating away from the door, Simon hides himself away in the living room. He’s forgotten to lay out clothes to change into, and he curses the idea of sleeping in his jeans as he sinks into the couch. The cushions are flattened. Morphed into the shape of his body after a near week of using it as a makeshift bed. A jolt of electricity shoots through his neck, like his body is already anticipating the ache.

He tosses his arm over the back of the couch as he mindlessly flips through programs on the television. Usually, he’s able to sleep without white noise, but these days it’s hard to get any rest at all. There’s money to save up, debts to pay. A sharp pang echoes throughout his knuckles. It throbs like a heart quivering with memory, and he attempts to quell it by flexing his fingers. It’s a symptom of a larger beast. Of something that demands blood — thirsty for penance.

An eye for an eye. 

He’s satiated this type of reprobate before, and he’ll do it again in due time.

Anything for you.

A nature documentary is Simon’s choice of white noise for the night. Auburn fur blurs on the screen as a red fox bounds along the environs of lush woodlands. Its thin snout pokes up in the air where a wet nose dances with short and sharp inhales. Simon smiles as the narrator — a man with an overly posh accent — drones on about the critter's life. 

As he goes to place the remote on the coffee table, he spots a piece of string. It’s tied in a circle, just about as long as his forearm. Worn fibers fray with years of use, yet it holds strong — well loved. Curious, he picks it up. He thinks about the pictures you sent him that evening. How proud you were of the new trick you learned. How your first instinct was to tell him about it. 

Careful fingers wrap the string around his own hands as he sets up a round of cat's cradle. It’s easy enough — a simple slip of his middle fingers — but he doesn't know how to continue. Hazy memories attempt to surface in his mind as he thinks of your hands. How your fingers moved and danced to manipulate the string so effortlessly. Practiced to the point you can do it without proper thought. 

He tries to move his thumbs. It’s what he recalls you doing, anyway. Weave them between thin lines of string until it feels firm and secure. 

When he drops his pinkies, he’s left with nothing but a knot. 

“Si?”

He doesn’t hear you approach. Doesn’t hear the squeak of the bedroom door or the creak of the floorboards — you appear like an angel swathed in the light of the TV. Freshly awoken and rubbing your eyes, he wants to lay you down. Needs to pull thick blankets over your body and let you get the rest you deserve. It’s an odd urge to feel; one he doesn’t quite understand. Instead, he pulls the string off of his fingers and places it back on the table where he found it. 

“Did I wake you?” he asks. 

Your prostration temporarily clouds your mind, forcing your brows to furrow at his question. He watches as you mull his words over in your mind, then shake your head. 

“No.” The fox on screen begins to cry out some melancholic tune neither of you can decipher, and still your eyes don’t leave Simon. In fact, you stare at him for so long he begins to question the state of your consciousness. “Will you come to bed with me?” 

Simon has to bite his tongue to keep his response from spewing out of his mouth too quickly. His hands reach for the remote where he kills power to the TV. A stillness stretches between the two of you — you swear you can hear him breathe. 

“‘Course.” 

Eager to get out of his jeans, Simon shucks them off in favor of sweatpants while you mindlessly climb back into bed. He’s hardly able to settle in next to you before you’re clamoring for him. Hands pawing at his chest as you nuzzle against his side — he would chuckle if it didn’t make his heart swell to the point of bursting. Arm wrapped around you, he holds you close as he drags the blankets up where he tucks them underneath your chin. 

As you mumble quiet goodnights to one another, and your body goes still, Simon can’t help but think he could die like this. With you in his arms. With you here at his house leaving lights on for him to come home to. Sending him texts while he’s at work. Pictures of things you’re proud of; of things that make you happy. Perhaps that’s what he’s been missing all these years. Someone to take care of. Or, maybe it’s just you. God, he could die like this—

—but really, he’d rather live like this. 

When morning dawns, and pale light seeps through the curtains, Simon is awoken by gentle fingers. Convinced he’s dreaming, he revels in the feeling. Nails carefully ghosting the line of stubble on his jaw, working up, up, up into his hair. Weaving between the short strands, rubbing into his scalp. He’s reminded of the way his mother used to wash him up as a child. Too scared to fit into the tub; leaning over the side instead as she rinses his hair clean of suds.

Refusing to stir, he lays there for a while longer. It would be a lie to say he hasn’t had an appetency for this; for you. Your warmth against his side and your head on his chest, just like things were back in Manchester. That strange longing still has a hold on him. This strange affliction that not even sleep can shake off. It haunts him. Curls up tight at the side of his feet and sits with him like a cat that’s suddenly decided that his body is its home now. 

“You’re awake,” you note. 

He allows his eyes to flutter open when you speak, and his chest expands with a tired sigh. “Am I?” 

Movement ceasing, your fingers leave his hair and Simon almost reaches for you to put them back. “Your heartbeat changed,” you explain. 

Even the mere mention of it has his heart racing. You’ve been listening to it for quite some time this morning, counting each slow and steady beat as it drums against your cheek. It quickened the moment you started to caress the side of his face, lulling him back into the waking world. For a moment, it made you feel powerful; being able to change the beating heart of another person. 

“What time is it?” Simon asks. You feel his legs shift, long limbs stretching the morning ache out. 

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Early.” 

“You’re not a very good watch,” he playfully grumbles. 

“Tick tock.” Things are quiet for a moment as you adjust yourself; head nuzzling further against his ribs as if you won’t be happy until you’re burrowed inside of his chest. “Were you playing with my string last night?” 

He’s glad you can’t see the odd smirk on his lips. “Was tryin’ to figure out how you play cat’s cradle by yourself.” 

You hum. “I meant what I said, you know. About teaching you.” 

Your words set off a reaction within him consisting of flexing arms and fluttering heart. He pulls you closer, and he swears his breathing nearly ceases when he feels you melt into him. 

“Think I’d just like to lay here for now, sweetheart.” 

So you do. Together. Bodies heavy on the mattress as it holds you in place, Simon’s warmth radiating into your bones until you’re sure you’ll dissolve. You stay there laying next to him until the sun’s light transforms from a pale yellow to a glorious gold. Manna hangs heavy in the air as Simon’s thumb begins to gently caress the side of your waist — absentmindedly and sweet. 

This quiet moment ends by the fault of your stomach. It churns and protests with a pathetic growl, and despite how muted it is, Simon still hears it. Staying as still as humanly possible, you pray he doesn’t mention it — that he can allow himself to rest for just a bit longer — but of course, he stirs. 

Simon cradles your head as he moves you to the side, torso leaving the bed as he sits up, and you whine. It’s an unfamiliar sound that leaves your lips; this pathetic whimpering. It’s enough to get him to pause for a moment, body twisting as he gives you his full attention. He rests your head down on the mattress, but he doesn’t retract his hand. 

“What?” he questions. 

There’s a tight pull at the corner of his lips, and you’re suddenly aware of just how close he is. Hovering over you, fingers pressed into the back of your skull, hips locked against yours. Staring up at him, your tongue goes dry as you try to think of a response. How are you supposed to tell him he’s the first comfort you’ve felt that didn’t suffocate you? That removing yourself from him is like tearing a bandaid from your skin — epidermis removing with it?

“Don’t go.” It’s hardly above a whisper. A susurrus that almost fails to drift through the air. 

He chuckles and it’s deep. His voice in the morning is always rough. “Gotta eat at some point today.” 

But he doesn’t move. 

Simon’s looking at you. Really looking at you. Not just into your eyes, but he’s soaking up the way the light filters through your eyelashes and the pressure indents on your cheek from sleeping. You find yourself doing the same thing. Tracing every single faded scar that decorates his face and the subtle curve of his nose. His lips press together just as his thumb brushes along the apple of your cheek. You’re frozen. Forever caught in this moment. 

“Gorgeous.” 

The word leaves Simon’s lips without permission, but he doesn’t retract it. Isn’t ashamed of it either. He refuses to play it off and be coy — he continues to caress your cheek, and you wonder if he can feel the heat brewing inside of you. Firing synapses, blood superheating to the point of sublimation — can he feel it? The way you crumble? How you melt beneath his touch? 

They say Rome was destroyed within a single day, but you know that’s not the case. Like all things, its destruction was systematic. Timed and viscerally demanded. Rome was destroyed the same way all things are — brick by brick. 

Simon takes you apart the same way with this kiss — brick by aching brick. His lips press against yours, setting you ablaze as if he’s lighting you for your immolation. Like he’s trying to burn you away until you’re nothing but ash and cinder. It’s heavy, but soft. A weight so unfamiliar yet it feels like home. It’s simple. Blithe. He neither gives nor takes with this kiss; he only speaks. 

You try to speak back as your lips perk against his, jaws gently moving in sync. It’s an insurmountable task. How are you supposed to pour out all the words you wish to speak into this single union? How can it be possible to convey to him that this is the first kiss that has not ripped you to shreds? How do you explain that you’re trembling out of ardor instead of fear? 

For once, love doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt, and it tastes like stale cigarettes. 

Simon’s shaped your lips into a smile by the time he pulls away. Still hovering over you, he brushes a kiss against your forehead. 

“Breakfast?” he asks, muttering the word into your skin. 

He kisses you, and instead of talking about money — like you’re so painfully used to — he speaks of food. Of sharing a quiet moment with you. You don’t know why, but you want to cry. The pressure builds behind your eyes, and instead of crying, you laugh.

For once, everything is quiet. There is nothing but Simon’s soft breath against your skin, and the pounding of your own heart. Your fingers do not twitch. They do not yearn for string. 

Only for him. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “Breakfast sounds good.”

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[hypers-omniac]

The top surgery scars omg omg omg

DC inspired crossover/au

A collection of very old half finished doodles Not sure if I'll ever do anything more with this so might as well post them

|| Soap/Harley Quinn | Ghost/Poison ivy | Gaz/Catwoman ||

Cringe but free

[hypers-omniac]

If glossy likes it it’s gotta be good

Star of the Show

summary: porn director john price has a soft spot for you, the darling rising star of the porn industry words: 1.1k warnings: porn industry, no explicit sex but mentions of acts while working, indifferent partner/uncomfortable sex act but john stops it immediately. please let me know if i've missed something. notes: i know managers and directors aren't the same thing but for the sake of this story, i'm going with that john owns his own studio and the 141 boys are tied to him specifically. 18+ content, minors dni. if you'd like a part two, i'd be happy to indulge and may have already started writing it.

He was the one who found you first.

You had only ever posted solo videos before but oh — he was enchanted by you.

He needed more.

He’s the first director you ever worked with. He’s the only director you like working with.

He tries to keep you on his books and his books alone. (He’s good friends with your manager, Kate Laswell. She trusts him more than she trusts anyone else in the industry. She more than happily fills your schedule with his studio). 

He’s been working with you for only a few months now and even though he knows damn well when you have a shoot with him, his heart still twists and spikes each time he sees you on set. He’s possessive over you, a sharp thing with teeth that sink in deep, deeper.

He has your favorite tea always stocked — coffee, for those longer shoots — and makes sure to tuck a bag of your favorite sweets in your dressing room somewhere. He looks forward to the cheeky wink you send him every time you manage to find it, slipping a few into his palm as you pass him to go to set.

He prefers solo shoots. Perhaps some dark, gnawing part of him doesn’t want another man to touch you. He has to curb this bitter jealousy each time you have a partner; jaw clenched tight as he watches for any sign of discomfort, any slip up that would allow him to snap his teeth and bark at those who dare mistreat you.

You come first.

You always come first.

His boys are the only ones he lets fuck you raw.

Even they know to tread carefully with you.

So when they were all booked on other projects and you found yourself free for once — John more than happily took the chance to snap you up for himself.

He considered a solo shoot at first. 

But a fellow director, Phillip Graves, recently hired a new talent and damn near begged John for him to have a chance to work with you.

He almost cracked his molars, but agreed through clenched teeth.

John shifts uncomfortably in his chair as he watches, eyes sharp and unforgiving as he keeps himself tethered to his seat so he doesn’t interrupt you working. You always do your very best for him and he aches, deep inside, when something isn’t clicking.

Right now, it’s not.

He motions for the camera to pan over the long line of your body, away from your face, as a thin sheen of sweat covers your soft skin. You’re spread out on a kitchen counter, completely naked save for the prettiest black heels with bows on your ankles. You’re trying so hard to make this work.

John hears the way you moan — attempt to moan. He catches clipped versions of your true sounds here and there, but the boy between your thighs seems none the wiser.

Or he doesn’t care, which is worse.

You yelp in pain, face scrunching up uncomfortably, and John doesn’t even need to call cut before he’s storming out of his chair, wobbly on unsteady legs from the force he pushes away.

“The fuck are you doing, boy?”  he snarls out, ripping the boy away from you by the scruff of his neck, teeth bared.

“Fingerin’ her,”  comes the reply, dry and tinged with irritation at being interrupted. 

John grabs for his hand, holds it up to the ligh. His hands don’t look properly clean and his nails are too sharp.

His fingers are completely dry.

“Where’s the lube?” John asks, trying so hard to calm this anger festering in his chest, dark and ugly and clawing.

“I don’t have any,” is the indifferent reply, paired with a shrug, and the boy gestures vaguely towards you. 

John snorts out through his nose irritably.

“She’s normally —”  the boy tries to continue, glossy eyes turning to you, but doesn’t get very far before John is snarling, grabbing his jaw and forcing his gaze to John instead, fire and fury in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare put this on her,” John spits, acid lining his throat, wanting to sink his teeth into this pathetic excuse of a boy and let the venom kill him slowly.

“Well,”  the boy says weakly, eyes flitting away from John's icy stare, but John keeps a firm grip on his chin and doesn’t let him look away for even a second.  “It’s not important,” he finishes lamely, and it’s the wrong fucking thing to say to John Price.

“Get out.” John’s voice is clipped, patience worn through. He’s spent far too long on this boy and not enough time on you to make sure you’re okay.

“Get out!” he repeats with far more heat when the boy doesn’t leave, gripping him once more by the back of his neck and practically shoving him towards the changing room.

Only when he finally stumbles away does John move to your side, fingers gently pushing your hair from your face so he can see your eyes. Slightly glassy as if fighting back tears, but he can see how tired you are underneath it all. You’ve done so well for him. 

“‘m so sorry, darling,”  he says, the anger fading into something softer, something more wounded.

You grip at his wrists lightly, pressing your cheek into his palm and giving him a weak smile.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,”  he murmurs gently. He knows damn well you’re able to walk just fine — had it been any of his boys, that wouldn’t be the case — but he still gathers you in his arms, cradled to his chest to carry you somewhere safer.

He settles you on the couch in your changing room, kneeling by your side, carefully undoing the silk on your ankles so you’re completely bare before him.

“Did he hurt you?”  he asks as he comes back to you, a warm hand on your lower belly, thumb grazing gently right underneath your belly button.

He feels you quiver beneath his touch.

“No,” you reply softly, voice soft and sweet like wind chimes, reaching out to thread your fingers through his mutton chops. Your blood red nails are sharp at the end, and they scratch so pleasantly against his skin.

He trails his palm lower, watching the way your pupils dilate, a hunger he didn’t see before igniting.

“I only want you working with my boys from now on,” he says, as if he has any control over you. He wonders if you’d let him. Let him give into this baser, darker desire; to have and to hold.

You regard him and it’s almost unsettling. Not knowing what you’re thinking, not knowing if he’s pushing his luck too far by wanting to keep you closer than you already are.

“Okay, John,”  you reply a beat later, voice soft and soothing, settling deeper into the cushions, seemingly more at ease alone with him than you’ve been this entire day. “Only you.”

[hypers-omniac]

I haven’t forgotten about the monster-fucking September.

I still have a lot of steam and I’m super excited to be writing this month, but currently, where things stand, i am incapable of writing to those levels. I’m on day 6 of a migraine attack that will not leave, and I’m so sorry to anyone who’s hopes i got up ):

I did try and write a little bit, and it just didn’t work out.

I have not forgotten, and the show will go on. Just not right now. Unconventional as it may be, if i have to go into October i will.

[hypers-omniac]

[hypers-omniac]

These Violent Delights

Summary: Polly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe. It's implied reader is American.

141 have a simple mission; destroy an underground compound working on creating chemical weapons. Then they find you, and become exposed to a world they never knew existed. They want to find a cure, you just want your freedom. For now you have to live with each other.

Chapter 1 - The Sweet Escape

Chapter summary: You've been trapped for so long, so many years. Now you've been rescued, but you've dragged overs into this horrible world. A world you don't even know that well yourself.

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, mentions of heat cycles, mentions of knotting scenting typical a/b/o universe tropes, mentions of abuse, mentions of injuries, fighting, mentions of animal abuse.

Credit to the amazing; @rememberwren who helped beta read, correct my grammar and helped with ideas no matter how crazy they seem.

Masterlist - next

AO3

Enjoy <3

The first thing you see is the the light. You had always been kept in a dark room, a dark place. Cold and dark, being surrounded by strangers, scientists, people you only got to meet in passing. People who stare at you, poke you, whisper things around you like you’re an animal they’re studying.

The next thing is the voices, shouting, it sounds almost foreign to your ears. Maybe this is it, this is the end, the horror stories they would tell you to scare you into submission were coming true. 

You drag yourself across to the corner of your room. The bland square room you’ve been imprisoned in for longer than you can remember, a place you had dreamt of leaving. Now you want nothing more than to stay.

Maybe the people know who you are, know how important you are? It’s the smell next, 4 of them in total, 4 men. The hairs stand up on the back of your neck. You’ve had a lot of training when it comes to determining scent, they smell angry, focused. It doesn’t help that you know the only scent you’re putting out is fear. 

You hug your legs tight, shivering, the room now lighting up more and more as doors open and close. You hear voices, gunfire, you slap your hands around your ears trying to block out the noise. It makes you jump. The scent is stronger now, they’re close, you hold your breath, and close your eyes as the door to your room is flung open.

“Price we’ve got a civilian!” a man shouts. You can’t see him through your tear filled eyes. He’s shining a light in your face, he lowers it as you try to pull yourself deeper into the corner. Another man appears, he smells different. He steps into the room bending down in front of you. The light moves from your face down your body, you can make out the features of the man in front of you. He doesn't seem angry. He’s on your level as he looks you over. 

“Hello, what are you doing here?” he asks. You’re too stunned to speak. He smells kind, calm, collected. You stare at him wide eyed. What if he’s masking? What if this is all just one big test? You whisper your name. It’s all you can manage. 

“What happened to your leg?” he asks, shining a light on it. You don’t know what to say. It was punishment for trying to leave. Would he believe you? 

“Can you walk?” he asks. You shake your head. You probably could, you just don’t want to. He stands back up. 

“Charges are set captain, Soap’s got an itchy trigger finger,” a new voice says. His scent is rough, masculine, then it’s almost like he has no scent at all. He makes you scared, nothing like the scent coming off the other two. It’s all you have to go off, determining whether you should trust them or not.

You blink tears away getting a closer look at them. One of them is wearing a skull mask, you assume he’s the one with no scent. They’re all dressed in military gear, massive weapons in their hands or swung over their backs. It makes you tense as you try to listen to their conversation. 

The older one they call captain looks over at you, he looks focused, ordering people around. Calm and collected, his voice level, commanding, you watch the man with the skull mask leave. 

“We’re going to get you out of here okay?” the captain says, bending down and looking directly into your eyes. You nod staring back at him as he takes a step closer to you. You squeeze your knees. He nods standing back up, you shift slightly trying to keep the weight off your ankle. The other man bends down, you flare your nostrils breathing him in. He also smells kind, warm, safe. You let him come near you as he swings his weapon over his shoulder. 

“We’re not going to hurt you,” he says. You nod, believing him. He smiles, hooking one of his arms under your knees and the other arm around your back. You bring your arms around his neck, pressing your palm against the base of his skull. You feel goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. You’re surprised he’s letting you touch him like this.

You’re squished up against his vest as he carries you out the room. The smell of blood fills your nose as you see bodies on the floor. You gasp, gripping his neck and looking away as he takes you out through the lab. He takes you down corridors, up stairs, you see rooms you’ve been in before, other’s you’ve never seen.  

You can hear sounds of nature, birds, then a truck. There is sunlight, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen sunlight. It’s warm on your face and you have to squint. You feel relieved, your head is swimming with the overpowering new sensations. You can feel a breeze, it’s warm.

You can finally smell the familiar scents of alpha and beta fill your nose making you dizzy. Your body feels heavy as you’re put in a seat. You feel drained, sticking your head out as far as you can looking at the clouds moving across the sky. You see trees swaying in the breeze, you see birds flying in the sky, you smile watching them fly away.

You look back at the man who carried you out. Stood in front of you as he leans out the back of the truck. He’s cute, dark skin and eyes. He turns to look at you and smiles, a proper smile not like the fake smiles you’re used to. He turns round, opening a crate, pulling out a blanket. You accept it as he pulls it round your arms, you breathe him in, he smells kind.

“Thank you,” you say. It doesn’t feel like enough, you want to thank him for everything, the blanket, the rescue. These people are clearly not involved with the professor or the other people you’ve met. It was rare but you would see people who you assume were military. They were always introduced as ‘general this’ or ‘major that.’ They always wore nice blue and black suits with lots of shiny badges. You used to ask about them when you were younger. As you got older you stopped caring.   

You look out of the back of the van with him, you can see it now for the first time. It's like an underground bunker. It’s such a small opening you almost can’t believe how large the structure is underneath, and you hadn’t even seen all of it. The captain from earlier walks out being followed by two other men, the guy with the scary skull mask and the 4th person. He’s dragging what looks like a wire. They all step up to the back of the truck before the guy with the wire presses a button. There’s a few seconds of silence then a rumbling beneath the earth, sounds of distant explosions as the ground shifts. 

It only lasts a few seconds then you see the entrance to the bunker collapse on itself. That’s it, it’s gone, the place you’ve been trapped in for most of your life destroyed in a matter of minutes. The captain turns and looks at you, you meet his eye line flaring your nostrils to breathe him in. 

He smells like an alpha now, his scent is overwhelming. You hold your breath to stop it from overpowering you. When you breathe again you can smell another alpha. You look at the group of men trying to figure out who the other one is. It has to be the guy in the mask, they all turn to look at you.

The masked man’s eyes dig into you. He’s the other alpha, his scent hits you like a slap to your face, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as black spots appear in your vision. You can’t breathe with how thick the air feels, it’s a bombarding of sensations. You try to blink the spots away but it doesn’t help then everything goes black.  

 ——————————

“You weren't joking,” Laswell says as she makes it to the med-bay, walking up to Price.

“Who is she?” Price asks, watching you through the glass window as medics fuss around you. 

“They were working on a project called the Omega Initiative, I always assumed it was a chemical weapon of some kind. Reading back over the documents though, I believe she is the omega they’re referring to.” She explains.

“What, she’s a weapon? Specially trained or something?” Gaz asks, coming up to look through the window too. 

“More than that. I would need some time to go over the intel again, especially the new data you’ve bought for me. I can let you know the moment I know more,” Laswell says, turning to the room exit. Price nods, his eyes still glued to you in the bed. 

“Do any of you feel any different?” she asks before she steps out of the room. Price turns to look at her frowning. 

“I could use a nap,” Soap says, stretching. Laswell just hums. 

“What is it?” Price asks. She shakes her head looking at him. 

“Probably nothing. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know anything,” she says leaving down the hallway. Price turns back to look through the window watching your chest rise and fall. The medics finished their fussing standing back talking to the nurses.  

“Soap, LT, go get some rest. Gaz help Laswell,” Price says. 

“Sure you don’t want to debrief?” Ghost asks. 

“Later,” Price says. There’s something about you he can’t shake. “I’ll find you when Laswell knows more.” His hand goes up to rub the back of his neck, it’s almost like it itches. He feels different. Maybe he should get checked by medical, he could have inhaled something in the lab. 

He pushes the thought away, he doesn’t want to leave your sight. It’s more than just needing to know who you are. He doesn’t want to be away from you. He would be in the room with you if it wasn’t for the doctors kicking them all out. Instead, he stands there watching, waiting. 

“John?” Price’s head snaps to see Laswell walking in. He looks back into the room he thought he’d only been staring in for a few minutes if that. The room is dark now that the doctors have gone. 

“Have you been here this whole time?” she asks, Gaz walking up behind her. Price looks confused. His legs and arms are stiff, the back of his head pounding. He feels dizzy, heading over to the chairs, and sitting down. Laswell sits next to him opening a laptop. Price keeps rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Are you sure you feel okay? It’s been 4 hours,” Laswell says. Price looks up at Gaz standing in the doorway. Why won’t he come in, he smells different. He looks just as confused as Price. 

“Something's different,” Price says. Laswell squints looking between them both. 

“Are you sure you didn’t get exposed to anything in that lab?” Laswell asks. John thinks back to the place. He doesn’t remember anything out of the ordinary. They definitely didn’t break anything. The scientists weren’t wearing protective clothing or gas masks. And then there was you, locked in a room in the far end of the lab. They could have easily missed you, then you would have been killed when the place blew. 

“Why, what did you find?” Price asks. Laswell sighs, pulling a file up on her laptop. It’s you, or looks like a younger version of you. She flicks to another document.

“Project Omega, or the Omega Initiative. It is a weapon, but not like you think. It was used primarily in World War 2 by the Soviets as a way to make the enemy go.. feral. Some kind of chemical bomb they would drop on enemies forcing them to revert to an animistic state. Causes disorientation, aggression, forces the enemy to attack itself.” Laswell stops, to see if Price is following. He nods. 

“The project fell apart and was scrapped. When the war was over the whole thing was destroyed and hidden. Somehow during the Cold War, America got their hands on the documents and the remainder of the formula. A scientist called Professor Victor Hale continued the experiments underground, literally. He perfected the formula and created her,” Laswell continues nodding at the window into the room. 

“What do you mean created?” Price asks. 

“She was a normal person, but when she was young she was exposed to the chemical which has changed the way her body functions. She’s still human, but her body functions differently,” she says. Price still looks confused and she flicks through to some reports. 

“I don’t really know how to explain this. She is what they call an omega, her body, hormone function and menstrual cycles function more like an animal. I haven’t had much time to wrap my head around it but it seems like they were studying her, trying to perfect the formula. They got pretty close, the professor being the first male to be exposed to the drug. He became an alpha.” She closes the laptop lid. 

“The scientist who came forward, the one who told us the location of the base is being flown out here. She’s a specialist doctor according to these files and she’s willing to talk. She will definitely be able to give us more answers,” Laswell says. 

“Do you think we’ve been exposed?” Price asks.

“I don’t know, do you feel any different?” Laswell asks. He shakes his head, physically he feels fine. There’s just something he can’t quite put his finger on. 

“Where’s the professor now?” Price asks.

“No idea. We assume he’s on the run, hiding, since you didn't see him at the bunker. There is also the possibility he was hidden there somewhere within the compound and went down with it,” Laswell says. 

“Think she could have answers?” Price asks, turning to look into your room. 

“Maybe but we should wait until she’s awake. They didn’t treat her well John, we don’t know how she’ll react,” Laswell says, stepping up.

“Let me know the moment the doctor gets here,” Price says as Laswell walks out the room with Gaz following her. There was something different about him, Price could feel it, he would need to talk to him later. 

“I will, in the meantime you should get some rest,” she calls back. Price walks up to the window again. He can’t leave you. 

 ——————————

When you open your eyes it's bright. You’re in a room with a window, you can see the sun. For a second you don’t think it’s real, but it is, you can see movement outside. The only time you would see anything like the outside world was the mural painted on the wall of the bedroom. You would only ever be in that room when you were in heat. It makes you feel sad. You swallow the lump away. That room was a horrible place, filled with pain and suffering. 

You look down. You’re in a hospital bed, your leg has been bandaged up and you’re connected to an IV line, you turn to look up, it just looks like fluids. The opening of a door makes your head snap over. It’s the captain from yesterday, and a new person, a woman. 

He smells like an alpha now, his scent strong, commanding. It makes you nervous. He walks over and stands at the end of the bed. The woman comes over and sits down in a chair next to you. She doesn’t smell of anything. You look at the man again, definitely army, he’s wearing a green shirt with camo sleeves. He’s handsome, looks younger in this light, he has kind eyes. He saved you, he could have left you behind, you’re no one to him. You turn to look over at the woman. 

“I’m Kate,” she says, introducing herself. You just stare at her not knowing what to do. Your eyes flick back to him, like you need to wait for his permission to talk. His scent is heavy in the room, you can tell he doesn’t know how to control it. It’s overwhelming. 

“You’ve been exposed to the chemical too,” you say, looking at him, your voice shaking. He looks confused for a second. 

“You smell like an alpha,” you explain. He comes round from the end of the bed, you freeze automatically, trying not to taint the air with your fear. You know alphas are the worst at picking up on scents but he’s clearly new and you don’t know how he would react. 

You drop your shoulders baring your neck for him, you watch his nostrils flare when he gets close to you. You know he can smell you now, your omega scent on full display just like you’ve been taught. He could reject you right now. If you don’t smell right or look right, that could be it. You try really hard to keep still waiting until he’s finished. 

“You smell, like strawberries,” he says, pulling away from you. 

“You smell like an alpha,” you say again, you don’t know how to describe it. He moves back round to the end of the bed. 

“So you can tell by smell?” Kate asks. You nod. 

“Omegas are the best at it, and I’ve been trained,” you say rubbing your hand on the back of your neck. 

“What else have you been trained to do?” she asks. You shrug. 

“I just do what I was told to do,” you reply looking down. 

“And what were you told to do?” she presses. You swallow feeling heat rush to your cheeks. 

“My role is to do as my alpha tells me, and breed with him, eventually.” You don’t know why you feel embarrassed. It’s true though, it’s your only ‘mission.’ The professor was going to be your alpha, claim you during your next heat. He’s dead now, and you’re happy he’s dead. He was horrible to you. If he had claimed you, you would have been bound to him forever. 

“That’s what they were working on?” Kate asks. You shrug. You don’t know, you weren't always told much. 

“Do you have an alpha?” She asks.

“The professor, he was going to be my alpha, but I guess not now.” You look at the man at the end of the bed. Would you let him claim you? It’s not like you'll have a choice, at least these people seem nice enough. They did rescue you, you don’t feel any connection with him yet. 

“What happened to your leg?” the man asks. You realize you haven’t even learnt his name. 

“They broke it, I tried to run away,” you say, digging your nails into your palm. 

“Did they do that a lot?” he asks, his voice low sending shivers up your spine. You can almost taste the anger in the air. It’s a scary thing, an alpha’s anger, especially for an omega. 

“It’s okay, my bones heal quickly, wounds too. You’ll be the same,” you say, trying to put him at ease. It doesn’t seem to work. 

“Is there a cure for this?” he asks, looking over at Kate. She looks at you. You shake your head, if there was a cure you knew nothing about it. 

“What about the scientist, think she’ll have answers?” He asks, crossing his arms. 

“Possibly. Depends how much she’ll talk,” she says. 

“She’ll talk,” the man replies. You’re picking up on another scent, beta, and another alpha. You see through the window three men walk in. It’s the guy with the mask again who makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. 

He stands at the back of the room with his arms crossed. The other two are very clearly betas, the way they balance the energy in the room, even putting the alpha at ease without realising it. The man at the end of the bed turns to them as he explains some of the situation. 

“Gaz told us some of it but I’m still confused,” the tanned guy with the mohawk says. 

“I think we all are.” The alpha turns around again looking at you, his brow creased like he’s thinking. 

“Soap, go stand next to her.” 

The tanned man slowly comes over to you, you look over at the end of the bed. He gives you a quick nod. You swallow your nerves, baring your neck for him. It’s instinct, as soon as the smell of your omega hits his nose, he’ll bare his neck to you too. The smell of beta fills the air. It’s not as overpowering as the alpha, more mellow, like the smell of clean sheets. When he’s done he steps back, and you smile at him. He seems nice. 

“Johnny,” he says, introducing himself. You nod at him looking over at the end of the bed. 

“Beta,” you say. Johnny shrugs, walking back over to stand with the others. 

“Gaz.” He gestures for the other man to go over. This feels more normal, it feels like the days when the professor would bring volunteers in to smell you. Sometimes they would pass out. It always made you exhausted, scenting betas over and over for hours. You found out later they were all killed. 

Gaz walks over to you and you stretch your neck out. Another beta. He smells good, stronger than Johnny. You’re happy for anything other than the overpowering scent of alpha that’s been filling the room since he walked in. 

“You smell like strawberries,” he says. You nod, turning to the end of the bed. 

“Beta.”

“LT.” You know before he gets over to you he’s an alpha, you feel nervous. He’s big, his presence makes you want to hide under the covers. You relax your shoulders anyway, sticking your neck out as much as you can. You think he’s going to move the mask but he doesn’t. You close your eyes pushing down the fear and letting him breathe you in.

He smells like an alpha, there’s just something darker about him, it makes the breath catch in your throat. You swallow hard trying to get it to go away praying for it to be over soon. It happens like a flash, the scent of anger and jealousy filling the room. The looming presence next to you suddenly vanishes.

“John!” You hear he woman next to you shout. You yelp covering the back of your neck as you see two people wrestling on the floor. Oh shit, this is all your fault. You knew this was a bad idea, you should have said something. The two betas are dragging them apart. It’s not their fault, it’s natural instincts. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling your sheets up your chest. You want to hide under them. 

“What the hell has gotten into you both!” Kate says as they’re held back from each other. 

“It’s just instinct,” you say, trying to keep your voice level. “Two alpha’s and an unclaimed omega.” You watch as they start to calm down, the betas let them go, their hands reaching round to rub their necks.  

“What the hell does that mean?” The man with the mask growls. It must be so confusing for them, this is your world and you don’t even know it that well.

“It’s me, it’s my fault,” you croak, you know you’re not helping by being in distress but you can’t help it.

“Okay, just everyone calm down,” Kate says standing between them both. “We don’t really know what’s going on and we won’t really know much until Dr. Montgomery gets here. Why don’t we just stay away from her until then.” 

“Dr. Piper Montgomery?” you ask frowning. Kate turns to you. 

“Yes, did you know her?” she asks. You nod.

“She was my doctor. She tried to help me get out, then she vanished. I was told she was killed.” Kate comes over to the bed. 

“She’ll be here tomorrow, think you could get her to explain the situation?” You nod enthusiastically, feeling calmed by the idea of seeing at least someone you know from before. And someone you trust, relief washes over you, she’s alive and she wants to help.  

“I’m sorry Simon,” you hear John say. That’s his name, John. It’s the name Kate shouted at him. The other man-Simon-just huffs and storms out the room.

“Soap, go with him,” John says. 

“Nice meeting you, lass,” Johnny says as he leaves the room. 

“Okay, get some rest, we’ll talk more tomorrow,” Kate says as you watch her usher the other two men out the room.   

 ——————————

No one comes back to see you for the rest of the day. The nurse brings you food, she gives you a sympathetic look. There’s something else there too though, deep in her eyes. You can almost smell it in the air. Fear. She’s scared of you, or what you are. They’re just confused.

You smile at her, to try and put her at ease but that just seems to make her face tighten up even more. You spend most of your time looking out the window watching the trees sway in the distance, the clouds move across the sky. Sometimes birds land on the lawn, they always make you smile, you watch them peck at the ground for food. 

You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen another living animal that wasn’t in a cage. You think back to the rabbits and rats from the labs. You always felt sorry for them the most, spending all their lives in cages just to eventually be killed.

You remember when you were little you asked the professor if you could keep one, a fluffy white rabbit you’d seen around a lot. He let you keep it, for a few days until he killed it in front of you to see your reaction. You never asked for another one. You ignored them when you saw them in the lab. You watch the birds fly away, you wish you could join them. When it gets dark out, the nurse comes back to check you one last time and give you some medication. 

“Vitamin D,” she says. You don’t know what that means, but you take it anyway. She moves over to close the curtains. 

“Wait, can you leave them open?” you ask, trying not to spook her. It’s the first time you’ve spoken a word to any of the medical staff. She lets out a little smile nodding, she fills something in on your chart then leaves the room, turning the lights low as she leaves. You turn to look back out the window, you can still see the trees lit up by the moon. It’s beautiful, it’s such a clear night too, you don’t know why it makes you sad. Maybe you’re just tired. It’s your first night of freedom, you close your eyes listening to the ambient noise of the room, the vents hissing, the distant sounds of people talking, doors opening and closing. 

Your dreams are filled with nice things, for the first time in years. You dream about being outside, breathing in the fresh air. You’re by a lake. You’ve never been to one before but you’ve dreamt of them. The water is warm as you stand there the water lapping round your ankles. You feel the dirt underneath your feet, between your toes. You look out across the water watching the sun set turning the sky all different shades of pink and orange. It’s perfect. You haven’t felt perfection in a long time. You bask in the dream, the wonderful dream you don’t want to wake up from.   

 ——————————

You can smell her before you see her, her familiar beta scent filling the air. She’s in cuffs with Kate and John following behind her. Your smile fades as she walks in the room. She looks exactly how you remember, short blonde hair, glasses, the signature red lipstick. Except she looks thin and older. Bags under her eyes, she seems tired, but she looks happy to see you, smiling as soon as your eyes meet.  

“Relax omega, they just don’t trust me yet,” she says. When she makes it to the bed, John walks behind, un-cuffing her. She rubs her wrists, picking up your chart. She sits down on the bed flicking through it. 

“How are you feeling?” She asks. 

“Okay,” you say, not knowing what to say. 

“How’s the leg?” she asks, getting up, pulling the sheets back. 

“Fine,” you say. She smiles. 

“I can’t do much of an exam without at least a stethoscope,” she says, turning to look at Kate and John. John nods at Kate and she leaves the room. 

“Did you get claimed by Hale?” she asks, leaning in a little closer. You shake your head.

“Good.” She squeezes your thigh, her scent is comforting, her squeeze is reassuring. You smile at her. Kate comes back with a stethoscope. She does a basic physical exam, listening to your chest and you answer her generic questions.

You’re used to this, even sticking out your finger for her to prick it before realising she doesn’t have any of her kit. You start to think maybe this was just to comfort you, a familiar routine, it’s not like she has anyone to answer to. No reports to fill out or tests to order.

“She seems fine. Her leg is fine, you can get them to take the cast off,” Dr. Piper explains as she goes to put the folder back at the end of the bed. 

“Maybe you can help us understand this a bit more,” John says. “How did we end up like her?” 

“You must have been exposed to enough of the chemical in the lab before you blew it up,” she says as a matter of fact. 

“It’s that simple?” John asks. 

“Yes, even I’ve been exposed, not by choice. I was lucky though. Anyone who didn’t fit the professor's perfect idea would be killed.” She explains. It makes you swallow hard. You knew the professor was killing people, it broke your heart when he told you she was dead. She was someone who was kind to you, a light in the never ending darkness. Other than the professor, she was the only other constant in your life. 

“You tried to help me escape,” you say. You feel her projecting a calming scent over you. 

“I tried, I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out.” You lean back in the bed letting her scent relax you.

“When was your last heat?” she asks. You count in your head for a second. 

“5 months ago,” you say. A pit forms in your stomach, it’s already been 5 months. She looks sympathetically at you, then looks over at John. 

“Are you going to claim her?” Piper says. 

“What does that mean?” he asks. 

“Omegas have one instinct, that is to be claimed by an alpha and eventually breed. An unclaimed omega is dangerous. She attracts other alphas to her, especially when she’s in heat. Then, you won’t be able to resist her,” Piper explains as you feel heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“A claimed omega will be bound to their alpha for the rest of their life. It is dangerous for alphas too. I’m sure you’ve already felt it. Like some kind of primal instinct, to protect her, mate with her,” Piper explains. You look over at John feeling embarrassed. You remember yesterday when he tackled the mysterious man to the floor. It was alpha instincts. 

You don’t know how you feel about John claiming you. You know when you’re in heat, you won’t care what happens. Maybe this time will be different though, actually having someone to help you through it. It will definitely make things less painful. Your eyes move back up to find John looking at you, his arms crossed listening to Piper talk. At least he seems kind, not like the other alpha, the one who sends shivers up your spine. 

“What if there are 2 alphas?” you ask. 

“I don’t know, Hale would kill any other alpha he didn’t torture for study,” she says, her eyes flick between you and John. 

“I would assume the alphas would fight until one came out on top, although if an alpha was to just claim you first it wouldn’t matter,” Piper says. 

“How does claiming work?” John asks. 

“Have you had any pain in the back of your neck?” she asks. John nods.

“When an alpha claims an omega, they will bite the omega on the back of the neck. It’s the most sensitive spot for any of you. It’s where your scent comes from, it’s how you scruff people. It’s one of the most sensitive spots on your body, especially for an omega,” she explains. 

“It’s a very intimate moment, just like knotting, or scenting,” she says. You nod at John. 

“Knotting? Scenting?” Kate asks.

“I don’t think you need to worry too much, a lot of things are instinctive. You will deal with them as they come up,” Piper sighs, sitting back down on the bed rubbing your thigh. Her scent is still in the air relaxing you, counteracting John’s overwhelming alpha scent. 

“Is there a cure for any of this?” Kate asks. 

“I don’t know, we weren’t exactly working on a cure but I would be happy to help with the medical side of things,” she says. “I’m a doctor first, specially trained to take care of the omega. That’s what Professor Hale hired and trained me for.” 

“You practiced experiments on living people, murdered people, not to mention worked with Soviet spies to sell American secrets,” Kate scoffs. 

“I never murdered anyone. I’m a doctor first. You’re going to want me around, especially when she goes into heat you’re going to need me,” Piper says. You can feel the anger rising in her. Even if this is just to save her own skin, she’s still the only person you really trust. 

“What can you do?” John asks. 

“Let me run some tests on you all, I can help you come to terms with what’s happening. But I’m an omega specialist, if you want more advanced or specific help you’re going to need to find the other specialists involved. I can give you the names of some of the people who left with me, maybe they’ll be able to help. Maybe they’ll be able to help me find a cure,” she says standing up. You can feel her scent weakening as she moves over to John, turning with her hands behind her back. John pauses for a second gripping the cuffs in his hands.

“You have to tell us everything you know.” He looks over at you. “Everything.” 

“I’ll tell you whatever you need to know, but you have to let me keep her safe,” Dr. Piper says, looking over at you smiling. 

“Fine, but you have to work on a cure,” John says. Piper turns round looking at him. 

“I will try, but that’s all I can promise,” she says. The scent of her sincerity fills the room. You watch John’s nostrils flare, you know he can smell it from her too. He puts the cuffs away. You smile at him. 

“I know this is new to you, I’m sorry you’re involved in this. Dr. Piper knows what she’s doing. I trust her,” you say. You don’t know if it will help, but maybe it will put John at ease.  

He lets out a sigh gripping Dr. Piper by the arm and pulling her out the room. Kate leaves with them too, smiling at you as she leaves. You trust Dr. Piper, you trust her to help them. They need it, more than you, at least you’re used to this world.  

——————————

John comes to visit you later in the evening. A doctor came in around midday to remove your cast. He murmured about how impossible it was that your break had healed so quickly. You stayed silent as he removed it and left as quick as he came in. 

“I thought we could have a chat, Dr. Piper filled us in with your past,” he says. His scent isn’t as strong this time, he’s more relaxed. 

“It’s not the most interesting story,” you say, forcing a smile. 

“How about we go outside for some fresh air,” he suggests. You like that idea, nodding at him. You pull the sheets off you to swing your legs out of bed a little too eagerly, but he insists you go in a wheelchair. You don’t fight him, letting him have his way. He gets a nurse who unhooks you from everything and helps you into the chair throwing a blanket over you like you’ve forgotten how to walk. John waves her away as he pushes you through the medical wing out to a smoking area at the back of the building. 

“Where are we?” you ask as he maneuvers you so you can look out over the field.

“It’s an army base in Wisconsin,” he says. You can see the wall stretching around the place, you’ve never been in an army base before. You’ve never really been outside before. You remember being outside as a child, before your mother died. 

“It looks like it’s going to rain,” he says, sitting down on the bench next to you. You can’t remember the last time you saw rain or the last time you saw the clouds so dark and moody like they’re about to burst. It makes you smile, in a weird way it's comforting. 

“You don’t sound American,” you say, looking over at him, leaning back crossing his arms. 

“I’m not. Me and my team are British,” he says. 

“What are you doing in America?” you ask. 

“Work. Our latest job being to blow up the place we found you in,” he says. 

“Why?” 

“Just following orders, we stop terrorism. Your professor ended up on our radar after we got wind he was working with chemicals, and selling secrets to…some not very nice people,” he says. You look at him, the fresh breeze flowing around him pulling his alpha scent away. Now it’s just him and his kind eyes. 

“I’m sorry you’re involved in this,” you say, not moving your eyes from him. You want to see his expression and see how he feels. 

“It’s not your fault, in a strange way I’m glad your safe,” he says. Safe. You haven’t felt safe in years. 

“It’s just cause you’re an alpha and I’m an omega,” you sigh, for a moment you really thought you could feel something. Maybe it was more than just instinct.

“Maybe it is, this is all still very new to me. Doesn't change the fact I want to see you safe.” 

“You attacked another alpha, I’m already causing problems,” you say, hanging your head. You see the first fat blobs of rain hit the concrete. 

“Simon? He’s over it already, we talked. It’s not a problem,” he says. Simon, remember his name. Maybe it’s not, but you can’t help but feel guilty. You sigh leaning back in the chair closing your eyes and enjoying the sound of the rain hitting the perspex overhang above your head. It feels nice being outside, the gentle breeze, the smell the rain makes as it hits the ground. 

“That’s the smell,” you say, your eyes flying open leaning forward in the wheelchair. 

“The rain?” he asks. You nod at him smiling. 

“That’s what you smell like,” you say, reaching your hand out to feel the water land on your fingers. He smiles looking over at you. 

“I heard you weren't treated so well back at the compound.” His voice is low, sincere. 

“No, well, it was-”  

“You don’t have to explain it,” he says, turning to face you. “Whatever happens with this, we’ll make sure you’re not in another situation like that.” 

“I know—I mean, I believe you,” you say, letting a smile hang on your lips. You look back out at the rain. It’s coming down heavier now. You hold your hand out again letting the cool droplets hit your fingers. You can feel John’s eyes on you, goosebumps raising on the back of your neck. You shiver. 

“Want to go inside?” he asks. You shake your head watching your hand get wet as the rain falls harder. You never want to be stuck inside again. 

Next

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[hypers-omniac]

I have this silly thought bouncing around my brain about a one night stand with one of the 141 (soap is the current hyperfixation). You're gone before he wakes up, but you leave him a note with a review of his dick game as a joke. Just a lil "4/5 stars. nice hands and ate pussy like a god. talked too much and fuckass haircut though"

I think he'd get a kick out of it, probably keep it in his wallet. Track you down and be sure to get a 5 star rating next time.

[hypers-omniac]

The vision: Neon pink. Electric blue. Bubblegum core.

psst what color eyeshadow today

[hypers-omniac]

There’s something to be said about how similar love is to thunderstorms. How thunder cracks across the sky, illuminating the heavy clouds for moments at a time. The petrichor pulling people in like a sirens call. It’s dancing and singing in the rain, soaked to the marrow until you’re nothing left but a pile of heavy fabrics and shivering, goosepilled skin.

Or you can stay behind a screen door, admiring the scent of water hitting the asphalt and grass, but jumping at each boom of the thunder. The crack of a whip against the grey and gloomy sky. Admiring, but never getting close enough to be struck by the burning electricity.

I may or may not have a certain someone in mind writing this.

It’s John. I’m thinking about John.

All powerful and tectonic-plate-shifting. Cigars and a rugged boonie. Larger than life, but steady as a surgeon.

Loving John Price is a storm, and it’s up to you whether to sink or swim when the flood comes.

[hypers-omniac]

Shout out to my friend who planted the idea…

I present: monster fucker bingo. But with every card, I will write a one-shot. Leading to the creation of: Monster-fucking-September..

I will see you on the first.

RB to boost! I’d love to see other creators in on this too 🤭

[hypers-omniac]

OMG Gorgon Gaz with a silver tongue save me…

All of his words are so honey-coated I KNOW it. He’s so fucking manipulative and you don’t even know it until you’re completely under his thumb. Saying things like they’re common sense until they are common sense- of course you belong to him, it would be silly to think anything else. I want him to be a girlboss. I want him to gaslight. I want him to gatekeep. I want him to protect you using the exact same sweet tone to the person that hurt you. Embarrassing them or turning them to stone if they look at you wrong. All while never raising his voice, despite the venom in his eyes. (Insert joke here about the snakes and his venom)

IM ON A MYTHOLOGY KICK