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I don’t want to make my account political, but I’ve gotten to a position where I can’t sit anymore and I want to make sure people understand where I stand.

Fuck Donald Trump. Fuck Elon musk. Fuck ICE.

Free Palestine.

Fuck alligator Alcatraz. Fuck all the representatives who said they were against the big beautiful bill and then still voted yes on it.

Fuck racists. Fuck misogynist. Fuck homophobes.

If you support any of this please don’t follow my page or interact with me.

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you're an angel // i'm a dog

kyle "gaz" garrick x fem!reader | omegaverse | alpha!gaz, omega!reader | masterlist

Chapter Six: scar

tw: smut, knotting, creampie, biting, blood

Despite the sharp teeth and curling claws yearning to wiggle free from him, Kyle is surprisingly gentle even in the haze of his rut. 

His hand is careful on the back of your head as he lowers you onto his bed, mattress dipping beneath your bodies as his nose prods at the hem of your shirt. The heat that rolls off of him is heavy and sticky, clinging to your skin until you feel as if you’ve been covered in sugar—a sweet treat for a very hungry dog. It doesn’t take him long to peel off the cellophane wrapping that separates his tongue from you. Shirt by your head, pants on the floor; you find his face buried against your sex before he’s even managed to get your panties off. 

“You smell so good,” Kyle laments, voice muffled against your body. “Been driving me insane, you know that?” 

Hands diving underneath your rump, he palms at your ass, forcing your hips to buck against his face. Your clit bumps against his nose and you squeak at the sudden stimulation. The hormones dump off of him in droves, leaving your mind as a murky maze. All you know is that your muscles are melting—going limp—submitting like the good pet he calls you. 

Your panties don’t last very long before they end up on the foot of his bed, leaving you naked with nothing but your skin to shroud the rest of your dignity. Kyle does not show the same amount of care to himself. While he’s already shirtless, he does nothing to fully rid himself of his trousers before he’s pulling himself out from between the fly. 

It’s hard not to gawk at him. Forgetting the fact that it’s been ages since you’ve last gotten laid—forced to suffer your heats in the loneliness of your home without an alpha to take care of you—Kyle’s knot is already swelling. Puffy at the base of his cock, veins protruding as they attempt to supply the proper blood flow to support his widening girth. Anticipating a sweet omega to sink into, he leaks a steady stream of precum that he haphazardly wipes along your pussy, soaking you until you’re glistening and ready for him. 

“Pretty pet, locked up in that office, smiling so sweetly.” He’s rambling now, rubbing the head of his cock against you all while grunting at the minor stimulation it offers. The raw, unbridled hormones leaves you quivering for him as you breathlessly stare up at him; but his eyes are only focused on the space where your bodies are about to join. “Been dreaming about freeing you from that place ever since you first had your heat. Unclaimed, no mark on your neck, no alpha to take care of you…” 

Finally, he slides in. Just the tiniest amount, stretching you wide open as you groan at the snug fit. Those soft eyes of his—always mellow and sweet like molasses—widen as he finally witnesses what he’s been dreaming of for weeks. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he breathes. “I’ll take care of everything.” 

Sliding turns into friction and it isn’t long before fire follows. Flames with forked tongues licking up your spine, curling between your vertebrae, burrowing into your spinal cord until your back is arching and the keen that falls from your lips is so sweet that Kyle has no choice but to drink it up. His lips are firm against yours, wanting and parched, he groans as he pushes further until he can’t anymore. 

“Fuck, Kyle, that’s—ah!” 

He hardly gives you time to adjust before he’s thrusting with poor restraint. Vacillation marks his movements as he keeps himself steady—keeps himself from potentially hurting you. But as your arms wrap up around his back, fingers curling into the taut, sore muscles abused from long days of work and travel, he falters. A sharp snap. A growl hidden in the flesh of your throat. How can he hold himself back from eating when he’s been starving for so long? 

“Christ, pet, you’re squeezing me—so fucking tight,” he murmurs over the background music of your cunt squelching with each thrust. “So perfect…” 

“That feels so good.” You’re panting. Eyes shut tight as you allow the bliss to fall over you. “Y-You’re so—ah—so big, Kyle. Fuck i-it feels so good.” 

Praise; it’s all his mind can register. He’s doing good. This is good. It feels good. For him—for you. He allows himself to let go a little. Indulging in the side of your neck, he runs his tongue over your scent gland until you’re whining from the stimulation, legs trembling around his hips and head turned to the side. His skin collects beneath your nails as you rake them down his body—back, arms, chest—but the pain only rials him up more.

It’s a good pain—one finally born of love rather than violence. No whizzing bullets or explosions ragdolling him, but you. The pretty omega trying so desperately to wiggle beneath his skin, to make a home in his chest, to curl up amongst his ribs and purr. Leaning back, he looks down at you and soaks in the view of your wet eyes, bouncing tits and the pout that forms on your lips when you’ve determined he’s wandering too far away. 

“Kyle! I’m—oh fuck,” you stutter. Your feet are kicking out behind him a little, knees extending just as your eyelids begin to flutter. Worried, his pace begins to slow until you snap at him with desperate hands on his shoulders. “No, no, no please, please I’m so close, keep-keep going.” 

Those are the only words he needs to hear to spring himself back into action. Abandoning his usual equanimity, Kyle’s thrusts become more erratic as he stares down at you, pupils dilating as he awaits the delicious moment you fall apart on his cock. Everything is bliss. Caught in perfect harmony. This is what that ancient piece of his brain has been yearning for despite being shoved beneath his skin, deep under his flesh where it festered for years. Now it’s free. A beautiful culmination here in his very hands. 

Then, he sees it. The tightening of the muscles in your neck, the way your diaphragm spazzes as your breath catches in your throat—before he knows it you’re constricting him, cunt pulsing in time with your orgasm as your walls squeeze around him, beckoning him in deeper. It’s as if a flip has switched. A brutal betrayal of his body, his core tenses up almost painfully and it’s as if his limbs have a mind of their own. 

Just as you cry out with your head tossed back against the pillows as far as they’ll allow, his knot slips into you before rapidly swelling wide, locking him against you. Gasping at the intrusion, you lift yourself up in an attempt to see where your bodies are joined. You feel the head of his cock up snug against your cervix as he spills into you, and the burn that follows as he nearly has you gaping is enough to steal your breath away. 

Still, it’s not enough. Even as his cum spills into you, even as you shakily smile up at him through your post-ecstasy tremors—

—that pretty little gland on the side of your neck calls to him. 

A siren's song he can’t block out, he stares at it as his weight begins to settle into you. Stomach meeting yours, arms on either side of your head; his tongue darts out between his lips and he swears even with the distance he can taste you. All musk and sugary vanilla sure to rot his teeth straight through the core. Syrupy vodka drowning out his senses until he’s drunk, unsteady on his palms.

His heart beats hard and fast in his chest. It’s as if it’s trying to tear itself apart. Cord by cord until nothing but shredded muscle and degraded arteries are left in its wake. His huff is warm against your face, fanning across your sweating skin, he notes the way your brows narrow. 

“Kyle? Is everything—”

His teeth meet flesh quickly followed by bone. Rock solid, firm against his canines; he grunts as blood floods into his mouth. Watery on his tongue, he can’t pull away from the flavor despite the pain blossoming in his body. After a few moments he begins to shake, biceps weakening, hardly able to keep himself afloat; the only reason he doesn’t crash is because of your alluring voice. 

“Easy,” you coo, fingers running along his spine. “Don’t hurt yourself, Ky.” 

Eventually he gets his teeth to unlatch, and when he pulls away he realizes he’s marked nothing more than the side of his hand. Deep dents mar the thick flesh of his thumb all the way to the tender metacarpals that scream out in agony as his blood runs and soaks into the bedsheets. His eyes flutter shut and he groans as he buries his face against you, body yearning so terribly for the real thing that he’s nearly left writhing on top of you. 

He wants it so bad—wants you so bad—but he knows he shouldn’t. 

You start taking deep, intentional breaths that he can’t help but fall into the rhythm of. His nerves calm, no longer jittery yet still teetering on the edge—he feels the bite of his rut ebb. It’s the closest to the real thing he’s gotten in quite some time, and the hormone dump helps to clear his head, even if only marginally. 

“Better?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” Kyle sighs, nose prodding along the underside of your chin. Better, but not perfect—not yet. 

“I’ve never seen an alpha bite into their own hand like that before,” you admit with a giggle. 

He shakes his head. “I can’t mark you. Can’t claim you.” 

The temperature in the room plummets, and you go still. “...oh?” 

“I can’t. Can’t do that. Can’t mark you. I won’t.” 

Through his mumbling, the swelling in his knot goes down enough for him to slip out of you, but his erection is still painfully present. Whatever response that’s bubbling up in your throat is pushed out as he rocks his hips back slowly, then snaps them forward. That heat is rising within him again. That demand that nature finally takes its course. 

Just before his lips crash against yours once more, you hear him growl: “This is gonna fucking kill me.”

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | early access to chapters here

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do you have any recommendations for gaz fics/writers? he's my specialest little freak boy and i don't see enough for him in this fandom .. thank you!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58078732

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63151435

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64058515/chapters/164343100

These are my personal faves but if anyone has any recommendations for writers or fics please pop them in the comments!!!

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Kyle sees you sucking on an ice lolly across the sofa and he's immediately got a boner.

Doesn't matter that it's thirty degrees out right now, he's already on you, crawling over your body while you whine about how hot it is and how sweaty you both are.

"Gimme a taste, love."

And you do, firstly, pointing the colourful thing towards his face and watching yourself as he makes fuck boy eyes at you while he swirls his tongue over the top of it. Both so horny and embarrassed by him that with your palm you try to push him away, a futile effort that only has his cold and sweet lips latching onto your skin.

His kisses work you into such a bliss that you forget about the lolly in your hand, sticky juice coating your hand and you're about to complain again when your fingers are in his mouth.

Hot. Wet. Mouth. Eyes shining brighter than ever as he sucks and licks and gags. You don't think your thighs can press any closer together, in a trance as he savours the taste.

A damp kiss placed on your palm when he's done and then:

"Would like somethin' sweeter, if you don't mind."

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I felt like you guys will appreciate this

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ghoap dump

color one in full on twitter/bluesky

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Riley w Simon !!

This is Soap's wallpaper btw

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Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: daddy kink, explicit sexual content

The world slows down. 

Everything outside the house fades to the background. His job, your job, the noise in between. Outside of checking in on Gaz and Mara and taking care of Duchess, he keeps himself laser focused. On you. 

He gets your words back a few days after the robbery happens. They’re slow. Heavy. Weighed down by the chaos and pain in your mind, gaze bottomless and bleak, every time he stares into your eyes his chest hurts like he’s taken a fist to the sternum. You croak a question just past sunrise after sleeping for twelve hours. 

“How long was I out?” You’re blinking, trying to clear the dried tears from your lashes, brow furrowed, and he smiles for the first time in a week, savoring the sound of your voice before ignoring your question. 

“Hi sweetheart.” 

“Hi daddy.” You whisper on an exhale, and press your face to the crux of his neck and shoulder. He bites his tongue. Doesn’t tell you how happy he is you’re talking, doesn’t say anything about being relieved. He gives you time for this moment and nothing else. The warmth of your breath tickles his bare skin. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for anything.” He kisses the top of your head, mindlessly rubbing circles into your body, your shoulders, your back, any place in between. “Taking care of you is like breathing. You’re mine.” You dot your lips onto his jaw and burrow yourself into his body, your home, the place where you’ll always belong. 

Recovery from trauma is climbing a mountain, not running an easy, asphalt paved marathon. There are rocks and scrambles and lost maps. It’s not something laid out perfectly before you, it’s not something you can easily see. It’s hard and grueling and miserable. 

You take it on the chin though, and he’s so proud of you. Proud every time you come out of therapy with a nervous and slightly relieved smile, proud every time he catches you leaning over a mixing bowl at home and humming. All the changes hurtle towards you like a meteor crashing to earth, and while you stumble and fall, he’s always there to pull you back up. 

“I can’t believe we sold out again.” He raises his eyebrows. 

“It’s been happening for weeks baby. People love what you do, what you make.” 

“I know but it’s um.. it’s a little crazy right?” You’ve quit your job. You tried but couldn’t make it through the front doors, and he didn’t push you. It works out in his favor, after all. So you decided to do something else. An out of home bakery where you take orders at your own pace and make special occasion cakes or baskets of pastries, both savory and sweet. You have a consistent stall at the local farmer’s market, where you sell small things and loaves of bread, sweet rolls and whatever else you’ve picked for that day. Mara handles everything, the website, the payments, the deliveries, and you focus on the thing you love. It’s only been up and running for a few weeks, but word of mouth has already spread, and your social media accounts have thousands of followers. The waitlist for your weekly sourdough loaves that you sell at the farmers market is long, and the stand always has a line and sells out. They all wait their turn to fill brown paper bags with whatever you’re selling, each one folded over and stamped proudly with the name of your business. 

Raspberry Girl. 

“No. It’s not crazy.” He lightly traces the slope of your hip, dipping his thumb beneath the waistband of your shorts. “You’re talented. The bakery,” he slips the elastic of your panties to the side, “was so popular because of you.” You suck in a sharp breath when he slides his thumb down your seam. He’s not surprised you’re already wet. He’s been so careful lately, on edge about pushing you too far when your brain, your heart is still trying to process what happened, but it’s been hard. You’ve been asking. 

And tonight, he’s decided you’ll have it. 

He pulls your hand to his groin over his sweatpants, molding your palm to his cock, heat straining beneath the fabric. You whimper. 

“Gonna be daddy’s good girl and take his cock?” Your eyes lock, and you nod. “Words baby.” 

“Y-yes daddy.” He rolls you onto your back, snaking a hand between your knees and gently pulling them apart after he strips you down. You’re swollen and dripping, toes curling when he circles your clit and presses two fingers inside you. He’s done what he can, but you’re still so tight, and he kicks the last of his boxers off without losing his pace, still between your thighs. Your fingers twist the sheets. Nerves. He reads it so easily, every expression, every single blink and twitch guiding him, telling him everything he needs to know. 

“It’s okay.” He nips at your jaw, covering your body with his for a moment, flattening your hand over his heart. “I’m right here.” 

“I kn-know.” He shifts, his elbow rests above your head, wild need screaming inside his bones, his blood, begging him to claim you, pump you full, fill you up. He flicks your clit, and your nails lightly scratch over his chest as you shive with the stimulation. 

“Does that feel good?” 

“Y-yeah.” The rhythm syncs, your hips and his hand moving together, and at the last second, he pulls away. “Wait!” His chuckle rings nearly sinister, and he taps your clit, the contact just barely there, enough to drive you crazy. 

“Keep your legs open baby, nice and wide.” The head of his cock, already leaking, sits at your opening, and he slowly pushes it in, not even an inch, rocking back and forth. You whimper, but stay anchored to the bed, position steady even though you’re trembling with shaky breaths. “Good girl, stay just like that.” He gives you more, taut skin stretching to take him, muscles tensing and relaxing as he rubs your clit, slows his strokes. “I have you,” he murmurs, taking a second to drop his lips to yours, “I’ve got you sweet girl.” When you calm, he sinks deeper. 

“Oh fuck,” you reach for him, gripping his arms with a strength he didn’t know you had. “I- ah-” 

“Halfway there baby girl, you can take it.” He’s never had an issue with control, but watching his cock disappear inside your body has his balls already tightening, stomach clenching. 

He gives you time to adjust. He’s slow and careful, holding you on the edge of an orgasm as he picks up speed, working himself in, your cries and moans filling the room. Your clit throbs under his touch, and knows you’re desperate. 

“It’s too- too much daddy, I c-can’t.” He kisses you slowly, gently murmuring in your ear, holding you tight, soothing you while still working his way inside your body even though you're clawing at his back and he knows he'll wear your marks tomorrow.

“Shh, I know, I know. Almost there baby.” 

“N-no, I…” He steals your words by finally fully seating himself, swallowed all the way to the root, his hips against yours. Your legs go stiff. “Oh my god-” 

“Fuck.” It’s nearly inaudible, grunted garbage hoarse and scraping his throat as he clamps down for control. He moves one of your legs to get a better look, pushing it back to your chest, throbbing inside you as he savors your groan. He’s shoved up against your cervix, walls strangling him, scorching and wet, everything he dreamed of, but better. Perfect. Like you always are. Your lower lip trembles, and he folds over to kiss you again, the movement allowing him to  push farther as he swallows your whimper. This is where he stays as he starts to roll his hips, painstakingly slow, watching your expression twist in half pain, half pleasure, gasping. 

“Too big, it’s… you’re too big.” His mouth is tender on yours, lulling you calm, controlling your breath until it’s normal and you’re relaxed, legs limp and loose. He experiments with a harder thrust, and your back arches, pussy spasming around him. He groans, presses down on your stomach above your mound. 

“You’re stuffed full of me baby. D’you feel it? Is that daddy’s cock in your belly so deep?” He’s fucking you now, earnestly, pushing and pulling while still rubbing your clit. 

“Ah, ah, y-yeah I f-feel it I feel…” Tears wet your cheeks, shining in the low light of the evening, sunset casting a summers glow through the windows. The sight of them is like a lightning bolt down his spine. 

“My sweet girl,” he keeps you close, holds you, soaks it all in like it’s the last moment he’ll ever have. “Sweet baby girl, taking daddy’s cock so well.” You’re dangerously close to coming, cunt clenching and trying to milk him, and while he’d love to edge you until you break apart, he’s too close himself. He puts more pressure on your clit, rubbing the bud in circles as you shake. “Do you want to come?” 

“Yes! Please, plea-sepleaseplease daddy,” the tears continue and he licks them up, salt slicking his tongue. You babble your plea, half coherent, dangling on the cusp while he’s hanging on by a thread. 

“Go ahead,” he chokes, unbridled and raw instinct rising to the top, pushing its way out, and his hips meet yours harshly. “Come for me sweetheart. Come all over your daddy’s fat cock.” You explode, strangle him, bones going from limp to rigid and back again, screams turned to whimpers as he fucks you through it, too rough, too much, his release right behind you. Your eyes go wide when he floods your pussy with cum, brows knitted, and he smiles against your cheek, soaking it all in. This claim, this knowledge that he’s first, he’s last, he’s only. His forever. 

He indulges in the after. You’re swollen and already sore as he anticipated, emotions boiling over, fresh tears lining your lashes. It’s a lot, he knows, so much to take it, to learn, and he holds you through the rollercoaster, the up and down until you’re calm and ready for your bath, which he just barely manages as you’re falling asleep, head in his hand, unable to hold yourself up. 

“Ow,” you hiss at the cloth between your legs with a playful, exhausted glare. He kisses your forehead. 

“I know baby, I’m sorry. Be still for me.” You sigh, trying to fight the battle of sleep and terribly losing. “It’s okay sweet girl, you can close your eyes. I’ve got you.” He thinks you’re already there, stolen away by dreams when a whisper drifts free from your lips. “I love you.” His heart clenches. 

“I love you too.” 

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Turning Page

You work at the library Simon and his daughter frequent.

single dad! alpha Simon Riley x librarian! omega reader

tags | alpha! Simon Riley, Omega! Reader, a/b/o dynamics, mentions of mating bonds, scenting, fluff, angst

chapter 6 | masterlist | ao3

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It’s on his tongue.

Jasmine and vanilla.

As if he can roll it around in his mouth like a sucker, layering it thick on his gums and cheeks. It hasn’t left his taste buds since that night, licking his molars like some animal. He can smell it with every breath, taste it when he swallows.

What was supposed to satiate the craving, appease the primal urge pulsing through his alpha, only increased it tenfold. You already flooded his brain with thoughts of you, but now his alpha is even more persistent. Rearing its head in his chest every second, agitated, unsettled.

He wants more, the remnants cling to his taste buds, molded into his skin, but it’s not enough. Not nearly when he can still feel your warmth on his fingertips, the scalding heat of your scent gland under his thumb. Not even close when the image of you, blinking up at him, lips swollen, eyes a little lost like your mind had traveled somewhere else completely was etched onto his irises.

Your breath practically rings in his ears all day, panting and hot. The soft mewls you made with each passing swipe of his thumb on your mating bite, like you could feel the message he was trying to convey. It’d be his teeth soon, his fangs covering that ugly mark.

His cock was thick in his pants when he walked back inside, even heavier in his palms as he mulled over your scent that same night.

He’s retired who he used to be— Ghost. The menacing gait, the silent threat, the violent devil on his shoulder— his alpha. It’s all gone, replaced by Clementine.

It spills from his control when you’re there, sitting in front of him looking like everything pretty under the sun with a curl to your lips and an omega scent that has him reeling.

It’s just you and him this time.

Clementine’s at home with her uncle Johnny while he’s brought you to some fancy restaurant. He’s never done this, he’s certain he’s never taken someone on a date before. It’s a gray area for him, but he opened the door for you, pulled out your chair, and brought flowers for you. He’s even put gel in his hair, trimmed his beard, and all.

Like a proper gentleman.

A proper gentleman— he has to keep reminding himself. Bouncing the words around in his mind.

But every inch of you is tempting. His black button-up is suffocating, hugs his muscles in all the wrong places, trousers are tight on his thighs, but you. Your blouse hugs you around every heavenly curve, your skirt revealing just enough skin of your plump thighs.

Gentleman.

“You look absolutely beautiful.” He compliments, eyes focused on you because he means it. He doesn’t want to look away.

You smile, eyes falling to your lap coyly, pulling your hands to fidget with your ensemble of rings, “You don’t look too shabby yourself.”

“You nervous?” He asks, a tick to the corner of his lips.

You chuckle, shoulders shifting with the movement, “You can smell me.”

It’s rhetorical. He knows you don’t mean it in this way, but he leans forward, cupping the side of your neck to press his nose to your scent gland. You gasp, fingers fisting his shirt so tightly it’ll leave wrinkles, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Not when he inhales deeply and his senses are overwhelmed with everything you.

It has a tinge of apprehension to it, and a sick twisted version of himself likes it. Licking his chops like some predator, prey tastes better with shocked nerves.

Gentleman.

It forms in the forefront of his mind, makes him pull back instead of laving his tongue along the gland like he wants. His eyes are dark when he sits back, one arm around the booth, pinching the fabric tightly, the other splayed on the table. Your own are dilated, shoulders tense as you hold your breath.

“How do I smell?” You ask meekly, voice barely above a whisper.

Delectable. Sugar-spun musk. Everything and anything that’s meant to be his and Clementine’s.

“Smell fuckin’ good.” His voice is deep, rough, holding on to any semblance of self-control he has left.

That makes your eyes widen, breath finally fluttering out of your chest in shock, “Really?”

“Mmh, matches mine.” Matches ours.

Sandalwood and jasmine. Warm and smooth. Intertwined together to form something intoxicating. It makes you bare your neck, scent gland on display as you breathe a reply.

“Yeah?”

And how can he control himself when you sound like that?

Molten honey, melting over him in waves.

His hand moves on its own accord, brushing a thumb across the gland to scent mark you. Douse his sandalwood with yours, mark you pretty as his. Your eyes flutter when he does, leaning into his touch without a second thought like you enjoy it.

“Goes with Clementine’s citrus too.” You say, finding his gaze through heavy eyes.

That alone makes him press his finger harder to your gland, a muffled growl slipping from his throat. It’s a possessive sound, territorial, lip snarling slightly because it’s true. Your jasmine mixes so heavenly with his Clementine’s.

Jasmine. Sandalwood. Citrus.

His soon-to-be family. His two girls.

The night goes smoothly after that, just as it should until you bring up Clementine’s mother. He’s not fond of the story, not particularly proud of it either, but he knew it’d come up eventually.

“It was a one-night stand. Barely knew the girl, but she comes back weeks later, tells me it’s mine.” He gulps, shrugging his shoulders, “Who am I to not believe her? So, I stood by her side. Until my Clementine was born. After that, it wasn’t even a question, she smelled like me, smelled like my fuckin’ pup.”

You nod along, listening intently to his words, “So, what happened?”

“She wanted me to bond her. I didn’t want to, so she left after that. Said she wasn’t ready to parent a child if we weren’t bonded, that her pack would shun her.” He sighs, fingers hugging the table so tightly that the blood in his knuckles has gone white. “Left me and Clementine behind. Didn’t even argue, if she didn’t want to be in my Mint’s life she didn’t deserve to be her mom.”

It’s a bittersweet feeling every time he talks about it, he loves his Clementine, but it hurts to think anyone would leave her behind, miss the treasure of a personality she was born with. But her mom doesn’t deserve to know.

“Hasn’t contacted us since.”

The look in your eyes is sincere, your voice is even more sincere when you respond, “I’m sorry, neither of you deserved that. Clementine deserves a better mom than that.”

You reach out tangling your fingers with his, squeezing his hand softly in acknowledgement. His Mint does deserve better than that. His Mint deserves a mom.

None of it matters now that they have you.

“I understand her,” You start, tracing your thumb along the inside of his palm, “Leaving your pack is difficult. In a different world I’m sure she would’ve wanted to stay with her baby.”

He sees the thought fizzle on your tongue and die, in a different world you wouldn’t have been mated to an alpha you didn’t want.

In a different world him and Clementine wouldn’t get you.

“Don’t want to be in any other world than this one.”

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@weeping-treee @lumilily @tessakate @shitaaba @lucienofthelakes @nocturnal-nyx @aphinthestars @muraaaaaa @night-shadowblood-writes2 @whos-fran @thetastewassweeter @eremika104 @animegamerfox @oaksgrove @dawnnightshade666 @chaieanne @trulovekay @appalachianecho @grossitsluca @noonespecial2347 @spidersuneee @ihe4rtme @lunamoonbby @iaozuyiling @aggiesramble @novthewolf @irondreamerface @chaos-on-stand-bi @callsignpxnguin @flowerluvr @whatdoyxumean @sleepybunnygirly @cd-mr @cod-bin @crackheadwithtoes @diasnohibng @bookies16 @amberbalcom14 @vajjaa

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sleep token 🤝 writing smut

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Price doesn't want you asking for anything, not ever. When he put that ring on your finger, it wasn't just because he wanted you to have something pretty -- it was because he wanted you to know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, his intentions to take care of you, till death do you part.

So he anticipates things you want, things you need, before you can voice them. If you get a little snippy in the afternoon, he brings you a snack. If he catches you wincing and stretching in the morning, might be time for a new mattress.

And when it's summer and he sees you parked in a lounge chair in the yard, the legs a little uneven on the grass, well, time to go shopping for some lumber, because he's going to build you a porch.

John is strong, capable and knowledgeable -- this is hardly the first thing he's built -- so it goes pretty smoothly. He sets up his saw in the garage, parks his truck with the lumber near the entrance, and gets to work.

And it is a sight to see.

Just him in cargo pants and a sweat-soaked t-shirt, spending what little free time he has doing something like this, all for you. You can't come in the garage unless you put on safety glasses and preferably some ear protection when the power tools are going, but him? He's used to it all. And when he starts putting down the posts, his biceps flexing as he works the nail gun ...

You start to think that maybe you might like some more home additions.

"Like what you see, pet?" he asks as you stand around, just watching. He lifts his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow and his shirt lifts enough for you to catch a glimpse of a sliver of his hairy stomach, soft but strong.

You do. You really, really do.

[spacecola7]

couple of WIPs for you tumblr lurkers (and a gentle nudge in the direction of my bluesky)

[spacecola7]

Hehe more gator!reader :D

Ur suppression of hybrid instincts is starting to stress gaz out, and when gaz is stressed then so is soap. And when the sargeants are stressed then *everyone* is stressed, so price makes the call to get u back in touch with ur instincts.

It is....much easier said than done. You lock up at and direct mention of instincts, and even the smallest thing reminds u that ur a hybrid and suddenly u become closed off. It takes alot of trial and error, but eventually they manage to get you outside on a hot day (by their standards lol). It helps that over the weeks you've also become more comfortable around them, a tentative friendship.

Gaz is currently trying to impress upon soap just how much 1 billion lions is, which ur only half listening to. The suns out, and ghost is half lounging under some shade, earbuds firmly in place. You just got done sparring, body languid and sore in a way u know wont be quite so nice the next morning. Still, its nice to sit and enjoy nature with ur team, the sun making an appearance after many days of rain.

This isnt the first time you've done this, but its definitely looking like the most successful attempt from the guys when you silently move out of the shade to rest ur chin against a flat rock, eyes half-lidded. Price has to bite back a reflexive jerk at the sound that suddenly leaves ur throat.

Its low and gutteral, a mere whisper compared to other gator hybrids but a roar considering ur previous silence. Its a fucking purr. A happy throaty sound that you don't even seem to be aware off. The men share significant glances, and all silently agree to stay as long as you wish, despite the fact price and ghost definitely have a meeting in ten minutes.

You doze for maybe another half hour before ur purr settles down and u open ur eyes properly. Everyone acts normal, no reason to stress you out, and silently rejoice when you dont immediately clam up or shy away. Small progress, but it means everything to them.

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the 141 and european badger hybrid!reader, aka the cutest thing ever until ur not.

ur definitely on the short side and packed with muscles, a trait characteristic of badger hybrids. unlike some other badgers, you arent all that aggressive, a bit of a disappointment to some. you much rather retreat or talk out a disagreement than bring it to the mats. still, the 141 adore you and your habit of taking their clothes for ur den lol.

you look up at them with big wet eyes, asking sweetly for some or their snacks whenever you see them. it doesnt matter if said snack is like five fruit gummies, you want some! ur soft disposition makes it hard to say no to you, especially when you let out a happy bark whenever they indulge.

sure, ur personality has garnered plenty of ridicule. people think ur too soft to be a member of the 141, that maybe all those successful missions were in spite of and not because of ur involvement. you put up with all the comments, ducking into ur room or wearing headphones to drown it out. you seem impossible to anger, which makes it all the more shocking when you snap in the middle of the mess hall.

it was small, in gazs opinion. someone shoulder checked him and muttered "stay in your lane, mutt." typical stuff from insecure soldiers, he was used to it. but you? you were furious. the growl you let out loud enough to silence the room. the soldier pinned to the wall, ur claws outright piercing their tac vest, just shy of their lungs. the only thing stopping you from ripping out their throat was the memory of price complaining about paperwork the night before.

"try that shit again and ill tear your fucking canines out." you hiss, the soldier visibly cowering, ears pinned back. as soon as it happened, the moment passes and you step away, looking at gaz. ur ears flick and you grab his hand, leading him out of the hall with an embarrassed and shy chuff. fucking shy, as if u didnt just threaten the equivalent of castrating someone. gaz follows along, wondering where youd want to eat when he takes you out.

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Do we think gator!reader has unhealthy nervous habits? Hell yes.

You tend to anxiously pick at ur scales without noticing until they start to bleed where u lifted one of the edges off. At this point ur so used to it that you just slap some gauze on and call it a day, but when gaz sees u do it he lowkey panics.

"Hey, are you okay?" He's stopped u in the doorway to some empty hall, face pinched like hes uncomfortable "I uh- noticed the...self-grooming. If youre feeling stressed with your tasks we can talk to price-" you cut him off by holding up a hand, head tilted.

"Huh? Dude I just fidget alot, accidentally knick myself sometimes. Its good." You leave before he can continue, pulling out ur phone to look up what the fuck self-grooming is. (Turns out its a common nervous response in hybrids under high-stress situations. Huh. The more u know.)

[spacecola7]

[spacecola7]

Hmmm price who gets back from deployment and he is *tired* he wants nothing more than to pass the fuck out and sleep for a month.

His beloved, on the other hand, has been waiting for him. You've been achingly desperate for price, you need to get railed properly. The last time he let u ride his thigh while he slept, but this time he comes prepared.

With what? Well, his favourite sargeant ofc. Gaz was lowkey flustered when price brought it up, but there was no way he was gonna say no to getting to fuck u. So while price gets some much needed sleep, ur right next to him, holding his hand while gaz gives u the best head of ur life. Price wakes up briefly a few hours later to see you riding gaz, gives his sargeant an approving grunt and firm pat on the side then goes back to sleep lol.