#[lets be real -- i've missed them all]

[aerisosweet]

dimpled bucket hat prince 🙂

[medicinemane]

You know, looking at a diet soda can it occurs to me that it might not be so wretched to me if the cans weren't so unpleasant

Like we know that things like color play a role in how our brain perceives things, and I realized looking at the can that they're always this bland but at the same time nasty looking silver and it just... it looks foul and I think that compounds with the fact that I also just plain don't like diet soda

My point here isn't to say anyone else shouldn't like diet soda, just how I never realized how much of an impact the can has on me not liking it... there's just something offputting about it to me

[dawntheduckrb]

I'll stop posting wips eventually but it's been five days since I've said anything and I don't want anyone to think I'm dead/dying/stuck in a ditch and withering away, so here's 10% of the reason I disappeared (the duck is stuck in rendering hell) (and my little baby laptop is screaming at me every time I open up this file)

I might still be mostly lurking for a little bit so please be patient with me in the meantime 🙏🙏

[iiboronii]

i think that i might've posted about it before but i <3 all the little -ler blogs on here. i'm being so fr. nothing clears my skin more than seeing a -ler blog answering questions. i love you guys please keep making silly little -lers.

[girlcrushau]

[tiffanylamps]

did i mean to take a break from tumblr for this long? nope. am i "back"? we'll find out together

[syrren]

pls help me procrastinate and send me an ask with a number between 1-100 (for spotify wrapped top songs list) and a character and i'll doodle something connecting the two!

[aberooski]

The way I fucking love Age of Ultron with my entire heart and soul 😭

[feleshero]

Night-Spider Episode 9: The Alien Costume (Part 2)

The first time Felicia put on the 'suit', it was... It was like the first time she was with Flash. The 'first' time, not the FIRST time.

It was warm. Tender where she needed coddling, fierce where she needed pressure. It coiled in her hands at first, threads of cooled darkness tickling at her aura. Asking permissions and testing boundaries.

She was unsure where to guide it. Sentient alien companions were a bit outside her wheelhouse, admittedly. She thought it best to do what consenting adults did and ask.

❝ How do we do this? ❞ There was a warble in her hands. A response gone unspoken, but one she understood. Deep breath.

The next part also reminded her of her first time with Flash... sorta.

The tears welling in her eyes and spilling out onto her cheeks, the impossibly disgusting yet eternally sweet flavor coating every bud on her tongue, the feeling like she was choking... pinpoint spots of the abyss forming in the center of her vision as she choked, gagged, drowned under the deluge forcing its way down her throat.

Hunched over, the darkness in her hands has grown three times as large. Ten times as heavy. It brings her down to her knees, spiking her into the earth in penance as her throat bulges at the seams.

Small veins of obsidian leak through her pores. The effusion burns COLD. So cold she can feel her skin freezing under its creeping advance. She tries to wick some away, in a panic. She succeeds, a glob of darkest black sent careening away from her, trailing a warm, rich crimson behind it.

A swatch of her flesh is ripped off, the darkness having threaded itself through her skin like needlepoint. To be rid of it, now, would be to be rid of her. She's trapped, freezing to death under a torrent of molten entropy, and her every pitiful cry is denied purchase.

Throat. Vocal chords. Even the well of her lungs have been seized by the suit. Every sound she makes is a frantic gurgle, a horrid screech, or a pitiful sob. Ichor leaks from her mouth when she tries to speak, metallic like blood, she can feel the perforations in her tongue, now swollen and barbed, too big to sit comfortable behind the serrated fangs that splintered her pristine whites and tore her gums asunder to find purchase.

Oxygen was precious. Measured in seconds now that her lungs were heavy with fluid and closed to the rest of her being.

Her phone. Just out of reach of her spasming fingers. If she can find a moment of focus, just ONE, she can call for help. Middle and Ring curl back, a practiced manuever toward the spinneret embedded in her wrist. They find purchase!

THWIP! The gossamer thread casts out, finds its target and-

❝ ... ❞

Gone. Lost beneath the darkness. Extended hand gone limp and then dragged underneath the oceanic abyss. Her flesh hardened and peeled off, her muscles untethered and splayed out, her bones dissolved. Gone.

And then the voice of GOD carves its way through Felicia.

Vibrating. Nothingness.

Reweaving. Infinite.

The divine presence changes the spider's venom within her. The tarantula's venom changes the call of the abyss without her. They both changed what remained of Felicia. They all turned into something else.

An Angel of the Void.

The spider made darker. The darkness made venomous.

Felicia was stretched. Stretched as anyone when seen from out of time. Across the call of ages, back to a universe that died to bring her this death. Almost an ouroboros. A spiral. A maelstrom.

The gravity well of a black hole, twisting inward, tightening, taking her below and below to the bottom, the heart, and through to the other side.

The Suit said: "When you hear this, you will know you are in the new you."

The Spider warned: "They'll build you till nothing remains."

Felicia agreed: "I must want these waves to drag me away..."

And then she was whole. Full. Alive? Lungs SCREAMING appreciation for the taste of air again. Veins in overdrive, pushing blood, adrenaline, and more through her hyper-powerful being.

Outside of her bedroom, out in the city, clinging to the facade of Fisk Tower and staring into... into- her own reflection? But upside down. And in a STUNNING suit! The colors were familiar, but the logo? What a design.

❝ What... the fuck did you do to me? ❞

A response unspoken, in the still-frayed edges of her mind. Like winterized lightning crashing around her synapses, the distant warblings felt much closer now.

Much easier to discern. Almost like a voice she could hear, as clear as she could hear her own. As if spoken through her own mouth.

❝ To YOU, Felicia? Nothing. But FOR US? Everything. ❞

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

There's a viral video circulating from the Fort Worth Zoo, of two keepers who ended up in a habitat at the same time as a silverback gorilla. Spoiler for good news: neither the humans nor the gorilla got hurt. It's a bad situation that ended extremely well, and that's why I want to talk about it.

The audio for this video is mostly someone praying loudly, so if you need to turn the audio off to watch it, you won't miss anything relevant. If you don't want to watch it, here's the summary: it starts with a keeper running around the corner into the main exhibit, pursued by a large male gorilla. She is quickly able to get into a doorway at the back of the exhibit, but does not completely close the door because the gorilla is standing across from her, watching. He eventually moves off to the right hand side of the exhibit, where we can see a keeper is trapped in the corner at the front. She was trying to move towards the exit as he moved to the right, and she stops, standing very still behind a tree, while he stays along the far right wall. They stay like that for a minute, and then the gorilla runs to the front right corner, and the keeper is able to run to the door in the back of the exhibit and get to safety.

Let's start with basic information. Even though it's just going viral now, this video is from October of 2023. It was taken not by a guest, but by the zoo security officer responding to the situation. Hmmm, seems like he maybe should have been doing something else during that situation, instead of than taking a phone video. It's going viral now because the guy (who is no longer employed at the zoo) decided to post it on TikTok for his five minutes of fame. This guy immediately started giving all sorts of media interviews, answering questions like "why no tranquilizers" inappropriately, making memes out of his own video, generally distasteful shit.

Zoo spokesperson Avery Elander gave a public statement that "thankfully, there was no physical contact between keepers and gorilla, and all staff and animals are safe." A comment from the zoo has also indicated that the incident was due to keeper error. (As opposed to, for instance, something in the fencing breaking.) According to the guy who posted the video, a lock was left unsecured and the gorilla was able to open the door to the habitat. I don't know if I buy it, and again, this just... is probably why he doesn't have a job anymore. By sharing that detail - real or not - he places a ton of public scrutiny and blame on that keeper team. (If that's what happened, I can promise you it will have been dealt with internally.) He also was nice enough to say he wouldn't name the women in the video... but verified they're still staffers at the zoo... which means they're eminently identifiable! Excuse me while I ragequit for a second.

So there's two reasons I wanted to talk about this. The first is to make sure it is well known that this guy is purposefully and intentionally exploiting the worst day of someone's life for media attention. Their lives were in danger, and he's using it for fame. His name is in the media articles - I'm not going to share it because he doesn't deserve that attention. The second reason, though, is because this video is a masterclass on how to survive if you end up sharing space with a gorilla. Every zoo person I've spoken to or seen comment on the video is so, so impressed with how the keepers handled themselves.

The gorilla in this video is 34-year-old Elmo. All apes in AZA zoos are managed in protected contact, so keepers are supposed to be separated from them by a barrier at all times. The zookeepers were in the habitat putting out a mid-day meal when he got out. Watching the video, you can see he's not actively being aggressive towards them - he's not making threat displays or trying to approach them. Mostly, Elmo seems like he doesn't know what is going on and he's kinda freaked out about it. (This is confirmed in the zoo's press statement, too). The staff stayed calm, and importantly, watched and waited to see how he'd move and act.

The zoo did say one thing, though, that's a bit misleading. In one article, their press person I quote as saying “In general, gorillas are considered the “gentle giants” of the great ape species.” Just because this may be true in comparison to other great ape species doesn't meant gorilla aren't still incredibly dangerous. This type of messaging always worries me, because I think it leads people to misunderstand the risks of being close to megafauna. Gorilla are extremely strong animals, and their social norms/behaviors are very different from that of humans. That's why it's such a big deal any time people end up in gorilla habitats, and why sometimes in those circumstances lethal measures have to be taken to protect human life.

These keepers are incredibly lucky to be unharmed. These women stayed safe specifically because they're trained professionals who knew how to act around gorilla, they knew this particular animal well, and they'd learned the escapes from the exhibit just in case this ever happened. We should applaud them for their cool heads and quick thinking.

As for the guy who posted the video? As a colleague put it, may he always step on a Lego.

[mcmansionhell]

namesake mcmansion

Howdy folks! Today's McMansion is very special because a) we're returning to Maryland after a long time and b) because the street this McMansion is on is the same as my name. (It was not named after me.) Hence, it is my personal McMansion, which I guess is somewhat like when people used to by the name rights to stars even though it was pretty much a scam. (Shout out btw to my patron Andros who submitted this house to be roasted live on the McMansion Hell Patreon Livestream)

As far as namesake McMansions go, this one is pretty good in the sense that it is high up there on the ol' McMansion scale. Built in 2011, this psuedo-Georgian bad boy boasts 6 bedrooms and 9.5 baths, all totaling around 12,000 square feet. It'll run you 2.5 million which, safe to say, is exponentially larger than its namesake's net worth.

Now, 2011 was an anonymous year for home design, lingering in the dead period between the 2008 black hole and 2013 when the market started to actually, finally, steadily recover. As a result a lot of houses from this time basically look like 2000s McMansions but slightly less outrageous in order to quell recession-era shame.

I'm going to be so serious here and say that the crown molding in this room is a crime against architecture, a crime against what humankind is able to accomplish with mass produced millwork, and also a general affront to common sense. I hate it so much that the more I look at it the more angry I become and that's really not healthy for me so, moving on.

Actually, aside from the fake 2010s distressed polyester rug the rest of this room is literally, basically Windows 98 themed.

I feel like the era of massive, hefty sets of coordinated furniture are over. However, we're the one's actually missing out by not wanting this stuff because we will never see furniture made with real wood instead of various shades of MDF or particleboard ever again.

This is a top 10 on the scale of "least logical kitchen I've ever seen." It's as though the designers engineered this kitchen so that whoever's cooking has to take the most steps humanly possible.

Do you ever see a window configuration so obviously made up by window companies in the 1980s that you almost have to hand it to them? You're literally letting all that warmth from the fire just disappear. But whatever I guess it's fine since we basically just LARP fire now.

Feminism win because women's spaces are prioritized in a shared area or feminism loss because this is basically the bathroom vanity version of women be shopping? (It's the latter.)

I couldn't get to all of this house because there were literally over a hundred photos in the listing but there are so many spaces in here that are basically just half-empty voids, and if not that then actually, literally unfinished. It's giving recession. Anyway, now for the best part:

Not only is this the NBA Backrooms but it's also just a nonsensical basketball court. Tile floors? No lines? Just free balling in the void?

Oh, well I bet the rear exterior is totally normal.

Not to be all sincere about it but much like yours truly who has waited until the literal last second to post this McMansion, this house really is the epitome of hubris all around. Except the house's hubris is specific to this moment in time, a time when gas was like $2/gallon. It's climate hubris. It's a testimony to just how much energy the top 1% of income earners make compared to the rest of us. I have a single window unit. This house has four air conditioning condensers. That's before we get to the monoculture, pesticide-dependent lawn or the three car garage or the asphalt driveway or the roof that'll cost almost as much as the house to replace. We really did think it would all be endless. Oops.

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[somejerkguy]

hoooooly fuck dude.

tag vent

[medicinemane]

Sometimes you have something that you could say, that you think about saying, that you more or less know how you'd phrase it... but it's just not fucking worth it cause you know for a fact that people don't fucking listen

I don't know, I try to stay... if not optimistic then at least with a mind set of "doesn't matter, we've got no choice but to try and make things better"

Truthfully though I think I'm extremely pessimistic when it comes to the chances of anyone actually listening to what I say

I'm not sure if I'm just bad with words but... it seems impossible to convey even simple thoughts to people so... truthfully I've more or less given up and have just stopped trying. Especially if I don't at least know people well

So there it is

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.” 

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.” 

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?” 

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.” 

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago. 

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink. 

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her. 

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting. 

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care. 

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long. 

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic. 

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not. 

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack. 

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week. 

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head. 

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath. 

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-” 

“Classified?” You finish for her. 

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...” 

The less there is to make you a target. 

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time. 

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going. 

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.” 

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal. 

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military. 

That, and the excuse for violence. 

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented. 

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you. 

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together. 

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face. 

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.” 

You look nervous. 

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly. 

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega. 

His omega. 

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy. 

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand. 

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly. 

He doesn’t even want to think about that. 

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy. 

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand. 

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed. 

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.” 

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side. 

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents. 

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit. 

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about. 

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?” 

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.” 

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went. 

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.” 

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks. 

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.” 

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right. 

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.” 

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega. 

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says. 

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.” 

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.” 

He hasn’t failed her yet. 

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked. 

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags. 

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment. 

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent. 

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk. 

One more to go. 

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk. 

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity. 

He’s going to be a problem. 

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible. 

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane. 

“Coming, Si?” 

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared. 

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute. 

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent. 

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack? 

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door. 

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly. 

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says. 

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no. 

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back. 

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.” 

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression. 

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?” 

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.” 

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it. 

You can hold power over them. 

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to. 

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile. 

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell. 

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already. 

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in. 

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha. 

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”  

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs. 

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?” 

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.” 

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer. 

You nod. “Yes, sir.” 

“You lived on base?” He asks. 

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.” 

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it. 

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say. 

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well. 

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.” 

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent. 

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.” 

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks. 

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.” 

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks. 

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.” 

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks. 

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance. 

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.” 

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.” 

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails. 

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze. 

He’s going to be a problem. 

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.” 

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either. 

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.” 

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting. 

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach. 

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell? 

What if they don’t like the way you smell? 

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you. 

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier. 

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.” 

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible. 

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully. 

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen. 

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack. 

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs. 

“Ready?” 

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin. 

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland. 

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others. 

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you. 

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours. 

He’s testing you. 

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl. 

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting. 

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached. 

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place. 

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?” 

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head. 

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.” 

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland. 

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you. 

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze. 

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this. 

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice. 

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him. 

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat. 

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper. 

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek. 

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze. 

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them. 

They could if they wanted to. 

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you. 

“You hungry, pup?” 

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work. 

Pup. Price called you Pup. 

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you. 

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment. 

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again. 

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.” 

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.” 

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out. 

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear. 

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes. 

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear. 

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing. 

He’s proving his ability as a provider. 

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can. 

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you. 

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks. 

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost. 

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult. 

NEXT ->

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

[veritasangel]

Make you mine

Ft. Geto, Sukuna, Toji, Nanami, Gojo

sum: do they prefer giving or receiving? (oral sex)

warnings! fempov, oral (receiving & giving), fingering, cum eating/swallowing, 69 in satoru's, legal age gap in toji's, inappropriate photos in suguru's, true form sukuna

wc: 4.6k - masterlist

a/n: wrote nanami's part in awful period pain so i don't like his too much but oh well :/

Suguru Geto - ex bf

✦ Receiving ✦ He's good at pleasing you, but can be a little selfish at times, especially after your breakup. ✦ Spends far too many nights with only his hand and it just doesn't compare to you, which is why he keeps showing up.

It wasn't long before you two were in your bedroom, you on your knees, with Suguru's cock right in your mouth. You could feel him all too clearly now, with your lips wrapped around him and that shiver of pleasure running through him. How familiar-tasting he was, such that you feel at home like this.

You continued with the task of pleasing him, your eyes holding his; there was a mix of lust and longing in both your gazes. It was as though, in the silence, they confessed that something very real was still held between them.

The tension was thick, the room was filled with the sound of wet slurps and groans as the atmosphere in the room was heating up.

Suguru wasn't letting you go anywhere as he forcefully pushed your head down, allowing his strong cock to go even deeper in your mouth. "There, there—take it like a good little slut," he purred with raw lust.

"Fuck, I missed this," he groaned, fucking your face without an ounce of consideration, his hips giving rough jerks forward. "Missed watchin' you choke on my cock, missed seein' you on your knees fer me."

He would pull out, a moment of him allowing you the chance to get a breath in—and then, brutally, he would plunge back in, setting a relentless pace. "You're mine, baby. Even now- when you wanna' act single."

You gagged and choked, tears streaming down your face, but you didn't want to stop, not when he looked at you with those intense, commanding eyes. His words infused something in your system, like a drug, feeding the fire that licked at your insides. You two ended it because he was toxic, still is, yet you crave it.

"Your mouth, fuck- jus' so good-" Suguru growled, eyes aflame with lust and determination as he continued to use it, "I've jerked off to our old pictures and videos so many times, but it's just not the same. I need new memories, doll. Needed a reminder of how good you are at sucking my cock."

He whipped out his phone, snapping pics of your tear-stained face and bruised lips wrapped 'round his shaft. "Smile for the camera, baby. Give me something to work with."

His words were filthy, but there was something raw underneath them. He needed you, he desired you in a way that was so much more than the physical. His phone continued recording this intimate moment as he worked your face, his cock glistening with your saliva.

You licked along the length of Suguru's shaft. A prominent vein twitched under your touch, enough to make him groan a little louder and tighten his hold on your hair.

"Such a good girl," he whispered in a very lustful tone, "My pretty girl. You know just how to make me feel good." His breathing grew ragged with each flick of the tongue over his erection and every added lick.

Suguru's hips snapped, his cock thrusting in and out of your mouth, the head. Sweat streamed down his forehead, his eyes closed in ecstasy.

Your tongue started teasing the underside of his cock, running at the most sensitive part of his head, which caused him to groan and thrust more.

An intoxicating smell filled the room, a mixture of lust and wanting one could practically smell in the air. There was something primal and instinctual about the two of you and your connection.

You kept on sucking Suguru's cock while his body tensed up. His breathing was coming in shaky gasps; his thrusts became harder. His eyes flickered open, met yours with that wild, atavistic expression of desire crossing his features.

"I'm gonna cum," he growled in a voice that was so low, commanding—that was an order. You knew what it was, so you doubled your effort, taking him deeper, your tongue working double to milk every last drop of pleasure from him.

"Shit, I'm so close-" Suguru panted, and his thrusts were sloppy as he neared that crucial point. Right then, he reared back just enough so you had a moment to catch a breath before he asked, "You want my load, baby? Want me to paint that pretty tongue with it?"

His phone angled down as you nodded, filled with a desire to please him. Suguru was many things, most not great, but the pictures always stayed with him, alone. That you knew.

Looking up the camera, sticking your tongue out at it, a mischievous smile on your face told him that you were ready.

He let out a guttural moan, his cock pulsing and shooting ropes of cum. You swallowed what he was offering, leaning forward, and letting the last squirts decorate your chin and lips.

Finally, Suguru let the last few drops fall onto your tongue, and he sighed satisfactorily as his body went limp. He eyed one of the pictures on his phone, a grin flaring on his lips. "Perfect," he muttered, pocketing the phone.

His thumb swiped over the cum painting your chin before he brought his finger to your lips. "Clean it up, baby," he ordered low, husky. You did, your tongue darting out to suck his thumb clean before he leant down to kiss you softly, one hand tenderly cupping your cheek.

It was a charged moment between you two, intimate and animal-like at the same time, one that sparked something dangerously close to care.

It was a reminder of the shared passion that still raged between you two, despite the time apart from the breakup.

Sukuna Ryomen - one of his concubines

✦ Dare i say...Giving ✦ This man can get whatever he wants from anyone, he has no shortage of concubines, but there's only one of you so he savours your taste. ✦ He gets satisfaction just from hearing your moans, knowing he's the only one that can cause them.

You're lying back on the bed, your legs spread as he is on his knees, between them. Two of his arms are holding your thighs open and keeping your legs up. One is stroking your hair, and the fourth is at your waist, guiding you to arch your back, giving him better access to your pussy.

Sukuna's head dips down, his smirk still in place as his tongue slides out, flicking at your clit, and he groans at getting the taste of your sweetness. His fingers dig into your thighs even harder, holding you in place as he devours you, like a man starved.

One of those hands abandons your hair and drops down to your breast, squeezing at it, pinching and tugging your nipple. The mixture of pleasure and pain has you arching into his touch, moaning loudly.

The chuckle is dark, the sound is muffled but no less wicked. He pulls back slightly, blowing cool air against your wet folds. "You taste divine, little one. I could feast on this sweet cunt all night long."

With that, he dives back in, tongue delving deep inside you. He fucks you with his tongue, curling it to hit that one spot inside. His other hand joins in, fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit.

Sukuna remains constant—utterly unyielding and unrelenting, convinced that he has you unravelling at your seams. The muttered words of Sukuna follow the lead of his tongue. "You're the sweetest. Can't help but want to keep you by my side, always. My favourite- most precious concubine."

He wasn't a man to pay lip service with words like that. He meant them. You are his favourite, and you have him most taken. It is in the growl of possession in his voice, the way his grip on your thighs tightens, and his fingers work your clit.

Both his words and what he was doing to you had you writhing, and your moans grew louder. It was a heady mixture of pleasure, affection, and the unmistakable intensity of being worshipped by the King.

Sukuna parts his hold over your thighs and works his tongue more intensely, spearing deeper into your core, all with the silent determination to have you come apart on his tongue.

So enflamed in his hunger to suckle, Sukuna's tongue laved over its unending purpose against your pussy, lapping up your sweet nectar. The vibrations in his own moans rubbed against your sensitive flesh, sinfully and erotically loud.

One of your thighs is left abandoned from his hand, now down to grip his own cock. He strokes in time to the thrusts of his tongue, groaning at the dual sensations. The sight of him pleasuring himself while devouring you is fantastically erotic.

His fingers are pushing in, just like his tongue in your tight heat, and curl inside, always rubbing that spot that makes you see stars. All while his other hand is pumping his cock, and the wet sounds fill up the room.

Sukuna gets lost in the overwhelming pleasure but not too much as he remains very focused on you, devouring you. Fingers not ceasing, only driving harder, faster, building you towards the edge as he wanted nothing more than to taste your sweet release.

The taste of you had Sukuna nearly driven wild, his dark eyelashes fluttering under the feel of his own cock gripped tight in his hand. A little desperate, his strokes speed up with a lot more urgency now, parallel to the rhythm of his tongue and fingers inside you.

He is so focused on your pleasure, on making you come, that momentarily he has stopped thinking about himself. It's a rare glimpse of vulnerability—this powerful man, momentarily lost in the act of worshipping his concubine.

He's getting close now, breaths growing ragged, but he doesn't stop, can't stop. He's gone too far, too consumed with the need to have you come, to fill him with your release.

His tongue flattens on your clit, flicking, flicking rapidly over the sensitive nub. His fingers continue, curling inside. He's driving you, forcing you over the edge. Sukuna's hand moves faster over his cock; the wet sound of his strokes fills the room.

He's close, so fucking close. And he holds back—just waits for you, wants to feel your pleasure before he'll take his own.

"Come for me, little one," he growls, the words muffled against your pussy. Let me taste your release. Give yourself to me." His eyes opened, locking onto yours. In them, you saw your own pleasure reflected back at you—intense, all-consuming—you were waiting for him, ready for him to catch you as you fell.

His eyes never leave yours, interested in observing how your features contort with sensation, how your voice grows louder with moans. Every moment, every expression—committed to memory. And your taut body arches off the bed when your orgasm washes over you. Sukuna moans against your pussy, and those vibrations really drive the wave of pleasure through you.

He never quits, keeps on lapping at you until he draws out your orgasm and has you a quivering mess underneath him.

It's all too much for Sukuna; he loses it, coming with a guttural moan, his cum spurting over his hand. He continues stroking himself as he rides out his climax, milking the intense pleasure for all it is worth.

And then he finally pulls back, panting. He straightens up as he leans forward and captures your lips in a searing kiss. You can almost taste yourself on his tongue. Heady. More intoxicating.

"You are my true delicacy, little pet."

Satoru Gojo - fwb

✦ Honestly both, perfect 50/50 ✦ He's needy and spoilt, wants to have as much as he can get. He's just so desperate for you. ✦ So why not both at the same time? He wants to enjoy the taste of you and have your mouth on him.

You feel Satoru's cock slide into your mouth, and he groans with pleasure as his hips slightly buck forward as you begin to suck. His mouth doesn't stop as he continues with his relentless assault on your pussy, his tongue sucking on your clit before delving deep inside of you.

"That's it, just like that," he pants, muffled in your flesh. "Fuck, your mouth feels so good." He pushes into your mouth, fucking your face as he eats you out, dazed by need and blinded by lust.

Your hands work and twist around his rock-hard length, helping speed you along. His throbbing cock is cradled by your tongue, swirling and flicking around the sensitive tip.

"Fuck, you're so good at that. Bet you'd take my whole cock down your throat if I asked, huh?"

He pushes on your head a little, shoving more of his length down your throat. You gag a bit, but he doesn't stop. "That's a good girl." He coos, fingers sliding inside you meanwhile, curling to strike your sweet spot. "Fuck, you're so wet for me, just dripping all over my face."

The room was filled with moans and whimpers as Satoru's fingers began to pump in and out while his mouth works over your clit, sucking and nipping relentlessly. "Heard you were gonna go out on a date with someone else. Some other guy was gonna fuck you while I what- waited here?"

His words slid from him, possessively jealous, as fingers and tongue worked in tandem, bringing you ever closer to that edge. "You're mine, angel. All mine, and I won't share you with anyone else." He could feel your body trembling—the arousal washing through you. He wanted to hear you say it—that you were his and you wanted him more than you wanted any other person.

He pulls his cock from your mouth, just barely, enough that you can speak. A trail of saliva connects from your lips to his cock.

The look in Satoru's eyes bore into your very soul in a way that desperately teeters on another emotion, maybe wanting or almost angry. "Say it, baby," his fingers remained hard, thrusting in against your very insides, while his thumb tightly rubbed small circles on your clit.

"I need to hear it from you. Tell me you don't want anyone else, that you only want me. Fuck- I can't stand the thought of you with someone else." His voice turns all gruff, like a beg, as he waits for your answer, his body trembling from the surging need and jealousy.

You give in, hating the puppy dog look you know is on his face, the words tumbling out, breathless. "I'm yours, swear- I don't want anyone else."

It's like the words light something up in Satoru; his fingers fist inside you, and his thumb presses onto your clit once more.

Satoru buries his face in your pussy and resumes, sucking at your clit like he was starved. "God, you taste so good. I could eat this sweet pussy all day long."

"No one else gets to have you like this, to make you feel this good." His words are muffled against your flesh, but the possessive tone is clear. As Satoru continues to eat you out, his hips push up again, driving himself deeper until your nose all but burrows into his trimmed pubes. "That's it, show me how much you want me."

He feels the convulse in your throat around his cock, the shudder your body does in pleasure. "So fucking good- shit-"

Your tongue swirled, flicking on the sensitive tip, with your fingers clutching his balls, gently tugging and squeezing them. You feel his cock twitching and throbbing in your mouth; the veins are standing out in relief. Your saliva spills down the length of his shaft, running down your chin.

Satoru's mouth is smeared with your arousal; his fingers are wet with more of your juices. His tongue drags through your folds, leaving a sticky trail.

Satoru's hips faltered, the rhythm of his thrusts against your mouth slowing "Fuuck- I'm so close, baby."

Your body shakes, too, as the peak of your orgasm comes on. You call out, arching your back off that sofa as Satoru's deft mouth pushes you over the edge, eagerly leaning up to continue, holding your hips.

Satoru's cock swells in your mouth, and his hips jerk as he spills his load down your throat. He groans loudly, his fingers still working inside you as you ride out your orgasm to his, his mouth continuing to please you.

His cock twitches in your mouth, and you pull away. He groans at the sensation, his head falling back onto the sofa, his fingers finally leaving your still-quivering pussy, and you feel empty and full of satisfaction.

You lean back down onto the couch, Satoru's thighs acting as a headrest. He shifts again, pulling you up so that you're lying beside him. He wraps one arm around you, tucking you into his side as he pants and tries to catch his breath. "God, you just make me lose my fucking mind," he murmurs. His words were honey-thick with adoration, like candy.

He plants his lips on the top of your head, running his fingers through your hair like silk. "Don’t want ya’ to leave me, so let's just make it official, yeah?" he murmurs, trapping you in his arms.

Toji Fushiguro - boss

✦ Receiving. ✦ He gets lonely sometimes and craves the attention he gets from you. ✦ His work is exhausting and sometimes he just has to destress, it just so happens that his son’s babysitter is perfect for the job.

Toji groans as you take him into your mouth. He's been dying for this, for your touch, for weeks on end. It's been so long since he's had any kind of sexual contact, and the feeling of your warm, wet mouth around him is almost too much.

He reaches down to tangle his fingers in your hair, guiding the movements as you bob up and down on his length. "Fuck, just like that," he growls, hips rocking forward to meet your mouth. "You're such a good little cocksucker, aren't you? Taking my cock so well."

He wants to savour this, needs to make it last, "Ease up a little for me, sweetheart." His breath catches at you dragging your lips away from him to stroke a hand down over his slick, throbbing cock.

He feels the closeness, building pressure at the base of his spine. He's so close, so fast, it's goddamn embarrassing. Way too long since he'd had another touch. Toji's practically shaking with the effort of holding back, his abs flexing as he fights the urge to just let go.

You go slower, your tongue running downwards as you move to focus on his balls, sucking at the skin.

Toji lets out a shuddering groan as your tongue drags over his sensitive balls, his head falling back against the couch. "Oh fuck," he gasps, fingers tightening in your hair. "That's it, just like that. Suck on them, baby."

He's so goddamn close that he can hardly think. He wants to come, wants to feel the relief of release, but he wants it to last forever. He wants to bask in the feeling of your mouth on him, and he wants to drag out this moment of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

He fights it, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as you work over his balls, your tongue and lips driving him wild. "Don't stop," he begs, voice rough with need. "Please don't stop."

Toji's breath catches in his throat as your lips trail back up his shaft, planting kisses along it. Each soft kiss sending sparks of pleasure racing through him. He's so unbelievably sensitive, every touch feeling amplified tenfold.

His eyes are heavy-lidded, yet he drinks in the sight of you, kneeling between his legs, flushed, and with shining lips. You look like a goddamn dream, like something straight out of his dirtiest fantasies.

You reach the tip of his cock, and you flick your tongue out to tease the slit, a low, guttural moan coming from Toji's lips as you do so. "Fuck, yes," he hisses, hips bucking slightly forward. "Makin' me feel so good."

He's so close to the edge, it would take only a few more strokes of your tongue, a bit more pressure from your lips, and that would be it. His body all but vibrates with the need as muscles tighten, breathing becomes ragged, and he approaches release.

He watches the way your lips stretch around his girth, eyes narrowed, a look crossing his face of lust mixed with possession. "Look at me, baby," he growls, tightening the grip in your hair. "Look at me while you suck me off."

The sight of your lips wrapped around his cock as your eyes meet his, makes his eyes roll. Toji tightens his grip in your hair, holding you in place, while his hips buck up to meet your mouth as he face-fucks you, using your mouth for his whim of pleasure.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," he groaned as he fought the urge to let it go.  "You want my cum, baby? You want me to fill your mouth?"

He hisses, hips stuttering forward. "Take it, baby. Swallow every fucking drop." And then he's coming, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he spills himself into your mouth. He groans long and low, head thrown back, fingers tangled in your hair as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.

Toji's chest heaves as his high starts to come down, and he eases up on his grip in your hair. He looks down at you, a satisfied smirk on his lips. His hand comes to rest against your jaw as he silently urges you to open your mouth and show him.

Toji's eyes darken with approval as you open your mouth, revealing nothing but your pink tongue. He smirks, that possessive edge to his gaze sharpening. He leans forward, pulling you up some as his lips meet yours, tasting himself on your tongue. "Good girl," he purrs.

He releases you, giving your ass a sharp smack as he stands. "Get your ass upstairs, we ain't done here," he commands, his voice rough with renewed lust.

His long strides carry him toward the stairs, not waiting to see if you'd follow.

He knows you will.

Kento Nanami - husband

✦ Giving. ✦ He's the husband blueprint, he looves worshipping you. ✦Especially when he sees you doing anything domestic, he's a sucker for that and finds it hard not to just bend you over and have you cum on his tongue until he's satisified.

He had you sitting on the kitchen counter with your legs wide open, as he tasted every inch of your pussy. He interrupted you as you were making food; he'd already made you come on his tongue once but evidently, he still wasn't done.

The breakfast you'd been preparing seemed as though it had occurred in some other lifetime now, the eggs and bacon were forgotten in their pans, Kento completely focused on you, his lips and tongue ran through your folds with such intensity, that it left you breathless. "So sweet," he purred.

Kento's tongue kept the relentless assault as his nose brushed against your clit, drawing and sucking at your soaking folds. Your hands were in his hair, borderline painful as you drove your hips to his face. Though he relished in that sweet sting, his tongue dove deeper, lapping up your juices as though it was the sweetest nectar.

His hands moved up and down your thighs, gripping and squeezing as he continued to dine from your wetness. His mouth was embedded in your pussy, and his tongue twirled inside you like he was lapping from a river.

"God-fuck- you taste so good," Kento groaned against your flesh, his breath hot against your core. It seemed to be one prolonged, relentless attack, since his tongue did not stop in his mission to have you fall apart once again.

His tongue slowly traced a path from the entrance of your pussy up to your clit. His movements were purposeful. Sucking on the sensitive bud, before moving backwards, pushing his tongue back inside.

The pressure and friction, from his tongue and the bridge of his nose constantly against your clit was driving you insane. He moaned against your flesh, bringing the vibrations to send shockwaves through your body. He was relentless; his tongue never stopping its assault on your pussy.

"Got the prettiest wife-" Kento murmured, his voice muffled but entirely filled with affection. He continued worshiping, his tongue sinking deep within you. "Could do this forever," he moaned.

Kento slowly pushed a finger inside you, curling it at the perfect angle, hitting your sweet spot as his tongue continued. The dual assault had you moaning loudly, your hands gripping his hair more tightly.

"You're so wet," he growled, his voice filled with lust as he pumped his finger in and out of you. His mouth never leaving your clit. Your senses were overwhelmed, with your body tensing in anticipation of the following orgasm. Kento's ministrations continued, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

He sucked on your clit, burst after burst of the pressure and suction that shot shockwaves across your body.  You could feel your orgasm start to build, the tension coiling inside of you. His tongue flicks rapidly over your clit, his fingers thrusting hard and deep inside you.

He's pushing you, urging you towards your climax. And with one last flick of his tongue, you shattered. Your body convulsed, your release gushing onto Kento's face. He lapped it up eagerly, the sound of slurping filling the room, drinking your very essence.

Kento's hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as you rode out your orgasm. With your tremors subsiding, Kento let go of you, his face slick with your juices.

He looked up at you with a lopsided grin. "That's my beautiful wife," he encouraged, speaking the words with love and adoration in his voice.

Kento stood up, his face shining with a mixture of sweat and your arousal that coated his lips. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and licked his lips.

Looking down at you with a satisfied grin, he continued, his voice filled just as much lust as with affection, "Seeing you around the house and remembering you're my wife just really gets me going. Sorry- I just couldn't help it."

His exuberance with praise and adoration was contagious. "I'm not complaining," you teased, "But now breakfast is ruined." You turned to the pans; the eggs and bacon were far past their prime by this point.

Kento laughed with mischief in his eyes. "I'd say it was a fair bargain," he chuckled as his eye skimmed your body most appreciatively, "Why don't I take you out for breakfast instead?"

He grinned at the shakiness of your legs as you nod. Smiling, you go to hop off the counter, only to be stopped by Kento-

"A late lunch", he corrects. "I still haven't satiated my fix for you yet, this morning", he went on, his body leaning in close enough that you could feel his erection against your thigh, straining against his sweats.

With that, you couldn't help but smile, leaning up to kiss Kento. The warmth in his praise and the lingering afterglow from your orgasm assured the love the two of you held for one another.

please reblog if you enjoyed!

© veritasangel ↣ 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴

[that-fic-girl]

HAZBIN HOTEL X READER HC #1

Head canon: what it would be like to date them.

characters: Alastor, angel dust, husk, vox

disclaimer: everything i write about these characters might not be accurate to the actual story, please take everything in the fic with a grain of salt, none of this is canon!!

Alastor

he hasnt been in an actual relationship in a while so being close and vulnerable with someone is quite hard for him, especially as someone who associates emotions with weakness.

First off, its safe to say he adores the ground you walk on. He's in love with everything about you, your clothes, the smell of your hair, your sickly sweet voice. his loves it all.

If there was ever a problem you needed fixing, a person you needed taken care of or even a errand you needed to run he would tend to it himself. he would not let you lift a finger.

PDA is a iffy thing for him, he wouldnt do grand big gestures but maybe a hand on the hip or a few words of affirmation.

everyone in the pride ring quickly learned of yours and radio demon's relationship. And no one dared to mess with you, ofcourse there was people who wanted to test their luck but they would have to pay the price later.

his love language is definitely words of affirmation, he will sweet talk the shit out of you. At night when it's just you two in bed, he will have his hands stroking through your hair whilst you rant to him about your day and he'll reply with sweet nothings

"oh darling, i've missed you all evening"

"you looked ravishing today my dear.."

"mm your hair smells amazing, my love"

Angel Dust

Angel is one of, if not, the horniest mother fuckers out there but somehow, he manages to somewhat make a healthy relationship with someone.

you two are seen as "the bad bitch" couple. you're always out together, always getting into dumb shit together. You'll get yelled at by vaggie at early hours in the morning because the two of you where playing a childish game of tag in the hotel halls.

his love language is definitely physical touch, he'll have his arms slung around your waist almost all the time. Kisses are a MUST every 5 minutes, like this boy will NOT part from you. especially in the mornings when you have to leave for work;

"mmnnnnoooooooo...stayyy for five minutes pleasseeeee"

"but sweets..you're soooo warm"

"sweetheart please, you feel so comfy"

yeah good luck with that.

nights with him are VERY eventful, if it wasn't obvious. You two would usually be at it late hours into the night but sometimes, when you two where too exhausted to fuck like rabbits, he would be sprawled across your lap whilst you stroked his fur.

Husk

Despite his harsh tone and uncompromising demeanor, you understood that Husk wasn't trying to be malicious towards you. It was simply his way of communicating, and you knew that his behavior wasn't personal. Even though he could be abrasive at times, you loved him for his rough edges and authentic personality

You and Husk's time together was mostly spent at the bar. You didn't like to drink much, but you loved seeing him work and make cocktails like a pro. You didn't mind that it wasn't considered a typical date, because you liked spending time with him in whatever way he felt most comfortable.

Husk is not used to receiving compliments, as he didn't often receive them in his past life. When you complimented him, it caught him off guard and he was surprised. But he eventually learned to appreciate it, and it even made him feel a little sentimental.

Despite the difficulty, you were able to help Husk realize that you genuinely cared about him. He had been used to being surrounded by dishonesty and hypocrisy, but you were always sincere and real. He held you in high regard, as you were the only source of light in his life, and he didn't want to lose you.

vox

You were known as a strong and independent person who didn't need assistance from others. You knew how to stand up for yourself, despite being harsh and tough at times. Despite your exterior, no one was aware of the soft spot in your heart that Vox's affection and touch alone could melt away your severity.

He appreciated seeing your affectionate side, as it felt special and intimate, like a shared secret between the two of you. He knew you valued your privacy, and he respected it by never sharing photos or other details on social media. He didn't want to betray your trust.

You were often feared and respected when you were with Vox. People found it hard to believe that someone as intimidating as yourself could have a tender, caring side that was kept hidden from most. Vox was glad that he was the only one who got to see that side of you. He didn't want to share something so special and personal with anyone else.

Quite often, he would call you on the phone, knowing that sweet words could be just as effective as a kiss. He enjoyed hearing how your voice softened from its usual seriousness to a more affectionate tone. He was aware that when he said loving phrases to you, you would blush and smile shyly, and sometimes he even regretted not being able to witness it in person.

"i've missed you today babe.."

"mhm look at my pretty girl/boy!"