#ughhhHhh

[magpie-to-the-morning]

I don’t WANT a career. I want to cuddle and sleep and eat and read and create and love and be loved.

[loveindefinitely]

task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.

-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)

thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.

one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.

cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.

he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.

"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.

you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."

his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."

you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.

johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.

three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.

manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.

"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.

you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."

a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"

you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."

the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.

"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.

"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.

"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.

"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"

it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.

johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.

"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.

johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.

"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.

"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"

you shudder.

"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.

he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.

"forty-three."

your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.

all you can manage is one question.

"take me home?"

[vorpx]

some narilamb yea

[bookholichany]

Photographed by Marc Brenner

All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis! All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor! All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter!

[iszapizza]

happy pride to them

[sweet-shut-eye]

No Second Chances

[yeyinde]

i'm on a virgin reader kick which somehow led me to coupling that w former chief conservation officer/retired alpha John Price. so. you know. shoot me. or something.

It's an accident, of course. 

An unfortunate combination of poor timing and human error. 

But this accident culminates in Price folding his body over you—mating press, you note a touch hysterically; you'd have expected him to be all tradition: presenting to an alpha on your hands and knees, cunt bare for the taking, waiting to be claimed. And while it might not be traditional, Price will claim you tonight. Bully his cock into your drenched cunt, split you wide on the thick of him, on his knot (fuck, fuck, fuck—), and keep you plugged up around him until the unexpected heat passes. 

And really. What's an old, grizzled alpha like him supposed to do when an untouched, unclaimed omega like you—so sweet, so desperate—is thrown headfirst into a vicious, blistering heat. It's not like either of you really have a choice, after all. It's agony. It's want. Primal, instinctual. You need him. Ache with it. The urge, the desperation, to be filled. Claimed. Conquered. Owned.

As he presses bluntly against your drenching slit, notching heavy and insistent into your fluttering, aching hole, spilling slick in thick rivulets down your thighs, over the engorged head of his cock, you can't help but to wonder how could you be so stupid? 

[gunsatthaphan]

"I felt so useless today."

[napping-sapphic]

Sometimes i wish flirting was as easy as taking a girls face in my hands and telling her i have time for her, that i’ve got time for all her hopes and worries and rants and goals and wants and needs

[heeslomll]

park sunghoon… the man you are…. I have no words look at him MY MAAANNNN

[faithinlouisfuture]

BRAT!!!

[hallaburger]

i'm actually really upset at the watcher "fandom"

y'all seem like a lot of fair-weather fans to a group of guys who have consistently put out shows that you love, you've gone to their live shows, you've bought their merch, you've followed them over the years as they've grown and built their own brand

and then when they come out to say "hey, we're proud to announce the next big step for us as creators, producers, talent, and directors," you fucking scream and rail and throw a fit because they are launching a paid service that allows them MUCH more creative control and freedom while also supporting their staff in a more sustainable way???

that's sick and pathological, and i wonder how many of y'all were blogging in support of the wga/sag-aftra strike, because if you were and you're pitching a fit now? check yourself. not fucking cute to say you support those folks and then bitch and moan when your so-called favorite creators take the initiative to support themselves in a way that they feel more confident in.

"but we liked the old content that looked like it was made in a basement and the blue and yellow text and--" okay, did you ever think that maybe?? MAYBE???? the guys wanted to do something better??? if you really supported them, you'd be in support of their creative ambitions, too.

[mr-merlin]

"What are you up to?"

[morgue-me]

I'm literally so obsessed with the idea of van zieks as an angel with bloody hands

[the-shinysnorlax]

Nobody talk to me I’m bawling my eyes out over this issue

[yourz00meridiot]

so in the mood to kneel between a man's legs rn while he completely ignores me