Alejandro Is Banned From Going To Costco Without A Responsible Adult [read As: Rudy] Present.

SPN MOODBOARDS

cw: dubcon, manipulation, babytrapping?

You ask Alpha!Gaz to spend your heat with you because he’s so chill. He’s always treated you just like one of the guys— since day one. Never once mentioned your designation, because he doesn’t care about that kind of thing, right? So when you ask him why his teeth are at your throat he smiles and laughs like you’re being silly, and says “I’ve been courting you for as long as I’ve known you, love.”

You ask Alpha!Soap to spend your heat with you because he’s so promiscuous. He’s slept with everyone on base, no strings attached, no broken hearts— obviously he’s a man who knows how to keep it casual, right? But when you’re pressed against him, stuck on his knot, he’s rubbing your stomach and asking “How many pups ye want, bonnie? Ah was thinkin’ we’d have a proper big family.”

You ask Alpha!Ghost to spend your heat with you because he doesn’t really seem to like anyone. Not the type to form attachments. Won’t give any part of himself to anyone, right? But he keeps you prone and pinned with his massive body, oriented so he can watch the door, grunting “You’re mine now, understand? Anyone who tries to get between me and my mate s’gonna end up torn apart.”

You ask Alpha!Price to spend your heat with you because he’s your commanding officer. He’s always been calm, cool, and completely professional with you. He wouldn’t compromise the structure of the team over some biological event, right? But he’s panting, tongue soothing over the fresh mark in your neck, telling you he’ll have a talk with your landlord once your heat is over about breaking your lease. “Gotta get you moved in with me, darl’. Pups’ll need more space to run around. What color do y’want the nursery?”

You ask Alpha!Nikolai to spend your heat with you because you trust him, but you don’t exactly have a relationship. You work with him some of the time, and he’s a good man, but he lives across the globe. He wouldn’t disrupt his globetrotting lifestyle to settle down with some omega he barely knows, right? But he’s cooing honeyed words in your ear that you can’t understand, one hand pawing at your abdomen while the other is at your throat, rubbing your gland and bringing the blood to the surface in preparation for his bite. “Imagine the look on John’s face— when he sees I’ve poached his prettiest little sergeant for myself…”

soap, somewhere in the base: "CAPTAIN GARRICK IN THE HOUSE!!!"

Does Simon ever ask MOB about her family? If someone is out looking for her?

mail-order bride

"olways wanted to ask," simon murmurs. he talks into your hair, his face pressed close to you as he hugs you closer. it's late; the black cat is curled up on the windowsill, and the orange one is under the covers, tucked into the space between you and simon's feet. your eyes flutter open a little more at the sound of his voice, laced with sleep.

"ask what?"

"about before."

you close your eyes, pressed your face into his chest, and he smooths a big palm down your back.

"is there someone waiting for ya?"

"no," you say softly.

"were ya running from somethin'?"

you shake your head slowly. "no, simon."

"no one is lookin' fer ya? no one at oll?"

you curl your fingers around his shirt, your lip trembling just a little. you're glad for the darkness of the room. he can't see the struggled look on your face as you try and compose yourself.

"why are you surprised?" you sniffle. it's the first time in a long time that you suddenly feel vulnerable. in the many months it has been since you've been married to him, you have not felt anything but love. even before you understood the connection you had, simon has always been kind and unnervingly considerate and endlessly thoughtful. every insecurity you ever had has slowly faded into the background. you have never felt more beautiful, more secure, more supported, more deserving, ever in your entire life; but this began with simon. everything that came before him, you want to forget, you want to make a distant place that you don't recognize anymore. because as soon as you think about it, all of it comes back. the drop in your chest tells you enough. "no one's ever wanted me, simon."

if i disappear, i'm not sure who would even think to look for me.

his hand in your hair tightens. big fingers scratching along your scalp, drawing you close, and when you open your eyes, you see his own looking back at you.

the feeling in your chest is gone. simon is here. simon would come for you. wherever you are, whatever happens to you, simon would notice, simon would listen, simon will come if you cry.

he would notice if you went missing for even a few minutes. even if he was gone, he would know.

"well...i want you, baby," simon whispers, and you crawl over him, laying on top of him, trying to wrap yourself around him and smother him because fuck, i love you so much.

simon never brings it up again. he doesn't need to. the only family of yours he needs to be concerned with is himself.

and the nitwit biting his toes under the fucking blankets.

The missiles are very eepy

Twitter saw it first because I always forget to share my artworks on tumblr too, sorryyyy 🧍🏽‍♀️

Soap is a leaver. He will always be the first to leave. Never to be left. He'll be gone before you know it. But they'll get over him. He knows they will. Which itls why it scares him so much when Ghost keeps following

thinking about getting a little too drunk w husband!simon…

he’s already a super possessive guy, but your drunken antics are only making it ten times worse.

sure, coming to the bar was his idea. it was only fair, after such a long week at work, that he got to have a nice dinner on the town and a few beers shortly after. even better that he got to do it with his pretty fucking wife, you know?

yeah, he watched you slip into the tightest, smallest dress you had, curl your hair into pretty little coils, and push and pull at everything else out of place. he saw the too tall black pumps you choose— the one’s he got you for your anniversary that make your legs look model-length long. he even saw the way your black lace bralette played peek-a-boo along your dress’s neckline.

all of it only made him more excited.

getting to show you off on the town? his sweet, sexy little woman all done-up and pretty, hanging off his arm like his little trophy? god, he was practically hard before you two could reach the front door.

the second that liquor hit your system, though, was the second all hell broke loose.

at this point in the night, you’re long past the idea of sitting pretty, eating your food, and posing for pictures. now, you’re feeling good. a little tipsy, or maybe even drunk. all the shyness or docile little feelings from the beginning of the night are gone.

now, you wanna dance. you wanna throw your arms up and sway with the other bar-goers, and why shouldn’t you be able to?

you didn’t mind the way your dress rode up your thighs, giving the wrong people an eyeful of your goods. you hadn’t noticed the men who’d run their hands over you, every so often passing by with their crotch just a little too close to your ass. all you were focused on was the music, how good you felt, and when your next shot was coming.

if only you had paid attention to the damn near menacing stare simon had you under. something that rivaled a madman’s with its intensity.

he’d held back for the first few songs, letting the angel on his shoulder telling him to ease up guide him. sure, he still stood around like an unamused body guard, sending glares to the gawking men and buying your drinks whenever you asked. maybe occasionally he’d get a cute picture or video of you too. that was just what came with the simon o’riley type though.

it wasn’t until you got to the flirty territory, grinding your ass into him with the music or kissing him with a little too much tongue, that he decided to pull the plug.

and god, did you always give him attitude for it.

“i’m not ready to leave, simon,” you’d whine, eyes glossed over and face screwed up in that cute little way you only do when you’re aggravated.

“i want another drink,” but you’re slurring and stumbling already.

“just keep kissing on me, baby,” you protest as he grabs your discarded shoes and purse and starts leading you towards the exit.

he’s sweet with you at first, given how drunk and cute you truly are. sure, you may have triggered his possessiveness early, but you’re batting your eyelashes up at him and clinging onto him for dear life. how could he not talk to you softly? how could he not kiss you back as he tugged your dress back down?

“it’s alright, lovie. let’s get home and i’ll take such good care of you.”

you start trying to fight him though and you’ll see how thin his patience truly is.

doing things out of spite? pulling his hands away from you while he’s trying to guide you down the street? arguing with him through your half-coherent sentences? cursing him under your breath just loud enough that he can hear it?

you’re getting yourself in trouble and you’re too drunk to know it.

he was prepared to let your little outbursts slide. wouldn’t hold it against you and still keep his plans straight for the night.

after all you’d done, he was still gonna get you home, slip off those stockings and undo those zippers. dedicate the rest of the night to making you feel all good like how you’d begging him too.

but you just can’t keep that pretty little mouth shut, can you?

“don’t make it worse for yourself.” he’d warn, grabbing your face from its resting place against his passenger-side window, “you’ve already fucked up enough as is, yeah?”

his voice is gruff and his jaw is set, but his eyes don’t leave yours for a second.

you’ll be making it up to him all night long, and he’s gonna be anything but nice now ;)

I love them your honor

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