mj | lvl. 22

warnings: slime/tentacle creature x f!human, piv, dubcon, bondage/restraints, anal, a lot of penetration, 18+

part one

Weeks have passed since that first eventful night with the ghosts.

You found yourself growing accustomed to the entities and their antics.

When you would shower you could feel hands gliding up and down your body, squeezing and groping at your body.

If you bent down in the shower the main ghost, you knew there were three of them and the main one was always bolder than the other two, would take the opportunity and ram into your poor cunt without warning.

You certainly stopped feeling alone- and you definitely stopped using your vibrator.

But you were beginning to stay in your house far too often, ignoring all other things in your life for, well things that didn’t truly exist in your life.

You decided that on one of your “off” days you would go explore your property- the deep and dark woods that were behind your home.

With a water bottle in hand, you set off. Following the very faint path that trailed deeper into the forest. You weren’t sure how long you spent walking down the path, or moving over fallen trees but eventually you stumbled upon a small pond.

You decided to take a seat on one of the nearby fallen trees, letting out a sigh as you take a sip of water.

You close your eyes for a moment, taking a breath as you listen to the quiet sounds of the forest.

After a few minutes you feel something gently caress your lower calf, it felt slimey but with an off hardness to it.

Your eyes snap out, quickly looking down by your legs- by the pond, the only thing you could see was your reflection.

You decided to ignore you, you already had trouble with the ghosts in your home- why drive yourself crazy with something else?

Closing your eyes once more, and moving to be leaning against the log- back pressed against it, legs spread out as you lay your head back on the log. Letting the exhaustion wash over you.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you woke up to something slithering up your leg. Your eyes snap open once more, letting out a gasp as you see these slimey tentacles. They looked smooth to the eye with a purple-red color.

They start to shrink back, clearly startled by your reaction. But after a few moments of you not doing anything, they continue their journey up your leg.

You look down curiously at the creature, watching as it slides and wraps around your leg. You had worn a pair of athletic shorts- they had a thin material to them, you had bought them not really paying attention to the quality.

Your eyes trail the slimey tentacle, body jolting as it swipes against your panties. It pushes and prods against the material, uncontrollably squirming against your clothed cunt.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, hips bucking up seeking something more from the tentacle.

It jolts against your panties as it senses your reactions, furiously pushing itself against your panties- suddenly another tentacle shoots up from the water, yanking both your shorts and panties off.

Another one emerges, the two new ones wrapping around your ankles and spreading your legs far apart- grip tight on you.

The tentacle who was all too eager to feel your cunt quickly slams into you- squirming and releasing an odd liquidy substance into you. Furiously pumping into you.

You let out a quick moan- it wasn’t big, but it was somehow filling every single spot in you. Your eyes rolled back, hips bucking as it reaches so far deep into you.

As you lay there moaning and squirming for the tentacle, another one had made way into your cunt.

The two of them worked in tandem, pumping and fucking into your cunt. Stretching you out as they eagerly fuck you.

You could feel them pulsing and swelling in your pussy, absorbing all of your wetness while coating your inside with theirs.

More tentacles appear- two sliding up your top and circling your tits, squeezing and rubbing against your nipples.

“More..please! Please..!” You whine out, fingernails digging into your palms as you clench your hands.

As you clench around the tentacles, feeling them pump you full of their liquid, more tentacles wrap around your body- moving you to hump and grind against the tentacles fucking you.

Your body goes limp, too engrossed in the pleasure the tentacles are giving you. You don’t even care about how loud you are- pornographic moans and screams are ripped from your mouth.

Another one slips into your poor cunt, stretching you wide as you spasm around it. Eyes squeezed shut as you moan.

Suddenly your eyes snap open, feeling a wriggling tentacle push against your ass. It pushes into your tight hole, quickly following the others as it pumps and squirms in your other hole, trying to pry your body open.

Your eyes flutter shut once more, mouth now hung open- feeling utterly useless as your body gets used.

You let out a groan and whimper as another one pushes into your ass, much more eager than its other counterparts as it quickly fucks into you.

Sneakily one last tentacle slides up your body and quickly rubs at your clit.

You feel your legs tense, trying to thrash around due to pleasure, but it’s no use with the bondage the tentacles have put you in.

The five tentacles continue to pump and fuck into your body, eagerly wanting to bring you to your release.

With a scream your vision goes white, cunt clenching around the tentacles- your entire body tightening up.

Slowly your vision fades, moaning as you feel the tentacles release a thicker liquid into you.

You aren’t sure what time it is when you wake up once more, but you could tell the sun would be setting soon.

You blink quickly, looking around at your surroundings. There were no tentacles around you, and your clothing back on your body.

Then you look down between your legs, quickly touching the area- you were completely clean. No traces of any goo from the tentacles.

Shaking your head you slowly get up, legs feeling weak from the activities that happened earlier.

With a breath you slowly make your way back to your house. You look up towards the sky, “At least it’s not dark..” You say quietly.

“Who knows..maybe I would’ve ran into warewolves..” You say with a snort. How ridiculous would that be?

You're sitting in a bar for probably the first time in your life. You don't drink, but after the day you had...

Forehead pressed flat to the bar surface, you listen to the people around you, scents thick in the air. It would be overwhelming any other day, but today you needed it. You just– you just wanted to forget.

Yet no matter how many glasses you knocked back, it didn't lessen the hurt. At this point, you considered drinking until you got alcohol poisoning. Wouldn't that be something? Your first time drinking is also your last. Hah.

Your head feels murky, and so do your senses, but your heart still hurts, squeezed tight in your chest by an invisible force. You swear you could die from the pain. As dramatic as it sounds, it's true. Omegas are made to feel more than any other gender, after all. Your kind were the heart, betas the mind, and alphas the body. That's what you'd always been told, at least.

How you wished it wasn't true, the pain blinding, leaving you fighting back whines and tears, inner omega tearing itself apart, wondering what you'd done to be rejected by all your scent matches.

Don't, you think, squeezing your eyes shut. You don't want to think about it. Not anymore.

Just as you think that, the door opens, attention snagged by the man entering. You're oddly aware of him as he approached the bar, sitting beside you.

Then, his scent hits you.

Eyes snapping open, you gape at the floor, tears building once more. No, no– it can't be–

You look up.

The alpha stares back, gaze trained on you as he breathes in deep– you copy him, hit once more with the full force of his wintery scent: a sharp freshness, hot chocolate, the smokey scent of a fireplace, a comfy quilt, a hint of vodka.

You swallow, harsh. Everyone had a simple scent. Except towards their scent match, their soulmate.

This man was your soulmate.

"... are you going to reject me too?" You whisper, voice hoarse after hours of crying and drinking.

His dark brows rise. "Why would I do that, омега?" He asks softly, voice light, sharp, but undeniably warm to you; it makes you want him even more, but hurt holds you back.

"Because," you huff a wet laugh, tears fighting to fall, "You're the fifth scent match I've met, and the rest rejected me in favour of their mate." You spit the words out, full of betrayal you have no right to feel.

But don't you? Fate had chosen them to be yours, but because you hadn't met them in time, they'd chosen another. Another omega. Prettier. Softer. Everything you weren't.

A quiet whine escaped you as you got lost in those painful thoughts that had tormented you for weeks ever since you'd first saw, or rather smelled them. For weeks you'd been stuck in a painful limbo, feeling either hurt, rejection, or an ever so slight hope.

Now all you felt was hurt. It was impossible to feel any hope when the men fate decreed were yours rejected you fully, after all.

You're snapped out of that black pit of hurt by a hand squeezing your nape. Breath hitching, you tense, then relax, staring into blue-green eyes.

"Is that so, Омега? Tch." The man, so much older than you, scoffs. "Their loss. They wish to set aside their fate given mate for a common bitch? Let them." The hand on your neck kneads gently, making your eyes flutter shut with bliss. A slight purr begins in your throat. "More for me, then."

Hope begins to fill you where there was only emptiness and pain before, and you stare up at the alpha– your alpha, with hope.

"You really... want me?" You ask in disbelief, shattered by the rejection of four other men.

"Da, little Омега, I want you. No one else." He says, leaning close to kiss your temple. "What's your name?"

You give it, trying to move closer to him, wanting nothing more than to bask in his warmth and scent.

He tests it out, humming. Then, a sly smirk curls on his lips. Something about it screams danger, but your omega just sees protection.

"I think Makarov would be a better surname for you, da?"

Makarov is sitting in his office the day everything begins to change.

One of his men enters, tablet in hand.

"Sir, I thought you'd be interested in this."

Taking the offered device, Makarov begins scrolling through images– security camera footage of a cafe, a market, and more. In them, he spots MacTavish most commonly, but Garrick a few times as well. But in all of them, is you.

He doesn't recognize you. You aren't one of their families, or their little mate, but as he clicks on a video with audio, he soon realises just what you are.

"Ah'm sorry," MacTavish says, voice grainy from the low quality footage, "Our omega isn't... she wants us to stop..." He hesitates, looking uncomfortable. You take over for him.

"She doesn't want you talking to your fated mate."

Fated mate. The words repeat in Makarov's mind as he reviews the footage once more, now with new eyes.

You sound resigned, small, tired; a pitiable thing, though understandable. Makarov doubts he'd be very happy if he met his scent match only to find they were with another. He'd probably kill them– after killing their mate in front of them though.

Still, pity is far from the alpha's mind as he reviews the information gathered on you by his men. No, all he can think about is how he can use you to his benefit. Because even if they rejected you, the 141 would still feel responsible for you. You were, after all, an innocent civilian.

Standing, he walks out of his office, ordering one of his men to get him a plane ticket to England immediately. While he could hand this task over to someone else, Makarov feels an odd pull to do this himself.

···

When Vladimir first walks into that bar his men had tracked you to, he hadn't expected to feel... this.

The moment he sat next to you, he'd gone still, nose filled with that smell. Your scent was rich, thick, of literature and fine wine and soft, fresh sheets and a warm, good meal.

You smelled like home.

His alpha purred, calm for the first time in years, and Makarov knew then what you were to him.

Your face warms when he says you'd be better suited with his name, and it's true. You'd make a good mate to him, keep his home warm and lived in, feed him and tend to his needs, bare his pups...

... and unknowingly be Price and his dogs' ruin...

He follows you home, keeps you warm all night long, teeth sunk into your neck where your scent gland was ripe and ready. By morning, Vladimir had secured you to his side. After all, no omega who'd felt the sting of rejection so harshly would ever betray their doting alpha. And he'd dote on you often. Yes... yes, he would.

Makarov had never been interested in taking an omega before, the thought of mates and pups so far from his mind they were basically nonexistent. But now all he could think about was you in his home in Russia, barefoot on his carpeted floors, fire crackling as you caressed your swollen belly, ripe with his litter.

It's a battle with himself to take the photo of you lying claimed against his chest that first night. He almost can't bare to send it. Yet he does. His alpha is only soothed by the fact that, by the time the Task Force receive it, you'll already be out of the country.

On the plane ride, he feels a slight thrill as his men inform him about how the 141 had reacted.

Badly. The Scot rushed to the apartment and went ballistic when he found it empty.

He almost purrs at the thought of the other alpha discovering his fated mate gone, taken without a trace left behind by their enemy. It's almost sweeter than the sight of you resting against him, claiming mark stark against your skin.

1950s Housewife

Imagine making a wish for a different life to get away from your neglectful husband and your wish is granted… but now you’re trapped in the body of an unhappy housewife from the 1950s. Your husband in this time period is a typical patriarchal white collar man, James Prescott. And the only way to go back to your world is to play your part… a shame you hadn’t realized just how neglected he’s been. Otherwise you wouldn’t have fed a starved man the affection he so desperately craved.

Tw: fem! Flower x wasps x bees, gangbang, objectification(?), freeuse, dubcon, pollination, wasp v bee rivalry, womb fucking(?) you potentially causing a war between the two factions in a nearby future... if I make a pt2, Not proofread lmao

◣────•~❉᯽❉~•────◢

Wasps help pollinate too, so why do the bees get all the glory?

Granted wasps are an aggressive and territorial lot compared to the docile bees. And weren’t all that good at pollinating but boy were they dutiful studs, fucking you like they owned you. Which to their arrogant understanding, they did.

The drone wasps, were the definition of sore losers, at how they didn’t succeed pollinating you as much as the bumble fucks did. They couldn’t fathom it. They were bigger and stronger and so much more deserving of you being their exclusive nectarine slut.

And as a testament to their egoistic stance, the drone wasps always left you dripping, whimpering, and sobbing. Not giving you a break with how ravenous they were to indulge in your delectable ambrosia.

Hell you weren’t complaining with having a daily rotation of imposing drone wasps landing upon your petals. All primed and ready to deflower your ripe stigma numerous times by their pointy long cocks. Designed to get to the root of your ovary canal with the minuscule pollen collected upon their aching tips to knock you up.

One after another, they all plunged into you heedlessly scraping your walls with the small spikes upon their ovipositors. So rough and demanding wanting everything their flower can offer.

Their claws digging into your pliant flesh, in a possessive grip. Wings buzzing blaring loud in preparation to seed their sow. Right after every drone male that came inside your abused womb. Leaving you to be filled with buckets of small plump eggs contained within each round of cummy sloppy seconds n thirds n so on forth.

Till they were satisfied with how stuffed their wilting flower girl looked. To top it off they rubbed their coarse fur against you, covering you in the few specks of pollen marking you in their scent. Before taking flight back to their hive as a job well done.

To which the caring bees then took over with their bumbling selves. They buzzed in exasperation, seeing your sorry state. And only blamed to brutish wasps for not knowing anything about after care of which they took pride in giving.

They’d rub their soft fuzzy bodies into your limp petals rejuvenating you with a full on body to body message. While getting rid of the pitiful specks of pollen left by their competitors. And replacing it with an abundance of their own.