Thoughts about omega!reader during their heat cycle but I have some type of brain-eating amoeba that only makes fluff
(can be interpreted as romantic OR platonic so go wild)
Being an omega in the task force 141, which before you came along was an all alpha team, sounded VERY intimidating. At first it was awkward. You felt that way because it was unclear what their opinions were exactly. All you knew was that you were surrounded by scary men who looked like they could easily hide a body under any circumstance. You just avoided them when possible and said the bare minimum in every situation where you had to make conversation.
Not until a while after getting comfortable with them, you realized they were just as hesitant around you. They were so afraid to mess up or offend you, not only because you were new but also because you were an omega. Completely new concept to them within the team dynamics.
They got pretty close to you and never treated you any different, unlike everyone else on base. To them, you were just another person on the team who pulled everything together to make the total pack dynamic. It always slipped their mind that you were an omega. You never performed in any way that would make them see you differently.
Until that cold morning in early December.
You should have known something was wrong. You felt warmer than usual, no, you felt hot. It felt like your skin was on fire, sweat beading at your forehead even in the bitterly cold wind. And then came the pain, the need. It was disgusting, you wanted to throw up.
So you did what any omega would do. You made a nest in your room and hid away. Nothing mattered in that moment, not the weights left unattended, not the training you had to attend, and DEFINITELY not the meeting scheduled with the team later that day.
The strong smell spread fast. Deep, craving, and unfortunately full of pain and despair. You wanted your team but also growled at the thought. The comfort sounded great, but alphas could be vile when it came to finding an omega in such a state. You wanted to believe they weren't like that, but deep down you knew no one could go against their urges.
Which is why you were almost brought to tears when you found yourself surrounded on your bed by all of them. Instead of their eyes being lustful and predatory, they were gentle and empathetic.
Instead of wandering hands, you got calming touches soothing your stomach, brushing through your hair, gently holding your hands, and wiping a cool cloth on your reddening face.
When it all became hot and too overwhelming to sit in bed, you all moved to the bathroom. Gentle arms carrying you to the bath to cool you down. You looked for wandering eyes, scared of what you would see in them. But all you found was compassion as they helped you wash off all the sweat. No lust, no craving stares. Just warmth.
You loved being independent, as most did. You wanted to be treated as though you were just like them, an alpha. But you had to admit, the care you got as an omega was nice.
Nothing but cuddles all day, getting to always watch the shows YOU want, getting your favorite meals made and even feeding you when it became too hard to do, picking out whatever clothes you want to wear from their closets or to put in the nest, and so much more.
And even when your heat had finally passed, you still got gentle touches just to remind you that they were always there whenever you wanted to tap into your omega counterpart and let go.
(Should I do more with omega!reader and soft alphas!141?)
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Simon takes you along to Gaz’s Sunday BBQ, the lads meet their “Cupcake,” Soap loses his mind when Simon accidentally calls you my girl, and by the end of the night, even Price is telling him not to fuck it up.
14. That’s My Girl
Simon hadn’t planned on bringing you along.
When Gaz sent out the invite — barbecue, beers, his back garden on a Sunday — Simon’s first instinct had been a flat no. Crowds weren’t his thing. Even if the “crowd” was just the lads.
But then you’d looked up from behind the counter, hair tied back, apron still dusted in flour, and said, “It’s Sunday. I’m off. If you go, I’ll come with. I mean… they’re not exactly strangers anymore, are they?”
And somehow, that had been that.
You boxed up a tray of cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven — insisted, actually, with that stubborn little smile of yours — and shoved it into his hands like it was part of the deal.
So he drove. One hand steady on the wheel, the other laid casual and warm over your thigh. Like it had been there a hundred times before.
The motorway was quiet for a Sunday, low grey clouds hanging heavy overhead. You had your legs tucked up, cinnamon rolls balanced on your lap in their bakery box, the whole car smelling faintly of sugar and spice.
“You’re brooding,” you said at last, eyes on him.
Simon didn’t look over. “M’driving.”
“You brood while you drive.”
One corner of his mouth tugged under the mask, just enough to give him away. “Do I, now?”
You reached down and tapped the back of his hand where it rested on your thigh. “You’re worried.”
He huffed, adjusting the gear. “Not worried.” A pause. “Don’t usually… bring anyone along.”
You tilted your head, soft smile curving. “You don’t usually have anyone to bring along.”
That earned you a sideways glance, brief but sharp. His thumb shifted, brushing once against your skin.
“You sure about this?” he asked quietly.
“Positive.” You leaned your head back against the seat. “I’ve seen them in the shop. I’ve heard the way you lot talk when you think nobody’s listening. They’re… yours. So, they’re mine too. Right?”
His chest eased, shoulders loosening as he drove. “You make it sound simple.”
“It is simple,” you teased. “Besides, I bribed them with cinnamon rolls. They’ll love me.”
Simon’s low laugh rumbled through the cab. “They’ll love the rolls.”
“Same thing.”
He shook his head, hand squeezing gently at your thigh before settling again. “Cocky little thing, aren’t you?”
“Confident,” you corrected, grinning at the road ahead. “There’s a difference.”
He didn’t argue. Not out loud. Just kept driving, one hand on the wheel, one hand on you — as if letting go wasn’t an option.
Gaz’s back garden was alive with it—smoke curling up from the grill, music drifting easy from a speaker balanced on the patio table, the low hum of voices carrying over clinking bottles.
Soap was already on beer duty, shouting over the fence at a neighbour about the state of England’s footie. Price manned the grill like it was a military op, tongs in hand, expression grimly focused as if the sausages were state secrets.
You slipped in behind Simon, cinnamon rolls tucked under your arm, soft sundress brushing your knees. The smell of sugar carried with you, sweet against the tang of charcoal.
Gaz was the first to spot you, his grin breaking wide. “There she is.”
Soap spun, bottle already half-raised. “Well, well, look at you. Cupcake out in the wild—with the man himself.”
Simon grunted, one hand automatically brushing the small of your back. “Didn’t give her much choice.”
You lifted your chin with a smile, meeting Soap’s grin head-on. “I offered, actually. He’s lying.”
Soap cackled. “Marvellous. Already learned not to let him spin the story.”
Price stepped away from the grill long enough to greet you properly. He took your hand, firm shake, blue eyes scanning you with the kind of assessment that had nothing to do with suspicion and everything to do with making sure you were steady on your feet beside his sergeant.
Not threatening. Not cold. Just… checking.
You held his gaze, offered a smile, and whatever silent test it was—you passed. The faintest nod confirmed it.
“Welcome,” Price said simply, releasing your hand.
Simon hovered near you the whole time.
Not overbearing. Not caging. Just… there.
Close enough that when you shifted, your arm brushed his sleeve. Close enough that the heat of him cut through the cool breeze every time it picked up. His hand found your hip now and again—light, casual, as if he meant to pass by but never quite let go. And though he didn’t say much, his eyes never strayed from you for long.
He was like a shadow, steady and watchful. When Soap cracked another joke at your expense, Simon’s shoulder pressed lightly against yours, a silent reassurance. When Gaz reached past you to steal one of your cinnamon rolls, Simon’s hand skimmed your waist like he was reminding you he was still there.
It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t for show.
It was just Simon, quiet and constant.
The kind of presence that made you feel like nothing in that garden—not the noise, not the crowd, not even the weight of being the new face among old friends—could touch you without going through him first.
An hour in, Soap and Gaz were three beers deep and loud enough for the whole street to hear.
“So…” Soap drawled, elbow on the table, grin wide. “How long’s it been official then?”
Simon didn’t bother answering straight away. Just took a slow pull from his pint, set it down, and shrugged. “Few weeks.”
Gaz’s brows lifted. “Since the hickey?”
Simon’s head turned, deliberate, like a turret locking target. “You’re still on about that?”
“Aye,” Soap said proudly. “Thing was massive. Like a bloody medal of honour.”
You promptly choked on your drink, coughing into your sleeve.
Simon cut you a side–eye, the kind that said you’d walked him straight into this mess.
You smiled, all innocence. “Maybe he just bruises easy.”
Soap barked a laugh. “Christ, you two are sick.”
Price finally spoke up from his throne at the grill, beer lifted in a lazy salute. “They’re happy. Leave ’em be.”
The table quieted for a beat—long enough for Simon to lean closer, his hand brushing yours under the table. Not a word, but you felt the smirk in it.
Later, you ducked inside with Gaz to grab more napkins. Three minutes, tops.
When you came back out, Soap was mid–story, waving a beer bottle for emphasis, the other hand reaching toward the last half of a cinnamon roll left on your plate.
Before he could touch it, Simon’s hand shot out. He dragged the plate closer, voice flat but final:
“Don’t eat that. That’s my girl’s.”
Everything stopped.
Even the birds.
You froze mid–step. Soap’s bottle slipped right out of his hand and thudded onto the grass. Gaz’s eyebrows practically hit his hairline. Price paused mid–sip, lowering his glass like he was watching history unfold.
Simon blinked once. Realised. Too late.
“…Shit.”
Soap erupted, pointing like he’d witnessed a miracle. “MY GIRL?! OH, HE SAID IT—HE FUCKIN’ SAID IT!”
Gaz doubled over. “There’s no coming back from that, mate!”
Simon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Kill me now.”
But then he saw you. Saw the way you were smiling—soft, warm, a little stunned, but glowing all the same.
You walked straight over, plucked the plate from his grip, and leaned down to kiss his cheek.
“My boy,” you whispered.
And that was it.
Soap let out a banshee wail and collapsed backwards into the grass like he’d just been spiritually slain.
A little later, when the fire pit was burning low and Soap was still heckling Gaz about his grill technique, Price tapped Simon on the shoulder.
“Walk with me.”
Simon didn’t argue. He never did with Price. Hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, he followed him across the yard, boots crunching on gravel until they stopped by the side fence where the noise of the others was just a hum.
Price leaned an elbow on the wood, looking out over the rooftops. “You’re different lately.”
Simon stayed quiet. He wasn’t in the habit of filling silence.
Price glanced at him. “Not a bad thing. Just… new.”
Simon’s jaw shifted. “She’s good for me.”
“I can see that.”
The air hung heavy for a moment, smoke drifting from the fire pit on the wind.
Then Price said it, blunt as a blade: “Don’t fuck it up.”
Simon turned his head, eyes narrowing behind the mask.
Price didn’t flinch. “You’ve got something now. Something real. I’ve seen men walk away from things like that, thinking they’re being noble. They never walk back the same.”
Simon’s gaze dropped to the ground. The gravel under his boots. The weight of what Price meant.
Quiet, but steady, he said: “I’m not walking away.”
Price nodded once. “Good. Don’t.”
Another pause. This time softer, lower, almost fatherly: “You deserve this, Simon. Let yourself keep it.”
Simon swallowed hard, throat tight.
And for the first time in a very long time, he let himself believe Price might be right.
Back inside the truck that night, the smell of smoke still clinging to your hair, you curled into Simon’s side. Your bare legs were tucked beneath you, his hoodie draped heavy over your shoulders.
The engine ticked faintly in the cool air, headlights cutting two pale beams across the quiet street.
“You okay?” you asked softly, tilting your head against his shoulder.
He nodded once, eyes still fixed on the windscreen. Then, after a beat, he turned, studying you in the dim glow of the dash.
“You’re my girl,” he said again—low this time, like a confession, like a vow.
Your chest tightened. A slow smile curved your lips. “Yeah. I am.”
Something eased in his shoulders. His hand slid over your thigh, grounding, steady.
And then he kissed you—unhurried, deep, certain. Not just heat, not just want, but weight. Like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Because right then?
It was.
💀🖤🍰💀🖤🍰💀🖤🍰💀🖤🍰💀🖤🍰
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"Take it honey, fuckin' take my cock." price pants, groaning once he feels your pussy squeeze tight around his cock, "Yes, yesyesyes," your eyes are rolling back, the only thing you're able to focus on is his thick cock thrusting in and out of your pussy sloowly, "You're so warm, so tight, wanna fuck you all the damn time," his eyes catch the way your lips part when you moan, and his mouth mimics your own, dropping open to moan with you, his eyebrows furrowed, loving nothing more than seeing you fucked out like this
.⋆
miguel
"You needed this, didn't you? Fuck, I know you did... been fuckin' asking for it all day. Needed my cock that bad, huh? That's fine, baby, been needing you too..." Miguel is grunting, groaning under his breath each time he fucks his cock back inside your pussy, barely able to keep his eyes open from the way you feel. "Ah.. ah'm gonna cum, you're gonna make me-" a shiver runs down his spine when he feels his eyes water, and he's suddenly snapped back to reality. Miguel licks the pads of his fingers hurriedly, dropping them to your clit and starting to rub circles on the bud, "Cum for me. Fuckin' cum for me baby, please. Please, I want it,"
.⋆
keegan
"Fuck.. fuuuck," he's grunting, throwing his head back, mouth open as he keeps thrusting into you at this slow pace, "S'good, s'fucking good baby, ah-" he moans along with you, leaning closer to stare at the way you're losing yourself on his cock, "Fucking slut- fuck. Say you love this cock." he has the audacity to chuckle at the way you keep swallowing down the spit gathering in your mouth, his laughter drifting off to a groan when he feels you clamp around him suddenly, "Ah fuck- S okay baby I know you're too cockdrunk to tell me, yeah? Pussy said it for you,"
.⋆
webslinger
he doesn't know where to look. your pussy, that's sucking his cock in, with your slick dripping down the swell of your ass? your tits, that're bouncing each time he thrusts back into you- wanting so bad to just lean in and suck at your pretty nipples, kiss at the underside of your boobs, mark you, claim you-
He ends up looking at your face instead, at the way there's spit dripping down your chin, the way your pretty lips are parted- stuttered moans tumbling from your mouth when he squeezes your throat, keeping you down as he fucks you hard. "Fuckin' Christ. Be good for me and stay down, darlin'. I'll fuckin' give it to you,"
I don’t know if that makes sense, but there’s something so inexplicably, stupidly sexy about GhostPrice sparring, just from how evenly matched they are. Like, Price is already tall, but Ghost still stands over him, just slightly. And Ghost, who is a literal force in close combat, somehow still ends up getting pushed down by Price, who’s just a touch sharper, with a few more years of experience under his belt.
It definitely caught other people’s attention too, enough that Gaz and Soap eventually started placing bets on who comes out on top. Of course, Price told them to knock it off almost immediately. Still, they watch whenever their superiors spar, wondering what would happen if they ever took it to the bedroom.
hey hi Jules! i love ur writing... dopom is simply amazing and i cant wait to see where the story is going now ❤️❤️
so i saw that ur kinda taking reqs so i wanted to ask what do u think how the 141 (+ Konig) would react to a reader who moved on from them? maybe a bit hurt/comfort yk
i hope ur fine with such a request, love ya ❤️
Hey there anon and sorry for coming back to your request that late, but tbh you request fitted my one shot for Ghost so damn perfectly that I wanted to finish that one beforehand so I could shamelessly promote it with your request another time, so thanks for your request and your love for DoPoM!! I love you!!! (that fic is my baby and I literally can’t wait to show you where the story will lead soon, atm I’m writing the big plot twist for the story but pssst)
Moving On [headcanon]
a/n: Maybe I got carried away, but I hope you still like it. Still I think it's not my best work. No matter what the reason of your breakup was, the man you love/d wasn’t happy about it. Still those men have really different ways to deal with the breakup and aftermath. In my head the obvious reason for the breakup would be that they want you to be happy, that they can’t bear the thought of the continuous angst and worry you must live through because of them. Maybe also a bit of jealousy, or maybe you decided to go because you couldn’t keep up with the longing and lonely nights anymore. Let’s be honest, dating one of those men would be heartbreaking and thrilling at the same time, you’d need nerves and patience like the soldier they are. It’s not for the weak.
tw/cw: slight mentions of suggestive content, toxic behavior, depression, guilt and more
Characters: Soap, Price, Ghost, Gaz, König
》Master Post《
Johnny – Patience/Eagerness – Would simply not stop being your partner. Yes, you broke up, but why should he leave your side? He denies the thought that you don’t need him because he knows you do. He’ll make sure to show you that you are indeed in no need of any other man than him in your life. Will keep referring to you as his significant other anywhere he goes. Will keep the cute polaroid of you in the pocket of his tactical vest. You need someone to help set up your new ikea bed in your new flat? He’ll be there in no time to lend a helping hand. You try to turn his favors down, but he reminds you anytime: “We’re still friends bonnie, aren’t we?” and he’s right. You couldn’t just shove him out of your life, he means too much to you after the years spent with him. And don’t let me get started of the idea that you’d go out with a new man and the date went horribly wrong. Johnny would make sure to lend you a shoulder for you to cry on. Stroking your hair, reassuring you that no matter what he would never leave your side. Not pushing you to far out of your comfort zone. Maybe he starts to accept that you both are simply friends now, very close friends. But anytime he asks you about your latest attempt to date someone new and you tell him how bad that guy treated you, a new glimpse of hope is added to his heart that still is beating only for you. He would love to scream at you that if you’re willing to try he would be the man carrying you to the altar in no time. But he knows you need to see it for yourself that he still is the right choice for you and he’s willing to wait for you to open your eyes.
Price – Jealousy/Possessiveness – But not in the bad-bad way, only a so much that it’s still kinda attractive you know? This man will let you go because he knows it’s for the best, but he won’t leave your life. He is confident enough to think that you won’t find anything better than him. He shared everything with you, and he knows everything about you. You’re going out with your girls, he will be at the same bar, scaring away any man that only dares to look at you for too long. You will once a week get a bouquet of your favorite flowers with a little handwritten note. Nothing more than a little compliment like “Pretty flowers for the pretty Mrs.” and you know that handwriting too well. Anytime you manage to hook up with someone new, he would be there too. Catching your glance, walking past you with a little “That’s my replacement, love? You can do better than that…” Only mumbled so you’re the only one to hear it. He won’t force you into anything back but makes sure that whenever you try to forget about him, he’s right there to shove his presence back into your head and heart. He doesn’t ask you out, he wants you to come back to him. And after a long time, and many bad dates you eventually realize that you won’t get happy with a different man. So, when you get weak and crawl back to him, he’s going to make sure to show you how much he missed you, and that no man would make you feel like he’s able to. And believe me, he’s making sure you won’t leave another time.
Ghost – Anger/Guilt – He does understand why you left, always tells himself that you’re better off without him, still he feels so much anger inside of him. Anger aimed towards himself. He is angry that he couldn’t be the best version of himself around him. Angry that he couldn’t be the man you needed; you deserved, what sends him into a downward spiral of guilt. Guilty of everything you gave up for being with him, guilty about everything you invested into that relationship, just to break every string off. Just to discard you out of his life, because he knows better than anyone that you deserve better than him. Still, he feels the pure selfishness in wanting you back in his arms. He would straight forward tell you how he feels at this point. Knowing that he isn’t the best to talk about his feelings but knowing that he has to try his best to get you back. So expect something like “I would do anything to get ya back.” You were the only thing giving him a place looking forward to return to and finally rest, how could he give up to that? The only thing that convinces him to keep out of your life would be the realization that you really are happier with another person. And if you’re interested in that even more I recommend reading 》 happier 《 my one-shot about that exact storyline.
Kyle – Grief/Shock – Can’t handle the breakup and is devasted. He locks himself up, doesn’t talk with anyone about it. He wouldn’t try to talk you into staying with him, because he loves you too much to try to force something on you. His mind is always circling around all the things that might have prevented that outcome. Everything eats him up. He leaves your life without a trace for you to take. Not wanting to get in your way. Still, he makes a private fake Instagram account to still be able to have an insight of your life. When he notices that you started dating a new man his heart breaks again. The last bits of hope for a shared future shattered into million pieces. You were his person, there won’t be anything he could do about it. Nothing could convince him otherwise, but he sees that you seem happy with the new guy, so he learns to live with the pain in his chest. Is laying between the memories you shared and will always hold onto them. Maybe at some point found the courage to tell you, that he’s happy for you new relationship and that he is still grateful for everything you went through with him. But he really didn’t expect an invitation for your wedding to land in his mail. Still, he goes, because he knows it makes you happy. Seeing you in the white dress, kissing your now husband, it really makes him tear up, still he’s forcing a smile onto his lips as he tells you, that he can’t stay long because of duty. You gave him a quick hug, thank him for his coming with the same sweet smile he fell in love back then. “I missed that smile a lot.” He admits and leaves your life completely afterwards. Still, the sight of you in that dress haunts him at night, knowing that you’ll never be his.
König – Denial/Pity – Hear me out, I do believe he would straight up say no. Like you tell him you want to break up with him and he is just like. “Aber nein, mein Mäuschen [Well, no, my little mouse] You don’t want that.” You are not allowed to leave him, sure he is reasonable and will talk things out with you, but you won’t be able to leave him so easily. Promising that he’ll do better, that he’ll change. He knows you better than anyone and will try everything to keep you in his life. You’d need to leave him when he’s deployed, the only time he couldn’t hold you back. So, when at someday you’re out with a new guy he finally steps in. Wrapping his arm around your waist, glaring at the man in front of you. “Do you really thought I’d let you go?” he mocks and strokes your side gentle. He sees how you still melt under his touch, because he knows that he had ruined you for any other man. He knows that you only wanted him, so he openly shows his pity for that poor guy that never really had a chance in the first place. But also, the pity he feels when he sees how hard you try to move on from him. He would never deny your desire, so he takes you back and reassures you once more, that he loves you and that you don’t need to leave him. That he will always come back to you, no matter what. You’re his reason he fights and survive.
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Just like a Drabble type thing cuz I got COD brain rot- (specifically Graves tho 🙏 love a toxic blonde bombshell)
NSFW below the cut (y’all know the drill)
- Graves seems like he’s be so vocal in bed, whether it be dirty talk, grunts or groans he’s making noise. Except whimpering, he finds it emasculating. Until one time you’re on top riding him because he wanted to let you take charge for a change so you think, “let’s overstimulate this cocky fuck”. Them he’s a moaning whimpering mess (mix in a few “c’mon baby”s or “so good”s and incoherent cursing).
- He also seems like the type guy to really like you wearing his clothing. Like if you’re in one of his shirts making breakfast in the morning- you’re definitely being bent over that counter and those eggs are definitely getting burnt because you are not paying enough attention to the food right now.
