Pepsisods
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Simon's your sex buddy who'd rather you sleep with him than let yourself be used by other men, that caring asshole.
You're his sex buddy with a CNC kink and you're trying to get him to use you like a slut.
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Omegaverse AU: Where it’s common for alphas in the military to regularly engage the services of omegas, in order to prevent ruts interfering with their work.
When alpha Ghost invites alpha Soap to share an omega for that very reason, Soap expects a night of awkward, one-sided sex that he’ll inevitably regret. Because even alphas as close as they are can become dangerously territorial, when omegas are involved.
Maybe it’s a good thing, then, that the omega never shows up at all.
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Something Meaty For The Main Course by Imitationvanilla
Fandoms: Call of Duty (Video Games)
02 Jul 2026
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“I’m still fuckin’ breathin’, sir,” Johnny slurs, like speaking is getting the best of him, “‘nd so’re you.”
“But you almost weren’t, and that’s bad enough. Price is nuts-deep in the paperwork you caused him even now. Be prepared for an earful the second you’re cleared from medical.”
“Even now? Ghost, how long was I out?”
“Eleven days. You lost a kidney. You almost lost your life.” Those eleven days may as well have been eleven lifetimes. “You almost crashed twice. Your heart’s in rough shape from the tissue swelling around it. How many times do you need to be told to follow your goddamn orders?”
Soap smiles weakly and opens his eyes a crack. The whites of them are very faintly yellowed, but his irises are as blue as ever. He gives Ghost’s hand as much of a squeeze as he can muster, which isn’t much given how out of it he still is. “I wouldn’t be half the man I am if I always followed orders.”
Ghost hates that Soap’s right.
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“What’re you doin’, Johnny?” Simon breathes, flashing Soap his crooked, snarled teeth. His canines are sharp like a dog’s.
“I think you’re smart enough to figure that out on your own, L.T.,” Soap says, before pulling the mask fully off and crashing their mouths together.
Somehow, any time they’re alone together, it always devolves into this. Always.
Ghost’s lips are cold, but the inside of his mouth is hot, almost feverish, and his tongue is wet where he bullies his way into Soap’s mouth. It’s disgusting, objectively. Ghost has nerve damage around his mouth, too, so he can’t really feel what he’s doing when he kisses someone, and with the open scar it ends up being a sloppy, slick mess, but Soap loves the way it leaves him feeling like he’s being devoured.
Ghost’s teeth are sharp, and John crumbles like communion bread underneath them.
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Simon is dreading his first day back. Having a chemistry class at nine in the morning was the worst scheduling decision ever, but there wasn’t much of an option. Chemistry has never been his strong suit, and he doesn’t entirely get what it has to do with his desire to be an entomologist, but here he is. A cup of coffee in his right hand, bag slung over his shoulder, and eyes scoping the lab for the ideal spot. The only other person he sees currently in the lab is a stocky man with a mohawk, wearing a skin tight blue shirt and… “Are you wearing a skirt?” Simon asks before he can stop himself.
The man looks up at him, giving Simon an eyeful of ocean blues and a stubble. “It’s a kilt,” the man corrects, voice thick with a Scottish brogue. “Difference is, I dinnae wear anything under a kilt.” Simon rolls his eyes and sits down across from him. “I’m Johnny. What’s yer name?”
“Simon.”