consciouscarrot

[consciouscarrot]

Haven

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Experiment!FemReader]

Makarov and his men were nearly wiped out. And all they had to go off of was the static recording from a security camera. Bodies strew along, a dogpile of dead men. And at the center of it all a small figure clad in a dress the color of dirt, arms smeared with blood to the elbows.

It was you.

[Blood and Gore, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Death (not of any major character)] [5.1k words]

Chapter 1 "Star-spangled Canvas"

“Fahcking hell…”

That’s all his mind could make of the grotesque scene. Initially, he’d thought he was watching a gory horror movie, but no, this was real. As real as the security camera in the bunker he and his team were spying on. It jitters with every invisible punch that squashes yet another nameless, faceless Makarov goon who tries to get close to you.

And you don’t even have to lift a finger, someone or something does it for you. A shapeless force so powerful it instantly eliminates anyone who tried to lunge at you. It is so potent that the rain of bullets coming your way cease their movements inches away from your skin, as if caught by an unseen hand.

Screams, grunts, pleas and prayers in Russian echo from the speakers and all around the cluttered meeting room, he only hoped the walls were soundproof. Orders are barked around, but nobody listens, and how could they with the monster let loose before them? Fear was humanity’s biggest enemy and so far, from what he saw, you were an expert at enforcing it.

The camera shakes again, the outdated medical equipment scattered around you is sprinkled with crimson, like a mad painter set free to create chaos on a canvas.

It’s over as abruptly as it had started, a messy red circle around your feet which you bend down to touch as if you’d not seen blood before.

Ghost watches you glide your palms over the ichor, smear it to your elbows, maybe it’s not the blood, but the color that you’ve not seen in so long that commands you to spread it over your skin, it’s too pretty to resist.

The reinforced steel wall you’d been leaning against wrinkles and curls up like aluminum foil, it’s torn to pieces and you simply walk out, slightly limping, disappearing under the cloak of night as sirens blare in the background along with a horde of rushed footsteps.

But what disturbs him the most is that just before you do, your head slowly turns, and you face the camera. Your eyes sink into his soul like claws, and for a moment, he’s completely frozen, feels a chill run up his spine.

Hazy, dead orbs and gaunt features make it easy to guess you’d been starved. Heavy lids cast over ruddy, veiny sclera. Who knows when the last time you slept was.

He’d be sympathetic if not for the massacre you’d caused by merely existing in the same vicinity as those soldiers.

The video replays over and over and the more he watches the harder it is to believe what he’d seen. Maybe his sights are deceiving him, maybe he’s sleeping and this is just another strange nightmare to add to the collection, one he’ll tell Johnny once he’s awake.

“What the hell is this Laswell?” Soap’s voice sounds behind him and he’s ripped back to reality, shakes his head to regain some composure and turns to the aforementioned woman who’s anxiously sucking the life out of a cigarette.

“Telekinesis is what the reports say.” She answers in a hoarse voice and combs a hand through her hair to let loose some steam before her fingers travel to the bridge of her nose where she pinches and squints her eyes shut with a sigh. “A God damn freakshow if you ask me.”

Despite her shaken state, she rolls the unease off her shoulders and straightens up before fetching the file where the security flash drive had been.

141 had tried to trace it back to its original owner, had their experts delve through the databases in the hopes that something pops up. But ultimately they’d ended up emptyhanded. One of Makarov’s men who had finally had enough of the horror stories he’s been forced to live had given up intel in the hopes that someone else would bear the burden of taking down the monstrosity they’d created. He’d been found dead with a self-inflicted bullet wound to the skull not long after.

So much to getting more intel out of ‘em…

“Apparently Makarov has been…testing certain chemicals on unwilling victims. People of all ages taken off the streets to be used as lab rats. Sick bastard.” Kate opens the file that barely had any papers and sifts through them as her frown deepens. “There’s not much to go on. That there – ” She nudges her elbow towards the large monitor then heads to turn on the lights in the conference room because the atmosphere is already too dark for her tastes. “ – is all we have to go off of. No idea where they keep the rest. Probably scattered all across the globe, if they aren’t dead already, the poor sods.”

“Well ain’t that just perfect.” Price takes off his hat and rubs a hand over his face, body visibly shrinking with the long exhale he produces. “Bastard’s already a menace and now he’s making fucking mutants.”

“She’s the only clue we have as to what’s been going on under our noses.” Laswell puts out her cigarette with jittery force, blows out a cloud of smoke and turns back to the video snippet, rewinding it to where you’re facing the camera with more than an unfriendly expression. “Last sighted somewhere in Moscow. Couple days ago from what I could gather.”

There’s an uneasy silence that follows, nobody really knows what to say or how to proceed because they’ve never faced such an anomaly before. Deadly gas stored in missiles and hostile enemy soldiers was one thing.

This…This was something completely different, unheard of before. They weren’t equipped for this. They needed an exorcist or the fucking Men in Black for such a case.

From what the video had shown, there was no other way to treat you than point a gun to your head and ask for your cooperation. You were hostile to anything that breathed and walked on two legs, Ghost and his squad included if they dared to come after you.

“So what? You wan’ us to hunt down a lass that can barely walk?” Soap’s voice rises dangerously as he crosses his arms over his chest, refusing to suffer another look at your pathetic appearance. “Think the poor thing’s been through enough.”

There’s no denying your condition is worthy of tears, that little dress had hung off you like a sack. Your nails were short, but jagged, most likely bitten off because nail clippers were a luxury your kind wasn’t offered, let alone soap and a shower. He doesn’t want to think of the last time you’d been offered a bath or a warm drink, new shoes or even socks to keep your feet somewhat isolated from the frostbitten floor you’d no doubt been forced to sleep on.

“You saw what she can do.” Kate spits back and lays a hand on the conference table before reaching for her cigarette pack. “There’s no telling what she’ll do if faced off against civilians. She’s alone out there.” The zipper of a lighter, a flame to the cancer stick pinched between her thin lips, then a long drag to calm her strained nerves. “She’s alone out there, Soap... No family that we know of, no way of getting food, probably barefoot and freezing. We need to take her in. She needs shelter.” When she sees that the menacing expression on his rugged features doesn’t change, but instead darkens, she softens her tone and considers slightly altering her priorities, at least verbally. “We’ll take care of her, then ask questions.”

“I ain’t pointin’ no gun at a random girl after she got fuckin’ tortured by some sick bastard.”

“Soap, this isn’t just about her.” Laswell sighs, rubs at her forehead in thought; she doesn’t like this any more than the handful of men locked in the room with her. However, without an alternative and her superiors pushing down on her, she’s left with no choice.

It was her fault she’d not managed to come up with anything else, she knew that, cursed herself for it. The longer she looked over the papers the more she wanted to scream bloody murder, wanted to stuff the barrel of her gun right down Marakov’s throat.

To think that someone was capable of such cruelty…

“She’s the 46-th specimen, there are dozens more just like her that need rescuing and she’s the only one who might know where they’re being held.”

“We’ll do it.” Finally, Ghost speaks up.

“Ghost?” Soap’s apprehension wavers at the Lieutenant’s interjection.

“We’ll do it.” He repeats, cracks his knuckles and heads for the door, already steering towards the armory and set on his new mission. “I ain’t lettin’ a monster kill innocents just cus’ she pulled the short end of the stick.”

It might have come off as coldblooded, heartless, inhuman, but his job was to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves and that’s exactly what he intended to do. Because you weren’t a damsel in distress, you were the dragon tearing down the castle.

That’s how he ended up here, in this God's forsaken forest on the edge of the Russian border, dusting snow off his shoulders and trudging over slushy mud and wet leaves and pine needles. Owls hoot and sneer down at him from somewhere in the darkness above. The foliage is dense despite the harsh weather, he feels thorns and branches tugging at the exposed fabric of his gear as if warning him, trying to pull him back before it was too late.

Ghost couldn’t afford to return with empty hands, not when he was hot on your tail, following the disturbed dirt and broken twigs. The moment he’d noticed the trail, he’d split from Gaz and Soap, told them to circle the area in case he moved too slow to catch you.

He didn’t want to risk exposure, no flashlights, so his night vision goggles led the way, going dark was his specialty. Slow and steady, he skulked about like a predator, armed and dangerous, the apex of his military branch. There was no fear in his heart when he found a small piece torn from your dress hanging off the chipped bark of a pine tree. He steps forward with subdued determination, rifle at the ready in case you were stupid enough to try and ambush him.

Taut muscles move with precision, his strong legs keeping him low to the ground, undetectable, as he made his way through the intense shrubbery. If not for the squishy mud under his boots, he’d be completely silent, but a man of his size would rarely ever be gifted complete stealth, it came with the territory of being built like a tank.

A disturbance on his left makes him freeze. Ghost shoulders against a tree and knees down, one knee dug into the dirt to steady himself as he raised his rifle slowly, finger steady on the trigger.

A deer.

He sighs softly and lowers his weapon.

Just a deer, the same color as your dress, staring back at him startled with its wide watery eyes that glow like stars in the night. A delicate creature, all dainty legs and finely etched hooves, large ears that are sprung up in alarm and listening for danger, its breath visible due to the low temperature. It bolts as soon as Ghost ends their staring contest and starts to rise from his spot, disappearing among the trees.

He shakes his head at the odds, pushes the image of the furry pest out of his mind, and is back on his lead a moment later.

The owls have stopped tormenting him, the lulling breeze gets stronger the further he infiltrates the forest, the branches keep tugging him back and still he refuses to relent. The ominous weight lingering on his shoulders becomes too potent for him to keep ignoring any longer. Everything is hinting at him to stop and turn around, leave the beast he’s hunting to her peace, to save his hide.

He nearly scoffs at all the signs.

A mission is a mission, no matter the danger. He’s accomplished suicide tasks before, this one won’t be any different.

The more the darkness surrounds him the more distorted the memory of you becomes. You’re unbelievably tall now, towering over him, with sharp claws and a grotesque face, glowing eyes, and crooked fangs. Your hair glistens not with unwashed grease, but with slime, you’re hunched over, spine visible through the rags you use for clothes, two hanging flaps of skin for breasts, and arms so skinny they rival the twigs he’s crushing under his feet.

Except you aren’t all that he pictures you to be and you’re standing right there to prove him wrong.

Dress flowing in the howling wind that is so strong yet doesn’t push you off the edge of the cliff you’ve stopped to rest at. Hair no longer a mess, washed somewhere in a frozen river, scrubbed clean with snow, leaves and pine needles cling to it like priceless ornaments. Your arms are clean of blood, spotless, skin glinting in the moonlight, bare feet planted firmly on the freezing rocks and head tilted up towards the stars.

That’s how he met you the first time, under a star-spangled canvas, free and at peace, belly empty but heart full. Lungs greedily gulping down fresh forest air so desperately that he can hear your breaths from where he stands.

Hidden in the shadows and immobile should have made him undetectable, he was just a splotch of black in the vastness, and your back was turned to him, you’d not moved since he’d found you. So there was no explanation as to how you’d come to acknowledge his presence. Yet a single word rolls off your lips and breaks the deafening silence.

“Come.”

His body explodes with goosebumps so prominent they hurt. The rifle shudders in his grasp and his eyes widen, his breath hitched and his heart abandons its leisurely pace for a quick beat that drums in his ears. His vision blurs and he’s forced to blind away stray snowflakes.

Ghost doesn’t move, calls it a bluff you’ve learned from being hunted by Makarov’s men already. His hesitation is snuffed out instantly and he readjusts his weapon before cocking it towards your head.

But then you turn to look him straight in the eye and smile.

“Come look at the stars with me.”

Despite every cell in his brain shrieking for him to run, his body moves on its own accord. Slowly he leaves his hiding spot, stepping carefully towards you and leaving the safety of the forest behind.

“No sudden moves!” He barks out and reloads his rifle as a warning.

You lethargically raise your hands in the air, high above your head to imitate that no harm will come to him, but instead of your expectation for him to let his guard down, he snorts.

“Don’t think I don’ know your tricks?” There’s a menace in his voice despite the panic of being caught, a certain trained anger that all military staff are taught to maintain in a risky situation. “Don’ need your pre’y li’le ‘ands to rip me apart. Quit the theatrics!”

He tries desperately to contact the rest, shakes the mic in front of his mouth and his helmet in an attempt to get a response, but aside from white static nothing comes.

“Shite.”

“Radios don’t work here.” You say casually and let your hands fall back to your sides. There’s a gap in your interaction – you silently stand there while he fumbles with his equipment and spits a multitude of hushed curses. And you lack patience for you’ve been denied the privilege of conversing with someone other than the voices in your head. Your mouth unseals to produce more words, you want to talk and you want him to answer, his voice, although raspy and deep, brings you a sort of comfort, an escape from the constant ringing in your ears. “Are you going to shoot me – ”

“ – Don’t. Move.” He cuts you off, growls at you like a guard dog protecting its territory. The rifle moves to point at your head once again.

You can’t help the frown which sags your features, but comply with his demand and stop trying to turn around and see him proper.

Curiosity will have to wait, you can tell he’s in no mood to be approached and you’re too peaceful and refuse to stain the forest grounds with his blood considering his threats don’t have any backbone to them. If he’d intended to shoot you, he would have tried while under the guise of the forest, at a somewhat safe distance.

So you knew that wasn’t his intent and there was only one other thing he could be after. Heavens be damned, you wished things could be different and he’d been just a hunter who’d stumbled upon you by chance.

But it was never that simple.

“As much as I dislike saying this…” You hum, turn your gaze back to the stars, seeing them is a gift which you’ll never take for granted again, not as long as your heart keeps beating. Your hands clasp behind your back, and your chest pops out, filling slowly with the scent of pine sap and frost. Freedom was truly a blessing, if not for the sacrifices needed to achieve it. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already. I’m not a threat.”

It’s an unsavory truth, a stitching of ugly words that you’d rather not be a part of your conversation. But you bid him a smart man, he did track you down after all. You do not doubt that despite the bluntness of your confession, he’ll understand it as you making a truce.

“I’ll decide that.” He snaps back and takes a step closer, inch by inch until the barrel of his rifle is pressing against the back of your head. He nudges your hair to the side and confirms the tattooed “46” on your neck in thick bold numbers. The worst part is the claw marks over the number, faded and new. You’d tried to scratch it off with your bare hands so many times the skin was completely discolored around it. “Really are specimen 46 then. Bloody Christ…”

You suck in a sharp breath when the cool feeling of metal comes in contact with your tattoo, then clench your teeth and swallow thickly, willing away the memories it carries with it. Instead of letting yourself crumble into a pile of self-pity, you snap back at the stranger with teeth bared.

“Are you always this desperate to be in control?” Then you add more venom to your retaliation with the intent of putting him in his place, but in reality, it’s more to comfort yourself. “Because you aren’t.”

Ghost snorts at you like you’re the dirt on the soles of his shoes, then removes the rifle from your neck.

“So why am I still alive?” He demands, pokes at you with a metaphoric stick you restrain from biting. “Either you ain’t got the guts anymore or I’m just tha’ special.”

The corner of your upper lip rises in disgust, your nose wrinkles and you avert your eyes from the stars to the dark horizon. You can hear the cocky smirk on his lips and it makes your stomach churn in revulsion.

Bastard…

“I don’t hurt those who don’t hurt me.”

If he’s going to be happy, then so are.

You take the chance of his guard falling at your words and turn your head. A skull mask waits for you there, looming over your frame along with broad shoulders. Powdery lashes gleam in the weak moonlight, looking like frosted spiderwebs, his eye color – something dark and unwelcoming. A wide-built man, a boogeyman if encountered in the forest at night, you would have been scared once upon a time. Now it stirs nothing inside you aside from curiosity. You wonder why he wears such a distinct mask.

Does it have meaning? Is it only for show? Why wear such a thing if it only blows your cover?

“What makes you think I won’t hurt you?” He bends down until you’re eye to eye, tries to stare you into submission with those tired lids and pretty lashes. His weapon lowers along with him, no longer pointed at you, but still at the ready.

You take that as your cue to turn fully and face him properly because that’s the polite thing to do when in the company of a “kind” stranger.

“Well for starters you don’t speak deranged Russian.” You point out, and tuck the stray hair behind your ears when the wind blows it into a wild flurry. “You’re not one of them.” Your tone lowers to a grave toon as you murmur out the last part, the faces of those you’ve slaughtered coming to haunt the premises of your mind. Even though they’d deserved it, even though they’d shot first, it still felt wrong. It’s a heavy burden bestowed upon you, one you wished hopelessly to be rid of, but it’s too late now. “Why are you here, soldier?” You turn your gaze back to the stars, voice hoarse with hidden tears that you refuse to let spill. “Don’t you know I’m a scary monster?”

You lower yourself until you’re sitting on the stone ground, tuck your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them to fend off the cold.

Ghost almost falls to his knees at the sight. A broken little bird, tortured, its feathers ripped out and discarded, stamped for a life of suffering and with no escape in sight. It hurts because you aren’t the monster your file had made you out to be. If anything, he was the monster for wanting to take you away from your serenity, he’d been the first to point a weapon at you while you’d simply beckoned him to keep you company.

“Here to take you home.” He forces out, tries to reason with himself that this was for the betterment of everyone. It wasn’t just about you. Sacrifices had to be made for the greater good and as unfair as it was, you were to be one of those sacrifices. “Somewhere safe.”

A vile lie. He knew what they’d do to you the moment they got their hands on you. It sickened him to the core.

He sits next to you with a heavy sigh, sets down his rifle, and rests his elbows on his knees.

“I’m safe here.” You say even though it’s useless to argue.

“Ain’t up to you…or me.”

It’s as you suspected. He was just a soldier doing his duty, a pawn on a bigger chessboard, nothing more.

“Do you think all these stars are already dead?” You huddle close into yourself and place each hand on your shoulders, letting your numb fingers find respite in the thickness of your hair. You wish you could offer the same salvation to your feet, but aside from a pair of ratty shoes you’d found in a dumpster, there was nothing more you could do. Looking up again, you speak more to yourself than the soldier sitting beside you. “They remind me of myself in a way. Maybe I’m dead already and I don’t know it yet.”

“Don’t have to be tha’ way.” Ghost shrugs and palms over his pocket before pulling out a battered pack of cigarettes. He tugs his mask up enough to expose his mouth and stubbly chin to the cold and pinches a cigarette between his lips.

You see the scars, wide and deep, curving over his pale skin, they call to you and you extend your arm out to touch them. He grips your wrist, nearly breaks it when the tips of your fingers ghost over one of them. It shakes you out of your trance and still long enough to look into his eyes and see pain underneath all the hatred warning you to keep your distance. And so you press on, reach forward until your hand is on his scars again, tracing delicately.

And he doesn’t let go of your wrist, but doesn’t stop you either.

“I’m sorry…” You want to say. “Seems like you’ve suffered as much as I have…”

“And what? Come back with you? To another secret facility where I’ll be poked and probed?” Is what you hiss out instead, retract your arm and shoot down your unwelcome tenderness, rip apart the intimacy it has brought with it. “No thanks.”

Bitterness stains your words, Ghost doesn’t blame you. He’d set you free if it were up to him, give you some cash to buy yourself a few nights worth of a bed and supper.

Instead, he takes a long drag from his cigarette, runs a hand against the side of his head and puffs out a breath.

“Survival first. Survival. Survival!” You repeat internally, force yourself to swallow back the desperation touching another person has awakened inside your chest.

Silence follows, unbroken by either of you, because nothing he can say will make you change your mind and nothing you say will get him off your back. He knows you’ll run, you know he’ll try to stop you and fail. So you take the time to rest and enjoy the chilly breeze nipping at your skin, the rough stone against your bare feet. Maybe it’s high time you slip your shoes back on before you catch frostbite and so you do while hoping that the soldier doesn’t take your actions as a cue that you’re about to take off.

He doesn’t budge, not bothered in the slightest and you’re grateful.

The sky calls to you, twinkling gloriously, you give it your best smile despite your predicament. It didn’t matter that you were nearly freezing to death, that you might perish in this forest, never to be found by anyone, a nameless corpse. You were free now, free to go wherever you wanted and the blisters between your toes wouldn’t stop you, the ache in your joints wouldn’t either.

“I haven’t seen the stars in years…” You say softly, absentmindedly. “Haven’t spoken to another person for longer…” You turn away from the night sky long enough to direct your smile at Ghost and from the bottom of your bleeding heart mumble out. “Thank you.”

Something vulnerable passes by his guarded gaze, a flicker of warmth that eases the cold rattling your bones. You take the plunge, rest your head against his shoulder and don’t mind how he suddenly stiffens and awkwardly clears his throat. You don’t care that he’s practically trying to crawl out of his skin by your close proximity, if he was to aim bullets at you in the next few moments, he could at least give you a second of comfort.

Every period of harmony, however, must end, and this one does when your stomach growls.

 “Sorry.” You snort and clutch your caved-in belly harshly, scolding it for taking away your tranquility. “Haven’t been fortunate enough to find food.”

You would have been too embarrassed to look at him if it weren’t for the crinkling that reaches your ears. Your eyes dart to the hand he’s stuck inside his back pocket and your mouth starts salivating in anticipation. A crumbled pack of crackers shines in his large palm, more resembling crumbs than actual crackers, but the spark of life that returns to your hazy orbs tells him it’s more than enough.

“ ‘s all I got.” He grumbles and lets it roll into your waiting hands.

You’re too impatient to be lady-like, rip the foil with your teeth and scarf down the contents, nearly choking as the crumbs tickle your throat. Another growl comes from your stomach, a pleased one this time.

You’ve gone without a proper meal for so long that you only manage to eat half before you feel like you’re about to burst. The other half you carefully tie and set by the heel of your foot – a snack for later. You groan in delight, fall back until your shoulder blades press against the stone, then stretch and curl your arms under your head.

How fortunate you were – you’d found shoes, met a kind stranger and now you nurtured a full belly.

“Will they kill you if you go back without me?” You ask nonchalantly and cross your thighs, one knee over the other as you bob your foot in the air.

“Nah.” Ghost scoffs and lights another cigarette before tucking the pack back in his pocket. He leans his weight on his palm and turns to gaze down at you. “But I’ll have to keep searching for you. ” His eyes skim over your form, at all the skin exposed to the cold, the sight makes a shiver run up his spine. “Ain’t you cold?”

“A little. I’m mostly fine though.” You answer honestly. You’ve been so cold for so long that it no longer catches your attention when you shiver and your limbs start to prickle. Maybe you are cold, you couldn’t tell.

The rustling of fabric fills your ears, you look to the soldier and bolt up into a sitting position.

He’s shedding his gear, first the vest and then his jacket, leaving him in only a hoodie you hope is thick enough to keep him warm because he’s draping the jacket over you before you have time to protest. It’s heavy and warm over your shoulders, sagging against your body because he’s that much bigger. It smells of gunpowder and dampness, tobacco and musk.

“You’ll catch your death.” You pull it closer despite your words, bury yourself in it and swallow back a sob.

“Why…”

“Don’ worry ‘bout me.” Ghost shakes his head and clasps his vest back in place before puffing out a cloud of smoke.

“I want to see the ocean, bury my toes in sand. Some place warm, maybe I’ll go there next.” You stand up and roll the stiffness out of your ankles before stepping closer to the edge.

It’s time to go. You’ve taken enough from the poor soul and you’d rather not keep him when the temperatures will only keep falling. You want to go somewhere alone and cry your eyes out at his kindness before continuing down the path of faith. You hope he gets back to wherever he came from, safe and sound, that he warms up and gets some good rest.

Your eyes are on the horizon again, skimming over the jagged treetops awaiting you below.

“Where?”

You shrug at his question, not because you’re a tease, but because you don’t know yourself. Whenever the wind takes you, you’re sure he’ll find you, he got this far, after all.

Maybe he doesn’t try to stop you because he’s realized that the only thing you want is to see the world again. Maybe he doesn’t have the heart after he found out how much torment you’d gone through. Maybe he’s a coward who values his life over his duty. You’ll just have to wait and see.

“I’ll wait for you. Don’t take too long, soldier.”

Chapter 2 >>>

Masterlist

[Jumping from one niche idea to the next, that's my jam. At least Cujo is finished right?]

[consciouscarrot]

seems i’m having to say yet again, mdni with ANYTHING on my blog and blank blogs get blocked. at the very least, just put your age in the bio.

[consciouscarrot]

GUESS WHOSE BACK, BACK AGAIN- it’s the bitch who won’t give up on this trope. and funnily enough i said to myself that i wouldn’t write another one of these for a week. i’m a liar.

Roommate!Simon Riley who loves to scratch you with his scruff.

He finds it absolutely adorable how you giggle, hands trying to swat his large shoulders away as he pulls you close to him. “Simon Riley I’m gonna fucking kill you,” The words are the furthest thing from harsh, and they’re said through bouts of loud laughter when he begins tickling you.

You end up on the floor, legs trying to push him away, but he’s stronger than you, pinning you down to rub his chin all over your cheeks and neck.

“Oh c’mon sweet’art, ‘s just a littl’ scratch.” He’s got his arms looped around your back now, your chest flush with his.

His own chuckle begins to bubble up, and eventually, he’s cackling in your ear like a madman, the two of you tangled and wrestling on the floor.

“SIMON STOP!” If he didn’t know you better, he’d think something was wrong, but he could sense the difference in your tone. This one was loud but it was light, not heavy and broken. It’s what made him dip lower toward your chest, his jaw pushing down your shirt so he could scratch your collarbone.

He feels your nails grasp onto his biceps as you try to tug him away but he remains persistent. “You’re making me itchy Riley!”

You knew better than to say something like that, because now he was pulling back, eyes alight with mischief and eyebrows raised high as he cocked his head to the side. “Oh ‘m sorry love, need me to get that for ya yeah?”

“NO!” You were trying to wiggle away but he was having none of it.

“Jus’ hold still, be done in a minute if ya just quit movin’”

This would go on for a few minutes. He’d spend the entirety of the time practically rubbing your skin raw, loving the way your cheeks turned red and your eyes watered from the feeling. Eventually though, you’d finally get away. “Ow, Si,” The nickname, it got him everytime without fail. You’d force out a whine, dragging your hands up to grab your face.

He’d drop you immediately, forehead creasing up in concern. “You alright baby? Where’d I-” But before he could finish you were bolting down the hallway, slipping and sliding across the hardwood floor into different rooms. Your loud giggles echoed off the walls, setting his heart ablaze.

“You cheeky lass!” He’d chase you, heavy footsteps growing closer as you laid low in the closet. He’d stop, smiling when he heard your deep breaths. “Gotcha,” He’d let you think you were sneakier than him when you slipped between his legs and he’d let you be faster than him as you zigzagged through the apartment.

The people downstairs definitely wanted to murder you both. He knew that because he’d often get complaints the next morning. Old men and women pointing wrinkled fingers in his face.

But everytime they brought it up he could only imagine your smile, and the way you looked at him when he’d pick you up, carrying you over his shoulder. He’d remember the wide smile and infectious laughter that turned his insides into mush. It’s what made him nod, lying straight to their faces.

Only to pin you down the second you got home and do it all over again.

you know I gotta ask. stupid or nah?

[consciouscarrot]

also sorry for being one of those ppl, but would you consider writing a simon x reader only piece for your dukedom au? i know you don't write explicit smut, but maybe something suggestive? size kink? mask kink? us women being weirdly turned on by grumpy, gruff men? just girly things he he just married things he he (why are we like this kadjkaf)

I understood this as no poly 141, just simon and his wife 🫡 i hope you enjoy this anon!

Marriage to Duke Simon Riley had settled into a rhythm, a quiet understanding forged through time and proximity. You’d learned his patterns- how he preferred the solitude of his study in the mornings, the way he’d gravitate to the stables after a difficult day, and the rare occasions he sought you out in the evening, a silent request for your company that you never refused.

It was peaceful. Far more than you’d expected, but you weren’t one to complain about silver linings.

He wasn’t a man of grand gestures or poetic words, not like you asked for any, but he was steady, and that steadiness had become a source of comfort. It wasn’t love- not yet- but it was something solid, something good, and it was yours.

Still, Simon remained an enigma, his gruff demeanor a constant reminder that he didn’t open himself to others easily. Yet, there were moments- small, fleeting moments- where his guard would slip, and you’d glimpse the man beneath the stoic mask. Those moments made your heart race more than you cared to admit.

Like now.

The two of you were walking along the forest path just beyond the manor grounds, the crisp air heavy with the scent of pine and earth. Simon walked a step ahead, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure against the dappled sunlight in the handsome suit he was wearing today. You could hear the crunch of leaves beneath his boots, the quiet way he scanned the surroundings as if it were second nature.

Leftovers from his time serving the military, you persumed.

You tried to focus on the path, on the beauty of the autumn leaves, but your attention kept drifting to him- the way his coat stretched over his frame, the way his long strides made you quicken your pace to keep up, boots stretching across his powerful calves. It wasn’t fair, really, how easily he dominated the space around him, how your height compared to his only seemed to emphasize his sheer presence.

Yet you didn’t mind at all.

“Are you always this quiet, Duchess?” he asked suddenly, glancing over his shoulder.

Caught off guard, you blinked up at him. “I thought you liked quiet, Your Grace.”

“I do,” he said, voice rumbling like distant thunder. A lot of times, you wished you could gather enough courage to ask him to read to you, but it was a childish, foolish want.“But you’ve been staring at the ground for the last ten minutes.”

Your face heated, though you tried to play it off. “Just thinking.”

Sharp eyes lingered on you for a moment before he turned back to the path. “Careful, Duchess. Too much thinking could distract you.”

You rolled your eyes at his typical bluntness, but before you could retort, Simon’s body tensed, his steps halting abruptly. His arm shot out, blocking you from moving forward.

“What is it?” you whispered, voice barely audible.

“Stay behind me.” he ordered, his tone low and commanding.

Before you could question him, you heard it- a low growl coming from the trees ahead. Your heart leapt into your throat as a wolf emerged from the shadows, its eyes fixed on you with predatory intent.

Simon didn’t flinch. He stepped in front of you, his large frame completely shielding you from the animal’s view.

“Don’t move.” he murmured, calm but firm.

You clutched the back of his coat, your pulse pounding in your ears. Despite the danger, you couldn’t help but notice how steady he was, how he seemed utterly unshaken in the face of the threat.

You were so glad you were with him.

The wolf took a cautious step forward, its growl deepening. Simon didn’t back down. Instead, he shifted slightly, angling his body to keep you fully protected and covered.

The standoff felt like it stretched on forever, but eventually, the wolf seemed to reconsider. It let out one last growl before slinking back into the trees, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.

Only when the forest was silent again did Simon relax just slightly, though his hand lingered on the hilt of the dagger at his belt.

“Are you hurt, wife?” he asked, turning to face you.

You shook your head, still gripping his coat like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “No, I- thank you. That was…”

Terrifying.

“Part of the job,” he interrupted, his gruff tone downplaying the moment. But his sharp gaze scanned you anyway, as if double-checking for injuries.

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins, but so was something else- a heat that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way he’d shielded you without hesitation. The way his body fully covered yours, gruff demeanor forgotten to keep you safe.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I did,” he said firmly, cutting you off. His brow furrowed as he looked down at you, his imposing frame still towering over yours. It made you feel safe. “You’re my wife, my Duchess, and that makes you my responsibility.”

The words should have felt cold, detached, but the way he said them made your chest tighten. There was something unspoken in his tone, something you weren’t sure he even realized he’d revealed.

You nodded, unsure of what to say, but your silence seemed to satisfy him.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softer now. “We should head back.”

And then he bent down, picking you up even as you yelped. “Simon-“

“This is safer.” He wasn’t even mildly bothered, carrying so easily like you weighed nothing to him. It made your cheeks burn even more, and warmth curl in your stomach (which you pointedly ignored). “…and you should call me Simon more, I believe.”

“…only if you also call me by my name.”

A bit later, he looked at you with an eyebrow raised. “…Have you been skipping meals?”

You blinked at him, arms around his neck in fear of being dropped anyways. “No? Why the question?”

“You are far lighter than I expected. I was worried.”

Youe face softened, something sweet blooming in your chest. “I am eating well, fret not… Simon.”

When the both of you finally returned to the manor, your mind was still replaying the way he’d positioned himself in front of you, how small you’d felt in his shadow- and how much you’d liked it.

Dinner that night was uneventful, the two of you seated across from one another in the quiet dining hall. Simon ate methodically, occasionally glancing your way, his sharp eyes flickering between your face and the untouched wine in your glass. He was unreadable as always, but you caught a faint flicker of concern in his gaze.

“Still shaken?” he asked at last, breaking the silence.

You looked up, startled. His voice was softer than usual, though it still carried that low, commanding timbre that always made your spine subconsciously straighten.

“No,” you said quickly, though your cheeks heated. Today, that was all your body seemed to do. “Not shaken.”

His brow arched, unconvinced. He leaned back in his chair, the broad stretch of his shoulders making the large dining room feel smaller. You couldn’t help but let your focus linger there for a few seconds before meeting his eyes again. “You’ve barely said a word since we got back, wife. It’s… worrying.”

“It’s nothing,” you murmured, looking down at your plate. But Simon’s presence across from you was impossible to ignore. The way he seemed to fill the room, his height and size so effortlessly commanding, made you hyperaware of your own smaller frame.

You wanted him.

He noticed- of course he noticed. Simon noticed everything.

“Look at me.” he ordered, quiet but firm.

You hesitated for a second but obeyed, your gaze lifting to meet his. The intensity in his eyes made your breath catch.

“I need you to tell me if something’s wrong,” his voice was rough, but laced with something softer. “You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”

Your heart beat faster at his words, and for a moment, you wondered if he realized the effect he had on you. Did he know how steady he made you feel? How his mere presence made you feel safe in ways you couldn’t put into words? In ways that were far too improper to be put into words?

“I’m fine, truly, husband.” you managed to say at last, offering him a small smile.

Simon studied you for a moment longer before giving a slow nod. “Good. Because if you’re not, you tell me. Understood?”

“Yes.” you said softly, the corners of your lips twitching despite yourself.

Later, as you prepared for bed, Simon’s words echoed in your mind. You were brushing your hair at the vanity when the door creaked open behind you. Glancing in the mirror, you saw him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Simon stepped into the room when you nodded your permission, and all your attention unsurprisingly turned on him. He had that effect. He came to stand behind you, his reflection towering over yours in the mirror. The sight sent a thrill down your spine, though you quickly looked away.

“You’re still thinking,” he said, his voice low as he leaned down slightly, his head just beside yours. His height difference felt even more pronounced like this, his sheer size making you feel small in a way that was anything but unwelcome.

You wondered if he’d surround you completely in bed-

“I’m not,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes met yours in the mirror, sharp and unyielding. “You are. Something is on your mind, yet you refuse to tell me.”

Simon straightened, his figure casting a shadow over you. He reached out, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your bare shoulder. The gesture was so simple, yet it left you breathless.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, low and deliberate. Smug.

Your eyes snapped to his reflection, your cheeks flaming. “What?”

“Being reminded,” he said, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Of our difference. My dear Duchess, do you think I would remain unaware forever?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to deny it, your silence speaking louder than words. Simon’s smirk deepened, a rare, fleeting expression that made your heart pound.

His hands stayed on your shoulders, then slowly trailed down until he was kneeling behind you. You knew that if he’d be between your thighs, his frame would keep you spread for him.

And then he hummed, big hands on your waist. “…say no, and I shall leave, wife. But if not, I promise to fix what I’ve caused. I would not wish to leave you wanting.”

Carefully, you turned around. He looked gorgeous underneath you like this, thumbs caressing your ankles.

“…please stay, Simon.”

You did not regret your decision, at all.

[consciouscarrot]

You think your boyfriend Simon Riley is being possessive and clingy because he's always got his hands on you/grabbing hold of you when around others or when you're in public. The truth is, being around people he's not familiar with or stuck in a crowd stresses him due to overstimulation and leaves him feeling anxious and overwhelmed. He finally admits to you that touching you grounds him and lessens his anxiety. You're his touchstone, love. His calm in the storm. 🌩️🙂‍↕️🌧️

[consciouscarrot]

Simon + Mama | Through Me (The Flood) by @peachesofteal

[consciouscarrot]

thinking about giving kyle a blowie <3 mdni

maybe you’ve just gotten home, having been out for the day with your friends, to find him sat on the sofa, face flushed and sweats tented at the crotch, grey fabric stained a darker shade with pre.

he’s palming over the damp patch languidly, eyes glued to you as he spreads his legs further, allowing you to stand between them. his breath hitches and his free hand grips tightly at your thigh when he rolls over his tip just right.

he doesn’t have to say a word for you to do what he wants, eager to make him feel good as you begin to mirror his state, feeling slick slowly drip down into your underwear. you drop down to your knees, hastily pulling down the front of his sweats and carefully tugging his long cock out.

he plays with your hair as you warm him up to your touch, content with letting you have a minute to pepper kisses and kitten lick at his tip before he’s guiding your mouth closer, palm pressing into the back of your head.

you just know he’s selfish with it, can’t help but buck his hips, the feeling of your mouth suctioned around his cock too much to bear. his head is falling back against the sofa, eyes half lidded as he tries to keep them from closing, desperate to watch your brows scrunch and tears trickle down your cheeks from the way his tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly.

he’s groaning out his appreciation when your nose brushes the wiry hairs at his base, one hand grasping at your hair, holding you down until your choking, eyes widening in panic as you splutter, pushing back against his thighs; but it’s no use, he’s got you locked to him, eyes finally rolling back as he lets out a long moan, cum spurting straight down your throat.

when he finally lets you pull back, he’s patting your the top of your head half heartedly like you’re a dog as you cough and gasp. he can’t help but grin lazily down at you, spit coated cock twitching against his thigh as the aftershocks wash over him, murmuring out that you’re his good girl, before laying down on the sofa properly, still dazed as he urges you to sit on his face so he can return the favour.

m.list

[consciouscarrot]

piss kink w nasty!johnny :> mdni

note; this is inspired by someone else’s fics of nasty!johnny, i need to find the fics (bc i read them a while ago), but the rest is mine

thinking about johnny barging in on you when you’re peeing, completely ignoring your mortified spluttering and shouts for him to get out. he’s complaining, telling you that you were taking too long and there’s only one bathroom in this house bonnie. he’s walking straight up to you, ripping your thighs apart (still mid piss) and pulling out his thick cock, aiming between your now parted legs as he starts to pee, awfully close to your hitting your bare cunt. he’s letting out a long groan that’s borderline pornographic, head tipping back in bliss, causing his relentless stream to go askew, piss now hammering at your exposed clit. he only bothers to look back down when you start whimpering, a smug grin stretching his cheeks as he watches you shift, mouth agape as you give him a pleasure filled yet horrified look, face flushing as your streams finally taper off. he shakes off the last drops, and before you can muster up the courage to speak, he pulls you to your feet, cock still hanging out his jeans as he kneels before you, wasting no time in cleaning you off with his tongue. he’s burying his face into you, the tangy mixture of both your combined piss and hints of arousal flooding his tongue. you have no choice but to stand there and accept it, helpless strings of whimpers and whines slipping past your lips as he devours you. he’s completely lost in it, moaning into your cunt, allowing the hand that’s not holding you up to slip down to his throbbing cock, fisting the swollen head. your legs wobble, face contorted with mindless pleasure as you grip his head closer, wondering where the fuck this came from

m.list

[consciouscarrot]

cw: john price x f!reader - older man/younger girl; smut; smidge daddy kink; meet cute or smthn

thinking about being moderately creeped out when the waiter came your way and told you that your tab has actually been settled by that gentleman over there.

and you’re quite hesitant to look around and acknowledge the gentleman’s presence but your friends are whooping, making kissy faces and being so embarrassingly obvious at their own checking-out that you bit the bullet and turned around, dutifully ignoring the lump lodged in your throat—

oh.

well, that’s one good looking man, sure. kind of young for your taste though, if you’re being honest but if he’s treating you and your friends, then you guess that’s—

the man beside him turns, meets your gaze, and shoots you a sultry wink.

his scruff and his hair is a mess of salt and pepper, and he’s got crinkles around his eyes as he smiles, and he’s got tan skin like he just spent a summer in greece while you were honest to god killing yourself for your capstone as your graduation is coming close, and—

“yeah,” your friend laughs, all sleazy. “he’s your type, ain’t he? a fucking dilf.”

oh.

so that younger one is—

god, he’s almost twice your age then if that kid’s his son. what the fuck that’s—

“please shoot your shot before we lose this group-sugar daddy,” another one of your friends chirps and that forces an ugly snort your way but mr. dilf doesn’t even look turned off by the way his smile just grew and- oh god, he’s standing up and he’s moving close and—

“hey, sweetheart,” he says and honestly the british accent is just uncalled for.

“hi,” you reply after being jabbed on your side.

his scruff dances as his humour bloats. he nods his head to the group and turns back at you.

fuck, yeah okay so— “thanks for that, by the way. you didn’t have to.”

he shrugs. “i wanted to. ‘sides, all that money ought to be spent on a pretty thing, don’t you think?”

pretty thing — does he mean you?

that…

that honestly does it for you.

your cheeks tingle with warmth as shyness creeps in. you feel yourself slowly clamming up, still so painfully unused to being the point of attraction. no one has ever liked you above your friends, but there he is, so suave and beautiful in his tan and charming in an honestly concerning way as he pours all his attention to you. not them but you.

“do you want to, uh, go somewhere? show me around or something?”

he huffs a fond laugh and offers his hand — big and callused, with a scar drawn across his whole palm — and says, “thought you’ll never ask.”

he pulls you up. “name’s john.” he tips his head back to his table, one that’s now bar of the other patron. “that was my son, lucas.”

you didn’t even notice that john’s hand has left your own until you felt it on the small of your back.

“and what about you?”

“huh?” you ask, trying to focus on not tripping on your feet.

“what shall i call you, sweetheart?”

“oh,” you say, blinking, before muttering your name.

john hums something deep in the base of his throat.

“beautiful.”

and, somehow, you know that he doesn’t just mean your name but he means you.

.

(it ends with you on his hotel bed, speared open by his cock. you’ve never been this wet before, walls all loose and squelching as he fucks it even deeper, punching the head into the pucker of your cervix.

john is all quiet grunts, animalistic as he devours you.

jesus, this man couldn’t truly be almost twice your age — how the fuck is he moving this way?

he fills you up to the point of tears, and fills you up even more, pushing and pressing in until he’s all snug in you, his pelvis flushed to yours. you feel so full. so stuffed that you couldn’t even moan right, raspy breaths all that could puff out of you.

“s’good!” you hiccup, sobbing, twitching at the drag of his cock as john pulls out only to choke on your own voice when he fucks in.

“jo-hnnn, s’good! s’good!”

“yeah?” he grunts, scruff tickling the shell of your ear. “y’feel so good ‘round me, darling. tight like a vice. christ, has no one ever fucked you open? stretched you out good?”

you shake your head, whining because no. no one’s fucked you this way. no one’s filled you this way. and if they did, everything’s been overwritten by john.

and his thick fingers and wide palms and his fat cock, fucking in, in, in.

“oh, darlin’,” he croons, his skin slapping against your own. “don’t worry, then, love. daddy’s going t’fix you up, ‘kay? daddy’s going t’make you feel so good, i promise.”

daddy—

fuck.

fuck.)

[consciouscarrot]

gaz has a bad habit of slipping his thumb back there when he’s got you face down, ass up.

tells you it’s for leverage when you hiss and kick a foot back; dry, rough hand smoothing down your arched back, as if to soothe a vexed pet. and it doesn’t even hurt much anyway, does it pretty? not when he’s making room for himself in your little cunt, slamming in you all sloppy and hard. or when he shines that bright, pearl-toothed smile after you throw a look over your shoulder. all you need is some extra attention, yeah? quick slaps to your clit, or those tits grabbed and groped like they deserve. anything that’ll loosen you up, get you nice and pliant, docile, obedient, dumb with your impending orgasm.

maybe then you won’t have the mind to throw a big fuss when he breaches your virgin asshole. sinks into it, makes you take him, dry, up to the knuckle. just to test the waters, see how much you can do yourself before he spits to aid the pursuit. it’s clear you aren’t ready for him yet, no matter how eager you sound whining and whimpering into your pillow. but it’s why he does what he does.

your body is responsive in that special sort of way. so yielding to his desires. gaz is so sure that if he keeps pushing it, pushing you, just like this — slowly working his way up one more finger. then two. then three — then you’ll be ready to seat yourself on his cock. will jump at the opportunity to, even. spread yourself wide and sink down to the base in one go, like the greedy ass slut he knows you could be.

it’s just a matter of getting you there, first

[consciouscarrot]

hiii I don’t know if you are accepting requests? But what about mafia!remus being a client? and he goes to the restaurant/bar only to see HER but one day there’s a coworker that starts serving Remus and tries to bully reader out of serving him because she knows that he tips a lot? So like reader doesn’t go see Remus for the rest of the night and he’s like ‘where’s my love? 🥺’ and basically he kind of gets the other waitress fired or something 😌

I just love everything you write!! And I would love this!! Thank you for all your beautiful fanfics!!

hi lovely, i think this might’ve been meant for mei (@/ddejavvu), who’s fic about mafia!remus i reposted recently :)

[consciouscarrot]

Congrats <3 can you do 🍰 Kiki’s bakery with mafia!remus and like maybe you being like his favorite bartender at one of his clubs

come vacation on my island!

🍰 Kiki’s bakery - send me an au and a character, and i’ll write about what it would be like! (ex. doctor!au with sirius black)

--

Your coworkers had specifically warned you about not being late today.

The boss is coming, they'd all stared at you with knowing stares, don't oversleep.

Of course you'd overslept. Your alarm was blaring when you finally fluttered your eyes open, and it had been going for an hour and a half if the ridiculously large numbers displayed on the clock were accurate. You swore under your breath, jolting upright and stumbling to your closet to try to throw together a clean work uniform.

You jogged through the doors an hour after your shift was supposed to start, chest heaving slightly as you kept your head down, rushing for the bar. You were stopped as you passed a table, a hand on your arm keeping you steadily in place.

"Everyone thinks I'm going to fire you." You knew that eerily smooth, rich voice. It was the one you dreaded hearing the words 'you're out' from, and your stomach tightened as you realized this could be it.

"But I think I'm going to keep you."

"Hm?" You managed to stammer, finally turning to look at Remus Lupin in the eyes, "What do you mean?"

"Showing up an hour late isn't my favorite thing an employee has done." He regarded you with an amused stare, that seemed to draw out all of your nervous habits.

"But I'm going to let it slide this time. And admittedly, probably every other time that it happens. You seem to have a bad track record." He gestured to your coworkers huddled behind the bar, an unimpressed glare leveled your way from more than one of them.

"I'm sorry sir," Your voice was feeble as you rocked on your feet, "I promise you I'm trying to get up on time."

"How about we just adjust your scheduled hours, hm?" He stood, his hand still gripping your arm as he led you towards the back room, scanning the taped-up schedule for your name, "And if that doesn't help, I'll personally send you wakeup calls instead."

He scribbled out the 8 under your name, replacing it with a sharply-penned 11.

"That good? That's more than enough time, don't 'ya think?"

You nodded vigorously, smoothing your hands over your wrinkled apron as he finally let your arm go with a contented smile tugging at one side of his mouth.

"Thank you sir," You breathed, your heart hammering in your chest from how close you'd just come to being thrown out, "How can I make it up to you?"

"I'd actually prefer to make those wakeup calls," He mused, looking down casually at his watch, "Why don't you give me your number and you'll hear from me every morning at ten."

[consciouscarrot]

sleepy cuddles with remus???

like he’s on top of you face buried in your chest while you play with his hair and maybe say something like my moony while stroking his cheek and the other guys hear it and are like YOUR MOONY? he’s ours but remus is just nuzzles his head deeper into your chest and is like her moony ☺️

"My Moony," You coo down at Remus, your lips pressing a fleeting kiss to the flushed skin of his forehead. He buries his face further into your chest, and you can feel the smile on his face growing against the thin fabric of your shirt as he lays face down on top of you.

He's hardly able to mumble a 'stoooop' into your chest before James and Sirius join in, indignant shouts shattering the previously serene silence in the dorm.

"Your Moony?!" Sirius scoffs, "He's ours! We've known him for longer than you have, so back off, Y/L/N."

His remark is teasing, and you share an exasperated smile with him, but Remus is less amused. He swats away the hand that James uses to aggressively ruffle his hair, peeking out from your chest only to grumble, "Her Moony. Piss off, boys."

[consciouscarrot]

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 6

<-former chapter -AO3-next chapter -> Call of duty. My ko-fi, Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. WC: 6.1k

MDNI MDNI READ THE TAGS

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, it dies later on, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy, pregnancy

Authors note: this is unedited until I pull myself together and fix it tomorrow. Thank u for your patience while I stumbled through life.Enjoy sinners.❤️

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You found him in the living room alone, reading. Your uncertainty made you whine, your fear of him actually getting rid of you overtaking you once more.

“John?” Your voice was barely above a whisper and you slowly crawled closer to him in the armchair, leaning against one of his legs, carefully looking up at him.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He lowered his book, a soft smile on his face, looking down at you with a gaze you had missed. A look shared just between the two of you, with an understanding and loving gentleness that made your heart swell. Nikolai was outside, having forced John to stay. To relax.

“Are you going to ban me from the house?” Your voice shook a little, for once not dramatic in any way or using it to get attention; it was from genuine worry of being abandoned, “or get a new lapdog?”

You could see it happen honestly, some cute little thing that was everything you were insecure about. Having spent a whole life being forced and told to be a lapdog, suddenly being pushed out of that box felt weird. It scared you, the thought of Price not wanting you back inside then, not a good enough working dog but not a good enough lapdog either. You’d never had full control over your life - and once again, your fate was in the hands of somebody else.

John blinked down at you while you tipped your ears down a little, tail still while you waited for the reply.

Waiting for your upcoming future to be revealed; to be forced to be an outdoor dog, just for your owner to find a new sweet thing to cast his love upon. Somebody who accepted everything without question.

“Oh, princess,” the softness almost took you by surprise and then his warm hand was on your head, gently petting you and you felt your eyelids lower as little, breathing in the love, “my sweet darling puppy.”

A whimper left you.

“I have not been giving you enough attention, have I?” He was whispering too now.

“I just -“ you hadn’t planned to cry but you felt the tears threaten to break free from your eyes, “I know you want me to get along with the others but I don’t wanna lose you, I don’t -“

His hands moved and suddenly the book slid down to the floor, while you were grabbed beneath your armpits and you were more than happy to help crawl up in his lap.

“My sweet girl,” he whispered into your skin as you nuzzled closer, both his and your own arms sliding around to hold around the other. Intertwined. Your soft body was pulled tight against your owner and you breathed in the pure scent of him, feeling your tail wagging even as you sniffled a little.

“I will never get rid of you,” he whispered, “no matter what happens, you’re my princess puppy. My sweet darling, my perfect Daisy, eh?”

You nodded into his neck, your fingers digging into his clothes. Trying to make your brain understand the words, accept them, try to keep your anxieties away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered but Price just gave you a squeeze.

“Don’t apologise,” he answered gently in his own whisper, “I’m sorry, darling, we’re not going back to the city but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve my attention. Misbehaving or not.”

You cried into his neck, one of his hands gently petting your back, his hand a calming touch as your rib cage shuddered now and again.

“I love you, sir.”

“I love you too, my sweet girl,” he promised, “even when Nikolai moves in permanently or when you get along more with the boys, you’ll always be my favorite girl, my favorite puppy. Got it?”

“Yessir,” it was barely a whisper any more. Settled in his lap, you might have been instantly fucking in the past, but for now the two of you just enjoyed each others closeness.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Outside the safety of the farmhouse that you never wanted to live in, laid the dangerous grounds; filled with terrifying animals and farm hands that tease you, with creepy sheep that screamed, with threatening fields that seemed never ending yet the fear of the unsafe on the other end seemed worse.

There was the stench of so many things, so many objects that could offer pain, animals that could attack, hybrids that could bite.

But you had found one single spot that you supposed you liked.

… a little bit.

Not if anybody asked.

You carefully pet the head of one of the mothers, as it bleated at you, eyes carefully watching you. Whether it didn’t find you dangerous or remembered you from the other day, you weren’t sure - and it wasn’t like you could ask it.

But none of them attacked you as you joined them, sitting down close to the baby goats, just as Gaz had shown you the other day.

Their tiny bodies happily snoozing away in the hay, small tails wagging.

… you supposed this was a nice place on the farm as well.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You curled a little closer around Price’s feet that night, listening to the distant barks now and again. It was a riddle to you how the other hybrids were able to stay up so late. You knew they slept in schedules and you had seen them nap several times during the day. Still.

Perhaps it was your fear of the unknown in the dark that you didn’t like. You assumed the pack had seen worse than these dark fields; they never spoke about it, at least not while you were near, but you weren’t stupid. Sure, you had been sheltered a bit since everything had been focused on being a lapdog and you weren’t that great of a reader, but you had seen television. Listened to the radio. And, you had seen their scars, heard a bit from John and Nik - you knew Soap had lost most of his hearing because of explosive, you had seen the bullet scars and their implicit history on their skin. You didn’t want to know about how Ghost got the scars around his mouth or how it looked like one of Gaz’s legs had been stuck in a bear trap like contraption at some point.

Still, despite knowing that they could take care of themselves and was dangerous on their own, you were horrified when you woke a few days later, early in the morning - to the distant sound of barking and snarling, to howls that sounded more wolf than hybrid - to the sounds of the different farm animals getting antsy.

You had woken Price then, worried about them even if you didn’t say it directly — Nik woke the moment your owner got out of bed, your whines making him groan.

Uttering the word ‘wolves’ had awoken them both fully in a matter of seconds.

You could still hear scuffle in the distance, angry barks and sounds that confused you and you didn’t want Price to go outside alone. Even as Nik got up and Price got his shot gun, you were worried.

Was he going outside? What if the boys were hurt and they couldn’t keep John safe?

It had gone quiet.

Despite your lack of knowledge about anything and your fear overwhelming you in the early morning hours, you still followed, quickly tugging on shoes and a jacket.

The lights outside of the gravel driveway lit up the place as John and Nik went out first, the motion sensors activated. You barely needed to take more than a few steps outside to see why. They walked with calm steps.

There was a heavy sound as the body slammed onto the ground, completely still. Then another. The wolves laid on the gravel, no sound escaping their maws that seemed giant to you - blood seeping into the fur.

Blood was smeared across the faces of the three hybrids, making them look like brutal deities in your mind. Stepping out of a nightmare, victorious over the monsters. You couldn’t help your tail wagging a little with pride - or how your pussy reacted to the sight of three strong hybrids as well.

Tongues licked off blood from fangs and lips. Eyes rested on you - then their owners - then back on you.

They had saved the goats and sheep from being wolf dinner - both Nik and Price praising them, ruffling their hair and patting them. The shotgun was lowered and after a quick check it was confirmed that they wouldn’t be needing them. Both animals were dead.

There was pride from them, but also from Nik and John, who tried getting them inside, promising food. But the hybrids refused, wanting to stay out instead until later. To make sure no other wolves came by.

Soap sneaked from the two of them to you, his tail wagging proudly, chested puffed up a little.

“Could nae let ‘em get close tae yer goats, princess,” he rumbled darkly, and you didn’t move as he got close to you - almost touching you, sniffing your neck. Another please rumble leaving you.

“Thank you,” you whispered back, your own tail wagging a little, for once not minding the sniffing, despite the quite disgusting blood on him. Unsure of how to describe that you were relieved that nothing happened to them either… that wasn’t anything you would admit to anyways.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Ex-fucking-cuse you?” You all but snarled, hands instantly going onto the table, body ready to jump across the table and attack the man who had just offered the worst fucking idea ever. Hadn’t it been for John’s quick hand on your collar and Laswell’s hand gently pressing against your chest to get you to sit your ass back down, you would be fully attacking Nikolai now.

Nikolai, who looked quite amused - and rather pleased with himself over your reaction.

“Settle down, princess,” there was a stern tone in Price’s voice but you still tipped your long ears a little downwards, baring your filed down teeth at your owner’s boyfriend.

“That’s not your decision!” You were almost screaming, growling so loudly you almost surprised yourself.

“Sit down, milaya,” Nikolai said, amusement barely hidden in his tone and you regretted not biting the man’s finger off that first day.

“You don’t decide that over me!” You screamed this time, your collar tugged further backwards and it wasn’t until a sharp slap from John landed on your cheek, that you looked away from him.

“Sit down, princess.” His voice was harder now and you finally followed John’s order, sitting back down on your chair. While Laswell’s hand retreated, Price’s grip remained on your collar. The woman didn’t particularly look too pleased neither how this was going; you had a strong suspicion that she had seen this coming or knew of it - and that it annoyed her to have her meal disturbed by it.

She had teased you about it so many weeks ago, had she not?

“He can’t decide that,” you whined, looking over at John, wanting him to agree with you, to not let Nikolai control your body like that.

“No, he can’t decide that -,” John’s voice was almost sweet and you could feel your heart almost stop its intense pounding in your chest, only for it to pick up again as he continued, “but neither can you, technically.”

You whimpered, trying to make yourself a little smaller somehow, despite your size, “- sir-“

“I’m your owner, my pretty pup,” he reminded you, letting go of the collar, the warm hand instead softly patting the cheek he had just slapped mere moments ago, “so I can make that decision. If I want your implant taken out, then that’s what we’ll do.”

You let out a displeased whine, almost ready to cry.

“Then I’ll go into he-heat,” you whispered pathetically, the few memories you had of those not good ones, hazy and feverish moments flashing before your eyes, almost childishly adding “I don’t wanna.”

“Yes, you will,” Price agreed softly, caressing your cheek gently, while he stared into your eyes with a soft look, as he had just confirmed a fear of yours. It was like no one but the two of you existed for a few moments - as if everything and everyone else had disappeared into smoke, leaving you and your owner as the last breathing beings of the universe, “but you might get a litter with the boys - wouldn’t that be nice, princess?”

“No.”

Nikolai let out a huff. You knew both Kate and John were watching you, looking for any signs of your chubby ass jumping over the table in order to strangle Nik. Instead you just let out a growl. You received a nudge with the elbow fit on Kate. You were probably real close to losing table rights and being forced to eat on the ground but you didn’t care.

“Not now, of course,” Nikolai tried, “summer first.”

“Why not spring?” Price suggested and Nik shook his head, while you wanted to suggest that they could go fuck themselves with both ideas.

The worst thing was that you maybe, just maybe didn’t mind getting a litter. You would never admit to it, especially not while Nik was in the room, but your instincts had been screaming every second you had spent with the goats. But it was out of your control, so you refused out of pure spite.

“- can become better friends,” you heard Kate say as you zoned back into the conversations, almost wanting to snap at Kate now. She had brought up litters the very first time that they had met the mutts.

“No they won’t. Worst thing they’ll do is probably knock you up.” The memory of her words echoed in your mind for a while.

“-spring, then pups will be born in late winter,” Nik pointed out, as they sat there and talked about you and your apparent upcoming litter, “nyet, summer - then puppies will come spring. Good for their lungs.”

“We don’t know if it will even take quickly,” Kate pointed out and you felt her hand gently petting you, scratching behind one of your dog ears, as if to comfort you which wasn’t too often she did so, “she has had implants for quite a while, after all.”

You wanted to cry and scream and beg to be the one to decide when at the very least. Or if. The idea of going into heat scared you shitless - with three beasts to help you through it? No thanks.

The food on your plate with the cute paw patterns along the rim suddenly didn’t look so enticing, despite there being everything you would usually love on it. Even a couple of strawberries.

You barely managed to eat those, ignoring their talks for the rest of the dinner.

You didn’t eat much more, disappearing the moment you could, rushing out the door, ignoring the sharp stones biting into your bare feet or your lack of jacket. Not stopping or listening as Price and Nikolai called out your name.

Pretending you didn’t want to scream and cry, throwing a tantrum on the floor inside- but you didn’t, for once. Though tears swelled in your eyes.

They didn’t go after you, probably because they suspected that you weren’t going to run off - and you weren’t, which wasn’t hard to guess, given how you ran directly towards the stable.

It wasn’t that you liked the stables. No. It was tolerable… maybe a little nice. Out of the whole farm, it was tolerable.

You didn’t enter the booth you had been in before however, not wanting to scare the animals off by being upset. They were all laying inside after a nice day spent out in the sun, doing whatever goats did during the day - now relaxing as the dark overtook the sun’s place. You kept your sniffling to a minimum, stubbornly drying away any of the tears.

“ ‘you upset?”

The deep voice caught you off guard, making you jump - several of the goats looking towards the voice. A few of them bleating.

Ghost stood a little further down the hallway of the stables, the great Pyrenees hybrid looking at you - you couldn’t quite decipher what he was thinking, if he found it amusing or was pitying you. Scarred white ears tipping towards you.

You huffed, crossing your arms, trying your best to look tough, raising your tail a little as you let out a stubborn “no,” trying to ignore how your voice shook a little.

“Uh-huh,” Ghost answered, clearly not convinced one bit and you considered bolting back inside, “so it wasn’t you screamin’ bloody murder in th’ hous’ a moment ago?”

Your tail fell a little and you looked away, ignoring the way Ghost sighed - as if upset with the fact you wouldn’t just admit what was wrong, what had happened. As if the two of you had a normal kind of relationship or… whatever this was, that your owner was trying to force upon you.

“Come,” he grunted out then - and you looked back at him; he had already turned around, walking down the stone floor. You dared to cast another glance at the goats, who were all staring at you, as if to say ‘get going’. So you followed, a little tense, still drying off a couple of tears with the back of your hands.

Ghost had stopped in front of a couple of hay bales, not too far from one of the bigger windows. The big hybrid sat down with a grunt, yawning for a moment; his big canines exposed, reminding you of how they felt when they sank into your skin, pierced it and entered your muscle. There was nothing threatening about him right now however - in fact he patted the spot next to him on the bale. You stood a couple of steps from it, unsure whether to do as he silently asked you to.

There was no growling. No hard stares from him, in fact, he was looking out through the window, keeping tabs of things, even when inside. You finally sat down with a sniffle.

For a couple of seconds, there was only the sound of you sniffling and the faint sounds of the animals in their booths. Baby goats with their light voices. Shuffling in the hay. A horse moving in its booth, the faint sound of eating.

“What happened, then?” he asked, voice a little softer than what he usually spoke like. You dared to look up at him, his body giant even when sitting down - as if he could feel your glance, he looked down at you, meeting your gaze. Suddenly your nails were much more interesting to look at.

“Why do you care?” you asked almost accusatory, voice not that loud, vary about his interest in you. You earned a huff in response.

“You sounded quite upset,” he said a few moments later, “we got worried.”

Your bare, slightly cold toes curled. We got worried. They cared… or at the very least, they were curious. You weren’t sure if you even wanted them to be either. Even though attention was attention, no matter the kind, you supposed.

“You don’t care,” you accused in a voice that barely sounded rude, barely sounded like you meant it. The other man let out a hum like the asshole he was and it annoyed you; it wasn’t the reaction you had expected, wasn’t a mean laughter or a tug on the tail.

Instead you were met with his half lidded eyes watching you, as he quietly waited. He didn’t move to hurt you. Finally you caved.

“They wann’ take out my implant,” you finally murmured, looking down at your feet now. You would need a bath when you got inside. There was sawdust and tiny pieces of hay on them, dirt from the outside. You settled a little more on the hay bale, trying to get comfortable as you were uncomfortable with being honest with Ghost.

“Implant?” Ghost repeated and you didn’t even care whether it was a question or not, you merely nodded. The silence filled up the air for a few moments and you dried another of the stupid, stubborn tears of your cheek.

“‘That will mean you go into heat, yeah?” he finally asked and you wanted to curl upon yourself at the mere mention. Maybe bury yourself in the hay. Once more, you nodded, your tongue feeling as if it was swelling in your mouth.

“I don’t want to,” you whispered, “Nikolai just said it… so casually.”

“Why don’t you want to?”

“They didn’t ask me,” you sniffled, “I don’t like heats.”

“When was the last time ye’ even had one?”

“... years ago,” you admitted to the bigger hybrid, “I didn’t like it.”

“Hm. Sounds like ye’ didn’t have a good partner then,” hadn’t you been too upset you would have rolled your eyes at him - then again, it wasn’t like he sounded demeaning. More just… pitiful. You didn’t want pity from him, you wanted it from your owner.

“Was it with a hybrid?”

The question caught you off guard - you looked up at him again and Ghost was looking down at you, towards the left; he somehow seemed non judgemental, even though you had expected him to be mean about it.

“T-the first time, yeah.”

“The others not?”

You shook your head and looked away again. It wasn’t like you wanted to talk to him about this whole thing, about your body, about heat. Yet, here you fucking were.

“It’s easier when it’s with hybrids. The pheromones help.” His explanation was gentle and your mind almost found the gentleness confusing. You were too used to his sarcastic comments, to his meanness, to his thirst for your body, whether you wanted to or not.

“Doesn’t matter,” you murmured, “don’t want a litter anyways.”

“They talkin’ about puppies too?”

He sounded genuinely surprised - and then a familiar spike hit the air. The scent of lust sparked, escaping the bigger hybrid. You didn’t dare to look at him. Neither of you moved.

“I just want to decide for myself.”

Ghost huffed. You didn’t look at him, ignoring the lust still crawling through the air.

“you’re a hybrid,” it was a reminder, a statement you knew was true even as the following words hurt, “you know you don’t have that choice.”

“I know,” you snapped, ears tipping backwards a little, finally looking up at him again, baring your teeth a little at the hybrid, “I just want some sort of control.”

He stared down at you. The pupils of his eyes had expanded and in the slightly dark stable, his eyes almost seemed black.

“I haven’t heard ya’ say that you don’t want our puppies though,” he said instead, darkness seeping into his voice even if it wasn’t that loud, a hunger you had heard before.

“I don’t want to,” you whispered in return, lying, trying your best to keep the anger in your voice.

“No?” he asked again, disbelief in his voice, a teasing tone as he added, “don’t want us to fill you up, huh? Fill you with puppies?”

The idea made your entire body feel hot and you wanted to hide from the shame that followed the lust. The idea of them actually breeding you, leaving your belly swollen a couple of months later.

“Hehe.”

You ignored his dark chuckle, knowing your own lust got exposed from your scent - in fact, you froze as Ghost leant down a little, ignoring your bared teeth and took a deep breath, inhaling your scent. He was nasty, you reminded yourself, even as you felt your pussy wetten, a nasty hound. You should bite him, attack him. Instead you didn’t move, his scarred nose touching your skin as he pushed a little closer, a deep groan leaving him.

Finally he straightened his back, pulling away. As you felt a whine escape you, he looked rather pleased with himself.

“Take control of what little things you can then, princess,” he finally crooned, “we will help you.”

For a moment you thought he was going to fuck you right there. Press your face into the bale as you got fucked from behind, howls muted by it as he filled your cunt with his cock. Yet he didn’t do that; despite not even hiding how he and his pack wanted to spend your heat with you, the implication of them knocking you up - well… you had expected him to fuck you. A part of you, that sinful, bad part that you sometimes hated, was almost disappointed.

“Let’s get you inside’,” he said instead of touching you as expected, “dont wan’ you to get sick.”

He abandoned you by the door, telling you to get some more clothes on so you wouldn’t be sick. You just nodded, his words still in your mind.

“Take control of what little things you can then, princess, we will help you.”

But what could you control? It sounded like they had already planned out your entire pregnancy, down to how to best care for the pups and socialise them - figure out whether they would work best as lapdogs or working dogs.

You weren’t sure why it caught you so off guard; it really shouldn’t have. Seeing them both naked wasn’t a new sight to you, you had had sex with both of them. Yet seeing them like this, together, their chest hairs touching as they grinded against each other, Nikolai’s cock deep inside John.

The sight made you whimper. The scent of sex was heavy in the air and it made your own pussy wet. You took a step closer towards them, both men looking over at you, though their movements didn’t stop.

The very least they could do after upsetting you, would be to fuck you silly. Nik hands tightened on John’s skin, love clear in his eyes as he looked back at John, smiling.

You took another step forward, carefully moving to pull off your shirt.

However, Nik stopped John from riding him, your owner letting out a displeased sound, bare toes curling as Nik’s cock rested fully inside him.

The Russian tugged at you, making you stop where you were, letting go of your shirt.

They didn’t want you to join.

“Misbehaved earlier, milaya,” Nikolai pointed out, his big hands resting on John’s hips, who huffed, clearly not pleased with the pausing.

“Go to your room, princess,” John urged, his gaze softer, skin sweaty, face red.

“Please.” You weren’t beneath begging, despite your anger at them.

“Do you want time in the crate?” That made you bolt, ignoring their giggles that were soon replaced with moans again.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You stole one of their jackets in the hallway since it was the closest, putting on a pair of boots, before you left the farmhouse once more.

This time you didn’t go towards the stables.

You felt embarrassed, but you were upset, almost desperate. One dog, seeking out another. The same hounds you had promised never to like.

But you were fucked up, you knew that somewhere deep inside, but your instincts were begging for some comfort. Since your owners weren’t willing to give it to you, you went to the next best. The ones you had declared your hatred towards all this time, who had hurt your repeatedly yet still made you smile as well.

You hadn’t been in their little house ever since last time; it looked almost the same, safe some more clothes and their scent more present. There were a few photos on the walls.

None of them were there. You whined, entering it anyways, toeing off the boots, carefully going into the dimly lit place. It was almost like a little home.

You could remember when they had tumbled out from their respective carriers, drugged and confused. You sniffed around a little, before you ended up settling in the hay area. It seemed to be the lesser used sleeping place and you didn’t want to intrude in their nest, despite your hatred for them.

They probably would have done that to you, you realized, but you wanted sex; not a fight. You sniffled as you curled up in the hay, feeling the vague prickling from the straws.

You felt lost. Angry, upset. Worse, horny. If they didn’t want to fuck you, you had other places to go. Things had changed, whether you wanted them to or not and you had no control there either. Despite not getting along with Nikolai most of the time, he and John seemed… happy together.

As you laid in the shed, you listened to the world outside. You could hear an owl, or at least, you were pretty sure it was an owl. That was what they sounded like in television shows. Then there was the wind. It made some nearby trees sway, some fields too.

You sniffled a little more.

You had changed too, you knew that. With or without your consent - so had the other hybrids, it seemed. Price had confirmed he still loved you however and despite your current anger and betrayal you felt towards him, you knew your owner wouldn’t truly abandon you. Nik wouldn’t want that either.

The nearby footsteps roused you from your half sleeping thoughts and a moment passed by, before the door was opened - you wondered for a moment, if it was John or Nikolai coming to pull you back inside for not following their commands.

Instead it was Ghost.

Despite seeing him just a mere moment ago, you had already forgotten how big and intimidating he was; it surely didn’t help that you were laying down or he was barely lit from the light above you.

“Princess,” he greeted, tipping his head to the side, clear confusion over seeing you here. You whined, doing your best to prove that you were not here to fight, carefully wagging your tail as you curled to the side a little, showing your stomach.

He huffed, looking over his shoulder again, but despite his lack of words, he didn’t seem to be against you being in there, in fact you could see his tail wag. The scent from him became a little thicker.

He let out a sharp bark.

You heard their movements a moment later and as Ghost entered, Soap and Gaz followed — clearly much more surprised to see you there, a couple of excited barks leaving them. A sharp growl from Ghost made them quiet down then and you curled yourself to the side again.

Fearing for a moment that he would turn you away as well. While Gaz and Sop began to pull off their outdoors clothes, Ghost walked to the edge of the hay filled area, squatting down, as you carefully sat up.

You must have looked like a little mess, eyelids puffy, eyes red, hay in your hair. Pathetic thing, your mind supplied, why would they want you?

“Why ar’ you here, princess?” Ghost asked and you felt your muscles tense.

“I can leav—“

“He dinnae say that,” Soap was quick to interject, letting you and Ghost have some space. He smiled at you - so did Gaz. You dared to look back at Ghost… he looked worried, a small smile.

“I - they didn’t want to fuck me,” you admitted with a whisper, “I want somebody to want me.”

Simon let out a huff and you tried making yourself seem smaller. Telling them that they were second choice had perhaps not been the best decision.

“Do you actually want us?” Kyle asked, his arms now crossed, a more sceptical look on his face.

“Yeah,” you whispered, because that was the truth; their mere eyes on you made your pussy clench around nothing, “want you. Nice. Show me, I…”

You didn’t know how to describe it. Instead you dared to crawl through the little hay, all close to Ghost now. Stopping, looking into his eyes that was staring right back at you; your faces were so close they would almost touch with the wrong movement.

“Princess,” there was hunger in his voice that made you lick your lips.

“I am taking control,” you whispered, “making my own decision.”

A smug smile appeared on his scarred face and then the hybrid leant forwards nuzzling his nose against yours for a short moment.

“Let’s get you to the nest,” he rumbled, an almost underlying hum in his voice, the scent of lust almost exploding from everyone in the little shed “we’re not fucking you in the hay.”

They were welcoming you to their nest. Not forcing you and you whined with happiness, letting out a yelp as Simon then lifted you quickly with a little grunt. You landed on their mattresses and blankets a second later, a wagging Soap next to you almost instantly, licking your cheek.

“Dinnae worry, hen - I’ll take ye’ where ever ye’ want.”

Gaz appeared on your other side, arms curling around you and nuzzling into your chest.

“Stay with us tonight,” he asked softly, “please.”

How could you say no to a polite offer like that? You nodded, his tail wagging as well, thumping rhythmically against a pillow.

A moment later an energy bar hit your stomach and then the others as well.

“Eat first,” Ghost commanded, “we will need the energy.”

Since you hadn’t eaten much earlier, you were only happy to, hungrily watching together with Soap and Gaz as Ghost pulled off his shirt.

Gaz turned and nuzzled against you after eating, pressing his face against one of your tits.

“I’m sorry they didn’t ask you ‘bout the litter beforehand,” he said, meaning that Ghost had told them. The big man shrugged as you shot him a look, as he focused on eating his own energy bar.

You looked up at the ceiling, licking your lips for a short moment. Your pussy was dripping wet by now, knowing it was a matter of time before the other hybrids would fuck you dumb all night. As a short of fuck you to John and Price, but also because you genuinely wanted it for once.

An idea filled your head, only shortly distracted as Soap grinded against you, his hard on most likely leaking in his own underwear.

“I can smell ye’ kitty,” he crooned darkly and you had almost forgotten how he had called your pussy that, “I’m gonna make ‘er purr, pretty lass.”

You let out a needy whimper, closing your eyes for a moment. Thinking. It was stupid, probably a dangerous idea. Yet it slipped from your lips as you sat up and looked directly at Ghost.

“Rip out my implant.”

The little house went quiet immediately.

“Wat?” It was Soap who spoke the first, sitting up and looking at you, confusion taking over his horniness.

“No,” Gaz said, uncertainty in his voice over your idea, “didn't they want to wait?”

You almost wanted to growl at him.

“If I’m having pups, I want them on my terms,” you huffed, sending Gaz a sharp look, his ears tipping down in submission for once and you looked back at Ghost, who was undoubtedly their leader.

“Knock me up.”

“It’s just yet anger, innit?” He pointed out, mean but with a smile on his face that looked almost hungry , “sure you want our pups, darlin’? We’re not lapdogs.”

“Want somebody who can protect me,” you pointed out, “protect me ‘nd my pups. Not a lapdog.”

There were pleased growls from all of them. Both Soap and Gaz began to touch your shamelessly, pulling at your clothes to get them off and Ghost got down on all four, crawling towards you, making you lay down again, helping them get your shirt off. Bared and without any agression, they all shared a look.

“This isn’t a one time thing,” Gaz earned, “if we do this you’re ours. Not just sometimes, all the time.”

You whimpered at his words, nodding as you felt slick wetting your panties even more. Soap growled into your neck, taking deep breaths.

“No takin’ the pups from us,” he warned, “no matter who of us succeeds.”

“I won’t,” you promised quickly, moving your head to tip it up to kiss him and agreeing against his lips, “want my pups to grow up with their daddies.”

They all growled in delight, more hands on you and you helped getting the last things off, tugging at their clothes as well, making them undress so you weren’t restricted by clothes.

Daddies - they were going to knock you up; breed you, like a dark part of your mind wanted, breed you for days, not letting you leave without being pregnant. Fucking you day and night, making sure your cunt was stuffed with their cum.

Ghost were grinning darkly down at you, hunger in his eyes, cock hard between his legs, dripping already - your hand resting against Gaz’ neck and Soap’s hair.

“Now Princess,” Ghost crooned darkly, his fangs almost shining in the dim light of the shed, all of your tails wagging, the heavy scent of lust, with your slick and their precum in the air, “in which arm is that implant of yours?”

[consciouscarrot]

this is depraved, but grinding on logan’s happy trail to get off 🫢

Hands Free - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni, mean!logan, drinking, don't like don't read.

You've caught Logan at a bad time. The surly mutant is a complicated man, and one with less psychological damage than him might be eager to whip it out whenever, but Logan isn't. He's busy brooding, and he's not to be interrupted when he's got a bottle in one hand and a cigar in the other.

But you need him. There's a pit in your belly that's only made worse by the scowl on his face, and your cunt aches beneath your now-slick panties for something to envelop. You're desperate for Logan to fuck you, but there's no way you'll convince him if he's not in the mood.

"I can feel you staring," He grumbles, eyes still cast to the floor as he takes another swig of burning liquor, "What do you want?"

There's no polite way to say you.

"Uhm," You shift on your feet, thighs clenched, "I'm just feeling- I'm a little, um, I-"

"Spit it out."

"I need you." You breathe, ashamed by the sentence, but Logan's face remains untouched, nothing moving but the lingering smoke from his smoldering cigar.

"I'm not in the mood." He grunts, like it isn't obvious.

"I- I know." You fall awkwardly silent again, rising onto your tiptoes and falling back to your heels. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Up-

"Don't make a mess." He shifts in the chair, lowering his hips until they're level with his abdomen, offering you the best seat in the house.

He's shirtless, which means that if you can't have his cock, or his fingers, you can get the next best thing. A combination of the friction from the waistband of his jeans, and his toned abs, blanketed with coarse, wiry hair.

You mount him eagerly, which isn't hard to do seeing as his chair has no arms. It's got a back so that he can lean against it, but your support system is his chest, where you firmly plant your hands in preparation to get yourself off.

There's a dark line of hair that trails from the bottom of his navel and disappears beneath his waistband, flanked on either side with a sharp line of muscle that tapers down towards his cock in a V. His body is a work of art, and you only wish his equally gorgeous face was pointed your direction.

No matter- you won't push. You're lucky he's letting you get off on his lap, you'll take what you can get.

"Easy," He grumbles, rocked by the sudden jerk of your hips. As you settle into a steady rhythm you realize you've already failed his one directive of not making a mess, but there's no way to stop or slow the steady stream of slick that's pouring from your weeping cunt. It's sobbing, slobbering, begging for a cock, but you drag it flush against Logan's abs and mat his happy trail down with your translucent arousal.

"One fuckin' job," He gripes, reaching down to swipe two fingers through the slick that's glistening on his stomach as you find better friction near the waistband of his jeans. The texture of the denim is rough, and you realize with giddy desperation that he's getting hard in his pants despite his insistence that he wasn't in the mood.

He sticks his fingers in his mouth for a taste, his cigar left behind in its ashtray on the side table. He doesn't relinquish the bottle, but he takes equal sips of that and of the mess you're making on his abs.

Finally, thanks to the sizeable bulge in Logan's jeans, you're able to hump your way to completion on his stomach. It's not hard, considering you'd been achingly horny before, but without something inside of you your release feels empty and wasted. You'd use your fingers if you could, but you can't move your hands or you'd faceplant on Logan's chest, and you don't want to invade his space any further in case he decides your privileges have been revoked.

"Poor thing." He murmurs when your hips slow and you're panting against his chest. You glance at his face but he's staring at your cunt, not at you, "She's so hungry."

It takes him one, two, three seconds to reach for his belt, "Well, c'mon. Up now, there y'go." As you shimmy up his abdomen, slicking his happy trail up with your release once more. As soon as he's able to free his cock he slides a hand under your ass, boosting you up so that you're finally able to sink down onto his red-tipped, leaking cock.

"Jesus, she's sucking me in," He grunts, his voice gruff and ragged, "How long were you waiting to ask me?"

"Too long." You whine, pussy already sensitive from your first orgasm, and now in utter bliss from finally being penetrated after all that teasing, "I- hnngh! My toys don't work anymore. They're- they're nothing like you, I can't use them. I can't ever finish."

Logan scoffs, still in a mood as sour as the liquor on his breath, but his hands find their place on your waist as he helps bounce you on his cock, "Shame. Those were supposed to keep you busy. Guess I'll have to do it then, hm?"

You nod vigorously against the crook of Logan's neck, your nose buried where his neck meets his shoulder, and where sweat accumulates sticky on his skin. You lick it up, and Logan hisses against the mouth of his bottle as he takes another swig.

"Fine." He grumbles, butting the bottle up to your head and forcing it against your lips, "Take this, take a nice big- there you go. That'll make you sleepy," He vows, and the head rush comes just like he'd warned. His hips begin shifting, circling slightly in gyrations that only add to the pleasure of bouncing on his dick, "And this'll knock you out, crazy."

[consciouscarrot]

GIRL I GOT DE BEST IDEA AAAAAAAAAAAAA how would The poly!maurders react to y/n sleeping naked? I sleep naked and that thought just came to me mind

"Darling?" Sirius croons, pressing gently against your shoulder to rouse you from your sleep, "Darling, we're back."

There's no response from you, and Sirius pushes ever-so-slightly harder.

"Christ, Sirius, let's not shove her off the bed!" James gripes, muscling Sirius out of the way to lean down and press his lips to your forehead, "Love, wake up? We brought you dessert."

There's still no response from your unconscious form, and James suspects it's because you're nestled in a cocoon of warmth that's keeping you deeply asleep. He feels his heart crack slightly as he reaches for the edge of the blanket, feeling cruel, but it has to be done.

"Right, let's take this off then, and we can- oh, bloody hell!"

What's revealed beneath the blankets is your naked form, curled up tightly against the cold but now completely exposed to the room. Sirius's brows shoot up, and James drops the covers in order to clamp his hands over his eyes.

"James," Remus hums as you stir from your sleep. He quickly flips the covers over you again, giving you privacy as you wake, "You've seen her naked before."

"But not like this!" James blabbers, letting Sirius bundle him in a reassuring hug, "Darling, if you can hear me, I'm so sorry. I didn't know you'd be naked under there. Didn't mean to flash you to the whole lot of us."

Remus watches as you drag a knuckle through the sleep gathered in the corners of your eyes, rubbing away the drowsiness as a groggy smile grows on your face.

"S'okay, Jamie," You laugh, your voice raspy from disuse, "I slept naked 'cause I knew you'd find me."

[consciouscarrot]

A crumb of attention por favor

Your thoughts on which of the boys have a praise kink vs degradation kink vs general voice kink vs none of the above? Giving or receiving, I leave it in your capable hands

you do not want to know how much planning went into this post

cw: degrading dirty talk, daddy dom type dynamic

Gaz is very into giving praise. He loves seeing you light up. That's a must have for any sexual encounter for him. Like you could literally be giving him a really quick and dirty wank in a public bathroom at a gas station and he's still be like "god, you're so good at this-- I love you, babe". He could be convinced to be degrading, but it's never something really mean. If he calls you a slut, it's because he's saying "I love that you're such a slut for me, love". And he likes a bit of praise! Just affirms for him that you feel for him the way he feels for you. Doesn't really like to be degraded, it's too easy for him to take it to heart.

Soap wants to give all of it and he wants to get all of it. He's addicted to feeling you clench around him when he says that you're so cute and tight and wet and perfect. He likes calling you his dirty fuckin' slag as well-- he knows you're multi talented like that, and he wants you to know it too. It's all said with reverence, he loves that you match his freak. And I have said many times that this man is a dog. As such, he loves praise. Call him a good boy and he's gonna jackhammer you. Call him a naughty slut and he's gonna jackhammer you. He has a major voice kink, sometimes he gets hard when you call him on the phone for a completely mundane reason because he just likes hearing your voice. He could jerk off to you giving a lecture.

Ghost is a hard man to earn approval from. He hates that about himself once he realizes it. Giving praise just doesn't come very naturally to him, but he can spit absolute vitriol like it's his mother tongue. If you can handle it, he's going to ask if you like the way he's abusing your cunt. You'd better-- it's the only thing whores like you are good for. And he's the same way receiving. Praise makes him freeze up if it's laid on thick, he just doesn't know how to handle it. But he loves to be degraded. He knows he's a bastard, and he wants you to remind him while you milk him for all he's worth.

Price will give anything, and take nothing. It's all about what you deserve! And when he fucks you, he wants you so utterly deconstructed that you can barely speak. He wants you to be blubbering and crying and whining, you don't need words to serve beneath him. Your utter inability to string together a sentence is the best praise you could give him, really.

König is a somewhat insecure man. And once you get under his exterior, he's incredibly clingy, and can say some incredibly sappy things when he's going crazy from how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock. Quite honestly, he loses composure if you're someone he really likes, so a lot of his praise and degradation is in German, but the tone is easily identified. His beautiful girl, his perfect angel, the deliverance of heaven onto earth. And much like Gaz, his degradation is mostly just assurances about how desperate he knows you are for him, how you'd do anything for this thick fucking cock, wouldn't you? But don't worry, liebe, I'll never deny you what your body was made for. And fuck yes he wants your praise. He wants you to tell him how good he is at fucking you. He wants the most detailed performance report you can give. Oh, and to tell him you love him. He has a voice kink, and is extremely weak to your dirty talk. You can render him non-functional by whispering to him, no matter where you are.

Nikolai lives to praise you. You just have to deserve it. And he has a very specific brand of degradation. He likes to condescend you. My malyshka is just so needy for my cock, isn't she? Poor thing, just doesn't know how to survive without it. And he also likes to tell you to do something he knows you're too fucked stupid to do, then tease you for not being able to do it, or for being to little to struggle. Zoloste-- there's no getting away from your papochka, my love. And there's no way I'm letting this sweet little pussy escape me. And in terms of praise, he likes when you're sweet. When you treat him well. When you're kissing up and down his shaft with wet lips, telling him how much you love his cock, how thankful you are that he gives it to you and uses it to love you the way you need.

And if you did for some reason want to see how much planning went into this, this is how much: