#riley mention

[purrgilpawkins]

Slime + Ink

Summary: Jack realized pretty early on that Mac always needed something. Whether it be something to distract him or something he needed to help finish his projects. (Or 5 times Jack is there to give Mac something he needs and 1 time he isn’t.) (Also available on AO3)

Pairings: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver

Part of the Comfortember 2020 series Prompt: Fidgeting / Jacket

Warnings: n/a

Notable tags: fluff, light angst, 5+1 things, caring Jack

Twenty-three hours into this surveillance mission, Mac had run out of paper clips and, unfortunately for Jack, found a pen and immediately started clicking it.

Jack was a very patient person (even if he liked others to think he wasn’t), you gotta be in order to be a truly professional sniper. That being said, he snapped after about three minutes.

“Mac, I am this close to smackin’ you upside the head.”

Mac stopped at Jack’s statement and glared at him before flipping the pen in his hand…and biting the tip. Jack sighed, glad he was no longer hearing the clicking (even if Mac’s pen chewing is still a little noisy).

They sat in (mostly) silence for the next few minutes, Jack trying to do his job and Mac still eating his pen. That didn’t last too long either, seeing as the pen Mac was chewing on burst and filled his mouth ink. Jack looked at him in amusement as Mac sputtered, reaching for one of the water bottles in the cup holders.

“Jesus, kid. I know you’re bored outta your mind but do you really need to poison yourself?”

Mac opened the door to the car and spat out his watery-ink mixture and closed the door. He glanced at Jack and wiped his mouth, which was still black. “Sorry. Guess I’m going a little stir crazy.”

“No shit.”

Jack sighed once more before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a packet of tissues that he handed to Mac. The ink-stained blond took it and wiped at the ink he just painted his hand with.

“Sorry. For blowin’ up at ya. We’ve been here for a day, I’m tired, and our intel must’ve been wrong cause the guy didn’t even show up!” Jack sighed yet again as Mac dabbed at his mouth, “How mad you think Patty’ll be if we left?”

“Probably pissed,” Mac said before attempting to remove the ink from his tongue.

“Yeah, well,” Jack sighed (yes, again) and dropped his head onto the steering wheel before quickly bringing it back up with a look of determination on his face, “She’ll just have to send somebody else out here to waste their time.”

Jack started the car and took off while Mac protested with a tissue in his mouth.

—

Jack saw that look in Mac’s eye. The one he got when he was about to run off and start making something out of random junk. And that was exactly what he did.

Mac ran out the back door of the restaurant and Jack followed him, not surprised to see the younger man digging around in one of the dumpsters.

“If you’re that hungry, they got fresh food inside the place, hoss.”

Mac ignored Jack and continued rummaging in the dumpster, throwing things back just as much as he was keeping them. He looked to his partner and Jack got the idea just before Mac started tossing him some of the things he’d dug out.

“You mind telling me what your plan here is?”

“Would you listen if I told you?”

Jack shook his head, “Probably not, no.”

Mac gave Jack a look and carried on with excavating. He stopped for a moment and jumped out to the next dumpster before he started his digging again.

“Jack.”

“Huh?”

“I need something to, uh, to inflate. Kinda like a balloon but it doesn’t have to be exactly like it. Just, something to blow air into and tie off at the end.”

“Right, yeah. I know how a balloon functions.”

Mac ignored Jack’s snark and the older agent turned to search for the requested item in the restaurant itself when an idea struck him.

“Would a condom work?”

Mac paused, “Yeah, that’d work.”

Jack moved the junk to his other hand and reached into his back pocket and pulled out the aforementioned condom, handing it to Mac. Mac looked at the condom and then at Jack. “Why…?”

Jack smirked and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Mac shook his head, “Never mind. Don’t need to know.”

—

Mac still had a few more weeks of recovery ahead of him. The PT was going well and the burns on his hands seemed like they wouldn't scar too bad, if at all.

Despite all the progress he’d made, it was still a struggle to move his hands. And for Mac, that was torture.

Bending his fingers too quickly was painful and some objects were rough against his still healing skin. It all made Mac upset and Jack saw just how upsetting it was.

They were sitting on Mac’s couch, Jack pretending to watch a movie while he sneakily eyed Mac as the man in question got lost in his own head. His fingers seemed to twitch even more now that they were hurting and Jack knew Mac would do anything for some kind of distraction.

So, the delta reached into his pocket and pulled out a mesh stress ball. He’d put it in there while at the store, completely forgetting about it, and ended up stealing it; he’d picked it up in the first place with the intent of giving it to Mac at some point anyway.

Jack reached over for Mac’s hand and gently turned it over to place the ball in his palm. Mac gave him a tired look but started squeezing the ball. He continued squeezing after several moments and once Jack realized he’d done good, he turned back to the movie, glancing at Mac occasionally, seeing him still slowly squishing the ball.

Not even thirty minutes go by before a faint pop! sounded from the general area of Mac and something warm and slimy smacked Jack in the face. Jack looked over to his partner and saw a trail of green slime inching down his face from his hair, his eyes squeezed shut, and a now deflated stress ball in his hands.

“Mac.”

“Sorry.”

—

Jack popped out of cover, getting three shots off before the guys on the other side of the warehouse got a few shots off themselves and he fell back behind the box he and Mac were using for protection.

“Anytime now, Mac!”

“Working on it!” Mac was very clearly working on it. Jack wasn’t sure the exact details of what “it” was but he was promised something explosive and that was all he needed.

The firefight continued as Mac took his time building his makeshift bomb. He looked up at hearing the click of Jack’s now empty gun. That was the last clip too.

“Mac!”

“Just another second!”

The goons were still firing their weapons from their places scattered about the “abandoned” building but they were likely to realize soon that the dudes who interrupted their illegal activities had stopped firing back.

“Okay, okay. Done!” Mac said as a bullet ricocheted past his head. He reached behind him to the matchbook he planned to use to light. “Oh, dammit.”

“What? What’s the problem?”

Mac picked up the matchbook, soaking wet after it had managed to land in a small puddle of water, now completely useless. The pair looked at each other and Jack was a little worried at the slight fear in Mac’s eyes. The bullet storm from the baddies had all but ended and then Jack remembered.

He frantically went for one of his inner jacket pockets and pulled out several loose matches, quickly handing them to Mac. A look of surprise replaced Mac’s scared one as he lit a match.

“The moment I throw this, run.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, hoss.”

—

It was unfortunate how used to the scents and sounds of a hospital they were. It practically came with the job, being in a hospital waiting room, if not the hospital bed itself.

Riley had been shot. She was currently in surgery and the doctor who’d talked to the two other agents had assured them that if all went well, she would be fine.

Jack remained worried, of course. It was his job to worry, after all. Mac was worried too but it was obvious by his pacing he was feeling guilty as well.

Riley had shielded him from the bullet. It was supposed to hit him. Now she was the one in surgery, getting a bullet removed from her back when it should’ve been him. She didn’t deserve this.

Jack had been watching him like a hawk the whole time. Mac knew he was making him worry, which just made him feel worse. He shouldn’t be making Jack worry about both his kids, especially when one was more deserving of that worry than the other. Mac's unhealthy train of thought came to a stop when Jack spoke up.

“Hey, Mac.” Jack motioned to the seat next to him and Mac sat down, avoiding eye contact.

They sat in silence for a moment before Jack reached into his front pocket and pulled out a paperclip. He moved it in front of Mac’s face, making sure he saw it, before he started talking again.

“I’m willing to bet that there’s no way in hell you can bend this into…the Eiffel Tower.”

Mac scoffed, “Jack, you’ve seen me do it before.”

“The hell I have!”

“You have! We were in Paris trying to take down that arms dealer, remember?”

“Nope. Not ringing any bells.”

Jack smiled and Mac smiled back. The younger agent knew what his partner was up to and Jack knew he knew. Mac took the paperclip, happy to be distracted, and started bending it.

—

It was their first mission without Jack.

If anyone had noticed that the jacket Mac was wearing was Jack’s, no one acknowledged it.

It was a little too big on him, but that was okay. It was comforting, in a way. It felt like Jack was still there. Still protecting him.

During their mission, Mac had made a mistake. He hadn’t been able to focus properly since…well. A man had come at him with a knife and Mac froze. Luckily for him, Desi actually took her job seriously.

A good helping of blood had landed on Mac and therefore also on the jacket.

Mac didn’t want to wash the jacket. It still smelled like gunpowder and leather. Like Jack. But it was also starting to smell like blood and Mac was sure Jack wouldn’t be too happy about a bloodied jacket when he came back.

If he came back.

He’d eventually made up his mind and decided to wash the jacket.

Mac knew from experience that putting something in the wash before checking the pockets could lead to some kind of catastrophe, so he decided to empty out the pockets. He opened the zipper of one of the inner pockets and pulled out a folded piece of paper, simply labeled Mac. The man in question looked at it curiously, flipping it over and back before he folded it open.

Hey Mac,

I’m sorry I broke my promise. You should know that I didn’t want to leave if I didn’t have to. I know this seems like something I don’t have to leave for but, trust me, I do. Irregardless, my place will always be by your side. And don’t you worry, I promise I’ll be back as quick as I can. If you’ll have me, of course. Tell the others I love them.

Love you kid,

Jack

Mac wondered if Jack had anticipated Mac taking his clothes or if this was something he was supposed to read at all.

Either way, the short note brought some comfort to Mac, like his partner was still checking up on him despite his absence.

Mac slipped the note in his back pocket and put the jacket in the wash, a smile of his face.

[jammyjen26]

You wake up early and stretch, yawning and rubbing your eyes.

You notice the two muscular arms wrapped around you and see Simon still asleep beside you.

You try to get his arm off, but he moves closer and tightens his grip.

But this is your husband we’re talking about, you know how to get out of his grasp. You lean close and kiss his forehead.

He immediately relaxes and you take it as your chance to roll off the bed.

Once you’ve done your morning routine and showered, you go downstairs and start making breakfast.

Not even a full ten minutes after you’ve left the bedroom, you hear the shower running and twenty minutes after, heavy footsteps coming downstairs.

He walks into the kitchen and hugs you from behind.

“Mornin’ Love.” He says and turns your head with his hand softly. He leans down and kisses you to give you your morning kiss.

“Morning.” You say in between kisses, soon you pull away and turn back to the stove.

“What are you making?” He asks, hands on your hips. His hands squeeze your hip and then slide under your shirt, rubbing your stomach.

“Pancakes, omelette, and hashbrowns.” You say, tilting your head back to look at him.

He kissed your forehead and then pat your stomach.

He nods and offers some help to which you accept, you both then start making the batter together.

Feeling playful, you grab some flour and draw a heart on his cheek. To which he looks at you before he does the same to you.

You two continue making the pancakes together, occasionally fooling around and making out.

It’d be hard not to tell what he wants considering the bulge in his sweatpants.

A healthy and delicious breakfast with a side of cock is your perfect morning.

[nyxiswrites1200]

Thinking of John Price being married to the prettiest wife. He invites Soap, Ghost, and Gaz over to his house where his pretty girl is sitting in the pool in the smallest bikini.

Getting all flustered because of the other guys but Price kisses her and says it's fine.

Ghost especially can't help but stare. He's never seen something so pretty in his life. Price knows you like him, you like the masked brooding L.T.

You sweetly ask for permission and of course Price grants it. You get to flirt with Ghost and hold on to his muscular arm while you try to convince him to get in the pool. However you just end up beneath him on a pool chair as he touches you.

"You take good care of your husband, love?"

"Mhm, I do. Let daddy fill me up all the time"

"You got room for one more?"

Letting him fuck you as Soap and Gaz try not to stare but they sit on the edge of the pool with their cocks hard. Price watching as he shamelessly strokes his cock, asking you how you like Ghost's dick in your tummy because it's so big.

Ghost fucking you in the backyard of your husband's house as the rest of em watch, trying not to be pervs. But you're just a sweet pretty little thing :( they can't help it.

Ghost is pounding you, making you moan so loudly. Good thing there's a tall fence surrounding the yard. He's got you pinned under his large frame, not even undressed.

Soap and Gaz cum in their swim trunks and Price's shoots over his happy trail on his stomach as Ghost pumps you full, leaving you dripping with his cum. You already know Price is going to want to fuck it back into you tonight along with his own.

Ghost was sweet though. Sent you flowers when he was away because he didn't want you to feel used even if you did want his cock anyway...

An: I don't know what came over me guys <3

[the-raindeer-king]

Simon would love a little freak (affectionate) of a partner. Like you collect weird things, like taxidermy or bones? Say less, babes. He's getting you an animal skull for your birthday.

Is your thing clowns? Man is scouring the internet for some obscure clown clock because you saw it on Ebay once and complained about the price.

You likes bugs? Great, he's got a friend named Roach. Y'all be freaks (affectionate) together. But also he's building you a butterfly garden, or buying you a pet spider, or whatever.

It doesn't even have to be weird. You could just really like the ocean, or horses, or whatever. And I just realized what I'm getting at is that Simon would love a neurodivergent partner...

And he would!! He'd listen to you ramble and rant, and he'd be making a mental list of things to look for when he buys you presents. You could be hyperfixated on literally anything, and Simon would find a way to get you a present related to that interest. This man would move heaven and earth, if it meant making you happy.

[amazeingartist]

spider!gaz & venom!ghost when they get along

[bluegiragi]

work it out (part 1)

early access + nsfw on patreon

[crsssie]

class cancelled. see you online - professor!simon riley x professor!reader

In the early years when he first started, Simon didn't cancel class. It was kind of well known at that point. He'd rather spend the class chattering about his wife than cancel class, so imagine everyone's surprise when he sent out the collective email detailing that he was canceling class because his wife was in labor.

What.

He sent them the slides for the day and a previous recording from a while back, letting them know that class on Thursday would be on zoom — a link that he will post onto the class canvas eventually.

He signs off the email with a photo of the baby locked by a password hidden in the slides, and he replies to everyone's congratulations once you're back in the home. He ends up staying back to teach the rest of the term from home because he was taking care of the baby

It was something briefly mentioned on his rate my professor, detailing how Professor Riley had "Moved the rest of our semester online because he wanted to stay home and take care of his wife. How did the school allow this?" and "I for one loved the online classes and congrats to him for finally being a father — 5/5 for my semester tbh" but truth was while the rate my professors ratted him out, his students didn't mention that class was moved online at the time.

So, when he lets his class know that he'll be out for a couple of weeks and moving class online, everyone sends in their congratulations early, earning a furrow of his brows and a laugh from your lips as he reads his emails to you.

"They really read their RMP reviews huh?"

"Sure did. I didn't even mention it this time. I barely talk about our daughter." He hums, hand on your bump as the second kicks at it.

"Well, I think I walked in once or twice." You hum. "Besides, they like it online."

"I do too." He mumbles, pinching at his daughter's cheeks as she giggles. "But most people don't pick up enough when you teach online."

"That's true." You take the berry from your daughter's hand as she hands one to you and presses another to Simon's lips.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

She nods, eyes glued back onto the screen as you glance at the recent check-up results.

"You bet Johnny's gonna cancel class too?"

"Heard he already told his students."

"Crazy."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello, Congratulations on the 5k follows!!

I discovered this fandom a few months ago and have been living for your writing ever since.

I was thinking as a drabble of the taskforce gentlemen coming home at the crack of dawn from a long mission and seeing their spouse's hand, limp on the ground peeking out from the side of the couch. All the panic and worry going thru their heads, so much bubbling up, horrible scenarios. They rush over and find you sleeping on the floor. The power had gone out last night and the hardwood floor was the coolest place to be (you didn't want to open the window because you know how they worry), so you were watching stuff on your phone and drifted off. Crisis averted!

Thank you for your time 💜

—Wide-Eyed Panic

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Why were you behind the couch?] ❞

I’ll start by saying all of them would be concerned and immediately go into panic mode—why were you behind the couch? Why was your hand sticking out? Why, in God's name, were you not moving? Cue the horrible thoughts and flashes of what went on in their work lives.

John Price ➺

John entered the house with a sigh, slipping off his boots as the door was closed and deftly locked behind him. Grunting under his breath, the man rubs over his face, the lights off as he calls out with a tired grumble to his voice. 

“I’m back,” his voice echoes, the tone moving through the darkness far louder than it should have. There’s no answer. “Love…?” Pausing, John blinks slowly at the wall, ear twitching to the utter silence of the home. No water in the pipes. No buzzing of electricity. No you. Eyes rising, they dart around quickly as his finger moves out to the light switch. A small push elicits nothing, just as he thought. The power was out. 

Dread slowly creeps into John’s chest.

Hand reaching behind his back, the man’s fingers inch over the smooth metal of a pistol, grasping the weapon before he begins walking forward. He keeps silent, feet moving to where he knows the wood won't creak. 

His mind runs. 

Why was the power off? Where were you? Why didn’t you respond—were you hurt? John’s mind goes to blood and bullets, his jaw clenching tightly as the pistol comes out to rest in front of him; hands shifting the grip as he takes a soothing breath. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone, but it would be pointless to lie about how his heart hammers. 

“Fuck,” he growls, eyes going tight. 

That’s when he sees it. Blue eyes widen sharply. 

“Love!” John shouts, all other concerns about intruders meaningless to him. Your hand was sticking out from behind the couch, a dark shadow in the low light. He rushes over as you jerk, yelling in alarm as he rushes to grab you, pulling you up into his arms and pulling you away into the closet across the room.

“John!” You blink rapidly as you’re set back against the wall. 

“Shush now,” he grunts, eyes panicked. “Keep awake, let me look.” A hand moves all over your body, searching and pulling at clothes to touch the skin for any wounds. “Tell me where it hurts, then. Quickly. We have to move—”

“John, what the hell,” you push at him, moving him back. Your eyes try to adjust to being so rudely awakened at such an hour. “What are you doing?!”

You weren’t hurt. 

The Captain’s face pulls in with confusion, back against the closet door and now in more darkness than ever before. He can barely make out your face before you sigh and put your hands against his arms. 

Things begin to calm down as his hand rests at your hip, nearly tight enough to bruise. In his other is the gun just before you put your hand to it and softly peel the item away from him—putting it on the shelf that you know is to your left. 

Hands find John’s cheeks as he pants.

“John,” you say his name again. “...what happened.”

“Why were you on the ground?” He forces out firmly, voice a low grunt. “Why were the lights not—”

“The power went out for everyone, okay?” You speak slowly, rubbing your thumbs over his beard. “It was on the news. I didn’t open a window because I knew you would worry about that—the floor was cool and it was getting too hot in here.” 

Your mind tells you to explain quickly and fluently. You move forward and press your forehead into John’s as he sags with a great exhalation of breath—his arms circling you tightly until your spine might crack. 

He doesn’t speak for a long while, just holding you.

“Scared me,” he mutters, missing you deeply on the forehead, speaking into your skin. “Fuck, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

He keeps you to his chest, eyes fluttering shut and his spine hunching over you, fingers splayed over your back. You run your hands through his hair and calm the swelling of your heart.

You can feel his pulse mirroring your own.

Simon Riley ➺

When he sees your hand, he freezes. 

Simon wasn’t a stranger to the lights being off in the home—you opted for lamps and low light more often than not; this wasn’t new. He had only quirked a brow when he came home to the pitch-blackness, off from his recent deployment and eager for a warm bed to fall into. He admits he’d let himself calm down on the car ride home—your home was where he could relax and release tension until it became as unimportant as an ant on the pavement. 

But when he’d closed the door silently behind him and walked the few steps it would take to enter the living room, where he was sure you were still up either reading or watching something on your phone under a blanket, his body had stiffened immediately. 

Your hand sticking out from behind the couch. Limp. 

Lifeless.  

He’d been staring at it for only a few seconds before the memories came back—the ones of gore splattered to the walls and ceiling of an old flat back in Manchester. 

Simon’s thoughts had hit him like a bullet.

Not again.

Rushing forward like a bear, the man slips along the hardwood as his knees go down, shaking the home at the force at which he grabs at your body and flips you from your side to your back. 

You gasp awake and instinctually throw out a fist, connecting with a stone chest as you hiss and blink in panic. 

Fingers ruthlessly dig into your shoulders, wide brown eyes open, and…and afraid. 

“Simon?” You mutter softly, all fear in your heart is squished in an instant. 

The man breathes through wheezes, balaclava fabric moving from the force of his breaths. His fingers are shaking, blinking as his head jerks to look your lying form up and down swiftly. 

You hesitantly put a hand on his cheek and he flinches before nuzzling into it. 

“Don’t…” he takes a quivering breath into his lungs, and after, loosens his grip on your skin. Simon’s hands go to your waist, dragging you up and stapling you to his chest. “Don’t do that again.”

His voice is low. Vulnerable. 

You blink, hands holding him back on the floor. 

“...The power went out,” you try to explain only half of it softly, muffled by his neck. 

He only holds you harder, eyes open and blankly staring at the floor a foot away.

Johnny MacTavish ➺

Johnny hums a song under his breath, hanging his keys on the hook near the door.

“Dearie!” He calls to you loudly, itching at the side of his head and chuckling. “Don’t run too fast to me now, I’m all yours for two w—”

The light switch is moved by his finger, but no light illuminates his path to the living room. Pausing in the entrance, the man’s brows furrow tightly, speech cutting off like scissors to paper. 

“...eeks?” Johnny ends his sentence, turning back around to look at the switch in confusion. “The hell’s going on with that?” He mutters to himself, a frown growing on his face before he refocuses on his mission to find you—now with the added task of figuring out why the power was out in the house. 

“Swear,” the man grumbles, huffing while he runs a hand over his face, “if those kids down the street did something I’ll be livid. Little devils, I swear.” 

Johnny steps farther into the living room, glancing around. 

“Dearie?” He pauses, listening before calling out your name. “Where’s she off to?”

He sighs softly, wanting to hold you now that he’s home to do so—squeeze you in his arms and take in your scent again; he’d missed you immensely while he was away.

Johnny came across your hand sticking out from behind the couch by accident, moving to make his way into your bedroom thinking that you were sleeping. He sees an odd shape in the blackness and pauses, feet slowing to a stop. 

When he notices that it’s a hand—your hand, he doesn’t even realize that he’s completely gripped the side of the couch and wrenched it back until the scratch of the wood floors screams in his ears. 

You wake up to hands on your cheeks, sharp yelling, and your head being shaken up and down until you’re conscious. 

“Dearie, hey! What the fuck,” the last sentence is growled on fast lips. “What the fuck.”

Your hands slap to Johnny’s wrists, nails digging in. 

He breathes out quickly, looking into your eyes to look for dilation as the darkness forces him closer. “There we are, tell me where you’re hurting, now, yeah? Did you hit your head? Let me take a look. It’s okay, I’ll get you all fixed up, there’s no need to worry.”

“Hey!” Your hands push at his, trying to shove the brick wall away from you. “Quit it! Johnny! I’m fine! ”

The man pauses at your animated movements, blinking rapidly before his grip loosens. 

When it’s obvious that you’re perfectly fine, he moves back and groans, thumb and forefinger digging into his nose bridge. 

“Hell’s bells, Hen.” You glare, panting on the floor before you push yourself up. 

“‘Hell’s bells’, me?” Johnny’s head plops to your shoulder. “You just shook me like a fucking rabbit!” 

“Scared the shite out of me, you terror.” The man huffs. “Need to put a heart monitor on you.”

“Piss off,” you sigh, putting a hand to your chest to feel the pace of your pulse and the blood that runs furiously.

Johnny, moments later as he’s still resting on your shoulder, starts…laughing. Low at first, then gaining noise the more it goes unchecked—a deep rumble into chest-jerking amusement. You look down at him, the couch tilted and long scratches over the floor. Pausing, you blink at his shaking shadow before your lungs start quivering. The two of you bend over one another with shared, house-shaking laughter. 

“What the fuck were you doin’ behind the damn couch?” Johnny grabs you close, kissing along your neck as he picks you up, dragging you to your feet. 

“The power went out!” You giggle, chest hurting from the fast gasps of breath as more kisses are spread over your skin. “It was colder down there and I didn’t want to open one of the windows because I knew you’d throw a pouting match about it.”

“Christ, Dearie.” Lips meet your own. “I had half the mind to think you had a heart attack. Nearly gave me one.”

Kyle Garrick ➺

Kyle sighs as he rubs at his jaw, itching the skin and slipping out of his jacket. 

“I’m home, Love!” He says, his voice echoing over the flat. “Want me to start on supper or have you eaten yet?” The man smiles, taking off his cap and putting it on the coat rack, sighing softly. 

It was good to be back. 

Bending down to unlace his boots, he pulls at them until they’re loose enough to slip out of, thumping to their sides on the rug until he reaches out and fixes them. 

“What’s that, then?” He calls into the darkness, not hearing your answer as he quickly checks the time on his phone. “Fuck, it’s late,” Kyle utters to himself. 

Walking into the kitchen, he touches the light switch only to be met with nothing. Pausing, the man’s face pulls in—fingers twitching at his sides as he glances at the window and the moonlight that seeps in to glare along the floor. 

A deep frown takes hold of him, and he looks around once more before backing up.

“...Love?” Kyle wasn’t too concerned—the building wasn’t always the best, and power outages weren’t unheard of. But, damn, if the high of getting off of a deployment didn’t put him in a negative head-space when it came to a change in routine involving you. 

Why weren’t you answering him?

Walking slightly faster into the living room, his hand nearly reaches into his pocket to call your phone if you didn’t end up in any of the rooms—pulse beginning to be infected with a steady injection of adrenaline. 

Brown eyes find your hand behind the couch when they’re about to shift to the open door of your bedroom. A sharp gasp is inhaled instantaneously. 

Kyle races over, grappling to it and pressing his fingers to your neck for a pulse. You softly breathe, none the wiser as you lightly shift and sigh in your sleep; a delicate hum moving out as familiar fingers dig into you. 

It’s through his panic that a thought quickly cuts through the man’s mind. You’d mentioned this before. 

Kyle pauses, just about to loudly wake you. 

‘It gets hot when the power goes out, Kyle, I swear one of these days I’m going to just fall asleep on the floor. At least it’s cool down there.’

Well, the power was out, and, it seemed, you really had fallen asleep on the floor. Now that he thought about it, the flat was running hot—and he also knew that you knew he had gotten nervous of late when you left the windows open at night. 

“Bloody hell,” the man releases a long breath, free hand moving to grip the back of his head. A few seconds later, Kyle chuckles to himself, shaking his head with a small smile. “You are losing it, Mate. Losing it.” 

Without another word, he grips you, and with a grunt, picks you up and takes you to bed, setting you down on the pillows and making sure to leave the sheets off of you so you don’t grow uncomfortable.

A kiss is pressed to your forehead, and you hum in slumber, smiling unconsciously.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Love.” 

He leaves to go make a quick supper of cereal and milk.

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

smutty brainrot part 3...?

you lay spread out on a desk, simon's desk no less, with papers scattered all around you in an attempt to clear the space.

between your spread legs knelt johnny, eagerly lapping up the evidence of your arousal like a man starved.

but your eyes weren't on him, instead they were simon who simply loomed in the corner, eyes roaming your body unashamedly. his mask was rucked up from when johnny pulled him into a kiss not 5 minutes earlier.

when he catches you watching him, the bastard only smirks smugly.

"oh gods," you moan, your eyes shutting in bliss as johnny presses his fingers in.

simon clicks his tongue, making his way over before grasping your chin. "eyes on me, pretty girl," he says, but your body refuses to obey his words.

he clicks his tongue again disapprovingly, gripping slightly harder.

"are you gonna make me repeat myself, love?"

this time you force your eyes open despite the flush of embarassment.

"there we go, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

somehow even more arousal pools in the pit of your stomach, your mind growing hazy.

"keep talking, l.t, our girl seems to like it," johnny says before delving back in. this time he swirls his tongue around your clit, and your back arches of the table involuntarily.

simon hums, pressing his hand down on your lower belly to keep you in place. that only serves to heighten the pleasure, and you feel yourself rushing towards that peak.

"you're doing so good, love. taking it so well," he murmurs into your ear, and you practically sob in pleasure.

"im close, oh fuck please, im so close," you say with a shudder.

"come on, cum for us pretty girl," simon says, and like a switch flipped you cum immediately, johnny's fingers and tongue helping you ride through your orgasm.

but soon after, it transitions from being 'too good' to 'too much', but johnny was always known for his voracious appetite after all.

you can't even gasp out the words, but simon can read you like the back of his hand.

"that's enough," simon mutters gruffly, a quiet 'tsk' escaping his lips as he grabs johnny by the hair, yanking him away from between your legs.

his eyes are dazed, drunk on the taste of you and your pleasure as he grins goofily.

"so...round two?"

[klaart]

The gangs all here👍

Edit:// hurt no comfort :)

Edit2: I lied part 2 is posted‼️

[gomzdrawfr]

PriceGhostWeek

cw: omegaverse, tini bit suggestive, inspo

What's hidden under the scarf?

what's hidden under the collar?

[a-b-riddle]

Going back to the idea of 141 protecting accused reader

Check CW in tags

Price collects the names of everyone involved. Who accused you, who took you in, questioned you and anyone who laid their hands on you. Although Kate had nothing to do with it, the Americans, those fucking shadows overstepped. The best Kate can hope for is to avoid a charge with aiding in a war crime. Joining Kyle in interviews to find out the specifics. Who was cruelest? Did anyone touch you sexually? Were you starved? Questions they knew would overwhelm you if prompted.

Once Price’s job is done, Kyle starts to collect all the intel with a simple name. Digging into the lives of everyone responsible for breaking you as well as their loved one. It doesn’t take Kyle long to start planting things to make their lives go nuclear. Evidences of affairs that were AI generated sent to the wives waiting back home with their husbands attached with apology letters from the mistress. Insisting that she didn’t know he was married and to please use this as evidence if she chooses to divorce him.

Simon is the judge, the jury and executioner. Most of the shadows steered clear after everything came to the surface that you were truly innocent. That doesn’t stop him from beating them bloody during sparring. Challenging any one of them. Embarrassing them in front of their peers only to catch them off guard later in the night. Carving their skin, taking their fingernails as trophies. Having to refrain from showing you that he was giving you justice in the only way he knew how.

And then there was Johnny….

Sweet Johnny became your primary care taker. Isn’t phased when you need help bathing or going to the bathroom. Johnny who administered your pain medicine around the clock. Who was your advocate about dealing with the doctors and medical staff when you felt too overwhelmed. Who scheduled your medical appointments for your burns, lacerations and the other injuries and illnesses you sustained. Severed ACL. Upper respiratory infection. Kidney infection. UTIs from lack of hygiene items. Never once making you feel embarrassed. Getting you in touch with a therapist.

All of them doing their part to help you in anyway they can. All of them promising to never let you away from them again.

[boolger]

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?”

[a-trek-trough-the-stars]

Barry Trivers and Gerd Oswald dropping “The Conscience of the King” on December 8th of 1966, only to never elaborate on Tarsus IV and Kirk’s past there

[tojisun]

biker!simon (ghost) riley x fem reader

!! smut - minors dni; mask kink; D/s; off-screen scene discussion (like power play); dacryphilia; extended foreplay; petnames; mean simon // 2.6k words

biker!simon mlist

it is carnal. desperate. pawing hands finding each other, trying to get rid of the leather.

you fall on the bed with a huff, body bouncing as the mattress ripples, soft sheets tickling your bare skin. you look up, blinking past the haze, watching as simon gazes at you – clothed. helmeted.

there is something that stirs in your stomach at seeing the disparity – you, naked and bare for him; him guarded. shielded. like he is a mere spectator of your body. like you are made to have you served on a silver platter for him to nip at your flesh and to etch his passions on your skin. like all that you are is his to enjoy – a one-sided servitude. 

you tremble with need, watching as he fiddles with his belt, metal clanking together when he goes to unbuckle it. you bite your bottom lip in anticipation, following the way his thick fingers pinch his zipper to tug downwards, giving you a glimpse of his black boxers. then, he reaches for his helmet.

“no!” you yelp, scrambling to stop simon from removing the gear. you don’t even register what you did or how the word ripped through your lips until it resonated in the room, your chest heaving when the realization struck.

simon’s head cocks to the side slowly, looking animated with his helmet. it makes you clench your thighs close, putting pressure on your throbbing clit, and you watch with bated breath as simon’s head dips down to follow the length of your legs.

there is something in not seeing his face that has you aching, desire creeping in from the base of your spine to the tips of your fingers. something that simon must have felt too because he unhooks his hand from his chin strap to continue shucking his cargos just low enough that you can see the chub underneath his boxers.

“like what you see?” he asks, his crooning voice muffled by his helmet.

your legs squeeze tighter, your arm unconsciously coming up to cover your tits. you do not answer him, too caught up in watching as he slowly palms himself through his boxers, cupping his hand around his tent like he’s reminding you what he’s packing.

like he’s showing you what he promises he’ll give you.

but your silence makes him snarl, his hand falling to his side before he stalks towards you. his shins bump the edge of the bed, then he bends forward, his big frame towering over your trembling figure. you feel like a prey caught before him, naked and grappling with the desire that chokes you because there is something addicting at being so powerless before him.

simon laughs, something faint and mean, like he knows what got you spiralling. like he understands. 

he reaches a hand out and pushes your hair away from your face. “i should’ve known that y’r a slut for this.”

the words are whispered, barely breaching the mouth guard of his helmet, but they pierce through the building static between the two of you and you couldn’t help the whimper that falls from your lips nor the willowy gasp of his name. 

simon breathes in sharply before surging towards you, his gloved hands reaching to tug your arms away from your body so he can see you again. you resist with a little pull on your end, your mind buzzing with a building fog, but simon’s hold only gains strength as he tightens his fists around your wrists. 

“show me,” he grunts, pulling you towards him.

you glide across the sheets easily, simon’s overwhelming strength stirring your desires even more. shamefully, you feel your cunt dampen, slick gathering at the lips of your pussy just at having been manhandled by your lover. you want to press your face on the inside of your arm and hide how affected you are by simon’s display of dominance, but his hands are already sliding down your sides, hooking by your hips, before stopping just at the meat of your thighs.

you tumble backwards, head falling to the mattress when simon kneels between your legs, slotting himself there like that is his rightful spot; like that is where he has always belonged. 

then, he stops. you think you know why.

“oh, sweetheart,” he croons, folding himself towards you just enough to make it easy for him to peer at your glistening heat. “look at you leakin’.”

you tear your eyes away from the ceiling to peer down at him, your cheeks burning at the attention he pours into your cunt, only to freeze, your breath getting stuck in your lungs. 

because how could you even forget?

the expanse of your wet cunt is reflected on his visor, the details stark and clear, and you hiccup, ripping your eyes away from the image and thrashing to curl into yourself. shame unfurls in the pit of your stomach, snuffing out the rumbling want that had just overwhelmed you, but simon holds you down to make you stop. 

“you have nothin’ to be shy about, kid,” he says, easing his hands away from your wrists to grip your hips. “look at me. i said look at me.”

you sniffle as you gaze back at him, flinching when all you see is your face reflected back. simon pauses at your reaction, his hold on your hips going lax.

“do you want the helmet off?” he asks, genuine concern now lining his voice. 

you blink, twining your hands together now that simon isn’t holding them. yes please tickles your lips but you hesitate, battling with yourself because-

because you still want the thrill of this – the brief imbalance of power between the two of you where you are simon’s prey, and all that you are is at his mercy; the temporary display of his darkness, stretching over the horizon as he bears down onto you, diminishing your very being into nothing but his to use for pleasure.  

because you ache to feel small. 

so you shake your head slowly, steeling yourself as you continue to look at simon’s visor, trying to see past your reflection as though you can catch a glimpse of his eyes if only to show him that you still want this. 

but more than your want, more than the hunger you have for simon, you want to show him that you trust him. 

and when you feel simon’s hands spasming from where they are gripping your hips, you know he understands. 

“okay,” he says, nodding. his bobbing head almost makes you giggle. “but tell me when you want to stop, alright sweetheart? remember your safeword?”

“mhmm,” you hum, writhing on the bed to get closer to him, sighing when your greedy hands finally get to rub along his abdomen. “cake pops.”

he cups your cheek, the leather smooth against your skin. “that’s right. cake pops.”

—

“please,” you sob, trembling in desperation as simon continues to tease his fingers along your slit. he has yet to give you a taste of what you want even when his cock weeps, staining the fabric of his boxers. you want to commend him for his self restraint but you know he is doing this to tease you. to drive you to insanity. 

simon remains unmoved, pushing down on your stomach when your squirming turns erratic, before scooping out a glob of your slick and rubbing it along your hardened clit to make a mess out of your weeping cunt. you squeal, clawing at the sheets when his fingers pinch your clit, the muted pleasure razing into something that stings. 

and yet it is still not enough.

“simon pleasepleaseplease,” you babble, blinking bleary eyes at him and shivering when all you’re met with is the sight of your tear-stained face. 

you look like a wreck with your hair sticking to your damp face, your lips swollen from the way you have nibbled on them to bite down your sobs and whimpers whenever simon ripped his fingers out of your cunt every time he felt you tighten up. 

“no cumming without my permission, doll,” he crooned, all mean and playful. 

then he’d repeat the process – fucking his thick fingers into your pussy, pumping them with a broken tempo so that you’d never get use to the stretch, crooking them just right until your back arches off the bed with a broken scream, only for simon to push you back down again with a faux disappointed sigh.

“stay put or y’r not cumming.”

it isn’t like it mattered anyway if you had followed his commands, not when simon’s too familiar with your body; attuned to the way you react when you’re near your orgasm. and you know this is all a play to him – something that gets him off as he pulls you to the edge of your euphoria only to drag you back down from your high, crooning words lilting and fading into the background as your ringing ears struggle to grasp the sudden loss of your peaking orgasm.

he plants his hand on your belly, rubbing soothing circles as a sob racks your body. “y’ve been so good f’r me,” simon murmurs. his other hand swipes at your cunt again. “gonna reward you now, princess. gonna give you what you need.”

you sigh, a happy contented sound, and simon laughs at your reaction before lifting his hand up to cup your jaw. the action is tender and soft even when his thumb traces along your bitten lips, wiping away at the thin sheen of spit that pooled at the edge of your mouth.

you watch it all through his visor, feeling breathless at the image you make. at the image that simon reduces you to.

simon notices. of course he does.

“pretty, aren’t you, baby?” his head falls closer to you as he says this, purposefully encompassing your full visage so that your teary eyes could see your wrecked self. 

you feel faint watching as his thumb finally dips into your mouth, pushing past your plush lips until the pad of it bumps into the front of your teeth. you move to suck at his finger even when he doesn’t ask, cataloguing the way your lips wrap around his thumb or how your cheeks hollow when you begin suckling.

you look erotic. sinful. 

simon groans like he is thinking the same thing, his helmet bumping your forehead.

“christ, sweetheart. y’ve ruined me.”

you giggle softly as he nuzzles his helmet on your sweat-stained forehead and squeezes your jaw for the last time before pulling away. he leaves you there on the bed, your eyes blown wide as you watch him tug at his boxers to finally free his pretty, pretty cock.

the moan that leaves your lips is pornographic and carnal, and simon jolts, his hand coming up to fist his cock as the sound ricochets in the room. you see his chest heave and, had your mind not been reduced to a needy mush, you would have realized that he’s gripping his cock to stop himself from cumming just from the sound you made.

“spread y’r legs f’r me, baby,” he growls, his hand still gripping his cock. 

and you do as he says: your hands ball on top of your chest as you spread your legs spread apart, the soles of your feet rustling against the sheets. cool air hits your dripping cunt and you mewl, feeling and seeing how exposed you are before simon.

“so pretty,” simon groans as he shuffles close, lining his cock against your cunt. “an’ it’s all mine, yeah?”

you nod, you think. you honestly don’t know. not when your attention is rooted to simon’s visor, watching with stuttering breaths as he moves to rub his cock along your folds. the first touch makes you squeal, the rush of pleasure jolts you into closing your legs. it’s only simon’s hand pressed on the inside of your thigh that stops you from doing so, the pressure he’s putting on your leg gluing your muscle onto the bed. 

“fuck, sweetheart,” he croaks, still slicking his cock along your folds, the sounds so filthy as they filter through the air. “so fuckin’ wet f’r me.”

god, this is torturous. you need him so desperately, it hurts.

you break into sobs as you reach out to grasp at his arms, feeling untethered as your sanity slips under the fog, feeling it grow taut like a band that’s about to snap when simon’s cock rubs against your clit. he tilts his head up just enough that you know he’s watching you, his beautiful eyes roving over the devastation on your face.

knowing that he’s looking eggs you on – desperation clawing underneath your skin, needing to be itched. “inside, please! simon, please-!” you hiccup. “i wan’ feel you! i wan’-”

you scream, your words petering into a garbled wail when simon finally sinks his cock in you. your head falls back to the pillows, your eyes rolling back to your skull. but he keeps on sliding, keeps on thrusting in – his cock is so long, it feels endless. 

you’re babbling, moans slithering into a noiseless squeal when simon’s pelvis finally bumps the inside of your thighs. 

he’s in. you realize with a tremble. all of him, in you.

your ecstasy bloats, peaking, and your toes curl when it explodes, razing through your sanity until all you can feel is a buzz. you go numb, your ears ringing with a growing static and you fall lax on the bed. a marionette with strings cut.

“fuckin’ hell, princess,” simon hisses, almost like a happy purr. a muted thump somewhere beside the bed tickles your ears. “you jus’ squirted.”

what?

he laughs, the sound so giddy as it spills from his lips. lips which, you realize amidst the satiated thrums spreading throughout your body, you can see. 

oh, you think with a start. his helmet’s gone.

“si?” you murmur, voice hoarse and rugged.

“i’m here, sweetheart,” simon replies, burying his face on the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. “y’came so good f’r me. so perfect f’r me.” he presses a kiss on your skin as he says this.

time stops becoming a blur for you and it trickles back to you in bits, starting from the buzz underneath your veins and the satisfying weight buried in your cunt.

oh-

“simon, i’m sorry-”

simon kisses your lips and devours your apology, his tongue licking into your mouth, claiming with such ferocity. you moan, feeling the expanding warmth running from your throbbing lips to your fluttering cunt; not yet satiated. needing more. 

you gasp when he finally pulls back just enough that his lips hover above yours, ghosting a touch. clingy even when you are wrapped around him. 

“y’came like a good girl,” simon murmurs, his breath tickling your spit-smeared lips. “my good girl.”

you let out a happy sigh when simon draws out, the drag of his cock slow and delicious, before he’s pressing it back in, filling you up once again. you feel the wet patch on his pants and his boxers, and your cheeks burn when you catalogue it as your mess. 

but god, you want more. 

“harder, si,” you mewl, weak hands coming up to tangle in his messy hair. “i want it harder.”

simon braces his arms on either side of your head, his nose rubbing along your damp cheeks until he’s pulling back just enough that you see the way his eyes are blown wide with his lust.

“anythin’ for you, sweetheart.”

 he kisses your cheek – the last of his gentleness for the night.

“anythin’.”

[call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes]

Soap: Check in on your friends but also don’t forget to check in on your enemies. Make sure they’re doing bad.

Soap: That’s why I have Graves on speed dial.

Ghost: We also follow him on Instagram.