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ohbo-ohno · 1 year ago

Text

i'll eat you whole (ghost x soap)

summary: After a terrible accident during a race, Johnny is left abandoned and lost in the forests of Alaska. While looking for shelter, he’s cornered by a bear.

word count: 10.8k

cw: dark fic!!!, noncon sex, dog hybrid johnny & bear hybrid simon, kidnapping, trans ftm soap, degradation, forced feminization, breeding kink, bloody kisses, spanking, size difference

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

Johnny hadn’t meant to get lost. He’d meant to win the goddamn Iditarod instead of coming in second for the fourth year in a row, but nothing in his life has gone to plan recently.

Considering how long he’d been training for this stupid fucking race, you’d think his parents would’ve had him running a half decent musher’s sled - you break your ankle one time and suddenly your parents (your managers when you’re an unlucky bastard like him) act like you’ll never run again, sell you off to the highest bidder, and wipe their hands of you.

Sure Johnny’s injury still flares with pain sometimes, but he’s perfectly capable of gritting his teeth and running through it, like a real racer. He’d even made a full recovery - cleared by a doctor and everything. It’s bullshit he’d gotten stuck with whoever put up the most money.

This year, the highest bidder happened to be some brat human who thought using daddy’s money to buy the best sled and dog shifters meant he could win the Iditarod. Idiot. A bigoted idiot, too, considering how often he’d spoken to Johnny and all the other shifters like they’re actual dogs when they’d shifted into their dog forms. Johnny had been one expectant snap from biting straight through the dumbass’s hand.

Though for as much of an idiot as he was, the brat hadn’t deserved to die. And he especially didn’t deserve to take 13 other people down with him.

Johnny can’t help but shiver at the memory of their deaths. He’d been the only one to survive, and it was pure luck. He’d never been so close to death.

Their musher had taken a shortcut - an unknown, unexplored shortcut - and it cost the rest of them their lives. Johnny can recall the exact moment he realized they were running on packed ice instead of frozen dirt, the way every dog had tried to stop as they all had the same realization, had heard the same deafening crack.

In the end, Johnny was the only one able to sink his claws into the top of the ice, the only one able to scramble out of the freezing lake and back onto solid ground. He’d been quick enough to get the little booties off his paws, lucky enough to flail in the exact right direction.

He’d tried to pull his fellow racers up, but hadn’t been able to get a firm hold on any of them. They hadn’t been able to calm their panic enough to think, and he hadn’t been strong enough to lift them up with all the struggling. In the end, all thirteen of them died, floating beneath the thick layer of ice.

He’s lost other shifters on the race before, seen frozen corpses as he’s run, but he already knows that the image of his teammates drowning is one he’s going to see for the rest of his life. The whites of their eyes, the cries so pained they nearly sounded human, the scratches and thumps from beneath the ice as the current took them… already, he sees it all when he blinks.

He’d gotten off the ice as quickly as possible, stumbled into an unfamiliar forest on four paws. Now he treks through a frozen forest, body so wracked with shivers that he can hardly walk straight. Every exhale blinds him for a moment, the clouds of white air blocking his sight of everything else white in the area.

He has no idea what to do. Instinct tells him to keep moving, that he can’t give up, but he has no idea how to get back to the track. Between the “shortcut” and the general unfamiliarity of the area, he’s got no way of knowing if he’s even going in the right direction or if he’s just wandering further away. His best hope is that they send helicopters for wounded racers early, and that one spots him from the sky and picks him up.

Johnny’s not an idiot, he knows the odds of that happening - or of him being alive to see it happen - are slim to none. What he really needs to do is try and find somewhere warm, but that doesn’t exactly seem possible in the frozen tundra of Alaska.

His pessimistic musings are interrupted by a sound - a growl, to his right and from an uncomfortably close distance.

Johnny nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees the bear only a few meters away.

It’s a big beast even on all fours, has to be nearly eight feet tall at the shoulder. Johnny can’t see much but the shape of it, but that’s enough for him to know he needs to get away as soon as possible.

He’s taken safety training courses for being lost in the wilderness his whole life, knows that if you spot a polar bear you’re supposed to move away as slowly as possible without looking away, never making any sudden or aggressive moves. So Johnny lowers himself a little closer to the ground, can’t help the soft hiss of air through his teeth at the touch of cold ice against his sensitive belly, and shuffles back as slowly as he can with stiff limbs.

If his vision isn’t failing him, the bear tilts its head. It occurs to Johnny that the bear might be a shifter, but if that’s true he should know to put the pieces together that the husky in the snow is probably a lost racer, and the polite thing to do would be to show he’s a shifter too. Of course, there’s always the chance he’s not polite.

Regardless, Johnny continues his slow shuffles backwards. His heartrate kicks up as the bear moves towards him, but it's mannerisms read more curious than aggressive so Johnny forces himself to lay still and not bolt in another direction. He wouldn’t make it very far anyway, not with the chill seeping into his bones the way it is.

The bear’s even more terrifying from flat on the ground, so tall that it blocks out the sun when it stands over Johnny. He bites back a whimper, fights the instinctual urge to show his belly to a clearly stronger animal.

The bear snuffles along his spine, its warm breath sinking into Johnny’s soaked fur. He feels a tongue poke out to stroke against a small cut on his left side, where either a piece of ice or another shifter's claws had gotten him. It’s not bleeding much anymore - Johnny can hardly even feel the sting with the rest of the cold - but the bear licks it several times anyway, almost like it’s cleaning the small wound.

Johnny’s careful to lay perfectly still, nothing more than his ear twitching as the bear continues its perusal. It’s oddly thorough, even goes so far as to try and force its snout underneath his ribs to try and flip him over. Johnny digs his claws into the snow and goes stiff as he can, and a moment later the bear huffs and moves on.

Once it’s finished looking for whatever it seems to want, it starts to shove at him again. This time it’s pushier, and manages to actually lift Johnny’s bottom half off the ground with a particularly rough shove to his hindlegs.

Eventually Johnny has to stand on his own four legs or he’ll be sent ass over teakettle. He moves a few feet in the direction the bear is nudging him, then settles back into the snow with his ears pressed flat.

That gets him an angry huff, one that has his hackles rising. He shuffles another few steps, then drops again, hoping the damn beast will give up whatever it wants - clearly it’s not dinner, or Johnny would already be torn to shreds. But the fact that he’s still got all of his limbs doesn’t make him any less nervous around the absolute behemoth of a bear.

After his third time moving a few feet and dropping, the bear seems to give up on him. It snorts out an aggravated noise and noses the thick fur at the back of Johnny’s neck before grabbing with his teeth and lifting.

All thoughts of no sudden movements fly out of Johnny’s head and he jerks, yelping at the sudden change, and nearly tears himself away from the bear until there’s a snarl above his head.

The sound speaks to a deep part of Johnny’s hind-brain, the animal part of him that commands go still when met with a predator who outclasses him in every way. Even if he wanted to fight and struggle, his body decides to go limp in the bear’s jaws and he’s left feeling like a scruffed pup.

The bear walks for a long time, Johnny’s body swaying in his hold. Eventually he takes them to a large cave in the side of a nearby mountain - another point for the shifter theory, since even Johnny knows that polar bears tend to burrow underground rather than make their dens in a cave.

He struggles just a bit when the bear walks into the cave, uncomfortable with being so defenseless in a more closed off area. But another of those menacing growls and his brain works against him, body going limp. There’s a rumble against his shoulder where it rests against the bear’s chest, and Johnny idly wonders if bears purr.

The path through the cave is long and winding, the walls slowly getting closer and closer but never so close that the bear can’t comfortably walk through them.

Finally, after what feels like hours to Johnny’s frostbitten brain, the bear steps into a more open cave. There are furs covering the stone floor from wall to wall, several layered over each other in certain spots, and a roaring fire in the center of the room.

That confirms his shifter theory. No true bear is skinning its prey for their pelts, or starting a fire in their cave. The knowledge that he’s (likely) not going to be eaten allows the last few hints of tension to melt from Johnny’s bones.

He flops like dead weight when the bear drops him without warning in front of the fire. He whines a little, shoots a glare at the beast and rubs a paw over his head in discomfort. He gets a snort in response, and then the bear curves himself around Johnny’s back, making sure to angle him so his other side is facing the fire.

As much as Johnny hates to put so much faith into a stranger, he can’t help but feel safe surrounded by the bear’s warmth. He knows he’s an idiot to trust so quickly, but surely no one with bad intentions would drag him all the way across the forest and deep into their cave? It would’ve been easier to just ignore him completely.

So, against his better judgment, Johnny allows the warmth to lull him to sleep. He rests his head on one of the bear’s paws as a pillow, gives them an affectionate huff before letting himself drift off.

———————————————————————

Johnny wakes up, hours later, in his human skin.

That’s normal - depending on his dreams, he’ll subconsciously shift between human and dog as he sleeps. It’s not odd for Johnny to wake up in completely different places after sleepwalking either, so waking up to feel his human cheek against warm furs isn’t a surprise.

The large hands running over him, the weight resting over his thighs? That’s a surprise.

He blinks his eyes open slowly. His whole body feels soft and soaked in warmth, and the idea of moving seems nearly impossible. He can tell he’s still fully clothed - a pair of mukluks on his feet, his arctic bib and long underwear, his ruff jacket zipped up tight, all the layers beneath pressing his tail down uncomfortably. The only things missing are his mittens and his scarf, but his hands feel unnaturally warm without them anyway.

The cave is dark and the walls are far closer than he remembers them being, the ceiling covered in dancing shadows that almost make Johnny forget where he is until he lifts his head a bit. Instead of the wide open cave he’d fallen asleep in, he’s laying in a much smaller alcove that traps all the heat in its walls.

The bear is definitely a shifter - either that or the human straddling Johnny’s legs is an incredible hunter with complete resistance to the cold.

The fact that he’s a naked human clicks a moment later in Johnny’s head.

“Wha’...” he moans, shifting and trying to move his elbows beneath him and sit up. He’s stopped by a sudden heavy weight over his chest, the man dropping his elbows beside Johnny’s head and giving him his weight to keep him down.

It works, Johnny’s forced back to the fur-covered floor if only because he wasn’t expecting the sudden weight on his chest. The man growls low in his chest, a pure bear sound that vibrates through Johnny.

The shifter’s handsome as a man. Broad jaw, crooked nose, thin lips, pale skin decorated in scars - just Johnny’s type when he’s looking for a night of quick fun. He’s a big motherfucker too, Johnny’s not a small man but he’s dwarfed beneath the bear.

“Puppy,” the bear gruffs down at him, severe blue eyes set in a glare. He’s intimidating, but the two fluffy white ears twitching in his blonde hair almost make Johnny’s half-asleep brain want to smile.

Then what he’d said registers, and he scowls instead.

“Puppy? Who the fuck are you calling puppy, you big bastard?” He pushes at the bear’s shoulders, grunts when he doesn’t move even an inch. “Get the fuck off of me.”

The bear listens, leans back but keeps one solid hand laid on Johnny’s chest - the damn thing is massive, his thumb and pinky nearly touching each nipple.

“Still,” he says, his voice so low it’s almost difficult to understand.

Johnny doesn’t listen, keeps squirming beneath the man. “What are you-?”

He huffs, shakes his head a bit. “Quiet.”

Johnny grunts, glaring up at him. “Can you say more than one word at once, or are you gonna keep doin’ your best caveman impression?”

The bear’s upper lip curls and he pushes on Johnny’s chest, knocking the air out right out of his chest. “Quiet. Be a good mate and listen.”

Oh, fuck no.

“Mate? Oh, you’re out of your mind, fuckin’ bastard. I’m not your goddamn ma-“

He’s cut off by another growl and a harsh press of lips against his own. The bear’s weight is back over him, heavy and suffocating and forcing him down with his chest and his face.

Johnny snarls into the mockery of a kiss, lifts his hands to try and shove the bear off by his shoulders. It’s fruitless, and the bear only licks into his mouth when Johnny tries to speak again. His tongue is thick and warm, pressing up against the roof of Johnny’s mouth and between his lips and teeth.

He growls at that, bites down hard as soon as the intruding tongue is back between his teeth. His sharp canines do the trick, and the taste of blood bursts into his mouth. Johnny’s eyes are wide open and he sees the exact moment the bear registers what he’s done, the way his face contorts itself in anger.

The growl he gets in return almost makes Johnny feel like the ground beneath him is shaking, it’s deafening and vibrates through all of his clothes and right to his ribs.

The bear bites him back in retaliation, leans up just enough to lock his own sharp teeth in Johnny’s bottom lip and pulls upwards. It gets Johnny jerking beneath him, lifting up as much as possible to try and alleviate the pressure.

He can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut at the sharp pain, ears pressed flat to his head and just barely managing to keep a whimper locked in his throat. He almost feels like his lip is going to tear right off, his entire torso lifted from the furs as he tries to follow the bear. It fucking hurts.

He can feel blood drip down his chin, a bit into his mouth, and can't resist the whine this time at the taste. He blinks his eyes open and looks up at the bear’s glare, prays that the wetness gathering in his eyes doesn’t turn to tears.

The bear drops him without warning, and Johnny can’t help but cry out when his head cracks against the ground. Even with the fur beneath him, the stone floor is brutal when he can’t catch himself. If he weren’t pinned so securely he’d curl up, cover his head with his arms until the pain faded.

As it is he tries to throw his arms over his face, but they’re quickly pinned above his head by one massive paw. The man’s other hand rests over Johnny’s throat, his palm pushing right against his pounding pulse.

“Mate,” the man growls again, nose nearly brushing Johnny’s when he bends over. “You were wandering around my territory, you belong to me.”

“That’s bullshit,” Johnny spits, lip throbbing. “I was fuckin’ lost, how was I supposed to know this is your territory?”

The bear smiles cruelly. “Not my problem, puppy. You were wandering, alone, in my territory, and now you’re mine. No point in arguin’. I’m keeping you.”

“My arse there’s no point in arguin’!” Johnny thrashes as much as he can beneath the bear’s weight, back arching as he tries to get enough leverage by planting his feet to throw the man off of him. “You can’t just decide I’m your mate! I don’t even fuckin’ know you!”

The man chuckles lowly, pressing his pelvis against Johnny’s to hold him against the furs. “You’re not goin’ anywhere. You can bitch and moan as much as you want, but you’re gonna stay right here in my den, safe and warm. Keep you stuffed full of my cum, maybe that’ll help you calm down, hm? Need a nice load in your guts, pup?”

Johnny’s eyes fly open at that, his heartbeat kicking up another notch as his squirming grows more panicked. “What the- no, what the fuck? Get off, I’m serious, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” The bear bites the air just in front of Johnny’s sluggishly bleeding lip, the click of his teeth loud and threatening. “You’ll try and kill me? You can’t even get out from under me, pup.”

Johnny growls at that, bares his teeth and on pure instinct leans up just enough to bite the bear’s throat. The skin is warm between his teeth, and he bites down as hard as he can, the animal part of him wanting to taste blood.

Instead of the man lurching back and away, as Johnny had assumed and hoped he would, he groans and falls further onto Johnny. To his own horror, he can feel the man hardening against his thigh, even through all the layers of clothing between them.

He bites harder, growls and squeezes his eyes shut while he shakes his head like he would to a rabbit he’d just caught hunting. It doesn’t do anything to the bear, only has him working his hips against Johnny. The moans rumble so loudly in his throat that Johnny’s teeth feel like they’re vibrating in his mouth and leave his gums and tongue tingling.

The bear’s hand moves from his throat up to his face, cupping one cheek in his palm. His hand is so large that his thumb rests on the cleft of Johnny’s chin while his fingers cup the back of his skull, nearly wrapping around to the other side. He doesn’t even try to pull Johnny off, only holds him securely in place.

That gets a little confused noise from Johnny, and when the larger man doesn’t do anything but seemingly appreciate his attack he lets go and reverts to trying to struggle away. The spot he’d been biting glows bright red in the firelight, a clear ring of indentions and individual teeth marks so deep that they’d be impossible to mistake as anything else.

To his own frustration, the bear looks pleased above him. “Already claimin’ me, huh?”

Johnny sputters, rearing away from the man and his grinding hips. “Claiming? Fucking attacking, you goddamn oaf.”

Another rumbling laugh. “You think that’s an attack?” The bear’s hand shifts to give Johnny’s cheek a condescending pat. “That’s real cute, pup. Don’t think I’ll mind so much if you wanna keep attackin’ me, then.”

The nonchalance has Johnny’s temper flaring more than it already was, his booted feet scrabbling against the furs as he tries to rip his wrists away from the man. “You fucking arsehole-!” He grunts when his hands are freed without warning, the weight over his chest disappearing.

He’s quick to throw himself back and away from the bear, hitting the wall of the cave and bringing his knees up to his chest.

The bear somehow looks bigger than he had hovering over Johnny. He blocks the one opening out of the small cave, the roaring fire casting a warm glow around his body. His skin is pale, nearly snow white, and covered in a myriad of scars - claw marks, bites, what might be arrow wounds, what are definitely bullet wounds, all sorts of markings covering him from head to toe.

The way he sits - knelt back on his ankles, knees spread wide with his arms crossed - leaves his cock on display. Hard as Johnny might try not to look, it’s right there. He can’t exactly avoid it.

His cock is thick and ruddy, rock hard despite the little stimulation he’s gotten from himself or Johnny. It curves straight up toward his stomach, nearly touching the bear’s belly button. If Johnny had to bet, he’d guess his fingers wouldn’t touch if he grabbed around the shaft. His balls hang low and heavy between his legs, and Johnny can trace a vein on the underside of his shaft even from several feet away.

He has to fight to tear his eyes away from the bear’s lower half. The man’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’s getting that weapon anywhere near any of Johnny’s holes.

The bear’s wearing a small smirk when they lock eyes and Johnny’s cheeks go red at being caught staring.

“No need to be embarrassed, puppy,” he chuckles, shifting to rest more fully on his heels. “You can look all you want. Gonna be inside you real soon, might as well get used to it.”

Johnny scowls at that, pushing himself further into the brick wall. His ears twitch where they’re pointed forward, and he has to make a conscious effort to keep them from pinning flat to his scalp. “In your goddamn dreams. You’re not putting anythin’ inside of me.”

The man’s smirk grows. “That a challenge?”

“It’s fucking true! I’m not letting some hermit in the middle of nowhere fuck me! We’re not goddamn mates, you’re just some freak who found me in the forest after the worst goddamned day of my life, that doesn’t give you any right to-”

“Alright,” the bear sighs heavily, speaking over Johnny’s continued ranting. “Don’t get yourself so worked up.” He leans forward, arms uncrossing and ignoring the way Johnny jerks away.

“What’re you-? Hey!” He shouts when the bear grabs his ankle, tugging firmly so his leg is laid flat, then working to loosen the laces keeping his boots tight. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He tries to kick the bear in the chest with his free foot, but it’s batted away like nothing more than an annoying fly. “Calm down,” the man grunts, finally getting the first boot undone and tossing both it and his thermal socks over his shoulder, then grabbing Johnny’s other foot and working on it. “Need to get you out of all these damn layers. Has it even occurred to you you shouldn’t be out in the snow if you need all this with you?” He looks strangely disapproving as he gets the other boot off.

“No,” Johnny grunts, wriggling like a fish on a line as the man moves up to his jacket. “Because I don’t take advice from fucking kidnappers who live in caves!”

The man grunts as he starts unzipping Johnny’s jacket, ignoring the hands desperately trying to shove him off. “You will now. You’ll listen to your mate when he tells you to do something, won’t you?”

“No!” Johnny bellows, red in the face from anger. The laugh he gets in response only has him shouting again, his struggles hindered as the man yanks his jacket off and temporarily gets his arms stuck. “I’m not gonna listen to shit you say!”

“Oh, you will,” the bear rumbles. It sounds more like a promise than a threat. “You’ll learn that things will go easier for you when you listen.”

“Oh will they?” Johnny snarls sarcastically, baring his teeth when the man tucks his jacket to the side and starts to work on his arctic bib.

“Yes.”

“No! They won’t! Because I’m not fucking staying here! And will you quit trying to get me fucking naked?!”

The bear huffs a laugh, pulling the top half of the bib down so it hangs over his thick pants, leaving just a long-sleeved shirt on his torso. His tail unfurls beneath the shirt, folded uncomfortably beneath his body. “You’ll overheat in all these layers. The den is more than warm enough to keep you comfortable, no need for your silly human clothes.”

“There is a need!” Johnny grouses, finally lifting his foot enough to plant it firmly on the bear’s chest and keep him back, even for just a moment. “It’s my need to keep myself covered from a pervert like you!”

“Pervert, freak, hermit, kidnapper… not very kind names for your mate, pup,” the bear hums, one hand lifting to hold Johnny’s ankle loosely and running his thumb over the top of his foot. “The locals call me Ghost. But you can call me Simon.”

Johnny scowls again, the expression carved deep into his face at this point. “I’ll call you whatever I fuckin’ want.” He runs through his knowledge of local legends mentally, but the name Ghost doesn’t ring a single bell. If he’s actually known at all, it can’t be by much more than one or two tiny towns.

“Sure you will,” the man smiles, leans forward into Johnny’s space and tightens his grip on his ankle. “I’ll call you whatever I want, too - mate, puppy, mutt, bitch, hole, fucktoy…”

Johnny’s sure steam must be coming out of his ears as he pulls his leg back and kicks the bear - Simon - solidly in the chest. It doesn’t even make him flinch, and Johnny only manages to frustrate himself more, ears straight up in his anger. “Oi, fuck you! I’m a fucking person, not just some thing for you to take and keep, you big bastard!”

“Take and keep and fuck,” Simon corrects, the grin on his face sharp and mean. He shoves Johnny’s foot out of the way, crawls forward until he can lean both hands on either side of Johnny’s head and block his view of anything else. “Now, what should I call you, hm?”

“Nothin’,” Johnny growls, ducking his head low to avoid being nose-to-nose with the man. He’s so hot in close proximity like this, it’s almost suffocating. “You should let me go.”

“Let you go?” Ghost purrs, one hand moving from the wall to Johnny’s neck and stroking the tan skin there. “Out in the cold again? Thought you were lost, pup, you want me to send you out there all alone to find your way back to town? Send my puppy wandering out in the snow?”

“You could give me directions to the nearest town,” Johnny counters, not allowing himself to work up any hope that the bear was doing anything more than playing with him. Still, he can’t help but glance up through his lashes to watch his expression. It’s mocking, like he’d expected but naively hoped against. He curses himself for the spark of disappointment in his chest.

“Nearest town’s miles away. I’m not makin’ that trip just to get rid of my pretty new mate.” Ghost ducks his head down, burying his nose in Johnny’s mohawk in between his ears and breathing deeply. “No, I’m gonna keep you right here with me. You’ll be just fine.”

Johnny can’t help but shudder. In this position - bent in half, legs folded up to his chest, big naked behemoth of a man covering him - he feels oddly submissive and vulnerable in a way he usually doesn’t. It’s been a while since he wasn’t one of the top dogs in a pack, and he finds he deeply dislikes being lower on the totem pole. He has to fight the urge to tuck his tail, only really managing to resist the urge because it’s trapped beneath his body.

“You don’t even know me,” he tries to argue, fighting back a flinch when the face against his head moves down to his cheek, hot breath gusting over his face.

“That can come later. Why don’t you start by telling me your name, huh pup?”

He doesn’t want to. Giving Simon his name, obeying his command, feels too much like giving in for his comfort. But the other names he’d used… mutt, bitch, fucktoy… he has to fight back another shudder at the thought of being called any of those words again.

“Johnny,” he finally says, voice hardly more than a whisper in the shadowy cave.

“Johnny,” the bear repeats, voice dropping lower and rumbling through the side of Johnny’s head. “That’s good, puppy. Good boy for listenin’.”

He just barely manages to trap a whine in his throat, eyes squeezing shut for a moment at the praise.

“Now,” Simon continues, finally leaning back and nudging Johnny’s chin up with the hand not against the cave wall. “Let’s get the rest of these clothes off, hm?”

“No,” Johnny grunts when both of Ghost’s hands drop to the laces of his pants and make quick work of loosening them. “I don’t- stop, you can’t-”

His words go ignored and his thick pants are pulled down quickly, left abandoned to Simon’s side as he then starts on pulling the arctic bib the rest of the way.

The only things left to cover him now are the long underwear and shirt, but he already feels naked. Johnny forces himself to start fighting again, trying to push at Ghost’s shoulders and keep him away. His tail wraps tight around his thigh, fur rising in fear.

“No,” Ghost scolds, catching both of Johnny’s hands in his and holding them still. His glare is stern, but not mean like it had been earlier. “Stop struggling, pup. Let your mate do what he wants.”

“No,” Johnny protests, his voice weaker than it was before. “I don’t want you to touch me, just… just let me be, okay? I’ll find my way to town on my own, you don’t even have to give me directions!”

Ghost sighs, shifting both of Johnny’s wrists to one hand and cupping his throat with the other. “Johnny,” he rumbles, thumb stroking over his pounding heartbeat. “How many times do I have to say it? There’s no point in fightin’ me like this. You’re not going anywhere. You’re gonna stay in my den, let me fuck you, and I’ll take good care of you.”

Johnny can’t help but whine a little, unable to break eye contact with Simon. “I don’t want to.”

“I know,” Ghost hums. “But you will. And you’ll see how good it can be when you behave.”

He lifts his hand enough to pat Johnny’s cheek, seemingly done with the conversation. “Now, no more arguin’ and whinin’. We’ll see if a good dicking helps with your attitude at all, hm?”

Johnny’s never felt quite so much like a doll as he does when Simon removes the rest of his clothes. No matter how much he writhes and complains, he’s still stripped naked and left bare beneath the shifter, struggling limbs held out of the way like they’re nothing more than a slight annoyance.

Ghost hums as he sits back again, takes a long look down Johnny’s body. He tries to cover his groin, self-conscious under the bear’s probing stare, but his hands are caught and held to the side of his body by just one massive paw.

“No, no,” Ghost chides, tone light despite how secure his hold is. “I wanna see your pretty body, pup. You got nothin’ to hide from me.”

Johnny whines a little at that, squirming as Simon slowly pushes him down to lay flat against the furs. The bear slides one knee between his legs, nudging them wider and leaving his sensitive core open to the air.

“Oh, look’it you,” he coos like he’s seeing something cute, keeping Johnny’s hands pinned as he leans down and noses at Johnny’s stomach, taking big huffing breaths in and slowly making his way lower. “You’re so soft here, pup.” He praises, running his nose over the meat of Johnny’s cunt.

“S-stop,” Johnny whines, hips shifting against the furs to try and move away. “Don’t- don’t touch me.”

“Hush,” Ghost says, leaving a hot kiss where he’d been nosing and ducking a little lower, tracing Johnny’s folds with his nose and breathing in deep. “Let me get to know your pretty pussy, gonna be spendin’ quite a bit of time with her.”

Johnny whines at that, high and loud, echoing against the stone walls. “Not a- not a her.”

“No?” Ghost laughs a little, spreading Johnny’s legs wider and settling himself between them. “She’s pretty like a girl. Pink like a girl. Nice and clean for me like a girl, not furry or messy at all. Let’s see how she tastes.” He laves his tongue, thick and warm and wet, up Johnny’s center from hole to clit. “Yeah, she’s sweet like a girl, too.”

Johnny whines again at that, eyes squeezed shut and a little teary. He can feel sparks of pleasure low in his belly, sharp and unwanted. “Please,” he tries, incapable of much else when Ghost licks a few times at his clit.

“Hm?” The bear rumbles, the noise vibrating through his sensitive nub and straight to his head. Johnny whimpers again. “Please what, pup? Please lick her again? Y’think she wants that?”

He does just that, mimics his movement exactly and adds to the gathering wetness at Johnny’s hole. As much as he fights it, the action feels good and Johnny goes a little boneless against the furs. He keeps his eyes closed, isn’t quite brave enough to look down at Ghost between his legs. His tail falls limp, resting next to him, but his ears stay pinned to his head in fear.

“Y’like that?” Simon rumbles, his thumb stroking over both of Johnny’s wrists slowly. “She sure does. Gonna focus on keeping her happy for a bit, I’ll come back to you later, alright pup?”

He doesn’t wait for Johnny to answer - he doubts he’d have been able to - and instead dives tongue-first into Johnny’s core. It doesn’t take long for Ghost to warm him up, the rhythmic work of his tongue against Johnny’s little cock enough to have him dripping slick in moments.

He moves a little lower to tongue at Johnny’s hole, thrusts shallowly in and out and scoops any slick he can into his own mouth. Johnny’s reduced to just a moaning thing beneath him, hips writhing as his body and mind war between the urge to get closer and further at the same time. Ghost’s nose rubs right against his clit when he works at Johnny’s hole, and the dual stimulation leaves him slack-jawed and moaning.

Ghost’s free hand creeps from his thigh up to his cunt slowly, so slowly that Johnny hardly realizes it’s moving at all until there’s a finger right at his hole. He can’t help but jolt when the finger presses in, the sudden feeling only heightening his arousal. It’s an unexpected stretch - just one of Simon’s fingers is at least as thick as two of Johnny’s.

“Need somethin’ to clench on,” Ghost mumbles, almost to himself more than to Johnny.

Or, it hits him a moment later, not to Johnny at all. Just to his cunt.

He nearly wails at the realization, the mix of humiliation and the feeling of that finger curling inside of him a cocktail of sensations that has him inching closer and closer to an orgasm.

“There ya go,” Simon soothes, giving his clit languid strokes with his tongue. “We’ll get you off once, then work on stuffin’ you full of me. Attagirl.”

Tears slip down Johnny’s face as another finger slides in, the stretch not quite painful but definitely noticeable. His hips grind down on the intrusion against his own will, the constant flicks against his clit crossing every wire in his brain. His eyes stay closed, the dark a comfort when he feels so untethered.

“Let's find your sweet spot,” Ghost murmurs quietly, his fingers crooking and searching inside of Johnny. The burn of the stretch leaves him mewling, toes curling against the furs. Ghost hums, gives his clit a few sucks to quiet him down a bit, reducing him to just pants.

Then, without warning, Simon’s fingers zero in on Johnny’s g-spot and press.

His back arches automatically, a loud cry tearing from his throat when Ghost only presses harder at his reaction, giving the bundle of nerves heavy rubs and milking Johnny’s pleasure. He wraps his lips around his clit, sucking hard and long.

“There she is,” he rumbles around the nub. His voice vibrates through Johnny, sending him reeling.

“Oh, oh, please- please, please, please, fuck, that’s- oh God-” Johnny babbles, body tense and pleasure ridden as every part of him fights to get away from the overwhelming sensation. Ghost’s fingers don’t let up, the pressure more than Johnny’s ever felt before, and he flicks his tongue over the clit locked between his lips. He’s never felt pleasure like this, has no defenses against the way it ravages his body.

“Fuck- fuck! Simon, please, oh, oh G-God, oh, fuck, fuck…. Please!” Johnny shouts, eyes flying open to stare at the stone ceiling as he’s finally thrown off the precipice he’d been hovering over, pleasure wracking every limb and racing through every nerve. He moans loud enough to echo as his body slowly goes limp against the furs, muscles weak like all of his strength has drained from his cunt.

The pressure against his g-spot slowly eases as Ghost slips his fingers out of him, his lips releasing his clit. The bear sits up and releases his wrists, letting both of his own hands rest against Johnny’s thighs and giving him a few squeezes.

Johnny blinks bleary eyes open, drawn to the bear’s face against his will. The man looks nothing but smug, chin soaked and eyes bright.

“Hey, Johnny,” he breathes, leaning down and moving his hands to rest on either side of Johnny’s head. He hovers right above him, breath ghosting over his face in warm puffs. “That feel good, comin’ for me?”

Johnny makes a little complaining sound, not quite capable of speech yet. His ears flick out to the side, reflecting the weird mix of displeasure and satisfaction he feels.

“Aw,” Ghost clicks his tongue, dips just low enough to press a closed-mouth kiss to Johnny’s lips, unbothered when it’s unreciprocated. “Yeah, I know it did. You taste real sweet, love. Gonna have you for dessert every night.”

Johnny huffs at that, the reference to a future together dragging his brain back down to his body. He doesn’t have a chance to get himself worked up as Ghost keeps pressing kisses to his lips. He shifts a bit every few kisses, decorating his cheeks and chin too. His lips brush nearly every inch of Johnny’s face, leaving him blushing and a little soft.

This- this isn’t so bad. Johnny doesn’t mind the kisses, the warmth and the pleasure. But the idea of Ghost trying to sheath that cock inside of him… just the thought has him whimpering a little, eyebrows furrowing.

“What?” Ghost whispers, lifting himself just enough to meet Johnny’s eyes, bumping their noses together. “What’s got you cryin’ now?”

Johnny inhales deeply, doesn’t feel any better when it shudders into his lungs and whooshes right back out.

“Please,” he tries, voice quiet between the two of them. “Please don’t fuck me.”

Ghost sucks his teeth, his face a horrible mix between smug and condescending. “Aw, puppy,” he shifts his weight, one hand moving to stroke his cheek. He doesn’t do much actual stroking, considering how large his hand is compared to Johnny’s face. “‘Course I’m gonna fuck you. It’s what good mates do, hm? Gotta give you a few cubs.”

Johnny whimpers at that, a little pained sound at the image that conjures.

“No?” Ghost coos, tapping once with his thumb. “You want a litter of pups, then?”

Johnny’s voice cracks on a sob, a horrible hurt sound punching from his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut against the humiliation, turning his head to the side and pressing his face into the furs.

“Aw, pup,” the bear whispers, nose nudging at the cheek available to him. “You’re alright, you’re alright. You’ll like it, promise. I’m not gonna hurt ya, you’ll be taken care of here. Gonna make such a good daddy, I don’t even care if they come out as silly little mutts like you.”

It’s a conscious effort to breathe. His chest hitches on every inhale, and his nose is blocked up from all the crying. His throat burns. He can hardly think.

“Needed a mate for a while now,” Ghost continues, speaking into Johnny’s skin. He alters between kissing and licking, but never leaves more than an inch of space between his lips and Johnny’s head. “Knew it, but there’s no one around any good to raise my cubs. But I think you’ll do well, won’t you?”

“No,” Johnny finally says, voice weak. “No, no, I don’t want… you can’t.”

“You’ll look even prettier,” Ghost continues, heedless of Johnny’s whine. “Round with me and mine, soft and perfect for me. Maybe these will swell up a little.” His hand strays to Johnny’s flat chest, fingers working at his nipple. Little pinches and pulls, a bit of pain that still manages to feel good.

“Stop,” Johnny tries again, tears slipping down his nose again. Every exhale is shaky, a little whimper in his breaths.

“I’ll provide for you, don’t worry.” His fingers massage Johnny’s pec, like he’s trying to coax something out of the nipple. “Take such good care of my mate. Get him whatever he wants, never let him leave…” Ghost’s voice dips so low that it’s near incoherent as he licks broad stripes up the side of Johnny’s face between sentences, words almost slurred. “You’ll be perfect.”

Johnny can’t hold back the sobs anymore, one ripping from his throat against his will and unblocking the dam he’d built in his head. He’s left nearly bawling into the furs, body tense as a bowstring, eyes stinging, ears flat and tail tucked. He can’t even begin to imagine how pathetic he looks.

“Oh, Johnny,” Ghost sighs, a little bit of clarity reentering his voice. “Alright, sweetheart, deep breaths. I think you need a fucking, hm?”

“No-ooo.”

“Hush, you’re alright, A nice cock in your cunt will make you feel better, I promise. Just need to give you what you deserve. On your stomach for me now.”

He’s already halfway there, it doesn’t take much work for Ghost to flip him entirely. He hefts Johnny’s hips up like he’s a doll, settling him so his knees are spread wide but his weight is left on his chest and face, pressed into the furs. He ends up with his face buried in his folded arms, tears dripping down to the floors

“Hips up, puppy, c’mon. Present for me.”

Johnny doesn’t listen but that doesn’t deter Simon from pushing on the small of his back, forcing his hips higher into the air and leaving his holes displayed. Ghost tsks at the way Johnny’s tail is tucked, blocking all of his vulnerable spots.

“No hiding, now,” he chides, tugging his tail out of the way just roughly enough to make him yelp. Simon holds it by the base, keeps him from tucking it again immediately with a firm grip. “There we go, look how pretty,” Ghost hums, stroking his free hand fully down the split of Johnny’s body, spreading his slick. “Nice and soaked for me.”

“Not-” Johnny hiccups, trying to take a deep breath. “Not my fault.”

There’s a laugh behind him, loud in the small alcove and just patronizing enough to make Johnny’s heart sink even further. “No? I think it is, pup. Who else’s fault would it be?”

“You. Can’t-can’t help it when you keep touchin’ me.”

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as Ghost rumbles a low, pleased sound. “Can’t help it? Can’t help that you’re so needy, such a slut for my touch?”

Johnny whines, tail flicking nervously in the air.

“Oh, you’re sweet, pup. Real sweet. Your puppycunt just can’t help getting wet for her mate, yeah? She knows who she belongs to, knows ‘m gonna take real good care of her.”

Johnny bites his lip to hold back the whine, his sharp canine digging into the cut Simon left and reopening it. He focuses on the drops of blood dripping to the furs, tries not to think about what Ghost is saying, but it burrows deep into his head. He can feel his cunt twitching, clenching around nothing.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you suffer much longer - what kinda mate would I be if I left you empty when you’re dripping for it? I’ll take care of you, pup, just relax.”

As much as Johnny hates everything that’s happening, hates everything that’s brought him to this moment, he can’t help but feel the tiniest bit grateful when Ghost slips two fingers into him instead of his cock. He’s still not sure he’ll be able to take it, but if Ghost is going to make him… he’s at least glad for the stretch.

Simon rubs one hand over the curve of his ass while the other scissors two fingers inside of him, his goal to stretch instead of getting Johnny off. It doesn’t make much of a difference for him, he still can’t help but rock his hips against the bear’s hand, unable to resist more of the heady pleasure.

Ghost laughs over his shoulder. “Need it that bad, huh? Be patient, Johnny. Just gotta wait a little longer.”

He whines into his arms, eyes squeezed shut. Even he’s not sure if he’s whining for more or less, but he can’t let himself think about it. He unintentionally sinks into a deeper arch, leaning more weight on his knees and spreading his cunt further, baring himself more for Ghost.

“Good boy. Just relax for me, I’ve got you, pup.”

He slips a third finger in and Johnny tries to breathe through the stretch, just barely managing to keep from moaning. The tang of blood on his tongue is a good distraction, but not enough to keep him from panting like he’s run a marathon. He can’t help it, Ghost’s fingers feel good in a way no one else ever has. He can’t imagine what his cock will feel like, barely managing to hold back a shiver at the thought.

Eventually, Ghost pulls his fingers out of Johnny. There’s an almost obnoxiously loud sucking sound, and a pleased rumble from Ghost as his free hand moves to stroke the base of Johnny’s tail softly, leaving him squirming.

“Taste so good, pup. Can’t believe I got so lucky with you.”

Johnny whimpers, shifting his weight from side to side to try and ease the slight ache in his knees. It doesn’t occur to him until he hears Simon moan that he’s literally waving his holes in front of the man’s face.

“Hungry fuckin’ bitch,” Ghost nearly snarls, voice pitching lower. “Need cock so bad, don’t you? Need your puppycunt filled? Huh?”

He lands a heavy slap on Johnny's backside and he can’t help but cry out at the sudden flare of pain, the sting quickly fading into a burning that travels right to his clit. He whines, lifting his head just enough to glare over his shoulder.

Simon looks nearly as wrecked as Johnny feels - his cheeks are flushed and his chest heaves, panting breaths audible in the otherwise silent cave. He’s got a hunger in his eyes that makes Johnny shiver, makes his tail twitch to tuck between his legs again.

“Nuh-uh,” Ghost scolds, gripping the appendage and yanking with just enough force to make Johnny yelp. He instinctually claws at the furs, lifting himself up to try and pull away from the sharp pain at the base of his spine. “What did I say about hiding, huh? Can’t fuck you if you’re tuckin’ your tail, pup.”

“That’s- that’s why-” Johnny tries to argue, teeth gritted, but he’s cut-off by a series of blows, forcing him further into the furs to try and escape the blooming pain. He makes a humiliating sound somewhere between a snarl of rage and a whine of pain, eyes flying wide open.

“That’s why what?” Ghost growls, landing a smack across the center of his ass, nearly clipping his soaked folds. “That’s why you’re doin’ it? Then why are you moanin’ like a whore, huh? Your hole’s dripping, Johnny, you’re gonna stain my furs and you want me to think you don’t want it?”

Johnny can’t speak, can only make choked, pained sounds as Simon continues his barrage. His hand is so big compared to Johnny, he covers nearly his entire ass on every spank. Johnny wants to roll over, wants to tuck his tail and show his stomach, but he knows that would only make everything worse.

“I’ve been real lenient with you, let you sit there doin’ nothing but bitchin’ and moanin’, but my patience isn’t endless, Johnny.” Simon grips his flaming cheek, digging his nails into the irritated skin and drawing a high whine from the smaller man. “All you have to do is lay still and let me fuck a little into you, and you can’t even do that right?” He scoffs, lands another blow against the meat of Johnny’s ass.

“I’m-” Johnny gasps, burying his face into the furs. “I can’t- fuck, stop!”

“Why should I? You’re still soaked, mutt. Doesn’t seem to matter much to your cunt if I’m wailin’ on you or pettin’ you. This what you need to start being sweet for me? Huh?” He reddens Johnny’s ass on nearly every word, leaving him wiggling in place and trying to crawl away. The hand anchored around the base of his tail is the only thing keeping him within arms reach, and the sharp pain leaves tears leaking down Johnny’s cheeks. “Need me to be mean for you to learn your manners, is that it?”

“No-no!” Johnny manages to get out between whines. He tries to breathe through the pain, but Simon layers his smacks in just the right spot to hit a tender area on every impact, and the effect leaves Johnny wanting to scream.

“Then where are they, huh? I’ve been good to you - stretched you out, ate your little cunt, even got you off. Didn’t get any thanks, did I?”

His palm shifts lower, focusing on the crease where Johnny’s thighs meet his ass. Simon’s fingers clip his folds on nearly every smack, leaving Johnny jolting around to try and get away and yelping at the pain.

It takes him a minute to get what Ghost’s asking for, but once he understands he doesn’t hesitate to give it. He can’t even bring himself to care about the humiliation of it all, only wants the pain to stop.

“Th-thank you!” He nearly shouts, eyes squeezed shut against the pain, ears pressed so tight to his skull that they nearly ache. “I’m sorry, so sorry, I just- fuck, please! Thank-thank you, thank you!”

“There you go,” Ghost rumbles, his hand immediately switching from smacking to rubbing across the whole of Johnny’s backside, shushing his whine. “Was that so hard?”

Johnny keens loudly, shoulders shaking as he tries to hold back his sobs.

“We’ll make a good boy out of you yet. C’mon now, back up on your knees.” Ghost slips a hand between his thighs, pushing Johnny’s stomach up and simultaneously tugging on his tail to urge him back into his position. He goes with minimal struggling, far too raw to fight anymore, left only with the instinct to avoid anything that could get him in more trouble with the bear

“There you go, attaboy,” Ghost praises, finally releasing Johnny’s tail and laying it across his back. “Bein’ good for me now, huh? Thought you mighta had a little more fight in you, Johnny.”

There’s a part of him that growls at that, that snarls and bites and proves that he does have more fight, that he’s not easy prey. But the larger part recognizes a stronger predator when it sees one, and urges Johnny to listen. That’s the voice that wins out, and he whines when Ghost laughs.

“Still wet for me, huh? Such a good mate, Johnny. Gonna give you a reward for learning, alright? Hush, pup, don’t whine. It’ll be good, I promise.”

Johnny sniffles, rubbing his nose into the furs beneath him. He whimpers when he feels something hot press against his hole, knows that it can only be Ghost’s cock.

“Be good,” Ghost says, then slowly begins to force his way inside.

Johnny feels like he’s being broken, like he’s being cleaved down the middle. He moans lowly, more pain than pleasure now as the stretch begins to hurt. He wants to crawl away, wants to dig his claws into fur and stone until he escapes the incessant push of Simon inside of him.

The bear moans loudly behind him, voice echoing through the cave as his head pops fully inside. “Fuck.”

More tears slip down Johnny’s cheeks. The push is endless, a constant pressure against his hole, the cock pushing into parts of him nothing’s ever touched. He throbs with need, his clit almost burning from neglect. He just barely manages to keep himself from reaching down, some last part of him clinging to what little dignity he has left.

“T-tight,” Ghost grunts, hips bucking forward with just enough force to make Johnny shout and push up from the furs at the shock of pain. “Fuck, you’re fine pup, get back down.”

Johnny whines at the command, but obeys when a heavy hand lands between his shoulder blades.

“There you go, good boy. Just… fuck, squeezing me so tight. Just let me fuck you, alright? I’ll get you off too, just gotta… just gotta be patient f’r me.”

Johnny’s hardly able to understand what Simon is saying, most of the words fluttering in one ear and out the other. He’s too focused on the invasion of his body, the internal betrayal as he only grows more wet between the thighs. He can feel himself fluttering around Ghost, both of them moaning every time he clenches down on the thick shaft against his will.

Finally, mercifully, Simon bottoms out. His balls are hard against Johnny’s cock, but they feel perfect when Ghost grinds himself deep, the head of his cock nudging Johnny’s cervix. He yelps at the first hint of pain, jerking in the furs.

“Shh, shh…” Ghost soothes, stroking down Johnny’s spine in long, slow motions. “You’re alright, deep breaths, pup. I know, it’s a lot of cock for a little thing like you isn’t it?”

Johnny whimpers, nodding into the furs.

“Yeah, you’re… fuck, clench like that again, pup, God… you’re so little, huh? Tiny puppycunt hardly big enough for me, that right?”

He pulls his hips back just enough to shove in again, sending Johnny forward a few inches and drawing a high yelp at the sharp spark of pain.

“Shit, how’re you so tight?’ Simon pants, one hand gripping Johnny’s hip hard enough to nearly grind bone. “You clenchin’ down on me cause it hurts? Do I need to hit you some more to keep you tight for me, puppy?”

Johnny shakes his head as best he can, just barely managing to choke out a “N-no!” as Ghost starts to find a slow rhythm, rocking in and out of his body.

He hums, like he doesn’t quite believe Johnny, but he gives him a warm and solid squeeze to the nape of his neck, and he doesn’t hit him again. Johnny tries to breathe a sigh of relief, but he chokes on it as Ghost bottoms out again.

It doesn’t get any easier to bear. Johnny can never fully catch his breath, not if Ghost is pulling out to just the tip and thrusting back in on one fast plunge, and not if he’s just grinding himself right against Johnny’s cervix. It’s like he’s lost control of his lungs like his heart - both erratic, both making him feel like a struggling prey animal, even as he’s limp beneath Simon.

The bear is all but silent, for all of his horrible words before. Johnny would call it a mercy, but the way his fat cock bullies endlessly into his cunt could never be merciful, even in the near-silence. Johnny’s sure Simon doesn’t even know how to be merciful, not with the way he speaks, the way he takes.

Johnny can’t bring himself to be silent, though. He hates it, but the sounds are forced out of him on every thrust. Horrible, cock hungry moans, whorish whines, yipping noises that sound like they’re coming from the wrong form. His face flames, tears streaking down his cheeks, but he can’t hold anything in.

He feels unspooled beneath Ghost. Like the man had taken one look at him, found all his loose strings, and just plucked and pulled until he came completely undone. Johnny would hate him if it didn’t feel so good, but his mind works against him when it’s so overloaded.

With a hand clamped on Johnny’s nape and the other on his hip, Simon fucks him with a vigor that feels impossible - impossible to bear, and impossible to keep up with. His own drool smears against his cheek when it’s pressed into the furs, unable to do anything but take what Ghost gives.

Simon eventually finds a rhythm that allows him to pull nearly completely out and bury himself back to the hilt on every thrust, leaning what has to be most of his body weight against Johnny’s nape to keep himself at the right angle to nudge his cervix again and again.

It hurts - the stretch, the drag of his cock against slick walls, the sharp shocks on every thrust - but the pain only makes it better. Johnny can’t help but moan, humping the air in his best attempt to push Ghost for more.

“So good, puppy,” he moans, pace quickening. The slap-slap-slap of skin is audible, Johnny’s wetness only making everything sound more crass. “So tiny for me, squeezin’ around your mate’s cock so good… gonna make you feel so good, give you a reward for keepin’ yourself tight.”

Johnny’s whine is high, needy, and a distant part of him hates it but the present part is too wrapped up in the promise of feeling good to care.

“My good, tight girl. Didn’t let anyone else fuck you, huh? You a virgin, baby?”

He’s not - far from it, actually - but Ghost doesn’t answer and moans at whatever image he’s conjured in his head.

“Stay… oh fuck, stayed fresh for me? Didn’t let any other men make your cunt loose, did’ya? No, no,” he’s panting, his pace so quick, so hard, that Johnny would almost be convinced he was using a toy if not for his audible exertion. “No, my girl stayed nice and tight for me. She doesn’t have a sloppy cunt, not my mate.”

Johnny sobs at the shift of pronouns, the feminization. He feels something rise in him, a heat that comes from deep inside and feels like it might burn him up entirely. Johnny hopes it does, hopes it consumes him for long enough to forget what’s happening, what’s happened.

“She’s gonna…” he trails off into a snarl, biting roughly at Johnny’s shoulder before pulling back at his shout. “She’s gonna carry my cubs, take such good care of them. Keep my cum warm, then keep my babies warm… so good, gonna be so… fuck, puppy, I can’t… you’re too fucking good, can’t…” he huffs, trailing off into pure animal noises, growls and snarls the vibrate through Johnny’s spine.

Simon shifts a little on his knees, making his cock drive further up into Johnny’s channel and drawing a moan that sounds more like a scream from him. After that, it’s hardly any time at all before he’s coming.

Ghost’s orgasm is loud, something uninhibited and almost proud in the sounds he makes. Johnny can feel the hot cum spurting inside of him, feel it covering his insides. The few final erratic thrusts he gets are just enough for him to reach the peak too, that fire finally coming up to coat every limb, every nerve of his body. His ears fold over, flopping to the front of his head, and his tail falls limp to the side of his body.

He sinks into it eagerly, desperate to drown his brain in everything good to try and block out the bad. It works, and he’s left feeling like nothing but a brainless toy as Ghost shudders through the final vestiges of his own orgasm. Johnny lays boneless, riding the waves of euphoria and milking Simon’s cock slowly, trying to draw every drop of pleasure from the bear he can, trying to keep himself in this moment.

But it has to end, and Ghost’s breathing slowly evens out as he softens inside of Johnny. He can’t tell if it’s his own wetness or Simon’s come dripping from his hole, and he can’t work up the energy to care either.

“That was perfect, Johnny,” Ghost praises, his hand trembling just the slightest bit as he shifts from holding the smaller man down to stroking his spine again. “You were perfect, so good for me. My good boy. My pretty mate.”

Johnny whines, but even he can’t tell what the sound is supposed to mean. Later he’ll insist it was upset, displeasure but it sounds more like appreciation.

“You tired, puppy?”

He nods as best he can, unintentionally rubbing his face into his own spit and blood.

“Alright, you can nap. You’ve earned it, Johnny.”

Ghost tips him to the side with a soft grip on his ribs, keeping himself firmly lodged within Johnny and pulling his back to his chest. They’re left spooning, Simon’s back to then entrance of the cave and both of them pressed so tightly together than Johnny’s not sure they’ll ever be able to pull apart.

“Relax now,” Simon rumbles, one hand wrapping beneath Johnny’s head to let him use as a pillow and the other tucked around his waist, holding him close. He buries his nose in Johnny’s mohawk, and Johnny can feel his ears pressing against the bear’s cheeks. “We’ll figure everything else out later.”

Johnny shifts, wincing at the squeeze to his stomach and the weight still resting inside of him. “Can you…?”

Ghost grunts a low, disapproving sound. “No. Gotta keep you plugged up, make sure it takes.”

If he had any tears left, Johnny might cry again. But he’s drained, emotionally and physically exhausted from all the day’s trauma, and he’s got nothing left to give.

So he sinks into the heat at his back, the solid arms around him. He feels almost shell shocked, staring at the way the shadows dance across the wall with a heavy bear behind him. If it weren’t for the thick cock plugging him up, he’d almost call the scene domestic.

Eventually, the peaceful embrace of sleep welcomes him. He doesn’t try to fight it off, desperate to leave the cave if only in his subconscious mind.

Against his better knowledge, he can’t help but hope when he next opens his eyes he won’t see the cave at all. He knows it’s bad to hope, knows he’s only setting himself up for disappointment, but… Well, if he pretends the heat surrounding him is from his blankets, that the pleasant scent in the air is his den, not the heavy smell of satisfaction, then that’s his business.

#we're pretending hypothermia isn't real because johnny would definitely have it #also sorry if the pic at the end is cringe! i don't care!#ghost x soap #soap x ghost #bo writes #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #john mactavish x simon riley #soap mactavish x ghost riley #ghoap smut #ghostsoap smut #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #ghoap #ghostsoap

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naughtystiel · 2 years ago

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DEANCAS AU FIC REC MASTERPOST

Although I loved all of these fics, the ones with stars next to them are my absolute favourites! Happy reading! ♡

One million fires burning ☆

Dean Winchester teaches three classes a day, tutors after school, and chairs the English Department for Lawrence High School. He does enough.

Unfortunately, his boss doesn't feel the same and informs him that he has a new job: co-coaching the school's trivia team. His co-coach? None other than the school's golden boy, Castiel Milton. Who Dean can't stand, for various reasons, all of which are valid, thank you very much. And the fact that Dean can't stop talking about the stick up Cas's, sorry, Milton's ass?

Completely irrelevant.

Should have just asked ☆

Despite their age gap and differing social circles, Castiel has struck up a warm friendship with Mary Winchester, a wealthy widowed socialite. When Castiel needs a place to stay, Mary invites him into her house, where there’s loads of spare room. Castiel’s aware that they make an odd pair, but he doesn’t fully realize how things look to outsiders, especially to Mary’s eldest son. All Dean Winchester sees is that his mom has apparently hooked up with a hot young guy (who is totally Dean’s type) and that makes things… weird.

Living in agony ☆

Dean Winchester's life is... well, it's not great. He's a gym teacher, he's in his thirties, and he can't seem to keep any part of his life straight. When the aftermath of a one-night stand goes awry, Dean is dragged kicking and screaming out of his cozy little closet and into the harsh light of reality.

Enter: Castiel Novak, the new history teacher, who knows full well that life gets crappy when you don't allow yourself to live it in the way it needs to be lived.

The last great race

There is a race that takes place every year in Alaska called the Iditarod, a thousand mile journey across the Alaskan wilderness by dog sled team that has come to be known as "The Last Great Race on Earth”. It is a test of endurance, of the relationship between dogs and their people, traversing mountain ranges, frozen rivers, forest and tundra.

When writer Castiel Milton is forced to spend two and a half months in Alaska at Winchester Kennels to cover the race preparations and the Iditarod itself, the only person more dismayed than he is Dean Winchester, one of his hosts. Castiel views his assignment as a punishment and is less than impressed by his surly host, and Dean distrusts the sheltered city-born writer who has invaded their home and their lives. But soon, as the Winchesters prepare for their race and Castiel learns about sled dogs and what a musher’s lifestyle is all about, they forget to hate each other and their relationship evolves into something neither of them expected.

Starstruck ☆

From the outside Castiel Novak looks like a regular guy: a good job, two teenage kids, a nice house and a crappy car he’s way too attached to.

But there’s one thing no one knows about him: that, over twenty years ago, he used to live next to none other than Dean Winchester – back then a brash and loud-mouthed boy and nowadays a huge movie star and Hollywood’s sweetheart.

Castiel never bothered to tell anyone about his childhood friend because frankly, who would believe him? Probably even Dean himself already forgot about his former awkward and weird neighbor, so Castiel seriously doesn’t see any point in mentioning the whole thing ever.

But then an interview on national TV happens where Dean reveals way more about his past than ever before … and Castiel - as well as the rest of the world - suddenly realizes that he left a much bigger impact on Dean’s life than he originally thought.

Russian to the altar ☆

“I need you to marry Castiel.”

They weren’t the words Dean expected to hear from his business partner’s mouth before their bakery-slash-chocolate shop opened for the day. He’d been quite happy being single—and who the fuck was Castiel, anyway?

It turned out that Castiel was a Russian erotic novelist in need of a ticket to America, and Dean… well, Dean was a last resort.

I wanna get outside (of me) ☆

Dean is a novice in the dom/sub world asked by his employer as a desperate last resort to be a sub for his recluse of a brother, Castiel. Castiel is a diagnosed OCD suffering from PTSD and agoraphobia, mysophobia, and dystychiphobia. Needless to say—he’s a mess who hasn’t stepped out of his home in literally seven years. The only times Gabriel can see traces of the way his brother used to be is when he feels in control—specifically when he has control over a sub. However, due to his idiosyncrasies and paranoia, keeping a sub around has been impossible. Enter Dean, who’s not a very traditional submissive, to try his hand at subbing for the hermit.

Painted angels ☆

Author Castiel Novak has finally hit the big time, with a book based on his failed college relationship with a brilliant painter. He's put all his pain behind him, but at a book signing, he comes face to face with Dean Winchester for the first time in twelve years, and the reunion doesn't go like Cas hoped. Dean's a broken man, with a lot of scars and secrets, shoulders weighed down by his demons and self loathing.

Cas sees a second chance with the man he's never stopped loving, but Dean's moved on, and is about to get married. Sam launches a "brilliant" plan to reunite his brother and his best friend, but Cas is worried it will all blow up in their faces, and he'll go through the agony of losing Dean a second time.

Texas state of mind

Dean Winchester was once an award winning country music star, but fame came too early. Now, he’s fifteen years sober and owns a ranch in western Texas. He’s happy with his life. He has horses, a nice herd of cattle and so what, if he’s alone. He tells his friends that he’s happily single. Back when he was touring, men and women threw themselves at him – but he knew they only wanted him for his fame.

Cas Novak just won his fifth CMA award. He loves singing, but the touring was getting old. Living in a bus nine months out of the year was slowly destroying his creativity. He hasn’t written anything new in over a year. Then he hears an old song on the radio. He vaguely remembers the handsome singer and wondered whatever happened to him. Before he knew it, he'd written a new song. The only problem was…it was a duet. A duet that could only be sung with a voice like Winchester’s.

After locating the man’s ranch, Cas makes a surprise visit. Will he be able to talk Dean into joining him on stage after all these years? Will the two men find what they’ve been looking for all their lives – someone to share a future with?

If angels were men

Castiel Novak was raised by a hunting father, but he left that life behind for college and a flower shop. When his father is killed by a demon, Cas jumps back in the game and finds himself constantly running in the presence of the Winchester brothers, who are searching for their own father. They seem to be everywhere he turns, and at some point they become friends, then a team, then, maybe, in the case of Dean Winchester, something more.

Vagabonds ☆

Dean is a sheriff in a tiny town in Colorado, restless and unsatisfied with his life. It's not like what he's read about in the dime novels since he was little, capturing dangerous outlaws and being the last word of the law. More like tossing the town drunk in a cell to sober up when they get a little too rowdy.

But Dean's chance comes when a thief rolls through their town. He pursues the thief, which puts him right into the path of Emmanuel, a notorious outlaw. When he is captured by the outlaw and his gang to be held for ransom, Dean starts off on a journey he could have never envisioned, and learns that perhaps there's more to Emmanuel than meets the eye.

Four letter word for intercourse ☆

As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties.

What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right?

(It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.)

Any little heartbreak ☆

Dean Winchester knows everything there is to know about the human heart.

Well.

Anatomically speaking.

Get some

Very slowly, Dean turns. 'How'd you know I was here about a room?'

'Power of deduction,' says Castiel, leaning against the doorway. 'I mean, you're not after pot, and I'm pretty sure we haven't slept together.' He grins wolfishly, gaze sliding over Dean's body. 'You, I'd remember.'

Dean's been hit on by guys before, but never so blatantly, let alone by a semi-naked dude in a kimono. A hot blush warms his cheeks, and he covers his shock with cockiness, tilting his head and grinning. 'Sorry to disappoint you, Cas, but I don't swing that way.'

Castiel throws back his head and laughs. 'And you want to live here? What, did your friends put you up to this?'

'Actually, yeah.' Dean raises an eyebrow. 'Is that a problem for you?'

What i need

A joking phrase commonly heard between a surgeon and his tech is "Give me what I need, not what I ask for." Dr. Novak and his tech Dean will soon learn the impact this phrase has on life outside the operating room.

Mad at your dad? ☆

Dean wasn’t sure why he was even scrolling through Craigslist. Especially not the casual encounters section. It was four days before Thanksgiving. Not like he was gonna try and hook up with someone before that shitstorm. After, sure, but not before.

He kept scrolling, though, not clicking anything until a title caught his eye.

Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your dad? I am a 28 year old male felon who has no degree, but has studied enough theologies of the world, behavioral psychology, and philosophy to set your whole family’s teeth on edge—no matter which way they lean, politically, religiously or in terms of neuroses. I drive a van the same age as me that’s got a mural on the side of an angel holding an orgy. I can play between the ages of 20-30 depending on whether I shave. I live off an inheritance, and sell weed on the side. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship (monogamous or polyamorous, whichever sounds most like it would freak out su familia) with you (and/or others), to torment your family, I’m game...

(dis)affection ☆

When Dean and Castiel are tricked to go on a date, neither is happy about this. To get back at their deceitful friends, they hatch the perfect plan: pretend to be dating, and gross out their friends with their over-the-top, disgustingly cute romantic relationship – and then break up in the most despicable manner imaginable. As it turns out, you can learn a lot from someone just by pretending affection.

Ninety one whiskey ☆

In the spring of 1944, the 104th Medical Battalion of the United States Army is disbanded, and its men reassigned to various infantry companies in preparation for their invasion of occupied France. For First Lieutenant Novak, this is less than helpful, as he has so far met his platoon’s designated medic a grand total of twice, and has both times found Sergeant Winchester to be the optimum combination of reckless, arrogant, and downright insufferable so as to make cohesive platoon function near impossible. When the time comes to move out, however, Castiel has to reconcile himself to the fact that men are going to go down and trust that Dean Winchester may well be the only person who can put them back together again. WW2 ETO infantry AU.

The breath of all things

Dean Winchester was twenty-six years old when a car accident killed his father and left him paralysed from the waist down. A year and a half later, Dean is in a wheelchair and lives in a care home in Kansas, where he spends his days waiting to die. It's only when Castiel Novak starts volunteering at the care home that Dean starts to wonder if a changed life always equals a ruined one.

If you'd have been the one

A boy sits on the front steps, his dark hair a wild mess. A gingerbread boy, Dean thinks. Dressed in pressed slacks and a sweater-vest to match his father’s. He looks about Dean’s age; maybe they’ll be in the same class. That wouldn’t be too bad, unless he’s mean. He could be mean; a lot of kids are mean to him, so he has to be mean back.

He hopes this one is nice.

...

In the year 1986, at seven years old, Dean Winchester meets Castiel Novak.

Eleven years go by, then eight, then three.

Somewhere along the way, things start to change.

Spirit of the west ☆

Dean grew up on a horse farm and can't imagine any other life. There are drawbacks to working for his father, but they're worth it if it means remaining with his beloved horses. Besides, between his broken arm and his lack of prospects, he hasn't got much else.

Something of an outsider, Dean always feels like there's something he's missing. But this tense summer brings back a figure from his past: years ago, a teenaged Cas worked for a season at the Winchester ranch. His return could change everything.

If you ever wanted a 90s horse girl book, but starring a young Dean Winchester, this is your fic.

Guns and wings

Dean Winchester is the sheriff in the small town of Sioux Falls, along with his deputy (and brother) Sam. Life there is calm and normal, easy to manage with the occasional problems. That is until the Garrison gang sends an assassin to kill one of their beloved citizens. Dean is ready to hang the man for his crimes, when the outlaw gives him a deal he can't pass up. The whole Garrison gang. Dean and the criminal, Castiel, set off to find the gang; enemies working towards a common goal. Dean is determined to hate Castiel, but the longer they journey together and the more he finds out about the outlaw the harder it becomes to deny the feelings he begins to have for the man. But he's the sheriff and he has a job to do, he can't fall in love with a criminal... Right?

Life was a willow

When Dean’s favorite author becomes a regular at his bar, Dean knows he’s done for. He never could have anticipated the intense feelings that blossomed for the talented Castiel. There’s just one thing standing in his way of being with Castiel the way he truly wants: Castiel is waiting for his soulmate.

Dean has spent his entire life hating the concept of soulmates. He just wants to live his life without the universe intervening. If the only way he can keep Castiel in his life is by swallowing his feelings, then that’s what he’ll do.

300cc ☆

300 Complementary Characters: a forum on Kansas City University’s student website. You can write whatever you want, but it has to be 300 characters or less.

Dean is crushing hard on Sam’s TA, but it feels different than it has before; it feels like he needs to do it properly, to have a grand declaration and to prove that romance isn’t dead. What better way to profess his feelings than posting a poem on 300cc?

Castiel is torn. There’s no mistaking the poem is for him, but who could be posting them? Despite being very tempted by the very attractive new light and sound engineer that will be working on the play he has written, Castiel can’t ignore the feeling that he and the anonymous Poet are meant to be together.

A comedy of errors, mutual pining, and erotic poetry.

Satin and sawdust ☆

When Castiel moves out of Jimmy's house and into his own place for the first time, he saves money on buying a home by investing in a Fixer-Upper. He knows nothing about how to fix the many problems the house has, but he figures he's smart enough to figure it out. Unfortunately it's not too long before he learns that he's way in over his head.

Thankfully his new neighbor Dean is a handyman, and agrees to help him out. He knows Dean has a bit of a crush on him, but he's not taking advantage of it, really. Dean's a great guy, and quickly becomes a good friend.

But a flash of satin under Dean's toolbelt changes everything.

Stay with me, sweetheart ☆

“Alright Cas, here comes the hard part. We’re gonna get you out of here, but we’ve gotta take the roof off and while we do that, we’re gonna have to cover you with a sheet to protect you from the glass. I’ll be right here though. I’m not going anywhere.”

As he starts to drift away, he suddenly feels the press of Dean’s forehead against his own through the rough fabric and hears that warm, sunlit voice murmer quietly in his ear, too low to be overheard by the firefighters currently working to remove the SUV’s roof, “Stay with me, Sweetheart.”

A single moment's distraction ends with a serious car accident that leaves Castiel trapped in his vehicle. Fortunately for him, fire fighter Dean Winchester is there, never leaving Castiel's side as the rest of his company work to free him from the mangled remains of his SUV.

When the two meet again in the ICU, Castiel finds himself just as drawn to and comforted by the handsome fireman as he was during his accident. Dean is certainly attractive, but single father Castiel doesn't have time or space in his life for a romantic relationship.

Then again, there's no harm in making a new friend, is there?

And this, your living kiss

Only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet Jack Allen is just Kansas mechanic Dean Winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. Not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen.

Until, that is, a string of coincidences leads Dean to auditing a poetry course with one Dr. Castiel Novak. The professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia's foremost expert on the poetry of Jack Allen.

Sometimes you'll find that i'm out of my mind ☆

Castiel returns from the Empty, and Dean worries obsessively. Dean also sleeps on the floor in Cas' room, which he admits is weird, but at least he's sleeping.

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