lover of the fictional characters

21 gimme time to figure it out

[llliissyyy]

Imagine Simon waiting for the day blind!reader will again walk into his small, nearly unfurnished apartment.

He goes to the door everytime Someone walks down the hallway.

Never walks reader down the hall, till one evening.

Blind!reader gets off the elevator with their guide dog. Its a golden retriever which leads reader right in front of Simons door.

Reader knocks at the wooden door.

Simon already stood behind the door so he Opens it.

"Hey, Sweetheart. I think you´ve got the wrong door." he tries to be smug but his heart is beating up his throat and his words sound a little funny around the edges.

Blind!Reader turns a bright pink and their mouth falls open while their eyes widen in horror.

"I`m so sorry" readers head turns down in the direction of their guide dog who Loos innocently back at Simon (probably hoping for pets).

"He´s never been with me to my friend so he has no idea where we are supposed to go.", the blush deepens and reader tries to get the Goldie to move.

The dog on the other Hand is way to occupied with watching Simon like he is his von lost father.

[rawme-price]

People narrow their eyes the first time ghost talks about his "sweet girl"

Ghost is...well. a loner. He's socially awkward at best and aggressive at worst. Ghost kills people without flinching, looms in every corner He's in. No way he has a 'sweet girl' at home.

And yet, that's exactly what he tells the team our night at the bar. Mouth half-stuffed with greasy chips, he grunts "my sweet girl could do this better. Lovely cook."

After he broke the news about her, it was all he'd talk about.

Ghost, the guy who turns people into a fine red mists then laughs about it is the same guy that smiles "my sweet girl wants to see the movies tonight, you know how it is, cap." Or proudly shows off the lunch he's brought from home with a "i made it myself. My sweet lovie is teaching me 'ow to cook."

Always on and on about his sweet girl, about his lovie, the best thing in his life. Like a lovesick puppy.

"Oh!! Hi, simon! Glad to see you back in one piece!" You smile at your neighbor when he enters the elevator. Almost instinctively you hand over your heaviest grocery bags.

Simon, your neighbor, smiles around the scars and presses the button for you. You've been living next to him for a few months now, and embarrassingly you keep finding excuses to spend time with him. Though, you doubt he would ever reciprocate your little crush.

"Glad to see you too, sweet girl." He grins.

Maybe one day he'll confess his feelings.

[rawme-price]

You nearly chirp in indignation when ghost says it, "what the fuck do you mean i have to dye my wings?!"

"Oi mean jus' that." Ghost crosses his arms, stares you down like he already knows you'll submit "can't have...those things shouting our location to the enemy, can we?"

Those things being your wings.

Bright reds, blues, yellows. As a parrot hybrid your wings have always meant so much to you. Now, after years of service with no problem, your new lieutenant tells you to dye them? You shift your wings, widen them for a moment "I've used wing covers just fine, sir."

And you have. Almost every winged hybrid you know of uses wing covers. But ghost scoffs, nods to your wings "we need you flying. Can't very well do that with covers, can you?"

"...fine." you chirp, wings hitching up in irritation. You understand it but...it's still hard to get past. "How is it done?"

Ghost makes a face under the mask, the bridge of his nose scrunching.

"...I'll have to dye them for you."

Ghost. The lieutenant who's been on your mind since you joined the team. The man you've been denying your crush on despite your instincts pointing out what I nice mate he would be.

That ghost, is essentially asking to touch you in such an intimate way only partners touch.

"...okay." you relent. Surely you'll be able to keep your cool that long.

[rawme-price]

Ghost doesn't want kids, of that he is sure.

He knows the kind of person he is, the blood that's on his hands, and he doesn't want to make a child experience that. Some deep part of him is terrified he'll be just like his father. He grimaces at the thought of even being around kids long enough to become a role model.

That is, until he holds your baby for the first time.

She's a feisty little thing, the spitting image of her father, kyle. He had wanted to invite simon over for weeks now, show off the little miracle you made. The footie match on the telly goes completely ignored when kyle hands her to ghost, smiling "watch out, she likes to move."

"She's...small." ghost whispers, frozen in place as he cradles the baby. Wide eyes blink up at him, little arms waving as if trying to acclimate to his hold. Ghost looks between you and baby, brows pinched in worry "is she supposed to be this small? Is– is she okay?"

"Yes, she's supposed to be small, simon." Gaz answers for you, already pulling out his phone while you lean forward to adjust ghosts hands.

He's so big, baby could easily be held in two palms. She stares up at him for a moment longer, then squeals in delight and kicks her feat happily.

You watch in real time as ghost melts, leaning back into the sofa and holding the doughy little baby to his chest. His eyes crinkle into a smile, and you suddenly understand why gaz was so insistent about this.

"You're a natural, simon. She'll love you." Kyle rests a hand on ghosts shoulder. There's more behind the gesture than you can understand.

Later, while you and kyle take some much needed alone time cooking together in the kitchen, ghost will still be sat with baby on the couch. Whispering stories to her that only earn sleepy babbles.

You can't wait to watch her grow up with the two of them by your side.

[rawme-price]

The thing about ghost is he hardly eats food he likes, so when he does he eats all of it.

"Does....does he always do this?" You ask gaz, your boyfriend, while staring in awe at simon. You vaguely knew stuff about him, kyle has been talking about simon for weeks, after all.

You just...didn't realize exactly how much he loved food from what gaz had told you.

"Babe....he's gonna choke..." you frown at Kyle's delighted expression, glancing back to watch ghost scarf down the steak you had cooked. Fucker ate it in three bites.

"You should see him eat ratpacks." Kyle jokes, though he's smiling so hard his cheeks dimple. It's cute how excited he is to have a friend over.

"Yeah, i—!" You freeze when you look back at ghost fucking licking the plate clean.

Both hands holding the ceramic up to his face, running his tongue along the inner divet, chasing after that delicious sauce from the steak and the little grains of rice. You gape at him, face heating in embarrassment because no one's ever done that for your mediocre cooking.

When ghost emerges, he looks completely unashamed before fixing his eyes on kyles plate.

"Oh– kyle i think–" you try, only for ghost to practically vault the table to make a grab for gazs plate.

Somehow, watching both of them fight over a plate of food you could easily make more of just feels...right. like home, maybe?

Until gaz nearly knocks over one of your plants and suddenly you're dragging them both back to the table by the ears.

[llliissyyy]

Simon taking in stray animals everytime he is on leave and finding them a perfect forever home.

At the moment he is fostering a white kitten that screams at him in the early hours of the day to get its food.

The little kitten being so loud that even his cute neighbour has heard it.

So now reader comes over every other day with sweet treats for the small kitten and also some for Simon.

Simon especially likes the sweet treat between readers legs.

[adelineriley999]

simon missed your anniversary, again.

black smoke seeped through the oven and the machine beeped dramatically. You rushed over to switch it off, coughing as the smoke weaved through your lungs.

The chicken was ruined, making you stare at it for a minute.

Completely burnt.

You almost laughed, as the smoke still curled lazily toward the ceiling.

Almost.

Because after everything that had gone wrong tonight, the blackened chicken felt less like a disaster and more like an insult.

The candles had melted hours ago. The flowers were beginning to droop. The fancy dress you'd put on at six o'clock had been exchanged for sweatpants sometime around nine.

And Simon still wasn't home.

No text, no call, nothing. As if he had totally forgotten about you.

You checked your phone again, 11:47 PM. " where are you simon..." you mumbled to yourself.

An unsettling ache settled in your chest and.....disappointment. Not because he late, not because he'd missed dinner but because the day meant something to you.

And now it was over.

You sank into one of the dining room chairs, staring at the untouched plates sitting across the room. Waiting, just like the plates were.

A lump formed in your throat. You grabbed a napkin and scribbled a note.

Three words.

Maybe next year.

You left it beside his plate and went to bed, still clutching your phone in one hand. just in case.

Simon got home at 3:16 in the morning. His shoulders slumped with something more than tiredness. his stomach sank the moment he entered the apartment.

The mission had gone sideways. Communication had gone down. His phone had died. All of them excuses.

Because none of them changed the fact that he'd missed it, again.

Simon made his way to kitchen but stopped right in his tracks. he stared at the set dining table, the candles which were now reduced pools of wax, the faint smell of something burnt and a note.

"Christ", he whispered to himself. Something twisted painfully in his chest as he picked up the note.

Read it once.

Then again.

Maybe next year.

The disappointment hurt worse than he could imagine. He let you down, and he hated himself for that.

Simon lowered himself into the chair opposite the empty one. The chair that should've been his. The chair you'd probably stared at all evening.

Waiting.

The realization made him feel sick as his eyes drifted toward the kitchen. The burnt food, the dishes, the effort. Every little detail you'd spent hours preparing.

For him. And he'd never shown up.

A sharp ache settled behind his ribs, the familiar kind. Guilt.

You blinked awake as bedroom door creaked. For a moment you thought you'd imagined the sound. Then you saw simon standing awkwardly in the doorway, still wearing his gear and looking exhausted and guilty.

Relief hit first, at least he was home. Then the anger followed, as heat crept up against the back of your neck. You turned away, trying to hide the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes and pulled the blanket higher.

"I'm sorry.", Simon whispered, sounding truly sincere. And you hated that cause it made staying angry so much more harder.

"Phone died."

"Mission got extended."

"I tried.", he said finally ,voice breaking slightly.

Your throat tightened. "Do you know how many times I checked my phone tonight?", you accused him, on the brink of breaking down.

Simon didn't answer. Probably because he knew the answer didn't matter.

Eventually you sat up and the sight of him nearly stole the rest of your anger.

He looked exhausted, bruised and worn down. my poor baby. But that wasn't fair cause you were allowed to hurt too.

"I waited." ,you whispered as your voice cracked.

"I kept thinking you'd call."

"I kept making excuses for you.", you sighed.

"I know.", simon whispered.

You finally broke down, damn tears. "I just wanted one night.", you sobbed looking absolutely heart broken. Cause you were.

Simon looked like you'd hit him ,his throat bobbing up and down. Then he approached you, slowly.

Then Simon reached into one of his pockets and pulled something out with his shaky hands.

It was a small, battered envelope.

"What is that?", you sniffled, wiping your tears.

His eyes stayed fixed on it.

"The card.", he whispered.

"What card?"

"The anniversary card."

You frowned as you looked at the tattered piece of folded paper.

Simon gave a weak laugh. "I've been carrying it around for two weeks....just didn't have it in me love. I'm not as strong you think i am."

Your chest tightened as he handed it over.

The envelope was bent, creased and worn from being shoved into gear and pockets. Inside was a handwritten message, three pages long.

His arms came around to hold you in the tightest embrace ever. As if he was afraid his mistake would cost him you.

You stared at the letter and then back at him.

"You wrote three pages?", you looked at him with teary eyes.

His ears turned slightly red, "It's not the point."

A laugh escaped through your tears. Oh how you loved him.

The corner of Simon's mouth twitched at the tiny success. Then he reached over and brushed away a tear, his thumb lingered.

"I know I missed dinner.", The humour disappeared.

"And I know I ruined tonight."

"But if I get another chance, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

You stared because that sounded suspiciously close to a promise and Simon Riley didn't make promises lightly.

Eventually you leaned forward and rested your forehead against his shoulder.

"i love you", he whispered as he tilted your face up and kissed away your tears.

"always"

And he spent the whole night proving it.

[slutmango]

a feral mutt of a man.

mdni. 18+. fem reader. i did not proof read this lol im dyslexic but im freee

konig kept nuzzling you, as his thick tongue slobbered all over your needy cunt in the most depraved way possible. his long nose, crooked from being broken one too many times, rubbed your clit back and forth as he made out with your cunt, sucking in your slick, and leaving just his spit in its place. the only thing that he wanted to inhale, seemingly, was just the musk of your pussy — the need for oxygen an afterthought. it was impossible not to clench your pussy, the stimulation, and the visuals of this powerful, behemoth of a man, brought to his knees by the taste, look and smell of your cunt. he was so...pathetic, and so, so needy for your cunt that it made you ache and throb in a way that was almost painful.

you tried to back away from his addicted mouth, after each time that you came, and each time that you did, konig just grumbled like the feral fucking mutt that he was, and pulled you and your pussy in even closer, and he commenced this torture anew.

before long, your eyes rolled backwards into your skull, your brain and body overloaded and exhausted from the pleasure. you wondered, as your vision began to darken at the edges, if he was a monster with a tongue that was incapable of cramping.

[amaranthinespirit]

gymbro!simon riley being an awkward perv

he doesn't know you. yet. he just knows that you're new to the gym, based on the fact he's never seen you around. simon would've remembered a girl in tight biker shorts and skimpy sports bras, taut workout jackets, and the occasional oversized hoodie. adorned with a cute matching water bottle to whatever you wore that day and headphones.

he's never seen someone so polished for...the gym. a place meant for getting dirty and sweaty after a good workout, but he doesn't mind. not at all.

especially when you're doing leg and glute day. bending over for stretches, squatting with a full rack of weight—or whatever your body can carry. the grimace on your features with a heavy hip thrust. it rushes all his blood down south.

it's barely been a week since you'd joined this gym, and he's already enthralled—and a downright dog.

but he wasn't used to talking—just staring someone down until they noticed, which he did a lot. when he approached you, he didn't know what to say, and you felt the looming presence over your shoulder. well, there he was, staring you down.

lifting off your headphones, you spared him a sweet look, "you need something?" he just pointed to the machine you were using. "oh! i'm almost done, you—"

he threw you a thumbs up and turned away as quickly as possible, leaving you dumbfounded. instead of continuing the exercise he interrupted to approach you, he sat back on the machine and watched you finish your set. adjusting his heavy erection that wasn't hidden by his gym shorts. you felt his eyes but didn't dare look his way.

just as you finished and were about to clean off the seat, he appeared at your side and stopped you. simon was filthy, seeing the sweat marks left on the seat made his cock throb. "'s fine." he grunted, sitting his heavy body right down. your perfume still lingered when he did.

it wasn't even part of his strict workout routine. he was working legs that day, you were doing arms. he didn't care.

numerous other times stuck out. moments you caught him turning his head over his shoulder to stare at your ass when he walked by, picking machines right behind where you squatted, hijacking your machines after a heavy workout, or picking a treadmill right beside yours when all the others were empty.

until he finally worked up the courage to ask to spot you. he knew you didn't need it, but god, it was the only way to get close to you, to touch you.

he was surprised you even agreed, but you saw what he did. perving on you any time you went to the gym at the same time—which was often because he learned your gym schedule.

he was helped you squat, hands unnecessarily on your hips, chest way too close to your back. every so often, a certain squat slotted his hard cock against your ass, and he didn't hide the grunt. adjusted himself shamelessly while he did so.

it's not like you reprimanded him, but you also didn't feed into it—though, by default, not saying no to him was a greenlight in his eyes.

just ignore the way his breathing picks up and a choked groan escapes him. he definitely didn't just finish in his shorts.

[forksocket]

🦇 | vamp!simon x reader fem!reader, suggestive.

pretty you, having just moved in for college. but of course, with the country's economic state declining by the minute, you couldn't exactly pay for it yourself—what better solution than a roommate? logically, you'd want another woman, maybe one who kept clean and didn't cause much of a bother.

it was just that not many women wanted to room in such a shitty side of the city. so you gave in and found a male roommate. he said he was military—you went with it because he was big enough that it made some sort of sense.

he barely speaks to you. he leaves for weeks at a time on 'missions' and comes back, stained in blood, while wearing a mask that looks an awful lot like some cartoonish thing he bought at a halloween store so he could pretend he was.. well, military. you weren't even sure if that kind of thing was allowed in the military.

(—might you have brought home a serial killer? oh well. he pays his bills.)

he's also pale—unnervingly pale. but you chalk it up to the fact that he rarely goes out during the day, only training and going for runs in the night. he says it's because he's a night owl.

with years of claimed military history under his belt, it was easy for you to just believe him, when he asked you not to ask any questions.

in an effort to get to know the man that you lived with, you offered him a nice steak dinner. repeatedly. he had dodged your efforts the first few times, but today you'd finally gotten the chance.

(wide eyed and pretty, sweet and delicious; how could he say no to such saccharine prey like you?)

he'd been watching you slice carrots when you'd nicked yourself. there's not that much blood, really. it's a small cut, but you hadn't been paying attention. hissing, you grab your finger with your palm and squeeze—it smears a small amount of blood over your skin, and has simon's pupils dilating.

(he'd only been eating criminals off the street. he'd never had a pretty thing like you at the mercy of his fangs.)

you're reaching for the band-aids in a cupboard when he comes up behind you, hands on your waist and takes them from where you're struggling to reach. at the same time, he practically folds you over the counter.

"fuckin'... teasing me like that," he hisses, pupils dilated fully, the usual colour in his eyes overridden by pitch black. his breath curls against your ear in a warm puff that smells like smoke and desperation. his body is cold, and he nuzzles into your neck, molding himself against your back. suspiciously, you note his thick bulge, pressed against the cleft of your ass, throbbing with every one of his ragged inhales.

(...like an overgrown mutt.)

── .✦ masterlist .

[forksocket]

🐻 | bear!simon x bunny!reader

neighbour!simon, fem!reader, explicit.

simon was not the type to enjoy moving house. as much as he were used to moving away for long times from long deployments, simon hated it. he hated how moving required picking up what life he'd established, even if it were small. he didn't understand how people could pack their lives up and ship across the country just like that. and plus, being deployed was different. a home was somewhere he could stay in peace, away from the gunfire.

but even he, too, needed a move here and there. wasn't really a must, but he wanted to downsize—he needed something a little smaller than what he had. it's not like he spent all his time there anyways—he was usually on base, and taking care of a bigger apartment was asking too much.

so he packed up, moved a few blocks away, holed up in a little apartment building. the day he moved in, carrying just a few boxes (he didn't have much to begin with), he couldn't help but notice the person right beside his door.

cute. you were wide-eyed and cute. stared at him across the hallway before sheepishly asking him if he minded moving out of your way so you could get to your apartment. lo and behold, you opened the door beside his and slipped in.

simon didn't give it much thought, to be honest. didn't really care how cute you were. he wasn't the type to want anyone, let alone a sweet little bunny. he doubted you could defend yourself if you joined a fistfight with a gun—he needed someone who could protect themselves while he was gone on long deployments.

but you thought differently. walked past his apartment extra times a day, hoping you'd catch him on the way out so you could get a better look at his biceps, or the scar on his cheek, dragging down to his lip. the bear was handsome as hell.

you lengthened your grocery lists, made sure the bags were a tiny bit too heavy, just in case you might see him in the parking lot and ask him for help.

you knocked on his door in the afternoon, shyly looking up at him with those big doe eyes, biting your lip and asking him, "um, sir, do you mind helping? my sink is leaking... and i just don't want to... bother anyone else."

simon had been pissed, the first time he had met you. he always heard some kind of excited prattling from through the thin walls, as you excitedly rambled to a friend. you just talked, and talked, and talked—simon's ears were going to fall off, subject to your loud conversations through the walls.

so maybe, if it shut you up, he'd entertain your silly little requests.

so here he was, under your sink, on his back, his shirt under his head as he'd taken it off.

(you'd increased the AC in your room, hoping he'd take his shirt off. sneaky little thing.)

you sat on the counter, uncaring about what he was saying about your sink. he kept talking and talking about the mechanics of it so you could fix it for yourself next time, but you were hooked on the slight rasp of his voice and the way his abs flexed as he tightened your pipes.

then simon was done, and you grabbed his arm as he sat up. you didn't want him to leave, not so soon."sir? can i pay you? um... don't have much money on me to give you, but i could give you something else."

and fuck him, you were so needy. felt your hand on his arm tighten every time he moved as if to leave. simon knew he was falling straight into a trap, and if he was being honest, he's not sure he minded. he sighs, the crease between his brows deepening. "'yer alright, luv. ain't gonna ask y'for anythin'."

you pouted. like a sad, kicked bunny. pouted at him with wide eyes and flattened ears, tail twitching unhappily. "please? stay a bit, let me... um. i can make you something to eat. cookies? i make really good cookies."

simon was really good at dodging negotiation tactics. really good at surviving the harshest forms of torture. but he hadn't been trained to dodge the torture suddenly straining in his pants as he took you in, pretty pink frills on your skirt, your thighs which dissapeared under the fabric. so he stayed, sat there whilst you busied about the kitchen, whipping together some cookies.

when they were done, you presented them to him, real giddy, jumping on your heels. "here, try one."

before he could reach for one, you sat yourself in his lap, right on top of him, offering the cookie to his lips. simon grunts, his hand instinctively moving to grip your hip. "watch y'rself, luv. don' wanna start somethin' you ain't gonna finish."

shame, that you were so confident, really. maybe then you wouldn't have ended up grinding on his lap like a bitch in heat. maybe then he wouldn't have bent you right over the counter, pushing your pretty skirt up to leer at the sopping wet patch of underwear over your cunt. "mh, she's real pretty, eh, luv?"

you were so confident up until you came on his fingers. simon didn't even give you a second to think, his fingers pressing deeper, squishing against your gummy walls. "c'mere, darlin', jus' wanna have some more."

you were losing your mind, hands gripping against the table, cheek mushed to the wood, your ears barely registered the thumping of the chair's legs every time he forced his fingers back into you. then it stops, and before you can whine, the sound of his fly unzipping reaches your ears.

in one smooth stroke of his cock, the rest of your confidence dissipated. the stretch burned, like he was splitting you in half, god, he was too fucking big. "s-sir, sir, it's too big..."

"hush, take it. y'asked for this, bun," he grunts, practically folding you over, his hips forcing against yours, his hand on your jaw. his thumb rubs over the corner of your mouth, swiping up the drool that slips from your mouth.

poor thing. you shouldn't have poked the bear, but you just couldn't help it, could you? craved the way his cock filled you up so good. he was going to ruin you for everyone else.

"ah, m'gonna fill you right up," he grunts out into your ear, heavy breaths puffing against your skin.

"ah, fuck... yes, please. please, sir, want you..." you're cut off by a desperate moan as he thrusts into you heavily, his bodyweight pressing against you. the chain around his neck, dog tags, press into the skin on your back, branding against your skin, leaving a little red mark, pressing his name into you.

when he comes inside you, he huffs, rubbing your clit gently as he pulls out, softening cock resting against your thigh. "good fuckin' girl."

(you may just have to poke the bear a little bit more.)

── .✦ masterlist .

[forksocket]

݁ Ი𐑼⋆ | more bunny!reader but this time wolf!simon first meetings, first fuckings... oh. (suggestive.) expect pack141 in the future.

simon's had a soft spot for the wicked and wild, and the thrill of such things leads him to wolf hunting. it's a gruesome hobby, but he likes it —he never takes more than he needs, anyways.

he usually heads out to more rural spots—rolling farmlands nestled between wooded areas—it's quite helpful to the farmers there anyways, considering they've been warding the big predators away from their livestock for years.

on his way through the brush, nearest to the farmlands, is when he meets you. a scruffy little bunny, staring at him with a pitiful expression, having gotten yourself tangled in an old wire fence.

(and a big wolf like him? oh... he'd never seen sweeter prey practically offered to him.)

your pitiful whine brings him to his senses; you're hurt and needy and hungry, and unfortunately, simon is, occasionally, a good man. it takes a good minute of sawing with a hunting knife before he's able to get you free.

the second he's got you free, you try to kick off. but before your little cotton tail disappears, simon is gripping you, his hands around your waist as he knocks you back into the grass. "not so fast, sweet'eart. gotta get'cha nice n'proper, eh? bet y'don't even have a place t'stay. it's okay, bun. i'll keep y'warm."

you stare, wide-eyed into the face of the man who had saved you; big wolfish ears twitching in cocky victory. but he's right. you'd only gotten stuck in the wire because you'd been running from a crop theft gone wrong, and simon had found you, saved you, and was now offering you a place to stay.

you offer a meek nod.

(stupid bunny.)

the walk back is mostly silent, his arm hoisting you up on his hip like a toddler who'd just thrown a big tantrum. his thumb rubs in comforting circles across your thigh, pressing against you every time you squirm in silent warning.

simon's cabin is warm with the crackling fireplace, and more homey than you'd expect of a wolf. he sits you on his couch, fixing the small cuts the wire had made with gauze and antiseptic.

and he'll let you stay the night, of course—he's a gentleman when he wants to be, right? he'll even let you stay in his room, on his bed, curled around his pillow. it's fine, he'll take the couch.

what he doesn't expect is waking up the next morning to mewling and whining. when he moves to investigate—what clothes he had offered you thrown aside, in favour of the blushing heat crawling up your spine and neck. your thighs were clamped tight around his pillow, and your nose buried into it like you could absorb his scent if you inhaled enough of it.

(fuck. what'll he do with you?)

── .✦ masterlist .

[rawme-price]

Dog trainer!reader who specializes in poorly trained or reactive dogs, helping kyle out with his Belgian malinois who seems hell-bent on chasing and biting anything that moves. You're firm with the dog, steady and unwavering in your command so it knows it can't get away with anything.

You walk kyle through your process, help him build confidence in working with her. He's an amazing owner, just falls into the trap of babying his girl too much, no shame there.

You offer to work with the German shepherd you see around his house too, the one that lays on the porch to watch you work, tail wagging the whole time. You're a bit confused when kyle laughs and says "oh, he's a special kind, love. He'd be too happy to learn from you."

All the while German shepherd shifter!ghost is watching you give commands like a hawk, fantasizing about what sort of commands you'd give him. Christ, was it a good idea to stay over at gazs during leave.

[rawme-price]

Recently been thinking about cat hybrid!reader who's usually so affectionate with the team...

"Scenting us. Important thing for hybrids." Price had explained when soap first grumbles about how often you touched them.

Marking them as territory, as family, really. They don't understand how important it is for you, but none of them complain when you wake up sometimes and simply need to rub your cheek into their necks. Tail twitching softly, ears shifting in content. You do your best work when you can scent them frequently.

Of course, after so many months working together in close proximity, no one really argues with your cuddly nature. Gaz runs warm, your ideal heating pad for those cold meeting rooms, spending your time in his lap with your tail curled around hid ankle. Ghost, the best sniper of the team by far, never moves when you decide to nap on him. Price's office has the best sunspot, and he keeps the area open with some blankets purchased just for you. Soap doesn't mind PDA when you crawl on top of him in front of others, he loves feeling your deep purrs in his chest.

All of that is to say, you're constantly with at least one of them, basking in physical affection.

So it's strange when no one sees you all morning.

Usually you're trailing after one of your teammates before going about your morning scenting. Today...you're just...gone.

Price assumes you've finally made other friends, assures the team it's nothing. But by time lunch has rolled around and still no one's seen you? A search is started, each of them keeping the others updated.

With each passing moment the list of places you aren't keeps growing. You aren't in the barracks, your room, anyone's rooms. You aren't in the gym, pool, supply closets. You aren't on the roof or in the kitchen.

It's near dark when ghost finds you.

Tucked under various tools in the groundskeepes shed. You're sweaty, clammy. Sluggish. You squint up at ghost, lethargic, and let out a weak hiss. You look....horrible.

"Found 'em." He mutters into his comms. Ghost kneels down to press the back if his hand to your face, frowning deeply "the runts sick. Bad shape."

Which is how you end up back in your room, smothered under blankets with at least one of the guys at your sides at all times. Making sure you don't make a sixth escape attempt.

For once, they initiate the contact. After all, you are their territory as much as they are yours.

[rawme-price]

No thoughts just price scrolling through various porn accounts when he notices someone who looks too familiar.

Maybe there's something to be said about his ability to identify you solely by your hands, the subtle and unique marks on them. Your hands wrapped around a silicone toy.

You. His fucking secretary. Advertising a new video on your private page, criminally undercharged if you ask him. Price glances at his locked office door, then back to the page on his phone. It's dark out, no one on base besides him and a handful of others who won't cross paths.

...he shouldn't.

It's irresponsible, immoral, and bound to get him in trouble when not if laswell finds out. But then you show off the squirting mechanism of the dildo and fuck it, price is too old to worry about consequences.

He pays for the full access, tells himself he's just supporting you when he scrolls to your latest video.

"Fuck! Mmhhh– ah!" Your moans fill the room, rough and ragged as you bounce on the toy. It's too easy to imagine his own cock sliding into you, making you gasp and groan on top of him.

You always use the same shampoo, a subtle scent he imagines now. The feeling of your palms against his chest, weight rocking him into the mattress.

Price cums embarrassingly fast, far sooner than he expected. He watches the rest of the video, of course, absently groping himself in the afterglow.

The sight of you popping off the toy and spilling an obscene amount if fake-cum has price clubbing up all over again. Christ, what he wouldn't do to be the one to fill you up. To touch you, to have you like that.

Had price been more aware, a little less drunk on the thought of you, he would have noticed the black shirt you wear is the same exact one that disappeared from his gym bag two weeks ago.

[rawme-price]

Thinking about dog shifter!ghost who is big even by shifter standards.

The kind of big that makes people nervous to be around him. Some instincts in their mind triggered at the sheer size of him. The few times ghost has felt calm or happy enough to shift around others, they freeze up and shift away from him. No one truly trusts him.

No one, it seems, but you.

"Wait, you're a shifter? I had no idea!" You ask him one night when he mentions having to shift on the field. leaning towards him excitedly only to remember yourself and blush "ah. I mean. You don't owe it to me, I'm just curious–"

"I'm scary," ghost interrupts you, eyes half-lidded in that calm way he gets after eating your meals "didn't want to shock you."

"....please? Please ghost, I promise I won't scare." You beg, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

Thing is, ghost...wants to shift. He wants to sink into that simple headspace, wants to be soft and safe with you. He trusts you more than he should.

So ghost sinks further into the couch, breathes deeply, and shifts.

He's bracing for the anxiety, for the fear, for the forced play of calmness. He isn't prepared for your gasp of awe and hands suddenly petting his face "oh! Look at you!! You're nearly as big as Titus, aren't you, simon?"

Turns out, you grew up with big dogs and all ghost does is remind you of home.

"Awww you're not scary at all!" You coo, scratching behind his ears and giggling in delight when his tail begins to rapidly thump against the couch "just a big boy! Yes! Yesss so cute!!

Is it technically socially unacceptable to baby-talk and shifters in their animal form? Yes. Will ghost stop you? Absolutely not. He's too busy climbing all over your and happily snuffling your neck and face and hands and—

He really likes being shifted. Had no idea he needed it so bad.

That night, you fall asleep with a giant dog on top of you, happily rumbling with your fingers in his fur. It's the first night in months ghost hasn't had nightmares.

[rawme-price]

No thoughts just people scoffing when they first see you, an omega, walking around with the all alpha 141.

Shorter than the others, muscle hidden under a healthy layer of fat that some mistake for softness. People whisper amongst themselves about there being no way you're cut-out for the 141.

"Why should I listen to you?" Your fellow sergeants in other groups sneer, their scents sour and too-strong "you aren't really a soldier. How many times have you bent over for your captain? What, you take a knot and they let you dress up like one of us?"

The threat of paperwork and being transferred out is the only thing that keeps you from spilling blood most days. You keep your chin up and ignore it all, they aren't worth your effort.

They don't see what you're capable of, but your teammates do.

You regularly take ghost down on the mats. He may be bigger as a natural-born alpha, but people forget omegas pack on muscle when given the opportunity. The first time it happened, you swear you could feel the happy pheromones in your lungs from how the team rumbled in delight.

You are a brutal, violent, strong omega.

You earned your place in the pack the same as everyone else, and now you complete it.

You aren't above scruffing soap or gaz when needed, or pulling ghost in to scent him when he's getting antsy. Their den finally has a nest to support, one that you swear price practically lives in to avoid people trying to sign him up for meetings.

So no, you don't react to the comments people throw at you. It's nothing you haven't heard before.

...that doesn't stop your packmates from doing something, however. A fact others learned after gaz sen two lieutenants to the hospital....allegedly, of course. Price had the papers handled before the blood had even dried.