hii, I was wondering if you'd be okay with continuations of some of your posts, with credits of course. Would you be fine with that? I LOVE your pup reader series and it's lowkey inspiring me to get back into writing but i want to know if you allowed people to reference your writings.
tw:// yapper alert (jokes jokes jokes)
idc honestly. I have no real interest in COD anymore tbh, so I'm probably not going to touch these works again. (maybe idk)
take as much inspo from my fics and ideas as you'd like— just don't copy my shit word for word, and don't pump it into ai.
I have been considering posting all of my drafts. I figure there might be even just one person who'd enjoy them. I also feel sad at the thought of letting them die.
other than that, have fun. I really enjoyed my time in the cod fandom, even though I was quite isolated. it's a very fun space with some amazingly talented writers.
guys I need to share this or I might go insane but LISTENLISTENLISTEN
loser dorky reader who's tired of being the only virgin in their friend-group decides to start volunteering at a firestation x the entirety of the 141 who are gonna show this 20-something yr old why puppies don't play with wolves
everything just came crashing down for you, all at once.
a new environment, new routine, new people and hybrids. britain isn't as sunny and back home. the culture is very different.
you're used to your pride. a big pack of hybrids— both lions and others —that make things feel easy. when there's 30 odd hybrids who are all bonded together, you never feel alone. there's always someone to cuddle with in the rec room, always someone to sit and eat with, or train with, or even just talk to.
here, there's no one.
you tried to be optimistic, truly. the pride you were in started as a group of hybrids who met each other when they were assigned to their first taskforce. despite the anxiety you felt about leaving the pride, part of you hoped you'd be able to form your own.
but it's clear now that johnny never really wanted that. you grew up with a lot of hybrids, you know that every species communicates differently. you never expected him to chuff back at you whenever you brought him a snack during his long shifts overseeing training. you also never expected him to reject you so harshly.
the days feel so much slower now. there's no small moments of joy, where laughter crackles the air like electricity and you get to forget all the stress for a few minutes. everything feels so much bigger. the short walk to the gym feels like a marathon. the weight moves slower, the time you spend running on the treadmill makes you almost wonder if the clock is counting backwards.
the mess is the worst, though. your instincts hate the fact that you eat alone most of the time. Price is always busy with his duties— Ghost usually in toe, and whilst on base Kyle and Johnny have been assigned to help train the new batch of recruits.
it leaves little old you all alone at mealtimes. for a week or so, you pushed through it. ignored how hard your heart was pounding in your chest as you waited in line, tried your best to listen when the cook staff spoke to you. eventually it just became too much. most of the time you ended up with a plate full of food you couldn't eat, anyways.
eating in your dorm means your diet now consists of jerky. it's a far cry from the meat you're used to. sometimes you watch videos of mukbangs to attempt to convince yourself it's better than it is. on night where you're especially hungry you can even faintly imagine the rich flavourful taste of roasted meat— the satisfaction of sinking your teeth into tender meat, tasting the juices pooling beneath your tongue as you bite through crackle to reach the fat beneath it.
it's a lot easier to forget about everything when you're tucked away in your den. the darkness settles a thick, fuzzy blanket over everything. racing thoughts slow to a thick simmer, the feeling of being watched long forgotten. but it also leaves you disillusioned. you don't realise just how bad it is.
johnny does, though. even if he hates to admit it. your presence used to fill a room; bathe each corner in golden light that left the people within it feeling fuzzy. he's only caught glimpses of you over the past few weeks, each time noticing a new thing to be concerned about.
he tried his best to be respectful. you're an adult, after all. you don't need to be babied by the likes of him. but the concern never lessens, instead spreading like an infection to the others in 141.
"you seem em' round recently?" kyle asks. he's doing that thing again. testing. he doesn't have to say a name for johnny to know exactly who he's referencing.
johnny doesn't answer for a moment, pretending as if he's truly interested in watching the rookies run laps. "haven't noticed." he eventually replies, giving the pretty brit a quick side eye.
kyle's perceptive, he always has been. it's more than obvious to everyone that johnny has indeed noticed. a little part of him has relaxed upon your arrival. kyle found it a little cute. johnny's ears had perked up, his nose used to twitch as if scenting the air for you. one glance to the top of johnny's head revealed that he'd firmly reverted back to suppressing those instincts again.
kyle hums, "well, maybe someone should check on the kid, make sure they're still alive." he leaves the conversation at that, knowing better than to push johnny.
the words mull around in johnny's mind for the rest of the day. he had thought— hoped —that it was all in his head. it doesn't take an idiot to link your new reclusiveness to johnny. he's never had to introspect like this; realise that he's hurting you the same as others hurt him.
he spends the rest of his afternoon on google, flicking through article after article, jumping between websites, attempting to figure out how to fix this. the more he reads about prides, the more johnny realises how bad he fucked up. but he's always been determined, if not stubborn. he will fix this.
It's a slow process.
he catches you on your daily sulk walk back to the barracks. "nae, with me, corporal." it's all the warning you get before johnny's reaching out and tugging you behind him.
the mess is unequipped for the both of you, but at least you're sitting through it together. the stomach ache from processed foods and vegetables that your bodies can't digest doesn't bother you that bad when you know johnny feels it too.
eating together turns to johnny commanding you to join him and Kyle when they're training the recruits. mentoring, he calls it. in reality it's an olive branch. you were feeling lonely? well now you're spending half your day supervising clumsy recruits as they show off and act stupid
it only takes a few weeks and a few more beers for you to pipe up. johnny's distracted, people watching as a drunk group of friends stumble down the street. he wouldn't have heard you if you weren't sat right next to him.
"you were so fucking mean to me," you babble, the cool glass of your beer grounding your hazy thoughts, "treatin' me like that, and for weeks. I thought you hated me." your drunken word vomit quietens, "what changed?"
the question makes him pause. such bluntness isnt foreign to him— he spends half his free time with ghost —but coming from you it is.
he pauses to think before replying. there's a certain shame that eats at him. the true answer is ugly. he acted like such an asshole because he's an insecure, anxious dickhead who never healed from the wounds carved into his skin.
he can't exactly tell you that. the words turn thick and gummy in his mouth. instead, he clears his throat. "realised I cannae be treatin' my pride like tha'," he takes a sip of his beer, cerulean eyes locking with yours.
elaboration of this idea. unedited. reader is referred to as 'it' and 'dog'.
to say John is impressed would be an understatement.
he watches, eyes dark and half lidded, dragging over your perfect posture. smoke curls in the air, coiling from the thick cigar he's just cut. without a word he looks at Laswell, the woman resting in an armchair across from him.
"It's well behaved," the slightest hint of a laugh tips her words, "even despite Elizabeth's over-indulgence." she can't hide the affection in her voice, the same warmth that creeps out whenever Kate mentions her wife.
Price hums half-heartedly. "Elizabeth's always been sweet. probably good for a pet like that one." he gestures, the smoke dipping in the air as he does.
Kate's eyes follow Prices, lingering on your knelt form. you're in your designated spot— kneeling to the side of her chair, eyes locked on her, wrists tied with a pretty pink ribbon. less about constriction, more a decoration lovingly tied by Elizabeth, chosen to match the outfit she chose for you today.
Kate runs a palm across your head, gently smoothing your hair. "like what?" she asks.
obviously, she knows soap. a mutt too big for his own good. always a little too eager, eyes always just slightly too intense, teeth a bit too sharp. he carries an energy that seems chaotic, if not feral, compared to you.
John smirks. "obedient. controlled." he paused to suck a deep breath of smoke, "my mutt would be humping my boot and moaning like a whore by now." he exhales, watching as your nose crinkles, yet you stay completely still, "yours? the thing hasn't moved an inch since you made it sit. didn't know dogs could be so well behaved."
there's no hiding the small smile on Laswells face. oh, she knows. she's trained you for months to make you as perfect as you are. good dogs aren't born, after all. took near daily punishments for the first few weeks. after that, though? well, Elizabeth couldn't help but coddle something that was trying so hard to be good for her owners.
a long silence draws between the two, only broken when Laswell speaks. "well, maybe we should introduce the two. I'm sure your boys—" Kyle, Simon, "—would enjoy an easy dog for once. and who knows, maybe soap will pick up on some good habits?" the undertone in her voice betrays her.
too bad dogs aren't allowed to speak. there's no way for you to protest against the idea.
141 who treat soap— not johnny —like a mutt. he's a feral thing that will do anything for a bit of praise and a rough hand around his cock vs Kate's carefully trained pet who she's spent months honing into the perfect attack dog, who inconveniently fucking hates soap.
hello. friendly reminder to go into settings -> visibility, scroll all the way down and disable third party sharing so your posts don't get fed into an AI slop machine by tumblr
I feel like that even when I send anonymous asks. Like omg they responded to my anon they must really have liked what I said!! We’re best friends now even tho I’m hidden in the shadows. A bit parasocial, really.
LITERALLY!!!! I feel like on Tumblr esp it's so easy to form parasocial relationships. it's so bad, I have to remind myself that the people who leave comments/send asks/put tags in a reblog don't want to immediately become BFFs and swap flower crowns.
there's also a lot to be said about parasocial relationships and how they effect peoples privacy and safety. the last thing I'd ever ever want to do is make someone uncomfortable. I've always just stayed in a little corner and observed people on here because I don't want to freak anyone out 💀
Hello, I’m new to your blog- as in I just found you from Rommys blog. I can’t wait to go down the rabbit hole of reading your fics but I did have a question. Are you going to write another part of lion hybrid reader and spotted hyena soap? I know you just posted it, but I was just wondering!
No pressure to respond to this obviously have a good day! (P.s. im also dyslexic so seeing a dyslexic writer post stuff gives me courage for when I eventually post my work)
hi!!
welcome!! it's so cool to see a bunch of people who have found me from rommy— I've been reading his work for ages now 😭. I hope you enjoy my old fics, cringe and typos and all.
anyways, YES! I will be doing another part(s) to the lion reader x hyena Johnny. I am also just quite a busy person with chronic ADHD, so I don't really have any idea when the next part will come. my brain does what it does.
however, I do have other ideas that I'm working on. I've got quite a few back up in my drafts, so I'll be polishing those off and posting them whilst I wait for more inspiration about hyena Johnny. I'm not gonna force myself to write something if I don't have any ideas.
also, you should totally post! being dyslexic does make it a little harder, but between spellcheck, the Hemingway editor, and using the open dyslexic font it becomes much more accessible. in a time where AI is producing more and more content, human work is more valuable and appreciated than ever— spelling/grammatical errors included.
inspired by @rawme-price and his hybrids ideas!! they're all so scrumptious you absolutely have to check out his blog rn.
spotted hyena Johnny who's gone through life being constantly ostracised. he's learnt to suppress every instinct he has. he hasn't cackled since he was young enough to be oblivious to the stares people give him. it's an ugly mess. repression sits sticky and thick in his stomach, tar churning inside him as he spends his every waking moment masking.
it got a little better when he joined the 141. sure, the others arent hybrids, but they've still provided johnny with somewhat of a pack. he gets to spend evenings laying on Simon's chest as the big man runs a hand through Johnny's hair, or playfighting with Kyle, or sleeping under prices weight within his den. he may not cackle, or growl, or yip, but at least now johnny has a pack.
and then... you join the taskforce. an up and comer. a fucking lion hybrid. the people who shrink away from johnny are more than happy to lavish you with praise. johnny is seen as creepy, scary, and weird. you're seen as majestic. sandy ears and fluffy hair, sharp eyes underlined with white markings that make people shiver.
except, you don't act the way johnny assumes you would. every other large predator— every other lion —hasnt hesitated to make it aggressively clear they don't want anything to do with johnny. but not you.
you bump your shoulder with his whenever you pass, chuff when he sits at the same table as you in the mess. you even fucking fell asleep on his shoulder during exfil. it's weird.
he doesn't get it. doesn't get you. didnt realise how much he adored your attention until one day you just... stopped.
Hhhhgg werewolf!141 who use you as a way to piss off the others during petty arguments.
Gaz is pissed that Soap used the last of his expensive body wash? He won't confront soap about it, instead pulling you into a closet so he can jerk off into the crotch of your underwear. "Hold still. I'm not fuckin' you so stop whining." His cum and scent pressed up against you all day, so that when soap finally tries to relax and huff you like he normally does, all of it is covered by Kyle's thick musk.
Ghost is upset that Price ate all the good granola bars? He's making sure to fuck you over the captain's desk again and again. Let the mixture of cum from both of you stain prices floor and seat. "C'mon, you can do more than that. We need to really mark this place, remember?" So Price can't focus on his work without inhaling lungfuls of the scent of sex. Even when it's faded for a normal human, Price will be smelling it for weeks.
Hey. Have you ever seen those videos of dogs correcting puppies they interact with? Yeahhhh.
Johnny's usually okay with letting you play. You're a puppy, after all. Biting, growling, and trying to pin him down are all a part of your instincts. He knows what it's like to have too much energy (his ma will testify that he couldn't sit still for years), but today it's a little... Much.
Another growl. The sharp pinch of teeth digging into his shoulder. The only answer to your attempt to play is his hand clapping your ass. A gentle warning, really. Johnny's tired— spent all day working out with the other lads —he doesn't have the energy to entertain your little urge for world domination.
Warmth quickly replaces the harsh sting of Johnny's handprint. The thin fabric of your pj shorts does nothing to soften the blow. If you were less elevated, you might take Johnny's warning for what it is. But not tonight.
Your teeth itch, the excitement building in your chest like a ward of spiking electricity. It sends tingles down your arms, giving you a sense of energy and boldness you don't usually possess.
Your teeth sink in, again, this time biting his neck. Salt dances across your tongue, the bristles of his trimmed beard scouring your tongue as you lick over the red skin. The scent of his sweat fills your nose, pulling a little whimper from your throat.
It happens quickly— one moment you're straddling his waist, leaning over him to tease, the next your back hits the couch. A firm hand presses down on your hip, its warm weight keeping you pinned.
Johnny growls. It's not the one he makes when playfighting. It's the kind of growl that drains the colour from your face and makes your spine straighten.
Sharp canines sink into your neck. Tears burn your eyes, turning your vision blurry as you attempt to squirm. Pain blooms from the bite, tingling down your chest until it settles into a needy ache between your thighs.
Johnny's frigid nerves soothe in the wake of your submission. His cock throbs, chubbing half-mast beneath his sweats. Johnny moans low in his throat, eyes fluttering. He didn't realise how tense he was.
Your whimper is echoed by him as his hot tongue laps the indents that mar your neck. One of his hands pins your hip, the other pushing down his waistband to free his cock.
His hips roll against your tummy— a slow, hard, torturous rhythm that turns your silly puppy brain to mush. Your senses are overwhelmed. Johnny's scent, touch, and warmth are all-consuming.
Warmth smears across your stomach as Johnny's cock drools. It marks you, leaving a glistening trail of his hold over you.
You stare up at him, dazed, slick with spit and pre-cum, helpless as Johnny rocks into the softness of your tummy. "S'okay, bon. You dinnae know better, aye?”
He can't help himself— not when you look so pathetic. He bites again, harder than before. He wants you to remember this. To know that pushing him leads to you being pinned like a bitch, used, and left drooling.
His moans turn to whimpers, muffled against your skin. The pleasure buzzes at the tips of his fingers, white lines shooting up to his core. He doesn't particularly care that he's being animalistic, nor that he's getting his precious pup all messy, not when he can see the desperation starting to swirl in your eyes.
He cums as tears sting your eyes, revelling in how pathetic you look, "Arch, fuck—" warmth splatters across your torso, his hand working the length to milk as much as possible, "ther-there ye'go, jus' needed a reminder, aye?"
Panting, Johnny tugs your shirt back down. His cum spots the fabric, damp spots clinging to your skin. "Shhh— you're fine." He ignores the tears drawing hot trails down your cheeks. Your hips weakly grind up, even as Johnny lies on top of you. "Behave, an' I'll let ye rut on my thigh later. Won't even tease ye."
Sending non anonymous asks always makes me feel like a delusional groupie that thinks the lead singer of the band will see them and instantly fall in love
