lieutenant!simon stays with sergeant!reader because his flat has mold and seeing you off-duty knocks him sideways
Simon’s flat had mold. Or something like that.
To be honest, you’d stopped listening halfway through his explanation - something about damp walls, black spores and a useless landlord. You were too busy thinking about finally getting off base, out of uniform, and into your own shower.
Then you heard yourself say, “Yeah, that’s fine, you can stay at mine for a bit.”
And by the time you realized what you’d agreed to, it was too bloody late to take it back.
What were you going to say? Actually, Lieutenant, I was only half-listening and you staying with me might be weird. Not a chance. Not to Simon Riley.
You’d always had a soft spot for him - hidden somewhere between respect and whatever the hell sat in your chest every time he said your name and not your callsign. He was terrifying and magnetic in equal measure.
It was going to be fine, you told yourself.
And for the most part, it was.
Simon took the guest room next to yours. You’d shared safehouses before, dirtier ones with far less privacy. This was nothing new. He was quiet, neat, didn’t leave a trace. The only sign he was there was the deep rumble of his voice when he said “Mornin’” or the faint sound of the kettle at dawn.
You forgot he was there, sometimes.
But Simon—
Simon never forgot you.
Seeing you at work was one thing. Tactical vest, boots, voice sharp enough to cut through radio static. But here, in your own space, in soft clothes and bare feet—he didn’t know where to look. Couldn’t decide which version was real.
The first night, he padded down the hall with a glass of water, heading for bed. You’d said goodnight hours ago, voice muffled through the door. “Don’t stay up too late, Lieutenant.”
He’d just grunted something like “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Now, passing your door, he noticed it cracked open. He wasn’t nosy, never had been, but something made him pause. The faint hum of white noise drifted out.
Then he saw you.
Tucked under a massive down comforter, some stuffed thing clutched to your chest. An eye mask. A bloody nightlight. And—Christ—was that drool on your pillow?
Simon froze, glass in hand.
He’d seen you covered in blood and dust, screaming orders through chaos, patching someone’s wound without blinking. And now you were this…soft and quiet and safe.
It did something to him.
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, exhaling slow. The same hands that had held a rifle for hours now clutched a glass too tight, the muscles in his forearm jumping. You looked so far from the Sergeant he knew - unguarded, slack with sleep, your face half-hidden by the pillow.
The sound of your steady breathing filled the hall. It shouldn’t have mattered. But something in his chest pulled tight anyway. A reminder of everything he’d probably never have.
He stayed too long. Then he shut the door the rest of the way.
All throughout college, he insisted you stay tucked safely away in his extravagant mansion off campus—curled up in your soft pink dolly room, where everything was warm, pretty, and just the way you liked it.
He said the world outside was full of filthy looks and wandering eyes, and he’d much rather have you somewhere gentle and safe.
Your father knew you were a pretty thing and that you would attract sinful beings who would only want one thing from you.
At least that’s what he thought.
Despite all his stupid “protection,” it still didn’t stop you from slipping out of your bedroom in the dead of night.
The house was quiet, the halls dark, and you crept along in a flimsy little babydoll gown that barely covered a thing.
Your soft bunny slippers padded quietly against the floor with every careful step as you made your way outside—straight toward his work shed.
There, your stoic boyfriend ryo would be waiting for you to appear, standing in the quiet with a measuring tape snapping impatiently between his thick fingers, as strands of his soft baby-pink hair plastered themselves to his forehead, damp with heat, framing his vermillion eyes in a way that made your chest tighten.
The sharp click echoed in the stillness while he shifted his weight, jaw tight, the denim of his jeans pulled taut as he waited for you to finally show up.
Who would’ve thought you and ryomen fucking sukuna would be a thing.
You two were a total secret—like romeo and juliet, but with less tragedy and more sneaking around campus. Your sweet, sweet father had absolutely no idea you were seeing each other, and honestly, neither did anyone else.
You’d slip texts back and forth in class, pass each other in the hallways with quick smirks, and somehow manage to hide it from literally everyone. It was thrilling, ridiculous, and maybe a little dangerous—but that was exactly what made it fun.
But you both would rather keep it that way. In fact, the concept of such a huge terrifying brute fucking a little dolly raw behind closed walls was so damn thrilling.
So here you are.
Spread flat on your back like an offering on top of his leather jacket to protect your flesh from your father’s rough crafting table. Your legs hooked around his wide shoulders as he bullys his thick shaft through your already sensitive walls.
The ancient thing creaked and cracked beneath you, the legs scraping loudly against the floor with friction. Smooth spring breeze kisses your exposed slit, cooling the slick between you both that was once warm.
Fucking you like this was like winning the lottery for him.
It was the way your huge doe eyes got all glossy and wet as your opal pendant bounced warm on your tits like a trampoline. Your plushy bunny slippers brush his hot cheek with each mind fucking pump he delivers to your drooling cunt.
“Couldn’t even focus on the fucking lecture without you staring at me the whole goddamn time.” He gruffs back a moan, rough fingers pawing at the fat of your waist as you squirm beneath him.
The little hoop piercings curved delicately, catching the moon’s glow and the heat radiating from him.
Each tiny circle seemed to move with his thrusts flickering with the promise of mischief, reflecting his presence in a way that made your eyes linger and your thoughts drift.
Under the pale night sky, they winked at you, playful and teasing, like they held secrets only you were meant to see.
“You tryna give us away? Trying to hint at Satoru’s fuckass next to me that we’re together, when you damn well he’ll go ratting us out?”
All you can do is shake your as your brain processes barely an inch of what he muttered. Your gooey walls clench around his bulbous tip like a vice, finally extracting a little whimper from his lips.
“Liar.”
He leans down further, beefy biceps caging around your head as he ruts into your saccharine warmth like a lion trying to breed his lioness. “Gotta fuck some sense in to you or what?”
“K-kuna!! s’too big!” you mewl quickly swallowed with a strangled moan ripping through your throat.
“Oh?” His head tilts in amusement despite the slight narrowing in his eyes.
“You can fucking take it. Been playing eye tag with my crotch the whole day, sweet girl.”
You push closer as your hips roll forward, grinding that fat nub of your clit against his pelvis as an unyielding wave of pleasure rolls quick through you blood, making your cunt gush and milk his cock.
One final thrust and he’s bottomed out to the hilt, glazing your tight womb with his sweet seed. Your eyes roll back as heat melts through your skull, leaving your thoughts drowned in nothing but raw, aching lust.
His fingers are fisted tight in the pink silk of your slip as he tumbles onto you like a thick boulder.
“What would daddy say about this huh? An outsider fucking the shit out of his little missy.” He grins, propping himself up as he chuckles at the state of your blissed out face.
“Or we can take this inside, and you can stop stalling and give me the answer I asked for and we can find out what daddy thinks.”
Okay but imagine sheep!ghost and border collie!reader....
You're really just an intern, some kid who got in because of their family when they should be in college, but you're good enough. Usually price hardly has to make any edits to your work when it ends up on his desk, which is always a plus.
The only thing is you keep...following ghost around.
Not without reason, you always seem to have some report or something you need to talk with him about. But with you at his side, ears perked up and constantly adjusting your speed whenever he shifts...
"I know what yer doing, runt." He finally huffs one day, eyes narrowed. "It's fuckin' rude. Stop it."
"...what? Sir, I don't understand?" You tilt your head, brows furrowed, ears pinned in confusion "I do need your opinion on this stuff, I'm not trying to waste your time–"
"Fuckin' hell. Not that." Ghost cuts off, stopping in the middle of the hallway. He watches as you walk along his side, trying to push him to the edge without actually touching him. Trying to herd him.
"Yer herding. Stop it." He gives a pointed look, grabbing you by the scruff to stop the constant shifting.
"What? What's that?" You ask, which is...not the answer ghost expected. Most dog hybrids he's met have smelt that he's a sheep and just assumed they could treat him like one. You seem to be completely unaware of your own behavior, acting more on instinct. Huh.
"Nothing. Forget it." He lets you go and stalks off.
After that, ghost observes how you act around the others. He notices the same behavior, how you try to herd soap or kyle, but being fellow dogs they just laugh and bark with you.
Ghost actually snorts in amusement when he notices you doing the same to price, and it actually working. Herding the captain while he's busy reading a report and not at all paying attention to the pole he would've walked into.
So...you're not trying to be rude to ghost, you're just trying to follow your own instincts. It makes him feel better, and the next time you walk with him he indulgently follows the path your little instincts have chosen.
cat hybrid reader who enjoys playing with Simon's mask bc it feels nice and accidentally makes the mask slip off one day during an important meeting. next time, Soap and Simon wrap her in a blanket to cut her nails just so it doesn't happen again (she's kicking and biting), and she's SULKING for days until they grow back
I had this written up like.. wednesday? And i just forgot to post it so my bad
Anyway this is more shifter than hybrid but here u gooooo
You had an… interesting hobby to say the least; it was one that no one else in the world had, and you were very confident in that fact. The hobby in question was something you eagerly sought out to do all day, following the man who was the only one who could provide it to you, but unfortunately he didn’t indulge in you very often so you had to snatch the advantage when it came.
It started off when Ghost decided to spend his evening on the team room’s couch, opting to indulge in a book for once. It was quiet, a storm brewing up outside as the winds began to howl and you.. may have been caught outside when it started up. Exhaustion was an understatement; you had little to no energy to even consider being a human and having to drag your entire weight back around base again.
So what better to do than take advantage of your abilities?
Your tail flicked from side to side, long and raised as you pattered into the room. You were one of the few who regularly lounged around here, and you loved every second of it. It was much better than navigating the crowded hallways, especially when you have to crane your whole head up to see someone properly. Though today, you didnt expect to walk smack into a leg, your furry face bumping straight into the muscle and forcing you to stumble in your tracks. A meow slips out, fluffy ears twitching as you shake your head and look around. Vision was always a little weird when you switched between cat and human, but your sense of smell always persevered when figuring out who someone was. You sniff the clothed leg curiously but you didn't expect what you’d find.
Since when did Ghost come in here?
You look up properly to see the skull painted balaclava move, the man now looking down at where you sit by his legs. “You need to be more aware of your surroundings, yknow.” He says, and you growl in response, though it’s nothing more than a show of annoyance since you cant give him a sharp glare in this state. You walk through his legs, soft paws silent against the hard flooring before you look over at him again. Now you understand why you hadnt anticipated for someone to be right there— that was supposed to be your napping spot, not his! Of course you thought everyone knew that fact— plus that pillow practically had your fur all over it too. You wouldn’t let this slide.
You steady yourself before jumping onto the couch beside him and pawing at the pillow behind his back, tapping his arm as you meow incessantly. “Hm? There’s many pillows, just get another.” He rolls his eyes when you carry on pawing at him, not giving up for a second. That is until you decide to take action, your claws reaching up to graze the fabric of his mask. It’s light and definitely not as far as your claws can go but instead of a reaction, he just turns back to his book again.
Naturally, as any sane person does, you resorted to climbing up onto his shoulder as you’d repeatedly kneaded your claws in and out of his mask, feeling the fabric give and pull. Over and over until the motion began to unintentionally ease you, claws digging in and out until a soft purr settles in your chest. The sound reverberates around the area, his shoulders feeling the soft vibrations as you lean against him. He continues to read, nor does he pay much attention to your antics, only pulling you off of him when you fall asleep with your kitty head hanging off his neck, letting you curl up comfortably in his lap instead.
Ever since you found that out, you’ve been roaming more and more in your cat form, searching for him in your down time to sink your claws into the thick fabric whilst purring to your heart's content. It’s a stress reliever to say the least, turns your brain to total mush too. It’s also why it was your first instinct straight after a tough mission, walking straight through the base doors and into a bathroom stall to shift. Ghost was pleasantly startled to say the very least when he looked down to see your big eyes and perked ears staring up at him. Surely it wouldnt hurt to indulge you a little, even if he was in the middle of an important briefing? ..Right?
Wrong.
You had been kneading away at his mask as usual, but the stress of the day had you more agitated than usual, getting lost in your head. Before you know it, your claws are latched deep into the back of his balaclava, grazing his skin as you unintentionally pull too hard to the point it starts to rise up, exposing his chin and lips before he catches himself.. and you, dangling from the scruff of your neck as you look up at him with widened eyes.
“It was an accident i swear!”
Both Soap and Ghost stand before you, the latter doing nothing to hide the glare written in his eyes whilst Soap tried to ease you. You were dressed hastily in a shirt and jeans, hair messy and a frown deep on your lips but a clear fear of Ghost’s glare. “We know, we know. We’re just saying it cant happen again.” Soap sighs, half tempted to run his hands over your fluffy ears from the beginning of an unintentional shift.
“It wont! I wont do it again!” You say, crossing your arms defensively over your chest.
“Like i’d believe that. Your nails are getting cut, kitty.” Ghost scoffs, reaching forward to grab you but you’re too quick, eyes widened with alert as you shift right them and there, already scurrying towards the door as you yelp. Soap is just as fast though, blocking the door handle that you cant even reach. So you shift again, trying to push past him while Ghost grabs you by back of your shoulders, Soap on your front. “Hey! Let go!”
You yowl loudly as you shift into a cat for the last time, both of the men coddling you in a large blanket before pulling each paw out to trim each individual claw. To say you were not happy about that was a severe understatement, you were fuming, biting their fingers at any chance possible. When they finally let you go, you ran, dashing out the door and down the corridors.
The next two days were the weekend, and it’s safe to say you were still very much annoyed. For starters, you refused to shift back at all, avoiding communication whatsoever. Secondly? You’d hiss at every turn, not giving them a second to try and make up for it with pets or the like, occasionally curling up on Price’s lap just to stare daggers directly at the pair of them. Just to prove you were mad, if they let their guard down too long, you’d climb up on the couch behind them and smack your tail right against their head before scurrying off again; definitely a menace to say the least.
But even they couldn't deny the sight was quite pitiful. At first, you could barely knead anything due to your blunt claws, giving up on the pillow almost immediately. Then when they started to grow back, the pillow was too thin, causing fluff to spill out and when you curled up on Price’s lap, he had told you off immediately for scratching his legs in your attempt to knead again.
Now you roamed the halls miserably, nothing to relieve you of your pent up stress from missions, kicked off the last person’s lap you could sit on—Gaz never sat still for long when Soap was around—and you couldn’t find the energy to shift back into a human. “Oh? Look who it is.” Ghost notices the miserable look, even if felines rarely show their moods so visibly, but then again your ears were practically flat against your furry head. You just look at him for a second before eventually beginning to walk past him once more.
He’s not having it though, scooping you up until he has you cradled in his arms. “Come on, lets get you some proper rest now.” He carries you over to the couch, dims the lights and rubs his fingers over your head and chin until you ease, your body flat out over his legs. He even lets you dig your claws into his jeans, figuring you’re trying to pay him back for his ‘mean’ behaviour. In the end, you cant stay truthful to your anger much longer, your tail curled up around your body as your head sinks down against his thigh and his abdomen, body warmth enough to have you sound for the whole night.
you thrash under him, trying to buck him off. one big, clawed hand closes tighter around your wrists, pressing them together until it hurts. you let out a yelp, and he tugs at the leg he has held in his other hand, threatening to pull it out of socket.
the tip of his cock is still nestled just inside your cunt, by far the smallest part of the thing, and yet you still feel the way it holds you open and leaks into you. hot drooling pre-come, enough that when the beast tries again to grind its fat cock into you the slick smears around your entrance. you take in a shuddering breath as your body loosens and gives way, letting the thing press in another few centimeters. heady, dizzying warmth spreads through you and you clench around the intrusion.
it drags its cock back, scraping the tapered tip along your walls. your eyes roll, it pushes back inside. your head spins. something- something isn't right. you're pulled down its cock until it burns, your cunt stretched wide around its girth. it makes you clench again, something sick in your core eager to know what you can take, the thought of what you must look like makes you moan. again it pulls back, the walls of your cunt wrapped tight to try to keep the monstrous cock inside. it pulls out and ruts the drooling tip between your folds, its come is molten, making your body shudder and your hips cant. you babble out a plea for release, which kind you don't know.
"four of you," the monster above you groans, "four of us, that's fate don't you think?"
your clit aches, tingling with whatever influence the beast has rubbed into it. it throbs eager to be touched as your cunt is stretched wider, begging for the fingers that dig into your thigh to find a new resting place.
he's too big, bumping against your cervix and grinding into that dull painful pleasure until stars are starting to color your vision. your voice hitches on each sharp intake of breath, your neck stretched taught as your head tips back. pleasure seizes you like a vice. dead leaves drag under your skull, but you can't bring yourself to care. your pussy flutters around this thing's length, trapping its fat cock inside of you. it doesn't seem to mind, grinding itself deeper and deeper into you, forcing you to stretch wider and wider.
"there's a girl," it pants, its hand moves from your leg to your stomach, and you tip your head to see what it's doing. the bulge of its cockhead under your skin makes your stomach jump, worse when you see he hasn't fully sheathed himself in you yet. "get you pumped full of pups in no time."
since price discovered your... weakness, so to say, he's been using it to his advantage.
anytime he asks you something, he'll add a please, pet just to watch you squirm.
pulling you onto your feet in the middle of a mission, his hand solid and warm in yours, his voice gruff and quiet as he mutters a, c'mon, pet.
he leads you on with the nickname, getting you to do what he wants, which also includes what's best for you. telling you to be a good pet and drink some water or eat some, pet.
it drives you insane with need, knowing that he's doing it on purpose because of how glossy your eyes go and how you'll nod your head and agree to whatever he says, do what he wants you to, just to hear the nickname fall from his lips.
yet he never takes it any further than a hand brushing against yours, a pat on the shoulder or back, eye contact that last longer than normal with eyes more intense than they should be.
he's waiting for you to break. to come to him first. to be a good pet and shove away how you've been taught to act just to taste his sweat-slicked skin.
it takes longer than he'd like, but eventually you come.
knock on the door to his office, locking the door behind you and kneeling between his legs. big, hopeful, desperate eyes begging for him to make you his pet.
who's he to say no to such a pretty sight like you?
captain john price who refers to you as pet during a mission.
"go get 'em, pet."
he doesn't think much of it at first, just a little endearment that slipped past his lips.
but then he turns around and see's the flush on your face, the way your chest rises and falls quicker. then the way that you become absolutely brutal on the battlefield. killing, slaughtering, capturing, eliminating the enemies before they get a chance to even think about fighting back.
afterwards, when you're covered in blood, he's coming up to you.
"good job, pet. think you deserve a treat for that."
you were a camper, in the woods. it was just you, and you made the mistake of falling asleep in your tent, without much care for your surroundings.
when you woke up next, you weren't in your tent. you were in another room, and a man named john stood in the doorway. he made you his pet. taught you how to act and what to do, told you that he was protecting you. that there were worse things in these woods, that he was doing you a favor.
one day, he makes the mistake of forgetting to lock your room, having to hurry and grab his phone, that he never brought near you.
you took the chance, running out of that room, out of that cabin. without any time to spare, you run off into the woods.
twigs snap under your feet, hidden by a thick blanket of snow. you tripped over branches a few times, thinking that you would fall but gaining your balance at the last moment.
deep into winter, the woods look nothing like how it did when you were camping in the summer. you don't remember where your campsite even is, how far deep into the woods you are. still, you push on, desperate for freedom despite the goosebumps sprouting on your skin.
you don't know how long you've been walking when you hear snow crunching.
then you see it. a monster. tall and big, dressed in full black. sharp talons for fingernails and a deer skull as a head.
it has no mouth, but you know that it's grinning.
"where's your owner, pet?" it rumbles, voice deep and raspy.
you're frozen in place. it gets closer. your mind screams at you to run. it feels like your feet have been turned into heavy blocks of ice. you can't take your eyes off of it.
its talon traces down your face, starting at the vulnerable skin on your temple to the line of your jaw. then past your pulse point and then it follows your collarbones to the middle of your chest.
it's silent except for the monsters heavy breathing and your loud, quick beating heart.
then it's on you. knocking you off of your feet, pushing your face down into the cold snow and pulling the flimsy shorts that do little to hide anything- the ones john made you wear- down to your ankles, along with your panties. one of those talons shoves into your mouth, making you gag at the taste of death on his fingers, and collects your spit and saliva, then rubs it between your legs before pushing in.
and it's too much and not enough at the same time.
your face has been pushed so deep into the snow that your cheek is against dirt, your hands being held behind your back as this creature, this monster, grunts and growls and ruts into you, pulls you back into his thrusts that hit that spot inside of you that fills you with disgusting pleasure, doesn't stop when you cum and doesn't stop even when you're a begging, sobbing mess. overwhelmed and scared and wishing that you would've stayed in the cabin with the man named john because at least john was somewhat gentle.
when john finds you, the monster is finishing inside of you, so much that it spills out of you when it pulls out and brings its large hand down onto your ass, leaving a red mark and a scratch from his talons, making you cry out.
"next time," it growls before it leaves, "stay with yer fuckin' owner, pet."
then john's kneeling in front of you and shaking his head in disappointment. he carries your trembling, shivering, battered and aching body back to his cabin and runs you a hot bath, serves you a nice warm soup and a cup of hot cocoa.
really, the monster's actions only helped john out. especially when you beg to sleep in his bed with him in fear of it coming back for more.
at least he won't have to worry about you trying to run away again.
Okay now imagine ghost who actually did die in that coffin, and came back as a literal ghost.
For some reason, no one bothered to inform you of this fact, or else you would have definitely told price about the touches you swear you can feel.
A hand at your nape that makes you shiver, someone brushing your thigh. You keep catching something just to the edge of your vision, a tall dark figure. You feel like you're going crazy, and decide maybe you're just too stressed about impressing this new team.
So that night you lie down in your bed, grab a nice toy, and get to work.
Half-way through, a phantom hand is clamping over your wrist, making you jump. You try to speak, try to yell, but find yourself frozen. Something pins your hands to the bed, and the strange presence starts moving the dildo inside you.
Honestly, you probably should have resisted more, but holy shit it just hit the spot you've been aiming for all night. You arch and spread your thighs, allowing the toy to be pumped in and out of you in a delicious pace.
Even after you cum the first time, the thing doesn't stop. It holds you down when you squirm in overstimulation and pulls two more out of you before you go boneless. Lying back and whining while is does what it wants.
You're so fucked out you don't even realize the dildo has been replaced with something else, something much bigger spreading you open. If you were to look you'd see nothing there but your gaping entrance.
For some reason, ghost is a lot nicer to you after that....weird.
nobody talk to me i'm having gross step-dad Price thoughts. (cw noncon, spanking, fauxcest)
you're away at university when your mom remarries and you didn't even know she was dating anyone, so you don't meet the guy until the wedding. you bitch and moan about it to your friends but you try to be supportive in front of your mom. it's not her fault the guy is deployed every time you're on break, you just really would have loved to feel him out, because that might have prevented him from feeling you up while you sit beside him at the rehersal dinner.
no matter how many times you pinch his hand or bat it away somehow it always finds its way back to your thigh, more aggressive each time it comes back until he's bunching up your skirt and grabbing your cunt in a motion that makes you jerk violently against your chair. your whole body shakes as your mom asks what's wrong and before you can answer that her fiance is a fucking pervert, Price cuts in offering to take you out for some fresh air. your mum is so grateful she must not see the shock on your face, or the way Price hauls you out of your chair and drags you to the door.
honestly, you're almost grateful she didn't follow after you, the way Price rips your dress up and bends you over, hooking an arm around you to keep you tight against his side. his grip on you is like iron as you struggle to get away, and burning shame hits you the same time his hand does. the first spank draws yelp from you that sweats against the cool brick exterior of the building, absolutely unnoticed in the late summer evening. then the second comes, and the third, until you're sobbing in his arms and barely giving a kick when he spanks your stinging skin.
"it's ok, sweet'eart," he soothes, his hand smooths over your ass, fingers tugging at your underwear to slip between the wet folds of your cunt, "just don't know how to act around a man, tha's all, never been told." two fingers force their way into your tight cunt, hooking against the unprepared entrance to stretch it with a steady tug. "man's children are his responsibility-" you whimper, heat seeping and tingling over your clit, "-that means i got every right breakin' in a bratty little cunt like you."
you whimper. the handle rattles and you feel relief start to rush you, the prospect of being saved taking front focus in your mind. until the massive man that steps from the shadows of the doorway smiles down at you with crooked teeth.
"unless you'd rather i have one of your new brothers do it for me."
johnny’s breeding kink couldn’t be any more obvious by the way he was fucking you, but you stayed oblivious. you never realized just how much he wanted a family with you, just how much he wanted to see the bump on your stomach swell because of him.
you’d gracefully forbid him of fucking you without a condom, or at the very least not coming inside you. kiss him generously so it gets through his head but you still don’t notice how much he’s trying. keeping a hefty arm around your hips in doggy so you can stay angled; he keeps focus on the back of your head and imagines, instead, his raw cock pumping cum into your walls down to your womb.
or when you ride him and his eyes, hypnotized on how your little pudge bounces, imagine his seed shooting up whilst you keep riding and dropping your hips as if you were fucking his kids right into you.
so naturally, at a certain point he loses patience. conveniently for him, you happen to be ovulating and a sucker for his charismatic words.
he preps you gently and swipes the hair out of your face, telling you, “mah lass, sweet enough to let a mutt like me raw in ya cunt.” teasing his sticky, much too aroused tip in your soppy pussy. you keep your arms a hold of him, kissing his warm neck and ear overly as he slips his cock into you. he swears it—everytime you bless him with the opportunity of fucking you unprotected, just himself inside of you, he can’t help himself. you yelp gently as he digs his growls loudly against your shivering neck.
and johnny fucks you good and thorough. hips pressing up on you as he bottoms out in your warm, tight cunt—you wonder why you don’t let him do this more often. he whispers against your skin like he’s trying to imprint his praises under you, inside. you’re completely drunk off of it, too much into it that you don’t notice his yet again focused face as he sits back on his knees.
watching how beautifully you take in his thick cock with every quick thrust he makes, you certainly wouldn't mind if he were to shoot his load deeply and nicely into you, right? with all the pre he’s been pumping into you and dribbling out, he might as well have already gotten you fertilized.
so he does, with no hesitation, pump your needy cunt with his potent cum. pushing his hips deep to you and releasing with a loud moan and shudder. you freeze,
“..johnny–”
“fuckin’..finally..”
“johnny no—pleaseno—get off of me-”
“wassa ma'er, hen? yer needy cunt wouldn’t le’me go! had no otha choice.”
“doesn’t mean you can fucking come inside of me!” trembling hands and a burning up face, you try pushing him away from you, wincing at his kisses, “oh are you fucking serio—”
“ah'll make it up tae ye, ah swear. lemme help.” he pulls his still weepy cockhead out and keeps you held still, going down with your thighs pinned open and watches how your folds dribble out his hot semen slowly, he put it way deep inside—smiling at the thought.
before you whine again, he presses a hefty kiss against your throbby clit. his poor baby, he thinks, hasn’t come yet, it’s no fair. so he’ll make it up to you! slithering fingers up into your gooey walls and rolling them gently whilst licking and kissing your swollen bud.
you would’ve been opposed to it because there’s no way fingering it out would prevent pregnancy but the way his textured fingertips roll in waves and rub up on your g-spot, you couldn’t be. johnny’s hot tongue slobbering like the mutt he is on your juicy folds, making you drunk once more, drunk enough so you won’t notice how he’s practically fucking his thick cum deeper into you!
you’re right. the noncon gaz reader shit is bad and weird and you’re a freak
omg my first hate ask i’ve truly made it <3 anon if you wanted gaz noncon you should’ve just said that!!!
cw: noncon, drunk sex (reader is intoxicated)
when you thanked the very pretty stranger for saving you from a group of touchy, inebriated men, you thought that was it. you didn’t think he wanted more than simple gratitude, more than you buying the next round for him and the equally attractive, older grizzly bear he sat with.
how silly of you to come out drinking alone, to think you’d truly be safe, because now, you find yourself getting stuffed full of that stranger’s dick in the alleyway.
“christ.” his voice cuts through your head the same way his cock feels like it’s churning your guts—hard and rough and too much for your drunken mind to handle. you can’t even think, too focused on trying to steady your breathing and grit through the pain of being stretched open without any lube. the thick globs of spit he wet his cock with are doing fuck all for you, and there’s no way the burn is enjoyable for him, but he sounds so chuffed.
fingers find their way to your mouth, and the gag you let out despite them being nowhere deep enough down your tongue makes the stranger laugh. you only feel more nauseous. “don’t throw up on me now, love. i don’t think tha’s fair, considerin’ i did you a favour, eh?”
your tongue feels like honey in your mouth, slow and heavy. “i— i’ll do anything else, just— fucking stop—”
“uh uh,” the man tuts, dipping his fingers further into your mouth before retreating. the relief you feel is quickly replaced with panic when he sticks his hand between your legs and begins to rub your clit with harsh, mean strokes. you attempt to shut them and squirm away from the sensation, but he clicks his tongue in annoyance, tightening his grip.
“none of tha’ now.” even in your intoxicated state, you can feel everything, and you know you’ll be aching for days after this. “shouldn’t ‘ave worn such a pretty skirt, hun. bloody hell, you’re so tight, so warm. how could i refuse, huh? was practically beggin’ me t’fuck this pussy. offered it up to me the moment you looked at me for help.”
“no! no, i wasn’t, i just— i just wanted to drink!”
“an’ look where tha’ got you, pretty girl.” the sob you let out makes him coo and nuzzle his nose against your cheek, lips pressed against your jawline in a cruel imitation of affection.
“shhh, be quiet now, yeah? don’t ‘ave much time to soften you up, love. price wants a nice, open, sloppy cunt to fuck after his drink.”
What happens when Simon catches reader? Would reader attempt to avoid him?👀
unfortunately, after kyle leaves, he immediately finds simon and snitches on you this time, so you’re doomed the moment you try to leave the supply closet :/
cw: slight dubcon, piss drinking, semi-public, simon isn’t as mean as i wanted him to be but fuck it we ball 🙏
a paw lands on your nape when you finally emerge from the cramped space long after gaz has gone, fingers curling tight around the base of your neck. “tryin’ t’hide, aye?”
you shiver at the harshness in ghost’s voice, pretending it’s not feeding the heat still rising in your belly. how pathetic of you to get off on sergeant garrick using you in such a depraved way and still search for more.
“no sir, i was just—”
“just what? just eatin’ my sergeant out like a little slut, huh? after runnin’ to price yesterday?”
a squeak escapes your throat when he suddenly begins hauling you away from the closet, stumbling over your feet like a newborn fawn while he continues growling in your ear—should’ve kept your mouth shut, kid, ‘cause garrick an’ i are gonna ‘ave a bloody good time with ya.
assuming he’s taking you to his office, you’re completely caught off guard when he steers you right into the men’s bathroom.
“s— sir? what are—”
“you’ll see, mutt.”
at least it’s empty, but that doesn’t stop your anxiety from swelling as he pushes you over to the urinals before beginning to undo his belt. fuck. is he really going to—
“yeah, you catchin’ on?” ghost chuckles, jerking his head toward the ground. “on your knees, soldier. been holdin’ this in oll day, just for you.”
“but…” he tilts his head, eyes narrowed, and you reluctantly get back down on your sore knees. “yes, sir.”
you gasp softly at the sight of his caged cock; even with the stainless steel hugging his length, you can tell he’s big, and that really shouldn’t make you throb like it does. god, even his balls look plump and full, and it’s barely been 24 hours.
“stop strugglin’.” that paw from before finds its way into your hair, urging you closer, making you whimper when the cage meets your face. he rubs himself all over you, letting small rumbles of approval slip as you wince under the unforgiving metal pressing firmly against your features. it’s even worse when he uses your face to rest his cock while making you kiss and drool all over his fat, heavy balls, each groan he lets out making you squeeze your thighs together tighter.
you’re sick for enjoying this, for even putting up with their gross behaviour. you really do feel like a slut, letting your superiors walk all over you when you were just trying to do the right thing. they shouldn’t be fraternising in public anyway; how can they just treat you like this?
perhaps if you talk to captain price again, he’ll help you out, although you have a feeling that’ll only land you in more trouble.
maybe that’s why you keep your lips parted when ghost drags his cock down your face. maybe that’s why you hold back your grimace when he shoves the tip inside and finally lets go, piss spraying into your mouth.
“fuckkkk, tha’s it.” he lets out a pleased sigh, holding you still in case you try to thrash away. “does it taste good? huh? reapin’ your reward for bein’ such a good soldier?”
you make a strangled sound, trying your best not to gag and throw up all over him. he smells foul, tastes even worse and has absolutely no interest in your comfort. even after shaking off the last bit of piss on your tongue, he doesn’t let go, insisting you clean him up.
“you’re lucky i didn’t shower you instead, mutt. i really should ‘ave.” he grumbles, watching you lap all around his confined cock with renewed efforts. your tongue dips in between the bars before dragging along his balls, getting each one nice and clean.
ghost dries off afterwards before exiting, leaving you to clean yourself up. you pretend the feeling in your gut is relief and not disappointment, and quickly take your leave after rinsing your mouth. you can’t fucking wait to get your hands on some toothpaste.
belgian malinois hybrid!reader who loves loves loves horsing around with soap
(og post)
quite often, it starts after she’s done eating. she eats way too fast, just shoves everything in her mouth while the boys are chatting, and then she’ll get antsy sitting around waiting for them to finish.
sure, she could just get up and find something to do but why would she leave when everyone she would go to bother is right here??
she just starts shoving johnny a lil, pushing her thigh against his. adds a couple pokes. he’ll start side eyeing her halfway through his lunch. she’ll pinch him when he doesn’t pay her any more attention, and he’ll finally look over to her. but she just whips her head in the other direction, like nothing happened. if price is sitting next to her, she’ll lay her head on his shoulder, and he’ll wrap an arm around her like the sweet, little baby angel she is.
or sometimes, when johnny’s working out (which happens the same exact time every day) and she’s a little bored, she’ll just wonder on over to the gym. as soon as she spots him, soap is immediately being tackled and/or jumped on. usually ends with her in a headlock, or getting tossed around, her favorite part.
simon’s usually there too, has taken apart in the goofing off many times. always, “what’ve we got here, johnny? who’s this?” in the middle of stealing her from soap and throwing her over his shoulders. simon tried to tickle her once, got kicked hard in the gut and quickly learned his lesson.
johnny delivers her back off to price, still full of giggles and doing that thing where dogs pant but refuse any water given to them. he’s always got some smug remark, like, “you put your attack dog on me, price, or she just love me this much?” while he lets her fall from the fireman’s hold.
price used to try and put an end to it with a few gruff exclamations, or a withdrawal of movie time with gaz, but it seems soap enjoys it just as much.
He hates them because they make him look older than he is, in his opinion. They're a thinner frame, easily bendable, which wouldnt be a problem if their resident cat hybrid wasnt so keen on headbutting him!
They even gave soap a concussion after getting too excited.
Now here he was in his office, trying to make sense of a report, when he heard the door open and quite footsteps. Before he could react, he had you draped over him. They were very determined to knock his glasses off in their attempt so scent him.
"Sweetheart, hold on...!"
You were ignoring him in your blissful cuddling and with a well placed head butt, his glasses were askew. Sighing, price was taking them off to inspect the damage.
He really had to listen to simon sometimes. He now had to go and have them fixed again.
After his Lieutenant had his sunglasses bent to hell and back, he invested in some sturdier frames.
Kyle was pulling his cap off, the second he saw/heard you coming towards him.
And soap with his scruffy mohawk? He always awakened the urge to groom him. On more than one occasion he had walked into a questionable scene.
Soap in a headlock, getting squeezed like a toy cause he won't stay still. Or you draped over him like the most inconvenient and wet blanket.
And now the captain had you in his lap, curled up and head tucked under his chin. Sometimes you'd stretch up and rub against his beard with loud purring.
Dragon hybrid!price who gets so confused by gecko!reader because you look like a little dragon.
Look, he's getting up there in age, but he didnt expect to feel broody for at least another five years! Still, when he sees you all he can think is why is the hatchling out of the nest?
Which of course means he insists on taking extra care of you! Gently guiding you to his quarters with a wing draped around you. Pushing you into the nest and intentionally heating up his body because he knows little dragons can't make their own fire. It doesn't help at all that it's usually freezing in the barracks, so prices heat is really appreciated for your cold-blooded body.
Curling up against the dragon hybrid feels natural, instinctual. The military hasn't been kind to you, trauma has made a home in your heart, so maybe you play along and snuggle up against his chest. So what? It feels nice, safe. You get the best sleep of your life, and prices instincts finally let him breathe knowing the hatchling is safe.
