18+ | bunny hybrid!reader spending easter with 141:
price: this man is dressing you in the sweetest little gingham shorts to show off your fluffy tail, getting you to hop around his cottage yard to find the eggs he’s hidden for you. he’s too old to play games, so he’s content to watch from the porch as his cigar smoke curls in the spring sunshine
gaz: similar to price, he’ll be spending it with you outside. the bastard loves to show off, so he’ll pick a popular park to have a picnic with you, making sure everyone can see your bunny ears are real and not just a headband. might even enter you in a stupid hop competition just so you can beat them all and be his winner (which he will be sending to soap)
soap: he’s a family man, what can he say? he’ll have you in scotland, playing with all of his nieces and nephews — arts n crafts, egg hunts, and he even lets his niece trace your ears on a paper so she can cut them out and wear them like yours. any chance alone he’s murmuring in those fluffy white ears about how nice it would be to have wee bunny!hybrids bouncing around you all with his ridiculously blue eyes (“think about it, bun, hey?”)
ghost: sorry, it’s not gonna be cute it all. he relishes in the fact that a bunny’s tail isn’t actually a fluffy ball. he unfurls it before holding it up to thrust into your sloppy hole, squishing your ears together with his other hand like fuckin’ reins. “so tiny f’me, god—look at you—“ your back is practically bent it half towards him with his two holds on you, completely merciless to his filthy slams inside you
after a creep makes a gross comment to you outside your apartment, pope is forced to explain what a pearl necklace really means. spoiler: it's not jewelry
PAIRING pope cody x bunny!reader
WARNINGS 18+ MDNI suggestive material (not explicit smut), age gap, innocence kink, corruption kink, protective pope cody, obsessive pope cody, stalker-like tendencies, unhealthy attachment, sexual innuendos, explicit sexual language and visuals, sheltered reader, naive/ditzy reader, creepy male attention, objectification, harassment / catcalling, predatory behavior (not from pope), threats of violence, implied violence (no graphic scenes)
WC 3.3k
Pope is here because Smurf told him the property needs checking on. At least that’s the story he’s feeding himself.
And it makes sense. There’s water damage in one of the downstairs units and some dipshit’s been stripping cooper out of the laundry room again. If it’s not one thing going wrong, it’s another.
This building’s always two steps away from falling apart. Someone has to stop it from going to hell completely.
Plenty of good, rational reasons to be here.
None of which do a thing to explain why he does not move from being propped on the hood of his truck just yet.
He stays at the curb as he watches the building’s familiar pulse of seedy activity.
It’s not even the worst spot owned by the Codys, not by far, but that doesn’t make it good. It’s definitely not good enough for you, not by a long shot. Run-down. Full of people who loiter outside longer than they should and pay too much attention to things that aren’t theirs.
A woman argues fervently on the stoop, body tense enough he can see the harsh jut of her collarbone from here. Two boys pretend to clean their bikes by the courtyard, their hands moving in repetitive, meaningless circles, rags never actually removing any grime.
And then there’s the smoker, with a long beard and crooked nose, leaning near the stairs, smoke rising around him.
Pope watches his sleepy gaze harden suddenly, tracking something straight ahead.
Pope’s neck cranes as his vision tunnels into pinpoint clarity, finding what the man found first: you.
Walking up the sidewalk with two grocery bags hooked over your wrists, pink flats picking their way carefully over the buckled concrete, skirt the same shade catching around your knees every time the breeze shifts. White cardigan buttoned all the way up over your chest despite the heat.
You don’t hurry. That bothers him.
You move through the courtyard with no care in the world. Unaware of the eyes that linger on your body, the curiosity you unwittingly ignite.
God he hates this place most when you’re in it. Without you, it’s just brick and mortar. But with you here, everything is suddenly hostile. A million scenarios blooming in his head. Someone following you from your car, someone hiding just around the corner waiting for you to pass by, a neighbor deciding your door lock doesn’t look so hard to force open.
He has tried to get you to stay at Smurf’s countless times now, using different tactics each time. Gentle coaxing, stubborn demands, pushing you into the kind of corner where the only real choice was already decided for you.
And those all work most nights.
Still, every now and then, for reasons unbeknownst to him, you insist on sleeping here.
So every now and then, he comes and sits off to the side, his truck parked discreetly out of view. Always staying within striking distance should anyone dare to try anything stupid.
Thankfully he hasn’t had to act yet, people know better, whispers exchanged in doorways and hallways: that pretty little thing tucked away in apartment 2B is Cody territory. Off limits.
It takes him four long strides to reach you.
He comes up behind you without saying anything, partly because he doesn’t want to startle you and partly because he wants to see how long it takes before you notice a man his size coming up behind you. Too long, apparently.
You don’t notice him when his shadow cuts across the pavement beside yours, not when his boots hit the concrete close enough you should hear him, not even when he’s right behind you, inhaling the faint sweet drift of your perfume over the dirty air of the courtyard.
You just keep walking, grocery bags bumping into your legs every second step, head angled down as you watch your feet over the cracked walkway.
Then you stop so suddenly he nearly runs into you, boots scuffing against the ground in the process.
Nearly turns into definitely when you move again, bending at the waist to grab a little carton that had tumbled out of your bag and rolled near your shoe.
He can’t dodge you fast enough before he’s crashing against you, the ample of your backside pressed flush against him, your skirt skimming his denim-clad thighs.
He grits his teeth, swallowing down the groan lodged somewhere in his throat, and his hands shoot out to grip at your waist. Half to steady you, half to hold himself back.
You jump, a sharp little gasp tearing out of you as you twist in his hold, eyes wide, lips parted.
But the fear vanishes when you realize it’s him. Dissolves so quickly into relief, then blossoming into that lovely smile of yours Pope spends half his days obsessing over. Lip gloss glistens like honey under the afternoon sun, squinting at him through the harsh glare.
“Pope,” you breathe, like he’s something good that happened to you rather than the man who decided to follow you through a parking lot to prove a point.
His fingers flex once before he makes them let go.
“You don’t pay attention,” he tells you plainly.
You smile pinches at the edges a little, like you’re trying to decide whether he’s teasing you or scolding you. You seem to assume the later. A good assumption.
“I do pay attention,” you insist, the words coming out with the stubborn certainty of someone who has already decided they're right. Then you glance down at the sidewalk as though it might testify on your behalf. One of the grocery bags slips lower on your wrist, plastic stretching, and you hitch it back up with a small huff of effort. “I was paying attention to the ground. Because last week I almost twisted my ankle right there.”
Pope follows the line of your finger.
Without a word, he reaches for the bags. His hand closes around the handles and lifts them clean off your arm before you can object. You make a small noise of surprise, letting him take them.
“What if it wasn’t me coming up behind you?”
Your brows pull together. “But it was you.”
“Yeah, but what if it wasn’t?”
You hesitate visibly, your fingers weaving together, rocking onto the tips of your shoes. You look almost apologetic when you speak. “I dunno.”
Exactly, he thinks.
He breathes out very slowly through his nose to keep the worst of his frustration from showing. It still sits heavy on his face, he’s sure. In the hard line of his mouth, in the way his hands tighten around the plastic bags until the handles stretch thin.
“You gotta be more aware,” he says, dipping his face towards yours, almost pleading. His gaze flickers anxiously over your face, desperate for more reassurance. “Can you do that for me? Check around when you get out of the car, look before you walk up the stairs, take a second before you open your door.”
You open your mouth to speak, something potentially defensive at the tip of your tongue, before you reconsider, shoulders sinking just a fraction.
“For me,” Pope urges again. No room for misunderstanding.
And because you are you, you give a gentle, almost reluctant nod in surrender. You have a hard time fighting him on anything.
He returns the gesture with his own stiff nod. He knows you don’t fully understand the fuss, not completely, but you’re trying, and that has to be enough for now. He’ll shoulder the rest.
He moves towards the staircase, leaving you to catch up. You hurry to follow behind him.
“Why’re you here anyway?” you voice after him. “Did I miss rent or something?”
Pope doesn’t turn around; doesn’t trust himself to look at you without giving too much away.
“No,” he replies, casual, like it’s not something he thinks about every single month.
You would never be late. You are a meticulously precise creature. Keeping track of everything, neat little numbers, due dates, confirmations, all of it lined up exactly the way you like, and then you get that pleased look on your face when you send the payment, like you’ve done something worth being proud of.
Which you have. He lets you have that. But he can’t stand taking your money.
So every month he waits until that little deposit appears, waits another day or two to avoid suspicion, then finds a way to get it back to you.
Sometimes it’s hidden in elaborate Cody business expenses; other times Craig’s buddy does some invisible computer shit to push numbers back into your account, nothing ever traced to pope.
And occasionally, he just leaves cash in places he knows you’ll find it. In your purse, between pages of a book you’ve left out, tucked behind a coffee mug.
He loves hearing you puzzle over it. You always chalk it up to luck, or fate, or some karmic gift from the universe. Never once suspecting Pope’s fingerprints on every cent.
It all sounds more complicated than it actually is.
Really, it’s just logical. You need the money. Pope has the money. Problem solved.
At the steps, Pope pauses, gently nudging you ahead of him.
It’s a selfish move. He’s got a bad feeling you don’t have shorts under that skirt, and he’s not in the mood to have that confirmed by anyone standing behind you. Better him at your back than anyone else. Better him blocking the view.
As if to confirm his fears, someone over his shoulder lets out a short laugh. “Man, a girl that pretty oughta let me buy her dinner. Hell, maybe I’d even send her home wearing a pearl necklace.”
Pope looks back and finds the bearded cigarette smoker slouched against the vending machine, filter hanging loose between two fingers, eyes still fixed on you with that same open, filthy interest. He’s got a buddy with him now, some wiry little shit standing half a step to the side, not looking too sure of himself now that Pope’s facing him.
Pope thinks about how easy it would be. Pin the guy up against the machine, forearm to windpipe, watching the smartass shine drain out of his eyes. Pictures crushing the cigarette into the soft part of his cheek. But he can’t do that without scaring you off.
So he crouches just enough to place the bags on the stairs without jostling them, eggs and bread and whatever else cushioned upright where it won’t tip.
When he rises, he goes back the way he came, jerking his head in your direction. “You talkin’ about her?”
“Just complimenting her.”
“No,” Pope says. “You weren’t.”
The wiry friend shifts back half a step. Smart.
The bearded man tries to recover, but it’s too late, Pope can already see the little glint of fear sputtering in his eyes, igniting as he sizes him up.
He lifts the cigarette to his mouth. “Ain’t that serious, man.”
Pope reaches out and plucks the cigarette from his fingers before it gets there. Drops it to the concrete. Crushes it under his boot.
“Look at her again, talk about her again, I’ll make sure the next thing I crush under my boot is your throat.”
The bearded man opens his mouth.
“Don’t. I’m tryin’ real hard not to scare her,” Pope growls. “Don’t make that difficult for me.”
The man’s eyes flick once past Pope, towards the stairs, toward you, then snap back fast like even that was a mistake.
“Alright,” he mutters finally, hands lifting a little. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
A lie. A terrible one, at that. But Pope doesn’t spare the man another look. Just turns, grabs the grocery bags, and comes back up the steps to where you’re perched on the landing, watching him with that dazed little expression of yours.
“I don’t even like pearls,” you whisper to him the second he gets close enough. “They’re kinda old-ladyish.”
Pope shuts his eyes for half a beat.
“Yeah,” he finally sputters, tips of his ears burning a little. He ushers you towards 2B. “C’mon. Inside.”
The inside of your apartment is cute. Small as it looks from the outside and from what he can see through your window at night, but it’s cute, all pinks and whites and soft little girlish details scattered across every surface.
There’s a coffee table crowded with tiny trinkets he can’t make heads or tails of, glossy little objects with no obvious purpose except that you liked them enough to bring them home.
And it’s clean. He likes that it’s clean. Clean means he won’t spend the time here distracted by dust in the corners and fingerprints on glass, trying not to imagine bleaching every inch of it.
He carries the bags into the kitchen and sets them on the counter one by one. Behind him, you wobble a little taking off your shoes and catch yourself on his shoulder.
It leaves a searing brand behind when you pull away.
“What was that out there?” you ask.
Pope shrugs. “Nothin’. Guy’s just a dick.”
He winces inwardly as soon as he says it. Dick feels too crude aimed anywhere near you, and he has to resist the urge to take it back and replace it with something nicer.
“It’s not like he said anything really bad or anything,” you say, shrugging in a way that suggests you’re used to it.
Used to being stared at, cat called, talked about. And maybe it shouldn’t surprise him, given who you are.
He’s seen it before, at Smurf’s parties, men practically stumbling over themselves to offer you a drink, eyes tracking every movement you make. Drivers nearly wrapping their cars around telephone poles because their heads turn too fast when you walk down the street.
You’re beautiful. Beautiful enough that people can’t help staring at you. But Pope’s never been forced to hear it firsthand, never had to stand there while some pervert talked about putting a pearl necklace across your throat and chest. And you don’t even understand what he was saying.
He could handle it. He could handle it right now. If the guy’s still lingering around when Pope leaves, he might just have to. The asshole will be out of this building tomorrow regardless, he’ll will make damn sure of it.
Your hand touching his arm snaps him out of it. He looks down and sees your painted fingers resting there, cautious like you’re not sure what’s going on in his head.
“Pope?”
The heat cools just enough for him to breathe. He rubs a hand over his jaw. “He said somethin’ bad enough.”
You cock your head to one side. “Taking me to dinner isn’t exactly the worst offer I’ve ever had. And like I said, pearls aren’t really my thing, but it’s a nice sentiment, I guess?”
Pope shoves his hand through his hair, forced to take a step back because standing this close to your face is messing with him.
“Look a pearl necklace isn’t… it’s not jewelry, okay? It’s not fuckin’ nice. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
You fold your arms over your chest, your hair slipping forward and partly covering your face. Pope’s fingers twitch at his sides, fighting the impulse to reach out and brush it back into place.
“Not really… I— well,” you pause, fingers drumming along your left arm. “What else could a pearl necklace be, if it’s not jewelry?”
His blood pressure ticks up exponentially. Why must you make everything so difficult?
“I’m not gonna explain it. Just trust me, it’s not somethin’ appropriate for anyone to say to you.”
“What happened to ‘I’m an adult’ and ‘it’s my call if I wanna know stuff’?”
Shit. He did say that, didn’t he?
Pope takes a deep, irritated breath, wishing he could turn back time and rip his own vocal chords out. This must be his own purgatory. Cursed to answer all your sex related questions for all of eternity and unable to do anything about it.
You trust him. That much is obvious. He doesn’t want to abuse that trust. A Sisyphean task. Endless. Futile.
“Alright, look. It’s slang for a guy… finishin’ on you. On your throat, your chest, wherever.” His voice is strained, worried he might break something delicate in you just by saying it. “It’s disrespectful. Sleazy.”
You blink, eyes huge as you look up at him, clearly stunned by what you just heard. You shake your head slightly, trying to puzzle it out. “So it’s… disrespectful if someone does that to you?”
Pope cracks his neck, wincing slightly, as if the right words are somewhere trapped there and refusing to come out easy.
“Christ — yes,” he grumbles. Then quickly, backtracking, “I mean no — no, it ain’t disrespectful if it’s something you, uh, wanted someone to do, but it’s disrespectful for someone to say shit like that to you unprompted.”
“Oh, well, yeah, that was gross,” you agree, wrinkling your nose.
Then you turn away from him, starting to put away the groceries with a distracted, absent-minded care. He thinks he’s in the clear, that you’re satisfied with his sparks note version of the definition.
He’s eyeing the door, when you pause again, bottom lip caught between your teeth, a bag of carrots dangling in your hand.
“Why would someone even want to do that to someone? The guy, I mean? Not him specifically, just, like, any guy? Is that something… you think about? Like a lot?”
He coughs, almost choking, and a hot flush creeps up the back of his neck.
There’s an instant headache pulsing behind he eyes as he tries desperately not to picture exactly what you just asked him.
Is it something he thinks about? Not until this moment. Not until he imagines those same wide and trusting eyes looking up at him as he spills milky white ropes of cum across your bare chest.
Christ. He’s no better than that asshole downstairs, thinking shit like that about you.
He presses two fingers to his temple. “No, it’s not like I sit around thinking about stuff like that.”
It feels like a fib now.
“So why would someone wanna do that at all?”
Because it would feel good, he thinks. Immediately. The act itself, yes, but the claim in the aftermath. The evidence left behind.
The way people are always trying to leave marks on things they like. Names carved into desks. Initials scratched into trees. Dogs pissing on fire hydrants.
You stare at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.
He looks at the wall behind you, at the cheap paint and the little crooked shelf you’ve decorated with candles and a tiny ceramic flower.
Anything but your face. Anything but the curve of your throat. Anything but the where your shirt dips when you shift closer.
“It’s…” He cuts himself off, jaw ticking. “It’s visual.” The word sounds dragged out of him. “That’s part of it. Men are wired like that. And part of it’s ego. They wanna see you messy like that. Wanna see that you let ‘em do it.” His mouth flattens. “It’s not always romantic. A lotta the time it’s just selfish.”
“But maybe it depends on who it is? Like doing it to you?” You continue to worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Like… if it was someone safe. Someone you trusted a lot.” A tiny crease forms between your brows. “And if it was something you wanted too, couldn’t it be kind of romantic?”
Pope goes still. All his blood seeming to rush downwards as the question lands between you like something lit, something rolling close to dry brush.
He can feel the conversation slipping somewhere it shouldn’t. He needs to reign it back in, regain control.
Instead he says, “Could be. If you trusted ‘em. If it was somethin’ you were askin’ for, or… into. Not somethin’ that’s being pushed on you.”
You go quiet, turning that over.
Then, in that soft, absentminded way of yours, like you don’t realize you’re lighting a match in a room full of gas, you say, “I guess that makes sense. A lot of things probably feel different with a person you trust.”
You’re looking at him so intensely he has to take another step back. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He doesn’t say anything for a minute. Can’t. Your gaze moves back down into the grocery bag with a shrug, sweet and unaware that you’ve just handed his imagination enough to ruin the rest of his night.
He’s corrupt for wanting to be that person for you. The one you trust enough to paint your body. To teach you all this dumb shit, but with his hands, with his mouth, with his cock.
He clears his throat hard, grabs the last bag off the counter even though it’s already empty, then sets it right back down like he forgot what he was doing in the first place.
“Yeah,” he says finally, voice flat in that way it only gets when he’s holding too much under it. “Maybe.”
He leaves not long after that. Before you ask anything else. Before he can give into his urges and contaminate you with his darkness.
By the next afternoon, the guy downstairs is gone.
Smurf’s property manager tells the tenants it was a lease violation. Some issue with unauthorized guests, late rent, maybe smoking too close to the building. Nobody asks too many questions. Nobody wants to.
And a few days later, you mention in passing that the creepy man by the vending machine must’ve gotten into some kind of accident.
“His face looked weird when he was packing up all his stuff,” you say, frowning a little. “Like he burned himself or something.”
Pope just hums, eyes on the road.
He doesn’t tell you cigarette burns heal terribly.
tw: 18+, size kink, pet play, degradation, praise, dacryphilia, rough sex, mentions of breeding
you should have known better than to let toji take you home after the party. dressed in your little bunny costume, fluffy tail pinned to the curve of your ass and ears twitching every time he leaned in close, he had that look in his eye all night. sharp and hungry, like he already owned you.
he sits back on the couch now, broad shoulders relaxed, spreading his thighs so wide it makes your stomach flutter. his voice is deep and teasing, curling around you like smoke.
“c’mere, bunny. hop on over.”
your body obeys before your brain catches up, crawling across the floor on shaky hands and knees. you feel ridiculous, ears bouncing with every movement, but his smirk says he likes it that way. when you finally kneel between his legs, he grabs your chin, tilting your face up.
“look at you,” he murmurs, thumb pressing into your cheek. “all dressed up like a dumb little pet. you want your master to take care of you, huh?”
you nod too fast, desperate, and he chuckles low in his chest. the sound makes your thighs press together, heat pooling between them.
his hand tangles in your hair and he drags you closer, pushing your face against the hard outline straining his sweatpants. “kiss it.” the command is rough, no room for disobedience. you press your lips against him, trembling.
“good girl,” he praises, before suddenly yanking you up into his lap. the roughness makes you whimper, but he only grins, pulling your costume down until your breasts spill free. he palms them greedily, biting at your neck hard enough to make tears prick your eyes.
“mm, so soft… my little bunny’s built just for me.”
you can barely catch your breath before he is pushing your panties aside and sinking into you with one brutal thrust. you cry out, clinging to his shoulders, ears askew and fluffy tail brushing against his stomach with every movement.
“fuck, so tight,” he groans, snapping his hips up into you. “you’re cryin’ already? barely started, sweetheart.”
his words make you sob, but you cannot stop grinding down on him, chasing the drag of his cock deep inside you. every thrust forces a high-pitched whine out of you, your voice breaking.
he smacks your ass, the sting sharp and hot. “louder. let everyone know my bunny’s getting ruined.”
your body arches, ears slipping down as you moan helplessly. he drags you down hard, forcing every inch inside, until your belly feels full and stretched.
“that’s it,” he pants, lips curling into something cruel and possessive. “gonna stuff you full ‘til you’re bred like a real bunny. you’d like that, huh? being nothing but a dumb little thing for me to fuck and fill?”
you nod frantically, tears slipping down your cheeks, babbling out broken pleas for more.
his hand cups the back of your head, forcing you against his shoulder as he fucks up into you rougher, deeper, until your vision blurs and your thighs shake.
“mine,” he growls into your ear. “my bunny. my dumb, sweet pet. i’m gonna ruin you.”
i loove ur puppy!satoru and bunny!reader ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾ mor plz hehe
Warnings: PuppyHybrid!Satoru x fembunnyhybrid!reader, smut, dubcon, licking, mentions of Suguru (he’s a perv), jerking off, exhibtionism. I hope you like this!!! Enjoy!!
Toru absolutely has no sense of when things should be done and when they shouldn’t be done, he’s completely fine with having a full on make-out session with you right as Suguru is clicking away at the channels a few inches away from you to. you hate public displays of affection so you’re always whining and pawing to get away from him. He really won’t have any of it, he’s trying his hardest to suck on your tongue or trying to slip his hands under your shirt. 
Suguru really seems to not care in the least bit, he’ll intervene to tell Satoru to calm down but apart from that he doesn’t mind the small moans that make your way up your throat.
Nor does he bat an eye when Satoru is blatantly tugging down his sweats to free his already leaky cocklet, he has no shame with the way he’s rubbing your pussy through your underwear, and when Satoru places you on his lap, quickly shutting you up with a small warning growl, he still isn’t turning his head.
Satoru slips his needy cock right into you with no problem, you were already wet enough just from the kissing. He’s filiting himself right into your gummy walls and fucking up into you. Satoru is a loud moaner, he practically howls as he milks himself with your pussy over and over. His bunny feels so damn good how could he not ruin you over and over?
You and Satoru don’t see it but Suguru is totally looking: but not making it obvious and even if he did you two still wouldn’t notice in your state right now. He’s staring at where you and Satoru connect, creating that nasty milky ring that dribbles down Satoru’s thighs. Suguru starts rubbing at his thigh, trying to zone out as to not seem like a pervert, but aren’t you two the perverts here?
Without regard for privacy anymore, Suguru rubs his cock through his pants, squeezing his tip in tune with the way Satoru makes you bounce agaisnt his dick.
And it’s not long before he just rips his dick out from its confines and jerks off, rubbing the precum from his tip all the way to his heavy balls, Satoru lifts your legs and he gets to have a better angle at your soft pillowy cunt, you’re so damn wet, glistening in the warm light and oh so beautiful!
content warning: 18+, MDNI. smut - cockwarming, oral (m. receiving), pope finishes on readers face, use of petnames (pope calls reader bunny, baby, silly bunny, sweetheart)
a/n: i’m only about to finish season 2 of animal kingdom and this is my first pope fic, so i’m sorry if pope is ooc here :p not proofread, lmk about any mistakes!
masterlist
pope had been out all day working a job to then drinking with his brothers, and all he wanted was to come to his bunny.
his boots dragged against the wooden flooring as he came in through the front door at 1 AM. he discarded of his jacket and shoes before heading towards your shared bedroom almost on instinct.
“bunny? you awake?” he called out softly, poking his head into the room while opening the door quietly.
pope was met with the sight of you curled up under the sheets, blink sleepily at him. “hi, popey. i wanted to wait for you.” you yawned.
you almost didn’t catch the frown that graced pope’s chapped lips. “you didn’t have to do that, sweetheart.” he cooed lightly, sitting down beside you on the mattress before brushing the hair off from your forehead.
“i know i didn’t have to.” you shrugged, shifting to nuzzle your face into his lap. “how was the job? everything go okay?” you asked, eyes flitting up to meet his soft ones.
“yeah.. it was fine.” he sighed, watching you settle dangerously close to his crotch. “got a good haul.” he mumbled as you practically pawed at his growing bulge.
“what are you doing? it’s late. you should sleep.” pope scolded, but he didn’t make any sort of move to push you off him. “i want you.” you whined. “i missed you all day. i just wanna taste.”
pope thought for a few moments before readjusting his position on the bed until he was sat against the headboard. “okay, bunny. only cause i missed you too. promise you’ll sleep?” he asked, receiving an eager nod from you.
he lifted up his hips to pull down his jeans and boxers, pumping himself a few times to get hard enough for you to suck him into your mouth.
you gave his tip a kitten lick before taking it into your mouth, lips already wet as pope gathered your hair out of your face for you.
he groaned when you got about half way down, the rest of his length thickening up, making you whimper against him. you were already struggling to fit all of him in your mouth.
“too much?” pope asked, rubbing your back soothingly. he hummed when you nodded weakly. “that’s okay. just take what you can.”
the next few minutes were filled with pope telling you about his day while you suckled on his throbbing cock, saliva dripping from your lips and onto his pubic bone.
pope didn’t even notice you had fallen asleep until he looked down to see your eyes closed, face peaceful while still sucking on his cock.
“silly bunny couldn’t even stay awake while sucking my cock.” he whispered to himself, his tone condescending yet loving at the same time.
he only slipped himself out of your mouth right as he was about to cum. he groaned deeply as came onto your face, your swollen lips and cheeks covered in his sticky release only making him throb harder.
he made sure to clean up your face with a wet cloth before tucking you in properly under the sheets, kissing your forehead before cuddling up beside you.
i cannot stop thinking about that scene where garrett calls hanna a “drunk bunny” oooghhh that was so hot… just imagine you being all worked up and trying to tease garrett only to be like “just a sec bunny”
just him calling you bunny tldr
I love that scene too bc you can tell how much he wants her but is holding himself back (hot consent king!!) And maybe it’s just my own size difference *thing* (which is going off like crazy with him) but the thought of a big, tough, hulking guy like Garrett calling you his bunny is just…mmhm. Well. Wait, what was I saying??
garrett graham x fem!reader
cw: 18+ mdni, smut piv sex, brief cock-warming, v fingering, oral f!receiving, he cums while eating you out <3
masterlist
It started as an offhand comment one day.
You were kneeling next to Garrett on the couch, pressing soft kisses to the side of his neck, running a hand up and down his thigh while he tried to focus on his video game.
With his roommates away for the weekend and the normally crowded house all to yourselves, you had been counting on some quality time alone with your boyfriend.
And you were getting impatient.
When you sighed dramatically for what had to be the hundredth time, he chuckled at your exasperation. “Someone’s feeling needy, huh? Just give me a second, bunny.”
Caught off guard by the new term of endearment, you let out an almost imperceptible gasp.
When he glanced up from the screen and noticed the subtle change in your expression, his eyebrow lifted as a cocky smirk overtook his face.
“Oh, you liked that huh?”
Before long he had you naked and quivering in his lap, your soft thighs straddling his waist, fingernails gripping his broad shoulders as you slowly sank down on him, swearing you could feel each ridge of his thick cock as it stretched you open.
Taking your time to adjust to the sensation of almost impossible fullness, you let out a satisfied sigh. But before you could start to move, his big hands held you in place, firm on your hips as he gave you a devilish grin then picked up his controller to resume his game.
“Now be a good bunny for me and wait.”
Since that day he’s used the nickname to tease and torment you, saying it’s a fitting one because you’re so soft and sweet.
He likes how just whispering it into your ear when you’re alone gets you all worked up and whiny. How it makes your pussy drip for him. You can pretend you don’t like it, but knows you do.
He’s obsessed with the sweet way you whimper when he has you underneath him in his bed, rubbing slow circles over your clit with his thumb before stretching you out on his fingers to get you ready for him.
“Cum for me, bunny,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours until you gush all over his fingers, leaving your pussy a sweet, sticky mess that he loves to clean up with his tongue.
“Taste so good, bunny,” he groans, voice muffled by your pussy, big hands holding you open while you squirm beneath him. “Could eat you all day long.”
With his curly head buried between your soft thighs, he’ll greedily lap up every last drop of you like he’s starving, grinding his hips against the mattress while savoring in your exquisite taste.
Sometimes when you pull on his curls just right and let out the softest little moan, he’ll cum long before he’s ready, rutting into the sheets and leaving them a soiled, tangled mess.
“Look what you did to me, bunny,” he’ll gasp under his ragged breath with a smile, lips shiny to match the gold chain around his neck. “You’re going to have to make it up to me later.”
And you definitely don’t mind ;)
a/n: my apologies for any errors. i wrote this in an ovulation fever dream after reading your ask 😵💫🤍 thank you for sending this in!!
The sun had climbed high, but time meant nothing. I was faced down in the forest dirt, ass up, trembling and exposed. The wolf’s knot was still locked deep inside me—fat, swollen, pulsing so hard I swore I could feel it bulging through my tummy.
Every little grind of his hips made me cry out, not even words anymore… Just squeaks, sobs, broken whimpers spilling into the grovel. The slick between us was endless, soaking my thighs, dripping down to the ground. Every move made a sticky, obscene squelch, as though our bodies weren’t separate anymore, but fusing together at the knot.
The beast leaned over me, heavy, scenting the top of my head like I was already marked. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and satisfied, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re gone, aren’t you? My pretty bunny’s brain all melted from knot.”
I twitched, back arching as another orgasm ripped through me without warning, my body clenching and fluttering around him, milking him harder. My cotton tail quivered against his stomach, twitching helplessly as more slick gushed out, making the sounds between us wetter, filthier.
“You keep leaking, keep milking me,” he growled, claws pressing into my hips until I squealed. “Pathetic little thing can’t stop, can’t help yourself. You’ll take every rut I’ve got until you can’t even breathe without my knot keeping you open.”
I whimpered, tears streaking down my cheeks, my body shuddering violently in overstimulation. I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight, couldn’t beg—just twitch and squeak while he kept grinding inside me.
“Good prey,” he whispered, his tone almost tender in its cruelty. “Stay knotted. Stay ruined. You’re mine until I decide you’re empty.”
And as the squelching rhythm dragged on—wet, sticky, endless—I realized he meant it... I wasn’t going anywhere. Not until the scary werewolf was finished breaking me apart.
omg i've been thinking abt rabbot x bunny reader and they're so pervy with her😵💫
like robby is so out right mean and condescending always calling her a clumsy rabbit when she does something he doesn't like or pulls her ears when when she's trying to watch tv. Sometimes when he's had a long shift and he comes home to his bunny sleeping he takes her right there : (( she used to be a brat and complain abt it but now she just turns and kisses him since her little bunny brain is so foggy from his touch
jack on the other hand is so sweet: (( he'll always coddle and spoil her with gifts and affection he even took her to a sex shop to buy her special toys ! only thing is he'd put them within her reach when both men are at work and watch on the cameras as she touches herself: (( he even shows robby knowing she'll get punished when they get home
rabbot x reader, bunny!reader, mean!robby (but jack is definitely playing into it)
you can’t help it! you’re just a dumb bunny, after all! jack says that with affection, robby with a hint of derision.
you can’t help that you need something inside you constantly. robby sighs in the middle of the night often when you climb on top of him, rolling your hips over a very involuntary tent in his pants.
he likes to slap you. “bunny can’t even fucking control herself.” you whine, unable to see through the dark, the haze of your own need. you press against him, skin burning. “dada…” he lays back lazily, makes a show of yawning. “well, c’mon, sweetheart. we don’t have all night. dada’s gotta go to work and be a productive member of society.” a large hand pats your hip, all the encouragement you need. you furrow your brow and grab his cock in both hands, attempting to shove it inside you. “easy, bunny. easy.”
after particularly hard days, robby will grab you. even if you’re just on your tummy, watching a show, gnawing on a carrot shaped chew toy. he pulls you against him. you’ll thump one foot against the carpet, and receive a firm pull to your ears. you yelp out, ears flattening, cowering :(. he just flicks your cheek. “bend over.”
jack, on the other hand, lives for coddling you. “can’t be mean to her, man. ‘s not like she can help herself. just wired that way.” he holds you in his lap, toying with your clit. “you’re built to be needy, aren’t you?” you nod desperately. jack pets your head, then shoves your face down into a cushion. “see what she’ll do if you’re just a little nice to her?” he produces a plug with a cotton tail at the end, swipes between your pussy lips, and eases it into you. you squeal, but do not fight. you whimper. give a little kick of your foot.
jack even brings you special treats. whipped cream. all you have to do to earn it is bend over and let him fill you. and you want to be filled anyway!!! sometimes robby will come home to you under jack, on the dining table. jack throws his head back, and robby points a finger at you. “look at what you do to jackie. now he’s gonna be all frustrated at work.” jack ruts into you, pressing kisses to your soft face. “such a good bunny.”
jack leaves toys out on your bed when he decides to pick up an extra shift during the day. it’s not malicious. he wants you to feel good! you take the rabbit, the plug, and use them, crying for your daddy.
it is not malicious when he shows robby the camera app, where you fuck yourself in full view of the blinking red dot. but rules are rules. and you’re technically not supposed to touch yourself without jack or robby supervising. robby unmutes the camera. “dumb little bunny. stay where you are.” your heart speeds up. you squeak. jack’s voice comes through. “but you looked so sweet breaking those rules, sweetheart!”
