Sundog
sundog
prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]
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The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment.
Then, you’re out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.
Evidently not. The keys don’t work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though it’s failed to live up to its purpose so far.
You’ve got it under control for a day. If by ‘under control’, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, it’s consumerism.
That doesn’t last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench won’t cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isn’t sympathy, evidently.
Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker you’ve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you can’t be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say.
What home, you don’t say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way.
If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s capitalism.
You didn’t think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didn’t realize before was that, at any moment in time, you’ve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.
Sorry, they’d say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We don’t have a couch to spare.
I can sleep on the floor, you’d texted back. They’d gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.
You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. It’s not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and that’s what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you.
But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you can’t help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. You’ve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.
It feels beyond helpless. You’re in a state like you’ve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings.
What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet moment’s reflection; now, you see them as kin.
Easy, isn’t it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected.
When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone could’ve predicted this.
You almost don’t respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when he’s barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around.
Then he says it again, closer this time, and you’re forced to look up, if only to see who’s approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidation—maybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you.
He’s one of the bigger men you’ve ever come across. You look across the street to see if there’s a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side.
You don’t bolt at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet there’s nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldn’t that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week you’ve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise.
“Plan on catchin’ your death out here?” he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice.
You’re not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you would’ve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You don’t have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back.
“I’ve got mace!” you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying.
“That’ll do ya fuck all out here,” he says, a touch condescendingly. “You lost or somethin’?”
“I’m not lost,” you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.
“Then get home instead of roamin’ the streets. You’re askin’ to get snatched up, bird.”
The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake.
“I can’t,” you whisper.
“Bloody hell,” he sighs. “Why the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?”
“I got evicted. I don’t have a home,” you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose.
You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved.
Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air.
“You been out here long?” he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. He’s not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likes—he just does.
You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. “…Just today. The gym kicked me out.”
You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. It’s shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life.
“Haven’t ya got any family, girl? Friends? What’re they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?”
You could be sick on the pavement. “…That’s none of your business.”
His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. “You always this nasty to people tryin’ to help?”
And you’re not. That’s the part that grates the most. You’re all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. It’s inconceivable that this could’ve happened to you—inconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job.
They’ve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you haven’t even toppled over yet. That’s how quick it all happened.
“What help are you?” The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “Are you gonna put me up in a hotel?”
“Think I’m made of money, bird?” he asks rhetorically.
“You’ve probably got more than I have.”
Now you’re weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and you’re in between jobs at the moment. It might’ve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didn’t require a mailing address. That’ll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; that’s the only thing you’ve learned to expect.
The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesn’t follow any of the scripts you’ve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense.
It’s inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razor’s edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate.
“You need a place to stay,” he states bluntly.
“It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll find something.”
“You could come home with me.” He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldn’t be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.
The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I don’t want to…put you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.”
“Shelters’ll all be full this time of night,” he says. “Never been on the streets?”
You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you.
“I can go to a church,” you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves.
He snorts. “Haven’t been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. It’s late.”
You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. You’ve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, you’d figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it.
A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within arm’s reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on.
“I can’t go home with a stranger.”
You know you’re not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help.
The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. He’s every inch the brute you imagined in your head—blunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in fact—bisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like he’s used to keeping it neat and tight but it’s been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five o’clock shadow.
You frown. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”
“Well, now we’re not strangers, are we?”
“That doesn’t—that doesn’t change anything! I still don’t know you.”
He shrugs. Takes a step back. “Suit yourself then. No skin off my ass.”
Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadn’t noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you.
“…Where else am I supposed to go?” you whisper.
He tilts his head. “Could sleep on a bench in the park.”
You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. “That’s not funny.”
“Wasn’t meant to be. You’re shit out of other options at this time of night.”
“So, what? Now it’s-it’s my fault or something?”
His eyes don’t exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge.
“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. “You coming or not?”
Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison.
Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now.
What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain.
He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and there’s no fighting the urge to drag her home.
She doesn’t look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh.
That’s not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didn’t take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits.
He can be good every now and then.
“Sit down, will ya?” he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch.
His flat isn’t much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasn’t gotten around to fixing the place up. It’s better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much.
Simon’s no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical discharge—his knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on them—he wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gaz’s couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again.
Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen.
“D-do you want me to help?” she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out.
She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure.
He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me.
“Sit down,” he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs.
She’s really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again.
Anyone else could have found her first, but they didn’t. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. She’s in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, it’s him she sees.
Poor bird with her clipped wings. She’s not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesn’t have to rend anyone limb from limb.
It’s been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.
Besides, he doesn’t like asking for favours anyway.
“Name’s Simon, by the way,” he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. “Riley.”
“Oh,” is all she says. He waits a beat.
“Gonna give me your name, bird?”
She does, voice squeaky like it’s said under duress. That pisses him off more.
He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.
They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. It’s the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell she’s gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.
He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches.
“What?” he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her.
“I—um—I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed.
Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes she’d cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. It’s better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. He’d have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright.
He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it.
“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “‘Was nothing.”
“No, it was really nice of you,” she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. “What if I…—you took a stranger into your house.”
That gets the blood pumping. “Gonna gut me while I sleep, pet?”
It’s half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper don’t bite into his dick.
She frowns. Endearing. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Not really good at looking after yourself, are you?”
“I am—it’s just…” tears build up on her waterline again, “it was one thing after another. I couldn’t get it all together.”
Pity isn’t an emotion he’s accustomed to feeling. Simon’s not even sure if that’s what he’s feeling now. It’s more like the bastard child of pity.
He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.
He lets her run away though because he can’t tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished.
Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; there’s already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.
Sleep won’t come easy tonight.
Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. There’s only so much abuse he can put himself through.
The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open.
In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesn’t recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button.
Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts.
The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mind—crawling over the bird’s prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole.
Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He won’t—can’t—
His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw.
He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed.
“Get up,” Simon grunts. “And make yourself something to eat. I’ve gotta head out.”
He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile.
She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort it’s taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep.
Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. It’s partly his fault, but he doesn’t apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until it’s time for him to head to work.
“Don't think about leaving—any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.”
He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.
Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life.
Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. You’re thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him.
The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that you’re outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksand—in some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it.
And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Weren’t you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you know—you are not the same.
Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now it’s just a ghost.
He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. There’s not much else to do. It’s almost a relief, to be honest. You’ve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldn’t step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to.
Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. You’re lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt.
He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesn’t bring it up. You’d find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that.
Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you don’t know what to say to that.
Thank you doesn’t seem to suffice. I love it doesn’t cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of what’s stashed inside, but you can’t pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you.
“Thank you for taking him home,” you say, already on the verge of tears.
He stares down at you, unblinking. You’re learning to read into his silences though.
“Don’t expect me to take care of it,” he says instead of accepting your thanks. “If you can’t handle it, it’s going back outside.”
You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms.
At first, you’re not sure what to make of it. It can’t be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but you’re learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean.
It’s likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that you’re no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simon’s flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life.
Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week.
You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than it’s worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesn’t pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night.
“Is this normal for you?” you ask, hands folded in your lap.
His gaze doesn’t move from the television screen. “Is what normal?”
“Taking in strays.”
He snorts, then takes a second to answer. “No.”
You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. It’s a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is.
You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. He’s become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.
If he didn’t want you to fixate on him, he wouldn’t have left you home alone with nothing else to do.
“Bird!” Simon roars from the other room. “The cat’s pissed on the floor again.”
You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony.
It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simon’s address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. You’ve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as you’ve spent more and more time on your phone.
This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasn’t left you with a throbbing migraine.
He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if it’s alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesn’t seem to encapsulate.
Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldn’t let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simon’s bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesn’t feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty?
You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this person—someone you trusted—could’ve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in would’ve been some big, terrible thing.
The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive.
Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castle’s ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls.
And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. It’s an improvement.
“I’m sorry,” you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there.
“It’s fine.”
“I just want to—I wanted to make it up to you…for taking me in.”
“You don’t owe me shit,” he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away.
“Yes, I do. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“If you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.”
Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say.
Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while you’re making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way he’s pressed up against you.
You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that you’re only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together.
“It’s my fuckin’ flat,” he says instead of pointing out that your pussy’s wet because she knows there’s a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too.
“I live here too, you know,” you huff. “I can’t wash the floors every time you come home.”
“Thought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.”
His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they don’t because his actions don’t line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you.
It’s more than that though. He’s wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas.
You really do think that there’s something so special about him that you’ll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didn’t know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him.
You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it.
The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he would’ve taken it already. But he doesn’t shove her out of his lap either. It’s not his problem if she thinks it’s necessary or not.
Maybe it’s not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like she’s in pain.
Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasn’t in recent days. Simon’s always been a light sleeper—he’s sure he would’ve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would.
Still, Simon doesn’t lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more.
She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. “Ah, ah, ah—thank you, thank you, I…—can I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleaseplease—”
It feels like everything they’ve been through so far has been leading to this. He’d smelt it coming like blood in the water.
All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. She’d doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but he’d ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because she’d been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.
That hadn’t lasted long.
“What’s gotten into you, pet?” Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut.
“Took care of me,” she mumbles, almost slurring her words. “Always taking care of me, Simon.”
There’s no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please.
Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, it’s over. There’ll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly.
“Told you, you don’t owe me nothing,” Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass.
“Then—then…—I don’t know, pretend it’s just for me.” It’s a joke because they both know it’s not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.
He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. She’s far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills.
It’s a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes.
Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. “Right, get off—you ain’t ready for this.”
“I am!” she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. “Just—I can do it, Simon—”
“No, you can’t. You’re rushing and hurting yourself—”
“Wait, okay, wait, I can…just give me a minute, okay?” she begs, and he doesn’t tell her that he’d give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. He’s waited so long; what’s a little longer?
Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before she’s ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins.
He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable.
He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldn’t have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more.
“You’re alright—you’re alright,” Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. She’s still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps.
She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing he’s ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him.
He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.
His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in.
“You do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?” he pants, taunting her.
“No!” she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp.
It doesn’t matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that he’s the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun.
“Perfect girl,” Simon chuckles, breathless. “Made for me. Got m’self a pet right off the street.”
And he did, didn’t he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings.
His conscience is clean. He could’ve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chest—) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patience—a fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull.
A pretty bird that’s made his chest a cage.
The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound.
He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil.
“Gi’me…gi’me…” she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock.
He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows what’s best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns.
When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out.
“Fuckin’ hell, that’s pretty,” he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain.
His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messy—how he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.
He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down.
He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. It’s his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses he’s lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour.
“Squeeze me good, bird. Say thank you—” thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping me– almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for.
“Nngh, Simon,” she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound he’s ever heard.
Simon’s never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows she’ll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed.
Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge.
“Come on, fuck—that good, pet?”
“R-right there, oh god, ohgodohgod—”
He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come.
It’s a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesn’t matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here.
Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it.
He thinks he’ll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.
She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. “N’more. M’tired.”
“Wasn’t gonna, pet.”
The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her.
He could’ve told her that it’d end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep.
In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black.
“I think I want to go back to school,” you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl.
“Yeah?” he says, only half-listening.
“I can always get a part time job on the days when I don’t have class. I never liked my old job anyway.”
“Do whatever you want,” Simon grunts. “Not my problem.”
Under the table, your cat’s tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps.
You smile.
More Posts from Klavi and Others
can i say something crazy? cw: piss
simon who has absolutely no respect for his bird's privacy.
comes back home from work; all sweaty and churlish and dour, soot caked on his face and hands, welder boots announcing his arrival in heavy, lazy footsteps. he doesn't call for you, but your gentle hey babe sounds from the bathroom anyway, half-distracted by the videos on your phone. the idea of you coddled at home since he left at dawn that morning — cushioned in bed until late, one hand in a bowl of cherries on ice that still drips condensation over your nightstand, the other pushing a new record for screen time on tiktok, the lengths of your legs all soft, bitten, exposed in set of flimsy shorts, cooled by the fan overhead, all ready evidence to why he puts up with as much shit as he does — drives him a little mad to think about. stokes a hunger in him, a mix of pride and masculinity and possessiveness that has him pushing into the room. despite the fact that his needs aren't urgent, not pressing enough to justify this.
this — standing right before you, so that your manicured toes kiss his leather soles. saying nothing as he unbuckles his belt, gruff, quiet, completely uninterested in addressing your concerns when you look up at him with those squinted eyes. it isn't above simon to make you suck him off while you're on the toilet, and really you wouldn't mind, but you get the sense that isn't what this is when he knocks your legs apart with his knees. little fuss to the action, little reaction to your spread pussy.
his cock bounces out about eye level with you. soft. nonetheless hefty and thick and large, bowing down even as he wraps a rough palm around its base. he can see the revelation find you in real time when he places his free hand on the wall behind you. the cresting arch of your brows. the grimace mangling your cheeks. the prissy pout of your lips. if he weren't so exhausted, he might have it in him to take your face right there. it's just the right combination of horror and fascination to get him going.
"simon noooo," you whine, throwing your phone somewhere, scrambling back until you can't anymore, porcelain tank pressing flush to your back. "just wait your turn. please!"
"'nuff of tha'. shush now." he huffs, chuckling a bit when he realises that you only made things worse for yourself by leaning away. your hips now jut out, cunt propped centre of the bowl.
there's no shyness, no stall on the release. his piss comes out in one, hot stream, washing right on target to hit your little clit. you shake your head, so disgusted with him he knows he'll have to make it up later. still, you do nothing to discourage it, sitting in place like a good pet, only occasionally tensing your legs against the steaming shower. some splashes on your belly, some on your thighs and the rim, yet it's never ending. you wonder if he planned this all day, held in the four cans of san pellegrino you packed for his lunch, just so he could give them back to you.
you just don't realise that not all of it is his.
"sad t'be missin' out on th' fun?" simon mocks, finally pulling away. he shakes the last of it off his cock, swiping a hand over his tip, before tucking himself back in. you blink, look down, and realise that somewhere along the lines, you started peeing too.
and have yet to stop.
"it's natural!" you wail, squeezing your pelvis floor in a last ditch attempt to save your dignity. it's no use. having started, it's near impossible to stop. your necks discovers a new type of heat in the humiliation, burn licking its way up your face. your ears tuck into your shoulder.
"yeah, yeah." he patiently waits for you to finish, cupping a hand under your elbow to keep you upright as you stand on fawn legs. his lips are paper thin, fleeting, when they press fondly to your temple. "now off to th' shower w'ya."
your nose crinkles. "you know you need one more than i do, right?"
"and wha's a shared bath?"
Going absolutely feral over Mechanic!Simon and how you met him :(( I just want him so badddd
TW: pervy!Simon, smut, creampie, possessive!Simon, dirty talk (praise), he just wants you so bad girl, swearing, kinda naive!reader, brief mention of spanking
Mechanic!Simon masterlist
Regular masterlist
Just imagine you’re driving through a shitty little town somewhere in England, you don’t even know where you are at this point.
Your ex just kicked you out of your shared apartment in the middle of the night and you have nowhere else to go, your only option is to drive in your little shit box of a car as far away from him as possible.
Of course its poring rain and of course your car breaks down in the middle of the road surrounded by scary looking government houses and a very obviously high homeless guy screaming and yelling all sorts of profanities :(
With shaky hands you quickly look up every mechanic in town on your phone, its almost dead and none of them answer :( of course they wouldn’t! Its the middle of the night!
You don’t have insurance either! Everything is going wrong, you’re so lost and scared :(
You start to panic when there’s only one number left, with a shaky breath you call it and just as you think your out of luck, a deep cranky voice answers begrudgingly obviously pissed that someone dared to call him at this hour.
Tomorrow is his only day off for the week >:(
Simons personal number was attached to the shop after Price promoted him to manager, now he has all sorts of dumb fucks calling him all times of the day and he hates it!!
But how could he say no? A poor girl called him in tears gasping for air between sobs and absolutely hysterical :(((( His not an ethical guy and a young girl like you that knows absolutely nothing about cars :( imagine all the extra money he could charge you? You wouldn’t question it either! Oh how could he say no to such a silly girl…
After what feels like hours a very tall, bulky, thick man with a scary balaclava knocks on your driver seat window and you scream so loud!!! His so scary and big! And his eyes! They’re are so angry :(((( he must be so angry at you for calling him :( you feel so bad :(
After he loads your car onto the tow truck he insists on driving you home
“Ohh come on sweetheart, would hate to see a pretty baby like you stuck in the rain, let me take you home darlin’”
His so pervy too! Subtly touching your arse and looking at your hard nipples that poke through you soaked shirt :(
He can’t help it! You can’t blame him! You’re not wearing a bra!
And with a beautiful face like yours and a body like that, what did you expect him to do? Not eye fuck you? Don’t be ridiculous.
You tell him that you have nowhere to go because your shitty ex threw you out and Si insisted you stay with him!!
“Oh pet, you poor poor girl, you want to get a room at a motel? No. Nooo. That’s no place for a doll like you, come stay with me darlin’, come on sweets, I’ll sleep on the couch, promise yeah?”
“I’m just tryna’ keep ya safe honey, its not nice around these parts, okay? hate for somthin’ to happen to ya”
And you know his right :( he came all this way in the middle of the night, left his comfy bed in the pouring rain just to help you, his from around these parts and he knows best!
His voice is so deep and husky, you just know a man like him could keep you safe!
You jump in the shops tow truck and he insist you take off your soaking shirt and put on his company jacket.
Its covered in oil and dirt, smells like cigarettes and is wayyyy to big for you. “Riley” is printed onto the left breast pocket with a large logo with the words “Price’s Motor Repairs” on the back.
Its so disgusting and smells musky but something about it makes your pussy clench!!! His so manly, so dominant, how could you not get turned on by him!!! You could feel his eyes roam your breasts as you sit in his jacket, chest completely bare underneath, hard nipples rubbing against the fabric :(((
Once you reach the shop, he drops your car off then shows you around.
He wants to impress you sooooo bad, showing you all sorts of tools and telling you what he uses them for, how he uses them to fix things. The whole time his talking all you could look at is his big muscly arms as he purposely flexes them for you.
Never in his life has he seen such a gorgeous, gorgeous girl and all he wants to do is bend you over his modified truck and fuck you so hard you’re creaming on his cock :(
And that’s exactly what he does! Before driving you back to his, he has you bent over, back arched and his callused hand wrapped around your hair as he ruts into you while you're still in his company jacket :((((
Your poor pussy hasn’t taken such a big girthy cock before, his wide hips connecting with your arse and slamming your much smaller body into the hood of his car :3
Thrusts so deep his car shakes from the force :)
As you moan and babble completely cock drunk you can hear him snickering and grunting behind you, whispering dirty words in your ear
Praising you between grunts….
“Look at you love, fuck, look at that perfect fuckin’ pussy, taking my cock so well, such a good girl, aren’t ya?” As he pounds into you so deep the tip of his leaking cock touches your cervix. A small squeal exiting your lips as he holds you there for a second, letting you feel for the first time what a real deep pounding feels like :)
“Never been fucked this good have ya baby? Never cum his hard before” he’d snicker has you cum for the third time, legs shaking and mascara running not from the rain this time, but from the tears of pure pleasure his so kindly giving you :(
And of course his coming inside of you! His loads are so big as well, when he finally lets himself cum he absolutely floods your pussy :)))
Your moans bounce around the tin walls of the shop, the sound of him slapping your arse echoing at the same time
You can feel the hot ropes shoot up inside of you as he continues to slowly thrust making sure none of it goes to waste.
He tries to suppress his moan, disguising them as grunts but a few slip past his lips :(
He doest pull out but that doesn’t stop his cum from leaking out of your cunt and down you beautiful thighs,
“Look at tha’ baby, fuckin’ hell, you did so good for me my gorgeous girl, so fuckin’ good”
He just met you but his already so, so possessive. :)
He carries you to his truck because your legs feel like jelly :( his so gentle with you too, whispering in your ear how good you did for him and how you're such an obedient girl, his obedient girl.
You fall sleep in his truck, curled up in the passenger seat, his company jacket still wrapped around your bare chest.
You’ve had such a big night and the sound of the soft radio and drizzle of rain lulls you to sleep.
You wake up in Si’s arms as his gently placing you into his bed.
“You’re alrigh’ darlin’, jus’ close ya eyes for me, ill be here”
Its safe to say he didn’t take the couch that night :3
Request are open for Mechanic!Simon, I would love to hear your thoughts so feel free send them through and add to the AU. im just obsessed w/ himmmm
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Bad Dog (1)
Shifter!Simon Riley x F!Reader
Story Summary:
He was just a dog you had gotten from the kennel. He was just a dog that would protect you from him. That's all he was... just a dog.
Until things started moving, started going missing. Maybe you were misremembering... maybe you were going crazy...
Maybe he was just a bad dog.
Word Count: 1.5K
Warnings: None so far
Author's Note: Here it is! I finally finished the first chapter of 'Bad Dog', I hope you all enjoy it! <3
Next Chapter
The stale scent of dogs filled the air around you, thunderous barking echoing throughout the room.
You follow after the shelter worker, eyes glancing around at the different breeds of dogs in their kennels. Some shivered in the corner, effectively breaking your heart, while others stood on their hindlegs at the cage’s gate as you walked by.
The shelter worker, whose name tag read ‘Mindy’ with a few stickers of cartoon dogs, points out different breeds that would be good for what you needed, as if you hadn’t researched beforehand. She gestures to different cages of dogs that pant happily, their tails wagging as you make eye contact while passing by.
They were nice, happy dogs… but it wasn’t what you were looking for.
You needed a big dog. One that was protective and would attack if need be.
Cage after cage passes, not a single dog sticking to what you needed. It wasn’t until you got to the very end that a dog finally caught your eye.
He was big, almost wolf-sized, his fur as black as the midnight sky. His body was against the back of the cage, large brown eyes following your every move.
Mindy was busy talking about another dog, a Golden Retriever that arrived a few days ago, but you paid her no mind. Instead, you find yourself walking closer to the cage of the large dog, looking over the little introduction card. There was no story to compel a person to buy this dog, there were only big red letters saying:
‘Dangerous, schedule euthanasia.’
Brows furrowing, your heart drops as you read the words multiple times. Euthanasia? What was so dangerous about him that he needed to be put to death?
His brown eyes meet yours as you slowly lower into a crouching position in front of the kennel, a huff coming deep from his chest. With Mindy’s voice drowned out in the background, you slowly reach a hand between the bars, keeping eye contact with the large dog and a small smile on your lips.
“Hi there,” You keep your voice soft, showing that you were no threat to this large beast, “It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you.”
His gaze moved between your eyes and your outstretched hand, and you could tell he was contemplating something. Remembering what you had been told about dogs since you were little, you keep your hand steady and your smile soft. It only took a few quiet moments before he slowly got up and inches forward, nudging your hand with the end of his snout.
He sniffs against your skin, the warmth of his breath contrasting with his nose's cold and wet feeling. No reaction is given to you from him, he only huffs against your hand and lays back down, this time closer to the gated door.
Relief and happiness filled you instantly at his reaction. At least he seemed to tolerate you.
Keeping your movements slow, you gently pet his head, his fur surprisingly soft as you brush it through your fingers. His eyes remain locked on you as you gently pet him, your fingers seeming to satiate him enough to where he loses some of his tension.
A noise rips you out of the sweet moment, Mindy having made a sound of shock before rushing over, “Miss! You can’t be near him, he’s… not… safe.” Her voice slowly pedals off in confusion at the sight of the giant dog seeming content with your touches.
Your eyes look up towards her with a soft smile, your heart already smitten with the dog and wanting to take him home. You knew he’d protect you.
“I’ll adopt him, please.” You say surely before going into a standing position, a happy feeling in your chest at your decision to adopt this terrifying creature. You had a good feeling about this one, a tug you couldn’t quite place, but you felt attached to him already.
Mindy stands there beside you, shock written all over her face. You could tell she wasn’t expecting the sudden turn of events. When you look back down at the canine, he is sitting up and staring at you with his big, brown eyes, his tail wagging ever so slightly to the point where you might’ve missed it.
~~
Walking into your small apartment was a bit of a struggle while trying to carry all of the items for your new companion, your arms weighed down with the multitude of things to try and help him remain comfortable while living with you.
He follows behind you, a squeaky toy of a ghost held securely in his mouth.
Using your foot, you shut the door and dropped everything you were carrying onto the couch before flicking the multiple locks you had specifically requested to be drilled onto your door. A small sigh of relief escapes you once the last lock has been turned, ensuring your safety once again.
Your gaze moves to the dog, noticing that he is already watching you while sitting a few feet behind you. At the shelter, it had taken a while to fill out the paperwork since you couldn’t quite figure out what to name him. You had tried several names with him, only to receive either a huff or an unamused growl in response. It wasn’t until he went over towards the wall of toys and grabbed the squeaky toy that you had tried the name ‘Ghost’.
His tail gave a small wag and he bit down on the toy, a squeak being the confirmation you had needed.
Walking past him towards the kitchen, you gently scratch behind his ear before he begins to follow after you, the toy remaining in his mouth. You wanted something simple for dinner, too tired to truly put in effort to cook something that needed a lot of work.
Your cabinets were a bit barren, reminding you that you would need to head to the store soon. You always dreaded the store, too many people and not enough places where you could clearly see everything around you. But you had Ghost now, and thankfully, the store nearby allowed pets as long as they were on a leash.
Thoughts racing in your mind of your plan for tomorrow, you silently watch the pot of water boiling around the ramen noodles before adding the seasoning packet. While the noodles cook, you quickly make Ghost’s dinner as well. Having taken advice from Mindy at the shelter, you had bought some raw meat from the pet store.
Cutting it up into bite-sized chunks, you mix it with a few raw vegetables that you had lying around. You knew that Ghost had to have been more wolf than dog, meaning he would need a different diet than just kibble, but you didn’t mind spending a bit more money as long as he kept you safe and secure.
The both of you eat in comfortable silence, only the occasional crunch from Ghost and a slurp from you. Ghost had finished before you though, having scarfed down his food like he had been starved at the shelter. You bristled at the thought, especially at the knowledge that they were going to euthanize him.
You watch as he walks over to you, silently laying down beside your chair with a small huff, his head resting against his paws.
Now you were definitely certain that you had made the right choice in adopting him, even with the reluctance of Mindy and the rest of the shelter workers.
Dinner was finished soon enough, dishes set in the sink with a promise of doing them tomorrow. Grabbing the large dog bed you had gotten, you head towards the bedroom with Ghost following right behind you.
You hadn’t even had the chance to set the dog bed down before Ghost decided to jump onto your bed, circling a few times before plopping with the same huff he seems to enjoy giving.
His brown eyes watch as you set down the dog bed in the corner of the room, your hands on your hips as you look back at him. You wanted to tell him to get off your bed and to lay on his bed, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to force him to move when he already seemed to have gotten so comfortable.
This would just have to be future you’s problem.
Changing into your pajamas without a care in the world that Ghost seemed to continue to follow your every move, you decide on a set of sweatpants and a loose sleep shirt.
You climb into bed, using your foot to nudge Ghost so your legs can have more room. It took your body surprisingly quick to relax, unlike the usual hours of laying awake with your heart pounding anxiously. You knew it had to have been the new presence, instantly feeling safe with the large dog beside you.
Flicking off the lamp and shrouding the room in darkness, you could feel Ghost shuffle into a more comfortable position, his head lying on top of your stomach. You reach down and gently begin carding your fingers through his dark fur.
It wasn’t long after you had closed your eyes that you had drifted off into a rare, peaceful sleep with your new protector against your side.
i think i´m finally ready to write the most gut wrenching, toe curling self-indulgent "mini"series about toobluntandharsh!simon x traumatizedANDpeoplepleaser!reader i always wanted but never read before, even if english is my second lenguage and I KNOW i will mess it up
ok too much yap but i hope someone likes it 🫥
can we talk about them 🧎♀️🧎♀️🧎♀️🧎♀️
Simon Finds a Toy
You had just moved to town when the serial killer who was passing through takes a shine to you. Simon/Reader, 3.5k
18+ cw: kidnapping, hobbling, spanking, animal death
March is practically over when everything goes wrong.
Running through an abandoned warehouse avoiding bodies was not how you saw your evening going.
When the first of you began disappearing into the dark, no one noticed. You didn't all know each other, it was one of those friend of a friend types of gatherings, with everyone separating into pre-formed cliques within the first hour.
It was a younger guy who had suggested exploring the old building a mile down the road—no surprise there. Per his words, he fancied himself an urban explorer. You hadn't seen him since the beginning, one of the first to go missing.
You weren't even supposed to be here tonight! You'd just moved into town and you were trying to make friends. When the pretty girl at the bakery invited you to hang out, you thought you were good. That maybe life wasn't so hard and setting down roots wasn't impossible.
Stupid—tempting the universe like that.
Whoever this guy was, he was massive. The kind of massive where if he barreled into you, you would be pancaked. You had watched him take a bear of a man (Jeremy? Jason? Maybe—all you can remember is he said he was a footballer) out half an hour ago—lifted, bent, and broken all in one smooth, brutal move.
It was as awe-inspiring as it was fear-inducing.
So you run.
You run and you hide until you're backed into a corner. He's found every other person and now it's your turn. You're bleeding and bruised, aching where you slammed into sharp corners and machinery in the dark.
This is it, the climax of your story, is anyone surprised that you run your mouth a little? You don't hold back as you tell him everything you think about him, every new fucked up thing this evening had presented, every grievance ever buried down under the veneer of civility.
Why is he just staring? You're caught, nowhere to go, and he's just … looking. He's got shark eyes—pools of inky black that suck you in. Drowning.
He decides to take you home with him.
This has to be a joke.
///
April brings cruelty in its change, where you're expected to learn the shape of the season.
Stop messing with these knots or you won't like the consequences.
How were you supposed to know this is what he meant? He said it exactly once; the first night in the truck when he hopped out after hours of driving just to find you with the rope halfway undone, eyes glaring at him from above your gag.
He grunted out his warning while retying it, calm as you please, as if it wasn't a bother to him one way or the other.
Looking back at it he was probably hoping you would ignore the warning, the psychopath.
The next morning he had to tighten them again after your long night spent fiddling but he didn't say anything—just adjusted the knots and walked back around to continue the drive. He hadn't stopped that day other than for gas and one bathroom break on the side of a cracked and potholed back road, where if there had been any traffic, they would've gotten quite the show.
He didn't even have the decency to take you into the trees.
You had gotten one hand completely out of the hog tie by the time you two reached your destination; this little tin-roofed shed with just enough room for him to pull all the way in and close the doors behind him was the only building you'd seen in hours.
He doesn't address your unbound hand—simply refastens it into the tie while ignoring how you had removed the cloth gag with your partial freedom. What follows is the culmination of days worth of you sitting in enforced silence, thinking up every creative thing you could call him. Unfortunately he ignores you cussing him out, and throws you over his shoulder to begin his trek through the woods.
He doesn't seem to mind you screaming your head off, at least other than making sure you don't do it directly in his ear. That got a sharp adjustment of your torso across his shoulder; your grunting wheeze in response not very demure.
Now you're here—staring at your hands. Or rather, your thumbs and where they were taped in little braces to stop you from moving them. Sweat and dirt making the skin itch beneath the bandages.
He told you you wouldn't like the consequences. He TOLD you. Did you think he was lying?
Well—kind of, yeah. What sort of monster breaks someone's thumbs?
Your stare turns into a glare, unseeing of anything around you until a heavy hand landing on your shoulder makes you jerk in surprise.
"Leave it, pet. No use thinking on it now," is grumbled down at you before he huffs in something resembling amusement as you lean sideways, trying to get out from underneath his grasp.
You've been waiting for the day when he loses his patience and murders you too, but it hasn't happened yet. Maybe he finds it entertaining when you act like a kicked dog around him.
Which is a funny thought considering he has a dog that damn near idolizes him.
He ignores him most of the time—takes care to feed and water him but that's the extent. No scratches behind the ear, no tummy rubs, no kisses between the ears. As if you needed another reason to hate this guy.
You watch him put together three plates, two in bowls and one on some kind of wooden board. You snort to yourself when you think of this guy enjoying a charcuterie board, ignoring him when he cocks an eyebrow back at you, waiting for an explanation that won't come.
At least you've gotten better at keeping your expression blank when he sets the two bowls on the floor, before taking his charcuterie board wanna-be into the dining room.
Asshole.
///
May saw flowers blooming and lessons learned.
You have use of your thumbs again. That's a win.
Puttering around this stupid cabin is driving you insane. You've learned a few things since you've been here—his name is Simon, he's military, he murders people in his free time, and his dog's name is Dog.
Fucking. Psychopath.
You're not allowed outside. Simon had told you this as he was unwrapping your thumbs for the last time, break yer ankles if ya even try f'r the door. So you don't. You make your displeasure known in other ways, pushing to see where the lines are, so you know where to press to cause the most damage.
He annoyingly stoic. Nothing you say seems to get a rise out of him and other than breaking an established rule—don't touch the rope, don't go outside, don't try and stab him with a kitchen knife—he leaves you to your own devices.
He's always around, hovering. He responds if you talk to him civilly, ignores you if you scream at him, and bends you over his knee if you start swinging.
The cup you threw at his head was ugly anyways.
You screamed yourself hoarse that first time he pulled you across his lap, other leg pinning yours down with a forearm pressed between your shoulder blades. You thrashed but could barely move, well and truly immobilized.
You began pleading as your pants were pulled down, begging him not to touch you, telling him you were sorry. He acted like he couldn't hear you.
The first slap was more shocking than anything. Your voice caught on a hiccup of air as his palm made contact, the fat around his strike rippling. You don't get a moment to process before he's smacked you three more times, alternating cheeks.
Eons later, after he's reached whatever preconceived end he had decided on, you're a limp, sobbing mess, your face pressed into the cushions, great gasping sobs rolling their way out of your chest.
He cleans your face before applying cooling balm to your skin and that was a greater gut punch than the spanking had been. He doesn't get to be both—he doesn't get to hit you over and over again and then hold the tissue while you blow your nose. You can't handle him being both.
You don't sit comfortably for days and a new rule is created—don't throw things inside the cabin.
///
You're allowed to eat at the table with him now, no more guarding your bowl from Dog who was surprisingly nimble. Simon and Dog have the same conversational aptitude so at least you can eat in peace.
That's another good thing he has going for him (are you going to go to hell for thinking of good qualities in a murderer?) he never stints on portion sizes.
You were quite pleased to realize you had stayed delightfully soft over the past couple of months. Locked in the cabin as you are, the only exercise you've gotten is for your tongue, which has been honed razor sharp by this point with the vitriol that never seems to cause as much damage as intended.
He was a decent cook too. Nothing insane, his meals were basic and limited by what he had stored in his kitchen and cellar, but you hadn't had a bad meal yet.
He left sometimes to restock. Or for other excursions. When it came time for him to leave you would be moved to the bedroom, regardless of how much you kicked and snarled, and a leg chain would be connected to a hook under the bed.
Those days were some of the worst. If he noticed the salt crusting the bed when he eventually returned he never said anything.
///
June saw the temperatures rise, tensions following suit.
You don't like to think about the start of summer.
You had a nervous breakdown one day when the heat was intense. Simon had gone to pick up food and he had left you unchained. You were standing in the living room, looking at the front door, free to walk through it whenever you wanted.
So why were you standing here?
Simon would be upset if you left the cabin. Its one of the rules, don't go outside, that you're supposed to follow. There are consequences if you don't follow the rules.
You ignore the tremble in your knees as your fingernails dig crescents into your palms, the door taunting you with its presence. You could do it; you should do it. Run. Get away, get to the police, have him thrown in jail.
You're going insane, you're losing your mind. Is any of this even real? Why are you still standing here?
In an attempt to get yourself out of the standstill you were in, you forced yourself to take a few trembling steps . . . towards the kitchen where you got yourself a glass of water, and ignored the door behind you that was taunting you by calling your name.
You taught Dog a few tricks instead.
Nothing crazy—sit, lay down, shake. Still, you were pretty proud. Something good came out of this.
You didn't make eye contact with Simon for a week once he was back.
///
July is sunburns and fingermarks left where you touch him.
All you see is Simon, he's all you talk to (that sometimes talks back), all you hear. Is it any surprise you said fuck it?
You remember reading something once that said humans required touch, if they didn't get it they'd go crazy. Heh. Maybe that's what happened to Simon, living up here in this cabin, hard to have anybody to touch.
So you bend first; you always bend first with Simon. Every day with him is a yielding in one way or another. You're not sure if you even know how to stand upright any longer.
It starts with a pat on the shoulder.
He had brought you back a puzzle book from his last murder spree. Some giant workbook with a dozen different types of puzzles. If you had any dignity left it would've been lost at how excited you got for that puzzle book.
So, you thanked him. You took the book, patted him on the shoulder, and then went to sit at the table to play with your new entertainment. Simple, simple, simple.
So explain how you ended up here.
Don't swallow, keep your throat open for me, don't you fucking swallow—fuck, fuck, fuck.
///
August was a sticky heat and you were careful not to dig too deep.
You had to butcher your first animal at the end of the summer months.
Simon was out on a short trip when the dog caught a fox. He came dragging it in just like his papa, proud of the innocent blood dripping from between his jaws, his own muzzle bleeding where sharp teeth and claws had sank in.
When you pried it from his teeth, you realized the fox was still breathing, little heart thrumming against your fingertips, vibrating at an almost continuous hum.
The dog's fangs had punctured its stomach. Organs and muscles ruptured and bleeding. Another mark in the 'just like papa' column. Not decent enough to kill cleanly. Have to play in it, enjoy it.
You knew what you needed to do but still you hesitated. Weren't you going to attempt to save it? It's what you would've done before. Before Simon, before this cabin, before the nightmares.
One hand held it firmly, keeping it from attacking out of fear or pain while you softly dragged the other through the damp fur of its back, attempting any sort of comfort.
You could see yourself in it; living your life with your own sharp little teeth as protection until something bigger came along. Something that saw you and decided you would taste best in its maw, your blood coating its throat.
It drug you as a prize back to its home, uncaring of the blood you leaked on the floor, the bile you spit at its feet. You wondered if it would hurt less, to be the dog.
You did the fox a favor when you sliced its neck. No more pain.
///
September saw the leaves changing and witnessed your further plummet into Simon's orbit.
He had been home for weeks. Continuously. No little camping trips, no missions, nothing. He was beyond pissed but it was his own damn fault for getting stabbed in the leg.
You had cackled when he came limping in, blood oozing through the fabric he'd tied tightly around the wound. Looks like his latest quarry had sharper teeth than he realized. Good for them.
Stitching him up was repugnant—he laughed in your face when you gagged at the blood that coated you up to your forearms and were thankful to wrap him up and be done with it so you could bathe. The blood left a stubborn stain under your fingernails for days.
After weeks of him following you around—touching you constantly, sticking his fingers in your mouth or in your cunt whenever he liked, eating the food you made for yourself—you were fit to burst.
Go find your next plaything, just get him out of my hair!
///
October saw the trees shedding their leaves, their bare branches showing through. It saw you without a mask of your own.
You were allowed outside when Simon was home. It had been such a subtle decline, you thinking of escaping, that you didn't notice it's absence until now, when you were watching the cold sun create shadows on the ground with no desire to wander father than the front porch.
You were allowed outside, you were no longer chained up when he left, you could leave. You could pack a bag, pick a direction, and walk. For however long you needed to.
But.
It was getting colder at night. You'd be out there for days if not weeks before you found a road to follow if you were lucky. Plus you had no idea which direction to go. What if you ended up deeper in the mountains?
What if you continued to lie to make yourself feel better?
///
November saw the winds begin to howl with your feral side howling along, music in the dark.
Simon was gone—getting the last of his energy out before you were snowed into the cabin with the winter storms that were starting up. The eerie howling having long become a background echo in your ears.
Dog had been acting strange all day. Staring out the windows, growling at the door, barking when the trees brushed the roof. You'd let him out to check several times but he always came back inside after circling the cabin.
Strange.
The sun had almost set when you saw movement outside the window, a dark mass moving between the trees, too deep in the dusk to make out.
Dog hadn't come back yet from his last perimeter check, leaving you alone inside the cabin. You watched out the window for several long moments, only hearing the wind moving through the trees.
A loud bang on the opposite side of the cabin had you looking away from the window with a start; when you looked back after a few short seconds, the shape was gone—faded back into the trees.
Your heart pounded in your chest, mouth drying up and palms becoming damp. You ducked out of sight of the window and creeped into the kitchen, pulling one of Simon's knives out of the knife block.
One benefit to living with a serial killer, his knives were always in pristine condition. You know if you needed to stab someone, this knife would be slicing through them like butter.
Pressing into a corner, your mind spun in rabid circles. Who was that outside? How did they find the cabin? Were they there to hurt you? Dog never came back in. What if they murdered him and left his body to rot in the leaves? Dog was a good boy, he didn't deserve that.
You gripped the knife tightly, steadying your nerves. You weren't going to be the victim again. You'd been there, done that and you knew how it played out. When (if you told yourself, it might not happen, they might leave, there might not be anyone out there) they came through the door, you would defend yourself. If someone came through that door, it means they killed Dog and they will be coming for you.
You took a deep breath while wedged into the corner with the door firmly in sight, holding your knife in front of you, ready to attack. You would do it. If they thought you wouldn't, they're about to be too dead to relearn.
The door opens between one heartbeat and the next, the wind's grasping fingers catching, causing it to slam back against the wall, a dark hulking mass standing on the doorstep. You pounce, screaming like a wild thing, knife flashing through the air. They snatch your wrist and wrench it behind your back, kicking the knife away.
Thought we were past this, pet.
Oh. It's just Simon.
The following let down had your body shaking like you'd spent all night out in the cold. Tremors wracked you from head to toe as you tried not to think about how readily you'd been to commit murder.
The last few moments replayed in your head as you breathed in a controlled manner, attempting to regain control of your body. It's only Simon, it's only Simon you repeat to yourself, self soothing, it's only Si—what?
Since when has the fact that it's Simon been comforting? Have you forgotten what he did to you?
No, of course not. You hadn't forgotten. You knew Simon wasn't the good guy of the story. You were simply happy for the devil you knew . . . right?
///
December saw the snow begin to fall, walls following suit.
Simon finished last minute preparations around the cabin, within ears reach all day, every day. You spent a lot of time trailing after him, watching him work. Helping occasionally when he'd hold out nails for you to pass him as needed, or holding a board steady as he cut.
You asked him questions—things you hadn't bothered wondering before, how long have you lived up here, do you have any family, what do you do for your job?
He answered truthfully, as far as you could tell. It made you offer pieces of yourself in return.
///
January saw the snow pack everything in, forced proximity tightening bonds.
You and Simon spent all day together, every day. He never ran out of stories to tell you about his past mission or murdering sprees. Listening to him talk, you realized he really did get rid of the annoying ones first. A strange thought to have with no feelings attached—you didn't even notice their absence.
///
February was dark. February was cold. Hadn't it always been you and simon?
///
March saw the snow melting, the sun waking earlier each day. When Simon left to stretch his legs, March saw a second body following along behind him.
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Story Repository || Main Repository
Bartender!Ghost x Waitress!Reader Masterlist
Ghost Masterlist
Summary: You need some extra cash for rent, and you're sick of sitting at home, staring at a computer all day. You hear pub a few blocks away from your flat is looking for a server. Can't be hard, right? Well... the serving part isn't hard. But the brooding bartender that suddenly enters your life is - in more ways than one.
Warnings: cursing, misogynistic/degrading behavior towards reader (not from tf141), NSFW, humiliation, pining, masturbation, jealousy, slow burn
Check out this amazing art by blobbysblog!!!
Storyline:
pilot
interview
day one
simon's jealousy starts
hurricane shot
customer yells at you
simon gets hit on
you meet BarOwner!Price
you ask simon to take the mean customers
mitch says something he shouldn't
simon makes you cry
you both apologize after you avoid him for two days
you suggest a promotional drink for Halloween
price gets you a stepstool
price makes simon work for what he wants
you spill drinks on your shirt
simon lets some stress out
simon finds you crying in the walk-in
you and simon kiss in the stairwell
Headcannons:
the vision
pub dynamics
flirting pt 1
"DOOR!!"
flirting pt 2
when customers leave you their numbers
kyle and johnny
plans for the au
replacing simon's tools with pink ones
I made a little poem for y’all ^^
𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗱
Look at your strong legs
They run through the fields and forests
Look at your ears
They turn and twitch as they track the sounds
Look at your eyes
Beautiful and shiny, taking in the world
Look at your claws
Weapons and a tool, they help you run and fight
Look at your nose
Smelling scents even from afar
Look at your fur
It blows in the wind majestically, it keeps you warm
Look at your fangs
Menacing and sharp
Look at you
You’re wild
You’re free
Thoughts for thoughts
♡Call of Duty thoughts♡
Masterlist
!!! Warnings !!!
Hybrid! Characters, dark characters, dark content, hybrids, bimbo reader, nsfw etc
MINORS DNI
♡ bull 141 + farmer price! X cow! Reader, they're always fighting over you and craving your milk it's too bad it's only for price
♡ Sheep dog soap x lamb reader he heards you into a corner all by yourself and knots you until you're completely full or until the farmer finds the both of you
♡ big bad wolf! Simon x lil red! lamb/doe/bunny reader!! Hes absolutely animalistic feral even
♡ gaz and his pretty milf neighbour
♡ Alejandro letting rudy share his wife!!!!!
♡ dog! Anyone humping your foot like the degenerate he is, or humping anything that fits between his thighs you can't leave him alone because he cant be trusted :(( he cums on everything and anything that smells like you. complete mess. God forbid you have any sex toys too because hes 100% cumming in them and scenting them
♡ dog! Ghost, soap, price x dog! Reader, ghost is big, a lil mean and scary, soap is too dramatic for your little brain and price always makes you feel dumber than you are (he doesnt mean too tho) you always stay away from them especially when they get back from a mission you just know they're filled with adrenaline and you wont be able to help yourself but you cant help but gravitate towards them when your heat starts, the problem is all of them want you to have their pups and you can barely walk or move once you heat dies down. They always tease eachother about when they get you, they play so dirty!! Sparring? Pinned down and humped, bending over? Humped, reaching for something? Humped. You really can't catch a break </3
♡ bear price x bunny reader <3 yummy yummy yummy so big and warm, so strong and smart he has to protect his dumb cocksleeve !! Let's you have all the blankets for your nests even some of his clothes <3 he always soothes you when you cry from how big he is and how he doesnt fit in the delicately crafted nest. but its okay because he doesnt mind being tightly pressed against you hes okay with the tiny nest and his tiny bunny.
♡ mean! Cat! Ghost x kitty reader, shes a high class purebred show cat with the cutest bells and bows and ghost is a scruffed up tom cat who loves to annoy her. Hes a degenerate too and is not above sniffing your panties while their still on you, he just loves her scent and want you to have his litter. He scents her all the time at this point people assume shes ghost when she comes near. He purrs so loud too when hes balls deep
♡ Or stag/ram! Soap who loves to scent his pretty deer/lamb shes so soft and pretty and he wants her so bad!! She smells so good and hes always pressing his nose into her neck. He definitely challenges everyone to train against him but only if you watch 👁👁 he needs ti prove he can provide strong babies (he fails a bunch because hes too busy looking at her)
♡ Need a bear! Konig + bunny reader, hes so big like gigantic, huge and he scares her! Shes a baker and bakes things for everyone and he is just head over heels in love with her but she thinks he wants to eat her but he just wants a cupcake. He leaves treats at her door, flowers and pretty rocks trying to court her. She thinks hes making fun of her </3 and gets all angry and stomps her feet at him but he just swoons even more. She finally starts coming around when the cold comes and she feels the need to snuggles up with this furnace of a giant. When her heat comes so does her oral fixation, she loves having any part of him in her mouth, she loves his scent, his taste all of it!! He doesnt fit into any nest she makes because hes built like a tank but that's okay his bed is big enough.
♡ Wolf! Ghost x little red riding hood! Reader, shes walking to prices house to give him some baked goods and meals she made him, hes been helping her with some repairs and just has to repay him but the big bad wolf doesnt like that the pretty girl with the pretty scent is hanging around price of all people so he fakes an injury while she walks past him and put lil doe eyed girl has to help an someone in need although she didnt know it would be this type of help. Price isnt pleased when stumbles across the scene of graves balls deep, knot forming and rounds and rounds of cum dripping from lil red. Shes on her knees cheek pressed against the floor and is too delirious to acknowledge price, ghost however is as smug as always knowing he got his favourite red hood
♡ Stag! Soap with his deer! Reader whose so shy and skittish from being surrounded by giant men, she clings on to him like a life line being the same species gives her something to relate too he must also intimidated by these absolute units. She cant be further from the truth, soap feels no fear infact he feels power he has the one thing the others dont and what they crave. Hes so mean about it to, hes so rough when fucking you just so they can hear and suffer, He brags about it in the morning to everyone embarrassing you as they all look at you with such hunger.
♡ Kitty! Reader x big cats! Rudy + alejandro + wolf! Graves. !!! Somnophilia !!! Kitty! Reader whose so pretty and perfect, covered in bows, bells and lace. Rudy and alejandro always compliment her praising her soft ears and tail, letting them feel for themselves. This makes graves very jealous and the only way he knows how to respond to this is being a menace. Kitty reader isnt too fond of graves, hes loud, gets too excited on missions and most importantly hes a whore, always flirting with her even though she tells him shes not interested and that hes smells weird. Alejandro and Rudy are practically like your body guards (graves assumes its because you're both from the same species family and have more to bond over he doesnt connect the dots that kitty may be too skittish from his enthusiasm) and follow you everywhere, always interested in what your doing until one day they arent with you and He catches you sleeping in the warmth of the sun, your cheek pressed into your arm and drool leaking from you mouth but most importantly your legs spread and panties on reveal. His instincts take over and he cant help himself but to press his nose into your cunt sniffing and licking all he can get. You wake up startled and try to bat him away but hes been craving this for months and cant stop even if he tried. Hes humping your foot desperate for your hole but too caught up in how you taste. Alejandro and rudy find you full of graves knot, mewling as he tries to bully himself deeper into you.
♡ valeria and her bunny who shes so mean to! She calls her dumb and when she tries to deny it she fucks her until she cant she see straight just to prove her point. She always dresses her in such pretty and skimpy stuff just to irritate everyone who sees her to add to the burn he let's her cockwarm him whenever she pleases infront of her men? Go ahead, infront of the 141? Absolutely, when shes talking over the comms directing her men? 100% shes so pookie bear
♡ If Alejandro and rudy owned hybrid girl graves would 100% steal it just like he stole their base
♡ mean! Wolf! Gaz and puppy reader? Hes so mean and smart and shes so slobbery and dumb. She so obedient and follows every command shes given 'oh you want me to bend over? okay :D' he lives for it at first he wasnt as bold in just straight up asking her to bend over and take his cock. Hed try to be sneaky at first asking her to reach for things, look under the cabinet for the pen he dropped, walking into he bathroom and 'looking' for something. He soon realise how stupid she is and too advantage of his discovery, any time he wants to plow his knot into a warm tight hole all he needs to do jt whistle and she come running on over clothes already gone
♡ Prison guard! Price who rewards his favourite prisoner
♡ Slasher! Soap + ghost who breaks into your house only to found you with your fingers in your cunt crying because you cant cum
♡ Dbf! Price/Graves whose driving you home after you called him only to pull over to the side of the road because you keep giving him back talk he practically throws you onto the hood of the care and fucks you as cars drive past some of them slowing down to get a better look. Hes so mean about it, spanking you until you bruise making sure you'll think about jom every time you sit down. Hes probably complaining about the way you dress and how guys will look at you like meat (as if he doesnt do the exact same thing)
♡ Dbf! Graves who meets you at the golf course while your dad is talking with his friends. You're so bored and have nothing to do but when graves offer to treat you to a ride around on his cart you have to agree (because theres literally nothing else to do) he drives you somewhere nice and quiet and fucks you stupid until you cry. You're so spoiled and he has to teach you a lesson
♡ Pastor price/graves who cant help but fall for you even tho he took a vow. You confess about all you dirty thoughts, all the dreams, how you hump your pillow to the thought of the pastor, how you choke yourself with your rosary and imagine his fingers in place in the confession boothe. It's the same place where you later suck him off and ride him
♡ stepdad! Price who fucks you in the kitchen letting the neighbours see who good he fucks you
♡ soap hiring a bikini car wash to clean his already perfect car, watching his neighbours come out a rake the invisible leaves, talk to him about football, some even bold enough to just watch you
♡ sharing a bed with gaz except you cant keep your hands to yourself and the rest if the team just have to listen to you moan as you cum
♡ cat! Gaz x spoiled kitty! Reader!! Price spoils you so much and you get so jealous when he adopts a new cat!!! You avoid gaz and he has enough so he bends you over and fucks you dumb when price nips out
♡ simon fucking you as you practice shooting "just testing how well you can focus now aim for the target and let me do my thing"
♡ mountain men/lumberjack! 141+konig.
Little silly thing who doesnt understand why these men are so big like huge giants, how did they get that big? What are they eating to get that big?
She probably lives in a cave filled with things shes stolen from abandoned campsites, blankets, clothes, lanterns, chairs, anything she can get her hands one. She has a nest of comfy soft things and a box (suitcase+ cooler) filled with pretty things like gems, rocks, shiny bottle caps, bits of sea glass etc
She probably sees one of them showering in the lake on a very hot day and doesnt understand why the thing in between their legs is so huge??? The male fairies arent like them at all. She thinks there is definitely something wrong with them and needs her help so she watches and stares until they notice her (which was terrifying because she just flutters around making little noise) when asked who she was she just whips out a pocket knife she finds and points it down and goes "Why does it look like that? I'll help" with this doe eyed expression as if she hadnt just suggestive the worst thing to happen to the poor man
Immediately he starts screaming because he most definitely doesnt want his dick cut off he runs away and nobody believes his story because fairies dont exist and they would never cut off their dicks. That is until their stuff starts disappearing, it's nothing meaningful tho. They took their shirt off because it's too hot? Boom gone, they left a torch on the ground for a couple of seconds? Gone, took off their gloves? Gone again. They think they're displacing them but when they wake up to various plant pots missing and the rocks from their garden they start setting up cameras to see who the culprit is. They vary throughout the forest going as deep as they can. Imagine their surprise when they catch our lil fairy on camera innocently taking the plants and rocks because she thinks they're pretty.
They manage to track her down although not to her cave, shes sat near a tree eating some berries seemingly undisturbed by the massive men infront of her who are so confused (one relieved that he wasnt hallucinating) shes so lonely tho. Almost all the fairies left this part of the forest when humans decided to camp so shes more than happy to show them her cave and treasures. Her english isnt good as humans and fairies do not speak the same although most of her language skills are picked up from her overhearing/stalking campers.
They obviously cant let her live like this so they bring her back with them taking all the things she "owns" with them because she made such a fuss about them. They keep her warm and fed helping her with human customs like showering (they're more than happy to help her), cooking and wearing regular clothes (fairies no not enjoy clothes!! Underwear and a big shirt/ dress only) the clothes part does not go over well and they now have a half naked women with they prettiest wings in their cabin. Shes so pretty and dumb and always brings them back things on her adventures (some of them arent useful but they enjoy them nonetheless)
♡ bear! konig, tiger! horangi and their doe! Reader!!!!
♡ mermaid! reader and semi dark! pirate! 141??? YES!! Sweet dumb thing who saves one of the crew (it's probably gaz hes always falling out of stuff) then starts leaving them gifts but she soon gets captured in one of their nets and they obviously have to keep her
♡ OR princess/wealthy! Reader x semi dark! Pirates! Cod!!! They keep her locked in a cellar returning her back to her father these pirates arent fair and are always trying to watch her when shes allowed to bathe, being on the sea with no women is hard she cant blame them
♡ siren! Cod x tropical mermaid reader!!! Shes so pretty and sparkley they just want to keep her in their nest forever!!!!
♡ OR siren! Cod x aquarium keeper! Reader!!! You worked as at the gift shop and stayed late to help the janitors, you were sweeping the floor of the brand new exhibit that apprently was a let down, the new siren was called konig and very rarely came out, he wasnt like soap (shark), ghost (orca), price (lemon shark), nikolai (idk), alejandro or rudy (idk), valeria (idk), horangi (idk), roach(idk) or graves (lil bitch idk) he was an giant octopus siren, he was never seen by the public and only comes out during feeding which is after hours. Youre cleaning away when you feel eyss on you and a large shadow falling over you. You turn around catching glimpse of the giant siren infront if you only a piece of glass protecting you, naturally you press your hand to the glass only to be snapped out of your daydream by someone yelling. Somehow over night you went from gift shop employer to siren whisperer. Multiple sirens lusting over you desperate to make them your mate (based on a sans undertale fanfic I read back in 2022 do not judge me I'll kill you(called tilikum(??)))
♡ lost island! Cod x reader, you wash up on shore after your cruise ship crashes, you seem to be the only one who survived as the wreckage of the ship in the distance seems to show no sign of life atleast that you can see although you doubt there is seeing half of it is sunk. Nevertheless who you explore this island encountering this savage mountain men who take you in and treat you almost like a puppy!!
♡ body guard! Cod x bimbo! Spoiled! Crybaby! Reader
♡ mafia! Cod x bimbo reader <3<3<3
♡ getting fucked when getting interrogated, you can only cum when you tell them the plans and they've got so many men and women who have such good self control, you wont be cumming for awhile.
♡ sex pollen
♡ that's it that's all you need to know
♡ I want a big beefy mountain scottish man in a mini micro kilt
Imagine Ghost genuinely caring about you but struggling to offer comfort when you’re sad.
He senses that something’s bothering you but can’t figure out what. Not only that, but he doesn’t know how to handle such things in a delicate manner.
He tries to get you to open up in his own way, though. He cracks a couple of jokes, to which you manage to smile—they weren’t very good—but that frown doesn’t disappear. He even mentions that you seem “gutted”, a comment you brush off, insisting that you’re—you guessed it—“fine.”
He weighs his options and considers asking you what’s wrong, yet he’s afraid this will result in either a dismissive “nothing” or an overwhelming flood of emotions he isn’t prepared to handle.
He even thinks of jokingly telling you to “stop being a downer,” but he predicts that such a remark would backfire, and rightfully so.
He doesn’t like prying into people’s personal lives. He hates it when others do that to him. And he can’t just openly hug you and reassure you that everything will be okay. That’s not how he operates. He wants to identify the problem so he can target it and provide you with a solution. He wants to help you, not just soothe you.
And then one day, he passes you while you’re sitting on the staircase, taking a break. He nods at you and heads straight to Price.
He starts vaguely expressing his concern about you. Price, on the other hand, wants specifics about the problem, but Ghost doesn’t have any because he never asked. All he knows is that you’ve been sad for quite a while, and he can’t bear to see you that way. But, instead of saying that to Price, he takes a different approach. He begins reporting your “misdeeds,” implying something is wrong with you.
“They barely fulfil their duties; they skipped training yesterday, and all they do in their spare time is sit somewhere, holding their head like this,” he explains, mimicking the stance he saw you in earlier.
Price asks if you’re slacking off, which could cause problems given your responsibilities. Ghost replies with a firm “negative; they are pretty attentive. They’re just not jolly about it.”
And Price looks at him, puzzled, like, “Jolly? What do you mean, jolly? Nobody is jolly while performing routine tasks.”
Ghost starts to get agitated and urges Price to take action. Price, for his part, picks up on Ghost’s concerns and agrees to speak with you.
However, Ghost has two conditions.
“Don’t tell them who reported it, and please let me know what’s bothering them. You know, so that I can take the necessary actions.”
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