nymphany - Tumblr blog

nymphany · 7 months

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Of course you can !! <3

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

#nymph reblog

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nymphany · 8 months

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prompt: ghost and you are the only survivors of a military plane crash. you spend weeks alone in the wild together. (ns/fw)

In the years you’ve worked as a flight attendant, you’ve never experienced a plane crash before. It’s exactly like what you would’ve expected.

Clear skies rapidly turn grey outside the tiny windows to your left and right; you notice it almost instantly because it casts a pall over the interior of the aircraft. It makes the small group of men that you’ve been travelling with sit up a bit straighter in their seats, only a few of them looking genuinely concerned. Military men often do; it’s in their nature to worry and fret. You feel it like a twinge in your gut, like something telling you that you don’t usually fly through dark clouds.

The soft ding of the seatbelt sign comes on a handful of seconds later. The turbulence only a few moments after that.

Pilots are trained to avoid cumulonimbus clouds like they’re a harbinger of death (and they are). Even large airliners avoid crossing the path of a cumulonimbus. Your pilot should’ve known to divert and fly around the cloud, avoiding the possibility of flying through a thunderstorm altogether. The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom for everyone to fasten their seatbelts and you notice distantly that his voice seems frazzled.

Your hands grip the seat as you strap in. This is exactly the kind of scenario you’ve prepared extensively for, but in the face of it, your stomach tosses and turns. Practice can only hope to ape reality; it often falls short.

From across the aisle, you lock eyes with the lieutenant in the skull mask that politely refused a beverage ten minutes ago. The plane jostles you violently in your seat as it passes through a rough patch of turbulence. Even the lieutenant, twice your size and rooted into his seat, his hands clamped around the arm rests, grunts when he’s rocked side to side.

There’s a loud pop outside the aircraft and the plane teeters dangerously to one side. The bags in the overheads bash against the doors, the plastic squeaking under their weight.

Someone screams. The other attendant sitting across from you is already shouting, “Brace! Brace! Brace!” The mantra bursts from his chest along with spittle and the singular, quivering note of fear. There’s not much more you can do but follow his lead, dropping your head to your knees and wrapping your arms around your legs.

Your stomach drops when the plane descends far too suddenly. You would’ve been pulled back against the wall if your arms weren’t wrapped around your legs. You have enough time to peek up briefly to see all of the other men assuming the same position, some with their heads pressed against the seat in front of them before the aircraft nosedives and there’s a sharp whistle in your ear and the lights flicker ominously in the cabin and something tears and tears and tears and—

Then it’s dark.

Your grip must have loosened because the world disintegrates after you hit your head. There’s only a faint buzz and something ice cold, something that grips you from the inside and slithers over your skin. The aftermath of a crash is so quiet for the devastation it brings.

The big one in the scary mask is the one who drags you from the wreckage, lifting you into his arms when you’re still too dazed to do more than whimper pathetically. Fear and pain and adrenaline have crumpled you up into a little ball.

“Keep your eyes open,” he says, and maybe it’s a shout. His voice is so loud. When you open them, you nearly close your eyes instinctively when you see the gaping hole in the plane where it’s been torn apart.

“Where are—” it hurts to speak, but you have no choice, “—the others…”

He doesn’t respond. That makes it worse. You slip your arms around his neck so he can hike you closer up his chest. Slung over his shoulder is a black duffle bag that he must have pulled from the overhead, or what’s left of them. When your head turns on a swivel, you startle at the sight of the other attendant still strapped in his seat, his neck snapped back at an odd angle.

You turn your head away.

“My leg hurts really bad,” you sob, fingers clutched in the sweat-matted fabric of your saviour’s shirt.

He palms the back of your head and tips you just enough for you to meet his eyes. Something dark shutters over his face for a split second. If your eyes weren’t filled with tears, you might’ve noticed it. It passes fast though, too quick for you to register it in these conditions.

“‘Gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he says, gentler this time, rough-sounding like he’s not used to using that tone. “Gonna get us out of here and then I’ll check your leg. Just hang on to me.”

It’s hard to catalogue every moment because you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the man shift you in his arms whenever he clambers down the side of the mountain your plane must have flown into. There’s debris from the wreckage scattered around the rocks, the other half of the plane not too far away. When your eyes blink open briefly, you see how decimated the other half is.

There aren’t any other survivors. Only bodies. He doesn’t stop for them.

Far off from the wreckage, he sets you down onto the soft earth and rifles around in the bag he took. There’s a first aid kit with supplies that he uses to wrap your ankle, which is swollen and tender. The adrenaline crash is nearly more violent than the plane crash you just survived. It wracks through your body as the lieutenant strips your shoes and socks, gently manipulating your foot in his big hands. You notice he’s also lost the mask.

Ochre yellow and green plains spread outward from the mountains. You remember from the flight maps on board that you were somewhere over Mongolia, but the exact mountain range eludes you. This could be the Khangai or the Sayan or the Altai, but you have no way of knowing.

“Is there a…a phone in the bag? How’s anyone gonna know we’re out here?” You sound helpless, smaller than you’ve ever sounded.

He shakes his head. The tight ball of tension in the middle of your chest grows tighter. The thought that you’re stranded in the mountains in Mongolia, thousands of miles away from home and no way to get help is almost enough to send you into a panic attack.

A hand cups under your chin to tilt your head up. His face up close is exquisite and haunting—weathered in the way that career military men often are, burn marks and old scars littered across the delicate skin, lips perpetually chapped, and a nose that looks like it’s been broken way more than once. You can’t look away.

“Someone’ll be looking for us,” he says. It’s reassuring only because he says it like it’s a certain thing. “Don’t know if you saw who was on that flight roster. A lot of important men were supposed to arrive in Germany at twenty-one-hundred hours.”

You nod, tears still dribbling down your cheeks even when he swipes his thumb across to rub them away. He’s not wrong. There was a colonel on your flight after all. Dead now, hot corpse still steaming in the wreckage half a kilometre away, but he would’ve been important enough to warrant an immediate rescue.

You go still under his touch. “You weren’t on the flight list.”

He shakes his head. “Never am.”

“But you were with them?” You remember someone on the flight addressing him by his rank. It was early on in the service, when you were still strapping down bags and doing cross-check, making sure everything was in place. But you remember, even then, seeing that there were more bodies on the plane than names on the list; you’d brought it up to the captain, but he’d brushed off your concerns. Maybe he knew the reason behind the lieutenant’s name being held off the passenger list.

It’s all moot now anyway.

“Can’t bring a ghost on a flight,” he says darkly, like it’s a joke. Like you’re in on it together. “Can’t put it on the roster at least. S’bad luck after all.”

It’s a monstrous joke at a time like this. Your life feels cracked in half and the scarred brute of a man that pulled you from the wreckage makes jokes like it happens to him every other day. When the sky splits later that night and pours out a lake’s worth of rain, it feels appropriate. You huddle with the lieutenant at the base of a densely branched tree and shake.

Five weeks in the mountains go by slowly.

The shelter he builds is haphazard but meticulous, composed of various materials that Ghost scavenges from the plane wreck. A door becomes a makeshift roof. He makes you sit and wait as he collects dozens and dozens of branches, chopped down from the surrounding trees and fashioned into a lean-to. Padded with moss and leaves.

“I can help with getting the leaves,” you protest when he catches you hobbling around and carries you back to the nest of blankets and tarps that he’d pulled from the plane. He goes back every so often to see what remains and what can be used. It’s the only time other than when he hunts that Ghost leaves you alone for even a second, preferring to be within arm’s length of you the rest of the time.

“You can help by sitting your ass down,” Ghost grunts without even looking up at you.

You frown, fingers digging in the dirt by your feet. It’s a silly complaint but there’s never anything to do but wait.

In the early morning hours, Ghost goes off and hunts for you, when the world is still quiet and the animals are still asleep. They’re sluggish when dawn still hasn’t peeled its pink belly off the surface of the world. Ghost comes back with a deer slung over his shoulders one week, his knife still protruding from its neck, and your stomach only twists a little bit. Not used to seeing where your meat comes from.

There’s not much choice when you’re on your own in the elements. Every day, you expect to see a helo appear over the horizon, and you end each night crestfallen when it doesn’t.

It’s not like you haven’t completed basic training, a prerequisite to applying as a military flight attendant, but admittedly it’s been several years and basic never taught you to hunt for your food. You did other things that seemed, at the time, inconsequential to your career path, like learning to rappel and how to wait an hour for your NCO to show up for PT in the morning.

Even if your ankle hadn’t been badly sprained, you wouldn’t be much help. Ghost’s remarkably self-sufficient. It makes you question whether he’s done this before—whether he’s gotten stranded in the woods for weeks on end and had to learn to live hand-to-mouth.

“Have you…where’d you learn all of this?” you ask him in the dead of night, when the wind is a shrill hiss through the trees and you cower close to him in your sleeping bag (also salvaged from the wreck, though his has a tear down the side of it).

Ghost is quiet for a moment. “All over the place. Been doing this for years, love; had to learn.”

“Anything ever like this?”

Even with the absence of his mask, it gets so dark at night that you can’t see his face. You can hear the wry smile that plays on his lips in his voice though. “I’ve had worse days.”

There’s a story there that you see like a fish darting under the water. Too quick for you to catch with your bare hands.

You wake up with your cheek pressed against his pillowy chest most days. It’s embarrassing at first, but you learn to let it melt off you when you meet Ghost’s eyes and there’s nothing there but piercing blue. They root you in place most of the time but they never tell you to move.

It takes a while before your ankle starts noticeably healing. In the intervening weeks, Ghost almost dotes on you, in a rough, untested sort of way. Like he doesn’t have much experiencing tending to another person besides himself for weeks on end. As the weeks drag on, it morphs into something unrecognizable, like a wounded animal healing wrong.

It starts when Ghost insists on sharing sleeping bags. It’ll be easier for him to pull you close if something tries to drag you off in the night (and doesn’t that thought put you on the brink of a panic attack until he shushes and soothes you). It escalates when you make the mistake of tending to the meat hanging over the fire while he fiddles with the little radio he’d dragged back from the plane, and the look he gives you when you tell him that supper is ready borders on reverent.

It gets even worse when he has you both strip your clothes off on a particularly cold and rainy night, wrapped around each other for warmth.

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking,” you hear him rumble, big hand drawing a line down your back. You do tremble at that. “C’mon, get closer. Gonna warm you up.”

You wake up in the middle of the night when your ankle is starting to feel solid enough that you think you can manage to go off on your own to relieve yourself instead of waking Ghost up again. That’s the plan anyway. Before you’ve even managed to crawl all of six feet away from your sleeping bag, a rough hand pins you by your shoulder to the ground and the heavy, over two-hundred pound body of your companion drapes itself over you.

“Where the fuck do you think yer going?” Ghost snarls.

For the first time in a week, there’s a moment of genuine fear. It’s like realizing for a split second that the animal you’ve let creep up behind you is a lot more dangerous than you thought it was.

“I have to pee,” you whisper-hiss, heart still skittering in your chest.

He’s silent behind you while he mulls that thought over; you think maybe he’s still half-asleep, his body acting on instinct before his brain’s ready to take over. The tension only releases you when he finally picks himself up off you, but it’s immediately made worse when he insists on accompanying you into the woods.

He doesn’t even turn around while you pull your underwear down and squat. Ghost’s eyes are bright in the dark, trained on you like it’s the thing that gives him purpose.

Things change in the woods. There are people who are only one bad thing away from reverting to their neolithic mind; as the weeks go on, you see the way his eyes change when they fall on you, no longer detached but gluttonous.

There’s a brown bear that slouches past your camp one day, sniffing around only because it’s curious, and Ghost all but completely obstructs your vision with how he shoves you behind him. He puffs up big when the bear gets too close, keeping you hidden until it snorts and ambles off, not interested in the pair of you.

Do animals act like this? He curls you around him in sleep, legs tangled together. When you soak in the lake under the glare of the sun, he slips into the water and comes up behind you until his hands close around your waist and he tugs you closer to the edge, away from the deeper parts. It’s testament to how long you’ve been out on your own that you’re no longer unaccustomed to the feel of his hands on your bare flesh.

His lips on your bare shoulder are a little less commonplace, but you only shiver and stare out at the mountains.

Then one day, you look up into the sky away from the sun and there it is, a black dot on the horizon at first. You scream for Ghost, who’s skinning a fish on a damp log near you and start waving your arms wildly in the air, unbridled joy streaming out of you. He’s quick to pull his mask on when the chopper lands a few hundred yards away and two similarly dressed soldiers spill out.

You ignore the stiffness in his body as he sits beside you in the chopper, pinning you against the side. Ignore the way he answers for you when the men start asking questions.

What does it mean to come back worse?

“Wha’s that, love?”

“Trauma bonding,” you repeat, swallowing nervously. It’s months later, but the weeks on the mountain and the forest still haunt you. The real world seems flimsier now that you’re back in it, less real somehow. Here, no one hunts for their food. “The therapist said that we trauma bonded. And—and that’s why you won’t—”

Here’s where the words can’t seem to come out on their own.

He sleeps in your bed these days—can’t stand to be more than a room away from you at any given time. Follows you into the bathroom when you need to clean up at the end of the day, crowding you into your too-small shower. The you from a month ago wouldn’t have been able to imagine inviting a six-foot-four soldier into your apartment, but—and here’s where your brain scrambles a bit to catch up—you didn’t invite him in.

He lifts a brow. The mask comes off in your apartment, so you’re able to see the way his lips slip into something unimpressed. “Why I won’t what?”

You swallow. “You know. Leave.”

“Do you want me to leave, love?”

That’s the crux of it. The heart of it. You really don’t. In the dark sometimes, if the wind rustles outside your window just right, shrill like those weeks in the forest and out on the open plains, your heart pounds in your chest until it grows so tight that you think it’ll just stop.

“No,” you whisper in response to his question.

Most nights, you wake up drenched in sweat, still half in a dream where you turn your head and the other flight attendant is staring back at you with wide, empty eyes. Blood dribbling down from his head. Where a plane is ripped in half, grey metal strewn across a mountain and the valley below is a dark pit where you go to die.

Then you roll over in your bed and Ghost is there, already awake and cupping a wide hand over your cheek, laying kiss after kiss across your face. Murmuring that it’ll be alright, that you’re safe. That he’s got you.

His breath is hot on your skin.

You let him roll you over and spread your legs when he says those things. Let him be a bit filthy after being so kind to you in the woods.

He spits on your pussy and rubs it in with a coarse thumb, chuckling when you yelp all breathlessly and squirm away. Sometimes when you fuck, he gets rough with you and slaps it, but he’s always tender with you after a nightmare, content to sooth you with his mouth on your pussy until you’re close to hyperventilating.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” Ghost breathes, spearing you on his turgid length, barrel chest heaving when he finally crams it all in. Always a bit too big for you to take without crying. “I got you, I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything happen to you.”

It’s a new development, but it feels older than time. You could’ve let it happen in the woods and you might have, if no one had ever come.

“Look at me, sweet girl,” he tuts when you turn your head to the side, holding your face in one hand until you have no choice but to stare at the bulk of him straining over you. He has shoulders like mountains that roll when he pushes into you. “Didn’t I say I’d take care of you?”

You don’t want to acknowledge what this is: that you found something in the woods and it followed you home.

#nymph fic rec

7K notes · View notes

nymphany · 8 months

Note

Hey! Love youre work, wondering if you could a scenario with Ghost where reader and him a stuck somewhere tight and it gets spicy 👀👀

Taking advantage of small, tight spaces, in both ways.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, grinding, quickie, coming in pants, stuck together, kissing, size difference, Reader being pinned

A/N: Small space, big guy, great combination.

Nothing ever went wrong on your missions with Simon, and you wouldn't call your current predicament bad, just very awkward

Being on top of him, in a small, almost box-like hiding space that you barely found in the abandoned hideout wasn't the most ideal, but it was the only place you could hide in

"Little tight in here isn't it? Good thing you didn't get in first, I'd hate to crush you." He can barely move too, he can raise his head and bend his knees a little but neither of you can properly stretch your legs

Simon doesn't have his nightvision gear on right now so he can't see your flustered face, thank good, but you're sure he can feel your heart drumming in your chest

You try to move a little to get some of your weight off him, but as you do you end up pressing down on his dick, feeling it twitch in his pants, "You can't put me in a small, cramped space with a cute girl like you and expect me not to have this reaction. I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable but it should go away as long as you stay still." He huffed out a half-laugh, half-groan when you moved again, "You're... stop. You're gonna it even..." You roll your hips again, "You little brat." His gloved hand smack your ass cheeks, kneading the soft flesh under his fingers

He can't smack you too much because you might get heard, "It's a nice sound though. Maybe some other time." Definitely some other time

The more you move the harder his erection gets to ignore

You're cursing against his neck, breathing faster and faster while he massages your tender ass and guides your hips at the same time

Some of the gear is still in the way but you can feel the muscles of his arms and legs against you, as well as the imprint of his cock against your clothed pussy

It feels hot, but this friction isn't enough to get you off, you need more, "But you can't stay quiet. Imagine if the enemy were to find us while you're in the middle of riding my cock. I think I'd die before the bullets hit." Despite that he's chuckling against your neck, "There is a way we can actually do this. Lift my mask up a little, it's okay."

You never imagined Simon's lips to be so soft, or his tongue so skilled

That and the fact that his cock already felt so big despite the clothing in the way had your imagination reeling

"You like how big I am compared to you. With your body being... well on the shorter side I must confess that I've been scared to get rough with you during training." Simon's lips brushed against your neck, his hips thrusting upwards as much as the small space enabled him, which wasn't much, but enough to get you close

Just a little more, "I wonder if you can even take my dick. Might be too big for you." You shook your head, rocking your hips back and forth in tandem with his, "So enthusiastic about being split open. Love me a good, little size queen slut. Who knew there was one in my squad?" Simon cut off your moan with his lips right as you began to near your climax

His hips stilled against yours, pinned down under yours actually while his cock pulsed in his pants, staining their front

He held you against his chest, trying to calm his breathing in this small space

Both of you stiffened when you heard footsteps approaching, all the adrenaline of your little encounter washed away, they got closer, closer, closer... "Oh, hey John! It's just you! You'll never guess what I found out about our new teammate."

#nymph fic rec

2K notes · View notes

nymphany · 8 months

Note

BEGGING I WAS LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER FOT THE MONSTER AU 141 😭😭😭😭😭

pretty pretty please 🙏🙏

Only Human pt.2

Pairing: Monster Task Force 141 + König & Horangi x reader

Cw: canon-typical violence, hate, xenophobia, mention of racism, blood and violence, injury, fighting, protective 141, trauma?, anxiety, tell me if I missed any. wc: 6.3k

You still wonder, to this day, why you were needed on the Task Force. It worked like a well-oiled machine when put to the task, nearly unstoppable in the face of enemies. Although you were prideful to call it your home, you felt lacking compared to them, all much stronger, fiercer, and nimbler than you in every aspect, separated by miles of distance. One thing, however, that you could wield with an iron fist was your human nature and people’s fear of newly implemented hybrids. The public expression from governments about welcoming them into their ranks and their society without staying hidden under the pretence of being sick or behind a veil of secrecy.

You, after seeing how many Joint Task Forces and other Teams treated the 141, decided to deal with the introductions, the medium, the pacifier, between every team. Humans tended to react differently to another human than to a hybrid, they were nicer, less brutal and honest (a kind that held little spite). Laswell seemed more agreeable to your idea when you first came up to her with it, having seen the hate sent to hybrids she worked with. She encouraged you to be the first to interact or stand beside Price when he greeted human soldiers. Price, unlike Laswell, was reluctant at first. His instinct of protection and possession of his hoard made him less open to such ideas, especially if it brought you some, if any, backlash from other humans (humans are cruel, they shun what they don’t understand, they fear it and push to control it, if not, they destroy it. The need to control every aspect of their life made humans ruthlessly unremorseful and unsympathetic to other causes.).

As a tight-knit TF, some decisions are taken in votes, by hearing what the others thought of the idea or plan and his one was harsh. Ghost was hard-pressed on keeping you between them, the little, fleshy human of their Task Force (the youngest) and to let them deal with xenophobic glares while keeping you protected. Alejandro was similarly worried, but he knew the outcome of letting you speak first or accompany Price. He was torn. The others, Soap, Gaz and Rudy, seemed onboard, with the kind of why the fuck not? kind of look on their faces. Soap especially, he’d be able to stick close to you without having to hover over you like a protective guard dog.

Seeing the votes in your favour, he let it pass, and no sooner had they needed to meet a second team - human soldiers - for the next deployment. You stood beside Price when he strutted down the walkway, shoulders broad and back straight, an image of a strong and fearless leader with his draconic tail flailing lowly. He, as intended, greeted them first, rank and name before he presented you, his little human helper with humans. They’d taken better to speaking to you, being spoken by one of their own rather than a hybrid. He saluted you more amicably and more sincerely:

“Pleasure meeting you, Hunter.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Captain.”

Although it wasn't without its setbacks, the operation went well, you had been able to come out mostly unscathed, leaving a few enemies on the brink of death for Ghost to savour. He was most thankful, a part of his body dissolving into the finest mist as they washed over the living bodies sprawled on the ground. You watched on, mesmerised by the uncanny way Ghost’s body absorbed the bodies of others, flooding the area with his shadow while you stayed unbothered, in the same condition as he first started. His darkness reached your neck, covering you in a soft cover of warmth as he ground the bodies to ash and dust. His skin was cold, but his powers were darkly hot, burning with the embers of hell, of a dead soul coming back for revenge and evilness.

Beyond the fact that your idea worked, you liked feeling useful to them, having a semblance of usefulness in a team of extremely competent beings. You felt with first greetings from then on, smiling and saluting to the leading figures of the groups you’d work alongside. It lessened the weight on Price to appease and pacify the new additions, he’d be able to fare better with the operators now that they had a different welcome, a different kind of greeting. It played into the minds of wary men that a human was the one to greet them, that one of theirs was leading the hybrids for them. You played the perfect example of a soldier for any xenophobic bastard.

Ghost, while still feared, received fewer glares than he usually would, occasional ones from daring or bold soldiers holding a lower rank than him, but he appreciated your attempts at making them more comfortable. He’s used to the negative reactions, had been since his childhood, but you seemed to make him feel like he deserved better, like he shouldn’t be glared, spat and scoffed at.

Soap, Rudy and Alejandro looked like human men in peak condition, if only for Soap and Alejandro’s glowing eyes and heightened strength and agility. Rudy was somewhat human, he looked and acted like one, down to the DNA, but with the title of cadejos vessel came powers. Perhaps not as strongly affecting as the rest of the hybrids, but he had subtle changes in his molecular making.

Gaz had stares coming left and right, daggers sent his way for having wings and talons he couldn’t will them to disappear, to recess under his skin and wear the appearance of a human man. He felt the heaviest blow by both not being able to cover his gifts and the colour of his skin. Although you wanted to proclaim that your new age came with more open-minded people, you knew that it simply couldn’t fix hundreds of years of standards in a few decades. People would still judge others by the tone and colour of your skin, they’d still hate the different and the strange; just like they hated hybrids. So you kept to his side most often after your introductions, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close, letting him embrace you with a protective wing and a grateful smile.

You mostly worked hand in hand with human-filled teams and spear-headed human-led operations. So you were shocked, frozen to your core, when you saw a tiger haetae hybrid beside a tall, veiled operator walking down the cargo ramp. The hybrid, a tiger variant from the black-striped, orange tail that flickered slowly in a warning to any approaching beings. Dark glasses and a mask covered his face, his jacket and vest riding to the edge of his jaw, covering any skin from showing, though his lower back was left uncovered for the comfort of his swaying tail. He was neither short nor tall, he was tall enough to be slightly over the average height, but his teammate dwarfed him.

Perhaps his enormous height was an aspect of his monster half, or maybe he had the perfect genes to hold such a frame. He too, like his haetae operator, hid his face under a veil with maroon tears painted under his eyes. Like Ghost, he was covered head to toe in equipment and clothes, a jacket, a vest, gloves and black paint around his eyes. Whoever this was had both height and mass, burly arms and broad shoulders eclipsed by a slim waist and equally, disastrously thick thighs. On their left arm were flags, one from South Korea and the other from Austria.

They were the only ones to walk out, the only ones to approach you. Then your TF only had two new faces to work with rather than a whole team. You were tempted to say it would be easier, you waited until they stopped for Price - Price only - to greet them since they wouldn’t need a human to negate any aggressiveness between human and hybrid - or so you thought. They moved in synchrony, Price stepping forward to cover you with his body, his back facing you as he crossed his arms. Ghost and Alejandro had moved next to the captain, covering your sides. Alejandro had crossed his arm in a similarly menacing way, and Ghost stood still, body rigid but ready to strike at a moment’s notice; both were glaring ahead. Soap and Rudy took their places behind the colonel and the lieutenant, arms glued on their sides, weapons within reach with menacing stares towards the Korean and the Austrian. Gaz’s wings grazed you, soft feathers wrapping themselves around you and pulling you into his chest, acting as a protective cocoon for you.

“What-?”

They moved so quickly and efficiently that they seemed to suddenly appear in place, back straight and protective. Protective of you. Hybrids, from what you’d heard from couples and families, were possessive of their own, caring and extremely wary of other hybrids they hadn’t formed a bond with. Your TF was your pack, they were all tethered to each other through the familial bond they formed over the years. Then you came in, small and weak with your human self into a den of lions, thrown to be subjugated to their loving mercy and sinfully strong personalities.

The team of six hybrids encased you, barring the KorTac specialists from seeing you. Monsters and hybrids could sense one another - from what you heard - and they reacted instinctively. You saw their bodies tense as the two approached your team, muscles strained under the compacting anxiety and possessiveness. You could neither see over their shoulders nor feel what was happening, they stopped farther from you than you’d expected and you couldn’t see their feet.

The only sign you had was your captain’s gravelly voice welcoming them, his tail swaying like a cat’s tail, a slow, cautious motion. It - knowingly or unknowingly, seeing as Price acted on a mix of instincts and worry - wrapped around your ankle, clinging tightly to your boot-clad leg while a rumble rattled his chest. Steam rolled from his lips, billowing over the top of his hat in a show of power and warning. You hoped they wouldn’t take this negatively. They worked hard to curb the harmful rumours of 141 being beasts in human skin, acting like blood-thirsty and ravaging monsters that cared for nothing but themselves.

Although you couldn’t see them, the Austrian could, his towering height assured that he could see over almost any human, monster and hybrid alike. He was curious about the way they protected one of theirs as if you were weak. He cocked his head, green eyes gleaming red as he stared silently at the small mop of hair between them. What made you so important? What made you such a protected soldier? He couldn’t sense you like he could the others, their scent and magic masking yours in a violent torrent.

Unlike him, his friend couldn’t be bothered with the show of protection, he’d enrolled for the money and wouldn’t be deterred by much. He was a tiger haetae, honourable to a certain extent and proud. He might be shorter than the hybrids around him, but he was as vicious and talented as the next. He, however, was slightly curious, but he wasn’t paid enough to inquire or worry about the doings of 141’s pack.

It went as well as anyone would expect for the 141 with the added help of two military, hybrid operators from an elite PMC. As the combat medic of the TF, you followed them from behind and moved to the middle when you entered the building. You’d usually be at the back, being a medic, but you were a combat medic, having seen and participated in complete ops dealing with infiltrations and hostage rescue. You were an integral part of every mission. Now that they had a medic on hand, the wounds the men suffered could be treated in place rather than wait for the long ride home with the possibility of letting infection take root in the gash and watching it fester during hours in the carrier.

They had a habit of getting shot and slashed, a tad bit reckless in their ways but still effective. The stress of risking infection or the impossibility of reaching a medic after a mission was lessened, Price would still be able to live a few more centuries before his hair turned grey with nerves and his face wrinkled with frowns. You were a treasure beyond the fact that you were extremely helpful and insightful on your own. Your hands were steady and your demeanour calm and collected (albeit fidgety when put under too much pressure and fiery when someone looked at them differently.), you were a beauty, someone they needed to nurse and protect.

“I warned you about standing so close to the explosion!” They watched you berate Soap, cheeks puffed and lips pulled in an adorable pout. You went on a list of things he could’ve done better and safer than the decision he made, hands pulling the bandage around his arm, your bag set beside you.

“How was I supposed ta know?” The werewolf grumbled, giving you his best version of his “puppy dog eyes'' while he slouched back, trying to sit as comfortably as possible on the hard seats of the aircraft carrier.

“You’re a demolition expert, you’re supposed to know, Soap.” You hissed, tightening the wrap and smoothing it over so that it would hold. Your hand dipped into your bag, pulling out a few alcohol wipes for his face. With a jerky motion of your hands, you broke the seal and started patting his bleeding cuts from shrapnel and grazes from bullets. He winces with every dab, fidgeting in his seat while you disinfected his wounds, wiping away the dirt and blood before deeming it clean enough to move to the next one. “You also have a habit of setting things on fire.”

Although you mumbled it so quietly, the others heard you clearly, laughter rumbling out of the others while they watched Soap being scolded by the youngest. You never feared reprimanding them for an idiotic act that would result in having you tending to them, it was something they appreciated, the familiarity and comfort you had with them. They weren’t monsters, hybrids or anything with you, they were your family.

Seeing you so at ease with them had König and Horangi curious, most would cower or segregate themselves from other hybrids. You especially, seeing as you were the only human with them, they thought it’d be normal to see you shrink onto yourself and ignore the world around you while you waited to return home. Yet here you were, berating a werewolf for cuts and bruises that would heal in the following days, his metabolism prevented infection and permanent scarring unless it was too deep or deadly. They’d simply add to his rugged handsomeness.

König wondered if you’d show him the same amount of compassion and ease when you tended to his wounds - if he ended up having any at all. Would your hands be soft like his mother’s when cradling his arm? Would you whisper soft nothings to him while you cleaned his gashes with antiseptics? Would you also scold him for being reckless? He doubted that. Granted, he was extremely reckless and lost himself to the adrenaline pumping through his system when he entered the field, but he always came out unscathed. As a percht hybrid, his extreme enhancements made him practically numb to pain and sensations, with the small exceptions of a few primarily driven emotions or natural reactions to certain stimuli.

Perhaps, if your efforts were thwarted by his immense height, you’d hold and tend to him as softly as you did with the others, running your fingers through his hair and cradling him against your chest. He thirsted for something mundane, something so human-like that he would be reminded that he wasn’t completely a monster. He missed the softness in people’s gazes or the carefree way they spoke to and with him. He missed being reminded that he - too - was a living being with their rights. You could be the start of a regular life - as regular as a mercenary could have.

Even Horangi, who had vehemently stated to König that he could care less about the small, weak human in the operation, gave you the merit of being strong-willed and confident enough to stand beside them. He, the ever prideful and strong hybrid he was, deemed you competent for a human. Your usefulness started with your quick reactions and impeccable skills in your field and stopped when you couldn’t save someone, which had yet to happen. He was intrigued by the workings of your TF, how they managed to score a single human and an amicable one at that, strong and fierce, yet gentle and compassionate. If he’d grown up with someone like you, would he have turned out the way he did?

He simply watched from his corner beside König, through tinted glasses his eyes followed your movement, memorising everything you did for your brothers. They felt like imposters in your small, seven-men group, seemingly standing awkwardly in their little corner. 141 had shown a bit of aggression towards them in warning words and deadly glares when they assumed you didn’t see them, hissing out threats to ensure your safety among them. Not only were they confused by the dynamic, but they weren’t told anything besides “Back off” and growls.

After patting Gaz’s knee, giving him an oscar winning smile with gleaming eyes that were received with enthusiasm, you packed your things in your bag and moved to the next patient. You skipped Price, Ghost and Rudy, crouching in front of Alejandro. Rummaging through your bag and handing him a clean wipe for his dust-covered face, the soot clinging to his cheeks. He expected you to sit by your locked rifle after checking them, but you continued walking. You were heading towards them.

He knew König left the ground unscathed, clean of anything but dirt and blood, which meant he was the one you were heading towards. Hand on your pouch and a steady step backed up by a determined expression, you stopped before him. He tilted his head, a silent question. You blinked dumbly, holding out your hand to him, your small fingers backing him to give you something.

“Can I see your hand?”

His hand? He hadn’t thought much of it as he rested it on yours, palm upwards and gloveless. He saw it then, the small cut that bled red, small enough to be neglectable, but long enough to still be bleeding. He hadn’t felt anything from it before or after boarding the aircraft, he must’ve still been riding the adrenaline rush from the fight. He wondered how you knew he hurt himself.

Your fingers curled around his palm, holding it firmly as you lightly dabbed the inflamed skin with a sterilised tissue, being careful of the flared sides of his torn flesh. Under the blood and dirt, his skin was pale and swollen, the area having demanded his body to react to the potential bacteria that would worm its way into his system. You threw the bloody tissue aside and got an antiseptic wipe, being careful to not irritate his wound. Your care was gentle and patient. To a being like him, a hybrid and KorTac op, gentle and patient were foreign words to him. None were gentle to hybrids and none were patient with mercenaries.

Even as you wrapped the gauze and bandage around his hand, you gave him all your attention, sweetly cradling his hand between yours and nursing his gash with utmost care. It felt alien, the soothingly soft care of a medic. Other medics would’ve stared at him with disgust or hate if he walked near the infirmary, or they were rough and uncaring towards his needs.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, the sudden realisation of his silence in the face of a benevolent angel and the rush of embarrassment that flushed his neck hotly. He stared dumbly at his hand when you left, placed on his thigh with the white bandage staring right at him. The warmth of your hand had sunk into his skin, the feather-light tenderness of your fingers painted in his memory and your smile and determined expression stuck to him.

Even as he let his mind wander and body thirst for another taste of your gentleness, he could feel the burning stares of the other men. König with his curious and envious gaze, wanting to feel the snippet you offered Horangi, wanting your hands and stare at his giant figure. The 141 with their protective and warning glare, resenting him for taking a few minutes of your attention from them. You’d moved on your own, making your decision to help him with his small wounds as you did with them, he hadn’t forced you or compelled you to treat him.

Perhaps there was more than money and experience that was worth in this joint operation.

When the success of their first mission reached the prying ears of the General, he’d given them a few more joint ops - paid by the United States pockets, of course. Horangi and König were given temporary rooms in the barracks, in the same corner as the other hybrids and you, but far enough to show that they were excluded from them. Fortunately, they wouldn’t share the room, tigers were protective of one’s territory, and a percht hybrid - as rare as it may be - was documented to be hyper-possessive of their things, especially so for someone like König.

Horangi didn’t ignore you anymore, wanting to start a conversation when he passed you or staring at you from the other side of the room until you waved at him, letting him know he could approach you. He worked relentlessly to close the gap he had made between you, wanting to attach himself to the one good thing he had. Yet he had to be cautious, any indication of him being a threat to you would make your team act out in unison, pushing him back and covering you like they did the second he descended the ramp.

Ghost would hover over you, his body moving the darkness around him to seem more menacing. Ghost always glared at him when you turned your back to the Brit, his brown eyes swirling with the promise of death and devastation. Ghost wasn’t a physical hybrid, as Horangi had learned, but he had no qualms about keeping a hand on your hip or over your shoulder, acting as an imposing being that showcased his claim on you so publicly. It filled the Korean with envy and anger, he wanted to touch you as easily as the wraith did, he wanted a claim on you like the Lieutenant did, and he wanted to hold you close.

If not Ghost, it’d be Rudy or Gaz crowding you. If you were in the rec room, Gaz would usually be there with you. His arm thrown over your shoulders, pulling you into his side while his wings curled around you two, dark brown feathers ruffled to look menacing but comfortable to your touch. With the way he sat, slouching and legs spread across the sofa, he took all the available seats on the cheap, brown couch. When Gaz caught sight of him, he’d purposefully moved to take up more space, showing just how much one of the nicest of the 141 ostracised him. Although when someone from his TF, he’d move aside, giving space to the man to join them.

If you were walking around the base, Rudy - or Rudolfo as Horangi was forced to call him - would be by your side. Rudy had an arm wrapped around yours, seemingly like a military couple out on a casual walk, or he had his hand on your back, acting as the protective lover. Rudolfo’s smile was always wide and adoring when Horangi saw him walk you, exchanging words and making you laugh. It stung Horangi in an inexplicable way as if someone was knowingly sentencing him to death without any proof of his accountability. Rudy, the second nicest guy, also made glaring passes his way, pulling you closer to his side, directing you away and staring coldly at Horangi.

It rubbed him wrong, all the silent glares and insults at him to push him farther from you, but he was Horangi the Tiger haetae. He made his calculations, he was as smart and as resourceful as he was patient. Give it a few more missions together and they would loosen enough to let him swoop you off your feet. You were his source of comfort, of love and gentleness, he had to protect it.

Unlike Horangi, König actively sought you out on the base, following the trail of your scent and the soft noises of your voice and heartbeat. He was like a dog on your trail, nose sniffing every bit of air for you and ears strained for any noise you’d make. His senses were stretched thin to find a moment with you. He was as animalistic as a hybrid could get, leaning towards his monster to help him with his ops and trials.

You piqued König’s curiosity, making him wander the halls like a lumbering monster in a dark veil and glaring, red eyes. He saw how you treated big and dangerous monsters like the dragon hybrid you had as a captain, a respectable man, as soft as you treated the rowdy and rough werewolf and gracefully dangerous nagual. König wanted to feel your softness on him, your small hand grasping the tight muscles of his shoulders and back, kneading the tension away with grounding massages and stretches. You were their doctor, you cared enough to join them in the field, so you’d naturally be willing to mass the pain out of his body, no?

He wanted moments alone, where he could speak his mind without fear of being interrupted or pushed away for his imposing stature and aura. He wanted to place a hand on your waist, to feel the plush roundness of your stomach and the firm contour of muscle on your thighs. He wanted his voice to carry easily in the void of silence, where his voice could be heard by you from a small whisper. He wanted your eyes to focus on him, solely, as if he was your world.

He found it rather irritatingly difficult to find such moments. When he followed your scent through the halls and down to the medic's office, he’d find Captain Price crowding the room with his powerful musk of Ashe and fire - of metal and iron. Although Price was much shorter and lesser ranked than König was, he held the power of age and wisdom, an unfathomable strength that lay solely in draconic beings. This eternal power that none could rival apart from Eldritch beings, most cower, whimper and hide from dragons. He wore his power and wisdom on his sleeves, a warning for everyone, him and his KorTac operators included. König might’ve been reckless, but he wasn’t a fool, fighting headfirst with dragon seamed chaos and devastation. So, as any hybrid did, he backed away, an old dragon was dangerous, but a crippled one made it even more perilous.

When König tried to find you in the rec room, you were held in the tight embrace of a possessive wolf. Soap had you straddling his lap, facing him as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. He purred and kissed your skin, making you squirm and giggle, but then Soap’s eyes gazed upwards and grew cold and unruly at König’s appearance. A proud - dare he say, cruel - smirk curled the corners of his lips. That was when he realised what the sergeant was doing. Soap, in the open, was scenting you, rubbing his musk over your neck, where - if you were another sifting hybrid like him and Alejandro - would’ve been your scent gland. It was a blatant show of possession. He nipped at your throat, drinking in your yelp and hiss, your back arching and moving to push him from biting too much. It filled him with rage.

If you weren’t with either dragon or werewolf, you were with Alejandro, the Hispanic scenting you as much as Soap did, but he did it with more finesse and subtlety. He would draw your hair back, the gland on his wrist grazing your neck and ears, imprinting you with him. Alejandro would hold your hand, fingers neatly intertwined with yours, his face laying on your shoulder as he spooned you in his lap. He purred and whispered sweet promises that had you nodding and smiling like a child on Christmas. He oosed of pheromones, filling the area with his scent and in turn, covering you completely in him. König watched with envy as Alejandro read to you, cradled between his thighs and falling asleep, his, Soap and everyone else’s musk laying a possession over you.

König’s a determined person when he put his mind to it, willing his beaten and bloodied self back to camp, or his sleep-deprived and insomniac-ridden mind to concentrate on the enemy. He was a battering ram, he pushed forward forcefully, however hard he had to, all to reach the end goal. This time, it wouldn’t be the head of his target, or the capture of an asset, this time, it would be you.

They both wondered, with how close your TF was, what was the dynamic. Was it a pack that shared the same lover? Was it a pack that had formed such a close connection to a human that you were deemed an integral part of the pack? Or were you the child they watched over and protected?

The next few missions 141 and the two from KorTac went on were as successful as the first, the cooperation of two ruthless mercenaries and a hybrid, specialist group made these tasks easy, near child’s play for them. Along with the aspect of having a medic on hand, it let them run wild, play along the edge and act more recklessly than they normally would. Having Horangi and König for so long, made them become a standard in the base, seeing them walk among the shorter and weaker humans. That also meant they had seen their fair share of xenophobic soldiers with balls bigger than a dragon’s and an ego the size of an Eldritch creature.

Every hybrid and monster was used to their hateful glares and sneering venom-dripping words. Ignoring them had become easier after the first year of enrolment. Horangi and König were, however, not used to someone defending them with their most honest heart of gold with earth-shattering words.

The first time they’d seen you defend your team was right after a mission, haunches, lumbering bodies descending the carrier’s ramp with their bags slung over their shoulders and addled with fatigue after a week of deployment. Young, power-hungry sergeants who’d let their ranks get to their heads had slid before them, head held high and shoulders held wide. Every single one of them knew that the moment the sergeant’s mouth opened, nothing good would come out of it. Perhaps degrading insults or back-handed sneers.

When the first sentence slipped from the man’s tongue, you pushed your way between them, barrelling into the man who’d insulted them. A deep frown was etched into your lips, brows creased so darkly into you that it cast a dark shroud of anger over your face. If König hadn’t known that you were a human, he would’ve thought that you were a being of darkness.

“You dim-witted bastards-!” Was the first word you let out, your usually soft-spoken self with gentle hands spewed acid at them, threatening to burn their skin.

Dim-witted, indeed. Old, conservative assholes who thought they were better than the rest with their pro-human propaganda and xenophobic acts against hybrids. Horangi had expected you to continue your scolding, wringing the sergeant dry with your words, not your hands. You used your hands, fingers curled inward, thumb over the curves of your bones and decked the man. It shocked them both, you were smaller, shorter, human and seemed weaker than the men, yet here you were, sending him toppling on the floor, his friend gaping and pouncing on you. Only to be met with your foot to his crotch.

“You bet your ass you won’t get any medical attention after this,” you hissed.

Although your words sounded improbable since you weren’t the only medic on base, you had built a connection through the system, every medic knew you and heeded your words. If one didn’t want a man healed, you and the rest wouldn’t help him. If you wanted a man to suffer, the rest would watch on with you. Medics were themselves, a tight-knit couple that helped one another. So your words were more than a threat, it was a promise.

“Until I see your sorry asses on your deathbed or grovelling, none of us will lift a finger for you. Bleed and beg all you want, but you aren’t getting help.”

You acted with an iron hand, sending the rest to the ground, moaning and groaning, cradling whatever part of their body you’d hit. They wondered why Ghost hadn’t moved, and neither did Gaz or Rudy, the most protective ones. When König glanced down at Ghost, he saw pride in his eyes, dark curled on sadistic pleasure swirling in his brown eyes. When Horangi gazed at Gaz and Rudy, he saw simple amusement, their mouths threatening to curl in a smirk.

All of them had known you’d act this way, erratic and violent rather than calmly scold them and stomp over their ego. You were strong-headed and blunt to them, making them bow to you, like lesser men to a lady, a queen, a goddess.

Horangi had experienced his own protection from you. After the men had loosened enough to trust him and König, he could walk beside you and hold a simple banter, albeit awkward at the start. You were much more violent this time, reaching for the downed man while hissing and screeching after you sent him to the floor with well-aimed kicks. You were like a gremlin, small and lively. He understood your anger, they’d called him racist things, calling out his Asian roots and hybrid characteristics.

Horangi had to hold you from going off on him following your promise of neglecting his medical needs. It worked, though. The first group had searched to plead, to apologise and beg for medical attention. You’d sent them away with a small note lifting the ban for medical help. You were as ruthless with people as they were to enemies.

Any other encounters with hot-headed men and women that glanced at them weirdly were met with a varying amount of anger and disgust from you. Horangi understood why 141 held you so carefully, so tightly in their hold. Why they worshipped you like a priest would do with his goddess. It was a sense of camaraderie that had evolved into love, affection dripping from their pores.

König received a bit more attention for his size, the threatening nature of his ouster coupled with his brute figure, made him a subject of fear and rejection. That hadn’t stopped you from wanting to approach him, had it? Going as far as calling him cute when he stuttered while broaching the subject of him liking certain things. For a burly man with the height of a giant, he was nice to sit next to, his quiet but anxious stature when he wasn’t deployed made it easy to talk to. He might sometimes let his instincts drive him, but they were all well-meaning, wanting nothing but goodness for you.

His turn came in quick succession, he was shunned and ridiculed left and right. It never helped that he would shy from others, preferring his little corner that made the room look stranger and claustrophobic (not that he let them walk all over him, he growled and glared, standing tall with the promise of lashing out or eating them. Even when humans feared König, they still attempted to rile his anger.). But with you, he wasn’t by his lonesome, he had someone to rattle on about the things he liked to do, or the things he wanted to do. His shoulders were relaxed and mind calm, free to speak his mind about the goriest and the sweetest dreams he had, his speech unperturbed by his anxiety.

Unlike the others, König stood before you as an impenetrable wall of muscle and fat when you raised your hand at an insignificant pig. Why would he let someone so disgusting touch you (even though it was to hit and kick the man, he would do it for you instead)? He guarded you as if they were insulting you rather than him - though it was the reverse - and glared down at anyone with dreadfully scary eyes. Like the devil that had risen, he sent them running with their tails tucked between their legs. Although he was the one that had gotten rid of them, he was always so proud of you, holding you close to him and gushing about your brave and inspiring actions.

He saw how the men in 141 looked at you, he wanted to be a part of it, to be able to freely nuzzle your face and hold you like Soap would, to cradle you in his arms and carry you around the base. König wanted a piece of your heart, to be able to show the world he held it in his hands, caring for it between his big, calloused fingers and soft affection. He might be dangerous, he might be deadly, he might be reckless, but if you let him, you would be his world like you were to the others (Horangi would agree, they spoke about it on their own.).

#nymph fic rec

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nymphany · 9 months

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"s'fucking small"

lieutenant ghost who has a major size kink.

tags: MDNI!, size kink obvi, manhandling teehee, fem reader, fingering, you're put in a mating press, lowkey praise?

a/n: sorry for the late post, i went to hoyofest '23 and then tumblr went down for a bit but teehee take ghost and size kink (i want him to manhandle me)

ghost likes to hold things after you hold them just to see how big his hands look on it compared to yours. does the thing where he makes you hold his phone and later compares it to his cock. (when hard, he is most definitely over 7 inches and at least 5 inches in girth, you can't tell me he can act like this if his cock was any less)

loves manhandling you 'cause god, look at you! so small next to him. he absolutely adores your hand in his, just shows him how big he is compared to you.

when he has you pinned to the bed, legs spread out showing off your pretty little cunt to him, just him. god, and you're so wet, letting him slip in a finger in so easily. one hand holding yours down, your knees pressing against your chest as he pushes himself onto you. revels in the fact he can just engulf your entire body with his larger one.

slips a few fingers in and out, seeing you squirm around trying to rub on him trying to get any form of friction. teases you by rubbing your clit, just a little. then when he's had enough, he'll stand up and let you watch as he slowly takes off his belt and let his cock spring free.

an arm to support him, your knees now next to your head because of the position, and his cock lined up with your cunt. he'll ram it in with no time for you to adjust (he's so mean). gets him all riled up seeing a bulge in your stomach. he'll grunt out your name and little comments about how you're "s'fucking small" and how you're taking him in sooo good. he'll put you in a mating press. eventually, he's just panting and moaning your name as you squeeze around him with a death grip on your hips and thighs.

god you look so cute as he fucks your brains out.

#nymph fic rec

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nymphany · 9 months

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Something Else

Ch.1 || Split

Pairing: TF141 x F!Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence(?), Swearing, Mention of a mental health condition (DID) If you’re not okay with it you can avoid this chapter.

Other note: I’m sorry for any inaccuracies that you might notice, I will gladly work on it if you point it out^^ Please be kind tho ;-;

A/N: Sorry it got delayed but it’s here! I hope you enjoy it~

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In the covert world of the British SAS, where elite operatives are honed through rigorous challenges, there emerges an extraordinary figure known only in hushed whispers and concealed records. She is a woman of exceptional fortitude, achieving the unprecedented feat of becoming the youngest to join the SAS. In her late twenties, she wields unmatched skills that have earned her the reverence of seasoned veterans and the respect of her peers.

Yet, beneath her unmatched capabilities lies a hidden truth that adds an intricate layer to her enigmatic persona - she battles with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) earning the code name ‘Split’ but within her psyche reside distinct identities, each manifesting its own specialized talents, memories, and perceptions. Amidst the turmoil of her mind, an astonishing tapestry of skills converges, making her an enigma and an indomitable force.

As a sniper, she possesses a profound connection with her rifle, threading needles with bullets to strike targets from unimaginable distances. Her mastery of close-quarters combat transforms her into a lethal symphony of precision and efficacy, making her an unrivaled CQB specialist capable of altering the course of the most treacherous encounters. Embracing solitude, she becomes one with the silence, navigating perilous terrains that few dare to tread. Her uncanny ability to infiltrate enemy strongholds and extract critical intelligence- with almost little to no trace has become a legend whispered among the clandestine circles.

In the face of adversity, she seamlessly shifts between identities, employing the intricacies of her mind as both a shield and a weapon. Her dance between personas bewilders adversaries and outwits danger. A symphony of tactical brilliance unfurls, leaving behind no trace of her presence.

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“I don’t need another soldier joining us-“

“Yes, you do, Price. You don’t admit it but you’re breaking-“

“I’m not- and so are they.”

Laswell looks at Price, sadness and frustration evident in her eyes as she scans his face; What a stubborn man, she thinks to herself.

"What if I were to inform you that Split has given their affirmative commitment to join the Task Force and is standing by for your approval, hm?" Laswell states with precision and a sense of determination. With a subtle sip of her coffee, she swiftly extracts a sleek folder from her bag and crisply slides it across the table to Price.

Price's eyes widen in disbelief as he gazes at the folder resting in front of him. The weight of the revelation sinks in, and he takes a moment to process the gravity of the situation. His mind races with the implications of having Split on board, a valuable addition to the Task Force.

Finally, Price looks up, meeting Laswell's unwavering gaze. "How did you get ahold of them?" he asks, his voice tinged with a mix of astonishment and excitement. The possibilities of this collaboration are both daunting and enticing, and he can feel the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders.

"I've successfully tracked down Split through my contacts," Laswell asserts with a determined tone, leaning in closer to Price. "Discreet communication has been established."

Price listens as he goes through the folder, taking note of how little information it contains, apart from the achievements and past missions. “(Y/N) Katastrof, looks like we got another ghost joining the team.” He mutters under his breath. Price takes a deep breath, his eagerness palpable in the air as he gazes at the folder in front of him. "I've heard the whispers about Split," he admits, his voice low and contemplative. "I’ve been trying to track ‘em down but despite my efforts, I've never had the chance to get ahold of them."

Laswell nods, understanding Price's desire to have Split on their team. "I know you've been eager to make this happen," she says, her tone supportive. "And now that we have this opportunity, we need to tread carefully."

Price looks up, determination shining in his eyes. "We can't let this chance slip away, if they're willing to join us, then bloody hell let’s make it happen."

Laswell smiles, seeing Price's commitment to the mission and the potential of this collaboration. "I share your enthusiasm," she says. "We'll move forward cautiously, ensuring that everything is in place before we bring them on board."

Price nods, feeling a mix of excitement and responsibility. "I'll have the team prepare for the integration," he says. "We need to make sure everyone is on board and understands the significance of this addition."

Laswell stands, ready to support Price in this critical decision. "I'll handle the communication with Split," she states. "We'll verify their commitment and ensure that their skills align with our objectives."

As they finalize their plan, Price and Laswell know that they're on the verge of a significant moment for the Task Force. Their shared determination and strategic approach give them the confidence that, with Split's inclusion, they can take their missions to new heights. Together, they'll navigate the challenges ahead, and with the right balance of caution and enthusiasm, they're ready to welcome Split into the ranks of the Task Force.

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“Fuckin’ minx! I’ll blow your brains out!”

“Stop whining, will ya?” Was the last thing that man heard before getting his neck snapped. Dusting her gloves off, she stares at the dead body in front of her, smirking under her balaclava. “Poor lad, would’ve gotten a less painful passing if he cooperated.” She mumbles to herself as she checks her gear for any missing items.

“Lieutenant, help” A weak voice calls out, causing her to snap out of the state she was in, pausing her movements to listen again. A cough echoes throughout the room she’s in, her feet leading her to the source of it until her eyes settled on a soldier, bleeding out on the floor. Eyes widening, her body moves, quickly grabbing a tourniquet from her medical kit.

“Fuck did you got yourself into, Rook?” She says to the man; he’s too young, she thinks to herself as she wraps the band around his leg, pausing to look at him “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch but I need you to take it for me, yeah? I know you can take more than this” She waits for his approval before tightening the band, the soldier letting out a muffled groan.

“Hurts more than your kicks, ma’am, but I’ll take your hits over this any time of the fucking day” Rook says, chuckling as he leans back on the wall. “Got everything we need?” He asks, trying to catch his breath.

“Of course we do, sarge.” She looks up at him, giving a wink before going back to disinfecting his wound. “Call for exfil while I do this” She says quietly as she starts to patch him up. Rook following what she says as he contacts the rest of their squadron.

——————————————————————————

“Soap, don’t put too much weight on it or else you’re gonna fall”

“WHERE’M A MEANT TAEPUT MA WEIGHT? WHERE?! AH CANNAE PUT MA WEIGHT OON TH’ ROOF IS DEAD THIN!”

Gaz laughs as he watches Soap try to get his shoe from the roof, Ghost watching in amusement while he cleans his knives. The scotsman speaking almost too fast for the both of them to understand which only caused Gaz to laugh even harder. Unbeknownst to them, their Captain stepping out for a smoke, gruff as ever made his presence known by coughing.

“Captain” Ghost turns around and nods at him as Soap panics and slips off of the roof, a yelp followed by a grunt as he hit the floor; Gaz trying his best to stop himself from laughing before greeting his captain.

“Tomorrow at 0900 hours, we’ll be having a briefing along with Laswell.” He says nodding back at the men before lighting up his cigar, confused as to why they’re still looking at him. “Go on, at ease” He takes a drag on his cigar and looking off to think.

“And Soap, get off the floor.”

“Solid, Cap”

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nymphany · 9 months

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Simon “Ghost” Riley who always pockets every little item you leave behind, even though he’ll just say he doesn’t know what you’re talking about if you ask. The ponytail you left in the cup holder of his car? The lipgloss that was on his nightstand before you took a shower? The pair of socks you had definitely worn because you had sneakers on..? All gone. All in a shoebox on top of his closet.

His intentions are the farthest thing from malicious though, after everything he’s been through, everything he’s lost, he just expects to lose you eventually too. Whether it’ll be because the stress of him being away from home more often than not or one of the many adversaries he’s made throughout his military career finally getting their revenge, he doesn’t know. The thought of you leaving his life was something he had actually come to terms with, he was alone before you, being alone after would be nothing new. He’d just appreciate the fleeting moment of happiness he had with you and manage after. That wasn’t the terrifying part, forgetting you was. He refused to forget the sound of your voice like he had his mothers, refused to forget the vanilla scent of your lipgloss, refused to not have something to remember you and all your little habits by. The little items you leave scattered around the place might be forgettable and mundane to you but they’re everything to him.

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nymphany · 9 months

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Hi! Could you please a non-con with John Price? I really love your blog!!

Orders, Private

Pairing: Dark!Captain John Price x fem!reader

Cw: NON-CON/DUB-CON, DARK, nsfw, p in v, creampie, choking, age gap, oral (male receiving), implied pregnancy, unprotected sex, cockwarming, implied discharge, abuse of authority, slight daddy kink, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.8k

You joined the army to feel secure, to be safe and to be able to protect yourself. Although it was a predominantly male occupation, you found yourself feeling more at home and comfortable with them and the few female soldiers at the base. You had a small convent of your own composed of the women who left their households to join the military for various reasons, both good and reasonable. You trained and grew, fresh out of the toxic environment of a strict religious family, climbing from a cadet to a Private First Class at 19. You were proud and so were your brothers and sisters, watching the scrawny kid grow leaner and stronger in the past year.

You were safe and protected. You could defend yourself from others tempted to force themselves on you. You were strong. Perhaps you became too relaxed knowing you were surrounded by people you could trust, letting your guard down and your nativity unchecked. You felt safe, you hadn’t worried about your commanding officers. You didn’t see yourself being in danger around them, and yet, here you were, forced to your knees for a man you trusted, a man that had led you and inspired you all.

That’s why it hurt even more.

“Orders, private,” was all he told you, dark eyes staring at your bobbing head between his legs. A cruel grin danced across his lips, a proud and shrewd smile that creased the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Sweat rolled down his forehead as he bit back a groan, throwing his head back and thrusting back into your mouth.

You let out a pained whine, fingers clawing at his thighs, big and hard, hot under your smaller hands. His balls slapped your wet chin, his cock far down your throat had made swallowing difficult, saliva dripping from your wide and swollen mouth. He growled, rocking his hips erratically, chasing the tightness in his groynes, the promise of relief. He laughed when you gagged, your throat retching and closing. He laughed like it was a joke, a cruel joke that he suddenly came up with to deprive you of air.

He used the momentum of both his thrusts and the bobbing of your head to force his shaft deeper, hitting the back of your throat as he throbbed in your mouth. Your nose bumped his musky, pubic hair, the scent was strong and heady, smelling of sex and sweat. Your chin rested against his heavy sack, balls tightening as he came down your throat, spurting ropes of tangy cum.

“Swallow, private. I’ll make you lick it clean if I see a single drop on the floor.”

His threats weren’t hollow, they were true and founded on the fear of harsher abuse. You tried swallowing every drop, throat gagging around his softening shaft in a failed attempt at listening to his order. His rough fingers brushed your hair back, playing the illusion of an encouraging master, rewarding you with soft petting - an illusion of a consensual blowjob. You weren’t fooled, you couldn’t be after this.

Your hands left his thighs to cup at your closed mouth when he slid out, his heavy cock slapping your chin as it left. Your cheeks were swollen with cum, the salty substance weighing heavily on your tongue and conscience. You tilted your head back to ease the flow, still and subservient to his calm petting. Slowly, you swallowed everything, red eyes closed and teary, tears streaming down your cheeks as he cooed at you lovingly. If only you could disappear, leave your body and let it all happen to you while you weren’t here, while you dissociated-

“AH!”

White hot pain flashed through your mind, Price’s fingers grasped your hair and tugged your head back, forcing your mouth open for him. He hummed satisfyingly, eyes glued to your swollen lips and flat tongue. He roved over it, smiling proudly at your tear-stricken expression, your wet cheeks, dilated, doe eyes and your messy hair. The sight of your dishevelled look seemed to arouse him further, his once-soft cock hardening between his thick legs, standing proudly with a pink blush on the tip.

He jerked you back, throwing you to the ground as he stood up, circling your gasping figure. You rested on your knees and elbows, back facing him and head down, chest puffing with erratic breaths. Wolves would lower their heads before a stronger pack emmener, showing their submissiveness or respect to the older and stronger wolf. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him anymore. It hurt too much. However much you wished you could rebel, you knew it was futile.

You were a private and he, a captain of a Task Force. He outranked you by nearly two decades in experience and reputation. No one would believe you if you told them that Captain John Price had raped you. You would be called a traitor, a sham, a liar, someone who wanted to ruin the pristine image of the great Captain Price.

You were alone, no one would help you.

“Get up.”

On shaky knees and unstable footing, you stood up, steps stuttering to reach him at his desk, but you were too slow for his liking. His hand reached to grab at your lapel, pulling you to him. He kicked behind your knees, knocking you off balance and onto his desk, upper half splayed over the hardwood. He bent you with the full intention of fucking you. It scared you because you wouldn’t be able to fight him off, he was both bigger and stronger.

Your nails dug into the wood, looking ahead with fresh tears. He felt your body, big palms wrapping around your waist and down your chest, cupping your breast with a sigh from him. He gripped your hips, feeling the leather belt buckle and ripped it free. You cried out as he pulled your pants down, hands kneading the curves of your hips and the roundness of your ass, fingers gripping your fat with the intent of bruising you.

“Please…” you begged. You didn’t know why you did it, but it was the only thing you could do at the moment. Beg until your voice turned hoarse and weak, a whisper of what it used to be at the peak of your glory.

He scoffed.

“You’re always so soft.”

He felt you a while longer before his searing hands left you. You sighed but froze when something hard and hot bumped your ass, the wet mass rutting over you. Your breath stuttered and you resulted to hide your face between your crossed arms, giving up on your miserable fate. He pumped himself, sighing as he ran the tip over your fold, slipping between your slit and nudging your pulsing clit. A shuddering chill wracked your body, breath stuck at the back of your throat.

He blew out a chuckle. Your body reacted to his stimulation while your mind still reeled at the betrayal. Your body and mind were two different things, one reacted to things while the other commanded. Although you abhorred it, it was only natural that you were slick from everything. Your begging and crying did nothing to stop your body from reacting accordingly to Price’s touch or dampen the intensity of your slickness.

“So warm… and wet-” he rocked into you once his mushroom head caught your entrance, bottoming out in one hard thrust.

You jerked forward with a cry, clinging to his desk as he pulled out and pushed in roughly. He groaned as he slammed in, eyes rolling back when your warm walls squeezed around him, trying to accommodate his bigger girth. Price drove into you with feral grunts, hips rocking and hands bruising you. He liked painting your skin black and blue with his hold, and carving your flesh with the half moons of his blunt nails, red and irritated. It was a show of possessiveness, marking his little soldier to remind you and himself of who you belonged. It roused the predator inside of him, bringing it to the surface of his usually calm and commanding facade. But none came alone, one always brought another; he’d whisper dark promises to you, ravaging you with animalistic intent. They were dirty things, brutal promises that he had full intentions of keeping.

It made you fear him more than anything else.

“No! Please no! Price stop- ”

You struggled against his assault, legs kicking under him and voice screaming for reprieve in the soundproof room. He slid his arm under you, grasping your throat as he pressed into you, the tip ramming into your cervix. You choked a hoarse cry, body pulled in an arch before him, head over his shoulder, forearm holding you against his chest and hips between him and the desk’s sharp edge. It dug into your flesh as his cock ploughed deeper inside of you, spearing you over his throbbing length, threatening to spill a second time.

“I like the thought of you swollen, love,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his beard irritating the soft skin of your neck as his pace grew frantic, latching on to the tight string of pleasure. “Swollen with my child, hmm?”

He chuckled at your fearful whine, your head shaking and fingers clutching his hand, running red lines over it.

“Yeah, I love it too. Watching the little nipper run around the house.”

His sweat dripped from him to you, the musky odour of sex, pine wood and cigars coating you in a mix that is instinctively his. A musk that belonged to John Price. His hand left your hip to toy with your sensitive nub, rolling it with his thumb while you moaned and squirmed, the walls of your sexe tightening around him like a vice. He cursed and jerked his hips faster, harder and rougher, lost in the delirium of pleasure and hunger.

“Come, love. Come now.”

Orders, private, echoed in your mind, his word was law, his hand, the mighty hammer. He ingrained it in your mind and your body reacted as such. A well trained pet for its master to order around. Your breath caught in your throat and your hip bucked into his thrusts, head thrown back with a sharp keen. You closed around him, spamming walls pulling him deeper as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, quenching your dripping arousal.

“Fuck-” he swore, grinding against you as your relief pulled at his. He came with a moan, tip spurting white, potent cum into your young womb. It flooded your cunt and leaked around him, staining his military-issued pants with dark patches. He stayed inside of you as he sat on a chair, plugging you with his soft cock to keep from wasting his seed. He wanted it to take so he could have you discharged and kept at home. He wanted you as his little wife, possessiveness rearing its ugly head.

“You’ll make me a daddy this time, yeah?”

If not, he’d just fuck you again and again until it knocked you up.

#nymph fic rec

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nymphany · 9 months

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Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend to be interrogated by the 141 (2.3k words, part 2)

Summary: Valeria despairs when you don't answer her calls and immediately returns to her residence, only to find you gone. In the meantime, Graves presses you for information, and Alejandro starts to understand why Valeria hides you so well.

TW: mentions of cheating, toxic Valeria and very toxic Alejandro (OOC but I think it adds juicy drama, sorry for ruining him!). Mentions of death and violence. apologies for the imperfect Spanish, I've been using Google Translate! I titled this as 'Valeria's girlfriend' but I ended up writing them as kind of unofficially married. Link to part 1 Link to A03

Valeria knew something was wrong when you didn't pick up the phone. In all your years together, she never had to call for you more than once, you were always at her beck and call. Her face turned to stone as the call went to voicemail, it felt like her heart stopped and then started again with fire and poison. In hindsight, she should have worried about your safety first, but unfortunately, her insecurities got the best of her. Anger seethed within her as she thought of all the ways you had betrayed her the moment she left you alone. Infidel! Her right-hand man Rafael was looking at you closely when she left, no? How could she be so blind as to trust you? Of course, you were jumping around with her men behind her back - you seemed all innocent and pure, but sure enough the viper within revealed itself and finally slithered out of her tight grasp. Immediately, she called Rafael to check up on the house, and when he also didn't pick up the phone, she cut her trip short and packed her bags. El Sin Nombre doesn't need to explain why she's leaving early! She commanded her business partners to figure it out amongst themselves as she went to her chopper and rushed home. Her hands shook as she navigated the helicopter, her mind unable to stop thinking of all the ways you were intertwined with Rafael on your marriage bed; desecrating your marriage vows. Of course this would happen. Why would fate let Valeria get away with the betrayal she'd inflicted on Alejandro? It was only right that her karmic debt would catch up with her.

It was as she was lowering her helicopter on the freshly cut grass of your home that she began to realise her devastating mistake. Doors were left open with the curtains billowing with the wind, broken glass from shattered windows littered the entryway and, worst of all, dried trails of blood lead a path from the house to the bushes. Her heart caught at her throat as her eyes roamed frantically from one catastrophic sign to the other. Guilt coiled around her stomach and she cursed her darkness for having doubted your loyalty when really, you were fighting for your life. "Mi esposa," Valeria whispered as rushed out of her helicopter, the blades still cutting the air as she ran indoors, not even bothering to be cautious of any enemies that could still be lurking within the shadows. She knew there were bodies dumped behind the green bushes that you so tenderly cared for, but she couldn't make herself check for you there. Part of her hoped you were smart and had the time to hide somewhere good, but she knew you were as helpless as a child when it came to things like this. You, who were so kind and good, left to fend for yourself. How could she possibly think you'd remain unharmed within this field of work? Valeria selfishly forced a divine light like you to live in the shadows with her, of course you'd get snuffed out eventually. If not by Valeria's own hand, her selfishness and greed, her need to possess and own you at all times, then by the selfish and greedy hands of others. All these thoughts rushed through her as she ran from one hallway to another, rushing to your part of the mansion. Memories of violence clung to your home like spiderwebs, she could see the struggle that ensued in the doors left open when you'd normally keep them closed. In the flower vase that you lovingly refilled every week that now lay on the floor shattered, shattered like her heart. The flowers lay on the floor, dying.

"Mi corazon...," she whimpered and came to a stop right before your bedroom door, one hand clutching her chest as she stood there, too afraid to step in and face your fate. She could only hear the wind catching on your curtains and the light humming of your electric blanket. She could already picture the catastrophe. You were in bed, lathering your lotions on, probably adjusting your night light because you were too afraid to sleep in the dark without Valeria next to you. You were all snuggled for bed, probably waiting for her call on the phone, when somebody came for you. "God, give me courage," she said as she stepped inside and lifted her eyes.

It was as if you evaporated into thin air. She saw the marks your body left on the bed where you lay on it and your phone was still there. Valeria's eyes scanned every inch of the space, no blood or other fluids were on any of the surfaces. You were either taken, or whatever happened to you happened elsewhere. All your belongings were still there. She didn't want to have false hope, so she willed herself to look at the bodies left by the bushes. She charged through the rest of the houses, taking note of all the mess. Her chopper was still on as she crossed the garden you tended to, the sweet smell of roses faintly covering the stench of blood lifting from the pile of bodies. Rafael was there, along with the rest of her men who manned the house in her absence. Treacherous relief washed through her because you were not there. This was the most devastating attack that Valeria had ever experienced in all her years and she could not think of anyone that hated her enough to do this. A rival cartel? Unlikely. They were violent criminals, sure, but they still kept a code of conduct amongst themselves. El Sin Nombre was the biggest competitor out there, no one was so stupid as to do this.

Valeria went to the security room and saw the CCTV footage. Her heart stopped when she saw an all-too-familiar figure invading her home. The tall, dark man cut through her men and made his way directly to where her wife lay. It's like he knew exactly where she was. "Alejandro?" Valeria's heart dropped as she watched Alejandro prepare to break the door and attack her wife, who was shrouded in a naive innocence where she could never comprehend the attack she was about to experience.

Angry tears threatened to spill from her glassy eyes as she saw Alejandro's hand grab you by the throat and drag you out of your marital bed. The same bed that you made love in every night, now permanently defiled with the way he violently dragged you out of it. Bruises from his fingers would have definitely formed on your soft skin by now, if you were still alive. Valeria watched on as Alejandro handcuffed her wife and pushed her through the hallways, saying something to her ear whilst parading her through the home she was supposed to be safe in. It was no coincidence that Alejandro stared directly at one of the cameras as he pushed her wife forward, looking directly at Valeria's eyes. This was no incidental operation; this was deliberate and malicious. More so, it was fucking personal. Yes, this was where Valeria ran her operation, but it was also the home you and her nested in so lovingly. And now it was trampled all over by men in uniforms, just like those fallen flowers. She forced herself to watch on as you were put in a helicopter and disappeared in the night sky.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "I hope you're ready to talk now, sweetheart." After a few hours of silence, the door to the container you were kept in opened, bringing in some rays of sunlight before shutting again. The American, whom you now knew was called Commander Graves, entered along with Alejandro. It had been many hours since your abduction, you had no way of telling how long exactly. But you were tired and restless, and cold. You thought they might move you to a cell at least, but they made no effort to transfer you out of the metal container. Too afraid to say anything when not spoken to, you sat still and waited. You wondered if Valeria had noticed your absence yet but even if she did, how could she find you? "I'm not sure what to tell you, sir." You remained polite hoping that courtesy would make up for your lack of talking. "Don't be like that, there's plenty to tell. How about we start with this little business trip of hers?" Graves circled around you, placing his hand on your shoulder before finally coming to a stop. " What'du hear about it?" Graves had many years of experience underneath his belt when it came to interrogation, especially the violent ones. And so did the 141. That was made very clear from the beginning. If this was any ordinary member of the cartel, they'd have buried them by now. But spouses were different; you hurt them and there'll be hell to pay. Even worse, there'll be no chance of making a deal with Valeria. "Like I said, I just know she went away for it, sir, that's all."

"Hm," he said and dropped his hand. He moved to stand right in front of you. "Well, you must know something. You know she's El Sin Nombre. You know she runs the biggest drug cartel in Latin America. You know she runs an international operation, you know she has friends in many places. What am I missing here?"

You looked up at him. "That's basically it, sir. It's a drug operation. But I don't know where it comes from, who her manufacturers are, or how she sells it. She doesn't deal with small details." Graves was starting to lose his patience, and not with her but with Alejandro. He couldn't understand why he insisted on extracting a housewife instead of the real deal. Here he was trying to gather intel on those Russian missiles with a trophy wife who hasn't had a day out of the kitchen, let alone discussions with the biggest terrorist organisation in the world. It was time to cut loose and make the call. "Hermano, take over for me will ya? I'll be right back." Graves walked away, wondering what General Sherperd will think of this whole situation.

You were alone with Alejandro now, who paced up and down the compound like a restless animal. You wondered to yourself how similar he was to Valeria, she had the exact same habit when she was stressed. They were very similar in temperament; too similar. Aggressive, hard-headed and dominant. Part of you gloated at the whole situation. Here was a Colonel of the Mexican Army, a well-decorated military man, wasting his time with you, someone quite irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, all because of- "Your wife," he said, disrupting your thoughts and you suddenly realised you were staring at him. "Is that correct?" He nodded at your ring finger. "Yes, sir," you replied timidly. He was exactly like Valeria, and it worked in your favour. You've spent so many years living with your partner that it was almost too easy to deal with people like her. People who could fill up a room with their presence; intimidating, powerful people who could hurt you badly. The sort of people who made the world go round. People, in other words, who could be domesticated.

Because violence and intimidation aren't the only ways to get what you want. Alejandro scoffed, "you've come a long way from that food stand, huh?" He looked at you with a faraway look in his eye, his mind having entered that shrouded area of the psyche where apparitions of the past hover, always eager to glide into the present in the form of memories. Your heart softened both at the memory he was referencing and because, at that moment, he seemed so pitifully sad, having lost himself in reminiscence.

Many years ago, you helped your Abuela run her restaurant in Las Almas, which stood very close to where the Mexican Army had its headquarters. Your Abuela was a genius in strategy and profited a lot from the laziness of soldiers who couldn't be bothered to cook for themselves but who also didn't want to eat whatever the Army served. And that's how you met Valeria, who was regularly sent by her teammates to fetch a group order. Valeria picked up the food because it was expected of her, an unfortunate burden of being one of the youngest women in her squad. But over time, she did it because it meant she got to see you. To everyone's surprise, when Valeria ran away to work for the cartel, that quiet girl in the small restaurant vanished too. "Alejandro." His eyes snapped back into yours. "Lo siento mucho. I really didn't know about you and Valeria. I am not that kind of person." You knew exactly what this was all about. Sure, they wanted to get El Sin Nombre and Valeria *was* the head of the biggest drug operation in the world. And she *has* made Las Almas dance to the rhythm of her tune for the past decade. But this was all just a big temper tantrum. And if you played your cards right, you could leave unscathed. You continued, "Whatever happens, I just wanted you to know that. I am truly sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone."

Something changed in his eyes. You could already picture what was about to happen. After your sincere self-flogging will come his pity, then the remorse. He might chuck you in a cell to show that he's treating you like the criminal collaborator that they all think you are, but soon enough he'll arrive bearing the fruits of forgiveness. Just like Valeria, you told yourself. Like moths to a flame. "Hm," he mumbled to himself, his eyes roaming all over you. "I get it now." He cocked his head to the side, "eres una cosa encantadora." At that moment, you felt a change in the air, something dark hovered between you two. It made you shiver.

"Tell me, Y/N. Have you ever been with a man?"

Hope you enjoy this part! Promised tags: @justmare @sleepiemain @caffeineliker @lesvii @silas-222 I'll bring Valeria and her partner together in part 3! I've also thought of a cute backstory for them that I want to get into :) also sorry for ruining Alejandro, i made him so toxic in this fic 😭

#nymph fic rec

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