First Post Is A Pile Of Men

The guard dogs humping kitty reader as a show of dominance whenever she gets to sassy with them.

They pin her down and mount her but it’s not for the pleasure (mainly), it’s to remind her who’s in charge. Clothes stay on and they growl in her ear to remind her of her place.

And the poor thing gets so embarrassed when they do it in the middle of the farm where all the other animals can see.

(Ghost also definitely does this to soap when he gets too mouthy)

Ohhh my god :( This ask did things to me ngl

But yes, whenever you're acting up and get too bratty for their liking they have absolutely no qualms in wrangling you down on all fours, mounting you and humping you in clothing and everything just to hear you yowl and whine and beg them to just fuck you properly but this isn't about your wishes princess! This is about punishment for you acting like a damn brat and mouthing off at them!

I think Guard dog!Johnny would be much more lenient just because he's still young and dumb and very horny and having a mewling catgirl underneath his burly body is like turning his brain off and start thinking with his dick :(( Before you know it your panties are shoved aside and his huge, leaking cock is shoved into your cunt as he thrusts away without abandon, whines of his own escaping his maw as he desperately tries to make his fat knot fit :((

Both you and Johnny whine and yowl when Guard dog!Simon finds you like this; out in the open, tired out and stuck together because Johnny thought with his dick and the dumb mutt couldn't even properly punish you.

And yes, Simon definitely does it to Soap too :( Johnny can bark, snarl or whine all he wants but he's still getting mounted by the older male and bit on the back of his neck like a bitch as Si growls lowly that he'll show Johnny how to properly train a bratty bitch since he clearly can't do it himself <3

Why is it that young David Tennant has taken over my life after only 6 episodes of a tv show from the 90s

🔨

- Cherry Wine live at the O2 Academy Sheffield

This is too beautiful to just sit in my camera roll

wear a different perfume when you commit murder fuckin amateurs 

When Gnomeo says “I think this ending is much better” yeah it’s cute and shit to us the audience but Juliet has not got a clue what he’s on about!

one very annoying thing about being a writer:

I just googled how do you drown in your own blood so that my writing would be accurate. What comes up is of no help to me what so ever:

NHS- Help for suicidal thoughts

YouTube - Stories for Hope and Recovery

being rearranged against the wall by john price, your ass bouncing up from where his hips drive up against your backside, fat cock nestled in the gooey heat of your pussy, gummy walls tight and pulsing around his thick girth.

you didn't know that a skimpy lingerie with a cow print would be enough to drive him up so bad, jaw painfully tight with stiffened growls as he huffs at the sight of you, supple tits all round and soft under the small top that hides nothing, almost spilling out.

john can see everything, the wet patch on your panties where your folds all sticky from your own slick, aroused, desperate for his warm and calloused touch on your doughy flesh, and he can't say no to his darling.

you made him feral, utterly insane in the way he tugs and paws at your tits, thin cloth long ago torn away so he could play with your pebble nipples, rough fingers pinch and squeeze at your swelling skin, breasts aching and tingling where he grasped too harshly.

his hips smacking roughly against your round ass, fat bouncing and jiggling with each movement, pussy drooling around his fat girth as he pummels against your tightening walls, thrusting into your spongy spot.

it get's you all teary eyed and jaw slack, slurred mewls slipping out into the thick air as john only plunges deeper, forcing his throbbing cock to bump against your womb, itching to breed you till it would leak out of you, and you wouldn't even notice.

too fucked out for your own good, able only to sob out and claw at his wrists when your nipples start to hurt, swollen buds burning from his touch, tummy clenching with approaching release, scorching you from inside out.

main masterlist. quidelines.

errrmm idk i have been feeling sluggish and kitty-like all day so I decided to indulge in some fantasies. poly141 with kitty reader who's just a wild, feral little sleepy princess. *mdni* and also be aware of mentions of violence as well as tiny bits of smut! I scribbled this like a madman with his poetry back in the days, under candlelight, breathing feverishly, needing it out of me like some kind of demon needing to be exorcised. So needless to say it's not perfect, not reread, not corrected. Just some raw piece of my messed up lil head! Okay ^___^ Oki enjoy.

It's no secret that you're the team's secret weapon — some half-wild failed scientist experiment that left you more animal than human. Most people don't know exactly what it is you do, or what has been done to you, but they know that if even Ghost is afraid of you, then they better stay in your good graces.

You're a small thing, compared to those men, though in the real world you'd probably be deemed average sized. But next to them, you're tiny, small, even. You play coy and gentle and kind, never having to lift a finger because your boys do it all for you.

Sometimes you will simply drop, lay in a ball, and catnap. Even if it's during training, or in the mess hall, or meetings.

One time, Price was there with his whole team, including you of course, and you were going over training with the new recruits, and talking about how their lives would be from now on.

Until then, everyone but Price had been quiet, simply looking out for him from behind. Until Gaz felt a tug at his sleeve. As instinct went, the recruits' eyes followed you as you rubbed your eyes, a slight pout on your face as you whined quietly that you were sleepy. Like a cat, you stretched yourself wide a long, though even with your arms up, you didn't surpass the men's heights. Arching your back, you pushed yourself up against him, quietly mewling that you wanted your bed.

Scouting the room, he noticed every seat was occupied, so he simply scooped you up, sent that little secret gaze to Price that told him their princess was sleepy, and simply left.

As the recruits toured the barracks, they found gaz and you splayed across one of the old, vintage couch, with you practically disappearing under Gaz's sweatshirt, your little hands (paws) buried underneath it, with your face shoved in his chest.

On another day, while you were showing the recruits how to spar, paired up with Ghost, you got into a particularly scary position, with him cornering you, with his arm around your throat, and you made that tiny, distressed noise in the back of your throat, and that was all it took for him to let go.

You immediately scampered away once Ghost was done telling the recruits how to do what he did exactly, and dismissing them. You were a bit skittish, like a cat, and when cornered, you often bit— went wild again and scratched eyes out, or anything that you could reach, really, and it often put you back into that violent little headspace. You didn't particularly like that headspace — ironic, that you were in the army, sure, but what else were you meant to do with what you were given? — but since it was Ghost, you let him, though unable to swallow the little noises that escaped you.

And he feels horrible for it — because he never wants to hurt their sweet little girl, and god forbid you actually start to fight back again like you did at first.

So he goes to search for you when he's done, cursing underneath his mask when he can't find you. He eventually does, though, finding you curled up in your room, in the adorned little crate Price and the guys had gotten you. When you got into a particularly bad headspace, you would go into the crate (an old habit instilled in you from your old keeper, who would always put you in the crate if you so much as argued with him) which had been covered in pillows and blankets and little string lights to keep you occupied and your mind empty.

You're curled up in there, holding a little ghost plushie to your chest, murmuring a song.

He sits beside you, and speaks to you, slowly coaxing you out until you're curled up in his lap and putty in his hands once again.

It always takes you a few days to come back to normal, but it's always worth it, because Ghost likes his little kitty.

It's no secret, also, that Price likes a desk pet. That he prefers doing paperwork when you're sitting with him, at his feet, your head serenely splayed across his leg.

That's what you exchange for him filling out your mission reports — he gets some company, and you get to go blissfully head empty when he scruffs you and you kneel for him.

As for Soap, he likes the wild little you, so he takes you with him on runs, where it often ends with him chasing you through the woods surrounding the base, and playing games with you. He will play at any games you want until you're all knackered out, whining for him to carry you when you head back for base. This is how you end up forming a routine with Soap, who naps with you every morning until the sun is finally fully up. Price and the others don't particularly think the habit is healthy — to sleep so much, but it's Soap's fault! He's the one who got you running after him, and from him, all over the base! It's his fault you're such a sleepy, tiny little lass. He feels bad to let you sleep it off alone, duh!

But alas,

When you're on the field, you're a completely different person. The best in your field— some might say. This is why, despite your silly antics, and your quite inconvenient sleep schedule, the team keeps you around. (And because they're quite literally crazily in love with you, but.. no one says that. It's casuuuaaaal.)

On the field, you're too active, you swing too hard, claw too deep, and exhaust yourself. And even then, you keep going. You keep running. You're a marvelous sneak artist, getting past thousands of guards. You're a perfect trickster, all it takes is puppy dog eyes and quivering chin from you for enemies to get you inside their strongholds. You're their best sharp shooter, and their best fighter, despite how wild and almost animalistic your fighting style is. You always get the job done, and always do it without hiccups.

But sometimes, of course, not everyone can be perfect. Sometimes, you have so much adrenaline and so much rage built up in you that once the mission is done, you have a hard time disconnecting, you have a hard time stopping your fists from pummeling into an already dead man's face.

You kick and bite and scratch the whole way out as they rip you from dead, cold bodies. Which is exactly why you and the boys have a safe home, where they take you after missions, and fuck you pliant and sweet, bringing you back to the sleepy little wandering creature you are around base.

Soap is the best at it, though, always going full nights at a time with you. Price can go two rounds, maybe four if he's angry with something (never you), Ghost maybe five if he's very pent up and you've been bratting at him, but Gaz and Soap are always the ones that manage to fuck you back into your place the best.

Gaz will be softly murmuring at you, cooing and mumbling sweet words to you while his cock is ramming into your sweet, slick little tight hole, always breaking your walls with the kindest, most softest words, even if each of his thrusts are seemingly bullying your hole into taking him deeper each time he pulls in, and out. In, and out.

But Soap is the one who outdoes your wildness, who bites and scratches like you do, who will let you ride him until you're spent, and then ask for more, bouncing your limp little body on his cock until he cums for the eighth time that night. He's the one who meets every each of your kisses with just as much ferocity, letting it become more of a fight then a sweet, loving gesture — forcing his tongue into your mouth, licking your teeth, nipping at your lips, just plain nasty and gross, until you're both panting and drool is covering both of your chins.

Anyway. I just think it would be a cute little thing, to witness them all match you in different ways.

The owners of Featherstone’s old home is Miss Montague and Mr Capulet. Because I say so