The fox stirred faintly, ears twitching. Their tail curled tighter around their legs as if instinctively trying to protect themself even while half asleep.

Nikolai laid them carefully on the couch near the fire, then went to fetch a blanket. He hesitated for a moment before draping it over their shoulders, large hands gentler than they looked.

"Foolish little thing," he murmured under his breath.

He moved back to the kitchen, poured a cup of warm tea, and set it on the table to cool. Then he grabbed a small bowl of leftover fish stew from earlier and reheated it slowly over the stove. The smell filled the cabin, rich and comforting.

Behind him, there was a soft shuffle.

Nikolai glanced over his shoulder to find the fox pushing themself upright, blinking against the firelight. Their eyes were wide, wary, pupils blown. Their ears flattened the moment they noticed him watching.

They looked ready to bolt.

"Easy," Nikolai said calmly, lifting both hands in a placating gesture. "You are safe."

The fox froze, tail puffing slightly. They studied him for a long moment, eyes darting to the door, the windows, anywhere that might offer escape.

"You were caught in my trap," Nikolai continued, voice low and steady. "But you are free now. I will not harm you."

The fox's nose twitched. Their gaze shifted toward the stove, then to the bowl in his hand.

Hunger was louder than fear.

Nikolai noticed, of course.

He turned off the stove and carried the bowl toward them, moving slowly. He set it on the small table in front of the couch and stepped back.

"For you," he said. "Eat."

The fox hesitated only a second longer before scooting closer and grabbing the bowl with both hands. They ate quickly, too quickly, as if afraid the food might disappear if they slowed down.

Nikolai watched quietly, concern settling heavier in his chest.

When the bowl was empty, the fox looked up at him, lips parted as if unsure what to say. Their voice, when it finally came, was soft and rough.

"…You let me stay?"

"Yes," Nikolai replied simply.

The fox's ears tilted in confusion. "Why?"

Nikolai considered the question for a moment. Then he shrugged slightly. "Winter is cruel. No one should face it alone if they do not have to."

The fox stared at him, something vulnerable flickering in their expression.

Nikolai stood, turning back toward the kitchen. "Rest. You need it."

Behind him, the cabin settled into quiet once more, but this time it felt different. Warmer, somehow. Less empty.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees, snow piling higher against the walls. But inside, near the fire, a small snow fox hybrid curled beneath a thick blanket, eyes slowly drifting shut.

– rommy

You are absolutely right! Also because i have zero shame, i freaked out getting this request, because you're one of my favorite tumblr's to read. So i hope this drabble meets your expectations!

Nikolai had been talking to John for a few weeks, talking about needing an extra set of hands in the hanger. John said he'd send one of his men over.

Nikolai didn't expect someone who looked so soft. Sergeant!reader was quiet, efficient, and moved with a certain weariness that Nikolai found interesting. He gave them a list of simple tasks, counting spare parts, organizing tool chests, restocking the first-aid kits, while he tackled a major hydraulic repair. By the end of the day, everything on his list was done, and so was theirs. The sergeant had just… vanished.

He found you the next day in a rare patch of sun slanting through the hangar doors, slumped against a stack of tires, head tipped back, breathing soft and even. Their work was already finished. He felt a strange pull in his chest, a mix of amusement and something warmer. He grabbed a spare canvas tarp, shook it out, and draped it gently over them.

It became a pattern. The sergeant was a damn good worker, but they were perpetually on the verge of sleep. They'd complete their duties and then find a corner to doze off in. Nikolai started leaving a bottle of water nearby. Then a protein bar. He found himself checking on them, his gaze lingering on their peaceful face. He liked having them there, a quiet, sleeping presence in his noisy, chaotic world.

Weeks later, he had them in his bed. His quarters were private, a luxury he enjoyed. He was moving inside them, a slow, deep rhythm that had them sighing and arching beneath him. He watched their face, the way their eyelids fluttered, heavy and dark. They were fighting it, trying to stay with him, but the day's work and the gentle rocking of his hips were a powerful lullaby.

"Shhh, kotyonok," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Rest. I have you." He switched to Russian, the words flowing like honey. "Spokoyno, moy malen'kiy. Otdokhni." Calm down, my little one. Get some rest.

Their eyes slid shut, a final, soft sigh escaping their lips as they drifted off. A possessive, triumphant thrill shot through him. They were his, completely trusting, even in sleep. He kept his pace for a few more moments, enjoying the feeling of their pliant body under his, just accepting him.

Then, his focus shifted. His own pleasure coiled tight in his gut. He braced his hands on either side of their head, the slow, rocking rhythm turning into something sharper, more demanding. The bed creaked softly with each thrust. He watched their face, a flush on their cheeks, their lips parted. Even unconscious, their body responded. He felt them clench around him, a sleepy, shuddering orgasm that made him groan. He chased his own release, driving into their welcoming heat, spilling himself deep inside with a guttural moan of their name.

He stayed there for a moment, panting, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt a fierce, overwhelming affection. Carefully, he pulled out, watching a trickle of his release follow. He went to the small ensuite, returning with a warm, wet cloth. He gently cleaned between their legs, his touch reverent. He wiped them down, then took care of himself.

anyways uh…am I allowed to be greedy and ask for even more werewolf simon who thinks reader loves his musk??? Ik you’ve already written two posts but…it’s so good! no pressure ofc! also get well soon! Being sick sucks 😔

Hi nonnie :) of course you can!! I am a people pleasing slut, so be greedily all you want. And thank you! I get sick so easily do to CFS, and I agree this shit sucks. And i did only start posting in October for this side blog, so I'm still new to these parts, so don't feel to bad about only noticing. And thank you for the kind words <3

Pt.1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3

Please note this specific line of fiction contains elements of musk, piss, and conditioning. Refer to the tags for all kinks included.

Somehow, in Simon's self-proclaimed quest to make sure you get the scent he had been denying you, of his scent. You've come to miss it when he's not around.

Now, whenever Simon comes home from a run, you're always by the door, waiting. At first, he thought it was a coincidence, but then you started pressing your face against his neck or collarbone, inhaling like you needed his scent more than air. You didn't even realize you were doing it; your body just moved on its own.

Simon, bless his dumb wolf instincts, thought you were just being affectionate. He'd wrap his arms around you, still warm and damp from his run, and you'd melt every time. Sometimes you caught yourself licking the sweat off his skin, tasting him. It should've been gross, but it wasn't. It was like scratching an itch you didn't know you had.

To Simon, this was proof that you needed him, that he'd been neglecting you. So he doubled down, making sure you got your fill of his scent and his knot.

You didn't notice how restless you got when his scent faded, how you'd drift toward his side of the bed at night, burying your face in his pillow. You kept telling yourself you were just sorting his laundry, but your fingers lingered on the fabric, and your breathing always went shallow.

Sometimes you woke up halfway through the night grinding into Simon's sleeping form. Sometimes you woke up wet, confused, with the smell of him still in your nose. The worst part? You weren't even embarrassed anymore. Your body had stopped treating it like something shameful. It was comfort. Reward. Relief, even.

Meanwhile, Simon started noticing strange things. Pillowcases that smelled stronger than he remembered, shirts that were damp or stiff in places he couldn't explain, and a duffel bag of his laundry that always had one or two items missing.

He started hoarding anything that smelled like you, tucking it into his bag like trophies. He carried one of his hoodies on deployment just because it had a bit of your scent left in the lining, something that made his wolf settle when he was too far from home.

He never admitted it out loud, but every time he found something of his marked by you, his ego swelled. His instincts purred. His tail would wag. It never crossed his mind that he caused it, that he'd conditioned you into associating his scent with comfort and pleasure and closeness, that he'd rewired your body to react to him on a level deeper than thought.

To him, this was just how mates behaved.

A low, knowing chuckle rumbled in his chest. He leaned in, his lips grazing your throat. "You like that, don't you, son?" The word was a spark, a possessive, filthy claim that made you whimper.

Your hand moved on its own, sliding down to wrap around his shaft as it pumped against you. Your fingers met his slick skin, stroking him in time with his thrusts. The feel of him, hard and hot in your palm, was intoxicating. You could feel every twitch and throb, hear the ragged hitch in his breath. It was a symphony of masculine pleasure, and it was all for you.

Your mind spiraled, imagining it was your own cock you were stroking, imagining the pleasure coiling in your gut was yours to claim. The fantasy was so potent that it pushed you right to the edge. You didn't even have to touch yourself; the sheer force of it crashed over you. A choked cry escaped your lips as your thighs clamped down, your whole body trembling as your release soaked your skin.

The sudden, tight pressure of your climax was all it took for him. Nikolai let out a guttural grunt, his hips stuttering as he followed you into oblivion. Thick, hot ropes of his cum painted the inside of your thighs, a wet, filthy testament to your shared depravity.

He was still breathing heavily when he spoke again, his voice a rough, satisfied murmur against your ear. "Didn't know you were one of those trannies," he said, the word a final, possessive brand.

Days moved quietly in Nikolai’s cabin, his heavy footfalls, the scent of pine and smoke, his lazy rumbling snorts whenever you did something that amused him. You’d grown used to the rasp of his claws against wood, the way he watched you like you were something precious he was afraid to break.

He never touched you with anything but gentle hands. Never took more than you offered.

But he lingered. Oh, he lingered.

Golden eyes following you when you stretched. Breath hitching when you brushed past him. That low, hungry sound deep in his chest when you smiled at him. He was waiting. Patient. Coiled.

And then came the night of the full moon.

You woke to a pressure in the air, thick, humming, heavy. The woods outside felt alive, trembling with something old. The moonlight spilling across the floorboards was almost too bright, silvery and sharp like a blade.

Nikolai wasn’t in the bed.

Then the doorframe shook.

You sat up just as Nikolai stumbled inside… only he was bigger than you’d ever seen him. Fur blooming across his chest, shoulders monstrous and wide, claws lengthened, fangs catching the moonlight as he panted through them. His eyes were molten gold, blown wide with instinct.

He was halfway between man and beast, and barely holding onto the man.

When he saw you, a sound ripped from him, hungry, desperate, feral.

“Milaya…” His voice was distorted, deep enough to rattle your bones. “Tonight… instincts too strong.”

You swallowed hard. “Nikolai…?”

He took a step forward, trembling.

He was giving you the last chance to turn him away.

But your body was already reacting, heat curling low, breath quickening, that irresistible pull you’d felt since the moment he carried you into this cabin now sharp as hunger.

His restraint snapped like a trap when you didn't move.

In two strides he was on you, towering and immense, scooping you up like you weighed nothing and laying you back onto the furs. His claws bracketed your head, careful even in his frenzy, but everything else was overwhelming, his size, his heat, the way he loomed over you like a living mountain of muscle and fur.

He inhaled sharply, nose dragging along your throat.

“Sweet,” he snarled. “All mine.”

His mouth was on you before you could answer, hot, claiming kisses; fangs grazing but never breaking skin. His hands roamed everywhere, claws tracing your stomach, your thighs, your hips as if mapping what belonged to him.

The growl he let out when he touched between your legs was animal.

“Ready already?” His breath was fire against your skin. “I’ve waited weeks… but the beast has waited longer.”

He flipped you onto your stomach with shocking ease, hauling your hips up, his huge hand flattening between your shoulders to keep you steady. His chest pressed to your back, fur brushing your skin as he lined himself up, thick, heavy, monstrous.

Your breath hitched. “Nikolai—”

“I have you,” he rasped, voice breaking around the edges. “I will claim you.”

The first push stole your breath.

He stretched you open slowly, agonizingly slowly for him, you could tell by the guttural snarls tearing from his throat, until your body yielded around him, heat and pressure overwhelming.

When he bottomed out, his entire body shuddered.

“Good,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder. “Perfect. You take me perfectly…” His hips drew back and slammed forward, and the world fractured.

You moaned into the furs as he set a rhythm, powerful, primal, his hand gripping your waist to keep you from being pushed forward with each thrust. His breath was hot on your neck, his growls vibrating down your spine.

“Mine,” he kept whispering, chanting, worshipping. “Mine… milaya… mine…”

His claws dug into the furs beside you, refusing to risk your skin as his pace grew rougher, deeper, overwhelming. Every thrust pushed you higher, tighter, your nerves sparking like wildfire.

When you cried out, his hips stuttered, instinct answering instinct.

“Let go,” he growled, voice shredded. “Let me feel you.”

And when you did, when your body clenched around him, heat bursting through you. Nikolai roared as he buried himself to the hilt, his whole body going rigid as the beast claimed you fully, possessively, completely. His teeth sank into your shoulder, not breaking skin, just marking, while he pumped through the peak, growling your name like a prayer and a promise both.

When he finally collapsed over you, chest heaving, arms caging you in, he lowered his mouth to your ear.

“Next full moon,” he panted, kissing your cheek with surprising tenderness, “I take you again… but slower. As your mate.”

Your heart hammered. “Mate?”

His smile brushed your skin, warm despite the fangs.

“Too late to run now, little one.”

icky dad nik messily fingerfucking and spitting all over his sweet girls cunt as a reward for literally anything ever🙂‍↕️ him tasting her and sucking on her clit as an extra treat bc he can't resist her juices😩😩😩

100% Nikolai is an eater/muncher. No matter if his partner is male or female. Man is pleasure dom coded fr fr.

"You like that, malyshka?" Nikolai's voice was a low, gravelly purr, thick with a possessive hunger that made your stomach clench. His fingers, thick and calloused, plunged back into the slick heat of your cunt, curling just right against that spongy spot that made your vision blur. He held them there, a deep, invasive pressure, before slowly dragging them out. They came out gleaming, strings of your arousal clinging to his skin and connecting him to you. He grunted in satisfaction, bringing them close to his face to inhale your scent before spitting a thick, warm glob right onto your quivering inner thigh. You watched, breathless, as the milky saliva traced a slow, sticky path down, merging with the mess already leaking from you. "Such a messy little pussy. All for Papa."

"Yes..Ah-yes Papa.." The words were a desperate, broken mewl, torn from your throat as his fingers shoved back in, the obscene wet sound echoing in the quiet room. The coolness of his spit mixing with your own heat was a shocking, delicious jolt that made you arch your back. Your fingers twisted desperately in the sheets, trying to find purchase against the tidal wave of pleasure. He just smirked, a predatory flash of white teeth, and leaned down to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of your hip. It wasn't a gentle bite; it was a claiming, a sharp sting that melted into a throbbing ache, perfectly timed with the way he started pistoning his fingers faster, harder.

"Look at that," he grunted, his gaze fixed on where his hand disappeared into you. "So fucking greedy. Sucking my fingers right in." His thumb found your clit, not rubbing, but pressing down hard and grinding in tight, filthy circles. The pressure was immense, a direct line to your core. "You've been such a good girl for Papa this week. So obedient. You deserve a reward, don't you? A nasty, sticky reward just for my sweet girl."

"Pa..Pa..papa..." It was all you could manage, a chant, a prayer as the coil in your belly snapped. Your orgasm ripped through you, violent and overwhelming. Your walls clamped down on his fingers, fluttering and milking him as waves of bliss crashed over you. Nikolai didn't stop; he just eased the pressure, his fingers still massaging that sensitive spot, drawing out every single spasm until you were a boneless, whimpering mess beneath him. Only then did he pull his fingers out, soaked and dripping.

He brought them to your lips, not asking, but demanding. "Open up. Taste what a good girl you are." As your lips parted to accept his slick-coated fingers, he ducked his head down, latching onto one of your nipples with a hot, wet mouth. He sucked hard, his tongue swirling around the pebbled flesh before his teeth grazed it, sending sharp sparks of pain-pleasure straight to your still-throbbing clit. He pulled away with a wet pop, leaving the nipple glistening and reddened.

Before you could fully recover, his fingers were back at your entrance, sliding into your swollen, oversensitive pussy with zero resistance. He'd given you just enough of a reprieve for the sensitivity to sharpen, to make every drag of his knuckles against your walls feel both like heaven and a sweet torment. This time he wasn't slow. He was fucking you with his hand, a brutal, steady rhythm that had the bedframe creaking in protest. His mouth descended, not with a kiss, but with a purpose. He sealed his lips over your clit and sucked.

A choked gasp escaped you as your hands flew to his hair, tangling in the thick strands and holding on for dear life. The encouragement was all he needed. His fingers worked faster, curling and scissoring inside you, hitting that spot over and over while his tongue waged war on your clit. He licked it with broad, flat strokes, then pointed his tongue to stab at it, before wrapping his lips around it again to suck it into his mouth, flicking the tip relentlessly. Every so often, he'd nip at the sensitive bundle of nerves with his teeth, just enough to make you cry out and buck your hips up, grinding your cunt against his face.

He was feasting. You could hear the wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth and fingers working in concert, the lewd music of your pleasure. He was moaning against you, deep vibrations that traveled through your entire body. "That's it, malyshka," he growled, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Fuck my face. Give Papa another one. I can feel you getting tighter. So close. Come on. Flood my mouth."

Your body obeyed without question. The second orgasm was a tidal wave, a blinding, all-consuming rush that stole the air from your lungs. Your thighs clamped around his head, a vice grip of pure ecstasy as you came, and came hard. Nikolai groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated victory, as his mouth was flooded with your release. He didn't miss a drop, his tongue lapping and sucking greedily, determined to swallow every last bit of your reward. He kept licking even after the tremors subsided, his tongue cleaning you with possessive, almost reverent strokes, until you were twitching from the overstimulation.

Only when your thighs fell limply away from his head did he release you. He pushed himself up, his face a glistening, debauched mess of your juices and his own spit. A proud, feral grin was on his lips as he loomed over you. He crashed his mouth down on yours, a wet, filthy kiss. His tongue, still tasting of you, shoved past your lips, claiming your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss that was all about sharing your flavor. He was making you taste yourself on him, marking you from the inside out.