#rain.sr

deer hybrid!reader deliberately getting caught in hunter!simon's traps just so you can feel his big hands on you as he unties you for the nth time. hearing him grumble silly doe while he carries you to a safe spot in the grass has your little tail swishing excitedly, and when he hisses at you for nuzzling into his neck and licking at his skin, you only let out a soft bleat.

the bloodstained rifle that resides on his back does nothing to deter you from continuously getting yourself into trouble. he's never aimed it in your direction, but you can't help but fantasise about feeling the metal on your forehead when he huffs something along the lines of s'like you want me to kill ya.

you can't help it. he's just so big all over, so strong and capable. you can't help but imagine those hands on your body. you want him stroking your ears, your tail, you want his thick fingers slipping between your thighs... you've seen him in his element, and a sick little part of you wishes he was hunting you instead.

would he be gentle like he always is, or would he let his frustration take over and finally get back at you for being such a little tease? would he push you up against a tree and murmur sweet things in your ear? that voice always makes your skin tingle. no matter what you conjure up in your mind, you always find yourself down by the pond; you can only wash away the need that seems to permanently cling to your skin so many times. you should really stop getting yourself worked up like this.

surprisingly, he’s a scrawny little thing. there’s random patches of clumped-up fur on his creamy coat and white markings on his face that remind you of a skull. he’s such a little shit too—constantly answering back with angry chirps when you try to shoo him away, sneaking bits of food off your plate when you’re distracted, and spraying just about anything in his path to mark his territory. he could be sleeping on your couch, but as soon as you try to sit or, god forbid, lie down with him, he gets up and finds another spot to nap in. even attempting to pet him results in getting swiped at.

until one night you feel something jump up on the bed. it’s your little mate, and he’s in a very friendly mood judging by the way he curls up right against your chest, head tucked under your chin. he’s never slept near you before, let alone with you, so the only thing running through your mind is don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up.

and then he begins purring. the sound starts off quiet and choppy, but as he relaxes, it grows louder, and it’s so comforting that you fall asleep to the whirring, cuddling him closer to keep him warm.

which is all fine and well until the morning comes and you realise that what you are feeling is not fur but a big, meaty arm, and there is no longer a cat burying his head in your chest but instead a behemoth of a man who is currently snoring like a chainsaw.

here’s more hunter!ghost and deer hybrid! reader :3 | part one

true to his word, simon keeps you with him at home. it's a bit awkward given that he doesn't really speak to you other than a gruff keep still while checking on your injuries, but once you accept the fact that you're making conversation with a brick wall most of the time, you're just happy to be there with him. his cabin's pretty cosy, the bed much warmer and more comfortable than the pile of leaves you occupy. the food's not bad either, although you did refuse to eat the meat he had placed on the table the first couple of nights. you preferred your simple diet of greens, fruits, and nuts, but you begrudgingly gave in when he cooked up some fish for you.

even when you're all healed up, he doesn't explicitly tell you to get out, and you take full advantage of that. wearing his clothes, slumbering in the sweet little garden he has at the back, curling up against him at night. he may grunt and act annoyed whenever you drape yourself on top of him and snooze away, but the arm wrapped tight around your body says otherwise.

however, that's where he draws the line at touching you, and you're beginning to get a little restless. you thought feeling his hand rub up and down your back would've been enough to soothe the heat prickling all over your skin; the soft pats on your head and gentle strokes on your excited little tail should have satisfied your need for affection.

yet here you are, face hidden in the crook of his neck as you rock against the thick thigh between your legs. you just can't help yourself, can't quell the urge to get on all fours and present. he's just right there, so big and warm, encompassing you from all sides; it's impossible to escape his heady, musky scent. maybe you should feel embarrassed about being so desperate, but he's ignored so many of your subtle signs. it's impossible to play coy when you're sprawled out on top of him like this.

simon avoids properly fucking you at first.

instead, he makes you wait for it, taking you apart with his hands and his tongue until the breathiest whimpers are leaving your spit-slick lips and your pussy’s throbbing pleasantly for more. gotta discipline you, doe, is his reason, when you both know that lessons do not stick well in that silly little head of yours.

when he finally has you on your back, sweet cunt slicking his cock with each glide he makes between your folds, he almost busts right there. he’ll never get tired of staring at the silky patch of hair that covers your pussy or the way your hips move, so clumsy and needy. olways fuckin’ desperate for somethin’.

“i’ve got ya,” he murmurs, reaching over to pet one of your twitchy ears, but it’s so hard to stay still and obedient when you’ve spent so many nights going cross-eyed dreaming about this moment. you’re able to suck just the tip in, so soft and warm, and that’s about all it takes to have simon’s hips jerking forward, the low grunt he lets out making you smile.

“oops.”

simon rolls his eyes, huffing out a quiet cheeky lil shit under his breath before sinking in a few more inches and letting out his own noise of triumph at the sharp gasp you let out.

it’s easy for the hunter to lose himself once you get used to the stretch. you’re just so soft for him, sweet pussy so relaxed that he can slide right in to the hilt, and you’ll have no choice but to take it. no choice but to lie there and gasp when his hands find your tits and begin toying with your nipples. he coos when you try to squirm away and hiccup that you can’t, it’s too much, but all of it is silenced by a sweet kiss on your pouty lips.

you really are a silly deer, aren’t you? so many wasted chances to run away from him, and now that he finally has you, you’re waving a white flag.

“take it, hun,” he grunts, spreading your legs wider to watch him sink inside over and over again. the white, frothy ring around his length almost has his eyes rolling back, and he lets out a breathy chuckle when your hand finds his. the way your tits are sitting makes him want to come all over them next round.

“fuck, so cute, ain’t ya? is this all you needed, sweet’art? jus’ needed some attention?”

“y— yes,” you manage to squeak out. heavy pants and choked moans leave your open maw, and it’s all you can do, each drag of his cock knocking the breath out of you. “more, gimme more, wan’ it deeper—”

“fuckin’ hell, the mouth on you.” his words come out as a hiss between clenched teeth, thick fingers sliding over your tender clit. the fat head of his cock hits so deep it feels like he’s about to breach your fucking womb, and you can only drool all over yourself, every coherent thought being fucked out of your head.

crying and shouting for help when one of the regulars from the pub you work at corners you in the alleyway and pins you against the disgusting brick wall, thick bulge apparent even through the layers of clothing

vs.

being held down like a disobedient mutt by ghost and gritting through the burning stretch of him trying to stuff you full of his fat cock, knees aching because of the position he’s forced you into, cunt pulsing in time with your racing heart.

ghost is born out of sheer resentment and hatred because why does simon get to retire? why does simon get to hide the ugly part of his life—or rather, the life that has kept him alive long enough to claim a new one—in the closet and forget? what monstrosity hasn’t ghost committed that simon wasn’t a part of?

perhaps it’s simon’s fault that he wakes up one night without you by his side. his fault that dread squeezes his stomach like an old friend when he sees the bedroom door wide open and hears the sound of your muffled cries and a disembodied voice growling at you. his fault for thinking that after a lifetime of sin and tragedy, he could burn to ashes and be reborn for the last time.

he should have realised ghost would always be a part of him because now, simon stands at the foot of the living room, drenched in ice-cold horror as he watches himself mount you. watches the way this thing wearing his shed skin snaps its hips and grumbles incoherent noises in your ear, its gloved fingers stuffed in your mouth.