Ough im still thinking about omega!reader who makes the world's shittiest nest, but this time with nikolai....

Imagine how distraught nikolai is when you finally feel safe enough to show him your nest, and it's just...three blankets. You're smiling proudly, heat tilted up and waiting to soak in all that delicious alpha praise, and nik is cycling through the stages of grief.

He makes sure to praise and scent you, of course, he doesn't want his sweet omega to withdraw. But after that he makes it his mission to fix your...nest situation. No mate of his will go without comfort, not after everything he's seen.

At first, he thinks you just don't have enough materials. So he hands over practically his entire den for you to use. Clothes, underwear, blankets, pillows. Anything you could need.

And yet...your nest is as flat and uncoordinated as before. You're sprawled out over the pile, purring in contentment, and nik is wondering where your safety walls or snack hide is.

Is it technically unconventional for an alpha to build his omegas nest? Sure. Does nikolai, the literal war criminal, care? Absolutely not.

Which is how nik ends up building your nest while you sit and purr in the center. It's not all bad, this is just another form of providing, and it makes his instincts purr in delight.

Afterwards, you both curl up in the nest, warm and safe. Nik doesn't mind that you need some extra help, he loves you either way.

I've been thinking of [this ask] and bee hybrid!reader with price....

Imagine being a bee hybrid, and absolutely despising smoke. People assume, for some reason, that smoke calms down bee hybrids, but it's quite the opposite.

Everytime price lights up a cigar, your instincts flare in anxiety. Some deep rooted instinct telling you to flee, that the hive isn't safe anymore. No amount of logic can stop your pounding heart, waiting for a fire that isn't there.

Price knows this, you're sure he does. Why else does he always smoke after you mess up?

You're already having a bad time, hands shaking as you think back to that poor family. You couldn't save them, you didn't react fast enough. You failed them, who cares about the Intel when those innocent lives are gone?

Across from you, price clears his throat, and you look up. He makes direct, clear eye contact with you as he lights his cigar. There's only three or so feet between you and him in the back of the van, and your muscles instinctively lock up at the flick of his lighter.

Inhale, exhale. Smoke curls out and around his mouth, and suddenly all you can do is try not to panic.

The rest of the ride is...a blur, really.

All you know is that you started spacing out when your heart beat so fast it hurt, when your lungs locked up and you took a gasp of smoke-air. You don't notice the way price furrows his brow at you, or when he gently calls your name.

All you know is that when the van stops, you're up and out the second you can. Wings buzzing to life to take you someplace safe, running solely on instinct.

You don't hear price yell out for you.

Hey...hey don't think about soap confessing his love to you.

Moments before a mission, and you're too scared to give him a straight answer despite how your heart loves him. You love him, but you can't commit to it, not in the world you two live through everyday. The worst part of love is waiting for it to leave, so you never invite it in.

Then he dies in the damned tunnel.

Suddenly, the worst part of love isn't it's going. It's the fact that you remember it.

Your apartment is haunted with the ghost of johnnys love. Your shelves are littered with trinkets from him. There's a half-eaten box of his favourite crackers. You can't force yourself to throw it away, despite it having gone stale months ago.

You don't know what to do about it. How your home is littered with the evidence of soap.

You won't throw it away, you won't touch any of it. Moving them feels like Acknowledging johnny isn't there to move them. As if keeping your home suspended in time will somehow stop his body from rotting in the dirt.

You live in a home covered with a fine layer of dust. You became a ghost when soap did. Just a thing haunting the space love used to be.

something about the way johnny murmurs christ and kisses the cross on his necklace the first time you get naked for him

soap (chronic cervix kisser) who grinds his tip against your cervix and says theyre making out

Pulldrone; Golden Age II

f!reader x johnny mactavish

cw: ddne, religious imagery, religious psychosis, noncon drug use, noncon somnophilia, manipulation, gaslighting, sleep deprivation, allusions to past abuse, thoughts of suicide, hallucinations

“i want to know what God knows, and i will be with him”

You have the same dream every night.

You are standing in a cave. The walls are jagged and rough with sharp edges that jut out to cut your hands and feet as you move through. Long paths forged billions of years ago that twist and turn, veering into one another, and turning into an inescapable maze. You, Theseus with your memory as your golden thread, know the way through the dream. It doesn’t matter what way you go — you’ve tried them all. They all lead you to the same yawning pit. A gaping maw that stretches out into inky black nothingness and drives fear so deep into your soul that you think it might kill you.

The dream always ends the same.

cw: he kinda breeds you but that's ok.

simon riley is too lazy to change up and take a shower first thing after coming back home from being deployed, not with his head clogged only by thoughts of you, his sweet darling, waiting for him all nice and welcoming in the house, maybe even cooking some meal, knowing he's always hungry when he's back.

but this hunger affects only you, he doesn't needs a warm meal, a long bath, the only thing simon desires after being away from you for so long is sink into your pussy, listen to your breathy keens as he fills you full of his engorged, leaking cock, not even getting rid of his gear, only unzipping his cargos to carve in your waiting, soppy hole.

heavy, coarse balls plapping wet against your puffy, soaked folds, your pussy stretched wide around his spasming, ramming cock, legs dangling uselessly against his shoulders as simon's geared body traps you against the sheets, pressing in with the heaviness and pungent smell of him, grime, sweat, piercing your nose as his fat tip abuses your spongy spot, prodding and slamming when he hears your small, raspy mewls.

you gaze right at him with your glassy, wet eyes, gathering tears that blear the sight of his own, lidded and heavy, opaque in their darkness, the corroding hunger that is punctured by simon's every short, deep thrust, and it's feels like he's only sinking more deep, filling you so full your tummy tenses, twisting at the feeling of something building, pressing, wet cunt clenching down with a loud groan from him.

simon bumps his face against your palm that raises up weak and trembling, holds it steady with his squeezing, gloved hand, dotting wet kisses across your skin, his lips chapped, rough, and it's all him, as he humps your squelchy, slick soaked hole with erratic, needy pounds of his hips, fabric of his pants scraping uncomfortably against your tender, naked body, as he grinds into you, huffing.

slurs how sweet you're being for him, taking him so well, and your legs are numb, shaking against his shoulders in time of his thrusts, his cock following the rhythm of your pulsing, gooey walls, clamping down and gushing, sobbing a crying, pitchy moan as simon almost roars, body weighing onto you, as you feel his thick cum spurt against your cervix.

smut | 18+ mdni.

pornstar!Ghost who takes videos on a shitty and grimy camera in his basement, in a mask of course, freshly bleached hair still wet from taking a shower, groaning and whining and he fucks his hand like a mutt in heat. He’s thumb rubs over his frenum ladder with every stroke, making his breath hitch, spurts of cum shooting out once he’s edged himself enough. Tightened his fist so he can feel like he’s in someone’s hole.

Pornstar!Ghost who reads the few comments he got on his first video, living the attention but also the praise, murmuring their usernames while he jerks off, different position this time. “Sheila, f-fuck.” “Mayday44- god, you’re good at this aren’t you?” To the side, camera showing his waist jeans that are zipped down, enough that you could imagine him fucking you from the back. And it’s hypnotic, the way he grinds and humps into the air as he rolls his hand to his mushroom tip of his cock and and down to his balls, hand soaked by the time he’s hips stutter—

A video that gets him 2000 followers off rip— 10k by the next day. including you.

Some person working at the grocery store that you hate. Barely  making enough money but you stubble upon the video, fascinated at how good Ghost makes himself feel. Makes your thighs squeeze tighter, heat spreading behind your cheeks. Third video Ghost is there beefy tattooed arms crossed and flexing unconsciously, manspreading while he answers a few questions. He won’t say his job but it requires a bit of strength, doesn’t really have a type, likes having two cups of tea. One during breakfast, the other after a long day. favorite porn?

Where the person really looks like they’re having a good time. Mewling with their head thrown back, creaming around the dick or dildo while their body shakes and glistens with sweat. Crying a “wait, wait, wait-“

“The wetter the better, yeah?” He adjusts in his seat, you can see his cock starting to chub out, lets out an airy breath, “Fuckin nasty shit. fuckin spraying the fuckin bed, lettin me spit on their shit. Rub it harder till their throbbin and limp. Got my own asshole wet with their cum ‘nd shit— bloody hell, babes, that would be good wouldn’t it?”

And your lost in his deep but rough voice, rubbing your own cunt to just him talking. Like some sick horny freak, wanting to be squeezed by his bicep, let him brush your curls out the way as he ruts into you.

And you can only pull your hand out your pants, post but clarity hitting you, your fingers soaked in your slimy slick, the blurry image on your computer screen of Ghost’s cock, thick and pulsing in his hand, wagging it as it gets hard, sucking in a breath, you can hear the amusement on his lips, “Ready for more loves?”

a/n: or something. If this was already written, please let me know. I feel like someone already wrote this.

No thoughts just reader using ghost as an emergency contact.

You seriously didn't think it would be an issue. You usually left your emergency contact blank, no one to contact anyways, but recent policy changes made it mandatory. You simply jot down the number you saw on soaps phone ages ago, figuring ghost wouldn't show up even if you did get hurt.

...you were sorely mistaken.

"Kid?! What the fuck–?" Ghost bursts through the door, making you wince at the sharp noise. He's quickly followed by two nurses, obviously trying to explain that he shouldn't be here.

"It's fine. He can stay." You grit out, head pounding. The nurses glance to eachother, looking between you and ghost, then tentatively retreat. "Hey....hi lieutenant..." you force a smile.

"Why the hell did i get a call at midnight tellin' me yer hurt?" Ghost approaches your bed, eyes narrowed. He takes in the various bandages you have, then looks to your right arm in a thick cast. "...do i need to find someone?"

"No! No. I just–" you pause and wait for your ears to stop ringing, then add "i just. Got in the way of a bike. It's fine."

It's only now that you actually look at ghost and realize just how...tense he is. You wouldn't know about the last time ghost was in a hospital, about healing for weeks from what roba did. Or about his father, sick and still full of hate. All you see is how ghost seems to shake with adrenaline as he looks from you to all the machines beeping in the room.

Still, you reach out your hand "I'm fine, ghost. I promise."

Ghost sighs, sinks into the shitty hospital chair. It looks comically small compared to him. "I'm glad yer okay, kid." He scrubs a hand under the simple face mask he wears, tired "scared the hell out of me. They called an' said you were gettin' surgery. Don't know how they got my number."

"Oh. Yeah. I took it from soaps phone." You comment mildly, more embarrassed about him being called in the first place. Then, with a grin and desire to forget this whole mess, you add "Did you know he's got you in his contacts as 'future wifey'?"

"...he what?!"

Crowned In Danger - Pt. 10

Honestly more of a filler chapter

Princess|Reader x Bodyguard|Simon

The soft clink of silverware against porcelain filled the dining room, the steady rhythm of yet another palace breakfast. Everything was, on the surface, perfectly normal. But the stack of newspapers and the constant buzz of news reports playing faintly on the TV in the corner told a different story.

You sat at the table, picking half-heartedly at your food and barely registering the quiet conversation between the Alaric and Helena across from you.

Since yesterday's event, since the speech, since the security scare no one wanted to talk about... things had changed. You weren't just the royal family's hidden daughter anymore. You were officially in the public eye, stamped and sealed.

The headlines said as much.

dennis that can't help but get off on robby's guilt. he loves how big and sad robby's eyes get when den's being fucked through the mattress and cruelly reminds him of their relationship - so deep inside your student- fuck. such a good boss, fucking me like this.

or when he's got a second behind closed doors or in a quiet corner he'll grope robby through his pants and lean up just to whisper - have you been thinking about me? gross old man. all robby can do is whine and avoid eye contact while he lies through his teeth, swears he doesn't think of his students like that. sometimes den will even make him cum in his pants, if he's persistent enough, and leave him with the mess to deal with afterwards.

he only fucks up when he assumes jack is the same way. he's settled in the attending's lap in a dimmed on call room towards the end of jack's shift and just before den's begins, both huffing and grinding through their clothes. it's only habit he learned with robby when it slips - what would everyone think if they knew how you were feeling your student up in here? perverted old man.

jack makes two things clear that morning: he's not old, and if dennis is going to try and hold this over his head, he'll show him what perverted really looks like. really, dennis is the gross one if the entire floor can hear him moaning behind thin walls and walking with a barely concealed limp for the rest of the day.

John "six weeks? That long?" Price who scoffs when the doctor tells you to hold off on sex, genuinely makes a big fuss about it and everything. He's pestering you for it not five minutes after putting baby down. Once, he joked about finding someone else to 'ease the wait' then proceeded to guilt trip you for crying about it.

Vs

Simon "I don't fuckin' care. Yer health first." Riley who absolutely refuses to fuck you until the six week minimum and then some. That isn't to say he leaves you wanting, ghost is more than happy to put his mouth for fingers to use if allowed. If you're having a really rough time, he charges your vibe for you and handles baby. Not once does he make you feel ashamed for wanting alone time or for waiting.

No thoughts just ghost who really bonds well with dogs.

He struggles in social situations and oftentimes comes off as rude or awkward when he tries to bond with some gentle teasing. Human interaction has rules that just...don't come naturally to him like it does others.

But dog? Oh boy.

When you first met lieutenant riley, he wanted training to work with k9's on the field. Of course you were nervous he'd be the kind of guy to boss his dog around, why wouldn't you be? So you insist on him meeting a few dogs first, just to see.

Only for him to becomes practically another dog with how much he fit in!

You watched as ghost would tilt his head, kneel down, even roll on the floor with the dogs. You've never seen anyone read your k9's body language quite as well as ghost does.

It seemed almost cathartic for him, playing in the floor as the dogs play-bowed and barked happily. He was...oddly skilled at mimicking dog sounds.

In the end, you approved his papers to start training, and offered to let him visit the dogs whenever he wanted.

No thoughts just price splurging on an extra large tub for his home because he loves taking baths with you...

Price is getting old, and years on the field have work him down. He's got a little routine he likes to follow, something to soothe the ache and make him feel more like your husband than a captain.

"I'm home, dear!" He grunts, kicking his shoes off at the door and dropping his duffle bag by the couch. Price finds you in the bathroom, warm water already pouring out of the faucet.

He wraps his arms around your torso, head tucking against the back of your neck "mmhhh. I missed you, lovie."

"I missed you too." You murmur, brushing your hands along the fair of johns forearms. "Hop in the shower?"

Of course john complies, roughly scrubbing down in the shower from all the dirt that somehow ends up on him, then slipping into the bath with a sigh.

"Come're, pretty." Price grunts, pulling you into the tub to settle between his knees. Lavender scent wafts up gently from the water.

You both take turns washing eachothers backs, quietly discussing your days. You make sure to spend extra time washing johns hair. Neither of you comment on his half-chub, it's not the focus right now. Not with John feeling so safe and warm.

Later, you'll wrap him up in towel and you two will climb under the covers to cuddle. Right now, he tugs you against his chest with a sigh.