angelloverambles

[angelloverambles]

Nikto taking a soft indulgent bite of your cheek, and kissing it softly afterwards as an apology :( pressing his nose against the softness there, inhaling the smell and warmth of your skin. Eyes shut and content.

If it keeps him content, so be it.

Now your coworkers think you own a little dog at home who's going through a teething phase. You don't have the stomach to tell them it's from a big brooding military man who's found a home in your existence.

[angelloverambles]

Husband Nikto / Acts of Service

Part 10 | I’ll Bloom All Your Flowers

Masterlist

The rain is hammering outside, droplets falling against the window in a steady pattern, rushing down the drainpipes in a stream while the wind whips it into a haze over the road.

Quietly you turn off the lights in the living room, a night spent watching the street-lamps disappear in the darkness, obscured by the heavy downpour.

You miss him, it hurts so badly your throat is choked with it. The blue shadows follow your feet everywhere you go, a gloom you can’t shake off. Under those fingers you bloomed like one of his brightest flowers.

But now the autumn has come, a biting frost settling over a life without him in it. Perhaps you’d take the secrets to spend another moment in his quiet company, hold his rough hands and trace kisses over the scorched flesh twisting the bulk of his forearms. You’d allow his mysteries if it meant you didn’t have to walk past the Russian supermarket and stifle a pang.

Sometimes, you unscrew the lid of the half finished Russian caravan he left in your cupboard, letting the scent of smoke and cloves waft over your senses like he’s still here with you. The loss is huge, an abysmal void in your heart, dropping as a stone would into deep waters, the ripples reaching endlessly without a shoreline in sight.

Your strange companion. He’s left an aching echo in the spaces within your home, traces of him everywhere, in each neatly finished wall and repaired shelf.

The garden he spent hours bringing to fruition has mostly died as the seasons change. All you can do is anticipate that soon spring will come and with it, the return of your joy.

It’s too much to hope that he’ll come back to you, not when it’s been nearly four months without a word.

Wherever he is, you’ve begged the universe and all it’s deities that he’s happy. Safe. Not filled to the brim with unwavering depression like you are.

The azure clouds of sadness have settled heavily over the entire house. There might as well be puddles formed with each laboured step you take.

Against your better judgement and filled with awkwardness, you’ve taken the path home by his place more than once. It looks empty, without any sign of life echoing inside the clinical space. From that you’ve presumed he still isn’t back.

Would he even let you know if he was? Would anyone tell you if he wasn’t coming back at all?

Questions rattle around your brain endlessly. Ones that even the stout reassurances from your friends can’t tug loose. Their roots are worked deep into the soil, grim weeds that spring up in the dark hours of the morning, while you lay awake and think it all through.

Your feet pad across the hallway floor, a soft thump with each stride taken. Just as your foot finds the lowest stair, the light above your front door flickers into life, casting a faint glow over your shoulder.

Probably the wind setting the motion sensor off accidentally. Focused on your bed, you push on to the next level, hoping unconsciousness will bring a small respite from it all.

Something stops you where you stand though, glancing back at the brightness shining through the panes of glass framing the entrance to the house.

More to settle your own doubts, you move slowly upstairs, peering through the windows above the front path.

A figure is there, bear-like, built of strongest muscle, clad in black from head to toe. Heart jumping into your throat, you stare at it, the outline of someone so longed for.

It can’t be, you’re hallucinating.

The person chooses that moment to glance upwards, face lit by the glow of your porch light, finding your eyes immediately and fixing on them.

He’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure, a masterpiece of agony and ecstasy. Twisted rivulets of flesh cross up from his thick neck, cutting across high cheekbones and diving into his scalp. That generous mouth tugged upwards along with it, too many teeth revealed in a permanent, grim sneer he has no control over.

Red and harsh set against his fair skin, the scars only enhance his appearance, raven black hair cropped close at the sides, vivid, white stripes flecked among the long tendrils swept off his forehead and soaked with water.

You can’t see the glacial blue of his orbs from here, but you would recognise the up-tilt at the corners anywhere. Silver marks mixing with the deeper slashes, old wounds that sit shallow on his flesh but heavier within his subconscious.

A noble nose broken and poorly reset, the remnants of man who was once exceedingly handsome, but now has been left resolutely magnificent, a sight to behold, one full of furious and painful glory.

There’s a split second where you both gaze at each other, Nikto blinking rain out of his face, hands clenched at his side. Then simultaneously you both move, rushing to the door.

You meet somewhere on the threshold, your hands grasping all of him they can take in, embedded in his broad shoulders, while his own find purchase on your face.

He’s freezing, dripping and drenched to the bone. It doesn’t seem to bother him, arms hoisting you up as your legs coil around his waist, dark compression gear smelling of potent smoke and something reminiscent of tangy iron.

Nikto doesn’t even turn to close the door behind you, the sound of water flowing endlessly over the pavements loud in your ears to accompany the roaring noise of pure adrenaline.

His lips find yours, harsh and desperate, forcing his tongue against you, groaning in that familiar rumbling way. It makes your soul weep, the fierce force of his adoration, matched in turn by your own, teeth nipping as your nails rake into his neck.

Your back meets the wall, Nikto crushing you hard against it, set firmly between your legs and pinning you there like a butterfly within a frame. Wings spread and unguarded for him.

His mouth abandons your kiss temporarily to trail over your jaw, the rain from outside now soaking you in turn, he inhales deeply, rubbing his nose across the soft flesh just at the start of your throat.

There are no words, none available to communicate the depth of it. You want it to swallow you entirely, to be soaked in him until there is no end or beginning. No break between you, just a ceaseless horizon over which darkness and light blend into one glowing, burning coupling.

Nikto is undoing his flies, while you struggle to tug up the hem of your old T-shirt, reluctant to leave physical contact with each other, just in case one of you vanishes again into the abyss.

There’s no time for softness, slow touches that leave you blissfully worked up. His cock is nudging at your cunt, underwear tugged roughly to one side. He places a palm up to his savaged mouth and spits harshly, using the lubricant to lessen the pressure.

Then he’s inside you, punishingly so, the sting making you quake, gasp into his chest, hands balled to fists as your hips jerk. A heavy paw wraps around your throat, cold and damp, his thumb digging between your lips as the searing stretch fades perfectly into pleasure, your clit nudged with every rock of his hips against yours.

Teeth biting into his finger, you suck frantically, drool spilling out of the corners of your mouth. His torrid blues meet your own, heavy with heart sickness and something you don’t recognise. Is it love blinking at you, framed by thick dark lashes, devotion clinging to his feverish thrusts.

Your eyes close, toes curling as he consumes you, uses your body as a vessel to prove how much he’s missed you. A strong arm holds you steady as you arch against him, needing to be closer still, to get more of that delicious friction that has your cunt milking him.

It’s gritty, appalling to behold. You fuck like animals, his dirty boots squeaking against the clean floor, water pooling beneath the saturated tac pants barely lowered. He’s scorching though, burning up now in spite of the damp. Battered between Nikto’s plundering sex and the wall you let out a dry sob around his digit, one he smothers in a nasty kiss, teeth clashing.

He swallows one moan, then another, free hand reaching down to toy with your swollen apex of nerves, sweeping over the place you’re joined so he can feel it for himself. Almost as if he needs reassurance it’s real, he really has you taking him to the hilt against the paintwork.

You feel him begin to quicken, a slap on your clit and then another until you clench and he grunts. Shuddering, it bleeds under your skin, white hot and sudden.

Your cunt spasms, muscles tightening acutely until it hurts, then a wave of relaxation sweeps blindly through you, the perfect feeling of an unexpected orgasm Nikto won’t let you run from, one he chases to it’s very last lengths before he lets himself follow.

Warmth fills you, fuzzy limbed and still spread against the surface of the wall, you gradually come down from it as he ruts between your legs. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. He's embedded so deeply inside you there’s no longer a distinction, where he ends you begin, moulded together like clay figurines, the seams of your bodies blended.

Your head lolls, all of your energy now spent accepting him. The pulse of his cock tight against your inner walls, so soft and wet that Nikto can’t help but hiss with each press of his hips. It sounds almost anguished, his savagery barely held back behind sharp teeth. His eyes are tear smudged but he doesn’t know why, your scent making it harder to cling on against the rushing tide swelling up his spine.

It’s going to consume him whole, the affection mixed with a heaviness in his chest Nikto is unfamiliar with.

Sweet hands tug at his hair, pinching the white flecked strands until his scalp is prickling with it. You move his face back to yours, his eyes tight shut and brows set. Nikto can’t look into the gaze of love right now, it’s too intense, vertigo screaming at him from a height it would hurt to fall from.

When you kiss him though, it’s so gentle. Sensitivity pressed in the motion, understanding that makes his knees tremble. In that moment he decides instantly that he doesn’t care if he’s thrown into the abyss, bones breaking when the ground inevitably rises to meet him.

Nikto cums, hot and gasping against your lips, a sawn off groan huffed out of his chest raggedly. Nose to nose he keeps his orbs locked away from you under sweat sheened eyelids, throat rumbling a little as he continues his slow rocks into your cunt, spend seeping between you both, viscous but deliciously welcoming in the glide it creates.

Time is a lost concept. The sun and moon could rise then fall across the walls while he keeps you captured there. You shiver once, the freezing rain soaked into his clothes and pressed against your body is chilly in the air streaming through the still open entrance.

Carefully, Nikto places you back on solid ground, finally glancing heavily into your features, crystal cut aquamarine uncertain as it meets your gaze.

Now the moment has passed, the frisson of being reunited and the desperate urge to reclaim each other has settled to a low simmer, he feels intensely nervous. It makes his hands tremble until they’re clenched again into fists at his sides. Awkwardly he tucks himself away, trying to cover how his big paws numbly struggle with the button.

By there is no longer anywhere to hide. Nikto is bared to you heart and soul, the ugliness carved into his face and body opposed by your unblemished skin. Will you ask him to leave again when you see each vivid scar in the cold light of day?

He couldn’t bear that pain, though he would have to. Suddenly the ground beneath the ledge he leapt off earlier, when he spilt between the walls of your cunt, looks nastily close, sharp and jagged rocks waiting for him.

You’re staring at him dreamily, not with an air of regret but one of hazy bliss. Idly one of your hands reaches down to thumb the slickness saturating your panties. His and yours combined.

When your dainty fingers, glistening slightly in the low light reach your mouth to taste it, Nikto staggers towards you, unbalanced with silent longing. He knows it isn’t a dream, when he too tastes sharpness and brine on your digits.

Nikto gets to his knees, drenched as he is, dark strands sticking to his forehead, raven black other than those flagrant white stripes skimming through his roots. His voice sticks in his throat though, so many words he would like to utter lodged there.

Your hands card through his hair and that makes the stinging at the corners of his eyes intensify.

“Moya milaya…”

Finally something coherent leaves the tip of his tongue.

But you silence it, kneeling too on the dirty, damp floor, closing the distance and pressing soft kisses to his cheeks.

It is heaven, perhaps the only one he can attain still.

Nikto is home at last.

On AO3

[angelloverambles]

Nikto is a man who loves to observe.

So when you catch him staring, he's not shy about it. Glacial blue eyes flickering to meet yours, deep and rich and smouldering. He'll blink slowly- content.

He won't look away. He's been granted this pleasure to look at you, and he won't take that for granted.

Now please be kind and let him look some more dear. He knows you will, his sweet thing.

[angelloverambles]

Hi Ghoul! I just wanted to tell you, I think about worshipping Nikto and his one lonely ball most days. 🙂‍↕️

Lots of love!

The way I would be down there slobbering all over his ball...

I mean you wouldn't be able to leave it alone, as soon as you see that scar running alongside his cock you have to follow it to its origin, sliding your tongue over the scarred sack and sucking the remaining ball into your mouth just to hear the way he hisses, his fingers clawed against your skull, unsure if he wants to push you away of pull you closer. That bite of pain from the pink scar, still so sensitive as you drag your tongue over it. He keeps trying to guide you back to his cock, that's a feeling he knows, one he can better steel himself against, but you'll be damned if you don't pay that lonely nut the attention it deserves.

Really Nikto should know that if you have your mind set on something you're damn well going to do it. He just doesn't understand why the thing you've set your mind to is him.

[angelloverambles]

Harassing you in this form now. Hehehehhehe

Nikto meeting someone for the first time who just stares at him and nods. Full intent to unleash all the cuteness aggression of a hand raised grizzly bear that believes they are still a lap dog (read bear)

Yeahhh nikto's the type of man to sit on your lap to reach you. Heavy dense thighs digging into your own when he squishes your cheeks, mumbling something cutesyly incoherent when he purrs into your neck. Pulling back just to press his mask against your face.

Eyes wide and crinkled from his cheeks, barely an inch away from your face where you can feel him breathe in. Pulling your noses together when he grips your jaw, tilting your head up to breathe down on you.

He leaves bruises on your thighs by the time he's done.

[angelloverambles]

Warning: suggestive!!! Mdni

Finking about greedy greedy nikto who's keening over every little sound you make. The little squeak after you yawn? He's locked in. You sigh? He starts thinking a little too much about how pretty you sound. The noise you make when you stretch and yawn after waking up? He's replaying it in his head. Icy blue gaze trained solely on you. Distracted.

It's when he's away- torn from where he should be, when you haunt him. Memories of your voice sighing and mumbling, playing over and over again in his head like a song on repeat. Fretful that he'll forget for even a second...

Ah. This is no good...

A rough scarred hand settles upon his aching heart- before trailing down fabric and frostbitten skin. He wishes it was you. Your pretty hands are so kind. So soft. Sunlight. That's what you are.

It's when the stern heel of his palm meets the buckle of his belt does he shut his eyes and gasp for abandoned air. Feeling like a Needy stray. Maybe he can pretend for a moment. Ignore that he's made of ice and grit and blood, and think of you. Shut the world out a bit, yes?

Sorry sweet one.

[angelloverambles]

Nikto wakes up early. Its routine, tradition almost from how long its been going. Some days he does sleep in, but the aching restlessness in his bones burns him alive. And yet there's a problem. You.

Sleeping beauty that is from how your hair was strewn everywhere. A hand dramatically thrown into the air in your slumber and drooling into one of his pillows. Disgusting. He loves it.

It settles him back down for a moment. Touching you. Combing back your hair with one large hand. How he could just grip onto your head with his fingers. Entertaining thoughts.

He wanders off the action when you mumble in your sleep. Releasing his hand quickly and getting out before you awake. And then he remembers you're not a one time thing. His forever wasn't it? Oh he'll leave you with claw marks.

He's a bit giddy when he goes back into his own kitchen. A barely noticable life in his arms and legs. Staring into his nearly empty fridge for a moment too long that no one would notice, after all does a tree really fall if no one's around? Ah, just enough milk and chocolate to make two cups.

[angelloverambles]

Hunger Games au HC's 1/?

PSA: character death, a little nongraphic SA(Simon)

Task Force 141 + Friends

Simon Riley is from District 12, the mining district. He purposely went into his game, wanting the rewards that came with being a victor for his mother and brother. He became known as Ghost in his game, using mud to like face paint to keep the sun from his eyes. Almost seeming to appear out of nowhere, from the shadows. No one warned him what happens to winners in the capital.

Johnny MacTavish is from District 2, the masonry and defense district. Born and raised to get into the games, to win, to impress. He's a showboat by personality, learning exactly how to defeat a target in so many ways. He prefers louder finishes, learning how to make something that will minorly explode with resources lying around. He made it to the final two, he got too cocky. Throwing knife to the temple.

Jonathan Price is a capital citizen. Born into a lap of luxury, watching games even if he knows they are wrong. He tends to find a way to talk to tributes if he can, in the early days it was the zoo but the capital got smarter. John got distracted with the academy until he was given a tribute to train himself.

Kyle Garrick is from District 10, the livestock district. He loves animals and loved raising them even if he knew they weren't anything more than food for people higher than he is. He was selected for his games by a vote rather than the lottery, the Capital thought it was a fun enough idea to do twice after the Quarter Quell. He wasn't voted in because he was disliked, his district thought he was strong. He made it into the top five, betrayed by his teammate, a career, who pushed him from a ledge.

Kate Laswell is from the capital. She didn't hold an interest with the games particularly but how excited it made people. She became a reporter and a talk show host just to be able to interact with the other side of the games. Meeting tributes, feeling for them. Trying to make them look better on screen for sponsors.

Alejandro and Rodolfo are both from District 4, the fishing district. They grew up together. Rudy was picked by Lottery for the game, Alejandro volunteered instead, not wanting to watch his best friend possibly be hurt and killed. He didn't make it far, didn't take the alliance with the other Careers and it costed him. Spear through the chest in his sleep, at least it wasn't painful.

Farah Karim is from District 5, the power and electricity district. She never went into the games. She had to watch friends do so but she never wanted to put her name in the lottery. Smart girl.

Alex Keller is from District 2, the masonry and defense district. He volunteered for his game and fought hard. Killed because he had to, as a status symbol. He was raised to believe it was an honor to be apart of it. He didn't believe that after his win, after losing his leg.

Gary Sanderson is from district 9, Grain. He didn't survive his game. he tried to copy Simon's win by "roaching" out. Keeping his head low. He was almost successful, if it wasn't for a nasty clumsy streak. Sliding down a hill, twisting his ankle and then trying to hide to recover in a tree. That tree held a Tracker Jacker hive he didn't see. He was in the top 10.

Nikolai is from District 6, the transportation district. He only put his name in the hat once and someone got pulled. His goal wasn't to win, but survive for as long as he could. Staying mobile, never hunkering down long enough for the Game makers to stop him. It made for a very long and boring game that year.

Part 2 with more coming soon!

[angelloverambles]

Would anyone be mad at me if I posted more Hunger Games au thoughts? Can't promise they'll be happy thoughts.

[angelloverambles]

Warning: suggestive!!! Mdni

Finking about greedy greedy nikto who's keening over every little sound you make. The little squeak after you yawn? He's locked in. You sigh? He starts thinking a little too much about how pretty you sound. The noise you make when you stretch and yawn after waking up? He's replaying it in his head. Icy blue gaze trained solely on you. Distracted.

It's when he's away- torn from where he should be, when you haunt him. Memories of your voice sighing and mumbling, playing over and over again in his head like a song on repeat. Fretful that he'll forget for even a second...

Ah. This is no good...

A rough scarred hand settles upon his aching heart- before trailing down fabric and frostbitten skin. He wishes it was you. Your pretty hands are so kind. So soft. Sunlight. That's what you are.

It's when the stern heel of his palm meets the buckle of his belt does he shut his eyes and gasp for abandoned air. Feeling like a Needy stray. Maybe he can pretend for a moment. Ignore that he's made of ice and grit and blood, and think of you. Shut the world out a bit, yes?

Sorry sweet one.

[angelloverambles]

Pushing my dark hair König propaganda 🙂‍↕️

[angelloverambles]

First Times | Omega!Nikto x Alpha!Reader | Part 1

You finally get the privledge of spending a heat with Nikto, despite how he usually hates having anyone near him during such times. Part 1 is SFW but smut will be included in the second part. Chatted with @ghouljams and we agreed that Nikto's possessive ass def gives off omega vibes lmao. Non-Traditional omegaverse since it's lowkey inspired by Ghoul's version.

Warnings: Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Unedited

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Part 2

Nikto has never been the sort of omega to request assistance with any of his heats. He’s stubborn and bullheaded, and determined to muscle his way through the entire thing by himself, snapping at anyone foolish enough to even offer a helping hand. You’ve never been forward enough to imply that you wouldn’t mind helping, but you’ve heard the man himself rant about people’s audacity enough to know it wouldn’t be appreciated even if you did.  

In the months you’ve been “officially” dating, you’ve learned enough about Nikto to pick up the signs of when his heat is close to hitting. It always starts the same, with the omega growing agitated over even the tiniest details, and stalking around the house, rearranging everything from the furniture to the ordering of the silverware. The urge to nest hits him hard, and he needs a perfectly clean environment in which to do so.  

Poor Krueger has been dragged over to the house more than once, forced to help with most of the heavy lifting, at least, until Nikto decides he can’t stand the scent of the alpha in his territory and kicks him back out again. Your scent is one of the few that doesn’t terribly overwhelm him by overstimulating his senses, so he doesn’t immediately chase you out the moment his heat starts, but you can tell he gets agitated by an alpha so close by.  

You’re polite enough to leave him to his own devices when he gets to the stage where he’s collecting every pillow and blanket he has access to and dumping them in his den. It’s surprising, however, when this time, before you can gather your things and head back home, Nikto grabs your arm. He’s surprisingly hesitant considering how blunt he tends to be with most things, but you wait patiently as he silently thinks something over.  

“You are going home now?” he asks, waiting for you to provide him with a slow nod, “you can bring us some more blankets, yes?” 

He’s never asked for more blankets before, but you’re more than happy to help out where you can. It makes your inner alpha practically vibrate with glee at the fact that such a reserved omega has asked you for something as important as an addition to his nest. “Of course, I think a have a few freshly washed-” 

“Net!” You almost jump at his exclamation, especially at his rather panicked tone, “not washed, no clean ones!” He’s jittery, refusing to release his hold on you until you quickly nod, offering him a quick promise to be back as soon as you can. He still hesitates, only letting you go when you pet his arm and give him a slight smile.  

To say you were quick would be an understatement. You grabbed near enough every sheet, blanket and pillow in the house. Anything that doesn’t already smell of your scent gets rubbed against your glands. You’re not sure how much he actually wants, but it’s always better to be a little overprepared for a heat than deal with the fallout of being underprepared. It takes you under an hour to be done with everything and back at your boyfriend’s house.  

The moment you get back you’re being pulled through the front door and into the house. You’re near enough dragged into the bedroom where Nikto has begun to set up his nest and the items in your arms are snatched away from you. The omega gives each item a sniff, before tucking them into a very specific position, taking his time to ensure each thing is in the perfect spot.  

You try to slowly back out of the room, not wanting to disturb him, but the moment you almost reach the door, his head snaps in your direction. He’s not wearing his mask at the moment, so you get a perfect view of the way his lips curl, exposing the tips of his canines while a loud rumble escapes his chest.  

Your whole body locks up, your alpha instincts forcing you to freeze in the hopes of not upsetting an omega in such a vulnerable state. He suddenly points at the bed, growling out a rough, “sit.” He’s pinning you in place with his icy stare, puffed up like an angry cat. You’re not entirely sure what you’ve done wrong to warrant such a reaction, but you’re all too eager to appease him and cautiously move toward the bed currently being used as a nest.  

Entering an omega’s nest, especially during their heat, is a right reserved for very few, and to be granted the honour (despite the unusual circumstances) by Nikto has you shaking with excitement. Despite the two of you dating, your partner has been very reluctant to allow you to see him in such a vulnerable state. You expected him to be a little hesitant about allowing an alpha into his nest, but it seems his brusque nature has returned, because the moment you’re in range he’s pushing you down and then onto your back.  

“Stay.” It’s far from a suggestion, so instead you just lay still while he goes back to arranging his nest. You briefly worry that you’re in the way, but Nikto has no qualms about manoeuvring your body around to better fit his pillows into place. Eventually, once he’s finally settled on a perfect setup for his nest, he vanishes from the room without a word.  

You continue to lay dead still, worried that you’ll disturb the omega’s perfect work while you listen to him digging through a drawer. You hear the electric kettle being switched on, followed by cupboard doors opening and closing. After a few minutes he reappears again armed with a hot water bottle and a selection of snacks and electrolyte drinks. He places everything save for the water bottle into a corner, before clambering into the nest.  

He’s switched into some softer clothes, though every inch of his body is still covered, save for his face which he immediately shoves into the crook of your neck. He flops down on top of you, very nearly crushing you into the mattress. You gently pet his back, trying to regain the oxygen that’s been knocked from your lungs by suddenly having a very large, muscular man collapsing on top of your chest.  

It’s an absolute delight when he begins to purr loudly, body completely lax in your hold. You know that nesting can take quite a bit out of a person and that heats can be very physically draining on someone, so you’re not surprised when Nikto’s breath evens out and gradually falls asleep.  

Everything is perfect, or at least it would be, if you didn’t desperately need to pee.  

[angelloverambles]

Cuddling with Nikto and Krueger is insufferable sometimes. Especially when they just came back. Too strung up to fuck the stress away and too tired to do anything else but clutch onto you like an old lady getting robbed. You'll ignore how they're practically shivering. Hands gripping like you're their only brick to salvation.

They don't usually fight with each other or at all but sometimes they forget the other is in the room. Too used to hiding their own presence that leads to scratches on your stomach, waist and back. Medically treated with as much care as their awkward selves can do.

Even Krueger is silent those days. A haunted look in his eyes that need a light to clear up. Nothing too bright, its not instantaneous. Just you to slowly fill the void back in their souls.

Especially Nikto, he gets violent sometimes. Spitting out a curse to the most mundane things. Stubbed his toe? Instantly a loud rough curse echoes through the whole house, startling you and Krueger who was trying to relax with some grilling. Somehow both cursing and taking care of his plants at the same time too.

And when they should be ready to hit the hay metaphorical instead the moment you step into the dark room you can hear them mumbling in a different language. Tone sounding more formal than anything mischievous or sleazy like they usually are with each other. Its how you find yourself squished between them.

Krueger's practically hyperventilating into your back while Nikto tries to calm himself by either not breathing or leaning down to hear you breathe. Its not comfortable for you but its the only thing that can help.

You know it works when Krueger raises his voice a bit. Almost choking on his words but trying to cope through whatever he's gone through. Nikto who finds it in himself to be quiet again. Calm. He enjoys hearing you both talk. Safe. Safe.

[angelloverambles]

rejecting simon riley because you don’t like blondes and he says, “not blonde all ‘round,” and when you shoot him a confused look he says, “curtains don’ match the drapes, but feel free to check yourself, bird.”

[angelloverambles]

I think he gets sentimental for the memories. He wants to collect as many as he can because the thought of losing it again is terrifying. I'd like to think he's satisfied with everyone he has and would prefer not to lose it again.

I think Nikto takes a bullet/casing from each mission but also I think he likes to keep little things from each of his fallen comrades. Even if the item wasn't theirs but like a memento. I think he keeps larger items for current comrades that get downsized if they happen to pass.

Like Horangi=tiger. My mind thinks of those stupid jade tiger statues since he's a gambler and jade is for prosperity.

Do you think? That’s surprisingly sweet for our big Russian bear isn’t it! He’s a kleptomaniac! I like the Horangi tribute ❤️

For me - I think he likes the tangibility of keeping items like bullet casings. In my HC he doesn’t have any recollections of his life before Mr Z really. Whatever Nikto was before, was left firmly in the past with his old face. He’s built a new life from the ground up, but keeping little fragments as he moves along his path, is an effort to leave breadcrumbs in case it happens again.

I don’t see him as sentimental in the main - it’s more like a security kinda thing. He’s reassuring himself that what’s going on, has really happened.

I’m surprised he hasn’t pinched anything of Mrs Nikto’s as yet! Perhaps this needs to be addressed 🌚

[angelloverambles]

Just thinking relentlessly about Ghost who meets a clairvoyant (you).

You live life in relative peace and normalcy, but sometimes (something beyond this universe) convinces you to use your gift. When the urge strikes, you usually let it; you are not one to deny the powers of the beyond. Of fate. Of God maybe—who knows.

When you see the tall man outside the train station rifling through his backpack, brow low and angry, something in him calls to you. He’s handsome enough, a little intimidating especially thanks to his stature, but you feel no fear as you change course and cross the street to him.

“Left it on the tube, friend,” you tell him. He stares up at you with fathomless, dark eyes. Eyes that have seen so much brutality, that have shut against so much pain.

“What?” he asks.

You point to your mouth. “Your facemask. You left it on the tube. Rotten luck. Hope your day gets better!”

And while you don’t anticipate ever seeing him again, you’re hardly surprised when you do. That’s the universe for you. Or, more likely, that’s just Simon Riley. When he falls into step beside you the next morning, he’s wearing a new facemask.

“You been following me?” he asks.

You blink. “No? Think it’s the other way around.”

“How’d you know. About my mask.”

“Ah. Clairvoyant.” You tap your temple.

He scoffs. “What, like talking to the dead?”

“I do that too.”

“Don’t believe you,” he says. Ah, a skeptic. You know better than to argue with one.

“Alright. See you later, Simon.”

And it isn’t until you’ve turned the corner that he realizes he never gave you his name.

The next time he runs into you, he stops you in your tracks. People on the sidewalk flow around you both, irritated at the interruption in their walks, but you don’t care. Not when he pulls out a leather-bound book and hands it to you.

“Prove it,” he says, hand shaking a little. “His name was John. Johnny. He’s been dead for three months. I just—prove it.”

You take the book reverently, sensing how much it means to him. You nod and part ways. When you glance back over your shoulder, he looks disappointed—but sometimes these things take time.

At home, you open the book. It’s a sketchbook, filled with pages, figures unfamiliar to you (Simon. So much Simon), handwriting in a neat curl. You flick through it slowly, learning about John MacTavish the old fashioned way. When you come across the last page, you find it blank.

Perfect.

You pick up a pen—but no, that’s not right. You search for your charcoal pencils. That’s better. Then you begin to write in a neat handwriting so unlike your own.

The next time you see Simon, you hand him the book. He takes it with naked trepidation, mouth set in a frown beneath his mask.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him.

You both part ways. He isn’t sure what to feel—like a fool, mostly, for believing. Heartbroken, sure. He can admit it. He’d wanted to hear from Johnny one last time, some message that the man was at peace. Some idea, painful though it would be, that Simon’s feelings had been reciprocated.

He goes home and flips through the book, knowing each page by heart by now. The last one is his least favorite, forever blank—except this time it isn’t. And it makes his blood run cold.

Written in Johnny’s handwriting are a number of disjointed words:

help

help me

help me

tunnels

Makarov

help me

head

boom

help me

sos

alive

[angelloverambles]

cw: omegaverse, knotting, breeding.

alpha simon riley coming back to the base after being away on recent mission, it's been too long, enough so you, his omega, would grow unsettled and worried, needy in the absence of his warmth beside you, made to sleep alone, grappling at what remained from his addictive pheromones on the sheets and couple of clothes, and just as you started losing it slowly, the heli with his team finally came back.

you're the first to welcome him, shoving through other soldiers and the captain, lumbering towards his solid frame, gear grimy, stained here and there with dried blood, some dust, his usually masculine scent thicked with sweat, gunpowder, so easily detectable and comforting it's makes you purr, stumbling against his muscular chest, clinging to his vest with tight, clenching fists, and he accepts your weight easily, throat rumbling with familiarity, masked face nosing directly in yours.

simon knows how much you missed him by your actions alone, the way your body shakes with the force of your own rumbling purrs, how you nuzzle in the crook of his neck, trying to stick your nose under his balaclava, clawing and scratching with your trembling fingers, high on the adrenaline just because he's finally here, your alpha, your throat tightening on a small, feisty growl when he tries to put you back down, already in his quarters.

you don't let him go to take a shower so easily, not until he takes care of you like he should, because you waited so much, all of his clothes and sheets now soaked fully by your cloying scent, something animalistic in it, doubled with excitation, and simon turns his head to the little chirp you let out, a purr, a whimper, stretching out on his bed, presenting, ass up with a tentative wiggle, glancing back at him with needy, wide on plea gaze.

simon fullfill's your every need, knowing how you missed cumming on his fat, engorged knot, with how pliable and wet your hole are, split wide to accommodate the girth of him, veiny and throbbing, jamming rough and deep against your spongy spot, making you tighten, bring him close to the point of filling you full of his cum until your tummy would ache, cunt pulsing and clamping with short pulls around his growing knot, welcoming his release against your cervix, the wrecked growl from his throat.

you remain tucked under heavy, fluffy blanket while he takes a shower, body twitching in the aftermath, feeling how his cum dribbles in frothy, creamy globs out of your hole, trailing down your thighs, squished together, lidded eyes barely open by the time simon comes back, sliding in beside you, cradling you close, arcing a calloused thumb over the fresh, swollen teeth dents on your mating gland, before pressing you even closer, his chest purring in response.

main masterlist. quidelines.