#nik cod x reader

[drgnflyteabox]

a little continuation of this. john price x cashier fem!reader. verbal abuse, anxiety, yelling, hurt/comfort, price comes to your retail rescue<3<3 1.4k words

The only good part of a 5am wakeup is watching the sunrise slowly climb the sky.

There’s a quiet sort of tiredness that lets you appreciate it more — and though the lot associates have made a joke about the morning crew and their sunrise photos, there’s an element of truth there that’s both funny and a little beautiful.

It’s a drag to wait outside the doors for a manager to open them, trying not to make eye contact with the early-bird oldies and the impatient contractors who think they should just be allowed in before everyone else based on the amount of money they spend.

When the doors open and the 6am hardware warriors stroll in, ready and chipper, you’re half asleep leaning against your counter.

Another good thing about the early shift is the lack of uptight managers. None of them want to wake up before ten, so you’re safe to lean and lounge while waiting for customers.

A call comes through your earpiece after a few customers, nearing the cusp of 8am.

”Hey, we’ve got the guy coming your way,” your head cash – Lisa – says, voice crackling in the mic. The guy is a rude jerkoff, some contractor who thinks abusing staff is the way to get good service and better prices.

What’s worse is that your managers allow it. In fact, you get warnings like this all the time. The guy is here, the guy has a big order, make sure to cash him out fast or he’ll start shouting. Be pleasant. Smile.

The guy is walking down the store lumber aisle with a pinched expression on his face and two other employees dragging his stacked carts behind him.

You try to ignore his caustic vibes, thinking instead of the pink, purplish sunrise you’d seen earlier. Clouds like magic, cotton candy, floating above you 

You ignore the incessant tapping of his feet, the annoyed groan he makes when you lift a package of insulation up and find flat saw blades.

Sure, you can’t accuse him of stealing. But you can make a cheery, passive aggressive comment–

“Oops, I guess you forgot these!” you chirp, scanning them a little slower than necessary. It’s not mature, but it does make you feel a little better. Nice try, bozo.

Playing the idiot cashier helps with these types. Why are you mad, sir? I’m just a cashier? And though you could answer more questions than you do, you don’t. Playing the ditz makes life easy.

Lisa’s definitely judged you for it, but hey. She’s not stuck at the register like you are.

Sometimes, it works. You get a scowl, but they’ll go quiet. Sometimes.

Today, it backfires.

“Excuse me?” 

Oh here we go, you think. It’s way too early for this.

“What was that, sir?” you play dumb, voice squeaking.

“Are you accusing me of stealing?” his volume raises. You see redness crawling up his neck. Fuck.

“No, no, I only meant–” you try to backtrack. Fuck, fuck. This is the result of your hubris. Your reasoning flies out through the massive lumber area doors as his rage climbs.

“No? No? Because I think you just accused me of stealing. Do you understand how much I spend here, you moron?”

“I do, I didn’t mean to imply–”

“Get me a fucking manager, now,” he snaps. God, you have no clue if he acts like this to get his way, to get discounts, or if he’s really this angry half the time he comes in.

Regardless, the effect is real. You’ve never been good with anger, and you’re shaking a little as you press the call button on your pager.

“C-Can I please have a manager down to lumber cash?” you broadcast to the store.

All you can think of is looking away from his angry gaze while you wait. Oh, a bubble bath – you have an aloe and green tea bubble bath packet at home waiting for you.

Hot water. Bubble bath. Manager to fix this mess. Maybe a hot chocolate after work?

A couple minutes pass. Longest minutes of your life.

No answer. The guy taps his foot, sighing loudly, angrily. You try again.

“Can I please have a manager down to lumber cash?”

Oh fuck, is that someone else in line? You turn away bodily, speaking again into your mic. Trying to look like you’re doing something about the wait.

Another couple minutes. Despair washes over you like a cold blanket of snow.

“Need a manager at lumber cash,” you try.

Typical, really. Lisa is likely on break, and you have no idea who’s managing the store at the moment.

You imagine it’s likely Cody, who’s good with contractors like this because he's personable but he’s also lazy it almost cancels out. Also, he takes a smoke break every 5 minutes.

And never takes his pager.

“What the fuck is taking so long?” you hear behind you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, turning. “My manager is busy at the moment but–”

“Busy?” his voice is like a gunshot in the airy space, an absurd volume for the time.

“Yes–”

“Do you know–”

A third voice cuts in.

“Think you better learn a little patience, mate,” British?

Oh, shit. It’s that guy from before. He’s got one hip a little cocked, a frown on his face like he’s smelled something bad. His boonie hat is titled down, nearly covering his eyes. You can see them because you’re shorter than he is.

“Excuse me? And who are you? Mind your business,” the guy says.

“I think you’d better let the nice girl check me out while you wait,” he motions for you towards the parallel cash desk, and you’re grateful to just follow.

You scurry away from the guy faster than is appropriate, calling out again as you cross the open space towards the other cash desk for a manager.

You can only hope they arrive while you’re helping this one. John Price, you think his name was. He's a memorable man. Him and his moustache and his expensive company.

John Price has left the guy flabbergasted. He also has twice as many carts as him, and when your eyes widen to see them he just says take your time in a smooth, deep voice.

Oh man.

You do take your time, already calmer for John’s presence. Strange maybe to feel safe in the company of a stranger, a contractor no less, but it’s a nice change of pace.

Beep, beep. You scan methodically. John has no hidden items, and he doesn’t pressure you. He leans up against his lumber order and watches you check underneath things, under the cart, doing everything you’re trained to do.

“Start early?” he asks.

“Hm?” you lift your head. “Oh, yes. 6am.”

He whistles.

“Hard worker, I see,” he helps you lift a heavy bag of concrete.

“Thank you,” Marx look away, you think. Your face is only a little hot.

Cody strolls in the lumber doors missing his apron and – you guessed it – his pager. You fix him with a look as he smiles in greeting.

“Need a manager when you’re free,” you rush. Cody is nice, but you’re kinda miffed now.

“Oh, sure,” he says, walking by you toward the breakroom.

John Price raises a brow.

“Not everyone’s up to the task, eh?”

You feel hot again.

“It’s just early.”

John smiles. He looks remarkably silly doing it, you think. His facial hair makes him look approachable, cuddly. Like a teddy bear.

John’s order totals double the guy, which isn’t really a victory for you but it feels like one. Ha! See, you aren’t the richest guy here. You feel vindicated. Cody looks miserable cashing him out, which makes you just a little guilty.

“Will that be cash or card?” you ask, finger hovering on the POS.

He pays with card. You certainly do not notice how he cradles the machine. You aren’t that down bad.

Only you are, and his fingers are huge. His knuckles are hairy.

When you go to hand him the receipts, printed twice for record keeping, he manages to slip a 50 into your hand before you notice.

“Oh, no! I’m not allowed to–”

He folds those big bear paws over your hand, enclosing the cash in it with a sh sh sh as you protest.

“For the trouble,” he winks.

“You didn’t give me any trouble,” you try. The warmth of his palm, the roughness of his calluses. You’re a goner.

He chuckles, and you wonder how he can be both so intense and so disarming.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he squeezes your hand, pushing it gently back towards you until you can put it in your apron pocket.

“Thank you,” you squeeze out.

“Don’t let him get to you,” he says.

“I’ll try,” you thank God or the universe or whoever that Cody and the guy finished a while ago.

“Attagirl.”

Yeah, you’re a goner.

[lyeofhell]

hey just so you know your protests and claims of being “too big” mean absolutely nothing and Nikolai would 100% flirt with you by pulling you into his lap while he sits in his pilot seat. he just will not hear it; the man needs an excuse to get his hands on you, now, and what better way to do that than to show you the ropes? maybe he’d light a cigarette and let you press all kinds of important buttons, whispering commands and nibbling on your earlobe to work a shy little giggle out of you — his way of working you open and warming you up. and something deep stirs in him at the sight of you playing, of following his orders; Nik’s exhaling clouds and smirking with his chin tucked over your shoulder, puffs curling into your face when he wraps his big bear paws around your hands and shows you how to steer. he’s got you squirming in his lap, soft thighs clenched together, anxiously fidgeting the closer his mouth gets to your skin. he coos graveled praise against your ear when you pull on the cyclic stick just right because you just listen so well…soft girls like you are good at listening, no? you think so? why don’t you show me how good you can listen, hm? part your legs, printsessa.

so yeah just so you’re like aware or whatever

[dutiful-wildcraft]

I re-emerge with a soft and vaguely angsty Nik/Price/F!Reader

Unedited, 1k, enjoy <3

It's not unusual for Nikolai to look after her while Price is away. As a matter of fact it grew common, the burly Russian staying with her more often than not, even when John was home.

And what had originally been a friendly extension of John, extra security at her call, had evolved into another soft body in their bed, both men's mingled cologne sinking into her sheets as she slept tucked between them.

However, these last few days had been devoid of soft embraces and stolen kisses, but rather wretched coughing and sniffly noses. 

Nikolai, has been sick as shit for days.

Thankfully, he'd been minding her with only a small amount of caterwauling. Huffing and puffing about her not sleeping beside him, whining as sickly boys are want to do.

His raspy voice somehow stupidly effective in getting him his way. 

Can I have more blankets lisichka? he rumbles pitifully.

What will we have for lunch?  he asks with big brown eyes. 

As if he could keep anything more than cheese and crackers down.

Unable to sleep due to Nikolai’s chainsaw level congestion snores, she slinks down stairs in the wee hours of the morning. Having already decided to make her favorite comfort food. Something simple, savory and carb heavy for the pair of them. 

On a whim she gives John a video call, setting it up on the counter while it rings and rings. 

She hardly expects him to answer, he rarely does.  And considering he'd already been gone 4 out of his supposed 6 week stint, she was sure her man was still up to his chest in work.

She's got a maw full of shredded cheese when John's voice rings through the receiver.

“Hello darling”

She sputters, recovering quickly to flash him a big goofy smile.

“Hey love” she whispers back, heart fit to burst as she takes him. There isn't much to see, just the pale light of his phone illuminating his features in the darkness. His beard is scruffy, bags under his eyes far too heavy for her liking. 

“Hello” he repeats again, an infinite fondness in his voice. His sweet cheeks pulled up into that little smile that still makes her blush. She sheepishly brushes the remnant shredded cheese off her tits, tries to quickly adjust her hair. 

She can see her own image reflected in the top corner of her screen, she looks like hammered hell honestly. Hair a mess, dark circles under her eyes, clad in ratty stained oversized shirt. She almost feels a little guilty for not looking more presentable for him when he chimes in again.

“Missed that sweet face.” he murmurs, and all those nagging thoughts plop right from her noggin. The goofy man would think she'd look hot in a trash bag. 

“Missed your face too baby, you okay?” She knows better than to ask about the op, instead lets him pick and choose what he likes to talk about. 

“Much better now, might even be home sooner than we thought.”

Her ears perk at that, spiritual tail wagging hopefully. She missed him dearly, occasionally shed tears in the lonely showers away from Nikolai, when the weight became to much for her to bare. She does her best not to say anything, doesn't want him to feel bad for being so far away. Instead she sends him updates, pictures of the animals, of her meals, this weeks favorite song.

He doesn't reply, she knows he can't, but he does read them, follows up with each one in a big text or call when he can. Somehow holding the details despite whatever hell he sees.

“What you makin’ over there?” he cuts in, trying to eye the counter with a raised brow through the screen. 

“I was hankerin’ for some potato soup, thought the patient would like it too.” she chuckles a bit.

“Mmm, sweet thing aren't you? How is he?”

“He's only a little whiny, spends his day trying to coax me close enough to cough on me, claims he just wants a cuddle” she laughs.

John chuckles too, shaking his head with a fond exasperation.“Well, you gonna show me how to do it?”

“Huh? Right now? I was just calling…you can get your rest babe, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I'm far from tired with a pretty thing cookin for me, now go on.”

She flashes him a knowing look. John Price was no chef, he did well enough, but she'd caught him on more than one occasion following along to the little cooking videos he'd dug up on the internet. Especially those made by other soft southern women.

With an expectant look she continues her work, cutting vegetables and getting the stock pot ready. 

“Talk to me love, need to hear your voice.” he reminds her. 

Not want. Need. And who was she to deny him? So with a little fumbling she starts narrating, mimicking the smooth diction she'd often heard in those same videos, biting back a smile as she watches John fight sleep. Tired baby blues drooping lower and lower, closing briefly before the sharp snick of cut carrots stirs him again. Eyes straining to keep watch.

Sweet man.

She knows he's exhausted, more so than she can probably imagine. What hell he's had to dodge up until this point, and possibly a few days more until he can see them again.

Something in her chest stirs at how he stills for her, easily drawn into the soft bubble of comfort she can provide at such a distance. Lulled easily by a silly soup recipe, simply because it's her voice. She wonders now if he uses her voice messages similarly. She wonders if he would let her read him to sleep.

She files it away. Along with the thought of sending him softer voice messages for when he's away. 

She looks to him again, bristly face squished against his pillow. Eyes closed serenely. 

“Wanna know my secret?” she asks, soft and playful, watching one of his pretty blue eyes creak open at her tone.

“W'sat luv?” 

“I use instant mashed potatoes to thicken up my soup, makes it extra potatoe-y” she giggles.

“My clever girl” he mumbles dreamily, followed by a string of more barely intelligible praise. It rolls easy and proud from his chest, voice no more than a sleepy purr that makes a grin split her face. 

By the time she's finished up John is fully asleep, his measured breaths pouring through the receiver just shy of a real snore.

Her heart aches deep in her chest, a chunk of it long gone and far far away in the form of one John Price, and while she can see him now, know he's alive and relatively well, she longs more than anything to crawl in next to him. Hold him close tucked beneath her chin, where she can keep him warm and safe herself.

As if on cue, a pair of strong arms wrap around her middle, Nikolai’s hot cheek pressed to her temple where he briefly lays a kiss. This time she doesn't fight him. 

Getting sick be damned.

“Pretty thing isn't he?” Nikolai rumbles quietly, eyeing the phone screen with those fond brown eyes. 

She simply hums an affirmative in his arms, words caught in her throat by the emotion that's threatening to escape her. 

Nik seems to catch on, giving her a soft squeeze. “How is he?” he whispers instead, voice low to not wake the man on the other side of the world.

The question is able to at least shake a little out of her. “He seems okay, worn out, fell asleep watching me cook.” She watches John for another moment before sucking in a deep sigh, squirming around in Niks arms to face him, tuck herself into his arms. 

“I'm just ready for him to be home” she mumbles into the soft plush of his chest.

Nik pulls her in closer, warm hands petting along her back, squeezing the back of her neck soothingly. “Me too, malyshka” he returns, the weight of John's absence equally heavy in his own voice. 

The pair stay there for some time, swaying gently in each other's embrace, listening to John's soft snores until the sun paints their meager kitchen gold.

[secretlysimpash]

Nikolai having a hangar cat, just a stray that wandered in on one of the freezing cold Russian nights. It came to him as a scrawny, trembling, pathetic thing with patchy, dark blue-gray fur. Its wide, green eyes and sad meows were enough to break him.

He ended up feeding it for a week. In two weeks, it had a collar with a red tag hanging from it. One donning the hangar cat's name: Kitti. Yes, Nikolai is very creative.

Kitti loves lounging inside of the helicopters while Nikolai fixes them, purrs drowned out by the loudest death metal imaginable. Whenever Laswell drops by his hangar, Kitti watches her through a window of the pilot's seat. Though she never comes out of the heli. Not when she visits, not when anyone from 141 visits. She even swatted at Soap when the man tried sticking a hand through the door to pet her head. Kitti doesn't even budge when Nikolai tries coaxing her out if others are around.

It doesn't bother Nikolai too much, even if he wishes that she'd at least come out to greet Price. It isn't until a new face comes into the hangar that this changes. Well, its not his hangar, but one away from home. One he's working in overseas, away from Russia. Its hotter than Russia, so his bomber jacket is long forgotten in the back of the heli.

The burly Russian is finishing off some work on the engine when Kitti jumps down from the pilot side door. Instead of the long furred feline going to curl around Nikolai's ankles and demand attention, she heads for the door.

Flanked by Laswell and Price is you. Kitti promptly ignores them in favor of chirping up at you. Nik can't believe it. Neither can the amused American or the very slightly offended Brit.

Its unbelievable. Kitti only tolerates Nikolai, but here you are...A stranger, a lovely stranger at that. Someone that the very picky storm cloud of a cat likes and is now rubbing up against.

What kind of cat dad would Nikolai be if he didn't introduce himself (and Kitti) properly? Especially to the one that he's already planning on keeping for himself? The one that he has decided is Kitti's new co-parent?

[ohworm-writes]

THIGH RIDING NIKOLAI THIGH RIDING NIKOLAI THIGH RIDING NIKOLAIIII😔😔😔 (please wxcuse me)

FUCK I CAN'T BELIEVE I NEVER ANSWERED THIS ASK BECAUSE GOOD GODS I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT IT. When I first saw this ask I genuinely lost it so no you will not be excused - you are being getting a VIP seat as I stand on the stage and lose my mind about this concept.

PAIRING f!reader x Nikolai RATING R - Restricted [ Content warnings: 18+ mdni, hard dom!Nikolai, thigh riding, some praise and degradation ]

It's his favorite thing, right next to being inside of you, because of course nothing can top that.

But just... having you, such a perfect little thing, straddling one of his big, thick thighs, dressed in absolutely fucking nothing while he's fully clothed, leaning back in his seat as he watches you desperately rut against his jeans like a puppy in heat?

It's no wonder the man enjoys it so much when you make such pretty, sweet sounds for him! And the way you're all disheveled, jaw slacked and sweating slightly, your poor cunt absolutely drooling slick all over his jeans with your tits bouncing as you grind back and forth, too!

And while he's made you into the perfect mess, he's leaning back wherever he's sitting - maybe in a chair at a desk, on the couch, in the pilot's seat of his helicopter... wherever it may be - soaking in the sight with lidded eyes and a lazy, cruel grin.

"Look at you... fucking yourself on my thigh like a whore."

He mumbles the words under his breath, his tone filled with that deep, heavy gravel. It's almost like he's cooing at you, but his words have too much of a mean bite to them to be considered a sweet coo that you've heard come from him before.

I can't decide whether or not he'd have his hands on or off of you, because both make sense.

Like- picture him leaning back on a couch, arms stretched out behind him along the back of it as he watches you, completely composed with his hair pulled back all neat, freshly groomed, just watching you get off on his thigh.

Or... imagine a similar situation, with him still on that couch, but instead of being leant back, he's leant forwards, hands gripping your hips either lazily or in a vice, feeling you guide yourself along the length of his thigh, giving out heavy exhales through his nostrils as his eyes fixate on where your pussy stains his jeans.

Oh! And speaking of! He's so teasing you for that!

"You are dirtying my pants, лапушка (sweetheart). You're going to clean your mess when you are done, да (yes)?"

And, newsflash, you better say yes or, at the very least, give him some sort of indication that you're agreeing with him - an affirmative hum, a nod, something. As much as those words can be taken as an offhand comment, he means his words.

Know and trust that, one you get off, (both in the sense of cumming and physically getting off of his lap) he expects you to clean up the mess you've made like the obedient thing you are.

With your tongue on your knees in front of him, preferably, he would say. But that's a point for another time.

Now, back to the subject at hand.

He's ruined you - this is a known fact.

And it's even more well know to the two of you that, since waltzing into your life, he's become the only thing that can make you cum. So all of those sloppy, desperate ruts you make against his thigh, as stimulating as they are, can't get you to finish.

You're just not able to grind yourself fast enough or hard enough against his jeans, not getting enough stimulation to push you over the edge. So, the only solution? Whimpering and whining and begging him with tears in your eyes for him to help.

And fuck, he's so mean. :( Humming absentmindedly, completely ignoring your pleas, tutting at you and clicking his tongue in disapproval when you grab at his hands with the intention of encouraging him to do the work.

This was what you wanted, no? To ride his thigh like the desperate dog you are? Isn't that right? But oh, look at your poor face. He'd be cruel to deny you for longer than you can take, now wouldn't he be?

So, with his hands grabbing at the fat of your thighs, he drags you along the length of his thigh, pulling you up near his crotch and pushing you all the way back towards his knee.

Fuck, I bet you he spits down on his jeans too, just to make the surface a fraction more comfortable for your pussy to grind against. :( It's so nasty and messy but it's so hot at the same time, so who gives a fuck!

And if you can't get off still with just grinding against him, he'll bring his fingers down to your clit and just fucking abuse it as you leak and, eventually, cum all over his jeans, the fabric all slick and a mess and just... ugh.

Thigh riding Nikolai, thank you and good night. That's all folks. <3

[tempfrangit]

The horror of Gaz x Reader comes from the bones of Hider in the house and @/pricegouge absolute amazing horror fics that have inspired me.

Ever since you inherited your aunt’s house something’s felt off. More than just the grief of losing your closest family member, which had remained a constant weight on your weary shoulders. Your hometown is just like you remembered it and so different all at once. It seemed like the places you had the fondest memories had closed down, while every scabbing shame remained, making your face heat up still after all these years.

You’d also inherited her small used bookstore-slash-café and an absolute mutt of a reformed feral cat that you knew for a fact she’d picked up off the side of the road near a swamp. You’ve already decided to keep the store running, planning to juggle your wfh programmer position and return to your young adult life of being a barista. It was the cat that honestly caused you the most problems. Affogato — full name of course Gelato Affogato al Caffè, and a name that still made you roll your eyes and smile — was a sweet brown tabby that seemed incredibly stressed by the loss of his former owner

The first night you’d spent after you were officially fully moved in, he walked through the hall outside your room meowing. He hadn’t stopped until you’d followed him, down the stairs and into the laundry room. He’d inspected every corner of the room and for some reason the action unnerved you. His big green eyes turn back to you, and part of your heart aches for the old guy. It didn’t help that the old house settled loudly at night, like footsteps in the mostly empty shell

But almost an entire month and it made you feel like you were losing your mind in your own home. It felt like you weren’t getting restful sleep, brain fog clouding your short term memory. You can’t seem to remember where you put some things down. You lose your wallet for almost three days before you find it tucked under the sofa. It felt like you were going through food faster than you should have. It wasn’t helped by the new sleeping habit that you’d apparently adopted: kicking your blankets off. You’d wake up shuddering and there was Affogato crying beside you in bed

It felt like your new cat was summoning a demon

A strange new positive was that a very cute new neighbor has moved into town, and he’s become a valued regular customer and maybe even friend? Kyle is absolutely, jaw-droppingly handsome, and kind and funny and smart. Like he’s straight out of the cheese romance novels a gaggle of older women come in to trade titles for collections, browsing while they sipped from the one of a kind mugs your aunt had adored picking up while thrifting. And you don’t know why but that makes you really, really into him

Of course you agree to lunch, the safest possible date you could think of

[injestedsoap]

Nikolai Thoughts

nikolai smells like expensive cologne and cheap cigarettes

nikolai has an extensive art collection (it's not all stolen)

nikolai loves caviar and always gets the good stuff

nikolai likes when you paint his nails and he'll maintain them

nikolai loves when you suck him off while he flies

nikolai loves when he fingers you after a flight

nikolai loves when he has you on top, letting you do the work while he lays back and watches

nikolai loves to fuck you so hard the headboard leaves dents in the wall and the bed scrapes the floor

[s0apmactav1sh]

King!Price x Knight!Reader x Price's husband. Solution to all romantic problems. Polyamory.

Ooo could make it so Prices husband is actually Makarov and the whole reason your on edge is because makarov looks that exact same as a king you used to serve only you thought he was dead. So seeing him again has brought back memories of your 'previous' life and you dont want to accept that he could be incase your just mistaking yourself of it.

Or

What if Prices husband is attempting to get rid of you because your in the way of him having Price assassinated because even if your distanting yourself from the king your still on edge each time they are together.

Or or

Nik could be prices husband and your surprised because he was someone you grew up with, became a knight because and lost due to moving up in ranks quicker than he could. And when you figured out he left the guards and the kingdom you realised you lost your only friend. So seeing Nik again in Prices arms has you devestated cuz you didnt expect to lose your lover to your ex-bestfriend

[brainrotbrainrotbrainrot]

Self indulgence drabble: Captain Price x Y/N x Nikolai, where reader is a metalcore and deathcore fan.

Price has been trying to get your attention for months and slowly it has been working. You’ve both got so much in common, but the main thing that caught his attention was your taste in music. You both enjoyed rock and metal, he was thrilled, well more than thrilled. Purposely letting you ride shotgun so you two had control over the music choice on long journeys much to the protest of Soap and Gaz. Ghost never cared, he was too busy in his own head to care what music was playing.

Slowly but surely, you and Price were getting closer. There was little touches he started to introduce that you wouldn’t allow anyone else to get away with, more subtle places of his hands when he was round you. Touching the small of your back, always offering to give a shoulder massage when you complained that you ached there. And well, you too enjoyed his attention. If anything, you were confused why he was taking such a long time to say something. It was getting to a point where you were confused if he was simply being too friendly or if he did really like you like that.

Everything changed the day that you finally met Nik. Walking into the hanger to meet him for transport, your eyes lit up the sound of Slaughter to Prevail playing, excited to hear a band that you were a fan of too. You were the one who went straight for the open laptop and saw Spotify, checking out his playlist before you paused it so you could all talk. But Nik, suddenly he had your interest more than anything. Eagerly waiting for Price to introduce you properly to his comrade once the occasion wasn’t as professional, you went in for it.

Sure, you and Price had bonded over your love of metal music, but it wasn’t this genre of metal. A genre you had grown up adoring, being at the front of the true rise of the orignal scene and emo world, a dirty little secret you kept close knowing the guys would probably ridiculous you over it. Even if Ghost was the one who wore a skull mask. You two had walked off discussing groups, sharing your Spotify profiles, not realising behind you were the glaring eyes of Captain Price watching his close friend swoop in and steal the person he had been slowly pining after. All he got was a slow pat on his shoulder of understanding from Gaz and the stifled laughter from Soap when he realised what was going on.

[pricegouge]

In Your Web

part two - masterlist

nikolai x f!reader

cw: stalking, mention of alcohol, male masturbation MDNI

By all accounts, you need a return address to ship to Latvia.

Rather, you need a return address to ensure your package doesn't get opened by customs, where agents will laugh at best, or steal your panties at worst. Maybe even steal your DNA? To what end, anyway? No! Worse than that - what if they used their connections to trace the package back even without your address and -?

One is predictably unsympathetic. 

» Then send it with one.

It doesn't surprise you that he thinks you're that dumb. 

You toy with the idea of leaving a random address in the return spot and cringe when you imagine a surly Russian man accosting some random family four states over. It's a mental image you carry with you over the next week, playing it on repeat every time you get cut off in traffic, or you find a coworker has pissed on the toilet seat without cleaning it up. Once, you even catch yourself thinking of it when a particularly annoying regular dominates your feed during a regularly scheduled live performance.

But One is not your knight in shining fiber optic cable. Neither do you actually wish to inflict him on anyone.

So you send it without a return address, watch the shipping updates closely, and feel your stomach slowly boil when it sits for five business days at an importing station. Evidently, One watches it as well.

» You did not do as I asked.

He's uninterested in your offer to refund his money - half now, half later. All you can manage.

» If I wanted my money back I would simply cancel my subscription and request a chargeback from the service.

» I want what I purchased.

Talk of chargebacks makes you flighty. There are only two things you know about One, those being that he is very wealthy, and very rude. The bane of all customer service operators. You don't think it's likely the service would honor a reimbursement for a tip issued over a week ago, but it's not something you want to risk seeing as, unlike your plan to split his reimbursement, OnlyFans would reach into your bank account with the cold unfeeling hand of a multi-million dollar company and steal it back all at once, a prospect you simply can't afford at this time, as embarrassed as you are to admit. Long ago you'd made a promise to yourself that any and all large tips received from this side gig would go immediately toward paying off debts - student loans, ill advised credit cards you'd taken out while still living off said loans. It was a decision that had done you nothing but good up until this very moment, when his money was already spent and you were staring down the barrel of having to pay him back using your own funds.

Or, barring that, he could cancel his subscription and not only get a chargeback for the remainder of his pay period (probably the year, knowing him - you'd have to check) but you'd also stand to lose your best customer. One you're not entirely sure how you managed to land in the first place and one whose income you'd likely never manage to replace. Already, One's singlehandedly paid off an entire card for you, and until now he's showed no signs of stopping.

« i'll fix it

It's a bold promise to make when you have no recourse, but one you don't see your way out of making.

» No, I will.

—

For as much as the line had made you nervous at the time, One does not make any overt moves to follow up on it that you can see. Lapses into an uncharacteristic sort of radio silence for a time. He even skips the next few liveshows, something that strikes you as very unlike him. One does not seem the type of man to let a service he's already paid for go unused. The first night it's kind of nice, seeing as he has an annoying little habit of just paying the target price within the first ten minutes because he 'doesn't have time for this' (funny, how he always has enough time to request a private cam after) but then it's three shows later and you've barely raised anything because, apparently, all your other customers are used to sitting back and reaping the benefits of One's impatience. Something you'll have to address. He stays out of your DMs, too. Offers no tips in exchange for personal requests.

You'd be lying if you said it doesn't light a fire under your ass, gets you chatting with other creators searching for ideas on how you can fix the situation. People much smarter than you say to cut your losses and just refund him. Be done with it. But mostly it just leaves you with a large level of concern. You know these people aren't dumb, but you can't imagine the level of trust they've placed in some of their own favorite customers. Maybe it's because they're lucky enough to have attracted nice people, or at least people with enough social aptitude to know how to pretend to be nice. Something to be said for One, he's never once let you forget he's not the sort of man you should trust with your personal information.

Finally, inspiration strikes in the form of another stupid suggestion, one creator admitting they've put their work address in the return slot. They do not comment on whether or not they used their legal name, but given their stage name contains the word anal, you have to assume.

No desire to let One know where you work, or even the town you're from, you begin to think about other nameless faceless organizations you can use as a fall back instead, finally settling on a random Walmart two states over. You use your stage name and post it, sending One the new tracking number along with a free vid of you getting the replacement pair all messy in hopes that he returns immediately to his normal spending.

Of course, he doesn't so much as thank you. When another two pass with no contact, you begin to grow concerned. You triple check your account to make sure he hasn't unsubbed, but he's still right there at the top - even with no tips given in over a week.

He's disappeared for a few days in the past, but this is different. You think. Or maybe it's not. You wouldn't know seeing as you don't know him. Seeing as he's never given an excuse for his absences. Not that you'd ever asked… It's normal to be worried for someone you talk with nearly every day, right? You don't know him, sure, but you'd be a bit worried if your favorite barista from the shop you frequent just up and left one day. And your income doesn't even depend on her.

Perhaps that's why you break character when he finally resurfaces, the joy on your face when you see his handle pop into chat the next night genuine. Your giddiness is infectious, even. At least one other regular bothering to welcome him back when you stop your stream dead just to say hi. Foam falls around you, slips over your bare skin down to the tarp laid over the floor where already a good foot of it has accumulated like a blanket of snow. It was an idea you'd been quite proud of, always a fan of a simple dance party. The foam machine was a small expense given the high engagement you've received so far, your subscribers happy enough to watch you shake your ass while covered in soap bubbles and glow sticks. The machine had already paid for itself, but now that One was back, you couldn't help the building hope that you'd even meet your goal for the night, which could make for a pleasant weekend full of meeting friends for drinks.

"Glad to see you're alive. Was getting a little worried about you," you grin, settling back into your roll easily. You pinch your tits between your arms as you mime snapping on a pair of gloves. "Got thinking maybe it was time for a visit from your favorite nurse."

But One is not feeling very playful tonight, if he ever is.

» Check your phone.

You huff and kick some foam at the camera obnoxiously, pleased when it falls short and hits the TV it's mounted on top of instead. You don't need to kill the mood even further by stopping to clean your lens. You eye it now, pretend you're staring up at him defiantly when you refuse, tell him you're in the middle of something with one hand snaking down your belly. On the TV below, large enough you can read even from the middle of the floor, you watch the feed as they would see it: yourself on the left while the chat bubbles in excitement on the right, egging you on. You nod at them, a silent promise, check to make sure your position looks good and that you've got a smattering of foam on you, at least enough to keep some mystery for them to unravel as the show continues -

» Now.

Irritation doesn't sell well, but sometimes you can package it as chastisement. "Play nice," you caution, voice whistling through clenched teeth. It's not One's thing specifically, but there are other regulars who you know will eat it up. "Gotta learn to share."

But One goes above and beyond simply not liking being nagged at.

He waits until your fingers are just barely tracing your thatch of curls, movement from your laptop screen catching your eye. You drop pretenses entirely when a new window opens, your private chat with One maximized so you cannot possibly miss it. Carving a path through the accumulated foam, you slink out of the field of view of the mounted camera, show long forgotten as you approach your laptop, mounting fear confirmed as you watch your mouse move across the screen of it's own accord to hit play on the video he'd evidently sent you while you were otherwise occupied.

You know what it will be based on the thumbnail, but it shocks you anyway. The panties he holds look like nothing more than candy floss in his thick fist, wrapped around a fat cock so tightly the lace is stretched. Distorted. It's weird, the things you notice when adrenaline bends time. The camera work isn't great, doesn't let you see his the root of his cock or even his belly. Its focus shifts a few times, undecided if it wants to settle on the display before it or the dark hardwood below. He wears a watch, a simple leather band nestled in a pelt of dark hair. His knuckles are dusted too, hiding the glint of a thick gold band on his pinky. Uncut, thick. He grunts the next time his foreskin pulls back enough to reveal his glistening head and your breath stutters with his when the lace catches, synthetic fibers relaxing back into a recognizable pattern as he eases them off, untangles it from his grasp to flatten against the table, flimsy gusset laughably small framed between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand.

His native tongue spills from him like his seed, molten and thick. Language, even if you can't understand it, is enough to tug at you and you yelp, your brief moment of shock fracturing enough to compel you into movement.

Nik likes the way the suds paint her, the rainbow foam a nice contrast with her skin. It slides down the valleys of her body naturally, highlighting recesses he'd previously been unaware of. Pesky self consciousness, always framing herself so carefully to hide away the bits she think he won't like. They won't like, he supposes.

He's never minded sharing. Nature of the beast, paying for it. But he doesn't see why he should have to suffer the same experience as these others, not when he gives so much more.

It was one of the first issues that had lead him to this little perversion, the impersonal uniformity. The self-editing. He pays to see her body, not the careful curation of videos and stills which she deems tasteful enough. So he settles in behind the wrong camera most nights, his field of view lower. Off center. Only watches the proper stream - the one he actually pays for - when she looks dead at the camera to talk to him, ring light glowing eerily in her irises.

Close enough, for now.

He's logged into a burner account while he works himself up, watching as she bounces around her room to an obnoxious beat. Her audio mixing is off tonight, the club music she plays just a hair too loud. He likes to watch from alternate accounts sometimes, likes to see how well she fights her dismay when these other viewers struggle to collectively pay her bills. She's more likely to grant him special requests the longer he waits to show up, he's learned. Off the menu orders, she calls them. Cute, but not what he's looking for tonight.

Her thong hangs from the corner of his screen. He hates to have already ruined it, but consoles himself with the knowledge she'd been sweet enough to send him another pair. They won't smell as good, he's sure. Another censure she'll have placed on herself. None of the sweat from having been worn all day. But she tried. Wanted to please him. Desperate thing.

It's laughable, thinking Latvian customs would be able to stop him from acquiring what's his, but it's not like she would know that. It's why he prefers small, no-name performers like her. So unsuspecting. Passably genuine, smile growing on her face when he switches to his regular account, the one she has memorized. It makes his cock twitch, excitement growing when she showers him in attention, singles him out in the middle of her show. Forgets to keep dancing, even. As she should. He wonders if he paid for her new toy, the noisy machine currently leaving soap scum on her walls. Wonders if she'll let him pay for it again or if she'll have him summarily blocked within minutes. It won't matter, of course, but he's excited to see how she'll unfold. Another off-menu order. One more bridge too far.

What she gets, taking so much of his money yet never offering more. He just wants to see sides of her no one else has.

It's hard to control himself when she starts to get catty, shows her teeth. He'd imagined stretching this moment out a bit more, thoroughly ruining the mood for all other viewers. But when she looks right at her camera and tells him to behave, his breath goes ragged, and he has to let go of his cock to show the little bitch better - taking over her laptop to bring up the video he'd sent, a low grumble building in his chest like a warning when she slinks closer, as if proximity will give her a better understanding.

Three monitors, one for every angle of his omniscience. On the right, the chat in her official feed grows annoyed as she walks out of frame, a few of them even accusing him of foul play. Hero-types. He's going to enjoy watching them try to comfort her if she doesn't delete her account entirely after tonight - after he mouses over the video displayed on his middle screen, the mirror of her own laptop. On his left, she looms closer, expression open and honest in a way he's not seen it yet. Painted in the blue light of her monitor, it contrasts garishly with the heavy makeup she'd applied for the show, all warm-toned to match her pink neons; catches on the tiny pockets of popped soap bubbles which fleck over her cheek. It's not a good look, one she'd likely touch up before even taking a selfie for her Instagram account, a post-show teaser meant to make potential viewers feel like they'd missed out. And now that he's seen it, he knows how much he's been missing out, fist working over his cock with renewed vigor as he imagines all the ways he wants to see her now, all the ways he can, even if -

He fights the cursor when she tries to take control, but she's clever enough to know some keyboard commands. His right monitor blinks back to her profile when she cuts the feed, the middle one slowly returning to her home screen as she closes out of each window. She pulls away quickly after, palms clamped over her jaw as she breathes through the panic, soft belly caving with each pant. Foam still spews from the machine, dye having run out. It catches in her hair, paints her skin milky. He has half a mind to open a word doc on her computer, tell her she should skip the dye next time, the white more suggestive.

Doesn't get a chance. Cums when she scrambles back to the desk, his left monitor dropping the feed when she smartens up and rips the battery out of her laptop.

Left languid and lazy, he tracks her movements across her socials from his bed, thumbing through his phone. Detached, he watches her accounts blink out one after the other. A small city going dark under the approach of his hele. She deletes some outright, settles for blocking him on others. Even issues an apology to her viewers from a site she doesn't know he even has an account on. It's vague, boring. Doesn't mention him. He gets an email around midnight, her time, telling him to expect a refund for the remaining term of his payment, but is pleased to find her account still in place when he checks from a burner. The save of her live show is taken down shortly after, but he's not worried. Had it saved locally.

Can't rely on strangers from the Internet to behave, after all

[gothghostiie]

eepy cozy thinking about conking out on niks or prices fat hairy chest hmm

[lyeofhell]

mdni

yknow how nik’s hair is all longggg and slicked back?

strands of it fall into his face when he’s railing you into oblivion :)

[southernbluebellereader]

ok Listen so I've seen a few things here and there about Nikolai as far as COD, but listen:

What if Nikolai meets you through John Price, and he's so smitten by you. After he met you for the first few times, he keeps asking John about you. John keeps brushing it off as a playful crush and Nikolai just goes, "I'm serious, we're not getting any younger here, John."

John agrees and brings Nikolai to meet you again. I know damn well Nikolai is a smooth talker. He will serenade you in Russian, English, and whatever other languages he speaks.

After that, he calls you at least every few days. Why? He wants to hear your voice and loves it when you say his name. To everyone else, he's Nik or Nikolai. To you, he's Nikki. Only you're allowed to call him that. John was a little offended when he heard you call Nikolai "Nikki."

"How long have I known you, Nik? You never let me call you Nikki."

"Because you're not Y/N, John."

You learn quickly how much he loves his country, but will always choose to do the right thing, which translate over to how deep his love for you is. He doesn't want you near any war or military, yet he wants you by his side at all time. And if there's anyone who can bring him back to reality after seeing all that he's seen, it's you.

[secretlysimpash]

Part 2 of this post

Alex "Terrified Of Spiders And Asks You To Take Care Of Them While He Stands As Far As He Can From The Tiny Arachnid" Keller

Farah "Always Wakes Up Way Too Early And Opens The Curtains, Inadvertently Waking You From A Sound Sleep" Karim

Kate "Secretly Likes Terrible Facebook Mom Memes And Will Send Them To You If She Trust You Enough (so price gets a lot of these as well)" Laswell

Nikolai "Blasting Deathcore At Max Volume For The Entirety Of A Flight, Your Ears Are Ringing For A While Afterwards" [REDACTED]

[ohworm-writes]

Hi!! Im back (Same anon who requested the soft!dom Nikolai), hope your day/night is going well ^^. Okay, for the life of me I cannot stop thinking about Nikolai with a virgin reader, and every time I do it makes me go crazy 😩😩 like, he already knew about the fact she’d never been with anybody intimately and he couldn’t care one bit, simply content with just kissing and cuddling, even being around her. However, one night the reader comes to him and says she’s ready to lose it, and Nikolai couldn’t be more excited. Honestly feel like he’d be nervous, not wanting to hurt her, even as he’s slowly opening her up with his fingers and she’s moaning, or when she’s begging for him to put it in already as he shush’s her and tells her to be patient.

Ultimately I think I’d be the softest experience ever, and he’d be nothing but gentle and attentive to her, do you think you could write something like this?? (Sorry for it being long again omg but I had sm to say 😭) and obv take ur time <33 🫶🏽

I'm so obsessed with your soft dom Nik thoughts anon like you have absolutely no idea. They wrack around in my brain like a pinball machine. I can't explain it to you any better than that, and I absolutely adore it.

PAIRING f!virgin!reader x Nikolai RATING R - Restricted [ Content warnings: 18+ mdni, soft dom!Nikolai, fingering, soft sex ]

He definately wouldn't care whether or not you're a virgin. To him, it isn't something that really matters much to him. If anything, when considering the act itself, it almost brings up, like you said, a sense of nervousness or anxiety to him in the fear that could possibly come with hurting you.

He isn't a small man, after all. In all aspects.

But when you come to him one night when he's lying down on the couch, spread out comfortably and ready to watch a movie with you, hearing you whine and keen out to him about how you need him... who is he to deny you? You - his sweet, precious, beautiful girl, needing to be taken care of.

That's his job as your boyfriend, after all. Is it not?

He brings you onto his lap, hands on your hips gently kneading the flesh of your thighs, keeping it simple at first as he kisses along your skin, slow and calculated, ensuring he lavishes all the attention he can possibly give to you. To worship and adore you in all of the ways that you deserve.

Hot, heavy, messy kisses, nothing short of tongue and teeth. Sloppy. Wandering hands that grab and grope, your flesh spilling out between the gaps of his fingers. Uneven, shaky, gasping breaths from the both of you, so desperate for more, yet equally trying to keep the situation controlled.

But you need more. And he gives it to you.

He switches your positions a bit, making you lay with your back to his chest, one of his big, warm hands shimmying itself beneath the waistband of those pretty, loose shorts that you had been wearing, two fingers gently teasing around your sex.

You're so fuckin' wet and it drives him absolutely crazy.

He'd use two of his fingers to spread your folds apart, his chin resting on your shoulder as he listens to all of the pretty sounds you make as he teases your cunt. Even with two separate layers of fabric separating your pussy from the open air, both of you can still hear just how wet you are.

One of his fingers is about as thick as two of your own, after all, so after long minutes of waiting, even one of his fingers makes you cry and whimper. And fuck, the way he just explores your insides, all slow and calculating, and then, when you're ready, sinking another finger into your drooling pussy.

Nik's singing you praises all the while, too. Pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as your head falls back onto him, whispering about how warm you are, how you're making such a good mess of his hands, how nice you sound, how you look fucking gorgeous falling apart because of him when he's barely even do anything.

You can feel him getting hard under you, too. Especially with the way his free hand presses down on your lower tummy, molding you into him as he slowly finger fucks you until you practically have tears in your eyes. As loving and caring as he's being, he's going so fucking slow, never giving you enough to be able to cum.

Whimper and whine all you want, but he's exploring your pussy! He wants to make sure he knows how every inch of your insides feel, the way your slick drips down his wrist, the little squeezes you make around his fingers. Let a man have his fun. :(

"Patience, апушка (sweetheart)."

He stresses, tutting you softly as you beg for him to go faster, for him to make you cum, and for him to just fuck you already. It's like he's patronizing you, almost - but the honey coating his voice is too similar to a siren's call, and it simply encourages you to listen.

And oh, is it worth it.

Nikolai is a man of many talents, but making you cum in record time and with such accuracy and precision is, in your humble opinion, his most impressive one.

He moves his arm that holds that hand that was inside of you under your leg, his other moving down to your clit as he presses you into him - even if you thrash, it won't stop him - as he just abuses that poor little pussy of yours, fucking his fingers in and out of you with one hand, curling them against and targeting that spot that makes it hurt to breathe while his other slaps and rubs your clit until you're seizing.

He makes you cum so hard you swear on you forget how to breath properly, cries so high pitched you can't even hear them, drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth, foot cramping, sweat coating every inch of your body.

Every sensation is just too overwhelming but gods, does it feel good.

That's why it almost pisses you off when he asks if he went too far and if you're okay, helping bring you back down to Earth with gentle kisses and a concerned voice. He brings his hands away from your sensitive pussy (not before licking his hands clean and almost cumming from the taste), tracing gentle figures across your skin as he waits for you.

He's so worried that, even from fingering you, he might have hurt you in some way. Even when you reassure him that you're okay and that's the hardest you ever came and that you still want more, he's so worried and hesitant even if he doesn't outwardly show it. You're his girl, and he'd never want to hurt you. :(

Beg him a little more and a little harder, though, and he'll cave. After all, he still hasn't taken care of his own arousal, his cock so hard he swears to himself that it hurts, and you're pussy is all stretched out and wet and waiting for him, right? And you still want his cock to fill you up, right?

And he does just that. He pulls his cock out from his own joggers that he had been wearing, shimmying them down just enough as he pushes the fabric of your shorts to the side. And fuck, the way you're drooling from your little hole has him weak - even seeing your pussy has him on the brink.

He's so cocky and smug all of the time, so he can't help himself than to be a bit of a tease, tracing his tip along the outside of your pussy, tapping it against your clit and tracing it down towards your hole, never pushing in, just having his fun. But even he can't take it for long, having to bite his lip and just go for it.

He's so careful, distracting you with a hot and heavy make-out session, hands at your hips, gently massaging them as he sinks you down onto his cock inch by inch. Not only is his cock thick, but it's so big that even a few inches in has you whining and needing a rest before he tries to keep going.

"So good for me... doing such a good job, yeah? Look at you. Look at how well you take me."

He's talking to himself and he knows it, but he doesn't care. Not when you're so warm and wet and willing to take him.

When it comes to him actually fucking you, he takes his time - similar and different to earlier. His fingers are different from his dick, obviously, so now he's especially careful and considerate about your comfort - always checking in, always making sure you're okay and that you're feeling good as he bounces you up and down on himself.

Have you ever heard that thing that guys will avoid looking at you and do things like a times table in their head to stop themself from cumming so quick? No? Yes? Whatever the case, lucky for you, that isn't Nik.

He's so obsessed with the facial expressions you're making, the sounds that are coming out past (both of) your lips that his own climax climbs up with such suddenness and force, slamming into him as he does you.

A broken curse in Russian falls from his tongue as he can't help himself, his balls emptying out into you without warning, the faintest whimper coming from him as he fucks himself into overstimulation just to make you cum. :( He doesn't care how sensitive he is, he just wants to see you fall apart.

And just... ugh. Aftercare king >>>

He makes sure you're comfortable and gets you all cleaned up (even though he himself has trouble walking from how hard he came), bring you some water and some pain killers and something to eat if you ask, and makes sure you get all the praise and love you could ever ask for. <3

[injestedsoap]

nikolai's big thick fingers in your pussy. dripping all over his dirty fingers while he works you open, rubbing his calloused thumb over your clit. biting your neck and growling in russian while he rubs your g spot and clit in harmony, blowing in your ear and making you shiver. uses his free hand to tug up your shirt and down your bra, pinching and tugging on your nipple. wicked girl getting off on his mechanic hands, look at you getting so wet from the dirty fingers in your tight cunt.